found an empty barrel-table and some stools, and
moments later Theo was slaking his thirst with a hefty
swallow of Golden Lever ale.
As it went down he sighed.
'I swear it's never tasted that good before.'
Aye, Major, right enough.' Rory had already downed
half his pint. 'Reckon we deserve this, and more.'
Nikolai nodded vigorously then lit up a pipe, grin-
ning hugely around the stem as he reminded them how
Maclean had his lunch eaten by a forest baro then later
lost his cap to an inquisitive ginibo monkey. Theo
laughed along, feeling that mixture of camaraderie and
pride reserved for officers who shared a deep level of
trust with those under their command. Yet the Diehards
were not a formal military unit, which made their
trust - and therefore his responsibility - far more
daunting.
Ja, we've done well today, he thought. We managed
to move all the weapon caches again and stow them in
some very out-of-the-way places, just like Sundstron
wanted. But what happens now that the Brolturan
troops have left? - will we have Earthsphere marines
patrolling the streets with the DVC?
He had heard news coverage and comment on the
radio while travelling around all morning and most of the
afternoon. The consensus of opinion among both the
studio quackers and the public phoning in seemed to be
optimistic, yet he thought he detected a fearful edge to it,
even a reluctance to contemplate any kind of worst-case
scenario. Then again, the radio studios could well have
been screening out any phone-ins that voiced such opin-
ions.
Well, whatever the outcome, at least this moment
was a restful one spent in the company of good friends.
The rest of the Diehards were returning borrowed
trucks and vans or heading back to homes and families
in Port Gagarin or High Lochiel or easterly towns like
Laika and Rannoch. And as he gazed around the pub, a
grey-whiskered man in a ragged-brimmed hat seated at
the counter caught his eye and they exchanged a friendly
nod. Poacher Zargov, that was, a reprobate scoundrel
who was just one among several other old-time drinking
buddies that Theo recognised. Nick the Spring, a sly
and patient trapper who once drank Viktor Ingram
under the table; Swedish Harry, a tracker from Trond;
Stamper Nadine with her bandolier of fine metalwork-
ing tools; and here, heading towards their table with a
balding Earther in tow, was Father Josef Terekhov, a
respected trawler captain.
'Theo, gospodin,' Terekhov said, his glare enhanced
by a magnificently bushy beard and moustache.
'Josef,' he said. 'You're looking well. Would you care
to join us?'
'A kind offer, my friend, but I am just here to give this
fellow into your custody, and so prevent him from
annoying the other patrons with questions about you!'
Terekhov's glare softened and a slight change in his
beard indicated that he might be smiling beneath it.
'My thanks, Josef,' said Theo. 'Spaseeba balsboye! I
shall take charge of our guest and deal with his ques-
tions.'
Terekhov nodded, raised a hand and went back to his
table. Theo turned to the newcomer, a young man with
receding hair and a nervous manner.
'Pull up a seat and join us, Mr . . .'
'Oh, ah . . . Macrae, Barney Macrae.'
As Theo made brief introductions round the table,
along with handshakes, Rory frowned at the off-
worlder.
'Macrae's a good Scots surname, but ye speak like
a ... whit are they, again? . .. American, that's it.'
Macrae nodded. 'Yes, sir, that is correct. One of my
distant ancestors emigrated from Scotland, back in the
1800s, I believe. My own branch of the family is from
Boston in the ESA
Rory was about to come back with another question
but Theo cut in.
'So, Barney, Father Terekhov said you were asking
after me, so what can I do for you?'
'Okay, first you should know that I'm a freelance
reporter working under a Starstream licence. . .'
Rory snorted. 'That lot.'
Macrae shrugged. 'I know what you're thinking, but
a Starstream licence was the only way to clinch an
assignment I was offered by a prestigious edumedia net-
corp . . .'
'Barney,' said Theo. 'May I ask if you have an AI
implant?'
Macrae gave a wary smile. 'No, Mr Karlsson - I do
have a gofer-AI back in Boston but his codecore was
done up by a local indie . . .' Meeting blank stares, he
went on. 'Anyways, the answer is definitely no - my
thoughts are my own.'
'Well, then, Barney, what's your point?'
Macrae paused, chewed his bottom lip then leaned
forward and murmured, 'I've got a recording of the
Brolturan ambassador's assassination.'
There was a stunned silence around the table while
the normal hubbub of the Bell and Cat went on about
them.
'Do you have it with you?' Theo said, suddenly tense.
Macrae nodded, patting the chest of his jacket.
'And how did you acquire it?'
'I had got to know one of the soldiers guarding the
Hegemony envoy - before her unit was assigned to him,
I should say - and persuaded her to carry an eyebead on
her uniform.'
'Whit's that, then?' said Rory.
'A tiny videocatcher, smaller than the head of a pin,'
Macrae said. 'I had her put it on her jacket shoulder. But
after the attack the Brolturans detained your soldiers
for questioning and she was among the last to be
released. I only got it back this morning, and when I saw
what was on it I knew I couldn't just sit on it.' He began
to reach into his jacket. 'I can play it for you if you
like . . .'
Theo shook his head and put a restraining hand on
Macrae's elbow, then glanced at Nikolai.
'Ask at the bar for a key for one of the pool rooms
upstairs.'
Five minutes later they were gathered round a pool
table, watching Barney fiddling with a small, notebook-
sized device in featureless beige plastic which was
leaning against one of the cushions. Then the device's
flat surface flickered suddenly into soundless video, a
view of the back of a DVC soldier marching along a
wide corridor adorned with glowing adverts, some-
where in Port Gagarin, Theo guessed. The procession
came to the lounge and as the Darien soldiers formed a
rank behind the towering Hegemony Sendrukans, the
viewpoint showed the Earthsphere ambassador and his
assistants, the high walls and viewing gallery, and the
glass-fronted stairwell from which travellers usually
emerged. Then, as the picture swung back towards the
High Monitor Kuros and his delegation, Macrae froze
the recording with a black, penlike remote.
'See here?' He pointed to a cluster of dark blue fig-<
br />
ures, each standing with upper arms folded and lower
arms hanging straight. 'Those are Kuros's personal
bodyguards, four Ezgara commandos. That's what
Lenya saw when she entered the lounge, four of them.'
The recording resumed and events played out just
as the news reports described. The Brolturans emerged
from a pair of wide-open double doors that led out of
the lounge. Two standard-bearers led the way, followed
by four bodyguards and six officials, flanking
Reskothyr himself, attired in a black knee-length coat
of austere cut: his head was bare and shaven, his hands
covered by gleaming black gauntlets. The procession
came to a halt, except for the standard-bearers, who
continued forward, one carrying his standard over to the
Hegemony envoy, the other to the Earthsphere ambas-
sador. Just as they bowed to the standards set before
them, unseen attackers opened fire.
A volley struck members of Reskothyr's retinue to the
left. Cries went up and Reskothyr's own guards hustled
him off to the right. The Earthsphere ambassador and his
aide retreated towards the seats as the Ezgara and the
DVC soldiers began firing back at a dark glass-fronted
gallery overlooking the lounge. But one DVC soldier had
broken from the rest and was heading round to the right,
against the wall, aiming his weapon not at the gallery bit
at Reskothyr. The assassin opened up, bursts of auto-
matic fire cutting down Reskothyr and the Earthsphere
ambassador's aide, as well as one of the standard-bear-
ers, who charged with his banner pole held like a spear.
He went down in a welter of blood, one hand blown off.
Then the gunman shot dead a few others before dashing
towards a door in the corner, but one of the Ezgara
hurled a grenade after him. There was an explosion and
the already jerky viewpoint swung wildly, showing
glimpses of other DVC soldiers diving for cover. Then
the picture spun back round in a blur, showing clouds of
dust and smoke hanging over a scene of devastation, a
wrecked wall, pieces of debris lying over a wide area, and
the still bodies of casualties. Members of Reskothyr's
retinue stumbled through a grey haze, some shouting
into communicators, some weeping, all in silence. Then
Macrae froze it again.
'Okay, my friends - how many Ezgara commandos
do you see?'
The moment he asked the question, Theo under-
stood. And sure enough, when the distinctive
blue-armoured figures were counted there were five.
'The fifth Ezgara didn't enter by the concourse
doors,' Macrae said. 'There were no Ezgara in
Reskothyr's entourage and that side door led into a
storeroom with no other exit.'
'You're saying that the assassin dived through that
doorway, survived the grenade, then changed into an
Ezgara uniform?' Theo said.
'Sure, why not?' Macrae said. 'They could have
rigged up a temporary blast shield for the shooter to
get behind, along with one of those combat armour rigs
that they wear. And yeah, I know they say that they
recovered a DVC soldier's body from the wrecked
room - so what? Kuros's people had effectively sealed
off that lounge more than an hour before Reskothyr's
shuttle touched down.'
'But why?' said Nikolai. 'It makes not any sense to
me. They pulled their troops out overnight so what was
it all for?'
Macrae gave a gleeful little laugh. 'The Hegemony is
fond of big, simple dramas - they love to put on a show,
and that's what this was. I think I heard that they're
going to release their own recording of the attack, is
that right?'
'Seems so,' said Theo. 'The question is, why bring
this to me?'
'Because your president has to see it!' Macrae said. 'I
watched that press conference last night and I could tell
right away that he'd played Horst and Kuros perfectly.
Some guy, that Sundstrom.'
Theo smiled. 'Indeed he is, Barney, but he's not the
one who has to see this first.'
'Then who . . . you can't mean . . .'
'Yah, Horst! - get him on our side and we might
stand a chance of seeing that big battleship of theirs
sailing away.'
'I don't know,' said Macrae. 'Horst . . . he's pretty
staid, pro-Hegemony, pro-alliance to the core.'
'That's why we have to tell him that we have copies
of this in Sundstrom's hands and circulating round the
colony' Theo grinned. 'So if he wants to avoid a public
outcry and diplomatic scandal all rolled into one and
then seized on by every reporter within reach, he'll have
to get Kuros and his pet Brolturans to send their peace-
boat home.'
'Sounds like a flare,' Macrae said. 'But it might fly. So
how do we get this to Horst as soon as possible?'
'It so happens that I know exactly where he is, right
now,' Theo said. 'At the Falls of Gangradur on the south-
ern shore of Loch Morwen ... well, at the Mistwatcher
Guesthouse that overlooks the Falls. I know that he's
been touring a local fishery and the Veiled Caves and th? t
he's to spend the night there, which presents our oppor-
tunity. In my role as presidential adviser I can get in to see
him and show him Barney's recording, safe in the knowl-
edge that Kuros is twenty-odd miles away.'
'How do we get there, chief?' said Rory. 'Take the
coast road?'
'We'll charter a zeplin,' Theo said. 'Fly straight across
the loch and be there in an hour. What say you, Barney?'
'It's a great story, Mr Karlsson,' Macrae said, slipping
the display unit back inside his jacket. 'I'll follow it all
the way'
Theo looked at the others and they all nodded.
'Just as long as my brother stops for a quick shower,'
Alexei said, jabbing his thumb at Nikolai, who sniffed at
him then wafted his hand before his face.
'I'm not the only one . . .'
'Depending on how long we have to wait when we get
to Northeast Fields, we can clean up a bit,' Theo said.
Everyone stood and drank a toast to luck and the
hunt before leaving. It was a ten-minute walk to
Northeast Fields, after which half an hour was spent
looking over the available charters in the hires room.
Given a bid marker by the hires allocator, they went
looking for berth 18 and found a curious, block-shaped
zeplin beneath which sat its captain, a stocky Dansk
named Gunnar. Business was transacted and ten minutes
later they were climbing into the sky over Hammergard,
heading south. As the roofs and streets of the city dwin-
dled and slid away, Theo suddenly remembered that he
had meant to contact his sister and arrange to go round
and see her. 'Damn ...' he muttered, resolving to call
her when he got back, Greg too. It felt as if the whole
crisis was cutting him off from his family, especially the
ones he
really cared about. Yet he knew that part of
him was enjoying it, or at least enjoying the intensity of
tactical judgement, the threat and the risk.
Just as long as it doesn't put the ones I love in danger,
he thought. That's what matters.
A little over an hour later, the zeplin was descending
to a stubby mooring platform, engines running down as
its fore and aft cables were hauled in by motorised
winches. Theo paid Gunnar his fee and a retainer and
they all disembarked, waving to the winchmen as they
did so. The mooring platform was situated in a field
bordered by bushes and a stand of whistler trees to the
west, their odd-shaped leaves causing an eerie piping
chorus in the faint breeze. These were the grounds of
Mistwatcher, and as they followed a gravel path through
the trees, the guesthouse came into view, a conglomera-
tion of circular buildings raised stiltlike up on pillars.
This area was about 50 feet above sea level and not far
from the shore of Loch Morwen. But it was dwarfed by
the gigantic spur of stone that jutted from a towering
slope that led up to a high valley so immense it was
almost a plateau set against the grey outlines of massive
peaks. The spur tapered and sloped downward to a
blunt prow from which water fell in a white column
800 feet through clouds of mist to a boiling cauldron
which spilled down a brief series of rapids to Loci:
Morwen.
The constant roar of Gangradur Falls grew louder as
they approached the guesthouse. Mistwatcher's entrance
and admin building was identical to the circular resi-
dence modules, only larger and situated at ground level.
At the front desk, Theo presented his government ID
and asked for directions to Ambassador Horst's suite.
When permission was granted, he took Barney and Rory
with him, telling the Firmanovs to wait in the lobby. A
spiral staircase took them up to a large, covered plat-
form from which walkways radiated to the modules. A
green-uniformed attendant seated in a booth pointed
out which one led to Horst's residence and minutes later
they were standing before its front doors. Theo pre-
sented his ID to the visitor sensor and the doors slid
apart to admit them to a small, tiled, oval hallway. A
slender young man in a dark brown, high-necked suit
Michael Cobley - Humanity's Fire book 1 Page 38