Sisterhood of Suns: Daughters of Eve

by Martin Schiller

  Neither of them had the slightest idea that they were about to be assaulted by three SRU teams. Or that Kaly had them in her rifle sights.

  In her earbud, she was listening to a synchronized countdown and brought her finger to rest lightly on her trigger, waiting. The five second mark passed. Then four, then three, then two, and finally, one.

  Her first shot hit the nearest guard squarely in the side of his head. As his startled partner began to react to the shower of blood, brains and skull fragments, she fired again. This round took the man in the throat, dropping him, and cutting off any opportunity to cry out a warning.

  A message went out on the Com a moment later, confirming that the other snipers with Team 265 had also eliminated their targets. The facility was now completely without any external security, and no one inside was any the wiser.

  At a signal from Major ebed Karri, Team 440 left the truck they had been using for cover and quickly dragged the bodies out of view. As soon as the corpses were gone, Margasdaater, T’Jinna and Ben Di climbed up onto the loading dock where they took up positions to control the doorway that led inside. The Liverna and Team 440 followed.

  Then it was Kaly’s turn to move. Slinging Tatiana over her shoulder and hefting her submachinegun, she abandoned her hiding place and sprinted to the loading dock with Vasquaaz. Their job as a sniper team was now officially over. The assault shuttles, orbiting high overhead, and the shooters inside of them, would assume the task of providing a protective overwatch. From here on in, she and the Specia soldier would act as rear security for their team.

  Once everyone was in place, Ben Di verified the feed coming down from space. It displayed the interior of the factory and all of its occupants. Most of the factory was on the ground floor, but there was an office module above this, with an open stairway leading up to it. This would be Team 265’s objective, while the rest of them secured the production area.

  At the moment, all of the workers were there, busily fabricating and fitting the new stocks. Five guards were watching them, and two additional armed figures were upstairs in the office.

  Ben Di quickly marked out all of the guards in red, labeling them as hostiles. Everyone else was tagged in orange, which meant that until it was established otherwise, they were to be considered potential enemies, but not active threats.

  Then the Senior Troop Leader began another brief countdown. The second that it reached its conclusion, the group went in, with Team 440 and the Liverna leapfrogging ahead to take the point. Team 265 breached a rear exit at the same time and entered from the opposite side of the building.

  To minimize any confusion, only the troopers in the lead said anything. Although they weren’t sworn Republican law enforcement, the fact that they were all dressed in combat gear, and heavily armed, more than made up for any legal irregularities.

  “Justisya! Denceday, manna eya cabeya! Nolo sey mavar!” they shouted, “Police! Get down on the ground, put your hands on your heads!” At the same time, they fired at the nearest guards, dropping them right away.

  Most of the startled workers dove for the floor, but two of their number hesitated, and they were caught in the crossfire when two guards who had survived the initial attack began shooting back at the troopers. The Teams reacted instantly, trading fire and eliminating them.

  This left only one armed man still alive in the assembly area. Instead of standing his ground like his comrades, he took cover behind an injection molding machine and began firing blindly in their general direction. Then he tossed out a pair of grenades.

  One of these landed between a heavy press and a bin filled with children’s dolls, blowing the bin to bits and sending the toys flying. The other grenade landed in an aisle between the assembly tables and went off. The workers lying there screamed in pain as the shrapnel cut into them.

  While T’Jinna and the other team medic crawled towards the victims to render what assistance they could, Kaly and the others laid down suppressive fire, peppering the area around the machine with energy bolts and chemical rounds. This was when the Liverna proved its worth.

  Designed to take independent action when needed, the battle robot added its own guns to the fusillade and launched a GSG-20 grenade. The little munition activated, found its target, and flew around the obstacle.

  There was a loud concussion, and Kaly didn’t have to check her display to determine if the device had found its mark or not. A severed arm, still clutching an energy rifle, came spinning out onto the concrete. That was all the proof that anyone could have ever needed.

  The fight was not over however. More gunfire came at them from the office cubicle. Alerted by the commotion, the two Loyalistas had come out and the one closest to the stair was engaging the women from Team 265, pinning them down.

  Seeing that she had a clear shot, Kaly took aim and killed the man. Even as she did so, his partner, who was just a few paces behind him, turned and threw another grenade.

  This time, it wasn’t intended for anyone down in the assembly area. Instead, it had been flung into the office module. The device went off with a bright flash, blowing out the windows and sending papers and other burning debris showering in all directions.

  Kaly swore heartily under her breath. If there had been intel inside, the explosion had just destroyed most of it.

  The Loyalista didn’t waste any time gloating. He threw himself over the rail and landed in a half-filled parts bin. Firing a burst at Team 265, he scrambled over the side and made for a nearby exit.

  He never reached it. The Liverna acquired its target and promptly blew him to pieces in midstride with its energy guns.

  For a long moment afterwards, the only sounds that could be heard in the building were the cries of the injured workers and the crackling of the fires in the office and one of the toy bins.

  Cautiously, the Troopers rose from their places and started in on the job of consolidating their objective. There were no more red targets on their displays.

  One of their first tasks was to secure their prisoners with plastic restraints and conduct initial field interrogations. This proved to be a much more agreeable process than the session with Sa’Tela had been. Ben Di handled most of it, and she simply asked their captives a series of questions.

  Most of them turned out to be average people who had simply been desperate for cash and willing to look the other way to get their hands on it. But a handful harbored genuine Loyalista sympathies and didn’t even bother to hide it from the Troop Leader.

  These were separated from the others immediately, and the entire group, including the injured workers, were flown back to Claire d’Layne with Team 265 playing the babysitters. Each prisoner would have follow-up interviews with Sa’Tela and her people.

  Depending on their level of involvement and knowledge, the majority would either be released, or serve some time in jail. The Loyalistas however, would stay in custody for as long as Sa’Tela thought they had something valuable to offer, and Kaly tried not to think about that, or what their ultimate fate would be. The phrase that Vasquaaz had once used, ‘una deysaparce’ came immediately to mind, and she pointedly avoided the direction that this line of thought wanted to take her in. Instead, she just concentrated on her job.

  Thankfully, there was still a great deal for everyone to do. With the prisoners evacuated, the teams inventoried the factory’s contents. Bins full of replacement stocks were discovered, along with dozens of cases of military rifles awaiting their new parts. These, along with the molds that had been used to create the stocks, were destroyed in place by Margasdaater with explosive charges.

  In the office, there wasn’t much left, but what was found, was identified and bagged up. Among other things, this included some data cubes that had somehow managed to survive the explosion. If the Goddess saw fit to bless them, they had the potential of yielding some useful information. Like everything else, they were bagged, labeled, and taken away.

  Kaly and her teammates rode home satisfied that they had j
ust shut down an important Loyalista operation. She didn’t harbor any illusions though. The insurgents had proven their resourcefulness time and time again, and they would surely find another way to arm themselves. This was just as certain as Nuvo Bolivar’s primary rising in the sky, or that new rebels would rise up to take the place of the ones they had just killed, or taken prisoner. It was all part of the never-ending downwards spiral that called itself the ETR.

  Embassy of the United Sisterhood of Suns, Nuvo Bolivar, Magdala Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1048.08|20|03:43:17

  The next time that Maya encountered Agent Saantoz was at the Embassy itself. In the guise of making a large delivery, Saantoz had come straight through the front entrance, accompanied by a partner who was roughly the same height, build, and appearance as Maya.

  Knowing exactly what she had in mind, Maya accompanied her double into the nearest staff restrooms. They exchanged clothes, and when Saantoz departed, she went with her, taking no greater precaution than to pull down her hat.

  This time, Saantoz made no attempt to take them into the Dho Haak, nor did she mention anything related to glass. Instead, the majority of their day was spent in the downtown area, where they focused on making deliveries, and acting as couriers for Mercantal Finansa Colectavo and Rabartya Vaasco.

  At one point, they passed a street that had been blocked off by the local police, and seeing it only underscored Maya’s growing unease and her dislike of the ETR. The body of a ‘negociamente’, a Sisterhood collaborator, had been found there a day earlier.

  Like many of the other negociamentes, the victim had been tied to the hood of a ‘lectri, and then the Loyalistas had torched the vehicle, burning the man alive. This method of execution, was a signature of sorts, and served as a warning to the average citizen of the dangers of appeasing their conquerors. It was also becoming increasingly common.

  Although she tried to catch a glimpse of the scene, her morbid curiosity went unsatisfied. The incinerated car and its gruesome cargo had been removed, and nothing remained except for a lone police unit standing watch, and a scorched area near the sidewalk.

  Further on, she found something else to look at. They were driving by a building that had originally been a retail store. With the war, and the downturn in the Republic’s economy, the business had closed and the structure had become one of the many lonely derelicts scattered throughout the city. But it had earned a new life as a canvas of sorts for the local graffiti artists, and in addition to the usual crude messages, it was covered with more elaborate examples of their street art. These changed on a daily, or nightly basis, and in her opinion, some of it was quite good. She was definitely in a position to make such a judgment; she had done a fair bit of ‘tagging’ herself on the walls of Ashkele’s compounds and the buildings of Delgen.

  Normally, there were always at least one or two pieces that were particularly elaborate. This time, it was a depiction of a Sisterhood Marine, strapped to a blazing ‘lectri. The artist had gone to great lengths to depict her uniform and her gear accurately, and the agonized expression on her face was hideously realistic. Below her was a slogan that Maya knew all too well. It read, “Mortan a e invadiya Ermanyaa!”, “Death to the Sisterhood invaders!”

  As if in counterpoint to this grim message, a convoy of Sisterhood Marines, accompanied by ETR soldiers, passed them going the opposite way. With the increase in violent incidents, the local Marine detachment at Claire d’Layne had been increased in strength and was now actively assisting Republican National Guard units in maintaining order.

  Catching the eye of a Sisterhood trooper who was roughly her own age, Maya unconsciously inclined her head to her in acknowledgement. The trooper, thinking her to be an ETR native, didn’t smile back. Nor did her companions, and several of them began hefting their weapons and staring back at her with hostile ‘what-the-fek-are-you-looking-at?’ expressions.

  Then they were gone, swallowed up by the traffic.

  ***

  Kaly tensed. The woman nodding to her from the delivery van had set her on edge, and glancing over at her teammates and the Specia soldiers, she saw the same uneasiness in their eyes.

  If she had learned anything since coming to the ETR, it was that a smile was a suspicious thing. Nobody was friendly towards them.

  This time, nothing had come of it, but she still took the greeting as a bad omen. Just a day earlier, an old woman, with a friendly expression on her face as well, had walked up to a group of troopers and detonated the bomb she was wearing under her coat. It had killed one woman, and sent two others to the Sick Bay.

  Shuddering at the memory, she gave the ‘Petya Reza’ sticker on her helmet a superstitious pat, noting that a number of her companions were doing the same. The equivalent of Laara Lampa, the Dann cartoon figure had been adopted by the Sisterhood troopers. Kaly had two Petya stickers on her headgear, and like everyone else’s it wasn’t the cheerful version that greeted Nuvo Bolivar’s children every morning. Some artist had modified the image. In place of her usual pink dress with all its cheerful flowers, Petya was wearing body armor, toting a blaster rifle, and sporting a prominent black eye. Even some of the hovertank crews had taken to painting the image on their vehicles. Petya was a mascot, a good luck talisman, a mark of time served, and most of all, a statement of just how tired they felt. Like the cartoon figure, they all had their own black eyes, courtesy of the ETR.

  Calling on her reserves, Kaly sat up straight, and kept an eye out for danger. It could be anywhere, and come from anyone. Especially anyone who seemed friendly.

  ***

  Maya shuddered at her brief exchange with the unknown trooper. Things were definitely ‘ramping up’ out on the streets, she reflected sourly.

  Then Saantoz nudged her. “Checkpoint up ahead.” This was another change that had recently occurred. Even in the downtown district, military checkpoints were becoming commonplace.

  They pulled in behind a line of passenger ‘lectris, and waited while Republican soldiers, some paired with dogs, walked down the line. When one soldier reached their van, he stopped.

  “Papellyas,” he demanded. Both of them fished out their identity cards and handed them over. He scrutinized them with an unfriendly expression, and then put them in the pocket of his uniform tunic. “Pull over there.”

  He had indicated an area off to the side where a dozen vehicles were parked, and being inspected more thoroughly. Maya glanced furtively at Saantoz, wondering if they had anything aboard that might be considered contraband, and the woman responded with a slight shake of her head as she complied with the soldier’s orders.

  The instant that they came to a stop, the soldier was joined by two more of his comrades, and Maya and Saantoz were ordered out of the vehicle. After that, the search began in earnest.

  The Republican troopers were not delicate about it; they slashed open all the packages that had been loaded in the van for delivery, heedless of the damage that they did. The contents of the glove box, and then their lunches, came next, joining the vandalized delivery boxes on the pavement.

  All the while, the first soldier stood there, smiling unpleasantly at them. Maya wanted to ram her fist into his face, but she kept her temper. She also decided to do something about their situation. She called the COMINT center on her psiever.

  A tech answered her, and once she had explained what was happening, the woman immediately contacted Sarah. After another minute, their guard’s expression changed, and he looked to another soldier, clearly an officer by his uniform. There was a brief exchange between them on his Com, and with a disgusted grimace, he produced their identity cards and held them out. As Saantoz tried to take them, he let them fall from his hand, and then ground them into the dirt with the heel of his boot. “Danna putaya,” he growled.

  Saantoz’s jaw tightened, but she retrieved the documents. “Come on,” she said to Maya, “let’s get back to work.” The soldier laughed, and watched them with great amusement as they gathered up the remains
of their cargo, and departed. Privately, Maya decided that when the time came, it would be good to leave the ETR in the manure pile where it belonged. She really hated the place.

  They made one more stop after this, parking across the street from the Jyan Cordiella Park. It was a popular place during the sunnier days, and despite the problems in the capitol, there were many people about, enjoying the weather, and buying from the vendors who were selling their wares from handcarts.

  One of them was offering Epanadas, and Maya’s mood brightened. In ETR society, these pastries were a popular item, and like their gritty Bochatón music, they were one of the few things that she did enjoy about the Republic.

  Epanadas were as much a part of the ETR as Zommerlaandar cheese was for pizza in the Sisterhood, and just as ancient; they had been imported from South America by the Republic’s founders, and had remained relatively unchanged. Epanadas were for sale everywhere, and everyone, even the higher social classes, ate them. Her mouth watered as Saantoz bought a pair, and then handed her hers.

  Taking her first bite, she finally saw the other reason they had stopped at the little cart. The real one.

  Thanks to her apron, and the hat over her head, Maya hadn’t recognized the vendor at first. Now, she realized that the woman was another member of the La Ermanyaa group.

  Of course, she thought. Saantoz was always focused on business, even if she didn’t look like it at the moment. She was consuming her Epanada with no sign that she was communicating in any way with the vendor. Finishing, she blotted her mouth with a napkin, set it down on the cart top, and gestured for Maya to follow her back to the ‘lectri.

  As they got in and pulled away, Maya glanced out the back window. The vendor was cleaning up and throwing the napkin away. It was a normal enough action, but knowing what she did about tradecraft, it was also something well worth paying attention to. It had to be a signal of some kind, she concluded.