by Hugo Huesca
That thought made her happy.
The roach blinked, and in that blink, something was different.
Krieger would’ve missed it had she not been looking straight at him.
It was the funniest thing. His eyes. Troubled gray, like Dione’s sky, looked just a tad different. Same shade, same tint, same everything. But now, when she thought about it, troubled gray looked just like the edge of a knife when light struck it.
The roach’s hand sprang like a snake and coiled around her gun. She pulled the trigger, but somehow, one of his fingers had managed to lodge between the trigger and the guard.
Troubled gray smirked. Not a single wince of pain. He jerked her arm down, breaking that finger in the process. Her head snapped down, and his healthy hand shot to meet her in a blur of speed.
She saw two fingers closing on her right eye. Then light, a veiny red, then a wet, bursting noise.
And pain.
26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hirsen
Animals were predictable. They’d react to threats to the short-term survival and ignore threats against the long-term until later.
Krieger pushed against him to get away from the finger that dug into the meaty canal of her eye socket. As she did so, she let go of the gun. Hirsen tossed it away; he couldn’t use it with his ruined hand.
Cords of pain threatened to cloud his vision, but Newgen’s mantras drowned the pain, isolated it, allowed him to work through it like it was happening to somebody else. His pituitary gland released a blend of hormones and drugs that boosted his reflexes and his muscle strength.
He pushed at Krieger from the leg she had used to stomp on him. She collapsed like a house of cards, spilling blood all over his reg-suit.
The enforcers had trained her well. She recovered quickly. She focused her remaining eye, injected with hate, on his face, and lunged for him. Delagarza kicked at the scaffolding to add weight to his punch and connected his knuckles to her eye socket.
Her scream of hate became a whimper as kill instinct vacated her body like a ship’s atmosphere through an open airlock. Delagarza used his knee to propel himself up and kicked her torso, hard enough to send her sliding half-out of the passageway.
Krieger held on in the last second to the safety bars, her legs kicking uselessly at the air, with the waste flowing fifty meters underneath her.
“I was telling the truth, Krieger. I’m actually an agent,” Hirsen said as he calmly grabbed her gun. It was a nice piece, exported from Earth, probably a gift from Strauze. Nine millimeters, compatible with smart bullets. From a European company that tried hard to follow in Colt’s footsteps. Close, but not quite like the real thing.
“Please—” Krieger panted. Hirsen wasn’t in the mood.
“By the way, when you shoot somebody in the stomach, it’s customary you finish the job with a shot to the head. Like so.” Hirsen showed her.
He kicked her off the scaffolding. The splash she made on her way down filled him with joy. That was unusual.
That was for Cooke, motherfucker.
Hirsen scratched his head. Strange. A loose thought?
The Quail meditation probably needed another hour or so to clear the personality-channels. The construct proved to be quite solid, after all, and it had used Hirsen’s body for a long time.
“I’m not doing a Quail ever again,” Hirsen decided.
His broken hand was useless, so when he found the transmitter by a corner of the scaffolding, halfway out, he picked it up and carried it under his arm, careful not to disturb the broken bones. He estimated he’d need to replace the hand anyway, but a shard of bone could sever a vein at any moment if he wasn’t careful.
On his way out, he killed the three security officers that had come to check out the noise from the shootout.
An hour later, after reaching the safety of Alwinter, Hirsen put in motion the construct’s plan.
He opened the transmitter, connected it to his wristband, fiddled with the settings. The antenna unfolded when he turned the transmitter on, extended to search the sky, chose a location after receiving Hirsen’s new instructions.
He opened a holo.
“Captain Clarke, this is Daneel Hirsen. The plan went without a hitch. Isabella Reiner is still alive, repeat, still alive. The enforcers messed up, big time. I bet Tal-Kader’s going to be real happy with them. I don’t have access to an encryption code or a surface-to-ship transmitter, I’m rerouting this message through my allies in Outlander’s NavComm. Confirm my identity, NADF-176D-B7FQ-RANQ. That’s the encryption code I gave the EIF. Repeat, NADF-176D-B7FQ-RANQ. ETA for extraction is eighteen hours. There’s a landing pad outside Alwinter that the enforcers use for their personal travel. I’ll be coming from there, be on the lookout. The rebels procured me a ship, got it hidden outside the city. Remote controlled. The coordinates are…”
He added the coordinates to the landing path that Krieger had used to return Delagarza to Alwinter.
He ended the transmission and sent it to Outlander.
The transmitter remained in the park as Hirsen calmly strolled away from the flash mob that had formed in the streets. From what he could hear, Sentinel had arrived in force during his stint in Taiga Town. Sentinel’s admiral had demanded that Dione’s inhabitants surrender the rebel woman that passed herself for Isabella Reiner.
Sentinel could whine and threaten however much they wanted. Only one thing mattered, and it was this. Could they reach Dione in time?
Hirsen knew Isabella’s address. It was time they had a chat.
27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Clarke
“No word from Hirsen,” Alicante told Clarke.
Ten hours until they reached Dione.
“I don’t like it,” said Pascari.
The tension was almost a tangible presence in the bridge. With the added bulk of the pressure suits, the crew looked like a group of seated statues packed for transport. Clarke couldn’t see anyone’s faces from his g-seat, but he could imagine their expressions, glued to their screens, just like he was.
“Neither do I,” said Clarke, “but we don’t have any other option.”
The arrival of Sentinel hadn’t changed a thing. He’d expected the fleet to arrive sooner or later. But it added a deadline that hung over Task Force Sierra, made it imperative they got Reiner and Hirsen on the first try and got the hell out of dodge.
There wouldn’t be any second chances.
“What about Vortex?” Pascari asked. “We’ll be in range of them soon.”
Alicante sent an updated holo through the shared line. “As we can see, the Vortex began accelerating away from the planet hours ago. We weren’t able to predict any course then, since it could be a bluff or a simple repositioning in orbit.”
The Virtual Chart Display showed Vortex and its escorts moving away from Dione. The three dimensional chart assigned certain coordinates to be up, down, left, and right. Any observer could change them at will, but the entire Task Force used the same designation so there wouldn’t be any confusion. The standard was that the star, Elus in this case, was down. Planet Dione was up. The Alcubierre point where Task Force Sierra had arrived in-system was back. The Alcubierre point at the exact opposite side of the system was front. Left and right were from Sierra’s perspective.
Vortex’s route would bring it down and to the right, away from Dione and Sierra, but it’d also bring him closer to the two destroyer patrols roaming the system.
Clarke hadn’t seen that tactic before. From an outsider’s point of view, Vortex was either surrendering or an idiot. It left Dione exposed.
Captain Yin had taught him that he should always assume that if the enemy’s actions made no sense, he had failed to spot an ambush.
What could Erickson gain by abandoning Dione? Clarke thought about the Tal-Kader captain’s winning condition. His mission objective. Clarity followed. Vortex wasn’t retreating.
“He’s abandoning the plan
et, the coward,” said Pascari. Then, he thought about it, and his tone became cheerful. “It means we won, right? We reach the planet, we win, that’s how it works.”
Clarke winced and chose his words carefully. “Not exactly. Vortex hasn’t lost and isn’t surrendering. Erickson’s objective isn’t to protect the planet, it’s to stop us from extracting Reiner.”
“Sorry, I don’t see it either,” said Captain Navathe. Out of respect for her, Clarke had added her to the command private line. “If they want to stop us, leaving the planet’s orbit isn’t the best way to do it.”
“You aren’t thinking like a Tal-Kader officer,” said Clarke. He meant it as a compliment. “Vortex knows we won’t destroy Dione, so it has no issues with us orbiting it. Erickson knows Vortex can’t hold Dione alone—we’re too many. So, he’s reuniting with those two destroyers to face us three against five. When he does it, we’ll have defenders’ disadvantage, not them.”
“Defenders’ disadvantage?” asked Pascari. “Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around? And anyway, we’re the ones attacking!”
Navathe got it before anyone else did. “Those monsters. They wouldn’t…”
Clarke traced a firing pattern from Vortex’s perspective and projected Sierra’s course to Dione. “When we reach extraction distance, we’ll be exactly between the planet and Vortex’s force line of fire. If their cannons miss us, they’ll destroy the planet. Our entire efforts will be devoted to deflecting their attacks. We won’t be able to retaliate. That’s defenders’ disadvantage.”
He muted Pascari until the man finished his string of curses. Losing his composure in the middle of a battle would get many innocents killed. Clarke forced himself to ignore the prospect. To think logically.
Am I capable of sacrificing an entire colony to defeat Tal-Kader?
The answer came without effort. No.
Even if it’s the only way?
That answer was harder. What would Yin have done? His teachers? At the first year in the Academy, the message was clear. Follow orders. Do your duty. Let the guilt fall where it belongs, with the politicians.
But in later years, close to graduation, the message changed. No one actually admitted to it, of course. Never put it on paper. But all his teachers—all the good ones, that is—made damn sure to make their students know that a soldier’s duty was to the people they fought for. If at any point they received an order against morality or humanity, it was their duty to ignore that order, consequences be damned.
One teacher had told them that the reason mankind was still around was that, a long time ago, a Russian soldier in a submarine had refused to press a red button when the radar announced an American nuclear strike. The radar turned out to be malfunctioning. But during those few minutes, the soldier couldn’t have known that.
“What can we do?” asked Navathe.
“Change route,” said Pascari, “intercept them before we’ve the planet in front of us, kill them all.”
“Sir, that would leave us vulnerable to Sentinel’s retaliation. They’re only two days behind,” said Alicante. “It may sound like much, but kinetic rounds are much easier to accelerate than ships, and they may get ideas from Vortex. They could fire against Dione before we extract and there’s no way we can deflect that amount of fire saturation.”
Clarke made his choice.
“We split the Task Force,” he said. “Two destroyers are enough to cripple Outlander’s defenses without its garrison. The rest go intercept Vortex.”
“Captain, sir, equal numbers mean we will walk into a bloodbath,” said Alicante. Ships were fragile things in an age when weapons heavily led in the weapon-armor race. Even with ships of the line. Going one on one would mean that the winner, whoever it was, would suffer heavy losses.
“I know,” said Clarke, “that’s why we’ll lead the interception ourselves and ask the other ships to volunteer.”
“Finally,” said Pascari. “What I wanted to hear.”
“I assure you, I’m not taking this lightly,” Clarke said. “If there is any other choice, I’m not seeing it. But I’m not sacrificing Dione. That, I won’t do.”
“Understood, sir,” said Alicante. “We have our orders. I’ll inform the crew and have Hawk ready for combat.”
He dropped out of the channel. Clarke decided he had misjudged the man. Alicante was reticent to enter combat, he may never have fought a battle in his life, but he wasn’t shying away from this one. The one that counted.
That’s a good quality for any officer to have.
“You may want to take a corvette to whichever ship stays in course,” Clarke told Navathe. “It’s going to be safer.”
“Appreciate that,” Navathe said. “But no thanks. I want to see the look on Erickson’s face when we avenge Beowulf.”
Clarke grinned to no one in particular and dropped out of the channel. He had to talk with the guys of NavInt, see if they could cook something special for Erickson.
“Vortex, this is Captain Clarke of the Hawk,” Clarke’s message said. At this distance, he’d have to wait only minutes for Vortex’ response. Not that he cared much for it. “You should see the special video we’ve cooked up.”
The message played a video, taken from Hawk’s sensors, of Vortex leaving the orbit of Dione. It added tidbits from planetary newscasters talking excitedly about what it meant. Sure, the hosts were bought and paid for by Tal-Kader, but it was hard to justify such maneuver. They called it, an aggressive gambit.
NavInt had added a new voice-over to the video, where the EIF called Vortex and Tal-Kader cowards. They announced Vortex’s intentions of destroying Dione before letting Isabella Reiner get away. It was an effective piece of propaganda, especially for one made on such a short notice. It wouldn’t convince more than a tiny percentage of the Systems Alliance to openly rebel against Tal-Kader, but when the populations’ percentage represented entire Star Systems…the numbers added up.
“You like it? We’ll send couriers with a copy all across the SA. I bet it is going to make Isabella even more popular with the people once they find out her enemies are willing to kill colonies to stop her. Erickson, can you imagine what Tal-Kader’s going to do to you if Hawk manages to leave Elus with this video in tow? I bet that even if you get Isabella, that’s not going to save your ass. After all, Tal-Kader’s going to need to ax someone to save face. I think I know who. Clarke out.”
He reclined against his g-seat, almost enjoying the pull of gravity.
“That’s devious,” said Navathe, who had heard the whole thing. “Think that’ll work?”
“Oh, yes,” said Clarke. He had learned a thing or two about Tal-Kader’s corporate culture during his own trial. Men like Erickson were like sharks. If they smelled blood in the water, they’d pounce. And Erickson’s co-workers must be just the same as him. Vying for a promotion, happy to cull the competition…
“In any case, he’ll now focus on destroying Hawk,” said Navathe.
“That’s the point,” said Clarke. “I want him aiming at us. He has his win condition, we have ours. Falcon gets Reiner, we win. Even if…well, you know.”
“Yeah,” said Navathe. “I know. Let’s make it count.”
28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hirsen
The hideout had changed much the last few months. Less clutter, less people, and a nervous sort of discipline filled the gait of the remaining gangers. Most sported new scars, some were missing limbs.
Hirsen’s assessment of Lotti had been correct. Just like him, she was a survivor. While the enforcers purged Alwinter of undesirables, she had managed to keep her band alive. Not thriving, exactly, judging from the state of their reg-suits. But alive.
Lotti herself sat at the center of the warehouse in a throne built out of car seats and spare parts. She regarded him with disgust. “You again? You really pushed your luck this time, Deli-cake.”
“Deli? Not exactly,” said Hirsen. He gestured at the circle o
f gangers that surrounded him. Many pointed plastic guns at him. Others, the true stuff. Metal and lead. “Is this necessary? I recall we went through the same dance already.”
The ganger leader jumped out of her throne. A makeshift sling allowed her to carry a rifle. Judging from the make, she’d stolen it from Alwinter security. Probably used a ‘ware cracker to bypass the DNA lock. And she hadn’t given him a call? Bad manners.
Less than a year ago, seeing a non-3d printed weapon in Alwinter was rare. Nowadays, it had become more and more common. Soon enough, smart bullets would follow. What else? Drones imported from Jagal, search-and-destroy clouds, portable flamethrowers. Hirsen had been away from the Edge’s capital a long time now. He wondered what new toys had been cooked up to kill people in creative and violent ways.
“Anyone followed you?” she asked. Hirsen noticed her body was tense, right hand close to her leg. Hidden weapon there, probably an ice pick. She was getting ready to execute him.
The gangers hadn’t bothered to pat him down. Why would they bother? He was old, trusty Delagarza, the ex-regular who got too comfortable.
Two options here, Hirsen thought. Either she listens to me, or I dermo-patch her and take down the gangers.
He didn’t like his odds with option number two. He was a quick shot, and they were amateurs at best, but the numbers still favored them heavily.
“We need to talk,” Hirsen said. He allowed Lotti to get close, but kept an eye on her hands.
“What about? Another late night interrogation? We’re closed, Deli. If you haven’t noticed, we’re being hunted out there.”
“Take him out for you, Boss?” a ganger offered. “Don’t waste your time.”
Lotti flashed her a smile. “Thanks, but I like to bring a personal touch when dealing with friends.”