by Chris Bunch
Dill banked away, went for altitude, waited until his breathing slowed a little bit, keyed his mike.
“Uh … Alikhan One, this is Dill One. Need any help?”
“Alikhan … this is an elusive one. I think I might use some … no. He just flew into my missile.
“Do you see anything else to shoot at?”
Ben scanned his screen.
“Not really. Guess we go orbit Big Momma and strafe a little.”
“I think I shall look for groups of people,” Alikhan responded, “and perhaps lighten my ammunition load when I do.”
• • •
Gunfire blasted above Garvin’s and Darod’s heads, and four Forcemen, Njangu at their head, doubled toward them, found shelter, waited.
No return fire came.
“I guess we went and killed the last brave Mobile,” Njangu said.
“Now, if you two are through screwing around out here, would you like to dust yourselves off and get your asses back to where they should be?”
Garvin gingerly picked himself up, helped Darod to her feet.
“Yeh,” he said. “But I gotta tell you, young Yoshitaro, you’ve got the shittiest rescuer’s patter I’ve ever heard.”
“If you don’t like it,” Njangu said, “feel free to go to my competition.”
• • •
“ … the moment of victory can be only moments away,” Gadu went on. “I have instructed my friends to be sure and take prisoners, hopefully the leaders of this evil cabal, so they may testify at the trial of our traitorous — ”
He broke off, staring through the soundproof window at a very black, very ugly Nana class patrol ship hovering no more than fifty meters away.
Chaka triggered his chaingun, and the rounds tore the studio — and Fove Gadu — into shreds.
“I don’t know if that contributed to peace in our time,” he said into his mike, “but it sure as hell made me feel a lot better.”
• • •
The band came out of the stadium proudly, still blasting the “Peace March.” Halfway across the avenue, Aterton shouted a number, and they changed into the “Confederation Anthem.”
A bit of shrapnel spanged off the concrete, took a timpanist in the leg. His drum, held up by a dropper, bounced away down the street, booming each time it hit.
The band cascaded up the ramp, through the lock, and was aboard.
Just behind them, the two aksai floated into the ship.
• • •
“Is everyone accounted for?” Garvin asked.
“Checked and checked twice,” Erik Penwyth said. “Everybody’s aboard, including all of our casualties.”
“We’re sure,” Njangu said, sounded weary. “I made two checks through that frigging stadium myself before I decided you needed some rescuing.”
Garvin lifted his com.
“ ‘Kay. Take us upstairs.”
• • •
“I have four ships closing,” an electronics officer reported as Big Bertha lifted through the stratosphere.
“ETA … guesstimate … four-three. Distance, maybe two parsecs.”
“Can you make any of them?”
“Again, a guess, sir. But I’d try three destroyers escorting a very large ship. Probably the Corsica.”
Liskeard turned to a weapons officer.
“How close is he to the baby we planted out by the mothballs?”
“Oh … one-five. Closing fast.”
“At one-zero, launch the Goddard.”
“Understood one-zero, sir.”
The bridge was very silent except for the routine mumble of the watch talkers.
The weapons officer was staring into a radar screen.
“One-one … one-zero … on its way.”
• • •
Half a system away, the modified Goddard stirred into life.
The Corsica, its three escorting ships in a vee in front of the battleship, drove at full power toward Centrum.
Dant Lae Romolo stared in some disbelief at the screens showing the chaos on the planet.
“Damned civilians,” he said to himself. “They should never have allowed this situation to worsen!”
He scanned the huge bridge. Everything was as it should be, calm, proper. He saw, on a main screen, the symbols of the mothballed fleet “below” him, thought there would soon be reason to activate and man them.
“Sir,” an electronics officer reported, “we have an unknown ship leaving Centrum.”
“No doubt that’s the invading circus ship,” Romolo said. “There should be no problem intercepting it before it tries for hyperspace.”
The incoming Goddard was barely big enough to show up on-screen, an ignored dot until an electronics officer looked at a proximity screen.
“Sir,” he said calmly to the officer of the deck, “I have an unknown object … coming in very fast … closing on us.”
The OOD blinked.
“What is it?”
“No identification, sir.”
The man hesitated, then: “ECM, can you acquire it?”
The woman tried, shook her head.
“Negative, sir. It’s small … probably a missile … seems to be remote guided, but I can’t grab the frequency.”
“All compartments … seal ship.”
“Sealing ship, sir.”
Alarms screamed through the Corsica.
“All stations, report integrity.”
A talker began reporting.
“Weapons, take out that incoming,” Romolo said. His voice was calm, unworried.
“Yessir … acquiring … acquiring … launch one! Launch two!”
Two missiles spat from the Corsica’s tubes, while officers screamed at the escorts to wake up and do something.
The tricked-out Goddard “saw” the counterlaunch, and its controller aboard Big Bertha launched the two Shadows.
The four missiles intersected and exploded.
“Hit! Hit! … That’s a negative … missile still closing … Intersect in five … four …”
“Counterlaunch, dammit!”
“Counterlaunching … waiting for target to — ”
The Goddard slammed into the Corsica’s engine area, and flame balled for an instant, was taken by vacuum.
Romolo was pitched headfirst over a console, landed sprawled across another as sirens screamed and alarms bonged.
He picked himself up, tried for broken bones, hoped that alien ship who’d so comfortably fooled them all had done as much damage on Centrum as he hoped.
Hoped and needed.
• • •
“ ‘Kay,” Garvin said. ‘That’s that.
“Captain Liskeard, would you like to take us on home?”
CHAPTER
33
Cumbre/D-Cumbre
“And how long has this been going on?” Garvin Jaansma said, staring at the holo of the rather handsome young man, listening to his words and wincing at the cliché.
“Five … maybe six months,” Jasith Mellusin said, her voice shaking, afraid of Garvin’s utter calm. “You were gone a long time. Over a year, you know.”
“I know,” Garvin said, thinking of Darod Montagna and then Kekri Katun. “Who is he?”
“One of my vice presidents,” Jasith said. “We used to play together … when we were kids. I guess he was sort of my childhood sweetie. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at anyone,” Garvin said.
He felt very tired. All he wanted to do was leave this mansion, and go, by himself, without even Darod, to some island without any people, where all he’d have to do is sleep and eat.
“I’ll send somebody to pick up my stuff,” he said, going to the door.
“Garvin,” Jasith said. “Will we still be able to be — ”
The door clicked closed before her last words.
Garvin went swiftly down the huge steps, remembering this wasn’t the first time he’d left this mansion. But this time, he realized,
his heart didn’t seem to be as broken.
He got in his lifter, started the drive, thought about their return.
Operation HOMEFALL was a success. Big Bertha had been given a hero’s welcome, everyone aboard made a citizen of Cumbre. Some … a lot more than he would have thought … took advantage of the offer, and decided to put together a circus to work Cumbre, and other systems when it became possible. Among them was Fleam, who decided he’d finally found a career with ropes and canvas, and used his unexpected bonus to buy out of the Force.
Liskeard had been offered full redemption by Dant Angara, which he wasn’t sure he wanted, and, while considering his options, had taken those troupers who wanted to go back to Grimaldi, all comfortably rich with their pay and surprise bonuses from Mellusin Mining.
As for Njangu … he and Maev had quietly separated, Maev having bought her way out of the Force and announcing plans to return to school.
Njangu had, quite strangely, told Garvin he was going fishing, for pity’s sake, in some tiny village over on the coast. He’s invited Jaansma to join him, saying, equally mysteriously, that “Deira probably had a friend or six to spare, if she’s not married, and I bet that wouldn’t make much difference if she is.”
Garvin shrugged.
Maybe … or maybe not.
That solitary island sounded better and better.
He realized how much he’d changed, aged even, which was pretty melodramatic thinking for somebody not yet thirty. He’d walked into the military’s trap, and now it appeared it had snapped closed on him.
He had no idea whether or not he liked the change.
Garvin looked up, through the lifter’s canopy, at the night sky and the stars.
Beyond them, drawing him more strongly than anything he’d ever known, though, was the scattered jigsaw puzzle of the Confederation.
About the Author
Chris Bunch became a full-time novelist following his twenty-year career as a television writer. A military veteran, he was the Locus bestselling author of such popular works as the Sten series, The Seer King, The Demon King, and the Last Legion series. He passed away in July 2005.
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Text Copyright © 2001 by Chris Bunch
All rights reserved.
Published in association with Athans & Associates Creative Consulting
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Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5371-8
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5371-4