The point is what do we do about it, if anything?" Norton smiled as an idea latched onto his brain. "Maybe we don't need to do anything. What are the chances that this new Syker Legion is picking up where it left off? Maybe Quantrill just wants to fight Reapers and grapes."
Lithia assumed her most pretentious earnest face. "Captain, I would remind you that Quantrill is a reanimated corpse. We have no way of judging what his mental state is. I think it's highly unlikely that his ultimate intention is to be a part of your army again or to aid it in any way. I believe Quantrill is following an agenda that has nothing to do with remnant memories of his life as an EXFOR officer."
Norton paused a beat to allow her pomposity to diminish from the air. Then he said with a vicious calm, "You have assets on the ground already. I suggest you use them."
"What do you mean?" Lithia eyed the emotionless intelligence officer. What was his game? Was this an opportunity or a trap?
Norton said, "EXFOR is fully committed to space operations at the moment. We do not have Banshee on our view screen. General Warfield is quite adamant that he will not commit forces to Banshee until we can return to the surface with overwhelming force. Obviously, that depends on the completion of the black gun project. I suggest, therefore, that you get more personally involved in the project. Some of the Colonial Rangers have black guns, thanks to the failure of your distribution network. I think you should liaise with them. The Worldstorm is months past. I'm sure the Hellstromme Board would be eager to involve themselves in planetary affairs once more."
Lithia smiled disdainfully to cover her shock that Norton knew about the loss of the black guns. She pretended she couldn't care less whether he knew or not. "I'm a little busy for a trip to Banshee just now."
Norton raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you are. I don't think a trip will be sufficient. I believe you would benefit by relocating to Banshee. I think General Warfield would approve and will speak to your Board about it."
Lithia went paler, which Norton had thought impossible. Lithia was a spacer. He knew that since she arrived in Faraway, she hadn't left the homey artificial gravity of the Tunnel base or Hellstromme ships. She was a natural denizen of offices and laboratories. She liked her food reconstituted and her air recirculated. He knew that the thought of Banshee nauseated her. She couldn't conceive of herself among the dirt, wind, and colonists. He could barely keep himself from grinning.
Norton pressed on. "An excellent idea, Lithia. I'll draft a memo to General Warfield as soon as our meeting is over." He lifted his eyes to her stern, slash-lipped face. "Is there anything else?" He stood. "Excellent. I'm very pleased with this meeting. Most productive. I'll be in touch. Provided communications to Banshee stay up."
Lithia watched the gray-uniformed bastard stride out of her office. There was no point in arguing. His intelligence was unexpectedly excellent and he had outmaneuvered her. She had pushed her planetary assets in his face to annoy him, and it blew up in her own face.
Now it was up to her to turn the situation to her benefit. Perhaps there could be a positive side to Banshee. Surely there was something she could do to prosper in this coming, disgusting new regime. She could accomplish something down there among the unwashed. There were assets on the surface; the Colonial Rangers, the Reapers, even the Syker Legion. She wasn't above dealing with any of them to get what she needed. And what she wanted more than anything at this moment was to destroy Captain Norton on her way up the Hellstromme ladder.
She was, after all, still the head of the black gun project. That program was among the most prestigious at Hellstromme and, in some ways, it was logical that control should shift to Banshee now where the guns needed to go to work. The problem was that the Rangers were so uncontrollable and unpredictable. No, the Colonial Rangers could be a challenge. But Lithia loved a challenge.
She had already begun to put aside the distasteful side of the coming job and concentrate of the potential for conquering new ground when her office door opened and Thomas stepped inside.
Thomas said, "Captain Norton certainly looked pleased with himself. Did everything go all right?"
Lithia didn't deign to look at her assistant. She knew Thomas had spilled her secret to Norton about necros on Banshee. But that wasn't so important. It wasn't the facts that mattered to her, it was betrayal as a concept. Then she smiled.
"Thomas," she said officiously, "detail a shuttle. I have a very important mission for you."
Chapter 9
Debbi and Stew stood in the tower at the south gate watching the empty flats beyond the town walls. Only a few days ago the desert had been filled with the silent dead, standing like lifeless statues.
Stew walked to the access hatchway and climbed down the ladder to the street. Debbi saluted the militiamen on the wall and followed.
For the first time in a month, the cool morning winds freshened the air rather than spread the stench of decay. Neither Stew nor Debbi felt compelled to slather camphor gel under their noses or pull up their bandannas.
Debbi had begun to feel comfortable walking rounds with Stew although it was a different partnership than she had developed with Ross. She and Stew had an unshakable friendship created during the time she'd helped him out of a deep depression, much like Ross had done for her. She'd given Stew a start toward restoring self-confidence in his abilities. He was reliable and solid, second only to Ross as the person she'd want at her back in any fight. His presence was a comfort to Debbi as they walked. Marat's threat consumed her. She'd had to let go of all of the anticipation she had felt the other night and she was finding it very difficult. Debbi's hope for the future wasn't departing easily; it was only congealing in her gut.
They walked silently through the Depot. Only one caravan was unloading; it evidently had come in near dark the previous night. There were no overseers from the Caravan Administration office on site to inspect the loads and check for contraband. The Caravan Administrator's office was in disarray now because the former CA, Randolph Peck, had been arrested as a member of a dangerous cult of magic-loving dilettantes. Peck was now at the Bone Camp, or perhaps filling a cell at the Lupinz Sanitarium. Of all the people who had been taken by the Undead Legion, Debbi actually had the least sympathy for Peck, a self-satisfied little man who had allowed himself to be psychically corrupted by a Skinny. Debbi had successfully fought off a psychic attack from a Skinny and she judged Peck weak for succumbing. But with Peck out of office and no replacement chosen, the town was as close to being an unregulated marketplace as Debbi had ever seen. The few caravans that came to Temptation were pleased to avoid official inspection anyway.
It was unusual that the master of the unloading caravan brightened when she saw the two Colonial Rangers passing. She tossed her clipboard to an assistant and strode toward Debbi with her arm raised.
"Hey, Ranger!"
Debbi and Stew stopped and waited. The short, sunburned caravan master jogged toward them.
She touched the brim of her cap. "How ya doin'? I got somethin' to tell ya."
"What's that?" Debbi asked.
"Two days ago, we stopped at the water station at Stryga Wells."
"Southeast of here," Debbi added.
"Yeah. About fifty miles out. Well, it was deserted."
Debbi glanced inquiringly at Stew; he'd been here longer than she. With her tacit permission, he said, "I remember someone named Roher running Stryga Wells."
The caravan master unwillingly turned to deal with Stew. "Yeah, that's right. Clancy Roher runs the station. He lives there with his family, wife and two kids. They were nowhere to be seen."
"Maybe they just moved on," Stew said. "There was a lot of Reaper activity in this region over the last couple of months."
The woman shook her head. "I don't think so. The place had been lived in. There was food around. It was a mess, which was unusual. But there was no sign of real trouble. I've seen places that the Reapers have been at, and this wasn't it. Even so, I didn't stay long to look around." Sh
e looked at Debbi. "It's gettin' to be the dry season. There's few enough caravans comin' into Temptation as it is; if the eastern route goes dry, you'll get even fewer. Just tellin' ya is all."
Debbi said, "Okay, thanks. We'll check it out."
Stryga Wells was named for an abundant artesian well fifty miles east of Temptation in the midst of a harsh stretch of desert. It was the only reliable water between the town and a small tributary of the Red River a further one hundred miles away. Stryga Wells had been fought over by various caravan corporations and freelancers, as well as the Reapers for many years. Finally, an independent operator took over and ran the wells without favoritism, which had seemed to satisfy most parties involved.
A field of windmills harnessed Banshee's constant winds to power the long rows of water derricks. Amidst the windmills sat a small, prefab polymetal dome that served as office and living quarters for the Roher family who staffed the wells.
Debbi and Stew approached the facility in a Ranger Prowler, a heavy duty six-wheeled ATV with a 20 mm cannon mounted on top, which they had "repaired" once the bulk of the Legion left Temptation. They had paused some distance away and studied the area through binoculars. Debbi had never seen Stryga Wells before, but it appeared to be operating normally. The blades of the forest of windmills rotated rapidly in weird disunison, a dizzying sight.
They pulled to a stop in front of the dome. It was twenty feet high and had a diameter of sixty feet. Stew climbed from the vehicle into the wind-driven sand. He put on his black hat and tightened the latigo under his chin. He shrugged off his dark duster, throwing it back into the Prowler. He hefted a Hellstromme Industries Hellblazor assault rifle while Debbi tugged her desert hat onto her head. The hot wind washed over both Rangers and immediately set their skin to prickling. They could feel a sandstorm coming.
Stew pointed at the long troughs that ran under the rows of derricks. They were full; in fact water was overflowing onto muddy ground. Still, the derricks continued to pump.
He said, "That's not good. No station would waste water like that. Particularly this time of year."
Debbi pulled her Dragoon from its holster. She and Stew quickly took positions on either side of the dome's door.
Debbi banged on the polymetal door with her weapon. "Colonial Rangers! Mr. Roher! Are you in there, sir?"
The wind whistled loudly through the metal struts of the windmills and derricks.
The door to the dome was a roll-up. Debbi signaled to Stew as she put her toe under the bottom lip of the door. With a heave of her leg, she sent the metal barrier sliding up noisily.
Stew's rush into the dome was followed by a crashing sound.
Debbi wheeled and looked into the darkness with her weapon out. Stew had fallen into a table and chairs. He extricated himself quickly and put his back against the curving wall.
"Looks deserted," he called out.
Debbi stepped in and removed her dark glasses. The air was thick with heat and flies. The place smelled rank. Plates covered with half-eaten food littered the table. Several jars and cans of fruit and jam were scattered empty around the floor.
Stew stood with a wan smile of embarrassment for slamming into the furniture.
Politely refraining from commenting on Stew's furtiveness, Debbi lifted a plate from the table and sniffed it. "This food isn't rotten. And in this heat, it would rot fast."
They wandered around the dome searching for signs of violence. It was not uncommon for settlers to crack under the pressure of isolation; and they would sometimes murder their families and then themselves. But that didn't look to be the case here.
Debbi asked Stew, "Can you turn off the water supply so it doesn't just pour into the ground?"
"No. I don't know anything about this machinery." Stew shook his head. "This is bad. There was a lot of blood spilt over the years trying to control these wells. Everybody trusted Roher. Now, it'll all start up again."
"We don't know he's dead."
"True. But he's not here."
Debbi and Stew both heard a faint rattling sound from the far side of the dome. They raised their weapons. Stew shuffled several feet away from Debbi.
Debbi called, "Come out with your hands up! You've got three seconds or we start shooting!"
Silence.
"One," she counted.
Silence.
"Two."
Silence.
"Thr . . ."
"Wait! Don't shoot! Wait Rangers!" A cabinet swung open to reveal a man crammed into a two-foot square space. Two bare palms were visible. "I am coming out without a gun of any kind."
The voice was familiar to Debbi. As the figure awkwardly unfolded itself from the cabinet, accompanied by grunts of pain, she recognized him. It was Borneo, the blacklining Reaper scav who had come to Temptation over a month ago to steal her black gun. He had been transported from the Temptation lock up to the Bone Camp when the Legion arrived.
Borneo lay sprawled on the floor. Debbi crossed the dome with her weapon aimed at him. He was in bad shape. He was thin and weather worn, his face was cracked and peeling from exposure. His eyes were black, which was normal for a hardcore blackliner, but there were veins of red mixed in. He had been nearly two months without a fix; it was amazing he was alive at all.
Debbi dropped a hard knee into Borneo's back. He grunted in pain.
"Put your wrists behind your back." She pulled a metal binder strip from her belt, wrapped it around his wrists, and slipped one end through a slot in the other and pulled until it clicked tight around his wrists. She patted him for weapons, but found none.
She stood up. "Borneo. I'm surprised to find you here."
"Yes. I am surprised you found me here too."
"Did you kill the Rohers?"
"What is that? I do not know that word."
"The people who lived here? What did you do to them?"
"No one was here. I came here from the camp. I wanted water. No one was here. There was food on the table. I stayed."
"You're a liar. You came here, found the Rohers, and killed them."
"No. I killed no one. I couldn't kill anyone."
"You tried to kill me," Debbi said.
"Oh. Yes. Sure. Then. I mean now. I am too weak to kill anyone now. The camp was bad. No blackline." He looked up at her with veiny, pleading eyes as if she might provide him with a fix.
"Did you escape from the camp or the Sanitarium?"
"I do not understand that choice. I left the camp. It was bad."
"So you never went to the Sanitarium?"
"I do not understand. I'm not lying. Don't shoot me."
"Lupinz Sanitarium. It's a big building. They took some of the prisoners there."
"No. They took us nowhere. We lived in the camp until we died."
Debbi kneeled next to the Reaper scav. "But some prisoners were rotated out of the camp, right?"
"No. No one left the camp. Except me. I escaped. Different rotters came in and others went out. The prisoners disappeared, but no one left."
"What do you mean the prisoners disappeared?" Debbi demanded. A shiver was building in the stifling heat.
Borneo rolled onto his side. "Prisoners kept coming. But we always had the same number. The rotters would come into the tents and take some. Those never came back."
"They took them to another prison," Debbi reiterated.
Borneo shook his head. "No. No one ever left the camp. But they disappeared all the same."
Debbi stood up and walked over to Stew. "What do you make of that?" She leaned her arms hard against the tabletop. "Oh God. You think we stood by and let Ringo walk into a death camp?"
"Settle down a minute," Stew responded. "I'm not sure we should make anything out of what he says. At best, he's confused. He's a blackliner who needs a hit. It's surprising he's coherent at all. Even if he wanted to tell the truth, he wouldn't know what it was. At worst, he escaped from the camp, made his way here, and killed the Rohers. Either way, I think he's lying."
"Okay. Let's go."
"No. You take the speeder in the back of the Prowler. Take Borneo back to Temptation. And take a look around here for the Rohers." She looked straight into Stew's eyes. "After I go to the camp, I'm leaving. And I won't be able to come back to Temptation right away. I've got somewhere to go, but I will be back."
"What are you talking about? Where are you going? Let me come with you."
"No. I can't tell you because I don't want you to have any information for the sykers to get out of you. All you need to know is I'm gone; you don't know where I am. But listen, I need you to keep things together in town. You have to protect Ross." Her eyes swirled with fear. "If trouble starts, Marat will go after Ross first. You have to prevent that until I get back."
Stew understood now what had stayed her hand at the bar after Marat had confronted her. Stew hadn't even considered that Marat was clever enough to hold Ross's well being over Debbi's head. Regarding her with a sympathetic look, he handed her the Hellblazor and his canteen. "Here."
"Thanks. I'm going to take on water and head out." She holstered her sidearm and hefted the rifle. "I'll pop a couple of zombies for you."
"Pop them all."
Debbi forced a hollow smile. "That's a promise."
Chapter 10
Debbi throttled back on the Prowler and cut the engines a half mile from the Bone Camp. The light from Banshee's brilliant sun was obscured by the growing sandstorm. She didn't think the rumble of the vehicle could be heard over the howl of the wind. The storm would allow her to get close to the prison undetected.
Borneo's words ate at her. Something bad was definitely going on at the prison camp. Quantrill and Marat had both lied about where the prisoners were. Why? To what purpose? She had to find out once and for all despite the consequences.
Debbi came alone because it offered some meager protection for the rest of the Rangers. Marat had made it perfectly clear that Ross would be the first to fall if any action was taken against the Legion. She prayed that if she alone broke Ringo out of jail and fled, Ross would be spared retribution and none of the other Rangers would be held responsible for her actions. It might be enough of a distinction for Marat to show mercy to the Rangers. And if it wasn't, and Ross paid the ultimate price.. The bottom line was that Ross would understand. Debbi knew Ross well enough that he would agree to sacrifice himself rather than leave a Ranger behind. She could hear his voice in her head even now, drilling home the fact that he was already compromised. He was a casualty. Forget him. Protect the others.
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