by Chris Bunch
“Free Cumbre! Free once, Free again!”
By the time the ‘cast ended, most of the raiders had vanished, leaving only one in the newsroom, one supervising the cast. Those two — Monique Lir and Garvin Jaansma — not willing to chance the elevators, darted up the steps to the roof, where a civilian speedster waited.
They piled in, and the speedster dived down at full speed, leveling below office buildings, and vanished into the night over the bay.
Loy Kouro was treated for concussion, and spent the next week recuperating at his mansion. Unfortunately, his wife was too busy with problems on C-Cumbre to spend as much time with him as she wished.
• • •
“Perhaps,” Daaf ventured, “our policies aren’t as clearly thought out as they should be. They seem to be having little effect in calming the populace.”
Wlencing’s fur ruffled, and he glared at his aide through reddened eyes.
“Our policy, my policy, has been carefully made up. I see no reason at all to change to something ill defined, something that will appear as if we’re making cowardly concessions to these worms.
“We must continue the course, and intensify the severity of our response!”
• • •
“I think,” Alikhan said, sounding, for the first time, like the rest of his race, “we have a possssible anssswer.”
“To what?” Mil Hedley asked, widening the pickup. Danfin Froude was slumped back in his chair, an overturned glass beside him. Ben Dill was on the floor, snoring loudly. Only Ann Heiser appeared sober.
“We think,” she said, voice very precise, then marred by a massive hiccup, “we might have figured out a way to end this goddamned war.”
CHAPTER
22
“How drunk were they when they came up with this one?” Njangu asked.
“Very,” Hedley said. “Stinko, to be exact.”
“And the old man bought the idea?” Garvin asked.
“As a forlorn hope,” Hedley said. “In every sense of the word.”
“Um,” Njangu said. “Why are we gonna try stealing this particular mother ship?”
“According to Alikhan, it’s a semiobsolete model, which is why it’s mostly parked where it is on C-Cumbre. No more’n a standby watch aboard.”
“But it’s fueled, ready to roll?”
“Alikhan says it was carried on the boards as on standby. But probably without charts, rations, or anything not needed for in-system deployment.”
“So we lug human rats, water — ”
“No water,” Hedley said. “That’s on board as part of the coolant system. The Musth ships recycle.”
“Humans can drink Musth pee?”
“Evidently.”
“All right,” Garvin said. “So we’ve got our fat little paws on this ship — then we’ve got to figure out what troopies to use on the op. Then what?”
“Then we use the star charts we’ve already got to go visiting.”
“Who?” Njangu asked.
“There’s a Musth clan leader named Senza. He’s the main one preaching pacifism, Alikhan says. Or, at any rate, not wanting to fight humans this flipping century. Alikhan studied … I guess we’d call it philosophy … under this guy.
“Seems the Musth aren’t exactly the most cohesive folks around. Only a handful of their clan leaders backed the late Asser.”
“So we go chitchat with Senza,” Njangu said. “What does that give us?”
“Alikhan says with hard evidence of what a disaster this whole flipping mess has turned into, Senza will use his clout — I guess these Reckoners are what pass for Musth diplomats — to call off Wlencing.”
“What does the fact Alikhan is Wlencing’s kid do to things?”
“I guess it improves Alikhan’s credibility. Anyway, Senza’s been in a pissing match with the Musth war-hawks for years, always looking for a chance to pull their chains. Alikhan thinks he can give Senza that chance, which should make the Musth declare a cease-fire, and then we can force some sort of talks,” Hedley said.
“I guess the Musth must have got the fear of the gods put in them the last time they went roundy-roundy with the Confederation,” Garvin said.
“Or else Alikhan fancies himself as having a tongue of the purest iridium,” Njangu said. “Has anybody considered what we do if our road maps don’t happen to go to this Senza’s house? I mean, we’re all blessed with the luck of heroes and such — ”
“Already thought of,” Hedley interrupted. “We’ll use the charts we have to make a planetfall somewhere and Alikhan looks for the local map store.”
Njangu gave Hedley a somewhat incredulous stare. “Just that simple, eh? ‘Kay. Let’s go back to something that’s in our arena. I assume you assume I&R’ll be your raiders?”
“You assume right.”
“And after we grab the ship, we trundle off with Alikhan, becoming his bodyguards and the guys who bring the pilot coffee?”
“Right. We’ll have Ben Dill and anybody else who’s got anything resembling starship experience along. About fifteen more.”
“Not enough,” Garvin said flatly.
“I’m trying to keep my effectives as high as possible,” Hedley complained. “We’ll still have a war to fight while you clowns are out playing Space Rangers Against the Flipping Galaxy.”
“Nemmine about that, Garvin,” Njangu said. “I know where we can score more shooters — and they’re already in place,” Njangu said. “What I don’t particularly like is this elaborate scheme you’ve got for the insertion. Putt-putt freighter. The last aksai with phony signals … uh-uh. Too easy to get dead.”
“You know a better way?” Hedley asked.
“Remembering who else is on C-Cumbre, I do. And my cute, lovable colleague here with the forty-centimeter tongue is the key.”
“Now wait a minute,” Garvin protested.
“Go take a shower and tuck a flower behind your ear … sir,” Njangu said. “Froggie’s gone a-courting, doo-dah, doo-dah.”
• • •
“This is exciting,” Karo Lonrod told Erik Penwyth as he neatly grounded his speedster at the steps to Jasith Mellusin’s mansion. “I’ve never been a blind before.”
“And you make a gorgeous one, too,” Erik said.
“Or else,” Lonrod said, “I could think there’s something else between Garvin and Jasith?”
“Like?”
“Like something to do with the war … which also might explain why you’re so mysterioso about your comings and goings, and why my father wrote you a really big check last week that he wouldn’t explain.”
“The war’s over,” Penwyth said.
“I’m a good little bimbo, so I know that. Which is why I’m excited about being a blind, since that’s the other option.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Erik began, gratefully broke off as Jasith and her husband came out the door. Jasith kissed Loy briefly, hurried to the speedster. Erik rolled down his window.
“Sorry you can’t come with us, old boy,” he called. “The new gallery’s s’posed to be enormously educating.”
Kouro forced a smile, went back inside as Jasith squeezed into the backseat.
“Let’s lift! I swear, he gets to be more of a fussbudget old coot every day.”
• • •
“Documentsss,” the first Musth demanded, as the second stepped back, blaster ready.
Njangu, moving very slowly, held out a plas card with his left hand.
“Documentsss,” the Musth repeated more loudly, probably the only Basic he knew.
A thin tube in Njangu’s right hand thudded once, and the Musth gargled blood. Njangu spun the empty single shot weapon into the second Musth’s face, swept-kicked his blaster away as it went off, crouched, and leapt up, head slamming into the Musth’s face. The alien squealed, slashed reflexively with a claw, catching Njangu’s upper arm.
Yoshitaro spun to the side, smashed two strikes into the alien’s side, turned again as the Mu
sth flailed at him. He blocked the Musth’s claw, was inside his guard, lunge-struck into the being’s throat, felt something crunch. The Musth staggered, fell, lay motionless.
“Very good,” Jo Poynton said, coming out of nowhere. “You moved before we could shoot.”
“Thanks anyway for the backup,” Njangu said, examining the slashes and the slowly spreading darkness that was blood on his jacket.
“I think I’m gonna have to set up a forgery section,” he said. “I could have guessed he wasn’t going to take my officers’ mess card. C’mon, Poynton. Get me to a bandage and a beer before more fuzzies materialize.”
• • •
It still felt odd to be drinking and socializing in the early afternoon, but Cumbrian society had learned the Musth dusk-to-dawn curfew was meant for everyone, even Rentiers.
Penwyth, Lonrod, and Jasith appeared at the gallery, were joined by the owner and, after Jasith bought two assemblages from the exhibit, he took the three into a back room with the artist. Both, ex-members of the Force, would swear the trio had been with them until whenever.
Waiting was Garvin Jaansma.
“We’ll be back in two hours,” he said.
“Why not three,” Penwyth suggested.
Garvin puzzled, then shrugged. “Three, then.”
He led Jasith out a side door.
“Wonder why Erik wanted me to be gone longer?”
“I thought you were a better spy than that,” Jasith said. “What do you think Karo thinks we’re doing?”
“Oh.”
“A good adultery takes a while,” Jasith said. “Or so they tell me,” she added primly.
Garvin, making sure there wasn’t a tail, took Jasith a few blocks away into the middle of the prewar rich shopping district, into an expensive furniture store’s back room. He locked the door into the showroom, barred the freight door into the alley.
Jasith watched, leaning back on a gold-lace-embroidered, wildly overstuffed couch.
“And what is it I can do for you?” she said.
“I need one of your ships to deliver some of my men to C-Cumbre.”
“You have it.”
Garvin was a bit surprised at her immediate agreement.
“Also, one of your lims.”
Jasith nodded.
This time, since she might end up implicated, he explained what he needed the lifter for.
“I can do better then that,” Jasith said. “I’ll set up a meeting with the Musth, and that should guarantee we can get into their base.”
Garvin noticed the “we.”
“But what happens to you when the shooting starts?” he asked.
“That’ll be no problem,” Jasith said airily. “You can tie me up … I’ll say I was kidnapped. Don’t worry about me. The owner of Mellusin Mining still has a little bit of respect with them.”
Garvin was skeptical, but said nothing.
“Is that all you need?”
“Yeh,” Garvin said. “No, goddammit! I want to kiss you.”
“Well, thank a goddess,” Jasith murmured. “I was starting to wonder if it’d been shot off.
“Now, slowly. We’ve got over two hours, and I want something to remember.”
• • •
“What about afterward?” Poynton asked.
“Your people disperse back to the mines and look innocent, along with my troops,” Njangu said.
“The wounded?”
“Walking, or any that you can carry out on stretchers — the Force’ll supply a med team at the mines for them. The others … they’ll have to be left to the Musth. Just like any of our troops in the same boat. We can give out lethal-pills, if you want.”
Poynton eyed Yoshitaro. “We taught you well how to fight this kind of war, didn’t we?”
“I learned from you,” Njangu admitted. “But I got basic nastiness back on an armpit called Waughtal’s World.”
“What about me? I get stuck on C-Cumbre?”
“Not a chance. You’re needed here. We’ll spirit you back after the smoke settles, probably on one of Mellusin’s ships, when my team comes back.
“That’s if you want,” Njangu said. “Personally, I’ve got a helluva better use for you. Go out with our Musth friend. You’re still a member of PlanGov, still on the real Council. If there is any hope to Alikhan’s plan, you’ll be there, able to speak for the humans in the Cumbre system.”
Poynton looked at him wryly. “Aren’t you a little young to be playing interstellar diplomat?”
“Politics hates a vacuum, I read somewhere. Why not seize the moment? Better than waiting for the Rentiers to get off their asses. And what’s this ‘young’ shit, anyway? You aren’t more’n couple of years older than me.”
Poynton laughed. “I forgot you’re somebody who calls a spade a frigging shovel.”
She was about to go on when a ‘Raum slid into the room and, without apology, whispered urgently to Poynton.
Njangu finished his beer, considered the room he was in. It was about ten meters underground, reached by a narrow passage down through rubble. It was long, fairly low-ceilinged, with carefully fitted stone walls, ceiling, floor. Other rooms opened off it. There were bedrooms, a kitchen, a ‘fresher, workrooms. Poynton told him it had been one of the Planning Group’s hides, and the bombing of the building above only made it more hidden.
It was immaculate, and a whispering air conditioner kept the hide fresh-smelling, comfortable. Some might have found it claustrophobic, but Njangu Yoshitaro, a creature of alleys, shadows, and the night, was very much at ease.
The ‘Raum finished, hurried out.
“The Musth,” Poynton said, “have deployed into the Eckmuhl in strength, looking for the murderer who killed their soldiers. So I wouldn’t think you’ll be wanting to leave for a while.”
“I guess not,” Njangu agreed.
“We’ll get you out of the Eckmuhl after dark. There’s dozens of passageways, old sewer lines, abandoned power ways.”
“So all we have to do is figure out a way to pass the time ‘til nighttime?”
“Do you have any ideas?” Poynton asked.
Njangu remembered her body’s smoothness. “I could think of a couple.”
“So could I,” Poynton said. “After all, you did save my life. Sort of.”
“That’s a crappy reason,” Njangu complained.
“Then … how about just I remember you as feeling good when you were inside me?”
Njangu realized his lips were quite dry.
“That’ll manage just fine.”
• • •
Three ore transports, the normal safety-conscious formation, guarded by a pair of overhead aksai, lowered toward the Musth-guarded dock area on D-Cumbre. Each ship carried the orange-outlined-in-black logo of Mellusin Mining.
Musth guards had already checked the warehouses for contraband. But the check was fairly perfunctory — who in a proper state of sanity would want to go to the dry, hot, dusty waste of C-Cumbre/Mabasi? The stevedores were robots, and the loading went smoothly, except for the problem around the lead ship, which was carrying both Mellusin Mining’s owner and a long, highly polished lim, also in Mellusin’s colors.
If anyone wondered why Jasith needed this monstrous lim, considering she was traveling with only one bodyguard, they didn’t say anything. Jasith was in a temper, raving loudly at the human stevedores moving the lim into a cargo hold, swearing that if there was a ding, one damned ding, she’d make sure none of them dot-and-carried on this planet again. There were mutters about frigging Rentiers, but quiet ones — Jasith had more than enough influence to unemploy the lot of them.
The Musth guards thought this was quite a show, far more interesting than their regular duties, and gathered around watching.
As a result, no one saw nearly one hundred men and women, heavily laden, stream into the middle ship, hidden from overhead observation by convenient rain shields.
Loaded, the small crews of the transports began t
he normal ship/traffic control chatter, and lifted for space.
Out-atmosphere, the guardian aksai were replaced by a single velv and, on secondary drive, set an economical orbit toward C-Cumbre.
The command group assembled in the flight leader’s owner’s quarters. Garvin Jaansma considered them. Jon Hedley had assumed he’d be in command, but Angara refused to release him, pointing out everything was in Alikhan’s hands, rather paws, and all that would be needed in charge was a good headbanger.
He’d endorsed Njangu’s idea of taking Jo Poynton to add legitimacy. Besides Alikhan, Ben Dill, Poynton, and the two I&R commanders, Ann Heiser, Ho Kang, and Danfin Froude were in the cabin.
“There’s nothing to do,” Garvin announced, “until we hit C-Cumbre. The troops in the other ship have been told they’ll have no duties for the four ship-days in space but to make sure their weaponry’s clean, and they’re rested.
“I suggest we do the same. There’ll be enough to worry about after we land.”
Good advice — but not followed by either Garvin or Njangu, in spite of Jasith’s and Jo’s presence.
Nor did Alikhan relax. He kept going over and over what he should, might say to Senza with Dill and the two scientists until Dill threatened to throttle him if he heard either the words “Senza” or “peace” again.
They closed on C-Cumbre, and aksai closed to meet them, escorted them to their landing places in the vast Mellusin Mining yards.
• • •
“So they want us t’ fight their wars, do they?”
There was a rumble of anger from the women and men in the rocky chamber, a kilometer underground. The miners were filthy, exhausted, an hour before shift’s end. Many carried hand tools, and all had breathing masks around their suit necks.
“Who’s they?” Poynton shot back. “I guess I’m they, because I’m with them.”
“Wouldn’t be the first to sell out yer sisters for the Rentiers’ credits,” a heavy woman sneered.
Poynton held the woman’s eyes until they dropped.
“Just so,” she said coldly. “Taking the Musth money, I am. Maybe they’ll buy me an estate somewhere for selling you out.”
There were a few humorless laughs.
“Say we do what you want?” another miner said. “You haven’t given us much in th’ way of details.”