Just Compensation

by Robert N. Charrette

  “You think you can pay a life-debt with a turn at the wheel?”

  “No, but I have to start someplace.”

  “Let him help, Harry.”

  Kit’s plea thawed Markowitz’s frosty expression, by a degree. “You got any experience with a Cougar-6200 rigger interface?” he asked.

  “I ought to.” Andy said. “I was one of the drivers in the beta test.”

  “We need a rigger.” Kit reminded Markowitz.

  “No pay.” Markowitz said.

  “Okay.”

  “You’re crazy, kid.” Markowitz said. “But maybe it’s karma that you’re here. I’ve got a lot more questions for you, and no time to ask them, and I don’t really have a good place to stash you till after the run, so I’ll give you a chance.” He tossed Andy a bracelet. “Here, put this on.”

  Andy tried it on. The catch latched and an LED indicator came to life, spelling out “Armed.”

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Insurance.” Markowitz said. “If I’m not around to feed it the delay code every hour or so, you’ll be short a hand.”

  “Harry!” Kit sounded appalled.

  “You shush.” he told her. “We can’t afford to take chances. You know that. Now put on your coat, it’s time to go-”

  >NEWSNET DOWNLINK

  -[12:06:41/8-23-55]

  HIGH-LEVEL MEETINGS AT WHITE HOUSE

  There was turmoil in the White House this morning as unscheduled visitors arrived. Arriving separately and within moments of each other, delegations from the elven nations of Tir Taimgire and Tír na nÓg converged on the White House with demands for an immediate meeting. The delegates, whom the presidential press secretary will only describe as “extremely high ranking.” were admitted at once and are still meeting with President Steele after nearly five hours. Though no statement or explanation has been issued, the rumored topic of concern to the visitors from the reclusive elven nations is the growing crisis in Chicago. At a time when the people of the UCAS are being told very little about what is happening in one of their country’s greatest cities, the public can only wonder what interests these foreign powers have in the country’s internal affairs.

  Reliable sources within the White House report that the meeting was interrupted an hour ago by a telecom call from the notorious dragon Lofwyr. Persistent rumors that Lofwyr has offered some sort of “final solution” to the problems in Chicago have been called “nonsense and exaggeration” by the presidential press secretary Lee Atwhiler.

  In a clearly related action, General Lewis Draeger, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, held a brief press conference at noon today to issue a prepared statement confirming that the entire UCAS military is on alert. In the brief question-and-answer session that followed, General Draeger refused to confirm or deny that the threat was strictly internal, although he did issue what he called “a warning to troublemakers” that the UCAS was “more than prepared to defend all of its interests.”<<<<<

  14

  Tom watched Andrews Air Force Base slide by beneath the Osprey. The craft didn’t change its flight path, or shift to vertical flight mode. He pointed out the window as the last runway slipped from sight. “I thought that was where we were going.”

  Furlann put her head back and closed her eyes. “You thought wrong.”

  Apparently he thought wrong to think he could trust her, too. “What’s going on? We have orders to report there for transport by twelve hundred hours.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. I’ve got orders.”

  “The orders have been modified.”

  Nobody had told him. “No, they haven’t.”

  Furlann sighed. “Ease off, Walker. You'll get straightened out when we land. Relax, enjoy the flight.”

  Relax and enjoy? He was being forced AWOL. He considered going up to the cockpit and ordering the pilot to turn around and head for Andrews, but decided it probably wouldn't get him very far. If the pilot didn’t have orders from higher up, it would come down to the pilot choosing between Tom and Furlann. The mage would win that contest, in spite of her lower rank. He’d watched it happen before. People just didn’t like to go against a mage.

  What was Furlann dragging him into? Clearly she was operating according to someone’s plan. He hoped it wasn’t one of her whacked magical snipe hunts. This wasn’t the time. Whatever it was, she knew more about it than she was telling. He’d hated it in Denver when she’d withheld information. Secrecy was a habit with her, a habit Tom hadn’t grown to like over time.

  “I think you owe me some answers.”

  “When we land, Walker.” she said, speaking as if to an annoying child wanting to know when they were going to arrive. “When we land.”

  Waiting until they landed seemed to be his only option short of violence, so he waited.

  “Coming in on Fort Belvoir now.” the pilot announced over the intercom, just before the Osprey shuddered as the pivot-mounted engines on its stub wings began their rotation up into vertical flight mode. They descended below tree level. Through the windows on Furlann’s side, Tom caught glimpses of a huge geodesic dome and an array of antennae.

  Furlann was up and moving before the pilot cut the engines. “Come on, Walker. You’re with me until you’re told otherwise.”

  Her attitude overstepped the latitude given officers in the Thaumaturgic Corps. Tom wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to go along with it. She had better be right about a change in orders, otherwise he was well and truly fragged. There wouldn’t be enough time to make it to Andrews before 1200 hours. Mage or not, she was going to boil in the same water he did if she landed him in the pot.

  To judge from the activity around them, they had landed in the midst of a kicked-over anthill. Tom scoped the bustle. He recognized the antennae going up, the array of consoles winking to life under canvas stretched between armored vehicles, and the armed guards whose still alertness was a striking counterpoint to the frenzied activity of the other soldiers swarming though the area.

  “This is a combat headquarters.” Tom said as they walked toward what appeared to be the focus of the tumult. He ran his hand along the gray-shaded side of a Tactical Operations Center van. This was field command stuff, enough to serve a division, maybe even a corps.

  “You were expecting me to be taking you to a rec hall dance, maybe?” Furlann asked sarcastically.

  “I was expecting transportation back to Schwartzkopf.” he reminded her.

  “You may get your trip yet, but we’re here to see General Trahn.” Furlann said.

  Tom halted, stunned. Trahn was one of the only officers who’d come out of the Dissolution Campaigns with a decent record and a clean reputation. Word had it he was the fastest-rising star in the Army, in line for the Joint Chiefs. “Trahn? Why? Any why does he want to see me now? I’ve got a responsibility to—”

  “You’re here at my order, Major.”

  Tom snapped to attention as he saw the stars on the collar of the man who had stepped out of the TOC van. He didn’t need to read the name tag to recognize Trahn; the general had often been pictured in Stars and Stripes.

  For a moment the tableau held. Trahn had that smoothskinned, exotic Eurasion look that showed few signs of age. He might have been thirty or he might have been sixty. With his rank and position, he had to be closer to the latter. That smoothness gave him a killer poker face; Tom couldn’t tell the man’s mood. The general might be annoyed at the ink-still-wet major who could have been considered to have questioned his authority, or he might not.

  “Is there a problem?” Trahn asked.

  “No problem, sir! Just a little confused.”

  Trahn finally returned Tom’s salute. “Confusion I understand. We’ve got entirely too much of it right now. I’m glad you could get here so quickly, Major.”

  “Nothing to it.” Furlann said.

  Trahn ignored her, drawing Tom with him back into the TOC van. “You’re Matt Walker’s kid, aren’t
you? I served with your father back in ’17. Good man, before he Changed.”

  “If you say so, General. I didn’t know him before.”

  One of General Trahn’s staff officers interrupted the awkward moment, stomping up the ramp with a raft of questions. The information she wanted was the general’s preferences on technical set-up, but her questions offered Tom no clue as to what was going on. Having given his answers and sent the officer on her way, the general turned again to Tom.

  “As I was saying, Captain Furlann tells me you’ve got a knack with Special Resources. With this op being put together on the fly, I haven’t got a lot of SR assets, and it’s a real mixed bag. My regular SR officer was at Schwartzkopf when Chicago blew, and he got co-opted. I need somebody to ride herd on my SR assets and pull them into shape. You that man?”

  “I thought I’d be heading back to my unit.”

  “Your unit’s already in the thick of it up in Chicago.” the general confided. “No way to get you in there now.” Already in? “I don’t understand, sir. Why wasn’t I recalled before they went in?”

  “I wasn’t consulted. Major. The trouble in Chicago uncorked faster than anyone expected, and we’re all still adapting. You’re not the only officer caught away from his station. For the moment people are filling in wherever they are. We’re all improvising and not worrying a lot about the niceties. For me, you happened to be in the right place at the right time, and I intend to take advantage of it. With the Chicago operation drawing so heavily on available assets, I’m short-handed here, and I need to get as many good officers locked down as I can.”

  It would be wonderful to work with an officer like Trahn, but—“I really ought to be with my troops, sir.”

  Trahn frowned. “I think it’s more important that we put you to work here, Major. I’d have thought you would understand.

  “We have to deal with this mess our esteemed President has let fester to the point of needing surgery. Chicago’s bad, but it’s only a symptom of broader problems. One more officer there wouldn’t make a difference. If we tried to dump you out to Chicago, hook you up with your unit, and make that team change horses in mid-op, we wouldn’t be doing them any favor. You can help them by working here. You don’t want to see their butts in the air because the home front collapses, do you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Dropping the frown, Trahn said, “Captain Furlann also tells me you’re the one who set the standard on Green Twilight.” Green Twilight was the code name for the training exercises developed from Tom’s first nightmare exercise at Fort Schwartzkopf. “If you trained those people, they’ll be okay. And if they can’t do it without you, you didn’t do your job right, which I am assured you did. They’ll do fine. Haven’t you any faith?”

  Faith he had. Worry, too.

  Trahn kept steamrollering. “Your performance at Schwartzkopf tells me you have a flair for the field as well as organization. Since I’m running short, I need doublethreats if I can get them. I want you to advise me on special ops and I want to give you tactical charge of the SR unit once you get it laid out.”

  Both staff and field work? Trahn must be running short. It would be a hell of a job, but it would be a chance to shine, and right under Trahn’s nose. Having his approval wouldn’t do Tom’s career anything but good. But why the sell job, and not just a transfer order? He asked.

  “I need people who want to be here.” Trahn replied. “The current crisis is a fire brigade kind of thing. It may be a flashpoint for worse things. If it is, good people in the right places will make all the difference to the survival of this country, and life as we know it. I’ve been told that you’ve got the right stuff.”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Hope?”

  “I mean, yes, sir!”

  “All right, then.” Trahn stuck out his hand for Tom to shake. “Welcome aboard. Just remember, I expect one hundred percent plus.”

  “I won’t disappoint you, sir.” Tom hoped it was true. Trahn led him out of the van and performed quick introductions to his staff officers and left Tom in charge of Colonel Jemal Jordan, his J2. The intel officer filled Tom in on their basic mission: to stand ready in case the violence in the city escalated.

  “And how likely is that?” Tom asked, thinking maybe he should insist on Chicago after all. He’d had his fill of police back-up work in Denver.

  Jordan countered with his own question. “Are you a betting man, Rocquette?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Well, if someone offers you a hundred to one for you to bet against escalation”—Jordan flashed a smile full of brilliant teeth—“don’t.”

  The colonel found Tom a station, cleared access codes for him, and left him to do his job. While Tom was sorting out just what he had to work with, a bevy of corp types arrived. Tom noted that most wore Telestrian corp affiliation pins, but he spotted Fuchi, Ares Macrotechnology, Shiawase, Oracular Systems, and Geistco as well. “Representatives from the Alliance of Concerned Corporate Citizens.” an aide announced.

  Trahn abandoned the mission briefing that Jordan was giving him. He marched out to meet the suits near the ramp of one of the TOC vans.

  “Shall we step inside, gentlemen?” Trahn asked, offering his personal caravan. There were no introductions; Trahn must have met with the suits before. Tom wondered just who they were that the general should drop what he was doing to chat with them.

  Their apparent spokesman, a whip-thin elf with his ash-blond hair in a non-corp-standard trash cut, shook his head slightly, smiling the while. “We would prefer to remain outside. Our concerns are public, but some expressions of those concerns might be better done in privacy. Perhaps we should speak over there in the shade of the trees where some little breeze, if it is to be, will find us. You need have no concern over privilege. My staff can provide all the privacy we will need.”

  The general agreed and walked off to the trees with the suits. As they moved, the whole group seemed to go a little out of focus. Tom blinked. No, the trees beyond them were still clear. Only an area around the people was blurred. Tom’s eyes were fine; it had to be magic. Presumably the spells were muffling sound as well.

  That one or more of the elf’s staff were magickers was not unusual. In general, the corps were far better supplied with magickers than the government, including the military. Usually pay scale won out over patriotism.

  Colonel Jordan stepped into his line of sight. The intel officer looked right at Tom. “Got your unit organized already?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you have work to do. You haven’t got time to spare if you’re planning to deliver a report to the general on schedule.”

  Jordan was right. Tom had no time to worry about whatever was concerning the local suits; he had a job to do. He dove into the details. He didn’t realize that Trahn had returned to the TOC until he heard the general’s voice.

  “All right, folks. Listen up. As of now, we are operational.”

  Colonel Jordan added, “All report timetables are advanced to half an hour from now, when there will be a full staff briefing.”

  “In the meantime, I don’t intend to sit still.” Trahn said. “We’re rolling with contingency plan Baker. Jemal, while you’re setting up the commanders’ conference line, get me a secure link to the President.” Trahn’s eyes swept over the officers, techs, and clerks in the TOC. “Time to earn our pay, people. Get to work.”

  Tom did. He didn’t know yet what plan Baker was, but if it had involved Special Resources, he would have been told. As it was, he could scope the scan at the briefing. Till then, he had plenty to occupy him, since the only Special Resources available were individuals and a few experimental units at Belvoir for testing. All the standing units had gone to Chicago. Organizing a coherent and combat-capable unit was going to be a challenge; doing it in half an hour was going to be impossible.

  >LQCAL FEED WFDC

  -[01:17:05/8-24-55]

  WFDC NEWS ANCHOR: SHIMMER GRACE [GRA
C-A303]

  UPLINK SITE: BETHESDA STUDIO, FDC

  Grace: “I’ve just been told that our ace techs here at the studio did indeed capture the override we just experienced. I’m still not sure what to make of it. What about you! How about we see it again?’[Query cam angle]

  [Audience response: 91% positive]

  “All right then, techboys, let’s get to it!” [Replay inset]

  Weingartner: “This is Taylor Weingartner speaking to you from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, proud symbol of America’s commitment to justice and equality. Tonight began as just another night of hustling and scavenging for members of the Comp Army, but it is no longer. Yesterday’s rumors of UCAS troops marching on the city are now reality, but while fears of violent confrontation with the military are abating, tension between marchers and police has skyrocketed. All evening we’ve been witnessing minor scuffles between police and angry marchers. Tension is running high. Now, we seem to have reached a critical point. Even as I speak, something is happening among the tents and shanties—

  [Static fuzz dissolve: woman in extreme closeup]; “We call ourselves the Compensation Army, and it’s time the slugs and liars of Washington learned why. Peaceful discourse has achieved nothing. We have come to demand our just compensation! We will not take silence and lies for answers. We want action! If we don’t get it from the corporate puppet politicians, we’ll take it ourselves. President Steele, you hold the future in your hands" [Static fuzz: feed return; cut to studio]

  Grace: “Wow! What do you make of that? As you can see, the unnamed speaker was wearing the blue beret of the Conscience of the Country sect of the Comp Army. Looks like the Consies have had a hidden agenda all along. Are we looking at trouble here in old DeeCee? [Query cam angle]

  [Audience response: 83% positive]<<<<<

  15

  The Concordia slammed hard, scraping bottom, as Andy swerved her onto the grassy verge. He was sure they’d left something of the car behind. But there were some things it was good to leave behind. Over the external mikes came the sound of machine gun fire chewing the pavement where they had been. The chopping throb of the Yellowjacket attack helicopter’s rotors thundered overhead.