“Understood. Be careful, El-tee.”
He laughed at the absurd advice, and was about to rise when Dassa spoke inside his helmet. “Jan, you should head up to your sergeant’s location and take over the command post’s job. I’ve got First with me, and we’re headed for the gate.”
Despite the confusion of the surprise attack and the wisdom of Dassa’s suggestion, he still felt resentment at being excluded from the fighting. Wolf’s mockery rang in his ears, goading him. Besides, Dassa didn’t know that Leoni was more than up to the task of bringing in aerial assets without blowing the whole camp to pieces. Jander was about to tell his former company commander that he was coming to join him when someone called out from nearby.
“Lieutenant Mortas! Lieutenant!” It was hard to locate the sound over the booms and growls of the distant battle, but a rapidly waving hand caught his eye. Twenty yards away, kneeling among stacks of palletized supplies, was a small group of Mound soldiers. Most of them wore body armor and helmets, but some only had goggles and weapons. He looked left and right, and ran over.
Skidding into the dirt next to the waving hand, he looked up to see a woman’s face under helmet and goggles. Hands pulled him to a knee, and grim expressions pressed in.
“Tell us what to do, sir.” The woman ordered, and Jander’s mind flipped into platoon leader mode.
“What’s your name?”
“Corporal Easterbrook, sir. Ordnance.”
“How many people you got?” he asked, checking the imagery again. Firefly dots were moving through the breach near the shuttle pad, and a yellow bud blossomed when one of the aircraft exploded.
“Fifteen total!” she hollered above the noise. “Three from my section, plus some cooks, a few clerks, and a couple of I-don’t-knows.”
Mortas switched the goggle view to a communications schematic that showed all of the individual torso radios closest to him. Punching the air with the thimble, he created a quick network that patched them together.
“If you can hear me, raise your hand.”
Roughly ten palms came up, all of their owners helmeted. “Okay, pair up—anyone without a headset is gonna need my commands relayed to them.”
He went back to the imagery, spotting First Platoon moving on a diagonal route for the fighting at the gate. More fires were sprouting on the shuttle pad, but it was hard to see how many of the enemy had broken through. Thinking quickly, he tapped the thimble on each of the heat signatures around him, marking them as friendlies.
“Okay, listen!” He raised his rifle across his chest, with the barrel pointed at the sky. “While we move, hold your rifle like I’m doing. It’s safer. We’re headed for the airstrip. The bad guys are through the wire there, and they’re wrecking the birds. We’re going to kill them.”
Heads bobbed tightly, and a few dry throats murmured assent.
“Follow me.”
Weaving through the rest of the camp, trying not to trip over tent ropes, warning the neophytes not to bunch up time and again, inhaling the smoke and the sickening odor of burning fuel, but hearing no shooting from the airfield. Machine guns and rifles roared from the bunkers on the hill, tracers passing over the sheds and maintenance bays to their right as they ran, while the dim booms of chonk rounds sounded from the distant gate where Dassa had taken First Platoon.
Finally reaching the end of the temporary structures, seeing the strip alight in orange and yellow and the black dots that ran in front of the flames like some kind of fire-worshiper dance. Knowing that a long irrigation ditch faced the field on that side, and that it had been dug deeper to serve as a shelter if the base got attacked.
“Cut to the right!” he shouted, sweat pouring down his face. “Get in the ditch!”
Bumping into the figures closest to him, herding them toward the trench, and then seeing them pull up in confusion. Standing there in the firelight.
“Get down! Get in the trench!”
Bulling his way through them and then stopping in the same stupefied manner. Looking down at the long gash in the ground and seeing it had been filled in with a writhing mass of humanity. Fatigues, coveralls, and what he believed was a set of bare buttocks all struggled at his feet, fighting to get lower as the gunfire raged overhead.
“Down! Flatten on the ground!” He barely got the words out when a volley rattled at them from the strip. Light winking in the fire and smoke, something plucked at his sleeve, and then they were all down on their stomachs. Legs squirming, boots sliding until they were at the edge of the ditch, and then the rifles barking as one.
Sighting into the flat ground, the goggles adjusting so that the enemy figures appeared as human silhouettes inside the billowing smoke and backlit by the fires. A knot of them rushing forward, had to be the ones who’d fired at them, and then he was calmly sighting in on the surging shadows and knocking them to the ground.
“Single shots!” Mortas called out. “Take your time! They’re not as close as they look!”
They didn’t hear him, of course. A frenzied howl rose up from their front, the occupants of the trench made hysterical by the popping roar over their heads. One instant Jander had a clear view of the strip and the burning shuttle hulks and their wilting, wavering opponents and the next his rifle was crushed into the mud and so was his face and it seemed that hundreds of people were jumping up and down on his back.
The occupants of the ditch were gone a moment later, terror giving them wings, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Turning, Mortas watched their flying backs. They hit the nearest tent like a stampede, running so hard that it simply billowed for an instant and then disappeared under their assault. Not believing what had just happened, Jander broke out in laughter.
“Look at ’em go!” Easterbrook was yelling, and he thought she meant the fleeing Force soldiers until the troop next to him in the dirt jostled his arm. The man was struggling to stand, and then he was leaping, not into the cover of the empty trench but across it, they all were, animal yells filling his ears as they charged. Left alone, Jander fought his way to his feet and straddled the ditch as well, still laughing.
His goggles now showed his small command charging through the hell-world of the strip, and he churned his boots on the melting surface in an effort to keep up. Somewhere near the opposite end of the strip one of the shuttles blew up in a tower of flame, and the hot wind that rushed over Mortas reminded him of the fuel and ammunition that was alight all around him.
Ammo. Regardless of their enthusiasm, his hastily gathered troops weren’t carrying the standard load of infantry soldiers. His armor was loaded down with magazines, but some of the support personnel appeared to lack even canteens. Still running, now alone, he darted his eyes around until finding the grisly scene of the rebels who had been caught in the first volley. Sprawled across a small space, surrounded by flame, they lay still.
Mortas bent low when he came to the first fallen Scorpion, scooping up the weapon and then another. Dropping to a knee to sling both rifles across his chest, scanning the corpses to see which ones might have been carrying extra ammunition, shocked to see that most of them had no body armor. Black Xs and Vs stood out across their faces like ash, the tattoos of the Flock. The heat billowed around Mortas, forcing him to move.
Rushing off through the fire, hearing the scattered shots beyond the breach in the fence, knowing that his people had gone through and were chasing the rebels who had survived.
Hours later, just before the sun came up, Jander sat exhausted with his back against the slanted wall of a bowl-shaped crater. His face was smeared with dirt and soot and dry sweat, and he longed for a drink of water. All around him, bodies rested on their stomachs with their weapons pointed over the rim of the depression, while two wounded soldiers were resting in the middle. The medics in the group had taken charge of their care, and pronounced the wounds minor.
It had taken him two hours to finally round up Easterbrook and the others, and he was exhausted from chasing them down. Jander h
ad been running all over the battlefield like an incompetent nanny, catching up with one group only to lose control of another. They’d been like children on a scavenger hunt, running after the heat signatures that appeared in their goggles and scooping up rebel weapons when their own had emptied. The gunships had finally arrived, and that had put an end to the pursuit. Once the drones had started churning up the ground with mini-gun fire only a few hundred yards in front of them, they’d asked Jander about a safe place to hole up.
Amazingly, none of them had been killed. Mortas listened to the engine of a drone passing overhead, while viewing the imagery of the surrounding plain provided by the air assets. The rebels who had survived were long gone, and in his goggles he watched as an arrowhead of vehicular heat signatures approached his position from the direction of the Mound.
“That you, Sergeant Strickland?” he rasped.
“That’s right, Lieutenant.” He heard the truck motors along with the words. “Tell your gunslingers not to fire us up.”
“That would be hard—we’re almost empty.”
“Tell ’em just the same.”
“You got it.” Sand ran down his pants when he stood, now seeing the outlines of the trucks and armored cars. “Everybody stay cool on the perimeter. Those movers are our resupply. And our ride.”
He needn’t have bothered. The night’s adrenaline had worn off, leaving the newly blooded support personnel spent and quiet. They’d managed to stay awake, but the approaching sign that the battle was truly ended sent many of them sagging to the dirt. Mortas smiled, looking at them with affection as the armored cars passed to either side. The trucks rolled to a stop, and he recognized several members of FITCO as they hustled over the rim carrying rucksacks that bulged with water, ammunition, and food. His stomach rumbled at the idea, and he was about to ask what they had in the way of chow when Strickland was standing next to him.
“Some night, huh?” Mortas asked.
“Some night.” The supply NCO sounded tired, but an undertone of remorse floated along with the words. “I got some bad news, sir.”
“What? We lose somebody back there?”
“Us? No. We fought from the bunkers; we were fine.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, sir. Captain Dassa got killed in the fight at the gate.”
Chapter 9
“Madame Chairwoman, I am going to become a suspect if I don’t keep feeding them new information.” Timothy Kumar almost hissed the request, his face drawn with strain. “I need something more.”
Reena Mortas looked past him, through the one-way glass of Olech’s personal underground train. The decorative tiling of the private tunnel system leading to Unity Plaza should have been a blur, but instead it leveraged the train’s motion. A blend of light green and dark blue surged together in a rolling, cresting wave without end, and she smiled at the effect. She’d designed it herself, in happier days.
“Madame Chairwoman?”
“I heard you, Timothy. It seems your friends are quite greedy. I ceded them control of three very rich planets in the war zone, planets my husband had given to the Veterans Auxiliary. Now you’re saying they want more.”
“That’s not it.” Although the car’s only other occupant was Ulbridge, busily tapping on a handheld in the corner, the physicist still glanced over his shoulder. “Of course they want me to pressure you for more concessions, but I’m fearful they . . . suspect something.”
“I see.” Reena leaned back against the padded blue seat. Most of the car’s walls were lined with them, and she momentarily remembered other trips, with the compartment loaded with happy staffers and guests. The dead echoes of those gatherings gave way to the empty space, reminding her of Olech’s absence, and she took it out on her unwilling agent. “So when you’re not bringing them more dirt on me, or another gift, they notice that you don’t contribute much to the conversation.”
“Zone Quest has spies everywhere,” he answered through clenched teeth. “They believe you’re plotting something, something big, and I can’t give them even a hint of what that might be.”
“Perhaps you should remind them that you pulled my fangs a long time ago. It was petty blackmail, and of course you forgot I might have something much worse on you, but as far as ZQ and the other members of that dirty cabal are concerned, you’re my boss.”
“They’ve come to doubt how easily you rolled over, especially now that you’ve blamed Horace’s murder on Leeger. They don’t see the leverage anymore.”
“The leverage is still there.” Reena decided to stop torturing him. “No one’s forgotten that Leeger worked for us.”
“But when he joined the rebels, it passed the guilt onto him.” He exhaled, as if not believing the words he was about to utter. “And very few people in the settled worlds would believe that Reena Corlipso would murder her own brother.”
“Even if she believed he had a hand in her husband’s disappearance?”
“That’s too complicated for the masses.”
“But not for your friends. They’re as devious as you are, and they understand the power of deep, dark secrets.”
“It’s not enough.” It was Kumar’s turn to sit back, but he wasn’t relaxing. “And the planets you gave them are out of reach. They can’t exploit them because the Sims are on the offensive, and it’s driving them crazy. You should have seen their faces when I told them what you were giving up—on two of those rocks alone they could make up almost half of the minerals they used to get from Celestia.”
“I imagine Asterlit’s not unhappy about that.”
“Of course he’s not. He’s got half the Force holding off the rebels while he’s repairing the recaptured mines. ZQ is just as beholden to him now as . . . before.” Kumar almost didn’t finish the sentence, realizing he’d been tricked.
“That’s something new, isn’t it?” Reena asked sweetly. “Asterlit’s direct involvement with your friends.”
“It shouldn’t be surprising,” Kumar answered weakly. “He controls Celestia’s delegation to the Emergency Senate, he’s still one of ZQ’s biggest suppliers, and like it or not he’s Celestia’s new ruler.”
“A great many people don’t like Asterlit at all. And that’s useful to me. From this point on, I want you to tell me whenever his name is mentioned.”
Kumar’s face fell. “I’m not sure I can keep this up much longer.”
“I feel the same way myself, these days.” Reena made eye contact with Ulbridge, who lowered the handheld. “I’m getting pilloried on the Bounce because we’re losing ground in the war, and because nothing’s getting resolved on Celestia. I’m spending more and more time fending off questions about those planets I ceded to Zone Quest, and not just from senators. Functionaries from the Veterans Auxiliary are beating on my door, in a way they never would have dreamed of just six months ago.”
Kumar gave her a doubtful look, and Ulbridge matched it from behind him.
“Makes a girl yearn for a quieter life.”
“Are you actually thinking of quitting?”
“My husband’s still missing, a lot of people think I’m doing a poor job, and frankly the hours are just too damned long.”
“Is this the truth? Or is this what I should tell them?”
“You’ll be more convincing if I don’t answer that. Why don’t you go practice?”
Kumar stood uncertainly, and Ulbridge released the locks on the door leading to the next car. A uniformed security guard scowled at the physicist as he passed, and the passage closed. Ulbridge approached, and sat.
“Was that wise, ma’am?”
“Certainly. Just think of how distracted that crowd will be, arguing about my successor.”
“There is a danger that they might not argue for long.”
“Even better. If they start lobbying for my removal, they’ll have a hard time opposing me when I announce my plan to resign, to dissolve the Emergency Senate, and hold real elections.”
“They’ll oppose you anyway. They’ll h
ave to.”
“You’re going to make sure they’re too busy for that—and Kumar just gave us the evidence. Zone Quest is conspiring with the one man the entire galaxy blames for perpetuating the suffering on Celestia.”
“Asterlit.”
“Kumar was hiding that involvement because he knows Asterlit is very unpopular. Despite his best efforts, Celestia’s new ruler hasn’t been able to keep the atrocity stories from getting out. You see, organizations like Zone Quest know it’s much better to present a nameless, faceless front to the people. It’s hard to fix the blame when decisions are made by boards and committees. Asterlit is the name and the face of a great deal of suffering—and you’re going to tie him to Zone Quest and their cronies.”
“That task just got a little easier, ma’am.”
“How so?”
“An unexpected source. There’s a story gaining traction that Jander has gone on a bit of a crusade. Apparently he led some Orphans on a raid of a particularly nasty brothel run by Asterlit’s security people—and his stance was then adopted by the Orphan Brigade’s commander. It’s gaining momentum with other outfits there as well.”
“That is surprising. Finally one of Olech’s children did something to help me.”
“It’s even got a name. They call it Watt’s Law.”
“The boy has no political sense. He should have put his own name on it. Doesn’t he understand the power of the name Mortas?”
“He’s always tried to avoid using it, Madame Chairwoman.”
“It was a joke, Nathaniel. You’ve given me some encouraging news.” The train glided to a stop at the heavily guarded station under Unity’s main tower, but Reena made no move to rise. “Tell me about the Banshees. How are they responding to the new training regimen?”
“They’re good soldiers, ma’am. They’re giving it their all.”
“No, I mean the cover story. Are they buying it?”
“Apparently they find it as credible as any other explanation ever offered by Command.”
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