The Pride of the Damned

by Peter Grant

  The driver glanced at his pulser. “Give that to me, along with any other weapons and ammunition you have on you. If you disobey, and we find a weapon on you, we shall instantly kick you out onto the street and leave you to your own devices.”

  Pal hesitated. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  The driver sighed, as if irritated by an annoying child. “Have we harmed you or led you astray so far? If we have not done so yet, why should we do so in future? Besides, you have no choice. Do as we say, or leave, right now. I doubt you will last the night. The Gesellschaft has blanketed the city. Their people are everywhere. They have even co-opted the city’s security vid network. Their operators are searching its images for you, using facial recognition software.”

  Pal sighed, reversed the pulser, and handed it to the man butt-first; then he took the magazines from his jacket, the folding knife from his trouser pocket, and the two polymer blades from around his neck. “That’s all I’m carrying.”

  The driver looked unwillingly impressed as he examined the neck knives. “These are professional’s weapons. I suppose I ought to take your hands as well, nicht wahr?”

  Pal had to laugh. “Yes, I can use them as weapons, but I’d rather use them to eat. I’ve had only one emergency ration bar all day.”

  “I think we can do better than that. Come with me.”

  Pal carried the garbage bag filled with his belongings through a door, up a flight of stairs, and into an apartment. An older man was waiting for them, and came forward with his hand outstretched.

  “Good evening, Mr. Sejdiu. You can call me Marko. I will be your host tonight, and probably for several days. We shall move you around from time to time, you understand.”

  “Thank you.” He shook the man’s hand. “Who are you people?”

  “Please ask no questions, just as we shall ask you none. It is better for security, you understand. What you do not know, you cannot tell, even under torture. The Commodore made arrangements with us to help you in an emergency – and you certainly have one on your hands right now. I have never seen the Gesellschaft more determined to find anyone. They are leaving no stone unturned in their search for you.”

  “Ah… Will it be safe to move me around, then?”

  “It will be less safe to keep you always in the same place, for fear something should leak out. Do not worry. We have experience of this. However, it may be weeks, even possibly a few months, before they relax their vigilance enough to allow us to smuggle you off-planet. You must be prepared for a long stay.”

  Pal’s face fell. “That… that is very bad. There is so much I must do!”

  “You cannot do it if you are dead.” His host’s voice radiated deadly earnestness.

  “I suppose you are right. Can you help me send a message off-planet?”

  “Nein. Anything that might be traced back to you, or to us, is out of the question. You cannot even access the planetary web, for fear some of your online activity may be correlated with what you have done before. Today’s surveillance tools can even measure the speed and pattern with which you enter instructions, and match it to how you have done so in the past, and identify you that way. The Gesellschaft want you badly enough to check everything.”

  Pal sighed. “I understand.”

  “Good. Come, let me show you the room you will use. Keep its window closed and the blinds down at all times, no matter how much you want to see sunlight. You can do so in this living-room, but only sitting well back, where the sun does not fall on you. There is a privacy film on the windows, so no-one will see you from outside except as a fuzzy, indistinct outline. Do not go onto the balcony for any reason. You can shower while I prepare supper.”

  As Pal soaped himself beneath the steaming hot water, he tried to force himself to be calm. He was still alive, after all. There was a lot to be said for that – probably more than the crew of Szipnij, and poor Gjerg Hyka, could say right now, if the initial report proved true. He had to wait, and trust his hosts to get him out as soon as it was humanly possible. If he got himself killed due to his impatience, Jehona would never forgive him. She was worth living for, and waiting for.

  Even so, it took him a long time to fall asleep that night. He tossed and turned in bed, his mind racing as he considered all that had happened and tried to make sense of it. Had the Big Three, or one of them, been responsible for what had happened at Mavra? If so, did that indicate they were prepared to move on the Brotherhood’s base as well? What about Patos? Was the Brotherhood still safe there? Would Commodore Cochrane come through for his children there, if necessary, just as he had for him here? How would Agim learn – if he learned at all – of the loss of Szipnij at Mavra? When he and Gjerg failed to report, would the Brotherhood think they had made off with the money? Would they curse them as traitors, and take out their anger on their families?

  He was bleary-eyed with lack of sleep and nervous tension the next morning. His condition was not helped by being unable to go out. He had to content himself with working out in his bedroom, using isometric exercises and dynamic tension routines to exhaust himself, showering off the sweat, then doing it all over again a few hours later. His host sent out for more clothes for him, but warned, “You have to control yourself and learn patience. This is just the beginning. There is a long wait ahead of you, if you want to survive. Haste will kill you – and maybe us, too.”

  Pal tried to persuade himself of that… but everything in him rebelled at the prospect. He forced his feelings down, but knew he would have many sleepless nights to come.

  Marko kept his amusement to himself. He could imagine his guest’s horrified reaction if he learned he was being protected by the Dragon Tong, one of the same Big Three who were preparing to attack his people. The irony was positively delicious. Commodore Cochrane had made this arrangement with the Neue Helvetica chapter of the Tong after clearing it with Qianjin, which had ordered them to do whatever he asked. They would look after their guest until the situation on Patos was resolved. Thereafter, they would send him to Constanta. They didn’t understand why such a long delay was necessary, or even why this man should survive at all: but if that’s what the Commodore wanted, that’s what he would get.

  22

  Decisions

  CONSTANTA

  Cochrane looked up as a knock came at his office door. Tom Argyll stood there, with Jock Murray looking over his shoulder. “Got a moment for us, please, sir?”

  “Of course. Come in.” He shut down the document he was reading on his terminal, and rose to greet them. They settled down in comfortable armchairs around a table in the corner.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve offloaded all the gold, sir,” Tom began. “It’s being transferred to Isimud, our newest courier ship, as we speak. She just arrived after working up at Barjah. This will be her first operational mission.”

  “And what a mission! She’ll never have one like it again, I’ll bet.”

  Jock sniggered. “She’ll be carrying enough gold to make every member of her crew a billionaire-and-a-half. Kinda hard to top that, sir! What does her name mean, anyway?”

  “Isimud was the messenger of the Sumerian god Enki,” Cochrane explained. “All our courier ships are named for messenger gods, or messengers of the gods, in ancient mythology.”

  “Figures. Never heard of that one, though, sir.”

  “Neither had I, until we started researching possible names. What about the bodies, Tom?”

  Hawkwood’s Head of Security grimaced. “That was a hell of a job, sir – messy. A lot of them weren’t intact any more. We put them in body bags, and sent them off aboard a local tender to be given a spacer’s funeral. They’ll be dropped into Constanta’s star this morning.”

  Jock added, “I had to wait to get at Szipnij’s bridge until they’d removed them. Even then, there were enough traces left that it wasn’t pretty. It’s still in vacuum, of course – there’s no way to seal her pressure hull any longer – so, wearing a spacesuit,
at least I didn’t have to smell it.” He grinned. “We nearly gave Saul a heart attack, sir. Turns out Szipnij had an armed, ready-to-blow five-megaton thermonuclear demolition charge buried in her spine. When she lost power, the fail-safes cut in, so it didn’t go off, but it must have been a near thing. We were planning to restore power to the ship to check her computer, but when I found the charge, Saul flatly forbade it. He said he didn’t want to risk that thing going off in his Number Two hold!” The three men laughed aloud.

  “I can’t say I blame him,” Cochrane agreed. “You disarmed it?”

  “Yes, sir, and removed it. We’ve reset it and given it to Captain Haldane, to take to New Skyros with him. He said he wanted a couple, in case of need.”

  “And the computer systems? Frank says her defenses were much better than any courier ship’s had a right to be.”

  Jock frowned. “That’s interesting, sir. She had capable enough sensors, rather like what Amanita, our first corvette, has. What made the difference was the addition of a quantum computer, acting as a back-end processor. It took the inputs from all the sensors, then essentially supercharged their analysis. It’s a dedicated unit, designed for the purpose. From its size and design capabilities, I’d say it was originally intended for a heavy patrol craft. I think they must have stolen it from a major power, or bought it from someone who stole it, because that level of sophistication isn’t available from second- or third-tier planets. It’s better than anything Kang’s sold to us.”

  “That’s interesting. Any idea which power?”

  “I’d bet on the Lancastrian Commonwealth, sir, given the hardware involved. It may be from one of their latest-generation Serpent class patrol craft. They’ve built well over a hundred so far, for their own Fleet and the System Patrol Services of their member planets, and for export. I reckon one of their processing units might have fallen off a transport somewhere.”

  “Can you duplicate it?”

  “Not exactly, sir. The software seems to be keyed to that specific hardware. It’s way more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen before. Still, if I put a few months into it, and get the help of a couple of quantum mechanics boffins, and a few experts and an artificial intelligence system to reverse-engineer the software, I reckon I can come up with a near equivalent. I can make it scalable, too, so we can use it aboard our frigates and corvettes. It’ll be a big upgrade, sir. It’ll put our vessels at almost the same level of fire control performance as smaller warships from any of the major space powers – the Zhongguo Hegemony, the Lancastrian Commonwealth, the Columbia Confederacy, the Bismarck Cluster, and so on. I think it’s worth trying, and I’d enjoy the challenge.” His eyes shone with enthusiasm.

  “Hmmm… Do you think the Brotherhood will build this into their other armed ships?”

  “I don’t see how they can, sir, unless they’ve got someone as good as me to lead the project, and a whole lot of expert assistance, and access to quantum computers to modify for the purpose. It’s going to be a really big job, and cost a lot of money. No, I reckon they probably bought this computer from whoever stole it, and put it on that courier ship to protect their gold shipments. It wouldn’t have been hard to wire it into her existing systems and sensors, provided they knew what they were doing – which, obviously, they did. They may be criminals, but they aren’t stupid.”

  “That makes sense. How far along are you with the other project I gave you?”

  “That’s just about finished, sir. Another week or two and I’ll have everything you need.”

  “All right. Finish that, then start work on that quantum computer. Figure out what people and budget you need, and let me know.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Tom, as soon as Jock has got everything he wants out of the wreck, have Saul take it to Mycenae and drop it into one of its binary stars. We’ve no further use for it.”

  “Aye aye, sir. He’ll charge us extra for that, though.”

  “I’ll pay it. Tell him to send me the bill. What about security for the gold, and for Caitlin?”

  “I’m sending two full teams aboard Isimud, sir. One will remain aboard at all times until the gold’s offloaded. The other will escort Commander Ross planetside, and escort the gold when it’s shipped to the bank. I’ve also arranged to have one of our corvettes escort Isimud to the system boundary here, when the time comes. We don’t want anyone doing to her what we did to Szipnij.”

  Cochrane winced. “Don’t say that, even as a joke! Thank you, both of you. You’ve done very well.”

  When they had gone, he thought for a moment, then sent several messages to arrange three more meetings. The time had come to settle the past once and for all – and provide for Hawkwood’s future, too.

  Caitlin Ross arrived the following morning, in response to his message. “What’s up, sir?” she asked cheerily.

  “Quite a lot. You’re off to Neue Helvetica again.”

  “Oh? What am I going to be doing there this time, sir?”

  He grinned. “Buying a planet.”

  “Buying a – oh!” She goggled at him. “So that’s what you’re going to do with the Brotherhood’s gold!”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, some years ago, Tom said it might help if we became a sovereign nation, because we could get away with a lot more.” Caitlin laughed. “He was right, and that gave me an idea. As long as we’re dependent on another government to provide us with bases, we’re at their mercy. If it’s more to their advantage to turn on us, they’ll do so in a heartbeat. There’s precious little honor among politicians.”

  “You got that right, sir!”

  “I hadn’t planned to do anything about it in the short term. This was a long-term plan, something to work toward over many years, even decades. However, when we heard about Pal Sejdiu’s plan, I began to wonder whether we could use the Brotherhood’s money to move faster ourselves. You see, he and the rest of the Brotherhood – assuming any of them survive what’s heading their way – are bound to blame the Big Three for the loss of Szipnij and her cargo. It’s a perfectly logical, rational explanation, after all, particularly after the Three deal with the Brotherhood on Patos. They won’t think of blaming us at all, unless we let something slip, and we’ve done our best to prevent that. Even the frigates’ crews, except for their commanding officers, don’t know what was aboard the courier ship, or even her name. They think I was after intelligence from her.”

  “I get it, sir. Good plan. What they don’t know, they can’t talk about.”

  “That’s right. From Pal’s discussions with his wife, we know that Ostrovy, the planet he chose for the Brotherhood, was only being held for them for a limited time. By the time you reach Neue Helvetica, it should be back on the market. What’s more, the company that offered it for sale must be getting desperate. They’ve tried to sell it at a higher price for two to three years, and gotten only nibbles. Pal’s offer was lower than they’d been asking, but they agreed to it. If you offer them a little less, they’ll probably bite, just to get the planet off their hands. If you can prove that the cash is waiting in our bank account, they’ll be even more interested.”

  “Yes, sir.” She shook her head. “It’s a bit mind-boggling to bandy about numbers like that, sir. I mean, this is hardly your average shopping trip, is it?”

  He laughed. “You can say that again! I’m trusting you to buy us a future, Caitlin. Don’t let us down.”

  She sat up proudly. “I won’t, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll send you detailed orders later today, but in brief, I want you to set up a new front company on Neue Helvetica, with our lawyer’s help. Call it ‘Compagnia Bianca’.”

  She blinked. “Why not use our existing company, sir? And what does that name mean?”

  “I don’t want Hawkwood’s name to jump out at anyone looking into the ownership of the planet. The new company’s name is the Italian translation of ‘White Company’. That was the title of the first mercenary company Sir John
Hawkwood commanded. Almost no-one today remembers him, so I don’t think they’ll make the connection.”

  “I get it.” She smiled. “Keeping it in the family, so to speak. Why Italian, sir?”

  “It’s both history and misdirection. The White Company operated in France, so I suppose we’d call our company ‘Société Blanche’ if we wanted to be pedantic. However, Hawkwood gained his real fame after that, in Italy, so I chose that language instead. Anyone seeing the name will hopefully assume it’s been set up by business interests from Marano, or Lombardia, or Nuova Calabria, or any of the other planets settled from that part of Earth. Set up a bank account for the new company – use the Handelsbank again; we’ve learned to trust them – and deposit the gold into it, then buy the planet. Register its name with the UP as ‘Bianca’, the last word of the company name. It’ll be registered as a corporate planet at first, of course. Hawkwood will start to move our operations there as soon as the ink’s dry on everything.”

  “Yes, sir.” She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be a mammoth job, moving everyone and everything there, sir.”

  “Yes, it is. I reckon it’ll take us five to ten years to do it, but if we’ve got the Brotherhood out of the way, we won’t be under the same pressure of time. We also have all the preliminary studies Pal Sejdiu did about the planet’s features and environment. We found copies in a passenger cabin aboard Szipnij. We can use them to help buy the equipment and infrastructure we need. The more you save us on the price of the planet, the more we’ll have available for that purpose. With luck, we won’t have to draw down our own reserves at all, except to pay for the actual move.”

  “Do you think most of our people will follow us there, sir?”