I burst, out laughing. After all of the studying all of us have done, it seems like a number everyone should know. “Three hundred and fifty-eight.”
He nods and faces me. “Three hundred and fifty-seven days to go.” He points with his thumb toward the screen. “The reviews sound pretty good.” He looks at me. “What’s eating you?”
“I was just thinking that, if I was in Tean Sindie or Black October and looking at those newscasts, I would be wondering if this new police force is in league with the Mavedah and the Front.” I glance at Kita.
She shrugs and says, “Well, we are. We all have the same goal right now: a truce that holds. Things will clarify, though, once one of these splinter terrorist attempts gets through and the other side wants to retaliate.”
“Do you think someone will get through?” I ask.
“We can’t be everywhere all of the time. Sooner or later one of the splinter groups will look upon us as a challenge. Can we get a bomb past the Navi Di? Can we slip a suicide team into the West Dorado without alerting The Peace? We must expect it.”
I look at Davidge and he is slumped in his chair, his elbow on the chair’s arm rest, his head leaning against his hand. He is about to say something when Janice calls out. “This is no priority, but I have to pass it along. It came in from the Central Shorda regional net at Ruota. There’s a Mavedah bomber we’ve been tracking named Jolduh Rihn―”
“Eye of the Killer,” corrects Davidge. “It delivered the bomb that ended the truce four years ago.”
“That’s the one. Popcorn, our agent watching Rihn, observed the bomber cooking up something in its workshop. Popcorn called it in late last night and was told to―”
“Keep on it!” says everyone in the information center in unison. Reaper frowns and looks around at the faces. He mutters something in German and goes back to his hand-portable.
“So what happened?” Davidge asks Janice.
“When Rihn went to bed last night, Popcorn took some chalk and wrote twenty-nines all over the outside of the bomber’s house. This morning when Rihn stepped out and saw the marks, he ran away from his house and hasn’t been back since!”
I am thinking that if only they could all be that easy, when Roger calls out, “Priority Red! Nightwing says that Green Fire has a move in progress: four greenies, three men and a woman, armed with shoulder missiles and small arms, heading toward the Southern Shorda. Nightwing’s best guess is Gitoh.”
Reaper arranges for more agents to help Nightwing along the way and Davidge glances at me. “Humans again,” he says. Davidge turns to Reaper. “Tell Nightwing we have to be able to prove what the greenies are up to.”
“He knows,” Reaper answers without looking up from his hand-portable.
“We also need to know where the orders originated.”
“He knows,” repeats Reaper. He raises an eyebrow and glares at Davidge. “I trained this bird, Willy. Relax.”
“Signal from the quarantine force,” calls out Janice. “It’s a General Mary Alice Lord with the USER She’s the new co-commander of the QF.”
Davidge frowns and cocks his head to one side. “I thought there isn’t supposed to be any communication from the orbiters to the ground.”
“That’s the rule,” answers Reaper. “But the QF isn’t supposed to be doing any smuggling down here, either.”
Davidge adjusts his headset and nods at Janice, who puts up the image of the general on one of the screens. Mary Alice Lord, her steel gray hair cut short and brushed straight back, looks out of the screen. Her eyes are greenish gray and narrowed by the most stern expression I have ever seen on a human, including those who were trying to kill me.
“Davidge here. What can I do for you, general?”
Her view from the camera includes both Kita and myself, and the three of us together appear to violate one of her primary assumptions. “Mr. Davidge,” she begins, pausing as if she expected to be corrected. “We have been listening to the planetside broadcasts here. What you can do for me is to explain who you are and what in the hell you are doing down there.”
“What we are doing here, general, was, I believe, adequately covered in those broadcasts. We are, in short, truce police. If the future smiles on us, perhaps one day we will be treaty police. As for who I am, I was in the USEF a few years ago. I should be in your earthside computer―”
“Davidge, Willis E., USEF 997309974, Second Lieutenant, flight officer, attached to Squadron B, 98th Fighter Command, Pursuit Carrier USEFS Warspite. It says you were shot down over Fyrine IV and rescued some years later, All of this took place while I was still at the Academy thirty years ago. What we have on you since is that you did a translation of The Talman and now live on Fyrine IV, since named Friendship.”
“That pretty well covers it, general. All that’s missing is that someone wanted, very badly, for the war on Amadeen to end. That person went on a search for a talma that would achieve peace, and it appears that I am a part of that talma. What we are doing is following that talma. is there anything else?”
General Lord’s face is immobile as her eyes stare at Davidge. Glancing off screen for a moment, her gaze returns full force. “The ship you are in right now, the Aeolus, is registered on Rhana, and although it is an old ship, it is not thirty years old. As such, it’s existence in Amadeen airspace is a violation of the quarantine. You must either surrender your vessel to the quarantine force, along with all persons not authorized to be on Amadeen, or I will he forced to blow you out of the sky.”
Davidge reaches out his left arm and places his hand on my shoulder. “General, this is my dear friend, Yazi Ro.”
I nod at the image on the screen. The general remains motionless,
“Yazi Ro was born on Amadeen. It was smuggled off Amadeen in a quarantine force ship. Yesterday Black October held a televised rally. We had our own person there who took pictures of some of the weapons the Octoberists are carrying.” Davidge nods toward Janice and she begins calling up Alley Cat’s shots of the rally. “You will see that some of them are carrying the Valmet M660D beam disrupter. The 660D is less than two years old, and the weapons held by those Octoberists were smuggled onto Amadeen by one or more quarantine force ships.”
“I deny any knowledge of such practices, but given that what you say is true, Mr. Davidge, what is your point?”
“There are two points. First, until you people up there clean up your own act, we’re going to find any accusations of quarantine violations directed at us downright funny. The second point, general, has to do with threats.” Davidge’s smile fades and he matches the general’s cold look stare for stare. “This ship, as you know, is a USEF attack transport. Right now its defense shields are operational and the ship is fully armed with its original complement of disrupters, defense missiles, ground support missiles, long range missiles, and automatic cannons. If you should be foolish enough to attack us, we will respond by taking out the four orbiting quarantine stations.”
“Our fighters will destroy you.”
“Possibly. The stations will be atomized, nevertheless. You might want to consider the possible alternatives, general.”
“Such as?”
“All of the factions on Amadeen have access to weapons capable of attacking this ship. One of them may succeed. Another alternative is that we are successful and peace comes to Amadeen. Either way the QF saves a lot of lives, and isn’t that the purpose of the quarantine?”
He nods at Janice. As the general’s image vanishes from the screen, Janice says, “It looks like Popcorn’s bomber is changing its mind,” The screens come to life and several minor officers of the Thuyo Koradar are dragging, almost carrying, the struggling bomber back to its home workshop.
As the bomber screams for help and a few of us chuckle, I lean over and speak to Davidge, “Was it wise to threaten the QF, especially since the Aeolus has no weapons at all?”
“We have the weapons,” he answers. “A present from Estone Nev. That’s why we spent
that extra day at the A’ja Cou Station.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Davidge shrugs and holds out his hands. “Sorry. You were out with Reaper’s press gang fleshing out the crew, then you were unconscious, then you were healing, then other things came up.”
Before I can say anything else, Nightwing is back. The Green Fire suicide team is still on its way, Gitoh is confirmed as the goal, and the source of the orders has been identified. Everything is supported by recorded conversations of all the accomplices.
In the hills overlooking Gitoh, the suicide team will set up its missiles, target the hospital, two schools, and the kovah for lineless children, totaling over eight thousand children and adults. Green Fire’s leaders hope to kill enough children and wounded to provoke the Mavedah into a retaliatory strike, thus killing the talks.
Green Fire’s leadership is a council of seven members. This council voted unanimously to make the strike against Gitoh. The orders passed from them to their minister of revolution, who ordered a field commander, who in turn asked for volunteers. Taking out everyone responsible will mean killing at least thirteen more humans.
“Do they have enough agents?” Davidge asks Reaper,
“They have one on the missile team, two on the council, and one each on the war minister and the field commander. It’ll be close, especially with the security on that council, but they should make it. They should make it.”
As I watch Reaper, I suddenly realize that he is not giving his considered opinion; he is praying. I turn to Davidge. “I want to send this information to the Mavedah. If Green Fire should get through, we must stop the retaliation before it begins.”
Davidge thinks a moment, glances at Kita, then faces Janice. “See if you can raise the Mavedah.”
While Janice turns to the communication board, inside of me there is a voice saying it is all too one-sided. Yesterday we foil two human plots to disrupt the truce. Yesterday we kill twelve humans. Today we target and kill another thirteen humans. While the one voice cries that this is too lopsided, another voice is cheering. I feel guilty about both voices and listen to neither.
“Got ‘em,” says Janice. “Taaka Liok, it says it’s fourth warmaster, responsible for the Southern Shorda.”
I watch as the legend of Taaka Liok fills the screen facing me. I have followed the orders of this warmaster for so long that I feel like a child before a disapproving parent it has struggled to please. “I am here,” says Liok. “Are you the one who wants to speak?”
I lean forward, rest my arms on the table, and at last get my mouth working. “Jetah, I am Yazi Ro of the Navi Di.”
The old warmaster raises its eyebrows. “Ah, the truce police. What would you have of me?”
“We have learned that the Green Fire has planned a missile attack for tonight from the hills surrounding the city of Gitoh. They plan to target the hospital, two schools, and the kovah for lineless children. The object of the attack is to provoke retaliation.”
“If they succeed in their plans,” says the warmaster, “they will get their retaliation.”
“We intend to stop them, Jetah. In case we fail, though, I wanted to warn you to allow the Gitoh Sikov time to prepare.”
Taaka Liok studies me for a moment. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, Jetah. If we cannot stop Green Fire in time, we would have it that you do not retaliate. We will find out who is guilty, we will execute them, and the truce will hold.”
The warmaster leans away from its camera and clasps its hands together. “Why would you do such a thing, Yazi Ro?”
“That is our duty, Jetah.”
“Duty?” Taaka Liok leans forward and points. “Who made this your duty?”
Who? I think of the Front, all of the dead, the millions who live each day in fear, my old comrades, the weariness that haunted me between my terrors. Zenak Abi, Davidge, Jeriba Shigan, Falna in its perverse way. I look at Taaka Liok and do not avert my glance. “It is talma. A talma to peace.”
A sneer touches its lips. “Long before either of us were born, Yazi Ro, the Jetai Diea on Draco decided that Amadeen is forever rulebound into its war. No talma is possible save the elimination of one side or the other.”
“Things continually change, Taaka Liok, including the Jetai Diea’s understanding of talma.”
“Where are you from, Yazi Ro?”
“My parent died in Gitoh, my only home, save the kovah for line less children there.”
It frowns as it studies my image on its own screen. “At the kovah, were you selected?”
“Yes, Jetah. I am a deserter from the Okori Sikov.”
Taaka Liok glances down, then it reaches out a hand to a point beside the screen. “I promise nothing. Let’s see how successful you are against Green Fire’s attack.” It pauses for a moment. “I will tell you my decision about retaliation once it is made.”
The screen goes blank. All of us continue looking at the dead screen until Kita says, “I don’t think the warmaster bought it.”
“Would you?” asks Davidge. “You spend your whole life in hell trying to stay a step ahead of the monster, then all of a sudden Goody-Goody comes along and says, ‘Sit this one out, mate. I’ll take care of it.” He looks at me and I hold out my hands.
“Will, what if we let Green Fire know we are onto their plans? Perhaps they will wait for another time or simply call it off.”
Davidge taps a fingertip on the table. “We let the Front know, too. They might have some clout with Green Fire. Hell, let everybody know.”
Kita and Davidge exchange glances, then Kita faces Janice. “Raise Nightwing and his regional net. Tell him about Popcorn’s bomber and see if some well-placed twenty-nines around the council chamber and on the road to Gitoh can’t put the brakes on Green Fire, then raise the Amadeen Front―”
“Priority Red!” calls out Roger. On the screens, we see an explosion followed by the trail of a descending missile followed by another explosion. The sound is garbled for a moment, then a shadow blocks the view. The screen goes blank and the sound goes dead. Sound comes back along with a black screen, and Sally Redfeather’s voice saying, “This is Tommy. Alley Cat is dead. Obsidian is under a missile attack right now.” We see a glimpse of Ali Enayat’s face, eyes staring in death at a burning building. The picture jumps down to a view of Sally’s boot crushing Alley Cat’s hand-portable. She moves into a shadow cast by some flames and we see another missile coming down into the town, far enough away so that all we see is the reflection of the explosion off the night air.
“I don’t know who’s sending the mail, but the missiles sound like ZZK’s, which means it’s Tean Sindie. They’re coming in from the east and being launched from over the horizon.”
Reaper adjusts his headset, covers the mouthpiece, and says, “Eli, lay in a course for east of Obsidian, and put the coal to it! Start scanning for that missile battery.” The ship lurches as it turns and roars toward the Dorado. Taking his hand from the mouthpiece, Reaper’s voice becomes very quiet. “Tommy, did you get hit?”
“Reap, you old bastard. No, I’m not hit, but in about a minute I’m going to be in an excellent position to get burgered. As soon as the shrapnel stops flying, old Raymond Sica is going to pull his face out of the mud and order a payback strike against the Mavedah. As soon as he does, I’m going to twenty-nine him, right?”
“Anybody covering your back, Tommy?”
“Same guy as always.”
Reaper covers his mouthpiece and looks at the three of us. “If Sica orders the strike, does she whack him?” Without consultation, all three of us nod. Reaper says into his mouthpiece, “If he orders the payback, give him the twenty-nine.”
“Landfall,” says Eli over the headset. “We’ll be over Obsidian in a couple of minutes. I have two missile tracks and reverse trajectories in the computer. Everything is armed, aimed, and ticking.”
Davidge glances at Kita. She nods. Facing me, he says, “What about it?”
Davidge relays the order to Eli, and immediately we feel two missiles launch from the Aeolus. Reaper says into his mouthpiece. “The cavalry is on its way, Tommy.”
“Not them?” she protests. “The last time the cavalry came through my neighborhood, my great-grandmother’s great-grandmother wound up in a tarpaper teepee in New Jersey selling polyester blankets from Taiwan. Hey Reap?”
“Still here.”
“If it comes to that, let the Drac down easy. Tommy Hawk out.”
Davidge leans on the edge of the table and faces Reaper. “When you asked Sally who was watching her back, who did she mean?”
“Same guy as always. That’s her Great Spirit, a giant of a mighty warrior who rides a horse made of stars and carries a lance of fire.”
There is silence for a moment, the only sound the dull roar of the ship’s engines. Reaper turns to Janice and she nods. “It’s the Tean Sindie. Flower and the Blade are on it. No warning at all, very high security. I told them to target the two who handed out the orders, the missile site is about to take care of itself.”
As we authorize the hits on the battery commander and the Tean Sindie area Jetah, an image appears on the screen. We see six tracked vehicles mounted with launchers. Each launcher has tubes for sixteen missiles, but none of them has the full sixteen. As the launchers fire, soldiers of the Tean Sindie cheer the missiles on their way to Obsidian and Black October. I look at Davidge. He is doing the same as I am: counting the dead before they fall.
We do not see the missiles from the Aeolus come in. One moment there are a hundred or more cheering Drac soldiers of the Tean Sindie, the next the screens go white, the white fades, and there is nothing. No tracked vehicles, no missiles, no soldiers, no cheers. Smoke, a few small fires, a terrible silence. When we had killed nothing but humans, I felt terribly guilty, evil. Now that we have thrown a hundred Drac corpses onto the scales, I feel no better.
I know why they were cheering. They were beaten, life, friends, and lovers taken from them, and at last, in the form of a gleaming blue winged tube full of explosives, they could strike back against all of those who had tortured and oppressed them throughout their lives. I know why they cheered. They cheered from their pain. They cheered because all of them cheered. They cheered because they did not know that the ones they killed were human copies of themselves. There are insignificant differences of color, the genetic orders concerning the number of fingers and toes, accent, language, belief. Trivialities.
Enemy Papers Page 64