"No fear." Lan said. "I could smell you coming."
"You never did have any common sense." Lopez said. "Just luck. I see it's held you through all this time."
"Something has. There's been some luck. No question of that." Lan agreed. "But it ain't been all luck."
"You were running on luck and a prayer when I met you. I can't imagine how you survived this long."
"Maybe, maybe not," Lan said, suddenly annoyed. Suddenly wondering if he wanted Lopez along at all. "The Corps wasn't my first gig, and you know it. What do you want?"
"I'm not accustomed to taking orders." Lopez said. "Never been, never will be. That's unlikely to change, but . . . " Now Lopez smiled lopsidedly, more a grimace than a smile, but his attempt at warmth, and which would have scared the average individual have to death, " . . . I think I can make an exception in this case."
"Oh that's real generous of you." Lan said sarcastically, but Lopez' smile only increased.
"Yeah, isn't it." Lopez said.
Lan couldn't help his own smile then. The respect he felt for this man, who had saved his bacon innumerable times, was immense, even if he could get right under Lan's skin much too easily.
"You're a piece of shit." Lan said, and meaning it.
"Likewise." Lopez said, also meaning it, then in a change of tone that sounded strange coming from him, he asked;
"You really think they'll take us off the line we get this Senator back?" His tone implied his doubt.
"That's the official story." Lan said, though it did raise doubts in his own mind. The Corps was notoriously corrupt. Once they got your signature on their contract, all other bets were off, and they'd say anything to get that signature.
Lan had come to the Corps expecting the worst, as that was his nature, and he had not been disappointed. They had lived entirely up to his expectations.
"Take it for what you will." Lan said.
"I've heard Sanchez is a straight shooter." Lopez said.
"I think they'll keep their word, if we do our part. We'll be heroes. They'd look like hell screwing us then." Lan said. "If we fail, and the failure is our fault . . . !" Lan let the thought hang in the air between them.
"Misfit Squad bungles rescue attempt." Lopez said. "They'd line us up and blow our fucking heads right off, is what they'd do!"
"We fuck this up," Lan said, "and we'd better just disappear deep in the jungle."
"That there is mutinous talk!" Lopez said. "I do believe I'm gonna haf' to report this to me Superior Officer!"
"I've been thinking about this a lot." Lan said, ignoring the sarcasm. "And the simple fact is, Becla doesn't stand a chance finishing that ten piece."
"And?" Lopez asked.
"And what?" Lan snapped. "You can see it as clearly as I."
"Just wanted to hear you say it." Lopez said. "I'll ride along."
"I have five years left myself." Lan said. "Luck only goes so far. Mine's gotta be running thin."
"That girl . . . "
"Becla."
"Whatever, you're right, she'll never make the ten, especially not when you're gone. You gonna have to do what you gonna have to do." Lopez said.
"We fail, we don't get that Senator back," Lan said, "and Becla and I will be going our own way, even if the failure wasn't our fault.
"You don't want any part of this, I'll understand." Lan added.
"I'll ride." Lopez said. "Been thinking about my own odds, lately, anyway. A man can't keep drawing good cards forever. That bust hand's do."
"You got how much time left on your hitch?" Lan asked.
"Two and a half." Lopez answered. "Forever."
"Aw Christ!" Lan said disgustedly. "I never thought I'd see the day you went soft. You should just put a blaster to your head now!"
Lopez favored him with another lopsided grin. "You just think for a second I went soft! Just go ahead!"
Chapter 28
The weapon's blast hardly surprised him at all. He had been half expecting it. The dense grass and brush was perfect for an ambush, and surprise of surprises, here the bitch was!
She was attacking their flank, as he would have done himself. That was why he wasn't there himself, on either of the flanks. She would stay to the outside, to avoid being flanked herself. That's what he would've done.
She was not so damn smart.
Now Nago crept forward. He had little fear he would run into her in the center. He made no noise. He was much too good for that. Various of his men, as good as they were, made slight sounds as they also moved ahead. If Nago made any noise at all, he could not discern it.
Nago did not move towards the location of the attack. She wouldn't be there anymore anyway. He continued his course. Up the middle.
He moved slowly, painstakingly, in no hurry. She would not be content with the one kill. That she had killed was obvious. She would not have fired her weapon unless she had been assured of a kill. She would be moving back, hoping to pick them off one at a time, in the heavy brush, but keeping escape to her rear open. That's how Nago would've done it and that's how Nago knew exactly where she was.
Someone less determined might simply have turned around and gone home, but Nago was not less determined. The only sure way he guaranteed possessing these fire stick weapons was to take the one the woman had. There might be no more on the ship. He had to have this one.
Only the death of every man with him would deter him from having that weapon, and maybe not even that. The weapon was worth more than the lives of these.
Expendables. Let them flush her out, and then he would pounce.
The double concussion of the weapon, ahead and on the left flank, told the story of more death. The blast traveled off in some different direction, but the flashes of light were visible. The concussions again covered the sound of her movement as she quickly relocated. He didn't have to see it to know it. Because that was what he would've done.
How much farther did this heavy undergrowth stretch? How much longer could this game continue? Nago used the concussions also, the sound covering his sudden rapid movement.
This game had more than one master player, Nago thought as he patiently awaited the death of yet another of his men. He made a slow progress meanwhile. All depended on his utmost stealth until he too, could use the concussions of the woman's weapon to make better progress.
The weapon was not fired again for a long time. Even Nago's great patience had begun to wear thin. His men were simply too scared. Couldn't blame them, he thought. They had so little chance against that weapon.
When it did erupt again, Nago erupted with it, flying ahead down the trail. When its thunder rolled away, he was once more stationary, but much advanced. He was now well ahead of her. Probably out of her audible range.
Hours passed before another died. Nago was so far ahead by then that he constituted little more than an observer to the action far behind. But he had changed their roles.
The cunt had gall. Nago had to give her that. What reckless confidence. The bitch thought to finish them all! It bespoke of experience, of success, of previous battles fought and won.
Things were about to change, however, Nago vowed.
This bitch thought herself superior. Someone as experienced as her would not make hasty decisions. Her actions would be based on sound reason and logic. The sum of her knowledge told her that she could defeat them all. She was one cold, calculating woman, Nago admitted.
She seemed to be succeeding. At least he hoped she thought so. If she did, she was in for a rude awakening.
When the next concussion shattered the stillness of the forest, it was far behind and Nago had found a place from which to launch his own ambush. Free of the heavy undergrowth, the massive trunk of a large tree provided his concealment. Patiently he settled in to wait. He was beside the path the two of them had traveled yesterday, and by which he hoped she would use to depart. She would need that trail to reunite with the inept one.
Should he simply kill her outright? It seem
ed the safest course. A blow that did not immediately incapacitate her might leave her the time to retaliate. The fire weapon did not seem particularly complex to operate, as quickly as she was able to use it, so even lethally injured she might put it to deadly use.
What irony that would be!
Now Nago merely wished she would hurry. Hurry and finish eradicating his men. So she could hurry and come to him!
Chapter 29
Baldwin was defeated. Like an utter fool he had placed himself right into the enemy's hands. That they were a new and unexpected enemy did not diminish his failure.
Hadn't it been bad enough that a woman had to fight for him? No it had not. While she risked her life for his, he had had to bumble along and accomplish that which she had fought to prevent.
What an utter fool.
Stripped of his weapons but not bound or in any other way secured, he walked along at the head of the mass of the curious men and women surrounding him, who were escorting him to their camp.
Some of them wore expressions of hard suspicion, but on the whole they were more curious than suspicious. These weren't Stone Age barbarians as he had expected, but simply normal humans struggling for their lives, and something more, if that which Jarlaxle Accor had said could be believed.
The man set off warning bells in Baldwin. And not just his ruthless treatment of the dissident. Everything about him rubbed Baldwin the wrong way. He was in no way fooled by his soft persuasiveness, but that did not mean that what he was trying to accomplish was wrong, only that his motivations for doing so were questionable. His motivation was purely selfish, Baldwin was sure.
His motivation was escape. By worse motivations were better things often accomplished, however.
Baldwin was no longer so certain of his own beliefs. What had been the rock solid foundation of his own morals had been shattered completely by what he had seen here. Mostly these people were the descendants of criminals, men and women which committed no crimes themselves. They were undoubtedly hard and unforgiving, but they had had to be so to survive in a harsh environment. Most of these people should not have to be here.
As Baldwin pondered, Jarlaxle had walked beside him, quietly allowing him his thoughts. He seemed to recognize that Baldwin's thoughts had come around now however, because he now spoke;
"Our only interest is in salvage. I don't want to see anyone unnecessarily hurt. We're going to the crash site. If there is anything, or anyone, we should be aware of, now is the time to tell me about them."
Baldwin was torn. These people were all well-armed. Their weapons were only slightly less efficient than Rebecca's blaster, there were hundreds of them, and they also had his weapons now as well.
But if he spoke up, he was betraying her. Or was he? He just did not know. In either case, if she were hurt or killed, he would be responsible. The question was, would she bumble right into them as he had done, or would she be able to escape if they weren't already warned of her? If he thought she would be able to avoid them, then he had but one option.
If he opened his mouth, she had no chance. They would lay a trap for her and catch her easily. That he felt sure of.
Yet what would they do to him when she killed or injured some of their number, as was entirely likely, and he had not warned them?
He would be finding out. All these thoughts took but a moment.
"I was the only survivor." Baldwin lied. His lie came smoothly and convincingly, he thought. He met Jarlaxle's look squarely.
Jarlaxle's rat face betrayed no emotion. Baldwin couldn't tell if he had believed him or not.
Suddenly Baldwin had the urge to grab for one of the blasters Jarlaxle now wore on his own hips, to go down in a blaze of blaster fire as long as he could take Jarlaxle with him. But he couldn't make himself do it.
Jarlaxle had about himself such an air of competence and surety, of relaxed vigilance, in the same way that Rebecca had, that it completely immobilized Baldwin's urge. He had the impression that, had he grabbed for one of those weapons, that Jarlaxle could break his arm before he even touched the butt of the weapon.
The look in Jarlaxle's eyes seemed to mock him, as if he had read his thoughts as clearly as if Baldwin had spoken them aloud. Baldwin couldn't say for sure that he hadn't. A small smile now touched the corners of the man's thin lips. Baldwin looked away.
"Do these people deserve condemnation?" Jarlaxle asked.
"They may not, but you do." Baldwin said. "What was your crime? You weren't born here." Any sympathy he felt did not extend to Jarlaxle Accor. He was a little surprised at the audacity of his own speech.
Jarlaxle clearly did not appreciate his statement and had visibly to struggle to control a retort.
He wants something, Baldwin thought. But what? Did he think Baldwin was his ticket to freedom? If he did, Baldwin vowed, he was grossly mistaken.
"I was sentenced here fairly." The King of the Tarovan said. "It's not of myself whom I think. We are forced upon a course not of our own choosing. A lot of good men and women will die before Bali can become the Democracy the Federation demands. And not only Tarovan, but all of those we will have to pacify to achieve the Federation's demands. The means to the ends lies over the corpses of hundreds of thousands of innocents. Maybe millions. It's entirely horrendous. Even Hitler's murderous regime will pale beside what the Federation will force us to do. An entire planet."
Hitler. Yeah. Baldwin remembered the name from school. One of the bloodiest tyrants in human history. Old Earth history. There had been plenty far worse since then.
"What's in it for you?" Baldwin asked.
"A better life for my children." Jarlaxle lied, Baldwin was sure. Jarlaxle would cut his own children's throats, Baldwin was sure, if it meant his own escape from Bali. After all, one could always have more children.
Baldwin hoped his own reaction was as cleverly hidden as Jarlaxle’s'. It would not do to cut his own throat by antagonizing the suave killer. But release him back upon the Federation! No. That he would never do.
But Baldwin was only valuable to Jarlaxle as long as he thought Baldwin could be used. Things could get ugly beyond that point. Jarlaxle must be made to continue to think so.
What leverage could he gain? What could he offer that Jarlaxle would believe him willing to give? He must not seem to come around too quickly. Jarlaxle was very perceptive.
"The Balian borders should be closed." Baldwin said. "Bali is too close to Reunification. There shouldn't be any more colonists sent here. They will have to be sent somewhere else. Better to execute them ourselves them send them to you!" He said this scathingly, but Jarlaxle only laughed. Just then a man ran up and joined them.
"Jarlaxle! We've picked up another trail. A woman." The man said. "A soldier though. Well-trained. She leaves almost no trail. These two were together but they separated. About eight kilometers back."
Jarlaxle's glance Baldwin's way was full of nuance, but then he only shook his head.
"Did you want to see your friend killed?" Jarlaxle said quietly. "What about my people? It is you who are the criminal." Jarlaxle turned to the messenger;
"Where's the Expeditionary Force now?" Jarlaxle asked the man. Baldwin had not even guessed that there had been a separation of forces. Their numbers must be much greater than he had originally estimated.
"Awaiting orders." The man replied.
"Good. Pull them back. Avoid contact. I'll deal with her myself, when she returns."
The man looked startled, but turned away after a brief nod, and was soon lost to view within the forest. Jarlaxle turned back to Baldwin, said;
"Maybe we should start from the beginning. I don't think we started off on the right foot. You could've cost some good people their lives, and for nothing."
"I was hoping to see her escape."
"Of that I can believe." Jarlaxle said.
"Can you blame me?" Baldwin said.
"Yes. I can. You would've been responsible for your friend's death. Maybe some of my own
people, too. I'm trying to be reasonable with you," Jarlaxle went on, "but you aren't reciprocating."
Baldwin felt he could almost believe the King's slippery persuasiveness.
"So how many more of you are there," Jarlaxle asked, "and how well armed is your friend?"
"Just how do you think you're going to take her without a fight?" Baldwin demanded. He suddenly felt a desperate burning in his chest; he vowed he would find a way to kill Jarlaxle if Rebecca were harmed. He would do it!
"No one's going to try to take anyone." Jarlaxle said, still the image of reasonable calm. "Hopefully she can be invited in. It has occurred to you by now, I hope, that you and your friend are perfectly safe with us. We mean you no harm."
"There were no other survivors that I know of." Baldwin finally answered. He believed Jarlaxle, but only because he knew Jarlaxle wanted to use him. As long as Jarlaxle needed him they would be safe. "All ship's crew perished in the crash. All besides Rebecca and myself. We were attacked by the Satellite Defensive System. It was a malfunction of some kind. We were actually only just passing by."
"And this Rebecca's armament?" Jarlaxle persisted.
"Just a blaster. Her left wrist is also broken. I guess that's why she didn't bring more. The ship was full of weapons, but they'll be in the hands of those who were following us by now, unless she's killed them all." Baldwin said. "That's what she went back to do."
"She's a soldier then?"
"Yeah. Space Corps. Class A Security Tech. Secret Service. She's my bodyguard." Baldwin admitted.
Suddenly Jarlaxle was intense and serious. "Who was following you?"
"I don't know. Natives. A group of them."
Jarlaxle began yelling commands to the men and women around him, and there was an explosion of activity. Then he turned back on Baldwin. "And you didn't think this was important!"
"No." Baldwin said. "I didn't think there'd be many of them left. Not once she's through with them."
Jarlaxle seemed momentarily nonplussed. Then he demanded;
"Who is this woman to you? Prosecutors rank Corps Security Tech guardians now? I don't believe you!"
Duty, Honor or Death the Corps Sticks Page 17