“Damn it,” she swore into the blackness around her. Then, in a voice meant only for herself, she said, “We should have known better than to trust that shagrat son-of-an-untrac."
“Excuse me, ma'am?” the officer standing behind her inquired.
“Nothing—just talking to myself. Let's get out of here."
Once out of the shielding of the tunnel, Trak keyed her portacom. “Brand, this is Lisha."
“Do you have him?"
“No, Brand, we have absolutely nothing—damn it. All we have here is a tunnel off to the east and an empty house. He could have left here at any time during the past five days."
“Mm—I was afraid something like this might happen. We should have moved on him sooner."
“Oh, hell, Brand, there was no way we could have known about the tunnel. The last seismap of this area was made ten years ago, and it didn't show then. What do you think? Kaznov?"
“Absolutely. He knows I'll track him until one of us terms, so he doesn't have much choice but to go ahead and get off Paz ... or start his little war."
Harko didn't like the portent of what Frank running free on Paz with little to lose signified. But he knew Frank still had the main body of the Cadre intact and his chances of being successful at either option were fairly good. He just hoped Frank would go for Kaznov as a way to get off of Paz rather than pursue his ideas of gaining control of the government.
“What? You don't think he'd actually try to fight, do you?"
“I don't know, Lisha. Surprise and anonymity are no longer with him, so he might not, unless he finds himself stuck here with us. Then, I think you could put your last note on there being a war that we would find hard to win."
“Sounds really grim. Now what—Ganeden?"
“Yeah, Ganeden as fast as we can get there. Pass out the lethals and tell your people that, when they see Frank, it's okay to term the shagrat. But make damned sure it's him, because the Council will come down on me like a flock of hungry sackers if one innocent so much as gets singed."
“Can I consider that as an official order to terminate?"
“Not exactly. If he can be taken, then take him. If there's any doubt at all, turn him to jelly. I want that man out of my life, and I don't much care how it happens, though I'd really like to see him kicking in the wind."
“Vagnu?"
“Not Vagnu. He's as rotten as they come, but he's harmless as long as your back's not turned. Get as many people as you can muster out to Ganeden as fast as you can and I'll meet you there."
“What about the Council?"
“Forget them—they'll just screw things up, and they may have another Vagnu in their midst."
* * * *
The Ganeden landing pad had not played host to so much traffic in more than eighty years. Before the mines closed, Ganeden had been home to two hundred thousand. Now, less than three hundred still called it their place of residence—barely enough to keep a couple of stores, several bars, and a restaurant open, but nothing more. Ganeden was even off the regular mail route. Most of the locals were social misfits, hopeful prospectors, dreamers, artists, and roving bands of thieves who would occasionally drift down to the area from North Coopersland to see what they could find to plunder. There was no government presence—no law.
The pilot managed, with considerable effort, to get the overloaded, lumbering transport stopped a few meters short of colliding with the crude barricade across the track and barked a warning to his charges.
“Everybody, stay calm. We got bandits. Just do what they want and nobody will get hurt."
Bodiless visages came floating through the stark white pall of wind-driven snow. As they drew near, the faces began shouting for everyone to get off the transport and line up beside it. Indistinct shadows on their white garments provided ghostly foundations for their bobbing, shouting, half-hidden features.
One of the white-cloaked men moved forward from the group and, producing a sack, went to one end of the line of shivering passengers.
“I want everythin’ outa your pockets and in the bag. I want watches, rings, and other stuff, too,” he said forcefully enough to be heard above the howling wind at the other end of the line. “Don't try to hold out nothin’ or you won't get wherever it is you're goin', understand?” Then, turning to the pilot, he said, “Any packages or deliveries?"
“No. These southers all come up with hand stuff. It's all inside."
One of the men, acting as if on cue, produced a sack and, shouldering his weapon, boarded the transport. The one who had remained outside started down the line, holding out his sack to each of the passengers and shaking it. “Put it in the bag, puke.” In the middle of the line he stopped, snatched the bag back against his chest, and shouted, “Transport comin'—gonna be a good day.” He turned to the line of his comrades outside the public and shouted, “Fade."
All of them pulled a white, netted cover down from their hoods. It concealed their exposed faces, and the men effectively disappeared. The one with the sack moved quickly down the line, finishing his collection seconds before the high-pitched whine of a small, speeding transport became audible to the others in the line.
“Everybody back inside—and be quick about it."
The bandit who was aboard the transport tumbled out, his sack bulging with the passengers’ belongings, and buried himself in the snow.
* * * *
Enhanced radar showed a large transport, probably a local, stopped on the track behind a low barricade of rock and ice. The pilot applied full power to the fans, added some right thrust, and released the mag contact simultaneously. The sleek little vehicle lifted clear of the track and drifted gently to the left. When it passed the stopped transport little more than five centimeters of clearance was left between them. There was a slight bobble in pitch as air stacked up at the barricade and buffeted at the side of the boxy public, and that was it. A brief burst of left thruster, a small reduction of vertical fan pressure, and the little machine was back on the track as if nothing had happened.
Shan sat rigidly, his jaw quivering, eyes wide, and his color a close match for the snow outside.
“What is it, Bo? That maneuver bother you?"
“You ... I ... yeah. Yeah—it bothered me, Niki."
“There's nothing to worry about. Emil here was an interceptor pilot in the Council Guard before he came in with us."
“Oh? That's nice. Supposed to make me feel better, knowing that? I just lost twenty years. What was that business back there?"
“Probably a bandit trap. Some of our guests are getting their loads lightened, I'm sure. Judging by the time, I'd say it was Vagnu and company. Couldn't happen to a nicer crowd,” the pilot, Emil, said. “I couldn't get a read on the people, but before the sensor was shadowed there was an indication of a large group on the right, down in the snow—bandits for sure.” Emil reached forward and added more speed.
Shan, still shaken by the event, turned to Niki and said, “Are you ready now? I mean, aside from the new people, the screening and all that?"
“Uh-huh. We have a little latitude with time because the La Paz drops into receiving orbit on day two-twenty, exactly, and will wait there fifteen days before returning to its far holding orbit. We'll be there with time to spare."
“Yeah, maybe."
“What's that supposed to mean, Bo?"
“Have you heard anything from Lang?"
“If he doesn't show, we leave. No problem."
“Yeah? You're sure of that? What if he starts trouble?"
* * *
Chapter XXVIII
The gathering in the upper chamber was a cacophony of conversations echoing off the bare walls and ceiling. Generation people milled about, talking excitedly about their recent experience with bandits, while Biotech's contingent argued their individual ideas on memory encoding and a knot of Astro scientists busied themselves proving by various methods the extreme probability of not finding another suitable planet. The Cadre—the Cadre was con
spicuous through lack of representation ... and it was sixth hour.
“Has there been any word from Harko?” Shan asked.
“No, and we haven't heard from Frank, either. I think we'll go ahead with those who are here and hope for the best."
“Vagnu?"
“He didn't show up with the rest of the Generation group?"
“No. He may have decided to stay in New London to take his chances with Harko, or he could be coming out on his own. Want me to check the manifest for this morning's arrivals?"
“Yes, but have Luto do that—if you can draw him away from the Biotech convention over there. I'd like you to stay with me until it's time, because you recognize a lot of people on sight and that could be helpful."
No Vagnu, no Frank, and not a word from Harko. Could it be that Harko had gone ahead and picked them up? If the two of them had attempted to escape, Harko was bound to be angry. That anger would be turned toward Niki, which would be an ... unfortunate turn of events. Conversely, Vagnu and Frank had adequate incentive to be in Ganeden. They had to know they would be apprehended at some point, and Niki had assured them—he hated lying to anyone, even those two—that they would be leaving Paz. Niki began to wonder what he would do in their place, but that, he decided, was ridiculous—he could in no way think in the ways either one of them did if they had, for any reason, concluded that they were being used.
“Twenty-three,” Niki softly said into his com.
“Yes, Niki."
“Go to medium range search and full defense mode. Report any observations to me. And ... call Pasha."
Niki, not wanting anyone to hear what Twenty-three might report, jammed the com's earphone into his ear and winced at the discomfort it brought him. The things had been designed to by used by the Fathers, and he was forced to push in his sensitive flap to make it seat properly. Pasha's voice drowned out the din in the hall.
“Great day, Niki. Are they all there?"
“Not yet. I've put Twenty-three on alert status. I'm concerned about what Frank is up to. For all I know, he may be on his way here to make an attempt to take over the shuttles."
“I noticed the change of status on the panel. He wouldn't be able to do that, would he?"
“It may be possible. We don't know how much information he has on them. Notify the other crews and have them prepare for anything. We can't afford to lose a single shuttle now."
“All right, Niki. What do you plan to do?"
“I'm going ahead with those who are here before we run too short on time. Maybe they'll show up before we've finished. None of the Cadre people are here, and Vagnu didn't come in with his group.” Niki thought for a moment, then continued. “You know, my love, this is the first Halfyear I've missed in my life."
“Everyone here is saying the same, so we've decided to do a mini-Halfyear here. Anyway, we'll be safe out here, but you—be careful, Niki."
Even in hinterland places like Ganeden, the celebration of Halfyear would be observed to the fullest extent possible, in spite of the cold and the wind. It was a tradition deeply rooted in their reverence for the Ancients and the Fathers who'd brought them to this place. All the people would congregate at the local Shrine of the Ancients to await eleventh hour when the Hand would be offered on the Ladder, a ritual nearly as old as the Pazian people. After the rite of the Hand, at exactly eleventh hour and thirty, when the fires had lost their initial roaring violence, whole sides of shako would be lifted on spike frames to be roasted over the flames. At twelfth hour and thirty, just after the alignment, the smoking, charred carcasses would be taken from their places over the fires to the carving tables, where dishes of shako steak, lazial beans, and baked panroot would be prepared for the revelers.
* * * *
The reactor had been shut down, and the cold in the box at the back of the transport descended to a level that was unbearable and went right to the bone. Vagnu, stiff all over, climbed from the box into the bitter night of day two-nineteen and searched for the telltale light that burned bright over the Shrine of the Ancients in all the cities of Paz. His only hope for survival and escape was the celebration. There he could eat and drink his fill, stay warm by the fires that were kept burning through the twenty days of Halfyear. Once the locals had drunk themselves into the spayberry stupor of Halfyear as custom demanded, he would appropriate one of their rovers. It was a simple plan—one he was certain would work.
Scanning the sky, he finally found what he was looking for—a faint glow of orange caressing the tops of buildings to his right. Vagnu started off in the direction of the light, struggling against the wind and the snow that continued to fall almost horizontally. His feet were numb, his knees drove searing pain up his legs, and the simple act of breathing required conscious effort. But he had to keep on moving to the light—if he didn't he would most surely freeze.
* * * *
In soft red light, the operators in the cockpits of the Cadre AAVs were hard at work, fast-scanning for any sign of activity below and in front of them. Tazh was convinced that the shuttles would be on the ground somewhere near Ganeden Plate's southern edge and that they would have to reveal themselves at some point. The storm raging below them made any visual observation impossible, and infrared imaging was ineffective at what the pilots said were marginally safe altitudes. Tazh dispatched four AAVs to work a radar search of the area, but the Ganeden-Palmer line was long and the Pockets numerous. It would take two or three days to cover the entire grid.
In two days, his main force would arrive—a force of two thousand of his best shock troops, armed with the most potent of Kadin's lethal little toys. In the meantime, his objective was to find the shuttles if he could. Failing that, he would be forced to proceed to Ganeden with the force he had in order to keep surprise in his favor. Intelligence reported Kaznov to be in Ganeden with a gaggle of assorted misfits and an Enforcement presence of no more than forty people armed with nonlethals. He would secure Ganeden, destroy whatever resistance he encountered ... and take Kaznov. He wanted Kaznov—preferably alive.
His confidence running high, he made no effort to conceal his arrival and bored in over the Ganeden-Palmer line with twenty AAVs at fifteen thousand meters. No one, he was sure, would be expecting such a bold move—they wouldn't be scanning the sky to the south, so there would be no warning of his approach and, when the time came, complete surprise would be his. Kaznov would be his. Kaznov.
Dropping into one of the canyons west of the Palmer Outland track, they settled at low level into the wind-blown snow to wait for a positive report from one of the radar ships. With his options limited to leaving Paz in a suicidal flight to nowhere, proceeding with his plan to take Paz, or eventually hang, Tazh had made his final choice. He would take Paz ... or join with his Ancient in the dust of history. After all, his chances of survival in a headlong confrontation with whatever forces the Council might be able to deploy were better than going off on some stupidly ridiculous trip to some unknown, possibly nonexistent place with the very person who had caused him so much pain. He would take Kaznov and dispose of him ... slowly ... very slowly.
* * * *
The little transport crossed the line where the Ganeden Slip, a near vertical drop separating Palmer Flat from the Ganeden Plate, began and shot down the ramp into the blinding snow piling up against the Slip. The track was covered in mounds of the fluffy stuff, some two or three meters deep, and when the vehicle hit the first one it sent a cloud high into the rising air that pushed up the slope from the Plate. The pilot reduced speed to maintain the car's tenuous grip on the track, and Mills awoke with a start as the belts snugged up to hold his more than ample body in place.
“Huh? What? What in the name of the Ancients is happening now? Why are we slowing down?"
“Open your eyes and take a look, Virgo."
“Where'd the damned track go?"
“Snow, Virgo—and we can't do better than forty in these conditions."
“Yeah? How long to Ganeden?"
/> “About nine hours ... if it doesn't ice over. If it does, it'll take us more like thirteen."
“Too long."
“Want to take the controls?"
“Naw, I ... ho, wait. What the hell's that?” Mills exclaimed, staring through the transport's left rear window at a huge, ethereal shadow descending through the white veil surrounding them. “That a shuttle er what?"
“Don't know, Virgo. Damned big, whatever it is."
“Stop, damn it. Stop,” Mills demanded. “We gotta get our butts over there. If that's one of the shuttles, we don't gotta go all the way in to Ganeden, man."
“This isn't a rover, Virgo,” the pilot said as he brought the little transport to a stop. “We can get off the track and maybe make it as far as the berm—but that'll be it. You know what I'm saying?"
“Yeah, yeah. We gotta go on foot. So what? We got cold-packs, right?"
“Yeah, but—"
“So, get over there to the berm and suit up,” Mills said while reaching back to the storage compartment.
By the time they were able to make out what looked like a dark hole in the uniform whiteness, they were slogging through hip-deep powder and leaning heavily into a sixty kilometer per hour headwind. Mills cranked up the infrared gain all the way and lifted the SED to his shield. Recoiling from what he saw, he reached out and touched the other silver-suited figure on the shoulder and motioned for him to touch helmets.
“Cadre gun ships,” he said. “Let's get the hell outa here."
* * * *
The last of the Enforcement air transports locked itself to the dock at Ganeden, while Harko was giving his latest information to Trak, still in her cold weather gear, and sheltered in a temporary operations center set up on the pad."
“...will be arriving on day two-twenty-one, about third hour. We have received reports from Outer Pel's Field Station that twenty-four large vehicles were detected at five thousand meters and heading north at high speed. I think we can assume that Frank and friends have decided to make a stand here, and my guess is that he'll try to take over the shuttles to get off Paz. We just started an aerial scan, so we won't get caught squatting in the snow. I talked to Kaznov at seventh hour, and he told me they haven't seen Vagnu."
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