Heaven's Devils si-1

by William C. Dietz

  The inside of the glass was painted in keeping with blackout regulations, but triangles of buttery light could be seen from the sides, and Kydd could hear the soft murmur of conversation emanating from below. Part of it anyway, until a chain hoist rattled momentarily and drowned everything out.

  He knelt next to one of the openings, looked down through the gap, and realized that except for some side galleries the second floor was open. Judging from the hooks that were visible, plus a net that was stretched from one side to the other, the space was used to repair fishing gear. Three men were gathered directly below him, including his father, Vanderspool, and a man Kydd had never seen before. And it was he who was speaking. He had a deep, gravelly voice.

  “I’m talking about a billion credits worth of ardeon crystals all headed for Port Horthra,” he said. “That’s where they will be uploaded to transports and shipped to a more secure planet for safekeeping.”

  “Except we plan to intercept them,” Vanderspool put in smoothly, “and that’s where Bennet Industries comes in. A Confederate task force is scheduled to drop into orbit three days from now. That will force your armored freighters and ore carriers to withdraw for a few days. At that point, a second-party ship contracted by Bennet Industries will take on a high-priority government cargo. One which my troops will guard.” There was something else as well, but the words were lost as some sort of announcement was made over the PA system next door.

  Kydd felt sick. He remembered the speech his father had made at the university the last time he saw him. About how profitable the wars were for the Confederacy. Now he knew why.

  “Which raises a very important question,” the KM official interjected. “After your troops hijack the crystals—what’s to keep them from talking later on?”

  “I have a plan for that,” Vanderspool assured him. “The raid will be conducted by the 1st platoon, Alpha Company, of the 321st Colonial Rangers Battalion. That includes the squad the press calls ‘Heaven’s Devils.’ Once the operation is over I will send the survivors off to be resocialized.”

  The Kel-Morian chuckled appreciatively. “Perfect … no loose ends. I like it.”

  Kydd felt a heavy weight drop into the pit of his stomach. Resocialized! That was something that happened to other people. Like contracting a terrible disease—or taking a bullet in the head.

  “So,” the Kel-Morian continued, “we have one last thing to discuss, and that’s the final split.”

  Vanderspool said something inaudible as a Klaxon sounded, and Bennet shrugged. “How about thirds? You deliver the crystals, the colonel hijacks them during what looks like a Confederate raid, and I take them off planet.”

  Kydd looked at Zander and back down again. Listening to the matter-of-fact way his father and the other men were preparing to steal valuable cargo and then brain-pan innocent soldiers made him sick to his stomach.

  “That could work,” Vanderspool allowed thoughtfully. He looked straight at Bennet. “But what if I could offer you compensation of another kind?”

  Bennet looked skeptical. “Such as?”

  Vanderspool smiled slowly. “I know where your son, Ark, is, and in return for half of your cut, I’ll put you in touch with him.”

  Kydd was shocked. How did Vanderspool know?

  The offer was followed by a long moment of silence. And as the seconds ticked away Kydd felt his chest grow tight, so tight he could hardly breathe, as the head of the Bennet family took a moment to consider Vanderspool’s proposal.

  Kydd couldn’t see any of their expressions from where he was, but he could imagine the slight widening of his father’s eyes, and the man’s otherwise impassive features. A face that even his mother admitted she couldn’t scan clearly. “So he’s in the military,” Bennet concluded. “Somewhere on Turaxis II.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Vanderspool countered. “And it really doesn’t matter. The question is do you want your son—or would you prefer to have the money?”

  Kydd frowned and bit his lip as his father spoke. “Ark could have made contact with us and he chose not to. Clearly he doesn’t care for us as we care for him. So wherever he is, he’s going to have to learn to be a man on his own. You have nothing to offer. My share stands at thirty-three percent.”

  Kydd uttered a half-choked animal cry, but the sound was obscured by a loud ratcheting noise from next door, as Zander clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth. Kydd tried to push him away. That was when Zander wrapped his arms around his friend and threw both of them into a combined roll. Four rotations later they fell into the stygian blackness. Kydd took a blow to the head as he fell past a protruding support beam, and heard the roar of a passing boat as he splashed into the lake. The water was very cold, and as Kydd sank, he hoped the bottom would rise to claim him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “Citing the passage of time, and having received no new information regarding their son’s tragic disappearance, Errol Bennet and his wife, Lisa, held a private memorial service for their son, Ark, who is presumed to have been murdered while on a walk in Tarsonis City.”

  Handy Anderson, Evening Report for UNN March 2489

  THE CITY OF DARBY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

  Doc was naked and sitting astride Tychus as the knock came on the door. They were just back from a night on the town and were a little high. “Go away!” Tychus ordered in his best parade-ground voice, and reached up to cup Cassidy’s breasts.

  “It’s Zander,” a muffled voice said, from out in the hall. “We got trouble, Sarge … big trouble.”

  “Damn it to hell,” Tychus said irritably, as Doc swung a shapely leg over his torso. “What am I? A goddamned babysitter?”

  Cassidy pouted as she pulled a blanket up around her shoulders. She poked her foot out and playfully traced Tychus’s thigh with her big toe as he bent over to put on his boxers. With lightning speed, he reached out, wrapped one hand around both her ankles and began to tickle her feet, his favorite part of her. In a fit of screams and giggles, she squirmed around on the bed, kicking out at Tychus until he let go.

  “You stay put,” Tychus warned, pointing at Doc. “I’m not done with you.”

  Cassidy twisted herself back into the blanket and rolled onto her side, biting her lip and smiling up at Tychus. Her eyes were so glazed over from the drugs, it looked as though they were twinkling.

  “This better be important,” Tychus said, as he made his way toward the door. “Because if it isn’t I’m going to rip your head off and use it as a spittoon.” Tychus thumbed the lock, opened the door, and frowned.

  Zander was not only soaking wet, but supporting Kydd, who had a gash on the side of his head.

  “What the hell happened to you two?”

  “Sorry, Sarge,” Zander said apologetically, his eyes darting quickly from Tychus’s scant clothing to the tousled bed behind him. “Hey, Doc,” he said with a slight wave. The medic smiled and offered a half-assed salute.

  “It’s bad, Tychus,” Zander continued in a hushed voice. “We overheard Vanderspool talking to Ryk’s dad. We’re talking Errol Bennet here—the head of an Old Family. They’re planning some big heist, and we’re right in the middle of it.

  Tychus quickly ushered the guys into the room and glanced both ways to be sure the hallway was empty. He locked the door behind him. Zander wasn’t one to exaggerate, so Tychus knew something serious had gone down.

  “We fell into the lake,” Zander continued. “Kydd has a gash on his head—he’s bleeding, as you can see, and I didn’t know where to take him. I don’t know who else is in on this.”

  Tychus glanced at Kydd, who was trembling and drained of color, and seemed completely detached. “Hey, Doc! Get up,” Tychus said gruffly. “You got a cut to tend to.”

  Doc was zoned out. Zander watched her slide off the bed and liked what he saw. But Tychus was right there so he had to avert his eyes as Cassidy rearranged the blanket prior to making her way over to a corner and rummaging through the pile of gear stored the
re. “Get him out of those wet clothes,” she ordered. “And get some hot caff from room service.”

  Five minutes later a mostly clad Cassidy was there to clean Kydd’s cut and apply a plastiscab bandage. “Sorry your scar won’t be as ugly as the one Tychus has,” she said, “but you can try again later.”

  Kydd’s eyes were still a bit dull, but he wasn’t shaking anymore, thanks to the bedspread that was wrapped around him. Room service arrived moments later, and if the bellman was surprised at the unusual scene inside, he showed no sign of it as Zander gave him a large tip.

  Then, with both Zander and Kydd sipping hot drinks, it was time for them to share their story. Zander launched the narrative, but seconds later a heavyhearted Kydd began to chime in. Tychus grabbed a bottle of whiskey and dumped a generous dollop into Kydd’s drink; the booze took effect quickly and Kydd’s somber story soon transformed into an explosive, furious rant about his father. “The bastard disowned me,” Kydd said bitterly. “And he totally sold me out! But that’s not all… . He’s part of a plot to make us steal a billion dollars’ worth of ardeon crystals and then resocialize us! Turns out my father is a greedy scumbag! I’m going AWOL while I still can.”

  Tychus sat sprawled on a reclining chair, still clad in nothing more than a pair of boxers. “Like hell you will,” he said, as he removed the stogie from his mouth long enough to blow some ashes off his massive chest. “You want to put it to the old man? Well, the best way to accomplish that is to take what he values the most … his money.” He took a deep swig out of the bottle.

  It took Kydd a moment to absorb what Tychus was saying, but once he understood, a smile appeared on his face. “I like it, Sarge!” he said. “I like it a lot.”

  “Good,” Tychus said grimly. “When the hell is Jim getting here?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Kydd replied. “And what about the rest of the squad?”

  “I can see Harnack signing on to just about anything,” Zander replied, “and Ward will agree so long as he gets to kill some Kel-Morians.”

  “All right, Zander, you be in charge of rounding everyone up. Once Jim arrives we’ll bang out a plan,” Tychus said. “It’ll be fekkin’ beautiful. Vanderspool won’t know what hit him, and your pop’ll be cryin’ into his soup while we make off with his blood money.” He looked back at Doc, who was propped against the headboard with her knees drawn up, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. He turned toward Zander and Kydd. “Now if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, please get the hell out of my room.”

  THE CITY OF DARBY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

  It was approximately 0900, and a misty rain was falling, as Doc slipped out of the hotel and into a hovercab. She took a hit of crab to steady her nerves.

  The Mondoro Hotel was located at the very top of the terraced hill, where its guests could enjoy sweeping views of the lake below. So it took a while for the cab to make its way to the top, where it settled in under a formal portico, and a uniformed doorman hurried out to greet Cassidy.

  A couple of dozen steps took her through a pair of sliding glass doors and into a sumptuous lobby. It was decorated with Talvarian marble and beautifully upholstered furniture, all of which was positioned around a fountain and tiled pool.

  House fones were positioned here and there, so Doc chose one next to a comfortable chair, and put the receiver to her ear. Once the operator responded, she asked to be connected with Colonel Vanderspool’s room, and the fone started to ring a few seconds later. Her heart was pounding. It took the officer a long time to answer, and when he finally did, he sounded groggy. “Yes?”

  “This is Petty Officer Third Class Cassidy,” Doc said. “I’m down in the lobby.”

  A moment of silence passed before Vanderspool spoke again. He was clearly angry. “How the hell did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t hard,” Cassidy answered honestly. “I went to the reception desk where I’m staying and asked the clerk for the name of the most expensive hotel in Darby.”

  Vanderspool swore. “Okay, damn it … what do you want? If you’re out of crab that’s too bad. Maybe you can steal some money from Findlay.”

  “No,” Doc replied levelly, “I’m not out of crab. And I don’t plan to be out of crab ever again. I have some very valuable information, and I expect to be paid for it.”

  “Oh, really?” Vanderspool responded sarcastically. “What? You found out where Findlay keeps his cigars?”

  “I know who you met with last night,” Doc replied, suddenly breathless. “And I know what you plan to steal—and how you intend to do it.”

  There was a long pause before Vanderspool spoke. There was no sign of grogginess now. “I’m in room 804. Come on up.” There was a loud click as the connection was broken.

  Doc smiled thinly as she stood, paused to examine herself in a full-length mirror, and straightened her clothes. Then, having shakily applied some lip-gloss, she made her way toward the elevators. Her knees felt weak, but she managed a steady stride.

  As she walked, the image she’d been trying to avoid crept into her thoughts. Tychus—dead, disfigured, or worse, resocialized. As she entered the elevator, she shook the image out of her head and took another generous hit of crab. She felt for Tychus, in a primitive, selfish way—it felt good to be close to him at the end of the day. It made her feel less lonely.

  But she knew Tychus would eventually dump her for someone else; they always did, and he, more than anyone, wasn’t the kind of guy who would stick around. She had to think of herself this time, and she wanted to be on the winning team. Vanderspool had the military apparatus to secure a victory, and could pay her enough to keep a solid stash of crab for a long time to come.

  But the rest of the guys … they were her comrades, and it pained her to think that she was sealing their fate. So she closed her eyes as the drug flooded her brain, and felt thankful that she didn’t have to think at all.

  SOMEWHERE OVER KEL-MORIAN–HELD TERRITORY, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

  The dropship made a droning sound and threw a dark shadow down to caress the land below as it entered Kel-Morian-controlled airspace. It had been three days since Raynor was released from the stockade and had gone down to meet his friends in Darby. The news that Vanderspool planned to use Heaven’s Devils to steal a load of ardeon crystals and resocialize them should have come as a tremendous shock. But after everything he’d been through, and in light of Vanderspool’s efforts to have remote-controlled lockup switches installed in the unit’s suits, Raynor was anything but surprised.

  Nor had he offered any objections to the plan that Tychus put forward. Because with the exception of a scattering of officers like Sanchez, it was obvious that the entire command structure was made up of thieves who were working for thieves. And that was true of both sides of the conflict. So if there was a chance to steal from the thieves—then Raynor was happy to take part. And leave the military behind in the process.

  All of the dropships were painted to look like Kel-Morian transports, and equipped with transponders and codes supplied by Vanderspool’s Kel-Morian friend. Raynor knew he should be worried, because Tychus claimed the scheme was foolproof, and the other man was better known for impulsive reactions than carefully thought out plans. But Raynor had to admit that the scenario was pretty straightforward, and simple plans usually worked best.

  Having used Tychus’s connections to set up a sale of the ardeon crystals, all the Devils had to do was intervene at the right moment and load their ill-gotten loot onto one of the dropships. Then, rather than fly back to Confederate-held territory, they would put down in Free Port, a loosely governed city that sat astride the divide between Confederate and Kel-Morian territory. That was where the final transaction would take place.

  Once in Free Port, and flush with money, it would be possible to take on new identities and book passage off planet. Not on a liner, since they didn’t serve Turaxis II anymore, but on a freighter. According to Tychus there were always captains willing to make some extra
money carrying passengers the owners weren’t necessarily aware of.

  Raynor’s thoughts were interrupted as Tychus came shuffling down the center aisle. The noncom was wearing what appeared to be Kel-Morian armor and a shit-eating grin that was visible through an open visor. “So, soldier,” he said in an attempt to imitate a gung-ho Quigby-type officer. “Are you ready to give your life for the Confederacy?”

  “Yes, I am,” Raynor grated. “Right after I give yours.”

  That got a laugh from those seated close enough to hear. “That’s the spirit!” Tychus said cheerfully. “Your parents would be proud.”

  No they wouldn’t, Raynor thought, as the dropship droned on. They wouldn’t even recognize what their son has become.

  The resocialized marines sat facing one another, eyes to the front, and backs to the bulkhead as the second dropship skimmed over the countryside below. Vanderspool sat just aft of the cockpit. It felt good to know that the marines would do whatever they were told without asking a single question. And if that meant they got killed, then so be it. Because they were criminals and sociopaths who had no place in decent society anyway.

  As the pilot’s voice sounded in his helmet and the ship began to circle Korsy’s tiny starport, Vanderspool was under no illusions. He and his troops would have to fight in order to take control of both the city and the train station. Fortunately the town wasn’t that large and the opposition was going to consist of Kel-Morian guards who were paid to keep the local workers in line. The inhabitants were citizens of the Confederacy mostly, who had been captured when the KMs took over, and forced to work in factories and food processing plants.

  But Vanderspool knew it would be a mistake to underestimate the Kel-Morians, who were bound to be well-armed. The key was to drop in unexpectedly, take their leadership out as quickly as possible, and hit the rest of them hard.