The Silent Warrior

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You do. Or you will. You will. Got those forms? Fine. Make out the transfer orders to transfer thirty percent of the common stock from me to you.”

  “Thirty percent? Thirty percent?”

  “Right. Gives you working control and no excuses. You still have twenty-one percent, I assume. How much does Carlina control?”

  Rodire nodded to Corso’s first question.

  “Yes or no? How much? I can’t look at the moment.”

  “Yes,” rasped Rodire. “She controls around forty percent. Don’t know what she owns. Worked under the rules that off-planet proxies are controlled by the administrator.”

  “That will end. Fill out the forms. Leave the cert numbers blank. We can fill those in later, when I give you the actual share certs.”

  Rodire opened the case, grasped it to keep from spilling the con-tents as the flitter banked.

  “Just another few minutes . . .”

  “Until what?” asked Rodire. His voice sounded hoarse.

  “Until we’re where we need to be.”

  The advocate listened to the higher roar of the wind and sharper pitch of the turbines. A glance outside told him that Corso had the flitter racing scarcely above the trees.

  “Isn’t this dangerous?”

  “Not so dangerous as getting shot down, or tracking . . . some of the wilder storms I’ve been through.”

  Rodire forced himself to try to relax, but found his arms gripping the armrest on the right and the seat cushion on the left.

  The whine began to drop. The wind’s whistle dropped. The advocate felt his stomach rise into his throat before dropping back into place. He squinted as the summer light was replaced with dimness. The turbines quit.

  “You can fly this, can’t you?”

  Rodire looked up to see Corso standing over him.

  “Yes . . . of course . . . still do sometimes.”

  “Good. When I’m done, you’ll have to fly yourself to your estate. Not that it’s fair. I assume you know where we are.”

  “I can guess.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Rodire stumbled out onto the bare tarmac. His eyes caught sight of an armed flitter across the bay, and another larger and blacker shape on which his eyes had trouble focusing. Rather than force his eyes to make out the black ship, since Corso was leading him there in any case, he turned to take another look at the flitter.

  His eyes widened as he saw the two missiles mounted under the wing stubs.

  “Corso . . . where . . . those are missiles . . . what . . . ?”

  “Oh, yes . . . those. We should get to that shortly.”

  Rodire scratched his shoulder absently and followed the Shaik up the ramp into the shadowy ship. The space inside was smaller than he had anticipated, with only a small control room, and a crew room not much larger, where Corso sat him in a small collapsible chair.

  “Will these take care of it from my point of view?” Corso thrust a file at him.

  Rodire took the file. Inside were sets of the original share certs, all authenticated by the Imperial Bank and signed over. Only the transferee space was blank.

  “How did you get that? They’re not supposed to do that.”

  “It’s legitimate, believe me.”

  “I believe you.” Rodire shook his head. “That’s more than enough. But what do you want me to do?”

  “They’re yours. Thirty percent of the common stock, plus the proxies for my remaining small interest.”

  The advocate wiped his forehead, once, twice. “For me?”

  “Who else?” Corso caught his lower lip with his teeth, then let go. “Once Carlina ceases to be a factor, you need to be Chief Operating officer, at least long enough to get someone honest to run CE. That’s what I want, and what El Lido needs. Get away from dealing with the government unless it’s impossible not to. And destroy the company, plants and all, if you have to take orders from Domestic Security.”

  “But the Ministry of Security . . .”

  “I’ll make them leave you alone.”

  Corso turned away toward the wall of blanked screens and indicators.

  “Commence Jam Trap Two. Commence Jam Trap Two.”

  “Commencing Jam Trap Two.”

  The coldly feminine voice that answered chilled Rodire to the bone. He wondered again who Corso really was, wondered how he had gotten involved. Rodire looked down at the fortune in his hands, then up at the slender man facing the controls.

  Corso swung back to Rodire.

  “Hamline. You have everything. Time for you to get to your estate. Sit tight. Sit tight for at least twenty-four hours. Don’t leave your estate. Your town house is on the north side of Lidora, is it not?”

  The attorney nodded.

  “Call your children—you didn’t remarry, I assume—and have them flit out within the next two hours. Call it a personal crisis, but get them here.

  “Don’t ask me why. Just do it. Hope all goes well, but the future is more important than a few people, even those I like, and that also includes you and me.”

  Corso barked a single, hard, laughing sound that expressed neither humor nor relief.

  “Now . . . go. I’ll open the bay port from here. Take the folder and your case.”

  Rodire mechanically took the folder and put it in his case, the case he had not even realized that Corso had brought from his flitter. He stood, and his steps carried him from the crew room and through the lock, down the ramp, and back to his own flitter.

  LXIX

  GERSWIN SHOOK HIS head sadly as Rodire’s flitter wobbled out through the open hangar bay.

  “Hope he makes it.”

  Half the hope was for Rodire. The other half was for CE, Limited, and the people of El Lido. One way or another, one Shaik Corso would be a quiet persona non grata for a number of years, assuming his plans worked out.

  He redirected his attention to the AI.

  “Interrogative status of trap jam.”

  “Code Trap Jam sustained for four minutes forty seconds. Initial links verified at 2,645.”

  “With a standard repeat factor, how long before the planetary commnet freezes?”

  “Probe thrusts indicate system approaching eighty percent of capacity. Estimate capacity in twelve minutes.”

  Gerswin nodded.

  The trap program was designed to link every possible receiver and fax outlet and to keep the connection open and unbroken. As a self-replicating program, the longer the system remained operational, the farther the programs spread. The end result would be the total paralysis of all public communications systems. The odds were that the unclassified military and security systems would also be paralyzed because some of the terminals and screens in government offices would be employed for both systems. The open transmit links would also create an enormous power drain on the planetary system, enough to grind some segments of the planet to a total halt.

  The last feature of the trap program was that, if any terminal was not purged of the program, the same chain could start all over again once power was restored, although without the massive input used by Gerswin, the commercial systems and the government could eventually confine the damage and regain control.

  The program worked. The remaining questions were how completely and for how long.

  Gerswin touched the Caroljoy’s controls, made some adjustments, and stood, surveying the cabin. Still wearing the pseudo-DomSec uniform, he left the ship, walking down the ramp without watching the locks close behind him as he hurried toward the armed flitter.

  The concealed bay doors opened as he went through the checklist, and, within minutes, he was airborne. He kept the flitter just above treetop height, and shifted his communications monitors to the military frequencies, since the civilian frequencies were already dead.

  “Gnasher two . . . vector to homestash . . .”

  “Negative, Gnasher two. Operating emergency power. Beyond trace range . . .

&
nbsp; “OPNET Emergency. OPNET Emergency! Clear this frequency! Clear this frequency!”

  Gerswin watched, scanned the board, and waited as the flitter skimmed the trees on its way toward Lidora, roughly fifty kilometers westward. No other transmissions sounded except for a series of highpitched squeaks, and he shifted frequencies again when he realized that the one he had monitored was now being used for data transmission.

  “Far Cry, negative your last . . . negative your last . . .”

  “Thunder one, arrived DomSec. Thunder two, provide cover.”

  Gerswin nodded. So far so good. The DomSec boys weren’t used to being under siege. He checked the forward farscreens, but outside of the background energy levels, could detect nothing specific.

  “EMERGENCY’!”

  “SSSSKKKKRRRR . . . EMERGENCY . . . Due to failure of the communications network and widespread power difficulties, the Premier and the Ministry of Domestic Security have declared a planetary emergency. Repeat, a planetary emergency. All unauthorized flitters and other aircraft have fifteen standard minutes to land. All civilian craft are immediately prohibited in the Lidora capitol area. Any aircraft in the capitol area will be forced down or destroyed. I say again. . .”

  Gerswin edged the thrusters back from full power. He’d reach Lidora, or the point he needed to reach outside Lidora, within minutes, and there was no need to waste the power yet.

  In some respects, he wished he could have done the job from the Caroljoy, but had she been modified to carry weapons, even he would have been unable to obtain certification, and he needed that certification to visit New Augusta and the more developed systems that actually inspected and guarded incoming ships.

  In any case, to have made sure of the targets he would have had to drop below orbital defenses, which created the same problem he faced now—namely, how to keep clear of the mess he was about to create. The other advantage of using the flitter was that both the El Lido government and the Impies would have to investigate local sources.

  Gerswin checked the course line against the targets.

  Taking his right hand off the thrusters momentarily, he wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. The DomSec uniform was hotter than he would have preferred.

  Cling!

  The farscreen alarm sounded, and the pilot checked both the screen and the horizon at two o’clock. A black dot of increasing size was aimed toward him.

  His scan showed that the forest beneath was thinning and the terrain becoming hillier as it gradually rose toward the eroded plateau on which the center of Lidora was built. Gerswin had chosen his course inbound over the Great Parkland, hoping to minimize the chance of groundfire. At a time when the planetary communications and power networks seemed under attack, he doubted that the Ministry of Domestic Security would be deploying large numbers to cover the parks.

  “Flitter over the Parkland! Flitter over the Parkland! Reverse heading. Reverse heading.”

  Gerswin debated whether to answer, finally touching the comrn stud.

  “Gnasher four, returning DomSec. I say again, Gnasher four, returning DomSec.”

  “That’s negative, four. That is negative. Divert or return homestash. Divert or return homestash.”

  “Understand and will comply. Diverting. Diverting.”

  Before he moved the stick, Gerswin touched the release button for the first missile. Next, he triggered the combat harness, simultaneously rolling in toward the oncoming patrol and pushing the thrusters around the forward detent into full combat thrust.

  The dark dot swelled into a lightly armed police flitter.

  “Gnasher four . . . change course . . . FIRE ON THE SUMBITCH! ! ! “

  Gerswin dropped the nose, then eased the stick left, then back into his lap, coming up over the police flitter. At the last instant he cut power, dropped his own nose, and triggered the heavy stunner at point blank range into the police flitter’s canopy.

  Thrrrummmmm!

  He did not watch the DomSec flitter spin downward, pilots and electronics hopelessly dead.

  “Unidentified combat flitter, bearing two seven zero. Fireflit two, he’s yours. Fireflit two, I repeat. Fireflit two, range and destroy. Range and destroy.”

  Gerswin smiled grimly. The Ministry of Domestic Security certainly wasn’t prepared for any real resistance. Not that he had expected it would be. Unfortunately for the people.

  Scanning the farscreens quickly, he recentered the flitter for the last few moments to provide the steady launch platform he needed. Then he touched the second release stud.

  With the faint lurch of the departing missile, he banked hard left and jammed the thrusters to full power as he turned tail eastward back across the Great Parkland, the whine of the thrusters screaming full pitch.

  He checked the distance readout and the time. Roughly another two minutes before the first missile reached target. By then his separation would be more than thirty kays. Not wonderful, but enough that the flitter would be beyond the worst of the shock wave.

  He dropped the flitter until it skimmed scarcely meters above the trees, then scanned the clock again.

  Less than a minute.

  “Two incoming released . . . interrogative defenses. INTERROGATIVE DEFENSES!”

  “Lasers not up. DomSec Control . . . be roughly ten more . . .”

  “That’s not—“

  Ssssssssssssssssssss!

  The screaming hiss blocked all transmissions.

  Gerswin flinched in spite of his training and experience as a second sun flared behind him. He did not dare look back, trying to coax more power from the thrusters for the CE, Limited, headquarters.

  Sssssssssssssssssssss!

  Before the first blast had faded, the second flared, though it had been the first launched.

  Gerswin kept his eyes on the controls, mechanically checking the indicators as the armed flitter screeched toward his base, listening to what scattered transmissions he could pick up.

  “Gnasher two . . . tachead . . . repeat tachead . . . DomSec HQ . . . other capitol target . . .”

  “CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY! CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY FOR EMERGENCY USE!”

  “. . . terrorist attack on Lidora . . . nuclear weapons . . .”

  “Lucifer . . . fallen . . .”

  The flitter bucked as the attenuated shock wave struck.

  Gerswin eased the nose back up as the flitter almost dipped into the trees, let the craft climb a few meters higher to keep from hitting the trees with the next wave.

  “Can you read . . . Gnasher one? Can you read. . .”

  “CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY! CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY!!”

  “. . . casualties . . . thousands . . . small nuclear device . . . air launched . . . near surface impact . . .”

  “. . . the evil . . . upon is . . . upon our souls . . . repent . . . repent . . .”

  Crmppppp!

  The nose flipped up thirty degrees with the second shock wave. Gerswin let the flitter ride and eased it down, checking the heading, and beginning a gentle bank toward the north.

  “. . . read this . . . homestash . . .”

  “. . . repent you of your sins . . . Lucifer . . .”

  “CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY!! CLEAR THIS FREQUENCY!!!”

  Gerswin adjusted his course as he brought the flitter level, tapping out the access codes on the transponder to open the hangar bunker.

  “Another flitter from the east approaching.” The cool tones of the AI chimed in on the private override.

  “Interrogative ETA.”

  “Three plus after your arrival.”

  “Stet.”

  Instead of powering down for a conventional approach, Gerswin left full power on.

  At two kays out, he dropped the thrusters to nearly idle, raised the nose, and bled the speed back to thirty kays. just before the flitter started to fall like a headsman’s ax, he added full power, nose up, and dropped though a left-hand turn, mushing to a complete stop in the hidden bay.

  He snapped off
the power, opened the canopy, and unstrapped himself in a single motion. As soon as the canopy was retracted enough, he vaulted clear and sprinted toward the Caroljoy.

  He made it inside, instants to spare, as Hamline Rodire’s now battered flitter wobbled inside and mushed into the armed flitter.

  “Screens!”

  “Screens on.”

  “Begin departure power up.”

  “Beginning departure power up.”

  Gerswin watched the silver-haired attorney struggle out of the safety webbing that had triggered on his landing/impact. Rodire fought his way free and stumbled toward the Caroljoy. In his right hand was a pistol-shaped object.

  Gerswin pulled a long-barreled stunner from beside the console.

  “Drop screens.”

  “Dropping screens.”

  Gerswin dashed for the lock and the ramp.

  “You were looking for me, Hamline?”

  “I . . . am . . . looking . . . for . . . you . . . you . . . killer . . . Corso . . . ,” panted the advocate, starting to bring up the weapon.

  Thrummm!

  The stunner bolt sizzled past the older looking man’s shoulder.

  “Drop it, Hamline. Now!” . . . never listen. . .”

  Thrummm!

  Clank!

  Rodire clutched his numb right arm with his left, then let go and knelt to scoop up the fallen laser with his left hand.

  Thrumm!

  Gerswin watched him drop before he moved toward the halfconscious man.

  An image crossed his mind, of another man, retching out his guts at the results of a hellburner blast. Of a man going into single combat to avoid unnecessary casualties to a potential enemy.

  Gerswin swallowed, once, twice, as he pushed the mental images away and moved toward the fallen attorney.

  LXX

  RODIRE BLINKED, SQUINTING, although the light around him was dim.

  “You awake?”

  The voice was familiar. Then he remembered. Corso! The demon he had thought was merely a man! The man who had launched nuclear weapons into the capitol! When Lisa had been downtown . . . He tried to lurch toward Corso but could not lift himself off the bunk.

  “I see you are.”