Vengeance

by Brian Falkner

  “Maybe.” Brogan shrugged. “Fezerker medical training is pretty intense.”

  “That’s true,” Wall agreed.

  “Then you do it, Wall,” Price said.

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t a medic. We all had specialties.”

  Attention turned back to Brogan.

  “Can you help him?” Price asked.

  “Maybe,” she said again. “If you trust me.”

  [0630 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

  [GOVERNMENT BUILDING, CANBERRA, CENTRAL MEETING ROOM]

  Nokz’z entered the meeting room to find it humming: delegates chatting in small groups, chefs placing platters of food on the tables.

  Commandant Goezlin, the head of the secret police, the dreaded PGZ, was in a huddle with two or three others. He must have flown in from Uluru very early that morning. Or perhaps he was already in Canberra on other business. He looked up when he saw Nokz’z enter, and broke off the conversation, walking, seemingly casually, in Nokz’z direction. But nothing Goezlin did was ever casual.

  “Colonel.”

  “Commandant.”

  “I hear you have lost a rotorbot,” Goezlin said.

  Nokz’z took his glasses off and polished the lenses. How typical that Goezlin knew this before he did. He replaced his glasses and nodded. “I am waiting for details to come through as we speak.”

  Someone will be severely punished for this.

  “Am I correct that it was lost on the coast, east from here?” Goezlin asked. “Batemans Bay?”

  Nokz’z considered that. The bay was south-east of Canberra.

  “Your information sources are impressive,” he said. “I had ordered extensive patrols of that area due to the loss of the Razers earlier this morning. But a lost rotorbot could be a malfunction. We have lost them before for this reason and I am not going to jump into any rash action before I have full details.”

  Goezlin shook his head. “But as you undoubtedly know, it was operating in alert mode, tracking something, before it was lost.”

  Does Goezlin know everything?

  “My people are on it,” Nokz’z said, trying to salvage some dignity from the situation.

  “Yes they are,” Goezlin said, but the small upturning of the corners of his lips said a shame you were not. He looked around, a little distracted, Nokz’z thought, his attention taken by one of the chefs working on the tables around the room.

  The chef finished what he was doing and turned, walking past them and out of the room. His eyes flicked over both Nokz’z and Goezlin as he passed. He had no reaction to Nokz’z, but when he saw Goezlin there was a slight widening of his eyes, a subtle hitch in his stride. This chef recognised Goezlin. That was unusual. Very few would know Goezlin’s face. He was a man of the shadows, a dark creature of the night. Unless of course this poor chef had once been unfortunate enough to earn Goezlin’s attention.

  Goezlin turned back to Nokz’z as the chef left. “What are your plans to deal with this intrusion?”

  “I am awaiting further information,” Nokz’z said. “We do not yet know if it is an intrusion, and if it is, we do not know their target.”

  “I think the target is obvious,” Goezlin said.

  Nokz’z waited.

  “Most of our top military leaders are here, congregated in one building, in one room,” Goezlin said. “Azoh will be attending later. A small team of assassins, or saboteurs, could cause irreparable damage to our military leadership.”

  Nokz’z had to fight to keep the surprise and annoyance off his face. Azoh will attend the meeting? That was almost unprecedented. But as head of Coastal Defence, his responsibilities included the defence of the capital and the government building. Why had he not been informed?

  “This meeting was only called a few hours ago,” he said. “The scumbugz could not have known about it in time to send a team of assassins.”

  “Unless they sent the assassins in beforehand,” Goezlin said. “Then used their new jets deliberately to provoke the meeting.”

  “I will create a perimeter around the Congress,” Nokz’z said. “Nobody will get through.”

  “And Batemans Bay?” Goezlin asked.

  “I will saturate the area with patrol craft and rotorbots,” Nokz’z said. “If necessary, I will raze it to the ground.”

  “I am glad to see that you are on top of this situation,” Goezlin said.

  Damn him!

  Goezlin moved off without speaking further. He left the room via the same door the chef had just taken. It seemed casual.

  But nothing Goezlin did was ever casual.

  Nokz’z picked up his phone. Dequorz answered immediately.

  “We just lost a rotorbot?” Nokz’z asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was just about to contact you,” Dequorz said.

  Nokz’z avoided berating him. For now. “Notify all patrols to be on the lookout for humans in Bzadian uniforms,” he said. “This smells like Angels to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dequorz said. “And we have more information on the base for those new human jets.”

  “Yes?”

  “Our recon flight to New Zealand picked up heavy activity around the main city, Auckland. Constant air patrols.”

  “How close did our jets get?” Nokz’z asked.

  “Not very close,” Dequorz said. “As soon as they picked up the human patrols, they headed back.”

  “Good,” Nokz’z said. “We don’t want to lose any more fighters. Send an attack wing. One Dragon and five fighters for cover defence. I want that base destroyed.”

  “Just the one Dragon?” Dequorz asked.

  “Just one,” Nokz’z said. “Until we know exactly what we are dealing with, I don’t want to risk any more.”

  The Tsar, unconscious, rode on the tray of a small garden truck. A utility vehicle built on a golf cart chassis, it was battery powered and almost silent. Wall had found it in a work shed at a motel they had passed. The batteries were long dead, but he had jury-rigged it with a number of spare coil-gun power packs.

  The sun was still low, melting slowly into the darker blue of the western sky. There were no clouds. It was going to be a clear, hot day.

  Wall drove. Monster rode with The Tsar, tending to his wound as best as he could. The bandages were dark red and the colour was spreading slowly in a pool around his neck. Barnard was next to him, holding the IV bag, dripping what little plasma they had into his veins.

  The Tsar was a concern, but distance was a greater concern. The further away from Batemans Bay they got, the safer Price felt.

  She turned and looked back at The Tsar. It was strange how such a little thing, a slender length of steel, could turn a person from a big, vivacious, fun-loving show-off into a small, grey thing. The Tsar had always been larger than life. Now he looked older, shrivelled and dull.

  An overgrown but passable track through the trees led them to a long-abandoned highway. You never realised how clean highways were until you saw an abandoned one, Price thought. Street-sweepers and the tyres of thousands of cars kept them clear. But not this road. It was papered with leaves and studded with rocks. The highway would gradually sink back into the earth it was built on, a relic for some future civilisation to dig up and wonder at.

  But will that civilisation be human or Bzadian?

  They came to a wide open area of forest, clear-felled. A firebreak, although with years of neglect it too was well overgrown. The Bzadians wouldn’t call it neglect. They didn’t believe in cutting and slashing at the natural world around them.

  After a brief discussion the Angels turned into the firebreak. The going would be slower, but they would be less likely to run into Bzadian ground patrols. Even so, they stayed as close as possible to the tree line, ready to duck back under cover at the slightest sign of trouble. Brogan’s eyes scanned the sky constantly and she often seemed to be listening to things that nobody else could hear. Her sight and hearing abilities were extraordinary, Price thought. When they bred humans in Uluru, they bred
them good. Genetically enhanced in some way. Not quite super-humans, but almost.

  The side track was a blemish on the otherwise unbroken wall of the forest. A dark intrusion into the trees, just wide enough for the little truck.

  Price signalled to Wall who slowed to a stop. It turned out to be a dead end, but it was almost perfect for their needs. Somewhere to hide, not too close to the town. Wall eased the truck in between two trees and stopped again in a wide space, well concealed by dense overhanging foliage.

  She turned and stared at Brogan, who was sitting quietly in the passenger seat. Brogan returned her stare without blinking.

  “Do you really think you could do something for The Tsar?” Price said.

  “It’s a possibility,” Brogan said. “But as I said, you’ll have to trust me.”

  “Trust doesn’t come easy around here,” Price said. “Especially not for you.”

  “It’s your call,” Brogan said.

  “Monster, what do you think?” Price asked.

  “Do anything will kill him,” Monster said. “We no can remove the needle without he bleed to death.”

  “But do you trust Brogan?” Price asked.

  Monster shrugged and did not answer.

  “Barnard?” Price asked.

  “You can trust her,” Barnard said.

  “Give me a reason,” Price said.

  “Can’t do that,” Barnard said. “It’s classified.”

  “I’m not prepared to let her touch him unless I am convinced,” Price said.

  “Take my word for it,” Barnard said.

  “I can’t do that,” Price said. “What do you know?”

  “I can’t …” Barnard wiped The Tsar’s forehead with a cool cloth. She dropped it and looked up at Price for a moment. Without warning she exploded. “Jeez, Price, is this some kind of control thing? Because this is The Tsar’s life we’re talking about!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Price said, looking around at the silent forest. “This is not about you and me, it’s about The Tsar. I’m the one who has to make the decision, and I’m the one who has to live with the consequences. Don’t ask me to do that without giving me the facts.”

  Barnard stared at her a moment longer then went back to wiping The Tsar’s forehead. Without looking at either Price or Brogan, she said, “Brogan gave up the other Fezerkers.”

  Brogan stood silently, expressionless. Price wondered what was going on inside her head.

  “Is that true?” Wall asked. There was a mixture of emotions in his voice, and Price couldn’t help but think that he was one of those Fezerkers. If he hadn’t already switched sides, he too would have been betrayed by Brogan.

  “It’s what she does best, isn’t it?” Barnard said. “Betraying people. Chisnall asked for her to be on the mission but ACOG wouldn’t agree. They ended up making a deal. She gave up everyone from Uluru that she knew of, and she gave them some good leads on a lot of others, especially those who have infiltrated the military. She was the one who identified Colonel Reid.”

  Price caught her breath. The court martial of Colonel Thomas Reid had been headline news for weeks. He had turned out to be the one responsible for putting a Fezerker onto Little Diomede Island, which had nearly allowed the Bzadians to catch ACOG napping in the recent ice war.

  Brogan sat unmoving: unmoved, it seemed, by Barnard’s revelation. “Now you know,” she said. “I chose to be here, even though it meant betraying people that I had known since birth. People that I had sworn to protect.”

  “Can’t have be too hard,” Monster said. “You having plenty practice.”

  “Get over it, big fella,” Brogan said. “That’s in the past. Let it go. And learn to speak English.”

  Price saw Monster’s shoulders begin to rise and she quickly held up a hand to stop him, shaking her head. It was a sign of how rattled they all were that even Monster allowed himself to react to Brogan’s needling. Monster sat back down on the tray of the truck.

  “You know what I can’t stomach, Brogan?” Price said. “It’s not just that you murdered a friend of mine and nearly got us all killed. It’s not just that you betrayed someone who trusted you. What gets on my wick is when you gave us that big sob story to Chisnall about your parents dying in a shipwreck.”

  “He told you about that?”

  “Of course he did. Poor little orphan Brogan. But the joke is that the rest of us are orphans. All of us know what it feels like to lose the two people who love us the most. To be alone. But you … you just fed us a story. It was all a fraud. You’re a fraud, Brogan.”

  “It was the cover story they gave me,” Brogan said.

  “Is that supposed to make it better?” Price asked.

  “I know about your mother’s boyfriend,” Brogan said.

  Price, who had risen to her feet, sat back down with a thump on the seat of the truck, rocking it a little on its suspension. “That’s none of your goddamn business,” she said.

  “Maybe.” Brogan shrugged. “But I know what he did to you.”

  “What that got to do with anything?” Monster asked.

  “Until I was five I was raised by a Bzadian couple,” Brogan said. “Closest thing I’ll ever have to a mum and dad. They treated me really well, which can’t have been easy, considering that I looked like the enemy.” She shrugged again. “It’s sad the way humans treat their young.”

  “Don’t try to turn this around,” Price said.

  “I’m just saying,” Brogan said. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. What’s wrong with the human race? Bzadians don’t do that stuff.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with the human race,” Barnard said. “Don’t judge an entire species by a few psychos.”

  “Yeah? Then what are you doing here?” Brogan asked. “All of you. You’re child soldiers. Think about it. This ain’t some paintball game.” She nodded towards The Tsar. “Your society cares for its children by sending them out to die in some muddy ditch. Now do you want me to help him or not?”

  There was silence.

  Price twisted around in her seat and leaned over The Tsar, listening to his breathing, low and ragged, noting the pallid colour of his cheeks. She touched his forehead, recoiling from the clammy coldness of his skin.

  Brogan had been the team’s medic long before Monster. Plus she had Fezerker training. And really what choice was there? Without her, The Tsar would die anyway.

  “Do what you can,” Price said.

  “You kill him if remove needle,” Monster said.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Brogan said.

  Monster shook his head but stretched out an arm, handing her his mediscope.

  Barnard climbed down from the tray of the truck to give Brogan room, but not before brushing her lips against The Tsar’s forehead. She clearly thought nobody noticed, and when she glanced up, Price quickly looked away as if she had not seen.

  Brogan climbed over and examined the injury carefully before sitting back on her haunches, pursing her lips.

  “What’s your plan, Brogan?” Price asked.

  “Monster’s right about the needle,” Brogan said. “It has pierced the right carotid artery. He’s leaking like a cheap umbrella, but the needle itself is partly blocking the hole. Pull it out and we turn a trickle into a flood. However …” She took a deep breath. “If we were able to cauterise the wound then we might be able to save him.”

  “How to cauterise wound?” Monster asked. “To do this must remove needle. Remove needle, he die.”

  “We might be able to do it with the needle,” Brogan said. “If we can heat up the needle, then withdraw it, we might be able to cauterise the flesh as we pull it out. It’ll have to be quick though.”

  “Is this really possible?” Price asked.

  “Possible, yes,” Brogan said. “Chances of success, slim.”

  “Is it our best option?” Price asked.

  “No. A hospital would be our best option, but I forgot to bring one of those,” Brogan sa
id.

  “How to heat needle?” Monster asked.

  “Electrical current,” Brogan said. “One of our spare coil-gun batteries …” She broke off abruptly and looked at the sky. “Incoming, fast movers!”

  “Everybody stay where you are,” Price said. “We’re well covered here.”

  She strained her ears but couldn’t hear whatever it was that Brogan had heard.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s–”

  She broke off as the high-pitched whine of fast-moving jets came from overhead.

  A few seconds later the ground and the trees around them shook from thunderous explosions to the south-east.

  “They’re hitting Batemans Bay,” Barnard said.

  “That’s good,” Price said. “It means they don’t know where we are.”

  “They’re not just hitting it,” Wall said, as the explosions continued. “They’re annihilating it.”

  “As long as they focus on the town, we’ll be okay,” Price said.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Barnard said.

  She had barely finished speaking when a much closer wave of explosions rolled up through the forest.

  “Everybody get down,” Price yelled. “Find what cover you can. Get The Tsar off the truck.”

  Monster and Barnard lifted The Tsar and placed him on the ground next to the truck, taking advantage of what little protection it offered. Price found a depression in the ground and pressed herself into it.

  More blasts. Flame and smoke rippled through the forest, closer and closer.

  The ground was moving like an earthquake now, rolling shudders making it difficult to breathe. Barnard spread herself over The Tsar, protecting him from the debris that began to shower down on them. Earth, rock fragments, tree shards. The heat and pressure waves smashed through the forest, bending back tall gums and stripping them of their leaves. The little truck was shunted sideways by one blast, rolling onto its side and slamming into a tree where it wedged tight.

  For a few moments the barrage seemed to stop, but it was only a respite, the eye of the storm. Through a gap in the trees, waving like reeds in the wind, Price saw the menacing, bug-like shape of a Bzadian Dragon, rocket ports alive with fire. It was a creature from hell, and it brought hell with it. In an awesome display of firepower the Dragon began to take the forest apart. Whole trees, on fire, were flying through the air.