by Allen Steele
Back to radio silence. “I understand, sir.”
“Thank you. Good luck. Crimson Tide over and out . . .”
“Good luck to you, too. Red Company out.” He signed off, then disconnected the satphone from his pad.
Marie regarded him with disbelief. “Wow, that was easy, wasn’t it? And he didn’t even thank us. . . .”
“He’s grateful. Believe me.” Carlos folded the satphone’s antenna, then stood up. “You heard him. We’re on a new schedule. Go wake up the others, tell them to break camp and load up. We’re shipping out.”
His sister started to say something else, but one look at his face told her that it wasn’t the right time. Heaving an expansive sigh, she stood up and marched away. Chris slowly stretched his arms. “I think I’d mind a lot less if I knew the reason why.”
“He knows what he’s doing. And like you said, we may not get another chance.” Carlos forced a smile. “Look at it this way. If everything works out, then you get to see Luisa again a little earlier than you expected.”
“Now that you put it that way . . .” Chris heaved himself to his feet, then walked away, clapping his hands as he whistled sharply. “Okay, people, wake up! Time to ride!”
0902—URSS ALABAMA
“Crimson Tide to White Company. Please respond, over.” Lee listened for a moment, but heard nothing through his headset but carrier-wave static. “White Company, this is Crimson Tide. Do you copy? Over.”
“Give up, Robert. We’re not getting anywhere.” Dana pointed to one of the screens above the com panel. “Transmitter’s working fine, and we’ve got a good fix on where they should be. We just can’t break through all that—”
“I know, I know.” One more try, just for the hell of it. “Alabama . . . I mean, Crimson Tide to White Company. If you copy, boost your gain. Repeat, boost your gain and respond. Over.” He counted to ten, then finally surrendered to the inevitable. “Feels almost like they can hear us, but . . .”
“If they did, we would have known by now.” She unfastened her seat belt, then floated out of her chair and pulled herself along the ceiling rail until she was next to him. “I’m sure they’re fine,” she added, putting a hand on his shoulder. “They just can’t talk to us, that’s all.”
Lee absently took her hand as he gazed out the porthole. Once again, Alabama’s equatorial orbit was taking it over the Midland Channel. Indeed, they were passing directly over Hammerhead, yet the only way they had of knowing that was the ground track displayed on the nav station’s flatscreens. The terrain itself was rendered invisible beneath the volcanic plume that covered everything between Mt. Bonestell and Mt. Pesek. Even from this distance, they could see the tiny sparks of St. Elmo’s fire that roiled within the thick clouds. Short-range radios on the ground might be able to penetrate the electromagnetic interference, but from space . . .
“I guess . . . I hope you’re right.” If Fred LaRoux was correct, then White Company was immobilized. If that was the case, they could still clear enough ash from the skimmer’s fans for them to restart the engines and retreat back down the channel. If worse came to worst, they could always abandon the missile carrier and make their way on foot across Midland until they reached Defiance.
Nonetheless, White Company’s mission was a key part of the operation. Even if Fort Lopez’s gyros were grounded, there was no guarantee that military shuttles couldn’t be launched. And with several hundred Guardsmen garrisoned on Hammerhead, the Union still had the ability to repel Red Company and Blue Company as they moved in on New Florida.
Lee shut his eyes. Five hundred years ago, his ancestor must have faced these same choices. Yet even at Gettysburg, all General Lee had lost was a battle; the Confederacy might have perished, but America itself survived. The stakes for which he was fighting were far higher: freedom not just for a country, but for an entire world. And what he intended to do was something his great-grandfather would have never imagined. . . .
“Robert? Robert, are you . . .”
“I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.” He opened his eyes, gave her a tired smile. “Better get to work. We’ve got a lot to do before the next orbit.”
“Sure.” Dana released his hand, but she lingered by his side. “You didn’t tell Carlos what you mean to do. Or Clark either.”
He shook his head. “They might be caught. If so, I don’t want to risk either of them telling . . .”
“You know them better than that.”
He couldn’t fool her, and he should have known better than to try. “It’s better that they don’t know,” he said quietly. “If anything goes wrong . . .”
“Then let’s make sure we don’t screw up.” Dana grasped the handrail, started to pull herself away. “So what do you want me to do first? Take the helm, or . . .”
“I’ll handle navigation. You go prime the main engine.” He checked his watch. “Another hour and forty-five minutes before we’re in range of Liberty. Move fast.” He started to unbuckle his seat belt, then he snapped his fingers. “And we’d better tell—”
“Kim. I know. She’s going to love this.” Dana grinned at him. “Y’know, I bet she thinks we’ve been fooling around up here.”
“Believe me, I wish we were.”
1146—LIBERTY, NEW FLORIDA
Almost noon, and the town was going about its daily routine. A pair of shags led by a drover pulled a cart loaded with manure down Main Street, their hooves splashing through muddy potholes as they headed for the farm fields outside town. A couple of women walked past on the plank sidewalk, carefully avoiding eye contact with a handful of off-duty Guardsmen lounging on a bench outside their barracks. Across the road, someone washed the front windows of his cabin. Just another day, much like any other day in early spring.
Nonetheless, as she watched all this from the front steps of the community hall, the Matriarch Luisa Hernandez had a certain sense of foreboding. With her bodyguard standing nearby, she should have felt safe, and yet she found herself gazing up at the sky. It remained clear, the bright midday sun promising a warm afternoon, but she’d seen the images of Midland relayed from the Spirit, listened to Captain Baptiste’s report of the eruption. Mt. Bonestell was a long way from there, the winds were carrying the plume from its eruption away from New Florida.
On the other hand, contact with Hammerhead had been lost earlier that morning. Apparently the ash cloud was interfering with the satellite relay. She told herself that it was little more than an aberration. A temporary inconvenience, nothing to be worried about; her people were already working to reestablish communications with Fort Lopez through other means. But still . . .
In the three and a half years—almost eleven Earth-years; had it really been that long?—since she’d arrived on Coyote, nothing had gone the way she’d expected. It should have been a straightforward task: assume control of the colony established by the Alabama, institute a collectivist system of government, put the second wave of settlers to work at developing local resources, and ultimately transform this world into a new Earth. She’d anticipated difficulties, of course—this was a frontier; there were bound to be hardships—but nothing that she and the Guard shouldn’t have been able to handle.
Yet it hadn’t gone that way. The original colonists had not only refused to cooperate, but had also gone so far as to flee to Midland, leaving behind little more than a collection of log cabins stripped to the bare walls. The more recent settlers, those either selected by lottery or able to bribe their way aboard Union starships, had gradually turned against her; Shuttlefield had become a ghetto, and those who’d left before she barred emigration had joined forces with the resistance movement on Midland. Her effort to build a bridge across the East Channel had ended in disaster when its own architect had collaborated with Rigil Kent in its sabotage. And although she’d established a military base on Hammerhead and given the Guard the task of seeking out the Alabama party’s hidden settlement, the recent raid upon Defiance had been repelled, at the cost of m
any lives and some irreplaceable equipment.
So, after all these long seasons, she found herself in control not of a world, as she had dreamed, but instead of little more than an island. And only marginal control, at that; she’d shifted most of the Guard to Hammerhead, leaving behind only a small garrison to defend New Florida. It was a risky move, yet she was convinced that the key to victory was taking an offensive stance; rooting out the Rigil Kent movement had become her top priority.
In a few short weeks, she’d take the battle to them. The locations of the major settlements on Midland had been determined by Union patrols. Although the Defiance raid had been unsuccessful, it had helped her gauge its defensive capability. There were over four hundred Guardsmen on Hammerhead, along with gyros, armed skimmers, and military shuttles. Once the rainy season had come and gone and the creeks resumed their normal levels, she’d issue orders to attack. There would be no quarter asked and none given; by the end of spring, Coyote would belong to her.
But now . . .
A volcano erupts, and suddenly her forces on Hammerhead are rendered incommunicado. Luisa wrapped her arms around herself, drawing her cape a little closer despite the warmth of the day, and stared stubbornly at the calm blue sky. A minor setback, that was all. A slight delay in her plans. She’d faced defeat before, and had survived. This, too, would pass. . . .
The door behind her swung open. “Matriarch . . .” an electronic voice began.
“I hope you’re going to tell me you’ve reached Fort Lopez,” she said, not bothering to look around.
Heavy footsteps upon the wooden boards, then a tall figure cloaked in black moved beside her. “We have indeed, ma’am, but there’s something else you should—”
“Fort Lopez. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Luisa couldn’t help being impatient with Gregor Hull; he reminded her too strongly of his predecessor. Manuel Castro had accompanied her aboard the Glorious Destiny, and he had served as the colony’s lieutenant governor. No, more than that; when he’d disappeared the previous autumn during the raid upon Thompson’s Ferry—although his body was never found, she was certain that he was dead—she had lost her closest confidante. As another posthuman, Savant Hull was physically identical to Savant Castro. Although he’d assumed Manny’s role, he could never replace him. Indeed, his very presence was an insult to Castro’s memory.
The Savant hesitated. “As you wish,” he said after a moment. “Satellite communications with the base are still impossible, but one gyro managed to escape.”
“Only one?” Luisa looked at him sharply. “What about the others?”
“Two more lifted off. One attempted to fly through the ash cloud, but it lost power and crashed in the Midland Channel. The other reported engine trouble and was forced to turn back. It was able to land safely, and none of its crew were—”
“Get on with it.”
“The third got away, but only because its pilot broke formation. It touched down on the southeastern coast of Midland, where its pilot was able to uplink with the Spirit while maintaining shortwave radio contact with Fort Lopez.”
The Matriarch let out her breath. One gyro out of twenty. If only the ground crews had acted more quickly on Baptiste’s orders . . . “I can imagine the rest. Lieutenant Cortez has grounded the rest of the squadron.”
“Yes, ma’am, he has. He doesn’t wish to risk losing any more aircraft. There are already four inches of ash on the landing field. . . .”
“No excuse.”
“Matriarch, this isn’t snow. This is volcanic ash. It doesn’t melt. Two military shuttles are being prepared to lift troops and equipment to a safe location, but it may take some time before they’re flightworthy. Even then, it won’t be safe for them to carry more than half their usual payload, because—”
“I understand.” Luisa disliked being lectured, and the Savant sounded as if he was speaking to a child. “Tell them to do the best they can, but I want Fort Lopez to be ready to resume operations as soon as possible. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, ma’am. Robert Lee wishes to speak to you.”
For a few seconds, the Matriarch didn’t comprehend what Savant Hull had just said. She watched the man across the road cleaning his cabin windows, admiring the diligence he exercised, soaping and rinsing every single pane. From somewhere not far away, she heard children playing softball in a field that hadn’t yet been planted with the first spring crops. And suddenly, for only the second time in all these years, the man who had eluded her for so long wanted to parley with her.
“Now?” she asked. “Is he . . . I mean, do you have him online now?”
“Yes, Matriarch. His transmission is being received via satphone. I’m patched into our system, and I can relay it to you. If you wish me to provide translation—”
“That won’t be necessary. Put him through.”
As a pastime, she’d studied English during the last few years; she partially blamed her lack of understanding the older form of Anglo for her inability to negotiate with Lee when she’d first met him. She sat down on the steps, then raised her right hand to push aside her hair and prod her jaw, activating the subcutaneous implant beneath her skin. Savant Hull knew how to open the private channel to her; a few moments passed while he established linkage between her, him, and Liberty’s satellite transceiver. There was a double beep within her inner ear, then a faint hiss.
“Captain Lee?” she asked.
“Matriarch Hernandez.” The voice was faint, yet unmistakable. “You’ve kept me waiting.”
“My apologies, Captain. I didn’t realize . . .” Luisa stopped herself. She was the one in charge here, not him. “You have something you wish to discuss?”
“Yes, I do. I assume you’ve already learned about the eruption of Mt. Bonestell.”
“I’ve been informed, yes.” She glanced up at Savant Hull. “Quite an event. I trust none of your people are in immediate danger.”
“At least for the time being, no. Thank you for your concern.” A brief pause. “It’s come to my attention that this may have long-term consequences, ones of which you may not be aware. I’ve been reliably informed that the—”
“Captain, would you hold a moment, please?” She prodded her implant, breaking the connection, then turned to Hull. “You say you’re receiving this as a satellite transmission?”
“Yes, ma’am. Obviously he’s been able to restore Alabama’s orbital communications system.”
Which meant that, if Lee wasn’t in Defiance, then he was probably aboard the Alabama. That wasn’t a surprise; although the original colonists had left behind one of their shuttles when they had fled Liberty, they had taken the other. Yet why would Lee have returned to his ship? Something was odd. . . .
No time to worry about that now. She reopened the channel. “Sorry to keep you waiting. One of my aides wanted to speak with me.”
“They’re probably wondering how I’m able to contact you. The truth is, I’m aboard the Alabama. We came up here to restore our com network, so that our settlements could talk to one another again.”
His admission was unexpected and caught her by surprise. “I appreciate your candor, Captain. I regret having to isolate your settlements, but the terrorist actions of Rigil Kent made it necessary for us to take such measures.”
Another pause. “Matriarch Hernandez, we can debate the reasons for our conflict another time. This isn’t why I’ve contacted you. You just expressed appreciation for my truthfulness. Are you willing to accept that I may tell you the truth about other issues?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve been told by one of my people—Dr. Frederic LaRoux, you may know him—that Mt. Bonestell poses a grave threat to everyone on this planet. It’s releasing acidic gases into the upper atmosphere that will cause the average global temperature to drop by as much as five degrees centigrade. This will probably—no, very likely—result in climate changes that will drastically affect crop production over the cour
se of the coming year.”
The Matriarch smiled as she heard this. “I’m out in front of the community hall. The sky is clear and the temperature is very pleasant. Mt. Bonestell is on your side of the world. If it erupts, that’s your problem.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Matriarch. It’s your problem, too. You may not be able to see the effects now, or tomorrow, or even next week, but it’ll affect you as well. Much the same thing happened on Earth in the past, and our people have little doubt that it’s about to happen here, too. If we lose the summer crops, then we’ll suffer drastic food shortages, and you should know by now how much we depend upon agriculture to carry us through the winter months.”
She frowned. He had a point, whether she liked it or not. Despite her best efforts to increase crop production, New Florida depended upon six months of warm weather in order to grow enough food to stock the warehouses during the long, harsh months of Coyote’s winter. The swampers knew how to hibernate within ball plants, but humans didn’t have that option. “Assuming that your people are correct,” she asked, “what do you suggest we do about it?”
“Matriarch, your people and mine have been fighting for over three years. As I said, the reasons are beside the point.” Lee paused. “I think the time has come for us to seek a truce. We can’t afford to engage in war while we’re trying to stay alive.”
Luisa felt her pulse quicken. She stood up, walked down the steps, Savant Hull and her bodyguard following close behind. “You’re willing to surrender?”
“No. Not a surrender. Armistice. A cessation of hostilities.”
She clasped a hand over her mouth. After all this, the man was suggesting peace talks! She didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or scream with victory. “I think”—she took a deep breath, hoped that she wasn’t betraying her emotions—“I think we should discuss this further. What do you suggest?”
For an instant, she thought she heard another voice in the background, as if someone else aboard the Alabama was arguing with him. Then Lee returned. “I’m prepared to meet with you in Liberty, face-to-face, provided I can come under flag of truce. Are you willing to do that?”