The Boben soldier shoved him again.
Umi took the time to study the passage. The section was on the edge of the building, or so he thought. It was hard to gauge exactly where it was. Though from the way the light filtered in, he was definitely on an outside wall.
They locked him back in and took Vik next. He and Umi exchanged a glance and a shrug.
The Boben questioned everyone, and it ended the same. They knew their identities, their ranks, and at least a basic military history. Vik was surprised to find that the Boben officer had led a unit that had engaged his infantry once.
"It's an odd connection. He was almost polite," Vik said. He sat and his face was pale.
"Did you beat him?" Umi said.
"It was a probing action. We didn't really lock horns."
"What's the plan, boss?" Kelly said.
Umi bit his lip. What was the plan? "Ideas, anyone?"
The door creaked open, and one of the Boben guards tossed in a crate of rations. The old Colonial emblem was barely legible on the side.
Vaughn popped open the crate. He passed around the rations. "How old are these? Do they want to kill us with bad rations?"
Kelly tore one open with her teeth and spat out the top. "We could stay put, get dog-and-pony'd. Sigg embassy will get us out soon enough."
Umi didn't like the idea. But was it a bad one?
Vik looked at everyone with surprised eyes. "Wait, what'd they tell all of you?"
"We're going on trial," Umi said.
Vaughn and Kelly said the same.
Vik shook his head. "He told me we were going to be shot. Then he apologized."
"Fuck," Kelly said.
"They could have been—" Umi said.
"No," Vik said. "He saluted me when I left."
Umi dumped the contents of his ration out onto the floor. This had gone from a diplomatic issue to life or death. Waiting wasn't an option. The ration pack contained metal foil packs of food, plastic silverware, a warming tab, and a vitamin pack. Other than that, they had the contents of their bags.
The others followed suit, except Vaughn, who ate each pack then set everything on the floor.
"Knives?" Vik said.
Umi picked up the plastic knife and flexed it. Brittle. "Stack them."
Kelly stomped the ration packs flat and stacked them. "Think it'll take a flechette?"
"Two flechettes, two guards. Remember?" Vik said.
Umi had seen what a flechette could do. The Boben used them in close-quarters fighting. Each sliver of plastic would worm into flesh and ricochet off every bone, tendon, and bit of cartilage. It shredded internal organs and was extraordinarily difficult to heal from.
"Vik?" Umi said. "You're the infantry guy here. How do we proceed?"
"Get the door open and a guard inside, then we hit one, and use the shield to get close to the next. Not a lot of style to this sort of thing."
Umi nodded. He'd figured as much.
"I'll nail the first one," Vik said. He picked up the stack of plastic knives. "Kelly, grab the flechette gun. Umi and Vaughn, rush the second guard. That flechette gun has a slow load time; just keep that shield in front. You can take a few slivers in the extremities." Vaughn was straight-faced as he got a feel for the knife.
Umi picked up the crushed plastic shield and didn't think it'd do much protecting. Stomped out, it was barely as wide as his chest. A few slivers. Just a few. He kept telling himself that. The adrenaline was flowing now. He wore his pack backward and hoped it'd absorb a bit of the flechettes too.
"What do we do once we're out?" Kelly said.
"Find the Lokeen. Once we're off this planet, we're in neutral space but Lokeen-administered territory."
"Another shortcut?" Vaughn said.
***
Kelly lay on the floor next to the door and watched for shadows. The hallway was silent; only the wind rasped against the outer walls. Finally someone walked past.
"Hey! These rations are bad! Open up! Open the damned door!" Umi yelled. He pounded on the door. He shouted out the only Boben phrase he knew, which was an insult about dead animals and Boben hygiene.
Vik stood with his back against the wall, just next to the door. He clutched the plastic knife tight to his chest.
Kelly stood before the door. Umi stood just behind her.
There was a thud. The door inched open, and a Boben soldier stepped in with his flechette gun leveled in front of him.
Kelly pointed to the guard's left, away from where Vik stood.
The guard turned his head and swung the barrel.
Vik spun, stepped close, and jammed the stack of plastic knives into the throat of the Boben soldier.
The Boben dropped the flechette gun and clutched at the knife.
Umi rushed past Kelly and slammed into the Boben. He pushed with the shield and hoped to drive the dying soldier into the next guard.
The Boben slammed into the hall and crumpled onto the floor. Reddish-brown blood poured down its chest.
Umi ran into the hall and clutched the plastic shield before him.
The second Boben guard stepped backward and fired. A hail of plastic flechettes pierced the shield. They had so little mass that most stuck right into the layered shield.
Umi cried out. Pinpoints of pain burned in his hips and stomach, as if tiny, burning needles danced in his muscles. He struggled to stand but finally collapsed.
Vaughn ran past Umi and slammed a heavy fist into the Boben. The soldier furiously tried to reload when Vik and Kelly joined in and disarmed him.
Vik grabbed the flechette launcher and slammed it into the Boben's skull until it stopped moving. Kelly helped Umi to his feet.
Fires burned in Umi's muscles. He tried to tense his muscles and stand, but the pain was too much. He cried out and leaned on Kelly.
Vaughn grabbed the other arm, and Vik led the way. They rounded a corner. Vaughn slid a keycard and pushed past a heavy door. He swung his weapon to the side, opened the first door, and fired.
"Clear!" Vik said. Three dead Boben lay in the room, peppered with flechettes. He slammed the butt of his rifle into a surveillance console.
Alarms sounded in the distance. Lights flashed near the ceiling.
"Shit," Vik said. He grabbed one of the corpses and propped it against the door. Then he set off, again in the lead.
Umi hobbled with Vaughn on one arm and Kelly on the other. Every step was an agony mixed with frustration. He mumbled to them to leave him, but they ignored him. Finally he managed to speak through the pain. "Leave me!"
"Shut up," Vaughn said.
A gunshot rang out. Vik stumbled and knelt down. He fired the flechette, and a Boben fell to the floor down the hallway. It writhed around, and Kelly stomped on its chest.
"We need to get out, and now," Vaughn said.
Umi tried to speak, but all he could focus on was the blood running down his legs.
"Out? Out?" Kelly said to the Boben. It pointed down the hall to a heavy door.
"Grab him," Vik said. He clutched at his shoulder and cradled the weapon in his arm. Blood ran down his other arm.
Vaughn pulled Umi along. Kelly struggled to keep the Boben on his feet while Vik walked with his weapon pointed to the rear.
"Open it!"
The Boben struggled with the keypad before it finally popped open. It was dark outside. Cool air wafted inside. A single light illuminated the area. A dozen meters away, the street opened up. The city around them was half-broken-down buildings right next to newer-style container habs.
"Thanks!" Kelly said. She pushed the Boben outside, and then they were off.
An automated cargo truck rumbled slowly down the street.
Vik ran out and waved his arms in front of the truck.
A safety alarm flashed across the windshield, and the truck stopped.
Vik popped open the cab and stepped in. "Get in back!"
Umi hobbled and winced as Vaughn and Kelly pulled him along. They pulled him into th
e rear of the truck. A second later, weapons went off and slugs slammed into the truck.
The truck lurched ahead and left the administration complex behind.
Waves of pain and nausea rolled over Umi. He fought to stay awake. The pain eased into one constant hum. "Cargo! We need to get to the cargo area!"
Vaughn banged on the wall and yelled up to Vik.
"I'm trying!" Vik yelled back.
Umi focused on staying awake. Everything about the trip was going wrong. He gritted his teeth and felt the weight of the pendant, the broken pendant. A debt to the dead.
He snapped awake as they hauled him out of the truck. He stifled a scream. Vik set the truck back on automatic, and it rumbled away into the distance. The cargo area was mostly dark. They set off toward the transfer hub.
***
Two Lokeen manned a bale stuffer and transferred the spiderweb out of the stuffed bales into cylindrical containers. They halted when Umi and Vik came into view.
"Sevel," Umi said. He tried to stand as best he could. Protocol. It was all protocol with the Lokeen. "Master Sevel."
"I know Master Sevel," one of the Lokeen said. "You were with us on Lishun Delta."
For a second Umi's pain was replaced with relief. "Yes. I'm Umi Matsuo. The Boben are going to kill us."
The two Lokeen looked at each other and spoke in low voices. In the distance, sirens rang out. A chill wind drifted through the complex. A few moments later, it started to rain.
Umi shivered. His muscles burned. This was it. He wanted to plead, to ask for more, but protocol. Protocol. A request was made, and now he had to allow them to speak next.
Finally the Lokeen stopped talking. "Quickly. Inside."
"In there?" Vaughn said.
"Shut up and get in!" Umi said.
They hobbled up and into the container. The Lokeen beckoned them back against the heap of spiderweb already in place.
"Cover your faces!"
Umi slid down the surprisingly smooth spiderweb. He cradled his face into his arms. Strands of spiderweb poured down around him like a cool rain. The weight slowly built up, and the light faded.
A muffled voice called, "It won't be long."
The door creaked shut, and then it was dark.
Umi took one solid breath and finally passed out.
#
Chapter Eight
Kalivostok III, Kalivostok System
19th Armored Cavalry Regiment HQ
The rain clattered down onto the steel roof of the 19th ACR HQ. The sound was almost deafening, like ball bearings poured from the heavens. The entire structure was fresh wood, and the room smelled of pinesap. The command staff worked furiously. Men and women entered from the rain, and just as quickly headed back out.
Commander Ahmed Arap stomped his feet and shouted into a commset. "I give no fucks. You can eat a giant bag of dicks. I need those goddamn shells! Do you know what artillery is good for without ammunition? Fucking nothing!"
Major Bresov sat next to him with a commset in each hand. She alternated between both. "Transit everything to the Squire link, we'll have a dump there. No, no. Not you, him."
Colonel Clarke stood in front of a wall console. The company commanders of the 19th ACR were in a semicircle around him. On one side of the display was an aerial photo of the stargate facility on Kalivostok. On the other side was Squire; it was mud-dark, with transit lines spiderwebbing out.
"KALCOM has ordered us to the Squire link, full deployment. Get your req orders in to Major Bresov. We already know of the shortages for the artillery." Colonel Clarke paused and glanced at Arap.
"Support deploying as well, sir?" Captain Draco, the Support Company CO, said.
"Everyone. This is a full-blown brawl. The information is still coming in, but it appears that the Squire outgate was struck by a shaped fusion charge. The entire defense complex is destroyed."
Colonel Clarke had seen the brief feed out of the defense gate. The gate opened. The guards stepped out. They were sending a recon team to Billings, and then the Kadan soldiers poured through. The defense base opened fire on them. A second later, the sphere rolled through and the camera went dead.
The rain hammered down even harder. All conversations stopped. Then the rain faded back to a gentle hum, and the air grew cool.
Colonel Clarke continued. "Full combat stance. No booze. No bitching. No bullshit. Let the felons out as well."
Captain Dillings, Delta Company CO, said, "About the discipline?"
"Gentlemen, I'll say it once." He paused and looked at each of his officers. "You tell them, all of them, that I'm expecting them to be soldiers. Not convicts. If they behave like convicts, they'll be treated like convicts."
The officers nodded.
Colonel Clarke turned his attention back to the board. The discipline issues had been his biggest headache. He'd started by locking the unit down to the camp, but still, people left base. Things got better once they'd received the armor, but he didn't know how long that would last. Arap was right. If they couldn't drink it, fight it, or fuck it, they weren't interested. At least he could get one of the three.
"Are we going in, sir? We could use more time," Lieutenant Torori, Bravo Company CO, said.
"I don't know. I'm headed to KALCOM shortly to find out. For now, assume we're going in to Squire."
"Do we go in with the armor primed?" Captain Diego, Alpha Company CO, said.
Priming the armor had become a hot topic with the soldiers. On one hand, it allowed them to transit a stargate at a reduced fuel cost. But on the other, they were without armor for the day it took for the armor matrix to grow.
"Unprimed."
The officers said nothing. They focused their view on the maps before them. Each wore a look of concentration, a cool professionalism, but through the veneer was worry. They were all veterans of Lishun Delta, though only Torori had been an Armor CO.
"You motherfucker!" Commander Arap bellowed. "I want my goddamned ammunition!"
Colonel Clarke sighed. He missed his Sigg tanks. His tanks, not that bastard Duke Krenshaw's.
It was a bitter pill to take. They'd secured the stargate on Lishun Delta, fought through waves of Kadan, and halted the Emflife armored advance, all against the orders of Krenshaw. Then the bastard used his office to blackmail Clarke. He had a choice: keep his armor or keep his convicts. He chose his convicts. And no one knew it. It was his, and a few generals', secret.
The only thing that could have saved his tanks was his father. But he'd be damned if he'd ask his old man for help. His father was a politician, and a slippery one at that. Last he'd heard, his father had extricated himself from a bad business deal. But he still held office.
Private Cunningham marched up to Colonel Clarke and saluted. His body armor was polished and crisp. "Colonel, Duke Kornilov is expecting us."
Private Auroch rushed up behind Cunningham and saluted. He was a massive man with a scarred face and the remnants of a badly shaved, week-old beard. One boot was still untied.
Cunningham glanced back at Auroch and rolled his eyes.
"Gentlemen, get your soldiers ready." Colonel Clarke saluted the company commanders and walked over to Arap. "C'mon, let Bresov handle it."
"I got it, Colonel," Major Bresov said. She leaned back in her chair and gave Arap a gentle kick.
"All right!" Arap said. Sweat glistened on his completely bald skull. He snatched up his helmet and stomped out into the rain.
"Let's go," Colonel Clarke said.
***
They arrived at the ducal complex half an hour later. Vehicles clogged the narrow road leading up to the main building. Officers, nobles, merchants, manufacturers—everyone had a gripe, a grievance, a need for orders. The building sat on top of a hill and was bathed in a rich, white light. It was a stone palace with hard edges, sharp towers, and a sense of power. The dukes of Kalivostok were not only proud but wealthy.
Colonel Clarke left Auroch and Cunningham in the entry hall. He pushed thr
ough the crowds of civilians, with Commander Arap right behind. A line of soldiers guarded the inner halls and kept the angry crowd at bay.
"I demand to see the duke!" one man yelled. "My family has title on Squire. We demand protection!"
"To hell with you!" another yelled. "My family is there!"
Another pushed against the line of soldiers. "I've invested everything!"
A captain stood behind the ranks and pulled Colonel Clarke and Arap through the line. The protests behind him grew even louder.
"My apologies, Colonel," the captain said. He wore the crest of a local barony on his body armor. "But the merchant class is getting a bit feisty."
"Indeed," Colonel Clarke said. "I'm here to see General Makinen."
"Follow me."
They passed through high halls filled with prizes and ancient artifacts. The ceilings were lost to shadow. Echoes of the angry crowd drifted in but were lost in the depths. Officers and sergeants worked at ancient wooden tables. The slates and displays looked out of place on top of the old wood.
A steward fretted as another table was dragged out of a side room and a gruff-looking sergeant plopped a stack of consoles onto it. "Do be careful, sir! These are priceless!"
"Things are getting tight. The duke wants KALCOM to set up here for the duration," The captain said.
"You're shitting me?" Arap said.
The captain looked surprised. "Well, no. It'll be easier to coordinate here."
Arap gave Clarke a glance and sighed loudly.
Sentries in full combat kit stood outside of a giant wooden door. The captain showed his credentials, and the door was opened. Clarke and Arap passed in, and the captain remained outside.
The room was tight, with high stone ceilings. It felt cool, like a cave, with a hint of mustiness. Dozens of officers stood shoulder to shoulder, all arguing and talking. General Makinen sat in a chair that looked too small for his bulk. Beside him stood Duke Hector Kornilov. Other staff officers spoke and interjected.
The room felt like a bad cocktail party.
The duke was a young man in his early thirties. He wore a plain military uniform with an elaborate crest on one shoulder. On one hip was an old-style holster with an even older pistol stuck into it.
Colonel Clarke walked through the crowd. He gave a nod to General Makinen. Maki did not look happy.
Steel Storm (Steel Legion Book 2) Page 5