by Gavin Smith
Salik had, however, reluctantly agreed to allow Pegasus 1 to dock at the lower ring after Miska had explained some of what had happened down on the planet. Nor had there been a security force waiting for them. It seemed that the CEO of Waterloo Station hadn’t informed Colonel Duellona of Miska’s return. They had become aware of the U.S.S.S Teten when they had approached Waterloo Station to dock. The FBI destroyer had lit them up with radar and lidar but they still didn’t have the jurisdiction to move on them, it seemed. Still, their close proximity to the station suggested that the powers-that-be were giving some thought to granting the FBI some kind of authority.
One of the Triple S mercs outside of Salik’s house noticed them.
‘Don’t—’ Miska started. Kaneda’s suppressed marksman-configured M19 whispered. A red smear appeared on the wall behind the observant mercenary.
‘Don’t!’ Mass shouted, M19 carbine up, backed by Hemi’s SAW as they closed with the guards. ‘We will kill you!’ Mass warned them. The other three mercenaries decided that they didn’t want to die today.
The liveried servitor droid seemed almost as upset as Salik’s security detail when Salik let Miska, Raff, Corenbloom and the still-struggling Torricone into the house. She had thought that Mass was going to complain about Miska taking Corenbloom with her instead of him, but Mass was a combat officer. Corenbloom was intel. He would be more useful upstairs.
They had tracked mud all over the antique rugs and carpets. Corenbloom pushed Torricone into the drawing room ahead of him. Miska followed. Raff tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. She was a little disappointed that nobody gasped when they saw what she was carrying.
Salik was sat on his chair like the troubled monarch he was. Chin on his thumb, index finger pointing up past his nose. Duellona, face like thunder, was sat on an antique two-seat sofa next to a very nervous looking Campbell. There were two other people in the room. A grey-faced woman, her hair in a bun so severe it seemed to stretch her features, sat in one of the antique chairs. She wore an understated skirt suit the same colour as her face. The other woman was at least six and half feet tall. Her head was shaved, both her ears were pierced and stretched, and she wore a red power suit. Miska recognised her as Kiserian Omiata, a Maasai elder and head of the Colonial Council.
‘Ah, Miska,’ an unhappy-looking Salik said as she entered the room. ‘I spoke with your sister this morning.’
‘How was that?’ Miska said, looking around. Corenbloom moved the struggling Torricone to one corner.
‘Bracing,’ Salik told her.
‘She always was the difficult one,’ Miska said, though still looking around the room.
‘UN?’ she asked the grey-faced women. Miska was guessing that she was the UN’s conflict inspector. The woman nodded, a profound look of distaste on her face. ‘Catch.’
Miska tossed her Resnick’s head. The woman caught it instinctively, realised what she’d done and flung it from her. Miska watched it roll around on the already-soiled carpet.
‘Miss Corbin.’ Anger warred with disgust in her voice, but there was no fear there. ‘You have been accused—’
‘That’s evidence,’ Miska said pointing at the head. ‘Major Resnick, head of Triple S elite in the Ephesus system, is a Spartan. Martian special forces, you’ll find traces of all sort of illegal Martian nanotech in that head.’
‘How much longer are we going to have to—’ Duellona started. Miska shot her once, dead centre forehead. All sorts of automated security systems unfolded from discreet places and armed humans and drones appeared as if by magic. Miska held her hands up and allowed them to take her Glock. Corenbloom seemed relieved to be disarmed right up until he was wrestled to the carpet.
‘Look!’ Miska shouted as they tried to wrestle her to the carpet as well. Salik held a hand up to forestall them. Duellona was staring at Miska, the bullet hole in the centre of her forehead slowly closing.
‘You’re a Small God!’ the UN conflict inspector gasped.
‘Which I think is a breach of the articles of conflict, not to mention Interstellar Law and numerous treaties,’ Miska said, much more brightly than she felt.
‘Let her go,’ Salik told his security people, and they released Miska.
‘And now I have to kill everyone in the room,’ Duellona told them. ‘And there’s not a single thing you can do about it.’
Miska whistled for Duellona’s attention. The Small God turned to look at her. Miska held up the hypodermic dagger that Resnick had been armed with. Gunhir had given it to her. It turned out that Artemis’s handmaid had simply discarded it. Apparently it was of no interest to drone and master.
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Miska said. Duellona stared at her. Miska could almost see the calculations. Odds were that Miska, particularly in this state, wouldn’t be able to do much against an actual Small God, but there was always that slightest chance, and you couldn’t play the games the Small Gods play when you were dead. Miska barely saw Colonel Duellona move. One minute she was there, the next gone. Her ears caught up with the sound of broken glass. There was a roughly Duellona-shaped hole in one of the drawing room’s windows. Miska moved quickly to the window. She could see Duellona sprinting down the main concourse. The curve was such, and she was moving so quickly, that it looked like she was running up hill.
‘Boss?’ Kaneda subvocalised over the comms. She knew he was asking if she wanted him to take a shot.
‘Leave her, you’ve got nothing that’ll touch her,’ Miska subvocalised back. More’s the pity, she thought. Then she turned to Salik and pointed at the broken window. ‘Not armoured?’
‘This is the original building …’ he started and then changed tack. ‘There’s no point. They’d just shoot through the brickwork.’
‘Okay, obviously New Sun—’ Campbell started.
‘Shut up,’ Miska told him. The executive did as he was told. ‘I think you’ll find that New Sun no longer exists. Mars will already be shutting that company down to hide any links between this failed operation and themselves.’
‘Look, I don’t have to listen to this conspiracy theory nonsense from a proven war criminal.’ Campbell tried to stand up. Miska pushed him back down into the antique sofa. Campbell turned towards Salik. ‘I need some assurances for my safety here!’ he insisted.
Salik opened his hands questioningly and looked up at Miska.
‘You tell the truth and I promise you can leave this room alive, but then I suggest you start running,’ Miska told him.
‘Are you threatening me?’ Campbell demanded. He turned to Salik. ‘Do something!’
‘She’s not threatening you,’ Salik explained. ‘If New Sun is a Martian front, then I suspect you’re about to get your contract cancelled.’
Miska gestured towards Torricone with her thumb.
‘The head of my so-called “punishment squad”. He has been sequestered. That shouldn’t be difficult to prove. Again, New Sun and Triple S using highly illegal tech. As well as what’s in his head I’ve got eye witnesses, including one independent journalist—’ she pointed at Raff, who waved ‘—who can vouch for Torricone and the other members of his squad attacking me. And this is all your problem now,’ she told the room. She saw the grey-faced lady from the UN, Salik and Councillor Omiata exchange looks. Campbell was looking more and more frightened.
‘And this latest round of atrocities?’ the woman from the UN asked.
‘The same,’ Miska said. ‘False flag operations conducted by sequestered ex-legionnaires tricked into defecting by New Sun’s lies.’
‘That’s not true!’ Campbell protested.
Miska turned to him, smiling. More and more she was sure that it was Vido who’d had Hinton killed, the PR agency fire-bombed and the ‘journalists’’ tongues cut out. There was, however, only so much Campbell could say about this without incriminating New Sun for the things they had actually done.
‘Something to add?’ she asked. Campbell’s face was covered in sweat. His
eyes were darting around as though looking for an escape route.
‘Why are we even talking about this?’ Campbell demanded. ‘She’s a slaver!’
‘Never denied it,’ Miska said. ‘Makes you wonder why I’d lie about other things, doesn’t it?’ This time Campbell chose, wisely, to remain quiet. ‘Have you got the facilities to check for sequestration on the station?’ she asked Salik. He nodded. Miska pointed at the UN conflict inspector. ‘Check the results, see if it looks like Martian tech to you.’ The grey-faced woman nodded. She still looked a little stunned. Catching Mars in the act was as bad, if not worse, than them getting away with it, diplomatically speaking. Nobody wanted a confrontation with Mars.
‘Then what do you want me to do with him?’ Salik asked over a private comms link. She hadn’t even seen him subvocalise. It was a question she’d been dreading. He had deserted. She had to kill him to maintain discipline. She had already tried to do it. It was suddenly very quiet in the room. Miska could feel eyes on her. Raff and Corenbloom were both watching her intently. This was another reason that she hadn’t brought Mass with her. It was in Corenbloom and Raff’s best interests to be discreet about this matter. Besides all they would know was that she had, rather rudely, subvocalised a private message to Salik.
‘Let him go,’ Miska told Salik over the private comms link. ‘Make it clear that he needs to be discreet and he never crosses our paths again.’
Salik nodded.
‘I shall make it clear that it’s my decision to let him live contra to your instructions,’ Salik told her over the private link.
‘Thank you,’ Miska said. It would help if it ever came out. Though somehow she wasn’t comfortable with lying to her Bastards any more.
Two drones and a human member of Salik’s security detail appeared. They escorted the struggling Torricone out of the room. Miska caught her last ever glimpse of him and immediately looked away. It felt like actual physical pain, like something breaking inside her. She did her very best not to acknowledge it, to ignore it.
‘Well, if Salik and Colonel Corbin are finished with their private conversation,’ Councillor Omiata said, ‘can I assume that New Sun and Triple S forces will offer a full and unconditional surrender?’
‘And submit to a full UN investigation?’ Corenbloom suggested. The UN conflict inspector nodded. She still seemed a little stunned. The severed head probably hadn’t helped.
Campbell didn’t say anything. He knew who was behind New Sun. He must know what they were going to do to someone who had screwed up this big.
‘What was it all about?’ the councillor asked. ‘I still don’t see what you had to gain from these actions. You must have realised that you were going to be found out.’
Again Campbell ignored her, locked up in a prison of his own fear.
‘They were hoping that by the time they were found out it would have been too late,’ Miska told her, shaking herself out of her thoughts. ‘You would have lost, they would have what they wanted. The problem was we kept on pushing their hand. Camp Badajoz effectively gave us strategic control of the north, even though we didn’t realise the importance. They had to get us out of the mix, which would in turn weaken your hand.’
‘What was so important in the north?’ the woman from the UN asked.
‘Artemis,’ Miska told them. She gave them a moment to let that settle in. Watched the dawning realisation on their faces.
‘So this was just another Small Gods family squabble?’ the UN conflict inspector asked.
‘Not quite,’ Miska said, and then turned to Councillor Omiata. ‘We won the war, so we get the combat pay and expenses due us.’
Omiata regarded her coolly and then looked to Salik.
‘Fair is fair,’ he told the councillor.
‘Why do I get the feeling that our victory is coming with something of a caveat?’ Omiata asked.
Miska explained what New Sun had been up to, their plans to turn Ephesus into one huge manufacturing facility for weaponised biotech. She also told them about Artemis’s plan to destroy all technology on the moon, and effectively cut it off from the rest of humanity.
‘And you call this winning the war?’ Omiata asked. Oddly she sounded more amused than angry or upset.
‘Better than the alternative,’ Raff suggested.
‘Artemis is happy to live with those of your people who wish to stay,’ Miska said.
‘Technology can be as much a curse as a boon sometimes,’ Omiata said. ‘I’m sure many will stay.’
‘I suspect she’ll allow some of the older tech to work. You may also find that she introduces her own kind of tech. Be careful. Whatever she is, she believes she’s a goddess. She may only want to bestow her bounty on those who worship her.’
Omiata pursed her lips. ‘Thank you for the warning, Colonel. Frankly we have enough gods of our own. We don’t need another one.’ Then she looked at the shaking, sweat-covered Campbell and just shook her head sadly. She stood up, nodded to Salik and turned to look at Miska. Miska couldn’t shake the feeling that there was just a hint of sympathy in her otherwise inscrutable expression.
Campbell stood up as well. ‘Well, as you can imagine I need to return to the—’ he started.
‘Stay where you are,’ Salik demanded. He turned to the woman from the UN.
‘I think the best thing to do is to call the Teten in,’ the UN conflict inspector said. ‘I have the authority to give them jurisdiction as peacekeepers. They can take the New Sun staff and the Triple S command …’
It hurt so much because of her broken arm that she actually screamed in pain but Miska grabbed Campbell and threw him out of a window. It was a different one to the window that Duellona had jumped out of.
‘Miska!’ Salik complained. The woman from the UN was staring at her. Miska gestured towards the newly broken window with her thumb.
‘You all saw that, right?’ she asked. ‘He was alive when he left the room.’
Outside, Campbell was trying to crawl away on two broken legs, the result of his four-storey fall. Kaneda, Mass and Hemi fell in with her and Corenbloom as they left Salik’s house. Raff went his own way.
Miska shot Campbell twice in the back of his head as she walked past him. One more murder hardly seemed to matter, after all. She heard Mass laugh.
Chapter 22
They had actually cheered when Miska and the others walked out onto the Hangman’s Daughter’s hangar deck. She’d put bombs inside their heads, forced them to train like marines and then put them in harm’s way, and yet they’d cheered when she walked on board. She felt pressure behind her artificial eyes. Nothing brought people together like an external enemy that they really hated.
Most of the Offensive, Sneaky, and Heavy Bastards were there in full combat gear, as were a great deal of the support staff and a few new faces. The Armoured Bastards were there in the remaining, still-functioning Machimoi. Cargo exoskeletons had only just started clearing away the makeshift barricades they had been using as defensive positions. It seemed that the Bastard Legion, or at least about two companies’ worth of them, had been ready to repel boarders. She could see the surviving members of the Nightmare Squad milling around as well.
Her dad was wearing the remaining stolen Cyclops war droid. He was busy organising the step-down now that the besieging forces were no longer outside the Daughter. She made for Vido first. She guessed that Golda was still tranced in to the CP at Camp Reisman. Vido was talking to the three Mafia old boys he liked to hang around with. She noticed that they were all in full combat gear as well. As she approached they walked away, throwing casual salutes her way. Vido saluted more smartly as she reached him. She returned the salute.
‘What did you do, Major?’ she asked by way of hello, glancing at the three wiseguys walking away.
‘Ask me no questions …’ he said. Miska suspected it was force of habit.
‘Just tell me this. You had to have net support. Who did you use?’
‘Hypothetica
lly, if I was to do the kind of thing that you’re suggesting, I’d use Zaple,’ he told her.
It could have been worse. Zaple himself was chickenshit. His annoying net icon alter-ego, however, was much less chickenshit.
‘You did good,’ she told him. ‘We got paid, there’s some rewards on the way. We’ll make sure people get to sample the pleasures of Waterloo Station before we move on.’
‘The war’s over?’ he asked.
‘The war is over.’
Miska made her way across the busy hangar deck towards the Nightmare Squad. As she approached she could smell the acrid stench of the same anti-fungal chemical shower she’d had in the airlock before entering. Miska was gratified to see they were all stripping down and cleaning the kit they’d used on Ephesus. A shadow fell across her.
‘Still leading from the front, Colonel?’ her dad asked. She wasn’t sure if she detected disapproval emanating from the Cyclops or not. Miska looked up at him. He used the hand on one of the war droid’s limbs to salute her. She still wasn’t sure she liked that. She opened her mouth to explain it was circumstantial. In the end it required someone with her experience to lead what was, effectively, a special forces op.
‘She has to.’ It was Rufus Grig who’d spoken.
Miska was suddenly very much aware of Mass standing a little way off, watching them.
‘Something to say, Sergeant?’ her dad asked, the Cyclops head swivelling to look at the ex-SAS vigilante.
‘With the best will in the world, we’re not a military force. We’re a well-armed, adequately trained prison gang. Doesn’t matter what rank she needs to present herself to outsiders. If she can’t lead from the front, if she isn’t strong enough, then they won’t respect her,’ Grig continued. Miska was interested to note he said ‘they’ rather than ‘we’. ‘Most of us would kill her as soon as look at her if we got the chance.’ Grig glanced at the Ultra but the prolific serial killer seemed busy spraying fungicide on his equipment. ‘But we like her because she’s always in the shit with the rest of us. Because she’s the most fearless, the craziest of us, and she doesn’t like people fucking with the Legion.’