by Eric Thomson
“We found it by accident about a year ago,” Verrill said, joining them at the foot of the cliff. “It’s not on anyone’s records and from the air, it looks like just another worn-out section of the central range. The interior’s not quite as impressive as the exterior, but there’s plenty of space, and the surrounding rock is enough to block scans from overhead flights.”
“A colonial rebellion’s lair inside an ancient Shrehari fort. Only along the Rim...” Decker shook his head, laughing.
“Shall we?” Verrill waved towards an opening hidden by the shadows.
The moment they entered the ruins, a welcome wave of cooler air emanating from deep within the living stone washed over them. Once their eyes got used to the low lighting, Decker could make out corridors cut with such precision that all surfaces looked like polished granite, even after a hundred millennia of disuse.
A sentinel, well placed to cover the passageway, waved them by with a smile. They turned a corner and came face-to-face with a blank slab that shone softly under Verrill’s lamp. He touched a spot on the wall beside it, and the pane of rock pivoted aside to reveal a brightly lit corridor with wires and conduits running along the ceiling.
“Welcome to Fort Independence,” Verrill said.
**
“Impressive command post. All this must have cost a pretty penny.” Decker could identify much of the gear assembled in this room, at the heart of the fortress, as military surplus, no more than a generation behind what the Corps currently used.
“Indeed.” Verrill inclined his head briefly. “We have wealthy off-world friends who are concerned with the rights and freedoms of colonists, and who contribute handsomely to help us achieve independence.”
“Handsomely indeed,” Talyn agreed. “Do these friends also assist you with procurement? I seem to recognize one or two items that are on the Fleet’s restricted technology list.”
“Perhaps.” Verrill sounded unconcerned by her comment. “But I’m sure you’ll understand that while I’m grateful to have experienced folks like you rallying to our cause, there are things I can’t discuss.”
“Of course.” Zack returned the man’s smile. “I’d be concerned if you were to start blabbing your secrets to relative strangers, even if one of your guys vouches for me. I’m a big fan of need to know and what I need to know right now is where your facilities are. After that, we can discuss my need to know when the chow hall opens and what the passcode to the beer fridge is.”
After a helpful soldier had guided Decker to the nearest latrines, Talyn walked over to a large map projection and searched for their location. Verrill joined her and pointed at a spot near the river they’d followed most of the day.
“We’re right here, near the Yangtze River.” His finger moved upwards and over the contour lines of the last mountain ridge before the coastal plain. “And this is the main settlement area, with Iskellian, the capital, just inland of where the river flows into the Gulf of Sorrows.”
“Gulf of Sorrows?” Talyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting name. Is there a story behind it?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure how true it is. Apparently, when the first colonists set up shop on the location where Iskellian now stands, they had supply containers dropped from orbit, but the shipper who’d brought them at significant cost from Celeste wasn’t terribly concerned about accuracy. One of the containers went off course and landed in the middle of the Gulf, never to be seen again. Legend has it that this particular one contained the colony’s entire stock of booze for the year.”
“You need to tell that story to Zack. He’ll love it.”
“What will I love?” A voice asked behind them.
“How the Gulf of Sorrows got its name.”
“Someone lost a bottle of one-hundred-year-old single malt in it?”
“Close. The first colonists lost a whole container of the good stuff.”
“Ouch.” Decker winced. “That must have hurt.”
“Fortunately, we have our own distilleries now.”
“All of which are guarded by the militia, right?” The corners of Decker’s mouth quirked up. “Speaking of which, can you show me their garrisons?”
Red squares materialized on the map like magic seconds after the words had left his mouth and he spent a few minutes in complete silence, studying the display.
“I won’t ask you to project your own positions,” Zack finally said, “but if you can show me where the hotbeds of support for independence are, I’d sure appreciate it.”
When the technician had added those, in blue, to the map, Decker nodded.
“They’ve apparently read Mao Zedong.”
“Pardon me?”
“Mao was a very successful revolutionary leader on pre-spaceflight Earth who waged a long guerrilla war and won it decisively enough that he died in bed, still revered as the Great Helmsman. One of his more famous dictums is to the effect that the guerrilla must move amongst the people as a fish swims in the sea. If you look at the overlap of militia posts and areas supporting independence, it’s clear that they correlate to a very fine degree, and I’m sure that’s at least in part aimed at preventing you from moving among your supporters.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Colonel Harend has read your Mao’s writing” Verrill replied. “He’s the commander of the Garonne Militia, but he’s also a former Celeste National Guard officer, a regular.”
“A militia blowhard who doesn’t call himself a general? I don’t think your Colonel Harend is a former guard officer. More likely he was hand-picked for this job and is still drawing a paycheck from the guard.”
“That’s what we figured,” Verrill replied, pleasantly surprised by the big ex-Marine’s incisive analysis.
“Got a picture?”
“We have candid portraits of nearly the entire militia and colonial administration.” Verrill made a motion at the technician and the map vanished, replaced by the image of a stocky, bald man in a close-fitted, rather drab uniform.
“Definitely active guard.” Zack nodded at the photo. “A militia blowhard would wear a tin pot dictator’s assortment of gewgaws. This guy just has a modest fruit salad, a colonel’s oak leaves and stars, and nothing else.”
“You almost sound like you approve of him?” Verrill’s lips twitched in amusement.
“I approve of folks who stay professional, even if they’re murderous sons of bitches. It makes killing them a simple business transaction and not a guilty pleasure of the kind that eats away at your soul. Ask Hera. She keeps saying she lost hers.”
The rebel leader’s faint smile became distinctly quizzical as if he couldn’t decide whether Decker was serious or pulling his leg. A soft bell kept him from asking any further questions.
“That’s the mess hall telling us the evening meal is ready.”
“Excellent.” Decker beamed. “Now all you have to do is point me at your beer fridge and my happiness will be complete.”
**
“Mao? Really?” Talyn asked hours later when they had bedded down in a small cell carved out of the rock. “He was responsible for seventy million deaths. I don’t think he’s exactly the inspirational figure you want to emulate.”
Decker laughed.
“Oh yeah, the man was a murderous tyrant for sure, but he ran a successful insurrection and didn’t end his life contemplating bird poop on a small island, so there’s something useful to learn from his guerrilla doctrine. Besides, like one of Chairman Mao’s ideological soul mates once said, the death of one man is a tragedy; the death of millions is a statistic.”
“Good thing I know you’re not a psychopath, honey.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t like competition.”
They fell silent, lost in thought, tired after a long and eventful day, but happy to be deep inside a secure fortress where they could relax for a while.
“Speaking of fish in the sea,” Decker eventually said, “I wish we could take a little trip through the cou
ntryside and get a feel for the mood of the colonists. Unfortunately, I doubt Verrill would be thrilled by the idea of letting relative strangers who know about this place roam the outback without supervision.”
“How very perceptive of you,” she teased. “I’m sure we’ll get the chance to accompany a patrol soon enough; or at least you will, considering you’re the super-duper ex-Marine with decades of combat experience.”
“At least the food around here is decent. I’d be curious to see what their supply system looks like, but that’s another area where too many questions may not please our new friends.”
“Might I suggest we find out if the sleep is decent as well?” Talyn yawned to underscore her request.
“Sure, but before I drift off to dreamland, I’d like to point out that you have many more decades of experience than I do when it comes to doing nefarious deeds.”
“Are you saying I’m old?”
“I thought we already established that if you’d had a child shortly after reaching puberty, it would be my age by now, so technically, you are old enough to be my mother.”
“Darling, you do know what that makes you, right?” She reached down to squeeze him.
“Of course and I thought you were too tired.”
“I am.” She made a face at him before turning on her side and promptly fell asleep.
**
“The governor will see you now, Colonel.”
Harend rose from an uncomfortable chair, the only spare seat in an equally spartan antechamber, and pulled his tight-fitting uniform tunic down. Nodding his thanks at the aide, he entered Cedeno’s office, came to a halt the regulation meter from the wooden desk, and saluted.
“Reporting as ordered, sir.”
Cedeno motioned him to sit down. His bland face revealed nothing, though its hardness more than hinted at displeasure.
“I’ve heard the excuses and bafflegab from our Avalon contractors,” he said by way of introduction, “but I find it hard to believe they’d be so inept. Avalon is one of the biggest private military corporations in the Commonwealth, and they didn’t become that way by acting like incompetent dolts.”
“From what we were able to piece together, sir, the rebels engaged the services of their own mercenaries in the form of a Q-ship that thoroughly surprised the Avalon folks and gave them a bloody nose.”
Harend’s tone was deferential, cautious even; Cedeno didn’t particularly like the colonel, and he had enough connections on the home world to warrant a respectful attitude.
“Fair enough. But how did three of them subsequently escape Garonne and the fourth vanish?”
“The Q-ship did extensive damage to our satellite constellation, basically destroying our ability to monitor the surface from orbit. We’ve repositioned some of the surviving ones to restore communications, but large swathes of the planet aren’t under constant surveillance anymore. The escaping freighters managed to lift off and reach low orbit before anyone could detect them. They were pursued by one of the Avalon sloops, but it may have shown a bit too much caution in fear of meeting another Q-ship attack. As to the fourth, the one that attacked the sloops, we’ve been unable to find it.”
“Surely an FTL-capable starship of that size can’t just hide under a bush?”
“As I said, sir, with the destruction of the satellites, we had no way of tracking its course and subsequent landing. There are any number of places on this continent alone where it could hide, and those are only the ones we know about.”
“I find the notion that Verrill’s scum have an armed ship at their disposal to be rather alarming, Colonel. Don’t you?”
“Avalon claims to have damaged it, sir. And believe me, the moment it lifts, we’ll see it. The rebels aren’t the only ones who’ve gone shopping for hardware. I’ve made a request to the home world for some surface-to-orbit missile launchers. Once I have those, their ship will become a target the moment it appears over the horizon.”
“Let us hope that it remains hidden away until then, though I fear whatever it is that Verrill brought here will not remain hidden for long and your men will be the first to pay the price.”
Cedeno’s dry tone betrayed his irritation. But then, Harend thought, the governor was not a happy man and probably never had been. It was widely known that he had not volunteered for this assignment, though if he failed, he’d nonetheless pay a hefty price.
“There’s plenty more who’ll take the place of those killed by the rebels,” Harend replied, shrugging, “especially if the home world continues deporting those deemed to be undesirable.”
“You’re rather free with your soldiers’ lives, Colonel.”
“I’d hardly call the latest recruits soldiers. Uniformed thugs would be more accurate, but they’re good at putting the fear of God into those supporting independence. Admittedly, every now and then, I need to put the fear of God into my troops, but if there’s one thing they understand, it’s force.”
“Just make sure things don’t get out of hand to the point where the Senate has to take notice and send in the Marines. Your men don’t stand a chance against regulars, and if the Fleet shows signs of intervening, Avalon will pull out what little they’ve provided so far, let alone agree to a contract for a few battalions of infantry.”
A cruel smile appeared on Harend’s square face.
“If the powers that be take notice, it’ll stem from rebel atrocities, sir. You can count on that. When I’m done, no one in this galaxy will want to be associated with Verrill’s bandits, not even Verrill himself.”
“Just keep in mind that if I go down, you’ll be coming with me.”
**
“What were you thinking of doing with our new friends, Verrill?”
Corde looked intently at her commanding officer over the rim of a steaming cup of tea. Around them, the command post was quiet, with one technician monitoring communications and the perimeter sensors.
“I’d like to take Zack out on a raid and get his opinion on the way we operate. Tran can’t stop singing his praises though I suspect part of the hero worship is due to Decker saving him from a life of slavery. Once we get to see the man in action, I’ll decide how far to trust him and use him. His partner? I don’t know. She’s a blank slate and Tran’s never met her before. I’m a lot less comfortable with her than I am with him.”
“How about I use her as an analyst for a while?” Corde suggested. “She asked some penetrating questions over supper but was always careful not to pry into our business any more than she had to. I’d say there’s a pretty sharp brain behind that disreputable haircut.”
“Sure. Just be careful how much you reveal. Until they’ve been blooded, so to speak, we need to proceed with caution. Sometimes I get the feeling that Tran stumbling over his old CO, who just happens to be partners in a mercenary Q-ship, is a little too convenient. Especially when I consider that Decker’s a former Marine Pathfinder. You know what they say, right?”
“Once a Marine, always a Marine. But we have ex-military types in the movement already, and they’ve been loyal to a fault.”
“Most of them are loyal to the idea of Garonne getting out from under Celeste rule, at least those who were born here or who settled here after leaving the service. Mercenaries like Miko Steiger are loyal so long as we respect their contracts. Where does that leave Zack and Hera?”
“In the wait and see category,” Corde replied with a wry smile. “Now off to bed with you. It’s been a long, long day and we have some planning to do tomorrow. Your buying spree wiped out our last donation and we have to calculate how much we’ll need to ask from our benefactors.”
Verrill sighed, then stood and stretched out his tired arms.
“The voice of reason speaking. Good night, Corde.”
“Good night, boss. Sleep well.”
TWENTY-TWO
Decker, in the ghillie suit battledress worn by rebel soldiers and carrying one of their carbines in addition to his beloved Shrehari blaster, pushed
aside the tarp covering the entrance to the briefing room.
Inside, two dozen rebels were chatting quietly while they waited for the appointed time for orders. One of them, a middle-aged man with a weathered face and iron gray hair, broke off from the group and greeted Zack with an outstretched hand.
“You must be our brand new ex-Marine.”
They shook. He was stronger than his lanky frame would indicate, a strength reflected in dark eyes that measured Zack with frank openness.
“The name’s Catlow. I used to have a first name somewhere, but it became too cumbersome for a simple soldier. I’m ex-army – infantry to be precise. I hear you used to be in the pathfinders. That means you’ll enjoy our little walk around the countryside.”
A grin accompanied his last few words, and he released Decker’s hand. Turning back towards the others he called the room to attention.
“Folks, if you’re done gossiping about the governor’s sex life, we can start. This here’s Zack Decker, former Marine, come to fight with us. If we have new guns and fresh ammo, it’s because he and his partner flew it through the mercenary blockade. Seeing as how his basic branch was pathfinders, Verrill figured it might be good to send him out with us so he can see for himself what the militia scum are up to around Tianjin.”
The others nodded politely at Zack, undisguised curiosity in their eyes as, one by one, they introduced themselves, usually with just one name. Whether it was first name, last name, or nickname, Decker didn’t bother asking.
“Okay,” Catlow said once they were done, “everyone grab a seat and pay attention.”
A three-dimensional map projection appeared on the floor within the circle of chairs.
“Take a few moments to orient yourselves, folks.”
A red light appeared by a rocky spur near the Yangtze River. Decker briefly followed the blue ribbon upstream to where they’d landed Phoenix a week earlier, and then looked back at the marker.
“This is where we are, of course, in case any of you had forgotten or developed selective amnesia.”