Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “Perhaps.” Ulrich sat back and reflected on Yang’s words. “But perhaps this is the kind of situation where the action part of our mandate might be appropriate as well. Hera’s the commanding officer on the spot, and since I can’t just send her orders from on high, I’ll have to trust that she’ll use her initiative for the greater good. Do we have any other assets nearby?”

  “I’ll have to double check the roster, but I don’t think so.”

  “See if you can get another set of eyes on Garonne and warn Special Operations Command that we might need their help.”

  “For an extraction?”

  “Or an intervention.” Ulrich’s faint smile returned. “Your loose cannon might need backup from his erstwhile comrades. If they have a ship available and can pre-position it near Garonne within the next few weeks, that would be helpful.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Commander Yang vanished into his office, leaving the head of the Fleet’s black ops group to stare at a blank wall, lost in thought. After a few minutes, he shook himself back to reality and picked up his tablet to resume reading the intelligence digest.

  Whatever Talyn and Decker were planning, there was nothing he could do about it.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Garonne’s sun had dropped low enough to kiss the horizon by the time the maglev from Tianjin slowed to a walking pace and entered the Iskellian docks area, a few kilometers upstream of where the Yangtze River widened before emptying into the Gulf of Sorrows.

  Decker opened the door just a crack, as the bearded independence supporter had told him to do, and looked out at a scene of barely organized chaos seemingly frozen at the end of the working day.

  Shiny, caterpillar-like consists sat motionless on various sidings while barges wallowed in the muddy water. A few figures moved about, but none of them wore the dark green of militia troopers.

  A concrete loading dock attached to a shed even bigger than the one in Tianjin suddenly filled his narrow field of vision and the maglev came to a gentle halt.

  There was a warning shout, and then the wagon doors slammed open in unison, letting in the scent of brackish water, lubricants, and honest sweat. He heard the rattle of automated loaders moving about and soon enough one of the machines entered his car to pick up a pallet. As the robotic stevedore backed out, he followed it onto the dock, trying to look like he belonged there.

  A quick scan of the area showed he was the only carbon-based life from in sight, so he ambled towards the open sliding door and entered the shed.

  Inside, he saw a man sitting at a control panel, similar to the one he’d seen in Tianjin and decided to take a chance that the stevedore was a kindred spirit to the one who’d smuggled him onto the maglev.

  He was. The man pointed at a chair near his station, explicitly ordering him to sit. Zack obeyed and spent the next half hour or so watching a small army of automated loaders shift pallet after pallet of produce into various sections of the shed, ready for pick up.

  When the dance finally ended, the little machines lined up to one side and fell silent. The man got up and stuck out his hand. He could have been a younger relative of his Tianjin colleague.

  “Welcome, stranger. No names given and none taken, right?”

  “Right.” Decker nodded.

  “You know where you’re going?”

  “Not really. I just need a place to eat and a bed for a few hours, preferably where the militia won’t bother me.”

  “I can help you with that. Come on.” He headed for the far side of the shed, opposite from the loading dock. “The bastards were through here earlier today so they won’t be back until morning, though some of them get bored enough to harass honest folk on their way home after work, so I hope you have valid ID.”

  “I’ve got ID,” Decker confirmed, deciding to omit the fact that it might not pass muster.

  The man led him to a small personal skimmer and invited him to take a seat. When they were both strapped in, he switched the power cells on and gunned his fans, slewing the small car around and through the yard’s main gate.

  Iskellian had none of the charm its name might evoke. A collection of drab buildings, some rising high above their neighbors, clustered along the river and sprawled inland on both banks. They passed through an old section on the outskirts that seemed to date back to early days of the colony but still seemed inhabited.

  The man didn’t speak while he drove, but his face showed relief once they’d left the slums for a more respectable section of town.

  “Nasty place?” Decker asked, nodding towards the rear of the vehicle.

  “You have no idea, friend. The worst of what Celeste dumps on us lives in that area. And to think the damned militia recruits there too. When I was a boy, Iskellian was a beautiful place to live. Now? If I had the money to emigrate, I’d seriously consider it.”

  They crossed the core of the city and emerged on the other side, in a neighborhood that seemed just as old as the slum but had been maintained and nurtured with loving care.

  The man pulled into a small lot beside a two-story building with a discreet sign advertising rooms for rent and home-cooked meals.

  “The owner’s a friend. She knows the score so you can trust her. Remember, no names given and none taken.” He held out his hand. “Good luck in your endeavors, my friend. May we meet again when Garonne is free.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  He waved Decker’s gratitude away.

  “I do what little I can.”

  Zack watched the little skimmer fade in the distance, then he opened the door of the inn, and a delicious aroma of roasting meat washed over him. His stomach, never one to stay quiet at the most inconvenient moments, growled loudly. A peal of delighted laughter came from the grandmotherly woman sitting behind a wooden counter.

  “Come in, come in. I hear the sounds of a man who’s just finished a long voyage. There’s beefalo in the oven, a warm bed upstairs and no questions asked. I happen to know the gentleman who drove you here, so you’re among friends.”

  An hour and a meal later, Decker was staring out his room’s window at the soft lights of Iskellian. A gentle fog had risen the moment the sun vanished, fed by the waters of the gulf and the great central ocean beyond, and it blurred the outlines of everything in sight, even the harsh shapes of the gray high-rise buildings downtown.

  He was still surprised that he’d stumbled into the informal network of independence supporters, or to be more accurate, he felt both surprised and gratified that the network had scooped him up so quickly after recognizing him as one of theirs.

  In his experience, honed by putting down more than one colonial brush war, by the time ordinary colonists had developed such a fine discernment, they’d already traveled far down the road to violent rebellion. Eventually, a single spark would be enough to blow away the veneer of civilization.

  The roast beefalo, accompanied by a generous helping of vegetables, had filled the vast, empty space left by a long day without a single bite to eat. He’d accepted a bottle of the local beer, which was tasty in its own way, but only one. He needed to rest, but by the time first light rolled around, the search for Kari Takan would be on.

  It had been almost two days since they’d extracted the family from under the militia’s nose, two days during which the enemy would have analyzed, investigated and hunted. The only advantage he had was in knowing where the girl might be hiding, with no guarantee that she’d ever gone there, or if she had that she’d stayed there.

  **

  “Okay, Steiger,” Bleyd, the militia’s training sergeant major, tossed her a towel, “you know your shit, and I’ll gladly sign off on your application. Wipe down because we’re done.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got a place to stay tonight?”

  “Sure. There’s a nice bench in the park with my name on it.”

  “Bullshit.” Bleyd laughed. “I’m recommending the colonel enlist you as a non-com, and that’ll be enoug
h to see you in a uniform by tomorrow, so you might as well take a bunk in the transient quarters and a meal in the chow hall.”

  He winked at her.

  “We old pros need to stick together. There’s not that many of us around.”

  “Oh?” She dropped the now damp towel in a bin set aside for that purpose.

  “Sure, the colonel’s a regular from the Celeste National Guard, so is Captain Kozlev and a couple of the other officers, but among the non-coms there aren’t many of us with who’ve done a full hitch somewhere else, and I’m counting the mercs in that. It’s why I figure you’ll be offered a probationary sergeant’s stripes at a minimum.”

  He shrugged his uniform tunic on and picked up his cap.

  “Let’s go eat.”

  The mess facilities weren’t any different from those she’d seen all over the Commonwealth. They ate in the section reserved for non-coms after Bleyd had introduced her to his friends from the training and headquarters battalions.

  She got the curious glances she’d expected, but the questions wouldn’t start until she was wearing a uniform, their uniform. Before then, she was a tolerated guest and allowed among them only because Bleyd was near the top of the militia non-com food chain.

  The training sergeant major spotted her a beer at the sergeant’s mess after supper and gave her a high-level sketch of the militia’s organization, equipment, and operations, seemingly confident that she’d be one of them within the next twenty-four hours.

  He was right.

  When she showed up at the mess hall early the next morning, she was intercepted by the recruiting sergeant who told her to report to the main headquarters building by oh-seven-hundred.

  **

  “Decker’s in Iskellian,” Corde announced over breakfast. “Our cell in the capital reported that the network helped a ghost, a man who doesn’t exist in the militia database, down the pipeline from Tianjin yesterday.”

  “A ghost?” Talyn smiled. “You have people inside the militia then?”

  “A few, mostly civilian clerical workers,” Verrill replied. “They don't trust locals with anything more, but even the little bit we get is helpful.”

  He briefly considered mentioning Steiger’s attempt to infiltrate the militia but then thought better of it. He was the only one to know, and it would have to stay that way for now.

  “Why is it that I get the feeling support for independence among the average colonists has crossed the line from purely political to direct action?” Talyn asked.

  “Because it has,” Verrill replied around a mouthful of fruit. “More and more people are fed up with the daily indignities, the fear of semi-feral deportees, and the lack of a voice when it comes to Garonne’s future – the usual reasons, so they try to fight back however they can. A few, those who manage to ensure their families’ safety, join us, but most help in small ways, like getting your partner to Iskellian unnoticed, collecting intelligence, no matter how innocuous or seemingly unimportant. There are literally tens of thousands of active sympathizers out there on top of hundreds of thousands who lack the courage or the opportunity to become active.”

  “Is the government aware that it runs so deep?”

  “Perhaps a few in the militia’s top leadership and the governor’s staff have begun to notice they’re riding a tiger, but considering human nature, most are ignoring the warning signs.”

  “Too bad.” Talyn drained her coffee mug. “There’s still time to pull out of the death spiral, but from all I’ve seen so far, nothing short of allowing full independence without pre-conditions is going to do the trick. When a society is that angry with its government, it only takes one spark to trigger a civil war. Once that happens, it’ll get ugly so fast that the Senate will have no choice but to send in the Marines.”

  “You seem well versed in these matters, Hera,” Verrill remarked, an eyebrow raised in question.

  “As Zack likes to say, this isn’t my first dance, and I like to spend my spare time reading history, because where humans are concerned, there’s nothing new under whatever sun they happen to live.”

  The rebel leader looked at her with undisguised curiosity.

  “Who are you? I mean, really? You’re not just some bored rich lady looking for adventure in her own starship. Corde tells me you’ve been invaluable in revisiting some of the intel we didn’t know how to interpret.”

  “Believe what you want,” she replied with a small smile, “but I am wealthy, eccentric and living the life of a hired gun, analyst, shipper and whatever else sounds like fun.”

  “Suit yourself,” Verrill replied, smiling back. “I can’t say I’m not happy Tran found you two, but you’ll allow me some curiosity at why you’ve thrown your lot in with us.”

  “But of course. Though I warn you, I enjoy being a woman of mystery,” her smile became overtly seductive, “which means I’ll enjoy keeping you wondering.”

  **

  Decker sat on a worn park bench and studied the government compound across the sluggish river. It was set well back from the water’s edge and surrounded by a double defensive ring that tried to look innocuous and failed. Even in the bright morning sunshine, it exuded an oppressive atmosphere.

  He picked out the various buildings based on the map he’d been shown by Catlow: the governor’s mansion, the central administration blocks, the militia headquarters, and Iskellian garrison barracks, the prison, and the power plant.

  He knew that security cameras were recording him, but so was everyone else using the park, be it the homeless, joggers, kids skipping school or deportees looking for an easy mark. A trio of them showed some interest in the lone man sitting apart from everyone else, but the moment he met the ringleader’s eyes, they moved away with commendable speed.

  Sitting here wasn’t going to lead him to Kari, but spending some time eyeballing the opposition’s strongpoint wouldn’t be wasted in the long run, and he had to pass near it to get to the first place she might be hiding anyway.

  Two militia troopers with slung carbines came down a gravel path winding its way through thick native vegetation, their eyes darting from person to person, but not in the way of cops looking for someone specific.

  Although they were just a regular foot patrol, Decker took their arrival as the signal that it was time to move on. He stood up slowly, stretched, and swung his small pack over his shoulder.

  He’d dropped a healthy heap of cred chips on the inn’s counter after wolfing down a substantial breakfast, but the old woman running the place pushed most of them back at him with the remark that she only needed to cover the cost of groceries when it came to a ‘friend.’ She hadn’t even blinked at his changed appearance – it wasn’t dramatic, but enough to fool the casual eye.

  The walk into town and towards the nearest bridge over the Yangtze River had taken him the better part of an hour. As he passed through downtown he had mentally recorded everything he saw, from the state of the buildings, the businesses, the roads and other public works to the mood of the population and the prevalence of loafers, many of whom wore what probably passed for gang colors on Celeste.

  Iskellian was not a happy city. It didn’t feel as bad as Port Premier on Hispaniola in the months leading up to the bloodiest outburst of colonial violence the Commonwealth had seen in over a hundred years, but Decker figured it was probably on the same trajectory.

  He’d witnessed a militia patrol roughing up a civilian but had no idea what the man had done to offend the local law and order. Everyone in the general vicinity of the event did their best to scurry away, eyes avoiding all contact with anyone else.

  Decker had to suppress his inclination to intervene, even if it was just in the name of fairness. Two armed cops taking on one unarmed civilian stank in his book, but he just walked on.

  The militia troopers patrolling the riverside park examined him in the same way they examined everyone else while he headed towards the bridge looking like a man without a single care in the world. So far, so
good. The authorities hadn’t issued an all-points bulletin for a large man vaguely similar to his current appearance; otherwise, he’d have been stopped for an ID check.

  He crossed the river a kilometer or so upstream of the government precinct and got a good view of it from another angle. Whoever had sited the small city within a city had made sure all approaches were open, flat, and difficult to cross under fire. As a professional, Decker approved; as a would-be insurgent, he began to look for ways of storming the place.

  **

  “Captain, the physiometric analysis has come up with a couple of possibles for the man that led the Takan extraction the other day.”

  Rika Kozlev crossed the room to stand behind her lead investigator, another Celeste National Guard transplant recruited by Colonel Harend to stiffen the militia.

  Images of strongly built males aged thirty to sixty filled the large screen. They were culled from surveillance cameras all over the settlement area and compared to the few useful video captures they had of the burly, longhaired professional who cost them a snatch team and the chance to move up the rebels’ chain of command.

  Though the variation in hairstyle and color, facial features, and the degree of intelligence reflected in their eyes was vast, they all shared a similar physique and musculature, and to a lesser extent, posture and way of moving.

  “Doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” the analyst said, by way of apology.

  “Have you run repeats?”

  “I’m doing that right now, but the number of variables is still very high.”

  “All right. There’s no way around the limitations of the machine, is there?” Kozlev stared at the succession of stills parading across the screen when one attracted her attention.