by Matt Levin
Russ took a deep breath, suppressing an urge to snap at her. Maybe the stress and the sleep deprivation really were getting to him. “If we negotiate with the Union right now, they’ll just force us off of Calimor. We have to fight first, so we can come to the negotiating table from a position of strength. Otherwise, Owen Yorteb will push Tricia to bar us from colonization across the system. We’ll get pushed back to the Preserver. And,” Russ paused, “if we can’t hold the only colony we have at the moment, that means Meredith is never coming out of cryo.”
Isadora’s face turned cold. Bringing up Meredith was a cheap shot, Russ knew. But the stakes were too high right now not to take any shot he had. Cheap or otherwise.
“Even if we fight, what chance do we really have?” Isadora said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Let me show you,” Russ said. “There are a couple groups practicing maneuvers in the tunnels right now.”
“Okay,” Isadora said weakly, pushing herself to her feet.
The two of them left the mayor’s office and headed for an access point to the colony’s subterranean section. “You mentioned artillery strikes?” Isadora said as they headed toward an elevator.
Russ punched a button that would take them to the power tunnels below. As the elevator descended deeper, the layers of the colony flashed by the window: the amalgam of construction materials of the above-ground settlement, the sandstone just underneath, and finally the thick concrete that formed the tunnels.
“The Union has no reason to destroy the entire plantation,” Russ said. “But they could probably pinpoint vital targets for destruction. For example, the settlement’s security center. Or even the mayor’s office. Our deal with the Syndicate allowed us to requisition a few automated defense turrets that I’ve installed at key defensive positions around New Arcena. Hopefully, that will allow us to whittle down their artillery units and force them to send in ground troops.
“Also, we’ve been working on setting up a combat command center down in the tunnels,” Russ added. “Before the fighting starts, we’ll move you and other key members of the command structure down here.”
Isadora nodded silently as the elevator came to a halt. They headed out into one of the main tunnel corridors. Tubes with bright green light emanating from within ran along the ceiling, with fluorescent bulbs placed intermittently along the side walls.
It was hard for Russ to imagine what the settlement must have looked like when Nadia had first landed. These tunnels must have appeared even more dark and foreboding. And now Nadia had breathed life into the dead settlement, just so Russ could prepare it for war. It was all just an inevitable cycle of life and death.
Russ pulled up a training drill program on his wrister. According to the file, two fireteams were practicing maneuvers nearby. Russ brought Isadora to a vantage point directly facing a four-way intersection.
As one fireteam wearing special blue-colored suits moved down the corridor, they were suddenly ambushed by two soldiers in red-colored suits in one of the adjoining hallways. A dozen practice rounds flashed from their rifles, and one of the blue team member’s suit lights went out, indicating a takedown.
When the attacking red team troops retreated down the hallway, the blue team grouped up to pursue them. That was when another small force of red troops showed up behind them. They caught the surviving blue team members by surprise and took down two more troops.
At that point, the blue team was in utter disarray. Some members were pursuing the original attackers, while others were heading after the second group. “In a real fight, we’d have a third fireteam right where we’re standing,” Russ murmured, as the rest of the militia members from both teams disappeared from view. “Once our troops disrupted the Union forces, they’d move in for the killing blow.”
Isadora winced as she contemplated the violence. “I imagine a full Union assault team would have greater numbers,” she said.
“Of course,” Russ said. “And they’ll probably have better training. But fighting a guerrilla war is our best way to negate their advantages. We can position teams at every point in these tunnels, and use our knowledge of the territory to lure Union soldiers into kill zones. It’ll be desperate, and it’ll be bloody. A lot of good people aren’t gonna make it out alive. But enough will. We just have to make sure to force the Union into the tunnels,” Russ continued. “That means taking out their artillery units immediately. And then using energy barriers to close off the above-ground colony to them.”
“I see,” Isadora said quietly.
Russ could see the doubt flooding Isadora’s face. He felt nothing but sympathy for her. Isadora had never served in the military, much less ever had to contemplate the hard realities of combat. A district councilor would never have had to make the kinds of decisions Isadora was about to.
It was his duty to make sure she made it through all this. That meant assuming an even more active role. “It will be okay,” Russ said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “You should rest up,” he continued. “The troops will need to see you and hear you in the coming days. You will need to become a symbol for them, so we need you to be at full energy. Why don’t you get some sleep and let me handle everything?”
Isadora just blinked, still staring down the tunnels. “Okay,” she said at last. “I could probably use it.”
They headed back toward the elevator and rode it up to the main settlement. Isadora turned and headed for the mayor’s office. “Just...consult me before making any major decisions. Even if that means waking me up.”
“Yes ma’am,” Russ said, and watched her go. He still sympathized with Isadora, but the best way to show his loyalty to her was to handle as much as he could by himself. He pulled up his wrister, intending to work on a message asking all colony personnel to direct their questions to him.
But an update on the arriving Union warships distracted him. They’d be here in under 48 hours.
CHAPTER 37
* * *
As much as Tanner wanted to stay glued to his wrist terminal, waiting for any updates on the developing situation in the outer rim—he knew Owen Yorteb would provide updates much quicker than the Union media—he had a job to do. And he intended to do it well.
When Chet Borro, who Tanner had learned was Owen’s unofficial chief lieutenant, had asked Tanner to volunteer for a highly secretive mission, Tanner had leapt at the opportunity. The assignment seemed like it could be his breakthrough, his way of proving to Owen that he was the man the general thought he was.
It was only after he had volunteered that he learned the actual nature of the job: assassinating a sitting member of the Union Parliament. The target was Robert Nurm, who caucused with the Reform Party in the opposition coalition to Tricia Favan’s ruling Workers’ Party, and who had become a vocal critic of Tricia Favan’s refugee policies. Tanner had to program an access card that would allow an infiltration team to enter the target’s penthouse.
Tanner remembered freezing on his couch when he had read the job description. But Chet had assured him that he wouldn’t have to pull the trigger. All Tanner had to do was get through the Parliament member’s penthouse security system. No need to get his hands dirty.
Not that Tanner was necessarily opposed. The Offspring had opened his eyes to what the refugees really were—invaders—and there could only be one response to a traitor like Robert Nurm. The MP had even been calling to overturn the settlement charter ban. Overriding the will of the Natonese people in service of the enemy was treason, pure and simple.
Plus, a high-profile target like an MP would attract massive amounts of media attention and notoriety, hopefully on the heels of the destruction of New Arcena, assuming Owen came through with his plan.
Of course, it made Tanner uncomfortable to think about ending another person’s life, but he was doing it for a cause that had given him a new life. And one that would save everyone in the Natonus System from the enemy. Still, he was glad for Chet’s assurance. There w
as a difference between understanding, philosophically, that someone had to die, versus being the one to do it. Tanner knew his hesitancy was a weakness, but he was confident he’d overcome it eventually.
It had been hard saying goodnight to Rebecca. He was sure she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. He had been distracted all throughout the evening, stopping in the middle of his sentences or staring off into space. “Is there...something you wanna tell me?” Rebecca had asked him quietly before she went to sleep.
“Just trying to figure out what to do without the Veltech job,” Tanner had lied.
He was pretty sure Rebecca had known it, too. “I know you’ve been looking for jobs every night,” Rebecca had said. Which wasn’t true—Tanner had been using his evenings to help the Offspring organize and distribute content on the net—but it was the excuse he used to cover his tracks.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just do that while I’m at school,” Rebecca had continued. “Most days, I barely even get to talk to you, except for dinner. I miss my brother,” she had said, sighing. “Would it kill you to free up an hour of your time in the evenings so we can...I dunno...play a game of chess or something?”
“You’re right,” Tanner had told her, trying to wrap up the conversation so he wouldn’t be late for his meeting. “I’ll see what I can do.” Lying to her had made him feel hollow inside, but there was just too much to do for the Offspring for him to take a break, even to spend more time with Rebecca. He’d make it up to her once the system was safe from the newars. He wasn’t sure if Rebecca had believed him, but she at least had the good graces to go to bed.
It had been a quiet walk through deserted streets in the middle of a winter night, with temperatures colder than predicted settling over the city. Tanner had hardly noticed. Even as the oak trees shook and swayed around him, he stood tall and resolute.
The airbus ride to the wealthy districts just outside the downtown area had been equally quiet. Tanner had just stared at his reflection in the vehicle’s window pane, his fiery eyes and taut jaw almost unrecognizable.
He met Chet at a public plaza just outside the condominium where Robert Nurm lived. As far as Tanner knew, there wasn’t really any kind of hierarchy to the Offspring. There was just Owen on top, and everyone else below. But Chet’s longevity gave him a certain intangible power. The kind Tanner had begun to aspire to.
Chet had an imposing figure with a strong handshake to match. Part of Tanner wanted to earn the man’s respect, while the other part of him coveted that same level of respect from others. “Thanks for coming,” the man muttered, looking around the plaza. “The weather’s lucky for us. With the temperature dropping this fast, no one is gonna be out.”
“I agree,” Tanner said. “Want to run through the plan with me?”
“Sure,” Chet said. “I assume you brought the master keycard?”
Tanner held up a thin, white piece of plastic. “Of course,” he said. Using the data from a bug Chet had planted in Robert Nurm’s penthouse, Tanner had programmed a defunct residency card to emit the signal that would allow them through the front door. He had the simplest job, really. He hardly even needed to go along for the rest of the operation. But he wanted the prestige.
“Good,” Chet said. “I’ve got two other guys, Brad and Paul, coming. Brad should be bringing us maintenance uniforms and codes to get us in the front door. And Paul’s bringing a communications disruptor.
“Should be a relatively straightforward operation: we go in, disguised as maintenance workers, and head up to the upper levels. We go to the MP’s penthouse, and you get us in the front door. The communications disruptor prevents the target from calling for help. And then,” Chet said, patting a firearm slipped in the waist of his pants, “I finish the job.”
Tanner already knew that they were getting support from elsewhere. Owen Yorteb had people high in the government hierarchy—a handful of soldiers who had shipped with him to Calimor were Offspring, even—which included surveillance officials. Tonight, there would be a malfunction in the closed-circuit holo-vision devices that lined the exterior of the MP’s condominium. And it wouldn’t be reported until hours later.
Two men walked up, identifying themselves as Brad and Paul. After a round of handshakes, Chet led the other three of them toward a public outhouse along the edge of the square. Each of them retreated to a different stall to switch into their respective maintenance uniform.
Once they were dressed, Chet assembled them at the bathroom facility exit. “All right boys,” Chet said, “let’s do this. Natonus for the Natonese.”
“Natonus for the Natonese!” the other three echoed. The four of them walked out of the outhouse and crossed the plaza.
“Night crew?” a clerk at the condominium desk asked as soon as they entered.
“Sure are,” Chet answered.
“All right. All I’ll need you to do is insert the clearance code we sent you earlier here, and you’re set,” the clerk said, flipping an input terminal over to them.
Brad walked over to the terminal and tapped a series of keys. The screen flashed red almost as soon as he finished. “Doesn’t look like you have the right code,” the clerk said, frowning.
Tanner assumed Brad had just mistyped the code, but then he saw the other man’s eyes go wide, as though he wasn’t expecting the code to fail. Oh no. “Why didn’t it work?” Chet eventually stammered out.
Tanner thought through a solution quickly. “You probably just have yesterday’s codes on the mind,” he said. “Here, I gotcha.” Tanner walked over to the terminal. Guessing the passcode would be a fool’s errand, but he was pretty sure he had a workaround.
Most terminals had an override code to take them to their root menu, he had learned from his IT days. Pressing the right numbers, getting to the root menu, and reprogramming the terminal to display a successful code entry was all too easy. Only problem was, Tanner had pressed the terminal well more than the nine times Brad had, but it seemed like the desk clerk hadn’t noticed.
Tanner spun the terminal back around with its screen lit up green. “There you go.” Tanner forced a grin.
“Great,” the clerk said. “Thanks for coming in despite the cold.”
“You bet,” Tanner said, and motioned for the other three to follow him into a corridor lined with turbolifts. The condominium interior was nearly spot-free, with a citrusy, sanitized smell hanging in the air. Delicately manicured ferns sat in ornate urns between each lift.
It was just like the upscale hotels where his parents used to take him and Rebecca in their youth. If it was already so clean, Tanner wondered, why were they still bringing in a maintenance crew? Presumably because their clientele wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfection.
Just seeing the condo from the inside made him hate Robert Nurm all the more. Regular citizens were nothing more than specks of dirt to people like him. It was easy to crow about the moral necessity of rolling over for the invaders while living in a place like this. People like that would never be convinced.
Tanner ushered the others into the turbolift and pressed a button to take them to the penthouse. “Nice job back there, by the way,” Chet said to Tanner. “No thanks to you,” he added, glowering at Brad.
“I’m sorry!” Brad protested. “The guy I got the uniforms from swore those codes were up to date.”
“It’s okay,” Tanner blurted out, while a fire smoldered behind Chet’s pupils. At first, Tanner had marked Chet as the kind of man Tanner aspired to become: confident, dominant, powerful. But now that he had seen Chet in action, Tanner’s estimation of the other man had lowered. Someone who didn’t know how to effectively command his followers possessed little real dominance. And the best leaders were ones who knew how to adapt and overcome in the face of adversity.
The door slid open before anyone else said anything. Tanner pushed past Chet and Brad, heading out into a short hallway just outside the penthouse. “Let’s get that communications dis
ruptor set up. Paul, you’re up,” Chet whispered as the four of them took position on either side of the penthouse door.
Paul withdrew a small device from his pocket and placed it against the wall. When he tried to switch it on, the device stuttered, but didn’t activate. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Chet hissed. “What’s wrong now?”
Paul furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. Let me try to reboot it.” He flipped the switch off and on again, but the device still didn’t activate properly.
“Goddammit,” Chet said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “Did you input the calibration correctly? These things never work right if you don’t pre-set the calibration codes.” Chet pushed past Paul, inputted a few commands into a root menu, and rebooted the device again.
Still nothing.
“Let me see if I can fix it,” Tanner grumbled before either Chet or Paul could say anything. If Chet let his temper loose again, it could alert the MP inside, and potentially compromise the entire operation. Am I gonna have to do everything here? Tanner wondered, getting to work on the malfunctioning disruptor.
Chet was smart to check the calibration codes. But as Tanner knew from his IT days, it was easy to forget about the simple fixes. He peeled open a side panel and went to work on the wires inside. Sure enough, it was as easy as clicking one of the receptors into place. He fitted the panel back on and activated the device. It hummed to life shortly after, and reported that all outgoing wrist terminal calls would be intercepted and stalled within a fifty foot radius.
Before Chet could say anything, Tanner walked over to the penthouse door and pulled out the access card he had programmed. “Let me guess: this isn’t going to work either,” Chet scoffed. Tanner waved the card by the door’s security scanner, and a green light flashed. Tanner cocked a smug grin and opened the door. “After you,” he mouthed, gesturing for the other three to go inside.