by CH Gideon
Pushkin was not an anxious man. He had taken fire under the Arh’Kel’s guns for the greater part of fifty years and earned a fruit salad of commendations for his conduct in difficult situations.
It fell into focus as Jenkins reread the last line. Do not deploy resources prior to a complete inspection at TAC HQ.
The note wasn’t telling Jenkins what he should do. It was an inversion of what Pushkin was really trying to tell him. He was saying absolutely do not, under any circumstances, return to Terran Armor Corps Headquarters prior to rendezvousing with the Bonhoeffer and completing Operation Brick Top. He was also saying that under no circumstances was he to subject these new Razorback Mark 2-V mechs to Armor Corps inspection—or, in all likelihood, any other inspection by TAF personnel.
Under the Terran Armed Forces code, “Immediate” priority was the highest level legally permitted to be invoked by a ranking officer outside of a mission’s immediate chain of command. It was superseded by a handful of mission-critical priorities such as Alpha, Omega, Gold, White, and Black, so unless an officer was operating under those orders, he was compelled to comply with an Immediate priority order from a superior outside the immediate chain of command.
But unbeknownst to everyone outside of Akinouye, command personnel aboard the Bonhoeffer, and General Pushkin, Operation Brick Top had been secretly conducted under Black priority, which was the highest priority Akinouye could independently authorize. Pushkin knew that as well as Jenkins did, which meant that this note was as much for show as it was meant to communicate an urgent message to Jenkins as he headed to the field.
Pushkin was getting pressured to recall Jenkins to HQ, and he was making a display of complying while subversively doing the exact opposite, because, by directive, Jenkins was compelled to comply with the priority order, Brick Top.
Jenkins closed his eyes, knowing that the shitstorm had to be bad for Pushkin to act on it at all, let alone for him to resort to coded messages that would undoubtedly end his storied career if the truth came out.
And Pushkin’s career wouldn’t be the only one on the chopping block if Jenkins decided to follow his lead on this, but Lee Jenkins hadn’t earned his callsign by playing it safe, and it was possible he could buy Pushkin a little breathing room by flagrantly violating his ‘orders’ and sending this courier back with word of his disobedience.
Lieutenant Mugabe’s image remained centered on Jenkins’ visor display as Jenkins closed the document and said, “Order receipt acknowledged, but I cannot comply at this time.”
“Confirm, Colonel,” Mugabe requested. “You understand the orders as transmitted and are refusing to follow them?”
“Confirmed, Lieutenant Mugabe.” Jenkins nodded. “It is my judgment that my current orders are incompatible with and therefore supersede these revisions. I’m attaching my signed receipt of the package under the same encryption protocols. Acknowledge receipt.”
The lieutenant looked off-pickup for several seconds before nodding. “Receipt confirmed. Thank you, Colonel Jenkins.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Mugabe,” Jenkins replied before cutting the line.
“That didn’t sound good,” Oxblood said matter-of-factly.
“It wasn’t,” Jenkins assured him. “And I think it would be best if I transferred to the Red Hare. Give my thanks to Director Durgan. I’ve never flown by private courier before, and I trust you won’t take it badly when I say I hope I never have to again.”
Oxblood snickered. “It’s the best ride Terran money can buy, Colonel.”
“I know,” Jenkins agreed as the Red Hare emerged from the jump gate off their stern. “Inform Captain Guan I intend to transfer at his earliest convenience.”
“Will do.” Oxblood was nothing less than a consummate professional, and thirty minutes later Jenkins was aboard the secret Terra Han warship and en route to the gate that would take them to the Brick.
He had every confidence that his people would carry out the first phases of the operation, especially with General Akinouye overseeing everything from orbit.
But there was still a lingering sense of panic that his people might need him down there, and that sense of urgency only grew as the Red Hare burned across the Nexus to the cluster of Finjou gates located a full day’s ride from the one through which they had just emerged.
“This is an amazing place, Mr. DuPont,” Xi said after a brief survey of the underground colony’s expansive Garden Sphere. “I can understand some small part of why it must be difficult to leave it behind.”
“It is our home, Captain Xi,” DuPont agreed as a group of small children ran by, giggling with joy as only children can. “It is all we have ever known, and all we ever want to.”
“You can’t stay here,” she said adamantly. “We already located several of your subterranean transit system’s surface entry points, and we haven’t even been looking that hard. I didn’t assault your tunnels because I didn’t come here to hurt you. I came here to evacuate you. But we both know that the Finjou are going to have a lot less issue than we would with coming down here in force and purging everyone in this colony if you don’t comply with their eviction directive.”
“You are right.” DuPont nodded, looking out over the beatific cavern in resignation. “Our time here is done.”
“I still need to know,” Xi said firmly as Gordon inspected the construction materials with a handheld scanner, “why Sol gave you the technology you needed to create all of this? It would have taken a thousand Terran artisans fifty years to carve this cavern and those tunnels.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the airlock door. “But I’m guessing Gordon’s scans will show this place has been here for longer than that. Such excavation efforts, even fully-automated, require an incredible amount of power, Mr. DuPont. We’re talking fifteen, maybe twenty grade-three fusion plants burning nonstop to get on top of the curve and power the excavation of these passages in less than twenty years. Not to mention the supply of coring bits, drive train repairs, debris extraction equipment, and enough perishables to keep your people alive long enough to get this thing up and running.” She looked appreciatively at the Garden Sphere.
“It seems you know something of excavation, Captain Xi,” DuPont said lightly, but the glint in his eyes made clear that he was aware of her dig team’s efforts at the Gash. And more than that, his expression suggested he knew more about it than she would have liked. “I think you’ll agree,” he gestured to the cavern before them, “that we know a little of that enterprise ourselves.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she said firmly, hoping to avoid another sidebar like the one which focused on her childhood. “I need to know why Sol gave you the support it did. I don’t care about the how or the who. I’m only interested in the why, Mr. DuPont.”
DuPont fixed her with a hard look. “My great-grandfather made the first cut into this planet’s crust, Captain Xi. He toiled with simple equipment, meager supplies, and a barely-livable habitat. Fifteen years he spent here, his body breaking down from cancers caused by the ambient radiation. My grandfather pleaded with him,” he continued, his eyes softening as he spoke. “He told him to call for help from one of the Terran corporations or even to treat with the Finjou in hopes of securing a lease to part of this world in exchange for mineral wealth.
“But my great grandfather was proud. Too proud. He died when his air recycling system failed, and he was unable to send for help in time. He had almost completed the first bunker, which would protect its inhabitants from the radiation far better than he had enjoyed, at which point he would bring his children in to continue the work he had started. It was then that my grandfather was approached by a Finjou merchant with an offer.”
“’A Finjou merchant?’” Xi repeated skeptically.
DuPont nodded. “It was never confirmed, although it became obvious after a short time, that this merchant was acting as an emissary on Sol’s behalf. The offer was simply too good to ignore: they would provide us with all
of the resources we would need to create a subterranean paradise here on DuPont’s Dream—the name my grandfather gave it after agreeing to the Finjou’s terms.”
“What were those terms?” she pressed.
“They were simple.” DuPont shrugged. “Remain here, stay below ground, and use the equipment provided to build our home. Once the equipment was finished with that task, it was to begin the work of fortifying this place against invasion.” He hung his head in the universal human gesture of defeat. “We knew the equipment was of Solarian design, and we learned how to use it quickly enough. But after we completed our home, it wasn’t long before we barely even took notice of the machines’ automated labors. Every few years, the Finjou merchant would return to check on our status, and to deliver weapons and other materials needed for the continued expansion of this world’s defensive grid. But then, thirty standard years ago, the merchant stopped coming.”
“Your forebears had to have known they were being played,” Xi said skeptically.
“Of course.” DuPont shrugged. “But everyone is played by someone else, Captain Xi. No one is truly the master of his own destiny, so why balk at the opportunity to advance your condition, even when you know there are strings attached? You must understand,” he continued passionately, his eyes misting over as he spoke. “New France was established with a great, beautiful ideal shortly after humanity gained access to the wormholes. The chance to flee the militaristic, war-torn Earth was too great an opportunity for my ancestors to ignore as they pursued a dream as old as humanity itself.
“But that ideal and their dream died when the wormholes collapsed and we were cut off from the rest of what became the Terran Republic. New Francos…my people…died, Captain Xi. We died of radiation poisoning, asphyxiation, malnutrition, and dehydration. We failed the ordeal the Seven Colonies of the Terran Republic survived. That failure changed us forever, Captain. It caused us to become…distrustful. It caused us to look after ourselves rather than others. It was not a healthy response, and I take no pride in explaining it, but it is irrevocably who and what we became.”
“It’s not irrevocable.” Xi shook her head in rejection. “Your people are the most unique Terrans I’ve yet encountered, Mr. DuPont. Look at this…majesty,” she said, using the only word that seemed to accurately convey the scene before her. “You did this. And you can do this again.”
DuPont scoffed. “You call us ‘Terrans,’ which means that in spite of all I have told you, you still do not understand us.”
“No, Mr. DuPont,” she said with conviction. “I understand you better than you understand yourself. I understand what it’s like to be an outsider; to be alternately ignored and abused by the people you try to help. I know what it feels like to have an entire world turn its back on you after you did everything you could to contribute to its betterment,” she said, her nostrils flaring as tears welled up in her eyes. “I also know,” she straightened her spine and gave the older man a determined look, “that even though it took me a while to find it, there’s a place in the Terran Republic for me to make a difference. And there’s a place in it for you. Your forebears’ dream didn’t die, Mr. DuPont. It just moved beyond the horizon, and I’m here to take you back to it.”
DuPont gave her a searching look. “I have killed many of your people, Captain Xi,” he said in a faintly tremulous voice. “How can you think to help me?”
“We’re Terrans, Mr. DuPont,” she said, pushing aside the thought of her lost comrades. “If we don’t take care of the most wayward among us, then that dream you talked about, which is every bit as important to me as it was to your ancestors, is dead.” She set her jaw as the faces of her fallen comrades flickered through her mind, each one a grim reminder that DuPont’s weapons had ended the lives of those who had come to help him and his people. “I’m not going to lie, though,” she said through gritted teeth. “If you were locked in a dark room with me, you’d leave in a body bag.”
DuPont shook his head in wonderment. “You are a remarkable person, Captain Xi. It has been an unexpected pleasure meeting you.” He reached up to his neck, causing Xi’s flanking guards to train their rifles on him. He held up his fingers as he produced a chain tucked beneath his collar, and on that chain was a crystal key of Solarian make. “This is the command key to all the military hardware stationed on this planet, which I am formally surrendering to you,” he explained, proffering it after disconnecting the clasp behind his neck. Gordon approached, snatched the card from DuPont’s hand, and began to scan the device after moving to a safe distance. DuPont straightened. “I am prepared to submit to Terran justice for my crimes, and to request your assistance in evacuating my people from our home.”
Xi blinked in surprise, wondering if this was some kind of trick. But she knew there was only one way to play this particular exchange, so she nodded. “I accept your surrender, Mr. DuPont.”
“May I address my people?” DuPont asked.
“Please,” she urged, wondering if she had managed to achieve what she had come down here to achieve. It was almost too good to be true, which did nothing but increase her anxiety as DuPont activated his comm link.
“May I have your attention, please?” DuPont’s voice boomed throughout the Garden Sphere, but in spite of the chamber’s size, his amplified voice barely echoed. “This is Governor DuPont. In accordance with our community’s latest vote, I have formally surrendered to the Terran Armed Forces and am requesting asylum on behalf of the entire community. We must evacuate our home immediately,” he continued, causing heads to swivel their direction from all across the magnificent chamber. “It is no longer safe here for us.”
Mixed looks of resignation and resolve flashed Xi’s way, and the people in the cavern took a collective look at the beautiful scenery before making their way to the many tunnels adjoining the Garden Sphere.
DuPont turned to her. “Captain Xi, do you accept our formal request for asylum?”
This type of surrender had been precisely what the Metal Legion had hoped to receive from the residents of the Brick, but with the Finjou now on site, an asylum request made things far less certain.
And far more dangerous.
But she had her orders, and she would follow them because she believed in the wisdom of their authors.
“Yes, Mr. DuPont,” she replied. “On behalf of the Terran Republic, I formally accept your request for asylum and will conduct you and your people off-world as soon as possible.”
Residents nearby seemed mildly relieved at that, and hurriedly began moving down the tunnels to prepare for the exodus.
DuPont offered his outstretched hands, wrists held close together. “I assume you will take me under arrest?”
“We will,” Xi agreed as one of the troopers moved forward with a set of handcuffs, but before the trooper reached DuPont, she gestured for him to stop. “But not yet. Right now, the best thing you can do is help organize your peoples’ evacuation. Every minute counts, Mr. DuPont, and if you care for them at all,” she added, threading her voice with iron as she finished, “you’ll stay with them until the last pair of shoes steps off this rock.”
DuPont winced almost imperceptibly, but he made it clear that he took her meaning. “I will not abandon my people while they still need me.”
“Good,” she said with a nod. “Now let’s get to work. We’re running out of time.”
13
Reunions
“Finjou forces have scrubbed all seven automated fortresses in the region, General,” Colonel Li reported briskly after the last of the rebel forts had been taken out. “They are moving to surround our people at the dig site.”
After deploying all the supplies prior to the Finjou arrival, Podsy’s job in the CAC seemed to largely consist of coordinating work orders with the drop-deck. They had received the odd ticket from the surface for minor damage sustained during patrols, but Ground Control had little to do when the Bonhoeffer was in no position to provide material support to the Legion’s
planet-bound forces.
The drill team had encountered some troubles and were dangerously low on cutting tips after a series of unfortunate accidents, but the team had already dug through more than thirty kilometers of solid rock and were hours away from reaching their objective. Chief Rimmer had overseen the fabrication of replacement parts, and there was reason to hope they would not be needed before the dig was complete.
They were ready just in case.
As Podsy worked to familiarize himself with his new duties, he was humbled by the discipline and efficiency of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s command and control crew. The people were precise, thorough, abrupt, and coordinated to a truly impressive degree. Colonel Li’s command and control, the CAC was not just a well-oiled machine, it was a near-frictionless one.
And now, with the Finjou having completed their sweep of a five-hundred-kilometer radius surrounding their landing site, it was time for Colonel Li’s machine to be put to the test.
Li turned to General Akinouye’s station. “Your orders, General?”
Akinouye’s eyes flicked across incoming reports faster than Podsy thought he could manage. The man was old and physically frail, to be certain, but the venerable officer’s mind was every bit as sharp as that of the young man who had earned the callsign “Havoc” for the controlled chaos he had expertly summoned to the field.
“Colonel Li, Colonel Moon.” Akinouye gestured for Li and the Bonhoeffer’s CIG to approach before, surprisingly, summoning Podsy as well. “Lieutenant Podsednik.”
Podsy unstrapped from his chair and made his way around the theater’s upper rim, passing a dozen technicians who worked near-silently to keep the mighty warship at condition two.
Podsy came to stand at Colonel Li’s right side, with Lieutenant Colonel Moon to his left, and the general gestured to the reports. “Our intel on Finjou is sketchy, but best estimates put their mobile ground forces at twice the fighting power of ours. They’ve got two hundred tactical-grade vehicles down there, along with unknown numbers of aircraft, to our mixed forty-one combat-ready mechs. Our people are outgunned, gentlemen, and if we don’t move to interdict the Finjou, in six hours our people will have four Talon-class warships circling their heads like vultures. They aim to intimidate us into caving, and in all likelihood, they mean to take the rebels into custody.” He fixed each of them with a look that sent chills down Podsy’s spine. “That’s not how this is going to play out. Is that understood?”