Rebellion

by Edward M. Grant

  Bairamov strolled away along the street, toward the setting sun. They followed.

  “So, Volkov stopped hassling you?” Bairamov said.

  Logan rubbed his jaw.

  It still hurt from where Volkov had punched him after they returned to base, because he came out of the tunnels without the girl, or any other prisoners to keep Poulin happy. Poulin was still bitching about that, despite the tablet he’d found her, which she’d been doing her best to investigate with Intel.

  He rubbed his stomach, which hurt too where Volkov had punched him earlier that day, when he wouldn’t admit that he was working for the insurgents.

  Which, admittedly, would still have to be better than being beheaded as a traitor if he had admitted to it.

  “I don’t think he ever will. He’s convinced I’m working with that girl.”

  “You did let her escape twice.”

  “You don’t really believe I’m on their side, do you?”

  “Well, you do have to wonder.”

  “I didn’t let her go. I had more important things to do than chase her. Like stay alive.”

  “Catching her could have saved more lives.”

  “I checked the drone footage after the explosion. She must have sneaked back to the barn while you and Desoto were looking at the crater. Then went racing away on the horse until she was out of drone range. There was no way to see where she went after that.”

  “I doubt you’ll be seeing her again. After what happened back at the village, she’s going to be scared out of her wits and hiding out somewhere. That is, if her friends aren’t pissed that she led us right to them, and ready to stick her head on a pole. Must have taken them a long time to build that base, and we destroyed it overnight.”

  “I think Volkov’s trying to get me killed, because he can’t prove I’m on the other side.”

  “He’s just playing with you because you’re a newbie. And you know what they say... if it doesn’t kill you, it makes you more bad-ass. At this rate, if you survive this posting, you’ll be toughest son-of-a-bitch in the Legion.”

  There was that.

  “Besides,” Bairamov continued. “If he really believed you’re on their side, you’d be back in jail by now. Or dead.”

  “I’m surprised he let you out of the camp,” Gallo said. “Those latrines are a hell of a mess.”

  “He said he’d rather have me out in the town where I couldn’t cause more trouble for him.”

  An old man stared at them from a small, round table outside the next bar along the street. A small white cup steamed on the table in front of him. The smell of coffee filled the air as they passed. Logan took an even deeper breath than he had been taking while walking along the street to keep his lungs filled in the thin air. The warm, rich smell of the coffee helped to clear his head after the wine they’d drunk in the bar.

  Faint piano music grew louder ahead of them. Light glowed from the windows and doors of a building to the right, maybe ten metres wide, with two rows of windows below the dirt roof. Girls leaned on tall wooden poles beside the doors, where the light from the windows played over the bare skin between the narrow bands of cloth that covered the more interesting parts of their bodies.

  Desoto pointed toward a blonde leaning on the left-hand pole. “I’m sure I saw her at the Mayor’s singalong.”

  He was right. Though the girls had been wearing more clothes back then.

  She must be freezing in the evening air with so much flesh exposed to the elements. The other girls looked familiar, too. Bairamov had been right about them putting on the show to tout for customers.

  The girls waved at them, and yelled.

  “Hello, soldiers.”

  Bairamov turned slightly, angling toward the steps at the front of the building. “Coming to the knocking shop?”

  Desoto frowned. “Would if I had some money left.”

  Gallo shuffled beside them, staring at the girls with wide eyes. “Wish I could, but Volkov will kill me if I pull these wounds open, and can’t get back to the section on time.”

  Logan looked up the steps at the girls. They reminded him too much of the girls he’d known back in Section 19. Down on their luck, broke, and desperate to make a living.

  If the Governor had been right about the number of women on this planet far exceeding the number of men, it was little surprise that girls would end up working for their living any way they could.

  The bureaucrats might be able to afford concubines, but few miners would. No matter how many men arrived on New Strasbourg from Earth looking for a new life, there’d probably always be an oversupply of girls and women looking for a way to survive, or to pay their fare back to Earth. And few places for them to work when most of the money came from mining.

  Though this bar looked and sounded like a much better place to work than the derelict buildings of the ZUS. Maybe they’d even run into some aristo who’d take them away from all this, one day.

  But probably not.

  “No, thanks,” Logan said. The girls might be young and pretty, but he’d known the girls of the ZUS too well to want to take advantage of their sisters here.

  “You really are in love with your girl,” Bairamov said.

  “I’m just not in the mood.”

  “When was the last time you got laid?”

  Logan shrugged.

  That would have been Angelique, a few days before the flics caught him and dragged him back into prison. A long, cold night when they’d talked once more about getting away from all that, and building a new life together somewhere else. Somewhere they could be free. Even though they knew they never would. And never could.

  But how long ago was that?

  “Dunno.”

  “You must remember.”

  “A year, maybe.”

  Bairamov chuckled. “No wonder you're so grouchy.” He slapped Logan's shoulder. “Come on man, I'll buy you a girl for tonight. It'll do you some good.”

  “I’m really not in the mood.”

  “The way you’ve been burning through your luck since we landed here, this might be your last chance.”

  “I’ll take that risk.”

  “Alright, Desoto, it’s your lucky night. Since I won all you money, it’s only fair I buy you a girl.”

  Bairamov strode toward the bar.

  Desoto glanced back at Logan and Gallo, then shrugged and followed him. The girls smiled at the the two men as they climbed the steps to the doors. Then four of them wrapped their arms around Bairamov’s and Desoto’s, and led them inside.

  “Damn,” Gallo said. “You know, I think it would have been worth letting Volkov beat the crap out of me for a night with those girls.”

  “You want to join them?”

  “I ain’t got any money left, either. So I’d just be in there window-shopping.”

  Logan checked his pocket. He still had about fifty francs left. And who knew when, or if, he’d have a chance to spend it after tonight. “Let’s take a look at the town. I’m buying.”

  “More wine?” Gallo said.

  Logan was still feeling lightheaded, though it was hard to say whether that was from the air, the wine, or the girls.

  Probably all three.

  “I’ve had enough. I could do with some real food.”

  “I haven’t had decent chocolat in a month.”

  Logan could almost smell it.

  A bowl of steaming hot chocolate would certainly warm him up. The sweet taste already seemed to fill his mouth as he imagined swallowing it. And whatever other food they might have that wasn’t made from goo out of a vat.

  He strolled on along the street.

  Wooden tables lined the exterior of a building a hundred meters ahead, and a painted sign hung from the wall showing pictures of steaming drinks and plates piled with food. The smell of baked bread and roast meat oozed into his nose as he came closer. Whatever that place was, it smelled better than anything he’d smelled since he landed on New Strasbourg.

&
nbsp; Joffer sat at the table closest to the door, and Heinrichs on a seat across from him. A girl giggled beside them. Pretty eyes, long hair, long legs, wrapped in a black dress. She nodded at whatever Joffer was telling her.

  Heinrichs raised his hands and motioned toward Logan and Gallo. “Join us, boys. Gallo, you’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

  “I could hardly look worse.”

  Logan slumped down in a chair across from Heinrichs, pushed away the empty plates and mugs to make space, and slapped his helmet down on the tabletop.

  His body relaxed as he took the weight off his legs, and breathed slowly and deeply to fill his blood with oxygen. Gallo sighed as he sat on the far side, then stretched out his legs and massaged his thighs with his hands.

  “That’s the most work my legs have done in days.”

  “No luck with the nurses then?” Heinrichs said.

  “I think the Legion chooses nurses who’ll scare the men into wanting to go back to battle.”

  The girl turned away from giggling with Joffer. Those eyes and the curves beneath the tight dress didn’t look like someone who’d make a man want to go off to battle to get away.

  “What can I get you, soldiers?”

  “Give me chocolate,” Logan said. “And some of whatever smells so good.”

  Gallo smiled a wide, goofy smile at her. “I’ll have the same.”

  “How’s the hero of Valenciennes?” Heinrichs said.

  Not that again. “Sick of people making fun of me.”

  “Come on. You’ve bagged almost as many insurgents as the rest of the company since we got here. You ought to be getting a medal.”

  “Tell Volkov that.”

  The girl smiled at Joffer, then sauntered into the cafe.

  Gallo leaned over the table toward him. “You fraternizing there, Joffer?”

  A wide smile spread across Joffer's dark face. “I'm showing a friendly face to the locals. Just like our lovely political officer said we should.”

  “Do you think it's working?” Logan said.

  Joffer chuckled.

  “Don't know about her, but it's working for me.”

  “Since you’re so good at it, we should send you in to the next village for Poulin. They’ll love us by the time we walk in.”

  “I don’t know why we bother,” Gallo said. “I don’t like the aristos any more than they do. I didn’t sign up to come out here and kill French colonists.”

  Heinrichs picked up a coffee cup from the table, sloshed the dark liquid around the bottom, and took a sip. “Look, you've got three kinds of people on this planet. The ones who care about kicking out the aristos. The ones who want a quiet life, and don’t care who’s in charge. And the ones who'll cut your head off for not caring. Those bastards don’t deserve mercy.”

  “Yeah,” Joffer said. “It's kind of shitty killing farmers and miners to protect the aristos, but imagine what it would be like if we pulled out and left them to their own devices. They'd run out of space to bury the bodies in a week.”

  He was right. It was one thing to shoot at the Legion, like the boy in Gries. The Legionnaires might not like it, but they were the muscular arm of the government out here. You had to expect that.

  It was quite another to cold-bloodedly murder your fellow colonists just for disagreeing with you.

  “If I run into those Montagnards,” Logan said, “I’ll kill the lot of them and celebrate afterwards. But I still don’t like doing the aristos’ dirty work, either.”

  “You didn’t kill that kid for the aristos, did you?”

  Logan shook his head. “Of course not.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “He shot Desoto, and blew up Gallo.”

  “There you go, kid,” Heinrichs said. “You’re learning. The Legion is what matters, not any of that crap. It will be here long after the aristos are dead and gone. You’ll go crazy if you keep worrying about politics.”

  “Yeah,” Joffer said. “You can let your girlfriend do that.”

  “She is not my girlfriend.”

  “Just kidding.”

  “Volkov isn't.”

  Heinrichs laughed.

  “You'll understand when you've been in the platoon as long as we have. Every time we get a batch of newbies, Volkov picks one to shit on, to encourage the others. This time, you got the shit stick. It’s nothing personal.”

  “You’re lucky we’re in a combat zone,” Joffer said. “So he can’t kick the crap out of you every day. Right now, he needs every man he’s got.”

  The waitress’ hard shoes clunked on the wooden deck around the cafe as she hurried back to the table. The sweet smell of chocolate filled Logan’s nose, and she placed two steaming bowls on the table in front of him and Gallo. Then hurried back inside.

  Logan lowered his face into the sweet steam rising from the bowl. Then sniffed in a long breath. Damn, that smelled good after so long trapped in a suit with his own stench.

  He dipped a spoon in the bowl, then slid it into his mouth. The warm liquid heated his body from the inside as it slid down his throat, and the sweet chocolate took away the taste of battle. His whole body relaxed as he swallowed more.

  Then the girl returned, and two more plates clunked on the hard wood of the table as she slapped them down, then walked away. Dark meat dripping with thick juices protruded from the sides of a pair of baguettes. The meaty smell was enough to make Logan’s stomach rumble. He grabbed his, and turned it over in his hands. Then held it to his nose and sniffed.

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Horse?” Joffer said. “Who cares, it smells good.”

  “And tastes good,” Heinrich added. “At least, it tastes better than the crap we get for rations.”

  Gallo opened his mouth wide, stuffed the end of the baguette between his lips, and tore it away. The corners of his lips curled into a smile as he chewed.

  Logan grabbed his and bit down.

  Whatever was in it, the real texture of bread and meat tasted good after weeks on Legion rations. Might be worth becoming a colonist here just for the food. And the girls.

  If it wasn’t for the insurgency and radiation storms.

  He grabbed the spoon, and followed the baguette down with a mouthful of chocolate.

  Something whistled high above them. Gallo’s mouth froze in mid-bite. Logan looked up from his chocolate. He’d heard that sound before, in training. Except then, it was muffled through the microphones and speakers of his suit.

  “Incoming,” he yelled.

  CHAPTER 17

  Logan dove to the deck beside the table. His chest slammed down onto the wooden planks outside the cafe, and the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Gallo slammed down on the far side of the table. Heinrichs and Joffer followed.

  Then the ground shook beneath them, followed by the booms of half a dozen explosions around the town.

  Dirt sprayed into the air at the end of the alley across the street as a mortar round exploded over there, throwing out a shower of glowing, white-hot shrapnel that faded to red before it slammed into the dirt piled over the surrounding buildings. The table shook, and Logan’s helmet fell to the ground beside him. He grabbed it, and slammed it onto his head.

  More whistling followed, as another flight of mortar rounds came their way. The cracking of the point-defence guns at the airport joined the noise, and at least half a dozen of the mortar rounds exploded high in the air, scattering shrapnel in a cloud that hit the ground like metal rain.

  Two more impacted intact, exploded, and sprayed the street with dirt and high-speed shrapnel. A loud, shrill scream joined the noise of the mortar rounds and guns. A woman’s scream, from somewhere down the street.

  As the whistling and explosions faded, Logan clambered to his feet and stepped into the building.

  The others grabbed their helmets, and followed.

  The girl and an older man crouched behind a counter inside the cafe. The girl peered around it.

/>   “What’s going on?” she said.

  More whistling. More point-defence fire.

  Logan stepped behind the counter. Then dropped to the floor, and pulled her down beside him.

  “The insurgents are firing mortars. Stay down.”

  The other Legionnaires hit the floor near the thick, dirt-covered walls, away from the door. More explosions rattled the wooden sign outside the cafe. Shrapnel clattered against the open door of the building. More screams joined the first. Male and female, this time. And more whistling.

  How many damn mortars did these people have? So much for the insurgents having no heavy weapons.

  “Why do they attack us?” the girl said. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking beside him.

  “Because they’re evil little bastards,’ Gallo muttered as he chewed on his baguette on the other side of the cafe.

  More whistling.

  “How can you eat at a time like this?” Heinrichs said.

  “If you’d seen the kind of food we get in the hospital, you wouldn’t miss a chance to get something decent down you. And we’ll be on those damn patrol rations again in a few days.”

  “Probably tomorrow, after this,” Joffer said.

  More explosions outside. More screaming. More yelling. And more mortar shells flying. The wooden floor of the cafe rattled as a shell exploded just outside the building. The girl screamed, and Logan grabbed her as shrapnel bounced through the doorway, and scattered across the floor. It was spent by the time it landed; no match for the Legion helmets, but still jagged and glowing red hot. It would hurt if it hit bare skin.

  And then the whole thing was over. No more mortar shells flying, no more guns firing. Just the screaming outside, the girl whimpering beside him, and Gallo’s teeth grinding together as he chewed on his baguette.

  Logan waited for a moment, but no more shells came.

  The helmet radio was full of Legion chatter as they began to respond to the attack. No shells had fallen near the spaceport where the point-defence guns would have stopped most or all of them. The insurgents had deliberately attacked the town. Medics were heading there to help out.

  He waited a moment longer, then helped the girl to her feet, and Joffer consoled her as she cried on his shoulder. Logan pulled twenty francs from his pocket for the food, and tossed them on the counter. After this attack, he wasn’t going to be getting time off again any day soon.