The Lion in Paradise

by Brindle, Nathan C.

  "Fools," he seethed. "The frigates will see them immediately, and drop KKW's on them. Though, of course that may be dependent on just how close the other element is to the station; and even so, it would take only a couple of their dropships to reduce them to ashes if they were danger close."

  His radio crackled again. "Hey," a male voice said, in English, "looking for the regimental commander. Is that you?"

  There was a lot of noise in the transmission, but he ignored that. "That would be me."

  "Ah, good. Listen, we've cracked your spread-spectrum radio encryption, and we know everything you and your command group were talking about, including their resumed advance and the business about the seventh regiment. The frigates are looking for the seventh regiment now, with some pretty heavy-duty ground-penetrating radar, so I doubt they'll be much trouble after a bit. You seemed to be the least fanatical and most reasonable commander, or at least the only one with a tactical brain, so we thought we'd give you another chance to stand down and head back to Jadida. The other groups, yeah, we're going to let them come on ahead and then beat the shit out of them; probably leave most of them alive, but no longer coherent as a fighting group. What say you?"

  "I don't doubt you can do exactly as you say," agreed the colonel, "but what is the point of letting them come on at all? I know you can drop demonstration munitions, and that would probably change the minds of a lot of the irregulars."

  He heard a chuckle. "Because I have payback in mind for an ambush back in 1993. And while I realize nobody out here knows what I'm talking about, I don't care."

  The colonel looked at the radio, then punched the PTT again. "Who are you, anyway?"

  "Sorry. Name's John Wolff. Lieutenant General, U.S. Space Force Marines, and currently the vice-commandant. But you can't see us at the moment. We should do something about that."

  Suddenly, a ship appeared about ten meters in front of the colonel's technical. He jumped at the sight of it . . . partly out of shock, but mostly because it had a manned turret gun on the top, pointed right at him.

  The gunner smiled, waved, and gave him a thumbs-up.

  "That's my second in command up there, Major General Chris von Barronov, and he's a virtuoso with that tribarrel plasma gun. But right now he's just sitting there, taking in the view. Sitting here in the right-hand seat is my boss, General John Buford, Commandant, U.S. Space Force. He's along for the ride, mostly. So what do you think, Colonel? Can you turn these boys around?"

  "Because if you don't," the colonel heard another voice, rougher, deeper, "I'm going to order him to open fire. Not that he really needs my orders to do that. And right after that, those four dropships you saw earlier will be coming back, weapons hot, and if they leave anything standing, we'll be dropping some Pournelle-3's from orbit just to clean up the mess."

  "Let me talk to my political officer," replied the colonel, noticing that worthy running for all he was worth back to the technical, while his men appeared to be scattering for the rear at speed, "and I'll get back to you one way or the other in about ten minutes."

  "Sounds good to us. We're just enjoying the view," came Wolff's voice. "We'll be here."

  Somehow, the colonel didn't doubt that one little bit.

  Chapter 9

  A Tangled Mesh Unwound

  "Okay," said Wolff. "We have one of the irregular regiments turning around and following instructions; all their arms and ordnance have been left in the area they vacated, and they're heading back to Jadida. Their colonel – his name, by the way, is Colonel Ali Soltani – chose to stay with us. I rather like the fellow – he's no coward, but he's a realist, and he understands there's no reason to fight and be exterminated like vermin if you can get your point across in other ways. I'm going to see if he can convince the others to turn around . . . and as soon as his ex-regiment is far enough away, which ought to be in another hour or so, I'm going to have one of the frigates drop a Rod on the ammo dump they left behind. Perhaps that will be sufficient demonstration to convince the others."

  "That sounds like a plan," came Ariela's voice over the radio. "I'm not sure how you succeeded where I failed, but on the other hand, a W is a W, no matter how ugly, as Kat likes to say."

  "Honey." Wolff carefully considered his next words. "Sometimes a kind word isn't enough. As Al Capone was alleged to have said, 'You can get more with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.'"

  "He never said that, you know," replied Ariela. "It was Professor Irwin Corey who put those words in his mouth."

  "Of course; that's why I said, 'alleged'. I have two degrees in History, you know."

  Ignoring that, Ariela went on: "Does the colonel know about the plan to replicate the Kaaba near Jadida?"

  "Not yet. And I'm not going to talk about that right now, since, while I'm wearing a headset, he's sitting pretty much right behind me."

  "Got it. Well, it seems like we might want to throw that into the mix, somehow, since I haven't even mentioned it to Mullah al-Mubarak. It's possible they might see that as a positive. You say this Colonel Soltani is a voice of reason? Then we should offer him an olive branch and let him bring the news to the other regiments."

  Wolff considered that for a moment. "Tell you what. We're headed back to the station. We'll let you talk to him and see what transpires from that. As for me, and my two crew, we're ready for a meal and a break, anyway."

  "Okay, Dad," said Ariela. "That sounds like a plan. See you in a few."

  "Wolff out."

  "About time you fed me," grunted Buford.

  "Any time you wanted, you could have gone aft to the kitchenette and grabbed a snack," replied Wolff. "I think we have some rather exquisite pulled pork and beef brisket in there, and some potato salad and other fixin's from our backyard barbecue the other night."

  Buford laughed. "Brother, I'll just wait till we land so I can build a proper plate of that."

  "Kinda figured."

  Colonel Soltani, for his part, was still looking around the interior of the Bandersnatch, wide-eyed. "I've never seen a ship like this before," he said, for about the fifth or sixth time. "It's amazing."

  "She's one of a kind," explained von Barronov, smiling and taking pity on him. "That is to say, you'll eventually see more like her, but not as nicely-appointed. The Space Force took the design, militarized it, and now each of the frigates carries two, for use as pinnaces. The CO of the 1/1 also has one at her disposal, fitted out like this one, but it's an actual Space Force pinnace. This ship is a research vessel, and doesn't belong to Space Force at all; she belongs, personally, to General Wolff and myself."

  "And he's not telling you," added Wolff, "she's the same ship we were driving back in the 2020's when we were testing the hyperdrive and discovered this planet."

  The colonel smiled. "It's just amazing. Say, is the barbecue beef brisket kosher?"

  "Why yes, it is, we smoke it completely separate from the pork in its own dedicated smoker, so it should be halal as well. Care to join us for a bite when we land?"

  Soltani's smile broadened. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

  Von Barronov nudged Wolff. "I think he thinks he made the right decision, back there."

  Wolff snorted, but nodded agreement.

  ◆

  Back aboard the Tumtum, Delaney frowned. "The frigates say they still haven't been able to find a tunnel opening near here – or any tunnels or caves, either. Either it's really well-hidden, or there's something blocking the entire cave and tunnel network in this area from their ground-penetrating radar. Mom, I want to go out there with Harb and FTSA1 and do some looking for myself."

  "You mean, with your Mesh sense."

  "Yeah. Something is really odd about this."

  "Something is really odd about this entire planet, Mesh-wise."

  "It must have something to do with whatever destroyed the moon and drained the water below the surface, but I can't worry about that now; I just think there's something screwy about the geology around h
ere that's blocking the radar."

  Ariela came to a decision. "Go. But leave Lyn and at least one of your other sergeants on the door back there. We can't leave the big door uncovered, and to be honest, I don't want your medic in danger. And I'd say that for any of your medics, so don't start with me about favoring family; though it's true our family has more of a stake in FTSA1 than any other."

  "She won't be happy," said Delaney. "She's a rifleman, too, just as much as the others."

  "And if something bad happens out there, she'll be here and safe to patch you up as you come rolling back out of the desert." Ariela waved, irritably. "Go."

  Delaney hesitated, looking like she had more to say. Then, she rose, saluted, and headed for the airlock without another word. Harbinger also rose, saluted, and said, "Ma'am, with all due respect, I don't believe that was a smart thing to ask her to do. But you did, and she will adhere to your request; and my only request of you is that you never do that sort of thing to her again."

  "Treading thin ice, Captain Harbinger," growled Ariela. "But I will take your request under advisement."

  Harbinger inclined his head. "Yes, ma'am. That's all I can ask for." He straightened, then saluted again, turned, and followed Delaney through the airlock.

  Once outside, he looked at Delaney, who'd waited for him, an undefinable look on her face.

  "Gave Mom hell, did you?"

  "Not exactly," he replied. "She's not wrong, but she's not right, either. On the gripping hand, she's the local CO, so we have to follow her lead and her orders."

  Delaney blew out a long breath, as if she'd been holding it ever since she left the Tumtum. "Yes. Well. And she's not wrong, we do have to cover that door. It may as well be Lyn and someone else. She's junior in FTSA1 anyway, despite being a Staff Sergeant, so there's that."

  They walked over to the station and the big "garage door" leading into its equipment and vehicle storage area. The team was alert and standing guard, with the ramp down and the door raised about six feet. The cold air pouring out of the big room was making a little microclimate in the immediate area outside. It felt wonderful.

  "FTSA1, attention to orders," called Delaney. The team came out, somewhat surprised, and surrounded their officers, still keeping a weather eye on the desert to the north.

  "We're going to take the transport and go look for evidence of a tunnel system the frigates can't find," she told them. "I want Staff Sergeant Fox and Sergeant Brown to remain behind and cover this door. Smith, you'll pilot, as usual. Gunny, you're in the turret unless we have to unass. Conyers, Foster, load up your sniper gear just in case, but order of the day is M11's and M12's. Questions."

  "Where are we going?" asked Smith, reasonably.

  Delaney closed her eyes and concentrated, hard. Away off in the distance, to the east and near the foothills of the former continental shelf, she thought she saw the planetary Mesh oddly jumbled about. "I think eastish. It's hard to tell from here. We'll probably have to fly quite a ways before I'll be able to see what I'm looking for."

  "And that is?" prodded Conyers.

  She sighed. "I'm looking for a cave network the frigates can't see. Hopefully I'll be able to pull the cave entrance out of the geologic mess the moon impact left this planet in."

  "Why are you making me stay?" asked Lyn, somewhat annoyed. "Ma'am."

  Delaney looked at the medic. "Because I said so, Staff Sergeant. That is my order and you will follow it. Oorah?"

  Lyn stood to attention. "Oorah, ma'am," she grated.

  "As you were. You will notice Sergeant Brown did not object to this posting. Someone has to guard this doorway. And you are the junior member of the team. Now let me hear a better 'oorah,' Staff Sergeant."

  "OORAH, MAJOR FOX!" Lyn gave her a look that said she didn't have to like it, but she was going to be a good Space Force Marine and follow orders. Delaney approved, even though it broke her heart to do that to Lyn, who was like a sister to her.

  "Good. If you see us hightailing it back here, call on the 1/1 and get reinforcements on this door. However, I am not ordering you or Sergeant Brown to step back from defense of this door; if it needs defending, defend it with everything you've got."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am," chorused Lyn and Brown.

  Delaney looked at Harbinger. "Captain, let's get gone."

  "All right, sergeants of all types, other than Fox and Brown, of course, you heard the Major."

  Smith ran over to the transport and up the ramp, Stirling and the two snipers following on his heels.

  "Oh, wait, I need to make a call." Delaney pulled out her comm and dialed Professor Smith.

  "Hello?"

  "Professor Smith, it's Delaney Fox. FTSA1 is going to run a recon flight to the east, to see if we can find that tunnel system the seventh regiment is supposedly hiding in. I'm leaving Staff Sergeant Fox and Sergeant Brown on the garage door, and they have orders to call in elements of the 1/1 if things start to blow up and they need backup."

  "Very well. So the frigates found nothing?"

  "Unfortunately, no, but I think I see something they might not be able to see through. So we're going to look. Hopefully that doesn't bring them out like a swarm of disturbed wasps or something."

  Smith chuckled. "That would be annoying, wouldn't it? Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that. Fly safely."

  "Thank you, Professor. We should be back shortly. Fox out." She hung up the comm and put it back in her pocket, then walked over to the transport with Harbinger. She sat down and strapped in while her husband raised the transport's ramp, then walked forward, sat down with her, and strapped in himself.

  "Go," he said, simply. Smith hit the contragravity and the transport raised ground.

  "Straight east, ma'am?" he asked.

  "Um. Yes, for now, Sergeant. How far is it to the foothills from here?"

  "About 1,000 miles, ma'am."

  "Okay. The knot I'm seeing looks to flow from the basin, up the cliffs, and then flattens out across the plateau, so I'm going to guess if there's a cave opening, it's in the side of the cliffs and close enough to the basin that they can get in and out of it easily."

  "Oorah, ma'am, should be there in less than an hour." Smith pulled back on the collective, the dual mini-singularity drives kicked in, and the transport accelerated to its normal cruising speed of about 1,200 miles per hour.

  Delaney concentrated on the Mesh ahead.

  "Arghh," she complained. "What a tangled Mesh we weave."

  Harbinger said nothing, but grinned.

  About half an hour later, Delaney asked, "How far to the cliffs?"

  "About 400 miles, ma'am," called Smith.

  "Okay . . . let me know when we're inside 300 miles, and then call off distance at 25 mile intervals."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am."

  About six minutes later, he called out: "275 miles, mark."

  "Where's the damn structure," grumbled Delaney. "I can't see the grid. That thing must be racked, stacked, and fully-packed."

  Harbinger once again manfully refrained from commenting, but his eyes were shining with mirth.

  "Two fifty, ma'am . . . mark."

  "Make it every fifty."

  "Aye, aye, ma'am."

  Two and a half minutes later, he reported: "Two hundred, mark."

  "Really? Jeez. I still can't drill down into the Mesh lines. What did that rock do to this planet?"

  "Compressed the hell out of it, apparently," said Harbinger. "While you're at that, I have other things that need dealing with. Gunny, how's the view from the turret?"

  "Clear ahead and on all sides, so far as I can see, Captain."

  "Run your scope to full mag and see if you can see anything at those cliffs ahead."

  "One fifty, mark," came from Smith.

  "I don't see anything, Captain, just dust and rock."

  "Dust?" Harbinger raised his head. "What dust?"

  "Wind must be kicking up some dust at the bottom of the cliffs."

  "What wind? It was still as
death out there today."

  "Some kind of adiabatic process at the cliffs, probably," said Delaney, absently. "The Mesh is starting to open up, barely."

  "Captain, I see flashes at ground level at max mag. Looks like gunfire."

  Harbinger nodded. "Okay. They've come out of their tunnel. Probably happy fire, I doubt they can see us. Major, can you see anything yet?"

  "Nothing like a cave opening."

  "One hundred, mark."

  "I'm moving up to the co-pilot position," decided Harbinger, and he set action to his words, dropping into the seat next to Smith.

  "Sir, wonder if you can call off the mileage? I need to pay attention ahead, we're getting awfully close to those cliffs."

  "I'll take care of it, Sergeant."

  "Thank you, sir. Wouldn't want to end up a smudge on the rocks."

  "Goes double for me. Delaney, seventy-five miles. Smith, back off the throttle, let's come in slowly since we don't know what we're getting into, and this isn't a thunder run."

  "Aye, aye, Captain. Backing off to recon speed, 200 MPH, and will slow to a walk when we get within a few miles."

  "Good. Major?"

  "There's an opening in the cliff wall," she said, slowly. "Behind it . . . holy . . . Harb, that mountain is full of troops and weapons. There's at least a thousand men back there in the caves. And the regiment is fully-motorized. If they come out, they'll be back at the station within six hours. Wait a minute . . . " She looked down, slowly, obviously tracing something back through the Mesh. "Smith, go to hover, now!"