The Halls of Montezuma

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  She turned her attention back to the live feed from the ship’s sensors. The system was rather more densely populated than the files suggested, although that wasn’t a surprise. The files had been hopelessly out of date before Earthfall had destroyed them. Onge had at least five cloudscoops - and probably more, given that one gas giant was on the other side of the primary star - and hundreds, perhaps thousands of asteroid mining colonies. She guessed the corprats had stepped up their recruiting missions, snatching up trained personnel from every star system within range. Why not? It was what they’d been doing when the marines first discovered their existence.

  “You do realise they may not be very welcoming?” Perkins looked up from his blanket. “They might just put a missile in our hull from a safe distance.”

  “They’ll want to know what the passengers know,” Phelps pointed out. “And blowing up an entire ship of ex-POWs will be shitty for morale.”

  “Assuming anyone finds out about it,” Bonkowski countered. “This ship could easily be branded an enemy vessel, just another raider full of pirates that got blown away before they could start shooting holes in a handful of asteroid colonies. You take a PR specialist and he’ll turn the worst atrocity in human history into a just and necessary act.”

  “Wankers,” Perkins commented. “For all they know, this ship is carrying a bunch of conditioned assholes with orders to assassinate their bosses.”

  “They can handle the risk,” Phelps said. “And, like I said, they’ll want to know what the passengers know.”

  Rachel turned her attention back to the latest datapacket from Havoc. There probably wouldn’t be any more, at least as long as the situation remained stable. The POWs had offered hundreds of insights into enemy culture and civilisation, although there was no way to know what was missing until it was too late. Rachel was used to winging it, but she preferred to have at least a rough idea of what they were getting into. She’d be happier making a blind drop to the surface. There, at least, they could sneak around and spy on the locals, building up a picture of their society before they tried to get inside. It would be simpler ...

  Not that we’d have any more chance to get out, if things go wrong, she thought, as she leaned back against the bulkhead. If we get caught, we’re toast.

  Perkins sat up and checked his datapad. “If the crew manages to keep the speed up, they’ll enter orbit in twenty hours or so.”

  “Then we’ll be ready to jump ship,” Phelps said. “Get some rest. I want to be well away from the ship before they start searching her.”

  “And hope we can find somewhere to hide,” Rachel said. The suits were designed to be hard to detect, but they weren’t cloaked. Crossing a sensor net would reveal their presence as surely as sending up a sensor flare. Hell, they could be spotted with the naked eye, if someone got lucky. “We’ll have to hack their datanet if we want to get in.”

  “True,” Phelps said. There was an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there before. The voyage had been wearing, even though they’d done very little. “But one problem at a time, all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rachel said.

  ***

  The giant mansion had been designed, Director Thaddeus Onge had been told, in a style that dated all the way back to the family’s roots on Old Earth. Thaddeus himself hadn’t been so sure. It looked as if a dozen different styles had been merged together to produce a building that would have been elegant, if it hadn’t been so ... jarring. Personally, he suspected the building designer had taken his ancestors for a ride. The ancestral mansion was long gone, assuming it had ever existed in the first place; it was difficult, judging by what few records had survived centuries of unrest on Earth, to be sure the mansions in photographs had genuinely belonged to them. Anyone who claimed photographs couldn’t be faked was either ignorant or a liar.

  Not that it matters, he thought as he let the dogs race around the garden. The future is ours, and to hell with the past.

  He smiled, and tried to relax. Someone - he’d forgotten who - had once joked that anyone who wanted a friend on Earth needed to buy a dog. He was becoming depressingly aware that that was true on Onge, too. Everyone wanted something from him, from simple investment to ... to anything. Thaddeus had an entire staff charged with handling requests for money, meetings and everything else along those lines, but some things couldn’t be left to them. Thaddeus had to keep on top of his work or the project his ancestors had started would be as doomed as Old Earth herself.

  His eyes narrowed as he peered into the distance, towards the growing megacity and the orbital elevator beyond. The city had never been intended to get so large. In hindsight, it might have been easier to spread it out a little ... even though it risked losing the advantages of concentrating so much talent and resources in a relatively small space. It had been turning into a major headache even before Earthfall, when they’d started recruiting trained personnel and their families and rushing them to safety. Thaddeus knew Onge was safe - the PDC on the distant mountaintop was a grim reminder of the family’s investment in security - but the influx of so many refugees was causing its own problems. The planetary society was never intended to take so many newcomers so quickly. In hindsight, they should have invested more in farms and farming and little hamlets ...

  “Your Lordship!”

  Thaddeus turned. Daisy, his aide, was hurrying towards him, carrying a portable communicator in one hand and a datapad in the other. Thaddeus scowled, then concealed his irritation as best as he could. Daisy had been with him long enough to understand the importance of dog-time. She wouldn’t interrupt him unless it was truly urgent. It could cost her a position that made her one of the most influential people on the planet.

  “Yes?”

  “General Gilbert called for you,” Daisy said. “He insisted it was urgent.”

  “It probably is,” Thaddeus said. General Jim Gilbert didn’t like his political superiors interfering in purely military decisions. He wouldn’t have contacted his ultimate superior if it hadn’t been necessary. “Let me talk to him.”

  He took the communicator and held it to his mouth. “Jim. What’s happening?”

  “Sir,” Gilbert said. “A troop transport, one of the ships from Admiral Agate’s fleet, has returned. She’s insisting she’s overcrowded with former POWs and requesting urgent permission to dock.”

  Thaddeus blinked. “Former POWs?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gilbert said. “We don’t have a solid briefing yet, but from what we’ve heard Admiral Agate appears to have lost. “

  “... I see.” Thaddeus controlled himself with an effort. He didn’t know enough. Not yet. “When will this transport arrive?”

  “Roughly nine hours from now,” Gilbert said. “If their messages are accurate, their life support is failing and they desperately need to offload some passengers before it’s too late.”

  Thaddeus forced himself to think. What had happened? Admiral Agate had had enough firepower to smash his way to Hameau, punch his way through what remained of the defences, clobber the marines from orbit and land troops to mop up what remained of the invaders. He shouldn’t have been defeated. What the fuck had happened? It was impossible to believe the marines were deploying battlecruisers, let alone battleships. The manpower requirements alone should have made it difficult, if not impossible.

  “Sir.” Gilbert audibly gulped for air. “We need to let them dock at one of the immigration stations. It’s designed to handle thousands of sudden arrivals.”

  “They could be lying,” Thaddeus pointed out. “Do we have any real proof?”

  “I’ve already got shuttles en route to check out the story,” Gilbert said. “However, sir, we have to proceed on the assumption they’re telling the truth.”

  “Yes.” Thaddeus let out a breath, then started to rattle out orders. “Clear the immigration station. Get everyone already there off before you let the freighter dock. Then ... hold the newcomers until we have a chance to assess their story. Tota
l news blackout. No messages off the station without prior permission. Make sure they haven’t been conditioned or anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gilbert said.

  “And call an emergency meeting, to be held one hour from now,” Thaddeus continued. “We need a plan. Quickly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gilbert echoed.

  Thaddeus passed the communicator back to Daisy, then looked at the dogs. They were still gambolling happily, unaware that their human had bigger problems. Thaddeus envied them their innocence. They didn’t understand what had been lost. They didn’t understand what might still be lost. The timing was horrible. His day had been ruined.

  “Order one of the boys to come and take over,” he told Daisy. There was no point in trying to retrieve the day. “And then have coffee brought to my study.”

  Daisy curtseyed. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Eight

  A smart student might argue, at this point, that the lumberjack could burn the trunk for firewood. This is obviously true. But ... the value of the trunk would remain stable right up until the trunk was burnt to ashes, whereupon it would be definitely worthless. The lumberjack’s potential wealth would drop, sharply.

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  “Commissioner,” Captain Arbroath said. “They’re dispatching a shuttle to investigate.”

  Julia nodded. Her entire body felt as if it was creaking helplessly. She’d declined suggestions she should go back to her cabin, then drifted off to sleep on the bridge. The chair hadn’t been comfortable, but ... she forced herself to stand, wishing - again - for a long bath and a massage. She’d settle for a shower and a change of clothes. She was ruefully aware she stank. She wasn’t alone. The entire crew smelt terrible.

  “Have them dock as soon as possible,” she said. The air tasted stale. She tried to tell herself she was imagining it. It didn’t work. She could almost hear laboured sounds coming from the air processors. “Have you told them I’m onboard?”

  “We forwarded a datapacket, yes,” Captain Arbroath said. “I assume they’ve had a chance to look at it.”

  Julia forced herself to sit and wait as the shuttle flew closer. The sensors were battered almost to the point of uselessness. If the shuttle hadn’t been broadcasting an IFF signal, they wouldn’t have been able to track it at all. She shivered, wondering if they were on the verge of crashing into an asteroid or even an entire planet. The odds of accidentally ramming an asteroid were very low - dense asteroid fields only existed in bad flicks - but it was hard to escape the impression that she didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on. The planetary defences were probably already locked on the hull. If they came too close, without permission, they’d be blown to atoms.

  “The shuttle is requesting permission to dock,” an officer said. He looked up from his console. “Captain?”

  “Open the forward hatch,” Captain Arbroath ordered. “And let them enter alone.”

  Julia shot him a sharp look. Naval protocol insisted visitors had to be greeted by the ship’s officers, if not the commanding officer personally. She supposed they weren’t exactly dealing with a normal boarding party. Captain Arbroath keyed his console, bringing up the live feed from the handful of remaining interior sensors as the shuttle docked. Julia watched, silently, as the hatch opened and four armoured men entered the ship. They were so heavily armoured she couldn’t help wondering what they thought they were walking into. An ambush? A trap? Or ... or what?

  She tensed as the armoured figures made their way towards the bridge. This was it. This was ... she swallowed, hard, as it dawned on her she was committed. Hell, she’d been committed from the moment she’d refused the offer of asylum. Her reports had been included in the datapacket ... she shuddered, her mouth suddenly dry. Her superiors had had nearly thirteen hours to read the report, then decide what to do with her. She wondered if the boarding party had orders to open the airlocks, depressurise the entire ship and direct the hulk into the primary star. It was paranoia, but ... she shook her head. Her superiors wouldn’t condemn everyone on the ship to death for her failures. Unless ...

  The bridge hatch opened. Julia felt a flash of déjà vu. The newcomers weren’t carrying their weapons at the ready, but otherwise they reminded her of the marines boarding the battlecruiser a few short weeks ago. She knew she should stand to greet them, but her legs refused to cooperate. The featureless helms were terrifying. She couldn’t see so much as a rank badge, let alone a nametag. There was no hope of complaining, again, if she didn’t know who she should be complaining about.

  “Welcome,” Captain Arbroath said. “As you can see, this ship is in poor condition.”

  The boarding party walked to the consoles and plugged their suits into the local nodes. Julia watched, all too aware they were scanning every last inch of the ship. If anything looked wrong ... she gritted her teeth, cursing as she remembered just how many of the internal datanet nodes were beyond repair. The boarding party would have to search the ship physically, if they wanted to make sure the ship was completely harmless. That would take hours. The passengers didn’t have time.

  “The ship will be guided to an immigration station,” an armoured figure said. Julia guessed he was the commander. “You will be held there until your future has been determined. Any resistance will result in the destruction of your vessel.”

  Julia saw Captain Arbroath’s lips tighten at the words. He wasn’t a pirate, flying on a pirate ship. He was a decorated officer in the Onge Navy ... he didn’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. None of them deserved to be treated like a criminal ... her heart sank as she realised it was just a matter of time before she was marched before her superiors and ordered to explain. She wished, not for the first time, that Admiral Agate had accompanied her. She could’ve hidden behind him when their superiors started allocating the blame.

  One of the boarding party remained at the helm. The others started calling in more shuttles. Julia guessed they were going to start uplifting passengers and shipping them directly to the immigration station, rather than risk leaving them on the ship. The transport’s condition was obvious. Julia had no doubt the ship’s life support was on its last legs. The shuttles couldn’t hope to make up the difference.

  She sat back and watched the display as the planet came closer. The giant immigration station was emptying rapidly, if the hundreds of shuttles flying around the structure were any indication. They wouldn’t want to risk contaminating the immigrants, the willing and the unwilling alike, with bad news from a distant world. She wondered, idly, if anyone outside the navy and government knew the ship had arrived. She’d heard rumours of hidden datanet channels used by hackers, allowing underground groups to share information, but they’d never been anything more than rumours. The official line was that they didn’t exist and never would. Julia had been in corporate service long enough to know that might well be untrue.

  “Commissioner Ganister-Onge?”

  Julia looked up. One of the faceless men was looking at her. “Yes?”

  “You will accompany us,” the faceless man said. “You have an appointment.”

  In Samarra, Julia thought, darkly. She wondered if she had time to go back to her cabin and splash water on her face. Probably not. The newcomers had discouraged crewmen from leaving the bridge, even as they’d landed more and more armoured troopers on the hull. She suspected they were readying themselves to deal with a riot. I suppose I should be glad they’re offloading me before the ship docks.

  She stood. “I’m coming.”

  ***

  Rachel watched, coldly, as more and more armoured troopers flooded onto the transport and started to search the corridors. It was clear, from the flurry of activity, that whoever was in charge was making it up as he went along, but she had to admit he was doing a good job. The boarding party had confirmed the transport’s life support was about to fail, then taken control and steered her towards the giant immigration station. Ra
chel doubted the corps could have done much better. There really hadn’t been many other options if the corprats wanted to keep the passengers alive.

  She frowned as she studied the live feeds from the sensors and compared them to the files. The latter were almost laughably out of date. The transport’s sensors were picking up hundreds of orbital structures, from a pair of giant anchors for the space elevators to orbital weapons platforms, industrial nodes and asteroid habitats. It looked as though they’d prefabricated the platforms, then hastily assembled them shortly after Earthfall. Rachel was morbidly impressed as she continued her scans. The corprats had practically thrown the whole thing together in zero time.

  It’s astonishing what one can do if one has an unlimited budget and a complete lack of scruples, she mused. There was a great deal of radio traffic, seemingly uncensored. She was pretty sure it was monitored closely for signs of wrongthink. If they’d had more time, they might have risen to dominate the entire sector.

  She shifted uncomfortably inside the Pathfinder suit. The suit was designed for long-term occupancy, she’d been assured, but there was nothing the designers could do to make it more comfortable. She would have preferred to remain in the blister, outside the suit, but the risk of detection was too great. A sudden burst of vented air would draw attention, if the enemy was feeling paranoid. The last thing they needed was the transport ‘s hull being swarmed by more enemy soldiers. They’d sell their lives dearly, but they’d end up dead.

  More icons appeared on the display. There were surprisingly few warships - she reminded herself that meant nothing, as the sensors were far from mil-grade - but there were thousands of shuttles, worker bees and interplanetary ships in clear view. The latter might well be dangerous, even if they didn’t have FTL drives. There was no problem in arming them ... hell, the corprats might have just bolted a handful of missile launchers to their hulls in hopes of providing more firepower at the crucial moment. She checked the laser communicator was sending messages back to Havoc, relaying everything they’d picked up to the cruiser. She’d be making her own survey of the system, but she couldn’t get too close. The risk of detection was dangerously high.