by John Appel
The airplant, one of three in the ring, rose above them, a cylinder thirty meters wide and sixty tall.
Unlike the majority of the station’s structures, its walls were substantial, nearly a meter thick here at the base. There were two entrances at ground level, on opposite sides of the cylinder. Imoke’s team had this entrance, while the Army lieutenant took the other. Surya’s team remained in reserve.
Imoke’s troopers wasted no time in slapping cutting tape around the door frame. One soldier snapped the igniter and Imoke’s visor briefly polarized as the entire rectangle flared with eye-searing brilliance. He felt the quick wash of heat and the harsh smell of burnt metal flooded his nostrils. That reminded him to pull up his collar and fix the chemical seal. It trapped the scent in, but was far better that than succumbing to any chemical surprises the rebels might have for them.
The door fell outward and one of the soldiers lobbed in a flash-bang. He must have set it to go off on contact because it burst two seconds after he’d thrown it. The soldiers rushed through in the explosion’s wake and Imoke followed, his officers behind him.
A sharp bang from the far side announced the other team’s entry. Weapons and sensors swept across the room, a large workshop occupying a good third of the tower’s base. He was relieved to see that its dimensions matched the blueprints he’d been given. He toggled a wireframe view of the layout and set his wayfinder to mark the path to the stairs. Imoke detached two constables, one carrying their portable network repeater, to remain by the entrance, and signaled the soldier on point to lead them out on their prearranged path. They cleared the ground floor and found it unoccupied. Seconds later they made contact with the second team.
“Nothing so far,” he told the infantry officer, who reported the same. The reserve squad moved in to secure the ground floor. Imoke collected his door guards and flashed the hand sign for up to the soldier on point, while the Army squad took the stairs down to the sub-levels.
After passing through chambers filled with gleaming tanks, mechanical valves, and a truly astonishing variety of gauges, the team found themselves at the bottom of a large open space, twenty meters from floor to ceiling according to his rangefinder. A dull gray column, five meters wide, rose through the middle of the chamber. A strong, steady current of air pushed outward from the center towards the outer walls, which in this part of the tower consisted of engineered fullerene mesh designed to trap particulates. So the overlay claimed, at any rate. A wide ramp spiraled around the circumference of the chamber leading to the intake pumps above. Imoke signaled to his scouts to lead the way up the ramp.
The rebels made their move.
Automatic fire lashed out from the top of the ramp. The rebel gunner ignored the well-armored troopers in front, instead pouring rounds into the constables in the middle of the column. Even with their ballistic ceramic inserts, Constabulary tactical armor couldn’t stop the high-powered projectiles. Rounds punched through the vests of two officers who went down screaming. Imoke dropped prone as the line of tracers roamed across the space where his column had been.
His constables dropped in place, some scattering before hitting the deck, and began to return fire. The soldiers instead charged up the ramp, spraying suppressive fire from their autorifles. “Use the grenade launcher!” the fire team leader called as the hidden gunner switched targets, turning their fire onto the onrushing troopers.
“Wei’s down!” came the call. Imoke looked over his shoulder and saw Wei’s body a few meters behind him, the precious launcher a meter beyond her outstretched hand.
“On it.” He flipped his shotgun’s safety on, and crawled on hands and knees over to Wei, grabbed the launcher and snatched the bandolier from her body. He didn’t need the status display to tell him she was dead; she’d taken three rounds to the torso and one to the head. There was blood, so much blood, like he’d never seen except for the charnel house inside the Second Landing Social Club, and bile rose his throat. Above him, the fire from the troopers’ rifles quieted and he had a fleeting hope that they’d silenced the opposition, but that hope was dashed as the rebels’ heavy weapon opened up again.
Something large and dark and not at all human-shaped fell past him as he raised the grenade launcher. His djinn synched with the weapon and he checked the load: an antipersonnel flechette round. He came to his knees and raised the launcher, sighting in on whatever had dropped from the ceiling. His heart raced and he fought to steady his hands as his aiming reticle tracked across his target.
Fuck, it’s a combat bot. It was two meters tall and as many wide when one took the full breadth of its six insectile legs into account. The armored central carapace was much smaller but sported two turrets. Tongues of fire leapt forth as the bot turned its weapons onto Imoke’s people.
“Focus on the enemy bot!” he called across the all-hands channel. No need for radio discipline now; the enemy knew exactly where they were. He fired the antipersonnel round at the bot, knowing the flechettes were virtually useless against the armor but hoping for a lucky hit anyway. His left hand swept along the bandolier in vain; they’d carried no explosives into the airplant for fear of damaging the infrastructure. He grabbed a ballistic rubber riot-control round and loaded it. “Fall back to the second level,” he ordered. “Grab the wounded and pull back!”
He was sighting on one of the bot’s legs, hoping to knock it off balance, when something lifted him and threw him into the central column.
Toiwa
Constabulary Command Post, Ileri Station,
Forward Ring
Toiwa heard the rebel machine gun open up, the sharp rattle distinct even from two blocks away. Her stomach fell with the knowledge that her people were in deep trouble.
The personal feeds from the assault team became virtually impossible to follow as the soldiers and police scrambled to respond to the onslaught. Both Imoke’s team on the upper floors and the Army-heavy team sent to clear the lower levels were caught in a devastating ambush.
“Sweet Mother, that’s power armor,” someone said. Toiwa glanced over to see the Army sergeant, wounded during the midnight coup but ambulatory enough to run overwatch for her comrades. The expression of horror on the woman’s face matched the yawning pit that suddenly opened in Toiwa’s gut.
“Combat bots engaging the top team,” Shariff said. “Dammit, Daniel, get out of there.”
“Cut the chatter!” Toiwa snapped. “Surya, get your people up to support Imoke’s team. Sergeant Mohammed!” The Army sergeant turned to her. “What have we got that can take out the power armor and the bots?”
“Not much, ma’am,” came the reply. “The fire support team has the only armor-piercing ammunition.”
“Get them in the fight now,” she ordered. The sergeant relayed commands as Toiwa scanned the status windows. So many red icons, so quickly...
She heard Valverdes call her name and turned to see zer at the doorway. Pericles Loh stood beside zer, hands clasped before him, a somber expression on his face. “Ma’am, Mr. Loh was quite insistent.”
She locked eyes with Loh. He knew what we’d run into. He knew it was more than we could handle. She was certain of it, knew it in her bones. Anger and frustration welled up, but she took a deep breath and shunted them inside. “You have something to say, Loh?”
“I can help,” he said. He held her gaze. There was nothing gloating or triumphant about his tone, or his expression. He affected the role of supplicant, even as he held people’s lives—her people’s lives, the people who’d placed their trust in her, the people who were now bleeding and dying because she’d refused to make a deal with the devil.
And if we can’t even take a single airplant without these kinds of casualties because the rebels are armed to the teeth, how can we take back the station?
She knew she couldn’t.
This was the choice, then: capitulate to Miguna and let him remake her world; spill gallons of blood and kill dozens, if not hundreds, in a doomed attempt to take it w
ith the resources she had; or climb into bed with the biggest criminal on the station, if not in the system.
The hook was in. She knew it. Loh knew it. They both knew what she’d choose. But she’d be damned if he’d reel her in without a fight.
“Can you save my people in the airplant?” Her face was hot, her chest felt tight. The gunfire rattled on, punctuated now by the thumps of grenade launchers.
“I can,” Loh said. “My people can hit the sub-levels from the maintenance passages.”
Waving him forward into the room was the hardest thing she’d ever done. “I won’t forgive violent crimes,” she said. “No murders, no assaults, no sexual violence of any kind.”
Loh moved to stand before her. Fathya Shariff came up to stand at her left. “It’s the right decision,” Shariff said.
Loh’s eyes never left hers. “We can agree to that,” he said.
“And any evidence of those kinds of crimes we might uncover is outside the scope of immunity,” Toiwa said. Her throat was tight and she swallowed to try and loosen it. She heard, as if from a great distance, her staff directing reinforcements to aid her beleaguered forces, the breathless calls for focus fire on one of the enemy bots, the curses as the enemy troops relentlessly ground forward.
Loh hesitated, then nodded. “We accept that as well. Do you have any other stipulations?”
She leaned forward until they were practically close enough to kiss. “You’ll give me everything you know about the rebels, and you’ll do it immediately after we rescue my people, and if you hold anything back, I’ll cut your balls off myself and wear them as earrings,” she hissed.
That seemed to catch him by surprise. Loh’s eyes widened and he actually shuffled a half-step back. He started to say something, then seemed to think the better of it. At last he nodded. “Message received, Governor.”
“It had better be.” She turned to Valverdes and Shariff. “Inspector, M. Shariff, I ask you to witness my offer of conditional amnesty to M. Loh and associates he will designate, in exchange for the complete and total cooperation of he and his associates in suppressing the rebellion.”
The two women gave their affirmations for the record. Loh extended his hand and she took it.
He reached his left to his chest and tapped twice. “Myra, it’s done. Execute.” The floor shook, and she heard a series of muffled thumps. “Shaped charges to breach the sub-level walls,” Loh said. “My people are going in.”
She felt detached from her body, moving as if controlled by some distant puppeteer as she turned back to the displays. She forced herself to witness the results of her mistakes and prayed this wasn’t another.
Is this the first step to becoming like Ketti?
She looked again at the swath of red icons as Loh ordered his people, who were poised in even deeper sublevels than the rebels, into the fray. If she had to pay that price so those beneath her didn’t, it would be worth it.
It would have to be.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Noo
Drop Shuttle Amazonas Bandeira,
Ileri Orbit
The shuttle bucked as it pierced the upper reaches of Ileri’s atmosphere. Noo clutched the airsickness bag in her lap and kept her eyes closed. That didn’t banish the growing roar as a ball of plasma enveloped their ride.
She’d done this twice in four days, which was two times too many.
To keep her mind off the terror, she replayed Daniel’s message once again. The Commonwealth signals officer had relayed it to her right before they boarded the shuttle, and she’d watched it twice already as the shuttle detached from Amazonas and made its initial de-orbiting burn.
He looked so serious, for all that he tried to keep his voice casual as he relayed news of her family. Her relief that those she loved most on the station were safe was tempered by the situation report Gupta shared with them about just how much of Ileri Station was in rebel hands. Nevertheless, she took comfort knowing that for now, at least, they were free and unharmed.
And then came the part where he paused and licked his lips before continuing. “I don’t know how to say this sweetly. You know I’m not that sort of man, not smooth in that way. So, I’ll just say it. We’ve known each other a long time, loved each other a long time.” He paused again. “Yes, love. I know sometimes it’s been hard, and our corners rub up against each other and we fight, and we pull away because staying close hurts too much. But I find myself thinking about what matters to me the most. And what matters most is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, however we can make that work.” He smiled, and it touched his eyes, and once again she felt an ache in her chest. “And I’m sorry it took this for me to see it. I promise to try and be less dense in the future. Whether you’ll have me or not, Noo Okereke. Stay safe if you can, but if you can’t, remember what I always tell the rookies.”
“Do it fast, do it dirty, and do it first,” she murmured along with him, and closed the message window.
She sensed Meiko’s eyes on her and turned her head to look at the other woman. “What?”
“If that was a prayer, well, we could certainly use whatever benevolence the universe has to spare,” Meiko said.
“Not exactly,” Noo said, and repeated Daniel’s aphorism aloud.
Meiko chuckled. “I like it,” she said. She looked around the cabin. “It’s the best way to win a fight.”
“Fair fights are for suckers,” Noo agreed.
Nobody shot at them as they plummeted ground-ward, Saljuans, rebels, or anyone else for that matter. The shuttle passed through the fiery-brick-of-death phase of entry without incident and Noo considered her prayers well answered.
They began the long, banking turn that would bring them to their landing zone. Meiko sat on Noo’s right, seemingly relaxed. She kept her helmet visor clear and Noo watched the other woman’s eyes as they danced through whatever feeds or private windows she had called up. Meiko saw her watching and turned to flash Noo a grin. “You’re becoming a pro at this,” she told Noo. “And at least this time, we mean to be landing somewhere that people are going to be shooting at us.”
Noo laughed at that despite her discomfort. “Our track record for travel is pretty bad, isn’t it? The riot, the botched raid, the crash, the cutters on the way up, and now this?”
Meiko pointed to the space to Noo’s left. “This time, we’re coming properly equipped,” she said.
Noo twisted her head that way and eyed Zheng. “For a change,” she conceded.
She hoped Zheng’s idea gave them the edge they needed. “I have to admit, there have been times I’ve wished I could wear a full rig on police duty,” she said when they made the plan. She wore such a rig now: one of Amazonas’ spare suits of powered combat armor, its chameleon coating hastily programmed with Ileri Constabulary colors.
Zheng didn’t respond to their quips. “Is she sleeping?” Noo asked incredulously.
“I expect so,” Meiko said. “It’s a soldier thing. They can sleep any time they’re not moving for more than a few minutes. I guess she’s reverted.”
“Wish I could do that,” Noo said.
Fari stood braced in the cradle next to Zheng’s, though her rig was one of the combat exoskeletons, rather than full power armor. The rest of them had settled for hard-shelled ballistic torso armor and padded, half-armored trousers along with helmets, all likewise borrowed from Amazonas’ stores. Fortunately, one of the Commonwealth troops was close enough to her size that the set Noo wore didn’t quite feel like she was wearing a sausage casing.
At least she carried her own guns. Zheng had her suit’s built-in weapons, so she’d loaned her personal arms to Meiko, who bore a goober gun crowd-control launcher along with the pistols.
“Do you know how to use that?” Noo asked.
“I fired one on a virtual range once,” Meiko replied, which didn’t exactly fill Noo with confidence.
The mission timer flashed red, and the ship’s system announced
they were three minutes from touchdown. Zheng woke up and locked her arms into landing position. At two minutes out, the cabin lights switched to red. Noo fastened her face mask into place with hands that were suddenly steady and sure, the motion similar to what she’d practiced in numerous emergency drills at home on the station. She felt the calm of what Fari called her ‘mission mind’ settle upon her, cloaking her in cold purpose.
With less than thirty seconds to touchdown the autopilot slammed on the thrust reversers, throwing Noo against her safety harness. It wasn’t as painful as she expected, the force distributed across her body by the armor. Once again, the smart headrest clamped down automatically on the sides of her helmet, keeping her head from snapping forward. The lights cut out, the assault doors slammed open, and suddenly they were part of the backcountry night sky. Her audio implants kicked in to muffle the roar of the jets, filtering them out, leaving the rushing wind of their passage. It seemed like all the air in the world was blowing through the doors, making the cloth of her trousers ripple.
The headrest released its grip on her helmet and Noo looked out to get her bearings. Her borrowed visor shifted to night vision mode and she could make out the shapes of the cabins in the gray-green false color images.
The shuttle settled down onto the open space between the buildings and the river with a thump and she hit her harness’ quick release. Pulling herself upright she saw Zheng spring forward like something from a nature vid, a gazelle perhaps, as the lieutenant launched herself out the door the moment the landing gear touched ground. A trio of airborne security bots whizzed past Noo to establish a perimeter around the shuttle. She trotted out onto the wing, Meiko right behind her, as the solider-turned-policeman bounded towards the buildings.
The largest didn’t look like Noo’s idea of a cabin, though she supposed it might pass for a ‘lodge’. It was two stories tall, with single-story wings to the right and left of the main structure. The infrared scans showed it to be the only occupied building in the camp, so for now they ignored the others.
