Off in the distance, a company of our men hustled into an air lock. “Where are they going?” I asked.
“They’re making sure Riley’s men don’t flank us,” said Ritz. “It’s a big spaceport, sir. There are other ways in.”
Mars Spaceport had seventeen linear miles of exterior walls and passenger gates. We barely had enough men to guard the outermost wall of the Perseus Wing, the wall that faced the Air Force base. What would we do when the de Gaulle arrived with twenty thousand Marines?
Riley was a glorified MP, a man with no experience in troop deployment and strategy. It might not have occurred to him to flank our position. But when Curtis Jackson arrived, he would not make the same mistake. Jackson would land his transports all around the building.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-EIGHT
I entered the main “trunk” of the Perseus Wing, a deserted pedestrian superhighway once traversed by as many as one million people per day. During the era when the Unified Authority owned the galaxy, every passenger traveling between Earth and any planet in the Perseus Arm had passed through this corridor. This was the hall that connected the Perseus Wing to the grand arcade, the central hub of the spaceport.
The area had gone pitch-black. It was possible that the bomb had damaged the wiring, though I doubted it. It seemed more likely that somebody had cut the electricity to this part of the spaceport.
The hall was wider than a football field. Its ceiling was twenty feet up. Had I stopped and stared straight up, the ceiling would have looked relatively high; but taken in proportion with the size of the hall, I felt like I was walking through the center of a sandwich.
A balcony ran the length of the hall. One of my snipers stood on the balcony a couple of hundred yards ahead of me. Not expected to play sniper on this mission, he only had an M27; but a skilled marksman with an M27 was still dangerous.
“Are we secure?” I asked.
“The area is clear, sir,” said the first sniper.
“Secure,” said the second.
I crossed the floor quickly.
There were no bodies here though the floor was littered with clothing, blankets, suitcases, and other small possessions. No one had been trampled, and no children had been left behind, but a few people too old or too sick to run with the herd remained.
As I reached the halfway point across the long hall, a light flashed on, then off. From this distance, it looked no bigger or brighter than the flame on the head of a match.
One of my snipers fired off five shots, not a burst, but five individual shots. Bang…bang…bang…bang…bang.
I stopped running, and asked, “Am I clear.”
“Clear, sir,” said the sniper.
“Are you sure?” I asked, not happy about the uncertainty in my voice.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
As I began jogging again, he fired off two more shots.
I asked, “What was that?”
He said, “The area is clear, sir.”
An old woman screamed when she heard the shots—a tiny and frail woman, sitting on the blanket that had become her home, with her legs tucked up under her chin. She quieted down for a moment as she struggled to breathe.
Dressed in my dark green armor, I was next to invisible; but she heard me, then she picked me out of the shadows and started shrieking again.
As I ran past the old banshee, I spotted the second of my guardian angels. He was on the balcony. He had leapfrogged the first sniper’s position and stood at the corner, looking down into the grand arcade, with its masses and desperation.
I slowed to a jog as I reached the corner and used my commandLink to take a report. “Ritz, give me an update,” I said.
“They’re spreading us pretty thin,” he said. Then he added, “We’ve hit them hard. I think they’re going to back off until their reinforcements arrive.”
The de Gaulle would not be far away.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-NINE
Location: The Churchill
Date: May 2, 2519
Since he did not know the names of the two U.A. battleships, Don Cutter thought up derisive names instead. The ship circling Mars had no weapons. Cutter called her the Toothless. The second ship had working weapons systems, but her engines sputtered. Cutter called her the Cripple.
The Toothless continued to circle Mars from just outside the atmosphere, her weapons silent, as the Cripple limped in from the dark side of Mars. The de Gaulle flew in from the side facing the sun.
One’s out of ammo, and the other is practically landlocked, Cutter thought. Practically landlocked. He could play with them all day, maybe try to trick the Cripple into firing a few shield-busters into the Toothless once the two ships came into each other’s range; but with the de Gaulle less than a minute away, he had no time for games.
The holographic display showed all four ships: the Cripple rolling in across the planet, the Toothless making another meaningless circuit, the de Gaulle coming from yet another angle, and the Churchill trapped in the locus. The three ships looked like the corners of a triangle, with Mars Spaceport and the Churchill in the center. In the background, Phobos and Deimos, Mars’s potato-shaped moons, loomed on the outskirts of the display.
“We should go after the de Gaulle first,” said Captain Hauser. “She’s the healthy one. They won’t expect it.”
Hauser’s strategy made sense. If they could stop the de Gaulle from landing Marines, they could accomplish their mission. He asked, “Do you have a plan of attack?”
“No, sir,” Hauser admitted in a soft voice.
“They have everything we have. It’s going to be a slugfest unless the Cripple creeps up behind us during the fight. If that happens, it will be a massacre.”
Lieutenant Nolan said, “If we wait until they launch their transports, maybe we can stop their Marines in the air.”
“We won’t have time, not with that ship on our tail,” said Nolan.
There was a silence between the officers, which Lieutenant Nolan ended. He said, “She’s too low and too slow.” He pointed at the Cripple on the display, and said, “Captain, we might just be able to take her out if we move quickly.”
“How? We can’t get through her shields,” said Hauser.
“It would even the fight,” said Cutter. He did the calculations in his head. Eliminate the Cripple, and they might be able to chase the de Gaulle or at least destroy her transports as they launched. “What do you have, Lieutenant?”
Nolan swallowed, and said, “We know her engines are bad, and her thrusters are worthless…That’s why she can’t turn. She slid like she was on ice when we hit her with missiles. What if we hit her from out here and try to knock her into the atmosphere.” He pointed to the spine of the ship.
“We won’t get through her shields,” said Hauser.
“I don’t think we need to get through her shields, sir,” said Nolan. “If we can knock her into the atmosphere, gravity will bring her down.”
Cutter looked at the display. He watched the way the Cripple seemed to dog-paddle outside the Martian atmosphere. Eliminate the Cripple and they would have an even fight with the de Gaulle, because that other U.A. ship was just for show. He said, “Captain Hauser, commence that attack.”
Hauser said, “Aye, aye, sir,” but he did not sound confident. He shouted the orders and rejoined Cutter at the display.
The Churchill veered out, into open space, building such rapid acceleration that without internal generators manipulating the gravity inside the ship, the crew might have been crushed by their own weight.
She flew ten thousand miles traveling along a rigid trajectory that brought her straight out from Mars, then looped back. Had it not been for the artificial gravity, the crew would have been thrown against one wall of the ship, then another, only to be tossed back again as the ship settled into a collision course with the Cripple and the planet.
Intellectually removing himself from the equation as if he were watching an exercise
instead of his own life-and-death struggle, Cutter followed his ship on the display. In his mind, the de Gaulle no longer existed, would not exist until this fight ended one way or another.
On the display, the Churchill and the Cripple were already touching. The Cripple moved so slowly, she appeared to float on the outer edge of the atmosphere. Still building momentum, the Churchill skipped quickly across the display.
“Captain, she’s firing at us,” Nolan warned.
Hauser ignored him. He stood sentinel still, his eyes locked on the tactical display, his skin and lips so pale they looked bloodless.
He shouted, “Fire particle beams!” Two seconds later, he shouted, “Torpedoes, all forward tubes.”
“Captain, they fired…” Nolan repeated.
The green beams from the particle beams fired and vanished so quickly, they never showed on the holographic display. They destroyed any torpedoes that had fired from the U.A. battleship and battered her shields. Showing as fast-moving motes of glitter on the tactical display, the Churchill’s torpedoes crossed the no-man’s-land between the ships.
“Lock on missiles! Fire missiles!” Hauser shouted. “Pull out! Get us out of here!”
The torpedoes hit the Cripple like a strong wind. They did not break through her shields, but they knocked her off her course, battering her toward the planet below. The missiles followed, knocking her even farther into the atmosphere.
“Sir, incoming torpedoes!” yelled a weapons officer.
“Active defenses!” yelled Hauser. The defenses had already been activated. The ship’s computers tracked and destroyed incoming torpedoes automatically.
On the display, the Cripple’s nose lowered as her trajectory took her down toward the planet. She was ensnared by Mars’s gravity as securely as any fly had ever been tied in a spiderweb, and her weak engines lacked the power to take her out of the gravitational pull, and her damaged thrusters offered next to no resistance. She lowered toward the craggy surface like a plane coming in for a landing, but she had no wheels because she was built to remain in space. For the U.A. battleship, entering Mars’s gravitational field was a death sentence.
On the tactical display, the U.A. ship came to a smooth stop.
Lieutenant Nolan said, “There’s a spike in radiation…She’s gone nuclear.”
The bridge crew screamed in triumph.
Cutter slumped back against the rail, a tired smile on his face. Hauser had reached to shake the Admiral’s hand, when Nolan said, “Captain, sir, the de Gaulle has launched her transports.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTY
Location: Mars Air Force Base
Date: May 2, 2519
All of the explorer pilots were Air Force officers, and several had served on Mars. They knew how to power up the lights and the computer systems. Freeman and the bodyguards had managed to get some of the radar system working. With Air Force personnel behind the controls, the base lit bright, and the communications console began working.
One of the pilots entered the nerve center and sat beside the radar display. He typed a code on a keyboard. The screen that lit up was nearly a yard in diameter. On that display, the U.A. ships appeared as triangles with names emblazoned beside them. One of the ships circled the area above the spaceport and the base. The radar system identified her as the UAN Abner.
As a crowd formed around the screen, one of the Air Force pilots said, “It looks like the Churchill is going to make a run at that ship.”
“The Abner?” asked a fighter pilot. “Cutter wouldn’t do that, man. That’s a Nike.”
“Both of those ships are Nikes,” said the first pilot.
On the screen, the icon marked Churchill dashed straight at the icon marked Abner.
“Doesn’t look like Churchill is firing anything,” said a fighter pilot.
“They aren’t,” said the Air Force pilot who had powered up the display.
“Have they launched their fighters?” asked Liston.
One of the pilots sneered, shook his head, and asked, “Do you see any fighters on the screen?”
Liston said, “I don’t know what I see on the screen.”
The pilot laughed. He said, “See that ship there?” He pointed to the only fast-moving shape on the screen. It was about five inches from a circling triangle labeled Abner. “That’s the Churchill.”
“The triangle?” asked Liston.
“Shhhh!” a pilot hissed.
In a quieter whisper, the pilot said, “Those other two are U.A. ships. That one way over there is the de Gaulle.”
“A clone ship?” asked Liston.
“General Harris says the Unifieds got ahold of her. That’s why we came in the Explorer fleet. We had to get here before the de Gaulle. She’s got a full load of U.A. Marines.”
“Damn,” said Liston.
“Got that right,” said the pilot.
Watson listened to all of this in silence. His body hurt, and he knew he needed to sleep, but he did not feel tired. Whether it was the patches or the danger, he did not care.
The icon representing the Churchill practically merged with the icon representing the Abner. It passed so close that the two triangles seemed to merge, then the Churchill continued past and the Abner continued to circle.
“What the speck was that?” asked one of the pilots.
“Damn if I know.”
“What happened?” asked Liston.
“Neither of them fired,” said the pilot who had explained the icons on the monitor.
“Why didn’t they fire?” asked Liston.
“Shhhhh!” hissed the pilot closest to the display.
“Churchill doesn’t have anything that can get through those shields, that’s why she didn’t fire,” the pilot whispered to Liston. “I don’t know why Abner didn’t fire.”
“That one over there…the Carmack, is that a U.A. ship, too?” asked Liston. “Why is it moving so slow?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharkey returned with Freeman and Emily. Freeman was still and silent. Sharkey and the others asked questions. Liston explained the icons on the screen as if he’d known how to read the display his entire life.
As he pointed to the icon representing the Churchill, it made a sudden movement. Liston said, “There it goes again.”
This time the Churchill flew away from Mars. Dynamic tables along the base of the screen charted her speed, the numbers changing so quickly that no one could read them.
“Shit, she’s really hauling,” said one of the pilots.
“Is it running away?” asked Liston.
The question went unanswered.
On the screen, the Abner continued circling her territory above the atmosphere. The de Gaulle approached.
“Are they leaving us here?” Emily asked.
A second later, the Churchill changed her course. She turned and headed straight back to Mars, still building speed as she went.
“What the hell are they doing?” asked the pilot who had tutored Liston. He stood with his hand across his jaw, his fingers stroking his cheek.
Watson quietly stepped back from the screen and moved beside Emily. Freeman stood a few feet away, towering above everyone else, able to see the screen over the other people’s shoulders. No emotion showed on Freeman’s face. He stood silent, his eyes hard and focused, his expression a mystery.
The icon representing the Churchill continued building speed as it headed directly toward Mars and the slow-moving icon that represented the Carmack. If the display was accurate, the Carmack was barely moving, lying like a carcass on the side of the road while the Churchill swooped in like a hawk.
“Is it firing?” asked Liston.
“Oh hell yes,” said one of the pilots. “There go the cannons.” A moment later, he said, “There go the torpedoes.” Another moment and, “There go the missiles.”
Having fired particle beams, torpedoes, and missiles, the Churchill changed course, flying back out to space and still gaining s
peed. As the icon representing the Churchill flew away, the icon representing the Carmack dipped into the backlit area of the screen that represented the atmosphere.
“What happened?” asked Liston.
“Carmack entered the atmosphere.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s a battleship,” said the pilot. “She’s made for space.”
On the screen, the icon representing the Carmack continued to lose altitude. One of them hooted and yelled, “Hell yeah!”
“She’s going down! She’s going down!” screamed another.
“Oh, thank God,” whispered a third.
A moment later they felt the shock wave. The ground shook, and the building trembled, and the revelry came to an end as people rode the rolling floor in silence. The tremor lasted an eternity of twenty-three seconds.
That was when Dempsey, a bodyguard who had been a SEAL as a young man, watched the de Gaulle on the screen. He said, “If your ships can fly, you better get us out of here.”
The lead pilot said, “That carrier will pick us off with her particle beams the moment we launch.”
“Yeah?” asked Dempsey. “If they got Marines on that ship, then Mars is about to become a hostile environment.”
“Maybe you’ve never ridden in an explorer,” the pilot said, his irritation obvious. “It’s not a flying brick like your military transports. Those bitches stand up to anything. These explorers, I figure a nasty thought could bring one of them down.”
Another pilot said, “Speck, here come the transports.”
That was when Watson finally spoke up. He said, “We need to fly in two groups.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTY-ONE
Location: Mars Spaceport
Date: May 2, 2519
The snowball effect. Ten thousand panicking survivors had run out of one relatively minor hall and scared fifty thousand people in a larger hall, who then caused a riot in one of the spaceport’s major trunks, a riot that then spilled into the grand arcade. Once the panic reached the grand arcade, it spread throughout the complex.
The Clone Sedition Page 33
