War To The Knife

by Grant, Peter

  PART THREE

  May 15th 2850 GSC

  NEUE HELVETICA SYSTEM

  They assembled in the courier ship’s tiny lounge. There wasn’t enough space for a standing formation, so they had to abandon the usual military formality. Dave stood in front of them wearing his new insignia of rank as a Major, his promotion having taken effect as Benbecula left the Laredo system. He surveyed everyone’s brand-new uniforms and medal ribbons. He wore a double row of them on his own chest, and Sergeant-Major Deacon wore three rows.

  “Thank you all for voting for officers. I didn’t want to randomly select individuals when we’ve been through so much together. I figured you all deserved a say. You’ve elected Sergeant-Major Deacon as your new Captain, and Sergeant Gray as your Lieutenant. I hope you didn’t vote for her just because she’s now my wife!” A chuckle ran through the assembled soldiers. “Be that as it may, I’ve approved both appointments and used my authority to commission personnel for the first time. They’ve already signed the necessary documents, so they’ll take their oath of office now in the presence of us all.”

  He led them through the formula, the new officers standing stiffly to attention, then fastened the epaulettes bearing their new insignia of commissioned rank to the shoulder straps of their shirts.

  “Right. You’ve been divided into three groups for duty purposes. Captain Deacon will command one, Lieutenant Gray the second, and I the third. I’ve no idea what will confront us when we land on Neue Helvetica in a few hours, but this structure will hopefully give us flexibility to adapt to whatever we find. Expect changes in the short term.”

  Manuel stepped into the lounge. “She’s here! She left a message with System Control to forward to us when we made our arrival signal.” He passed a sheet of paper to Dave, who read it quickly.

  “Vice-President Johns is waiting for us planetside,” he announced. “She thanks us for forwarding news of our escape, our plans and our passport details by interplanetary courier when we reached New Brisbane. She’s already registered us with the United Planets as staff of our Government-in-Exile, so our diplomatic immunity is now official, and she’s notified Neue Helvetica of our status. She’ll meet us at the Planetary Elevator terminus planetside tomorrow morning. Journalists will be there, so we’re to be on our best behavior.”

  “As if we’d be anything else,” the newly-commissioned Captain Deacon protested, rolling his eyes. Another laugh rippled around the group.

  Grinning, Dave went on, “She’s set up an appointment at the Handelsbank at sixteen tomorrow afternoon, to claim control of our planetary account. She approves our expenditure in chartering this private communications vessel to make the fastest possible passage to Neue Helvetica from New Brisbane. She says it was a very good idea, because she wants to have all this evidence on hand before the news of the Satrap’s death becomes public knowledge – assuming he was killed, of course; we still don’t know for sure. She’ll use our material to boost the story from Laredo’s perspective. She’s pleased we hired a publicist to come with us and use the passage time to assemble a montage of vid highlights from the evidence. She says that’ll give her a head start on preparing a press release for when the news breaks.”

  “When do you think we’ll hear about the Satrap, Sir?” Deacon asked.

  “Only when Bactria decides to announce either his survival or his death. We don’t know what they may have released since we left New Brisbane. Anyway, we’ll be entering our parking orbit at seventeen, and proceeding to the orbital Planetary Elevator terminal later this evening. Have your gear packed and ready.”

  ~ ~ ~

  No sooner had Customs cleared the vessel after they entered their parking orbit than the ship’s Captain called Dave to the bridge. “Sir, there’s a cutter asking to dock with us,” he told him. “Her pilot says she has your Ambassador to the United Planets on board. He needs to see you urgently.”

  Dave frowned. “As far as I’m aware he has no business with us at all. We’re to report to Vice-President Johns tomorrow morning.”

  “Do you want me to refuse him permission to come aboard, Sir? As the chartering party, you have control over those decisions.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’d better see what he wants. I’ll meet him in the docking bay vestibule.”

  “Very well, Sir. He’ll arrive in about ten minutes.”

  Dave collected Captain Deacon and Tamsin on his way to the docking bay. “I don’t know what the Ambassador wants,” he explained, “but General Allred said they weren’t too sure about his loyalty. I’d like to have you as witnesses to whatever happens.”

  They waited in the vestibule, the other two slightly behind and on either side of Dave as the airlock indicator light turned from red to green. There was a subdued click, and it opened to reveal a thin, hawk-faced older individual in a gray pinstriped suit, accompanied by two burly men in plain black suits. Their muscular build was very evident, and they carried themselves warily, as if expecting a fight.

  Dave drew himself to attention and saluted the older man. “Ambassador McNairy, I presume?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’ve come to collect the evidence, Major, and also our bank keys.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m under strict orders to deliver them only to Vice-President Johns.”

  “What do you mean? Your diplomatic passports are registered to Laredo’s mission to the United Planets. I’m in charge of that mission, so that makes me your boss. Hand over the evidence and keys at once!”

  “Sir, as far as I know we’re not registered to our UP Embassy, but to our Government-in-Exile. You aren’t in charge of that. Besides, I was ordered very specifically by my military superiors on Laredo to hand over the evidence only to the Vice-President. I take orders from nobody else unless and until she tells me to accept their authority, Sir.”

  “But this is preposterous!” The man was bluffing, Dave was sure. His outward manner was blustering, indignant and offended, but his eyes were cold and calculating. “How dare you dispute the authority of an Ambassador?”

  “You have no place in my military chain of command, Sir, and therefore have no authority over me at all and no business giving me orders. I’m sorry, but I won’t hand over anything to you.”

  “We’ll see about that! I’m going to lodge an official complaint about you with the Vice-President!”

  “That’s your privilege, Sir. We’ll discuss it with her tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps we should persuade the Major to hand over the evidence and the keys, Sir?” one of the burly men behind him suggested, adopting a menacing tone as he rubbed his right fist in the palm of his left hand.

  Dave grinned coldly. “Don’t try to bluff combat veterans. It costs a fortune in flowers. Our last fight was about six weeks ago when our team, individually and collectively, killed what must have totaled several hundred enemy personnel. I don’t think we’ll have any problem adding two muscle-bound idiots to our score, do you, Captain Deacon?”

  “I doubt it, Sir. Why don’t we leave them to Lieutenant Gray? She was saying she could use some exercise.”

  “Oh, yes, please!” Tamsin agreed eagerly, taking a step forward.

  The Ambassador’s face was a picture of indignation. “Stop that!” he spluttered. “How dare you threaten my security guards?”

  “That’s not a threat, Sir – it’s a promise,” Tamsin retorted unrepentantly.

  “Oh! This is impossible! You’ll hear more about this nonsense tomorrow!”

  The Ambassador turned on his heel and re-entered the airlock, followed by his two guards. The three glared at Dave as the door slid shut once more.

  “Well, well, well,” he mused, looking at the others. “I’d say we made a bad enemy there, wouldn’t you?”

  Deacon shrugged. “I’ve never made a good one yet.”

  “Funny you should say that – neither have I! Let’s get everyone together in the lounge.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  As he waited
for the others to assemble, Dave blessed Manuel’s advice to open a Commonwealth bank account and lay in a supply of ready money as soon as he reached New Brisbane. He’d cashed two of the Neue Helvetica bearer drafts totaling ten million francs. That had netted him nine and a half million francs after bank charges, which had converted to just over eleven million Lancastrian Commonwealth credits. It had been amazing to see the change in vendors’ attitudes when they realized that, far from being penniless refugees from a distant war, the Laredo party had money to pay for its needs and wasn’t afraid to spend it. It had bought their new uniforms and medals, produced by fabric extruders and fabbers as General Allred had specified, plus civilian clothing, luggage and everything else they needed. It had also paid for the expensive interplanetary express courier notification to the Vice-President that they’d escaped with the evidence and bank keys, and made chartering this ship possible as soon as the Neue Helvetica embassy had issued visas.

  “I’m changing our plans,” he told the assembled soldiers. “I’m going to leave Captain Deacon and his team on board this ship for at least one more day. I’ll leave the evidence on board as well, and I want them to guard it with their lives.” He explained about the attempt by the Ambassador to take custody of it. “He was way out of line. For our Ambassador to behave like that means that something is seriously wrong. I intend to find out what it is before I give anything to anybody.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Deacon agreed as a rumble of approval ran around the group. “What about the bearer bank keys, Sir?”

  “I’ll take them with me. I’ll also take the suitcase currently holding the evidence. We’ll re-pack it into some of the luggage we bought at New Brisbane. I’ll fill the case with something weighing about the same, just in case the Bactrians have something up their sleeve.”

  “How about our dirty laundry, Sir?” one of the soldiers quipped, drawing laughter from the others.

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea, but we’ve just bought new clothes and had new uniforms tailored. I’d hate to waste them, even if they do need laundering. I’ll use bedclothes and towels instead. Those of us going planetside will assemble in the docking bay vestibule in half an hour. The ship’s cutter will take us to the orbital Terminal, where we’ll go through Customs and Immigration then take the next available passenger pod down the Elevator. Bring some stim-tabs with you in case you aren’t able to sleep during the trip. We’ll be on the surface by mid-morning.”

  As he and Captain Deacon walked back to the cabin he shared with Tamsin, they heard footsteps hurrying to catch up. Looking round, they saw Sergeant Higgs with a box in his hands. “Sir, d’you really think the Bactrians will try to steal the evidence?” he asked.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all. They’ll be desperate to prevent its release.”

  “In that case, Sir, you may remember I bought this at New Brisbane to help secure our storage area against thieves. D’you think you might have a use for it?”

  Dave lifted the lid, saw what was inside, and smiled evilly. “Oh, yes! That’s a very good idea. Come and help us set it up.”

  May 16th 2850 GSC

  NEUE HELVETICA

  The personnel pod creaked and groaned as the forces of deceleration acted on its structure. It sounded alarming, and those unused to its vagaries looked concerned, but the majority of those aboard were accustomed to the noises made by Planetary Elevators. They buried their heads in their reading material or watched entertainment vids projected in their headsets. The few lucky enough to have seats with viewports stared through them as the ground approached.

  Dave and the others remained alert, looking around the pod, watching their fellow passengers as it slowed to a crawl, then eased into its restraints with a muffled clanging sound. The structure bobbed and jerked slightly, then settled to rest. A mechanical voice advised in Galactic Standard English, “We have arrived at the planetside Terminal of Neue Helvetica’s Number Three space elevator. Please remain seated until the air pressure has equalized and the doors are opened.” It repeated the announcement in German, Spanish and Mandarin.

  “Remember, people, wait for the rush to subside,” Dave warned as he kept a wary eye on the big suitcase with a red diplomatic seal over each of its two locks. “We’ll exit together, looking as smart as possible even if we are pulling our baggage behind us.” A rumble of agreement answered him. “Tamsin, would you please take my case of clothes as well as your own? I’ll have the evidence suitcase to deal with.”

  “Of course.”

  A terminal agent was waiting outside the pod, holding a sign with his name on it. As he came over, she saw his uniform and her eyes lit up. “Major Carson?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This way, please. Vice-President Johns is waiting for you in the main concourse. She’s had our Terminal Police clear a space to one side of the entrance doors so that the journalists can get pictures of your arrival.”

  “Thank you.”

  They followed her down the corridor to where it opened into a huge marble-floored area, lined with counters, shops and booths. She indicated a small group waiting in a roped-off area next to a serried rank of swinging doors on the far side. “There they are, Sir.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, studying the tall woman standing to one side of a group of half a dozen people with vid cameras and recording gear. He recognized her at once from her photograph. She wore a large light-colored leather attaché case on a strap over her left shoulder, holding it with her left hand. She was accompanied by a younger woman, probably a secretary or aide, he guessed. Laredo’s Ambassador to the UP waited behind them, glowering at him as he led his party towards them. Two uniformed Terminal Police stood to one side.

  As he drew near the others fell back, allowing him to approach her alone. He settled the big wheeled suitcase upright on its base, came to attention, and saluted formally. “Major Carson reports to Vice-President Johns as ordered, Ma’am!”

  She straightened, pulled her shoulders back and half-bowed her head to acknowledge his salute. “You’re very welcome here, Major. Congratulations on your spectacularly successful escape from the Bactrian forces illegally occupying Laredo.” She spoke loudly, presumably for the benefit of the journalists who were photographing and recording everything.

  He smiled inwardly as he raised his voice in response. If public relations sound bites were what she wanted, he could oblige. “They did their best to stop us reaching you, Ma’am, but their best wasn’t anywhere near good enough.”

  He saw approval flicker in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak just as a high-pitched whine approached rapidly from behind him, growing louder and louder. He saw alarm flicker in her eyes as the Ambassador dived for the floor, then gunshots exploded. He felt three sharp blows across his back as bullets struck him, making him arch from the pain of their impact even though they didn’t penetrate his ballistic-fabric uniform. As he fell forward Vice-President Johns doubled over, clutching at her stomach, then her chest as red blood fountained. The younger woman standing beside her crumpled to the floor as a red line appeared on the side of her head. Shouts of alarm erupted from everywhere except directly behind him, where his soldiers were standing.

  An electric utility cart squealed to a halt beside him. He rolled over, wincing at the pain as a big burly man wearing a mask grabbed the suitcase. Another masked figure beside him aimed a pulser down at Dave, clearly intending to shoot him again, but he was knocked sideways, shouting in pain, as a carry-on bag flew through the air and smacked into his head. He grabbed wildly at the side of the utility cart to stop himself falling out, dropping his pulser in the process. It skittered across the floor.

  The driver stamped on the accelerator and the power pack whined to shrill, screaming life once more as he steered for the exit. A double swinging door was open to allow the passage of an older couple, and he drove right over them as he sped through the opening. As he did so a uniformed figure dived for the pulser, picked it up and
rolled onto one knee, lining it at the fleeing cart. Dave yelled, “NO! DON’T SHOOT!”

  The figure hesitated, then lowered the weapon as it turned to look at him. It was Tamsin. “Are you all right?” she gasped.

  Dave shook his head, watching as a van screeched to a stop outside, tires leaving black marks on the road surface, side door already open. The utility cart couldn’t stop in time and bounced off the sidewalk, ramming the van’s front tire as the three men threw themselves and the case through its open door. The van accelerated away with a scream of plastic on metal, tossing the utility cart onto its side as the door slid closed.

  He looked back at Tamsin. “My back hurts like hell,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Who threw that suitcase?”

  “That was me, Sir,” Sergeant Higgs said.

  “Well done! You saved my ass. I know our uniforms are proof against pulsers, but he was aiming at my head when your case hit him.”

  “Why wouldn’t you let me shoot?” Tamsin demanded.

  “Too many civilians. A ricochet might have hit one of them.” As he spoke he rose to his hands and knees and crawled painfully over to Vice-President Johns. One of the terminal policemen was already kneeling beside her, cradling her head as she gasped for breath. Tamsin stooped to help him as the rest of his team gathered around. He saw the journalists avidly filming everything and bit back a curse. As far as he was concerned they were a bunch of ghouls and vultures to take such delight in killing, but at least their vid might help to identify those responsible.

  Dave glared across the Vice-President at the Ambassador. “You knew about this, you bastard! You hit the deck before a single shot was fired!”

  The man got to his feet, looking nervous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Major.”

  “The vid will show it clearly enough. You knew this attack was coming!”

  Johns plucked weakly at Dave’s sleeve. He looked down as she moved her right hand slowly, laboriously across her body and fumbled with the strap of the attaché case. As he reached down to help her she placed the strap in his hand, took an agonized breath, and gasped, “You – take this – appoint you – my successor – I – ” She arched her back in another spasm of excruciating pain, then went limp. Dave had seen too many people die to be in any doubt that she’d taken her last breath.