Orphan Brigade

by Henry V. O'Neil

  “You don’t know her at all.”

  “Nonsense. You think she relies on you, but Ayliss doesn’t rely on anyone except herself. She has good reason: her mother died on her, Olech abandoned her, and even her own brother ultimately let her down. Jander Mortas had a whole universe of possible careers from which to choose, and what did he do? Bent over and got an HDF brand on his backside. No, our Ayliss learned long ago she can’t trust anyone. But she needed you to cover for her, and so she seduced you, turned you, and when she gets what she’s after, she’ll discard you.”

  “But she’s not going to get what she’s after. Is she?”

  “Most assuredly not. That’s another problem with obsession: it makes one predictable. She played herself right into a trap that’s going to ruin her father as she hoped, but it will finish her too. I’d go into detail, but you wouldn’t understand half of it.”

  “Try me.”

  “No, I don’t think so. You see, your obsession made you predictable as well. A bit tardy, but predictable. I knew you’d come by, that you’d leave the rest of your detail many floors below, and that you’d let my security ­people disarm you.”

  Movement from behind the tall data towers. Two very large men, each holding a pistol. They walked around and behind Selkirk, stopping when they were in position to shoot him without hitting each other or Harlec. Selkirk had little regard for most men that size, but he studied their movements and recognized that these two would be formidable even without the weapons.

  “As you might have guessed, these gentlemen are not part of my security staff. They’re not even Brodans, and once I’ve paid them they’re going to leave this planet forever. But before any of that, they’re going to break a significant number of your bones while I watch. And then they’re going to take you out onto my shuttle pad and throw you off. An unfortunate accident, particularly after I warned you to be careful when you went out there.”

  Selkirk dropped his eyes to the polished floor. They came back up, defeated. “Why?”

  “For a reason you’ll understand. Once this little scheme has unfolded, dear Ayliss won’t be welcome anywhere but here—­even though the Brodan government will need convincing. I’ll vouch for her myself, and give her shelter the way a true friend would. She’ll be ostracized by the Brodans because of the particularly heinous nature of her crimes, and I will be her only friend. With you out of the way, it will be just a matter of time before she realizes that we have a lot in common and were meant to be together.”

  Selkirk allowed a tiny smirk to blossom. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear.”

  The elevator doors opened with a loud burp, and the two hired guns looked toward the unexpected threat. Selkirk was already in motion, two stutter steps bringing him in range of the one to his left, his right fist swinging hard. The unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh, and the gun clattering to the floor while the big man’s hands grabbed at his windpipe. A diving forward roll brought Selkirk to the second gunman while also making him a difficult target to hit. Legs curled up for maximum power, he kicked both boots into the assassin’s exposed kneecaps. A shriek of pain, then that one was down too.

  “Don’t move!” The voice was male, more annoyed than anything else. Selkirk popped to his feet easily as the speaker went by him, one of the men from Ayliss’s security detail. He was pointing a boxlike pistol at Harlec, who had just started to roll away but stopped when he recognized the shock gun.

  Another man and two women emerged from the elevator, the rest of the detail that Harlec had believed was waiting many floors below. Carrying several canvas bags and two more stunners, which they used on the gunman who was rolling on the floor clutching his knees. The shock guns rattled just long enough to knock him out, then one of the women knelt next to the other body.

  “He’s got a pulse. And he’s breathing—­sort of.”

  “The guards downstairs?”

  “All trussed up. Second-­raters, gave up the ghost the moment we got rough.”

  “Good.” Selkirk turned to Harlec’s seated figure while the others began opening the bags. “As you can see, we planned this out ahead of time. You lied to me about not knowing Ayliss’s location. So why don’t you use that great big intellect of yours to save yourself some real pain and tell me where she is?”

  “You fools. This is Broda! You can’t behave like this and get away with it. You’ll be hunted across the entire galaxy!”

  “Save the lecture. We’re Mortas family security, which means we know the laws of all the settled worlds from front to back. In case you didn’t notice, we didn’t kill anyone. And we’re going to be gone in just a few minutes. Even sooner, if you smarten up.”

  “And why would I do that?” The smile returned to Harlec’s face. “You just said you’re not going to kill me.”

  “That’s true.” Selkirk turned to one of the women, who lifted another boxlike machine from inside one of the bags. It hummed when she turned it on, but Harlec knew what it was.

  “Go ahead. Erase everything on the floor. Melt the machines down. Every bit of data is backed up.”

  “Really?” Selkirk leaned forward from the waist until his eyes were on a level with Harlec’s. “If it’s all backed up, that would mean somebody else could look at it. You know, Brodan transparency and all. And somehow I don’t see you sharing much of anything with anybody—­at least not the important stuff.”

  He straightened up and raised his right hand with the index finger pointed at the ceiling. The hand dropped, the digit pointed at the nearest data tower, and the woman started walking toward the repository of Harlec’s work. The box vibrated with the energy that would wipe the tower clean, and she’d just turned it onto a higher setting when Harlec shouted.

  “No! Stop! Tell her to stop!”

  The box came back down, but the security woman didn’t step away. Selkirk shook his head.

  “Just like I figured. You don’t belong on this planet any more than I do. Holding out on the very culture that embraced you.” The box shut off, and was returned to the bag. The remaining bodyguards removed other items from the totes and moved to different consoles. Sitting down, they started to feed various devices into slots and connectors. “Must be some groundbreaking stuff, for you to try and keep from sharing it. We’ve been monitoring the emissions from this building, as well as its basic wiring, and my ­people tell me there’s a lot of hours of work stored right here and nowhere else.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Installing a very special combination of electronic booby traps. Much too complex for a simple intellect like mine, but suffice it to say you’re going to want to tell me exactly where Ayliss is, how to get there, and every detail of this little scheme of yours. Because right now a series of viruses is being fed into your system, viruses that nobody can fix without our help.

  “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know, then my friends and I are going to Ayliss. You send a warning, lie to us, try to remove the viruses, or basically do anything we don’t like, and those bugs will eat everything you have stored. But if we get Ayliss back before this plot plays out, I guarantee you’ll receive a visit from someone who will put everything back the way it was.

  “Now. Do we have a deal?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Yeah, I was a shit-­hot pilot, lots a kills, but I never learned to keep my mouth shut!” The man seated on the floor next to Mortas was practically shouting in his ear. The shuttle was loaded with half of First Platoon and all their equipment, and its interior had been gutted to accommodate them. The shuttle rocked violently, racing through the atmosphere of Fractus, and Mortas was having difficulty focusing. Berland was with the rest of the platoon in a different shuttle, and Mortas wished the platoon sergeant was there with him.

  “So after getting my ass shot up by Sammy Sim’s ground-­to-­air one time too many, I asked my sq
uadron commander how come we were flying that ridiculous mission. Every single day, exactly the same course, and near as I could tell it was just to draw fire.”

  The shuttle lurched as if it had hit something, skittering to one side. The troops jammed into the compartment, clad in torso armor and helmets, all leaned hard in the direction of the skid and then flopped back into position. Every available space was occupied with rucksacks, water containers, and heavy bags filled with grenades. Although they would be inserted close to their assigned area within B Company’s zone of operations, it would still be difficult to carry everything to their positions.

  “So my squadron commander says, ‘What, you don’t like the scenery?’ and I didn’t know that was code for ‘Shut up or I’ll give you some scenery you’re absolutely gonna hate!’ and I said, no, I didn’t like the scenery at all. And the next day I was out humpin’ with this infantry unit as their ASSL.”

  “You really are an ASSL, Daederus,” Sergeant Dak called over from under a pile of gear. “No matter how many times I hear that story, I still can’t believe you messed up like that.”

  Although the former pilot was a captain, he’d been serving as an Aerial Support Systems Liaison with the Orphans for so long that he was on very informal terms with most of the veterans. Rumor had it that Daederus had turned down a shot at having his flight status reinstated. He was physically unremarkable, but in the short time he’d known the man Mortas had found him disarmingly jolly.

  “You think he’s fun now, just wait until he’s got targets.” Berland had advised him. “Daederus really loves killing Sims. Orbital rockets, drones, there’s nobody better. He’s one of the few ASSLs I’ve seen who’s just as good at calling in artillery and mortars as he is with the aerial stuff. But you gotta watch out for him; he takes stupid chances, and he’ll stay in one spot too long if he’s correcting the fire.”

  The shuttle compartment brightened suddenly, as the blast shields over the side portholes opened. That meant they were through the atmosphere, driving hard for the ground. The long line of tiny transports carrying B Company would use the mountain chain to hide their approach, following a flight path that was well north of the fighting.

  Mortas’s mind raced with all the information it held. He’d studied the aerial footage of their zone of operation until he knew it by heart. First Battalion would be securing the southernmost lane to be cleared by the engineers, and B Company’s zone was the southeastern end of that lane. Because of this, they would have an excellent view both south and east over the plain that was being consumed by the mud field. Extra ASSLs had been assigned to the company, to bring fire down on any Sim units approaching from either of those directions. Second and Third Battalion had the lanes to the north, and would be so buried in the mountains that only the units on the easternmost end of the passes would be able to see very far at all.

  His battalion commander’s words echoed in Mortas’s head. “We can’t have the usual aerial observation assets zooming around us because that might tip off the Sims. So everybody has to stay sharp. Orbital imagery will be sent directly to us as available, but cloud cover and the needs of the fleet may interrupt that.

  “Additionally, the expanding mud field is fouling the atmosphere with particles of dirt. It’s getting worse, not better, and is already affecting observation drones closer to the fighting. That may be a plus for us, because it will discourage the Sims from sending their own drones up to check our zone.

  “They have their hands full far to the south, and if we maintain proper stealth there’s an excellent chance the enemy will never know we were in place—­until the counterattack launches from the passes cleared by the engineers.”

  Berland and most of the other veterans felt it was unlikely that the clearing operation would go unnoticed, and Colonel Alden seemed to suspect the same thing without saying it.

  “Do not fire up the first enemy you see unless they attack you. We don’t want to give away our positions and let them know that we’re up to something, just because a lost vehicle rolls by out on the flat. I want good communications out there, with frequent radio checks. Call me with anything you see.”

  The shuttle banked hard, rocking the seated troops in that direction before leveling out. Mortas craned his neck to look out the porthole, just in time to observe the point where the vegetation began to change. The end of the mountain chain where they would be operating pointed south in a cone shape. The higher elevation where Second and Third Battalions would be located was covered by thick forest, but the greenery became sparser when the ground sloped downward toward the plain. The trees in First Battalion’s zone thinned out well north of the pass they were supposed to protect, but the rocky ground still sported a variety of shrubs that would help conceal the Orphans.

  The light from the portholes dimmed as they approached the landing zone, as if they’d flown through a cloud heavy with moisture. Mortas took one last look outside before sliding his goggles down, and was dismayed to see what looked like thousands of tiny insects hurtling past them. It had to be the dust from the mud field, but it wasn’t supposed to have covered their zone yet. He lifted his filter mask over his mouth and nose, and changed the image on his goggles.

  The camera under the shuttle showed him the approaching ground, a flat segment hidden by two low ridges of dark rock. The expanse rushed up toward him, and he flipped the goggles back to normal sight. All around him the bodies were shifting, straps going over shoulder armor, hands grasping the handles on the bags and the water, the tangle of legs resolving itself into separate bodies. Still wearing the tiger-­striped camouflage and now covered from head to toe, the men around him looked like flat-­eyed reptiles.

  Captain Noonan’s voice came through the earpieces in Mortas’s helmet, calling the team from the battalion’s scout platoon that was supposed to meet them on the ground. The scouts had been inserted several miles away the previous evening and had already checked B Company’s zone for enemy and found none.

  The scout team answered, informing Noonan that they had the shuttles in sight and that the landing site was safe.

  The shuttle arrested its forward movement sharply, and the portholes showed a billowing dust cloud as they landed. Most of the back wall swung downward with a hiss, showing the other shuttles landing behind them with the rest of the company. The overloaded infantry waddled down the ramps and struggled off to either side as rehearsed. As soon as they were well clear of the shuttles, they dropped the water and the bags and ran to form a perimeter.

  The low stone ridges to either side gave good protection, and Mortas now saw that the intermittent shrubbery was as tall as a man. In no time at all the camouflaged soldiers were facing out with their weapons ready, the high vegetation hiding them much more effectively than Mortas had expected.

  The shuttles lifted off with much less dust, hovering close to the ground in order to stay concealed. The column of flying machines did a slow, lazy turn to the north in order to get higher elevations between them and the plain, then they were gone.

  First Platoon’s segment of the elongated defensive oval faced south, and the descending ground gave them their first view of the plain. It was enormous and almost flat, but a menacing cloud many miles wide rose above it, slowly turning like a fat, lazy tornado. Peering over the berm, Mortas adjusted the settings of the goggles in an attempt to see into the dark mist. It didn’t seem to help, but after a while he felt he was able to make out the damp shadow of the slowly expanding mud field. To Mortas, the lethargic motion within the gray cloud seemed to indicate a latent energy full of ominous power.

  So far, the ash-­like particles they’d seen while flying in were only present on the ground in small numbers, blowing about like tiny bits of dead leaves. Most of the troops had already removed their filter masks and stowed them away, knowing that the march to their sectors was going to be tough because of everything they were hauling.

 
“Get me a chonk over here.” Mortas heard Berland’s voice and looked over his shoulder to see the platoon sergeant adjusting the perimeter. One of the troops with a grenade launcher slid down the embankment and hustled over to the spot where Berland was pointing. “See that crack in the ground over there? Looks like a ravine? Sight in on it.”

  Pushing himself back from the edge, Mortas assumed a bent-­over position and crouch-­walked to the nearest machine gun team. Crawling up the incline, he came up next to the assistant gunner and looked out again. The veteran team had picked a good location, and so he said nothing. He’d spent the hours leading up to their departure circulating among the men, quietly asking them questions about the platoon’s mission to ensure they understood the part they would play in it, until he’d sensed they were getting annoyed.

  “Can’t see into that cloud at all, El-­tee.” That came from the gunner, an older veteran named Catalano. “It’s still outside my maximum range, but if it gets much closer Sam could use it to walk right up on us.”

  “Got it.” Pleased by the consultation, Mortas chose his next words carefully. “I think I’m able to see the mud, not that far in under the cloud.”

  “Yes, sir. Same here.” That came from the assistant gunner.

  “Hopefully that means the mud’s keeping up with the cloud. That way, even if we can’t see into it, it’s not likely the Sims can use it to get closer.”

  “Hope you’re right.” A distant rumble, like thunder. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah. Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes, sir. Welcome to the war.”

  First Platoon’s zone was farthest to the east in B Company’s sector, so Captain Noonan traveled with them the entire way. The battalion’s scout teams had marked out a route that used the undulations of the rocky terrain to hide the column as it moved, and they dropped off the other two platoons on the way. B Company’s zone stretched for roughly seven miles on the southern side of the pass, with A Company covering eight more miles to the west and C Company occupying ten miles north of the pass. The other two Orphan battalions would be positioned along the length of both sides of their lanes, but because First Battalion faced the plain and was closest to the enemy, Colonel Alden had approved the placement of two full companies on the southernmost side of the pass.