by John Lumpkin
The peaks around them stood even higher, their reach less encumbered than Earth mountains, thanks to Kuan Yin’s .88 gravities. They were south of Sycamore, a city formerly of 90,000 souls planted on a high piedmont plateau above severe cliffs that led down to the ocean.
They walked until they could see the city below them. It had been well designed and built, a model colony when it was settled a decade prior, with a core of red-yellow brick buildings ensconced in green foliage. But two circular settlements were attached like tumors to the community; one was the Chinese army base, a series of long linear barracks, guard towers, and an airfield. The second growth included some of the city proper, but much of it was a sea of olive-colored tents. It was surrounded by a high wall, with more towers – this time with the guards looking in. Drones buzzed above it.
This was the internment camp for American colonists.
Rand and the others had picked up sporadic information about the purpose of the war, which was being fought to secure colony planets after it turned out they would be far more scarce than expected. But here it was in the face. Lopez swore. Aguirre sighed and shook his head. Rand felt anger rising within him. The people down there, the farmers, the engineers, the researchers and terraformers, they didn’t deserve this.
Only Kelley, stoic as ever, was thinking like a fighter. “You notice that the eastern wall is right up against the forest and the foothills? If they were serious about security, they would have cleared those trees. It might be the Hans are allowing some coming and going from the camp.”
“How would that be in their interest?” Rand asked.
“Maybe they’re short on military police, or maybe they just don’t care much. Hard to say for sure.”
When no one said anything else, Kelley said, “Night’s coming, and we might have to walk above that treeline to get to our destination. So we should move out.”
Chapter 4
WASHINGTON – Vowing to a crowd of 750,000 people that “we will not give ground” in the war with China and Korea, President Alexander Victor Delgado was sworn in for his second term on Wednesday. As with his 2137 inauguration, he took the oath on his mother’s Bible and later recalled her sacrifice fighting separatists on Jefferson. Delgado’s election marked the seventh straight in which the House of Representatives determined the outcome of the election and the thirteenth such instance since the four-party era began. Police ejected hundreds of protestors making their usual plea for a constitutional amendment allowing for popular election of the president, but experts see little chance of it happening.
New Albion colony, Entente
The Chinese Marine’s left leg was already covered in wet sand. A rivulet of clear sea water ran over it, splitting where the heel of his boot emerged and rejoining at the toe before flowing down to the waterline to feed a few drops into the next oncoming wave.
Neil crouched at what he considered a respectful distance and stared at the body. Some of the troops on the beach thought him odd, but those who saw the intelligence badge on his uniform let him be … the intel guys were always a little weird, with all that special knowledge they had, or something.
Who was he? Neil wondered. The dead man was face-down, with no visible exit wound from his back. He had died facing his enemy, the British and Canadian and Australian soldiers who defended this beach and their colony beyond. Someone had already collected his rifle, but the rest of his gear was still attached to his clothes. Was he an Entente colonial, or from Earth, or one of the Chinese planets? Was he a volunteer or a conscript? Did he believe in what he was doing? What ran through his head as he and his comrades ran off the landing boat, charging the gun positions, as Apache and the other ships in orbit swept the beach with lasers? Twenty years ago, some mother and father, probably, had been happy at his birth and, probably, invested time and effort into his becoming a learning, thinking, self-sufficient person, who they, probably, hoped would provide them grandchildren someday. And he, probably, had twenty years of experiences, of laughter and pain, and friends and lovers and loss, memories which, probably, ended with the fragmentation of an eight-gram bullet inside his heart.
Two more bodies were in immediate view, one crumpled, one splayed out and face-up. Both were Chinese; the British and Canadian and Australian dead were up in the dunes. Neil wondered if the bodies would decompose any differently on Entente, where the population of bacteria and insects interested in them was much smaller than on Earth.
Far up the beach, where sea mist rendered it a pallid, ghostly blue, was the smoking chassis of a large Chinese hovercraft. Its operators had beached it to serve as a gun platform during the landing; they, too, had died fighting.
“Mercer? Learning anything?” a gravelly voice said. The form of its owner interposed itself between Neil and the body, putting Neil in shadow.
“Not really, sir,” he said, standing up.
Commander Marc Raleigh, who, like Neil, wore the key, globe and dagger badge of Space Force Intelligence, regarded him oddly for a moment, and said, “Score one for the good guys. This defense is the stuff of legends, Mercer.”
“Yes, sir,” Neil agreed. Neil had mostly watched, rather than participated. With its damaged gun turret and inexperienced master, Apache had not been given a major role; she had been part of the decoy force that drew off the Chinese and Korean ships orbiting Entente just long enough for the British transports to land their troops. When the enemy ships returned, the orbital battle had been fierce, with warships on both sides fighting each other even as they skipped off the top of the atmosphere on bombardment runs over this beach. Unlucky Edmonton was among the losses; she had been blown in half by a Chinese missile, and only a third of her crew had been rescued. On the surface, the senior Chinese general decided to launch an all-out amphibious assault before the British reinforcements could dig in with their fellows, but the gambit had failed on this very stretch of coast.
Neil had dropped down a few hours ago, after the battle had been decided.
“The other two Chinese divisions are withdrawing north, into no-man’s land. They may withdraw them off the continent entirely,” Raleigh said. “Command sees this as a significant opportunity. The Hans and Kims are pushing us on every front, and we’ve got a chance to focus their attention here on Entente.”
“Sir?”
“We’re going to build defenses against the Han colony across the ocean. This is the second place they settled, more than thirty years ago, so it carries some significance for them. The Brits don’t have enough to contain it, but we’re going to make some moves to force the Chinese to deal with us. We’re going to take the initiative, Mercer.”
“Sounds good, sir.” Why is he telling me this? The U.S. controlled no territory on Entente, and its military presence was minimal. The Chinese colony of Huashan had a population of over 700,000 people, a large naval base, and a reserve division of troops protecting it.
“Between here and there are a couple of strategic island states with both spaceports and deep-water ports, Ardoyne and Tecolote. Both are neutral. We’d like to change that: Allying with either would be vital for us to prevent another invasion of New Albion.”
Here it comes. “I’m going to Ardoyne, which is a better bet for a number of reasons, although their port will need some work. I was going to leave you on New Albion as a liaison with the Brits, but for reasons unclear to me, their command has expressed a desire to work with someone else, so I’m sending you to Tecolote as a defense attaché. Your job will be to make nice with their government, to let them know they have the support of the United States military. You will give them information, within reason. You will also gather information about the government and the insurgency, particularly their military capabilities, in case we have to work with either of them more closely in the future. You will check with me on anything you aren’t sure about.”
I’m not going back to the ship and Jessica. “How long is the assignment?”
“Hard to say. Apache will remain in
orbit as part of the blockade, and you’ll still be on the books as the ship intel officer, so this assignment won’t cost you time as a section chief, if that’s your concern. Once you’re in Tecolote, you’ll also work with our diplomatic mission, such as it is, as well as the NSS station chief on the island, who specifically requested your presence.”
Neil brightened. “Mister Donovan?” Donovan had been a mentor on Neil’s previous assignment, but Neil had lost track of him several months ago. It would be good to see him again.
But Raleigh shook his head. “No, not him. No idea what happened to that guy. It’s some spook I haven’t met. She said she’s looking forward to working with you. Anyway, I’ll have your orders and briefing packet forwarded to you within the day.”
With that, lieutenant and commander saluted each other, and Raleigh left Neil alone, wondering, as waves crashed over the bodies on the New Albion shore, and bits of falling debris from the orbital battle filled the sky with fireflies.
San José, Republic of Tecolote, Entente
NSS World Factbook, 2140 edition: The Republic of Tecolote is an independent island nation on the planet of Entente (Beta Comae Berenices IV). It is located in the Apollonian Ocean 1,900 kilometers west-southwest of the New Albion colony (United Kingdom), 2,200 kilometers east of the Huashan colony (China), and 900 kilometers south of the Republic of Ardoyne (independent). The island was initially granted to the Philippines for colonization under the name San José in 2110, but financial troubles on Earth forced its sale in 2117 to Mexico, which renamed it Tecolote. Residents of the island, unhappy with management from Earth, revolted in 2129 and established an independent republic that went unrecognized by most powers save Japan. Eighteen months later, filibuster Lawson S. Conrad and a force of 800 adventurers, mostly from Commonwealth, landed on a chartered cruise liner and conquered the island in 72 hours. Conrad and his coterie have ruled the island since. The state has a population of 205,000, about 60 percent of which is urban. The capital city retains the name San José. President Conrad has allowed significant foreign investment, except from China, for which he seems to bear a personal antipathy. He has twice seized assets of companies accused of “unfair” dealings with Tecolote’s authorities. In both cases, the home country for the company was undergoing significant unrest at the time, leaving the firm’s assets vulnerable. It was through such means that the state gained 60 percent ownership of the deep-water port facilities in San José, a significant economic driver in the country. The political system is based on the Russian model, in which opposition parties and a free press are technically legal but in reality face severe curtailments of their operations. Chief exports are industrial organics, cobalt and nickel ore and citrus fruits. The island also has assembly facilities for kit watercraft transported from Earth. Tecolote has also occasionally accepted payments from Earth nations to accept forced emigrants. The state has an active insurgency, based in the highlands on the island northern peninsula, which advocates a new constitution and free elections. Conrad’s regime has frequently employed violent means to repress the rebels and sow fear in a populace that is sympathetic to the insurgents’ demands.
A young woman met Neil at the Tecolote spaceport.
“Lindsay Trujillo,” she said, shaking his hand. She stood a head shorter than Neil and had an open, friendly face, mischievous eyes, and long, black hair. “State Department – for real. Glad to have you. You’ll make the sixth member of our little outpost on the ass-end of nowhere. Paul Layton is the chargé d’affaires, Andy Bonaventura is consular affairs, Martina Bandi – everyone calls her Marti – is our tech support. And Irene Gomez is our, um, regional affairs officer.”
Code for NSS, Neil translated. Never heard of her. Why would she request me? “What’s your job?”
“Everything else.”
As they walked, Lindsay reached into her pocket, and a message alert appeared on the inside of Neil’s eye. OPEN? the alert asked.
OCULAR-YES, he thought, and text scrolled at the bottom of his vision.
IF YOU HAVE AN OCULAR, WE USE THE STRONGBOW PROTOCOL. LOTS OF EYES AND EARS HERE, BUT WE’RE PRETTY SURE THE NATUVES HAVEN’T CRACKED IT.
“Got it,” Neil said aloud. He had at long last had an ocular implanted while stationed at Space Command. Tied to a neural overlay, it could handle all of six commands from his brain, and it was a fairly advanced model.
Someone shouted from across the cavernous terminal. Airport cops in white shirts ran to the source, followed by rifle-armed paramilitaries in olive jackets and red berets. Neil saw one of the cops land a vicious blow with a baton on a man from his flight, and blood splattered onto the white stone tile. The man screamed something in Spanish. He was struck again and went silent.
“You can look, but don’t linger,” Lindsay muttered. “Hard to say, but this may be for our benefit.”
The paramilitaries dragged the man away. The cops ordered people to move on.
When they got in their car, Neil turned to Lindsay. “What did you mean, for our benefit?”
“Conrad’s internal security knows very much who you are and may suspect why you are here,” she said. “I wouldn’t put it past them to pick on some random guy from one of their many watchlists to demonstrate their tremendous authority to the American military guy. Sorry you had to see it, though.”
I’ve seen worse. “They suspect why I’m here?”
“To turn Tecolote into a base for defending the Brits against the Hans from Huashan, right?
Great. “What, did we put out a press release?”
“We’re a small office, but Miz Gomez is pretty plugged in. We’re not sure how the natives found out. But maybe you can answer something for me, Lieutenant Mercer.”
“Please, it’s Neil.”
She smiled, happy to learn the new military guy wasn’t some overofficious asshole. “Neil. We won’t be trying to stage an invasion of Huashan out of here, will we?”
Neil shook his head. “No way. We’re at war to gain new space to explore, not to stomp on territory somebody already settled, right? And the resources it would take to conquer and hold Huashan are immense. It won’t happen.”
Creases around Irene Gomez’s eyes betrayed her age, a few years shy of sixty, and her distaste for cosmetic treatments. She stood at a slight 160 centimeters, and she had olive skin, aquiline features and graying black hair that was cut almost as short as most spacers wore theirs.
They sat in a secure, windowless room in the middle of the American embassy to Tecolote, which took up half of a floor in a small, walled-off office building six blocks from the presidential palace. In the same building were embassies for other countries from the Anglosphere, all save the two-person British shop left shuttered, but still paid for, in case Tecolote should ever matter.
Gomez inspected Neil with a stern glare. “I’ve heard you’re rather opinionated,” she said. “The first thing to learn around here is to stay out of local issues. You’ll see a lot of abuse we typically don’t have in the States, and it’s not your problem. Eyes forward, got it?”
Neil remained silent.
She went on, “I really don’t care for working with Tecolote’s military, so it’s a relief you’re here. We’ve got a meeting set up tomorrow to introduce you to General Vargas, the chairman of their general staff. We might get you an audience with Conrad, as well.”
“What do I do?”
“Appear to be sympathetic to their problems and take down their requests. Bring requests of a civilian nature or for money to me, ones for military support to Commander Raleigh. Now, your rank is the second-lowest for officers, correct?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I worry that will insult our hosts. Do you think you could wear the uniform of someone a little more senior … a commander or major or something like that?”
“That’s not the way we do business, ma’am,” Neil said. For some reason, it felt good to tell her so.
Lindsay Trujillo led Neil to a one-room apart
ment in the same building; she apologized for its small size, but in truth Neil hadn’t had so much space to himself since leaving his parents’ home in Oregon. She departed; the permanent staff all lived in a walled compound a few miles away, but they didn’t have room for Neil. He messaged Jessica to see if she could take his call, but her computer responded that she was asleep. It’s after midnight, ship’s time, and her watch starts in a few hours, Neil remembered.
So he manually unfolded the beat-up sofa-sleeper – no smart furniture here – and lay down, uncomfortable in humid gravity of subtropical Entente. The hum of the city quieted, but that made things worse: Shouts, barking dogs, the occasional truck trundling by became interruptions of silence, instead of receding into a background urban melody. After half an hour, sleep wouldn’t come, and Neil looked for a knockout pill in his things, only to find he had left them on Apache.
Might as well take a walk.
Like many off-Earth cities, San José was built with wide boulevards to accommodate ground vehicles. A few patches of dirt in the sidewalks offered up only thin gray stumps, markers of a failed attempt to add some life to the place. The low buildings were boxy and sterile, ordered up by investors who viewed design as nothing but an expense … but the structures were not uniform, Neil noticed after a time. Some of the newer, cleaner buildings had doorways that stood twenty centimeters higher than those in the original buildings, which were built to Earth standards. It’s the gravity, Neil realized. Entente’s gravity was about 89 percent of Earth’s, and children born here were taller, on average, than Earth-born humans once they grew up.
As he set out, he set his handheld to display any socialcasts people on the streets were offering. On Earth, his ocular would be bombarded with links to business cards, personal data screens, and the like; here, he picked up almost nothing, finding only a few commercial sites – restaurant menus, primarily – when he dialed down the filters that usually kept them out. People here either didn’t have much to say, or they were scared to say it. Only when he shut the filters off entirely did the traffic pick up at all, and the messages were uniformly from prostitutes.
