by John Bowers
But Hans and Norma were wasting their time here.
“What next?” Norma asked, sucking a cigarette as Hans paced angrily about.
“We’re not gonna catch this guy by chasing him,” Hans said. “We need to get ahead of him.”
“And how do we do that?”
“We figure out how he triggered those plasma mines. If we can work that out, we might be able to head him off.”
Norma smiled and stepped on her cigarette.
“I knew yew were smarter than yew look!”
“Let’s get on over to NordTek. They’ll know how the damn things work.”
* * *
A few minutes after five-thirty in the afternoon, a military command car—a wheeled vehicle—cruised down Flod Gata from the north and approached the main gate of Camp Martin Vaughn. The wind was cold and the sky overcast, making a premature dusk.
As the car passed a stand of trees on the west side of the road, a figure waited unseen behind a hedge. The moment the car went by, the figure stepped back and flung its arm forward, sending a flat, round object sailing toward the bottom of the car. The object hit the road surface and bounced once, skipping into the side of the car, where it stuck as if magnetized.
If the SE driver or the officer in the back seat heard the sound of contact, they didn’t bother to stop and check it out. The car reached the main gate and turned in, moving slowly through as the two sentries saluted the officer.
When the car was ten feet inside the gate, the figure behind the trees pointed a pocket phone and pressed the Send button. White flame flashed from the vehicle, turning it into molten metal; the heat flash incinerated the gate and the two sentries beside it, and at the edge of its blast radius, ignited the camp Admin building. The Sirian Binary flag and the bogus Vegan banner beneath it both burst into flame, as did the wooden flagpole. The polarized electrical charge from the explosion shorted out the force fence and alarms began to sound all over the camp.
As a miniature heat mushroom rolled into the frigid dusk, the figure in the trees melted away; by the time emergency equipment arrived six minutes later, it was long gone.
* * *
VYC stands for Vegan Youth Criminals. Sophia will not tolerate the corruption of her youth. The Sword shall sunder all who corrupt.
—The Sword of Sophia
* * *
Edgar Steinbach smirked as he read the v-mail Erika handed him.
“‘Sunder’? This fucker’s becoming a goddamn poet!” He glanced up. “Yew just got this?”
“Two minutes ago.”
Steinbach nodded. “Okay. Major Marlow said we could run everything he sends. Let’s see what the fallout is.”
Erika’s eyes gleamed. “Have you checked the ratings today?”
He nodded. “Up forty percent over a week ago.”
She smiled as she retrieved the v-mail. “You’re welcome.”
“How’s the religious fanatics taking all this?”
“Priestess Vigga at the River Temple reports that attendance is getting higher every night. Donations are up, prayer groups are swelling…over all, it’s a boon to Temple worship.”
Steinbach shook his head with skepticism. “I’m sure they love this creep.”
* * *
The powwow was supposed to start at six. Hans Norgaard and his sergeant showed up a few minutes after six, apologizing for being late, but Brandon Marlow didn’t show until ten minutes after that, and he looked grim.
“Four dead,” he growled as he dropped into a chair in Erika’s office, “including the camp commandant, Captain Blackwell.” He kicked a boot heel up onto her desk. “The gate is completely destroyed, the Admin building burned half to the ground, and four people inside suffered severe burns…but they’re expected to survive. What’s worse, about a dozen boys abandoned the camp and went home. We already lost six earlier in the day over those killings last night. This is going to severely impact VYC recruiting.”
“Or kill it altogether,” Erika mused.
“Captain Blackwell is dead?” Hans whispered. “He’s the man who recruited me! He was like a second father to me, or an uncle.”
“My condolences,” Brandon said dryly.
“Any witnesses?” Erika asked.
Brandon shook his head. “Nobody saw a goddamn thing.” He looked at Hans. “What did you come up with?”
Hans didn’t answer at once, and Brandon repeated the question. Hans looked up with a start.
“Huh? Oh, sorry…Norma and I went to NordTek today and took a crash course on how to detonate a plasma mine. Based on what we learned, we think it’s likely the terrorist is using a pocket phone to trigger them.”
Brandon scowled. “Explain.”
“Mines can be armed manually for a radio signal. All you have to do then is key the microchip code into a pocket phone and transmit it. You can set off a whole batch of mines at once, if they’re from the same production lot. Of course they have to be within range of the signal.”
“How far is that?”
“Occupation Authority has set a one-mile limit on pocket phones. That’s far enough to hit a repeater tower if you need to call someone farther away. But the tower won’t repeat a signal if the number is in the wrong format, so the terrorist would need to be physically within one mile of the mine itself.”
“The signal has to come from the phone itself,” Norma clarified, “not the tower.”
Brandon let his breath out noisily. “In a city the size of Reina, that’s a hell of a long way. Thousands of places to hide and set off your bombs.”
Hans nodded. “It also explains how he set off four mines simultaneously on Sunday night. They were from the same lot number and when he transmitted they all went up at once.”
“There must be thousands of pocket phones in the city!”
“More than a million. Almost every school kid has one.”
“Is there any way to track the pocket phone back to its owner? Is the serial number stored somewhere?”
“Yes, sir. If the signal hits a tower, it will record the number being called and the transmitting phone number…but only if the number being called is in proper format. In other words, if you transmit a number that isn’t a phone number, the tower logs the transmission but doesn’t save the other data.”
Brandon’s boot slid off onto the floor with a thud.
“What the fuck good is that?”
“I dunno, sir. You guys built them, I didn’t.”
Brandon glared at him a moment, then turned to Teasdale.
“Sergeant, call the Occupation Communications Office and tell them to reprogram those towers to store all transmission source data on every transmission, whether it’s formatted correctly or not. Tell them it’s by order of the SE and on my authority. And I want it done ten minutes ago.”
“Yes, sir!” Teasdale stepped out of the office and stuck a phone to her ear.
“Is there any other way to trace that phone?” Brandon asked Hans.
“I don’t know, sir, but I’ll pursue that. We did ask the OCO to search their electronic files for Sunday and look for calls that logged in with the wrong format. That will at least tell us which towers picked up the calls, which will localize the calling area, and it should also give us the microchip codes of the mines that were exploded.”
Brandon stared at him a moment, then nodded abruptly.
“That’s good thinking, Lieutenant. Let me know the minute you have something.”
* * *
After Hans and Norma left, Brandon rubbed his face with both hands. He felt the stress deep in his bones—fighting a war was one thing, but fighting a terrorist was quite another. He hadn’t really been trained for this.
“Are you okay?” Erika asked.
“Just tired,” he lied. “You?”
She smiled perfunctorily. “Ratings are up. I think Steinbach is starting to realize that I’ve done this before.”
Brandon grinned. “He’s a crusty fuck, but he’s not r
eally a bad guy. He’s under a lot of pressure to perform.”
“Aren’t we all.”
“Yeah. Ruling a planet is a bitch, especially one that doesn’t want to be ruled.” He cocked his head. “How are you feeling about things after the other night?”
Erika gazed calmly into his eyes, her expression bemused. She had gone to bed with him in spite of her own objections, and he had lit her up like the fireworks at a Goddess Festival. She hadn’t been as sexually satisfied since—birth.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
“You had a good time, didn’t you?”
“You know I did. And so did you.”
He shrugged. “I always have a good time. It’s wonderful being me.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “So where do we take all this? Still want to marry me?”
“I do. Think you can give up all this for life on the plantation?”
She laughed again. “Think you can give up the SE?”
He nodded emphatically. “Sure, in about ten years.”
Erika shook her head just as emphatically. “Wrong answer.”
He sat up straight and leaned toward her.
“Why wouldn’t it work? You’d have ten more years to dedicate to your career, I’d retire with full pension, and we’d still be young enough to do whatever we want.”
“Overlooking the possibility that another war breaks out, or that you might get transferred to Bumfuck, Beta Centauri…how successful would my career be if I were married to an SE officer?”
He looked a little befuddled by that for a moment.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s back up. If I had never been in the SE—if I was just an ordinary Sirian who came here after the war—like Steinbach, for instance—would you marry me then?”
“If I loved you, yes.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that’s a starting point, a foundation—”
“But it’s totally irrelevant. It’s just for the sake of discussion. You are an SE officer, you do transport slaves, and you do own slaves—which puts us just about as far apart as the poles of this planet.”
He slumped. “Then how are we going to work this out?”
Erika smiled sweetly. “Resign from the SE and I’ll go home with you tomorrow.”
“I still own slaves. What about that?”
“Get rid of the kittens. Tascha can stay.”
“Why Tascha?”
Erika’s eyes glazed slightly.
“I know it sounds crazy,” she said, “but you’re right about her. She wouldn’t survive without you. I can see that now. And she’s such a sweetheart…”
“She would still expect to sleep with me,” he pointed out.
“No marriage is perfect. Brandon, if I married you it would be the most unnatural union in the galaxy, almost like two different species coming together. There are things about each of us that simply cannot change. I can overlook Tascha, but the others would have to go.”
“Why them and not Tascha?”
“I can share you with one kitten, but not four. I know the other three—you can find homes for them and they’ll be just fine.”
“What would I have to overlook with you?”
“The fact that I’ve had sex with half the Confederate Army.”
“Could you be happy with plantation life?”
“I spent three years there. It wasn’t bad, except for the fact that I was a prisoner. But if I were the plantation mistress…I could live with that.”
“You’d still be a prisoner of sorts,” he said.
She frowned. “How’s that?”
“You’re a Vegan woman. You wouldn’t be safe leaving the plantation without a male escort.”
“How would that be different than living here? I have an exemption.”
“An exemption works here because the Vegans are terrified of us and so is the Army. Back home you’d be dealing with rednecks. Some of them aren’t too bright.”
Erika thought back to her shopping trip to New Angeles and shuddered—she hadn’t told him about that, and maybe never would.
“I could adapt,” she said thoughtfully. “But only for true love.”
Thursday, 3 April 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
The night was dark and the wind bitter cold at one o’clock in the morning. Erik Norgaard trudged carefully through a scattering of woods that ringed the Homer Murdock Barracks on the south edge of Reina. The barracks was actually a miniature military base covering five acres located at the corner of two major streets; nearly fifteen hundred soldiers were billeted there in five two-story buildings. The rest of the facility consisted of an admin building, a mess hall, an armory, and a chapel. The remaining acreage served as a parade ground; the whole thing was surrounded by a ten-foot force fence topped by brilliant floodlights and old-fashioned barbed wire.
Erik had watched the barracks for two hours before making any kind of move. He’d seen very little traffic going in and out but the front gate was heavily guarded. He also saw two-man foot patrols that strolled the perimeter every few minutes, outside the force fence.
On two sides, the facility was bordered by streets, which were completely exposed. On the south end the land had been cleared for construction for almost a quarter mile, and still lay empty, covered by frozen slush. Only on the east was there any cover, and that was minimal. The woods were sparse and frequently used by pedestrians, but they were only forty yards from the force fence; the floodlights reached them, but only barely, and the trees provided enough stippled shadow to confuse anyone trying to see through them.
Erik crouched behind one of those trees and blew on his hands while he waited for a foot patrol to pass. The patrols weren’t using dogs, which was in his favor—sometimes the Sirians just didn’t have enough imagination.
Although tense, he wasn’t really afraid, and his breathing was steady, his breath crystallizing in the frozen air. When the patrol rounded the corner and disappeared toward the street, he checked his watch—one fifteen. He took a deep breath and stood up, reaching into his coat pocket for the first plasma mine. He had already punched the eyes on the mines and they were ready to go…all he had to do was get them in place.
He hoped no cameras were pointed his way…
…and if they were, that no one was monitoring them too closely.
It was a risk worth taking.
He fingered the mine in his hand; it weighed about six ounces and its flat, circular design was optimal for throwing. The wind was to his back at about six miles per hour, which was a bonus—what he didn’t want to do was throw too hard, have the wind catch the mine, and have it sail completely over his target. The five dormitory buildings were on the east side of the compound, maybe five yards inside the force fence—and they had windows…
He stepped clear of the shadow, drew back his arm, and let fly. The mine left his hand in a hard spin, slicing through the night on a rising trajectory; the wind caught it and gave it lift, and to Erik’s utter gratification it sailed straight as a bullet over the force fence and impacted a window in the first barracks building. He heard the faint tinkle of broken glass and his heart leaped—now if only that didn’t wake anyone!
He quickly trotted a few yards to the north, until he was even with the second building in the row, and let fly again. This time he missed the window, but in the glare of floodlights saw the dark, round object stick to the side of the building. He trotted north again and flung a third mine, then a fourth. This one landed on the roof, bounced straight up, then came down again, sticking tight to the tiled surface.
Only one more—
A light came on in the first barrack, where the mine had broken the window—he gulped with nervous tension and let fly with the fifth and final mine, heard the tinkle of glass, and ducked back into the woods, running hard until he was completely clear of the floodlights. He stopped and looked back, peering through the sparse trees until he could see the barrack with the li
ghted window. He couldn’t know what was happening inside, but his imagination supplied the unknown—the worst case was that the breaking glass had woken someone, who had found the mine, and was even now raising the alarm. He heard no sirens yet, no yells of warning, but time was short.
He ran another hundred yards, leaving a clear trail in the snow, until he reached a thicker patch of woods that would hide him from all but the most exhaustive search. He would have preferred to wait until he got home, but couldn’t take the chance because of that lighted window. Breathing heavily, his heart now pounding, he knelt in the darkness and pulled the phone out of his pocket. The lot number for the five mines was the same as those he’d set off earlier, so all he had to do was push Redial and then Send. The instant he did, the night vanished.
It was even more spectacular than he expected—five plasma mines so close together blended to create a fireball that seemed to engulf the entire compound. The top floors of four of the buildings vanished in flame; the fourth mine, which had landed on a roof, spent half its energy going straight up, but the other half incinerated the roof and washed the top floor in flame. Erik heard screams, hideous and agonizing, but they died within seconds as the fireballs merged and the five buildings fed a growing inferno. He heard popping sounds as windows exploded, and saw two people leap from ground-floor windows, their clothing engulfed. Shouts from the other side of the compound were drowned by the sudden shriek of a siren, and lights began coming on in houses across the street from the compound. Everything for two blocks was suddenly illuminated by the flames.
Erik stood panting with adrenaline, at once thrilled and horrified at what he had done. There had to be a thousand men inside those barracks, and he doubted any of them had survived. It was an enormous kill, his biggest yet…and it might be his last.
But what a way to finish!
Chapter 29
Thursday, 3 April 0200 (PCC) – Reina, Vega 3
Valyn Kristensen had just logged onto her workstation and was pulling up the overnight merge files when a commotion at the front of the office made her look up. She was already aware of the tension in the office because of the Army barracks bombing six or seven hours earlier, and her nerves were on edge. Maj. Marlow was standing just outside his office talking to Capt. Croswell and Lt. Rice, their faces grim, when Hans Norgaard came in the door accompanied by his SE wet nurse. Valyn knew Hans but not well, and though he’d visited the SE office several times, he had never spoken to her.
