Freehold

by Michael Z. Williamson

  That evening, she caught the UN news and her blood froze. EBC had a full segment on her. None of it was untrue. The press had centuries of practice telling the truth the way they wanted it told. They stated that she'd been accused of embezzling, true. Accused of killing two people to escape, true. Accused of fleeing justice, true. Accused of helping the rebels, true. All absolutely true. All utterly misleading and wrong. She closed her eyes, fuming quietly. She wanted to be left alone! Why couldn't everyone just go away?

  Shit, this was bad. Now the reward was up again, here. And they knew she was near the capital. How long before some oppressed farmer decided it was worth it to turn her in for the money? Perhaps right now?

  Dak watched silently nearby. He was convinced it was utterly untrue in any detail. Kendra was perhaps the bravest woman he'd ever met. If the damned aardvarks were all of her caliber, there would never have been a war. He saw the offered reward and snickered. As far as he was concerned, she was worth ten times that as a friend, never mind as a soldier. The rest of the locals would agree with him, he knew. They had never heard of her or seen her if anyone were to ask.

  * * *

  The next day, an unfamiliar vehicle rolled up in front of the farm. Kendra ducked into her snake pit to hide and Dak went out to parley.

  Wayland was there with three of his team. "Hi, Dak," he said. "Just came by to see Kendra."

  "She's not here anymore," Dak replied cautiously. "Just came by" seemed most unlikely.

  "Oh, come on! I know she's here. We've been watching."

  "Why?"

  The question hung there. Why was obvious.

  Kendra stepped out of the house, brushing at cobwebs. "It's okay, Dak. Let's see what he wants." She nodded cautiously.

  Wayland returned it. "There's some people I need to take you to," he said.

  "Who?"

  "I can't discuss it here," he said. He glanced behind her.

  "Sure you can," she said. It was obvious where this was going. Waves of heat swept across her from worry.

  "Well . . ." he said. "Under the circumstances, it's obvious that you aren't a friend of the UN." He stopped.

  "Was that ever a concern?" Dak asked.

  "Look," he said, exasperated again. "Under the circumstances," he realized he was repeating himself. "I think we all agree we'd be safer without her."

  There was more uncomfortable silence. "I think you're right," Dak said. Kendra stood wide-eyed.

  "Good," Wayland said, letting out a breath. "I know a quiet place she can hide and we can get on with the war."

  "You're assuming I'm worried about being safe, though," Dak said.

  Wayland's troops were suddenly aiming rifles. "No," he said. "We aren't going to shoot our own people. But I really think Kendra should come with us." The rifles lowered.

  "Where?" Dak probed again.

  "Dak, be rational. The UN wants her. If we let them have her, it draws attention away from us. We could get better intel and do more to them."

  "You think they'll trust a turncoat?" he snorted, mustache waving.

  "No," Wayland agreed. "But that's the beauty of it. She's not really one of us." He obviously missed Dak's point.

  Kyle, Vikki, Sandra, Brian, Eric and two neighbors were suddenly on the porch, armed.

  "Okay, forget it," Wayland said, looking around. "But don't say I didn't warn you. And don't try to contact us again. She's a danger, and we don't want to be anywhere nearby when she gets hit."

  Dak stared at him. They hadn't contacted Wayland in the first place. "I don't think that will be a problem. Now get the fuck out of here."

  Wayland turned. Kendra had a sudden insight. Gritting her teeth, she reached into her coat, drew her Merrill and shot Wayland in the back.

  Rifles swung at her. Rifles swung back the other way. Standoff.

  She stood unmoving, staring at the crumpled corpse. Dak looked back and forth and addressed the other three, "If he'd sell anyone out, he couldn't be trusted. I don't think there's a do with you guys—" he stared at Kendra, who shook her head, eyes squinted, "—so go back and fight your war. But don't even think of talking to the enemy. Because we'll make sure everyone knows. And you'll be the ones who suffer. From both sides."

  They nodded, boarded the truck silently and drove off.

  Kendra slumped against Dak and sobbed. Sandra patted her shoulder then guided her inside. "It's okay, hon. It had to be done," she said.

  Kendra couldn't sleep. Goddamn them! Wouldn't they be happy until she was dead? She crawled out of her cot, pulled on a cloak for warmth and sat fuming. She didn't notice the first beep from her comm. The second one registered and was a welcome distraction. Then she paused. Was it possible for it to be good news?

  She activated it and punched to decode the message. More war orders. Fine. She momentarily decided killing would be good, then forced her civilized self through the haze. The message descrambled and she began reading. It took a few seconds further to unscramble in her brain.

  "You need help. Arrangements made. Transfer to my headquarters. Details follow. Naumann. Authentication Cowboy, Mckay, Urquidez."

  Naumann! He'd do that for her? But that was dangerous! She could stay hidden . . . then she broke into sobs. She'd follow that man to ground zero if he asked. Idly, she realized that he knew it. And that that criterion was part of his professional calculations . . . and never entered his personal thoughts at all.

  * * *

  Dak hugged her goodbye. "Vikki says she's sorry she couldn't make it. You take care and we'll see you after this is finished. You have our coordinates?"

  "Yes," she agreed. "I'm hoping we can be done in a few more months," she lied, not wanting to tell him it was all pointless. There would always be more attackers. Nothing else to say, she waved, turned and sprinted for the vehicle. The driver was someone she recognized from 3rd Mob and she was gladdened that at least some survived. As far as she'd known, everyone still on base had been killed by the kinetic weapon.

  He was a senior sergeant. She was surprised to get a driver of that rank. "By the way, Corporal," he said grinning as they bumped away, "you are now a sergeant."

  "Really?" she asked. "Thanks, I guess."

  "Don't thank me. You'll probably be higher shortly. Naumann is keeping the chain of command filled. He's a colonel now, too."

  "It sounds like he's going to go down fighting," she replied.

  "Going down? You've really been out of the loop here, haven't you?" he asked, surprised. "We've got them out of the Halo, except for mopping up, and they'll be off the surface in a couple of weeks, tops. The habitats are sort of holding; no one wants to use the force necessary to win because of the risk of destroying them, so they'll surrender once they have no support. That leaves the gates, which we can blow if necessary. Actually, JayPee One is already blown."

  Kendra was shocked. It was impossible! "We're winning?" she asked, wanting to hear it again.

  "Not winning. We'll still be a mess, but they'll be gone. Best we can manage under the circumstances."

  A small airtruck rolled from cover. They squeezed into the cramped rear compartment and waited as it vibrated jarringly and lifted. It was a typical craft for farms to use to resupply from the cities and the UN tried desperately to keep track of them, but couldn't ground them without providing support to the farms that fed them and the Freeholders. The fact that they couldn't provide that support was indicative of the trouble they were having.

  Still, the pilot kept them barely above the trees and wound through the low areas of the hills. There was always the risk of being intercepted or shot from orbit. It was a long, loud, painful flight; the noise suppression equipment was damaged and it would not be good for the cover story for it to be well maintained. It worked, that was all.

  They flew west, following the edge of the forest. Another craft rose from the tree line, just barely in front of them and they flew in tight formation for a few segs, then the other craft continued while they landed. "Let's just
hope they weren't looking too closely at high rez," the pilot shouted. "But they should be too busy scoping the city for insurgents, trying to figure out what we're doing. That, and there's a lot of activity in space to keep them busy."

  The plane was stowed under the trees again, and Kendra wiggled painfully out. They were not far from Delph', she figured, and there was a lot of bustle visible under cover of the trees. She was directed to a cave in the bluff and scrambled up to it. There were black curtains a few meters in, overlapped for light discipline.

  It was cut deeper than appeared from the outside, and all by hand. Shoring timbers supported the expansions and equipment was stacked inside, all of it lightweight tactical field gear. There was Naumann, surrounded by staff as usual, directing and plotting.

  He nodded and motioned for her to stay as he continued with his briefing. He finished shortly and came over. "Sergeant Pacelli," he greeted. "You were actually promoted quite a while ago, but we decided not to tell you. If captured, corporal was safer for you. I'm afraid the TO&E has been a bit of a mess. And you aren't a sergeant anymore."

  "I figured it was only a field expedient," she replied. "Thanks for getting me."

  "You are far more useful to us than them. If I could have, I would've doubled the reward for anyone who'd kill potential captors." His grin was not pleasant. "You will revert to permanent rank of senior sergeant—" she gulped in surprise at that. Bumped two grades in one day. "—and assist here. I need competent staff for the upcoming project."

  She nodded. Naumann went on, "Bare details that you need to know: we attacked a sizable force near here and pinned them down. All the activity in your area was not directed at you, as you thought, but were units attempting to reinforce the ones here. The city underground has been sabotaging their logistics and knocking out transport. We've been keeping them under light harassing fire everywhere in the district except here. I pulled all available professional troops from the other cities and ordered what units I could to remain passive. They think they've neutralized us. They are gathering all their planetside force right here and have been pounding Delph'. Tactically, that's fine; there are few assets in Delph'. It's very hard on the locals, but I have to use them as cover. The UNPF thinks we are cornered, nearly defeated, and are concentrating force around us. If the press weren't crawling through the area, they'd just nuke Delph'. See how valuable the enemy press can be?" He grinned the cruel smirk again.

  "We are about to crush them totally. You'll get such details as you need. And you'll stay here."

  "But how?" she asked. "Insurgents have never defeated an invader without outside—"

  "Eighteen percent higher gravity. Twenty percent lower partial pressure of oh two. Local support. Armed residents. Time and distance from the decision-making command. Lesser independent authority to their commanders. Bad logistics. Poorly trained, poorly disciplined troops in lousy physical condition. Commanders more concerned with politics than fighting. Commanders untrained for battle. Commanders unwilling to risk mistakes or expose troops to fire. Troops who are chosen to be 'representative of the society' and not as prime physical and mental specimens. Troops not allowed any errors and therefore unwilling to do more than the bare minimum. Morale, bad to start with, smashed into nothing by you and your devotees." He smiled at this part and she blushed. "No moral or political support from the rear. No good commanders, as they all pulled strings to avoid being sent here. Dependence on our trade for their own system. Unwillingness to commit full resources or efforts. Inferior transportation. Lack of an intelligence gap. Should I continue?"

  She stared for several seconds. "I never added all those up," she admitted.

  "Neither have they," he replied.

  She was shown a billet farther up the hill. It was a bunker dug under the trees, covered and sodded and all but invisible. The trees would hinder air-based sensors from finding such a small hole and to approach on the ground was tactically impossible. She lifted the leaf- and debris-covered door, noting which tree it was near and looking down to get an idea of its overall location. She remembered that she should take a different route in each time, to avoid treading down a trail.

  Inside wasn't bad. A few rays of light came in through side slits and her eyes adjusted. There were two shelves with sleeping gear and one empty one, which she took. They could use light during the day, battery supplies permitting, but not at night. It would show on a scan. She decided to put her cloak on top of her sleeping bag for extra warmth. Nights would be chill. With luck, this would be home for a week. Without, it might be a grave.

  * * *

  The reservists and militia down in Delph' had no idea how much firepower was being brought in for their support. The sound of weapons crackled up into the hills sporadically, as one group or another engaged enemy patrols. Naumann called in other units from time to time, throwing them into the fray to die, be captured or escape. The UN must be convinced that the "heavy" resistance was a sign of desperation, while massive force snuck into the hills above and positioned around Jefferson. Elsewhere in the system, the few professional forces left accepted orders that looked suicidal, trusting to Naumann to know what had to be done.

  That night, Kendra helped drag an artillery piece in. It had arrived in a very heavily stealthed cargo lifter and was in pieces for easier transport. "Easier" was relative; it was being moved by human strength. The pilot jumped out to help them. He was a short, skinny, geeky-looking kid, with an amazingly deep, resonant voice. He took a grip alongside hers on the cargo net and heaved.

  "How's things, Cowboy?" someone asked. This was the Cowboy who'd flown her?

  "Not bad. Staying low, staying hid," he replied. Yes, the voice matched.

  "Cowboy, I'm Kendra Pacelli," she said. "Thanks for the ride, way back when."

  "Hey!" he replied, smiling. "Glad you made it! Rob's still alive, in case you didn't know."

  "Thanks!" she sighed in relief. She'd been avoiding that subject. "I didn't. Tell him I'm here if you get a chance."

  "Will do," he agreed with a nod.

  They were done, and he disappeared in the vertol, she back to the cave.

  Naumann confirmed that Marta was still alive also, and assigned elsewhere. Kendra felt much better and sat down to her console. The first order of business for the day was to update the logistics files for Naumann's strategic calculations. It only took a few segs, but the files were numerous. They had current issue gear, captured UN gear of three production generations, old Freehold gear that some retired reserves had brought, personal hardware from collectors that spanned several systems and years and farmers with ranch rifles in three main calibers and several oddballs. Probably more ranch rifles than military issue. They'd be the main infantry force, led by professionals.

  She then switched to the main task, plotting coordinates for the support weapons they had, using an algorithm that calculated range of weapon, rate of fire, hardness of target, distance, and direction. The comm gobbled the data and spit out graduated zones where the weapons would have their best chances to hit targets. The battle staff would decide from there where best to site them. It was a complicated process and she added the new intelligence data that had been brought in. The UN had a lot of stuff down there, she thought, and wondered again what Naumann had planned.

  She found out why they were so secure in the bluffs: iron. The hills were rich in iron ore, giving a tang to the water. It also distorted magnetic and mass sensor readings. Since the bluffs were quiet and unremarkable, the UN patrols had stayed out of them for the most part. Only the occasional patrol came anywhere near, and none deeply into the woods. Several days previously, one team had gotten close enough to encounter the Freehold forces. It had been destroyed, the soldiers killed and the vehicles moved several kilometers away to be found. An in-depth check of the satellite recon and communication record would give the lie to the location where the wreckage was found, but no one was interested in doing the necessary work. It was written off as a random attack and for
gotten about. After all, the rebels only had minimal forces making sporadic attacks, so why waste effort?

  * * *

  General Jacob Huff panted hard from exertion, gasping. He reached down and dug his hands into the thick hair of his lover. Her hands were all over his hips, thighs and scrotum. Her lips were massaging him and he felt his muscles tightening. He spasmed, feeling her tongue enthusiastically work him. After a few moments of silent ecstasy, he felt her moving higher. Shortly, she was snuggled under his arm. "My God, Bonita, you amaze me every time."

  She laughed lightly. "Liked that?" She kissed the side of his jaw, fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

  "You're going to kill me," he said.

  "Not too soon, I hope," she said. "You still have a war to fight."

  "Yes, but I'd rather resolve it peacefully. Why can't most of your people see that?"

  "We've been struggling to tame this system," she replied, fingers moving up to his chin. "It'll take a while to get used to being settled. I'm sure most people will come around once things get organized." She leaned on one elbow and stared at him.

  "I'm glad to hear you say it. It's so frustrating to try to help people who fight every effort." He stared back at her liquid eyes. How did he find a woman this sexy and intelligent? Perhaps she'd be agreeable to returning to Earth with him. Linda was gone, and Bonita was so exotic and mannerly. He still had trouble believing her background. She might be trained as a social worker, but that wasn't how she earned a living.

  "How did you happen to become a prostitute?" he asked.

  "I told you before," she said, shoving him and grinning.

  "I still have trouble believing it," he replied.

  "You also get turned on hearing about it," she said, grinning.

  Her perception was astounding. He watched her sit up next to him, her hands still caressing his body. She never stopped doing that when they were together.

  "I learned massage and just drifted from there. A friend of mine advised me on how to set up, and I started. There's more money in sex than just massage, and more in either than social work."