“I don't know how. Everything got ripped away, and…”
“Then let me help, Commander. Mike. Let me help.” She stood up, moving to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I'm locking the door. I don't think we should be disturbed for a while. Do you?”
“Why?” he asked. “Pity?”
“Try mutual need. Now are you going to take that jacket off, or shall I?”
Chapter 14
The train slowed to a stop, Cordova and Norris already standing by the hatch. If their counting was correct, they'd be just outside the city, the final station before the end of the line. Slowly, carefully, Cordova cracked open the seal, peering through the gap, white-covered trees and rough-hewn buildings scattered around outside. She gestured for Norris to follow, then opened the hatch all the way, carefully sliding out of the carriage and onto the raised platform by the track.
Out here, the train traveled far closer to the ground, only a dozen feet from the surface. Without thinking twice, she jumped, rolling with the force of the impact and sprinting for the cover of the trees. Behind her, Norris moved more slowly, and Cordova silently urged her on, spotting a pair of guards lazily making their way along the length of the train, conducting a desultory search. At last, Norris leapt, her landing harder than Cordova's, her right leg twisted by the force of the impact. Muttering under her breath, Cordova moved back out of cover, half-helping, half-dragging her to safety, her comrade walking with a decided limp.
“How bad?” she asked. “Can you walk on it?”
“I don't think it's broken, just sprained,” Norris replied. “Give me a minute.”
“I'm not sure we've got one,” Cordova said, looking around. One of the guards had noted the dropped hatch, was turning to his partner, scribbling something onto a datapad. “Damn. We're going to have to move, whether you're ready or not.”
“Can I help?” Petrov said, stepping out of the shadows. “I have a buggy waiting on the far side of the trees.” He looked at Norris, frowned, and tossed her a packet of pills, adding, “Take one. They should keep you moving for a while. I'm here to take you to a safe-house.”
Frowning, Cordova asked, “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“A friend,” he replied, his lips curling into a smile. “Mikhail Petrov. Call me Micky. Liz Saxon sent me to make sure you got down to the surface. I've had to go rogue myself, so I guess I'm in this as deep as you are right now.” Gesturing at the trees, he added, “If you've got another ride, then I'll go. Otherwise, I really think we ought to be moving. One of your shipmates is waiting.”
Shaking her head, Norris said, “I don't like this, Gabi. I don't like this at all. Every step of the way, he's been here.” Turning to Petrov, she asked, “If you had an escape route of your own, why couldn't we have taken it with you?”
“Because this way, we had two chances of getting a mission team into Ericsson City. We can have this debate later, but the train guards aren't going to hang around forever. By now they've already gone to get their supervisor, and he'll probably raise a general alert.”
“We'll trust you,” Cordova replied. “I guess we don't have any choice.”
“Smart,” he said. “A little late, but better than nothing.” He turned away, walking through the trees, while Cordova and Norris limped after him, the latter swallowing the proffered pill, nodding as it took effect. As promised, a buggy was waiting for them, sitting on a dirt-track bulldozed through the snow, paw-prints all around. With a wry grin, he added, “Sabre-tooth. Caused a little trouble earlier. They're coming into town a lot these days. Not as much game in the local area as there used to be.” He climbed into the buggy, gesturing for them to follow.
“Won't someone stop us?” Norris asked, sliding into a passenger seat.
“I'm still a ColSec administrator, at least on paper, and I've spent the last few weeks dropping heavy hints that I was about to take part in some sort of secret mission. Hopefully nobody will ask too many questions as long as I stay away from a security area.”
“We've got to get to the broadcast station,” Cordova said.
Nodding, he replied, “And we will, but not yet.” He glanced at his watch, and added, “Not until tomorrow. We can't move too quickly on this.”
“Tomorrow?” Norris asked. “What happens tomorrow?”
“What you don't know can't be extracted under interrogation if this goes wrong.” Tapping his cheek, he said, “I've got a suicide pill. Standard ColSec issue. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a nice trip to the dentist as soon as the war is over, but until then, I don't intend to risk being taken alive.” He shivered, and added, “I've seen what happens to people after interrogation. That isn't going to happen to me.”
“And how often have you done it to others?” Cordova asked.
“Too often,” he replied. “I can tell myself that I only did it to people who deserved it. Though it wouldn't be altogether true.” With a sigh, he said, “Out here, we spent more time catching criminals than rebels. Hell, with how things have gotten lately, more and more of us are on your side, Major.” Gesturing at the city ahead, he added, “These people are our responsibility, and it's time we stopped letting them down. They deserve a damn sight better than they're getting.”
He guided the buggy into the shanty town, driving past a collection of improvised shacks, the local population turning to stare at them as they approached. Cameras flashed from every street corner, tracking people as they walked along the side of the road. Most of them were wearing battered jumpsuits that looked as tired as their owners, only a few equipped with actual cold-weather gear, the lucky ones staying well clear of their brethren.
“Quislings?” Cordova asked.
“Funny, isn't it,” Petrov replied. “There's always someone willing to help grind their neighbors into the dirt for a quick payday. I wouldn't want to be in their place after we've liberated this planet. Though I suspect the same story will be told all across the Federation. Dirty things, revolutions. I just wish it wasn't necessary.” He pulled up in front of a larger building, a flashing neon image of a mammoth rising on two legs, rearing up to the sky with trunk and tusks high.
Looking around, Norris asked, “Just walk in? It's that easy?”
“Welcome to the place where nobody wants to know your name.” Petrov cracked open the door and walked inside, nodding at the muscle-clad bouncer standing by the door. After a moment's hesitation, Cordova followed, Norris limping after them. The bar was filled with people, mostly locals, a few spacers wearing the garish uniform of the Commerce Directorate. Old folk music played over the speakers, and the room reeked of stale beer, slopped on every counter.
Petrov walked up to the bar, and said, “Tell me about the rabbits, George.”
“I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” the bartender replied, sending a brief flicker of fear through Cordova.
“Sure you do,” he replied, holding up his hands. “About so big, covered in fur?”
“You talking about Harvey?”
“That's the guy. He was supposed to meet me at thirteen-hundred.”
With a nod, the bartender gestured at a side door, and added, “You won't be disturbed.”
“Thanks, Frank,” Petrov said, nodding at Cordova and Norris to follow him into the anteroom. Inside, sitting at a table, a familiar face was sitting, Kani staring with disgust at Cordova as she walked inside.
“Then you are alive,” he said. “Pity.”
Norris looked at the two of them, and Petrov said, “Miss Norris, permit me to introduce Squadron Leader Winston Kani, temporarily attached to the rebel space forces.”
“I thought it was you,” Kani said, his eyes still laser-locked to Cordova. “I didn't think I could possibly be right. The footage was extremely convincing.”
She nodded, sat at the table, and replied, “I
didn't know myself until I woke up on my way out here. I've been in a labor camp for the last few weeks, waiting to be reactivated.”
“After what you did, they should have left you there.” He looked up at Petrov, and asked, “How much of this do you know?”
“Only that Liz Saxon told me to keep an eye on both of you. She didn't give me many details.” He looked at the two of them, and asked, “Are we going to have a problem?”
“She and her father, the glorious rebel leader from whom she inherited her rank. Twenty years ago, they put Commander Curtis on ice. Doped him up with every tranquilizer in the book and then some, and stuck him in a dead-end hellhole on Titan just like this. They kept him in a chemical stupor for the last two decades. She only decided to wake him up when she thought he might be of use to him. Didn't work out quite like you planned, though. He's a lot more independent than you gave him credit for.”
“What I did...”
“Don't even try to justify it!” Kani snapped. “People like you are the very reason we need to have a revolution! It's the sort of thing ColSec would do, or the Political Directorate. We're meant to be better than that, damn it!” He took a deep breath, and said, “Commander Curtis relieved her of rank and position. If she hadn't 'died' in the attack on Sinaloa Station, she'd be rotting in the brig right now. I guess ColSec did it for us. Pity you managed to escape.”
“It worked,” Cordova replied. “Whatever you think of it, the plan did everything that it was intended to do, and it's brought us to the brink of victory. You think I haven't suffered myself? I got to watch my father shot in front of me at fourteen. Fourteen. Other kids got to go to school, to prom. I got to plan guerrilla raids. My sweet sixteen was an attack on a relay station.”
“Cry me a river,” Kani said. “You're no better than the people you're fighting. The dividing line between freedom fighter and terrorist is narrow enough at the best of times, and I know for sure which side you walk on. Count me out.”
Sitting between the two of them, Petrov replied, “We don't have time for this. Either of you. I don't expect you to like each other, but we're short as hell on trained operatives, and I can't have the only two we've got at each other's throats.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “I've got thirty-plus people, good fighters, ready to move at our signal, and I can bet that a thousand more will get into the game as soon as the action kicks off. We've got to trigger it, and more than that. The Fleet's coming back. Soon.”
“How soon?” Cordova asked.
“Thirty-eight hours. I got a signal from Canopus an hour ago. And that's all I got, no tactical or strategic information, just an approximate time.” He looked at the two of them again, and said, “If they're coming to liberate the planet, they're going to need all the help they can get. My latest information has six capital ships in orbit. Four Starcruisers, two auxiliaries.”
“Six ships?” Kani said. “How many squadrons?”
“Sixteen, counting local defense forces. I don't know how much your people have at their disposal, but that's more than you've used so far.”
Frowning, Kani replied, “To the best of our knowledge, we don't have anything like that much strength at our disposal. Commander Curtis must have something else in mind, though I don't know what. Defections, maybe?”
Shaking his head, Petrov said, “Nothing on the boards other than Castro. Auxiliary cruiser. A lot of fighter pilots, individual fleet personnel switching sides. No heavy hardware, though. After Coronado, the Political Directorate tossed everyone they weren't completely sure about into detention on Triton.”
“That'll help our fleet,” Cordova replied. “That's a lot of experienced personnel that they won't be able to count on. Rookie captains make mistakes. Maybe the Commander's counting on that to help him out.” She paused, then added, “He's counting on us.”
“With a full-scale insurgency taking place down here, their attention will be diverted. Maybe we can draw some of the heat our way. That's about the only thing we can do to help them right now, I figure. And it all comes down to that attack on the broadcasting station.” He glanced at his watch, then said, “Figure we hit the place at nineteen-hundred tomorrow. Right during the Evening News. We've got a few people on the control staff to help. That's about half an hour before the Fleet's scheduled to arrive.” He looked at Kani again, and asked, “Can you work with Major Cordova for that long?”
He glared at her, nodded, then said, “After this is all over, I know that Commander Curtis is going to want to have words with her. She doesn't get to slink off into the shadows. She pays for what she has done.”
“If that's what it takes, I agree.” Looking at the door, she asked, “Now what?”
“We wait,” Petrov said. “We're safe enough here, at least for now. What'll you have?”
Frowning, Norris asked, “We're just going to sit here and get drunk?”
“Unless you have a better idea.”
Chapter 15
The shuttle sailed through the sky, gently easing towards the awe-inspiring sight of Khiva Station, a long, narrow aerostat suspended under a huge helium balloon, permanently drifting through the clouds of Golgotha, a thousand miles above the surface. One of the wonders of the galaxy, rated with the failed Martian terraforming project and the Titanian space elevator as examples of the excess of the Oligarchs. It had become the heart of the Commonwealth, the home base for much of its fleet, and until now, no Federation citizen was known to have reached it.
Curtis ran his eyes over the structure, shaking his head in disbelief at the faded grandeur on display, running lights winking at their approach. The shuttle gently maneuvered onto the docking trapeze, clamps locking in position to drag it up into the station, Saxon looking at Curtis with the closest approximation of fear he'd yet seen on her face. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a deliberate and overt demonstration of superiority, but beneath the surface, he could see the reason why the Commonwealth had never managed to invade the Federation. The paintwork was old, worn out, strange noises coming from the docking ports, and as his shuttle was deposited on the deck, he looked around at a collection of shuttles and fighters that might have been ripped from the pages of a historical textbook.
The door slid open, and he walked over to the airlock, a pair of crimson-uniformed guards waiting outside, standing at parade rest. One of them gestured towards an elevator, and with a quick glance at Saxon, he followed them across the deck, knowing that within moments, any secrets on his shuttle would have been carefully gleaned by the maintenance crews. One look at the ships on display told him that they knew their job, all perfectly serviced and ready for action. Skilled technicians, who deserved better equipment to work with than they had.
“In here,” one of the guards said, gesturing at the open elevator. “It'll take you to your meeting. Every step you take will be tracked. Any attempt to go elsewhere, and you'll find out how long it takes to fall to the surface.”
“Have you considered a job as a tour guide?” Saxon asked. “I think you've missed your calling.” She followed Curtis into the elevator, the doors slamming shut as the mechanism jerked into life. “Sluggish. Poor maintenance.” She gestured at the control panel, two buttons missing, and said, “All of this looks impressive, but I give them ten years at most before they start running into real trouble out here.”
“Agreed,” Curtis said. “They're on their last legs, and they know it. That's one more thing in our favor. If they wait much longer to launch their attack on the Federation, they won't have anything left to fight with.” He frowned, then added, “They need us every bit as much as we need them.”
“Go ahead and push that line, but be careful how far you go with it. They'll want to return to our space on their terms, not ours.” She paused, and asked, “Just how far are you willing to go, anyway? What are you willing to concede to them?”
Knowing that they were being monitored, he replied, “
We're fighting to free the people of the Federation from tyranny, and to establish an independent state from the Colonies. I'll go along with anything that doesn't detract from that goal.”
Nodding, Saxon said, “That's about what I thought you'd say. Just hold onto that thought.”
The door slid open, and they stepped into a waiting room, a pair of guards wearing riot gear standing on either side of the elevator, rifles at the ready. Curtis turned and snapped a salute, and the two men instinctively returned it, Saxon watching from the side.
“Carry on,” he said, heading to the office door, noting the approving look on the faces of the guards. If his guess was right, they didn't get many salutes from senior officers. Not in the playbook of the old Oligarchy. He glanced at Saxon, then tapped for admittance, waiting for a moment before the door slid open. Inside, three people, two men and a woman sat at a long table, all wearing Commonwealth dress uniform, with another man sitting alone by the side of the room.
“Commander Curtis?” the woman said, “I'm Commodore McKinnon.”
“My pleasure, ma'am,” Curtis replied, nodding his head.
Gesturing at the bald man to her left, she said, “Admiral Anthony Crawford, Director of Fleet Operations, and ex officio member of the Supreme Council.”
“Commander,” Crawford said. “I speak for our government, and under the circumstances, I have been empowered with deciding whether or not to reach an agreement with you. Anything I decide will be ratified, I can assure you of that.” He looked at Saxon, and said, “I'm surprised to see one of our operatives with you.”
Starcruiser Polaris: Terrible Swift Sword Page 10
