produced weapons of their own. There were lots of people around, most of whom were slaves, but the bad guys were easy to spot. They were the ones who had the guns and, given the element of surprise, Foley’s guerrilla fi?ghters had an excellent opportunity to kill them—which is what they proceeded to do.
Margaret hit the fl?oor as the bullets began to fl?y, heard someone yell something about the Earth Liberation Brigade, and realized the people she’d been looking for were all around her! But in order to deliver the tissue samples, she was going to have to survive, and that was why she decided to roll across the cold slimy fl?oor. Not to get away, but to get her hands on a loose pistol, that lay only inches from a dead man’s outstretched hand.
Being no expert with small arms, Margaret had something of an aversion to semiautomatics, which always came equipped with levers and buttons, but this was an easy-tofi?re energy pistol. She scooped the weapon up, rolled to her feet, and was looking for a target when a wounded Otto Tovar came lumbering straight at her. The slave master had taken a bullet in the left arm and was clearly in pain as he sought to escape.
Margaret saw the fear on the slaver’s face as she brought the weapon up. There was no recoil as the socialite pressed the fi?ring stud and sent an energy bolt straight through Tovar’s body. Even though the slave master was effectively dead, he took three additional steps before falling facedown on the fi?lthy fl?oor. Margaret felt pleased with herself, pointed the pistol at Tovar’s back, and fi?red again. She knew Benson would approve.
Most of the slavers were down, and there was a very real danger of killing the people they had come to rescue, so Foley yelled, “Cease fi?re!” over and over again until the fi?ring fi?nally stopped. That was when specially trained teams of civilian volunteers entered to care for the wounded, take charge of orphaned children, and spray-paint carefully phrased warnings onto the walls. “The Confederacy lives. Its laws will be enforced. The Earth Liberation Brigade.”
And it was during that phase of the operation that Admiral Chien-Chu arrived to inspect his protégé’s work. Which, from the billionaire’s perspective, had gone very well indeed. Not only had innocent people been rescued, but a line had been drawn, and word of what had happened to the slavers would soon begin to spread.
That’s where the industrialist was, giving Foley some orders, when a muck-smeared woman approached them. ChienChu was well acquainted with Charles Vanderveen, a man he regarded as a friend, and knew Margaret Vanderveen, too. But not so well that he’d seen her without any clothes on. “Hello, Sergi,” the socialite said calmly. “I’m Margaret Vanderveen, even if I don’t look the way I usually do, and I’ll bet you’re the man I’ve been looking for! I have reason to believe that at least some of the Ramanthians are dying from a contagious disease. Something they were exposed to here on Earth. And here are some tissue samples taken from a dead pilot.”
And with that, Margaret Vanderveen handed Sergi Chien-Chu her bra. It was, and would forever be, one of the few occasions when the Father of the Confederacy was rendered entirely speechless.
18.
So long as there is even one brave soul willing to confront tyranny then hope will live.
—Hoda Ibin Ragnatha
Turr truth sayer
Standard year 2202
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE REPUBLIC
Santana couldn’t fl?y, but felt as if he could, as he looked at the video that was playing on the inside surface of his visor. What he was seeing, and to some extent vicariously experiencing, was what it was like to be Lieutenant Mitch Millar. The cyborg was skimming the surface of the small kidney-shaped lake that separated Alpha Company from the clones on the far side. It was almost dark, which meant there was some light to see by, but not enough to make the recon ball stand out as Millar crossed the opposite shoreline and entered a grove of bristly trees.
Conscious of the fact that Santana could see everything he saw, the cyborg paused to “eye” the area to the south, before fi?ring his repellers, and rising straight up. Though similar to evergreens on Earth in that they had needles—the snow-clad trees surrounding the cyborg were signifi?cantly different as well. Because the grove that surrounded Millar was actually a single organism. While each vertical trunk had its own root system, it could share nutrients with neighboring structures via a complex system of interconnecting branches. So as the legionnaire leveled off about fi?fty feet above the ground, it was necessary to negotiate a maze of crisscrossing branches in order to work his way into the area where the renegades were camped. That made navigation diffi?cult but provided good cover as well. Finally, having arrived at the southernmost edge of that particular grove’s territory, Millar came to rest on some sturdy branches. As darkness crept in over the wintry landscape, both the cyborg and his commanding offi?cer had a bird’s-eye view of the enemy encampment below. Having located Colonel Six and his hostages days earlier, Millar had given a tracking device to Kira Kelly. Which, for reasons unknown, had gone off-line hours later. But Millar was no fool and, having planted a second device on one of the half-tracks, he had been able to lead his comrades to the frozen lake where the renegades were camped. Having chosen an open area, with good fi?elds of fi?re, Colonel Six had positioned his vehicles to reinforce all four sides of the perimeter. Gaps had been fi?lled with lengths of timber cut earlier in the day, backed by hand-dug fi?ring pits. The defenses weren’t fancy, but the offi?cer fi?gured they would be effective against anything up to, and including, a company-strength attack by the Ramanthians. Four fi?res had been lit and, as Millar and Santana looked down through a curtain of gently falling snow, they could see dark shapes moving back and forth between the domeshaped tents as the clones carried out maintenance on their equipment and cooked their dinners. It was a peaceful scene familiar to any soldier.
The problem, from Santana’s perspective was how to attack the encampment, especially given the presence of hostages. He could try and take all or part of Alpha Company around the edge of the lake. But groves of interlocking trees barred the way and would prevent his cyborgs from reaching the campsite until well after dawn. Then, if the clones were still in residence, they would be able to see the enemy coming.
Santana knew that a force of bio bods might be able to arrive quickly enough to carry out a night attack, but Santana lacked a suffi?cient number of troops to go up against the Seebos and their vehicle-mounted weapons. Not even with the marines and CVAs thrown in.
So, where does that leave us? the cavalry offi?cer wondered. The lake was frozen, but the ice wasn’t thick enough to support the weight of a T-2, much less a quad. So the direct route was out. Or was it? It was dark by then, and with his visor down, no one could see the offi?cer smile. Even though it was fairly warm inside the sleeping blanket, it was too cold to take off all her clothes, so Kelly was naked from the waist down, as she pulled Six deep inside her. The clone hadn’t been much of a lover initially, but practice makes perfect, and he had improved. It felt good to make love, to participate in an ancient act of renewal, especially given all the killing that was taking place around them. But even as the long, steady strokes continued, and the pleasure began to build, Kelly felt the now-familiar pangs of guilt, knowing that by destroying the tracking device, Hospital Corpsman Sumi had been sentenced to further captivity. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, Kelly had been unable to fi?nd the strength to tell Six about the recon ball’s visit. So she had been unfaithful to him as well.
Her lover’s movements became more urgent, causing the doctor to wrap her legs around his muscular body, and dig her fi?ngers into his back. There were no thoughts beyond that point, just a desperate need for release, which came as an explosion of pleasure. But the moment was soon over, the afterglow began to fade, and reality seeped in to replace it. It was then, with Six still inside her, that Kelly began to cry. Except for the circles of constantly shifting light that surrounded the fi?res, it was pitch-black outside the perimeter. So there was nothing for One-O to look at as he sat on top of the half-
track, and waited for the rest of his two-hour watch to pass. Thanks to the night-vision goggles he was wearing, the clone knew that there weren’t any bugs advancing across the surface of the lake, so all he had to do was work the charging lever on the .50-caliber machine gun every fi?ve minutes or so, and try to stay warm. That wasn’t easy since he couldn’t leave the gun. Such were the soldier’s thoughts when the ice directly in front of him exploded—and a fi?ftyton quad burst up out of lake!
Shards of shattered ice were still raining down on the camp as Private Ivan Lupo took three gigantic steps forward. The fi?rst and second carried him up onto the land, and the third came down on top of One-O, as the Seebo battled to bring the fi?fty into play. Both the clone and his half-track were crushed under the weight of the quad’s enormous foot pod.
Then, before anyone had time to react, servos whined as Lupo lurched forward. Sparks exploded into the air as his left forefoot landed in a fi?re, and the rattle of automatic fi?re was heard when a sentry opened up on the monster. Water continued to sheet off the cyborg’s hull, and steam rose off his back as he fi?red in return. Both the sentry and the Seebo standing next to him were vaporized as a quick fl?urry of energy bolts slagged their position. The ramp was down by that time, which allowed three T-2s, their riders, and six additional bio bods to enter the fray. Santana and Deker were the fi?rst to exit the quad and, because all of Colonel Six’s heavy weapons were aimed outwards, they could enter the encampment without taking fi?re. Millar had identifi?ed where Colonel Six was sleeping hours before, and put a spotlight on the tent from above, as Deker carried Santana over to it. Thanks to the Integrated Tactical Command system the legionnaire could make himself heard via all four cyborgs at the same time. “Hold your fi?re! Put down your weapons! You are under arrest!”
And with the huge quad crouched at the very center of the encampment, there was absolutely no doubt as to who the attackers were, or who would win if the clones chose to resist. Slowly, so as not to draw fi?re, the Seebos laid their weapons on the ground. A force of T-2s and bio bods quickly took charge of the clones and hurried to secure them. Santana was on the ground with his CA-10 leveled at the entrance of the fl?oodlit tent by the time Six emerged. He was still in the process of fastening his parka. The spotlight forced him to squint, but there was no mistaking the offi?cer’s defi?ant expression. The legionnaire’s voice was hard.
“Are you Colonel Jonathan Alan Seebo-62,666?”
The clone nodded as he looked around. “I am.”
“Pat him down and check his bar code,” Santana said grimly. “Let’s make sure he isn’t playing games again.”
It was Master Sergeant Dice Dietrich who came forward to do the honors. A search came up clean, and after scanning the bar code on the offi?cer’s forehead, the noncom was able to confi?rm the Seebo’s identity. “It’s him all right,” Dietrich declared, his breath fogging the air.
“Good,” Santana replied. “Stash the colonel inside Lupo, search him again, and chain him to a bulkhead. Put two guards on him—and don’t use any marines or CVAs. The jarheads might kill him—and CVAs might listen to his bullshit.”
“Roger that,” Dietrich said, and led the offi?cer away. That was when the tent fabric shook and Kelly emerged. Her hair was mussed, her face was pale, and it was her turn to squint into the light. “Don’t tell me,” Santana said. “Let me guess. . . . You’re Dr. Kira Kelly.”
Kelly looked into the offi?cer’s hard eyes and nodded.
“And Hospital Corpsman Sumi?” the legionnaire inquired. “Where is he?”
“I’m right here,” a voice said, and Santana turned to see that a navy medic was standing next to Staff Sergeant Briggs.
“The rotten bitch slept with Colonel Six,” the corpsman said accusingly. “And did everything she could to help him.”
Millar had descended to shoulder height by that time, and the cavalry offi?cer turned to look at him. “Get a statement from this man,” Santana instructed. “Record it and make copies. Give one of them to me.”
Millar bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir.”
Santana turned back to Briggs. “Have one of our females search her. Chain her to a track—and have a legionnaire guard her. Under no circumstances should she be allowed to speak to a marine, Seebo, or CVA without my permission. . . . Understood?”
Briggs nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Santana looked at Kelly. She stood with her head hanging, unwilling to make eye contact with those around her, obviously miserable. The legionnaire almost felt sorry for the doctor. Almost but not quite.
ABOARD THE YACHT PLAY PRETTY , OFF NAV POINT CSM-9703
The Play Pretty was a big yacht. Large enough to carry two shuttles that doubled as lifeboats, fi?fteen guests in addition to the two owners, and a crew of fi?ve. All of which made her special. But now, fl?oating off Nav Point CSM-9703, she was just one of more than six thousand vessels awaiting the order to enter hyperspace. And beauty, or lack of it, wasn’t going to play a role in who lived or died. In fact, the only things that were going to matter were speed, agility, and luck. As befi?tted a yacht of her status the Play Pretty’s control room was not only state-of-the-art but luxurious as well. Frank Simmons was seated in the chair normally occupied by the ship’s professional captain, and as the retired businessman looked up at the nav screen, he was amazed by the scene that continued to unfold in front of him. “Look at ’em, hon. . . . Thousands of ships. There’s freighters, tugs, liners, yachts, luggers, hell, I heard a goddamned garbage scow report in! And that ain’t all. . . . During the last half hour I’ve heard transmissions from clones, Hudathans, Prithians, Dwellers, and a frigging Turr!”
“There’s no need to swear,” Marsha Simmons replied for what might have been the millionth time. Frank was a rough, tough, self-made man, a miner, who had struck it rich out on the rim, and rarely uttered a paragraph that didn’t include at least one swearword. She came from old money, a family that looked down on Frank until the day when his net worth exceeded theirs, and the negative attitudes began to change. The society matron had carefully coiffed gray hair, big brown eyes, and a sweet face. And when Maylo Chien-Chu had gone looking for volunteers, Marsha was among the fi?rst people she called. For when it came to beings with big yachts, Marsha knew everyone worth knowing, and wasn’t afraid to call upon them. Which had everything to do with the fact that hundreds of ships like the Play Pretty were about to go into harm’s way as part of a last-ditch attempt to take as many civilians and troops off Gamma-014 as possible.
Thus, as Frank Simmons stared at the screen, he knew that a lot of the little ships wouldn’t be coming back. The strategy was to fl?ood Gamma-014’s system with more targets than the Ramanthians could handle and rescue as many people as possible. But even though the bugs wouldn’t destroy all of them, they would certainly nail some of them, and the Play Pretty was going in. Partly because Captain Carly Simmons was down on the planet’s surface—but mostly because it was the right thing to do.
“Here comes the feed,” Marsha said, as the snow on com channel 3 coalesced into a shot of Maylo Chien-Chu and locked up. “That’s a very nice jacket,” the society matron observed. “But she looks tired.”
And Maylo was tired. Her jet-black hair was perfect, as always, but there were dark circles under her large, almondshaped eyes, and she hadn’t been eating much of late. The resulting weight loss, plus her high cheekbones, made the businesswoman look gaunt. “First,” Maylo said as she looked into the camera, “I would like to thank each and every one of you on behalf of myself, my husband, General Bill Booly, President Marcott Nankool, the Senate, and the Confederacy’s citizens. Because the rescue attempt that you’re about to participate in will go down as one of the bravest, most selfl?ess acts of this very important war.
“Now, with that said, let’s run through the plan one last time. . . . Be sure to enter the exact sequence of numbers you were given into your NAVCOMP, because if you don’t, you may exit hyperspace right on top of another ship! And I
don’t have to tell you how unpleasant that would be.
“Once in-system you’re on your own. There won’t be any traffi?c-control system, so watch out for other vessels! The key is to follow a beacon down to the surface as quickly as possible, load as many soldiers as you can, and lift. Once clear of Gamma-014, enter hyperspace as quickly as you can. . . . The bugs won’t know where you’re going, so they won’t be able to follow.”
Maylo paused at that point. Her gaze was level, and her voice was calm. “A lot of us won’t be coming back. Those who do will fi?nd liners and hospital ships waiting to take your passengers. May all of our various gods bless this fl?eet, for in this valiant effort, our hearts beat as one.” And with that the video snapped to black.
“That’s for damned sure,” Frank Simmons said approvingly, and his wife sighed. PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE REPUBLIC
The allies had crossed Tow-Tok Pass, and were making their way down the other side, when charges that had been placed on slopes above them were detonated, sending an avalanche of snow down across the highway and into the gorge below. That brought the ten-mile-long column to an immediate halt, caused previously well-spaced vehicles to bunch up, and set the stage for the slaughter that General Akoto had in mind.
Upon hearing the initial explosion, followed by a groundshaking rumble, General Mortimer Kobbi swore bitterly. He was a third of the way back along the column at the time, giving one of a thousand pep talks, when the hammer fell. And it didn’t take a military genius to know what would happen next, as at least two dozen well-concealed snipers opened fi?re from the concealment of the snow-covered rocks high above, and Kobbi sent his T-2 racing toward the head of the column. Two crawlers, both equipped with dozer blades had been given the lead to deal with that sort of situation, but Major Perko was waiting with more bad news as the general arrived. “I’m sorry, sir,” Perko said, as Kobbi dismounted. “The blast was timed to hit the dozers. One survived—but the other was swept away.”
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