by Chris Bunch
“But nobody was home.”
“What’s Hedley’s explanation?”
“He got one about dawn,” Njangu said. “Seems the frequency is one that’s on the old books as common to Larix and Kura’s military.”
“Urgh.”
“Just that,” Njangu agreed. “Somebody, one of Redruth’s messenger boys, probably slid into the Cumbre system, got a report from an agent, or maybe gave an agent instructions, and headed out again. With a blurter, there would have been time enough to transmit a whole goddamned order of battle, either way.
“You remember we never did nail whoever was on Dharma smuggling guns to the ‘Raum from Larix/Kura during the uprising.”
“I remember very well,” Garvin said sourly. “So we know something, but we don’t know what it means.”
“Welcome to military intelligence. Now, doesn’t that make your hangover worse?”
• • •
“I’ve got something interesting,” Mil Angara told Caud Rao, “which I don’t have the slightest explanation for. Nor does Hedley.”
“Which means there might be something honorable or decent about the matter if neither of you can understand it,” Rao said.
“The Musth have started opening their consulates, which they’re calling places of information,” Angara said.
“I’ve already gotten reports on that.”
“Did anybody point out where these offices are being located?”
“Just in various city centers.”
“Where in the city centers is what’s maybe the problem,” Angara said. “I could bring up a projection if you want, but all that you really need to know is those places of information are in really cruddy parts of town.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Maybe the Musth look for cheap real estate,” Rao offered. His executive officer didn’t laugh. Rao thought for a moment.
“You know,” he offered, “if I were looking to create an incident, I might want to have my people right out in the open, where any asshole with a grudge could take a shot, which would account for the Musth wanting thessse counsssulssshipsss,” Rao mimicked. “What batsssshit.”
“Yeh.”
“And if I didn’t give a damn about taking a casualty or two, to make sure it was a real proper incident, I might suggest my people take walks through skid rows, wiggling their little heinies with bells on. I’d assume a secretary, or whatever the hell the Musth equivalent is, getting hisslashher ass in a crack would get things nice and stirred up.”
“Shit,” Angara said. “Not unlikely if that secretary’s office happens to be right next to Vagrant Central.”
“Exactly.”
Angara sighed. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“As if we don’t have enough already on the plate,” Rao said. “ ‘Kay. What we’ll have to do is put more troops on provost duty, making sure they ‘just happen’ to wander past the Musth areas around, say, dusk.”
• • •
“Boss,” Lir called. “Line three. Some muckety named Glenn. Wouldn’t say what he wants.”
Garvin glared at the two screens in front of him, minimized them, touched a sensor. The face of a used-up cherub appeared.
“This is Alt Jaansma,” Garvin said.
“Gy Glenn here,” the man said. “I’m senior partner with Glenn & Lansky, Attorneys-at-Law.”
“How may I be of service?”
“One of my clients, who wishes to remain anonymous, is quite patriotic,” the lawyer said. “The client feels that RaoForce isn’t sufficiently funded by the Planetary Government.”
“I couldn’t argue with him on that.”
“Because of this, my client is making a donation directly to the Force, in the sum of one million credits.”
Garvin blinked, scrabbled for his poker face.
“Pardon?”
“You heard me correctly.”
“That’s … well, that’s very nice, I guess, anyway,” Garvin said. “But I’m not the commander of the Force, Mister Glenn. Mil Prakash Rao — ”
“I’m aware of who your CO is,” Glenn said. “I should have been more specific. My client’s donation is specifically tagged to Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company, RaoForce Headquarters.”
“What the hell … sorry, who the hell is your client?”
“As I said before, the client wishes to remain anonymous.”
“A million … what the blazes would I&R do with a million credits? Perhaps your client doesn’t know Infantry and Reconnaissance has only one hundred thirty-four men and women.”
“My client is familiar with your personnel roster.”
“Uh, Counselor, what is this money to be used for?”
“My client said it was to go to, and I quote directly, ‘the betterment of the men and women of the I&R unit to perform their duties and living conditions, in any way the commander of that unit deems appropriate’ end quote.”
“You mean, I could build a brand-new barracks for the company with the money, if Mil Rao approves?”
“You could.”
“Or I could divvy it out to my troops, which’d give each of them, what, eight grand, let them blow it on whoopee, and your client wouldn’t give a damn?”
“My client might think that was somewhat unusual, but no, there would be no objections.”
“This is real irregular,” Garvin said.
Glenn nodded. “Exactly my comment when my client proposed the matter.”
“Obviously,” Garvin said, “I can’t make any comment about this right now, certainly not until I talk to my superiors.”
“That was anticipated,” the lawyer said.
“I’ll call you back after I do,” Garvin said.
“I’ll be expecting your call.”
“Wait!” Garvin said. “Is one of your firm’s clients Mellusin Mining, by any chance?”
A rather wintry smile touched the lawyer’s lips.
“We have represented that conglomerate in certain matters. Good day, Alt Jaansma.”
The screen blanked.
“Well toss me in the shitter and call me a chocolate bar,” Garvin muttered, as the door banged open, and Njangu wheezed in, wearing running shoes, shorts, and a sweaty undershirt, and slumped into a chair.
“Phys conditioning’s nothing more than stobor poop. Set an example my left testicle! Give me a nice lazy fellow who lets the other clown bust his ass running and jumping, then backshoots him while he’s puking! Glad to get in here out of sight, where the troops can’t see my lungs bleed out my nose.”
“Brace yourself,” Garvin said. “I’ve got a real surprise.”
Two hours later, Garvin’s shock wasn’t any less. After consultation with Mil Rao and the Force’s judge advocates, the grant was deemed perfectly legitimate.
“So what are we gonna do with Jasith’s money?” Garvin asked plaintively.
Njangu shrugged.
“Throw one big motherin’ party,” he suggested. “Better question: What are you going to do about Jasith, since it looks like she’s maybe trying to say she’s sorry the only way she knows how?”
• • •
The sea was phosphorescent, small waves of pure light hissing up the beach. Two Musth walked just at the water’s edge, talking quietly.
Camp Mahan glowed dimly in the center of the bay to their right, Leggett’s boardwalk to the left, and Shelburne pushed a gleaming finger into the ocean ahead.
Behind the Musth darkness moved, became four men, moving quickly if unsteadily. One slipped, went flat in the sand, and swore.
The Musth turned, saw the intruders.
“Who isss your busssiness?” one demanded.
A raucous laugh came, and a hurled bottle thudded into one Musth’s side. Her head darted, ears cocked, eyes reddening in anger.
“Leave usss,” her companion ordered, “or be killed.”
Another one of the four laughed.
“Yer bluf
fin’, not carryin’ yer weapons belts. We been watchin’, waitin’ to take our chance.”
“Get in wi’ em, Sayid,” a man shouted, and one man sprang forward, a belt knife in his hand.
The female Musth went to the side, her claws out, and she slashed, ripping Sayid’s shoulder open. He screeched, stumbled, and fell, rolling. The other Musth kicked at him, missed, and he came back to his feet.
Two men were on the female, one swinging a club, the other looking for an opening with a broken bottle.
The phosphorescence came alive, and a monster, wearing only swimming trunks, came out of the ocean, growling, and, moving very fast, was on the threesome.
The man with the bottle screamed as his arm snapped, then his breath died as a massive fist smashed ribs like twigs. The one with the club didn’t have his club anymore, and the end of it went into his face. He clawed at it, fell.
The fourth man pulled a small pistol from his waistband, aimed, and the monster Ben Dill spun inside his reach, pulled his gun arm hard, yanking it out of its socket, then head-butted the gunman in the face.
Sayid still stood there, knife ready, waving it back and forth.
“Don’t get any closer, or — ”
Dill didn’t waste energy talking, but snapkicked up. His hoof caught Sayid just short of the elbow, and the knife was gone. Sayid turned, trying to run, but Dill’s huge hand had him by the hair, jerked him backward across his knee, and Sayid’s spine snapped.
The man who’d had a club and a face was on his knees, whining, as four men and women in civilian clothes ran up. All four of them had pistols.
“Stop!” one shouted. “Confederation Military!”
“Confederation goddamned late!” Dill roared back. “Ben’s playtime now!”
He kicked the man on his knees in the chest, knocking him flat, then deliberately high-stepped forward, foot turning, and stamp-kicked down, into the man’s throat, crushing his hyoid.
Dill turned, saw the four holding guns on him, sneered.
“Little late, like I said.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Stef Bassas, I&R, RaoForce demanded, recognizing the hulking officer.
“Going for a swim before a nice off-duty dinner, not that it’s any of your business,” Dill growled. “And aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Sorry,” Bassas said, “sir.”
“Better,” Dill said, recognized another of the I&R team. “Mahim, isn’t it?”
“Yessir,” the woman said, putting her pistol away.
“What’s the excuse?”
“Half a dozen left their consulate at the same time,” the woman said. “We picked the wrong ones to fly cover on, not figuring anybody’d try to drygulch someone around the Shelburne. Obviously, we were wrong.”
“You’re a medic, aren’t you?”
“Yessir.”
“You interested in tending to any of these casualties?”
“Don’t know, sir,” Mahim said. “Are any of them still alive?”
Dill looked around. “He’s gone … he’s gone … he’s a lunger and probably gone, but you could mess with him if you wanted … the guy I head-butted’ll probably be okay, even if his mommy won’t recognize him.”
“Not really that interested, sir, thanks for the offer.”
“Tell you what,” Dill went on. “You people go on about your business … which I assume is protecting Musth … and I won’t snitch you off for being a little on the laggard side, ‘kay?”
“What about them?” Bassas asked, pointing a thumb at the two Musth.
“You let me worry about my friends,” Dill said. “And next time, do a better job of bodyguarding, or I’ll do something about it after I get through personally wringing your necks.”
“Yessir,” Bassas said, and the four faded into the night.
“Sorry for what happened,” Ben Dill said. “This is generally a pretty safe place to be.”
“You came in,” one Musth said. “Helping usss.”
“Good eyes,” Dill said. “Yeh. So what?”
“I do not know we would do that for you.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.”
“And, if I heard your wordsss correct, thossse othersss are sssoldiers, too, and asssigned to protect us? Without our knowing about it? Without telling our warrior leadersss?”
“That’s an interesting guess,” Dill said.
“We are in your debt.”
“ ‘At’s right,” Dill said cheerfully.
“How may we charge that debt?”
“You mean discharge, I hope.”
“Repay isss the word I sssought.”
“You have any Confederation money?”
One Musth fished in a belt pouch.
“We have been given sssome.”
“It better be enough to buy me a drink. C’mon, you two. Let’s go slumming.”
The Musth looked at each other in what might have been puzzlement, then followed the enormous human toward the beckoning hotel.
• • •
“Gentlemen,” Mil Rao said. “Have a seat.”
“This is Dr. Froude,” Hedley said.
“Doctor,” Rao said, “I’m sorry I haven’t taken the opportunity to meet you, but things’ve been very hectic.”
“On my front as well,” the mathematician said.
“I assume this has something to do with the navigation cylinder that was found?”
“Unfortunately not, sir,” Hedley said. “That matter’s proceeding apace. This is something else, and something a lot worse.”
Rao’s congeniality vanished.
“Go ahead.”
“Dr. Froude told me, just after he volunteered to help us with the charts Ho Kang acquired, he wished the Force would use science more than we do, that we should analyze things more systematically. Something came up, and I decided to take advantage of his offer.”
Hedley was watching his language around his CO with a civilian witness.
“I happened to notice something, going over an I&R training-mission report I thought was a bit strange. I checked other reports back as far as the initial Musth arrival. Most of them reported the same thing as the first one: when I&R teams went out, at some point they saw a Musth aksai nearby.
“No interference or contact was made with our soldiers at any time by the Musth, incidentally.
“However,” Hedley said, face most grim, “two things became apparent: These aksai only materialized after the unit had operated its com.
“Dr. Froude, what is the probability of those appearances being purely by chance?” Rao asked.
“So close to zero the difference is immaterial.”
“The Musth have broken our standard code,” Rao said. “That is just the sort of intel I needed before midday meal.”
“Worse, sir,” Hedley said. “I ordered I&R to use other codes, which they did. And for two weeks, the Musth still showed up, just like clockwork mice. Then they stopped coming at all. Obviously they’ve got somebody on their intelligence staff who got worried we might be on to them, and changed the rules.”
“How many of our codes are they reading?”
“Most of the normal low-level ones,” Hedley said. “Plus our emergency code … and the code used between this headquarters and PlanGov for emergencies.”
“This is not good,” Rao said. “Not good at all. I wonder how long they’ve been reading our mail?”
“Since the rebellion, at least, sir,” Hedley said. “I’ve taken a hard look at some of their miraculous appearances, which get a lot less miraculous with what we have now.”
“All right,” Rao said. “So we’ve got to change the codes from top to bottom.”
“Yes and no,” Hedley said. “Doctor Froude presented an option, and I think we ought to consider it.”
• • •
The man who used the name Ab Yohns sat in a nondescript lifter down the street from the Musth embassy in Leggett. He could just as easily have surveille
d the waterfront building with a planted camera from his comfortable house in the mountain villa of Tungi, outside Leggett, to do his thinking. His campaign was still nowhere near action phase.
But he found it helped if he could see the enemy, or at any rate have some reminder of who they were.
He considered the possibilities he’d uncovered, and of Protector Redruth’s orders.
He frankly thought Redruth, if not mad, to be deluded and certainly egomaniacal, even though he’d never met the man. So the Musth had spoiled Redruth’s plans for the moment. So? There were other moments.
And as for his latest orders … the operator thought that would more likely worsen the situation, possibly irretrievably, rather than improve it for Redruth.
But that was none of Yohns’ concerns. He prided himself that he always carried out an assignment, assuming it wasn’t suicidal and the credits were good.
He’d done many well-paying jobs for Redruth, from the Confederation to this Cumbre system, and thought it somewhat amusing he’d never had a face-to-face with the man who’d made him fairly rich.
So he’d continue to serve, as long as the credits flowed, and the danger wasn’t suicidal.
If the worst case did happen, as had so nearly occurred when he’d nearly been caught making his last transmission, Yohns had a small yacht in a hidden bunker deep in the jungle, and Redruth would send a ship to pick him up once he exited the Cumbre system.
So if what Redruth had ordered ruined Cumbre … Yohns mentally shrugged, without ever moving. The only sign of life the napping rustic showed was the flicker of his eyes, watching the consulate in the lifter’s rearview scope.
The problem was, he decided, there wasn’t a target he could reach yet that was big enough to fulfill Redruth’s needs.
But there would be, he knew.
• • •
“Sir,” the technician reported, “one of our remote sensors on M-Cumbre reports ships in-system.”
“What’s the ID?” Rao asked.
“Musth, sir. They match the profile of the mother ships they came back in. Except that one is big. Really big.”
“Do you have an orbital prediction?”
“Affirm, sir. Destination is suggested to be E-Cumbre.”
The Musth headquarter world.
“Continue observation,” Rao ordered, and touched the red sensor.
