As he put on his stolen goods, he realized he was breaking the rules now. So be it. The situation had forced him to it, and he couldn’t see another way to do what needed to be done. He wouldn’t get near the TOC without some sort of disguise; he’d seen the way the others on base had reacted to Jordan’s white-pawed dogs. If pretending to be one would help him bluff his way into the TOC, he intended to do so. Afterwards, he’d take whatever punishment a court martial prescribed; justice was justice. But justice wasn’t what those poor fraggers out on the streets were getting.
As a last touch, Tom took the guard’s utility knife and sliced the unit patch from the MP’s uniform. Using cement from the MP’s emergency kit, Tom slapped the patch onto his own left shoulder. It was sloppy and wouldn’t pass inspection, but he wasn’t expecting to undergo inspection. Reversing his rank tabs from their dull black field side to on-base brassy, he was ready.
Though it made him uncomfortable to see it happen, his pretense opened doors for him and passed him by guard station after guard station without question. The rank tabs got him past questions that the white helmet and belt didn't, and the 3412th patch got him past what his major’s leaves didn’t.
As he reached the edge of the tarp covering the TOC, Trahn and the President were just getting up from their seats in the heart of the command center. Secret Service guards took their cue from the white-gloved Military Police, and didn’t question Tom as he entered. As Tom crossed the inner white-sound privacy barrier, Trahn and the President shook hands, as if sealing a deal. Trahn was talking.
“I’m glad you’ve finally come around, Mr. President. There just isn’t any other viable alternative.”
This was it. Now or never. Tom raised his hand to point at Trahn, to accuse him before the President.
>NEWSNET FEED COVERA* * * *STATIC* * * *
-[23:17:02/8-25-55]
LIVE ITRU BROADCAST TRUTHCAST
“This is independent TRU Broadcast Truthcast bringing you the news that’s too true for NewsNet. Uncovered for you tonight: the great covert Confed land grab. Listen and learn!
“For years, deckers from the Confederated American States have been working subtle propaganda within our databases. Just what sort of propaganda? Call up an atlas with a map of North America, and take a look at the border between CAS and UCAS. Look to the eastern part. Odds are you’ll find the boundary marked along the Potomac more than a few miles north of reality. Seekers of the truth, this fiction will become reality if the minions of southern domination have their way!
“Independent TRU has learned tonight of a Confed conspiracy to rip North Virginia and the South Potomac regions of the Federal District, out of the UCAS. Without knowing it, you’ve been soaking for weeks in the preliminary steps and rhetoric, getting marinated for tonight’s burning fires. You’ve been prepped and primed, cozened and misled and taken along the path. Such fools mortals be! Awake, awake! Damnation awaits those who let others dictate their lives! I tell you true, seekers!
“Damnation, too, for those who aid the evil aggressors. Who? You know them. By their acts they show themselves. They are all around you. Look to the politicians. Look to the corporations. And, yea, I tell you, with great sadness in my heart and no little shame, to look also to those sworn to defend us, for the military walks hand in hand with those who wish to take what is ours. Let your eyes be opened, seekers, as Independent TRU names names and\” * * * *static* * * *<<<<<
>MILNET OFFICIAL NEWS AND INFORMATION FEED RUMOR CONTROL BULLETIN
Captured “Conscience of the Country” terrorists insist that stories of a CAS-military conspiracy are merely rumors planted by the “blue berets” to spread distrust of the government and the military.<<<<<
22
The runners were caught in the tumbled truck, forced to take what cover they could against the fire from the soldiers who’d ambushed them. Markowitz started shooting back; so did someone else from deeper inside the truck. Andy kept his head low. Being nearer to the back of the truck, he was in danger of being shot by both sides if he moved.
There wasn’t much he could do but cower. He didn’t have a gun, not even his replica Narcoject. He’d lost that to the ork gang and, with the press of events, he hadn’t gotten around to replacing it with anything more useful. Even if he’d had a gun, he wouldn’t have known how to do more than point it, pull the trigger, and then hope he hit something. It was not like he’d had firearms training; he’d never needed it.
He wasn’t the only one not shooting at the soldiers. Cinqueda crouched behind the barrier of ITRU’s tumbled physical assets. Head bent down, she looked as though she were mediating. Or praying. One of her hands was stretched above her head, the tips of the fingers protruding just above the top of the barrier, almost as though she were reaching out in supplication to beings above.
Andy noted a small black tube no more than two centimeters long between her index and central fingers. A thin wire ran from the cylinder into an open port on her wrist. He’d read about such things. She was using a tiny camera to view the scene without exposing herself. The pickup must be transmitting an image of the scene at the truck’s rear directly to her optics. Andy wondered if the transmission filled her vision, or if the pickup’s image was inset within a normal eye view. Whichever way it worked, he wished he had one so he could see what was going on.
In a motion as smooth as quicksilver flowing across steel, Cinqueda uncoiled. Her arm snapped forward and her big knife flew. Then she dropped back behind the cover, resuming her crouch. She might never have moved. It had happened so quickly Andy wondered if he’d only imagined her moving, but her weapon definitely was gone. Someone outside the truck screamed. Andy risked a glance and saw one of the soldiers stumbling back, the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest. Ballistic cloth was good against bullets, but not much protection against low-velocity edged weapons.
A bullet hummed past Andy’s head and he ducked back under cover. When he opened his eyes, Cinqueda was looking at him. “Not your party, kid. Stay down.”
Good advice. He nodded.
“Grenade coming.” she commented casually. “Hold fire, Marksman.”
She sprang up, over the barrier. Her hand blurred, reaching out and meeting something arcing into the truck. It was as neat a move as you might see in a zero-G handball match. The object, the grenade, reversed its course. Cinqueda did not; she landed, crouched, by the ruin of the truck’s back door.
Outside the truck, the soldiers were reacting to the sudden change in the situation and ducking for cover. Faster than Andy could have. They must have enhanced reflexes to move so quickly. All Andy could do was watch.
Cinqueda moved even faster than the soldiers. Instead of leaping to the ground, she reached up and grabbed the edge of the truck’s roof. More graceful than a gymnast, she swung herself up, wrapped her stomach around the edge of the roof, and with a shove, disappeared from sight.
The grenade exploded with a flash and a bang. Smoke billowed on the street. Andy caught a whiff of acrid smoke that made his nose burn and his eyes sting.
“We’re too cramped in here. Get out while we’ve got cover.” Markowitz ordered. “The smoke won’t last long.”
Something white and furry and about the size of a small dog shot past Andy and out the back of the truck. Andy went, too, when Markowitz crawled forward and gave him a shove. He landed badly and fell, his ankle sending shrieks of pain through his leg. Rolling over, clutching his leg, he felt something wet and warm under him. Blood. He’d come up against the soldier who’d gone down from Cinqueda’s knife throw. The man’s visor was half open and Andy could hear him gasping. The stench of vomit was overpowering. Andy retched himself.
“Negative capture option.” groaned the wounded soldier. “Execute.”
“Shit.” Markowitz said. He sprang back to the truck. “Everyone out! Everyone out of the truck!”
He disappeared briefly inside, coming back with Cheese in tow, urging him to move. Wailing wordles
sly, the newsman resisted when Markowitz tried to shove him out of the truck. Markowitz holstered his pistol and gripped Cheese with both hands. Swinging the overweight newsman like an Olympian heaving the hammer, Markowitz flung him from the back of the truck.
“Incoming!” Cinqueda shouted.
Markowitz dived after the newsman.
Something flashed at the corner of Andy’s vision, headed for the truck. Instinctively, he hugged the ground and covered his head. The explosion washed heat and burning, stinging fragments over him as it lifted him and tossed him, rolling, down the street.
Andy lay on his back, staring at the overcast sky. New smoke was rising to smudge the heavens. Ears roaring, he tried to ask what had happened, but he could barely hear his own voice. Markowitz, rising shakily beside him, obviously hadn’t heard him speak. Andy looked back at what was left of the truck. It was a burning, ragged heap.
A new motion caught Andy’s dazed attention. One of the soldiers was running away. The man cut into an alley. Andy thought he’d escaped, but he came right back out, moving faster than he had going in. Andy caught a glimpse of something big and gray, with sharp glittering teeth and glowing red eyes, bounding after the soldier. But whatever it was stayed at the alley mouth as the soldier dashed back onto the street.
Markowitz rose to his knees, drew a bead, and drilled the soldier before he’d gotten ten meters down the street. A ragged figure capered out of the shadows and kicked the fallen soldier. Markowitz swung his aim to the alley, but instead of firing, he lowered his weapon. “SpellMan?”
The little shaman approached. His eyebrows wiggled as he wrinkled his nose several time in rapid succession. “On the mark, Marksman.”
Cinqueda reappeared. “Got the missile man.” she said, tossing down the Steyr she'd obviously acquired from one of the soldiers. Fire from the burning truck reflected on her chrome eyes. “Threat situation is now negative.”
That was when Andy realized there was no more gunfire. He looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Kit had made it out. She was examining Markowitz, frowning at the small wounds he’d acquired and showing no concern for Andy, sitting on the ground and hugging his ankle. Cheese knelt in the middle of the street, staring at the smoking wreck of his truck. Tears rolled down his cheeks, tracking runnels in the dirt and soot caked onto them, but he made no sound. Of the rigger Mouse and Kid Tech Eng, there was no sign. Four figures in urban camouflage lay sprawled at various points around him. None moved, not even the one whom Cinqueda had spitted with her knife; he lay still as she plucked the blade free and wiped it on his uniform.
“Who were these guys?” Andy asked, watching Markowitz wander from body to body, examining them. “Those weren’t Army uniforms. The camo pattern is wrong.”
“Strangers in their own land.” Kit said enigmatically. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Cinqueda stooped over the man she’d killed with her knife. Her chrome fingernails flashed as she slashed at the corpse’s shoulder. His uniform sleeve fell away, revealing a bare shoulder upon which was tattooed the Stars-and-Bars.
“Confed Marine Ferrets.” Markowitz had the expression of someone who’d just tasted something unpleasant. “God, I hate it when I’m right, sometimes.”
“We all hate it when you’re right sometimes.” Cinqueda said. “If you knew the opposition’s ID, you should have told me. I’ve got a brother in the Ferrets.”
Remembering the way she’d torn into the marines, all anonymous in their helmets and uniforms, Andy was appalled. “He’s not one ...”
“Of these? No.” Cinqueda turned her chrome stare on Kit. “I should have been told.”
Kit looked away sheepishly. Her voice was tiny. “I would have told you if your brother was among them.”
“You’ll get the bill.” Cinqueda said and turned her back on them.
She walked away into the night from which she’d come. No one protested or moved to stop her. Markowitz stripped another belt from a corpse and fell to examining it. SpellMan grabbed the one Markowitz dropped and looked furtively around to see if anyone was watching him belt it on under his jacket. When his eyes met Andy’s, he gave a toothy grin, but didn’t let go of the belt. Andy looked away. He’d looted bodies in his virtual shadowruns, but this was different. It was—he didn’t know—disrespectful somehow.
“Can these guys really be Confed marines?” Andy asked. “They recognized me, and were talking about Osborne when they busted in. The marines don’t work for Telestrian.”
“What’s to wonder?” Markowitz said without looking up from his search. “We already knew Telestrian was playing cozy with the Confeds and playing rough with us. Someone had to get these guys and their equipment across the border, and it’s easier for a multinational to put transport across a border than it is for a foreign military.” Markowitz tossed away the web belt whose pouches he’d been examining. “Too bad we don’t have one of them left to wring the details from. We might have been better off if Cinqueda’s brother was here.”
“No.” Kit said. She didn’t elaborate.
Markowitz was right; there were too many unanswered questions. “How’d they know where we were?”
“You didn’t watch the walls! They have eyes, they have ears, but not all of them belong to the bad guys. Lucky you!” SpellMan grinned. “They heard, I heard. They came, I came. Lucky you!”
“I understand that you followed them, but how did they know where we were?”
“The old haunts are the good haunts, but not all times are good. The Ferrets hunted Marksman. They hunted the Marksman’s old places and left their tiny techno spies behind. Too many to watch, too many. So they sit and wait, I sit and watch. They listened, hearing about your plan to broadcast. They told a suit, and the suit told them to be ready. ‘Watch,’ the suit said. ‘Watch for Walker. If he is there, bring me his head.’ When you talked, the suit told them where to find you. The Ferrets are spread all about, and their closest ran to the hunt. I whispered to the City and went where they went, but faster. I prepared. Then, much heroics. The rest, as they say, is docudrama.” SpellMan preened, picking specks of dust from his filthy jacket.
“The suit was Osborne?” Andy had to know.
“No names, just a theme. Happy music. ‘We’re stepping out and making our place,’ ” SpellMan sang.
Andy’s throat was dry. He knew that song. He’d sung it. The Adventure of the Future. “Telestrian Cyberdyne.” And they’d ordered his death. To them, he had no part in the future.
“Not news.” Markowitz pointed out.
Any last thoughts that Telestrian might be innocently implicated in the terrible events of the last few days were dead. He’d wanted to believe their involvement was a mistake, that they’d been duped by the Confed government. But dupes didn’t offer their services so freely, and dupes didn’t ask for the killing of those who’d been their own just for being involved. He'd never thought the corporation perfect, but he’d thought it was basically good, or at least committed to caring for its own. But he'd been one of its own and the corporation had sent men to summarily kill him.
A heavy truck in Army drab rumbled across the intersection a block down.
Andy felt Kit’s hand on his arm. He looked down and saw her staring at where the truck had passed. “What is it?”
“Danger for your blood.”
* * *
The MPs and Secret Service men fell all over themselves grabbing Tom. He didn’t struggle as they grappled him, hoping they’d realize he wasn't hostile. That didn’t save him from having his arms twisted painfully behind him. The jurisdictional dispute ended once he was restrained, both security teams uniting in dragging him out of the TOC.
“Halt! Let him be.” Trahn ordered. “Major Rocquette, what’s this all about?”
Trahn hadn’t been fooled for an instant by Tom’s disguise. But if he knew who Tom was, why was he willing to let him speak? It didn’t matter—this was probably the only chance he’d get. “I came to speak w
ith you, Mr. President. It’s important.”
Steele looked Tom over and turned to Trahn. “What’s this all about, General?”
“Let’s hear what he has to say, Mr. President. If it’s important, the source doesn’t matter much, does it?” Trahn looked at Tom with cold black eyes. “Just what is it that you have to tell the President, Major Rocquette?”
“It’s a matter of national security.” Tom told him. He started pouring out in detail what Andy had learned about the CAS bribes to Governor Jefferson, the connection between Telestrian and CAS, and how Confed agents had operated to eliminate the runners who’d uncovered the information. Given where he was, he felt free to point out that military intelligence had uncovered significant amounts of Confed weaponry among the Compers. He suggested that the uprising by the Comp Army could very well have been instigated by Confed activists, pointing out how the insurrection seemed to be fueling separatist sentiment in North Virginia. Although he stopped short of naming Trahn, he suggested that the UCAS military was feeding the separatist fires by the harsh response that encouraged the Compers to keep fighting. Reminding everyone of the CAS forces gathering near the Virginia-North Virginia border, he returned to the political angle. He hoped that Steele, who hadn’t shown much military acumen, could at least understand the dangers arising from that quarter.
“In the light of the recent North Virginia state legislation, and the governor’s statements and increasingly strong proindependence stand, I think the evidence suggests we’re not seeing representative government at work here, but rather the furtherance of personal and self-serving concerns. Whatever interests are at work here, they’re edging us close to a conflict we do not need and, I hope to God, do not want. We are close to the two-hundredth anniversary of the Civil War; we don’t need another.”
Tom felt winded when he stopped, amazed that no one had interrupted him. Amid the buzz of conversation that followed his conclusion, Steel turned to one on his aides, a small, dark man with triple datajacks studding his temple, and said, “North Virginia is a one-term governorship, isn’t it?”
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