“Lead the way.”
Emmet glanced back and smiled. “So this isn’t a good time to ask for a raise?”
Emilie looked back and shook her head slowly. The feeling of wanting to vomit had finally passed and the look on her face didn’t show much relief.
“Uh yeah, I’ll ask later.” Emmet picked his way onto the first piece of heaped stone. He looked down and held out a hand. “So what now?”
Guns, she thought, people always need more guns. Thoughts of the rounds bouncing off the armor of the brutes came back to her. Bigger guns.
Behind her screams and gunfire proved the point. She needed to cement her position, and she could feel it in her heart. Aimless and lost was not how she planned to go through life. “We’re going to make guns. Lots of guns. Big guns.”
Emmet grinned and helped her onto the stone. “I’m going to like you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
––––––––
The brutes smelled like a mix of swamphole tucked next to a burning tractor tire. They stood in a ragged line. Battered armor stripped and bare to the elements. Each bore wounds, puncture holes, and bits of shrapnel. One particularly savage looking beast sat on the ground with blood pouring out of a ragged wound.
Troops came with a transport truck hooked up to a tanker-trailer. At the first brute they clamped a bracelet of tubing onto its wrist and started a loud pump. It clanged and shuddered. A moment later two Hun soldiers in brown waterproof suits sprayed a stream of icy water onto its body. Steam rose in sheets and the creature bawled.
Natyasha watched as she followed behind the Governor. Her face was solid, a tight look of neutrality. Beneath the veneer of calm was anger and regret. She paused a step behind the Governor as the mist drifted off one of the hulking brutes. She could feel the warmth radiating off of them even ten meters away.
“We can inject them with massive amounts of nanites this way,” Governor Myint said with a dismissive gesture. “Otherwise it takes so long to heal.”
She said nothing and glared at the back of the Governor’s head. She ignored his military staff around her.
The group followed as the Governor surveyed the spaceport. He walked alone with the retinue streaming behind. The first line jockeyed to be close, the second line edged in to hear the first. Behind that was Natyasha’s staff. Bark led the line with a sobbing woman behind her and a hefty man with thick eyebrows.
Governor Myint stopped. “The drones are recalled.” He looked at Natyasha for a moment. “Your corvette.” He nodded to the rising spire of the elevator. “It is now my corvette. In fact, your people are my people. They’re simply on loan.” He glanced to her entourage. “You have a very strong organization here, but they are mine to use, and yours to command. For now.”
Natyasha looked back at the Governor with flinty eyes. She saw her role, a face to the government. A popular figure to take the resentment while the Hun sat back and let her take the fire. Enabler.
She saw the price she paid for her hubris. Part of her wanted to turn around, walk away, and just leave. But she knew she couldn’t. She made the mess, she’d damn well clean it up. “I trust the drones won’t come out again.”
Myint raised an eyebrow and looked to his staff before returning his eyes to Natyasha. “They are a tool, Ms. Dousman. If you have a broken machine, you fix it with the most efficient tool at your disposal.”
“You will use them again?” Natyasha asked, barely hiding the disgust in her voice.
“No, Ms. Dousman, if the machine is broken, you will use the drones,” Governor Myint said coldly. “I suggest you see that it remains in working order.”
“To what purpose does this machine function?”
“Minerals. Minerals. Minerals.” The Governor beckoned to an aide and handed a tablet to Natyasha. “That is the requirement.”
Natyasha glanced at the columns and saw numbers that were impossible. Or nearly so, they were on the higher upper edge of what a distillation column could produce. They would need every single tower at full capacity with no downtime. An impossibility. “These numbers are unrealistic,” she said as she shook the tablet before her.
“Then I suggest you find a way to make it realistic,” Governor Myint said.
“But—”
“No. There is no protest. If you cannot do it, I’ll find someone who can. I will guarantee you,” he said stabbing his finger out, “that I will find someone willing.”
Natyasha dropped the tablet to her side and stared back at Governor Myint.
“Now, tend to your duties. I must tend to mine,” Governor Myint said, and walked away, leaving Natyasha standing in the mist and stink. He turned a few meters away. “Are the newest immigrants still interned?”
“Yes.”
Governor Myint nodded. “Keep them there.”
She tapped the tablet against her leg and watched the Governor pass through a security portal flanked by armored soldiers. Her mind ran through details and then stopped. More than anything, she needed an alternative. She needed options, options that felt heavier with each tap on her leg. “Bark,” she called.
Bark limped forward with her alloy arms crossed. Each of the augmetic limbs bore scratches, dents, and dings. She stood next to Natyasha and watched the Governor walk out of sight.
“I need options, Bark. Do they have Rose?”
Bark shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Natyasha nodded and saw one flicker of hope. “Find her.”
Bark nodded and walked away through pools of warm water that ran down from the wounded brutes.
Natyasha looked around and found it odd how quickly she was used to the bioaugmented shock troops. What had been unthinkable a day before was barely something to take notice of a day later. The numbers came back to her and she looked to the tablet again. They’d need more towers. But only Core could make more towers. She felt a bit of spite at how they were so dependent on others. What was freedom if they couldn’t do as they pleased?
She turned to her aides. “Get everyone who can handle a district. Get them to the council hall.”
The woman sobbed once, a heavy droning sob.
“Mea,” Natyasha said to the woman. She stepped closer and squeezed her shoulder. “I need you here, Winterthur needs you here, but we need you to focus.”
Mea held her hand over her mouth. Tears rolled down her plump cheeks and her tussled brown hair was a mess. She tried to speak but instead sobbed lightly. She nodded quickly.
“Shin,” she said to the man. “Get the police, and bring in Malic, get his boys in uniform. We’re going to need some muscle.”
She pictured the brutish face of Malic and had a hunch that he’d be the one the Hun would replace her with. He was ruthless, blunt, and quick to anger. But he knew how to get a job done. If anyone was to be kept close, it’s him, she thought. The Governor spoke of tools, Malic would be her alternative to the razor drones. A part of her rebelled at the thought, but another enjoyed the ability to wield her full power.
The camps brought conflict to her mind. It had been a rallying cry to cement her power base but now something that was both a liability and an asset. If Core continued on, she knew they’d have brushed her aside at the polls. But now nearly half the colony was interned inside of camps under Malic and his rabble.
What was Myint thinking, she wondered. Why mention them at all? She pictured them flocking to the Hun and seeing them as liberators. They were still her people, the moment sat with her in a hard way. Her people, but people she’d cast aside, and if given the chance would have sent back to Earth.
Natyasha looked over at one of the brutes and stared into its eyes. It was a saucer of darkness ringed by bloodshot lines. She wondered if it could think, if it could feel. Could it be bought, bribed, or turned?
She saw the slope she was on, a craggy ridge covered in ice and shale. On one side was the destruction of everything she held dear. On the other side was the same, but worse. She had no good optio
ns. Tyranny was the only alternative. The thought of being a tyrant hadn’t bothered her, but the thought of someone else as the tyrant burned deep into her soul.
*
She found Bark hunched over a pile of crumbled concrete. The short haired woman nodded and hefted a piece of the old rock in her hand as if judging it. It fell with a thud and Bark dropped down from the pile.
“That wall could tell some stories,” Natyasha said as she took in the damage around her. She stared at shattered fragments of red stained metal. A dead drone, she thought. Good.
“It ain’t saying shit now,” Bark said flatly.
Natyasha started walking and felt the reassuring presence of Bark next to her. She’d never regretted hiring Bark. The woman was trustworthy, violent, and clever. A relic of Core that paid dividends to her, if not anyone else. She’d found her after Bark flunked out of the Core Marine program. The stress of being reborn was a touch too much.
She could still picture Bark’s face, covered in the scars of war. Nanite shrapnel that was like starbursts of black speckled her face then. It was a fairly simple matter of finding the proper surgeon. At that point Bark saw her as the savior and Core as the enemy. After that Bark was hers, or least a bit more trustworthy, but there always seemed a feral edge to her.
“Ever going to grow your hair out Bark?”
Bark looked at Natyasha and shook her head. “Winterthur has fallen and you ask me about my hair?”
“We still eat. We still sleep. We still live.” Natyasha shrugged. “Now we find a way to do it on our terms.”
The pair walked through the quiet streets and passed a column of marching Hun soldiers. Neither group paid the other any attention. Natyasha turned and watched the troops pass. She wondered how good they would be without the giants.
“Did you find her?”
Bark looked up to the sky and sighed. “Not yet. Last report I have is she made it out after that armor blew out the east wall. After that, no idea.”
“Family? Friends?”
Bark shook her head. She ran her alloy hand over the rich stubble on her skull. “She’s been away for almost twenty years. Her family is gone. No idea on friends.”
“Check the camps. They could have rounded her up,” Natyasha said. She looked out towards the sea and listened for the crash of the breakers. The air tasted like salt and she loved it.
“Bitch! Traitor!” a voice called out from an alley.
Natyasha spun and stared down the dark lane.
“You’re gonna burn!” another voice yelled.
Bark stepped before her and slid a hand down to where a pistol once was. She stopped and her hand hovered for a moment. “Keep moving,” she said softly.
Natyasha always felt that she could walk into any home on Winterthur and would be welcome. There might be a disagreement on politics, but everyone would know she sought the best. But now, could she? A melancholy came over her and she followed quickly after Bark. Once again she found herself somewhere different. Was she for herself or Winterthur? The two were once one, but now where did she stand?
She pictured the alternative and saw Malic standing over piles of corpses. Could she get the production numbers? Of course, she thought, she could do whatever she put her mind to. But the question still remained, how to secure it all, what was the endgame?
The pair walked through the mostly silent streets and came to Founder’s Square. A brass miniature of the original lander stood on a pedestal as a monument. It was streaked with corrosion that looked like green tears.
On the far side huddled the council, a small group of men and women who looked out of place and uncomfortable. They milled about and looked across the square. At the opposite corner a group of Hun soldiers watched with dull eyes.
“Want me to come inside?” Bark asked as she eyed up the group. “They don’t look happy.”
Natyasha shook her head and set her face in as grim a tone as she could. “No, they’ll not lynch me here. And anyways, I have Mea and Shin,” she said, nodding to the pair behind her.
Bark snorted and shook her head. “I’ll find her.”
Natyasha stopped and faced her. “I know.” She reached out a hand and squeezed Bark’s alloy fingers lightly. The touch, she knew, was enough to cement it. She released the grip and turned to face the crowd.
The group, upon seeing Natyasha, all turned to face her. The faces were angry and hurt. Some wore bandages next to the orange layer of a civilian nanite patch. Eyes darted over to the soldiers and back to Natyasha. A man in a heavy jacket stepped out from the group and placed his hands behind his back.
“Ms. Dousman,” he said. “What is going on?”
The others stammered and stepped forward. Each tried to yell above the rest and make their questions heard. They crowded in closer, tighter, forming a ring around Natyasha. The soldiers on the edge of the square watched with more interest.
“Stop, stop!” Natyasha yelled and pushed her way through the crowd. She ignored them and walked through the heavy doors and into the hall.
Inside the ceiling was vaulted with hoops of alloy and stone. It was as fine a building as a colony could hope for. The light filtered in through slender windows, highlighting motes of dust that stirred and danced.
Natyasha stomped down and passed by the empty seats before standing in the center of the room on a small rise. She watched as the rest of the crowd came in. “Sit. This meeting is in session.”
“We don’t have a quorum,” Mahindra, an elderly woman with a brown shawl, protested.
Groans and arguments broke out as the tensions came to a head.
“Enough!” Natyasha shouted. “This is not a democracy any longer.” She let the words hang in the air like the motes that danced above.
The words struck everyone in the room like a heavy blow. They looked down, none catching the eye of anyone else. Only Natyasha looked to each and every one of them.
“There is a new reality now. We are not a colony, but a vassal world.”
“We’re slaves!” Mahindra yelled back in a shaky voice.
“And what are we going to do about it? Go outside and get shot? We have one chance, and that’s to give them what they want. Hope for our own rule,” Natyasha replied.
“Appease them?” the mustached man spat.
Natyasha looked to the crowd and held her hands out. “Unless anyone has a better idea?”
“What about your spaceship?” a man said as he walked down the steps slowly, methodically. He wore a arrogant smile with a layer of spit running down his chin.
“Malic.”
Malic plopped himself into one of the chairs and settled himself in. “What happened up there?”
“We hired them,” Natyasha said.
“You mean ‘I hired them’?” Malic said with a slight smile and a glance to the crowd.
“That’s right,” Natyasha said. “And at one hell of a discount.”
“Why didn’t they shoot the Hun troopship? Instead they brought ‘em right in, didn’t they?”
Natyasha smiled thinly at Malic. Clever, she thought. Well informed. “The Hun have informed me that they now control the mercenaries. I can’t vouch for the character of mercenaries.”
“Yet you hired them.”
“What’s your point, Malic? It doesn’t change anything now.”
Malic shrugged. “Just curious.”
Natyasha spent the remainder of the meeting responding to questions, criticism, and anger. Everyone voiced their extreme displeasure, but when Natyasha asked for ideas, none had any. When it was done, they walked out single file into the dimming light of the day. Natyasha stood in the center of the room and waited for the last to go.
“Was that necessary?” Natyasha asked Malic.
“Just maintaining the, uh, what’d ya call it? The personal connection.”
“Well, next time keep it personal.”
Malic grinned back. “Well, I could have mentioned the Ambassador.”
Natyasha
walked off the rise and sat in one of the alloy molded chairs. Her knees ached, her back ached, and she was tired. “You could have, but that wouldn’t have done either of us much good.”
“I’m not as dumb as I look.”
“Get your people into uniform, tell them to act proper.”
Malic suddenly looked sober. “They’re not fighting those animals.”
“They’re not resisting, they’re going to be crowd control.”
“For who?”
“For us. Once word gets out, we’re going to have riots. You need to stop them before the Hun does.”
Malic leaned back into his chair and stared at Natyasha. “I don’t have enough to watch the camps and hold the streets.”
“Focus on the riots. The camps aren’t a concern right now.”
“Can we let them go?”
Natyasha shook her head. “The Governor wants them to stay. If there’s trouble, shoot.”
Malic nodded and rested his hands on his paunch.
She looked over at Malic and sensed a touch of ambition. Have to keep him close, busy, and most of all engaged. Bark might have to pay him a visit, she thought. “We have a quota, it’s going to be tight. Full capacity.”
Malic nodded and looked up to the ceiling. “They bring a library?”
Natyasha shook her head. “No.” She knew Malic, along with every other resident of Winterthur, would understand a quota. The distillation towers was their life, their job, their blood. Everyday the sun rose through the steam plumes, and it was part of them all.
Bark stood on the edge of the room and cleared her throat.
Malic turned and looked back. He smiled up at Bark and leered at her.
“Come back in the morning,” Natyasha said to Malic.
Malic looked back with a smile and a sigh. “And I just thought I was getting warmed up.”
Natyasha ignored the comment and left Malic sitting near the floor. She followed Bark through the tall, slender hallways and into her office. The space was ceremonial, almost totally unused, but it was hers.
“We found a body,” Bark said.
“Shit,” Natyasha said.
“It’s not her, but the last person she was seen with.”
Edge of Redemption (A Star Too Far Book 3) Page 15
