by Chris Bunch
• • •
“Chief,” Monique Lir said heavily, “I’m just plain sorry. But none of those ‘emits were fit to lick the sweat off the balls of an I&R man, so I dropped ‘em.”
Hedley grimaced. “It isn’t enough we’re getting our flipping butts beat by the flipping ’Raum, but now we can’t find any new crunchies qualified to help us in our hour of flipping despair. I’ll be flipping glad when this is over, Monique, assuming we win, so can start getting some real talent into the company.”
“Like who?” Lir asked. “You think we’ll link up with the Confederation again?”
“I’m not holding my breath on that one,” Hedley said. “I mean when we can start recruiting ’Raum.”
Lir goggled. Hedley chuckled. “Sure. Where do you think your best soldiers come from after a war? From the side whose butt you just beat, if you’ve got any sense.”
“Which means,” Lir said, after considering things, “if things don’t go like they should, I’ll be applying for the First ’Raum Throat-slitters.”
“Uh-huh. And, most likely, I’ll be standing in line right behind you,” Hedley said.
• • •
Poynton went to Brooks that night, very late, in the basement that was that night’s headquarters. The room was spare — Brooks refused even to allow his commo man to share the same building with him, for fear the gear could be tracked. All that was in the room was a cot, a table with a map and a pistol on it, and Brooks’ small day pack that held what few personal items he thought he needed.
“May I have a moment?” Brooks nodded. “There was a message from my main agent on C-Cumbre,” she said. “In a private code. There is a cargo lighter that will leave the Mellusin Works the E-day after tomorrow. The crew has been thoroughly converted to our ways, so it will carry explosives and other devices for The Movement.”
“I’m aware of the shipment,” Brooks said.
“That lighter is fitted with a small passenger compartment for Mellusin’s executives,” Poynton went on. “I was informed that your wife and children can be placed aboard without any hazard. Once the ship’s landed here, I can spirit them into the Eckmuhl without discovery.”
Hope flashed across Brooks’ face, then he hastily shook his head.
“There’s little risk,” Poynton said. “The explosives are all binary, and perfectly — ”
“No,” he said more sharply.
“Yes, sir,” Poynton said.
“Wait,” Brooks said. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying no because I’m overly concerned for my children’s safety … nor for that of my estranged wife. When I left C-Cumbre, I swore I would live only for The Movement. If I allow myself to have my children here … or to allow The Movement to waste the slightest of its energies bringing them to me, no matter how much I wish to see them, then I am diminished, and the strength within me is diminished.
“And if I allow myself this weakness, when someone else wishes to devote some of The Movement’s time to his or her private affairs … well, then I would have little space to criticize them.
“Is that not correct.” It was not a question.
Poynton stared into his blazing eyes, then nodded, and left the room. She was a little frightened by his fanaticism … but a part of her mind thought: But that is why we serve, and he leads …
• • •
“When the hell are we gonna get Garvin out?” Kang asked.
Ben Dill shook his head. “Dunno. They haven’t told me anything.”
“You think he’s still alive?” Gorecki asked.
“They think so,” he said. “Or else they would’ve put us back on scut patrol instead of sitting here with this ickle-pretty Grierson.”
“You know who I feel sorry for?” Kang said. “That girl he’s got. Mellow or Mellis or whatever her name is. She’s got to be living on her fingernails.”
“She’s rich,” Gorecki said. “The hell with her.” But he didn’t sound as if he meant it.
Ben Dill stared out the hatch of the Grierson at the deserted landing field, then, after a time, returned to polishing the ACV’s peephole to an even clearer luster.
• • •
“Brothers Jaansma and Yoshitaro,” Brooks said, “I’ve determined on the special task I promised. You should be aware our Time is racing close, and that we will be ready to bring our persecutors to final battle shortly.”
Garvin blinked, but Njangu managed a “Yes, sir. We’re ready.”
“Good,” Brooks said. “You will continue training our warriors as you have been, but they won’t be recruits any longer, but some of our more experienced fighters. You will determine which are suitable for sub-leader roles under your dual command, and you will work with them very carefully, for they’ll be your unit on the Day, when your Task will be presented to you.”
“And what’ll that be?” Garvin hazarded.
“It would be foolish to tell any warrior exactly his Task,” Brooke said, “for fear of compromising that Task, and others if he were captured. However, I’ll tell you this … it is something you two are uniquely qualified for, and will give you the greatest moment of glory you could imagine.” He nodded the two of them out.
Njangu waited until they were in open air, and around a corner. “Did you figure out what he’s going to do with us?”
“No,” Garvin said. “But something tells me it’s shitty.”
“I’ll bet large credits that he’s going to use our clubswingers, and us, against the Force,” Njangu said. “In his eyes, that’d be a real treat.”
“I’ll be dipped … but I’ll bet you’re right.” Garvin was silent for a moment. “You know, Njangu, I’m starting to think I’m going to like killing that giptel-screwer. What a shitty thing to ask of anybody. Doesn’t he have any loyalties to anything?”
“Probably not. Except his goddamned Movement. And the only way you’ll slot him is if you get there before I do,” Njangu said.
• • •
“There’s a soldier here to see you, Miss Jasith,” the servant said. Jasith felt her heart beat twice, then stop for an instant. “An officer?” She remembered seeing a holo once where a soldier was killed, and how an officer brought word to the soldier’s wife.
“I don’t think so,” the servant said. “Officers got things up here, on their shoulders, and he’s got slashes on his sleeve.”
Jasith started toward the door. One of her omnipresent bodyguards slipped from his alcove, loosening his pistol.
Standing in the huge mansion’s foyer was the biggest man she’d ever seen. Big, but he had a kindly look on his face, so she felt no fear. “Uh, Miss Mellusin,” the man said. “My name’s Dill. Ben Dill.”
“I’ve heard of you … you were … are, Garvin’s leader in that tank thing. The man who tells him what to do.”
Dill nodded.
“What can I do for you … have you heard anything?”
Dill looked at the bodyguard, who stared back. “Tell him to go away,” Dill said. “Or I can’t say anything.”
“Dak?”
“I’ve got my orders, ma’am.”
Jasith waited, and he reluctantly left the room.
“I can only stay a second,” Dill said. “And I can’t let you ask me any questions. I just wanted to tell you that Garvin’s still alive.”
“How do you know?”
Dill shook his head. “Can’t say. And I’m busting security even telling you what I did, so you can’t tell anyone at all, not even your father, for fear of what could happen to him. But we thought … I mean, I thought … you ought to know … ‘Scuse me. I’ve got to be going.”
“Wait. I’ll drive you to wherever — ”
But the big man was out the door, and it closed silently behind him. By the time Jasith had it open, he was gone, and no one, not the roving grounds patrol nor the two stationary security posts at the end of the long drive had seen him come or go.
• • •
“This is your
alert,” Jo Poynton told Njangu and Garvin. “You will be required to perform a certain Task within the next three days. Rest and ready yourselves, for there will be no more important Time in your life.”
There was a glow on her face, as if she’d just been promised Nirvana.
“We’re ready now,” Garvin said, trying to sound heroic.
“I know you are,” Poynton said. “I know you are.”
• • •
“So the shit’s coming down,” Garvin said, “and we’re stuck here, with no way to blow skibbereen on the operation.”
“Probably,” Njangu said, “but not absolutely. I’ve been doing some looking about this old house.”
“And?”
“Two floors down, sixth door, there used to some kind of office. Or maybe a gambler’s den. I found four com lines when I checked the building out after we moved in, so I knew your average peasant-type ’Raum hadn’t lived there. And guess what? One line is still live.”
“Shitfire and save matches,” Garvin said. “If it’s still hooked up, what’re the chances it’s not bugged?”
“Damned near nonexistent,” Njangu said. “That’s why I thought you should be the one to make the try.”
“And get killed?”
“Better than me, isn’t it? Besides, you’re the hero type, remember?”
“Bite,” Garvin said.
“ ’Kay,” Njangu said. “I’ll be fair. You want to flip a coin?”
“Nope,” Garvin said. “I’ll go. Dummy that I am. When it quiets down and everybody’s pretending to sleep.”
• • •
There was a man in their building who seldom slept and, when he went out, kept his face turned away, to hide his shattered features. His name was Lompa, and he was one of the two agents Poynton had ordered to take Garvin Jaansma alive, long ago as he walked back from Bampur’s party, where he’d first met Jasith. He still had periodic headaches from being kicked in the head, and had to be careful what he ate.
He’d heard about the Forceman who’d deserted to the ’Raum, and instinctively knew his leaders were wrong. Those giptels never changed their ways, their habits, and when he saw the traitor was the tall, blond man who’d beaten him so badly, he became very sure. He was on light duties because of his injuries, so it was easy to hang about, and unobtrusively follow the tall one wherever he went.
Now, late at night, he saw Garvin Jaansma creep out, and felt triumph surge. The two traitors would finally be exposed, and he would not only be revenged, but be rewarded for diligence and cunning. He went down the hall after Jaansma.
CHAPTER
34
Lompa watched Garvin, slinking along like the dog he was. The blond giptel went downstairs, and Lompa waited for a count of three, followed. He paused at the landing, then peered around the lintel post, keeping low. His quarry’d gone down another flight. Lompa crept toward the next set of stairs, and Garvin came out of an open doorway. Lompa started to scream, but Garvin had him by the throat, squeezing, squeezing. The world darkened, went to a pinpoint as Garvin pressed harder, and Lompa’s feet flailed, crashing against the wall.
The man went limp, and Garvin dropped him just as a door came open. One of Poynton’s security men came out, rifle ready. The rifle came up, and there weren’t any options. Garvin crouched, and the pistol was out of his waistband and firing.
The blast reverberated through the building, and lights went on, and shouts began. Garvin started back toward his rooms, but heard rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. He fired three times quickly — the near-universal symbol for distress, hoping Njangu would catch the message, and ran down toward the exit. A woman was on guard, and she swung her blaster toward him. Garvin shot her, scooped up the rifle, and took an instant to tear her ammunition belt off. A bolt smashed into the wall above him, and he automatically shot back, started for the rear of the building, when a hatch opened in the wall and Njangu Yoshitaro slid out.
“Guess you screwed things up, huh?” was Njangu’s greeting. “See if I ever let you have all the fun again.”
“Come on,” Garvin said. “The whole goddamned Eckmuhl will be after us in a second.”
“Sounds like they already are,” Njangu said, and they were out into the night streets. Garvin took a moment to muscle a large can of trash across the door, then they were running down the narrow alleys, darting here, there.
“Where’d you come from?” Garvin managed.
“Did … a few basic mods on the laundry chute yesterday,” Njangu managed. “With a rope or two I happened to run across. Good back door, eh?”
Garvin shot at somebody who was showing a bit too much curiosity, skidded into a narrow alley that curved around a building with only a single dim streetlight. The alley came to a dead end, except for a single doorway into a ramshackle building. “Back,” he said, and a bolt screamed off the cobbles beside him.
Njangu booted in the door, heard screams. “Out! Out!” he shouted, and ’Raum streamed down the stairs. Njangu shouldered past into the building, Garvin after him, as a dozen armed ’Raum rounded the corner into the alley.
They were in one of the typical tiny Eckmuhl groceries, with almost-bare shelves. Njangu scooped up two liter bottles of cooking oil, went up the stairs, shouting “Out” like a maniacal traffic director as he went. More screams, more shouts, and more ’Raum men, women, and children boiled downstairs. They pushed through the frenzy, saw an armed man, shot him, and the frenzy got louder. Njangu peered in an open door, saw bolts of cloth and half-finished garments. He put a round into a cloth-bonding machine, and its solvent sprayed. He hurled the cooking oil bottles against the wall, and they shattered, then shot into the mess, and nothing happened. “Goddamn modern weapons,” he snarled, saw an emergency lantern and its igniter, went across the room, lit it, and dropped it into the pooled oil. There was a satisfactory foomf, and Yoshitaro lost most of his eyebrows and short-cropped hair.
The screams were louder, and the ’Raum panicked, trying to get out before the building was engulfed. Shouts came below as someone tried to order chaos.
“That takes care of the back door. Now where?” Garvin asked.
“We got any options?” Njangu panted. “Up. To the roof. We’ll cross to the next building from there. These goddamned warrens all connect to each other.”
But this one didn’t. The seven-story building’s neighbors were all just a bit too far for jumping. Garvin set the rifle down, scuffled through the trash on the rooftop, found a long plank. “Pray for me,” he said, and lugged the plank to the building’s ramparts. It looked just about long enough, and he let it fall across to the next building’s roof to become a bridge. His eye was about a meter off, and the plank pinwheeled on down to smash into the street, and blaster fire came back up.
“They would’ve shot you off it, anyway,” Njangu sympathized.
“So what are we gonna do now?” Garvin asked.
“Hope like hell the smoke attracts attention,” Njangu said. “And that the fire department still makes house calls. Dawn’s what, an hour or so away?”
Smoke boiled up through the stairwell, and Garvin surveyed the billow. “Guess they won’t come up that way.”
“Guess they don’t have to.”
Garvin heard a whine, saw the lights of a lifter coming over the rooftops, jumped to his feet, and waved wildly. “It’s the police,” he said. “We’re saved!”
The police lifter sped overhead, banked, and came back. Garvin stupidly stood in the middle of the roof, pistol in hand, waving, and then Njangu tackled him, knocking him away as the autocannon opened fire, and 25mm slugs chewed up the tar paper and debris around them. “Next time … try waving without the goddamned gun!” Njangu managed. “Lie still and look dead, for Allah’s sakes, and maybe they’ll figure they got us.”
The lifter made another pass, very low, low enough so Garvin felt the wind of their passage. “See what happens,” Njangu said, “when you go and depend on a cop?”
• • •
“Cent Angara,” the voice said. “Wake up.”
The II Section officer rolled off his bunk, bleared at the displays around the Command Center. The Officer of the Watch stood next to him. “Sir, the scan reports a fire in the middle of the Eckmuhl, and the police frequency says they silenced two snipers on the rooftop of the building.”
It didn’t appear to have anything to do with them … but still. “Turn out the alert unit,” he ordered. “Put an electronics bird over the Eckmuhl. If nothing else, we can relay for the civilians. Wake up Mil Rao, but let the old man sleep.” He hesitated. “If they’ve got snipers out, maybe the whole thing’s a blind to suck in the fire people. Get the alert unit in the air, and have one, no two Zhukovs seconded to them.”
“Sir.”
“And is there any of that coffee left?”
• • •
Poynton burst into Jord’n Brooks’ headquarters — a commandeered snack bar. There were a dozen com sets around the room with their waiting operators, all tuned to various Force and PlanGov frequencies. Brooks paced back and forth, listening, eyes half-closed, sorting through the chatter. His eyes came fully open as he reached a decision. He went to one silent com, a high-frequency interplanetary ‘caster, picked up the mike. Brooks touched the mike’s button. “Leviathan, this is Tver,” he said.
“Leviathan,” a voice came back. “Listening.”
“This is Tver. Situation altered. Begin Leviathan at once. I repeat, at once.”
“Leviathan. Operation under way.”
“The traitors failed,” Brooks said. “This is now the Day, and the great Task begins.”
“Sir,” Poynton started. “I’m sorry they managed to deceive me, and I promise — ”
“Sister,” Brooks said, without a hint of anger, “we’re all fools to someone. The point is to ensure it never happens again.”
“It won’t,” Poynton said. “Do you still trust me for my Task?”
