Dire Steps

by Henry V. O'Neil

  “This one might. I just received the all-­points announcement that the Step will be unavailable for at least a day. That went out over the Bounce, so they’re not trying to keep it quiet. Command has been ordered to plan for a suspension that could last indefinitely.”

  “They give any reason?”

  “No, so I asked around. The chatter says there’s a major search under way in a ­couple of different sectors. Maybe somebody important went missing.”

  Blocker exhaled with a loud sigh, leaning forward and rubbing his eyes. A Step suspension of that magnitude could only mean Chairman Mortas, and only hours earlier they’d received the news that Olech and Reena had been married on Celestia. If Ayliss’s father disappeared, their position on this planet was even more perilous than he’d thought.

  “At least things can’t get a lot worse.” The old soldier in him regretted the words as soon as they came out, so he changed the subject. “You’re doing a good job here. Just why did Hemsley ban you from using the settlement radios?”

  A mischievous smirk flashed across Ewing’s features. In the room’s bright light he looked almost skeletal, his fatigues too large and his skin too pale. “I kept tapping into the deep-­space feeds, all the echoes from the places man has never visited. You ever tune in to that?”

  “No. I imagine you gotta be high to appreciate something like that.”

  “Not as much as you’d think.” Ewing winked at him. “You remind me of First Sergeant. You actually give a shit about your ­people.”

  “You take the job, you take the responsibility.”

  “That’s what I mean. Hemsley’s not classified as a colonist. He reached retirement, and he was just waiting for transport home when they temporarily put him in charge of our group. We were a bunch of odds and ends, and Command didn’t know where to put us, so they had him counting our heads every day at the transient personnel center. That’s all he was expected to do, but he took the time to find out about every one of us, what we’d done in the Force, where we were from, all that stuff.

  “So one day this captain comes by and says we’re all getting sent to this planet where ZQ would probably give us jobs, and First Sergeant tells him that’s not what we agreed to when we elected to become colonists. So the captain asks him why he cares, points out that First Sergeant is retiring, and that he’ll be going home as soon as we’re gone. And you know what Hemsley does right then? He says he’s postponing his retirement until he sees us settled someplace.”

  Ewing smiled at the memory. “Can you imagine anybody doing something like that for a grab bag full of strangers? And that was long before Chairman Mortas made his big announcement about giving the colonists control of the planets.”

  Shocked by the story and astounded that he hadn’t known it, Blocker was about to ask a question when a communications bud in one of his ears hissed at him. It was one of the roof guards.

  “Lone individual approaching from the settlement. Looks like that Banshee that was here earlier.”

  Blocker stood, knowing what the news would be but hoping he was wrong. Trying to find a reason why a lone veteran would be visiting, and why Selkirk had not yet returned.

  Moving quickly down the corridor again, telling the guards to let the messenger through, and seeing Tin when he got to the first floor. Still wearing the black fatigues and the dark bandana, the story easy to read in eyes that poked out from fresh black camouflage paint. The Banshee shook her head minutely when he came up to her, and he could have uttered her words before she did.

  “I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. Selkirk went into the compound with one of our ­people, and they got nailed just before the gunships went up. God knows how he made it over the wire, but we’ve got the body in the tunnel.”

  Confused by the words, startled to be so hurt by a report he’d received or issued so many times before, of a good man dead, and wondering how he was going to break it to Ayliss when she recovered. If she recovered. Lessons from past experiences kicked in, reminding him to make sure.

  “You’re certain it’s Selkirk?”

  “Yes. He’s dead.”

  Ayliss’s illness reached its peak a short time later. Her infrequent moments of lucidity had become fewer and fewer until she’d lapsed into complete delirium, filling her mind with memories, dreams, and outright hallucinations.

  She started out back at Unity, in a briefing room with her father and Reena. The daily classes had usually combined tutorials on the players she might face in her new role with lessons Olech and Reena had learned over the years. At first Ayliss had found the encounters unbearably dull, and had only managed to stay focused because they represented one more step toward the chaotic environment she longed to enter.

  “You keep telling me to make sure everyone leaves a negotiation or even a confrontation with something, to keep them on our side. If that’s been your approach, how come you seem to end up killing so many ­people?”

  Olech and Reena had exchanged glances, having noticed Ayliss’s fixation on those times when they’d had to exercise deadly force.

  “Because, as you already know from your own experience, there are some ­people who can’t be reasoned with.” Reena had given her a significant look. “You can debate them, you can befriend them, you can even try to placate them, but in the end they’ll prove they’re not interested in anything but being a problem.”

  Olech had joined in. “And then you’re not only justified in removing them—­you’re a fool not to.”

  “But what if they haven’t done anything that justifies killing them? Something small . . . like going back on an agreement?” Ayliss had raised her eyebrows at her father, and he’d understood her true question.

  “Blocker’s been telling you about your mother again, I see.”

  “He just wants me to get the full story. Warts and all.”

  “All right. What did he tell you?”

  “He said that President Larkin tried to enlist your support when you were a junior senator, and that you agreed to go along until mother saw a way to turn the whole thing to your advantage.”

  Olech and Reena exchanged glances, and Ayliss was pleased to have discovered a part of his political past with which Reena was unfamiliar.

  “Larkin wanted to take the Force promotion system out of the hands of the Interplanetary Senate. He recognized that some of the senior officers in the war zone were making tactical decisions based on the politics of their home worlds and not on military exigencies. I’d seen that at firsthand and knew it to be true, so I agreed to help him.”

  “But mother talked you out of it.”

  “Larkin didn’t understand the role the corporations were already beginning to play in the war zone. Outfits like Zone Quest had strong allies in the Senate, and it was important for them to secure access to resource-­rich planets as they were captured. Having sympathetic commanders in the right places was a good way to do that.”

  “So you agreed to help President Larkin, then switched sides when it was time to vote.”

  “He never forgave me for that. But your mother was right. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted, and by changing my vote I landed some very important friends.”

  Her body surrounded with cold packs, Ayliss twitched on the bed. Blocker continued swabbing her face.

  Ayliss’s fever dream jumped just then, to a high platform outside a secret research facility on a planet called Echo. Ayliss experienced a thrill upon recognizing the location and the individual who’d gone out on that platform alone with her. Python, the man who had almost trapped her in a scandal that would have ruined her along with Olech.

  But the hallucination was different from the reality. Large and strong, Python was laughing at her even as she saw how close he stood to the low railing. He spoke mocking words that he’d never uttered in real life.

  “Look at you. So smart, so sly, thi
nk you’re as sharp as your mother was, and what’s happened? Poisoned just like she was, going to die just like she did, and going to miss all the fun. Just like she did.”

  Fear and rage blended together at the goading, and she rushed forward with her hands out. Reliving the moment, that supremely marvelous moment, when she’d sent him tumbling over the high railing, his pants around his ankles. Seeing the expression of surprise and terror, feeling his weight shifting past the point of no return, her entire body singing with adrenaline as she shoved him over. Almost following him, but catching the railing and then watching, awestruck and ecstatic, as he fell away and slammed into the turf far, far below. A rush of excitement and relief and discovery had blasted through her brain.

  Her fever broke at that moment, peaking and falling away just as the sensation of joyous conquest had slowly receded within her when she’d finished off the stricken Python with a rock.

  “Hello, Blocker. How is the Minister?”

  Station Manager Rittle looked out at him from a console in the communications room. As Blocker had noted at their first meeting, it was impossible to read the man. Blocker put up his guard before responding.

  “She’s on the mend. It seems it was just a NOA.”

  Rittle nodded, two old space hands speaking the same language. “I’m pleased to hear that. I would have visited personally, but the attack on our compound has left my security staff a little uneasy.”

  “I heard an explosion, but was tending to the Minister. I thought you’d had an accident with an ammunition store.”

  “The destruction of two gunships makes a lot more noise than that. And it was no accident.”

  “What can I do for you, Rittle?”

  “You strike me as a reasonable man, Blocker.”

  “That I am. Unless, of course, the Minister’s safety is concerned. Then I’m the most unreasonable man you’d ever meet.”

  “That wasn’t an attempt to co-­opt you. I have some new information that I need to share with you and the Minister.”

  Blocker concentrated on keeping his face bland, loosening the muscles with a will. Selkirk’s body was in the tunnels, but the dead sapper who’d accompanied him had not made it out. He was presumed dead, but if he’d been taken alive Rittle would be able to force a confession out of him. Even if found dead, the man’s background was shady at best and could be used against them.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You already heard the Step has been suspended?”

  “Yes.”

  “The suspension is for an indefinite period. Very few ­people know what I’m going to tell you now; I’ve only received this information because it puts the entire station in jeopardy. I’m sharing it with you because of the Minister.”

  Blocker now fought to keep a look of consternation off his face. “Go on.”

  “Shortly after his wedding on Celestia, Chairman Mortas disappeared in the Step. No one seems to know where he was headed or who was with him, except that his new wife was not along for the ride.” Long associated with the machinations of the powerful, Blocker saw the same calculus running through his own head as had run through Rittle’s. With Olech missing or dead, Reena Corlipso—­Reena Mortas—­was in an excellent position to assume his mantle. “The Step will remain suspended until search-­and-­rescue operations are terminated. Hopefully that will be soon, with Chairman Mortas found alive, but they could go on for days or even weeks.”

  An image of the planetary systems closest to Quad Seven appeared in Blocker’s mind. None of them close enough to bring assistance without the Step. “I appreciate your telling me this.”

  “There’s more. Numerous Sim commerce raiders inhabit this part of space, along with human marauders like Hemsley’s friend McRaney. They’re not a problem as long as we can summon immediate help, but without the Step this station has been left wide open. I don’t need to tell you that the enemy wasn’t happy to see this planet’s Go-­Three supply fall into our hands. Once they detect the absence of Threshold signatures, they’re going to figure out something is wrong.”

  “There must be Force warships in the vicinity that could be diverted.”

  “Yes and no. We’re not the only place asking for protection, and some of those other places contain high-­ranking officers. Most of the ships within range are being directed to assume defensive patrolling around more important targets.”

  “Like high-­level headquarters.” Blocker allowed himself to smile.

  “Like high-­level headquarters. Zone Quest is creating a series of safe havens in space, and Command has allocated several cruisers to defend them. Our safe haven is many days’ flight away, and so I’ve been instructed to evacuate the complex and take all of my ships there until the Step is available again. I think the Minister and your party should go with us.”

  “And what about the veterans?”

  “There’s not enough room for them and, after their attack on my station, I’d be foolish to let them on board any of my vessels. They’ve been insisting this planet is theirs, so now we’ll see if they mean it.”

  “If you leave them behind with only the weapons they have, and the Sims do come, they’re all dead.”

  “I have my instructions, and I am not taking any of those ­people on my ships.”

  Blocker’s mind whirled for an instant, but he pushed it back into focus. With Ayliss still sick, he was in charge of their group and could easily get them to safety by accepting Rittle’s offer. He’d been trying to summon a ship when the Step had been suspended, and Rittle’s assessment of their vulnerability was accurate.

  But if they did flee with Rittle’s ­people, Hemsley’s veterans would never forgive them. A healthy Ayliss would never agree to leave, and there was a chance that the Step suspension could be lifted shortly. If they abandoned the veterans and the Step was reopened without any Sims threatening the colony, Ayliss would never be able to return. Not liking the conclusion at all, Blocker spoke for his ward anyway.

  “We won’t be going with you. Please extend the Minister’s thanks to the Zone Quest authority who directed you to make the offer.”

  “I wasn’t directed to do that. And you’re a fool to stay.”

  “I wasn’t finished. I speak for the Minister when I say that if you leave under these circumstances . . . don’t bother coming back.”

  “We’ll return as soon as the Step is functioning again, and we’ll bring help.”

  “You don’t understand. Your presence here was authorized before this colony came into being. If you leave and come back, you’ll have to negotiate a contract for mineral extraction with the planet’s owners.”

  “We’re lifting off in one hour. I’d reconsider your decision if I were you.”

  “The decision’s made. We’re staying.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Med-­Extractor inbound.” The warning sounded in helmets all over the jungle, and the troops in First and Third Platoons tightened up their joint perimeter. Mortas had moved First Platoon to the spot where one of Kitrick’s squads had been torn up by a massive booby trap concealed inside a hollow tree. Three men had been killed and three others wounded, one badly enough to justify the use of the extractor.

  For many miles around them, the engines of flying reconnaissance robots made a chug-­chug sound as they flew just above the treetops. Drone gunships made lazy circles in the dawn light, all of it a diversion for the vessel that would speed the most seriously wounded man to treatment. The commotion had driven off most of the jungle birds, but every now and then a group of Vree Vrees would howl in the distance.

  “Rockets inbound.” Up at Broadleaf, the company ASSL had arranged for a bombardment of likely locations where the phantom Sim force of the night before could have gone to ground.

  “Get ready with the tree cutters.” Mortas hugged the wet dirt of the jungle floor a mile away from the sp
ot where the booby trap had gone off. Assuming the enemy knew the location well, Mortas had moved both platoons. Although the bulk of his unit was still intact, Kitrick was practically catatonic with grief over the cost of his disobedience.

  “Suckered me. All this time in the zone, and I fell for it. CO told me not to, but I knew better,” he’d muttered to Mortas when the junior lieutenant had finally reached the small clearing blasted out of the jungle by the trap. His men had been caring for the wounded and the dead, but Kitrick seemed unaware anyone was near until Mortas knelt beside him. “Jan. Good to see you. Fuckin’ Fractus, half my platoon lost, and I wasn’t even there. They made me leave. Made me. And now look what I did.”

  Vossel had given Kitrick a shot to calm him, and he was half-­asleep on the ground next to Mortas. Flipping his goggles to overhead imagery, Mortas detected the blinking marker of the Extractor drawing near. He’d placed the two-­platoon perimeter near a massive tree that could have been hundreds of years old, with exposed roots as tall as a man. Special explosives, dubbed tree cutters, had been emplaced all over the behemoth’s base at Dak’s suggestion.

  “Done this before. Ya try to blow down a few small trees to make room for the Extractor, and none of them fall. So much other growth wrapped around ’em, holds ’em up. Ya need to take down a big one like this bastard here, it’s like the main pole in a big tent. Everything around it comes down too.”

  The readout in his goggles told Mortas that the diversionary rockets were about to impact. “Okay, cutters. Blow it.”

  Warnings buzzed in all the helmets, and the sound dampeners clamped down hard. Mortas reached out and gently placed a flat hand on the back of Kitrick’s helmet, worried he might look up at the wrong moment. Then he pressed his cheek into the wet humus, smelling the decay even over the stench given off by the stink pills. For miles around, dull booms cracked through the still air as the rockets impacted.

  “Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!” yelled Dak, and then he detonated the charges on the tree.