Retreat Hell

by Christopher Nuttall

Gudrun followed his pointing finger. The buildings looked intact, but there was smoke rising up from all over the Zone. In the distance, she could hear the sound of shooting and explosions, blurring together into a hellish background noise. Kilometre by kilometre, the CEF and its local allies – the force that had blackmailed her into working for them – was making its way through the Zone. When the wave of destruction washed over them, everything the residents had created would be swept away.

  “I hope so,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I really hope so.”

  The smoker patted her knee, awkwardly. “It will be,” he said. “We’re all about to die. May as well get our living in while we can.”

  He grinned at her. “You want to come raving with us tonight?”

  Gudrun started at him, then found herself starting to giggle. She’d raved quite a bit as a younger girl, even if her district hadn't been as fond of them as the Zone. But then, her district had largely been composed of people who had believed in the system. It hadn't been until the system crashed that disillusionment had set in. Despair had followed soon afterwards.

  She was tempted, she had to admit. Go to a rave, dance like a crazy woman, take something to dull the pain, find a boy, push him against the wall and have mad passionate loveless sex ... but she'd grown up over the last few days. She couldn't simply throw herself away any longer. Not now.

  “No,” she said, standing up. Drug users could switch moods with terrifying speed. If he thought she'd rejected him, his drug-addled mind might be offended. “I have too much work to do.”

  “And there I was thinking you were covered in blood as a fashion statement,” the smoker said. He smiled at her. Despite his scruffy appearance, she couldn't help thinking he was surprisingly handsome. “Come if you want. We don’t mind.”

  Gudrun smiled, then turned and walked back into the building. The lines of wounded had grown worse, she realised, as she started to work on the first in line. He, at least, didn't seem to be seriously wounded. In fact, he kept demanding to be released and sent back to the front lines.

  “You can go as soon as I've bandaged your wounds,” Gudrun told him, tartly. “And not a moment before. You really should stay in bed.”

  The man eyed her, menacingly. “You really think anyone here will have time to recuperate?”

  Gudrun shook her head, but said nothing. He was right. Besides, there were hardly any beds in the hospital. The doctor had given up trying to assign people to anything more than a pallet on the floor.

  “Silly girl,” the man said. “Of course no one will have any time to recuperate.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  On Stan’s World, the conflict was more understandable ... until the social scientists became involved. Indeed, their involvement was against the will of both parties in the conflict; the corporation saw them as the tools of their political enemies on Earth, while the miners saw them as the tools of the corporation. It didn't help that their proposed solutions were outrageously favourable to one side or the other, although there was no hope of a real compromise.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. War in a time of ‘Peace:’ The Empire’s Forgotten Military History.

  Ed had always hated hospitals.

  It was the duty of a Marine officer, he'd been told more than once, to visit his wounded while they were recuperating. And he'd done it too, apart from the time before their hasty departure from Earth. He still wondered, sometimes, what had happened to the wounded they'd had to leave behind. If Earth had really been destroyed ...

  He pushed the morbid thought aside as he watched Gaby and the doctors. One of them was holding a monitor to her skull, the other two were carefully monitoring her condition. It had taken a considerable amount of arguing to convince them to let Ed watch as they woke her up and they’d given him strict orders to stay out of the way, whatever happened. Even so ... he watched, feeling cold ice congeal around his heart, as Gaby gasped, struggling for breath.

  If he’d been asked, he couldn't have pinpointed the moment he’d fallen in love with her. Their first meeting had been after the Battle of Camelot and she’d been a prisoner, caught between hope and fear. Hope that Ed meant it when he offered her the political terms to end the war, fear that it was all a trap to destroy the remaining Crackers. Even then, she’d been beautiful and determined ... and caught between warring factions. Bringing them to heel had been a truly impressive achievement, one that had cemented her reputation in Ed’s eyes. And then he’d fallen for her.

  He'd done his best to ignore the rumours, some of them mischievous, some of them downright worrying. Some people had wondered if Ed and Gaby intended to start a dynasty, despite writing laws that should have made it impossible; others had wondered if they intended to leave Avalon after Gaby completed her term in office, saying goodbye to politics once and for all. Ed would have liked to do that, he admitted privately to himself, but he couldn't simply dismiss his responsibilities to the Marines. Jasmine was in no position to take over as supreme commander, not yet. Besides, anyone they met from the Empire would know her as nothing more than a Rifleman.

  The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. He’d come to Avalon with eighty-seven Marines, fifteen of which were dead and twenty-seven had been inserted into various positions where their skills were required. It wouldn't be long, he admitted privately, before the remaining Marines simple faded away into the Knights of Avalon. There would be no replacements, no continuation of traditions that had held strong for over three thousand years ... just an ignoble end. They’d fade away into nothingness.

  Gaby let out another gasp and opened her eyes. Ed stood, just so he could see what was happening as the doctors examined her. Her entire body shook alarmingly, then convulsed once. Ed stared in horror as she sagged, then looked up at him. For a long moment, her face seemed utterly blank. And then she smiled at him.

  “Ed?”

  “Gaby,” he said.

  “Lie still,” one of the doctors said. “You are not out of danger yet, Madam President.”

  Gaby met Ed’s eyes as she lay back. He could read the impatience in her face as the doctors passed various devices over her, examining her brainwaves and commenting quietly amongst themselves, using technical terms Ed couldn't even begin to understand. It was impossible to escape the feeling they were trying to conceal her true condition from him – and that he should call for the interrogators and get answers out of them, by any means necessary.

  “What happened?” Gaby demanded. “And why am I here?”

  The doctor turned to look at her. “How much do you remember?”

  Gaby hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. “I was in the Council Chamber,” she said. “They’d just brought the hearing to an end. And then ...”

  Her face darkened. “I don't remember,” she said. “What happened?”

  The doctor looked at Ed, then back at Gaby. “There was an ... incident,” he said. “Someone tried to assassinate you and the rest of the Council. Several died, you were wounded – we had to keep you out until we could repair the damage.”

  Gaby sat up, so quickly she almost slammed her head into the doctor’s nose. “I have to go to the Council and ...”

  “You have to stay here,” the doctor snapped. He looked over at Ed. “I can give you a few moments of privacy while we tabulate our results, but you need to stay in bed.”

  Ed watched the doctor make a hasty exit, then sat down beside the bed. “It isn't good news,” he said, softly. Gaby would never have forgiven him for keeping it to himself. “We’re on the verge of war.”

  He ran through the entire story, starting with the shooting in the Council Chambers and the discovery of the shooter’s identity. “It looks very strongly as though Wolfbane deliberately attempted to assassinate our society’s leaders,” he concluded. “War is a very strong possibility.”

  Gaby looked at him. She'd always been good at reading his expressions, right from the start.

  When she spoke, her voice was wea
ker than he’d feared. “Do you believe it?”

  “I don’t know,” Ed admitted. “On one hand, it’s hard to think of any other candidates for the assassination attempt. Wolfbane might well have prepared the uprising in hopes of capturing one or more of our people for interrogation.”

  “They could have kidnapped someone from Avalon without risking so much,” Gaby countered. “The whole uprising on Lakshmibai couldn't have been intended merely to snatch a single soldier.”

  Ed shook his head. “There was probably more than one objective,” he said. “Grab a soldier, test how far we were prepared to go to make a treaty with them, get a look at the CEF in action, cause a political nightmare here on Avalon ... overall, there were plenty of ways they benefited from the whole uprising.”

  He shrugged, expressively. “I convinced the Council not to send an immediate declaration of war,” he added, “but what they did send wasn't much better. They're demanding a full accounting of Wolfbane’s territory, an end to probing missions across the border, open trade and negotiations in a planet we choose ... overall, the message was about as diplomatic as a punch in the face.”

  “And rather less effective,” Gaby observed. “How do you think Wolfbane will respond?”

  “It depends,” Ed said. “The message didn't leave much room for evasion. Either they admit to deliberately undermining our government – including your assassination – and accept the terms we demand or they start a war. Councillor Jackson wanted to start a war right away.”

  “Jackson always was a hothead,” Gaby said. She looked down at her hospital gown for a long moment, then back up at Ed. “I have to get out of here.”

  Ed understood. He hated spending time in hospitals as a patient almost as much as he hated visiting the sick or wounded. But he also knew that Gaby needed proper medical treatment after she’d been wounded. A brain injury was nothing to laugh at, not when it could cause all kinds of long-term problems.

  “See what the doctors say,” he said. “They’ll make the final decision.”

  Gaby glowered at him. “I thought you were on my side,” she said. Her lips quirked, revealing she didn't entirely mean it. “I have a war to prevent.”

  “Or fight as effectively as possible,” Ed said.

  He hated being blind, he hated the sheer mass of unanswered questions surrounding Wolfbane ... and the cold knowledge that a war was almost certainly about to start chilled him to the bone. No one had fought a major interstellar war in over a thousand years. Ed had plenty of experience fighting on the ground, or tackling pirate bases in deep space, but a major war? What would such a war, fought with modern technology, be like? The simulations kept producing different answers, depending on what assumptions were used as the baseline, but all of them agreed that it would be disastrous.

  “Another good reason to get me out of here,” Gaby said. “The doctors can't hold me prisoner forever.”

  The doctor reappeared before Ed could say a word. “Madam President,” he said. “We have collated the data.”

  There was a long pause. “We have successfully repaired the damage to your skull,” the doctor continued. Gaby reached up to touch the side of her head, where her hair had been cut away to allow the doctors to work. “As far as we can tell, there is no lasting damage to your brain. However, the brain is still full of surprises for the unwary doctor. You may well suffer effects from the blow.”

  Gaby leaned forward, her eyes sharp and cold. “Like what, Doctor?”

  “Headaches, mood swings, bouts of forgetfulness and suchlike,” the doctor said. He held up a hand before Gaby could say a word. “I know it isn't a very precise answer, but head injuries are notoriously unpredictable. You might suffer no further problems at all or you might be plagued with headaches and other problems. My very strong advice would be to spend the next few days here while we monitor your condition.”

  Gaby shook her head, firmly. “I’ve got work to do, Doctor,” she said. “I can’t simply stay here.”

  “So I understand,” the doctor said, with a sigh. “I would suggest, then, that you kept a medic with you at all times. If you start to suffer problems, come back here at once.”

  He hesitated. “You might also want to consider taking a leave of absence,” he added. “I believe you can stand down for a few weeks on medical grounds ...”

  “I think that would be a very bad idea,” Gaby said, tightly. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, then stood. Her long red hair cascaded down her back. “Do you have some proper clothes for me or do I have to walk out in this skimpy hospital gown?”

  “In the bedside cabinet,” Ed said. He opened it to reveal one of the long dresses that had recently come back into fashion. They were handmade by farmwives, from what he’d heard, but fashion had never made much sense to him. Underneath, there were a pair of panties and a bra. “You’ll have to look your best when you walk into the Council Chamber.”

  “Councillor Rubens would probably faint if I walked in wearing the gown,” Gaby muttered, as she pulled the gown over her head and dropped it on the bed, then reached for her panties. She didn't seem to have any trouble with coordination, Ed noted with some relief. A concussion alone could screw up someone’s ability to use their hands properly. “But it would certainly win me a few thousand votes.”

  Ed rolled his eyes. “What happened to the woman who insisted that councillors should wear unflattering uniforms?”

  Gaby snorted, rudely, as she pulled the dress on. She’d been courted by hundreds of young Crackers, according to her, many of whom claimed to be motivated by nothing more than the desire to ensure that Peter Cracker’s legacy was passed down to yet another generation. Ed recalled just how one of her assistants had clung to her, only to go back to his farm when Gaby had taken up with Ed. The young man had had an intense crush on Gaby, something that had left him torn in two. It was easier, Ed decided, to leave romance and sex out of the equation. Insurgencies, however, didn't have the luxury of intensive training for their people.

  “She got shot in the head,” Gaby said. She finished buckling up the belt, then peered at herself in the mirror. A quick few motions brought her hair under control. “And right now she needs to avoid any questioning of her ability to do her job.”

  She turned and strode out of the room. Ed followed her hastily, understanding exactly what she meant. Without her, the Council was divided. Councillor Jackson wanted immediate war, Councillor Travis seemed torn between war and peace, Councillor Stevens wanted to know just what had happened before making up her mind ... and Councillor Rubens seemed to have nothing to say. God alone knew how the old man had won election in the first place, Ed had decided, a long time ago. He had less energy than an Imperial Army supply officer and far fewer incentives to do anything.

  “There's an aircar waiting just outside,” he said. “I’ll take you to your office.”

  Gaby paused long enough to look back and smile. “Aren't you worried that someone will think you're abusing your authority?”

  “I don’t mind, right now,” Ed said, honestly. “And besides, an aircar will get you there quicker than a street car.”

  Someone must have blabbed to the media, Ed decided, as they stepped out of the door. A small army of reporters stood there, holding up sensor pads and shouting out questions. Gaby seemed to freeze for a long moment, long enough that Ed started to worry, before catching herself and stepping forward with icy determination. The reporters parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses, remembering – suddenly – just how many privacy laws there were in Avalon’s constitution. Reporters might be tolerated – a free press was the key to freedom, according to Professor Caesius – but they weren't treated as little tin gods. If Gaby chose to file suit against one or all of them ...

  She stopped as she reached the aircar and turned to face the reporters. “As you can see,” she said smoothly, “rumours of my injuries are greatly exaggerated. I am alive, well and looking forward to resuming my duties.”

>   Ed wondered, absently, how she knew there had been exaggerated reports of her injuries, then remembered that Gaby hadn't just been a fighter. She'd directed the propaganda war against the Old Council with as much icy determination as she’d brought to bear on the battlefield. And it had worked, too. No one believed a word of the official dispatches, which had helped, but she’d largely ensured that the Crackers told the truth. And, because of it, they were believed.

  “Thank you for your time,” Gaby concluded, with a winning smile. Ed couldn't help wondering how long it would take the reporters to realise that she'd really told them next to nothing. “And goodbye.”

  Ed helped her into the aircar, then moved around and slipped into the pilot’s chair. Aircars were still staggeringly rare on Avalon, not when the excess productive capability to produce them simply didn't exist. The vehicle shook as he activated the engines, then rose up smoothly into the air and headed out over the city. From overhead, there was a charm about Camelot, Ed had always felt, that was lacking in older cities. It helped, he decided, that no one had authority to issue guidelines for buildings beyond ensuring that their buildings were actually safe.

  “There may well be war,” Gaby said. She reached out and touched his hand, lightly. They rarely allowed themselves any romantic touches outside their apartments, not when it would give rise to more rumours. “Ed ... can we win?”

  “I wish I knew,” Ed admitted. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he resisted the impulse. “There are just too many ways the war can develop.”

  “May already have developed,” Gaby said. She’d grown used to the time lag between star systems quicker than anyone else he knew outside the Imperial Navy. “They could already be attacking our star systems.”

  Ed nodded. One scenario – the nightmare scenario – was a sudden attack on Avalon, Corinthian and the handful of other star systems with industrial nodes. Wolfbane wouldn’t even have to occupy the systems, merely destroy their industrial centres. The Commonwealth Navy would be unable to resupply itself and would eventually run out of everything from missiles to spare parts. How long would their supplies last if there were no more coming in from the industrial centres.