Raising Caine - eARC

by Charles E Gannon

  Cameron frowned. “That’s a lot of skullduggery for a visit to a corporate compound.”

  “Sure is. On the other hand, site intel suggests CoDevCo may have resumed hunting down the locals—who are soon to be recategorized, definitively, as exosapients. And you know what that means.”

  Cameron nodded. “Murder charges. Very well, Mr.—er, Commodore Riordan. Down you go, and we’ll keep a channel open. I imagine they might not take very kindly to your visit, and we’d be all too happy to lend a hand if you need it.”

  “I just might, Commodore Cameron. Thanks, and we’ll keep you posted.”

  The line closed. Souders frowned at the screen. “He’ll ‘keep us posted’ in a pig’s ass.” She looked ready to spit. “I think I believe just slightly less than half of everything he said, sir. And I don’t care who he is.”

  “That’s as may be,” Cameron temporized, “but his clearance code and authorization string checks out as legit. You think those are false?”

  Souders’ frown deepened. “No,” she admitted finally. “I just don’t like being lied to by people with big ranks and bigger clearance ratings.”

  Then you’ve chosen the wrong line of work, Steph. “Keep that channel open, Lieutenant. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Commodore Riordan on this matter.”

  “Hell,” Souders sighed, “I suspect that was just the opening act.”

  * * *

  “It must feel strange, being back here.” Bannor Rulaine ran his targeting binoculars over the CoDevCo complex a kilometer away.

  Riordan, waiting for word that Puller was in position, shrugged. “That’s not what’s on my mind right now.”

  “No? Seeing the locals again, maybe?”

  Riordan shook his head. “No. Lying. I had to lie to Commodore Cameron to get us down here.”

  “Well, you knew that was coming.”

  Riordan shouldered his liquimix battle rifle, jacked it into the HUD on his helmet, watched it pick out targets based on thermal signatures and silhouette analysis. “Knowing you’ll have to lie is different than doing it. I’m not saying there was any choice; not saying the stakes aren’t high enough. Just saying it disgusts me, particularly when I have to do it to someone wearing the same uniform.”

  “Yes,” Bannor agreed. “That’s the worst.” He raised his head slightly. “The stragglers are starting to run back into the compound, now.”

  Caine nodded, swept his scope over the familiar facility. Almost two and a half years ago, he had walked those dusty lanes, dined in that refectory, swum in that executive pool. It was all a bit shabby now. After the Parthenon Dialogues, the then-World Confederation had suspended all operations other than petrochemical prospecting with vertical drilling. The Hague had also tried to mount an investigation into the willful extermination of the local population of Pavonians, now known to be regressed Slaasriithi, but was stymied by procedural challenges. Then the Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh had invaded and everything other than speciate autonomy, and possibly survival, was set aside. Now, as some semblance of calm was returning, there had been inquiries into whether CoDevCo’s Site One facility had remained in compliance with the suspension order. No direct answer to the question was ever received. However, much verbiage about soliciting advice of counsel before vouchsafing a reply was sent in its place. Which, Riordan was sure, meant that the moment CoDevCo had no longer been under direct official oversight, they had returned to their rapacious ways.

  Close passes by Puller confirmed it. Digging around the archaeological site reminiscent of a half-sized Acropolis had clearly resumed, and thermal sensors showed a number of small teams up near the hidden valley that was the preferred refuge of the Pavonians. Whether CoDevCo’s henchmen had resumed hunting them to extinction or were simply containing them was unclear, but it was an absolute violation of the restrictions that had been placed upon their activities.

  As Puller had swung around to make its initial approach, missiles had swarmed up out of the jungle at her. Melissa Sleeman had knocked them all down. She had become a pretty fair hand running the lasers in the point-defense fire mode.

  Karam had lowered Puller on its vertifans, dropped off the Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform, and fired a few beams into the bushes. That had sent the SAM teams scurrying back toward base, where they were finally arriving. And where CoDevCo was likely to either make a last stand or capitulate. But Riordan couldn’t give them much time to make up their mind about which; whatever incriminating evidence existed at the facility would already be earmarked for speedy elimination.

  Bannor ran through a radio check. “Everyone’s ready for the show to begin, Commodore,” he reported. “Time to provide some pretext for pacification.”

  Riordan leaned towards his own collarcom. “Melissa, shift over to the ROV controls.”

  “Got it.”

  “Advance the Slaasriithi AMP to waypoint two and hold position.”

  “Acknowledged. And Commodore?”

  “Yes, Melissa?”

  “Is Tygg there with you?”

  Riordan suppressed a smile while Bannor rolled his eyes. “No, he’s about three hundred meters to our left, Melissa.”

  “Oh. Well, tell him to be careful. Please.”

  “Will do. Stand ready to activate the PA system we’ve rigged on the AMP.” Riordan leaned down over his CoBro eight millimeter’s scope. Site One was relatively quiet; the fleeing SAM teams had repositioned themselves around the central marshalling area where a defunct fountain stood bleaching in the unrelenting yellow-amber sun. There were two prepared positions flanking the open ground, which had already been there when Riordan was an unwanted guest at the facility. Their relatively basic rocket launchers—tripod mounted, simple guidance packages—had been swiveled around to guard the main approach. Perfect. Just enough illegal ordnance to crucify CoDevCo in court, but not enough to really be a bother today.

  Caine’s collarcom crackled. “Commodore?”

  “Yes, Melissa?”

  “The AMP has now reached waypoint two.”

  “Good. Advance to waypoint three and hold.”

  “Do you want me to activate the PA system yet?”

  “No, but I’ll be calling for it soon. Riordan out.”

  “And there’s our spider-monster, right on time,” Bannor announced.

  Sure enough, the much heavier, hexapedal Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform emerged from the tree line and advanced toward the marshalling ground at a leisurely pace.

  From the windows of the refectory, one of the more solidly build structures, small arms barked like a pack of warning dogs. The AMP did not stop, showed no effect. Riordan saw hints of what might have been loading and target tracking movements in the two defensive berms flanking the open ground, but none of the hurried motions consistent with an imminent attack.

  The AMP came to a stop just the other side of the fountain.

  Riordan leaned his mouth towards his collarcom. “PA, please, Melissa. And please activate the AMP’s PDF system.”

  “You are live on the mic, Commodore. PDF coming up.” The back of the radially symmetric automated weapons platform segmented, extruded a pintel-mounted tube, resealed around it. “PDF coil gun is armed and ready. Go ahead, sir.”

  Bannor grinned at him. “Show time.”

  Riordan nodded, did not smile; he’d seen evidence of too many atrocities against the Pavonians to feel anything other than the heat of an anger he’d had to suppress but which had never guttered out. “This is Commodore Caine Riordan of the United Commonwealths and Allied States, acting on behalf of the Consolidated Terran Republic. You are hereby ordered to lay down your weapons, quit your positions, and present yourself for detention until such time as your individual culpability may be determined in the matter of any and all violations of Emergency Action Order 12509-C, issued by the World Confederation and transferred by political supersedence to the appropriate administrative agencies of the CTR.”

  A single shot rang o
ut from the refectory, spanged harmlessly off one of the AMP’s legs.

  Riordan did not pause at all. “Failure to follow these instructions will be taken as an indication of continued hostile intent. You have thirty seconds to signal your intent to comply.”

  A rocket sped at the AMP from the left-hand berm; the PDF tube swung toward it with eye-defying speed, hissed briefly. The rocket detonated half way between the berm and the Slaasriithi ROV, the explosion shattering half of the facing windows in the refectory.

  “Seems like a pretty clear signal to me,” Tygg drawled over the open channel.

  “Hold your fire, everyone. We’re going to give them the full thirty seconds.”

  “Why?” O’Garran sounded both eager and annoyed. He was well out on the right flank.

  “Because we can afford to do so,” Riordan answered, “and because we need to take the high road on this right up until we engage.”

  “Prudent,” affirmed Wu, who was working through the jungle around to the rear of the compound, ready to laser-tag any runners with changed-phase pulses so that Puller’s sensors had immediate targeting discrimination between potential hostiles and non-combatants.

  “Thirty seconds have elapsed….now,” Bannor announced.

  As if to confirm that timing, a half-dozen small arms glittered along the shattered line of the refectory’s windows. The rounds rang off the smooth legs of the AMP.

  “PA off,” Riordan ordered. “Melissa, is Phil on the rail gun?”

  “Standing by,” Phil answered.

  “Okay. You keep standing by until I call for you. Peter, are you in position?”

  “In position.”

  “I want you to paint the motor pool so we’ve got overlapping impact points. Melissa, you send each paint-point to the AMP’s targeting computer.”

  Wu was silent for three seconds. “Done.”

  “I have the target-points,” Melissa confirmed.

  “Excellent. Slave and fire the AMP’s full inventory of HE missiles to those target points.”

  “Commodore, please say again: all HE missiles?”

  “Yes, Melissa: all HE missiles. Is our Slaasriithi technical advisor perturbed?”

  “No, sir. The question was mine.”

  Of course it was yours. You’re a human; you’re used to fighting, to holding weapons in reserve, to keeping your options open. Our exosapient technical advisor is a wiz with machinery, but the pace and exigencies of combat overload and disorient him. Which is just what we need if we’re going to make the AMP truly useful to us…“In the event of counter-fire, miniature anti personnel heat-seekers are to be expended one per attacker. Engage.”

  For a moment, it looked as if the AMP had exploded: the plumes of a dozen tactical rockets hid it in a roiling cloud of smoke. But as the exhaust cleared and the rockets arced sharply over Site One’s long, low administrative complex, the AMP stood revealed once again, half of its solid body—the part that had held the rockets—now an open framework.

  Assault rifles stuttered at it from the refectory; it fired a MAPH at each flashing muzzle. Each fell silent.

  The rockets hit the motor pool in a long, ragged roar followed immediately by an upward rush of smoke and debris. An instant later, the left berm launched a rocket, which the AMP’s back-mounted PDF knocked down easily. “Keep the PDF focused on that berm, Melissa,” Riordan ordered.

  Her voice was as alarmed as Bannor Rulaine’s sudden sideways glance: “But sir—”

  “Just do it. I haven’t forgotten about the rockets in the other berm.”

  The CoDevCo mercenaries indicated that their memory was similarly unimpeded: two rockets launched from the berm, hit the AMP, staggering it. One leg seemed to be unresponsive.

  “Sir—?” began Melissa.

  “Caine—?” began Bannor.

  He ignored them. “Tygg, Miles; paint each berm. Phil, do you have target lock for the rail gun?”

  “I do.”

  “Good,” replied Caine as another rocket rushed at the AMP. “Light ’em up.”

  As the last rocket blew two legs off the crippled ROV and sent it cartwheeling away, two flaming bolts shot over their heads, ripping through the sound barrier with an earsplitting crash. Both went into the left hand berm, which literally flew apart. Another rush of thunder and flame; the right hand berm vanished in a second cyclone of dirt, bodies, torn machinery.

  “Karam, do you have an eye on your sensors?”

  “Precisely one eye on them, Commodore.”

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “No combat effectives bearing upon the marshalling ground. Panicked civvies streaming out the back, dodging the inferno that used to be the motor pool, scattering into the jungle. Sure hope they don’t meet any Pavanosaurs out there.”

  “We’ll make sure they don’t.”

  “You’re a kill-joy. Sir.”

  “So true. Condition of the main complex?”

  “Just some superficial blast damage, Commodore. All their records and dirty little local-killing secrets should still be in pristine condition when you get to them.”

  “No. Commodore Cameron is going to get first access and credit for the operation. If he wants it. We were just here to expedite, unless he’s worried about taking heat for the op and wants to keep his hands clean.” For which I could not blame him one bit. “Tygg, O’Garran, close on the compound; Major Rulaine and I will provide a base of fire to cover your advance if any hostiles show up again.” Although I’d say what little loyalty is bought with mercenary coin has long since been expended. “Karam, when Tygg and Little Guy give you an all-clear, I want you on site in one minute to scoop up that disabled AMP.”

  “Aye, aye, Commodore. I’ve clued Tina in; she’s ready in the bay with a robot stevedore.”

  “Excellent. I’ll keep this channel open. Riordan out.”

  Bannor Rulaine, looking down the scope of his own liquimix battlerifle, alert for any thermal signatures or movement, did not look at Caine when he asked, “Why did you put that AMP out as a Judas Goat?”

  “Well, the Slaasriithi Great Ring forbade Yiithrii’ah’aash from giving us any functional weapons to look at, remember? But when I pressed him, he admitted they hadn’t said anything about us collecting any trash they left behind.” Caine nodded at the stricken AMP. “So I figure we’ll just do a good deed and clean up their trash.”

  Rulaine smiled. “Which our miltech brain trust will dissect and get messy drooling over. Commodore, I hope you never choose to become a statesman.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re just sneaky enough to be good at it.”

  “Maybe,” answered Caine, “but today, I was only interested in one thing: getting us access to every weapon available, given the years to come.”

  Bannor heard the implication. “So despite the Arat Kur surrender, you don’t think we’re going to have ‘peace in our time’?”

  Riordan just watched Puller swing in on fans and open its bay, ready to scoop up the battered AMP like a mechanical bird retrieving an injured fledgling into its own body.

  * * *

  Sixty kilometers north of the mini-Acropolis that had mutely announced the presence of other intelligences in the universe, the team stood watch for the return of Yiithrii’ah’aash and his assistants. Despite repeated warnings about the dangers posed by Pavonosaurs, they had elected to search for the locals on their own. The presence of humans, Yiithrii’ah’aash explained, would only complicate what could yet prove to be a very simple matter.

  Caine was part of the external anchor watch when Karam called him with news that Commodore Cameron was on the line. “Patch him through.”

  “Commodores, you are both on; the line is encrypted and private.”

  Encrypted and private? Hmmm—“Commodore Cameron, glad to hear from you.”

  “Just Steve, please, Commodore Riordan.”

  “Then it’s Caine, Steve. What can I do for you?”

  “Firstly, I
wanted to update you on what we found at Site One.”

  “Incriminating evidence?”

  “The mother lode. Apparently, the clever fellow they had running the show when you visited, Helger, was brought home when it was anticipated that Shangri La was going into a deep freeze as far as profit-making was concerned. The clown who took over was nowhere near so shrewd about what information he kept and what he didn’t. We have full records of ‘secure’ communications, including the proprietary cypher keys, that come from CoDevCo’s top brass, instructing a resumption of their original campaign of ‘indigenous wildlife elimination,” in which the locals are definitively listed. And this after they were designated a protected species by the Hague, pending a scientific measurement of their sapience. CoDevCo has screwed itself well and good, Caine.”

  “Couldn’t happen to a more deserving pack of jackals,” Caine observed. “But you wouldn’t need a cypher on this line to tell me that. What’s coming down the path towards me, Steve?”

  There was a short silence. “You must have majored in reading between the lines, Riordan. But you’re right. You’ve got a situation in-bound.”

  “Big trouble or little trouble?”

  “Might not be trouble at all. Or it might be worse trouble than I can imagine. Only you’d know.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because the trouble asked about you by name. Seemed to expect he’d find you here.”

  Ah. “So you got a call from Richard Downing.”

  “I did. Seems he came in system two days ago, behind the further gas giant, had the codes to override our remote sensors out there. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

  “Richard can do a lot of things that don’t seem possible. What else?”

  “Asked about you, what your mission was, showed me credentials even more extraordinary than yours. A lot more extraordinary. And he’s on his way to see you.”

  “When?”

  “About twenty minutes from now. He’s putting down at Site One. Good luck, Caine.”

  The line went dead. Twenty minutes before I have to deal with Richard Downing? Well, that just makes my day.