by James Cox
Officially the legation's extensive gymnasium was a folly intended ostensibly for the occasional visitor who might want to use it. Occasionally the personnel stationed here hinted that it was for the personal benefit of the Ambassador. In reality it was designed to serve as a training area for the Marines at the legation or, in extremis, a staging area for any mission they might undertake. Micah configured it for hand combat.
Six soft but heavy bags swung toward Micah. By punching and kicking as hard and as fast as he could he kept them at least a meter away. A good Marine with a hand-combat rating worked to maintain four bags at half a meter.
As his body finally started to tire Micah freed his mind to wander. Fighting and flowing through the combat forms, reflex by now, Micah pondered their dilemma. Fruitlessly.
“Impressive.”
Micah bowed to Ionoski. He saw him enter but didn't want to break his routine.
“This torques you, doesn't it,” said Ionoski, “You'd rather be out doing something. Preferably something solid, straightforward, definite and final. Am I right?”
When Micah didn't answer Ionoski stepped onto the mat. He wore fighting trunks and traction shoes identical to Micah's.
“So why don't you? You know Ramsey can't stop you. My authority is transient at best. Why aren't you out there?”
“What exactly would I do?” Bitterness suffused Micah's words. “If I thought it would help I'd have every First's liver on a plate, fried with peppers, for Ian for breakfast!”
“Really?” Ionoski assumed a formal combat position and slapped his fist.
“Don't you want dampers,” asked Micah, unimpressed.
“I'm over twice your age and I haven't had a fight outside the gym for over three years.” Ionoski smiled. “No, I don't think I want dampers.”
Ionoski struck lightning-fast. Intelligence taught an amalgam of martial arts, all designed to silence, disable, or kill as quickly and efficiently as possible. Agents sparring pulled their punches as a matter of course but fighting without dampers could still be deadly.
Micah yielded before a whirlwind attack, defending and finally reversing it when Ionoski hesitated. The series ended with Ionoski fisting him hard under the ribs. Micah grunted and Ionoski offered a thin smile. Micah, irritated now, launched an attack series of his own. Ionoski yielded before it and eventually finished it with a punch to Micah's other side.
Micah stepped back. He sensed Ionoski's smugness and resolved not to let it affect him. He slowed the tempo by moving in with multiple feints and invitations. When Ionoski accepted one Micah pressed home the attack. That series ended with Ionoski sending him crashing into the wall padding.
“Think, Micah!”
That hurt! With no military background, at least by Micah's standard, Ionoski had no cause to make that remark.
Micah began alternating strategies and mixing in some tricks Intelligence didn't teach. He almost caught Ionoski several times but Ted always managed to be just where Micah's attack wasn't. Micah kept a lid on his anger and frustration. He'd learned that from more than one instructor!
In a move Micah saw coming and with half a second to spare, in a move Micah could have defended easily had he been in position, Ionoski sent him crashing to the floor.
Enough! With all his anger and frustration driving him Micah rolled to his feet and attacked. At first Ionoski defended easily and counterattacked against Micah's blind rage. Micah, though, held his emotions firmly, focusing and using them to advantage. In a blinding array of kicks, punches and feints Micah backed Ionoski against the wall. Then, breath exploding from him, Micah punched hard, fast and unblockably. Ionoski flinched, obviously expecting broken bones and sundry other ailments. He relaxed as Micah's fist stopped bare millimeters from his face. He slapped Micah's arm. Kill!
“Last rule of the fight,” snapped Ionoski.
“Win!”
“Purpose of the fight.”
“Win!”
“End of the fight!”
“Win!”
Ionoski sat and motioned Micah to a chair.
“The defender,” started Ionoski.
“The defender reacts. The attacker attacks. The defender waits. The attacker strikes.”
“How do you kill an army?”
“Destroy the chain of command. Disrupt the organization.”
“How do you kill an organization?”
“Attack the structure. Attack the individuals who make it.”
“How do you conquer a planet?”
“The hearts and minds of the people.”
“How do you kill a snake?”
“Chop off its head!”
“Good!” Ionoski nodded in satisfaction. “I'm glad we're through that Micah. You're a hellspawn on the floor and I'm too old for broken bones. I suggest you get some sleep.”
***
The next day Micah began studying with an intensity he'd not used since Intel training. He studied every scrap he could find on the local government, the people of Unity, its leaders, its society and its history. The legation had very little access to the Unity net but Ramsey kept an impressive library and archive. Even with the massive storage capacity of datacubes it made a massive collection. Micah did not let that sway him.
“Micah.”
Micah looked up. It was mid-afternoon and Ferrel had a datapad.
“What is it?”
“I know who our mysterious stranger is.” Ferrel jacked into Micah's console. “Take away the disguise and put him in normal shoes and it is Aaron Loglain. The First himself!”
Micah looked. With the holoenhancement artistry he and Kidwell took for granted Ferrel matched the holos of the stranger with those of the First.
“My money's there,” said Micah, “What can we do about it?”
“I have an idea,” said Kidwell as she joined them, “What, gentlemen, are the Pillars of the Circle?”
“Abstinence, chastity, charity and selflessness.”
Kidwell keyed a query on Micah's terminal.
“Notice. Some sixteen months ago First Loglain began a slow change in his rulings. Where before he'd been inclined to lenience and liberal tolerance, here he started moving back toward extremism.”
“Coupled with his fondness for 'stim,” said Micah.
“I do believe we have something, gentlemen. I'll tell Ted.”
That evening Ionoski gathered his three plus a tired Ramsey.
“Change of plans,” said Ramsey, “Fifth to the Circle Abu-Safas started dropping subtle and not-so-subtle hints about accomplices. I think he wants more hostages and as long as I have a group here he'll be tempted to try for some. So. You three and everybody else but Jonas are going away on the first transport out.
“I received a blip today. The local patrol's taking up close defense stations. We have two Rothwells and a full wing of Ghirmics with them. That's almost as much firepower as the locals have in the whole system and the Navy commander informed me they have a cruiser group on the way.”
Kidwell paled and Micah nodded with approval. Rothwell class destroyers were fast, efficient and amazingly powerful for their size. What weaknesses they had the Ghirmic-class frigates covered easily.
“They also have a contingency ship,” said Ionoski, “That's where you're going. Thanks Ian.”
When Ramsey left Ionoski activated a garble.
“Now. Plan. Ideas?”
With a glance to Ferrel and Kidwell Micah began outlining the rough plan they'd formed.
The official arrival of the League Navy caused a stir. Demonstrators surrounded the legation and demanded an end to the League threat, high-handed terrorism and similar themes. With the forces in orbit the starport officials didn't quite dare refuse permission for a shuttle to land. The Unity officials expected nothing other than an evacuation of the League tourists. When the shuttle disgorged two full platoons of Fleet Marines - embassy guards - the Unitites lodged a formal protest which Ramsey received with obvious indifference.
&
nbsp; “It's part of the ritual,” said Ramsey, “It's always easier to rattle a bigger sabre.”
When Ramsey announced the arrest of Micah and Ferrel reactions among the League people ranged from mild indifference to outright shock. The former believed Ramsey taking official steps to remove suspicious persons from Unity grasp. The rest took it at face value. Acting as a red-faced Smit Ionoski vowed volubly and at length that he would, by heaven, stay on this sorry planet and clear the fraudulent charges if it took every last credit he had. He sent Meshella away and she swore, tearfully, to sulk until he apologized for doing it.
None of the rest spoke to Micah or Ferrel during the flight to orbit.
***
Micah, Kidwell and Ferrel transferred to the contingency ship as soon as they could board a pinnace. The captain met them along with two crew.
“Ramsey blipped me your requests,” said the captain, “Is there anything else?”
Micah shook his head. Contingency ships were specifically designed for Intelligence missions. As a rule they contained anything and everything the fertile minds of Intel ops and planners could pack within their hulls. And that would fit. Micah and the others planned their requests accordingly.
“Excellent,” said the captain, “I hate to rush you but we only have a four-hour window.”
When he saw Kidwell's attention elsewhere Micah whispered to the closest sailor. The girl smiled and nodded.
“Are you familiar with the new models,” asked the other sailor.
“Looks like a standard rat to me,” said Micah.
“Not quite. We call them 'cats,' Concealed Atmospheric Transit. They pop a lot higher and you have about seventeen klicks more discretion for an LZ. They also dissolve really fast over water so we'll be shooting you above an ocean.”
Kidwell tensed then forced herself to relax.
“Standard controls?”
“Aye, sir. The only difference is the altitude.”
Micah nodded and the sailor listened to his comm.
“The captain just released the map. Shall we plot the LZ?”
Micah scowled over the map. Kidwell put out her drugstick and lit another one. Ferrel called up details when Micah requested them. With the requisite water shot for the rats they'd be at least four days away from Unity. Micah opted five days for himself and Kidwell and six for Ferrel.
“So Vera will have an extra day in town,” said Micah, “And you can pull our duffs out of the fusion chamber if necessary.”
Ferrel grinned and nodded. Kidwell remained uncharacteristically silent.
Micah felt a wash of nostalgia as he entered the drop bay. Though this one lacked groups of Marines prepping he could almost feel them there. Ferrel smiled and nodded. He understood. Kidwell started her fourth 'stick in thirty minutes. Motioning the sailor to help Ferrel strap in Micah took Kidwell's arm.
“I really, really don't want to do this,” she said.
“Just like practice,” said Micah, working her into the landing suit, “You've done it dozens of times. We all have.”
“I've done it eight times,” she said, “and I hated every one!”
The young lady entered the room with Micah's packages. Kidwell looked hard but he slipped them into his pocket before she could see. Ferrel keyed the private channel.
“Don't worry, Vera. As a wise man once told a friend of mine, you're learning from the best.”
After a few minutes Micah had her snugged into the form-fitting capsule. When he buckled the last strap he pulled out his largest package.
“Here.” Micah wedged the plastic cucumber under her hand.
Kidwell scowled. “You are a greasy-muck bottomfeeder!”
Micah smiled at the thread of amusement he heard. “Then you can give it back when we dust down.”
Kidwell managed a chuckle, albeit a short one, and Micah closed the capsule.
***
Launch and re-entry immersed Micah in memories again. He remembered his friends, his comrades, who made so many drops with him. He remembered the ones who made it and the ones who didn't. Ionoski had subtly placed Micah in command. It was neither official nor formal but was twice as solid for the lack. For all his previous drops, when Micah had more weapons, he considered himself better armed now. Still, command weighed heavily.
True to the sailor's words Micah lost the rat - cat - at a higher altitude. After his customary look around Micah activated his thermals. Bright bits of un-shredded cat drifted above him. Micah saw a vast surface below, easily segregated into land and water. Micah oriented himself against the hotspots corresponding to cities. Good shooting on the captain's part!
Micah turned the gain on the thermal sensors to full. The landscape below hashed into meaninglessness but after a moment he found what he sought. Per request the captain fired Micah last; he intended to keep an eye on Kidwell. What she hadn't said but Micah knew was that she had a terrible fear of meteoric drops. So far she had it under control.
Micah guided his 'chute toward the beach he'd marked for his own. There was nothing thermal other than water and land and it lay within a not-long journey to a nearby town. He had a pulse from Ferrel and Kidwell as soon as they landed.
Micah hit and rolled, gathering the 'chute and scanning the zone even before he gained his feet. Nothing. He sent a pulse to the others and began divesting himself of drop gear and destroying it.
Micah crept up on Kidwell's position. He saw no sign so she'd destroyed her gear. A quick glance through thermal pinpointed her.
“Meteor!” whispered Micah emphatically.
“Feces! Micah?” Then when he didn't answer. “Meteor down. Burnit.”
“That wasn't so bad, was it? Do you still have it?”
“Yes and yes. Here. You can hold it 'till I get a chance to stuff it up your shiny duff!”
“You hurt or broken?”
“No.” Kidwell took a breath. “Thanks, Micah.” A quick squeeze on his arm.
Before long they stood watching the light traffic on the road leading into town. When they passed by a light Micah stopped.
“Here,” he said, giving Kidwell the other package.
She looked at him suspiciously as she opened it, then grinned as wide as he'd ever seen her. She looked at the silver meteor, winked at Micah and put it away.
Micah sat back on the hard bench, dutifully reading his Writ. A moderate crowd bustled around him, mostly waiting for the next tran. Off to one side Kidwell hovered around a public holovee, monitoring the latest news and reading the crowd. The tran pulled into the station announced by the sound of heavy-duty electromagnetics. Ferrel should already be aboard. Micah verified this with a quick glance at his chrono and he and Kidwell boarded. They found Ferrel in the dining car just finishing a likely-bland meal. Micah and Kidwell took a table and placed an order. In five days they'd be in Unity but until then they'd not speak to Ferrel.
***
Velvert paged through his latest report from Morr. Though unquestioning and obedient, Morr was also far from being a mental giant. Though this suited him for Velvert's tasks it tended to make his reports long and overly-detailed. Still, Velvert gleaned a not-small trove of information from Morr and his other sources. The choicest selections, and those concerning the Firsts he passed along to Frond but he kept certain tidbits for himself. He still thought Frond ill-advised to move against the League but the man refused to sway. With most attention diverted elsewhere, though, Velvert managed to gather vast amounts of useful information from otherwise careful targets.
Velvert dismissed reports of League ships withdrawing to distant orbit. The Firsts grudgingly conceded a few minor points and Ramsey ordered the close orbits cleared. Petty maneuverings. More important to Velvert: reports of several minor incidents in Anathema the afternoon of the League arrests.
Velvert questioned the six Brethren extensively. Fearing and receiving a penance to turn a solicitor's heart they recounted every detail of their chase. Hoodlum attacks against uniformed Brethren wer
en't common and non-uniformed constables normally avoided the low parts of Anathema. Still, Velvert suspected.
He traced the unlikely quarry to a hostel near one of Unity's tran stations but there the trail ended. Glory in the Light had no record of them, which surprised Velvert not at all. No, these two were League spies. Of that he was certain. Also certain was that they hadn't left. Whether they grounded in Anathema or elsewhere mattered little, they were still on the planet. The only thing Velvert lacked was their objective and he had some shrewd guesses about that.
Velvert refined his criteria and re-sifted his information concerning the League scum. Even if he didn't know their objective he could prepare. They would not find his preparations to their liking.
***
Micah regarded the other two. They sat in the common room of the small house they found near the low part of town.
“The crowds are pretty worked up,” said Kidwell, “Besides the usual fervor they want the League off the planet completely. It wasn't this bad when we left, so someone's whipping.”
“Any chance of finding them,” asked Micah.
“Not really. Not the ones we want. It doesn't take much to get a fanatic excited and you can bet your last that someone in the Circle or near it has a list. Then a simple conversation or two and a few days and you have instant mob-starter.” Kidwell reached for a nibbler. “Simple, effective and untraceable.”
“Counter-whips?”
“We don't have the list. Besides, with anti-League sentiment running the way it is they'd be massacred.”
“So we stick to the plan,” said Ferrel, “You sure you don't want me tonight, Micah?”
“Positive. What I'm doing only needs muscle and I've got that.” He grinned wickedly at Ferrel. “You two have the real work and I don't want any of that!”
Micah hadn't exaggerated much. While his job did require mostly muscle it had enough subtlety to make him uncomfortable. He made his way to the back entrance of the bar Loglain hadn't visited for at least three nights. Though Micah didn't know the man's exact rate of consumption, vinostim acted quickly once addiction set in. Discreet inquiries verified that no other place in Unity dispensed it. Micah suspected Loglain had some influence over that ruling.
