Traitor's Duty

by Richard Tongue

   “That everything we say will be heard, but that in this case it doesn’t matter. I don’t doubt that either Tarrant or Norman would be only too happy to pay a bribe, probably a substantial one, but I don’t see them giving them what they want. Presumably our captors will take precautions to make sure that we aren’t traced back to here, but assuming one side or another doesn’t find this place, I foresee a prolonged stay.”

   “Our people?”

   “Again, a one-off bribe is one thing, but they won’t get what they are asking for.” She paused, then said, quietly, “This is precisely why we have to win this one.”

   “This dome must have been here for years…”

   “But now they think that they can bribe the impending government into helping them, into helping criminal activities, and I suppose there is still a chance that they might pull it off. Then what? Lawlessness at the top encourages lawlessness below, and everything falls apart.”

   “It’s only cannabis.”

   Gesturing around at the fields, she replied, “Though in this case, a hell of a lot of it. It goes a lot further than this, though. Harder stuff, protection rackets, all the dark, nasty things that we thought we’d left behind. All of it can come up to the surface again, too damn quickly.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Space is clean. Cleaner than this. We always seem to find a way to get ourselves stuck in the mud.”

   Leaning forward, imitating despair, she started to draw in the dirt, hoping that Harriet would take the rather broad hint she had just dropped. There might be – must be – camera pickups monitoring them, but not from every angle; an installation like this wouldn’t spend that much on security.

   “Suit status?” she wrote.

   With a quick glance at her monitor, Harriet replied with quick marks, “Four hours.”

   “Run when I do. Helmet on.”

   She looked around the dome, hunting for the exits. There had been no attempt to search them or take her weapon, but there wasn’t much she could do with the pistol. Even if she could get through the hull material, which was beyond unlikely, the resulting decompression would stand an excellent chance of killing her. There wasn’t any obvious equipment, though no doubt a hunt would find some, but again, it would be for life support – and it wasn’t in her interests to damage that either.

   Three airlocks, equidistant around the perimeter of the dome. All of them presumably sealed, though her hacker key would likely help with that. Once they got out, though, they would face a long walk to get anywhere, and an excellent chance of being captured wherever they came down. She sat back, frowning for a moment, then smiled. Certainly if she tried something they’d stop her. That she was counting on.

   Quickly, she raced over to the nearest airlock, sliding her hacker key into the slot as she placed her light helmet on, Harriet following a few seconds later. There were no alarms or sirens, none of the panic and confusion she had been expecting – doubtless soon her guards would be on their way. It took almost no time at all to crack the security, and she slid the key back into the false pocket of her suit, slapping the seal down as she started to cycle the lock, stepping back onto the desert as the outer door opened.

   As she expected, there were four people outside, waiting for her, summoned by the unseen voice of her captor. All of them had pistols pointed at her, and the leader gestured her to the door. She nodded, turned, then leapt up into the air, springing from a standing start, snatching her pistol from its belt and turning to point at the leader.

   Risking being overheard, she said, “Are you willing to die today? Your friends might kill me, but I will certainly kill you.”

   “Nothing to what will happen if you get away.”

   “Or if I am killed, yes? They’ll shoot to wound, and I will live through this. I am a good enough shot that I can guarantee that you will not. Your call. Or, perhaps, theirs.”

   One of them glanced over at a patch of sand about fifty feet away, a spot where the ground was discolored. Well camouflaged, certainly, but not quite well enough, and she bolted for it, firing a pair of wild shots to buy her a few seconds of advantage. Harriet was left behind, two of the guards covering her with their pistols while the others moved after Orlova. She felt awfully exposed, giving two armed men an excellent target, but with only a thin layer of suit between her and the Martian atmosphere – or what passed for it – any good shot could kill her, and their potential paychecks would shrink to nothing.

   Their greed stayed their hands for just long enough, and while bullets cracked behind her, they were fired to try and pin her in position, not to kill her. Psychological warfare as opposed to physical, and she’d been shot at often enough in the last few years that it phased her considerably less than it once did. She had to tell herself that they would not shoot her, and she could focus on the task at hand.

   It must have been a poor shot, she thought, as the third bullet smashed into her arm, sending blood trickling down her sleeve as the suit sealant fought a losing battle to repair the damage, the automed pumping stimulants into her to get her moving, keep her on her feet, give her a chance to reach shelter. Long-term, that wasn’t going to help her recover, but in the short- term – the next few minutes – it would keep her alive.

   The hatch was just beneath her, and she slumped down into it, filtering out the shouts and screams coming from behind. It was an old fashioned ladder airlock, dropping down a few painful feet into a shelter below, the automatic systems working as he hung limply from the ladder, gasping for breath, her suit sensors flashing grateful green as they realized they could stop fighting a losing battle to keep the atmosphere within the suit. It had only been seconds since the gunshot, but it felt as though it might have been centuries as she staggered across the room to the waiting console, leaving a red trail behind her on the dirty floor.

   It was a conventional set-up, ripped whole from some abandoned shuttle in the receding past, and her left hand worked the keys while her right hand hung limp. She could hear the lock cycling again behind her, distant as though in a dream, and a gray fog began to descend upon her, her suit medical systems deciding that it was time for her to take a rest, to let the rescuers help her. With everything she could, she fought back, trying to open up a channel, though she had no idea whether she had been successful.

   “Orlova...to Alamo,” she gasped. “Tell the Captain…”

   She collapsed in the dust, slumping slowly back to the floor as arms reached out for her, gently supporting her, lowering her down comfortably to the floor. Floating above her was the face of Harriet, briefly seeming to morph into that of Carpenter, or Nelyubov, or Caine, or Zabek, before finally the ghosts of the past pulled her into unconsciousness, the faces and voices around her fading to black.

  Chapter 13

   “We’ve got to go and get her,” Harper said, looking around the communications suite of the Ragnarok Embassy.

   Frank Nelyubov looked up, nodded, and replied, “I agree. We’ve got at least a rough location of her current position. About an hour and a half if we leave right now. Ambassador, can I borrow a couple of squads.”

   “Wait just a minute,” Senator Harper said. “A rough estimate, and you want to take a force out onto the desert. I hate to remind you, Lieutenant, but you are a wanted fugitive, and the last thing we need is to lose you as well.”

   Nodding, the Ambassador said, “He’s right, Frank. Lieutenant Talbot can run this operation. I know that you’ll hate to sit back and watch, but the Senator has a point.”

   “Good,” Harper replied. “Now that’s settled, I’ll go and get suited up.”

   “No,” the Senator said. “You’re staying right here.”

   She gave him a look that spoke daggers, and turned to the Ambassador, “If you’d get a couple of trucks ready with the men I’m going to need, we’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”

   “But…”

   “I think I need a pr
ivate word with my father. Frank, can you handle the preparations.”

   “I should be going, damn it.”

   “Frank, he’s right,” she said. “About you, anyway.”

   “Besides, someone who knows the Cabal needs to be with the President for the negotiations. I think the lack of expert advice was half the trouble last time,” the Ambassador added.

   “Kristin, there’s no need for us to discuss anything. Once Lieutenant…”

   She turned back to him again, and said, “If the rest of you could give us the room, I’ll be out in a few minutes. Someone get my suit to the airlock.”

   “I’ll see to that,” the communications technician said, getting himself rapidly out of the line of fire as the others left the room. Nelyubov looked back for a second, as though he was going to return, but thought better of it.

   “I’ve never…,” the Senator began, but Harper shook her head.

   “Get this through your head, Dad. This is my job.”

   “You’re a security specialist. Not a field operative.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “You really don’t understand any of this, do you? What do you think I was doing out there in the black for the last two years, exactly? Sitting in an office? I’ve fought in boarding actions, I’ve ridden shuttles into gas giants, wandered around derelict ships, and yes, I’ve been in gunfights, and yes,” her voice was rising to a shout, “I have taken lives in battle.”

   His face collapsed, and he said, “Whoever put you in that position…”

   “Better start with yourself, then.” She tugged at her uniform top, and said, “All of this, all of it, was your idea. You were the one who dragooned me into the Fleet, and I had to make the best of it, and I did. Here’s an admission for you – you were right. About joining the service. But if you thought it was going to turn me into something I’m not, you are very much mistaken.”

   “Someone with your experience should not have been placed in field situations.”

   “Where did you think you were sending me? Alamo went out on a four-month cruise into unexplored space, and there’s no such thing as ‘behind the lines’ out there. Then Spitfire Station, which wasn’t exactly a cakewalk, and back out again. And now here.”

   “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry to have put you through all of that.”

   “No, you aren’t. At least you weren’t, not at the time. I was an embarrassment, remember? Getting into all of the gossip sites, spoiling your chances of re-election.”

   “That was nothing to do with it,” he replied, his voice rising in response. “You were wasting your life, throwing it away, and I thought the Fleet could make best use of your talents. I didn’t expect them to turn you into some sort of commando.”

   “They didn’t, I did. I’m good at this, damn it. I own any computer system I see, and that means real-time operation – no time delays to mess things up. My place is on the front lines, and my place is out there now bringing back my friend.”

   “Your commanding officer,” he replied.

   “My friend,” she repeated. “That’s what this is all about. I don’t know what sort of a fleet you were in, but mine is different. I’ve been given room to do what I’m best at, not forced into being what I’m not.” Pointing at the window, she said, “In my judgment, that’s where I need to be.”

   “I’m giving you an order.”

   She barked a laugh, and replied, “I did read the regulations once, remember. You’re a Senator. Not in my chain of command. You can’t give me an order, and I think the President’s a bit busy at the moment to get involved in family squabbles, isn’t he? At least he damn well should be.”

   “Lieutenant Nelyubov…”

   “Doesn’t actually…,” she began, then said, “Never mind. Suffice to say that going is my decision, and that’s the end of it.”

   “What were you about to say?” he pressed. “He outranks you. You’re a Technical Officer, non-commissioned.”

   “I like that rank. Doesn’t tie me down too much, but lets me go where I need to be without anyone getting in the way.”

   “You asked for it?” he replied. “Picked your rank?”

   “Actually, no,” she said, shaking her head. With a sigh, she said, “That isn’t actually my rank. It’s the one that’s on my records, but if you have enough of a security clearance, I’m…,” she paused, then continued, “a little higher than that. Logan thought I might need it someday. I guess he was right.”

   “Logan being soon-to-be-ex-Lieutenant-Captain Winter.”

   “Another friend I’m looking forward to seeing again.”

   “You’re right,” the Senator said. “This isn’t the Fleet I know.”

   “Welcome to the wonderful world of Triplanetary Intelligence. The rules work a little differently there, but I rather like it. Turns out I get a kick out of knowing what’s going on, rather than being one of the uninformed masses like I used to be. That, and I actually enjoy the work I do.” She paused, then said, “You’re going to have to get used to me going into harm’s way, Dad. That’s my job now, and you’ve got no-one to blame for it but yourself. If it makes any difference...I already signed up for a second term. Not sure if I’m going to go career, but I’m in for another three years once my enlistment is up. And this time it was my choice.”

   He looked at her, frowning, and said, “No-one pushed you into it?”

   “No-one even mentioned it. I filed the paperwork when Alamo got home, presumably some admin tech has signed off on it by now.” She looked up at the clock, and said, “I need to be going. Don’t worry, I’ve done this enough times that I know what I’m doing. I’m probably a better shot than you these days.”

   “We’ll have to test that theory out at some point.”

   “Later,” she said, heading for the door. She stopped at the threshold, and said, “Just make sure the President doesn’t make a deal we’ll regret.”

   “I’ll handle the politics. I suppose I can leave the daring rescues to you. Be careful.”

   She walked from the room, heading around the now-familiar corridors to the airlock, passing a pair of guards who snapped to attention as she approached. She froze for a second at the sight, shook her head, and walked on, heading around the long ring to the far end, where a worried-looking Nelyubov was waiting for her.

   “Bring her back alive, Harper,” he said, reluctantly passing her a pistol. “Did you sort everything out with your father?”

   “That’s going to take much more than a ten-minute conversation, but I think we’re getting back on the straight and narrow. Everyone ready out there?”

   “Talbot’s in the lead vehicle. All of them are set.” Looking from side to side, he said, “Don’t get caught. If it looks like they’ve grabbed her, don’t try any daring rescues.” She raised an eyebrow, and he added, “Well, not unless you are damn sure they’re going to work, anyway. Good Luck.”

   “Thanks, Frank,” she replied, sliding into her suit and stepping into the airlock. Her hands moved over the now-familiar pattern of checks, clicking switches and watching lights flash green on her chest display, before locking her helmet into position. All of this would have seemed beyond strange to the person she was a few years ago; now it was second nature, part of the daily routine.

   Two sleek trucks were waiting outside, inside the press perimeter. The journalist pack was thinning out considerably, boredom setting in after it became obvious that the bird they were interested in had flown. Still, a lot of photographers were paying special attention, and she hoped that the Embassy communication jammers were working properly. Then she looked at another airlock, and saw another group of troopers moving to surround them, stopping them from warning anyone of their departure; either Nelyubov or the Ambassador had come up with the same idea.

   She stepped into the airlock of the leading truck, pulling off her helmet as the inner door
opened into the cramped cabin, and made her way forward to the driving compartment, dropping herself down next to a nervous Talbot, glancing up at her.

   “Ready to go?” she asked.

   “Everyone’s all set. Do we know where we’re going?”

   “Roughly.”

   “It’s a big desert out there. We might need more to work with than that.”

   “Maggie isn’t going to find herself, Lieutenant. Let’s get moving.”

   Talbot spoke into a microphone, giving orders to his counterpart on the other truck, and engaged the motor, the engine whining into life as the monitor systems began to wink into life, one after another. With a loud judder, the vehicle began to move forward, initially at a crawl, then faster as he ramped the engine up to full power. Harper pulled out a datapad with the little data she had managed to reap from the brief transmission, and started to plot a more accurate route for them to follow.

   “Up on this ridge,” she said, pointing at a spot on the screen. “That’s about five degrees out of the way, but it’s got the best line of sight. We’ll get the second truck up there to spot, and we’ll follow the path of the transmission as best we can.”

   Talbot frowned, and asked, “Shouldn’t we both try for the high ground?”

   “Whatever sort of a structure is out there must have been designed to be concealed from aerial or orbital survey. I’m not at all sure that it will be visible at all, even closer to the surface, which means we might have to do this the old-fashioned way. I do know that we’re going to only have a short head-start over the Security forces, and ideally we need to be at this place and well away before they get close.”

   “And if they get there first?”

   “That depends whether they’ve got there in force, but I’d hate to leave this mission unfinished.”

   “The men are ready for action, I know that much,” Talbot replied.

   “And you?”

   “I don’t want to see any of them go home in body bags.”