Backshot

by David Sherman

  The navy starship hadn’t remained docked at Kraken Interstellar, but trailed it in the same orbit by two hundred kilometers in order to facilitate communications with the covert operation of the Force Recon platoon on the ground. Nobody on Kraken gave the separation any thought; it was Confederation Navy policy that ships of the line didn’t remain docked to civilian starports any longer than necessary. The difference was the degree of separation; single navy starships normally didn’t remove themselves much more than one hundred kilometers from an orbital port, but Kraken didn’t know that—Atlas was seldom visited by an unaccompanied ship of the line. Kraken Interstellar was barely visible to the naked eye, nearing the horizon when Daly climbed the tree, and the Admiral Nelson was only a few degrees higher. He didn’t have much time to make his report, but it was long enough for a burst transmission. He found the Admiral Nelson in the sights of his point-transceiver and activated it to lock onto the starship. When the transceiver signaled it had a lock, he touched the contact that sent the one-and-a-half-second burst. As a failsafe, he had the transceiver programmed to send the burst automatically five seconds after it registered it had a lock. A much longer delay, and the lock might be broken.

  Before descending the tree, Daly studied the clouds headed toward them from the east. They looked like they were dropping rain, but the rain didn’t look so heavy that it would have an effect on their operations even if it reached them. He was on the ground minutes before Kindy and Nomonon returned with their surprise.

  Five Kilometers East of the Cabbage Patch The radiomen in the Admiral Nelson ’s comm shack were every bit as alert as the Marines needed them to be, and they relayed Daly’s burst in plenty of time.

  “Sir, we got a burst,” Gunny Lytle reported. Lieutenant Tevedes sucked in a deep breath. He accepted the packet Lytle tight-beamed to his comp and called the data up on his HUD. “Are you looking at this, Gunny?” he asked.

  “Yessir.”

  “No crop fields, no greenhouses. What kind of agricultural research station is this?”

  “One with a lot of soldiers,” Lytle said pensively.

  “Too many soldiers.”

  “Guard towers, bunkers, razor wire, stake-filled trenches, peepers and mines all around. It looks like they’re ready to repel a major assault.”

  “What kind of agricultural research station expects a major assault?”

  Lytle didn’t bother answering, Tevedes knew the answer as well as he did.

  “Have the men saddle up, we’re moving in.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  Near a Game Trail, Four Hundred Meters North of the Cabbage Patch

  “Let’s go,” Sergeant Kindy finally said. And froze before he took a second step. A click had come from the rock slab. Kindy put out a hand and gently swept it in an arc until he found Nomonon. Using a series of taps and arm squeezes, he told him what he wanted to do. Nomonon replied with a return touch. Normal communication between men who must maintain silence, even radio silence, and can’t see each other except as the faintest of smudges even in infrared, is impossible; Force Recon had a vocabulary of touches and squeezes to use in those instances when they couldn’t even touch helmets. Kindy and Nomonon watched the rock lift a few centimeters, then pivot to expose a meter-wide hole. A head popped through the hole and looked quickly around, then was followed by the rest of a man in an unmarked military uniform. He was unarmed. The man didn’t bother looking around again after climbing out of the hole, but went straight to the tree with the badly camouflaged camera and flipped a chunk of rugged bark aside to reveal a small control panel. The control panel’s cover was far better concealed than the security camera was.

  Kindy watched closely as the man tapped a five-touch pattern on the control panel, and was certain he could repeat the sequence.

  The rock slab pivoted back over the hole and settled into place. Again without looking about, the man stepped onto the better-used part of the game trail and headed northeast. Kindy touched Nomonon and the two Marines soft-footed after him. In fifty meters, Kindy judged enough trees were between them and the tunnel entrance to be completely out of sight of the security camera. He touched Nomonon’s arm and the two Marines sprang forward. They were on the man in the unmarked uniform before he was fully aware of the footsteps running behind him. Nomonon took him at the shoulders, bending him forward, while Kindy threw his shoulders into the back of the man’s knees, buckling his legs. They hit the ground hard. The force of the landing, and being sandwiched between the ground and Nomonon, knocked the air out of the man’s lungs—he couldn’t even gasp, much less yell, before Nomonon had him in a choke hold. In seconds his eyes rolled up and he went limp, unconscious.

  “Grab him and go,” Kindy ordered, touching his helmet to Nomonon’s. Nomonon got up, then hoisted the unconscious man onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The two Marines sprinted.

  After fifty meters they slowed to a pace Nomonon could maintain indefinitely with his burden, then came to a complete stop a hundred meters later when the prisoner began to regain consciousness. Kindy unsheathed his combat knife and held it to the man’s throat. “Make noise and you’re dead,” he said harshly through his helmet speaker. “Do you understand?”

  The prisoner’s eyes darted about, trying to see the source of the voice, then looked down to see what was pressing against his neck. He couldn’t see the talker, but the blade of the knife that pressed against his throat was highly visible. He tried to nod, but was afraid of cutting himself. “Yes,” he croaked softly, not wanting to cut himself by speaking, either. Inside his helmet, Kindy smiled—he had the back of the blade against the man’s throat, he also didn’t want the prisoner to get cut accidentally.

  “We’re going to tie your hands and take you with us. Do we need to gag you, or can you keep quiet on your own?” He eased the pressure of the blade.

  “I-I’ll be quiet.”

  “Good. Then maybe you don’t have to die.” Kindy jerked the knife away as the man’s eyes popped and he began to tremble violently. He stood and yanked the prisoner to his feet. Nomonon secured his hands behind his back and tied a length of cord snugly around his neck, but not so tight it cut off his air.

  “We’re going to move fast,” Kindy said. “Keep up or it’s going to hurt.”

  The prisoner’s eyes widened even more and he fish-mouthed, unable to speak. They searched him before they set out. He had a wallet with civilian identification and cred chips, but nothing else. Certainly no military documents or weapons.

  Kindy set a fast enough pace to keep the prisoner worried about keeping up, but not so fast he was in real danger of falling.

  A Hillside, East of the Cabbage Patch

  A click announced the return of Kindy and Nomonon. Daly whistled in surprise when he saw the bound prisoner stumble out of the trees.

  “That’s the best birthday present I’ve gotten all year,” he said through his helmet speaker so the prisoner could hear him.

  “We caught him coming out of a tunnel,” Kindy said, also through his helmet speakers. The prisoner looked wild-eyed for the sources of the voices, visibly upset by so many invisible men.

  “What’s your name?” Daly demanded. The prisoner’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t form any words.

  “Answer the man,” Kindy demanded.

  The prisoner flinched from the harsh voice next to his ear. He tried again and managed to gasp out,

  “Nijakin—Lucyon Nijakin.”

  “What’s your rank, Lucyon?” Daly said with a glance at the unmarked uniform.

  “N-No rank. I’m a-a c-contract worker.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “M-Machinery.”

  “What kind? What do you make with it?”

  “Tools. T-Tools and p-parts. I-I’m a m-machinist.”

  “What kind of machines do you make parts for?”

  “I d-don’t know.”

  “You can’t be a very good machinist if you don’t even know wha
t kind of machines you’re making parts for.”

  “M-Manufacturing.”

  “What kind of manufacturing?”

  Kindy poked him and whispered harshly, “Stop wasting time.”

  Nijakin flinched again and looked around wildly. “Th-they make t-tubes. Tubes and bl-blades.”

  “Tubes like barrels? Blades like knives?”

  Nijakin looked uncertain, like he didn’t understand the question. Wazzen reached in and gave the prisoner a sharp but light tap on the back of the head. “Speak up,” he snarled. “The tubes, are they barrels for weapons?”

  The man jumped and looked even more frightened at being questioned by yet another unseen person.

  “Y-Yes. I-I d-don’t know. Th-They could be.” He nodded vigorously. “N-Nobody t-told me.”

  This could be it, Daly thought. “How big are the barrels?”

  Nijakin’s shoulders twitched as though he was going to lift his hands to show him. His expression went from frightened to resigned sadness. “Some are two hundred centimeters in diameter.” He also stopped stammering.

  Daly shook his head. Lucyon Nijakin now believed they were going to kill him. He decided to reassure him.

  “All right, everybody leave him alone, he’s cooperating. Listen to me, Lucyon—right, your name is Lucyon? Relax, nobody’s going to hurt you. We just want to know what’s being done at the Cabbage Patch. You’re being very helpful, and I appreciate that. When we’re finished here, you’ll be free to go. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Nijakin’s voice was flat, obviously he didn’t believe Daly. Daly sighed softly. “I’m telling you the truth. Now, those two-hundred-centimeter tubes, how long are they?”

  “Ten meters. Maybe longer. I don’t work on them, they’re made in a different lab. I don’t see them very often.”

  “What were you doing coming out of the tunnel alone?”

  His mouth twitched. “There’s a woman, she’s a tech, she lives in Spondu. I was going to see her.”

  “Is she going to call someone and ask where you are when you don’t show up on time?”

  Nijakin hung his head and shook it.

  “Why didn’t you leave through the front gate with everybody else?”

  Nijakin sighed. “They think I’m a security risk. I’m confined to the compound.” His mouth twisted.

  “That’s why Mari won’t call when I don’t show up. She knows that sometimes I can’t get out.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about being reported when security saw you through the surveillance camera when you left the tunnel?” Kindy asked. Daly glanced toward his voice. He knew there had to be a camera in the tunnel, but hadn’t known the entrance was also covered by a camera.

  “I have a friend,” Nijakin said. “He puts a loop in the system when I go in and out so security doesn’t see me.”

  “When are you supposed to go back in?” Daly asked.

  “An hour before sunrise.” A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye. Now Daly knew how they could get into the compound. “Where is it?” he asked Kindyon on a tight-beam.

  Kindy tight-beamed the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and the visuals he’d taken of the entrance setup. Daly examined the images on his HUD. Yes, that was how they could get in.

  “What have we here?” Sergeant Bingh asked as he and his squad slid into the hollow.

  “Kindy, tell them.”

  Kindy took the second squad leader aside and touched helmets to catch him up on his and Nomonon’s discovery of the tunnel entrance and their capture of a prisoner.

  “I have to keep you tied up so you can’t run away,” Daly told Nijakin, “but I don’t want to gag you. Can you keep quiet?”

  “Yes. Nobody in the compound could hear me if I yelled anyway. We’re too far away.”

  “Are you thirsty? I can give you a drink if you’re thirsty.”

  “No, I’m not thirsty.” Lucyon Nijakin almost laughed. He thought it ironic that a man who was about to kill him would be so solicitous.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A Hillside Near the Cabbage Patch Agricultural Research Facility, Union of Margelan, Atlas

  “Sorry, sir,” Sergeant Daly said when Lieutenant Tevedes arrived with the rest of the platoon. “Second squad didn’t bring him in until after I sent my report.”

  “That’s all right,” Lieutenant Tevedes said, eyeing the prisoner. He and Daly stood facing each other, only a meter apart, talking over tight-beam radios directed at each other’s torso pickups so nobody else could receive.

  Lucyon Nijakin knew more invisible men had arrived even though nobody had told him and he couldn’t see anyone for himself. There were more minor sounds to tease his ears and taunt him—and it felt like he was in the middle of a larger crowd by then. His demeanor went from resigned sadness back to active fear.

  “What have you gotten out of him?”

  Daly gave the officer the short version of his interrogation of Nijakin, which amounted to little more than, “It sounds like they’re making artillery or rocket components.”

  “What’s the place look like?” Daly transmitted his map visuals and the summary of Sergeant Bingh’s census.

  Tevedes studied the material for a moment, then said, “I hope you don’t mind, Sergeant, but I want to question him myself.”

  “Please do, sir. I imagine you’ll come up with questions I didn’t think of.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lucyon Nijakin.”

  Tevedes squatted down in front of Nijakin and turned his external speaker on at low volume. Nijakin flinched, and pressed his back into the tree trunk he sat against. He’d been right, there were more people, this was a voice he hadn’t heard before. His lower lip trembled.

  “Mr. Nijakin, how big is your garrison?” was the first thing Tevedes wanted to know after he asked the same questions Daly did to establish who the prisoner was and his position in the Cabbage Patch.

  “I-I’m not a soldier, I don’t know exactly how many. There are more than two hundred soldiers. Maybe three hundred, that’s all I’m sure of.” He visibly hesitated, then added, “There could be even more, I just don’t know.” He tried to shrug, but it turned into a shudder. “I don’t have much to do with the soldiers.”

  “What about scientists and technicians? How many of each?”

  Nijakin thought for a moment, moving his lips as though he was naming them to himself. “There are nine scientists. Each of them has three or four lab assistants. I guess they’re what you’d call techs—wait, Dr. Kabahl, I think he’s the chief scientist—he’s the scientific administrator, anyway—has six lab assistants. Then there are twenty-five of us machinists and other skilled trades, we’ve got I think twelve helpers.”

  While he talked he got control of his expression and finished by looking at where he thought Tevedes’s face was, doing his best to look helpful and cooperative.

  “How are these people armed?”

  “The soldiers have soldier weapons. I’ve never been a soldier, I don’t know what—”

  “I mean you people, the machinists and techs,” Tevedes interrupted. “How are you armed?”

  Nijakin looked shocked by the question. “Armed? We’re civilians. We aren’t armed; we aren’t soldiers!”

  Tevedes didn’t reply to Nijakin’s denial, not that he necessarily believed him. Instead he asked,

  “Administration. How many?”

  “There’s Dr. Truque, he’s in charge of the center. Secretaries, accounting, payroll—seven or eight people altogether. I’m not sure, maybe ten. I don’t have much to do with them, either, except—” He stopped.

  “Except?” Tevedes prompted.

  “Except—” Nijakin paused, “—there’s a woman . . .”

  “A woman?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Do you like her?”

  Nijakin looked down to the side and nodded.

  “Does she like you?”

  “I think so,” he said weakly.r />
  “Well, Mr. Nijakin, let’s try to get you back to her quickly. You’re being very helpful. Now, is there anyone you haven’t told me about?”

  “Nossir. That’s everybody I can think of,” Nijakin said.

  “So you’re telling me there are nearly four hundred people in the facility, and more than three hundred of them are soldiers. Is that right?”

  “Yessir, close to four hundred, that sounds about right.”

  “How many of the scientists are agronomists or biologists?”

  Nijakin blinked and looked puzzled. “All of them! What other kinds of scientists would you expect to find at an agricultural research center?”

  “If the Cabbage Patch is really an agricultural research facility,” Tevedes asked sarcastically, “why does it need so many soldiers?”

  “Atlas is an agricultural world,” Nijakin blurted. “Food production is power here. The center needs the soldiers in case some other country tries to steal our secrets. The Union of Margelan has enemies who . . .”

  His eyes and mouth suddenly formed large “O”s. He thought furiously, these invisible men, they spoke with some kind of accent. What was it? Did it sound like—yes it did! “You’re from—”

  Tevedes stopped Nijakin by pressing invisible fingers to his lips. “Where’s the other end of the tunnel you came out of?”

  “I-It’s on the side of the power plant facing l-lab three.”

  “Which one is lab three?”

  “It’s the b-building next to the p-power plant, t-to the east of the p-power plant.”

  “How is the entrance guarded?”

  Nijakin shook his head. “I-It’s not g-guarded.”

  “Is it locked?”

  Nijakin shook his head again. “It d-doesn’t even have a d-door.”

  Tevedes called up Daly’s map on his HUD and examined it. If the inside entrance to the tunnel was on the east side of the power plant, that put it in sight of the new barracks to the south. That shouldn’t be a problem for his Marines, not with their chameleons. And it was only twenty meters from there to lab three, which meant they could easily get into the lab and see positively what was there.

  “There’s a communications tower in the middle of the compound, radio and microwave. What other communications are there?”