by John Ringo
When the Bolo reached visual distance from the opening to Dead-End Gorge, Yalena and Phil went up to the top of the dam, to monitor Sonny’s arrival. Kafari wanted to be up there, as well, but she was the only trained computer engineer left. She was the best chance they had for hacking into Vittori’s computer system. She was also aware that Sonny would not dare open fire on the dam, so she steeled herself to stay in it and continue the exacting work.
She was trying yet another attempt to break the security when Yalena shouted into her comm-link. “It’s stopped! The Bolo’s stopped!”
Kafari sat up straight. “What?”
“It’s just sitting there, in the middle of the road. It’s—” she paused, gulping audibly. “It’s the little boy. Dinny’s little boy. He’s alive. He’s standing in front of the Bolo. Talking to it.”
Kafari was halfway down the corridor before her chair finished falling. Careful, she told herself, slowing down to open the outer-access door with exaggerated caution. The last thing you need is to rip open your suit, now.
She reached the top of the dam and found Rachel at the edge, hands gripping her battle rifle so hard, they shook. Phil and Yalena were standing between her and the platform that would lower her to the ground — and the tableau just beyond the gorge.
“Soldier!” Kafari snarled. “Report!”
Rachel jumped and whirled around. “S-sir!” She struggled to salute.
“Are you trying to desert your post, soldier?” Kafari snarled, trying to jolt Rachel out of her suicidal anguish.
One unsteady hand came up, pointing. “He’s alive, sir!” Her voice shook. “God, he’s alive and all alone down there and that shrieking, murdering thing—”
“Has stopped dead in its tracks!” Kafari gripped the woman’s shoulder, hard. Ruthlessly shoved aside her own tearing agony, her own desperate desire to rush down there and pull Dinny’s son to safety. She couldn’t. No one could. And she had to make the boy’s aunt understand why. “It hasn’t fired a single shot. It hasn’t crushed him. Do you have the slightest idea how strange that is?”
Rachel shook her head. “All I know about Bolos is what that thing has done, in POPPA’s pay.”
“Well, I’m a psychotronic engineer and I’ve worked on Bolos and I’m telling you, that’s damned peculiar behavior. I don’t know what’s going through that flintsteel mind, but he’s stopped. And it looks like it’s Dinny’s little boy that’s done it. You know how I feel about Dinny…” Her voice went dangerously unsteady. The “Commodore’s” deeper voice made the sudden catch even more powerful.
Rachel paused in her own wild panic and terror to stare at her commander. Then she whispered, “I’m sorry, sir. I know you thought the world of him.”
“He saved my life,” Kafari said bluntly. “He and his mother. Back during the Deng War.”
“I didn’t know you were here during the Deng War.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, soldier. Right now, there’s nothing we can do to help Dinny’s son. If anyone goes near that Bolo, he will fire and there will be hell to pay before the smoke clears. It’s possible — just possible — that the idea of running over a lone, helpless child is more daunting than running over potentially armed rioters in Darconi Street. Even if he’s just thinking about it, we’re ahead of the game. We’ve gained a few more minutes and that’s how I’m measuring our lifespans, right now, in minutes. The more of them he spends sitting there, thinking, the more of them I’ll have to figure our way out of this mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel whispered. Then, voice breaking, “Thank you, sir. For stopping me. For… trying…”
Kafari gripped her shoulder again. “We’re doing what we can to give Dinny’s son — and the rest of us — a chance. What I need from you is vigilance. Stand guard here. Stand guard all night, it that’s what it takes. Keep watch and report instantly if that machine so much as twitches.”
“Yes, sir!” Rachel saluted crisply.
Kafari began to relax, just a few muscles here and there. “Good work, soldier. Keep me posted. Phil, I need someone to monitor military and civilian broadcasts. Things are heating up in Madison and I don’t have time to monitor what’s happening.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lena,” she said, “I need someone to act as liaison with the urban units. The students and combat vets know you. I want you dedicated to full-time radio duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
They followed her back to the access door. Rachel, on guard at the end of the dam, was standing straight and tall again, focused on her job, not her panic. Kafari nodded to herself, satisfied, then headed for her office. “Black Dog, this is Red Dog, come in.”
“This is Black Dog, go ahead.”
She told Simon what had happened.
He whistled softly. “Now that’s unexpected. Why would Sonny stop? And why is that child alive?”
“I want to know the answer to that more than anything in this universe. I’m still trying to hack into their network to find out what they hit us with.”
“I may be able to shed some light on that, from my end. Do me a favor, Red Dog. Turn the power back on.”
“Turn it on?”
“Yeah. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
Kafari said, “Okay, babe, you got it.”
She relayed a message to her engineer, who was on permanent duty in the power plant. “Turn it on?” he echoed her confusion.
“That’s right. We’ve had an official request from our urban partners.”
“Well, okay. Whatever you want, sir, we’ll get it done.”
Simon’s voice came through again just as they reached her office. “Grid’s back up. Good work. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks,” Kafari said, voice dry.
He chuckled, then signed off.
She put Phil and Yalena to work, then dove back into her own efforts to break into POPPA’s computers. She was so involved, Phil’s abupt yell nearly brought her out of her chair.
“Look-it this!” he shouted, yanking up the volume on a P-News broadcast. “Holy mother-pissin’…”
When Kafari saw the screen, she understood his shock. Somebody had blown a hole through the dome of Vittori Santorini’s Palace. A really big hole. As in, the dome was gone. It was still smouldering, lurid against the night sky. Federal army units had surrounded the Palace in a defensive ring, bristling with artillery and lesser weaponry. The reporter on the scene was babbling into the camera.
“—unclear on President Santorini’s location. He is believed to be in the Palace, as he was broadcasting from the studio when the missile struck the dome. Security is unbelievably tight. A curfew has been declared city-wide. Anyone trying to approach within a kilometer of the Palace will be shot on sight.
“A group of urban rebels has taken full credit for the strike, in retaliation for the brutal massacre of half a million helpless refugees in Klameth Canyon, tonight. It is not yet known what the full situation in Klameth Canyon is, but reports are coming in that a war gas was released in the canyon on orders from Vittori Santorini, himself. Other reports indicate that Commodore Oroton is still at large and that the Bolo has stopped moving and is refusing to obey any orders issued to it. We’ll have more on that situation when we can make contact with the federal troops at Maze Gap…”
Kafari stared at the screen, stunned speechless. What the hell was going on in Madison, tonight? The wording of the report on Klameth Canyon, alone, was flabbergasting. Brutal massacre of half a million helpless refugees…
Yalena’s voice jolted her out of shock. “That’s Billy Woodhouse. He’s not a P-News reporter. He’s one of my classmates from Vishnu. What’s he doing, covering a broadcast for P-News?”
Kafari glanced sharply at her daughter — and saw several things all at once. Of course Simon had needed the power back on! He’d needed the datascreens in every home in Madison functional, which meant he needed power restored to the city’s millions of private reside
nces. “It’s your father,” she said wonderingly. “He’s taken over the P-News studio. My God, he’s taken it and put our own people in the field as news correspondents.”
On screen, Yalena’s fellow student was continuing his report, the first factual news report on Jefferson in nearly twenty years. ” — we’re getting reports of sporadic violence in Madison. We have confirmation that seventeen POPPA-Squad stations have been destroyed, apparently by hypervelocity missiles in a well-orchestrated, simultaneous attack—”
He paused, listening, then said, “This just in, we’re picking up a broadcast from the Joint Chamber. Assembly Hall has been surrounded by forces claiming to belong to the Urban Freedom Force. We’re trying to establish contact with our special correspondent at the Joint Chamber. Melissa, are you there?”
After a moment of dead air, a girl’s voice replied, “Yes, Bill, I’m here.”
The picture switched, showing the interior of the Assembly’s Joint Chamber.
“That’s Melissa Hardy!” Yalena crowed.
Melissa was speaking with creditable calm. “We’re just stunned by tonight’s events, Bill. The Assembly is in shock, as you can see behind me.” She turned to gesture at the Joint Chamber floor, where Assembly members were moving in agitation, gesticulating, talking, trying to take in the fact that they were surrounded by hostile forces who genuinely bore them ill-will. “As you can see, only half the Assembly is in the building, tonight, but the Members are just stunned by what’s happening.”
“Melissa, can you confirm the reports coming in from Klameth Canyon?”
“The Assembly is trying to get confirmation on that, Bill. We know an attack was made, tonight, since Vittori Santorini referred to it, himself, in his interrupted broadcast. He admitted that an attack was underway and referred to it as a ‘final solution’ to the Granger problem, just before the attack on the Palace.”
“Is the Assembly under direct attack?”
“No, it’s tense here, but no shots have been fired. Assembly Hall has been surrounded by Urban Freedom Force soldiers. We can see heavy artillery out there, what looks like missile launchers and mortars. But there’s been no attack on the Hall and no one in the Assembly has been injured.”
“Is that due to the vigilance of P-Squad officers assigned to protect the Assembly? We can’t see too well from the studio what’s happening outside the Joint Chamber.”
“There was only a skeleton crew of security guards on duty, tonight, Bill. Most of the federal police assigned to guard the Assembly were caught in the attack on the P-Squad station across the street. That station is gone. There’s nothing left but smoking rubble.” The camera shifted, showing the gutted station while Melissa’s voice-over continued. “Thousands of P-Squad officers were pulled out of Madison for duty at Maze Gap, trying to breach Klameth Canyon’s defenses while the Bolo was down for repairs. Those officers have not returned from the siege. With the destruction of seventeen P-Squad stations, tonight, there aren’t enough federal police left to mount an effective guard over the Assembly. The few troops available are guarding Vittori’s Palace, so we can only assume the president is alive and in need of those guards.”
“Has the Urban Freedom Force sent any demands to the Assembly?”
“No, they haven’t, Bill. No demands, just one brief message. They said, and I quote, ‘The reign of terror ends tonight. Do not try to leave Assembly Hall and you will not be harmed. Anyone caught trying to leave will be shot. Your presence is required to ensure a smooth transition in the government of this world.’ ”
“A smooth transition of government? That doesn’t sound like a terrorist’s usual demands.”
“That’s an important point, Bill—”
“Melissa, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Bill spoke quickly, “but we’re getting priority feed from P-News Headquarters. Senator Melvin Kinnety and Representative Cyril Coridan are in the P-News studio, indicating they have an important announcement to make.”
The view shifted, showing the familiar backdrop of the P-News Studio. Three men sat in front of the cameras. Cyril Coridan, Speaker of the House of Law, looked like a man who’s seen the inside of hell. Melvin Kinnety, President of the Senate, sat in a bony huddle, just staring blankly at the cameras. Pol Jankovitch was white to the roots of his hair. The way he looked, his hair would be turning white, as well — possibly by morning. The man with the golden tongue was having difficulty using it. It took him three tries to find his voice.
“Pol Jankovitch, here. Speaker Coridan, you had an announcement for our viewers, concerning tonight’s state of emergency?”
“Yes, Pol,” he said, voice unsteady, “I do. I can’t tell you how shocked I am by what I have learned, tonight. Senator Kinnety and I were on our way to Assembly Hall when we were detained by urgent reports coming out of Klameth Canyon. We were already investigating allegations of massive civil-rights violations and murder at the work camps throughout Jefferson, but what has happened tonight passes beyond all moral and ethical bounds into the realm of atrocity. We have hard and fast proof that nearly half a million helpless civilians have been massacred tonight, on direct orders from Vittori Santorini.”
The camera angles switched again, showing the view from Kafari’s own surveillance cameras, which had caught the brutal attack for the whole world to see. And Simon was making damned certain that the whole world did see. In all its technicolor brutality. She couldn’t watch the screen. Couldn’t witness it again.
Speaker Coridan’s voice was shaking. “As Speaker for the House of Law, the highest elected official in the House, I denounce, utterly and without reservation, the man who ordered this atrocity against humanity. Vittori Santorini is a renegade. A dangerous madman. As Speaker, I urge Vittori to resign as Jefferson’s president and surrender himself for medical evaluation. Surrender, Vittori, before more helpless people die in our beautiful capital.”
The President of the Senate, voice shaking even more violently than the Speaker’s, parroted the same line. Kafari watched in stunned amazement, wondering how many rifles were trained at their heads, from just off-camera.
Pol Jankovitch, watching his own meteoric career crumbling to ashes around him, managed to pull himself together with visible effort. “Is there any hope, Mr. Speaker, that there will be survivors in Klameth Canyon?”
“My staff has been working desperately, trying to uncover evidence of what kind of war agent may have been used, out there. We don’t know, yet. We’re still trying to find out. There are no rural shelters comparable to the ones in our urban centers. Some private houses may have had shelters, but God knows if anyone in that canyon made it into them in time. We may not know that for hours. But you may rest assured, Pol, that we will not rest until we have learned exactly what Vittori used on those poor people.”
“Is there danger to other communities?”
“Again, we don’t know. We’re trying to find out. I would urge the immediate evacuation of any communities or households downwind of Klameth Canyon. Fortunately,” he added, “the prevailing winds are carrying the compound into the Hell-Flash Desert east of the Damisi, which has almost no population for hundreds of kilometers. We can only hope that Vittori’s mad obsession with destroying the Granger-led rebellion has not led him to release something that will persist long enough to reach the population centers of Anyon, Cadellton, and Dunham. Those towns have already been hit hard by unemployment and poverty. To think that Vittori may have put those people at risk, as well…”
“Holy shit,” Phil said reverently, “that is the slickest move I’ve ever seen! Those assholes are gonna be so busy tryin’ to run outta th’ way a’ that gas, they won’t have time t’ think about startin’ riots or headin’ t’ Madison t’ give Vittori a hand. That Colonel Khrustinov is one bad-ass brilliant kinda’ guy!”
“Thanks,” Kafari said drily.
Phil turned his biosuited face toward her. “Well, you was smart enough t’ get him out here, wasn’t you?”
She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. Yalena was grinning fit to crack her face in half. “Phil, you don’t know the half of it. All right, let’s see what else my bad-ass brilliant colonel has up his sleeve.”
Over the next several hours, the balance of power shifted wildly, as city after city scrambled to distance itself from “the mad Vittori” and his “final solution.” Phil’s prediction held true, as panic set in amongst the urban centers that had swept Vittori to power, emptying the cities in evacuations that tied up P-Squad units. The federal police were run ragged, trying to keep looting and rioting to a minimum while hundreds of thousands of terrified urban residents fled the wind-borne threat Vittori had unleashed against them.
Phil went teary-eyed when his sister Maria and her children — the boy Kafari had rescued from the death camp and a teen-aged daughter — appeared on camera, speaking directly to the urban masses. Maria assured viewers that the capital city was in the hands of urban freedom forces whose sole interest was justice and the rule of law.
“POPPA officials who carried out Vittori’s orders will be found and arrested,” she said in harsh voice, “but there will be no lynching in this city. We had enough lynching, murder, and torture under Vittori Santorini to last this world several lifetimes. Officials arrested for these crimes will be tried by jury in a court of law. We will tolerate no vigilante reprisals, no rioting, no looting. Anyone caught stealing or taking the law into his or her own hands will be shot on sight.”
Another exodus ensued on the heels of Maria’s grim announcement. This one spread rapidly to every major urban center of Jefferson and converged on Madison’s spaceport. POPPA’s upper echelon — including the other half the Assembly — found itself staring total disaster in the face. Most high party members decided it was time to take whatever money they’d managed to embezzle over the past two decades and run for the space station.
