“You’re sweating,” said Taren.
“So are you,” said March.
“We did just walk about eight kilometers,” said Taren, sitting across from him. “But you’re sweating more than you should. Maybe you should rest for a little while.”
“I will,” promised March. “Then I need to get to work.”
“What work?” said Taren. “We just need to sit here for three days until Bishop comes back.”
“We do,” said March, “but you see those cases?” He pointed at two of the metal boxes against the wall. “Security equipment – sensors and cameras and so forth. And some traps, knowing Bishop. I want to get all that set up. I don’t think anyone followed us here, but I’ve been wrong before.”
“And if it’s here,” said Taren, “we may as well use it.”
“Agreed,” said March. He sighed and leaned back in the cheap plastic chair. The walk had tired him out more than it should have. “And I’ve never regretted making preparations for the worst.”
“But there are times when you’ve regretted not making them,” said Taren.
“Yeah.” March gazed at the crates for a moment and then stood up. “Let’s get to it.”
###
The next two days passed with little incident.
March started by unpacking the cases holding the security equipment. He had been amused to see Taren taking notes on her phone. Evidently, it was an important principle in archaeological work to take note of the order in which items had been stored in a container since that might provide important clues later.
“It’s a similar rule in espionage and sabotage,” said March. “If you’re searching a target’s bag, best to put everything back in the proper order.”
“Suppose archaeology is just delayed espionage, then,” said Taren.
Bishop had been his usual thorough self when packing the cases. March found cameras, motion detectors, small explosive mines, and three portable plasma turrets, each one capable of firing twenty shots. All the equipment was networked together, permitting March to control and monitor it from a single laptop computer.
He spent most of the first day placing and configuring the equipment. The dormitory had two main entrances. One opened into the vast space of Ore Complex Eleven, and the other into a long-deserted lift shaft. The lift car hadn’t been parked there for a while, so March used his cybernetic arm to force the door open.
After that, it was time to place the cameras, and March selected lines of sight and used the included adhesive to paste the cameras to suitable locations. He placed the motion detectors further out to provide advanced warning and put the mines in hidden spots in the coating of dust and slag covering the floor. March placed the plasma turrets atop two of the abandoned smelters overlooking the ore complex, giving them a wide field of fire. The other turret went in the lift shaft. The shaft was narrow enough that the plasma turret would mow down anyone approaching.
Once everything was in place, he networked the defensive devices to the cheap laptop computer Bishop had left in the lounge. From the laptop in the lounge, March could control and monitor the cameras, and he configured the computer to give an alarm if any of the devices were triggered.
Taren insisted on helping to set up the security devices, despite March’s polite attempts to dissuade her. Fortunately, she turned out to be good at it. She didn’t have much experience with this kind of machinery, but he only had to tell her how to do something once. Her help was also useful for getting the cameras up. With his half-healed wounds, March didn’t want to climb up the side of the smelters, but Taren scrambled up the side of the machines with ease.
“Who knew that all those pull-ups would have a practical application one day?” she said, slapping a camera into place with a wad of paste.
“Other than health, of course,” said March.
“And vanity,” said Taren, climbing back down.
“Vanity?”
“Given how often I’m in videos, it’s a good idea to look good,” said Taren.
“It works,” said March.
He realized what he had said a half-second after it left his lips, but she grinned. “You’re very kind.”
Again, he was conscious that they were alone together, and again he had to force the thought from his mind. It was something he could think on later, once he had gotten Taren to safety. Right now, it was a dangerous distraction.
And if he did succeed, if he got her to safety…
No. It was still not a good idea. They were too different. She was a professor at the University of Calaskar and a public figure. He was an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order, traveling from trouble spot to trouble spot. What kind of relationship could they possibly have? He would not settle on Calaskar, and he doubted she would resign from the University to take up residence on the Tiger.
Perhaps she only wanted something casual, a single night or a few nights together. When he had been younger, March would have liked that idea. Now he disliked the thought. That kind of affair would only be a distraction, and he wanted…
He didn’t know what he wanted.
To kiss Adelaide Taren? To sleep with her? To destroy the Final Consciousness? To die in battle against the Machinists, as he always thought would happen one day?
No. March knew what he wanted. He wanted to complete his mission.
After that, he could worry about other things.
Setting up the security system took most of the first day. March and Taren agreed to take turns at watch, and he took the first watch. As she rolled up in a blanket and slept in one of the cots, March watched the camera display on the laptops and went on regular patrols through the dormitory corridor and the ore complex.
Nothing happened.
He awoke Taren once it was her turn. March collapsed onto his cot and slept like the dead, and nothing troubled his sleep, neither dreams or intruders. When he awoke, Taren reported that nothing had happened in the night, and they broke into the case holding the prepackaged meals.
“Powered eggs and bacon,” said Taren. “The breakfast of champions.”
“More like protein powder with egg flavor and bacon flavor,” said March, tipping some water into the plastic bins holding his breakfast.
Taren grinned at that. “Just like camping after all. Though there is working plumbing here.” She frowned at that. “If Laredo realizes we’re hiding on the station, won’t he be able to track the power and water draws?”
“Probably not,” said March. “Rustbelt Station’s environmental systems are obsolete and in poor repair. The station administration couldn’t shut off life support to individual sections of the station even if they wanted to.”
“God,” said Taren. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about someone shutting our air off.”
The day passed with little incident. March spent the day patrolling and watching the cameras. Taren, to his surprise, spent the day writing. She dug a laptop out of her bag and typed with remarkable speed in short bursts, pausing every forty minutes to do pushups and some bodyweight exercises. When he asked what she was writing, she said that she was going to write a book about the trip to Xenostas (properly redacted, of course), so she might as well get started now.
“Why would you write a book about this?” said March.
“To sell it, of course,” said Taren. “A girl’s got to eat, and there are worse ways to make money. And I enjoy writing.”
“Huh,” said March. It was an odd thought. “If I need to write something, I do it until it’s finished. I don’t do it for fun.”
“What do you do for fun?” said Taren. “If anything.”
March shrugged. “Exercise. Combat training.”
“I suppose that’s a good way to blow off steam and stay sharp,” said Taren, “but do you ever do anything just for the fun of it?”
Her question confused him, and then he realized why. He never really did anything for the sake of enjoying himself. Exercise and combat training was enjoyable
in its own way, and it did allow him to blow off steam, but he mostly did it to stay sharp and fit. He enjoyed a good cup of coffee and properly prepared vat-grown eggs when docked at a space station or visiting a planet, but eating did not count as a hobby.
“Camping in the Malborix Woods, perhaps?” said March, at a loss for any other answer.
She smiled at that. “You saved my life a few times. If we make it back to Calaskar, that seems like the least I could do for you.” The smile faded. “I do understand why you don’t enjoy yourself.”
“Oh?” he said.
“Because it would distract from revenge,” said Taren. “I understand that, I really do. But I couldn’t live on vengeance alone forever, and I don’t think you can either.”
They gazed at each other in silence. March found himself thinking of Axiom and Helen Descard, how they had wanted to stop, how they wanted to go live quietly somewhere.
“Maybe not,” said March. “But if I’m going to enjoy myself, first I need to see to my work.”
Taren laughed. “Agreed. Truth be told, I spend most of my time working because I enjoy it. And I think you might, too.”
March didn’t know how to answer that, so he spent the next few hours checking on the security systems, making sure that everything was in place and that the plasma turrets were still primed and ready to fire. He returned to the lounge to smell cooking food and saw that Taren had opened a pair of prepackaged meals.
“I made dinner,” said Taren. “Such as it is. Vat-grown beef and vat-grown chicken with vegetables. A lot of protein, to help you heal.”
“Thank you,” said March.
“Well, you took those wounds on my behalf,” said Taren.
She smiled at him, and March found himself staring into her eyes. Something hot stirred within his mind, and he felt the overpowering urge to take her into his arms. A tremor went through her expression, but she eased closer to him as if she had guessed his thoughts and wanted him to act upon them …
His phone buzzed. Taren’s phone chimed, and a half-second later the laptop on the table beeped.
“Damn it,” muttered March. He sat down at the laptop, and Taren looked over his right shoulder. He felt her arm brush him, but for once, he found it easy to ignore the sensation.
Because one of the outer motion detectors had gone off.
“What is it?” said Taren.
“Motion detector,” said March. “In the mine corridor. Something triggered it. Bringing up the cameras now.”
He cycled through the cameras, instructing the software to focus on anything moving within the cameras’ field of vision. Grainy blue images flickered across the display, one after another, and the software locked onto a view of the tunnel leading into Ore Complex Eleven.
“Oh,” said Taren. “That’s not good.”
“No,” said March.
Twenty men walked up the corridor, plasma rifles in hand.
The image was all in shades of blue, but March recognized the familiar uniform patch on the jumpsuits of each of the men. It was a snarling wolf’s head in shades of gray.
“Graywolves,” said March. “The Machinists’ favorite mercenaries in this region of space.”
Taren pointed at the screen. “Is that Veldt?”
March spotted the former Ronstadt supervisor walking at the head of his men, plasma rifle in hand. When he had seen Veldt arguing with Taren, the man had looked officious and pompous. Now, clad in a Graywolves uniform and carrying a rifle, Veldt looked far more dangerous.
“Damn it,” said March. “He wasn’t just corrupt. He was working for the Graywolves the entire time. Ronstadt Corporation’s had fights with the Graywolves before. Veldt’s probably been one of their agents for a while. The Graywolves on the station must have busted him out of holding.”
“And now they’re coming to kill us and take the relics,” said Taren.
“Most likely,” said March. “Make sure you have your satchel. We might have to run.”
He saw the tension around her eyes, but she held herself together. Taren picked up the satchel holding the case of relics, slung it over her shoulder, and checked her pistol.
“What now?” said Taren. “Retreat through the lift shaft and set everything to explode?”
“Not yet,” said March. Twenty mercenaries, all of them armed. He had maybe five minutes before they entered the ore complex and then the dormitory.
If the mercenaries had been equipped with power armor, that would have been it. March and Taren would have had no choice but to retreat. But as far as March could tell, the Graywolves were not wearing battle armor. They had on flak vests over their gray jumpsuits, but those would do little to slow down plasma bolts.
And between the mines and the plasma turrets, March had a lot of firepower.
All at once, a plan came to his mind.
“Earpieces,” said March, getting to his feet. “Quickly.”
He donned an earpiece in his left ear, pairing it to his phone, and Taren followed suit.
“What are we going to do?” said Taren.
“We’re going to win,” said March, drawing his pistol. “Stay here and run the computer. I’ll need you to trigger things remotely. Understand?”
Taren nodded, drew her own pistol, and set it next to the computer. She sat at the laptop, glanced at the camera feeds, and then back at him.
“Be careful,” she said.
“I don’t think we’re fighting any Iron Hands this time,” said March.
She swallowed and nodded. “Good luck.”
With that, she turned her attention to the computer, and March ran down the dormitory corridor and back into the ore complex. Unless he missed his guess, he had ninety seconds until Veldt and the Graywolves arrived. Climbing up one of the smelters would provide an excellent vantage point for shooting, but it would limit his mobility. No, better to stay on the floor.
He hurried across the complex, moving with as much silence as he could muster on the uneven, debris-strewn floor, and took up position behind an abandoned ore cart. From here he could watch the mine corridor and the entrance to the dormitory, and he was in an excellent position to set up a crossfire.
“Dr. Taren?” he whispered.
“Here,” came Taren’s voice in his ear. “Where are you? I can’t see you.” Her voice was the cool, controlled tone he had heard during the battle against the Owl starfighters.
“Behind one of the carts,” said March. “When I give the word, blow the odd-numbered mines and set the plasma turrets to full auto, nearest target first.” He had already coded his phone’s signal into the turrets’ IFF scanners, so hopefully they wouldn’t shoot him. “Set the even-numbered mines to blow as well, but hold off on them.”
“Acknowledged,” said Taren. There was a pause, and he heard the clacking of keys. “All right. We’re set. One fireworks display ready to go.”
“Good,” said March, and he braced himself.
It was a short wait. About a minute later the Graywolves entered the ore complex, fanning out to sweep through the vast chamber. March waited, his fingers resting against the grip of his pistol. Right now, the Graywolves were spread out, but to enter the dormitory, they would have to bunch together to pass through the door.
That would be the moment to strike.
March spotted Veldt at the back of the party, his face hard with anticipation. Veldt stopped to confer with several of the Graywolves.
“Orders, sir?” said one of the Graywolves.
“Kill March and kill Taren,” said Veldt. “Take the relics. If you want to amuse yourself with Taren first, do so, but make sure the mouthy bitch is dead when you’re done with her.”
March’s resolution hardened.
Veldt gave the final orders, and the Graywolves moved towards the door to the dormitory, forming into a ragged column as they did so.
The moment had come.
“Now,” said March.
He leaned around the edge of the cart, raised his
pistol, and started shooting.
The surprise was total. His first shot drilled through the head of the nearest mercenary, sending the man to the floor. The Graywolves began to react, and March shifted aim and fired again. This time the plasma bolt tore into the chest of a mercenary and sent the man falling to the ground, smoke rising from the crater March had blasted into his chest. March lined up a third shot and fired, but by then the Graywolves had recovered from their surprise, and March’s target dodged. Veldt screamed an order, and the Graywolves began firing on March’s position. He threw himself behind the heavy cart as a volley of plasma bolts screamed past him, digging molten splinters from the floor. Another volley slammed into the far side of the cart, droplets of molten metal spinning into the air, and March wondered if he had overestimated the cart’s strength, if the plasma fire would tear right through it and kill him.
He also wondered what was taking Taren so long.
But barely five seconds had passed since March had pulled the trigger.
On the sixth second, the room blew up.
The roar of dozens of mines detonating at once filled March’s ears, the echo rolling back and forth through the complex like the sound of God beating a drum. Dust billowed into the air, along with chunks of slag and debris. At the same instant, March heard the howl of plasma fire as the turrets he had concealed on the derelict smelters opened up, spraying their deadly bolts into the stunned mercenaries.
He sprang to his feet, raised his pistol again, and started firing. He could see only a little through the dust, but he tracked the dark forms of the mercenaries and fired again and again. About ten seconds later the plasma turrets stopped firing, their capacitors exhausted, and silence fell over the complex. The air stank of dust and ozone and burned flesh.
“Report.” Taren’s voice crackled in his ear. “Captain March, please report.”
“I’m here,” said March in a low voice, sweeping his pistol back and forth as he moved forward. The dust was settling, and he saw the prone forms of the Graywolves on the floor. Between the mines and the plasma fire, he thought they had killed all of them, but he needed to make sure. “Stand by.”
Silent Order_Fire Hand Page 15
