Five minutes after my longest estimate, I was getting really worried. Only the absence of gunfire kept me under control. I asked Nasruddin, “Shouldn’t they be back by now?”
He made his mask smile mischievously.
Nasruddin/private, “I have been listening to their comm chatter. Don’t tell them I can do that. I’m not sure even you can. Also, Two is giving me a running commentary. Interesting to hear both sides. Anyways, the place is packed with locals debating how to survive the crisis. It seems our arrival is a welcome diversion. The security team are having conniptions as the Viceroy discusses children’s art with parents, local school policies, where she got that spectacular hairdo... Actually, quite a lot about the hairdo. She explained that it is not all hers. A bit of wire, some cloth and some black fibre make it look longer than it really is. She suggested using coloured yarns and silver fibre for a change next week. Also complained about getting all done up and then getting horribly dusty at work – which is literally true. And now everyone is entranced that they skipped the body paint. So original! No one has seen that in decades!
“Oh dear, a lady has just come in completely distraught. She heard that Viceroy Fenghuang has been murdered, blown to pieces on level Three, and that Viceroy Wolong has declared the Moon to be his personal property. He is ordering his entire fleet into action. She is terrified the invasion will kill everyone. Wait...
“Two just said not to worry but also to keep this quiet. It is a ruse to draw out the assassins. Don’t tell anyone, he says – oh yes, that will work on the Moon, in a takeout, surrounded by everyone in the district! But then... he is TDF. They all know him and he is neither fearful nor laughing. Maybe they will keep it quiet...
“And, he just told them to spread the word, ‘The iridescent wings take flight again’. She responded that he was making no more sense than the lines ‘There is no ash on the Moon’ and ‘The fire is rekindled’. That is one news-hungry lady. And now she is telling the counter staff to get on the comm to spread the new word.
“They have just picked up their food and are coming back – HA! Hugs and kisses as they leave in thanks for the wonderful tips about hairstyles. From the girls, the boys and one old geezer who is practically bald! Those poor security guards must be frothing. I have had some difficult people to escort but nothing quite like that!”
Nothing indeed. On Mars, there had been very few hugs and kisses when I went walkabout with a VIP. Nor had I been a cooperative VIP in the last few weeks.
He jerked his head up, waving at us to be quiet. A few minutes later, they walked back through the tunnel path and climbed into the van. This time Two sat up front with the Voice. Two turned back to us. “I did not want to say anything too explicit while we were picking up our food. The gate into the base on level Four issued a security alert while we were waiting. They observed possible assassins near the gate and have mounted a sweep to drive them into the open. They are doing similar operations on our level. It is just as well we had this delay or we might have driven unsuspecting into an ambush.
“The rebels probably figured out that I was alone on the stairwell below level Four and that a group of people left in a van on that level. We will need to be careful. I will call ahead to warn them we are coming and again five minutes out so they can start a diversion.”
The Voice took us on a long and unpredictable route onto the main road to the base. Just before we turned onto the road, I suggested, “Those of us who have full armour should get on our knees and try to make a canopy over those who do not. My Ladies, My Lord, if you would lie close together against the wall, under the bench if you can, we can give you a partial shield against sniper fire and broken glass.”
Three/private, “Where did you learn a trick like that?”
Me/converse, “On Mars, a long time ago. For a while I escorted VIPs. It was one of the worst periods in my life and I don’t like to talk about it.”
There were enough of us in the back to make an effective armoured shield for the people who really mattered, with the whole formation below the level of the windows. Private Hernandez could not kneel to join the arch but agreed to lie across the open end of our living tunnel to block anything coming from behind the van.
Ten minutes out from the base, a small car tried to ram us. Agricultural vans are tough and heavy; the car bounced off, crashing into the wall of the road. A rattle of gunfire peppered the windows, shattering the glass but causing no injuries. A moment later the doors to all the side roads and corridors boomed shut. There was one more round of gunfire from a storefront advertising engine parts before a wave of TDF vehicles swarmed around us. Some raced back to the store or on down the road but most fell into formation around us. They guided us through the gate into the base without stopping. We came to a stop in a pure white courtyard facing the TDF security building.
“Home, sweet home,” said Two from up front as guards in powered armour with full weapon racks surrounded our vehicle. Most of them faced out to watch the surroundings. The rest formed up at attention making a corridor along which a contingent of senior TDF Security officials marched in full dress uniforms, brilliantly white, shiny and sparkling with insignia and medals from their years of service.
In the midst of them marched Kim Richard, former Governor, now Director of Ceremonies, resplendent and most tastefully dressed in a transportation worker’s shorts, shoulder belt and boots. He must have borrowed them to have acquired them so quickly. They were smudged with dust, had an oily streak down one leg, and were pleated where he had tightened the belt about a waist much smaller than the original owner’s.
The directors looked queasy as they rose to exit the van. The Viceroy was nervous enough to require help stepping down, but stifled a laugh as she spotted Kim. Regardless, they all managed a solemn decorum, escorted by their stony-faced Imperial security, as they greeted the TDF officials.
Nasruddin/private, “Full dress.”
I switched to my Banshee colours, he to the dress whites and insignia of a TDF Marine Commander. He and the guards cleared their masks but I changed to the pattern I had used in the Soiree.
The TDF Security officials went down on their knees and kowtowed most gracefully, rising when the Viceroy gave them leave. She smiled and complimented Director Kim on his good taste, wondering what the appropriate apparel might be for an address she needed to make immediately to the entire Lunar population. He replied that her gown should be red, black and white. She had been burned to ashes symbolized by the black and white but had risen again refreshed in Imperial red. The Viceroy insisted on a pantsuit rather than a gown because she intended to deliver the address wearing the same shorts she had on.
The Security Administrator said that an appropriate studio for such an address was available in level Four and could be made ready in fifteen minutes, although assembling the wardrobe would take longer.
Kim added that the cryptic messages were a delight. He wondered how we could be sure they would be delivered but the guards remained silent. Governors rarely mingled with the ordinary people of the Moon but I had. Lunar discretion, Lunar friendly tolerance, and a Lunar hunger to be helpful were three sides of a two-sided coin. Pair them up as the situation required.
The Viceroy glanced around the square and did a double take when she saw me. Nasruddin kowtowed beside my wheelchair. I did my best approximation while remaining seated. She gave us leave to rise but continued to stare at my mask.
“Your Eminence,” Nasruddin explained, “he is an Agent, a Banshee. He is still on duty and must not reveal his identity. Please forgive our presumption.”
“Your Eminence,” I added, “I would beg your indulgence that no mention be made at all of my presence in your party, nor of any role I may have played. All credit must go where it belongs, to the loyal citizens of the Moon. I merely did what any of them would have done in the same position.”
“You are being far too modest,” she replied. “Our TDF drivers informed me in Karoo’s that no one in
authority did anything sensible until you intervened. However, we will complete the ceremony of escaping with our lives by remaining discreet. I am enormously grateful for your assistance and would not be alive without it. Now, I must express that gratitude to everyone except the one who earned it. Pity. I suppose I cannot display that wonderful logo without giving away too much. Richard, not just black. You may have to splash ink on a white shirt but I want the dark part to display the mottled purple and grey from his armour. That should be safe enough. And get me some pants or tights immediately. I need something between me and these shorts, even if it is just a loincloth.”
She turned to the Voice, saying, “I will also preserve your anonymity. I would not tear you out of that wonderful company. I will promise that if there is anything your community needs, it will receive a favourable hearing.”
She turned back to the officials.
“But the address is more important than clothes or attendees. Let us go directly to the studio. We need to start as soon as possible. Brief me as we walk. Assemble the Lunar Council and the Directorate of Specialists. I need your advice most urgently.”
The official party turned and swept into the building, followed by the Imperial security people. Some orderlies with a gurney came to the van to take Private Hernandez to the nearest trauma centre. As soon as they left, Nasruddin switched back to his ID as Sa’id.
Guard One asked us if we knew where to go from here. Sa’id replied, “Yes, we are going to a deep, quiet, safe place where we can avoid the kind of excitement that we have experienced over the last few days.”
The guards invited the Voice to join them for a rest and some refreshment before he headed home, promising to give him some hints on how to deflect attention from his afternoon’s activities. The Voice was starting to shake as the adrenaline drained away and he realized what he had just done. I suggested some light group exercise to burn off the remaining tension. Three laughed, suggesting some drinks, half an hour of exercise and an overnight rest before he went home. He protested that he needed to tell his wife that he was OK. Easily done and so do we, they replied. He could honestly say he had to make a delivery to the TDF after everyone else had left work, arriving at the base just before the road was closed by the troubles outside.
For his whole family’s sake, I hoped the Voice slept here overnight before attempting the drive home.
They headed to a side door in the square. The guards were relaxed and almost bubbly, home again after successfully completing a mission that had gone completely pear-shaped. They laughed about sneaking in one short break before spending the rest of the night on stims preparing their reports. As they walked away, they advised the Voice to use his new access to high government privileges sparingly; unexpected power invited envy, resentment and hostile scrutiny.
As they entered the building, I told the door to ignore the passage of Three and substitute my own ID. Sa’id and I headed to a door on the opposite side of the square. I adopted Three’s ID, swapping back to my own part ways down the hall. As we moved deeper into the building, I watched the comm traffic, picking up ID’s from unprotected transmissions. I swapped to these ID’s every time we moved past checkpoints, stairwells, and hall monitors, substituting my own authorization to avoid security alarms. I used six different ID’s before we arrived at my holding cell deep in the TDF Detention Centre, where I could switch back to being myself.
2357-03-29 00:30
Sanctuary
Sa’id closed the door to my room and assured me that I could sleep securely in the detention centre. My dreams would still be recorded by the field station, but would not propagate past the walls of my room. The field station could distinguish sleep from wakeful states, which is how it could record my dreams so reliably. So could the comm system in the detention centre.
Once ze recognized that clue, Alexander had quickly identified the flaw in my embedded comm unit and would fix it in the next release. Ze and MacFinn were deeply apologetic for having missed it earlier. I forgave them instantly, not having picked up on the clue myself.
The moment I forgave them, I realized that Sa’id was right. I had been taking reckless risks with the future of humanity. I had allowed myself to be seduced by the Moon, as happened every time I came here. I had been seduced into caring for Hope University, for the ministers, and especially for the Banshees, loving them as irreplaceable friends rather than as tools to complete the Mission. I was too close to the end to indulge in such fantasies.
Sa’id dosed my takeout food with the required meds and withdrew to give me some peace. Nibbling my way slowly through the richly flavoured mixtures, I allowed the Cripple back into control one last time and wept hopelessly. I had no more use for personal hope. Waves of fear, loss and grief swept through me as I reconciled myself once more to what I had to do. I left my armour in its Banshee pattern and agonized over every detail of the Soiree, the Rape, the Nightmares and the long flight from capture.
I had a final chance to do what I should have done when I first arrived. I needed to diagnose the trouble on the Earth. I needed to send the whole team away to safety. I was not quite alone, with Sa’id still here to care for me, but the rest of the team was dispersing as they must. They were still in terrible peril but Sergei and Toyami knew enough to keep Leilani safe. Evgenia and Katerina were securely buried in the Lunar government. The rest would be leaving the Moon as soon as their ships were habitable. I could do nothing more for them. Mostly, I needed to hide until the legal situation allowed my confession to be heard by Mars and the Belt. My mind was too numb to even imagine how it might be done.
Eventually, exhaustion overwhelmed every other concern. I placed the Ghost back into control as I lifted myself out of the wheelchair. I lowered my abused body onto the bed, using the motors in the armour to keep myself from falling, and slipped into a deep sleep.
I woke in the holding cell. It required a few moments to remember where I was and why I was here. The bed looked comfortable but I was still in armour and could not really tell. No matter, armour felt like home, which is part of what confused me. The Ghost had expected to see the darkness of a Martian sand dune outside the helmet. Checking the time, I realized I had only been asleep for six hours, even after such a long and stressful day.
This room was bright, with a glass wall on one side. I recalled from old movies that before the Final War, jail cells on the Earth were often built out of steel bars. Not on the Moon. My cell was like a low-cost hotel room, divided from the hallway by a tough glass partition that could be darkened when sleeping. Since I was in the TDF detention centre, I did a quick sweep and spotted several cameras, a microphone in the bed frame and another in the floor, which I was sure were officially for our protection. Similarly, my door monitored everyone entering and leaving.
The door had been closed during my tearful dinner when I first arrived, but I had been too tired to realize I could darken the glass and dim the lights when I tipped into bed. I had to call Sa’id for assistance in taking off my armour. It took a few minutes for him to arrive, probably because I had woken him from a sleep much sounder than my own. He left the door open when he entered.
As he folded the armour into a neat pile beside the bed, I was startled to hear, “Oldman? Is that you?”
Across a hallway was a similar room where a woman lying on a support frame had been doing light upper-body exercise. She was swinging the frame into a sitting position. She had very dark skin and Tamil features but hair that was a golden blonde.
I brightened immediately and called, “Mindy, is that really you?”
Sa’id called back to her, as casually as anything, “I hope you don’t mind being across the hall from each other? He was concerned for your welfare and I’m getting used to this fellow inquiring gently about things that turn out to be quite important.”
There was a moment of quiet before she replied, “I’m not important and never was.”
I replied, “Mindy, you are important to me. I made
you a promise that we would help to restore your reputation but have not even had time to think of how to do it.”
Not strictly true, of course. I knew how I wanted to help her but was still vague on all the details. Wanting to change the subject, I asked, “Have you been able to keep up on the news?”
As expected, her reply was, “Other than talking with doctors who are wasting their time trying to make me feel better, there is nothing else to do here. Just exercise, eating and sleeping, which are boring. Especially pretending to eat, when all I can handle is tea.
“I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you! The others have been terribly distressed but no one will tell me what happened. I’m sorry I did not say hi earlier. With all the excitement outside I did not recognize you when you first arrived, and then you cried yourself to sleep. Did you lose someone out there?”
I had been sure that an Imperial undercover agent would be intensely interested in recent developments and was happy to have that assumption confirmed. If no one else wanted to disturb her with the severity of my condition, I would not either.
“No one that I knew very well but it has been a rough time. There are a lot of badly frightened people right now.”
Her next question caught me off guard.
“Do you know who our other new guest is?”
Sa’id looked around. “I’m not sure. We can assume she is not violent. We will have to wait until she wakes up to hear what she is willing to tell us. Oldman has some exercise to do before he gets to eat. What shift are people using here?”
“None,” was her reply. “It has been just me and Rags, so we wake and sleep as we like, sending out for meals when he gets hungry. What shift have you been using?”
Lord Banshee Lunatic (Nightmare Wars Book 3) Page 34
