by Eric Thomson
That garnered a few chuckles. The red light shifted downriver and through a gap in the last ridge before coming to rest on a town surrounded by agricultural settlements.
“Tianjin, where the Yangtze River leaves the highlands for good.”
“I wish I could leave the highlands for good,” one of the troopers muttered, to the subdued laughter of his friends.
The light continued down the river and came to rest on a much larger town.
“And finally, Iskellian, home of Governor Cedeno, Colonel Harend and everyone else we’d like to ship back to Celeste.”
“Preferably via a rogue wormhole that connects with the Andromeda galaxy,” the same trooper added.
“As you can see, Decker,” Catlow smiled, “Gareth is our platoon clown. He’s also the heavy machine gunner so he’s entitled to an extra ration of snark.”
“Damn things were built for Shrehari marines, not civilized human beings,” Gareth replied.
“Moving right along,” the platoon leader said, “are there any questions about our orientation to the ground? Did anyone forget what planet we’re on?”
“Sure, boss, I got a question,” one of the women raised her hand, “I hear there’s a new liquor store in Tianjin. Can you point it out on the map? I want to make sure I can find it.”
Catlow snorted.
“You haven’t been paid in months. How are you going to buy anything other than a good laugh from the sales clerk?” He shook his head, still smiling. “Okay. I hope you got all the funnies out of your system. Ladies and gents, orders.”
For the next half hour, Catlow went through the reconnaissance mission in exacting detail. When he was done, he gave his troops a minute to think of any questions they might have.
“Okay,” he said once the time was up and no one had raised a hand, “since none of you are giving me the lost puppy look, I’ll assume you hoisted it all in, and that means it’s time for the oral examination.”
He quickly went around the circle, firing off questions at each soldier about various aspects of the orders they’d just received. When he came to Decker, a sly smile replaced the serious expression and without missing a beat, he tossed a few Zack’s way, to show his platoon that the ex-Marine would be treated like anyone else.
Decker, who’d used the same reverse questioning technique every time he had issued operational orders, knew the score, and played along to Catlow’s satisfaction.
The map projection faded away, signaling to the assembly that it was time to go. They stood up and stowed their chairs against the wall.
“Grab your kit and line up in the corridor for inspection in five minutes.”
Zack obeyed along with the rest of them. This was Catlow’s show; he was simply along for a familiarization tour. Since there was no dead weight on an operation, Chief Warrant Officer Decker, former troop leader in the 902nd Pathfinder Squadron and now undercover as a fighter for hire, would just be another private soldier in the patrol.
Precisely five minutes later, he was lined up with the others, pack at his feet, weapons visible and helmet on his head.
Catlow went down the line and made each trooper recite every item he or she carried, show some of the critical ones, and describe his role during the mission. It was the last check. They’d already had a thorough inspection in the barracks earlier.
When Catlow got to Decker, the Marine snapped to attention.
“Carbine, fifteen millimeter; blaster same caliber; fighting dagger; five hundred rounds, ten replacement power packs, ten grenades and my share of the heavy machine gun ammo; radio, set to receive only, first aid kit, rations for five days, three liters of water, purification kit, bivouac bag; night vision goggles.”
“Job?”
“I’m your wingman throughout the mission. I keep you alive and in command.”
The sly smile returned.
“No medicinals, especially of the distilled kind? I’ve heard of what Marines consider essential rations.”
“Never on patrol, boss.” Decker returned the smile with a knowing smirk.
“Surprised that we irregulars can find our asses with both hands?”
“I haven’t seen you try to find your ass yet. Up to now, it’s just been foreplay.”
This time, Catlow laughed out loud. He clapped Zack on the shoulder.
“I think you just might fit in around here, Decker.” He turned around to face the rest of the platoon. “Saddle up folks.”
When they filed out of the ancient fortress, the last light of day had already vanished. Overhead, the long ribbon of the Milky Way dominated the night sky while unfamiliar constellations pulled distant stars into strange patterns.
Decker flipped down his goggles, turning the dark forest beyond the scree into a glowing green wonderland of outlandish shapes.
Then, the patrol disappeared beneath a thick canopy of trees, following a faint animal track towards the river and, beyond the pass, to Tianjin, a town that Colonel Harend liked to describe as a hive of separatist scum.
**
“Do you send out a lot of recon patrols?” Talyn asked Corde, after watching Decker and the others leave.
“Yup. From here and from the other operating bases. We always have a few going. It’s the only way we can figure out what the enemy’s doing, stay in touch with our supporters and collect enough information to plan our next strikes.”
“Lose many of them?”
The woman shrugged.
“We get the occasional casualty when a patrol’s unlucky enough to run head-long into the militia, but we’re getting better at it. Back when we started, a couple of them vanished without a trace. I figure we’ll eventually find a few mass graves near the place where they did their last radio check. Every time that happened, we had to shift one of our bases.”
“How do you decide a patrol’s been compromised?”
Corde pointed at the communications alcove.
“Every six hours, they send a status check via microburst. The message itself is nonsense if anyone ever manages to decrypt it, but there are a few variations that tell us whether they’re fine, running, have taken casualties or are fighting the last stand. Miss one check and the patrol’s parent battalion goes on high alert; miss two checks and the battalion sends out a security perimeter while the rest begin to pack up. If they see militia moving in their direction, the entire unit shifts to an alternate hide.”
Talyn nodded.
“Makes sense. Is there any danger of the militia triangulating on the sender?”
“There was some, but after you and your partner turned most of the satellites into scrap metal, the chances are pretty slim. If we have to talk to the patrol, we use a laser communications relay to a burst transmitter a long distance from the base.”
“Impressive.”
“We have a few Fleet-trained commo techs in the ranks.” Corde sounded pleased with the compliment. “And we’ve found some good suppliers who don’t ask too many awkward questions when it comes to restricted gear.”
When Talyn didn’t rise to the bait, Corde waved towards a cluster of field desks in one corner of the command post.
“Do you want to spend some time looking over the intelligence digests of the last few months before going to bed? I’m afraid I can’t offer you any other entertainment.”
“Sure. My entertainment options left with Decker.” She winked knowingly at Corde.
**
Anton Cedeno, reluctant governor of Garonne, looked up from his tablet when the door to the living room opened to admit a slim, tanned woman of indistinct age, wearing a long sundress and more gaudy jewelry than was decent on a Rim colony.
“Hello, hello, Lord and master of the planet,” she blared in a nasal voice, making him wince. Shala meant well, but their marriage was dynastic and some days he felt like he’d gotten the short end of it.
“Darling.” He tried to smile. “How was Zeli?”
“Dreary,” she replied, dropping into an overstuf
fed chair. “We had rain most of the week and then those nasty rebels did something to the water supply so it was misery and the runs for everyone. Thankfully, I was sticking with the good stuff so it didn’t take me, but most of the guests at the resort had a bad time of it.”
She looked around for a servant and her face lit up with a smile when the maid appeared with a flute of bubbly wine.
“You’re an angel, Mara.” Shala Cedeno took an appreciative sip of the straw-colored liquid and sighed. “If the rebels are going to start targeting the Turquoise Coast, I don’t know how we’ll enjoy this place anymore. Perhaps Harend will come up with a way to flush them into the open before things get too bad. He’s ruthless enough to get results once he finds the right lever.”
Though she sounded flighty, Cedeno knew the outer shell of a bored socialite hid a shrewd and sometimes cunning mind, and isolated as they were on Garonne, he was more than happy to share matters of state with her. It was their marriage’s biggest saving grace.
“The trick is to make sure his ruthlessness doesn’t call down the wrath of the Senate, and through them, the Fleet, dear. There are days when I wonder whether he’s not letting his enjoyment of the job override caution. By the way, the rebels may have received something of a boost while you were down south.”
“Oh?” She sat up, a spark of interest in her eyes when he related the arrival of the freighters and the disappearance of the mysterious mercenary Q-ship.
When he told her about Harend’s notion of turning the rebels into scapegoats for war crimes, she gasped.
“If that backfires, we’re all going down.”
“I know, Shala.” A resigned sigh escaped his pinched face. “But some days I get the sense that Harend’s agenda isn’t the same as mine and that my authority over him is nothing more than a masquerade. His resistance to hiring off-world soldiers, for instance.”
Her eyes narrowed while she contemplated the half-full glass of wine.
“He’s afraid that their commanders will take orders only from you, which might marginalize his influence on the campaign against the rebels. After all, he took this assignment in the hopes of promotion on his return to Celeste.”
“Incisively stated, my dear,” Cedeno smiled at her.
“Thank you.” She sketched a sitting curtsy. “Though I fear we shall have to take measures that will permit us to disavow Harend the moment he does something stupid.”
He was pleased with her use of ‘we’ and ‘us’. Dynastic marriages among his caste did have the advantage of interested loyalty when it came to social standing, power, and wealth, things neither had in sufficient quantity to escape censure, should the home world look for scapegoats.
“I suppose we will.” He dropped his tablet on the sofa and touched a call screen. “I think I’ll have one of those as well. It’s been a long week.”
**
“You’re sure about this?” Verrill asked Miko Steiger.
They were alone in the room that housed all of the rebel leader’s worldly goods: a cot, a desk, two folding chairs and a small holo depicting a smiling family.
“I’ll be fine.” She smiled reassuringly. “The militia is so starved for recruits who know the business end of a gun that they’ll hire me on the spot. Besides, the entry controls on Garonne are crappy enough that no one will question my credentials. I just need to get to Iskellian without anyone seeing me leave the highlands. After that, I lose myself among the deportees.”
Steiger had come up with the plan after the unplanned trip in Phoenix had left her at loose ends on Garonne. She’d expressed little desire to join one of the combat companies that formed the rebellion’s backbone, preferring to work alone in a more meaningful way.
“We can send you back up the river on foot and have one of Tarri’s folks waiting with a skimmer; after that, a little detour south before heading to Iskellian, as if you’re a farmer coming to see the sights, and you should be good.”
She nodded.
“That ought to do it.”
He fished a small wafer from his tunic pocket and tossed it at her.
“That has instructions on how to get in touch with one of the cell leaders in Iskellian, should you ever need to get vital information back to us or you have to go in a hurry. You won’t ever meet in person, for obvious security reasons. Once you’ve initiated contact, break the chip in half, and swallow it. You’ll be given instructions on how to proceed.”
“Swallow the wafer?” An amused smile creased Steiger’s scarred face. “I hope it tastes like cherries.”
“It tastes like crap, but your stomach acid will dissolve it quickly.”
“Kinky.” She picked the chip up and examined its surface carefully before tucking it inside her shirt. “Anything else?”
“No. I’ll have the duty tech call Tarri and get an ETA for the skimmer.”
Steiger stood to leave.
“I’d wish you good luck,” Verrill said, “if I didn’t know folks in your line of business consider it a jinx. Take care of yourself, Miko. Even though you’re a mercenary, you’ve shown the heart and soul of a true believer in Garonne’s freedom.”
She shrugged off the compliment.
“I prefer to take contracts with folks who are on the side of what’s right and not with those who only have might.”
“A freelancer with a conscience.” Verrill’s smile took the sting out of his words. He stuck out his hand. “Good hunting. The faster we can push the government into a corner, the sooner we’ll be able to end this.”
**
The irritating chime of an incoming call broke through Colonel Harend’s contemplation of a fine single malt whiskey, imported from halfway across the Commonwealth at significant cost. Very few people would dare disturb him short of a major crisis, so he had a good idea who it might be.
He carefully put his glass down and reached over to touch the dark screen. It immediately displayed the face of Captain Rika Kozlev, his intelligence officer and another member of the Celeste National Guard on loan to Garonne. A pleased smile creased her sharp, narrow features beneath a shock of black hair trimmed in an incongruously girlish pixie cut.
“Apologies for troubling you at this hour, sir, but Mathias finally gave up what he knew. We have the name of the rebel cell leader in the Tianjin district.”
“With that kind of news, you’re welcome to disturb me at any hour, Rika. In fact, why don’t you join me in my quarters to celebrate? I’ve opened my latest acquisition and would be interested in your opinion.”
“The Glen Arcturus?” A look of surprised pleasure replaced the smile. “How could I say no? Give me time to clean up, say ten minutes or so.”
“Was it that messy?”
“By the time we were done, Mathias had permanently lost all of his higher brain functions, and it seemed unkind to leave him alive in that state. I took the occasion to practice my killing stroke.”
“Always the practical one.” Harend chuckled. “I hope you impressed the troopers assisting you.”
“Actually, I hope I thoroughly cowed them. The only thing psychopaths understand is someone more dangerous than they are.”
He laughed. “I think there’s little doubt around here concerning you, my dear. Go get cleaned up. Then we can discuss how we’ll deal with our rebellious friend in the Tianjin district.”
“Will do.”
Kozlev signed off, and the screen went dark.
Harend rose to get another crystal tumbler from the sideboard and placed it on the table beside the bottle of amber liquid. Taking Rika with him on the Garonne assignment had been one of the better decisions in a chequered career.
Command was glad to see her off Celeste, and he had someone he could trust at his side. Kozlev didn’t give her loyalty easily, but after he’d saved her from a court-martial for an interrogation that had gone very wrong, she was his, completely and utterly.
TWENTY-THREE
“Beautiful countryside, very peaceful,” Decker said,
scanning the green, rolling fields below them.
“On the surface,” Catlow replied. “The further from Iskellian, the greater the support for independence and that means more attention from the authorities. Besides, the number of deportees relocated to Tianjin is about to reach the point where they’ll see the same crap that’s been happening in the capital for the last two years.”
Dawn had crept over the fertile plain less than an hour earlier, not long after the patrol had settled into a well-hidden position on one of the spurs overhanging the Yangtze River where it broke free of the last ridge in a welter of foam and rushing water.
The town seemed almost near enough to touch, and Zack could see tiny specks moving about in the morning light, colonists getting an early start on the day.
“The militia garrison is on the far side,” Catlow said pointing roughly northwest of their position. “If you can make out the gray block of buildings behind the trees...”
“Got it,” Zack replied moments later. “Strength?”
“The permanent garrison is a little over a hundred, working in three shifts, so no more than thirty-five or so on duty at any time, though we figure that’ll be increased as they find more scum willing to do the government’s bidding.”
“I guess they’re not doing constant patrols through the countryside with that kind of manpower.”
“No.” Catlow shook his head. “They’ll show the flag a few times a week in their rural areas but most of their time is spent in town. Crime is on the rise and the governor knows that if the militia doesn’t sort it, the colonists will and with a lot less concern for the letter of the law.”
Decker grunted.
“Vigilantes become freedom fighters when the colonial government stops giving a damn?”
“Pretty much. Mind you, if they need reinforcements, Iskellian is just a hop and a skip by shuttle, a couple of hours by rail, longer by road. Lately, we’ve heard reports of a rapid reaction force, up to company size, coming from the capital to support local garrisons for specific operations. It hasn’t happened here yet, but up north, where we have one of our units making trouble for the district magistrate.”
