The nearest trooper, a man, shifted his grip on the rifle and moved forward.
Across the street from the two troopers was what Hank had feared the most—a dōrydō. It looked like an Aztek design to Hank’s eye, but it was considerably more modern than what he was familiar with. The Aztek’s surface was made of smooth plates of neutron-dense armor that looked almost faceted where they joined each other. It had been painted with the same red and black colors as the troopers’ uniforms, and the highly reflective surfaces meant the suit was designed for laser fire.
A god damn dōrydō, Hank thought.
The word went back more than a hundred years to the original Japanese conglomerate, TokaiCorp, that had coined it when they made the first model. The word “dōrydō” translated roughly to “powered armor,” and a trooper in a dōrydō was generally more effective than ten troopers in combat armor. The self-contained suits could shrug off small arms fire easily; most had an ablative component that gave them a significant defense against lasers. More specialized suits even had reflective armor specifically for laser fire. They had heightened strength, speed, and sensory packages that made them positively lethal against unarmed or even lightly armed combatants and vehicles. Some had limited thruster flight, while more modern designs had enhanced power plants that allowed for gravitic flight over short and even—in rare cases—long distances.
Generally, the rule was, you stopped dōrydō with dōrydō, an LCG (Large Caliber Gun), or a tank, if you had one handy. Hank was pretty sure there wasn’t a tank on the entire planet, unless one of the colonists had built one from spare parts lying around in a shed someplace.
The dōrydō driver stepped off the far corner, moved away from the buildings, and started scanning the line of trees along the river. A shoulder-mounted beam weapon moved in union with the helmet, tracking wherever the driver looked.
They’re not taking any chances, Hank thought.
“You looking for trouble, old man?” the male trooper said as he blocked Hank’s path. His voice was deep and threatening. With the visor down, Hank couldn’t tell what the man looked like, but his voice sounded middle-aged and confident. His armor was battered, slightly faded, but obviously serviceable. There was a bright area of paint on the chest piece where the trooper’s corporate insignia had been covered up.
No evidence, Hank thought. We’re in trouble.
“Not at all, son,” Hank replied with a smile. “Just getting the lay of the land. I saw y’all come in and wondered what brought you to this back-water shithole. I take it you’re not here for R and R?”
“You got that right,” the trooper grumbled softly. “You packing?” the trooper asked, looking Hank up and down.
“Hell, son,” Hank said, “I haven’t carried a piece in nearly twenty years.” Hank lifted up his shirt and turned in a circle, showing the trooper that there weren’t any bulges.
The trooper stepped up, slung his rifle, and patted Hank down his torso and along the sides of both legs.
“Good,” the trooper finally barked. “Now that you’re here, move on down the street and join the others at the courthouse.” Hank had no trouble figuring out it was an order, not a request.
“Whatever you say, son,” Hank replied easily as he sidestepped the trooper.
“I ain’t your son, grandpa,” the trooper said. “We’ll be watching. If you turn any corners, you’ll be shot down where you stand. We clear?”
“As crystal.” Hank gave a half-hearted salute and stepped past the trooper. Nodding once to the woman on the corner, he ambled down Main Street like he was on a Sunday stroll. He didn’t give a second glance to the dōrydō still scanning the trees.
As he made his way, he saw several more pairs of troopers, some on street corners and others patrolling side streets, their weapons at the ready. Mostly laser carbines, he thought. He saw no sign of the inhabitants of New Haven, and a pang of worry crept through him as he wondered if they’d been executed. He’d counted eight troopers so far and spotted another dōrydō standing at the edge of town along one of three larger cross streets that bisected Main.
Hank blew out a frustrated breath.
Corporate piracy was a fairly common event in the Republic. Ship captains in command of squads, platoons, and even companies of mercs sometimes took advantage of the space between stars. They raided vessels and preyed upon small, poorly-armed colonies with impunity. Of course, Terran Republic troops and system law enforcement did their best to come in after the fact, but by the time they arrived, all the civilians were usually dead and stripped of their belongings. In cases where there were survivors, the victims rarely had any way of identifying who had raided them.
As he approached the center of town, and the storefronts rolled by, he realized all of them appeared to be closed. Normally, the front doors of each one would be open to the warm autumn air, the shop owners inside. New Haven felt like a ghost town at the moment.
At the end of the street, parked in the town square between a large fountain and the courthouse, sat a pair of wheeled APCs topped with twin heavy laser turrets and manned by troopers in the same red and black uniforms. One of them tracked Hank has he walked up.
As Hank passed the fountain, he stopped dead in his tracks.
There on the ground by the fountain lay three bodies riddled and scorched by laser fire. He kneeled over the bodies, recognizing all three. His heart sank. It was Kenny’s father, the mayor, as well as Sheriff Cleil, and her deputy, Bill Baxter. The sheriff’s blaster lay on the ground a short distance from her outstretched hand.
Hank closed his eyes and got a grip on his emotions. Rage burned inside him, and a wellspring of sadness for people who didn’t deserve to die.
“Is there a problem?” one of the gunners called out. The tone of is voice was calm, easy, utterly uncaring.
Hank took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and faced the gunner.
“Not anymore,” Hank said, turning with a satisfied grin. “Who do I have to thank for popping the sheriff and her deputy, here? They’d been on my ass for a while now on account of my illegal still. I make the best süns around.”
“You were told to get inside the courthouse?” the trooper asked, ignoring Hank’s question.
“Yep.”
“Then get your ass in there, or you’ll be joining them.” The easy tone was gone from the trooper’s voice, replaced with venom.
“Whatever you say, son,” Hank said. “I’m not one for getting into trouble when the winds change. I go with the flow.”
“Then flow inside, ya dumb collie.”
Hank gave the trooper a weak smile, happy to be referred to as a collie. Collie was the standard pejorative for colonist. He moved around the APC, the turret following him as he went. Beyond lay the wide stairs of the courthouse, and at the top of them was another dōrydō, as well as two troopers in heavy combat armor and full helmets. Their armor looked vacuum-capable and would be much tougher to crack than the light combat armor of the other troopers. They were all guarding the large double doors that stood open.
Hank made his way up the wide stairs, nodded to the troopers, and walked inside.
* * * * *
Chapter 3
Hank strode purposefully into the entry area of the courthouse. The building had been a large prefab structure designed originally as a three-story office building. Assembled ten years earlier, the colonists had modified it to their needs. The interior was warm and well lit, with much of the decor done in the bluish wood of a local tree.
Hank scanned the interior at a glance. All of the administrative offices were upstairs beyond two large staircases on either side of the entryway. There was a large counter to the right, with a door behind, and a pair of doors along the left wall beneath the stairs. At the back of the entryway lay the courtroom. Normally hidden by an accordion wall which was now collapsed into a left-hand recess, the courtroom was fully exposed, with rows of benches on either side of a wide aisle that led up to a tall dais upon
which sat the judge’s bench.
Twenty of New Haven’s citizens sat clumped together on the left side in the front two rows, their backs to Hank. There were two troopers on either side, their visors down, watching everyone carefully. In front of the judge’s bench stood a man in a dōrydō of a design Hank didn’t recognize. The suit had smooth lines and an almost feline appearance, particularly in the shape of the helm, which reminded Hank of a panther or jaguar. The armor itself looked a bit lighter than the Azteks Hank had seen outside, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It also didn’t have any integrated weapons systems, but there was an array of components built into the waist and wrists of the suit that made Hank surmise it might be an infiltration suit. A laser carbine lay on the judge’s bench within easy reach.
“—so this doesn’t have to get any messier than it already has,” the dōrydō driver said, his voice amplified through speakers built into the chin piece. The driver turned his head to look at Hank as he walked in. “It seems we have another guest,” he added. “If you’ll just take a seat with the others, we’ll get on with our business.”
All the people on the benches turned their heads, and Hank saw a sea of mostly frightened faces.
They’re farmers, not fighters, Hank thought. He gave the driver an obedient nod.
“And what might that business be?” Hank asked as he moved toward the nearest bench.
The driver cocked his head to the side.
“I was just getting to that, old timer,” the driver said. “If you’ll shut your mouth and have a seat, I’ll get right to it.” Hank recognized the tone. It was the polite imperative of a person who believed he was totally in control.
Hank raised his hands in acquiescence and closed his mouth. He reached the second bench from the front, and the six women and four men already sitting there scooted down. He recognized them all. The closest was Elena Svodoba, the remaining deputy of New Haven. She had a fierce bruise beneath her left eye, and the tight blond bun she normally wore in her hair was disheveled in several places. She’d arrived in New Haven on a transport two years earlier and quickly found her way to Sheriff Cleil, who hired her on the spot. When Elena looked up at Hank with her deep blue eyes and motioned for him to sit down, he saw both worry and anger there.
There’s at least one fighter here, he thought.
They exchanged a glance as Hank sat down.
To her right sat three City Council members, five shopkeepers from the larger shops along Main, and Hakeem Najjar, the town’s best welder and metalsmith. Hakeem clenched one fist deliberately. When Hank met his eyes, there was iron there. And anger. Even at sixty years old, Najjar had arms like corded steel. As a younger man, he had made his way through a number of starship-building shipyards all along the main trade corridor of the Terran Republic. Hank suspected the man, almost twenty years his junior, had been in more than one scrape in his time. Shipyards drew mercs, and mercs generally caused trouble wherever they went. In that one glance, Hank knew the old Arab was itching for a fight. Hank got the message, and then he settled into his seat.
That’s two.
Elena leaned slightly toward Hank.
“They’re going to kill us all after they get whatever they came for.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her tone wasn’t one of warning or fear, simply a complete absence of doubt, as if she knew what the corporate mercs were planning, as if she’d been part of it. In that moment, Hank suspected he knew why Sheriff Cleil had given her a job.
Hank pretended not to hear her at first. He leaned back in his seat, a bored expression upon his face, and then stretched his arms out and yawned mightily. When he covered his mouth, he whispered back to her two words, “Be ready,” and then he shook his head and gave the dōrydō driver his full attention.
“Are we keeping you up old man?” one of the troopers asked with a chuckle.
“I didn’t get my nap today, son,” Hank replied. “And with all this fuss, I’m feeling a little tuckered out.”
“Shut it,” the driver ordered, stepping forward. “I wanna get this over with.” He seemed to look over his audience, his helmet slowly panning from left to right.
Dōrydōs, including their face plates, were completely encased in a quark-bonded, neutron-dense alloy. There were neither eye slits nor any sign of a visual input mechanism. Despite this fact, the base electronics systems of a dōrydō allowed a driver to see across the full spectrum, provided image enhancement of thirty or more times normal resolution, and could even scan through a short list of materials.
“I’m going to make this very simple,” the driver said. “We’re here for that shipment of Kahn Süns slated to go out tomorrow.”
Hank felt Elena stiffen beside him. “They’re after your shipment,” she whispered.
Hank placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed as he glanced at her. He shook his head almost imperceptibly to silence her.
“My people,” the driver continued, “will finish loading up that fat cargo ship at the port, and then we’ll leave. Anyone who tries to stop us will end up like those three outside. We’ve cut your link to the SatComm at the source, so you can’t call for help, and while you might think you can overwhelm my troopers, there are six dōrydōs scattered around this shithole. You couldn’t even scratch one of us with the hunting rifles I’m sure you have lying around here, so don’t even try. You’ll just piss off the driver before one of us shoots you to pieces.” He turned and picked up his laser carbine. “You all heard the warning we gave when we arrived. If everyone stays in their homes until we’re gone, there won’t be any more trouble for them. And as for all of you, there’s an empty storage shed not far from here where we’ll keep you until just before we take off. Once we get back to our ship in orbit, we’ll fire up her systems, and you’ll never see us again. If you comply, all you’re out is a single shipment of booze. If you don’t, you’ll end up fertilizing the soil with your blood. Do not fuck with us.”
The driver turned and nodded to the two troopers on Hank’s right.
“Alright, you dumb collies,” a male trooper shouted, aiming his weapon. “Get moving.”
The female trooper beside him moved toward the back of the courtroom and motioned toward the front doors.
Hank got up quickly, took his place at the head of the line, and stared into the mirrored visor of the female trooper.
She stepped in front of him and hefted her carbine, like she was bored with the whole thing.
“If any of you backwater collies gets the bright idea to jump us or run, these carbines lay down enough fire to wipe you out in about eight seconds. You heard the commander. Don’t fuck with us, and I won’t have to work up a sweat killing you.” She took a position to Hank’s left. “Move it,” she ordered, and it was clear to Hank she felt like she’d drawn shit duty.
“Whatever you say, miss,” Hank replied, and he started walking toward the front doors.
* * * * *
Chapter 4
The female trooper guided Hank out the front doors, down the steps, and past the APCs still manned by the gunners. Night had finally settled upon New Haven, and the streets were illuminated by lamps at every corner. The trooper motioned for Hank to turn right toward the landing field, and the whole group shuffled along for a couple of blocks. They turned two more corners and came up to a large chromaplas storage building two stories tall and half a block wide. The two wide main doors had been secured with a length of chain and a thumb-lock. A small door set off to the side stood open, and a small rectangle of light brightened the sidewalk.
“Get inside,” she ordered, stopping just short of the door. She turned to the rest of the prisoners. “Everyone inside. Stay calm. Stay quiet. This will all be over by morning.” The female trooper seemed to only be keeping half an eye on the prisoners, and her attention seemed to wander, as if she was bored with the whole thing.
Hank nodded and stepped into the empty storage building. There were two other buildings closer to the landin
g field that he knew had been full to the roof beams with Kahn Süns.
They’re spread thin, if some of them are loading the rest of the shipment, he thought.
Hank moved off to the side, just inside the door, and waited for the rest of the prisoners to be pushed inside. When he saw Elena come in, he reached out and gently pulled her toward him, raising a finger to her lips to silence her.
She gave him a quick, knowing nod, and her shoulders stiffened slightly.
The rest of the prisoners who had been sitting on Elena’s row were shoved inside, and when Hakeem appeared, Hank pulled him aside as well. As the remaining prisoners shuffled in and grouped up like a flock of birds clucking to each other in low voices, Hank gently guided Elena and Hakeem to stand in front of him, their backs to the door.
When they were in position and blocking the troopers’ view, he lifted his pant leg and slipped a thin, well-worn, but extremely sharp tanto blade from the back of his boot. Tightening his grip, he took a deep breath and found himself wondering if he still had it…still had the mettle to do what had been easy when he was young.
When the last prisoner stumbled through the doorway, the male trooper stepped inside, his carbine slung over his shoulder.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just stay in here and keep your mouths shut,” the male trooper barked. “If I have to come back in here, I’ll just shoot one of you to get the message across.”
Hank stepped up to face the male trooper, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You picked the wrong colony,” he said as bright as sunshine.
“Whu—” the trooper started, but Hank’s blade cut his voice off as it came up under the chin of the helmet, pierced the trooper’s throat, and slid into his brain. Hank caught the trooper’s rifle as it fell, gave the hilt of his blade a twist, and yanked it free. Supporting the trooper against the door frame with his body, he let the corpse slide to the permacrete floor.
The Dogs of God Page 2
