Hell or Highwater (Hell's Jesters, #5), page 10
But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t comprehend what force in the universe insisted that they be apart. She didn’t know why the only time they’d gotten together had been steeped in fear and pain and doubt. And she sure as hell didn’t know why she didn’t just chase those Hellhounds right back down to the surface of Shangri-La.
The answer sounded from her communicator. “Slasher One?” Himari asked. “Some reason we’re still hanging out here?”
“None,” she replied. “Break off and head back for the Sacramento.”
These kids, Kelly thought. They need me. The Union needs me. And if I go back to the Jesters now, it’ll mean explaining how I betrayed them to save my brother...from them. There was no saying how that would end.
Tim knew that, too.
Himari and Six peeled off from the Basilisk. But Kelly hung on, with the Basilisk off her port wing, Tim off her starboard.
He was right there.
And a surge of recklessness she never would’ve felt before being a Jester filled her.
TIM HISSED IN ANNOYANCE as the last Marauder lingered and keyed the comm again. “I said, we’ve got it from here, pal!”
The Union starfighter hung between him and the Basilisk with Cory and Watkins Five arrayed on the shuttle’s other side. As the other two Marauders receded behind them, but their leader held its spot, a flutter of unease filled Tim’s core.
“Recruit One,” he ordered, “drop back behind us and light this clown up with your targeting sensors.”
“Targeting?” Cory squawked.
“Keep your weapons powered off,” Tim replied. “Just let him know we don’t appreciate whatever the hell it is he’s doing.”
“Got it.”
With a feathering of her maneuvering fields, Cory dipped to aft, about two hundred meters off the Marauder’s tail. Tim smiled as his tactical buzzed with the active sensors. That poseur will be feeling a tickle now.
Suddenly, the Union starfighter was fluttering. It took Tim a moment to realize its running lights, on the wingtip and fuselage, were strobing at him.
“What in the actual hell is wrong with this guy?”
“Tim,” Jeanie spoke up suddenly. “That’s not a guy.”
“What?”
“And that’s a code being flashed at us. Ancient Earth morse code.”
“Who the hell would—”
The AI threw up a globular before him and text began to crawl across it, translation of the light pulses from the Marauder.
HEY, HOTSHOT, the text read. I SEE YOU STILL CAN’T MANAGE TO KEEP A HELLHOUND IN ONE PIECE.
Tim scowled in confusion. Then realization blasted through him like a lightning strike to the skull. He twisted left so fast in the flight couch that the straps bit, and flung up a hand against the armored canopy. It was ridiculous. The Marauder to port wasn’t that close. But with his mind whirling, he could almost imagine her looking back from the bulge of its own cockpit.
“It’s her?” he wheezed. “Kelly?”
“I can confirm,” Jeanie replied. “She opened her signals with her old Jester call-sign. I suppose it’s possible the Union obtained that somehow.”
“No,” Tim said with a deep breath to calm himself. The crack about the Hellhound was an old joke between them—that he somehow also trashed whatever he flew. “No, it’s her.”
The text in the globular scrolled on. SHOULD NOT BE DOING THIS. BUT I WANTED YOU TO KNOW I WAS STILL OUT HERE.
“Why doesn’t she just hologram us?” Tim asked.
“I presume because our transmissions are being monitored,” Jeanie replied, “from both sides. Manually pulsing the running lights, though...”
A million thoughts avalanched through Tim’s mind. He trembled with them. He’d imagined a reunion between them so many times in the dark hours of the night when he woke up with nightmares—without her. What was he supposed to do with this? He slapped the front of his helmet. Idiot. Answer her!
“Jeanie,” he said hoarsely. “Transcribe and transmit, please.”
“I am ready.”
“‘SO GLAD YOU’RE SAFE’,” he said. “‘MISSING YOU TERRIBLY. THINGS AREN’T THE SAME WITHOUT YOU.’”
MISS YOU, TOO, came the response. BUT DOING GOOD WORK WITH THESE PEOPLE.
“‘WE NEED YOU BACK’.”
WISH THAT WAS POSSIBLE. BUT DON’T KNOW HOW, RIGHT NOW.
“‘I NEED YOU BACK. I LOVE YOU.’”
LOVE YOU TOO.
Tim grinned and grimaced at the same time. He rubbed away the stinging in his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d ever said it so directly, hated that they’d wasted so much time not saying everything. He wanted to tell her more, but could feel the tension around them, so dense it crackled across the void. Cory was back there, targeting Kelly’s tail, no idea what was really going on. Kelly had positioned her fighter so that only he would be seeing her lights.
“‘HOW DO WE GET YOU BACK?’”
YOU CAN’T.
“‘I DON’T ACCEPT THAT.’”
YOU HAVE TO.
“‘NOT GIVING UP ON YOU.’”
NOT ASKING YOU TO. STAY ALIVE. I WILL FIND YOU WHEN THIS IS ALL OVER.
“When this is all over...” Tim croaked to himself. It’ll never be over. But gave himself a shake. They were out of time. To Jeanie for transcription, “‘YOU WERE ALWAYS THE ONE. THE ONLY ONE.’”
YOU TOO. I WILL FIND YOU. BE THERE, TIM.
“‘I WILL. FOREVER.’”
The Marauder’s gravs pulsed hard and the starfighter jumped out ahead of the Basilisk before lifting its nose and peeling off right over him. It happened too fast for him to really get a good look, but imagined her flashing him one last backwards glance.
“What was that?” Cory signaled.
“Just some crazy pilot,” Tim replied huskily. “One of a kind.”
RED’S FACE SCOWLED from the small globular hovering over the desk in the Sacramento’s Admiral’s cabin. “Bullshit.”
He chuckled back at her. “Glad to see our working relationship remains as cordial as ever, Captain.”
“There’s no way Rodann or Wheeler agreed to that!”
Greer shrugged. “I can bring them on, if you don’t believe me.” He leaned forward over the desk, glowering. “Of course, you know what message it was the daughter brought to me.”
“I know what she would tell us.” Red scowled. “And I know that she’s still one of your creatures, though I had to figure that out for myself.”
“Then you can probably figure out that I have other errands for her,” Greer replied, “ones that her father and his friend agreed they could help with.”
Red glared out of the hologram—damn, the woman was fierce! He loved it, imagined all manner of mischief he could get into with her. But, no. Not like my sweet, sweet Succubus. This one burns with a killing fire. He knew something of it, her history.
“Look,” Greer chuckled at last, “what use would I have for a burnt-out hauler helmsman? At least the Marine I can put to work!”
“Fine,” Red snapped back. “But if they want out, I’ll expect you to return them.”
Greer’s chuckle changed to something harsher. “I’d remind you, Captain, that I can order any of you at any time or anywhere.”
“You giving orders now?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he rumbled. “Coronado. I want one of your Jester raids there. Maximum ruckus.”
“Busted knuckles and bloody lips?” she asked.
“That ought to do,” he replied. “No need to hang yourself out too far. I just want the Alliance stung and rattled. I want them feeling like whatever it is they’re gearing up for there needs to be hurried along.”
“You mean the” Red cleared her throat “ah, little ‘operation’ Rodann’s daughter mentioned?”
Greer smiled. She was sharp enough to know not to speak openly, even on this channel—in theory, a line-of-sight laser transmission straight from the Sacramento to the surface...but you never knew. “That’s right.”
Red’s image nodded thoughtfully. “We can probably manage. When?”
“Within five days.”
Her laugh was harsh enough to distort the desktop’s little speaker. “Ha! It’s never the small things with you, Greer.”
“Are you saying the Jesters aren’t up to it?”
“We’ll be there!” She hesitated. “You going to bring some friends, too?”
“No one you need to worry about,” he said. “But I will need to know exactly when you’re moving.”
“We’ll send a hyper-pod.” She hesitated for even longer. Then it was her turn to lean forward into the hologram pickup and stare through it. “I don’t care about your little spy, but...take care of my people, Greer.”
“I will.” He didn’t mention that by following the Succubus, the two Jesters might very well be taking care of themselves, so to speak.
“All right. Watch for the pod.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Greer said. The question on his lips was a risk—perhaps a bigger one than he should ever take—but he had to know. The Jesters were twisted up in some very interesting things, indeed, judging by evidence they’d left behind on other worlds.
“Yes?”
“Does the word Chiaroscuro mean anything to you, Captain?”
She frowned from the hologram. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Greer leaned back in his chair, regarding the grainy image. No reaction. Good. Better that the circle remains as small as possible.
“Art’s kind of a hobby of mine,” he said. “Was just curious if it was one that I share with you.”
“The Jesters only have kind of art.” She grinned wolfishly. “Kicking ass.”
Part 3 – The Levee Cracks
HOLOGRAPHIC RECEPTOR ON>>>
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 7543251>>>RECEPTION>>> A handsome man of dark hair and darker, almost depthless eyes sits in a folding chair on a studio while crews and drones scamper about behind him. He looks up from a holoreader, seeming to notice that he is being watched, and sets the device aside.
“Hi, I’m Julian the Entertainer. You know me from my work in the HoloMovies, the theater, from my philanthropy, and from my activism. I’ve been a tireless promoter for the betterment of society and galactic life for most of my career.”
He gets up from the seat and strides towards the camera, hand folded together before him in what is likely a practiced, but earnest-seeming gesture. “And it’s to that last part that I come to you now, friends. I see the news, too. I hear the rantings of the Holotabloids and some of the more ‘reputable’ institutions who’ve become little better than such. And I’m as disgusted as you are.”
A quadrant of the view divides off to show a scene of rioting in the streets of what looks like a Foundation World city. It shifts quickly to another scene, this one of starships exploded against a starry backdrop. It shifts one more time to a smoldering view of a shot-up building facade and a ragged Alliance banner, drooping in a sullen breeze.
“Our Alliance has never known such perilous times as those that confront us now.” He touches his chest. “I feel it as much as any of you, the anxiety, the desire for order, for clarity. Our star nation needs leadership now; not more bickering and back-biting.”
The quadrant switches over to an image of Alexi Noovin, handing out ration bags from the back of a hovertruck, grinning and shaking hands as he does so. Sun shines down on him. Faces of weary folk look up at him, into that light, and smooth with reassurance.
“Alexi Noovin is my friend. I know him to be a man of substance, of character, and of integrity. He has been a voice for stability and calm in an uncertain galaxy. He will have my vote in the coming elections. I hope he’ll have yours, too. Because the alternative is...”
The quadrant switches back to the shot-up façade and the banner. The flagpole snaps and the tattered rags flutter to the rubble.
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 422826>>>RECEPTION>>> Kathleen Kerrigan stands atop a stage, microphone in hand, paused in seeming thought as she looks out across a vast crowd. It is dusk on Prospero, the skyline of its largest mega-metropolis, Virtus, standing out like dark crags against a pink-red sky.
“It’s clear, now, isn’t it, friends?” She nods as her audience rumbled. “It’s clear; the Alliance can’t go on this way. It can’t continue to trust it’s guidance to politicians captured by special interests or by secret monies.”
Someone shouts from the back of the crowd. It’s not clear what’s said, but a growl of agreement ripples through the throng.
“We can’t let men like my opponent continue to mismanage the resources of an entire galaxy! We can’t let allies like Alexi Noovin’s surrounded himself with keep make decisions for all of us in backrooms and on clandestine holocalls.” She points out into the deepening gloom. “Syntar Fleet Corporation ran the affairs of the Alliance through his offices for years; and look where that has left us all!”
The crowd roars in appreciation and Kerrigan lets it wear itself out before again raising the microphone to her face. But the shouting from the back of the crowd flares up again. There appears to be a scuffle and she hesitates, glances offstage. A few suited men start to move out from the shadows, winding their way down into the mob.
“Now, I know how the HoloMedia takes this kind of talk,” she says. “I know they’ll tsk-tsk at my ‘tone’. But someone has to say it plainly, before it’s too late. We are in danger of losing our Alliance, my friends. That’s not alarmism; that’s a fact.”
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 666789 - NOVA TERRA - GOVERNMENT SPONSORED>>>RECEPTION>>> “—and I’m sorry, Assemblyman,” a bespectacled middle-aged man in a conservatively-cut suit says from the table facing the Committee for the Conduct of the War, “but on the advice of Counsel, I’m going to have to decline to answer that question.”
Harvey Grantholm flings his holopad to the desktop before him in disgust and glances at another committee member before turning his exasperated glare upon the man. “Mister Olivian—”
“You can call me Tad, Assemblyman.”
“Sir,” Grantholm snaps back coldly, “this is the third time you’ve declined to answer a direct question at the advice of your attorney.” He leans forward. “You agreed to this appearance, I presume in exchange for leniency on the very long list of charges you face from the Judiciary. It’s just a suggestion, sir, but you might want to keep that in mind.”
Olivian smiles back grimly. “Of course.”
Grantholm straightens his tie—fiery red on this day—and takes up his holopad again, scans a line of notes. “Now, you’ve declined to discuss communications between your office and Omnipresent Media concerning a coordinated effort on behalf of High Councilor Noovin—”
“Assemblyman,” Olivian says with a believable huff of exasperation, “I can’t speak to things I didn’t witness...”
“—and you won’t speak to similar coordination with the leadership at Zebulon Blaster Weapons—”
“If you have evidence of such things, that would be news to me!”
“Mister Olivian.” Grantholm slaps his holopad down again and his lips deform into a sneer. “Tad, you were the President Emeritus of Syntar Fleet Corporation, at one time its Number Two, behind Bradley Boxer, and still on its Executive Council at the time of the corporation’s liquidation. You’re honestly going to sit there and tell this Committee you had no idea Syntar was in collusion with Alexi Noovin’s campaign arm in the run-up to his election?”
>>>SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 920549>>>UNION-BROADCAST-RESTRICTED>>>RECEPTION>>> Ansolm Levine strides down a street left puddled by a downpour, flanked by supporters and followed by a column hundreds of people long. He’s more damp from sweat than the just-finished rain shower. It gives him an appearance almost feral.
The view shakes as whoever is holding the hovercamera scampers into the street just ahead of him. A spritely woman in a dripping raincoat holds out a microphone and calls, “President Levine! Sabrina Wren of Union Free News! We’ve spoken before!”
“Of course,” Levine replies with the sweaty grin of a brawler. But he doesn’t slow his stride and Wren’s news crew must backpedal before him and his throng. “What can I do for you, Miss Wren?”
“You promised no intimidation, sir!” she says breathlessly. “You promised you wouldn’t impede the Recall!”
Levine guffaws. “We’re impeding nothing but traffic, my dear. And this isn’t intimidation; this is free political expression. We are a peaceful group.” He calls over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, friends?”
The column behind him roars in agreement, loud enough that the holocamera’s microphone pickups distort and crackle.
“This is Halcyon, Mister President,” Wren responds. “This is Senator Cupp’s home world, his hometown of Trinity!”
“Is it?” Levine offers her a mock-surprised expression. “He certainly spends little time here.” He points a thumb behind him. “These are his direct constituents. But when was the last time they saw him here?”
“I’m just wondering—and I’m sure our viewers are, too—what message you think you’re conveying by parading here, other than a threat?”
Levine comes to halt. Behind him the column growls and seethes as they’re forced to do so, as well. “Miss Wren,” he says, “the message I’d like to convey to the voters, when they go to the polls for this Recall election, is that their President is always where his people need them; not attending posh fundraisers while our Fleet struggles to keep its ships crewed! Not abandoning his home world for a year and a half!”
Levine fixes the holocamera with a direct glare.
“I will never abandon the Union.”
SCANNING>>>SCANNING>>>HYPER-CHANNEL 422826>>>RECEPTION>>> “We’re not going to back down, friends!” Kerrigan declares to the crowd, shaking her fist in the air. “We’re going to take this campaign all the way to the High Council!”
Her words are met by an eruption of rapturous sound from the crowd. Someone up starts up a song that quickly gets drowned out. Someone else sounds like they’re screaming. The suited men from Kerrigan’s staff begin shoving people out of the way, plowing through the mob. At its far edge, a fistfight looks to have broken out.
