“Perfect,” she replied with obviously false cheer. She hit the intercom switch. “Shiv and Skitter, naptime is over. Meet us at the ventral lift and make certain you’re doing a reasonable impersonation of corporate meat-shields. That shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for you.”

  “Nice to see that it’s not just me you practice your charm on,” Jerry grumbled.

  Tina started to retort, but Cory cut it off with, “Maybe we should review our own parts in this scheme?”

  Mumbling under her breath, Tina hit another control and brought up a holographic map of the Dock. Their projected berth in the mid-level dock blinked. A line drew itself from there, up the center of the “core” and meandered out to a ring of docks branching from the upper spread. It ended there and a sub-globular sprung out to show the schematic of a Mark VII Rynamax. Docks adjacent to it flashed like Christmas tree lights, also held like vessels.

  “Sounds like we’ll have a tour guide through the station and to the transport,” Tina started. “Jones, you can keep them talking until we reach it. The boys will handle them after we’re aboard.”

  “Quietly, I hope,” Jerry said.

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re professionals.” She looked at Cory. “After we’re settled, the transport should be tied to the Dock computer systems. You think you can talk the machines into releasing the ship and letting us fly out?”

  “I’ll do a hell of a lot more than that,” Cory replied, patting the back pack she kept on her lap. Jerry knew it contained an override packet of her own design, using a micro-version of Overmind to hack into what would probably be hopelessly-outclassed local software. She’d used the trick on Syntar enough times that their countermeasures had begun to improve against such. But Dyamark’s systems would have no record or experience.

  “We don’t need anything fancy, kid, just get it done.” She looked at Jerry. “You’re along for the flying, then, Dad.”

  “I think I can manage that.”

  She looked at each of them, her expression gone grave. “Lot of things can go wrong at this point. If it does, me and the boys will raise some hell, provide a bit of confusion for you all to slip away in. You won’t be able to come back to this shuttle. You’ll just have to figure it out. We’re all on our own, if it comes to that.”

  Cory swallowed once. Jones wiped a film of sweat from his upper lip.

  “Let’s just make certain it doesn’t come to that,” Jerry said by way of rallying them.

  Tina nodded, even smiled.

  The lights of Berth Seven Slash Seven glared in the viewports. Jerry felt the vibration of tractor beams helping the maneuvering fields slow their entry. Tina was moving aft, the others following her. He paused a moment, watching as massive gantries slid by, full of ships and crews. Light fully surrounded them as the ship slid down into the hangar bay.

  Kelly and Tim, he thought. And Loudon...poor devils...that’s why we’re going through with this craziness. He sucked in a long breath that did him no good, only made him think more of the cold porridge sensation of terror souring his guts. Craziness...

  He started aft, made his way to the ventral hatch just as it was cracking open, and worked his jaw as adjusting pressures made his ears pop. He started down the ramp only to find the others bunched there, waiting—frozen as they gawked at their surroundings.

  Jerry shouldered through, driven by a sudden impatience. Clear of them, he nearly stumbled to a halt.

  Crimson and black uniforms flashed from overhead catwalks, Alliance Naval officers prowling as they oversaw the hangar activities. Below them and around the crew of would-be transport thieves, laborers and drones worked to off load goods or replacement teams in a clamor of metal, shouted orders, and screeching engines, all while guards in bulky green and gray body armor, brandishing heavy blastrifles, wandered amongst them, scanning everything.

  Alliance Marines. Dozens of them.

  Jerry half-turned to his daughter with a scowl.

  “It’ll be fine, eh?”

  “WE’VE DIVERTED RESOURCES from seven different operations to continue to support your efforts, Hal,” the hologram playback of Boxer said. “While I understand the task we’ve laid before you is substantial in scale, the Board of Directors grows uneasy with the expense and with your continued requests.”

  Geiger sat in the dark of his planet-side office, sneering at the globular. He thanked whatever deities there might be for the distances that prevented a real-time communication between him and Syntar. These weekly missives he received grated his nerves. He’d never be able to keep the impatience and disgust from his face if he was forced to endure them live or, worse, in person.

  “And we’re all becoming uneasy with the pace of progress,” Boxer rambled on. “You were told four months to get those mines running at full-production. We sent you full drone commitments to ensure it. But from the word we’re receiving from other sources, you’re still driving organic labor, only rotating in the mechanicals after you’ve literally worked human crews to death.”

  Geiger reached for the whiskey glass at his side, swirled it once, and took a drink to settle the prickle of anger in his blood. Someone was tattling to his superiors. Denton? No, he’s a coward. And Lindsey’s too simple...I’ll find the rat, though. They won’t stop me now.

  “I’m sure you have your reasons, Hal,” the Boxer-image said, “but we have to have those mines at full yield soon. We’re beginning to have backlog. The markets notice these things. Investors ask questions. The High Council is asking questions.”

  Geiger took another drink and set it aside. Discovering that Syntar’s leadership was every bit as small and petty as the Navy’s had been something of a disappointment. Geiger had always assumed the millstone of profit and competition would grind away such weakness, leave only people of drive. But it seemed he’d only traded one flavor of bureaucracy for another.

  Fine...that’s all the better for me. He glanced at a globular he kept hovering to one side at all times now, a global map of Loudon with details of the mines, of paramilitary operations, of reconstruction efforts he’d allowed begun on some of the benighted world’s settlements. Driving crews to death? That’d break the will of any proto-resistance and leave only beaten men and women, pliable to his whims. Divert resources? He’d need them all to control the planet and face the Jesters when they returned.

  Uneasy? They were right to be.

  Geiger had Loudon—a whole world—in his grasp; he was never going to yield it to Syntar now.

  “As I said, I don’t want to interfere. But I’ve receiving enough pressure from constituents now that as soon as I can find vacancies on my calendar I’ll be coming out there to meet with you directly.”

  Shit.

  “It’ll be a few weeks, yet. I’ve been called to speak before the Assembly’s Committee on the Conduct of the War as to the state of supply for the Fleet. I’ve held them off as long as I can. I’ll need to prepare for that. But after that, Hal, I’d ask that you be prepared to receive me.” He glowered through the hologram. “It’d be well if I was pleased by what I find.”

  The globular winked out.

  Geiger took up the whisky again, downed the whole thing in one scorching gulp. Shit! He cleared the burn from his throat, didn’t quite sputter, and slammed it on his desk. Well, that could get awkward. It’ll have to be a good show. I’ll after to root out the gossips quickly, then. And I’ll have to get these loose ends tied up.

  To that end, he turned to a light blinking from his desktop communicator and touched it. “Is McClintock out there, waiting?”

  “She is, Mister Geiger,” replied his secretary’s voice, “along with Mister Denton.”

  “Send them in.” He waved to bring the lights on through the room and stood.

  Denton led the Agriculture Secretary into the chamber. In person, she seemed even less impressive, a short, almost stocky woman with a stubborn expression—an aging farmer’s wife stuffed into a more powerful woman’s suit. That she continued to go by her defunct government’s title—rather than assume the Governor’s, or concoct a new one—spoke to her lack of imagination and initiative.

  But Geiger needed a puppet, and she seemed willing—or incapable of resisting—when he pulled the strings.

  “You asked to see me in person?” she began.

  “I did, Madame Secretary,” he replied. “Have a seat.” He waited until her resistance faltered and she complied. Still on his feet, Geiger continued. “I understand you’re encountering delays in getting us more help to support the mining operations?”

  “People are starving. They’re getting sick.” She grimaced. “They’re dying, Mister Geiger, by the thousands. I can’t force people to restart infrastructure overnight with those distractions. I don’t even know who I’ll have left to work with from day to day.”

  Geiger nodded with mock-patience. “I understand, too, that you’ve begun seeing defections from your administration and workforce to these renegade movements forming outside our zones of control?”

  “There’s not much I can do if people just leave.”

  “But you could certainly be trying harder, couldn’t you?”

  “How dare you—” she cut herself off before the anger took hold. With obvious effort, she controlled her voice. “Daily, I fight to keep people alive, Mister Geiger. We’ve done our best to work with you, to ensure you have what you need and we get what we need. But things are falling apart. I can’t control everything. I’m having a hard time controlling anything!”

  Geiger glanced at Denton, who seemed to be enjoying McClintock’s torment. He wondered if his satisfaction was as obvious. “Madame,” he resumed, “I asked you here in person so you could see for yourself the challenges we face. In particular, I wanted you to watch something with me.”

  He twisted and touched the desktop control, dimmed the lights, and then brought up a cluster of globulars showing maps, holocamera views of dim countryside, and the interior of a transport hold full of armored paramilitaries. He pointed to the map first. “Do you know this region?”

  “The Central West,” she replied with a hint of disdain. “They’re strange folk, religious, isolationist, not great about paying their taxes in the old days. If you think you’re having trouble with my people, these will be a real treat for you.”

  “We landed a mixed Garrison Platoon in this place, Johnsville. They seemed compliant enough.” In one of the globulars, a hoverjeep mounting a heavy plasma blaster patrolled what likely passed for a downtown to these hicks while hover drones skimmed in formation above it. In another, a Syntar officer spoke with a couple in dark, conservative attire while paramilitaries watched, cradling blastrifles.

  “People often do what you want when there’s a blaster at their backs.”

  “Indeed,” Geiger said. “And yet, contrary to that, we can’t quite seem to get everything we need from you.”

  “I’ve already told you—”

  “This next view,” Geiger went on over her, pointing to the hologram of the transport hold, “should be quite instructive and it’s what I brought you here to watch with me.”

  She swallowed once. “Yes?”

  “Yes. That’s a Syntar Ground Strike Team; two organic squads in landers, a dozen hover-drones, and backed by a flight of our hunter-killers. Contacts in the town have indicated a pack of renegades menacing them from the southwest. Since your indigenous militia doesn’t seem capable of reinstituting law and order, I’ve loaned my own assets for the purpose.”

  McClintock looked ready to protest again, but held it in.

  “Now watch this next part,” Geiger said.

  BEN AND A PARTY OF twenty mounted up a couple hours after dawn. They released Tim from his bonds and ordered him to come along, riding a bony nag with a penchant for biting. Grateful to have his hands free, he nevertheless remained aware of eyes and gunsights on him at all times. And Ben never let him stray far.

  More, he worried about Kelly. They’d left her in the care of Tess and guarded by the other half of their band, but he hadn’t seen her since their capture. He didn’t figure they’d hurt her, but he’d seen the mad light in Ben’s eyes.

  And, damn, the situation has gotten twisted.

  The mounted company followed a low ridge line northwest, away from Johnsville for much of the morning. A cold, foul-smelling wind lashed the countryside and a jumbled wall of unnaturally green-gray cloud churned up from east, driven inland from the sea. Thunder growled faintly, like an argument in another room. The weird ash-snow started up fitfully, powdered dying grass and whitened the limbs of trees in the foothills that loomed ahead of them. But the winds built to a howl, shook much of it away in a powdery haze as thunder grew closer, more intense, and the air took on an acrid scent.

  “Some days,” Ben said over his shoulder to Tim, “the sky rains poison.” His nostrils flared. “I wonder sometimes if Esau wasn’t right.”

  “Where are we going?” Tim asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  They reached a wooded ravine that meandered north into thicker forest at the base of hill with a bare peak of time-scoured stone that looked vaguely like a skull. That feature had prompted the unimaginative name “Bone Hill” from the locals. Kids of town had often explored the surrounding wilderness, but the promontory’s fearsome reputation deterred most. Even Tim, with his disdain for what other folks said, had avoided it.

  Ben brought his horse to a halt to regard it. “Remember this place?”

  “I remember stories.”

  “Mm-hmm. Everyone always said it was haunted, that folk would hear strange sounds sometimes at night, like something moving around under it.” He turned in the saddle to grin. “They weren’t wrong, it turns out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Some of the other partisans chuckled amongst themselves. But Ben looked up at the sky. A cold prick bit Tim’s bare neck and pattering spread across the ground, hissed in the trees before and below them in the ravine. Thunder smacked the hilltops and fidgeting began amongst horses and riders.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Ben ordered.

  They started down. Darkness enveloped them immediately. The trees here seemed a hardier breed, had weathered the climatological upheaval better than the flora and fauna around Johnsville. Dense canopy spread overhead and undergrowth choked its way, left only a thin path hardly fit for the horses to proceed downhill at single file. Tim breathed deep, surprised at the green living odor, and at how the scorched winds of the open countryside had nearly scent-blinded him with their endless, bleak foulness.

  Water burbled below and the horses worked their way down to a shallow, rocky wash. There they turned due north, into the dark. The splash of their hooves echoed off increasingly steep walls of tangled root, moss, and splintered shale to either side. Flicks of rain pecked at them and the thunder continued its debate in distant, shrouded skies. But the ravine embraced them in its nether-light, held the harsh reality away with its stillness and shadow.

  Tim caught a glimpse of Bone Hill through a part in the trees above. He’d stopped worrying about being shot, at least. But this strange journey and Ben’s stranger demeanor birthed uneasiness even worse.

  The clamor of a water fall grew ahead. The party rounded a tight bend in the ravine and cantered into wide saddle at the very foot of the hill. Feeble light showed off rivulets of water cascading from the round opening of what looked like a culvert of time-pocked concrete. Moss had overgrown much of the crumbling surface, but Tim made out the faint outline of a rifle crossed with a clutch of wheat—Loudon’s pre-Union planetary crest.

  “What the hell is this place?” he asked.

  Ben was getting down from his mount. “Come on and I’ll show you.”

  With wafers of sandstone crackling apart under their boots, they scaled the rocks to the culvert, about twenty feet above the ravine floor. Ben paused at the top and signaled for the others to mind the horses and set lookouts. That begun, he turned on the spot light of Tim’s blastrifle and ducked into the dark passage. Tim followed with Wallace and Candy at his heels, both of them shouldering rifles and activating their own flash lights.

  Water sluiced around Tim’s ankles, chilled his toes despite his boots’ water-proofing. The air hung heavy and still about him, smelled of cold, wet stone and neglect. In the flick of the others’ flash light beams he caught hints of ceiling-mounted sconces for flood lights, long burned-out and left to darken and rust. Thunder growled up the passage at their backs like a memory of anger, almost left behind.

  “This was all here, all along?” he wondered.

  “Loudon Civil Defense outpost,” Candy said from behind. “They’re scattered all over the planet.”

  Tim glanced over his shoulder at the woman. “You knew about this?”

  “Candy did a stint with the service, couple years back,” Ben echoed from ahead.

  “You knew and said nothing,” Tim said to her.

  “Sworn to secrecy.” He saw her shrug despite the glare of her light in his face.

  Tim chuckled. “My god, wouldn’t the Johnsville founders be pissed about that? They thought they were getting away from the things of the ‘modern galaxy’. And, here, it was in the foothills overlooking the town the whole time.” He looked at her again, sharply. “Were you stationed here?”

  “No, I was just a comms tech. But I had access to the maps.”

  “She was the one that led us here,” Ben said.

  “So much for secrecy...” Tim smirked. “Were they watching us all that time?”

  “I don’t know, Tim.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ben snapped from ahead. The beam of his light swerved to the right and stopped, panned over something. “Here we are.”

  The culvert kept going, off into the dark, but an alcove opened to the side. A concrete step led up to a blastisteel hatch new enough to look like it’d recently been replaced, probably a quarter meter thick and likely blaster-resistant.

  Ben touched the control panel on its face. Lights greened and the door clacked as locks disengaged, left a metallic ring in the air for seconds.

 

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