Fortress of Lies mda-8 Page 16

  “I—I don’t know. He maybe looks familiar.”

  Kinston managed to pull the accord out of the envelope. He held it out, and the soldier leaned over to see. For a fraction of a second, he was distracted.

  Erik stepped from in front of the rifle barrel and spun, grabbing the barrel and pushing it up, twisting.

  The soldier pulled the trigger, and a short burst of shells fired, bouncing around the tunnel and showering Erik with stinging rock chips.

  Erik shifted his weight, grabbing the rifle with both hands now, using it as a battering ram to jam the stock into the soldier’s kidney. The private doubled over. Erik twisted again, rotating the rifle so that the barrel came up and hit the guard in the chin. By then, he was able to rip the rifle completely from the young soldier’s fingers.

  The private was already off balance. Erik stepped on the man’s foot, pinning it in place, and pushed him over backward. Erik spun the rifle around, and looked down the sights into the kid’s face.

  “Stop.” Kinston tugged at his sleeve. “He’s just doing his job.”

  Erik relaxed slightly. That was true, and he was just a boy. Besides, Erik had the gun now. He considered the value of a hostage and dismissed the idea. But there was one thing he could use.

  “Put your hands behind your head, and show me where to find the Situation Room. Now!”

  11

  Military Situation Room, Capitol Building

  Whitehorse, Shensi

  Prefecture V, The Republic

  21 November 3134

  It was almost comical. Fifteen people in the Situation Room, twelve of them holding guns. Erik’s was pointed at the Legate of Shensi. The others were pointed at Erik.

  The three people without weapons in their hands were the soldier Erik had disarmed, Kinston—who cowered behind Erik, envelope clutched to his chest as though it might stop bullets—and Legate Tarr himself, who stood in front of his overturned chair, fists on hips, looking at Erik as though he were an especially unpleasant bug. The man didn’t so much as blink.

  Neither did Erik. “Can we put all these guns down now? The Duke is offering his forces to fight alongside you, not against you.”

  The Legate stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. He held up his hand, and the guns began to lower. “I’ll give you this: You’ve got nerve, Sandoval. If your soldiers all have your kind of guts, you’ll make excellent allies.”

  Erik pointed the rifle at the ceiling, then handed it to the private.

  Kinston looked desperately at the Legate. “I didn’t know, Legate, I swear I didn’t know there would be guns. I just brought this for you to sign.”

  Erik snatched the envelope, and was careful to extract his original document, not the adulterated version. He spotted a document shredder at a nearby communications console. He tossed the envelope in and watched it turn into confetti, then handed the original to the Legate. “I assume you have a pen here somewhere?”

  The Legate looked at the shredder. “What was that?”

  Erik grinned. “Something I might have been willing to agree to a few hours ago. Now it appears the situation has changed.”

  The Legate looked at the document. “I can’t sign this without reading it.”

  “You’ve already read it. It’s the one you rejected previously. I assume you have no problem with that.” A distant explosion made the room shudder, and the lights flickered momentarily. “Those are your ‘friends’ blasting your capital into rubble. Your Prefecture is in shambles and you count on them for help. Do you wish to face House Liao all by yourselves?”

  The Legate looked at him and blinked. “The Governor still has to sign.”

  “The Governor will sign. You have always been the problem.” He glanced up at the ceiling as another distant explosion made the light fixtures sway. “This is on your head.”

  The Legate grunted. He bent over the table, flipped to the last page and signed.

  “Where’s the Governor?”

  “A secure room, one level down. I’ll have someone escort you. Someone with a pass.”

  Erik shook his head. He handed the document to Kinston. “It’s a milk run, Ozark. Go be important, and then bring it back here to me.”

  Kinston nodded, and followed a staffer out of the room.

  “One of the first things we should do for you as an ally is teach you how to set up an emergency perimeter. I only had to get past five guard posts: one unmanned, two that I overpowered, one that I talked my way through, and one where the guard appeared to be so busy calling his wife that he didn’t see Kinston and me slip past.”

  The Legate sighed. “We’re a bit rusty.”

  “I predict many opportunities to practice, very soon. What’s your situation?”

  The Legate turned to a holotable, which currently showed a world situation map. Red triangles seemed to indicate attacks on all three continents. “We had six ships come in undetected. They must have used a pirate point, so we didn’t spot them. We’ve had sporadic hit-and-run attacks all over the planet. All aerospace fighters; no ground forces that we’ve been able to detect.”

  “What kinds of targets?”

  “The Capitol, of course. Power plants, some major bridges, important monuments.”

  That last caught Erik’s attention. “I don’t think there’s an invasion force behind this—at least not immediately. You’d be seeing ground forces, scouts, and probes at the minimum. And the choice of attacks implies that they’re going for psychological, not tactical advantage. No military targets. It’s a warning shot.”

  The Legate nodded. “I agree—and one we can’t afford to ignore. We either turn over our world to them, or we prepare to fight. I’ve already made my decision. I assure you, Commander, historic ties or not, the people of Shensi value our independence. It may seem that we’ve forgotten how to fight, but we are eager to relearn the old ways, and we are not without weapons.”

  Erik grinned. “So rumor has it—or resources to make more.”

  “Legate, this just came in.” A pretty blond officer handed over several fax pages.

  The Legate flipped through them, then handed one—a photograph—to Erik. “One of our Militia-Mechs on Klondike managed to bring down a fighter.”

  Erik looked at the photo. It showed a burned scar amid frozen tundra, scattered with blackened wreckage. A nearly intact wing jutted up out of a snowbank, emblazoned with the shield of the St. Cyr Armored Grenadiers. “This confirms it, then. The Grenadiers have been Liao’s hired muscle on this campaign from the beginning. I need to get word of this, and our accord, back to the Duke.”

  The Legate ducked away and conferred with a technician working a tactical console. He returned a moment later. “There’s a Sandoval-flagged courier ship in orbit right now. We’ll give them priority landing clearance to the Capital Spaceport, and I’ll have an armored car waiting to take you there when they arrive. We can have you off the planet in less than two hours.”

  He smiled and extended his hand to the Legate, who shook it firmly. “Thank you, Legate. You’re doing the right thing.”

  Kinston returned, looking calmer now. He handed the document, now emblazoned with the Governor’s seal, back to Erik.

  Erik took the agreement triumphantly. This would show Aaron! “Thank you, Ozark. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. You’ll send us a bill?”

  “Oh,” said Kinston, wiping his brow, “you can bet on it.”

  Erik had to hand it to the Shensi. Though they’d reacted poorly to the surprise attack, they were pulling their forces, and their security, together. Not only was he taken to the spaceport in an armored personnel carrier, it was part of a motorcade escorted by four hoverbikes, and after they’d left the inner city, a pair of combat-modified MiningMechs.

  He felt better having some kind of ’Mech cover, but according to the latest reports from the Legate, their telescopes showed multiple plasma burns on a trajectory away from Shensi, probably heading back to the pirate poi
nt from which they’d arrived.

  Erik had advised against sending ships after them. It could only be a ruse to lead the planetary defenses away while a main assault force came in from another direction.

  In any case, he didn’t want the military forces of Shensi getting themselves in over their heads in a solo effort, when his real objective was to tap their forces as part of a coordinated counteroffensive.

  At the spaceport, the motorcade drove directly out to the end of one of the huge runways, where a delta-winged Buccaneer–class cargo-hauler waited. It was comforting to see the symbol of the Sandoval family painted on its T-shaped vertical tail. As they approached, a vehicle ramp lowered from the belly of the big craft, and the APC drove directly inside for unloading.

  The captain, a muscular woman with silver-blond hair, was waiting next to the base of a bridge-type cargo crane. She walked up as the APC door opened. “Commander, welcome to the Mercury. I’m Captain Yung, at your disposal. I’m glad we were in the neighborhood for you. We’ve got a full load of rare metals and mail bound for Tikonov, but we’ll get you back to the Duke first. Latest word we have is that he’s on his way to Ningpo.”

  Erik nodded. “That was his plan. How are our connections at the jump point?”

  “There’s a SwordSworn JumpShip charging right now. They’ll hold off their jump till we arrive.” She looked at the APC, which was already backing down the ramp. “No baggage, Commander?”

  He held up the signed accord. “This is all I really need.” He smiled sheepishly. “However, if one of your crewmembers is close to my size, I could stand to borrow a few things.”

  She smiled and nodded. “I’ll have someone show you to your quarters later, Commander; right now, we’re ready to take off. Would you care to join me on the bridge?”

  “I’d like that. Show the way.”

  Captain Yung strode down the length of the ship’s central corridor. The Mercury was an aerodyne DropShip, with her engines in the back. That meant that while “down” pointed at the belly of the ship now, while they were still on a planet, once they were in space and under power, the apparent “down” would be in the direction of the tail. As such, the central corridor had a switchback stairway built sideways along its ceiling. It was a bizarre sight, but once they were under way, this corridor would look like a fairly standard stairwell.

  Side corridors branched off the main corridor at regular intervals. No fun-house stairways were necessary in these, as people would simply walk on what was now the sternward wall of the corridor. The only unusual feature of the hall was that all the hatchways to individual compartments—apparently crew quarters in this section—were in the floor and ceiling, currently accessible only by ladders.

  The ship was already rolling when they reached the bridge, which was fairly cramped for an otherwise spacious ship. Erik wedged himself into an observer’s seat near the back, where he had a good view of the crew stations in front of him, and the big expanse of ferro-glass looking out the front. The captain slipped into a seat up front, next to the pilot, quickly strapped herself in, and donned a headset.

  The big ship turned sharply, lining up on the runway. The captain flipped a switch activating a warning Klaxon, and announced the launch. “All hands, beginning liftoff roll now.”

  There was a shudder as the pilot pushed the throttles forward. Erik felt a gentle push against his back as they started to roll. They were picking up speed, and the pilot shoved the throttles some more.

  Erik felt himself pushed back into the seat more strongly. They were moving very fast now. The captain continued to talk into the microphone. “V-one.” A pause. “V-two. Rotate.”

  The nose of the ship lifted, and a change in the vibration told Erik that they were off the ground. Immediately there was a rumbling growl in the deck under his feet as the gear retracted, followed by a series of bangs and clunks as it seated itself and the doors in the hull closed.

  “Crew, we’re airborne. Stand by for ballistic climb-out.”

  The pilot pushed the throttles full forward, even as he pulled back on the control yoke. The nose climbed higher, higher, till Erik found himself lying on his back, squeezed back into the padding of his seat by acceleration. The Mercury had stopped pretending to be an airplane. They were a rocket now, and headed rapidly for space.

  Erik watched, fascinated, as the sky darkened from blue to indigo, purple, and finally black. The pilot began to throttle back, and the acceleration eased.

  Captain Yung glanced back at him. “We’re about to do a rollover, then burn a direct trajectory to the jump point. No wasting time in orbit.”

  True to her word, the ship began to roll over on its back. As they rolled, the curved surface of Shensi came into view. He looked down at the green continents floating in dark blue oceans. The terminator between day and night was below them now. Beyond it, he could see the glowing stars of cities, and the spidery webs of light connecting them.

  He wondered where Elsa was—if she’d gotten off-planet safely. He’d asked the Legate to look into it, but there had been such confusion at the spaceport right after the attacks, he doubted he’d hear anything more. He hoped she was in a DropShip somewhere, maybe looking down at those same, twinkling stars.

  12

  Buccaneer–class DropShip Mercury

  Outbound to Shensi jump point

  Prefecture V, The Republic

  21 November 3134

  Erik climbed the many dozens of stairs between his quarters and the bridge. His borrowed uniform was too long in the legs, so he kept tripping over his own cuffs, and his too-tight collar chafed. They were only a few hours out from Shensi, and he wasn’t sure why he’d been called to the bridge. He hoped it didn’t mean another attack force had appeared.

  He reached the ladder at the top of the stairs. The hatch to the bridge was above the landing, and he climbed up to reach it. What had before takeoff been a flat triangle of a room was now vertical, with the captain’s chair and pilot’s station at the top. Metal-grid catwalks and ladders had been unfolded after launch to allow access to the higher stations.

  The captain, however, was currently on the lowest level, leaning over a navigation-radar station. The navigator kept pointing out things to her on the screen. Through the windows ahead, he could see a lumpy, potato-shaped rock, which he assumed must be Shensi’s small moon, Kung Pao.

  “What’s the situation, Captain?”

  She frowned at him. “About twenty minutes ago, we started picking up a distress call. Low-power transmitter, and tight beam—definitely intended for our ears only.”

  “So?”

  “It comes from a small ship hiding behind the moon. We think it’s a fighter—one of the ones that attacked Shensi. It must have missed the hookup with its carrier DropShip.”

  “Could it be a trap?”

  “Possibly, Commander, but I don’t think so.”

  “This could be good intelligence, then. Can we bring it aboard?”

  “It will delay our arrival at the jump point by a few hours, but it can be done. But I’m troubled.”

  “How so?”

  “They signaled us, Commander. It wasn’t an all-points distress call, and they’re obviously trying not to be detected by the planet. Why would they send the call to us?”

  Erik shrugged. “Because we’re such swell and fair-minded folk? How should I know?”

  “Just the same, it strikes me as curious. All the readings we’re getting say this ship is really damaged, and there’s an injured pilot onboard. It doesn’t seem to be a trap, and yet it has all the makings of one.”

  “Still, I don’t see how we can let this opportunity pass us by.”

  “Your call, Commander. We’ll pick it up and see what happens.” She picked up her microphone. “All hands, free fall in thirty seconds. Turnover and deceleration burn in five minutes. Be prepared for unexpected acceleration as we rendezvous.” She called up to the pilot. “Shut her down on my mark, then prepare for rollover.”


  “Aye, sir.”

  She turned her attention back to Erik. “You’d better hold onto something, Commander.”

  “I’ve been on a DropShip a time or two before, Captain.”

  “Of course; sorry. Should we call Shensi about this?”

  He considered, then shook his head. “Let’s find out what intelligence we’ve got before we decide who to share it with. Doubtless, somebody is going to wonder what we’re doing poking around their moon, so come up with a cover story and stick to it. We’ll have rounded up any survivors, and will be on our way to the jump point before they get overly suspicious.”

  “Throttling down,” said the pilot, as he slowly reduced thrust.

  Erik supposed doing it that way was safer than cutting the thrust instantaneously, but he had the feeling that he was in an elevator where the cable had snapped, and he was just beginning to fall.

  It took several hours for the Mercury to kill its velocity and park itself in a close orbit above the little moon. It could have been done in less time with a high-G burn, but that would have attracted even more attention than their current activities. Erik considered using the time to have his long-delayed lunch, but decided that testing his stomach under the current erratic acceleration wouldn’t be a good idea, even with anti-space-sickness pills.

  Instead, he nibbled a few crackers, and caught a nap in a hammock someone had hung in an equipment room behind the bridge. It was the sleeping-bag type, with a zip-up cover to keep the occupant from floating out in zero-G, or being thrown out by the maneuvering thrusters. As a MechWarrior, he prided himself on his ability to sleep anywhere, but he still woke several times after dreams of falling.

  The captain didn’t wake him until they’d already dispatched an S7A Bus to the surface. Though Erik protested that he would have preferred to go along, the captain wasn’t having any of it. “No offense, Commander, but working in microgravity like this is a lot harder than it looks. You could almost jump into orbit, but if you found a crevasse, you could still fall far enough to kill yourself. My guys have been doing this half their lives, so you’d only slow them down.”