Endgame (14 page)

The cottage is small and primitive. Fortunately, our field
kits provide for bivouacking in less-than-ideal locales. I strip down to my thin uniform and wrap up. All around me, my squad-mates do the same. A night on the floor in a bedroll leaves me none the worse, and in the morning, I suck down a packet of paste; it doesn’t taste any better than it ever did.

“This brings back memories,” I say when I catch Vel looking at me.

He makes a noise my chip recognizes as laughter, no need to engage his vocalizer. I understand him just fine. “I was thinking the same thing.”

For a moment, I drift in the incredible adventures we shared in the gate world, which I think is where the Makers originated. Other people will explore that possibility, however. It’s enough that I’ve set the pendulum in motion. Someone else can follow each tick of the weighted ball.

Loras recalls me to the mission when he barks, “On your feet, people. Assemble in the square in five minutes.”

After gearing up, I jog in lockstep with everyone else. Loras is a natural commander, a fact that surprises me. But when I knew him before, he existed in forced submission.
There was no chance for him to let his true personality shine then.

By daylight, the village seems even more humble, the poverty more shocking against the way the Imperials live in the capital. This planet has lush resources, and they’re controlled by less than 2 percent of the population. La’hengrin aren’t permitted to own property…ostensibly because they can’t protect it. All the laws here are writ in this bullshit altruism, and it makes my stomach hurt.

The leader from last night, Deven, meets us with the rest of the population at his back. “We discussed what you told us last night.”

“What did you decide?” Loras asks.

“A number of people want to volunteer. The rest of us would like to see how it works. You won’t…force the cure on anyone?” He seems a little frightened today.

Sometimes too much change, too fast, can be overwhelming. It makes you want to put things back the way they were, even if the old situation sucked. I reckon we need to be careful how we handle these folks.

“Of course not.” Xirol’s ready smile soothes them.

“The centurions have been murdered,” someone calls from the back.

“Not murdered,” Loras replies coldly. “It is called rebellion.”

“Are we supposed to go to the mines?” a La’hengrin woman asks timidly.

I can tell from her pallor that she must work there, along with at least half the village. None of them have a healthy glow to their skin. They all look a bit sick, anemic. If Doc were here, I’d ask him to run some panels and make sure they’re strong enough for Carvati’s Cure.

But he’s gone, and nobody can take his place. Of us all, Farah has the most medical experience. She assisted an Imperial physician in the capital before she ran into Loras. But she’s not a doctor. At best, she knows how to use medical equipment better than the rest of us. It’s not enough for her to take blood and analyze the results with the equipment we have available. Our handhelds don’t function as portable labs, and the village doesn’t even have basic facilities.

“No,” Loras says. “Even if you wish to remain neutral, I ask you not to produce any resources that will benefit the enemy.”

“But where will our food come from?” a man demands.

So that’s how it is. The centurions keep the village dependent on them for provisions and they pay them in subsistence coin. The climate might support some agriculture. Certainly, the soil here at the foot of the mountain seems rich enough. Yet the Imperials keep the La’hengrin on a leash.

“I will go over the records,” Vel says quietly. He hasn’t removed his helmet. Nor has Zeeka. This is probably wise, at least until the villagers aren’t so spooked. “And I will determine how often they sent shipments to the central-processing facility. I’ll find a way to keep your shipments coming while we sort things here.”

The La’hengrin murmur en masse, discussing that offer, and Deven says, “So you’ll take care of us…and we get to stay home with our families?”

“No more bluerot?” one of them asks.

Poor bastards.
Bluerot and miner’s lung are two of the worst and most antibiotic-resistant infections. Those spores thrive in tunnels, and once you’re infected, it’s almost impossible to cure. The best you can hope is a treatment that extends your life a little though toward the end, it’s miserable. Worry plucks at me as I gaze through my tinted helmet at their pale faces. If we kill more than 5 percent due to weakness, I can’t deal with it. There has to be a way to be sure. I wonder if there’s a lab at the mining station.

Before Loras can speak, I whisper my request. He turns to me, obviously weighing, then nods. “That’s smart, Jax. Good thinking.”

Heh. This might be the first time I’ve ever been praised for foreseeing possible consequences. Who says I don’t learn from my mistakes?

I tap Farah on the arm. “Let’s run up to the mining station and see if there’s a place where we can do some preliminary tests on our volunteers.”

“You mean like a medical VI?”

“Basic diagnostic equipment would do. You know about the proper levels of blood cells and things, right?”

At this, she nods. “I memorized the normal ranges so I could handle the routine checkups Dr. Victus did to certify the centurions as fit for active duty.”

“So you have some experience interpreting test results.”

“Only normal versus abnormal. I wouldn’t know what was wrong.”

“That’s good enough for our purposes.”

“Wait, Sirantha. I will accompany you.” As Farah and I head for the mountain pass, Vel falls into step.

He doesn’t say it’s in case we run into trouble, but Vel has been guarding my back so long that I don’t think he’d let me go anywhere there’s even a mild chance of combat without him. And I’m okay with that.

It’s a fair hike, but there’s no reason to fire up the shuttle when the La’hengrin make this trip every damn day of their lives. The mountain air is thin and crisp, even coming through the filtration in my helmet. I don’t take it off because Vel hasn’t, and I’m showing solidarity. Plus, it’s fragging cold.

As we climb, I continue the conversation with Farah. “I think we should deny any volunteers who come back with any abnormal results.”

“Agreed,” Vel puts in. “It will not sway any to our cause if their loved ones die from a lack of care on our end.”

Farah sighs. “That’s assuming there’s anything up here we can use.”

“I also don’t think we should make them march up here for testing. Vel, can you help me load the medical junk onto the shuttle and set it up properly in the village?”

“I could, but there will be a problem finding a power source.”

“Dammit,” I mutter.

“There will be solar panels on the roof,” Farah says. “Stations this remote aren’t wired into the thermodynamic grid.”

“It would be a statement of our good intentions if we made some local improvements,” I point out.

Farah laughs. “You’ve been talking to Loras, I take it? He goes on and on about the importance of winning the people to our cause. I don’t know how many lectures I’ve endured about being polite and kind, never forcing our will on them, giving
them freedom in all things, helping to make their daily lives easier—”

A chuckle escapes me. “Yes, he gave me a manifesto to read—123 riveting pages on my role as a guerilla warrior.”

“Did you finish it?” she asks with a smile in her voice.

“I…skimmed.” In truth, I got bored after fifteen pages and gave it to Constance, then asked her to make me a list of need-to-know info.

“I found the information helpful if not comprehensive,” Vel says. “I now know how to construct a number of incendiary devices from base chemicals.”

“That might come in handy,” I say, grinning.

The conversation flows easily as we move up the mountain. At the top, the station remains still and quiet. The bodies are no longer where we left them.

“Animals got them,” Farah guesses.

I suggest, “Or the La’hengrin who came up to investigate this morning pitched them down a mine shaft.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Bitterness rings in her tone before she straightens her shoulders, peering around the yard. “Where do you suppose medical would be in a place like this?”

“The buildings are numbered, not named.” Vel strides toward one at random. “Some will contain barracks. Others will be the mess and the commissary if the station is designed on military principles.”

None of the buildings are very large. It doesn’t take us long to explore and discover that Vel’s right about the layout. The fourth one we check has rudimentary medical equipment, including a diagnostic computer with sample analysis capabilities. It doesn’t take a doctor to use it, just someone with Farah’s experience. The centurions probably had a medic up here, not an MD.

“Will this be complicated to disassemble?” I ask Vel.

He’s examining the various machines. The medical center isn’t well equipped, as the centurions assigned here aren’t in favor with the houses they serve. It’s a bare-bones facility, but compared to what the La’heng have, which amounts to incense, prayers, and smoky bits of herb, it will offer tremendous value.

“I do not believe so. Let me head down the mountain to get the shuttle.”

He has to since he’s our pilot. Otherwise, I’d offer to save him the trek down the mountain.
Ah well.
At least he doesn’t have to climb back up again.

“I can start taking everything down,” Farah offers. “I’m familiar with this model.”

“If you tell me what to do, I’ll help.”

By the time Vel returns with the shuttle and a couple of
our squad-mates, Farah and I have the equipment packed in shipping crates and ready for transport. With Xirol and Rikir helping out, it doesn’t take long to make the transfer. I survey the station while we’re moving stuff to see if there’s anything else to help the La’hengrin. Most of it doesn’t lend itself to communal use, however, and until we figure out a way to get power in every home, we can’t give some people toys others lack.

Xirol decides they might like the vid equipment, so we pack that, too. The comm suite has to remain where the array’s attached. It would take too long to move that, as the tower’s pretty tall and intricately made. Soon enough, we’re ready, and Vel flies us down. I’d be worried about detection, except he’s perfected the stealth program to cloak our energy emissions…even if they do detect something, there’s enough mining equipment that the Imperials can’t be sure the shuttle doesn’t belong here. They don’t have our registry number for tracking purposes, and if we organize things properly, they won’t ever get it.

The crowd has dispersed by now. They’re less interested in
our comings and goings, as long as we’re not hostile, we’re not making them do anything, and we promise not to disrupt their way of life. The ones who have stuck around seem intrigued, however, by all the gear we’re hauling out of the shuttle. Deven has cleaned up since last night, and he seems to be the spokesman for the village. That, or he’s just the most vocal, regardless of whether they want him to be.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Setting up a clinic,” Farah replies with a smile. “I thought we’d use that cottage you let us sleep in unless you have some objection?”

Unlike most males, Deven doesn’t respond visibly to Farah’s easy charm. Maybe he’s spoken for. “That’s fine. The owner died.”

“That’s an auspicious omen for a medical center,” Xirol cracks.

Since he’s rarely serious, I like his company. I get enough weighty business from Loras, who is all rebellion, all the time. Someone has to take responsibility if the war effort goes sideways, but I’m glad it’s not me. My time on center stage is waning, and I yearn for the day when the spotlight swings away from me for good.

“Over here, Jax,” Farah calls. “I need your help with the—” And then she says a bunch of letters and numbers, which I assume is the machine.

“Can I help?” Bannie asks.

I figure she can if I can. It’s as simple as following directions. Before long, we’re all working under Vel and Farah’s supervision, putting pieces together and plugging things in. Rikir and Zeeka go up on the roof with the solar panels, and dust flakes down from above as they move around. I eye the slates warily, but they don’t break, and neither male comes tumbling down on top of me, so I keep working.

When Vel clicks the final part in place, and the machines light up, I cheer along with everyone else. Power means that the guys have done their job up top. A thump says they’ve hopped down, then they haul another solar panel down to the church. Xirol thinks this is the best place to put the entertainment equipment since it’s the only building big enough to house a large number of people. Though it seems a little odd
to think of a religious building as entertaining, I see his point. There’s no other fair way to set it up, and we don’t want people fighting. It should go in a central location where everybody has a chance to check it out.

“Once we do a little cleaning, we’ll be ready to start the exams,” Farah says.

I nod, turning to Bannie. “Can you see if Deven can spare us some brooms and buckets and things?”

At least, I assume that’s what we’ll need. I can’t recall that I’ve ever cleaned anything in my life.
Jax the janitor,
I think, as she moves to fulfill the request. Bannie comes back with a slim, shy-looking La’hengrin female in tow. The dark-haired woman holds out her hand hesitantly, as if she isn’t sure I’ll be polite.

I shake hands gently, not wanting to spook her. “I’m Jax.”

“Darana. I’m Deven’s wife. He said you need some help tidying up the place. I’m a good worker.”

She doesn’t need to sell me on her services. I nod. “Thanks. We really appreciate you pitching in.”

Her smile lights up her thin, pale face, and I can see why Deven married her. “It’s the least I can do.”

Well, no,
I think.
The least is nothing.

Darana works like a champion, and she laughs when she realizes how little I know about this kind of endeavor. Cleaning is exhausting but rewarding work; a few hours later, we have the cottage ready for the grand opening. By now, it’s close to nightfall, and I haven’t had anything all day but that packet of paste.