Starfishers Volume 1: Shadowline (29 page)

What could he do? He dared not overcontrol them for fear of losing an invaluable bridgehead in human affairs.

With his financial backing they were pushing tentacles into every corner of Confederation, and those tentacles were channels along which Norbon influence flowed. And when the Norbon prospered, all Sangaree eventually profited.

Following Amon-Ra, Deeth became an avid follower of the human wars, especially the Storm-Hawksblood contests, which contained so much genuine animosity at the command level. “Rhafu, I think this is what we need. We bend their own wishes and guide them into a to-the-death struggle . . . ”

“They’re too intelligent to fall into that trap. They don’t let personal feeling interfere with business.”

“Nevertheless . . . ” Deeth tried putting agents into both mercenary forces. He failed. He had to rely on his son for inside information. And Michael was both unstable and the possessor of a strong streak of Sangaree self-centeredness.

The creation of Festung Todesangst strengthened the Norbon immeasurably. It freed the Family of the old Sangaree administrative bugaboo, and allowed Deeth to pirate invaluable commercial information. In a very few years the Norbon had as much power and wealth over the First Families as the First Families had over the average Sangaree Family.

Deeth’s secret monitoring facility inside Festung Todesangst, existing outside the knowledge of his son and granddaughter, apprised him of Michael’s discovery on Blackworld. It screamed a priority instel when Michael first ran his numbers.

Forty-Six: 3032 AD

It was not much of a New Year. The Legion did not celebrate. Edgeward City tried, but events in the Shadowline had killed any spirit of optimism. The various parties fell flat.

Storm spent New Year’s Day and the following week alone, or, when he craved company at all, with Helmut Darksword. Helmut was taking Wulf s death badly.

Cassius was ripping Twilight into bloody chunks in the Shadowline. Hawksblood’s leaderless troops were falling apart. Storm could not refresh his interest in the Legion’s advances nor in the enemy’s mysterious vulnerability. He played his clarinet, read his Bible, and sat and stared at his old .45, twirling the dark steel cylinder as he did so.

Cassius had cut off the Meacham crews at Shadowline’s end. He was having no trouble repelling relief forces attacking from the shade of the Twilight shadow generators. His men, despite orders to the contrary, frequently refused to play the old mercenary games of fire and maneuver. While Walters remained cool and professional, they went and slugged it out with the enemy, determined to teach lessons that would remain forever unforgotten.

Thurston had been making a career of trying to suppress the news of the nuclear blast. He was, like the Dutch boy, trying to save a dike with a finger. His luck was worse. The whole Legion knew how Wulf and his men had died. That was why they were out for blood.

Storm did not interfere. He believed that the whole thing had gotten beyond any chance of control. Like a cold, it had to run its course.

He had won another war. Resoundingly. And, probably, had stumbled right into a Michael Dee trap.

He thought a lot about his brother, and about the promise he had given so lightly, so long ago. Michael was on his mind whenever that old revolver rested in his hand . . . He often wished that, sometime, he had turned his head while Cassius or his sons had worked their will.

Keeping his word had cost too much. Far too much. And yet, even now, he knew he would shield Michael if Dee came begging for protection.

He returned to City Hall only when the first band of prisoners came in. He wanted to talk to Lt. Col. Havik.

Havik spotted him first. He rushed over, face drained and worn. “Colonel Storm. I want to offer my apologies. I know they’re not worth a fart in a whirlwind, but I’ve got to say something. That thing is eating us up. I want you to know that if any of us had known, we would’ve refused our orders.”

Storm standing cold and silent, watched Havik’s face. He knew the man was telling the truth, yet it was hard to separate the action from the enemy . . . 

“My men and I have had a lot of time to talk, Colonel. One of the corporals made a proposal. We’ve all agreed. The whole battalion wants to offer its services in bringing to justice whoever is responsible for the atrocity.”

Storm inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. Havik was professional to the core. Like so many Academy products, he was an attempt at a carbon of Cassius. “Thank you, Colonel. If there’s any way you can help, believe me, I’ll yet you know. And without trying to get you to compromise your commission. But if I can, I mean to handle this myself. It’s become personal.”

“Uhm.” Havik nodded his head. Perhaps he had seen Dees floating around Twilight. Maybe he understood.

“What’s happened to Colonel Hawksblood?” Storm asked. “I just don’t understand how this could have happened in his organization.”

Havik frowned, shrugged. “Colonel, nobody has heard from the Commandant since Colonel Mennike took over. We’ve started to wonder if he hasn’t met with foul play. He’d been having a lot of trouble with the Twilighters. And now your men have found Colonel Mennike.”

Storm sent a questioning glance Thurston’s way.

“They found him the day before yesterday,” his son told him. “In a one-man shelter near where the Twilight route enters the Shadowline. He’d been dead better than two weeks. Stabbed.”

“Colonel Havik,” Storm said, “I still won’t ask you to compromise your commission, but if you’d volunteer a little information it might help.”

“Sir?”

“What sort of communications did you have with your headquarters in Twilight?”

Havik did not think before replying. “We used microwave relay in the Shadowline, Colonel. Pulse-beam laser repeaters across Brightside. The system wasn’t reliable. The laser’s been down all month. The shadow generators are too far apart. The power you need to punch a beam through overloads the equipment. We’ve been using messengers between the down stations.”

Storm eyed Havik. The Colonel’s statement was a clear-cut betrayal of his employer. The nuclear must have touched him where he lived. “Then Commandant Hawksblood could be perfectly healthy, crossing Brightside somewhere, completely ignorant of what’s happened?” Storm hoped so. He did not want Richard taken out of his life by one of Michael’s stratagems.

“Possibly. We were set up to be as independent of Twilight as possible. There wouldn’t be much traffic. He’ll eat heads when he gets back and finds out.”

“Thanks, Colonel. We’ll make you comfortable. I hope this won’t last much longer.”

“It shouldn’t. You’ve won. Before the blast. That’s what makes it so senseless. You lost a lot of men, but it didn’t change anything.”

Storm went to the war room to check the daily reports from Mouse and Hakes Ceislak. The Fortress was quiet. There was good news from Helga’s World. Ceislak’s engineers had sapped a tunnel into Festung Todesangst. His men were occupying the upper levels.

Where was this Beckhart, this friend of Cassius who had promised to land Marines as soon as the Legion established a bridgehead? He seemed to have vanished from the universe. And Storm wanted Ceislak on Blackworld.

He went on to Blake’s penthouse. “Mr. Blake, I want to make a direct strike at Twilight.”

“I’ve told you that’s impossible, Colonel.”

“Hear me out. That blast out there was a setup. That bomb had to come from their mining inventory. That means there was collusion by somebody up high in Meacham Corporation. And it means that Hawksblood has lost control. He wouldn’t try anything like this. If he makes it back from Brightside, he’ll end up dead or in a cell. They’re not playing by the rules anymore. I’m telling you we’ve got to quit before they eat us up. The scenario I see is this: Richard will be the scapegoat. He’ll probably get killed trying to escape after he ‘orders’ somebody to put a bomb in on Edgeward itself.”

Blake looked baffled. “Colonel, I absolutely refuse to allow you to endanger civilians.”

“I don’t think you understood me. The civilians are in danger now.”

Korando cleared his throat. “Mr. Blake, pardon me for butting in. I think you’d better give the Colonel’s suggestion more thought. That nuclear was a storm warning. We can’t ignore it. We’d better be ready for anything. Logically, the next step would be a move against Edgeward. They have to get rid of witnesses. And it’s the only way they have left to get control of the Shadowline. You can’t bet they won’t do it. They’ve already gone further than any of us would have believed possible a month ago.”

“Right!” Storm growled. “You people are going to be up to your ears in Confie snoops when this gets offworld. Personally, I want to keep you around to answer their questions. Mr. Blake, believe me, I know the man responsible for this. We slept in the same room for ten years. If you give him time, he’ll not only destroy you, he’ll get away with it. You know that. When you get down to it, it’s not that much of a jump from Frog to Edgeward.”

“You think it’s Dee?”

“Absolutely. And backing him is a Sangaree Head named Norbon w’Deeth. And the Norbon seem to be top dog among the Sangaree Families.”

“Sangaree?” Blake was baffled. “What have they got to do with this?”

“It’s too complicated to explain. Take my word. This confrontation was engineered from offworld. It started when Dee murdered your man Frog. If we don’t scratch and claw, it’ll end up with the Sangaree in complete control of Blackworld’s mining industry. And they won’t leave any witnesses to testify against them.”

Blake slowly shook his head. “I’ll consider what you’ve said, Colonel.”

“Don’t take too much time. They won’t. By now they know their attack failed and they’re being overrun. That bomb was probably meant to go off somewhere else, making the whole thing work. They’ll do something, just to find out if it blew at all, then to cover it up. You’ll find me in the war room.”

Storm went back downstairs, settled into a chair facing the big board. The confusion of the previous week had begun to disappear. Unit lights had appeared throughout the territory Cassius had occupied. There was a big concentration a hundred kilometers west of the junction with the Twilight supply line. Cassius planned to sit there and wait for the Meacham people to come in and surrender.

Had this been a normal merc war it would have been all over but the prisoner exchange. Richard could do nothing to dislodge Cassius. His logistics were too precarious and there was no shade where he could assemble sufficient forces.

But if Michael had Meacham’s ear, war would break out Darkside as soon as news of the Brightside defeat reached Twilight. Michael had cast the dice. He had no choice but to escalate his bets.

Storm issued orders. He wanted a new board set up to represent the Darkside territory between Edgeward and Twilight, and wanted all available personnel planting observation devices on likely approaches to the city.

How would Michael avoid the mutiny that was certain when Richard’s men found out what had happened in the Shadowline?

Simple. He, or whichever of his sons it was who had taken Mennike’s place, would destroy shadow generators while returning to Twilight, cutting communications with and abandoning Hawksblood’s forces. It was a harsh move, but Dee-logical.

He had better warn Cassius to watch out for nuclear booby traps. The Dees would want to reduce the witness population fast.

“The Whitlandsund!” he growled. People turned to stare at him. “Of course!”

Edgeward’s pass to Brightside was the key. Michael would want it bad. By capturing it, Dee could trap almost everyone who could damn him Brightside. In its tight, twisting confines he could play Thermopylae. If Edgeward were destroyed and he held the pass till everyone Brightside perished, who would be left to speak against him? Only his accomplices.

Storm had no one to send to defend the pass. How long to travel from Twilight to Edgeward? How long from Helga’s World to Blackworld? He calculated quickly. Not long enough, and too long. There was no point to having Ceislak abandon his mission.

“Thurston. Go find Havik. Bring him here. Then get Blake.” He retreated into his speculations. The nuclear blast had to be part of a greater Dee plan. It could not have been an end in itself because it had not altered the field situation in the Shadowline. Was it a diversion? Something to grab the attention while Michael snuck up on Edgeward and the Whitlandsund?

The idea deserved more thought. How had Michael arranged it? On timing? If so, then the southward movement toward Edgeward would be under way now . . . 

The fox. The fool fox
, Storm thought.
I should have known he wouldn’t be content to stay in the background while Richard and I tried to fake each other out with fancy footwork
.

Michael might be fated to win his game, but, damn it, there must be ways to make his winning expensive and painful.

Havik appeared. Storm said, “Colonel, I’ve got one hell of a problem.” He retraced the path of his recent thoughts.

Havik suggested, “Put scouts out, of course. Fortify the pass. Hold a reserve to ambush them on their way down. Unless they’ve brought in someone from outside, there won’t be many of them. We had almost everybody in the Shadowline. Meacham handled our logistics.”

“The Legion is in the same position, Colonel,” Storm said. “All I’ve got here are communications people and a liaison crew. And I expect Dee to use his own people. He won’t want men who’ll kick much about breaking the usual rules.”

“I see.” Havik remained thoughtful for more than a minute. Then, “The only help I could give you would be passive. I could go out and squat in the pass. If they attacked, I could consider that a move against my employer. I’d feel justified in resisting. But . . . What would I use for weapons? We turned ours over out there.”

Blake had arrived and had been listening during Storm’s speculations. He still did not want to believe, but had begun to recognize the potential for disaster. “Colonel Storm, do you really think Dee is such a demon?”