Starfist: Hangfire (33 page)

Dr. Friendly Credence, a career diplomat, was the ambassador to Kingdom from the Confederation of Human Worlds. Before his arrival on Kingdom, he'd thought the reports he'd read and heard about the local government were somewhat exaggerated, if not downright hyperbolic. During the year and a half since he'd arrived to take over as the Confederation's primary representative to the theocracy, he'd come to the conclusion that those reports were understated almost to the point of criminal irresponsibility. The theocrats, in his view, were as vile as the worst despot on any other human world. In his entire thirty years as a Confederation diplomat, he had never seen so much repression in the name of religious freedom. So he wasn't in the least pleased when a delegation arrived to request Confederation assistance with what sounded to him like a rebellion that raged out in the countryside.

"But we are not asking for assistance in putting down a ‘rebellion,’" insisted Metropolitan Eleison.

"Oh...?" Creadence asked slowly. "Then—" He held out a hand palm up.

"We believe we are being invaded by off-worlders. What we ask is assistance in discovering the identity of those off-worlders and where they come from."

Creadence looked to his chief-of-station, an engineer by the name of Harly Thorogood.

Thorogood looked surprised. "But Metropolitan, the only starships that have entered Kingdom's space in the past—well, since Kingdom joined the Confederation of Human Worlds more than a century ago—have been scheduled trade ships or Confederation Navy vessels on routine patrol."

"Their base must be hidden on the far side of our moon, and they are coming down when you aren't looking. That would account for the irregularity of their raids."

Thorogood shook his head. "Not possible. We have a station of our own on the moon's far side; it would have noticed. And we have constant satellite surveillance all around Kingdom."

Metropolitan Eleison bit off a grimace. The string-of-pearls satellites the Confederation Navy had put in place a generation earlier was a sore point with the theocracy—they believed the ring of satellites spied on them despite the Confederation's assurances that the satellites were restricted to weather forecasting, geological surveys, and watching the approaches to Kingdom.

"Besides," Thorogood continued, "ships leaving Beamspace are quite distinct. Believe me, we'd spot anyone coming here."

Metropolitan Eleison looked thunder and lightening at the two Confederation representatives. "Then you are saying you need proof that orbit-to-surface shuttles are bringing in men and weapons before you will give us the aid we request, as is our right as a Confederation member?"

"That would help," Creadence said.

"Will you help us get that evidence?"

Creadence almost salivated at the opportunity to put more people—and observation equipment—in Kingdom's rural areas. There was no telling what they might learn about how the theocracy operated where it couldn't be seen from Interstellar City, He appeared to consider the request, then said:

"I think some form of assistance can be arranged."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Okay, candyass, I'll see your damned pair of fives and raise," Klink said. He shoved a handful of coins into the pot. Klink was a burly man with powerful, hairy forearms and a closely cropped bullet-shaped head. He had not bothered to shave in several days. In his younger days he had spent a lot of time in prison, hence "Klink." He sat at the table in his undershirt, a huge pistol tucked into a holster under his left arm.

Bug, who was sitting to Klink's left, hesitated. Five stud, one more card and he couldn't beat the fives.

"Playing three-handed is for the tourists," he said disgustedly, throwing in his hand. Bug was short and thin with a narrow face and a prominent hooked nose. It was difficult for him to sit still very long. He was always crossing and uncrossing his legs, moving his hands, twitching. Hence "Bug."

"You trying to bluff me outta my pot, Klinker?" the man with the fives showing, whom everyone called Fader, accused Klink. "Okay, buddy, I call and—" He pretended to be counting his money. "—raise you back. How's that for balls?" Fader was squat, unshaven, his hair thin and graying; an unlit cigar stub stuck out of one corner of his mouth. Every now and then he'd spit masticated cigar fragments onto the floor.

He was very fast with his hands and a dangerous opponent on his feet, thus the nickname Fader. Like Klink, he carried a pistol in a shoulder holster.

"If you got any, you won't have them for long," Klink replied, but he only called. "Whatcha got besides them fives?"

"Two pair," Fader replied, flipping over a jack in the hole to match the one face up.

Klink swore mightily and threw his hole card down. He'd been betting on a pair of kings. Fader whistled merrily as he took in the pot.

"Hey, fellas," Bug said, "don't you think we should be out looking around?"

"Shaddup, Buggy! You want to check, go check, but it's raining like hell out there. Besides, they ain't coming to this hole, so relax," Klink said.

Johnny Sticks had dispersed many of his men along the coast. Klink, Fader, and Bug had been assigned to keep an eye on the coast from Royale, in case O'Mol and the Marines tried a landing. They were heavily armed and ruthless, but Klink and Fader saw no reason to get wet on what they considered the very remote possibility that the fugitives might come back through the village of Royale.

"These people don't like us," Bug sniffed. "Bastards. I bet they're all rebels. The place stinks too, like goddamned fish."

"Fish smell, like something else I could mention, ain't bad, once you get used to it." Fader laughed, winking broadly at Klink.

A powerful gust of wind rattled the inn's windows. Bug got up nervously and looked out into the main—and only—street. Nothing moved out there. Windblown gusts of rain swirled over the stones. It was nearly noon but already lights showed in the windows of some of the homes along the street. In such bad weather, the fishermen could not go out. Normally in that season they spent their days at the inn, drinking and socializing, but the three men from Placetas had taken over the inn as their "headquarters"

and made it clear no one was welcome until their business was done.

"Hey, Buggy, go out back and tell that bitch to make us up some sandwiches and bring in some beer,"

Klink said. "Goddamn woman must think she's on vacation or sumptin'. I hate these freaking hicks almost as much as the freaking tourists. Come on, come on, Fader, deal."

"Move your ass, Buggy, I'm thirsty!" Fader yelled. Reluctantly, Bug turned from the window and walked slowly into the kitchen.

Klink swore. "The guy's useless, Fader. Okay, just two of us? How 'bout some blackjack? Cut to see who deals."

Someone knocked at the door.

Fighting strong headwinds and very high seas, O'Mol and his passengers reached the mainland coast just before dawn on Tuesday. There was no sun that day, just rain and dense fog. He guided the boat into the mouth of a little bay fed by several streams. He anchored in the middle of the bay.

"We'll hold up here until full dark," he told Pasquin. "Royale is about five kilometers from here. It's a fishing village but we should be able to commandeer ground transport once we get there. Then we'll pay Lovat Culloden a call and wrap this adventure up. How's that sit with you?"

"How many people live in this village—Royale, did you call it?" Dean asked.

O'Mol shrugged. "Maybe a hundred or so. The mob never used to keep an eye on the place, so we should be able to pass through there undetected."

"Wait a minute, Olwyn," Claypoole interjected. "You said ‘never used to keep an eye on the place.’

Does that mean now they will be keeping an eye on it?"

O'Mol paused before replying. "Maybe," he admitted. "Look. They know we fled Placetas on the river. They know the river opens into the sea. It's a good possibility they've put a watch along the Franklin as well as along the coast. I think we have the element of surprise on our side. We disappeared for two days. They won't be looking for us to come back so soon, if at all. If there are watchers in Royale..." he drew a finger across his throat.

"You mean we kill them?" Katie exclaimed.

"Yes, Katie, that's just what I mean, and that's what we'll do."

She looked imploringly at Claypoole, who just nodded. "Katie, it's kill or be killed," Pasquin said.

"We're on the very thin edge of a disaster here. We've got to act quickly and decisively or we'll all die.

It's that simple."

"Olwyn, why wait until dark?" Dean asked. The boat rocked gently in the water as the wind drove sheets of rain against the cabin windows.

"Better cover traveling at night."

"I don't think we'd better wait, Olwyn," Pasquin said.

"Well..." O'Mol thought. "Okay, Raoul, this is your mission. I'll guide you. The weather's bad enough so we can travel overland on foot to Royale without being seen."

"What's the countryside surrounding Royale like?" Dean asked.

"Open grassy fields, some forestation. It's been a while since I was up there, I don't quite remember how the land lies."

"Got maps, a compass?"

O'Mol consulted his onboard computer and called up a 1:25,000 scale map of the area. The three Marines crowded around the screen and studied it. Pasquin looked out the cabin window at the steep bank on the north side of the bay. At the top was an opening through the trees. In the shifting mist and fog he could see that it had been used frequently; evidently this spot was used for recreational purposes in good weather.

Pasquin took a compass reading. "That's the path that leads to the village," he said.

"We can't use the path," Dean remarked.

"Why not?" Katie asked, a pained look of disbelief on her face.

"Because it could be under surveillance," O'Mol replied. He'd spent enough of his life in hiding to know that much about basic infantry tactics in enemy territory.

"This big patch of forest along the south side will screen us for about two klicks," Calypoole pointed out.

"And then we cross this open space." Pasquin put his finger on the screen. "You know how that'll work. Then more trees up to about two hundred meters from the first house in the village." He smiled. "I think that'll be a pretty easy cross-country march—for Marines." He looked at O'Mol and Katie. "We'll have to do some low crawling. Are you up to it?"

"If my life depends on it, I can do anything," Katie replied.

O'Mol just nodded.

"Okay," Pasquin said, "load up. Katie, here's a blaster and some extra power packs. Before we get off the boat I'll show you how to load and fire the thing. We may need all the firepower we can get before this day is over. Olwyn, you and Joe take point. Rock, you're rear point. Katie and I'll stay in the middle. Keep five-meter intervals on the march. I think that's all we can afford in this fog. No talking, use standard hand signals. Olwyn, run this thing to shore. Oh, yeah, deep six the last blaster in that crate. We don't want some citizen stumbling onto your boat and falling in love with the thing."

They had not penetrated more than two hundred meters into the woods when Dean signaled a halt.

Before them was a wide firebreak. "This goddamned thing wasn't on the map!" he whispered into O'Mol's ear.

"It gets hot and very dry out here in the summer and fall, so forest fires are a real threat. This must've been cut recently, that's why it's not on the maps yet. By the way, why are you whispering?" O'Mol whispered back. "Nobody can hear us in here."

"Because I've got laryngitis," Dean whispered back as he signaled Pasquin to come forward. Dean shook his head. O'Mol was a rare breed for a civilian, but he'd never make a good infantryman.

Pasquin took in the situation with one glance. He motioned for Katie and Claypoole to come forward and join them just inside the fringe of undergrowth bordering the firebreak. "Lineup," he whispered.

"When I give the sign, we all walk across together as fast as we can. Everybody, check the safeties on your blasters." It was the third time he'd had them do that since they left the boat.

Katie's blaster went off with a loud hiss-crack! The bolt arced into the trees across the firebreak and flashed briefly but brightly. The foliage was so wet it did not catch fire, but the flash and the sound of the explosion caused fliers to take wing in all directions despite the driving rain.

"Well, that did it," Pasquin said in his normal voice.

"I just forgot!" Katie protested, near tears.

Pasquin sighed. "Don't worry about it, Katie. Rock, show her again," he said patiently. He sighed again. "Okay, everybody, move out, same formation, and make it quick. We'll know soon enough if that gave us away. Be prepared to deliver immediate fire if we're challenged."

It took them another hour to get to the other side of the woods. They crouched inside the treeline, scanning the wide open space between them and the next concealing patch of woodland. The open field was deep in swaying grass about a meter high. It took them another hour to get across. By then each was thoroughly soaked and Katie had begun to shiver from the exposure. "We have to get under cover soon,"

Claypoole said, his teeth chattering, "or we'll all drop from hypothermia."

Pasquin remained silent, staring at something in the woods. Claypoole nervously followed his gaze but there was nothing to be seen. "Raoul," Claypoole said, "did you hear me?" Pasquin did not acknowledge.

Dean stepped forward and laid his hand gently on the corporal's shoulder. When Pasquin was with Force Recon in the 25th FIST on Adak Tanaga he'd lost men in his patrol because he got careless. That was the reason he'd been assigned to 34th FIST in the first place, to get rid of him. But everyone in the 34th knew Pasquin was neither a screw-up nor a coward. "Raoul," Dean said quietly, "we're all counting on you." Pasquin did not respond. "Raoul, come on, we need you, buddy. Snap out of it."

Pasquin shook himself. "Uh, I was just thinkin', this has happened to me before, you know, Joe?" he said quietly. The others watched them with concern on their faces as the two talked in low voices.