Virtues of War (29 page)

Merje’s office door opened at her knock. She marched in to see her sister picking up random bits of food off the floor. Strawberries, mostly, but some other fruit mixed in. Merje looked up suddenly, eyes widening under her mussed hair.

Katja stopped and studied her. “You look like shit,” she said. Her sister dropped the last of the fruit on the half-empty tray on her desk.

“Long day—lots of hair-pulling.” She crossed her arms and glared. “Where were you for lunch today, bitch? And thanks for putting the old man in such a shitty mood.”

She sighed, suddenly remembering the family lunch date.

“Sorry. Father and I had breakfast of sorts. At least, I ate a lot of crow. I slept most of the day.”

A glimmer of respect lit up Merje’s face. “So he wasn’t lying when he said you were passed out in a jail cell.”

“Nope.”

She nodded. “Cool. How many people did you actually beat up? Father said you were charged with seven counts of assault.”

“I guess it was seven, then, but some jealous bitch started the whole thing.”

“Ain’t that always the way.”

“I want to go dancing tonight.”

“Sure.” Merje slipped on her suit jacket and grabbed her bag. “I want to go home and shower first, though.”

Katja nodded, wonderingly idly what had possessed Merje to wear her shirt with the top three buttons undone.

The warm evening air was dry and calm as Kete walked down the outside stairs to the waiting cab.

His target was already in motion. The flurry of Baryon messages between herself, her sister, and some friends had given him ample information to make his plan. The clear dagger was hidden inside one of his fashionable riding-style boots, and under his loose-fitting silk shirt was a skin-tight polyweave armor that would defend against hand-held weapons.

The pair of fops who lived two doors down from him were ascending the stairs, and both gave him less than subtle glances as they approached. Kete knew he was dressed to draw the eye, but his high fashion masked the true intent of his evening’s activities.

The date of the final phase of the mission had just been set for two weeks tomorrow, assuming the final jump gate tests were successful. That was good news, but it meant he was running out of time on Earth, and he doubted he would ever be coming back. If he didn’t kill Katja Emmes tonight, there might not be another chance. He knew, as well, that he would never be able to forgive himself if he failed.

As he settled back in the cab and let it carry him toward his destination, he calmed his mind and did what he had never done before. He reached for the nightmare. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relive that terrible night on Abeona.

* * *

The dark buildings of the southern suburbs fell swiftly astern as Kete piloted the car at a suicidal speed up the long hill. The sky still flashed with weapons fire, and the ominous, orange glow of flames lit up the clouds moving in from the south.

He led a column of perhaps thirty private vehicles, the remnants of his militia unit. Valeria, Major Mullaly, even the cadets who’d been loading bullets into magazines—all crushed and splattered by the Terran shock trooper attack. Kete was in charge now, and he was determined to get his family out of danger.

As he approached the ridge, the silhouettes of the houses began to stand out against the glow, and he felt a moment of optimism. There would be anti-personnel robots there, as well, keeping the area secure—at least for the moment.

Then he saw three more shapes—the squat, deadly outlines of Terran drop ships setting down on the road barely a kilometer ahead of him. Instantly his blood ran cold. Two of the drop ships disgorged objects almost as large as they were.

Hover tanks.

Kete hauled his car hard to the right even before he saw the first flash of guns opening fire on his phalanx of cars. He heard the rush of shells whistling past, felt the explosions as cars behind him were obliterated by the strikes.

His car began slipping out of control, and he gasped as its right side skidded across the soft dirt of the hillside. He killed the thrust and fought to keep the vehicle upright as it sailed slowly to a crawl before finally losing its hover control and digging into the ground.

As Kete climbed out into the night air once again he scanned the area. Not all of the shells had struck home, and he still had about twenty-five soldiers under his command. Most were staring up at the vicious firefight underway between the Terrans and the APRs, but Kete had only one thing on his mind. He linked into the Cloud once more, sending a direct message to the artillery spotters.

he demanded.

A harried reply came quickly.

It was his worst fear made real.

he responded.

The militia had gravitated around him, realizing that he had a Cloud conduit. He motioned for them to crouch down on one knee, and spoke with intense vigor.

“Our mission is to evacuate three civilians from the house being used by our artillery spotters,” he said, speaking rapidly. “We will head straight up this hill, avoiding contact with the enemy. While you provide cover, I will personally retrieve the civilians, and then we will retreat back down the hill.” He scanned the group. “Any questions?”

Some militiamen exchanged glances, but no questions were asked. Kete doubted any of them even knew what sort of thing should be asked. He hefted his rifle, flicked off the safety, and started up the hill.

The ground was very soft. Designed for hobby gardening, it had never been intended as the main line for a military advance, and Kete could hear his people struggling to make headway in the loose dirt.

Up ahead, the street lamps had been shot out, but in the distance Centauria B was rising, and its red glow provided some light. There was plenty of illumination from flame and cannon fire, as well, enabling them to see the pitched battle between Terran tanks and Centauri APRs.

As far as he could tell, the shooting was still a block away from his house, and the way in was clear. He quickened his pace, desperate to cover the last stretch and reach his family.

Then, just as he emerged from the loose embankment onto solid turf, he saw a long line of dark forms moving low and quick through the nearby row of backyards. Using the houses as cover, the Terran troopers were trying to flank the APRs occupied on the main street. Kete bent as low as he could and sprinted across the open turf toward the cover of trees that marked the edge of the nearest private property.

The jostle of boots and weapons assured him that his militiamen were still behind him.

At the trees he lowered to a crouch, breathing heavily as the other soldiers ran up and took positions around him. The corporal who had ridden shotgun up from the depot appeared at his side, waiting expectantly for orders.

“Those troopers are moving to make a side attack on the APRs,” Kete whispered. “We’ll wait here for them to move up that side street, then slip up to that house there.” He pointed at his house. It was close now, the home where he and Rupa had settled to raise a family.

The dark, grotesque figures of the armored Terran troopers moved with frightening efficiency, gathering together as they assessed their next move. Then, as Kete gasped, they darted across the street, one by one, to continue their stealthy advance. Coming nearer by the moment. The corporal beside him muttered something. Kete watched the troopers, then looked back at his home.

It sat across the street from the last house in the line that was currently being transited by the Terrans. They were close enough now that he could see the lead trooper, referring to a forearm display.

He gripped his rifle.

“Change of plan,” he gritted, keeping his voice low. “Those troopers are headed straight for the spotters’ location. We need to draw them away. Corporal, take the troops, reposition by those sheds, and open fire. I’ll go in alone and get the civilians out.”

The corporal nodded. He was a young man barely of university age whom Kete had never met before tonight. With pale, shaking lips he ordered the two dozen remaining militiamen to follow him away from the trees, across the open turf, and toward the partial cover of the garden sheds perched on the hillside.

Kete raised his rifle, watching in sick fascination as the lead Terran trooper darted past the opening between the last two houses, and crept closer to both him and his home. Another reference to the forearm display. Another few steps forward.

He gritted his teeth.

The invader was armored and carried explosive rounds for a fully automatic electro-magnetic rail gun. He was in a t-shirt, and carried a semi-automatic rifle with impact-only rounds. If that trooper spotted him, he didn’t stand a chance.

Kete aimed, and fired.

The crack of the bullet shattered the tranquility. He didn’t wait to see if he’d hit his target, just squeezed the trigger as fast as he could, sending rounds hurtling outward. The Terran trooper staggered back, then swung that awful Terran assault rifle in a blind, fully automatic arc toward the hillside. The rounds were aimed high, and gone so fast they probably hit the sea before coming down.

The corporal and his men returned fire en masse, battering the Terrans with gunfire.

The response was swift and savage, but Kete was already on his feet, sprinting toward the darkened porch of his home. He fired off a shout into the Cloud, praying that the artillery spotters understood his meaning and had Rupa and the girls ready to move. He reached out with his full suite of detection sensors, but realized immediately that a stealth field had been erected—no doubt by the spotters.

He was almost there. The APRs were still holding the main line against the Terran tanks, although fire and debris littered what had been his neighborhood.

Then the Terran trooper rounded the last house, eyes on his home. Kete slid to the ground, cursing himself for being so exposed, but the trooper didn’t seem to notice him. Another check of the forearm display. One hand to the helmet’s ear. Kete lay frozen, wondering why the trooper didn’t advance. Then he knew.

Terrans didn’t endanger themselves personally. Not when a battleship in orbit could accomplish what was needed.

“No!”

He struggled to his feet just as the massive, orange fireball burst down from the gray heavens. The morning star that heralded a terrible new dawn, and ended Kete Obadele’s life.

The blast struck his home with deadly accuracy, obliterating it in one blinding second. A few shards of the exterior survived to be flung outward, but it was the burning sledgehammer of the shock wave that knocked Kete off his feet. He vaguely felt his body thudding down on the firm grass of the road, felt the friction of the hard dirt underneath as he slid across it.

He felt nothing as he pulled himself to his feet. Heard nothing but an endless ringing in his ears—the explosions had stopped. Sensed nothing from the Cloud. Saw only two things—the glowing, scattered embers of what had once been his house, and the Terran trooper who lay unconscious nearby.

He didn’t know that he’d dropped his rifle, or that his webbing had been ripped clear off his body by the blast. He didn’t know what the relative silence meant—for the APRs, for his men. All he knew was that the Terran who had killed his family was lying on the ground, a scant distance away.

Smaller than he’d expected, the trooper was spread-eagled on the grass, rifle and helmet both broken free of their tethers and scattered. Kete dropped to one knee, wanting to see the face of the man—

No. Woman.

The woman who had killed his family was young and fresh-faced despite the dirt and blood, her cropped blonde hair matted with sweat. He lifted her forearm display—that essential tool of any Terran trooper—and was amazed at how small the hands were that had typed in the coordinates to summon the orbital bombardment. He looked again at her face, trying to activate his visual recorder, so that he would always remember it.

To know the face of the angel of death.

She was breathing. That gave him the power of life and death. His hand unconsciously drifted forward, closing on her throat, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t tighten his grip. Killing this Terran wouldn’t bring back his family.

His grip lessened, but he could still feel the weak pulse, sense the life draining from her young body.

Killing her wouldn’t bring back Rupa, Olivia, or Jess.

Even so, his grip tightened again.

Movement in the peripheral snapped him back to the greater reality. He staggered back and threw up his hands in a desperate attempt to protect himself against the pair of troopers who were charging toward him.

They stopped next to their fallen comrade, one of them crouching over her while the other raised an assault rifle toward Kete.

“Get back,” he shouted.

Kete continued to step backward, hands raised. Both troopers wore medical insignia, and Kete still wore civilian clothes. Rifle and webbing lost in the explosion, he probably looked to them like a stunned local, and nothing more. As he backed away further, the medics lost interest in him.

Kete retreated as quickly as he could to the shadows.

* * *

The cab pulled to a stop against a sidewalk bathed in light.

Kete shook off the last images of the nightmare, then stepped out into the heat and noise of one of Longreach’s main entertainment districts. The crowds of merrymakers mingled with great good humor, the calm air promising a night of good weather and no curfews.

Through the revelry, Kete spotted his target. She was approaching the biggest nightclub on the street, escorted by a taller woman—her sister, Merje. Although it was his intention to be surgical, Kete had no qualms about killing any of Katja’s family. Not tonight.

Tonight, Katja Andreia Emmes would pay for her crimes, and perhaps Merje Emmes would endure her own nightmare. That would be justice.