Cassandra Kresnov 5: Operation Shield (10 page)

Svetlana was already running down the road, keeping to one side, weaving amid parked vehicles, streetside stalls, and whatever else had not yet been rolled away, seeking cover. Danya ran hard and caught up, surely if the flyer wanted them dead they'd be dead, at this range they didn't miss much, and these two were
low
, so much lower than they usually dared to fly.

Svetlana reached an alley and ducked up it. It was narrow, blocked in parts by pipes, half-crumbling walls, and junk. Another alley, and then a ground-level
window to a basement. Svetlana fell and rolled inside. A light thud as her feet hit the ground inside.

“It's okay!” she called up. Danya followed, a tighter squeeze. Inside was a horrid old washroom, sink and toilet long unused but smelling rank all the same. Svetlana led them to a corridor then paused, gun held in both hands, looking anxiously back at Danya. “What do you think? They won't put people on the ground around here?”

Corporations usually avoided it, not wanting prolonged shootouts at point-blank range. Even with corporate superiority, they lost people doing that, or got them wounded, then they needed to be rescued, and then the rescuers got wounded…a big mess. Often they'd do it with GIs, who were far better at close quarters and were more expendable, but lately the corporations had stopped trusting their own GIs. Small wonder.

“I don't think they'll risk it without GIs,” Danya concluded. “But they might. Svet, are you okay?”

He checked her up and down, looking for holes. He'd heard that people in shoot-outs could get hit and not realise it; he'd even seen it once, a gangster who'd run into Treska's joint after some random shots and looked fine until one of the patrons had pointed out he was bleeding. Then a collapse, and two minutes later he was dead.

“I'm okay,” she said. “I don't think any of them really got a shot off.” That guy with Janu certainly had; Danya recalled seeing bullets blow holes in the door. Must have missed her by centimeters, probably hadn't bargained on her being so small.

“Svet…” he just stared at her. And had absolutely no fucking idea what to say. What did you say when you just saw your ten-year-old sister blow a bunch of people away?

Telepathic as they were, she knew his thoughts exactly. “It wasn't hard,” she insisted. “They weren't ready. There were just some of them in the room between me and Janu's room, and I listened long enough to make sure you were in there. Then I just walked in, and they were all just standing there, it was easy.”

Easy. She was blinking at him with that utterly calm demeanor that he knew was at last half a fake, a put-on for his benefit; she did that when she was trying to prove something. But now the calm was wearing off, and her hands
were starting to shake. The shakes were spreading, slowly, within which the calm stare remained desperately fixed and level. Like a wall of sand, slowly collapsing from the steady vibration.

He hugged her, frantically hard. She returned it.

“Danya, the AR glasses showed me the corporate flyers were coming. They were going to take you. I'm not going to let them take you. I don't care what, I won't let them.”

Now she could barely stand, the shakes were so bad. If not for Danya's grip, she would have fallen. “I'll take care of it, Svet,” he insisted. “That was my mistake going to Janu. It wasn't your fault, it was mine. I'll make it better, I promise.”

Exactly how he'd do that, he had no idea.

Lt Nadaja was yelling at her troops when Vanessa arrived, armour chafing in places where the formfit straps wouldn't adjust well enough to her small frame. Lines of
Mekong
marines, crowding the branching approach corridors, grasping secure straps in the dull red light of standby emergency. Vanessa shouldered past, a crush of armoured elbows and secured weapons now shoving a hole as someone came through the other way—here in the side alcove several medics waited, fast-response equipment ready in case of wounded.
Mekong
crashed and thumped as the final grapples attached the main passage.

“Sandy, have any idea what that shuttle was?” Reichardt asked when she reached him.

“No,” said Vanessa, taking a retractable handhold and fervently hoping it wouldn't be needed. “It definitely left from Dhamsel's pad, Sandy's not happy about it.” Wasn't happy about much at the moment. Vanessa worried about her. “It dock yet?”

“Ten minutes ago, combat approach. Damn good pilot too.”

“Hey,” interrupted a corporal, pushing in to confront Vanessa. Faceplate shoved up, tough guy, shrapnel scar through one cheek. “You comin’ out to play, civvie? You know your patterns?”

Vanessa gave him a distasteful look. “Seems like the corporations want their player in the game,” she answered Reichardt, ignoring the corporal.

“Hey,” said the corporal, “you go out there on that dock, in this formation, you answer to me. I don't care what you were in civvie street, you're with the marines now.”

“Fuck off rookie,” said Vanessa. The corporal's eyes flashed. He nearly smiled, and left. “So we at war again or what?”

“Not yet,” said Reichardt, laconic as ever. Vanessa had seen him under fire, so dead calm he almost looked bored. “Forgive the greens; they bark at strangers.”

“They're not my usual standard,” said Vanessa, loudly enough for those around her to hear. “I suppose I'll have to make do.”

Marines wouldn't like that, they rated themselves far above any non-military agency. Usually they'd be right. To emphasise her point, Rhian emerged at her side, similarly armoured and armed.

“You good 39?” asked Rhian.

“Armour's a tight fit. Apparently there's no small marines.”

“If we come under fire you could just make like a turtle, pull your head in.”

Vanessa smiled. Rhian's jokes were improving with age also.

“39?” asked Reichardt.

“Her GI designation,” Rhian explained. “She got one in Tanusha. Combat GI, 39 series, that's my designation. Outdrew it from a standing start, ten meters face to face.”

Now even the surrounding marines were staring.

“S'all progress, baby,” said Vanessa, checking her weapon for the eleventh time. She popped some gum, offered more to those around her.

Dismount came hard, troopers hitting the dock with weapons out and seals tight, just in case
Mekong
had to break dock fast and blow it all to vacuum. Reichardt followed, Vanessa and Rhian in tight formation, other marines fanning out to secure the back corridors. All shutters were down along this stretch, Antibe Station had been impressive once, the export hub for some of League's biggest weapons industries during the war. Now four-fifths of it was cold and unoccupied, and this one remaining business zone had seen better days.

Dockside was big, ten meters high and forty wide, and not much cover save for the big support gantries on the spaceward side. Ahead they could see three berths up the station curve, and no visible people. Reichardt walked with his marines, in full armour like the rest, face invisible behind the armoured visor. They held a line down the dock, local tacnet informing them that others were advancing on the right flank, behind the vacant frontages, clearing corridors.

“
Local net's completely down
,” Lt Nadaja informed them. No surprise, considering what Cai did to them a few weeks ago, Vanessa thought.

“
Watch your transmission spacing
,” said one of the sergeants. “
If they jam us we might have to fry something
.” Because a marine unit operating on hostile territory ran tacnet off their own wireless. Jamming tacnet was nearly as hostile an act as shooting…or marines chose to take it that way.

Four berths down they secured berth 11 and waited for
Murray
's shuttle to
come in. That took some fancy flying, to move a shuttle in a one-G barrel roll with the rotating outer rim, and not lose a wing on gantry supports designed to hold monster tonnage freighters and warships. The shuttle unloaded Captain Wong and his contingent of twelve marines, and they continued up the dock. No way were both carriers going to dock in this environment;
Murray
stood off at five clicks, ready to manoeuver or shoot if trouble started.

Then they saw them. An opposing wall of League marines across the dock, similarly armed and armoured, slowing, emerging below the angle of the high overhead. It wasn't a combat deployment, there wasn't much cover to begin with, but it looked impressive, at least a hundred armoured soldiers in a row. Vanessa's mouth felt dry to look at them, her heart now thumping.

“
Steady
,” said Nadaja, a low voice as they walked.

“
Welcoming ceremony
,” someone else observed.

“
Wedding reception
,” said another.

“
Turkey shoot
.”

“
Stow it
,” said Nadaja.

Vanessa wondered what the League marines were saying. How many of them had been in the shooting war, now seven years ended but many of its participants on both sides still active. Sandy always said the war had never truly ended, the fundamental disagreements that had driven it still bubbling away.

“
Okay, hold it here
,” said Reichardt when they were close enough. “
Nadaja, Rice, Chu, with me
.” Wong gave similar orders to his small contingent, and the two captains, plus six personal guard in loose protective formation, continued toward the wall of League troopers.

Audio clicked on Vanessa's vision, and she accessed. “
Keep your eyes peeled
,” said Nadaja tersely. Rhian was receiving this too, tacnet confirmed it. “
Two shots end the League's immediate problem
.”

A thousand questions and possibilities flashed through Vanessa's head. She knew Nadaja hadn't been pleased with Reichardt's decision to come out here, almost to the point of shouting at him. That was serious, as those two were close. Nadaja thought League might suffer the consequences of killing two Feddie captains here? Damn unlikely, that would start a war…but marine commanders weren't employed to consider wider politics, just to deal with what landed in their lap.

Not impossible though. Sandy said League was in serious sociological
trouble, possibly on the road to disintegration. Which would make war inevitable anyway, of one sort or other. If League got desperate enough to try and manage their own troubles without Federation interference…or if they figured the consequences of two dead captains was less than the Federation finding out what Sandy had found on Droze…

In that case, they'd all be dead. Possibly the League captain too. Maybe she'd figure that out, if she knew what was going on.

A League trooper with Lt stencils on shoulder armour walked forward to meet the captains ten strides out and popped his faceplate. “Captain Calou is waiting,” he said, pointing to the inner wall. “Conference room.”

Reichardt shook his head. “Right here.” He pointed to the deck. “Get us a table and some chairs.”

The League Lieutenant looked at them, then beyond to the Federation marines. Then back, to his own side. “I'm not sure that's wise,” he said drily.

“An opinion,” Wong remarked. “How much do those go for these days?”

The Lieutenant scowled. “Captain Calou is waiting for you inside.”

“Yeah, well, we're not on great terms with the locals,” Reichardt explained. “They just recently regained command and control, which controls things like environmentals, access, which in a small room can be a problem. It's the dock or nothing.”

The Lieutenant closed his faceplate, walked a few strides off. They waited. Faceplate down, targeting visuals active, tacnet showed Vanessa a mass of red threats and targets. If anything happened here, they'd all be cut to pieces, even Rhian. She kept special watch for sudden movements, raised weapons. Nadaja was clearly worried about a rogue, either League intelligence plant or a disgruntled regular with a score to settle. Tacnet could identify some such movements before she could, but she didn't trust it.

The Lieutenant came back, faceplate up. “She's coming.”

A few minutes later, a black-clad woman appeared from the corridor beside an insurance frontage. She wore no armour, not even an emergency breather, just a captain's leather jacket and rough pants. Dark features, perhaps North African, black hair pinned back tightly. She walked to the two Federation captains, the only person on the dock unarmoured, looking faintly smug. To her side, Vanessa could feel Nadaja bristling, to see her captain shown up like this. First strike for psychological warfare.

“Captains,” she said. Behind her, several of her armoured marines were carrying chairs. “Shall we sit?”

Chairs were placed. “Let's mingle,” Wong suggested, pointing to the waiting troops.

“I don't think so,” Calou said coolly.

“Three people from our side. Three people from your side. Put them together in the middle for a chat. Relieves some tension, no one loses advantage.”

Calou thought about it for a moment. Then shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Wong shrugged and sat. Reichardt unhooked his helmet completely. Vanessa sensed Nadaja even more unhappy than before. Wong removed his helmet also.

“Wait just a moment,” said Calou. “Someone will join us.”

“Representative Protocol says captains only,” reminded Reichardt.

“Or captain equivalents, nominated by other captains. I so nominate.”

Who the hell, Vanessa wondered? “
Someone who just came up on that shuttle, I bet
,” Rhian volunteered, unheard by the captains.

“
Great
,” Vanessa formulated. “
So the corporations have a representative
.”

Another soldier laid down sound suppression, little omni-speakers on slim retractable stands, they made a circle about the chairs. Activated, they hummed and buzzed, then all sound from outside the circle faded to dull mumbles, like hearing underwater.

“Visual analysis gives a seventy-nine percent probability that one of your personal guard is a GI,” Calou said to Reichardt. “And a forty-six percent chance of the other one too.” Vanessa smiled. Reichardt said nothing. “Curious reversal, given the reasons for the war.”

“Not so curious,” said Reichardt. “Yours all ran away to fight for us.”

Calou's eyes flashed. “Not all.”

A man walked from the doorway Calou had come from, also unarmoured. A GI, clearly, from the muscular intensity of his stride. African. Familiar.

“Rhian,” Vanessa said in a low voice, using real vocals for fear that formulation would not capture the right tone. “No trouble, huh? Leave him for Sandy.”

“
Yeah
,” said Rhian. And nothing more. Vanessa didn't like that, but there was nothing else to do.

Mustafa Ramoja took a seat at Captain Calou's side. He and the captain exchanged the kind of look that suggested they were engaged in uplink communication. Both pairs of eyes went to Vanessa.

“Hello, Commander Rice,” said Ramoja, in that deep, intelligent voice of his. “Good to see you well.”

Vanessa activated externals. “Sandy says hi.” Ramoja's deadpan never changed.
Sandy says you're dead
, that really meant. He knew.

“And Rhian Chu, I'm sure,” he continued, looking at Rhian. Rhian said nothing. The rifle in her hands only needed to move slightly, a flex of the index finger, and problem solved. At the cost of everyone and everything else.

“Don't push your luck,” Vanessa advised him.

“The League has two pressing questions,” Calou began. In this environment, of course, what the League wanted, and what Calou wanted, were synonymous. “One, why did you fire on this station?”

“They fired at us during personnel retrieval,” said Reichardt. “We told them what would happen if they did, they didn't listen.”

“I'm informed several station personnel were killed, and one whole station section is now inoperable until repairs.”

“That will happen when you attack a warship's boarding crew,” said Reichardt.

“Second thing,” said Calou. “What happened to
Corona
?”

“I killed it,” said Reichardt.

Silence but for buzzing omni-speakers.

“There were a hundred and twelve souls aboard
Corona
,” Calou said softly. “Why did you take them?”

“Their captain was trying to nuke Droze,” said Reichardt. “There are more than a million souls on Droze. Y'see that second number? That's bigger than the first number.” He tapped his head knowingly. “Smart folks we Feddie Fleet captains.”

Calou glanced at Ramoja, then a pause. Certainly an uplink discussion. Perhaps Calou wasn't yet convinced what
Corona
had been trying to do.
Corona
had been a ghostie, a recon vessel, answerable to League Intelligence. Folks like Ramoja. Calou was not.