Virtues of War (15 page)

Shocked, pale faces peered around, looking for someone who was in charge. He saw no one above the rank of corporal, and eventually came to the sick conclusion that all the senior leaders had been inside the depot getting their orders when the attack came. The command structure of the entire local militia had been wiped out in a single assault.

That told him immediately where he could turn. Moving quietly into the shadow of a smoking transport, he uplinked to the Cloud. What he found there was confused, but some semblance of sanity seemed to be returning to the Centauri communal dimension.

The Terrans were not yet contained, but Riverport local defenses were moving into place. Artillery rained down on the invaders, and their armor had been successfully lured away from their main infantry group, thus exposing the latter to direct fire. The skies were heavily contested, but the defenders would be able to move across open ground, though it would be dangerous.

Kete zeroed in on a command channel, and reported the situation at his depot. His ID was validated, and he was accepted into the circle.

came the query through the Cloud.

He surveyed the militiamen milling around him.

A quick consensus emerged, instructing him to take his force and join up with another militia unit six kilometers to the west. That unit was being re-tasked to secure the ridgeline and the artillery spotters.

he sent.

The exact location was slow to emerge. The spotters had detected an open Cloud conduit on the ridge, and had taken up a position where it was located. A vague impression appeared, of a house on the ridge, along with a sense of relief that such a secure circuit had been found.

Kete’s heart turned to ice.

There was only one direct Cloud conduit on his street, and he hadn’t shut it down in his rush to meet Valeria. The artillery spotters were in
his
house. The top priority for the Terrans would be to destroy those spotters, and neutralize the artillery.

“On me, on me!”

Kete was already running toward the mass of civilian cars, many of which were undamaged by the shock trooper attack. The militia around him seemed to awake from their collective stupor, and they obeyed as he ordered them to pile into every available vehicle and follow him back to the ridge.

Oh, dear God.

Leading the impromptu armada, Kete pushed to maximum the throttle of the strange car he drove. He instructed his passenger—a corporal—to relay his plan back over the voice circuit to the other soldiers.

“Friendly artillery is using a house on the ridge as a spotter site. We need to get up there and protect that house, and make sure any civilians in the area are evacuated before Terran troops attack.”

Oh, dear God.

Rupa, Olivia, Jess.

* * *

The jump back to Terran space was uneventful, the shock of extra-dimensional travel banishing any last grip the nightmare had on him.

Once Kete had assured himself that the new jump gate was virtually invisible to casual spacetime probes, and that if it was detected it would likely be associated with the old, less stable Terran gate, he cleared the area, rejoined the space lanes and reactivated his beacon. Just another civilian out for a cruise.

As he made his way back through Terran space, he knew his death became more likely with each passing moment. That didn’t matter, however—not on this mission.

Still, there were matters he had to resolve back on Earth.

Within twelve hours of returning to Earth, Kete had slithered into the military personnel records and discovered the location of the person whose name would never appear on a monument to the Battle of Southridge, but who deserved to have her name painted with blood across it.

Katja Andreia Emmes.

He crossed one leg casually over the other as he sat back in the plush leather chair. Ignoring the attendant who silently placed the glass of scotch on his side table, he mentally probed the check-in counter of the skyport executive lounge, hidden behind the false wall at his ten o’clock.

The lounge itself was comfortably full, with angular, minimalist chairs and couches arranged in a variety of patterns to cater to both the grouped travelers who wanted to chat and the solo travelers who wanted to be left alone. Like the rest of the Hanoi skyport, it was an airy, open space with sunlight flooding in through tinted, sloped ceiling panels.

About a third of the seats were occupied, mostly by business travelers and a handful of military personnel, most of them staring dully at the individual holo-viewers available at each seat. One woman was a senior State technocrat, but the electronic chatter radiating from her small team of assistants wasn’t of immediate interest to him. He recorded the data nonetheless, just in case there was some tidbit of value.

An auto-alert drew his attention fully to the hidden check-in counter. His contact of interest had just been cleared to enter. Dragging the weightless image of his holo-viewer up to eye level in order to hide his face, he looked through the projected images toward the doorway.

Moments later, Katja Emmes strode into view. Dressed like the other military transients in her dark-blue duty uniform, she carried only a small black bag in her left hand. With her neat wedge-shape cap worn over shoulder-length blonde hair, knee-length skirt, and modest high heels revealing shapely calves, Kete might have easily taken her for any pretty, young staff officer. Her appearance was a world away from Kete’s eternal image of the blackened, torn face visible under shorn, bloody hair and full Terran battle armor.

Emmes glanced his way, her face darkening to a frown. Instantly he refocused his gaze on the holo-viewer, desperately fighting down a swell of emotions. As she found a seat on the far side of the lounge, he locked on to the omnidirectional, encoded flicker of her military ID chip. Best to keep his distance.

It had taken longer than expected to locate her posting at the airlift station. None of her personal transmissions had revealed where she’d gone, and he’d been forced to dig directly into the Astral Force records. Risky, but now that he was in, he could check her personnel file at will.

No sooner had he located her posting than it had been changed—and abruptly, sending her back to Longreach on medical leave. Nothing in her file indicated why, but a message from one of the nearby Army units mentioned her by name. It had been most revealing.

Apparently the sender, one Storm Banner Leader Ciotti, had been threatened by an Astral officer. He didn’t take kindly to it—a fact he’d been sure to communicate to the local Astral Force commander. The report didn’t detail the circumstances, but it tied in with his growing opinion of Emmes’s nature.

His Baryon pulsed blue, indicating an incoming call. He waved aside the holo-viewer and accepted the call. Chuck Merriman’s face appeared.

Bait taken.

“Hey Kit,” the reporter said. “You called?”

“Hi, Chuck,” Kete replied. “Yeah, I was just following up on that Emmes family piece we worked on.”

“Oh, yeah. I just got back from Mars, where I was shooting a follow-up with the father.”

“Did he loosen up at all?”

“Not really, but his unit was doing low-g maneuvers, so at least I was able to snag some interesting stock footage.” He smiled wryly. “I really could have used your expertise, buddy.”

Kete smiled back. “Any time the network’s willing to pay, I’m yours.”

Chuck laughed. “They don’t like paying for two of us to go off-planet. No, I just need to keep the Emmes family all on Earth somehow.”

Kete glanced up at Emmes, seated with her back to him.

“Well, that’s actually why I called you. I happen to be in the same skyport lounge as the daughter right now.” He’d dipped the bait, and now he started tugging the line. “We’re on the same flight to Longreach—where are you?”

Chuck’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be in Longreach by the time you land.” New excitement entered his voice. “I’ve been trying to nail her down for weeks for a follow-on. Is she in uniform?”

“Undress blues.”

“Perfect!” Merriman exclaimed. “What time does your flight land?”

Kete glanced at his itinerary. “Five-fifteen.”

Chuck checked his watch. “Crap. Okay, I’ll be there. If you don’t see me in Arrivals, just stall her for a few minutes until I arrive.”

Hooked.

“Stall her?”

“You know, use that equatorial charm of yours…” The room behind Chuck erupted into motion as the reporter gathered his things. “I’ve got the budget for a quick interview, and we can piece some standard visuals together afterward, based on what she’s been up to.”

“You got it, buddy.” Kete forced an easy smile. “I’ll see you in Longreach, with the subject suitably stalled.”

Chuck signed off.

Kete dropped the Baryon to his lap and took a slow, thoughtful breath. Everything was coming together with the mission, but he hadn’t planned on getting so close to his family’s murderer. A most unusual sensation settled over him. Uncertainty.

He rubbed a hand over his face and chastised himself. There was nothing particularly challenging about Katja Emmes. Charity Brisebois was by far the more complex subject. He was a professional, and he just had to put his personal feelings aside.

Their flight was called, and Kete held back to ensure that Emmes remained where he could see her. She didn’t disappoint, marching swiftly toward the skycraft entrance at the head of the executive class gaggle. He moved along within the crowd, noting idly the swell of regular citizens behind the gates, waiting for their turn to board. Crossing the threshold into the craft, he was directed past a few rows of crammed seats, and then up the broad stairs.

The bulkheads of the executive deck were almost completely transparent, with a dome overhead, and avant-garde furniture was scattered cleverly around a central bar. Passengers chose seats here and there, but Kete wandered up to the bar, tracking Emmes’s ID beacon to see where she sat. Loitering with a drink was an unremarkable way to delay choosing his own seat.

The fresh-faced young barman moved efficiently to produce a scotch, while Emmes settled into a port-side seat, crossed one knee over the other, and stared out the window. A male sublieutenant approached her with forced casualness and said something Kete couldn’t hear. Emmes turned in surprise. The sublieutenant said something else, to which Emmes nodded toward the qualification badges on her tunic, then replied with an expression of abyssal darkness.

The younger officer retreated immediately. Kete just caught his gesture of shivering as he rejoined some friends.

Okay, Kete concluded, making friendly conversation is out. Just how exactly Chuck expected him to stall Katja at the airport remained a mystery.

* * *

The flight was reasonably quick, but during that time Kete probed the skycraft’s systems to determine how much luggage Emmes was bringing home with her. Three large bags, apparently. This reinforced the idea that her posting had been canceled.

From his seat on one of the centerline couches, he risked a quick glance at her. She wore a morose expression, staring blankly out at the upper atmosphere. He wished he could get into her thoughts directly, but the complete lack of Terran implants rendered his kind of probing useless. Whatever thoughts tormented Emmes, they were her own.

Kete did another sweep of the cabin, collecting a few more signals from the technocrat’s staff, as the skycraft whistled in to land at Longreach. This time he moved quickly to the head of the line, actually bumping into Emmes as she strode for the stairs.

“Excuse me.” She glanced up at him vaguely.

Actual physical contact. He had once again touched the killer of his family. Ignoring the icy shiver that rippled through him, he hurried to keep pace past the still-seated common passengers and out into the skyport arrivals area.

Executive luggage was off-loaded first, he knew. As he followed Emmes toward the pickup station, he dropped back slightly and called Chuck.

“We’ve landed. Where are you?”

“I’m just in the cab—five minutes away. Can you stall her?”

“I’ll try my best.”

She’d taken position at the luggage pickup, hover-cart ready beside her. Kete had no bags to collect, but an idea suddenly struck him. He grabbed a cart of his own and guided it to the far right-hand side of the station, where he knew the bags would first appear. Other passengers began to crowd in next to him, obscuring him from Katja further down the line.

Moments later the platform began to move, and the first bags began to appear. Several kit bags passed by, no doubt belonging to the other military passengers on the flight. He watched carefully, spied a bag with the tag “EMMES, K.A. 886,” and hauled it up onto his cart. More bags continued to flow past including, eventually, two more with Emmes’s name stenciled across them. Passengers began to drift away with their collected luggage, and soon he could see her again, standing with her two bags and staring impatiently at the trickle of cases still emerging.

His Baryon flashed green. Chuck had arrived.

He made a subtle show of checking the name on “his” bag, then sighed, placed it back onto the platform and leaned over to look through the hatch where the luggage was emerging. He then pushed aside the cart and followed behind Emmes toward the exit.

The arrivals hall was a towering, sun-filled chamber with marble floors and imitation-sandstone walls that rose in majestic solemnity for more than ten meters, before splitting into massive, diamond-shaped windows. Their upper halves were parted by expanding columns of stone that reached up to form a magnificent, fan-vaulted ceiling more than thirty meters above the polished floor. All along the sandstone walls between the exits and rendezvous points were temperature-controlled, mini-biomes representing diverse climates of Earth.

The arrivals hall was outfitted for both skycraft and the space elevators, and this vast chamber was the largest single entry point to planet Earth. All around him he saw newcomers stopping and staring at their surroundings, awed by the beauty of this gateway to humanity’s home—and by extension awed also by the power of the State that could support such a monument.