A Fighting Chance (32 page)

“To a bar,” Billy announced.

“I
like
this job,” Mubu said approvingly.

The heat fell on them like a hammer as they left the boxtel and entered the streets beyond. Vanderveen could see the lead dune by looking left—and the back dune by looking right. Both had steep slopes and were hundreds of feet tall. The ground shook, and a dull
thump
was heard. “Tomb raiders,” Billy explained. “Fighting it out somewhere below us. That’s how I lost my leg. Follow me.”

Sand flies buzzed all around as the foursome picked their way through the debris-littered streets. Empty shell casings lay everywhere. Billy led them around a body at one point, and a horrible stench filled Vanderveen’s nostrils. The city was, she decided, the worst hellhole she’d ever been in. And that was saying something.

It took ten minutes to reach the ladder that led down into the bar called the Mummy’s Breath. “I’ll wait here,” Billy announced. “Just ask for Kai Cosmo. He’ll tell you what he knows.”

Vanderveen descended the ladder first and was surprised by the flow of cool air that rose to greet her. The mummy’s Is breath perhaps? Yes, she thought so. The air had a dry, musty quality—as if emanating from ancient chambers far below.

A human bouncer was positioned at the foot of the ladder. He nodded and pointed Vanderveen toward a rough-hewn passageway. It had been excavated by tomb raiders as part of their efforts to find Forerunner artifacts.

Vanderveen followed a series of dangling glow strips to a set of stairs that led down into what might have been a rectangular swimming pool thousands of years before. That’s where two dozen tables had been set up. It was early in the day, so most of them were empty. A badly dented one-eyed utility droid clanked over to greet them. “Good morning,” the machine said gravely. “A table for three?”

“We’re looking for Kai Cosmo,” Vanderveen responded.

“Of course,” the robot replied. “Please follow me.”

Vanderveen and her companions followed the machine to a table where a man was in the process of assembling a submachine gun (SMG) from the newly oiled parts laid out in front of him. He had a hard face, a dark tan, and was dressed in military-style body armor. There was an audible
click
as one assembly mated with another. “Mr. Cosmo?” the diplomat inquired. “My name is Vanderveen. Billy sent us.”

Cosmo directed a stream of ju-ju juice at a spittoon and nodded. “Have a seat. Sorry about the parts. It’s a good idea to clean your weapons once a day around here. The goddamned sand gets into everything.”

“You sound like a marine,” Sullivan said stiffly. “A deserter perhaps?”

“And
you
sound like a tight-assed navy officer,” came the reply. “And a junior one at that.”

Sullivan was seated by then. He looked offended. Or tried to. “A navy officer? What makes you say that?”

“The academy ring on your left hand,” Cosmo answered dryly.

Sullivan looked embarrassed and began to rotate the face of the ring inwards.

Cosmo jerked a thumb toward Mubu. “And, judging from the CSN tattoo on Mr. Plasma Cannon’s forearm,” Cosmo continued, “he’s one of your men. Not the play pretty though . . . She’s a civilian.”

Vanderveen smiled as the merc continued to put the SMG back together. “How so?”

“You’re wearing your sidearm in a cross-draw holster, your hair is too long, and you smell nice.”

Sullivan scowled and Vanderveen laughed. “You’re good. I’m impressed. Billy says you have some information for us.”

“Maybe,” Cosmo allowed warily. “I led a group of mercs who were hired to guard a complex occupied by some very snooty bugs. One of them was sick and confined to a cagelike apparatus. Sound interesting?”

“Yes,” Vanderveen replied, as her heart began to beat a little bit faster. “
Very
interesting. Where are they?”

“Ah,” Cosmo said, as he slipped a magazine into the SMG. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Let’s talk price.”

“What do you want?”

“A ride,” Cosmo said simply.

“Why?” Sullivan wanted to know.

“Why not?” Cosmo answered. “Would
you
want to stay here? I made some money, and I’d like to live long enough to spend it.”

“You have a deal,” Vanderveen responded.

“What about sailor boy?” Cosmo wanted to know, as the wad of ju-ju migrated from one cheek to the other. “What’s to keep him and his swabbies from throwing me into the brig?”

“He takes his orders from
me
,” Vanderveen replied. “And you have my word.”

Cosmo looked from face to face. Sullivan scowled but didn’t deny it.

“Okay,” the merc replied. “The bugs took off for
Orb I
. That’s a space station in orbit around Long Jump in case you aren’t familiar with it.”

“You’re sure?”

Cosmo nodded. “One hundred percent. My team and I took the bugs to the spaceport. They had a Thraki in tow.
He
mentioned the name. And they left on his ship.”

Vanderveen was about to reply when a buzzing sound was heard and Cosmo made a grabbing motion. “Well, look at this,” the merc said, as he held the object up for the others to inspect. And there, rather than the sand fly that Vanderveen expected to see, was a tiny spy ball. It hummed and began to vibrate in a futile attempt to escape Cosmo’s grasp.

The diplomat felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Someone had been listening to the conversation. But
who
? Locals? Hoping to make money off what they heard? Or the assassins who had been sent to murder the Queen? “Come on,” she said grimly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Cosmo stood, placed the spy ball under his boot, and placed his weight on it. Electricity crackled, and there was a crunching sound.

As they left the bar, Cosmo paused to give the bouncer a couple of credits in exchange for a dusty backpack, which he hoisted up onto his shoulders. “I never sleep in the same place twice,” he explained. “It’s safer that way.”

The ladder shook as Vanderveen climbed up into the hot sun. Then, having stepped off to one side, she put on a pair of sunglasses. Billy had been waiting in a scrap of shade on the other side of the street. He waved and began to hop his way across the open area. A hundred and twenty-five credits was a lot of money, and he was eager to collect it.

Then a black shadow slid over him, Vanderveen heard a thrumming sound, and a rocket struck the street. There was a flash of light followed by a loud
boom
. And when the smoke cleared, there was nothing more than some bloodstains and a blackened crutch to mark the place where Billy had been.

There wasn’t time to think, much less duck. So it wasn’t until after the explosion that Vanderveen realized she’d been hit by tiny pieces of shrapnel. They stung as she looked up and saw the air car. Cosmo yelled, “Follow me!” and with no one else to rely on, Vanderveen obeyed.

The merc ran down the block with the others right behind him. Vanderveen realized they were heading in a northwesterly direction, toward the spaceport. The air car’s shadow caught up with her from behind, bullets kicked up puffs of dust all around, and Cosmo turned to fire the SMG at the attackers.

Then the air car was gone, and Cosmo was leading them through the ruins of a partially collapsed building. People were camped there, making it necessary to zigzag through a maze of tents, clotheslines, and fire pits. Some of the residents yelled obscenities but stopped as the tubby aircraft reappeared, and a stream of machine-gun bullets sent everyone diving for cover.

“This way!” Cosmo said, as he trampled someone’s meal and ducked into a doorway. The others followed, and Vanderveen found herself on the ground floor of a tower. They were safe for the moment. But she knew that if they ventured out, the car would pounce on them again.

“Who the hell is shooting at us?” Sullivan wanted to know.

“The people who sent the spy ball,” Cosmo answered pragmatically. “Hey, you . . . Cannon guy. Are you any good with that thing? Or do you carry it to look tough?”

Mubu frowned. “You’re starting to piss me off, jarhead. Yes, I’m good with it. What’s on your mind? Assuming you have one.”

Cosmo grinned. “Climb the stairs and get set. When the car comes, blow it out of the sky.”

Mubu looked quizzical. “But what if it doesn’t come?”

“Oh, it’ll come all right,” Cosmo assured him. “Now get up there.”

Mubu turned and began to climb the stairs. “Okay,” Cosmo said, as he replaced the SMG’s partially used magazine with a fresh one. “I’m going to invite the car to return. Feel free to shoot at it.” And with that, he was gone.

“Stay here,” Vanderveen said to Sullivan. “And guard the stairs. I’ll provide covering fire for Mubu.”

Sullivan opened his mouth to protest, but Vanderveen had already turned her back on him. She took the stairs two at a time. They turned, and turned again, before delivering her to the top of the tower. Judging from a corner heaped with trash and the strong odor of urine that hung in the air, someone had been camped there until very recently. But they were nowhere to be seen as Vanderveen drew her pistol and thumbed the safety off.

Mubu glanced her way before raising the cannon on his shoulder. “There’s Cosmo,” Vanderveen said, as she peered over the waist-high wall. “He’s standing in plain sight.”

“Crazy bastard,” Mubu mumbled, as he turned a slow 360.

“There it is!” Vanderveen said, as the car emerged from between two buildings and sunlight glinted off the driver’s windscreen. “To your left at two o’clock.”

Mubu swiveled as the aircraft appeared and opened fire on the ground below. Geysers of dust erupted all around Cosmo, who ducked behind a block of stone. That was when Mubu fired. Everything seemed to go into slow motion as the blob of coherent energy sailed toward the air car and missed by less than a foot. “Damn it!” the sailor said, as the shot blew a huge divot out of the building beyond.

“Uh-oh,” Vanderveen said, as the air car began to turn. “You pissed them off.”

Mubu made a slight change to his stance and took careful aim as the airborne vehicle turned and the bow-mounted machine gun began to chatter. Vanderveen swore and emptied an entire magazine into the car. That was when she saw the Ramanthians and knew Cosmo was correct. The bugs knew where the Warrior Queen was and were determined to reach the monarch first.

Bullets sang all around. But having missed once, Mubu was determined to score a hit this time. So he stood fast even as Vanderveen shouted, “Fire!” Then, at what seemed like the very last moment, he pressed the firing stud. The bolt flew straight and true. There was a flash as it hit. The car flipped onto its starboard side, and a Ramanthian fell free. He attempted to deploy his wings, but there wasn’t enough time. Dust exploded upwards as the body struck the ground.

Meanwhile, the engine screamed in protest as the air car slip-slid down into the plaza below, where it crashed and burst into flame. Black smoke poured up into the sky.

“Nice work, sailor,” Vanderveen said, as she patted Mubu on the back. “I owe you a beer.”

Cosmo and Sullivan were waiting when the twosome reached the ground. “You said you were good with that thing,” the merc said with a grin. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“The first round was a ranging shot,” Mubu replied with a straight face. “I’ll bet the driver shit himself.”

“I know I did,” Cosmo said, as he offered Vanderveen a scrap of fabric. “Here . . . I took it off the bug who landed on his head. He was wearing civvies—but look at what was stamped into his body armor.”

Vanderveen accepted the offering and removed her sunglasses in order to see it more clearly. A dark delta shape had been imprinted onto the bullet-resistant fabric. Cosmo’s eyes were waiting when she looked up. “A file leader?”

“An
assistant
file leader,” he responded. “But good for you. And it amounts to the same thing.”

“They were Ramanthian regulars. Not tomb raiders.”

“Exactly.”

Vanderveen put the glasses back on. “I wonder if we got all of them.”

“I don’t know,” Sullivan responded. “But I wouldn’t count on it. Once they’re in your house, bugs can be real hard to get rid of.”

Cosmo laughed, but Vanderveen didn’t. A sand fly landed on her arm. She slapped at it and was rewarded with a bloody smear. “We got what we came for. Let’s get off this crud ball.”

14

They died hard—these savage men—not gently like a stricken dove folding its wings in peaceful passing, but like a wounded wolf at bay, with lips curled back in sneering menace, and always a nerveless hand reaching for that long sharp machete . . .

—General Douglas C. MacArthur
Reminiscences
Standard year 1964

PLANET O-CHI 4, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS

The Ramanthian transport was badly overloaded. Engines strained as they struggled to lift twenty-eight bio bods and cyborgs off the power plant’s roof. Lieutenant Ponco was at the controls, and Santana was standing in the doorway behind and to the left of her. “You’re sure you can fly this thing?” he inquired doubtfully.

“I can’t, but my computer can,” Ponco replied confidently. And, as if to prove it, the transport staggered into the air.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Santana said dryly, as the aircraft banked to starboard and began to spiral upwards. “Keep up the good work.”

Santana turned and made his way into the crowded cargo compartment. Captain Ryley was on his feet. Their eyes met. “Go ahead,” Santana said. “Blow it.”

Ryley grinned. “Yes, sir!” The remote was already in his hand. He flipped a cover out of the way and thumbed a button. The charges in the geo tap’s control room went off one after the other. While the ship continued to climb, Santana caught a glimpse of three secondary explosions followed by a tongue of fire that shot straight up. Then a thick cloud of black smoke closed in around the site as if to conceal it.