By Blood Alone (45 page)

Magnus shrugged. “They
say
all the right things. But talk is cheap.”

“True,” Pietro agreed, “but what have we got to lose? The planets belong to the Hudathans ... or
did
, back before the war.”

Magnus sighed. “Yes, dear brother, but ask yourself this: Why would an entire race board ships and roam the stars?”

“Admiral Andragna answered that,” Pietro replied defensively. “Remember? Their native system had two suns. One became unstable, so unstable that they were
forced
to leave, and search for a new place to live.”

The inner door opened, six identical guards snapped to attention, and Magnus felt tired. He placed a hand on the other clone’s shoulder. “Yes, Pietro, that’s what the admiral
said
. But what if the sonofabitch lied?”

Even the greatest wall is built one stone at a time.

Author unknown
Aaman-Du Rotes for Hatchlings
Standard year circa 250 B.C.

 

 

The statue of Christ the Redeemer still stood over the war-ravaged city of Rio de Janiero, but little else looked the same. Great swaths of the once-attractive downtown area had been destroyed prior to when the Navy retook the skies. Now, having been victimized by repeated sub-launched missile attacks, the city lay in ruins.

The government tower lay where it had fallen, crushing hundreds of lesser structures, pointing toward Guanabara Bay. Sugar Loaf stood as it had for countless millennia, but the cable cars that carried people to the top lay crumpled where they had fallen, as did a row of three transmission towers.

Thousands of dispossessed citizens lived in the enormous soccer stadium, while an equal number camped in the streets. The citizens of Rio had paid a high price for their freedom and refused to let it go.

Farther toward the south, beyond the limits of the old city, the latest incarnation of the Hotel Intercontinental still stood. blackened by the effects of a five-hundred-pound bomb but defiantly vertical.

The aerospace fighters arrived first, checked for bandits, and flew cover while the fly forms landed. The long trip west had been punctuated by one inflight refueling, but all three of the cybernetic aircraft managed to complete the journey.

One of the insectoid-looking craft carried Kattabi, Booly, and Maylo, while the others were packed with troops selected by the recently promoted Sergeant Major Fykes. Half the security force was composed of bio bods, while the rest consisted of reactivated Trooper IIs. Not what the noncom wanted ... but what the political situation would permit. Or, as Kattabi put it, “The idea is to make friends, not waste the city.”

Still, it pays to be careful,
and
make an impression, which was why Fykes and his troops were allowed to deass the fly forms first and secure the recently cleared parking lot.

Brigadier General Cathy Cummings was big, about six-foot-six, with a personality to match. The marines called her Big Momma, respected her savvy, and loved her courage. She wore starched fatigues, boots she spit-shined herself, and a custom-made shoulder holster. The nonstandard .50 caliber recoilless was a lot of gun ... but she was a lot of woman.

The Marine Corps officer watched with mixed emotions as the fly forms touched down. Legionnaires boiled out and secured the immediate area. Impressive, but redundant, given the fact that a full Marine recon company already occupied the hotel’s grounds.

Come to think of it, that had always been the problem. The powers that be had assigned the Marine Corps and the Legion to much the same sort of missions—and forced them to compete for resources.

The Marine Corps had prospered back during the Empire but had fallen out of favor after the loss of
Battle Station Alpha XIV
at the start of the second Hudathan war.

Put it down to a regrettable defeat, lousy press relations, or suck-ass luck—the results were the same: The Corps was little more than a shadow of what it had been.

In fact, on the first day of the mutiny, the once robust force was down to only two brigades—the 6th, which she commanded, and the 2nd, which was off-planet.

So, much as Cummings might like to take Earth all on her own, she lacked the arms and legs to get the job done. That’s why she was willing to meet with Kattabi—and he was willing to meet with her. They needed each other.

Cummings watched Kattabi jump to the ground, scan the area, and start in her direction. He was tall, not as tall as she was, but tall nonetheless. He had short, white hair, light brown skin, and a hawklike nose.

Three officers and a civilian female deassed the transport behind him but stayed where they were. No entourage. An excellent sign. She went to meet him.

 

The withdrawals started slowly, so slowly that no one noticed at first, not until the RFE raised the question on the six P.M. news.

Kenny didn’t use human reporters, not on-air, and hadn’t for weeks now. After all, why put someone at risk when there was no need to? Compu
ter-generated simularcrums worked for free, never questioned editorial policy, and were impossible to capture and interrogate.

That’s why Scoop Scully’s lantern-jawed visage had become something of a pop icon. Nearly every graffiti artist in the land had mastered his cartoon face, and the Pardos had countered with a character of their own.

So, when Scoop suggested that the Legion had pulled out of major cities and was consolidating its forces in and around Cheyenne Mountain, people paid attention.

One of those people was Matthew Pardo. He killed the holo, slammed his fist onto the conference room table, and eyed his staff. “What the hell is going on? Why wasn’t I informed?”

The senior officers looked uncomfortable, the junior officers looked confused, and a corporal blurted the answer. “You were notified, sir. I sent the intelligence summary via e-mail at 1530 hours yesterday and left hardcopy on your desk.”

Many of those present grew pale and waited for the ass-chewing to begin. They didn’t wait long. The words were tinged with disgust. “So,
that’s
it. Nothing happens unless
I
do it. Harco pulls his troops, puts most of them into an underground fortress, and
I
get the news via the R-fucking-E! Are you people stupid? Don’t sit there staring at me.... Go out and discover what the bastard is up to!”

No one had the courage to point out that Pardo rarely read the reports directed to his attention, had gone out of his way to crush individual initiative, and had intentionally forced Harco out.

That being the case, they rose from their chairs, shuffled out of the room, and set forth to document the obvious: Harco had chosen his ground and was ready to defend it.

 

Negotiations had been ongoing for the better part of two days now, and Maylo, who served as both an economic and a political consultant, had finally broken free. After talking about logistics for most of the afternoon, Kattabi, Cummings, and their combined staffs had finally recessed.

Maylo repaired to the largely abandoned beach, where, with the exception of a Trooper II who followed from a distance, the executive took a solitary walk. The Atlantic rushed in to swirl around her ankles, pulled sand out from under her feet, and drew itself back. She allowed her thoughts to flow with the water.

The military preparations were going well—perhaps
too
well, unless her uncle made some progress pretty soon. She, along with Kattabi and Cummings, could hold the coalition together for a while, but they wouldn’t wait forever.

Something appeared up ahead. Maylo struggled to see what it was. A table? Someone sitting where the ocean met the beach? What in the world?

Curious, the executive continued her stroll. As the distance closed, Maylo confirmed her initial impression and saw that a man sat with his back to her. He stood and turned. It was first time she had seen Booly in civilian clothes. He wore a short-sleeved black shirt, white trousers, and no shoes. He smiled and offered a flourish. The table was covered with crisp linen, gleaming silver, and some of the hotel’s best dinnerware. Coolers were stacked in the background. “Good evening, ma’am. Your table awaits. We have cold shrimp, a crisp garden salad, and a nice white wine. Madam approves?”

Maylo laughed. “Why, Colonel Booly, you amaze me. What’s the occasion?”

The legionnaire stepped forward to take her by the hands. He looked into her eyes. “I want to apologize for what I said after the rescue. I was tired, and the words came out wrong. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Maylo smiled softly. “Apology accepted ... not that you owed me one. But why all of this?” She gestured to the table.

Booly shrugged sheepishly. “Because I think you’re special,
very
special, and I hoped you would have dinner with me.”

Maylo searched Booly’s face. “Thank you, Colonel, but what about the woman in Djibouti? Won’t she be angry?”

Booly looked confused, then brightened. “Do you mean Angie? Admiral Tyspin? We’re friends. Nothing more.”

“You had your arm around her waist.”

The soldier grinned sheepishly. “True. We went skin diving, came back, and had a few drinks. Soldiers tell war stories. It went on for quite a while. The admiral required some assistance, and so did I.”

Maylo raised an eyebrow. “Are you drunk now?”

Booly shook his head. “No, ma’am. Stone cold sober.” He gestured toward the table. “So, will you have dinner with me?”

Maylo looked around, realized that no less than four Trooper IIs had taken up positions around them, all facing outward. She laughed. “What choice do I have? You have me surrounded. Dinner it is.”

The officer grinned, offered a chair, and attempted to light the candles. The wind snuffed them out. Neither of them cared. The evening was theirs.

 

The aircar followed the highway toward Cheyenne Mountain. It was clogged with olive drab trucks, transports, and rank after rank of slowly plodding
cyborgs, all moving at about ten miles per hour. Sitting ducks if Pardo or the loyalists had enough cojones to attack them.

Harco got on the radio, chewed some ass, and circled back. Three tank carriers pulled off the road, and the rest of the column started to pick up speed. Better, but far from perfect.

The aircar resumed its original course. Harco watched the mountain grow larger. It wasn’t much to look at, just a big pile of granite with trees scattered along the top.

First established as a command post for something called the North American Defense Command, the semisecret facility had been closed for years, reactivated during the Hudathan wars, and sealed by the same budget cuts that put his troops on the streets.

There would be work to do,
lots
of work to do, but the facility was perfect for his needs. Other strongholds, five in all, would serve the forces abroad.

The engineers who had constructed the fortress hundreds of years before had drilled a 4,675-foot tunnel from one side of the mountain to the other. The purpose of the passageway was to relieve pressure in the event of a nuclear blast—and provide the cavern’s occupants with a back way out.

The twenty-five-ton doors were reported to be in excellent condition and still capable of closing within forty-five seconds.

Beyond them, deep within the mountain itself, were fifteen shock-mounted buildings and everything required to support up to twenty thousand people for two years.

Six fusion generators, each capable of producing three thousand five hundred kilowatts of electricity, were up and running, the reservoirs held twelve million gallons of potable water, and the storerooms contained tons of food, ammo, and equipment.

The aircar circled, lost altitude, and settled toward the concrete pad. Yes, Harco thought to himself, we’re almost ready. But ready for what?

Never one to tolerate excuses, especially from himself, the officer knew he had failed. Thousands of men and women
had
been rescued from the streets, but for what? Life in a cave? Rather than reconstruct the Legion, Harco had torn it apart.

The aircar landed, sentries snapped to attention, and Harco entered the command post. It felt cold . . . like the inside of a tomb.

The conference room was packed. Fully eighty percent of the known resistance groups on Earth had sent some sort of representative. They were a motley group that included professional soldiers, underground warriors like the Euro Maquis, criminal gangs such as the Jack Heads, and a significant number of corporations.

Booly called the meeting to order. Kattabi took the podium and scanned the crowd. Some eyes were willing to meet his, and some weren’t.

“We came to build an alliance that will free Earth from tyranny and restore the legally constituted government. Thanks to you, and the agreements forged during the last few days, we are ready to move forward.