Firemask: Book Two of the Last Legion Series (15 page)

CHAPTER
8

From
Matin,
Loy’s Kourner:

Njangu blanked the screen. “Y’know, Monique, the boss’s ex-girlfriend’s husband can’t write his way out of a busted jockstrap. Loy’s Kourner my kurled frigging klavicle! Wonder what she sees in him?”

“He’s good-looking and has money,” Monique answered. “Better question … what does
he
see in
her
? I think she’s about as brain-dead a twonk as I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s a looker, and richer’n snot,” Njangu said. “Richer’n he is, even. I just wonder why some other …” His voice trailed off.

“Wonder what other … sir?”

“Wonder when I’ll learn to keep my goddamned mouth shut about shit that’s none of my business,” Njangu said, getting up from the desk in the orderly room and grabbing his kepi. “Tell the boss when he comes in I’m up at the Headshed if he needs me.”

Half an hour later, the com buzzed.

“RaoForce, Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company, First
Tweg
Lir speaking.”

No picture came.

A woman’s voice said, “
Alt
Garvin Jaansma, please.”

“I’m sorry, he’s in the field, and not expected for at least an hour,” Lir said. “May I take a message?”

“I’ll call back.” The connection blanked.

First
Tweg
Lir considered the brief encounter between Garvin and Jasith at the Musth reception, thought she might recognize the voice, and decided Njangu’s formula would work well for her, too.

• • •

“Cityside,” the bored editor said. “This is Ted Vollmer.”

“Er, yes,” the man onscreen said, his face as nondescript as his voice. “I’m an amateur photographer … hope to be able to become a pro one of these days, maybe sell something to you … and I’d like to see if I couldn’t get a really spectacular shot of that Musth leader … don’t remember his name … arriving at that hotel whatsit. Where’d be the best angle?”

Vollmer started to growl, decided on civility as a change of pace.

“Word we have is the Musth’ll be coming in by air, and landing directly on the bay side of the Shelburne, most likely at the normal boat ladder.”

“Thanks.” The connection was broken.

“Goddamned photogs,” Vollmer swore. “Musth whoosit, hotel whatsit … they’re always such veritable founts of hard data.”

“Whyn’t you tell him we’ll have the staffers covering things like white on rice since this is our fearless leader’s show, and he’ll play hell trying to sell us anything we don’t already have in the can?” his amused assistant said.

“Because the day I tell a freelancer something like that, every goddamned lenser on the staff’ll have leprosy with his camera up his ass with the lens cover on,” Vollmer grunted. “Goddamned photogs,” he said once more.

“That’s what I like about you,” his assistant said. “Last of the altruists.”

• • •

“Interesting minds these Musth have,” Dr. Heiser observed. “Math to the base eight.”

“Why should that matter?” Dr. Froude asked. “A number system is a number system is a number system.”

“For you, maybe,” Heiser said. “I’d keep forgetting I have a couple of extra fingers to count on. But here’s something interesting. All these charts we acquired have a base point.”

“All charts have that,” Froude said gently. “True north, magnetic north, distance from Capella/Centrum or whatever base point a system or government chooses.”

“But the Musth use a single point as the center of their universe.”

“And that is?”

“I don’t know for sure yet … none of the charts we had stolen go that deep into their empire. But I ran a tentative projection, and home base is way the blazes out there. The only plotting system that gives a hint is the old Langnes listings. I’d guesstimate,” Heiser said, “the 37420 sequence.”

“I’m not familiar with the Langnes plots.”

“You needn’t be,” Heiser said. “It’s one of those hellish primitive ones that just happens to be about the most thoroughly compiled. The only reason I remember it is I had a bastard of an astronomy teacher way back at the university.”

An increasingly irritated Hedley had been listening to the interchange, head moving back and forth like he was at a racquetball tournament. He was already angry enough that he had only the maps, plus Rao’s happysnaps and the transcript of Paumoto’s speech, which didn’t give him enough for an intelligence estimate as to what the Musth visit might’ve meant.

“Excuse me, and I hate to be flipping mundane and all,” he said. “But were you able to translate the charts we gave you like you can the other charts?”

“Certainly,” Froude said with a bit of indignation. “I said we’d have no trouble, didn’t I?”

“And the charts give us?”

“Oh, sixteen, twenty, maybe more of the Musth settled systems. Pity none of the worlds are particularly close to us,” Heiser said. “It’s also interesting the way they appear to have expanded their empire, assuming Dr. Froude’s translations are correct.

“They jump from cluster to cluster, with no apparent logic in their exploration, as if they just punted expeditions out after picking a destination by spinning a coin. Or using a star chart for a dartboard.”

“Regardless of that,” Hedley said. “With the charts, we could have potential targets to hit, if or when war starts?”

“
When war
comes … easily,” Froude said. Hedley noted, uneasily, the emphasis.

“All we’d need would be some kind of starship to make the jumps,” Hedley said. “Something better than the rustbuckets we’ve got hidden in the bushes.”

“I don’t see a major problem,” Froude said confidently. “You do have a thief, a rather good one, at your disposal, don’t you?”

Hedley thought of saying several things, decided none of them was quite appropriate.

• • •

And the gods bless Majormunroe,
the man who called himself Ab Yohns thought, admiring his handiwork, and giving a moment of appreciation to the man, epochs ago, who’d made an interesting discovery about the direction explosions could be made to take.

His device appeared to be no more than a chunk of driftwood that’d been trapped between two pilings of the overhead pier.

Very pretty indeed,
Yohns thought.
Virtually undetectable. You’re not a bad craftsman, if I do say so myself
He closed his helmet’s faceplate, submerged, and swam away, underwater, back toward his boat moored in a nearby marina.

• • •

“
Alt
Jaansma speaking,” Garvin said.

The screen cleared, showing Jasith. Garvin felt, not for the first time, that he was in free fall for the first time in his life.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” he said, trying to sound neutral, businesslike.

“I tried to call you yesterday, but you were out,” Jasith said. “I didn’t leave a message.”

“My first
tweg
said a woman had commed,” Garvin said. “I don’t have that many admirers, so I guessed it might’ve been you.”

“Can we meet somewhere … sometime?” she said. “I think I need to talk to you.”

“Didn’t know we had anything in common anymore,” Garvin said.

Jasith flushed.

“Aren’t you being a little goddamned self-righteous?” she snapped. “Some of us don’t always know what we’re doing, and when things get a little too much we sometimes do things we maybe shouldn’t. Haven’t you ever done that?”

Garvin started to lose his temper in return, then caught himself. He had. And he remembered, guiltily, back when he’d been covert against the ‘Raum, once he hadn’t been all that faithful, either … and without more than a twitch at the time.

He took a very deep breath. “You’re right, Jasith. I’m sorry. I have been kind of a son of a bitch.”

Jasith licked her lips.

“I’d really like to see you … like to talk to you, whenever you can get free.”

Garvin thought. “I can take off in the morning tomorrow, or is that too early?”

“No,” Jasith said. “That’s fine. Loy’ll be tied up with that Musth conference all day.”

“Name the place,” Garvin said, feeling his body stir a little.

“I don’t need anyone talking about what I do,” she said. “Even though … I just want to talk to you, I think. Maybe explain something or somethings.”

“As I said, pick the place.”

“Remember that beach we used to go to?” Jasith said. “The one far down, past the spaceport?”

“Sure.”

“How about there? Maybe in that little restaurant?”

Garvin remembered the bar very well. They’d spent an evening there, just sitting, staring at each other, their wine barely touched, but half-drunk just the same.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “When?”

“At nine … no, make it ten. After the conference has started.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jasith blanked the screen.

Garvin stared at it for a long time, then keyed his com.

“Monique, track down Njangu and tell him he’s got the watch tomorrow. I’ve got business in Leggett, early.”

• • •

The Musth speedster came in low over the Heights, with two
aksai
escorting it, flying high cover. It looked a bit like a standard human speedster, but was sleeker, wider, its windscreen set at more of an angle, with armor curving up on the sides and rear from the body and four gun positions. There were five Musth aboard: Aesc, his chief aide, two bodyguards, and the lifter’s pilot.

It dove to wave level when it was over the water, and the
aksai
turned back to the Musth base in the Highlands.

The day was bright with promise, the incoming tide washing gently on the white beach sands.

The lifter followed the beach until it closed on the Shelburne, slowed, and hovered slowly toward the over-water deck at the hotel’s rear.

Waiting, just inside an entrance, was a handful of dignitaries. Others were seated in the restaurant inside.

The lifter came to a halt beside the gap in the railing, was bumped against the deck by the morning breeze.

One of the bodyguards slid a short gangplank out from the lifter’s fuselage, and Aesc stepped onto it.

He was halfway between the lifter and the Shelburne when Ab Yohns, watching through a high-power spotting scope from a high rooftop farther down the waterfront, touched a sensor.

The bomb, almost ten kilos of Telex, hidden in that innocuous chunk of driftwood just below the landing, blew straight up, as its charge had been shaped to do.

It caught Aesc, shredding his body, and the lifter was rolled away, the pilot fighting for control until the craft smashed into the water. Aesc’s aide and one bodyguard were killed in the shock wave.

Ab Yohns dropped the scope and the sensor into a padded bag, pulled the fastener shut, and twisted the handle. The blast would go off in a dozen minutes, and completely destroy all of the electronics.

He walked briskly toward the stairs, down them, no more than a businessman thinking about his day. He would be safely back at his villa within an hour and a half.

• • •

Yohns hadn’t built his bomb perfectly — there was enough of a blast to shatter a window, and scatter glass through the crowd. Half a dozen people required minor medical treatment.

Loy Kouro was behind a curtain, which caught the spattered glass and cushioned him against the blast.

He dropped, stayed flat until he realized whatever had happened was over, then jumped up.

Ignoring the moaning casualties around him, he started shouting for the journohs he’d assigned to cover the conference.

Matin
must be the first to ‘cast the atrocity.

• • •

Jasith Mellusin was airborne at the controls of her speedster when she saw a greasy cloud of smoke from the ocean, heard, through open side windows, the echoing blast.

She saw the curve of the Shelburne, and Garvin was forgotten. Loy was there. She whimpered once, forced herself to change course toward the hotel.

• • •

Garvin, too, heard the explosion, craned and saw, far down the waterfront, the blast cloud.

He hesitated for an instant, knew something at the conference with the Musth had gone badly wrong and there was no time for Jasith now, and ran hard for the Shelburne.

• • •

The
aksai
must have been in contact with the Musth lifter, because moments later, they banked back over the city, then dived down on the hotel.

Some men and women saw the ships, and thought they were attacking, but the two Musth fighting ships banked low over the wrecked lifter, then climbed and began orbiting the area, in shock, in grief … no one knew.

• • •

War Leader Wlencing, on distant Silitric, heard about the catastrophe within minutes. He ordered all Musth in the system to the alert, and a mother ship to transport him to C-Cumbre.

He allowed himself one moment of ironic appreciation for what had happened, then turned his mind to business.

The Musth had their incident and better.

CHAPTER
9

The Musth swept the Cumbre system like a tsunami.

Now — far too late — Force Intelligence found out what the mother ships had carried.

There were the already-familiar
aksai,
flitting like swallows in the skies; larger, sharklike destroyers called
velv;
and flat, heavily armed aerial troop transports, like a large Grierson, armed almost as heavily as a Zhukov,
wynt.

They swarmed the airspace over the major cities of D-Cumbre, over the mining companies’ headquarters on C-Cumbre, and
velv
systematically took the surveillance stations on D-Cumbre’s moons.

Wlencing’s plans had been perfectly laid.

The Cumbre system passed into Musth hands without a battle.

• • •

The men and women of the Legion could do little but gape at the Musth aircraft orbiting Camp Mahan. One AA missile station was hastily manned, but as its launchers popped up from their underground sites, air-to-ground missiles slammed down, and the site, and its soldiers, vanished in rolling explosions.

• • •

Wlencing’s mother ship landed in the park near the new Planetary Government building, crushing brush, trees, and the freshly dedicated monument to the dead of the ‘Raum uprising.

Aksai
in close formation orbited the building as
wynt
skidded down on the driveway, and Musth warriors boiled out, weapons ready.

The lock on the mother ship opened, and Wlencing and his aides marched out in the odd vee-phalanx they used, strode into the PlanGov building. He paid no attention to the scatter of bodies around the building, security guards who’d obeyed their orders and died.

Wlencing entered the main chamber, where about fifteen of the Council were meeting to discuss the crisis of Aesc’s death. They were milling about, faces white.

Wlencing started for the podium. A heavyset man growled an objection, came toward him. Two Musth pistols slid from holsters, and the man stepped back, raising his hands. Wlencing acted as if nothing had happened, continuing on to the podium.

“In the name of my raccce, our dessstiny, our fate, I claim the Cumbre sssyssstem, and all in it the sssubjectsss of my people. All formsss of government, organization, are declared not lawful until otherwissse allowed.

“You humansss are ordered to obey all commandsss from me, or from my warriorsss absssolutely. The penalty for nonobedienccce or resssissstanccce is death.”

Jo Poynton, in the back of the chamber, slipped quietly out an exit and headed rapidly, unobtrusively, to the remains of the ‘Raum ghetto, the Eckmuhl.

She’d fought from it once, and now it appeared she’d have to do it again.

There were other ‘Raum she knew who hadn’t been killed when the Eckmuhl was put to the torch and sword.

Nor had they surrendered their arms, but dumped them in secret locations. They would be ready.

• • •

Two
wynt
hovered down to the roof of
Matin,
and two fighting formations of Musth came out of the side ramp of each. They doubled through the roof door, down two flights of stairs, and burst into the executive offices of the publishing/broadcast conglomerate.

Someone stammered a question to which the Musth leader paid no mind.

“Loy Kouro,” he ordered, and a quaking editor took him to Kouro’s huge office. The publisher came out slowly, empty hands spread in front of him, clearly expecting to be cut down where he stood.

“You have transssmissssion capabilitiesss in the event of the emergencccy?”

Kouro took a moment to understand.

“Yes.”

“Other holosss have the technology to link with you?”

“We have a command linkup,” Kouro said reluctantly. “But its use has to be coordinated and approved by the government.”

“We are now the government,” the Musth said. “Take usss there.”

Kouro hesitated, and the Musth lifted his pistol.

“Follow me.”

“Bring technicalsss to work the apparatusss.”

Most of the coms across D-Cumbre were on, from villages to the Heights, people waiting to be told what had happened. But all that was seen was the normal entertainment channels. The news holos were blank, or playing music.

Simultaneously, all of them cleared, then showed the image of the slain Aesc.

A clear, metallic voice began:

“People of Cumbre. You have offended against us grievously. We, the Musth, have borne many wrongs, from slander to robbery to murder. In spite of repeated warnings, both to your citizens and your government, these offenses have continued.

“Now is the day of reckoning. From this moment forward, all planets in the Cumbre system are taken under the stewardship of the Musth.

“We urge all humans to remain calm, to take no action of stupidity against us. Any such measures of banditry will be met with the most severe penalties. The perpetrator will face death, as will his accomplices. Anyone found to support any action against us will also be sentenced to an immediate death, their properties and goods subject to immediate confiscation.

“We order all humans to continue with their daily routine. Report to your places of work as if the situation was normal.

“There are other emergency rules which must be obeyed: There shall be a curfew of all humans from dusk to dawn. No humans are permitted to gather in groups of more than ten, except as their work requires.

“All private weapons are to be surrendered at your local police station. All policemen are ordered to put themselves under the command of the Musth, and obey whatever instructions received without objection.

“All members of the military are to report to their barracks, where they are confined until we determine the disposition of these forces.

“All aircraft and spaceships are to return immediately to their home bases, land, and await further orders.

“Remember, we Musth wish only peace. Obey our orders, and find your place in a greater future.”

• • •

There were four faces on the split screen in Caud Rao’s office — his regimental commanders.

“What do we do, sir?”
Mil
Fitzgerald asked.

Rao took a deep breath.

“There’s nothing we
can
do. Not right now,” he said glumly. “We’ve been ordered to surrender. We’ll haul down the colors, and do like they told us to. Confine everyone to barracks, march them to chow, no leave, no passes, and keep your noncoms circulating so nobody’s got a chance to consider starting a private war.

“Maintain discipline, keep your troops in hand, and don’t give the bastards the slightest excuse to take any further action. Especially watch your hotheads. You know who they are. Don’t punish them, but don’t let them start something the Force won’t be able to finish.”

• • •

Mil
Chel Reese, CO, First Regiment, grimaced.

“Aren’t there any options?”

Rao sadly shook his head.

• • •

“What should we do?” Dr. Froude asked
Dec
Ho Kang.

She thought a moment.

“We sure don’t want all this work to get swept up by the Musth. We better get all of the charts together, all the disks. Right now. We’ll hide you two somewhere, probably over on Mullion Island.”

The two scientists hurried to obey. Ho Kang touched numbers on a com.

“Regimental laundry,” a worried voice said.

“This is
Dec
Ho Kang, II Section,” Ho Kang said. “Three of us are coming over. We have some material we don’t want anyone to know about for a while.”

“Anyone,” the voice said, coming alive, “like furry anyones?”

“This com could be tapped,” Ho warned. “But you’re thinking right.”

“We can do that,” the voice promised. “Allee time hidee hooch in it, since this ain’t a clean line. Nevah nobody lookee, get to glow in dark if they dumb enough to do, trefoil signs all over. Whatever you’ve got, if it’s smaller’n a Grierson, nobody’ll think of there.”

• • •

“Screw this noise!”
Cent
Elles said angrily. “We’re just supposed to sit here and let them run over us?”

“We’re already run over,” Ben Dill said calmly. “And those were our orders.”

“Screw them, too!” Elles looked around the ready room, out the window at the hidden jungle base on Mullion Island. “I say we go after the goddamned Musth! Maybe they’ll take us out, but at least we’ll have taken some with us!”

“That’s not what
Caud
Rao ordered,” an
alt
said.

“I’m base commander here, dammit!” Elles said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Man your ships, take off, find targets, any Musth force or aircraft, and kill them. Shake off any pursuers, then return here for fuel, rearming, another mission.”

“And if we’ve got too many on our butts to shake, what’re we supposed to do?” Dill asked. “Let them find this base, or should we just bail out and take our chances?”

“Under no circumstances are you to reveal the existence of this base,” Elles snapped. “Take whatever actions are necessary!”

He picked up a mike, touched the red sensor that turned on PAs around the field.

“Uh, sir,” Ben Dill said. “One other thing?”

“What?” Elles said irritably.

Dill’s snapped punch took him in the diaphragm, and Elles whuffed, folded. Ben thumped a fist on the back of his exposed neck, and the officer collapsed. The huge
alt
shut the microphone off and looked down at the base commander, shaking his head sadly.

“I think that’s a court-martial offense,” he said. “Maybe Ben loses his sash over this.”

“Being busted’s better’n pointless suicide,” another pilot said. “Especially ‘cause I don’t see any way we could get more’n five meters off the ground without getting wiped out.”

“Maybe so,” Dill said. “But this is the first time I’ve ever backed off from a fight, and it tastes bad. Really bad.”

• • •

“I’m not a happy trooper,” Garvin Jaansma said quietly.

“Shut up,” Njangu said. “We’re hard cases, remember? Not sentimental schnooks.”

The two, dressed in combat camouflage, fully armed, stood to one side of the Camp Mahan parade ground.

At its head were three flagpoles, the center flying the Confederation flag, the other two the Cumbre ensign and the Force colors.

The officer of the guard, a ranking
dec,
and the daily guard detachment stood at the salute as a seven-man detail marched to the poles, unfastened the lines, and made ready to lower the colors. A bugler with his archaic instrument stood ready.

A shout echoed across the parade ground.

“Stop!”

A man with a blaster lurched from behind a building. He was in his forties, grizzled and hard-bitten. He was familiar to Njangu, and he puzzled, got it. The man’s name was Barker, no, Barken, a long-server from somewhere out-system, who’d arrived with the Force on its deployment to Cumbre. Barken had worn stripes, had them taken away, had them given back again. He was considered a good field soldier, had won medals in the rising, had been promoted yet again, then had been reduced to the ranks for throwing a two-week drunk.

“Stop, goddammit!” He fired a round into the air, and everyone froze.

“We’re not lowerin’ the friggin’ flag, goddammit!” He stumbled closer to the guard detail, and the
dec’s
hand slid toward his holstered pistol.

“Hold it, soldier,” he shouted back. “Get rid of the gun, and freeze!”

“Shove that up yer ass. Sir,” Barken said, “I’ve been with the Force more’n twenty years, and we’ve never surrendered to nobody, and we’re not frigging starting now!”

“You’re disobeying orders!”

“Nobody oughta be obeying those goddamned orders! What are we, winks that fold up without even one lousy frigging fight? What the hell is this? What the hell is going on!”

Another round whined overhead.

“Soldier, I gave you a lawful order,” the guard commander snapped. “Drop that blaster!”

He unsnapped his holster flap.

“Shut yer friggin’ mouth, sir!” Barken called. “We’re not taking the flag down, not without somebody shooting me first.”

The officer had his pistol half-drawn. Someone — perhaps two someones — was going to get burnt down in the next few seconds.

“Stop!” Garvin shouted, somewhat surprised at himself. His own firearm was in his hand, and he was trotting onto the field.

Both Barken and the officer of the guard turned.

“What the hell are you doing,
Alt
?” the guard officer shouted.

Garvin paid no attention.

“You, Barken. Get rid of that stupid gun!”

Barken glowered, started to say something.

“Do what he says,” Njangu said calmly. He stood to one side of Garvin, his own pistol in hand, but held loosely, pointing down at the ground. “You’re betting into a pat hand.”

Barken’s lips thinned, then he slumped and tossed the blaster away. It clattered on the tarmac.

“Thanks,
Alt
…” the guard officer said.

“Be quiet,” Garvin said. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was doing it, knowing he was breaking at least as many regulations as Barken.

“
Tweg,
bring the flags down. Bugler, we won’t have any music. No triumphs, no dirges either.”

The bugler nodded shakily, tucked his instrument back under his arm. The warrant in charge of the flag detail looked perplexed. Garvin waved the pistol at him.

“Follow your orders,
Tweg
!”

The noncom obeyed, and the pulleys squeaked loudly in the silence.

“You,” Garvin said, pointing at two of the men. “Case the Cumbre flag.”

“Yessir,” one said.

“You others,” Jaansma continued. “Take the Confederation flag and the Force ensign. Cut them apart.”

“Sir?”

Njangu heard a sound, spun, saw one of the guards stealthily unslinging his blaster. Njangu fired, and the bolt blew a meter-wide hole in the paving behind the man. He jumped, dropped his blaster.

“Stand easy, friend,” Yoshitaro said in a mild voice. “This is just getting interesting.”