Freehold (15 page)

“Be careful,” Como whispered, but he was talking to empty space. She'd already faded into the night.

Como counted off the minutes on his wrist-term, warning the pilots on eight, and pulling down his own visor on nine. At ten, nothing happened. At eleven nothing happened and Como began to worry. On twelve, there was a brilliant flash of light as a personnel carrier parked next to the fusion plant blew up. Como grinned slowly. She was all right. Forcing himself to wait, he watched as guards ran in every direction, some waving tentacles as they signed orders, others fighting the fire, and everyone bumping into each other. Their total silence made it seem eerie, like a strange pantomime of disaster, yet the flames were real enough, crackling and popping loudly. When the confusion was at its worst, he signaled the pilots and the attack began.

At first, the Zords didn't even realize they were being attacked. The figures running toward them through the flickering light didn't look all that different from their comrades fighting the flames. But when one of the pilots let loose with a bloody-curdling yell, they got the message. The Zords couldn't speak, but there was nothing wrong with their hearing. So Como and the pilots opened up with slug throwers and energy weapons. To his left and right, Como saw guards jerk and fall.

Then he was past them, the grenade launcher jumping in his hands as he watched a series of explosions across the courtyard. He swore when the last one hit the power plant itself, causing a section of mud bricks to crumble and fall. If he damaged the plant, there'd be hell to pay. He heard a scream to his right and turned to see one of the pilots dancing inside a cocoon of fire. He'd been flamed. Another pilot finished him off.

As the Zords grew more organized, they put up a stiff fight. Many used their four tentacles to good advantage by firing two weapons at once, doubling their firepower. The pilots, unaccustomed to this kind of warfare, began to falter. Slinging his empty grenade launcher across his back, Como pulled both handguns and yelled, “Come on ... the last one in there buys the drinks!” With a rolling yell the pilots rushed forward, blasters punching black holes through alien flesh; Zords fell, mouths open in silent screams. Como felt the impact as his A-suit took two hits, and fired both his guns, dropping two Zords—one ahead and one to the left. Then they were inside. A few guards had holed up in there, but they were quickly killed, or knocked out with stun guns and taken prisoner. Como threw a quick defense perimeter around the plant to handle the possibility of a counterattack, and then turned his attention to the control room. As they entered, the first things he saw were two bodies, one sprawled on the floor, another slumped over the control board. Leaning on the board beside the body, a crooked smile touching her lips, a wisp of smoke still curling from the barrel of her wrist gun, was Sam. “Nice of you to drop in,” she said with exaggerated nonchalance.

Como shook his head in amusement. “Quit showing off and take command of the perimeter,” he growled.

“It's good to see you, too,” she replied sweetly as she headed for the door.

Como turned to confront a large control board full of keys, buttons, and flashing lights. It was all a mystery to him, but fortunately one of the pilots, a roly-poly young man with eight combat kills and the face of a choir boy, was a qualified power engineer. He'd been ordered to stay back and out of harm's way until now. He dumped the body onto the floor and slipped into the vacated seat. Cracking his knuckles experimentally, he frowned at the controls for a moment, and then went to work.

His movements were deliberate and precise as he touched one control after another. “Watch this,” he said, pointing to a long light tube mounted horizontally at the top of the board. As he spoke, the light in the tube began to move from right to left. Soon it was out of the green portion of the tube and into the yellow. “Okay,” the pilot said tersely, “here goes!” With one smooth motion he slid a control all the way to its stop. The light tube suddenly registered in the red and a loud buzzer went off—presumably signaling an emergency overload. The pilot said, “That does it, Sergeant Major. They're either inside the field, or dead. Either way, it's time to dampen this baby down before she blows.” Como nodded his permission and wondered how Stell was doing.

To Stell, it seemed like he'd been listening to the soft hum of the force field forever. So when the sound disappeared, it took him a moment to react. By god—they did it! He leaped to his feet and whispered softly, “The screen's down ... let's go!” To either side, pilots separated themselves from the shadows and quietly rushed forward about fifty feet, before dropping again to cover.

The buildings were closer now; light spilled cheerfully from poorly shuttered windows, the faint sound of Zordian music and human conversation drifted through the night. For some reason, Goteb had placed quite a few human guards at the strip. But they seemed more interested in talking to each other than looking for possible intruders. The force field had evidently given them a false sense of security. Glancing around, Stell saw Falco give him a “thumbs-up” from a few yards away. He returned it and waited for some reaction from the guards. Nothing happened. Maybe they were very lax, or maybe it was a trap. It looked too damn easy. He waited a minute, two minutes.

He was just about to order the pilots forward, when a door opened, the squeal of its unlubricated hinges making his heart leap. Two men and a Zord came out and ambled toward another building. “It's those idiots in town,” the first man said. “They could screw up a wet dream.”

The Zord signed something, and the other human nodded in agreement. “Yeah, one of ’em probably goosed the generator by mistake. We'll just call ’em up on the radio and make sure everything's okay.”

“I don't know,” the first man said doubtfully. “Why isn't the land line working?”

Stell grinned. Because we dug up the cable at the terminator box and cut it, he thought to himself as the trio disappeared into a building. Then he gave a low whistle, which brought the pilots up and running. The wet, moss-like growth underfoot muffled the sound of their steps. One by one, two by two, the inattentive guards were stunned and left to be dealt with later. Then they hit the building where Falco's people were being held prisoner.

But this time they ran into a couple of guards who were wide awake and ready for trouble. They saw the pilots coming and ducked inside a door, slammed it shut and locked it. Stell motioned to Falco, who was armed with a blaster. The pilot quickly slagged the lock and a good chunk of the door surrounding it. Stell kicked it in, and launched himself into a forward roll. As he came up out of the roll, a lance of blue light flashed by, punching a black hole through the wall behind him. Spinning around, he fired twice, slamming a Zordian guard backward into the wall. He slid down it, leaving behind a smear of purplish blood.

Falco had taken out the second guard by the simple expedient of cutting him in half. “Messy, but effective,” Stell commented dryly as he looked at the bisected body.

“Results are what count,” the other man replied airily.

Meanwhile, Falco's pilots had burned their way through a second door to free their imprisoned comrades. Stell and Falco were suddenly surrounded by happy pilots and ground crew, all slapping them on the back and trying to talk at the same time. Aware that Goteb would soon send reinforcements, Falco moved among the crowd, grabbing people one at a time, giving them orders, and then moving on to the next. A few minutes later, only he and Stell were left; the wing was preparing to lift. Falco walked over and extended his hand. “Thanks, General. We owe you one.”

“And I'm about to collect,” Stell answered with a smile. “By the way, you folks aren't bad for a bunch of vacuum jockeys.”

Falco laughed. “Thanks again, General, that's quite a compliment coming from a ground pounder.” He looked around the room. “Well, so much for this dump ... let's go.” Together, they walked through the blackened doorway and into the night. The rain had stopped momentarily and there was a hole in the cloud cover. Stell smiled as he looked up at the scattering of stars. One of them was home.

With a growing sense of satisfaction, Roop watched the Senators file in. The planning, the hard work, the fear—in a few minutes, it would all pay off. A tremendous feeling of well-being settled over him as he considered the implication.

At the rear of the chambers, Oliver and Olivia Kasten filed in behind some Senators and took their seats. Olivia noticed how tired and worried her father looked, and asked, “Have you heard anything about the reason for this emergency session?”

Her father frowned. “No, I haven't, honey. Austin's playing it real close to the vest. Unfortunately, the Senate rules are a bit vague where emergency sessions are concerned, and that allowed him to call this one without spelling out the reasons why. All he needed was prior agreement by twenty-five percent of the membership, and as you know, he's got that many people in his pocket. So all we can do is wait and see.”

“But what could he possibly hope to gain?” Olivia wondered. “Any proposal requires a vote, and you've got the Independents solidly behind you—he can't win.”

“I know, honey,” her father replied, his brow furrowed with concern, “but with Stell off-planet, it would be just like Austin to try some kind of legislative sleight of hand. I've racked my brain, and stayed up all night with the Senate rules, but I can't figure it out. But I know he's up to something.” He shrugged, tried to give her a characteristic smile, but failed.

Olivia's thoughts turned to Mark Stell. She wished he were there. Somehow, she felt certain that Roop wouldn't try anything if he were. But she also had other, more personal reasons. Thinking about him gave her a hollow feeling, as though a part of her was missing, a part she hadn't even known existed until the evening they'd shared at the villa. That night she had discovered a surprising gentleness and sensitivity beneath his obvious strength. Lying in his arms, she had listened as he told her about his life, about the brigade and his fears of what it might become—a twisted thing, forever killing without reason or honor. And he had listened to her, as she told him about the kind of world that Freehold could become. Bit by bit, their dreams had merged, until they began to take shape as a common goal. She felt her eyes drawn to the ceiling and its glorious vision of the future. It
could
be like that, she thought to herself. Together, we could make it happen.

Then Senator Whitmore, a tall, thin man with black hair, called the session to order. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, I now call this emergency session of the Senate to order. Senator Roop has requested this session, and in keeping with our rules has submitted the validated signatures of at least twenty-five percent of our membership, all of whom agree that such a meeting is appropriate. I now yield the floor to Senator Roop.”

With that, Senator Whitmore took his seat, while Roop rose and mounted the stage. Behind him, the river pulsed and churned its eternal rhythms, framing him with its strength and power. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, first allow me to apologize for the short notice and any resulting inconvenience caused by this meeting. I assure you, however, that it is necessary. As you all know, we find ourselves in strange times, caught up in unusual events. I submit that such times and events sometimes require equally strange and unusual solutions. Such solutions are not for the weak and shortsighted. They demand fresh, innovative leadership with the courage to act.” Here he paused, his eyes focused above the audience, as though seeing something they could not. Then his eyes flicked down to the Senate floor and he continued. “Recently, I saw such a solution, and had the courage to act.” A rumble of uncertain conversation swept through the chambers. Roop smiled patiently, holding up a restraining hand. “Please allow me to finish. I would like to announce that, due to the extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in, and the Senate's demonstrated failure to deal adequately with those circumstances, it's now necessary to replace our existing form of government with one that is more capable of dealing with the crisis.”

“This is outrageous!” Kasten bellowed jumping to his feet, his face red with rage. “You've gone too far this time, Austin. Guards ... arrest Senator Roop for treason!”

The room exploded into noisy confusion as each Senator tried to be heard above the rest. The aging Master at Arms and two of his men were halfway up the stairs and headed for Roop, when they started to jerk and stagger under the impact of the heavy slugs. When the roar of the auto slug thrower ended, there was perfect silence for a moment as the Senators looked first at the crumpled bodies, and then at the twenty Il Ronnian troopers who'd appeared, as if by magic, from the emergency exits. Now they stood completely still, twenty impassive demons, their weapons aimed at the Senators. Expressions of shock and amazement filled the room, but nobody moved; to do so would obviously be suicidal. Then they heard the muffled sounds of fighting from the outside corridors. The sounds died away as Il Ronnian soldiers quickly dealt with the complex's remaining security guards. An alarm had gone out, but many minutes would pass before anyone came, and by then the alien troopers would occupy strong defensive positions.

Roop looked out at them, reveling in his power and position. They should have listened to him, but they had insisted on ignoring his advice, and now they would pay. He smiled.

“By god, you'll pay for this, you filthy traitor,” Kasten said, jerking his arm from Olivia's grasp. But before he could move further, an Il Ronnian trooper appeared behind him and dropped him with a single blow from his weapon. Kasten fell back into his seat and Olivia moved to help him.

Roop shook his head in apparent concern. “Please, there's no need for anyone else to get hurt. I'm sorry about the violence ... but sometimes we must look to the greater good. This is such a time. However, I assure you the presence of Il Ronnian troopers is not cause for alarm. Far from it. They're here to help us. In fact, with their assistance, we will be able to avoid a great deal of bloodshed. Do you think the pirates will dare attack us when it's known that we're under Il Ronnian protection? I think not. Who chased the pirates away when they attacked a few days ago? Was it the mercenaries? No—it was a squadron of valorous Il Ronnian craft, arriving just in the nick of time. Now I would like you to meet the Il Ronnian officer who ordered those ships to assist us. For some time now, he's been living here on Freehold, right under General Stell's nose, waiting for a chance to help us. So, without further ado, it's my honor to introduce Quarter Sept Commander Feeg. Listen to what he says, do as he asks, and everything will be fine.”