Gudsriki (12 page)

“Not really.”

“I was trying to rip him off. Grifter out of college. He caught me in a second and—”

The pogo was rocked by an ear splitting bang. It immediately veered to the right and headed downward.

The man hopped to his feet and grabbed a canister from beside his seat. He sprayed foam out onto Hati as fast as he could until she was surrounded by a ball of soft orange goop. He turned the can on himself and was about to spray it when the pogo hit rock.

Hati was knocked out by the sudden halt but came to fast. When she woke the man was cutting her from the foam. He saw her move.

“You stay here as long as you can. There's a beacon only we can trace. They'll find you fast, he made this top priority.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, I'm gone. If you need me, you've got another five minutes tops.”

“Where are we?”

“Gibraltar. We own the territory.”

Hati was shaken; her eyes watered despite her calm.

“What will the people coming for me look like?”

“Yellow. Dressed in hazard yellow. Yellow and hot pink banded pogo, for visibility. Hurts your eyes to look at. Enemies would likely have camouflage, but that was an extreme long range bolt. They're not in the area.”

Hati tried to think of any question she'd need to know to be rescued. But those weren't the questions coming to mind.

“Why do you work for him? Why my dad?”

He looked at her and stopped cutting.

“I was a gutter rat. I was shit. He made me a soldier, and that was long before he had a real rank himself.”

“You'll die a soldier. He got you killed.”

“He trusted me with his daughter….” He faltered. “Hati, he gave me my life a hundred times over. He honored me beyond words. This is a death worth dying.”

Hati began to cry.

“I'm sorry I was so mean to you.”

He laughed and shook his head. “He told me you were a tough girl. Ornery like him. You didn't disappoint.”

He cut the last threads of foam, and she fell out to his side. She held him, looked for his wounds.

“Hati, there's no chance….”

She wanted to call him by name but didn't know it. “Your—your name, what's your name?”

“Schuldiner. Charlie Schuldiner.”

“Do you have a family? Do you have anyone I—”

He shook his head. She cradled him and felt a protuberance, internal bleeding.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“You're welcome, ma'am.”

They sat in silence as he began to fade away.

“Do me a favor, Hati,” he finally whispered.

“Anything.”

“Give him a chance.”

She nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

He fell asleep. His heart still beat, but she couldn't rouse him. A few minutes later he stopped breathing. She kept taking his pulse until it fibrillated and then stopped, and she cried.

Only minutes later the rescue team in yellow arrived. They tended to Hati first, securing her in a dozen seat belts. A man hopped out and checked Schuldiner's body, then waved for the pogo to depart. It left him there. She realized the pogo was a speed ambulance; it had only two seats. It had been a one-way mission for the medic in exchange for a single passenger.

There was no limit to what her father would risk, would sacrifice, to bring her in safely. She hated him. He was a man one simply could not love. But she'd promised Schuldiner she would give him a chance. She would.

She sat back and tried to breathe despite the acceleration. She closed her eyes and for the first time in her life, she looked forward to seeing her father.

 

 

T
HE
OFFICE
was quite modest compared to the base of operations Pytten expected for the Admiral of the Valkohai. It was simply a desk and a man and, on the floor by the entrance to its aquarium, a giant salamander. It took a moment before Pytten realized the man was Risto Turunen himself.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?”

“Granted,” said the admiral.

“Lieutenant Pytten reporting for duty, sir!”

“Lieutenant Commander, I believe.”

“Sir, yes, sir! I apologize, sir!”

Risto smiled.

“And that's all the introduction we have time for. Open radio observation on Quad 16 by 14 by 19.”

Pytten froze for a split second, then realized it was no idle comment. Pytten opened up the radio on the desk and set it for the right Quad, then reported.

“Observation Quad 14—Current monitors reveal: Vellamo! The
Lee
is surrounded by human vessels! Massive buildups, we read twenty-six—No, twenty-nine Ulver submarines.
Lee
reports thirty-six more en route. Orders to the
Lee
, sir?”

“Maintain position.”

“Sir?”

“Maintain position; do not make me repeat myself, Pytten.”

“Yes, sir! ‘Maintain position' sent.”

“Continue observation. Be calm, Pytten.”

Risto sat down at his chair and observed Pytten. Pytten watched the fleet surrounding the
Lee
. They moved closer.

“Proximity warnings sounded on the
Lee
. Sixteen Ulver subs within the radius. Orders?”

“I'll give them when they need be given, Pytten.” Risto smiled. “This is every minute of every day for us. Be calm. Calm in the face of emergency. That is what's required.”

“Yes, sir. Is this a test?”

“No, no time for those. This is the fate of the
Lee
and sixteen sailors aboard.”

“We have to—”

“Don't assume there is always something to be done immediately. A very wise man once told me that urge for activity is a remnant of panic, nothing more. We must not panic here. If you or I panic, all is lost.”

Pytten looked up, desperate.

“No pressure.” Risto grinned again.

Pytten observed. “The Ulver fleet is continuing on course. No contact with the
Lee
.”

“Do you know why I requested you for this role?”

“Because I went back for Bax?”

“Because you sent him to the brig in the first place.”

Pytten looked at him.

“Because you were about to die and you still sent a man to the brig for insubordination regarding his foul language.”

“Not for saving—”

“There is no shortage of heroics in a time like this. There is a shortage of composure. I don't need a hero to do this job. I need a cool head.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Observations?”

“The fleet is departing proximity.
Lee
is intact and uncontacted. No contact.”

“I knew there wouldn't be, of course.”

Pytten was confused. Risto saw it.

“That was no test, but it was an ideal case. You panicked. But you brought it under control when ordered to do so. Almost as fast as my last assistant on her first day.”

“If I may ask, why did she—”

“Stress related aneurysm.”

Pytten nodded. Risto sat down, and the giant salamander crawled up into his lap.

“Stress kills. Simple as that. With every Valkohai life, many Cetacean lives on the line, it's overwhelming, or at least it tries to be. And just wait until you meet the Geki…. Yes… there are stressful things here. Some you can't yet imagine. But you will overcome them.”

Pytten nodded.

“Open Quad 23 by 23 by 56.”

“Opened and observing. Land. This is on land.”

“That's where the war is.”

“But we—”

“It remains important we monitor all their battles. War is a fluid. It takes the shape of any container you place it in, and given the chance it will leak.”

“Understood. Ulver is annihilating a Canadian transport. Do we intervene?”

“Have the Valkohai ever intervened in anything?”

“No.”

“Do you know how many victories we have to our armada, sailor? Under my command?”

“None, sir, we've never fought a—”

“Four hundred and seventy-one.”

“But we never fought anyone, ever.”

“A battle never fought is a battle won. We have never fought because we've never allowed a situation to degenerate into a fight. In four hundred and seventy-one situations that threatened violence, we won by a show of force that deterred the enemy. Or we negotiated for peace. Or we simply left the area. These are victories, Pytten.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But?”

“But leaving is hardly a notable victory.”

“Why not?”

“Because it accomplishes nothing. It's no better than retreat.”

“Evasion is not retreat. One cannot retreat from a battle that never took place.”

“Understood.”

“To win every battle is not the ideal war. The ideal war would have no battles at all. To see that the enemy does you no harm, gains no advantage, without them ever knowing you exist, that is the sweetest victory.”

“But what would we do if they saw us, if they'd seen the
Lee
and attacked?”

“We would annihilate them beyond comprehensively, such that none of their kind would dare to attack us again.”

“Beyond comprehensively?”

“To kill an enemy stops their attack. But to stop the next attack, one must be more than comprehensive. One must petrify the observer, the commander, the troops. One must act not only with flawless tactics, but with poetry. An attack is a poem, a symphony, an art. If the work of art is powerful enough, it can end a war that would last centuries if fought by conventional means.”

“So what's the poetry in doing nothing?”

“All the best poems are left unwritten.”

“Sounds like the opinion of someone who hates poetry.”

“And I hate war.”

“Odd, for an admiral, sir.”

“Critical for an admiral, Pytten. Critical.”

 

 

A
FTER
TWO
failures, Arrgh had been replaced and Wulfgar was running out of generals. He offered the job to Uggs from the early Wolf days, who refused. Wulfgar demanded to know why.

“Orkney is impossible to seize. They have a special weapon that overrides any conventional tactics.”

“What is it?”

“A young witch, sire.”

“A witch?”

“She kills everyone near instantly. Has a demon that shreds anyone comes near 'er.”

Wulfgar frowned at Uggs's ancient manner. “Where the hell did they get her?”

“Unknown, sire. Shall I play the recordings?”

“Yes.”

Wulfgar observed the single fighter. She tore through his men in a manner he hadn't seen for years. But he had seen it before. He was pretty sure he'd seen
her
before.

“Scipio!” he called.

Scipio arrived in his silk robe. “Aye, mate?”

“One of your comrades is holding up the Orkney invasion.”

“Is he?”

“She.”

Scipio leaned in and watched the failed assault.

“Vibeke,” he explained.

“I need Orkney to mass for the UKI. Can you deal with this nuisance?”

“You don't want me on UmeÃ¥? Was heading out in an hour.”

“Why would I want you on UmeÃ¥?”

“Muslims, Wulfgar. Rumor has it the whole university is overrun.”

“Rumor has it they've been utterly peaceful.”

“Just saying, Wulfgar, you've got pockets of religionists growing.”

“They are not a tenth the concern this girl presents. Can you capture her?”

“I can flick the sheila.”

“I have no idea what that means, Scipio.”

“I can kill the girl, mate. Bloody shit, Wulfgar, learn English.”

“Alive, Scipio! She may have information I need.”

Scipio acted as if he didn't hear. He headed for the communications array. An indignity if there ever was one. He had a damn link behind his ear, two counting the Tikari link. But like most everything else it wasn't working. It might never again. He missed the net. More than he missed the ravine, he hated his confinement to reality.

He hardwired into the radio booster and contacted the third wave.

“Scipio to Sabaton, over.”

“Sabaton, over.”

“Hold back wave three Orkney, I'm joining you, over.”

“Confirmed, over.”

“I'll be the bloke in the Bugatti, out.”

He headed for the garage.

 

 

V
IBEKE
STOOD
on the beach. The third wave was far later than she expected. She weighed the advantages and disadvantages of the wet sand. She knew how to fight in it. Likely they didn't. But she couldn't bring herself to care for the usual tactics. She had no desire to win the fight. It would be her last if she did. It would be her last if she didn't. She cleared her mind of all thoughts of the fight to come and resolved to put nothing into it. She'd let the Tiks do the work or she'd die.

The pogo came into view. There was no artillery left. More was inbound from the mainland ruins, but the troop pogos could now land anywhere on the island to face the men, soldier to soldier.

So it seemed odd to Vibeke when the pogo headed for her position changed course and another, smaller pogo took its place. There was something on that pogo that wanted their position. Likely because of her. She tried to think of what weapon they'd deploy against her. A pogo ready to explode was likeliest—she was surprised they hadn't tried it. But they'd not be sending an exploding Bugatti.

The sleek craft landed in the shallow dwindling waves, and its door opened. Cato emerged from the pogo and adjusted his robe as he walked toward her.

“G'day, Vibs.”

“Cato?”

“Cato days are over, mate. Scipio now. My Ulver name. But hey, we're old friends, you can call me Will. Will Testling.”