Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (28 page)

“I always do,” Montagna said.

“Not with that whopping great boomer you saved my life with,” Kweik said. He dug into a pocket of his baggy pants, took out a small pistol.

“Here. Midi’s found a source for them. Twenty credits. They shoot projectiles, which makes me wonder if they come out of some museum. Tuck this away. A present for someone who might make a good horse rider in thirty or forty years.”

“Where, exactly, am I supposed to stash this little toy?” Montagna said, grinning and doing a pirouette. Her costume didn’t have room enough to hide a penknife.

“Find a place, Darod,” Kweik said. “I know, feel in my bones, this clem coming on. And it won’t be one fought with sticks and stones.”

The war council on the nearly deserted
Big Bertha
was particularly grim, and included two new members: Chaka and Liskeard. Not sure why they were invited, they held to the back of the small group: Garvin, Njangu, Lir, Froude, and Ristori.

Garvin looked very tired.

“ ‘Kay. Let’s make this quick. We’ve got another show tomorrow, and I’d just as soon nobody wonders where we are.

“We came out here almost a year ago looking for what happened to the Confederaton, and hoping it was something simple we could help bandage up, and it would be back to something resembling business as before.

“And what a can of frigging worms we unsealed.”

He nodded to Njangu, who took the floor.

“Probably we should’ve assumed there wasn’t just one easy frigging problem with the Confederation. The first thing, which we knew going in, was that big chunks of the Confederation had been allowed to slip out of contact over the last twenty or more years.

“Troops were getting bounced back and forth and in and out, like pur Legion, and those Protectorate fellows we just left cutting each others’ nuts off out.

“I wouldn’t guess there was much control on these units by the Confederation, to point out the obvious.

“So the Confederation, really, had to have been falling apart for a long time, a lot longer than anybody was willing to admit.”

Froude and Ristori nodded unhappily.

“When Garvin and I were passed through seven years or so ago, there were already riots going on.

“Those, I guess, got worse and worse, and what happened was a general system collapse, ending up with this wonderful People’s Confederation.”

Froude stood.

“A little elaboration here, if I might. I’ve done some wandering about, trying to find any scholars that didn’t get themselves shortened by a head during the collapse, or who aren’t hiding deep in some hole somewhere.

“I found some bits and pieces. The initial fighting seems to have been spontaneous. Nobody knows for sure, but I’d guess an average riot got out of hand … or was successful, depending on your point of view.

“The Riot Troops, who were supposed to keep order, got massacred.

“A period of general anarchy came next. A lot of Confederation records, and their keepers, went under during this time, including the main Military Records Division and General Staff system.

“Then some people got together with a common cause — probably grabbing power for themselves — and enough others fell in behind for them to declare themselves a government.

“Then something interesting happened. That party, once it got power, got conservative and drew a line, saying that’s enough of a revolution for us.

“But it wasn’t enough for the people who’d been the original rioters. Another party got formed, to the left of the first, and they started screaming that the first party was nothing but Confederation lackeys, and it was time for their heads to roll.

“They
were
rolled, and that second party was on top, and said, enough of a revolution.

“But the people of the streets … they don’t even seem to have a label … didn’t have the power, and so here came a third gathering. They took out the second group, and were in charge for a while.

“That group, by the way, was the Freedom party, which Abia Cornovil, who most of you met, is the head of.

“Again, no satisfaction for the people on the bottom. They got involved with this Fove Gadu, who’d formed the Mobilization Party.

“It’s interesting that it was formed to push for the People’s Confederation to reach out for their old holdings, out to the stars.

“Some expeditions were sent out, found out their own booby traps backfired on them, since nobody had the records on how to defuse them, or couldn’t find them if they did, and so the Mobilization Party looked for a new cause.

“It appears as if they’re now grabbing for the center ring, and we arrived just a little short of what may be another coup.”

He sat down heavily.

“That’s about that,” Garvin said. “So now the questions:

“Do we have a good idea of what happened?”

He got nods, agreement.

“Enough so we can think about ending this recon mission, which has got to be the longest in history?”

Again, agreement.

“So we can …
if
we can … scurry on out of here for home, report to
Dant
Angara, and let him try to decide what the Strike Force is going to do next.

“Because, at least from my perspective, next is going to take some serious figuring and is way the hell beyond me at this point.”

“The first question,” Lir said, “is how do we break contact and get off Centrum?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s say we can,” Chaka said. “We still have that Romolo and his battleship sitting off Centrum, and he’d probably object to us just fading off stage right.

“I don’t see us having enough
baraka
to take him on, let alone winning.”

“The luck of Allah might not be required,” Liskeard said. “I’ve got an idea that should shorten the odds with him. But I’ve got zero-burp about how the hell we rescue the circus and lift without all kinds of alarms going off.”

“Nor do I,” Garvin said. “Again, events sort of dictated what we’d have to do when we landed here, and we weren’t given many choices.”

“We might have no other option,” Ristori said, “than to accept some losses in changing the order of things.”

“
Soldiers
take losses,” Froude said, trying to keep anger out of his voice. “Most of the people over in that stadium are civilians.”

Ristori didn’t answer, but held out his hands helplessly.

“We’ve got damned near every small arm aboard over at the stadium already,” Lir said. “I just don’t see any way to get the troupe back here … not even filtering people through a few at a time.”

“And I know damned well,” Njangu added glumly, “none of the animal folks will even think about abandoning their creatures, which doesn’t make being sneaky any easier.”

“Which leaves us stuck between the lid and the bottom of the shitter,” Garvin said. “The bad guys have the first move. All of them.

“ ‘Kay. Now that we’re all depressed, back to your posts, and we wait until we get an opening.”

“There’s one slight thing that Chaka and I can do that might help when the balloon goes up,” Liskeard said.

“Which is?”

“Which starts with giving that dictator-in-the-making
Dant
Romolo exactly what he said he wanted.”

Four men hung in emptiness. Between them hung two Shadow antimissile missiles, with their bases inside a curved box and a Goddard shipkiller, with an unsightly bulge over its guidance area. A welding pencil flared, went out, flared again.

“That’s that,” the technician said, putting the pencil back in his belt pouch.

“And that,” Chaka said, “is unquestionably the ugliest jury-rig I’ve ever seen, let alone had a hand in building.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Liskeard said. “I think it’s just plain gorgeous. Especially if it happens to work, which I doubt.

“Now, let’s get our asses back to the scow and continue the mission, like they say. We’re only halfway through.”

Their suit jets spurted white, and they moved back toward the Nana boat floating thirty meters away.

About three kilometers away floated the mothballed remains of the Confederation fleet.

• • •

Dant
Romolo received them personally on the bridge of the
Corsica
, rather eagerly accepted the package they’d brought.

“Is there anything else in your records that might be of use to me?” he asked.

“No offense, sir,” Chaka said. “But not exactly knowing what you want from our logs, it’d be hard saying. But you’ve got all the data our instruments normally assemble and record.”

“Good,” Romolo said. “I’m sure it’ll be of use to me … and to the People’s Confederation.”

Again there was that peculiar, half-mocking emphasis on the word “People’s.”

Chaka nodded, trying not to salute, and left the
Corsica.

“Now we’ll see if all your forgeries keep him happy,” he said.

“They’ll keep him quiet for a while,” Liskeard said.

“I hope.

“Meantime, we’ve got bigger worries. I got a canned ‘cast bounced from
Big Bertha
an hour ago.

“That Gadu character they were telling us about has stood up in their Congress or Parliament or whatever the hell they call it, and has named Abia Cornovil a traitor to the People’s Confederation, and said he’s betraying them to foreign influences.

“Since we’re the only foreigners to show up lately, it looks like the shit is starting to come down.

“There’s another speech … a major address, according to what the ‘cast said … that’ll be made tomorrow.

“I think we better get on home so we’re right in the middle of the X-ring.”

Garvin thought that forever after he’d associate politicians, and their rhetoric, with the rotting smell of the Central Stadium.

A holo was set up in the middle of the stadium’s green room, which was packed, about half troupers, the other half Forcewomen and -men.

Fove Gadu’s image stood in the middle of a chamber with wooden paneling, and old-fashioned desks and chairs. But any dignity ended there. Gadu was raving, and Garvin swore he could see spittle fly:

“… this beast, this betrayer, the man who once was the best of us all, this traitor Abia Cornovil, now corrupted and betraying the People’s Confederacy with these outlanders!

“My colleagues and I doubted our senses when we first had evidence of this betrayal, which would put all of the Capella system in the hands of foreign enemies, desperate animals and aliens who would shatter the centuries-old faith the people of the Confederation have had!

“But the evidence was irrefutable, and with great sorrow, yet determination, last night an emergency plenum of this Parliament ordered Abia Cornovil’s immediate arrest, and for him to be brought before us, and, through us, all Centrum and its worlds, to be judged!

“Unfortunately, Abia Cornovil had made plans for his escape. In attempting to stop him, his lifter was brought down, and he died in the crash!

“So should all of Centrum’s enemies perish!

“But our task is not yet over. For in the heart of Centrum these outsiders still linger, doing who knows what damage, who knows what damage has already been done in their insidious — ”

“Screw this,” Lir said, slapping the off switch.

“Yeh,” Garvin said, getting to his feet.

“You heard what the bastard said.

“They’ll be coming for us.

“Let’s not disappoint them.”

It only took a couple of hours for the Mobiles to show up. While they were waiting, the troupers blocked all the exits they could find, although Garvin wasn’t sure they’d caught them all, and Forcemen took up fighting positions.

Garvin and Njangu watched as the approach streets to the stadium slowly filled solid, the throng rolling slowly toward the stadium and the empty midway booths in front of it, chanting various slogans as they came.

Garvin keyed the stadium’s PA system, which included outside speakers, on:

“Attention! This building will be defended if any attempts to enter are made. Do not approach, on danger of bodily harm or worse! Again, do not approach!”

The crowds hesitated. Garvin started to give another warning, and, from somewhere in a building down the street, what appeared to be four blasters fired in near unison, and the speakers scrawked into silence.

“Not bad shooting for basic rioters,” Njangu observed.

“Not bad at all,” Garvin agreed. “How much you want to bet there’s some Pipple’s Militia posted out there?”

“Hah. I’ve got better intentions than to die broke in a riot,” Yoshitaro said.

• • •

Aboard
Big Bertha
, armorers swore as they unbolted missile pods from the three
aksai
and hoisted chaingun pods in their place.

“Leave a couple of Shrike tubes on each bird,” their warrant advised. “These Centrum people might have a patrol ship around for the potting.”

On the bridge, Liskeard looked again at a projection of the stadium, and also cursed. The people there would have to make their own escape. The closest landing point was at least five blocks from the stadium, in a tiny park he thought might be big enough for his ship to land in. Anything closer … he went over the ground centimeter by centimeter.

• • •

There
was
a razed building less than a block distant, but its ruins were reaching claws, and he dared not chance landing on top of them.

“Maroon all of us here,” he muttered. “Hopeless. Frigging hopeless.”

But he kept looking at the holo of that building.

Three volleys slammed into the stadium from gunmen in the front ranks of the Mobiles, sheltering behind the ruined midway. Darod Montagna had smashed a window, and set her sniper rifle up on a table, back far enough so there would be no reflection from her sights.

She saw someone with a blaster, and shot the gunman … no, she thought, it was a woman … down, looked for another target.

• • •

“You know,” Ben Dill said thoughtfully to Kekri Katun, “there’s always a chance that Ben isn’t going to be able to save the day.

“Particularly stuck in this goddamned cement mausoleum instead of boomin’ around in my
aksai.
”

“Don’t get gloomy on me,” Katun said. She had a blaster cradled in her arms.

“I’m not,” Ben said, “Just bein’ realistic. And … and, well, I want to know, in case anything happens, that I, well, I sort of love you.”

“Sort of?”

“Sorry. I love you.”

Katun smiled at him.

“And I love
you.
”

Ben leaned over and kissed her, then looked startled.

“You know, I can’t remember anybody ever saying that to me? Not lately, anyway.”

Kekri whispered in his ear, and Dill’s eyes were wide.

“And I can’t remember anybody,
ever
, telling me they wanted me to do
that
to them.”

“Stick around, big boy,” Katun said. “There’s
lots
of things you’ve never done.”

“Maybe that’s the best incentive I ever heard for not getting killed.”

• • •

Njangu and Maev were going downstairs toward the central floor when the speakers came alive again, and “Peace March” boomed through the stadium.

“I think,” Yoshitaro said, “I could learn to hate that frigging song.”

• • •

Jabish Ristori lay on his stomach, aiming a blaster through a kicked-out floor window.

Danfin Froude sat next to him, back against the wall, wishing that they’d moved faster and gotten a blaster apiece.

Two stories below, the Mobiles seethed and shouted, crashing through the midway booths. Rocks sailed toward the stadium, and an occasional blaster bolt or old-fashioned bullet whined off the cement.

“There,” Froude said, pointing. “That man right there, at the corner of the building. He’s got some sort of weapon. Kill him.”

Ristori nodded nervously, found the man in his sights, and put his finger on the trigger.

“Well?” Froude said.

Ristori was shaking uncontrollably.

Froude thought of saying something about Ristori’s abstract bloodthirstiness, but kept silent. He pushed his friend away from the window and took the blaster from him.

He took careful aim, touched the trigger.

The round spanged off the building just above the gunman, who dived for cover.

“At least I got him worried,” the scientist muttered.

• • •

Blaster fire chattered through the glass doors of the stadium, and the two Forcemen behind the tripod-mounted Squad Support Weapon spun away, lay moaning.

Felip Mand’l ran to the gun, squatted behind it. He’d been watching the gunners as they carefully fired single rounds at named targets.

“I think I’ve got it,” he muttered to himself, sighted at a line of people, and let half a belt of caseless ammunition go. Bodies pinwheeled, there were screams, and people were running in panic.

“I
like
this,” he said, and then there were two troupers beside him, both clowns in full makeup, with boxes of ammunition.

Lucky Felip found another knot of people trying to hide behind the midway’s shooting gallery, sprayed the area with the rest of the belt.

A clown slammed a new belt into the gun, its barrel smoking hot.

“Hold down your shooting,” he told Mand’l. “Don’t want to burn out a barrel.”

Lucky Felip grinned at him, nodded acknowledgment.

“The hell with pistols,” he shouted. “I
love
this!” and more blaster bolts arced into the crowd outside.

“Screw all you buggers! In the ear and in the ass!”

• • •

The two men pushed at the door again, then again. It refused to yield.

A very big man with a very big hammer pushed his way to them, ordered them to stand back.

His hammer smashed again and again, and the door went down.

Whooping rage and excitement, the Mobiles were inside the stadium.

• • •

Njangu heard the shouts, knew what they meant, and shouted orders to Forcemen around him to spread out, get down, and not get taken from the rear.

Garvin, in his upper-floor observation room, also heard.

“Come,” Alikhan said calmly. “There is work for us below.”

The two grabbed their weapons and clattered downstairs toward the stadium’s main arena.

• • •

A
ra’felan
tried to pull himself higher in the rigging as he saw gunmen spill into the arena. One man saw the movment, crouched, aimed.

Monique Lir, curled around the kingpost, blew him in half, grinned, found another man, killed him, and methodically continued her slaughter.

• • •

Sopi Midt scuttled from the circus’s pay tent across the arena floor, a large red box under his arm.

He saw the woman with a pistol.

“No!” he shouted. “I’ll share … don’t … you can’t …”

The woman, having no idea what Midt was screaming about, shot him in the chest, then again as he writhed in blood.

The box hit the floor, smashed open, and credits spilled out.

The woman dropped her pistol, scooped up money, and Lir killed her from above. Three others tried for the treasure, and Lir lobbed a grenade down.

After that, the circus’s cashbox was left completely alone, bills and coins spread across the arena floor amid sprawled bodies.

• • •

“Come on, Ticonderoga,” Emton coached. “Come on with the rest of us so we can find a place to hide, where we won’t get hurt.”

Ticonderoga, crouched under
Raf
Aterton’s podium, lashed his tail, looked in another direction, pretending not to hear.

The other five animals were already huddled in a large, wheeled carrier.

“Come on, you horrible animal,” Emton pleaded. He heard a noise, looked up, and saw two grinning Mobiles coming toward him, one with a club, the other with some sort of hook on a pole.

“Oh, go
away
you silly creatures,” he said, pulling one of the small pocket pistols the late Sopi Midt had procured from an inner pocket. He pointed the pistol at the men, squinched his eyes closed, pulled the trigger twice.

He heard a scream, and a thud. Emton opened his eyes, saw one man laying motionless, the other writhing, clutching his stomach.

Emton got up, went to the wounded man, put the pistol to the man’s head and, again with closed eyes, pulled the trigger.

By the time he got back to the podium, Ticonderoga was in the carrier, with the others.

• • •

Rudi Kweik’s horses were surging against the ropes keeping them in the big room used for a cage. One gelding slammed into the rope netting, and it tore away, and the horses ran for freedom.

Kweik and his wives, shouting, waving their arms, were almost trampled.

A gunman saw Kweik hobbling into the arena after his
vrai
, shot him.

Jil Mahim saw Kweik go down, dropped the gunman, then darted out, grabbed Kweik by the neck of his voluminous shirt, dragged him back into an entryway where Fleam crouched, weapon ready.

“If any of the bastards get close … tie a knot in their tails,” she said.

Fleam actually smiled. “They won’t even get close.”

She opened her aid pouch, tore Kweik’s shirt open, winced as she saw the hole in his chest, close to his heart.

Shaking her head, she felt his back, found an exit wound. It wasn’t a lung shot, she thought hopefully.

Kweik opened his eyes, smiled at her peacefully, then his body contorted, and he was dead.

Mahim pulled his shirt back in order, glanced at Kweik’s wives as they began wailing, put them out of her mind as she scuttled along the wall toward another casualty.

• • •

A dozen men froze as Alikhan came out of a passage, a devourer-weapon in one upper paw, a waspgrenade in his other. He shot two men, thumbed the wasp-grenade, and tossed it into the midst of the Mobiles.

They screamed as the grenade went off, and the pseudo-insects hummed out of the shattered box, stinging as they went.

Alikhan shot two more, and the others panicked, seeing the huge bullets strike, and then the maggotlike creatures inside spill out, expand, and begin eating.

None of them made it back down the passage to the stairs they’d come up.

• • •

Running Bear, sensibly clad in a coverall, ran at the head of fifteen troupers into the rear of the Mobiles.

He shot a woman with a bloodstained butcher knife, then realized he was shouting aloud.

To his eternal shame, it wasn’t one of his people’s half-remembered war cries, but the circus cry of “Hey, Rube.”

• • •

Maev ran into the bear handlers’ position, saw the two robots standing immobile, their handlers sprawled in death.

“Son of a bitch,” she said, pulled one body out of the way, put a helmet on as she got behind the controls.

“I think I almost remember this,” she muttered, and Li’l Doni came alive.

She steered him out of the position, toward a cluster of Mobiles bent over a couple of bodies.

One man turned, saw the shambling creature, and screamed. A woman shot the robot, saw her round impact, then Doni’s claws ripped her throat away.

The Mobiles ran in all directions.

A few made it to safety.

“Now, let’s go looking for somebody else to mess with,” Maev muttered and, out on the arena floor, Li’l Doni shambled about at her bidding.

• • •

“The question is going to be,” Sir Douglas said in a reasonable voice to Njangu, “whether we can put the pussies back where they belong, afterward.”

“Yeh,” Njangu agreed, keeping his blaster ready, again remembering Garvin’s story, long ago on a burning rooftop, about why he’d joined the military, after setting a circus’s cats on a crowd during a big clem.

“Well, nothing ventured,” Sir Douglas sighed, and began opening the doors of the lifter-mounted cages.

The animals hesitated, and Sir Douglas went to the rear of the cages, began firing his blank pistol into the air.

“Come on,” he said. “Help me.”

Njangu obeyed, clanging his blaster barrel along the bars.

The cats reluctantly surged out of their cages and went down the passageway toward the arena floor.

• • •

“I’d suggest,” Sir Douglas said, “you get in here for a few minutes, where it’s safe.”

Njangu thought that a very good idea.

The cats, angry, scared, came into the arena crouched, tails lashing.

Mobiles saw them, moaned in fear.

Possibly if they’d charged the cats, they might have frightened them back down the passage. Instead, people made one of two very fatal choices: they either stood frozen in fear or they ran, both perfectly familiar behavior of animals’ prey.

Roaring, bounding, the beasts pounced, killing, killing again, and bloodlust built.

A few of the Mobiles had the courage to shoot at the cats, but only one hit, searing a bolt down one lion’s side. A moment later, a smashing paw tore his head off.

The Mobiles were in full flight, back toward the side entrance they’d broken through.

“I guess,” Sir Douglas said reluctantly, “we’d best go and tuck our friends back where they belong.”

• • •

“I have one … three … five launches,” an electronics officer reported. “Maybe more. Patrol ships of some sort. Medium-size.”

Liskeard stood in the center of his bridge, considering his options.

There were none.