Redoubtable (26 page)

37

Cara
hoed the weeds.

That was her job. Hoe the weeds and be sure not to kill any of the yellow bugs. The yellow bugs, both as cute, furry caterpillar things and as butterflies with lovely multicolored wings, somehow made the drug plants grow.

Or maybe they turned the plants that stood in rows nearly as tall as she was into drugs. Cara was not sure exactly how it worked. She doubted any of the people standing by with ready whips understood things better than she did.

What Cara did know was that she was supposed to hoe down the weeds and never touch one of the plants, and never, ever squish a bug. If one of the whip-wielding overseers spotted her squishing a bug, she’d get a beating.

In even the short time Cara had been here, she’d seen lots of whippings. One of the new girls had died from her beating. The ones that had been here longer warned the new folks that you really didn’t want to screw up when Oli was around.

It would have been nice if they’d passed along that warning before that poor girl got whipped to death.

For now, Oli was working in the barn, processing the leaf into the powder that was exported. For a whip, that was a kind of punishment.

So Cara kept her head down, and hoed the weeds, and dodged the bugs.

Some of the older girls said you could eat the caterpillars. They didn’t taste like much, but they kept you alive.

Cara was hungry, but not that hungry.

At least not yet.

Cara kept her head down and her hoe moving carefully, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of what went on around her.

Behind her, at the end of the row she was slowly backing down, three of the whips had gathered.

That was strange.

In all the days Cara had worked here, the overseers usually roved the fields alone. The only time they talked was to occasionally yell at a worker. Most often, they didn’t say a word, they just cracked the whip.

But today, three were clumped together and talking.

Cara didn’t slow her work, but she listened.

“The boss lady is not happy,” one said.

“That’s not good. What kind of bee does she have up her ass?”

“Something’s wrong at the space station.”

“Something’s always wrong at the space station. Remember that fire they had in the comm center? We still got five guys in Hardy’s gang working off their thirty days for that one.”

“Well, they’re not talking again. Word is that Carita’s gonna fire up one of the shuttles and run it up there even if it doesn’t have a cargo to bring down.”

“Carita don’t never waste a penny.”

“Well, she’s getting ready to waste a bundle on a shuttle launch to find out what’s happening up there. And if Carita’s spending money, something’s wrong, and our boss gal ain’t liking it.”

They paused for a while. One of them cracked the whip on Betty, who had paused to lean on her hoe and listen to them. Betty cursed them but went back to her work.

There was a boom. No, a double boom.

“What’s that?” one of the overseers asked.

“Sounds like a sonic boom. I guess Carita has done launched a shuttle.”

“Sounded awful far off.”

It had sounded far off to Cara. And it was followed by two more booms, then a third pair.

“That’s a lot of booms for one shuttle,” a whip observed with more wisdom than he knew.

Cara smiled. She kept her head down and her hoe going, but she knew what would cause six booms in that kind of a pattern.

Uncle Bruce, Sergeant Bruce to his Marines, had shown Cara a video of the landing the Marines made on Texarkana. It was homemade video, not as clean as the stuff you saw on the news, but three assault boats in battle formation made just that pattern of booms on approach.

Uncle Bruce told Cara that Marines liked to drop from orbit well away from the target area, glide in close, then make the final jump.

They found me! Abby and Bruce and maybe even Jack and Kris are coming for me!

Cara wanted to throw down her hoe and tell those stupid men with the whips just what was headed their way.

Oh, she wanted to.

She kept her head down, did her best not to smile, and kept hoeing. The Marines would be here soon enough.

And the Marines would have guns. It was going to be so much fun watching those whips guys tell a Marine in full battle rattle what they should do.

Cara finished that row and managed to switch to another right under all three overseers’ noses without getting their attention.

She’d hoed another row and was working her way back toward them again when one of them shouted, “What’s that?”

Cara risked a glance at the three. One of them had his hand up, pointing. The other two were shading their eyes with one hand, staring up into the sunny sky.

Cara looked up herself; others of the girls were doing the same. The whips couldn’t crack them all.

Even though Cara knew what she was looking for, it still took her a while to spot one. Marine drop-chutes were designed to blend into the sky, whether it was a painful blue like today or gray and cloudy. Marine battle armor also changed color like a chameleon.

It wasn’t easy, but Cara did spot three, then four, then a whole lot of Marine jumpers.

And she’d had enough of being a scared little girl.

“Those are Royal U.S. Marines,” Cara cried. “Let’s see you use your whip on those bad dudes.”

Cara relished the look of shock on the three slave overseers’ faces.

Oops, those faces were now turned toward Cara. One of the overseers swung his whip at her.

Cara knew that a good slave was supposed to just take it. But Cara had had enough of being a good little slave. She raised her hoe up just right . . . and the tip of the whip ended up wound around it.

Then she yanked.

Slave boss hadn’t expected that from a slave. The whip came out of his hand and flew toward Cara.

That really got Cara noticed. All three of the overseers took off after her.

Cara hadn’t learned dumb on the streets of Five Corners. She was already racing down the row of drug plants. She refused to toss the hoe away. Now she had a whip, and a hoe.

She’d cut down plenty of weeds.

If she had the chance, she cut herself down an overseer.

Then again, three to one were very bad odds.

Behind her, she could hear her pursuers. They were shouting to each other as they cut across rows of plants, trampling them as they tried to get on both sides of Cara. She had a wild thought about who’d whip them if they smashed a bug, but she didn’t have the breath to laugh.

She dodged over one row, trampling plants herself, then another.

And ran smack into the most wonderful sight in the world.

“That you, Cara,” came in Uncle Bruce’s wonderful voice.

“Oh God, thank you,” she said, and discovered that running into full battle rattle at full speed could lead to a painful full stop.

“I figured you’d be the one they’d be chasing,” the sergeant said. “To everyone on command net, I have Cara. She looks much the worse for wear, but she’s talking and not bleeding.”

Cara couldn’t hear the answer to that but she could see the smile widen on his face.

Then the Marine sergeant stood tall and moved Cara around behind him. “What have we here?” he asked.

“They’re overseers,” Cara said. “They have whips.”

“So I see.”

Cara felt the change in her guardian’s stance as his rifle came up. “I suggest you fellows throw away your whips and get down on the ground.”

Cara heard a pistol shot and a thunk. Uncle Bruce swayed back for a second.

“I am under fire,” the sergeant reported in a voice deadly calm. “I have a slug sticking out of the armor of my shoulder.”

The next voice Cara heard came powerfully from the speaker on the sergeant’s helmet. “Weapons release. All Marines, we have taken fire. You have weapons release for deadly force.” Cara recognized the voice, Uncle Jack, or rather Captain Jack. She’d never heard his voice sound just like that.

She’d never heard anyone sound like the voice of God on Judgment Day.

Sergeant Bruce fired his weapon three times. Cara didn’t look to see what he did. She was crying.

“Okay, honey, things are going to be okay now,” he said, turning to her and lifting up his faceplate so she could see his eyes and his smile better. He safetied and slung his weapon; it still smelled hot and fired like it did when he and Abby went to the range. He put his arms around her.

“Cara, I still have a few things I have to take care of. Remember, today I’m a Marine.” That was a joke between him and Abby. What were they today? Marine and maid? Sergeant vs. second louie? Or just Steve and Abby.

“I know,” Cara said, trying to control herself. “Can I help?”

“I think maybe you can. What’s that big house over there?”

“That’s where the boss lady lives.”

“Are there any slaves inside?”

“Not during the day. She has business and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Let’s disturb her. Second squad, I have a fire mission for you. Rocket grenades, maximum high explosive. Target . . . the big house.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant,” came back from his net.

Sergeant Bruce pulled a rocket from his backpack and sighted it at the house. Cara saw the house reflected for a moment on the battle lenses over his eyes.

“Fire.”

Six rockets took off, leaving small smoke trails behind them. A few seconds later they hit. For about half a second more, the large, cream-colored house just stood there.

Then it came apart. Prefab sections flew in every direction. Fire and smoke went up, then curled back in upon itself.

“That ought to take care of that,” Sergeant Bruce said, grinning. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they store this poison? The drugs?”

“In those big buildings,” Cara said, pointing. “They process the plants and make it into a powder.”

“Those barns?” he asked.

“I think that’s what they call them. I forget.”

“Right,” Sergeant Bruce said with a chuckle. “You’re a city girl.”

“And I never want to be a country girl again.”

“Country ain’t bad when you aren’t a slave,” he said, half-distracted. “Second squad, I have more business for you. Our primary targets are in those two large barns to the right of the burning building. Select incendiary. A fire team, take the right one. B fire team, take the left one.”

The “Aye ayes” were very enthusiastic this time.

Again six rockets rose and fell. This time the walls stayed put . . . for a while. Smoke immediately began billowing from the eaves of the barns. Cara wondered if Oli would manage to get out.

Then she decided she didn’t care.

“Uncle Steve, is there anyplace I could get a drink of water. And something to eat?”

“We’ve set up a medical receiving station at the southern end of the farm, hon. Abby’s there waiting for you.”

Which was obsolete information. Auntie Abby was charging toward Cara even as the Marine misspoke. She was in full armor and pounding drug plants into the ground as she ran for Cara.

“I am so sorry, Aunt Abby,” Cara said, throwing herself on another armored shoulder. It hurt, but it felt wonderful.

“I don’t know whether to tan your hide, child, or hug you and wrap you in plastic.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do anything like that again.”

“No, you won’t, baby ducks. But if you’re my niece, you’ll likely come up with something new and worse. Come on. Doc Izzawa is waiting to get a good look at you.”

Beside them, Sergeant Bruce turned his speaker up to max. “All agricultural workers, you are free now. We have set up a medical station on the southern edge of the farm. We also have food and water for you. We ask you to gather there and help us identify anyone who has been swinging a whip before today. We want to make sure they get the reward they deserve,” he ended dryly.

From around the drug fields, people were standing up, straightening their backs, and groaning before heading south.

Here and there, the rows of plants swayed, but not to the wind.

“Marines, let’s collect the folks going north and bring them along,” the Marine sergeant ordered.

Around the field, men and women in battle armor stood tall and began beating the bushes. Shots were fired twice.

After Marines returned fire the second time, people started standing up with their hands above their heads.

Even the dumbest . . . or the guiltiest . . . could see it was better to risk the uncertain fate of surrender than the certain quick death that came to those who tried to stand against the troopers with the rifles.

38

Kris
was delighted when the word came that Cara was in safe hands. If only one thing went right today, she’d settle for it being Cara’s rescue.

Everything sure was going wrong on the station.

It hadn’t started that way. After four or five more hang-ups, the Carita character got the point that no one wanted to talk to her and quit calling.

Nelly and Chief Beni began extracting bales and bales of information from the station computer. They even succeeded in making data calls on several computers dirtside. That got harder around 1000 hours, when the folks down there changed their cipher for the day and didn’t tell the station.

Harder but not impossible. Nelly could still access the networks she’d already gotten into.

Admiral Krätz and his battle squadron docked right at noon. He asked to conduct the operation from Kris’s Tactical Center on the
Wasp
. She offered to do a sweep of his flagship and kill any bugs so he could stay in familiar surroundings, but he declined and announced he was headed for her work spaces.

Kris spent a moment contemplating what it must be like to not be able to trust your friends
or
your enemies.
May that fate never come my way,
she prayed.

Kris greeted the Greenfeld admiral on the
Wasp
’s quarterdeck. As she expected, it was hard to tell if the admiral was shadowing a certain lieutenant or if it was the other way around.

“I seem to remember that we agreed that this planet would be Greenfeld territory,” the admiral said as he crossed the brow onto the
Wasp
.

“It certainly is,” Kris agreed, saluting. “Do you want me to start paying docking fees?”

“No, no.” He almost chuckled. “I just didn’t want us to have a misunderstanding. I understand that is easy in alliance operations.”

“This is your planet. We’re just visiting,” Kris assured him.

He smiled and gave a nod to Commander Fervenspiel . . . who saluted and took it for a dismissal.

They had no sooner gotten to Kris’s command center than Chief Beni called with the first of the bad news.

“Somebody got a message off the station.”

“I thought you had us locked down,” Kris said.

“Nelly and I thought we were. But you know we’ve been making data calls on stuff dirtside.”

“Yes,” Kris admitted.

“Well, it looks like someone managed to piggyback a packet on one of our calls.”

“We should have caught it,” Nelly cut in, “but this is a bit of home-field advantage that neither the chief nor I took into account.”

“Don’t you hate it when the bad guys aren’t dumb,” Vicky put in.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Kris said.

By then, the admiral, Vicky, and their entourage of officers were filing into Kris’s Tac Center. Penny stood across the table from them, looking disturbed.

KRIS, YOU NEED TO SEE THIS, she said on Nelly’s command net.

Kris found herself watching as a column of pirates from last night’s boarding party, some still in need of clothes, were marched onto the main deck of the station by Greenfeld Marines.

On Commander Fervenspiel’s orders, the pirates were backed up against a wall. A moment later, a shouted order, and the Marines gunned them all down.

THAT’S THE SECOND GROUP, KRIS. ARE YOU GOING TO LET THEM DO THAT?

Kris struggled to get her stomach under control. She’d said this station was Greenfeld territory. She’d heard a lot about Greenfeld practices. It didn’t prepare her for this.

“Your Highness, you do not look well,” Admiral Krätz said.

“I don’t feel well,” Kris admitted, trying to figure out which to respond to, the admiral’s solicitousness or the lieutenant’s, daughter of a cop, outraged sense of justice.

What had the admiral said on the quarterdeck, the challenges of alliance operations?

She’d told Jack she’d control the elephants. Just now, she felt trampled by a herd of them.

PENNY, WHERE ARE THE THREE THAT COOPERATED WITH US LAST NIGHT?

I’VE GOT THEM LOCKED AWAY IN THE
WASP
’S BRIG. I THINK THEY ARE SAFE.

THEN THEY MAY BE THE ONLY ONES WE CAN PROTECT, PENNY.

I THOUGHT A LONGKNIFE WOULD DO BETTER THAN THIS, Penny spat inside Kris’s skull.

FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, I THOUGHT A LONGKNIFE COULD, BUT APPARENTLY I’M WRONG. Kris turned back to the admiral and struggled to find words that might stop the slaughter.

“Kris, there’s a call coming in from the planet,” Chief Beni announced. “It’s Ms. Carita van da Fitz for Admiral Krätz.”

“Oh God, is that woman here?” he asked to the overhead.

“I think she’s the big woman on planet,” Kris said. “She’s been trying to get someone up here to talk to her for most of the morning. I’ve managed to dodge her, but I suspect the call that got out of the station has brought her up to speed on matters.”

Vicky shot her own scowl at the overhead.

The admiral shook his head. “This is not going to be pleasant. It may also change our plans. Vicky, call Commander Fervenspiel and have him stop the rat-eradication program.”

“Yes, Admiral,” and Vicky was quickly on her commlink.

One of the staff officers who had accompanied the admiral plugged in a box with an old-fashioned phone on it. The admiral picked up the receiver, said little, then began listening.

Kris gave Penny a shrug. LET’S SEE WHAT COMES OUT OF VICKY’S CALL. LET ME KNOW IF THE SHOOTINGS STOP.

WHY DO I NOT FIND THIS AT ALL SATISFYING?

BECAUSE WE’RE GROWN-UPS, AND IT TAKES MORE THAN CHOCOLATE COOKIES TO MAKE US HAPPY.

Kris turned back to Vicky. “Who’s this Carita person?”

“Just one of the board of directors of the N.S. Holding Group. Think Nuu Enterprises doubled, and you’ll have the part it plays in the Greenfeld economy.”

“What’s someone like that doing out here?”

Vicky turned her back on the admiral and all the other officers in the room, her voice dropped to where only Kris could hear her. “I’m sure a Longknife has heard the story that my family made its money running booze, drugs, and other illegal activities back when Earth was the only game in town.”

“I had,” Kris admitted.

“And that we recouped our fortunes some ninety years ago by using the Unity thugs to help us distribute drugs to the old Society of Humanity before the Unity War.”

“That was never proven,” Kris pointed out.

“And don’t you ever say I said it was so, because I won’t. But some folks close to my dad may have heard the story and think it is a good way to recover the corporate losses they are suffering during this present economic crisis.”

“Oh,” Kris said. “So, what’s about to happen?”

“I have no idea,” Vicky said.

“Kris, this is Jack. We’ve got Cara,” Nelly passed along to Kris out loud.

“That’s great news,” Vicky said. The admiral, still talking to Ms. van da Fitz, gave Kris the thumbs-up.

“How’s it going on your end?” Kris asked.

“Everything is under control at the Seebrook Plantation. I dropped a platoon on the farm to the east and west of here. One of them has identified a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Kris asked. Once again today, her gut took a nosedive.

“We’re looking for merchant crew members. Pirates take merchant ships. The crews have to end up somewhere.”

“That sounds logical,” Kris said.

“I’ve been talking to the freed slaves here. All are either hijacked sailors from the Greenfeld fleet or civilian refugees from St. Pete. Mostly the last. No one here knows of any sailors.”

“That doesn’t help our case.”

“At the next farm over, Pleasant View, Lieutenant Stubben found several people who said they had six or seven slaves who claimed to be merchant sailors, taken by pirates.”

The admiral continued to listen to the voice on the other end of the phone and make placating sounds at regular intervals. But now he was very attentive to Kris and Jack’s conversation.

“Has Stubben found the sailors?” Kris didn’t really want to ask the question. Whenever Jack led her slowly to a point, she usually didn’t like what she saw when she got there.

Still, Jack led. She followed.

“We think we found five of them, Kris. I’m putting them on your view screen.”

Suddenly the wall in front of Kris was a life-size scene. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at.

Then she had to cover her mouth.

“Dear God in heaven,” Penny whispered, and ran from the room.

There were similar mutterings from the Greenfeld staff officers. Two lost their lunches before they could make it out of the Tac Center.

“Apparently, someone shot five of the merchant sailors in the back of the head, execution style. They tried to burn their bodies, but our Marines put out the fire before it got too far. I’m not sure whether we can make ID on the corpses. I’ve ordered the forensic team down from our MP detachment. I’d like Penny to supervise the crime scene.”

“I’ll tell Penny you want her and see that she’s on the longboat with the MP team.”

“Where’s Penny?” Jack asked.

“She had to step outside for a moment.”

“Yeah, I’d like to step outside just now. Do you need anything more from me?”

“Try to find the two missing sailors. Send any spare Marines you can afford to the farms around the ones you’ve taken. Maybe you can save any sailors there before they get the same treatment. I’ll have the Marine companies from the
Dauntless
and
Blood
dropped to you as soon as I can.”

“Don’t you need them to control the station?”

“Admiral Krätz is here, and he’s taken over responsibility for matters hereabouts.”

“Will he be sending troops down here?”

“I should know in a few minutes. I’ll tell you then. Longknife out.” NELLY, TELL CAMPBELL AND KITANO THAT I WANT THEIR MARINES HEADED DIRTSIDE AS SOON AS THE ORBIT ALLOWS.

YES, KRIS.

Kris now focused her attention on Admiral Krätz. She didn’t say anything, just watched him as he watched her, holding the phone away from his ear. The high-pitched words from it seemed to dribble out of the handset and collect in a puddle on the deck.

“Ms. van da Fitz, I’ll get back to you in a moment,” he said, and hung up.

They stared at each other, Kris and the admiral. Neither blinked.

“It seems we have a bloody mess on our hands,” he finally said.

“With ‘bloody’ the operative word,” Kris said, risking a glance at the bodies on the screen beside her.

“Could you please reduce that down to a size more suffer-able,” the admiral said.

“Nelly.”

“If you say so, Kris,” Nelly said.

The screen stayed full size.

“I’m saying so, Nelly. We can’t be running out to the head to vomit every time we look at that.”

The picture shrank to something the size you might find in a history book. It also changed to black and white. THANK YOU, NELLY.

I SWEAR, KRIS, IF THESE SAILORS’ DEATHS GET SWEPT UNDER THE RUG, I’LL PUT IT BACK UP FULL SIZE AND IN BLEEDING, BLISTERED COLOR.

I HEAR YOU, NELLY. NOW LET ME WORK.

“So, Admiral, what do we do with this mess? And I hope you’ll excuse me if I push for something to be decided quickly. I fear if we blather for too long, others will make the decisions for us.”

“Vicky, will you please explain to Her Highness here that N.S. Holding Group is not someone you want to get on the wrong side of.”

“I already did, sir. I don’t think mere money and political power impress the lieutenant commander all that much.”

“How commendable,” the admiral said with a sigh. “However, us simple working folks are expected to bow and scrape and work for the likes of Ms. da Fitz,” he said.

“Even to the point of covering up murder?” Vicky asked.

“I truly hate working with idealistic young people,” the admiral grumbled. “People, I want this room. Commander, could you please have a sailor show my staff to your wardroom for a cup of coffee. I’ll call you back when I need you.”

Nelly quickly made the arrangements. Penny was just returning to the room as the last of them filed out. Colonel Cortez was at her elbow this time.

The colonel eyed the procession leaving and turned to Kris. “Should Penny and I follow their lead?”

“Please don’t,” Vicky said.

Her admiral raised an eyebrow, but Vicky stood her ground. “What’s the use of having advisors if you send them away when you need advice? I wish I had not let you talk me out of bringing Doc Maggie along from the
Fury
. I do not think I will back down next time.”

The admiral rolled his eyes at the overhead. “Is the girl learning or just still too headstrong and stubborn?

“Probably both,” Kris said. “Now, there are a lot of slaves down there. Do we free them or not? Oh, and there may be some distressed mariners. Do we rescue them or let them be slaughtered?”

“If only the question were that easy,” the admiral said.

“Tell me why it’s not,” Vicky said.

“You know why, young woman. N.S. Holdings is a major presence in the court. I fully expect that old biddy down there will be on your father, the emperor’s, first list of ennoblements. She’ll be a grand duchess, same as you.”

Vicky made an ugly face at that prospect.

“But our problem today is that she says this planet is already established and registered to N.S. Holdings. They are the law here, not us.”

“Since when does the Greenfeld flag fly over slaves,” Vicky shot back.

“Slavery is against the law, and officially, there are no slaves on Port Royal. Oh, she says that’s the planet and city’s name. In honor of your father.”

“Gee thanks,” Vicky said, dryly. “And the slaves?”

“What slaves? All these people are paid regular wages.”

“Nelly, can you verify that?” Kris asked.

“Yes, Kris, I have access to the payroll records of the entire planet,” Nelly said proudly. “And I got that access even as they were being loaded at 11:20 this morning.”

“Loaded,” the admiral said.

“At 11:20 this morning. Before that, nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Vicky, Kris,” the admiral said, shaking his head. “I believe your fine computer, Miss Nelly, but in a court of law on Greenfeld, I don’t see that standing for very much.”