MARY NEEDED THINGS: a good target mock-up, someone to play Vicky’s goons, and better information on the guards’ routine. Mary needed lots of things; she wasn’t going to get them. She tried to be philosophical, but she’d survived enough firelights to know unmet needs like these caused casualties. With luck, they wouldn’t be anyone she knew.
The old feeling was back, the cold in the pit of the gut, the tightness around lips and eyes. It was time to soldier. Time for people to die or live, and she would be the angel of death deciding which. Damn! I don’t want to do this again! I earned my right to be an overpaid security guard. The only killing I want to make is mining this planet!
If the Colonel said right, they already had made one killing, an artificial intelligence Ray called the Gardener. Well, he hadn’t known, and she sure as hell had no idea she was mining the guts out of something when she tapped that mountain. Accidents happen. And shit happens. And a combat drop was about to happen and Mary was going to do her level best to see that it happened the way she wanted it.
Mary had tapped a young woman blimp driver for the mission; she liked Rhynia’s flair. When told Mary needed a blimp to swoop down out of the sky with marines dangling from it on ropes, Rhynia’s reply was a dimpled smile and a “Why the hell not?”
Mary planned several full rehearsals to give both marines and blimp a chance to work together. The morning started with Jeff walking them through a mock-up of the archives in the field behind the shuttle hangar. Red tape showed the main floor plan, blue tape the basement. Jeff pointed out each workstation’s location and the back entrance for the security team.
“Du, your squad heads downstairs first thing and ties down the guards,” Mary said. “All else, we use sleepy bullets. If Jeff’s big sis wanders into our snatch, we don’t want to accidently pop her. Put anyone to sleep who has a gun, knife, or looks to cause trouble.” Jeff started to say something, but Du gave him a wink and said he’d explain later. Mary walked the marines through their part in the snatch. Each had something to do every second, going someplace, looking someplace, guarding someplace, or grabbing something—not a free moment.
Jeff’s mouth hung open. “Sis likes everyone busy, but nothing like this.”
“Sis never worked with live ammunition and dudes who know how to use it,” Dumont laughed.
“Keep it serious,” Mary growled. “An airgun can pop you just as dead as an M-6,” she reminded them. Twice Mary walked them through, talking up each move, each alternative, each possible threat. Then she had them run through it. Then she waved her wrist unit and timed them. Three minutes from entrance to exit. “We can do better than that,” she told them.
They did. Two minutes, forty-five seconds. “Not bad,” Mary admitted grudgingly as a yeoman trotted up and saluted.
“Colonel’s compliments and regrets, but you might want to look at the latest feed from the sky eye over the target area.” Ray better send his regrets for interrupting her day, but a surprise at the target could make the day very regrettable.
Mary tapped her commlink. “Colonel, you got something?”
“Yes, Captain. They’ve upped the guards at the archives and doubled the guards all around.”
“Doubt it. Lek’s been hacking and cracking their net. Seems some of Brother Jonah’s faithful think Vicky belongs in hell and are ready to send her there personally.”
“Oh, shit. Just what I need, amateurs pissing in my soup.” Mary turned to Dumont, filled him in quickly.
“Guess we didn’t pop enough church folks yesterday,” Dumont drawled. Then he frowned. “Colonel, you sure none of those folks ain’t after us here, at base? After all, we were the ones messing all over their turf yesterday.”
“Yes,” Ray said. “There are a few folks that think we need a quick trip to a warm place. They’re just getting organized. The move on Vicky has been in the works for a while.”
“And she would have to find out about it just when we need to slip in quietly,” Mary scowled. “If it weren’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any.”
“I have full confidence in you,” Ray answered. “I’ve seen the quality of your work.”
Mary winced. “We aim to please,” Dumont answered. Mary aimed a swing at his head, but he ducked.
Mary took two deep breaths, trying to work off the sudden pressure around her chest. No plan survives contact with the enemy. Hell, she couldn’t get a plan to survive the morning. “It would be so much easier,” Mary groaned, “to just pop ’em all and take what we want. Taking ’em down, quiet-like, is a bitch!”
Du nodded. “Taking ’em down and keeping us up, I will remind you, ma’am. I ain’t thirsty for a lot of killing, but if it’s ten of those jokers or one of mine, I look out for mine.”
For the thousandth time, Mary wondered why she’d accepted those gold bars and a management position. As captain of Security she couldn’t just ask the Colonel what to do. He relied on her to do her job. “Tico, drill the crew on the building takedown until chow time.” A sergeant was on her feet, snapping a salute and getting the crew back in practice mode. “Dumont, you and Jeff with me. Let’s see what those pictures show. Rhynia, you’re with me, too. How far can I push you and your blimp?”
“Ma’am,” the pilot grinned, “the wind pushes us blimp drivers around all the time. Nobody else does.”
Victoria Sterling smiled. The space fools were so stupid. They came in here so smug, acting like they knew everything, but they knew nothing! Nothing at all about how things work on Santa Maria. Victoria looked again at the public land records she’d researched. Very important pages were blank. Yes, she had that idiot Longknife with his swaggering canes. She owned him now.
Ray frowned as he cycled his workstation through the high priorities he had to keep a thumb on. The search for the “vanishing box” continued, success diminishing with each passing minute. Mary’s snatch and grab grew more complicated as the watch on her target identified more security going up around the Sterling compound. Lek and Harry were going over the rock samples recovered yesterday from up North, using everything handy and spending most of their time shaking their heads. Doc was pulling his hair out. His biopsies of tumors from Refuge cadavers showed larger ones in the rioters. He didn’t dare cut into a live one, as much as he wanted to.
A page flashed for attention. Kat’s dive through the Santa Marians database had found something. Miscarriages were double the human normal. Double! Most in the first trimester. As an expectant father, Ray had taken a very personal interest in human reproduction. Early miscarriages usually meant bad genes, nonviable blastocysts.
He started to make a note to Kat, track this over the past three hundred years. His board refreshed itself; Kat already had. The curve she passed along got a low whistle. There almost hadn’t been a first generation born here. Four miscarriages per live birth. Gardener, you almost wiped us out.
Ray went on. Chief Barber was handing out ID cards as fast as he could press them; people were lining up to get them for their entire family, and hardly noticing the card included an electrocardiac signature as well as a copper balance.
By the time Ray finished one review, it was time for another. Again he frowned at the search for the “vanishing box.” Still no miracle.
Annie trembled; with an effort, she turned from the patch of wall she’d been staring at. The sun was up, casting bars of light on the floor, chairs, tables. She’d heard Jeff slip out at dawn, called “Luck” softly, and prayed he’d come back. He must not have heard, or maybe he was tired of seeing her so limp, like a worn-out dishrag. She would wait for him.
Da stirred; Ma took his hand, caressed its palm with gentle circles. Da looked at Ma, actually saw her. The two smiled, and Ma helped Da to his feet. Annie listened to the stairs creak as Ma led Da to bed. Annie so wanted a man like Da to care for.
The door opened; Annie realized she would have to care for any customers this morning. She tensed, torn between making herself small and unnoticed, and doing what she should do. Annie need not have bothered; it was only Nikki. Face tear-stained and dress dirty, little sister headed for the kitchen. Annie could hear her rummaging quietly in the cupboards, hunting for her own breakfast. But Nikki took longer than any self-respecting Mulroney should to make a single breakfast. Far too long.
Annie worked herself up to her feet and softly padded to the kitchen door. Nikki was filling a large sack with food. “What are you doing?”
Nikki jumped. “Getting food,” she evaded.
“I can see that. Why?”
“I’m going on the road. I have to find Daga.” The words flew out of Nikki, as if to stop even one would tear the tongue from her mouth. “I can stop her, make her listen to reason. If the star people find her, they’ll shoot her. You heard Jeff. I can’t let them kill Daga. She’s my friend.” The words ended in a flood of tears.
“Nikki, you can’t go out there. It’s not safe.” Annie searched for words. “The roads have changed. They’re full of people like…” Annie had no words for what Nikki would face.
“I have to,” Nikki insisted, reaching for her sack. “She’s my friend. I don’t want her to hurt anyone—or get hurt.”
Annie stood there, hunting for a way to keep her sister safe and help Daga. There was only one way, Dumont’s way. “Wait a moment, Nikki. Don’t go until I get back.”
Nikki halted, sack over her shoulder, hand on the kitchen door. Annie quickly crossed the Public Room floor to find her wallet with Dumont’s pistol. He’d given it to Da, but Da had stared at it like a puzzle he could not solve. Annie had taken it, hidden it in the folds of her dress. It had stayed there until Dumont returned. Dumont came back when the screaming was done, his face as blank as a newborn’s, hard as kilned ceramic.
He holstered his rifle and drove off without a backward glance. Annie had not wasted one either, but had watched where they were going, watched for more trouble. Halfway home, Dumont seemed to come back from where he’d gone. Looking around, he’d taken in Da, then glanced back at her. “You took the automatic.”
“Yes,” she’d gotten out.
“Keep it. The captain will rip me a new one, but you’re gonna need it more than me. Take good care of it.”
“I will,” Annie said, the last words she’d said until they got home. Annie slipped the pistol into the leather wallet on her belt; it was heavy and comfortable there. Back in the kitchen, she found Nikki waiting. “Let me leave Ma a note,” she told Nikki. “I’m going with you.” Nikki opened her mouth as if to argue, then smiled like she had when she was a little girl and Annie had invited her out to play with the big girls. Annie wrote quickly, then remembered and added a line at the bottom:
Ma, tell Jeff where I’ve gone and that I love him.
Strange words to write, now, as she went out the door. Strange now to realize they were true. “Let’s go, Nikki.”
Jeff’s dropstation was at Mary’s elbow. He sat next to her, a blimp exit, dark and yawning, across from them. Night cloaked black uniforms and face paint. With his goggles, he could see the marines around him. Heavily laden, most napped, or appeared to. Mary stared out the door, mouth working as if going over every detail of the plan she had, probably looking for what she called Plans B, C, and D. Jeff figured she was up to Z in a few areas. Anybody going crosswise against Vicky better have lots of alternatives in her hip pocket.
Dumont was across from Jeff. Du’s squad of sharpshooters would be the first out, assuming something didn’t change in the next—Jeff glanced at his wrist unit—five minutes. His eyes rested on the combination watch, radio, navigation device, and computer workstation. It was amazing what humanity had done while Santa Maria was just struggling to stay alive.
The sound of the wind against the blimp gondola changed; napping heads came up. Dumont’s face took on a feral grin; the man was so hard to figure. In the mule he’d wanted to get rid of his gun. Yet, when Annie’s life and worse was on the line, he’d killed with no regrets. Today he’d chided Mary to remember they were peacekeepers. This afternoon Dumont had shown Jeff how to use every aspect of his rifle, from sleepy bullets to live ammunition to bayonet, and Jeff, who missed half the instructions the first time, paid full attention. Amazing what becomes important after you’ve been shot at.
And shot back.
Jeff could still see the faces on the people he’d killed yesterday. But today he remembered them without his stomach going green and his chest getting tight. They’d made their choices; they didn’t have to be on the rocky knoll trying to kill Dumont and the others. All the starfolks wanted were some rocks. It was the Covenanters who had turned it terminal, as Dumont put it. Now, Jeff could accept that logic. He’d changed, was changing, and he knew he would change more. But change or no change, he really looked forward to Vicky’s reaction when she found out she’d lost the archives.
“First squad, stand to,” Mary ordered. For this mission, every wrist unit had sprouted an earplug and a throat mike. Nobody had a hand to waste. “Prepare to dismount. Second squad and the blimp will wait for my orders.”
There was a soft growl from the troops; Jeff stood. Even with rifle, two types of ammunition, a dozen grenades in three different flavors, and four rockets to deliver said grenades, he felt light, excited. He was ready.
The blimp touched down on a rise a mile out from Fairview compound. Mary waved Jeff and Dumont out first. They squatted in the grass, goggles on high zoom, checking for any surprises as the rest of the squad double-timed past them to flop down in a circle, rifles aimed out. Mary joined them; behind her the blimp rose on the gentle breeze, backing slightly.
“All clear,” Dumont said.
“Scouts out,” Mary ordered.
Two marines trotted into the woods ahead. When Jeff flipped his goggles off, the men vanished. Moonless, the night would get even blacker when the predicted clouds moved in from the coast. Rain would come with morning, but Jeff would be long gone by then, or in the deepest pile of shit Vicky could find.
“Dumont, move out your squad,” Mary ordered, and Du waved his team forward. Mary, Du, and Jeff fell in the middle of the widely disbursed team. There was no talking. Everyone knew their job; now it was just a matter of doing it. Twenty minutes later, they reached the end of Jason Woods. Halfway across the three hundred yards to the compound fence, two dark figures moved at a crouch. With a single hand wave from Dumont, the rest of the marines joined the scouts crossing the open space.
Except for lights in two basement windows, the archives were dark. Fairview itself was lit like a Lander’s Day cake. Just looking at it made Jeff’s goggles blur. Guards circled the big house like ants at a picnic. “See any surprises?” Mary asked; Jeff shook his head. She bent at the waist and followed her team. Jeff did the same, feeling naked and vulnerable.
“Freeze” came over the net. Jeff froze. Around him, images in his goggles locked in place, half steps unfinished.
“What we got?” Mary whispered.
“Scout One here. Guard and dog making a round of our side of the fence.”
“Hold this freeze,” Mary affirmed the order.
At the compound fence, backlit against the main house, a man, air rifle slung over his shoulder, walked a large dog. Even though Mary had never seen a dog, except in a zoo, she’d quickly called up instructions on how to handle them when Vicky added four to her security blanket. “We approach from downwind,” Mary said, and adjusted the blimp approach from east to south.
Now they’d see if the manual was right.
Halfway along their side of the fence, the dog halted, whining softly. “What is it, girl?” the guard asked, pulling gently on the dog’s leash. The dog stared out, head weaving but settling on no particular line. She continued to whine.
“Come on, girl,” the guard pulled on her leash gently, then yanked. “Come on. I’m not staying out here all night.”
The dog obeyed. Jeff started breathing again. Mary didn’t give the “Let’s move it” order until the guard started down the next side of the fence.
“We got ten minutes before those two are back,” Mary informed the team. “Make ’em count.”
In less than five minutes, the team was spaced evenly along the fence. One of the trailing marines came up and pulled several devices from a satchel. First he checked the ceramic bars of the fence for an electrical charge. Vicky had several strings of thin glass piping along the top of the fence, charged with salt water. Anyone climbing over it was sure to break one. Vicky didn’t expect anyone to go through a kilned ceramic bar.
The marine’s hand laser made short work of six bars. Mary moved shooters through the hole, sending each for a specific target. It was two minutes to takedown when Jeff passed through the fence. The engineer followed Jeff in, then taped the bars back in place. They didn’t expect to come out that way, but there was no use advertising they were in.
Sharpshooters spread across the archives grounds, intent on getting close to their targets. Four guards walked back and forth on the archives roof, new additions since midday. Mary had assigned a shooter to each one, a fifth to the guard and dog. Two more marines edged as close as they could to the basement windows where the duty watch and off-duty guards lounged. If things worked right, they’d be captured awake—sleepy darts did not do windows. However, if things got too exciting too fast, well, Mary had her plan B.
“Take them down on my count of three,” Mary ordered softly. “One…two…three.”
Soft pops hardly disturbed the night as sleepy darts hit the four guards on the roof and the walking guard. The dog snapped around when her master went down. She hardly whimpered as a sleepy dart took her a second later.
Mary listened to the silence for a moment. “No alarms,” she judged. “Dumont, take the basement. The rest of you, take the roof. Blimp, you’re on immediate standby.”
“Starting my approach. You have sixty seconds to order me into a go-’round,” the blimp pilot said evenly.
Everywhere Jeff looked, marines were running. The engineer was first at the back door. One wave of his laser and the door slid open just as Dumont and five marines raced through, diving for the basement. The shooters who had taken out the roof and guard dog had farther to run. They went through the door behind Dumont’s team and headed up. Mary joined Jeff in the vestibule. In front of him, the small lights on the workstations winked in reds and greens. The disk archives lined the wall to his right. Nothing appeared to have changed since his last visit.
“Basement secure,” Dumont announced.
“Roof secure,” another voice answered.
“Building secure. Rhynia, bring in the blimp. Second squad, your clock starts the second that gas bag is down.”
“Is that any way to talk about your driver?” Rhynia chided Mary. “Touchdown in five seconds.”
Jeff checked the archives making sure Harry’s data was there. They appeared to be. He pulled one, read the cover. MARK STERLING, WESTERN SURVEY, 292. Having no more trust than anyone else in his family, he pulled the disk. It said the same. Jeff grinned as marines grabbed disks and stuffed them in bags slung over their shoulders. Great. Jeff turned as another marine took cutters to the cables securing the workstations to their stone tables, starting with the one closest to Jeff.
“Don’t cut that one!” he shouted. Too late, the cutters did their work. All the green lights on the workstation went dead.
“Problem, mister?” Mary asked curtly.
“That station just went active. Someone was accessing it. The stations in the house slave to these.”
“And one did,” Mary sighed. “Knew it was going too good.”
The network boxes on the other stations went green. A phone beeped downstairs. “Boss, Dumont here. Do I answer?”
“No,” she snapped. “Cut those other stations loose,” she ordered. “Folks, we got company coming, let’s get ready. Dumont, any spare rifles you got, I want them on the roof. Okay, everybody, move it. I want us out of here five minutes ago.”
Jeff followed Mary up the stairs. On the roof, marines were posted at each corner, eyes roving to cover their quarter, even the ones facing away from the big house. At the house, every light was on. People streamed out, buttoning coats or otherwise getting dressed. Too many for Jeff’s liking had airguns at the ready. On the porch, Vicky screamed at the top of her lungs for security to earn its pay, to do something.
Several large spotlights, formerly at the blimp field to assist in late-evening landings, had been moved to Fairview’s roof. They snapped on, played over the grounds for a second, then locked on the archives and the blimp looming behind it.
“Dumont, turn out those lights,” Mary ordered.
“Heave, live ammunition.”
“Going live,” a woman’s voice answered. “Good night, Mr. Light,” she whispered as three pops sounded. One light shattered. Three more pops and the second went dark. The others clicked off without further encouragement. Relative dark returned. It didn’t hide the crowd gathering on the lawn of the big house. Servants, guests, guards, both armed and not—anyone close and willing had been pressed into what Jeff knew could only be a slaughter. Dumont had already warned Jeff that sleepy darts had a range of only twenty to fifty meters. Put enough energy into a dart and it didn’t matter what you tipped it with, it shattered bone, arteries, skulls.
“I can take down the screamer, Captain,” Heave announced.
“No,” Jeff and Mary said at the same time. Jeff swallowed. He couldn’t kill Vicky. He hated her, but killing her…she was his sister. “Please, Mary, don’t shoot Vicky.”
“Probably wouldn’t settle the crowd, anyway,” Dumont judged.
“Grenadiers, load blue rounds,” Mary ordered in answer.
Jeff followed Dumont’s motions as he pulled one of the rockets from his backpack and attached it to the top of his rifle. Then he pulled a grenade from his belt, checked to make sure it had a broad blue band around its middle, and loaded it on his rocket. Done, Dumont went over Jeff’s load. “Got it right the first time, kid,” was Jeff’s reward.
“Lay down a slick halfway between the house and the gate,” Mary ordered. The archive had a low decorative fence about four feet high midway between it and the mansion. As Mary worked with her wrist unit, Jeff’s goggles lit up with six target crosses in a wide blue swath, showing her fire plan. One blinked; Jeff had his targeting orders. With the others, he lifted his rifle, aimed at his assigned location, and fired. A dot of light leaped from his rifle, quickly suppressed by his goggles. Loud pops came from where the grenades were aimed, and a blue wash seemed to spread out from Jeff’s target. What had he just done?
The crowd had stepped back as the rockets came in. When all fell short, they seemed to take courage. Vicky, of course, was yelling all the time for them to get a move on. Get over there and stop those thieves stealing her property.
“Grenadiers, load yellow rounds. Set them for a B—repeat, Bravo—pattern.” Mary ordered in a voice so steady and calm Jeff wondered if she was here, watching several hundred people work themselves into a killing rage. Jeff followed Dumont’s lead again. This time it included twisting the cap of the grenade around until a pointer settled on a B, logically located between A and C on the side of the round. Ready, he waited. Mary marked the same target for him. “All hands, we are about to go to flash bangs using a B pattern. Adjust goggles to B pattern.”
Dumont was feeling around the right edge of his goggles. Jeff did, too, and found a small wheel half submerged in the rim. He moved it slowly. A small sign in the upper right-hand corner of his goggles that he had previously ignored changed to an A, then a B. His goggles started flickering between viewing the scene and blanking it out. “Got a B,” Dumont said, pointing a finger at the place on Jeff’s goggles where he now had a B.
“Yes. What’s going on?”
“Just watch,” Dumont grinned, white teeth gleaming in the borrowed light from the big house. “This ought to be funny.”
“Here they come,” Mary said. “Stand by.” The crowd surged forward. A howl started growing louder and going up the scale. “Stand by,” Mary repeated calmly. The first runners were approaching the blue wash on Jeff’s goggles. They slipped, fell, shrieked in surprise. “Now!” Mary said.
Jeff and five others sent grenades arching out. They hit just ahead of the people who were down. Six booms reverberated over the howls and screams, then changed into some kind of popping racket. Now Jeff knew what was happening with his glasses. Rhythmically, they blanked, protecting him from blinding flashes that were disorienting the mob. Not that the people out there needed much help. More ran or were pushed into the blue stretch of yard to stumble, tumble, or pratfall all over each other. On hands and knees, people tried to get back out, only to fall on their faces. Over their groans, screams, shouts, and a few laughs, Vicky shrieked orders to get up, get moving. It only got worse for those who tried.
“We got leakers around the edges,” Mary noted, and Jeff peeled his eyes away from the centerpiece to note a couple dozen people on the mob’s flanks edging around the blue slick, looking for a way through. “Grenadiers, load blue, fire at my marks.”
Jeff quickly went through the drill and lobbed a slick grenade off to the right, completing a box between the first line and the edge of the main building. More people went down.
“Archives and gear are out of the building,” came over the net. “We’re headed back to the blimp, Captain.”
“Very good. Dumont, withdraw your squad.”
“Basement detail, withdraw. Roof sharpshooters, withdraw.”
The light and noise show came to a slow end. The mass of people on the lawn continued to try to grope, crawl, and bellyswim out of the slippery stuff. Mary grinned beside Jeff. “Came off easier than I’d expected. Let’s go crew.”
Jeff led them down the stairs. On the first-floor landing, he could see the last of the gear being loaded aboard the blimp and the troops hustling quickly for it as well. Mary and Dumont joined him.
“Don’t move” came in a familiar voice. From a small room off the main vestibule—a rest room—stepped Millard, impeccably dressed in black tails, an air pistol firmly in his hand. In the dim light coming through the window and the doorway, he aimed at Jeff’s heart.
“Who’s this gentleman?” Mary asked, coming to a very fast and complete halt.
“Millard, the downstairs butler,” Jeff answered. “He can trim rosebushes with that pistol at fifty paces,” he quickly added the essential information.
“Good shot,” Mary nodded.
“He also teaches unarmed combat to the staff.”
“I’m liking him better by the second,” Dumont wisecracked. “Any chance you’d like to join the corps? We’re always looking for a few good men.”
Jeff rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “He can’t be bought.”
“I and mine have served the Sterlings for six generations. Now”—he waved the gun toward the door—“if you will, order Miss Sterling’s property returned.”
“Where’d you come from?” Jeff asked, knowing it was a stupid question but needing time to adjust to what was happening way too fast for his brain to track.
“I was in the men’s room when your vandals clomped through. You failed to check the rest room on this level.” Millard’s tone was the one he reserved for the maid who missed a large dust ball, a servant with a spotted salad fork.
“I’ll mention that in my postmission critique,” Mary answered dryly.
Jeff took a step forward. “Millard, these people really need that stuff. We’ll all be better off if they take it.”
“Young Jeffrey, you have again joined the losing side. Your sister will own these people before noon tomorrow.”
“Millard, the old ways aren’t going to work this time,” Jeff said, edging another step forward.
“Do not assume I will not shoot you.” Millard lowered his aim—slightly. “I can render your kneecaps worthless.”
Jeff took a step back; the pistol’s aim rose again. Glass shattered. A single round smashed into Millard’s temple, snapping his head sideways, scattering blood and bone. As the butler fell, his gun popped as fast as a clamped finger could shoot it. Pellets stitched a line past Jeff’s ear.
A moment later, Heave grinned through the window. “Know you didn’t want any dead civvies, Captain, but I figured you’d make an exception for that one. Sleepy bullets don’t do windows.”
“Right.” Mary nudged Jeff, moving him away from the butler’s sprawled body. To Jeff, Millard had been invincible. No one beat him in the exercise yard. No one bested him on the pistol range. It hadn’t been a fair fight. Now he understood Dumont’s offhanded remarks. “Only fools fight fair when there’s a gun out.” Swallowing hard, Jeff double-timed for the blimp.
He was learning what it meant to travel with these people. Hard lessons. He settled into his seat as the blimp lifted, riding the wind backward into a turn away from the lights of the big house. A few air rifles popped off; Jeff didn’t even flinch.
They’d gotten what they came for, and Vicky had gotten a well-deserved lesson. Unless…Millard’s words came back. How could Vicky own these people by noon tomorrow? “Mary,” Jeff called, “we better tell the Colonel what Millard said.”
“Already did.”
Ray followed the action on net. He didn’t relax until Mary’s team was back in the air. Vicky’s new claim was a puzzle.
“Colonel, you want to listen in on Miss V’s call to Ms. San Paulo?” Lek came on net to ask.
“Patch us in,” Ray said. “Add Chief Barber.”
“Hen, do you know what those people just did to me? Do you know?” Vicky was screaming even as the visual came up.
“No, Vicky, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.” The Chair of the Great Circle blinked drowsily. “Vicky, it’s one in the morning. I was finally getting to sleep a night through.”
Vicky was already in full flight. “They robbed me. They stole my property. Made off with it in one of those blimps you’re letting them have for free. Free, woman!”
“What is it you’re missing? And are you sure it was them?”
“Who else could it be? Who would have the gall to break into Fairview and make off with my central workstations and every archives disk I own? I ask you, who?”
Hen raised an eyebrow. “People have been pretty strange lately. A few might not be happy with you. Including a blimp crew or two with family in the towns your out-of-work employees rampaged through.”
“Bosh”—Vicky waved her hand as if to swat a fly—“no one would dare. No one has ever dared touch a Sterling’s property. They not only stole the family archives but killed my chief butler, Millard. I tell you, no one on Santa Maria would harm him. No one could. It had to be the star people.”
“You’ll need a bit more evidence than that in court.”
“Not in one of mine. They committed their crimes on my land. They face one of my judges. Speaking of which, have you checked the land those stupid starfolk rented for their base?”
“No.” San Paulo’s brows were down now. The Sterling woman had her full attention.
“Those copper-grabbing dirt farmers and their free land platform. Hen, you really should put more tax collectors out in the hinterland. Not one plot in the Hazel Dell township was properly registered and paid for. Not before this afternoon. I bought them all. The star people’s base is on my property, and they can get their fat asses off it.”
Henrietta took a deep breath at that one. “Victoria, we’ve been around and around the circles on that one. The farmers refuse to pay for land that no one is using.”
“Yes,” Vicky cut in, “but they want us to expand the canals so they can get their goods to market cheap. That’s not cheap.”
“Neither are the tariffs your towboat companies charge.”
“If they don’t want to pay, they can always haul produce in their little wagons,” Vicky snapped.
“You’d really tell an entire town to get off land you bought out from under them?”
“And the starbase. Oh, they can stay if they’ll pay my rent. What rent do you think I should charge for the land the biggest factory on this planet is squatting on? How much, Hen?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of a lot,” San Paulo said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep. Good night, Vicky.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow. They stole my property.”
The screen went blank. Chief Barber rushed into Ray’s office. “Our locals don’t own the land they rented us!”
“Looks that way,” Ray said.
“Damn, never thought to check. Can’t believe I made that basic a goof.”
“When everyone in town says they own it, you assume they do. I think we just hit another little local secret.” Ray tapped his commlink. “Jeff.”
“Yessir,” came so fast the young man must have been waiting.
“Do the farmers and the city folks have a tiny disagreement about how you buy or otherwise acquire farmland?”
“Oh, damn, is that what Vicky’s up to?”
“Fill me in fast. I’m expecting another call.”
“About sixty years back, the Sterlings pushed through a law making all land the property of the central circle in Refuge. Income from the sale of the land was supposed to pay for infrastructure improvements, dams, power generation, canals. There was major refusal in the farmlands. They called it local nullification. For several months the farms refused to sell food. City folk finally backed off.”
“So the law was repealed.”
“Not exactly. That would be too embarrassing. Everyone just agreed to ignore it.”
“Interesting approach to law you have around here. So because Vicky bought the land we’re on, we have to face one of her judges to decide who owns it?”
“Depends on whether she bought it or had Richland buy it.”
“Sir”—a yeoman stuck his head in Ray’s office—“an urgent call from Ms. San Paulo.”
“Put her through. Jeff, I want you at the HQ as soon as you land.” Ray hit his commlink, then hit it again. “Good morning, Ms. San Paulo. Didn’t expect to hear from you,” he said, grinning. “Rose is doing well. Her headaches seem to be gone.”
“Good, but, ah, Mr. Ambassador, you have made a very bad enemy in Vicky Sterling. Did you steal her archives tonight?”
“We don’t have any of her archives here at the base,” Ray evaded carefully.
“Good, because you’re about to get a visit from one of her bailiffs.” Quickly Hen filled Ray in on the call he’d watched.
“Who does own the land our local village farms?” Ray asked.
Hen shrugged and looked away. “They should,” she evaded. “No one but Vicky would question that they do, but she’s a law unto herself at times. I checked the public land records right after she called. This morning Richland purchased the Hazel Dell township—for expansion, they said—and has already zoned it for residential multifamily dwellings. Seems like a long commute to work.”
“So we either go along with her, or we’re lawbreakers. Damned if we do, and damned if we don’t.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know a lawyer we can talk to about this?”
“A law-yer?” Hen struggled with the word.
“Yes, someone who specializes in arguing the law.”
“I don’t think we have any.”
“You don’t.” Ray felt suddenly very tired.
“If you and someone else have a legal problem, you take it to an elected judge and you argue it yourself.”
“And if someone kills you?”
“Your family and security group argue against the killer.”
Ray rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache, and the Teacher had nothing to do with this one. “You have laws, but no one pays any attention to them, and no one specializes in helping you figure out where you stand under them,” he said, praying she’d correct him.
“I guess that’s how it must look to you. We just haven’t had much need for them.”
“Sixty years ago the fanners quit delivering food because of this law.” Barber’s sarcasm was heavy as the night.
“But it was all straightened out.”
“Is there anyone who takes an interest in these laws that everyone ignores?” Ignored until a few days ago.
“No one, really. Any old-timer can tell you about the people’s history.”
“Guess I’d better find one.” Ray was about to hang up when Barber waved his hand. “You got something, Chief?”
“We’ve started giving out our credit cards,” he said as if butterflies might melt in his mouth. “The system is working nicely. Mary would hate to have someone hurt by what we’re doing. I was wondering this afternoon if we shouldn’t get some formal recognition of our system. Is there any chance you might have the circle formally recognize the credit cards’ accounting system as legal tender, backed up by copper?”
“You’re backing it with copper?” Hen’s eyes were wide open, no matter what time it was.
“Yes. It’s not quite the same as holding a copper coin, but we intend to make it just as reliable.”
“Well, yes. When could you have me your draft language, and how soon do you want it done?”
“I worked up some already, Ms. San Paulo, and it would be nice if the circle could do this tomorrow morning.”
“Before noon,” Hen said, only half swallowing a smile. “Before Vicky’s visitor arrives.”
“The sooner we protect these fine people, the better,” he said with the straightest face Ray had ever seen on a Cheshire cat, canary in hand. The chief sent the file; Hen rung off.
Ray turned to Barber. “What did we just do?”
“You said we needed a real financial system for this place. We just took a small step toward it.”
“Right.” Ray tried to snarl, but too much smile was showing. “Talk to me, you old spacer.”
“Blimp’s on final approach,” the duty yeoman called.
“We’ll talk on the drive to the field,” the chief answered.
By the time Jeff stumbled into the inn, light was already coloring the east. He’d helped unload the blimp, then explained to a lot of very incredulous starfolk that just because a law was on the books didn’t mean anyone paid attention to it. After all, once the community had gone through the pain and hassle of passing a law, then nullifying it by popular rejection, who wanted to go over it again in circle? The Colonel and Mary didn’t seem to grasp his point, but at least they accepted it. When he’d suggested that the old priest was probably the best local expert on social issues, Ray’s eyes lit up and Jeff had been offered a ride into town.
Exhausted, but too excited to sleep, Jeff collapsed onto a chair in the Public Room. He might have dozed; it took him a while to note the lack of service. Puzzled, he wandered around the main room, found nothing, and invaded the kitchen. It was empty; the stove was cold. There was a note.
Jeff read it, then raced up the stairs to pound on his host’s bedroom door. When Mrs. Mulroney finally opened it, Jeff jammed the note in her befuddled face. “I found this.” Color drained from the woman as she read then held the note out to her husband. He lay in bed, still in the clothes he’d worn to get his still.
He read the note. “Oh, sweet Mother of God.”
“What do they think they’re doing?” Jeff demanded. “The spacefolk and all their gear can’t find the damn vanishing box. What makes them think they can?”
The two exchanged a glance. “We know some of the folks that don’t agree with your sis,” the man muttered.
“The ones that have the box?”
“Who knows?” the woman answered. “There are people, and there are people. And what I might have thought they’d do last month is not what I think they could do tomorrow. Annie and Nikki have been to meetings with us. They know who to talk to in the next village, and those people will pass them along.”
“Maybe they can find the box,” the father said. “As you pointed out, the starfolk are finding nothing.”
“I’ve got to find Annie. I can’t let her wander around the roads with things the way they are.” The two shook their heads. “Tell me, or I’ll make you both wish you had.”
The man stepped in front of his wife. “It’s not that we can’t tell you. It’s that you’d be a fool, chasing after them with your Sterling face. If you want to follow them, we will help, but not that way.”
The words didn’t often come from a Sterling’s mouth, but for Annie, Jeff got his lips around them. “Help me.”
“I’ll get Old Ned,” the man said, slipping around Jeff.
“I’ll see if the girls left us anything in the kitchen,” the mother added.
The longest hour of Jeff’s life passed before he rode out of Hazel Dell with Ned in the lead. In place of his warm clothes he wore hand-me-downs. A hooded rain slicker hid his face; his starman’s wrist unit was off, buried in his saddlebag. The starman’s rifle took the place of an air rifle in his scabbard. Ned had one more demand; he did the talking. If anyone asked, Jeff would fake a stutter and stay silent. Jeff had swallowed all Ned’s demands, demands such as he never would have taken from Vicky. For Annie, Jeff would swallow three kinds of hell.
Annie was scared. The first three villages had been easy. She knew people who knew her ma and da. No, they hadn’t seen the six people, followers of the Green, whom Annie described, explaining that the ma of the youngest was very sick at home. The lie came surprisingly easy to Annie’s tongue. Whether there was any real belief in the faces that nodded at her, they trusted her ma and da, so they trusted her. They arranged rides for her and Nikki south, and told them who to ask for in the next village.
With the marines suddenly too busy to send out mules to buy what they heeded, people were riding in on their own wagons and carts, taking the starfolks’ card and riding home, happy they’d be the first to buy a mule, a powered plow, so many of the things the starfolk offered. That meant plenty of empty wagons going south. So why, at the fourth village, had Annie and Nikki been stuck on this worn-out, broken-down wagon whose last load had been pots of clay and mud, pots that had leaked badly? More troublesome, why were they still on it after two more villages?
“Nikki, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“We’ve got to save Daga.”
The driver, as broken down as his wagon and the old plug pulling it, glanced back at them. “I’ll get ya there soon enough. Soon enough, I will.”
Yesterday would have been none too soon for Annie.