Текст книги "Natural Selection"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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17

Arc-Royal

Federated Commonwealth

28 April 3055

 

Christian Kell gladly accepted the snifter of brandy from Dan Allard. He raised his glass to his commanding officer. "The Kell Hounds are operational once again."

"May they always remain so." Dan tossed off the amber liquid and Chris followed suit. It burned its way down to his stomach, but after two weeks in the field, it felt good.

Dan dropped himself into one of the briefing room chairs and put his feet up on the table. Watching him, Chris decided that Dan looked the way he felt. Both men were worn out. After the transfer of the regimental cadres back from garrison duty on Tomans, there had been a full week of integrating the new trainees into their units and then two weeks of exercises and war games. Even so, pleasure at the unit's successful showings took the edge off their fatigue.

"I was especially pleased with the way Akira's Second and Third Battalions were able to configure themselves like the raiders that hit Zhongshan." Dan clasped his hands over his chest. "We handled them fairly effectively, don't you think? Your battalion flanked them perfectly and we nailed the lot."

Chris appropriated the chair across from him. "We had a lot of practice against Clan tactics on Luthien. Yes, we did handle them well, but we also outnumbered them two-to-one. Granted, they were using Clan equipment, but in many cases so were we." ,

Colonel Allard frowned. "What is it, Chris? That exercise went by the book—hell, it was better than that."

The younger man shrugged. "Intangibles, Dan. There is too much we don't know about the raiders. Our exercise was based on their latest attacks, and though Zhong-shan didn't show us anything they hadn't done before, their withdrawal in the face of the Solahma's sudden appearance was damned orderly and organized."

"More so than you would expect from a band of renegades?"

"I think so, yes." Chris rested his forearms on the table. "For bandits, their equipment is way too good. And the way they attack, it's all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Chris' face twisted into a frown as he tried to find words to express his thoughts. "Raiders usually pick LZs that are sparsely defended so that they can get away with as much loot as possible. They try to avoid direct confrontation because they're generally using second-rate equipment and running low on supplies. These raiders go straight for their targets, and straight at any forces standing between them and their objective. They fight in an organized manner and are able to withdraw in good order."

Dan tapped one index finger against his lips for a moment. "You're suggesting that they fight like a military unit. I buy that, but the explanation is nothing more sinister than that they're Clan renegades."

"Maybe, Dan, it just may be." Chris balled his hands into fists, then forced himself to open them again. Though Dan's explanation made perfect and logical sense, it still did not feel right. Chris understood the value of empirical evidence and logic, but he also knew that his survival had depended on his responding to gut feelings in many a tight situation. Concerning the raiders, his guts were telling him something just wasn't right.

"Besides, Chris, it doesn't matter what their motive is. What isimportant is that we nailed them." Dan smiled slyly. "Now that the Wolves missed their shot at them on Zhongshan, the Archon will be pressured into sending another unit out there. I'll send a message to Morgan that we're ready, and he can let that slip to Melissa when he sees her at the library dedication next month."

"It won't happen, Dan. We're not 'politically correct.' "

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that Ryan Steiner will use his influence to make sure it's one of the old Tamar or Skye loyalist units that gets activated to hunt down the raiders."

Dan laughed lightly. "I think you have Ryan Steiner on the brain, Chris. The local constabulary still has no solid evidence that Ragnarok was or is backed by Ryan."

Chris stood and folded his arms across his chest. "They will find it, Dan, because Ryan is not all that bright. Face it. Ragnarok has his prints all over it. Most of the Rasalhague refugees have fled to worlds well away from the border, into areas like the Donegal March here that were formerly immune to his influences. For a miniscule amount of money he manages to build up a great deal of support.

"When Ragnar showed up with Phelan, Ryan's people must have been overjoyed. I suspect we were being watched in hopes there'd be some incident involving the Clanners that could be used against the Hounds or to embarrass Victor. When I was foolish enough to bring Ragnar into the city, they decided to snatch him."

Dan stared off past Chris, then nodded. "As you said before, Ryan could have traded Ragnar to the Free Rasalhague Republic in exchange for recognition of the right of the Tamar Pact worlds to remain together. Ceding them would cost Prince Haakon nothing because the Jade Falcons have captured almost all the Tamar worlds from both sides anyway."

"And that move would build up all sorts of good will for Ryan. Liberating Ragnar would make the Rasalhagians happy, and it would win him support here from the forces that believe the ceasefire was a bad move." Chris shook his head. "Ryan can muster enough support to force Melissa to use his choice of units to fight the bandits."

Dan smiled broadly and leaned forward. "But can Ryan gainsay Victor a shot at the bandits? If Ryan presses Melissa for action, she can trump him by sending Victor and the Revenants."    ,

"Victor is game and will want to go, but would she be willing to risk him? The Prince is not terribly popular within Ryan's sphere of influence. If Hanse Davion were calling the shots, Victor would be the point man, but Melissa is not that vindictive." Chris smiled. "Best case would be to send Katrina. She would charm the bandits and talk them into becoming a House unit."

He pressed his lips together, then looked up at his commanding officer. "What is your read on the Thirty-first Wolf Solahma?"

Dan shook his head. "Don't really know, Chris. They were unlucky and the bandits escaped. What's the matter?"

"I don't know, really. It's just that I heard they jumped out of Zhongshan without recharging or accepting a charge from the charging station there."

"So?"

"So if they had another charge in their lithium-fusion batteries, why didn't they jump out to the pirate point, then disable the bandit JumpShip and trap the bandits?"

"Good question." Dan watched Chris closely. "Does your suspicion of the Wolves extend beyond this incident, or is it isolated?"

Dan's question made Chris stop. During the whole time Phelan had been on Arc-Royal, Chris had found him cordial but never really open. Chris realized he had never taken Phelan aside to ask if they had a problem, yet he could have cited a dozen little things that suggested that there was. Phelan had not invited Chris to fight with his Star in the game. Choosing Mark hadhelped Mark's attitude toward Phelan and the Clans, but Chris wondered if it was also because Phelan thought him less important than a nephew.

Even as he framed that question in his mind, he was able to come up with a dozen different and valid answers to it. He also remembered the very enjoyable time he had spent in Evantha's company. It occurred to him that he was letting whatever difficulties he had with Phelan bleed over into how he thought about the Clans.

Chris pulled the sleeves on his tunic up to the elbows, revealing a portion of a brilliantly colored tattoo on his left arm. "Perhaps my growing up within the yakuza culture of the Draconis Combine makes me overly suspicious. And it is equally possible that my feelings of discomfort and mistrust of Phelan color the way I see the Clans. Though I do realize the ilKhan has risked much by sending a unit into the Federated Commonwealth to hunt these bandits down, the lack of action by the Wolves still looks pretty curious."

Dan frowned. "You've got no reason to be suspicious about Phelan."

"Don't I? Am I not in his place within the Kell Hound infrastructure?"

"You may see it that way, but I doubt he does," Dan said. "I don't know what or where Phelan would be if he had stayed with the Kell Hounds, but I can bet it wouldn't be as a major leading a battalion. If he wasin that sort of position, he would be the head of an independent action unit, like the Black Widows way back when with Wolf's Dragoons. He's a good warrior, and even has a solid grasp of strategy, but he's a wild card. He's unpredictable, which makes him hell on the other side, but also gets the ulcers burning when you're on hisside."

Chris acknowledged the wisdom of Dan's words with a nod, but still raised a protest. "That could be, Dan, but I've always wondered if he accepted me as a Kell. I know that must sound odd to you, but there is no way to explain it otherwise."

Dan got up and poured each of them another brandy. "Let me tell you a story, Chris. A long time ago—well, about the time you were born, actually—my brother Justin left the service of the Federated Suns. He started working for Maximilian Liao, and I saw him at Hanse Davion's wedding. He introduced me to Candace as 'the son of the man who wasmy father.' That was a shot to the gut if there ever was one. Last I'd known, we were still brothers."

Chris sipped the brandy. "But at that time Justin was a deep agent working for Hanse Davion and your father."

"Right. Two nights later Justin killed an assassin who was gunning for our father."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "I'm missing your point."

"It's an old saw, Chris: actions speak louder than words. Has Phelan ever been anything but friendly to you?"

"I wouldn't call it friendly, but he's been polite."

"Considering the two of you never got to know each other, that's not bad." Dan smiled and sipped some brandy. "You're wondering why he hasn't tried to clear the air between you. Well, how would he act if he didn't feel there was a problem to be cleared up?"

Chris chuckled lightly at himself. "Touché, Colonel. Where I grew up, polite manners hid all sorts of ugly emotions. I suppose I attribute malice where none exists."

"There you go." Dan nodded. "But your original point is well-taken. Believing that nothing is odd with the Thirty-first Wolf Solahma just because we trust Phelan is like assuming that Ryan Steiner is benign just because we trust Victor."

"Hai!"Chris swirled the brandy around in his snifter. "So, given all this discussion of politics, are we still going ahead with our deployment plan? Ryan won't like it at all."

Dan shrugged. "It will give him something else to worry about, which may distract his attention enough to frustrate the rest of his plans. We go ahead. Everyone gets two weeks' R and R here on Arc-Royal, then we head out for Deia and give Zimmer's Zouaves a break."

18

DropShip Tigress D2342.221G

Federated Commonwealth

15 June 3055

 

Nelson Geist kept his hands on the treadmill's railing despite the desire to tug at the collar surrounding his neck. The heavy goggles he wore made it seem like he was standing in a fully dimensional world, while the earphones brought the sounds of that reality to him. In the artificial world, even the treadmill's handrail appeared as the edge of an old man's walker.

Nelson knew the computer construct was not real. The graphics, though close to perfect, failed from time to time as the program ran through rough patches. The aesthetics of the world it created were not important to him, and he was certain the Red Corsair had forced her technicians to load in anomalies to distract him.

The speed with which she'd recovered from her wound surprised him. Sooner than he would have thought possible or even prudent, she had used the simulators on the ship to prove she could still pilot a 'Mech. Shortly thereafter Bryan challenged her to a fight in a Circle of Equals and she gladly accepted the challenge.

She had allowed Nelson to watch the fight, and seeing her square off against Bryan made him fully realize just how close to death she had been on Zhongshan. Wearing a green leotard that covered her from throat to groin but that left her arms and legs bare, she engaged Bryan in a bout of unarmed combat. He out-massed her by at least ten kilos, but her speed and length of limb gave her all the edge she needed to defeat him.

As Nelson had expected, Bryan came in at her from the left, aiming a kick at her head that she had to parry using what should have been her weak arm. She dropped beneath the kick, then lashed out with her left leg, catching Bryan's left foot with a solid blow that knocked him over.

Bryan scissored his legs through where she had been crouching, but she leaped up above his feet. She landed on one leg, then spun around, her left foot clipping Bryan hard above his left eye. The blow split the skin and dropped him to the deck hard.

It took the Red Corsair about a half-second to see that Bryan was dazed and all but out of the fight. She pounced on him, pinning him to the deck the way she had pinned Nelson barely two weeks before. Bryan instinctively tried to heave her off, but he could not. She glanced over at Nelson, as if to say "this could have been you," then administered the coup de gracewith her left hand.

If he had imagined she would feel any jubilation at her victory, the Red Corsair quickly disabused him of the notion. "It's your fault I had to go through that, you know," she told him as two raiders carried the unconscious Bryan off to the sick bay.

"And you showed compassion by not killing him." Nelson gave her a smile that he knew would further kindle her anger.

"That was a practical consideration. Bryan is my second-in-command and only did what any other responsible officer would have done in his place." She grabbed his jumpsuit front and bunched the material up under his chin with her fist. "Now it is time for you, a slave, to learn what you will be doing for the rest of your life."

She hauled him off to a cabin that adjoined hers. Aside from the treadmill and some equipment lockers, it was featureless. For a moment Nelson thought it might have been a private gymnasium for her, but he had never known her to use anything but the communal facilities on Deck Twelve.

She fitted him with the goggles and gloves, and stuck little electrodes on his knees, ankles, elbows, and shoulders. "These will allow the computer to track you and determine where you are and how you are standing."

He turned toward her voice because the goggles turned his world into a sphere of static. "Why?"

"Why?" He heard her laugh heartily. "Because, slave, you will learn your duties. I have decided that when I return from this mission it is time for me to have children. I have also decided that you will care for them." He felt her hand start at his knee and slowly begin to caress its way up to his groin. "Perhaps I will even let you father them."

That prospect shot a jolt through him and she laughed. "Perhaps I will makeyou father them."

The edge in her voice got to him and elicited a shudder that seemed to satisfy her. Nelson said nothing and told himself it was to deny her the satisfaction of hearing his protests. Deep down, though, he knew that part of him wanted her desperately.

As much as he wished to deny his attraction to her, he could not. Every time he tried to push it way, it came back, stronger and stronger. It fed on his denial. He found himself thinking about her, fantasizing about her, and all the multiplication tables in the world couldn't snuff out his ardor.

He felt her fasten something around his throat. It felt heavy at the front and had two cool spots where it pressed against the flesh over his Adam's apple. She tightened it and he felt the thing snap shut at the back of his neck.

"This exercise will be simple, Nelson. You will see a clock and a schedule in a corner of the world the computer will create for you. You must get to the appropriate places at the correct time or you will be disciplined."

A small shock trickled through the electrodes on his throat. It hurt, but not enough to incapacitate him. "That is the mildest shock the system offers. If you do your-work well, you will never feel even that much. Make a mistake, and depending on how bad it is, you will hurt a great deal."

The twin monitors in front of his eyes stopped displaying static and instead filled his sight with a world of walls and floors. Off to his left sunlight poured reddish glory through a window. Straight ahead he saw one corridor extending the length of the building. To the right he saw a door to the exterior. He moved toward it, and as he raised his hand to where the doorknob seemed to hang in space, he felt a jolt at his throat.

"You may be allowed out later, if you are good. For now, do what is on the schedule."

"Where am I?"

"Where are you?" The Red Corsair laughed airily. "This is a construct of my true home, Nelson. It is the place where you will spend the rest of your life."

. The virtual world became a game for the two of them as the environment became more and more complex over the next two weeks. Nelson had two sessions per day, each lasting six hours realtime. That would comprise a whole day in the computer world, with an hour passing every fifteen minutes. As he became proficient with the system, the Red Corsair started giving him more complicated assignments.

For the first four sessions he had been alone in the computer world, but after that, new and interesting people and creatures started to show up. Nelson suspected that idle crew members were being invited to program little distractions into the world for him while everyone waited for the ship's jump drive to fully recharge its coils and for the JumpShip's lithium-fusion batteries to load up.

At first the other creatures bothered him, but he quickly became able to discriminate between what the Red Corsair was making him do and what the others did to interfere with him. It was not that the others had a trademark that allowed him to distinguish between them or discover who the realworld author was. Instead he found that their simulation tricks lacked one key element that was the trademark of the Red Corsair's work.

What she did was always cruel. He remembered very well the first time the assignment "Tend the children" had showed up on his schedule. He searched all over the base for a nursery. The shocks to his throat, building in intensity and duration the further he got from the children, helped herd him back toward the Red Corsair's private domain. Finally, when he searched the house, he found a new addition to it that was jam-packed with tiny children.

Most of them had a surreal quality because they were constructed from spheres and cones and other easily generated geometrical shapes. They looked more like toys come to life than real children. Yet whenever he came close and focused on one, the child changed from the awkward and ridiculous construct to a wriggling, crying child.

Worse yet, when the computer resolved the child in such exquisite detail, he would recognize the child. This one would have the Red Corsair's hair, or her eyes or nose, and it would always have some part of him there as well. He tried to draw away from those children, but when he did the shocks drove him to his knees. If he refused to move his hands in caring and careful ways, more shocks would follow, fast and painful.

He hated the part of him that could look at those children through the haze of pain and still find them beautiful.

He forced himself to settle into a routine that would make the Red Corsair work as hard as he did at the game. He learned shortcuts that allowed him to accomplish his tasks quickly. He moved through the base like a guided missile, always seeking out a new and faster way to get somewhere. He explored for unlikely connections between buildings, and used them like tunnels and skyways when he found them.

At night, when the evening's tasks were behind him, he would spend time outside the home. He watched the night sky and smiled when the program shot meteors through the world's atmosphere. He did not recognize any of the constellations, so he started grouping them into his own little mythology. He named one after his son Jon and a pair of twin stars after his grandsons. Dorete didn't rate a constellation, but the Red Corsair did.

He called it "The Witch," and made it the first one the sun would eat up in the morning.

Of late the Red Corsair had taken to blocking off his skyways and tunnels. This added time to his cross-base runs, but he didn't mind, despite the shocks. As he moved through the base, searching out new shortcuts, he found certain places where he was not allowed access. On the off-chance that his ability to enter them was time-dependent, he tried again and again at different points during the simulated day.

Nelson steeled himself for the shock as he turned left down a corridor in the basement of the base's main building. The time was close to twenty-three hundred hours, which made this the latest foray he had ever attempted on this particular area.

No shock accompanied his first step into the area. He smiled. He took another step and another down it. The red doors at the far end loomed closer. He reached out to push them open and at his touch they flew back.

The jolt that hit him in the throat staggered him. The treadmill whipped his feet away and his chin smacked into the padded crossbar. He flopped to the ground and the treadmill's belt whipped him back, dumping him on the floor in a shaking heap.

He heard her sure tread on the decking, followed by a click and the death of the treadmill's hum. Still unable to move, he felt her kneel next to him and pull the goggles off. The artificial hallway was whisked away, and his eyes took a second or two to focus on her face. He blinked once, but in the time it took him to do that, the look of concern he thought he had seen on her face had vanished.

"There are places you are not supposed to go, Nelson. I trust that was a lesson to you." She propped his head up on her arm and unfastened the shock collar. "It might have seemed brutal, but were we actually there, you would have been shot dead." Her voice grew distant. "I did that for your own good."

He tried to reply, but his voice would still not work.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Do not even try to speak." She reached down and pulled the datagloves off his hands. "It will take you a few minutes to recover."

She sat back on her haunches and Nelson noticed for the first time that she was wearing the same robe she had donned the first time he had met her. "You have made this quite a game, Nelson. You have done very well. You have mastered the distractions and overcome the obstacles we have thrown at you. I am pleased with your progress."

Nelson nodded to her and found his head and neck actually worked. He flexed his fingers and toes, and though they still tingled a bit, they responded to his commands. His arms and legs felt leaden, but they showed signs of returning use.

She took his right hand in hers and he could feel warmth flowing from her flesh to his. "In fact, so pleased am I with your performance, I thought I would reward you." Her glance darted toward the doorway into her cabin. "You perform so well to avoid pain, I thought I would see what you will do for pleasure."

He rolled over onto his right side. "Why torture yourself?" he croaked out.

"Torture myself? Hardly." She smiled hungrily at him. "I am rewarded for training you so quickly and so well and . . ."

"And?"

She stood and pulled him to his feet. She steadied him and helped him walk toward her cabin. "And tomorrow we jump into Deia. On the eve of what I expect to be a confrontation with the Wolves, I do not choose to sleep alone."