CHAPTER 7
ELKE ROSE EARLY. She was about to try something she hadn’t much experience with. Diplomacy.
Neatly dressed complete to a blazer, she took an apple and a chunk of havarti cheese for breakfast, and went down to the vehicle apron.
They had access to several, but for now, that little three wheel runabout was fine. It was different from the military’s, but State had several. Dressed like this, no one should remark on her. She rolled for the gate.
The guard held up a pad, and she nodded, slowed and printed out.
It took only minutes to reach the engineer compound. It had nice landscaping and a proud sign they’d milled themselves. That was a positive indicator. She drove in carefully. There were no shop markers. That was decent OPSEC, but she’d know what she was looking for, and yes, that was it. She parked.
The shop in question was separated slightly from the others, had additional cofferdamming, and two items that were trophies. One was a section of nose cone off an H-17 rocket, the other a twisted corkscrew of metal that most people might take for mere fragmentation debris, but she knew had been explosively formed in a combination of practice and recreation. It was a reasonably good job, though she could do better.
She pushed the button and waited patiently. It was a full two minutes before someone opened a physical hatch and looked through. He was early thirties, lean and unremarkable.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m Eleonora Sykora, Executive Protection Agent and Munitions Disposal Specialist in Charge, Ripple Creek Security. I will be operating in your area and need to consult with your shop chief.”
“One moment. And can I see your ID, please?”
She handed over her primary ID—she had a duplicate in case of emergencies, and several local and Earth IDs in case evasion was necessary. There was no reason it would be necessary here, but Jason issued the instructions and she concurred.
The man glanced it over and said, “Very well, please stand by.” He closed the hatch.
Another full minute elapsed before the door was opened. The greeter stood next to a woman, a master sergeant.
She said, “Agent Sykora? I’m Master Sergeant Corbelle.” She sounded French, though the accent was unusual. Caribbean? Quebecois?
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Tea?” Corbelle indicated an office.
“Thank you.”
Elke adjusted her seat to keep her back from the door, accepted a cup from the assistant.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she said.
“Sorry. Sergeant Lang. Welcome to Mtali.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, Agent Sykora, you’re rather well known in some circles.”
“More than I would like, on this tour, unfortunately.”
“Yes, I figured that wasn’t intentional publicity. What can I help you with?”
“I wish to be polite so that you know I am operating in your area. I am available for disposal work if not on post with my principal. I’m available for consult.”
“We appreciate that. It’s been quiet, though your last tour had an interesting outcome.”
“Which do you mean? I’ve had several.” Did they mean Govannon, where she’d used a small nuclear core as a distraction? Or . . .
“Celadon, where you did recovery work after that home-brewed device.”
“Ah, yes. A poorly executed contraption that was most exciting for a while.” She smiled slightly, then sipped her tea. It was quite good.
Corbelle said, “‘Most exciting,’ indeed. I wish I’d been there, but I’m also glad I wasn’t.”
“Are there any special rules or restrictions on operations here?”
“As far as demolitions?”
Elke nodded.
“The near range, outside the South Gate, is limited to two hundred kilos per shot. The far range is outside the city, and I mean outside. The city comes to a stop and the wilderness begins. Very colonial. Out there, we’re unlimited.”
“What about military engagements? Are they restricted on munitions?”
Corbelle took a long drink, then said, “Very. They require patrol commander approval for any release. He has a key. Lethal weapons require shift commander approval from here. Support weapons may not be unlocked for two minutes.”
“And explosive munitions?”
“Prohibited except for artillery and Aerospace.”
“There seems to have been a mixup. I have need of small charges for emergency escapes, disabling pursuit vehicles, entering safe buildings during emergencies. My request apparently got rolled into the military logistics, and was cancelled.”
Corbelle smiled and shook her head. “No, Elke, ‘Demigoddess of Destruction,’ I am unable to furnish you with explosives. While I could obviously make some disappear, the tagants are unique and fresh and would positively identify the source. If any is stolen, I will have to mark you as a suspect.”
Elke grew tight and cool inside. Kurva drat. That was not how she’d wanted to start the negotiations, nor end them. There was nothing she could do, however.
She stood and said, “I remain at your disposal if need arises. Thank you for the tea.” She offered a hand briefly.
She kept the cool lump inside until she exited the building, at which point it became incandescent.
They’d lied to her all along. Even if they’d not known until arrival, Jason was the advance man, and would have had this information.
This would mean a shopping trip.
Alex didn’t sleep well. He rarely did the first night, had a lot to worry about, and had few allies to back him up. There were the twelve Ripple Creek operators here, and another team of four protecting Ahmed Anjari, but while he was that team’s putative boss, he was mostly liaison and would sign off on any logistics issues. Unless an incident called for lawyers, they weren’t his problem.
Highland and JessieM made up for it, though. He figured this morning, the first outing, would add to the stress.
Highland’s first trip was twofold. She was to meet with the Mtali Sufi Council, and to be interviewed for the Mtali release of her video presentation, “Family Across Cultures.”
In fact, the trouble had started already. A Sunni group vowed to protest her appearance. An Amala group claimed they’d been promised her presence first. Someone called her an enabler of illicit occupation, regarding the military mission. They hadn’t even had breakfast yet.
Well, it was time to do that, and decide how to proceed.
Elke had signed out to visit the base, with a note on return. As the five of them ate from a table nicely laid out by the unobtrusive staff, he broached the subject.
Bart said, “With Aramis’s help, I can randomize the routes. Will we have support vehicles?”
“We do not. I’m not sure why yet.”
Jason said, “She won’t think of rescheduling.”
“Nor should we. We can handle it. If we start being timid, we’ll lose professional rating.”
“Are we working on our own PR here?”
“No, but pretty much everything we do is PR. Our ability to deliver a principal safely is all we have. We certainly can’t get anywhere with Bart’s looks or Aramis’s manners.”
Aramis said, “Or Elke’s subtlety.”
“So we load up and do it.”
“At least we have the ARPAC.”
“Yup. Are we ready?”
“It’s fueled and inspected. Cady’s people and subcontractors have charge of the park. I want weapons for all of us, a spare of each and water and food. Aramis?”
“Yes, I have paper and RAMmed backup routes.”
Alex asked, “What’s status on body armor?”
“It was released last night, and Cady’s bringing it up now.”
He heard Cady’s voice say, “I’m here, Alex. Jason pinged me.” He pointed and Bart rose to get the door.
A dolly rolled in, boxes overflowing, with Cady following. Elke arrived behind.
“They’re all here, but I suspect Bart’s isn’t fitted. Corcoran is on the way up to fit him now.” Jason could do armor, but Corcoran on Cady’s team was a specialist.
“Danke,” said Bart. “I prefer not to use mass to stop bullets.” He started unstacking the boxes and ripping their seals.
Aramis said, “Think of it as an ecological mission. You’re a portable heavy metal collection point.”
Jason said, “I like him better as a self-deploying sandbag.”
Corcoran arrived with tools. “I’d forgotten how big you were,” he said.
“No bigger than last time. One nine five centimeters, one four zero kilos.”
“Yes, but that’s a four X vest, and they only sent through two X. I can make it work.” He opened up his box and started adding inserts to the 2X to fit Bart’s frame. Girth was easy enough. Length required drilling holes in the carrier and threading in ballistic cord to hold extension panels. It didn’t take long.
“The four X should be here in a week. This will have to do for now.”
Bart shifted and stretched. “It’s no more uncomfortable than other stuff I have worn. I have my inside vest. This will work, thank you.”
Alex kept a side eye on the process as he chose a route, planned movements and deployment positions, and checked the rest. It looked good, and still looked good, so he made the call.
“Minister Highland, we are ready at your convenience.”
“Thank you. I’ll just finish breakfast.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He hoped that would be five minutes, not fifty, but they were paid either way. She should also know they’d need plenty of bracket time.
This time she acted appropriately, and came through only eight minutes later, with JessieM. Highland clearly had armor under her blazer and polo.
“Ma’am, may I ask about your armor?”
“Angelwear, Rating R Two.”
“Okay,” he said, and left it at that. Angelwear looked good, and he recalled they’d tried to use her for some contract leverage. It hadn’t worked because the stuff fell apart under military tests. However, for what she was doing it was probably okay. The idea was for her not to get shot anyway.
“And you, Jessie?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have armor.”
Elke said, “I have a spare undervest. It won’t stop armor punchers, but it will stop common civilian projectiles and fragments.”
“Thanks, I’d like that.”
“Back here, then.” She indicated her room.
It took another thirty minutes of quiet but active bustle to get everything sorted and ready. They had their uniform and armor, weapons with ammo—he wasn’t sure Highland realized that, and wasn’t going to say anything, backup gear and the vehicle warmed.
Downstairs at the dock, Alex looked for the weapon testing barrel he’d been told would be provided. He glanced at Cady with raised eyebrows. She shrugged back a response he read as, “Yes, I ordered it.”
Shaman said, “Over there in the corner.” Yes, red drum, mounted on frame.
“Good. Bart, Aramis, drag it over here.”
The two men jogged over, grabbed it and heaved. The only effective ways to trap a bullet for test or practice were water or sand. Sand was easier to maintain. This was a specific silica grade and particle shape. With some scraping and yanking, they maneuvered it into place near the exit.
Alex said, “I better contact the command post, just to make sure.” He flicked his mic to phone, said, “Command Post” and waited.
It was only five seconds before he heard, “Command Post, Senior Sergeant Terkel, this is not a secure connection, how may I help you?”
“This is Marlow, Special Agent in Charge, Ripple Creek, escorting Ms Highland on her approved itinerary.”
“Yes, sir?”
“We need to test fire our weapons before departure. Please disregard the fire.”
“Sir, we can’t do that. All reports of fire must be responded to. Additionally, no firing is allowed inside the perimeter except while under direct attack, with logged evidence.”
There was nothing to be gained by arguing the point.
“Then we’ll do so as soon as we’re outside the perimeter. Respond as you wish. Marlow out.” He closed the connection at once.
As he expected, Terkel called back in seconds. “Sir, any fire will be considered a potential threat and investigated.”
“Go right ahead,” he said and disconnected again.
Shaman asked, “We’re really going to piss them off like that?”
“Yes. They need to understand we do our thing our way and not according to their policies.”
“I approve. I do wonder about repercussions.”
“We’ll play Highland against them. Two can run that game.”
He chuckled heartily. “I approve.”
Highland arrived moments later, with JessieM. Elke was with them, and one of Cady’s females. Ridling? Amanda Ridling? Yes, that was it. Highland and Jessie wore long tan skirts, with tights underneath. Some cultural more they were complying with, no doubt.
Highland smiled, nodded, made her way past and stepped aboard the vehicle. They were still using the ARPAC.
Apparently, she felt safe enough on base. Well and good for now, but she really should let Alex make that decision. She obviously knew this, and obviously didn’t care.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “We are ready with your itinerary.”
“Very good,” she said, seeming quite genial now. “Will you be adjusting the route and arrival?”
“Always, and at random. We will deliver you on time, but sometimes earlier or from an unexpected direction.”
“Very well. Let’s go.” She took a seat and seemed comfortable enough, with a rollout computer on her lap. JessieM took a seat across from her.
The young woman then looked up. “I can’t get a signal in here,” she said in Alex’s general direction.
He casually tapped Bart and they started rolling.
“It’s one of the vehicle’s reinforcements, against electromagnetic effects, including pain stimulators, directional energy weapons and electrical capacitance.”
“I see,” she said. She almost seemed to be in withdrawal, denied her outlet. Perhaps he was too hard on her. It was her livelihood she was being temporarily deprived of.
The vehicle swayed in maneuvers, though it had a tight turning radius.
“We’re out the gate,” Bart announced.
“Good. Function check. Ma’am, we’re testing our weapons momentarily.”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded, looking up from her work. “I thought you had already.”
“They don’t want us to do it on base.”
She rolled her eyes. At least they both agreed on that much.
From the top turret, Aramis said, “We have a clear radius.”
“Bart, drop the hatch. Quickly, folks, with cover.”
Highland and Jessie both seemed familiar with the process and covered their ears.
The rear hatch eased down a few centimeters, then dropped with a bang that shook up dust. Elke skipped down, fired her shotgun into the dirt, swung it and slung it, raised her carbine and shot, dropped it on its sling, drew pistol and shot. She reholstered, turned and came back, as Jason stepped back and did the same with his weapons. He swapped positions with Aramis as Elke swapped with Bart while he and Shaman shot, then Aramis and Alex brought up the rear.
“Done,” he announced, and Bart, already back in the driver’s cabin, ran the ramp up at maximum speed. Aramis fired one short burst up above. Sirens were already audible on base, as the military responded to the “threat.”
Alex sighed. He’d hear about that later. There was always some territorial dispute between branches. Increasingly, the military was run by MilBu, emphasis on the Bu. All their patrols should be testing weapons before venturing outside the wire.
That wasn’t his problem at present. His problem was keeping this woman alive, along with her tagalong.
“We will be at the first location, Maharin Square, in a few minutes. We will need a few moments to check the area, and the dignitaries.”
“Keep your hands off them, please!”
“We will. They’ll be scanned, and they won’t even notice it.”
“Good. Does this bulletproof vest show?” she asked, turning her torso. She spoke loudly and clearly, obviously used to crowd noise, over the drivetrain noise.
“It doesn’t show, but be aware some styles of modern bullets can penetrate it, and it doesn’t cover extremities.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, though not as haughtily. “I am grateful for it.”
She suddenly seemed quite a bit more personable. Some of that was likely stress reduction and familiarity, but some of it was most likely also part of her act. He didn’t trust anything she said or did, and it wasn’t paranoia; she’d not gotten where she was by being nice, and they already knew she’d waste them to get in a shorter line at the coffee counter.
The city had chaotic architecture. Unlike other troubled worlds, like Salin, Mtali had been colonized by groups with money. There were religious groups with tithe support, and corporate investment to boot.
Some of it showed.
They drove along a main thoroughfare with a median park between the ways, and the houses were a strange blend of Western U.S., Colonial French and Arabic. They were tall, with courtyards, and overhangs, the upper levels built out.
But just past that were classic government-architectured blocks of apartments, with laundry hung on balconies, and parted out vehicles in the dead areas below. Alex kept a scan up. It wasn’t likely this vehicle stood out from any other military transport, but that alone might draw fire.
The commercial district next was typical of downtown. Deluxe shops and lodging in various styles from several eras spread across the blocks, but they weren’t crowded. The colonies had space from the start, and decent levels of technology. Their cities started off roomier than those on Earth and kept spreading out instead of up.
Maharin Square was on their left, up ahead. Some of Cady’s team plus their subcontractors, some Army troops, and local cops had the area ringed. They weren’t sure the locals were safe, but that was the point. The hired goons were more reliable than the rabble, the cops more reliable than the goons, the Army better than the cops, and Ripple Creek had only to worry about any few who might manage to get within.
The press turned toward their vehicle, probably cued by JessieM, and started their feeds. Bart pulled past, took a turn and another, and came from the cross direction. That also put the primary hatch closest to where she’d stand. Details like this had been worked out in advance for previous clients, but were largely instinctive now. Every location was a threat zone, every person a threat, and they all planned accordingly.
By radio, Cady said, “We’re clear.”
Alex gestured to Bart, who popped the side door. Aramis pushed it open and stepped through. Elke followed, being about the same size physically as Highland, with her uniform coded to similar colors. There was a swell in the crowd noise that tapered off as Highland and JessieM stepped through and down. The cheers climbed again. Jason and Shaman were next, with Bart following Alex.
Highland stepped up to the podium, waved in an arc, smiled for the vid crews, and launched into her speech.
Aramis tuned out the blather. She was a politician, so she could say nothing and say it very well. He kept track of Cady’s men Lionel and Edge. They’d worked together before and he trusted them for backup. Or, if they led, he’d back them. It was reassuring.
Not everyone outside the cordon was thrilled. There was a group with signs, including one very sophisticated holographic imager, showing an aerial picture of Highland with horns. This was definitely a more sophisticated dump than Salin.
It was three minutes in when the action started.
Something flew in a high arc and he swung toward it, opened his mouth to sound a threat, and instead said, “Eggs incoming.”
He sighed and stepped in front of Highland, as Elke and Jason pulled her back behind the podium and threw up its shield. The egg splatted harmlessly on his helmet and dripped down his ear and neck in a cold gooey trail. A second one splashed across the crown, and he dodged a third. Elke had taken one and several others flurried around.
Then the smell hit him. These had been left in the warm sun for a while, but not where they could actually cook, just rot.
In his earbuds, Alex said, “We’re departing. Speech is over.”
“Roger,” he said, and backed under the vehicle to take the lower hatch. He scrambled up from the dust, and Shaman handed him a wad of rags to clean the slimy gunk.
Highland was seated, had a bottled cocktail, and said, “The Ripple Creek guards were attacked with hurled eggs, probably by some faction angered at their status as paid contractors.”
JessieM pressed send, and Aramis seethed. No, you bitch, they were throwing at you, because of your status. We took the hit. And fuck you very much. It was understood that “security” could be used as an excuse for a lot of things, and the company, and the team would take the heat for missed appointments, delays, intrusions. This was a new level of contemptibility.
Highland didn’t even inquire as to how he and Elke were. All she asked was of Alex, “Can we proceed to the next location?”
Alex kept his attention on her as he said, “I see no reason not to at this time. If the threats escalate it may be advisable to pull the plug.”
The stench was mostly gone, or at least the egg stench. Aramis felt it get sticky and dry, then Shaman handed him a bleach wipe. A daub with that and he felt physically clean and emotionally dirtier. But he’d do his job.
They convoyed, Cady’s team and the military in their own vehicles, split and rolled into the next location from three directions. They were a few minutes early.
Highland said, “Early is fine. We’ll avoid some of the planned response. Is the press ready, Jessie?”
“They were when I churped before the hatch closed.”
“Good.”
And there went OPSEC again. He almost wished someone would shoot her, except he was contractually obligated to jump in front of the attempt.
So here I am, protecting our principal, her pet, exceeding the contract by working on her campaign rather than her officially requested mission, getting tired, sore, pelted with rotten eggs by her detractors and taking the blame for it because we do our job well for pay.
He’d had exciting missions and hated them at the time, but they were exhilarating, and even the roughing ups he’d taken were okay in hindsight. This, though, was dirty.
They bailed out three ways, waited for her to step daintily down the steps, smiling and waving as people gradually realized she was someone important, and then realized who she was, before her banners unfurled. So some group of supporters had been ready.
At no point did she mention a bid for SecGen. He’d give her that. It was blatantly obvious what she was doing, but she was sticking to the letter of that law, and only promoting her current task at this event.
He moved out to help keep a perimeter, and between the real and intimidating camouflage, armor and weapons, the crowd assumed he was some sort of ass kicker and pulled back.
There was no particular mood to the spectators. Some looked snarly, some thrilled, some showed that minor interest of seeing someone famous, or something different from the routine. They were probably here more to skip work than from any care about politics. He could see three types of turbans, two of keffiyeh and the bulbous knit caps that marked the Amala sect, along with the basic round caps favored generally. There were women in everything from hijab to slacks with bare midriffs. This area was mostly Muslim. He understood the Christian areas were less varied.
“. . . what Mtali needs is a debate that treats each of its cultures with the appropriate respect . . .” Okay, that was off the environmental and trade path a bit, though certainly trade would be easier if they weren’t constantly shooting at each other. Shooting at, not shooting, the incompetent tweets.
He kept an eye on the crowd. That man with the asymmetric beard was very interested, and looked hostile, but he seemed to be recording on a hat-mounted camera. He probably wasn’t a direct threat, but it was entirely possible he was feeding someone else.
“Jason, I have a man with a cam.” He pressed the button in his hand that let the image be shared.
“Got him,” Jason replied. “He’s recording nothing now.” Directional jamming made him smile.
He saw that Elke had wandered several meters west and upwind. She was probably prepping smoke charges in case they had to extract in a hurry.
Still, there was movement within the mass, as people grew bored and left, and others migrated forward. Placards and signs in English, Arabic and Turkish proclaimed support or opposition.
Politicians, competent ones at least, always wanted to meet the public, and their guards always wanted them not to. In this case, it was even more risky. She’d had more expressed threats than the baseline, and was clearly angling for a SecGen position. There were people who’d try to preempt her.
Jason muttered back, “There are so many damned things that present as possible weapons I’m getting twitchy. ‘Anything longer than it is wide’ is a fine definition for a Freudian, but too broad for physical threats.”
He chuckled back. “As long as we only have to look at weapons and not dicks.”
“Depends on if they’re pump action or single shot.”
Aramis faked surprise and said, “Woah, that’s between you and the goat, man.”
The jokes broke the boredom, but they were on duty and resumed silence. The important message was that eyeballs would have to do more work than the electronics.
Right then, Shaman said, “Incoming.” His voice was trained, and conversational. The team triggered on it and moved. Aramis jumped forward with Bart. He heard Elke tackle Highland, Jason open the door, and Alex call for backup as Elke stuffed the principal into the ARPAC.
He could see the projectile falling, and his sphincter puckered. From its trajectory, it was dense and brick-sized. Then he caught a slight reflection off a protrusion, probably a fuze. So it was more than a brick. It was a large grenade or small block charge.
Once the hatch closed he leapt over to the front wheel, rolled backward while tucking his carbine, and dropped behind the mass of the engine and wheel. Bart chewed up dust to his right with a thump of a landing.
Whatever the projectile was, it far overshot and went behind something, then popped with a cracking noise. Had it squibbed and failed? Or was it gas? There were two more in the air, and he’d IDed the point of origin, even as his goggles blinked a location. There was the dirtsucker.
That detached feeling hit him as he stood, clambered up the ladder and switched the cannon to manual. It was more important to take out the source than hide. Someone was starting to move the vehicle, so he swung the gun, splayed his legs, guessed at point of aim and cut loose a burst. It was high, he adjusted, and shot again.
The shooters realized he was targeting them and dodged, first back, then upon realizing the first burst was overhead, toward him, and right into the second spray. Three bodies tore, disconnected limbs flailing, and their launcher shattered.
Jason fired a long, stuttering string that crossed both remaining projectiles. They broke up and fell . . . oddly. Liquid? Green?
He kicked the hatch and dropped inside, as Bart shimmied up through the rear hatch, cursing in German. At least he presumed so. He didn’t speak German, and he couldn’t hear the man anyway, over Highland’s total meltdown.
“You murderous fucking mercenary retards! You egotistical male jerkers! And you . . . AFRICAN! You worthless bunch of—”
She was cut off as Shaman slapped a contact patch on her throat. She turned and smacked, connected only with his armor and harness, and started to slur.
“You weren’th hiredh to dop me, youuu . . .” and trailed off. She was still awake, but very lethargic. It must be a fast-acting tranquilizer.
Jason said, “Jessie, I’ll connect the external antenna to your MoodMod in a moment. What are you going to send?”
Her voice trembled and cracked as she said, “Uh, that we were attacked and had to defend ourselves, but no one is hurt.”
“Very good. It’s important that you send that message first.”
“Okay,” she agreed, sounding unsure. She waited for his nod of assent, and loaded the comment.
Aramis sweated and buzzed from adrenaline and leftover fear. It was always a rush to survive combat, even when it was one-sided. He looked quizzically at Jason, who signaled over to Alex, who looked around at everyone and replied.
“They were shooting paint canisters with bursting caps. Green paint.”
Oh, shit.
“They were political agitators?” he asked.
“Yes. And you opened fire with an autocannon.”
In half a second, scenarios ran through his head. Jason or Elke had enough connections to get him out of the system fast. Caron would stand up for him. He wouldn’t get brain wiped. He might do a decade in prison. He did have that stash of money for emergencies that they couldn’t seize because he’d hidden it on Salin and Grainne. The company would back him up; he’d acted in good faith.
Alex said, “You acted in good faith, and fast. It’ll take paperwork and lawyers. You’re covered.”
Under his breath, Bart muttered, “And maybe the stupid hippies won’t do that again.”
From the driver’s compartment, Elke said, “Don’t hurt my hopes.”
Jessie at least seemed sympathetic.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, my. This is not going to be good for . . . anyone. Was anyone hurt?”
Aramis decided he shouldn’t answer that question. He was surprised to realize he really didn’t give a shit about the fucking morons who’d put pyro charges on projectiles and thrown them at a cabinet member. Pyro. Projectiles. That’s what he needed to ensure was in any statement. He’d feared for her life and acted to protect it. Damn the bitch for attracting such idiots, either for or against.
Jessie said, “I don’t know what else to say.”
“The Minister is unharmed. You can say that. Don’t say where we’re going next.”
“I don’t know where we’re going,” she protested.
Yeah, that was probably intentional, Aramis thought with an inward smirk.
Pyro. Projectiles. Potentially explosive threat.
Did Caron have that much political pull, and would she use it? She did owe him her life, but she’d paid in cash for that service. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, but was she willing to spend that kind of political capital for a boink buddy?
Could he egress the system alone if it went sour?
Jessie stuttered as she very quietly said, “I need to find a restroom. Is there . . . ?”
Alex said, “No, there is no bucket aboard. I can pick one up for next time. You’ll need to hold it another ten minutes.”
She nodded. Then they hit a bump and she flinched.
Alex pulled a hush hood. He was probably talking to the military, or relaying a message to Corporate first, to get the lawyers primed. There’d be an investigation. At least Elke would have video for his side of things.
Alex pulled the hood and said, “We’re going straight back.”
Elke said, “Understood.”
“We will unload before the gate, and the guards will inspect our weapons. Drop me at Base Operations. I need to talk to them.”
Aramis didn’t like the sound of that.
The rest of the ride was smooth enough, but just the hammering dread he felt made it feel worse than actually getting wounded. Chills, shivers, flushes, roiling bloodflow in his ears—massive shock.
Politics was scarier than combat.
He followed Jason’s lead and slipped out magazines, cycled the actions and locked them open. He carefully started to rise for the autocannon, but Bart reached up and took care of it for him.
At the gate, Elke lowered the ramp. The sentry was three steps up before it clattered on the ground.
“Show me clear weapons,” he said, very firmly, very intently, with his right hand on the grip of his carbine and his finger twitching near the trigger. Aramis cautiously bent both weapons to show the open chambers.
“Do not load them again without orders,” he said, and crabbed down the ramp sideways, keeping an eye on the team.
Through all this, Highland sat silently, but not tranked. It had obviously worn off.
Elke rolled up in front of Base Operations, and Alex slipped out the side hatch. Jessie looked very miserable and very uncomfortable. Highland looked furious.
Elke maintained exact base speed limit as she rolled into the diplomatic compound. Jessie looked almost nauseated as she staggered, body clutched tightly, toward the latrine. Aramis felt nauseated. He needed to drain, too, but that wasn’t it.