Starfist - Kingdom's Swords Part 3

"Study it. No justification for a FIST." Myer gestured for Schultz to continue.

"History, few interventions. No full FIST deployed to Kingdom in past eighty years. Peasant rebellions aren't strong enough for a FIST."

"So what makes you think this one isn't an exception?" Schultz had to chew on his answer for a moment. He didn't like to use words, but he had to now. He had figured out something that n.o.body else had-they had been misinformed about what their mission really was. He had no idea why they were given a false reason, but he knew there was no peasant revolt waiting for 34th FIST to put down. How could he put that in words that would convince the others, especially Top Myer?

"Only one rebellion was big enough to need a FIST. It had a messiah. Took years to build up. There were many reports before it began. This time, no reports, no news. Everything was quiet until the orders came." He took a deep breath. The next thing he had to say was a mouthful for him.

"A spontaneous, widespread rebellion is a major nuisance, but not a major threat. If this is a widespread, spontaneous revolt, it needs time and local forces. Not a FIST. If it is small and aimed at Interstellar City, it will be over before we get there. Don't need a FIST for a peasant revolt." He took another deep breath to calm himself after that speech, and looked at Myer for confirmation or argument about why he was wrong.

The first sergeant returned the look for a long moment. Schultz's reasoning was sound. There wasn't any military necessity he could see for deploying an entire FIST to put down a peasant rebellion on Kingdom. Kingdom's rebellions simply weren't that big.

"If it's not a peasant revolt, what do you think it is?" Schultz swallowed and slowly blinked. In his entire life he'd only encountered one thing that frightened him, and he thought it was waiting for them on Kingdom. Still, his voice was strong and clear when he said, "Skinks." The reply startled Myer so much he didn't cut off the sudden cacophony of surprise from the Marines. He regained his composure quickly, though.

"As you were, people!" he bellowed. The uproar cut off. Some of the Marines looked at Schultz, wondering how he came up with Skinks. Others looked at Myer, wondering how he would respond. A few, all in third platoon, closed their eyes and shook their heads.

38 "I read the dispatches, Hammer. There is no indication of Skinks or of any nonhuman sentience being present on Kingdom. You're wrong. It's peasants." He shook his head. "What I'm going to say now doesn't leave this room." He looked around for agreement and waited until it appeared that everyone agreed.

"I'll give you benefit of my vast experience in this man's Marine Corps. Sometimes the Confederation decides to make an example. There have been a lot of rebellions on Kingdom. What I suspect is, the Confederation decided to make an example, to hit the rebels so hard it'll be generations before they even think of another rebellion. So we're going in with a lot more force than we need to put down a simple peasant revolt. I think we're going in to cause enough damage to stop it from happening again for a long time to come."

He looked at the faces in the cla.s.sroom as the Marines absorbed what he said. It was obvious that none of them liked the idea, but they were Marines, they'd do their job.

"One more thing, people. Just because I think we're going in with ma.s.sive overkill doesn't mean we won't be facing a serious threat. We are professionals. Amateurs can hurt professionals very badly because sometimes they do things that no professional would ever think of. And remember all those times peasant armies have beaten professional armies." He turned around and left the cla.s.sroom. Behind him he heard a few men utter the word "Skinks."

In the company office the officers looked at each other uneasily. Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Ba.s.s was the only one who had encountered the Skinks. The others had secondhand knowledge. Skinks were a bad prospect, but their presence on Kingdom was so unlikely it was nearly impossible, and therefore beyond consideration. What made them uneasy was hearing the first sergeant say out loud what they all privately thought-that they were being sent in to punish as well as put down. Ba.s.s broke the disquiet. "You know, the Top tends to put his own spin on things in his unofficial briefings. But he's usually more accurate with his historical facts."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"High speed on a bad road" was how the Marines described their planetfall maneuver. They trooped into the Dragons that were already aboard the Essays in the Grandar Bay Grandar Bay welldeck and strapped themselves in. The shuttles were attached to launch-plungers in the welldeck's overhead. On command to land the landing force, the suction and clamps that held the shuttles to the launch-plunger released their grip, and the tops of the shuttles were slugged with a 100 psi blast of air that ejected them straight away from the s.h.i.+p with a four-g force. In one second the Essays were three hundred meters away from the s.h.i.+p, and their c.o.xswains fired their main engines. The sudden surge of horizontal power added three g's to the four already in effect. The roar of the engines drowned out the yells the Marines made to equalize pressure on their eardrums. Small rockets on the bottom of the Essays blasted to cancel the downward motion of the entry vehicles; the aft retros fired more strongly than the forward ones to angle them for the main rockets to give them a slight downward thrust. Less than ten seconds after launch, the Essays were already past the 1.5-kilometer-long s.h.i.+p. Only the downward thrust from their main engines kept them from being flung welldeck and strapped themselves in. The shuttles were attached to launch-plungers in the welldeck's overhead. On command to land the landing force, the suction and clamps that held the shuttles to the launch-plunger released their grip, and the tops of the shuttles were slugged with a 100 psi blast of air that ejected them straight away from the s.h.i.+p with a four-g force. In one second the Essays were three hundred meters away from the s.h.i.+p, and their c.o.xswains fired their main engines. The sudden surge of horizontal power added three g's to the four already in effect. The roar of the engines drowned out the yells the Marines made to equalize pressure on their eardrums. Small rockets on the bottom of the Essays blasted to cancel the downward motion of the entry vehicles; the aft retros fired more strongly than the forward ones to angle them for the main rockets to give them a slight downward thrust. Less than ten seconds after launch, the Essays were already past the 1.5-kilometer-long s.h.i.+p. Only the downward thrust from their main engines kept them from being flung 39 39 into a higher orbit.

"The shuttle is clear of the s.h.i.+p," the Essays' c.o.xswains reported. "Request permission to commence atmospheric entry."

When permission was granted, each c.o.xswain punched the b.u.t.ton that controlled the topside att.i.tude rockets. The Essays' computers got confirmation from the s.h.i.+p's launch control computer and executed the command. Small vernier rockets above the Essays' noses gave brief thrusts to angle the shuttles downward sharply and convert their orbital velocity of more than 32,000 kilometers per hour into downward speed. Five seconds later the main engines shut off and the Essays went into an unpowered plunge. If their path had been straight down, the Essays would catastrophically impact the planetary surface in less than two minutes. But the glide angle was calculated to take five minutes to reach 50,000 meters above the surface, where wings deployed and the forward thrusters fired to drop speed to something that could be controlled by powered flight.

"High speed on a bad road" was an apt description for the fall from the top of the atmosphere to the beginning of powered flight fifty kilometers above the surface. The fall through the middle thermosphere felt like the Dragon was driving at top speed on a coa.r.s.ely graveled road, the gravel getting coa.r.s.er the farther they went. The lower thermosphere eroded the roadway with potholes and b.u.mps; some of the potholes seemed deep enough to swallow the Dragon whole, some of the b.u.mps should have flipped it over. By the time the breaking rockets fired and the wings began to deploy, the shaking and rattling was so hard that the Dragons inside the Essays felt like they were coming apart. Breaking rockets and deploying wings quickly cut the angle of the dive, and slashed its speed in half by the time the Essays reached the top of the troposphere. When the wings were fully extended, huge flaps extended from them to further decrease the Essays' speed. When the wings finally bit into the thickening air hard enough for controlled flight, the c.o.xswains turned off the breaking rockets, fired up the jets, and maneuvered the craft into a velocity-eating spiral that slowed both their descent and forward motion. At one thousand meters alt.i.tude, the c.o.xswains pulled out of the spiral and popped drogue chutes. At two hundred they angled the jets' vernier nozzles downward. Seconds later the shuttles rested on the surface of the ocean, a hundred kilometers off sh.o.r.e. The c.o.xswains checked that the Dragons were ready, then opened their landing hatches. The Dragons-air-cus.h.i.+oned, light-armored, amphibious vehicles-rose on their cus.h.i.+ons and splashed onto the water. They lined up abreast and headed for the horizon and the sh.o.r.e beyond. That was a combat a.s.sault planetfall. The Confederation Army used it when they expected to meet resistance. The Marines used it every time they made planetfall, even on peaceful missions. Everybody else thought only crazy people would ever make a combat a.s.sault planetfall when it wasn't necessary.

The Leader could barely restrain his excitement when he was ushered into the presence of the Great Master commanding the operations on the Earthman world. It would be the first time he'd spoken directly to a Great Master, and the honor was much. The Great Master sat cross-legged on a low chair set on a dais high enough that he could look down on even the tallest of the Large Ones. Five Large Ones were arrayed around the Great Master; one to either side facing front, another behind each of them facing to the side, and a fifth behind him facing the wall to the Great Master's rear. The sheathed sword that lay across the Great Master's thighs had an ornately carved hilt, but the Leader had no doubt its blade was sharp and strong enough to slice through flesh and 40 40 bone easily.

The Leader approached the dais as he had been instructed, back bowed, eyes on the matting that covered the floor. When he saw the discreet mark woven into the matting's pattern he stopped and lowered himself to his knees. He didn't need a nudge from the chamberlain to tell him he was there. Hands just under his shoulders, he touched his forehead to the matting and waited.

"Lord," the chamberlain barked, "this worthless Leader wishes permission to make a report." There was a pause before the Great Master growled, "Report."

"Lord Great Master!" In that posture, doubled over and forehead on the mat, it was difficult to speak loudly enough to be heard clearly, but the Leader was happy that he managed so well. "The Earthman Marines have landed!"

"You know this as fact?"

"Yes, Lord Great Master!"

"Raise your face."

The Leader craned his neck to look up at the Great Master, but kept his shoulders low, just above his hands, flat on the matting.

"How do you know the Earthman Marines have landed?" Speaking in that posture was no easier, but the Leader found it was easier to project his voice. "Lord Great Master, with my own eyes I saw the streaks of their shuttles plummeting from orbit to beyond the horizon. I waited until I saw their amphibious craft speeding toward the beach, then I came directly here."

"How did you come that their surveillance satellites could not track you?" A thin smile creased the Leader's face. "Lord Great Master, the Earthmen were in too great a hurry to land their Marines. They made planetfall before the surveillance satellites were deployed." The Great Master barked out a laugh. The Earthman Marines were ash.o.r.e without knowledge of who they were up against or where they were. He looked at the chamberlain. "You have the coordinates?" The chamberlain bowed. "Yes, Lord Great Master. They are on their way to Haven."

"Launch Dawn Bird." The Great Master returned his attention to the Leader. "Perhaps you are not worthless. Leave me."

Perhaps not worthless. The Leader exalted at the high praise! He pushed himself to his feet and backed away, back bowed, eyes on the matting.

Haven, capital city of Kingdom, though less than two centuries old, looked like something out of a history vid about Old Earth's Middle Ages. The entire city seemed to be constructed from native stone and wood-even the avenue that led up to the city was paved with flat stones. Horses-horses!-pulled 41 41 clattering wagons in and out of the gate in the stone curtain wall. That wall was a false front; a palisade wall of tree trunks circled the rest of the city. Most of the buildings visible above the wall appeared to be houses of wors.h.i.+p. The tallest was a minaret, though the unfinished bell tower on a Gothic cathedral aspired to top it.

The Marines, unbaptized heathens that they were, weren't granted entrance to Haven. Instead, a troop of Guardian Angels met the lead Dragons and directed them to a large field on the other side of Interstellar City from Haven's walls, where Amba.s.sador Jay Benjamin Spears and Chief-of-Station Prentiss Carlisle met them.

As unfamiliar with the military as Prentiss was, even he realized immediately that the distinguished-looking Marine who was the first man to leave the lead Dragon must be the commander. But not Spears. His face broke into a wide grin as he stepped forward and offered his hand. "Ted, you old rascal, you!" he shouted.

"Jay, you old reprobate!" Brigadier Sturgeon replied. The two embraced and slapped each other hardily on the back.

"I haven't been on station very long, Ted, so all I know is that old Doc Friendly had called for help. I didn't know they were sending in the good old 34th FIST! d.a.m.n! How're old Dean and Claypoole?" Sturgeon laughed. "They're around here somewhere. I thought Creadence was amba.s.sador here, Jay. d.a.m.n, it is good to see you again!"

"He was recalled just recently, lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and I volunteered for the job because I need the money. Oh, excuse me, Ted, this is Prentiss Carlisle, my chief-of-station." Carlisle and Sturgeon shook hands.

"Prentiss has only been here a little longer than I. He replaced a man who was killed in an accident."

"'The Marines have landed and the situation is well in hand.'" Carlisle grinned weakly as he quoted the ancient saying.

"It will be, sir," Sturgeon replied. "How'd your predecessor die?" Carlisle shrugged. "A vehicular accident, we think. He was out gathering information on the, uh, situation here, and his landcar must have run off the road. He and his driver were both killed."

"Where are the local authorities?" Sturgeon asked. The two Confederation diplomats were the only people in the welcoming committee. Sturgeon hadn't expected pomp and ceremony, but it was normal for representatives of the local government to greet the commander of a Marine force when it made planetfall.

Spears tamped down a grimace before it could appear on his face. "I imagine they're in conference, Ted." Acrimonious haggling was more like it, he thought. The last time they'd deigned to speak to him, it was obvious the theocrats were fighting over how much or little to tell the Marines about the situation. That, and how much of the planet to allow them access to. And how much contact the off-worlders could have with their own military. The only thing on which the theocrats seemed to be in agreement was that contact between the Marines and the civilian population should be as limited as possible. But they disagreed on what const.i.tuted "as little as possible." Sturgeon kept his expression neutral and his voice level. It wasn't his position to criticize local governments. "We are here. What do they expect us to do?" 42 42 "They said it's my responsibility to quarter you," Spears said, then added apologetically, "But that presents a bit of a problem. Interstellar City isn't big enough to accommodate a FIST and your follow-on reinforcements."

"Jay, we're it." Sturgeon said. Carlisle swallowed. Suddenly he wished he knew more about the military. For the first time, he looked at Sturgeon, really looked at him. The brigadier's face appeared friendly enough, but there was steel in his expression, and his eyes looked like they never missed any detail of his surroundings. At first glance he seemed relaxed, but Carlisle now noticed an underlying tension, a readiness to move and act on an instant's notice. The Marine leader was a very strong man, accustomed to command and action. He also gave an impression of high intelligence. Carlisle suspected he was more than capable of seeing far beneath surface details. Then the last part of what Sturgeon said registered.

"H-How many men did you bring, Brigadier?" he asked.

"One thousand Marines, with supporting arms, of course."

"Only a thousand men?" he asked.

"Mr. Carlisle, as Amba.s.sador Spears can tell you, a Marine FIST is a most versatile and potent weapon. I a.s.sure you, we are more than are needed to deal with a simple peasant rebellion." Before Carlisle could ask what Sturgeon meant by a peasant rebellion, Sturgeon turned to Spears. "Jay, I don't need for you to quarter my Marines. All I need here is an office suite and facilities for my command and control center, say twenty-five of us. The rest of the FIST will be in the field."

"Yup," Spears replied. He turned to Carlisle. "Prentiss, if we were facing a million-man army equipped with the latest weapons, well, the Confederation would've sent us two thousand Marines to do the job." Both he and Sturgeon roared with laughter. Carlisle smiled but his face turned a light shade of red.

"By 'in the field,' I a.s.sume you mean on operations?" Prentiss asked.

"That's why we're here, yes." In his peripheral vision Sturgeon noticed a landcar draw up.

"How will you know where to send your Marines?" Prentiss asked. Spears meanwhile was silent, smiling cryptically. He knew enough not to ask such questions.

"That's one reason I wanted to meet the local authorities."

"Well, Ted, you're about to do just that," Spears said. The landcar stopped and four ornately uniformed men climbed out.

"Mr. Amba.s.sador," the lead, most ornately uniformed soldier said as he approached, "I see the Confederation Marines are arriving." Spears turned to him and brightened. "Archbishop General Lambsblood! I'm glad to see you." Lambsblood spared Sturgeon a curious glance, wondering who he was, but kept his attention on the amba.s.sador. "Have you word on when the Marine commander will arrive?" 43 43 Sturgeon studied the Kingdomite general during that brief exchange. His uniform was a dusky orange, almost brown tunic over black trousers with silver seam stripes. Gold aiguillettes adorned both shoulders, and an electric blue sash slashed across his chest. A ma.s.s of medals was mounted on his left chest, and other ribbons and badges crowded his right. A sidearm in a highly polished holster rode his hip.

"Archbishop General Lambsblood," Spears said without revealing the embarra.s.sment he felt for the Kingdomite commander, "may I present Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon, Confederation Marine Corps. He is, I might add, the fightin'est G.o.dd.a.m.ned Marine in the Corps." Lambsblood blanched at the vulgar language the amba.s.sador chose to use. Spears had already gotten off to a bad start with the Kingdomites. As soon as he'd realized how much they hated profanity, he'd started to use it on special occasions, to deflate stuffed s.h.i.+rts in their hierarchy. This was such an occasion, in his view.

Lambsblood blinked, then looked at Sturgeon. The Marine's uniform was dull green, originally designed to blend into the shadows of gra.s.sland or forest. Other than the rank insignia on the collar tips of the s.h.i.+rt, the only adornment was a rampant eagle clutching a globe that floated on a starstream, embroidered in black thread on his left s.h.i.+rt pocket. Lambsblood recognized it as the Confederation Marine Corps emblem. What manner of commander is this that he dresses so plainly? Lambsblood wondered. How can he command the respect of his men if he doesn't look like a commander "Brigadier," Lambsblood said with a cool but polite nod. The Confederation only sent a brigadier, not a general? he thought. Do they not take our situation seriously?

"General Lambsblood." Sturgeon saluted and held it until Lambsblood returned it.

"You are the Confederation commander for this mission?"

"That's right, sir." Sturgeon smiled inwardly at the dismay Lambsblood wasn't fully successful at keeping off his face.

"And he's a veritable a.s.s-kicker!" Amba.s.sador Spears crowed. Lambsblood blinked again and tried to ignore the amba.s.sador.

"How many days will it take for your force to land and prepare for action?"

"The FIST will all be planetside within an hour. The ground forces will be ready to move out within minutes of the time the last element has landed. The air squadron will take just a little longer to be ready for action." He glanced at his watch; it was 1017 hours local time. Kingdom used an adjusted twenty-four hour clock, even though its rotation period was nearly twenty-five hours standard. Sturgeon's watch was calibrated to Kingdom time. "The entire FIST will be operational by fifteen hours."

"So fast? How few are you?" Lambsblood sharply shook his head. "No. You said the FIST. You have only one FIST?"

"That should be more than enough, General." Lambsblood's face darkened. "Brigadier, I know the reputation of the Confederation Marines. I was a very junior officer the last time the Confederation sent Marines to our aid, so I know that reputation is well-deserved. But the enemy we face has powerful weapons, weapons we've never encountered before." He shook his head and looked away. "They have weapons I've never heard of. They rendered 44 44 four of my divisions and eight squadrons inoperable in a battle that lasted ten minutes. They can destroy your entire FIST in moments."

Sturgeon nodded. "I understand your concern, General. But the Marines don't stand still. Today's FIST is much more potent than it was a generation ago."

"You are too few," Lambsblood said harshly. "The Confederation has seen fit to waste your lives for nothing. You and your entire force will be killed as soon as you encounter the enemy." He spun on his heel and strode toward his landcar with his retinue in tow. Before they reached it, a soldier jumped from the landcar and raced to the general. He reported, then Lambsblood stood still for a moment, looking off into the distance. The three staff officers exchanged glances and looked anxious. Lambsblood abruptly spun about and marched back to Sturgeon.

"Brigadier," he said as briskly as he'd walked, "you say your Marines are ready. If they are, I have your first mission. I just received a priority message. An outpost of the Lord's Army has been attacked. There are no details available save it sounds as though the outpost may have been wiped out. It's possible that survivors are holding out. How fast can your Marines get there?"

"Where is it?" Sturgeon was signaling for his princ.i.p.al staff to join him even as he asked the question. Lambsblood grinned wickedly. "Six thousand kilometers almost due west of here. On a mid-ocean island where there had been no previous reports of hostile activity."

"Give me the coordinates." Sturgeon turned to Commander Usner, the FIST operations officer. "Divert the next wave to the coordinates General Lambsblood gives you." Usner aye-ayed and got on his comm, issuing the orders to divert the wave of six Essays that was already descending to make planetfall. Lambsblood had his staff provide the coordinates.

"See to security," Sturgeon told Commander Daana, the FIST intelligence officer. Then to the Kingdom commander: "Six thousand kilometers? That's the dawn terminator." Lambsblood agreed. "A dawn attack. Cla.s.sic."

"Do you want to join us?"

"How many of us do you have room for?"

"a.s.sign a Dragon to them," Sturgeon said to Lieutenant Quaticatl, his aide.

"Aye aye, sir." Quaticatl spoke into his comm unit and a nearby Dragon roared to life and flowed to them on its air cus.h.i.+on. "It can hold twenty combat-ready Marines, sir," he said to Lambsblood. Lambsblood nodded. He signaled to his communications technician and gestured toward the dropped ramp of the Dragon.

"Jay?" Sturgeon turned to Spears and indicated he could board with the general's entourage.

"Oh, Ted," he drawled, "I don't think so. You almost got me killed the last time, as I recall. No, Prentiss and I will earn our pay the diplomatic way, by sitting on our fat a.s.ses and composing flowery G.o.dd.a.m.ned reports back to headquarters."

45 Lambsblood raised an eyebrow. What kind of people were these two? A commander who dressed like a private soldier, called the amba.s.sador by his first name like some old drinking partner, and a Confederation amba.s.sador who-who used the language of a common soldier? He shook his head. What he needed was professional help, not a pair of comedians. Sturgeon and the necessary members of his staff boarded his Dragon. The Dragons roared into the gaping maw of an Essay.

"Schultz, Mark One! Doyle, infra," Corporal Kerr barked as he slid his magnifier s.h.i.+eld into place. It was two minutes since the first Essay of the diverted second wave landed a kilometer from the attacked outpost and its Dragons roared off to approach to within a few hundred meters. The infantrymen were already spreading out in defensive positions around the Kingdomite outpost. Kerr's fire team was near the end of a windbreak treeline half a kilometer from where their Essay had made planetfall. Following Kerr's orders, Corporal Doyle was scanning the landscape before them in the infrared, looking for the heat signals of warm bodies. Lance Corporal Schultz was using his naked eyes. Kerr himself was using the telescopic magnifier s.h.i.+eld in his helmet to look farther and see smaller things. Long practice had taught the Marines that the combination of viewing methods was most effective. An ancient ocean-floor volcano had birthed the island, Trinity. Eons of wind and rain since it went dormant had eroded broken, sharp-edged rock surface into gravel, then sand. Wind-and avian-borne seeds and spores in their turn mulched the sand into dirt. Eventually, lush vegetation had taken hold. The only animate life native to Trinity were insect a.n.a.logs. Humans had imported all the larger animals that populated it, and they'd imported many, both farm and game. The local economy was the same as the rest of Kingdom, agricultural, though oceanic fish and seaweed farms were as important as the grain, fruit, and vegetable farms on land.

Farmland lined by windbreaks spread out before Kerr and his men. A group of houses and other buildings huddled together a couple of kilometers away. A disproportionate number of the buildings were topped by spires, belfries, or onion domes; a minaret matched the tallest spires. Tendrils of smoke rose from a few of the buildings. A road slashed through the hamlet. One end ran through a break in a tree row exposing boats bobbing gently in the ocean. Even with his magnifier Kerr could see no people in the fields or the beach.

"See anything?" he asked.

Schultz grunted a negative.

"N-Nothing," Doyle stammered. "Shouldn't there be farm animals out there?"

"Chickens, maybe," Kerr said. "They're only growing grain; won't be any cattle or pigs. Nothing bigger than a dog. If you see anything bigger than a dog, speak up."

"R-Right." What would be bigger than a dog other than cattle? Why speak up if he saw cattle? Oh, he realized, they might be human, might be the enemy. The enemy would want to kill him. He wiggled, trying to sink farther into the ground.

46 Brigadier Sturgeon stood where the Army of the Lord outpost had been and looked at the destruction. During his Marine career he'd seen many 2-D images ill.u.s.trating the destructiveness of explosive munitions used in the past. He'd even witnessed firsthand what they could do in demonstrations of archaic weapons-and a few instances of their present day use by poorly armed insurgents. But he'd never seen anything like this.

The en route briefing had included a trid of the outpost, so he knew what it looked like before the attack-a substantial building of stone, steel, and wood. From where he stood, there didn't seem to be as much wood scattered about as had gone into the building, and what was there was splinters. The stone was so thoroughly pulverized that much of it had to be in the grainy dust that covered everything. And the steel was... shattered was the only word that seemed to convey what had happened to the steel. Strangest of all was the almost total lack of charring. Explosives created heat, blasted out in flame, and started fires. He saw no evidence of fire. It looked as if some unknown force had struck the building from all sides.

"So, Brigadier," Archbishop General Lambsblood said, "what weapon do you think did this?" Sturgeon could only shake his head. "Where are the soldiers?" he asked. Not only was there no charring, there seemed to be no survivors. Neither were there bodies nor blood, no evidence that the outpost had been manned when it was attacked. Lambsblood shrugged. "We may find them. Or bits of them. Or maybe we will find nothing." He looked at the surrounding countryside. "We don't always find the remains of our soldiers when an outpost has been destroyed." He paused for a beat, then continued. "There are those who believe these aliens take our soldiers prisoner. Some weaklings think some of our soldiers turn heretic and join the enemy." He turned hard eyes on the Marine commander. "The images of the demons who have attacked-I cannot believe any Soldiers of the Lord would join with them. And I can more easily believe they eat our missing soldiers than I can believe they hold them prisoner." Sturgeon looked at him blandly and tried to come up with a way to say what he was thinking that wouldn't offend Lambsblood. "General, when you characterize those who oppose the theocracy as demons, I can accept that as an expression of religious fervor. But 'aliens'? What makes you think they're from off-planet?"

"The images!" Lambsblood snapped. "They're quite clear. We have been attacked by off-planet demons."

"What images do you mean? I haven't been shown any pictures of the rebels." Lambsblood grew rigid, his face darkened. Then he exploded. "The images your Amba.s.sador Creadence-would the Lord have seen fit to have kept him here-sent with his urgent dispatch! Images that show the hideous form of the demons, images that show their entry craft doing things that no human shuttle can match!" He stopped abruptly and thought. More softly, he continued, "Or did he send the images? If he didn't, that would explain why the Confederation only sent one FIST under the command of a brigadier, rather than an entire army under...

"Brigadier Sturgeon, we must return to Haven, to Interstellar City. You must see those images. I don't believe you realize what we are facing here."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

47 Captain Lewis Conorado observed the other pa.s.sengers on board the shuttle that was taking them to dock with the SS Cambria SS Cambria in orbit around Thorsfinni's World. There were eighteen other people on board. Six of them were members of the Confederation Diplomatic Service's inspector general's office returning from an inspection of the consulate. Three were members of the consulate on rea.s.signment. Five others appeared to be businessmen, and the remaining four were 'Finnis returning to Earth. The diplomats were sitting just aft of Conorado. Their loud talk and laughter somewhat jarred Conorado's nerves, especially when he heard them making disparaging remarks about the 'Finnis. They were so blatant it was evident they did not think the 'Finnis could speak enough English to understand them. Perhaps they just didn't care if the 'Finnis knew they were talking about them. The businessmen, all from Earth, maintained a stiff neutrality. in orbit around Thorsfinni's World. There were eighteen other people on board. Six of them were members of the Confederation Diplomatic Service's inspector general's office returning from an inspection of the consulate. Three were members of the consulate on rea.s.signment. Five others appeared to be businessmen, and the remaining four were 'Finnis returning to Earth. The diplomats were sitting just aft of Conorado. Their loud talk and laughter somewhat jarred Conorado's nerves, especially when he heard them making disparaging remarks about the 'Finnis. They were so blatant it was evident they did not think the 'Finnis could speak enough English to understand them. Perhaps they just didn't care if the 'Finnis knew they were talking about them. The businessmen, all from Earth, maintained a stiff neutrality.

Someone whispered "bellhop" from somewhere behind him and his companions burst into laughter. Conorado knew they were talking about him. What the h.e.l.l, he thought, not worth my time to shut him up. But what really got on his nerves was the way they were talking about the 'Finnis on board, one of whom, sporting a handsome mustache, they kept laughing about and calling "old walrus face." In the terminal, before they boarded the shuttle, that particular man had given Conorado a friendly nod and a casual salute, so the captain felt these so-called diplomats were insulting a friend of his. One of the diplomats, a large man with a florid face and a voice like a foghorn, was making himself particularly obnoxious. The way the others in his party deferred to him, Conorado reflected that he was probably a second or third secretary and used to receiving deferential treatment. In his mind, he contrasted the man with Jayben Spears, the Confederation consul on Wanderjahr, and J. Wellington-Humphreys, who'd come to think so highly of Lance Corporals Dean and Claypoole after they'd rescued her from the mines on Diamunde. He knew there were some decent people in the Diplomatic Service, but there were also those who, because of education and breeding, held themselves above the common citizens of the Confederation's member worlds, the "hoi polloi" and "rubes" of the more "backward" settlements. Conorado tried to settle back in his seat. The almost physical pain he'd felt at the way he'd parted with Marta had receded to a dull ache. Well, he couldn't think about that anymore. What was it the old song said? "With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear / We dare not look behind us but steadfastly on before." He couldn't remember anymore where he'd heard those lyrics, but they'd stuck with him. They could've been written for a Marine. Well, it was done and he'd have to wait until he got back to patch up their relations.h.i.+p, or learn to deal with bachelorhood again. He had to think ahead now, to what awaited him in Fargo. d.a.m.n that woman Hoxey! She must have powerful friends in government to bring charges against him, especially considering that even the chief scientist on her s.h.i.+ft, Omer Abraham, had disagreed with the way she abused the Avionians in captivity. Well, he would have plenty of time to think about his defense on the long trip back to Earth. The shuttle's c.o.xswain announced they were preparing to dock at the Cambria Cambria in a few minutes. Be interesting to see what that s.h.i.+p is like, he thought. in a few minutes. Be interesting to see what that s.h.i.+p is like, he thought.

The SS Cambria SS Cambria was a deep-s.p.a.ce cargo craft capable of hauling more than one million metric tons of just about anything. When the cargo bays were used to transport items that required atmosphere, they could develop their own weather in the form of cloud condensation and even rain, in the form of heavy mists. These huge bays were generally used to store raw materials that were impervious to the "weather" or could withstand zero atmosphere conditions. Perishable goods were transported in special s.h.i.+pping containers or in smaller compartments that could be climate controlled as needed. was a deep-s.p.a.ce cargo craft capable of hauling more than one million metric tons of just about anything. When the cargo bays were used to transport items that required atmosphere, they could develop their own weather in the form of cloud condensation and even rain, in the form of heavy mists. These huge bays were generally used to store raw materials that were impervious to the "weather" or could withstand zero atmosphere conditions. Perishable goods were transported in special s.h.i.+pping containers or in smaller compartments that could be climate controlled as needed. 48 48 She was nearly two kilometers in length between bridge and propulsion plant. Those points and the various cargo compartments in between were connected by a horizontal elevator shaft. On that flight, the Cambria Cambria had been outward bound from Earth for over a year. She had made a vast swing through Human s.p.a.ce, stopping at dozens of worlds on the way to her terminus, Thorsfinni's World. During the voyage, she had carried just about everything the entrepreneurs and governments of those many worlds could think to order or s.h.i.+p to someone. The had been outward bound from Earth for over a year. She had made a vast swing through Human s.p.a.ce, stopping at dozens of worlds on the way to her terminus, Thorsfinni's World. During the voyage, she had carried just about everything the entrepreneurs and governments of those many worlds could think to order or s.h.i.+p to someone. The Cambria Cambria and s.h.i.+ps like her were a mainstay of the commerce between worlds that was essential to their economic survival. Now she floated in orbit far above Thorsfinni's surface, her vast cargo holds dark and empty and groaning with the noises of expanding and contracting metals and of fluids being piped through her venting systems, as if she were alive and begging to be fed. And she would be, when they reached Siluria, her only stop on the way back to Earth. There, she would pick up some more pa.s.sengers and hundreds of thousands of tons of the rich mineral ore mined on that planet. Her owners back on Earth were in a state of near ecstasy over the profits they expected to earn on the voyage, and the members of her crew virtually skipped about their duties in happy antic.i.p.ation of the huge bonuses they'd make once their pay was settled. and s.h.i.+ps like her were a mainstay of the commerce between worlds that was essential to their economic survival. Now she floated in orbit far above Thorsfinni's surface, her vast cargo holds dark and empty and groaning with the noises of expanding and contracting metals and of fluids being piped through her venting systems, as if she were alive and begging to be fed. And she would be, when they reached Siluria, her only stop on the way back to Earth. There, she would pick up some more pa.s.sengers and hundreds of thousands of tons of the rich mineral ore mined on that planet. Her owners back on Earth were in a state of near ecstasy over the profits they expected to earn on the voyage, and the members of her crew virtually skipped about their duties in happy antic.i.p.ation of the huge bonuses they'd make once their pay was settled.

Vast as she was, the Cambria Cambria required only a crew of ten. A marvel of twenty-fifth-century technology, she was fully automated and required only maintenance and someone to watch over her computer guidance systems. Most of the crew spent their s.h.i.+fts roaming throughout the required only a crew of ten. A marvel of twenty-fifth-century technology, she was fully automated and required only maintenance and someone to watch over her computer guidance systems. Most of the crew spent their s.h.i.+fts roaming throughout the Cambria's Cambria's holds and compartments and propulsion plant, checking this, tinkering with that, repairing the occasional minor malfunction, keeping watch on the vessel's hull integrity-or goofing off smoking thule and ogling girlie vids in the bowels of the s.h.i.+p, where her captain and engineer couldn't keep an eye on them. Supercargo on the holds and compartments and propulsion plant, checking this, tinkering with that, repairing the occasional minor malfunction, keeping watch on the vessel's hull integrity-or goofing off smoking thule and ogling girlie vids in the bowels of the s.h.i.+p, where her captain and engineer couldn't keep an eye on them. Supercargo on the Cambria Cambria lived well. She carried staterooms for a hundred pa.s.sengers, suitably remote from the crew's quarters, and a full a.s.sortment of recreational activities from swimming and exercise rooms to gambling facilities. Medical services were provided by a computerized dispensary that could handle any emergency situation and most acute conditions. For individuals with life-threatening injuries or chronic medical problems the computer system could not handle, there were stasis units to keep patients alive until definitive medical care could be found. Housekeeping was fully automated in the pa.s.senger compartment, and the huge galley prepared excellent meals around the clock. The owners of the lived well. She carried staterooms for a hundred pa.s.sengers, suitably remote from the crew's quarters, and a full a.s.sortment of recreational activities from swimming and exercise rooms to gambling facilities. Medical services were provided by a computerized dispensary that could handle any emergency situation and most acute conditions. For individuals with life-threatening injuries or chronic medical problems the computer system could not handle, there were stasis units to keep patients alive until definitive medical care could be found. Housekeeping was fully automated in the pa.s.senger compartment, and the huge galley prepared excellent meals around the clock. The owners of the Cambria Cambria made a tidy profit hauling human cargo. A few more pa.s.sengers were scheduled to board at Siluria, but even so, the pa.s.senger compartments would be far from crowded. Ordinarily this circ.u.mstance would lead to an intimate and friendly atmosphere among the pa.s.sengers, but not on this voyage, not with Mr. Redface and his sycophants. Even before boarding, Conorado had decided to spend most of his time by himself. made a tidy profit hauling human cargo. A few more pa.s.sengers were scheduled to board at Siluria, but even so, the pa.s.senger compartments would be far from crowded. Ordinarily this circ.u.mstance would lead to an intimate and friendly atmosphere among the pa.s.sengers, but not on this voyage, not with Mr. Redface and his sycophants. Even before boarding, Conorado had decided to spend most of his time by himself.