“I’ve got orders not to let anyone pass without a staff ID.”
“Son, I’m Commander Erik Sandoval-Groell, envoy of Lord Governor Duke Aaron Sandoval. I’ve got important business with the Governor and the Legate. Are they down here?”
“I can’t tell you that, sir.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
The soldier looked even more nervous, if that was possible, as he tried to figure out if he’d been tricked into revealing a secret.
“Look,” said Erik, “we just need to talk with them. Haven’t you heard about the accord I’ve presented?” He glanced up at the ceiling as another missile fell somewhere. “Those are our mutual enemies up there. We need to form an alliance to help defend your world.”
“Sir, you are a foreign national—the last person I should be letting in. You could be a spy.” He licked his lips. “Maybe I should just shoot you.”
Erik held up his index finger. “No! Look, we’ve got this accord. Show him the accord, Ozark.”
Kinston fumbled with the envelope, trying to open it.
“This is Facilitator Ozark Kinston. He’s not a foreigner. Homegrown Shensi native. Haven’t you seen him around before?”
“I—I don’t know. He maybe looks familiar.”
Kinston managed to pull the accord out of the envelope. He held it out, and the soldier leaned over to see. For a fraction of a second, he was distracted.
Erik stepped from in front of the rifle barrel and spun, grabbing the barrel and pushing it up, twisting.
The soldier pulled the trigger, and a short burst of shells fired, bouncing around the tunnel and showering Erik with stinging rock chips.
Erik shifted his weight, grabbing the rifle with both hands now, using it as a battering ram to jam the stock into the soldier’s kidney. The private doubled over. Erik twisted again, rotating the rifle so that the barrel came up and hit the guard in the chin. By then, he was able to rip the rifle completely from the young soldier’s fingers.
The private was already off balance. Erik stepped on the man’s foot, pinning it in place, and pushed him over backward. Erik spun the rifle around, and looked down the sights into the kid’s face.
“Stop.” Kinston tugged at his sleeve. “He’s just doing his job.”
Erik relaxed slightly. That was true, and he was just a boy. Besides, Erik had the gun now. He considered the value of a hostage and dismissed the idea. But there was one thing he could use.
“Put your hands behind your head, and show me where to find the Situation Room. Now!”
11
Military Situation Room, Capitol Building
Whitehorse, Shensi
Prefecture V, The Republic
21 November 3134
It was almost comical. Fifteen people in the Situation Room, twelve of them holding guns. Erik’s was pointed at the Legate of Shensi. The others were pointed at Erik.
The three people without weapons in their hands were the soldier Erik had disarmed, Kinston—who cowered behind Erik, envelope clutched to his chest as though it might stop bullets—and Legate Tarr himself, who stood in front of his overturned chair, fists on hips, looking at Erik as though he were an especially unpleasant bug. The man didn’t so much as blink.
Neither did Erik. “Can we put all these guns down now? The Duke is offering his forces to fight alongside you, not against you.”
The Legate stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. He held up his hand, and the guns began to lower. “I’ll give you this: You’ve got nerve, Sandoval. If your soldiers all have your kind of guts, you’ll make excellent allies.”
Erik pointed the rifle at the ceiling, then handed it to the private.
Kinston looked desperately at the Legate. “I didn’t know, Legate, I swear I didn’t know there would be guns. I just brought this for you to sign.”
Erik snatched the envelope, and was careful to extract his original document, not the adulterated version. He spotted a document shredder at a nearby communications console. He tossed the envelope in and watched it turn into confetti, then handed the original to the Legate. “I assume you have a pen here somewhere?”
The Legate looked at the shredder. “What was that?”
Erik grinned. “Something I might have been willing to agree to a few hours ago. Now it appears the situation has changed.”
The Legate looked at the document. “I can’t sign this without reading it.”
“You’ve already read it. It’s the one you rejected previously. I assume you have no problem with that.” A distant explosion made the room shudder, and the lights flickered momentarily. “Those are your ‘friends’ blasting your capital into rubble. Your Prefecture is in shambles and you count on them for help. Do you wish to face House Liao all by yourselves?”
The Legate looked at him and blinked. “The Governor still has to sign.”
“The Governor will sign. You have always been the problem.” He glanced up at the ceiling as another distant explosion made the light fixtures sway. “This is on your head.”
The Legate grunted. He bent over the table, flipped to the last page and signed.
“Where’s the Governor?”
“A secure room, one level down. I’ll have someone escort you. Someone with a pass.”
Erik shook his head. He handed the document to Kinston. “It’s a milk run, Ozark. Go be important, and then bring it back here to me.”
Kinston nodded, and followed a staffer out of the room.
“One of the first things we should do for you as an ally is teach you how to set up an emergency perimeter. I only had to get past five guard posts: one unmanned, two that I overpowered, one that I talked my way through, and one where the guard appeared to be so busy calling his wife that he didn’t see Kinston and me slip past.”
The Legate sighed. “We’re a bit rusty.”
“I predict many opportunities to practice, very soon. What’s your situation?”
The Legate turned to a holotable, which currently showed a world situation map. Red triangles seemed to indicate attacks on all three continents. “We had six ships come in undetected. They must have used a pirate point, so we didn’t spot them. We’ve had sporadic hit-and-run attacks all over the planet. All aerospace fighters; no ground forces that we’ve been able to detect.”
“What kinds of targets?”
“The Capitol, of course. Power plants, some major bridges, important monuments.”
That last caught Erik’s attention. “I don’t think there’s an invasion force behind this—at least not immediately. You’d be seeing ground forces, scouts, and probes at the minimum. And the choice of attacks implies that they’re going for psychological, not tactical advantage. No military targets. It’s a warning shot.”
The Legate nodded. “I agree—and one we can’t afford to ignore. We either turn over our world to them, or we prepare to fight. I’ve already made my decision. I assure you, Commander, historic ties or not, the people of Shensi value our independence. It may seem that we’ve forgotten how to fight, but we are eager to relearn the old ways, and we are not without weapons.”
Erik grinned. “So rumor has it—or resources to make more.”
“Legate, this just came in.” A pretty blond officer handed over several fax pages.
The Legate flipped through them, then handed one—a photograph—to Erik. “One of our Militia-Mechs on Klondike managed to bring down a fighter.”
Erik looked at the photo. It showed a burned scar amid frozen tundra, scattered with blackened wreckage. A nearly intact wing jutted up out of a snowbank, emblazoned with the shield of the St. Cyr Armored Grenadiers. “This confirms it, then. The Grenadiers have been Liao’s hired muscle on this campaign from the beginning. I need to get word of this, and our accord, back to the Duke.”