I shot me bodyguard a sharp look. Like frag you've got nothing to say, I thought.
The ex-Ali'i was speaking again, and I turned away from Pohaku. "Shut down Project Sunfire," Ho echoed with a crooked smile. "It sounds so simple. But how, Dirk? I'm no longer Ali'i, remember. And the faction of the government with direct control over Project Sunfire is the same faction mat arranged to pry me out. Somehow I don't think they're going to listen to a decree to close down the project, do you?"
"Don't just tell them. Do it"
"And how do you propose I manage that?"
I swallowed hard. We all knew it was going to come down to this, didn't we? "Send me," I told him. "By all the fragging spirits, I'll shut it down."
He fixed me with those sharp, dark eyes. "How, Dirk?"
"It doesn't matter, does it?" I shot back gruffly. (Translation-I haven 'I got a fragging clue…) "Just give me some assets and some gear, and get me there. I'll do the rest."
Ho's gaze didn't shift, and I felt as though his eyes were burning their way deep into my brain. "You have your reasons for this…" he said slowly.
"So do you, e ku'u lani," Akaku'akanene put in. The moment stretched out until I was fragging near ready to scream. But then the ex-Ali'i nodded once. He seemed to shrink in on himself, as though-just for an instant-he was just plain Gordon Ho instead of King Kamehameha V. "You know, Dirk," he said quietly, "apart from Akaku'akanene, you're the only one I know who treats me as a person, not as a king. You tell me what you think, and you don't care if I agree with you or not. Do you have any idea how refreshing that is?"
He sighed, and his face changed. King Kamehameha V replaced Gordon Ho once more. "What do you need?" he asked me.
If Ho's capabilities were limited by being booted off his throne, I'm not sure I wanted to know how all-encompassing they'd been beforehand. With the sole exception of Jacques Barnard, I'd never dealt with anyone who could whistle up a military transport, personal gear, and personnel with a single phone call. (It was funny-Ho was fragging apologetic that he could supply only one military transport, and that the personnel he could offer were limited to Louis Pohaku, Alana Kono, Akaku'akanene… and a SWAT-style Quick Response fireteam. Only! Cut me loose, here.)
Down in the elevator we went-me, Pohaku, and Akaku'akanene. Another call from the ex-Ali'i had arranged for a car-a Toyota Elite, as it turned out, gleaming like brushed stainless steel under the lights of the underground parkade. My little entourage piled in-Alana Kono was waiting for us inside-and we were off, howling westward along the semideserted streets.
It wasn't what you'd call a comradely ride. Akaku'akanene was talking to geese again, staring off into space like a chiphead. Alana Kono looked like she might be up for friendly conversation… if her boss, Pohaku, hadn't been doing his best imitation of a slotted-off statue. So I sighed and settled back in the upholstery, trying to relax… and trying to figure out just what the frag I'd gotten myself in to.
Out onto the Kamehameha Highway we hurtled, me wondering idly what it would be like being descended from someone they named fragging highways for-and westward toward the airport.
And past the airport. Lord knows, I was no expert at Honolulu geography, but I could recognize an airport when I saw it flashing by at 200 kilometers per hour. I leaned forward and rapped hard on the kevlarplex partition. "Hey, slot!" I yelled at the driver. "You missed the fragging turn"-I hesitated-"didn't you?"
Pohaku's iron-hard hand on my shoulder pulled me back. He sneered at me and pointed out, "You think we're going to the civilian field… e ku'u hakul" His tone of voice turned the term of respect into the foulest of epithets.
"Where, then?" I shot back, loading my response with as much sarcasm as I could generate on the spur of the moment.
Pohaku didn't even bother to answer. Instead he just turned away, and pointedly stared at nothing out the Elite's window.
Alana Kono touched my arm, and she shot me a slightly embarrassed grin. Apparently, she'd finally decided that her job description might just include acting like a human being after all. "Kaiao Field, Mr. Dirk," she explained softly. "Used to be Hickham Air Force Base."
I sat back and tried to pretend I was as unconcerned as Akaku'akanene. But it wasn't easy. Jam or no jam, did Gordon Ho really think he still had any influence over the military?
Within a matter of minutes the Elite slowed, and we took a long sweeping left onto a minor connecting road. A few hundred meters to our right, I could see the floodlights and warning signs of a military compound. Ahead of us was…
Well, nothing that I could see. It was pitch black… ap¬parently all the way to the horizon. The only illumination came from the headlights of the Toyota limo.
Finally, after a minute more, those lights fell on a heavy-duty chain-link fence topped with hair-thin lines of refracted light that I identified as monowire. A sign on the fence read, "Lahui Mea Ki'ai o Hawai'i." Basically meaningless, until I saw the translation in small letters underneath: "Hawai'i National Guard."
The Elite sighed to a stop in front of a reinforced gate. Uniformed guards double-timed it toward the limo from an armored guard post, then suddenly snapped salutes to the car-or anything else that happened to be in their field of vision-and double-timed it right back to the guard post. The gate rolled back silently, and the Elite accelerated through.
Out onto the apron of a small airbase we drove, hanging a sharp left and finally to a stop in front of what looked like an administration building. A uniformed NCO-a troll, looking entirely too spit-polished-opened the door of the limo and snapped me a textbook-perfect salute as I climbed out. "Welcome, sir!" he damn near bellowed. "If you'll come this way…?"
Believe me-I've never been one of these hard-case slots who thinks that happiness is a warm gun, but…
By Ghu, it felt good to wrap my hands around something with a little more authority than a pistol, let me tell you that, chummer. The spit-polished troll presided over a load-out that would have left an NRA nut juicing his jeans. Basically, I'd been given my choice of any personal arms and armor I wanted from the Hawai'i National Guard's extensive collection. Full-on battle armor? What's your size, hoa? Panther assault cannon? Would you like that with or without a smartlink, sir?
Don't get me wrong-I didn't go overboard. There are people out there who think they're innately capable of handing top-drawer military hardware. Active battlesuits? Man-pack miniguns? Bring'em on!
Not me. Frag, I remember how much it affected my balance the first time I tried on a suit of heavy security armor during my Lone Star Academy training. I fragging near did a face-plant when I tried to get up off the bench. Any sales slot who tells you "Anyone can wear any kind of armor, right off the shelf is giving you the major song and dance, trust me.
So I crammed my fears way down deep into the back of my brain, and I kept tight rein on my impulses. No heavy security armor or miniguns for this kid. I picked out a nice, familiar set of Level 3 form-fitting body armor, and-okay, maybe I overreached myself on this one-an Ares high-velocity assault fire. As an afterthought, I picked myself out a nice assault vest-basically, a harness with the sole purpose of carrying an obscene number of spare ammo clips- and I was ready.
When I came out of the armory, my "troops" were waiting for me: Pohaku, Kono, and eight hoop-kicking military types.
Well, okay, apparently they weren't my troops. When I stumbled out, weighed down with lethal ordnance and feeling like a cheap knockoff of Slade the Sniper, they didn't spare me so much as a glance. Instead, their attention seemed focused entirely on Pohaku. For a moment I considered bitching about it, but then my better judgment overrode the testosterone overload the armory seemed to have caused. What the frag did I know about leading troops? Sweet frag all, that's what. Much better to leave it to someone who at least thought he was qualified.