Dom felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He tried to suppress it. “Do you know where this safe is, Mr. Levy?”
“That doesn’t matter—”
“Yes, it does,” Dom said. “The safe belongs to Godwin Arms.”
Levy was staring at him now. Dom allowed himself a smile. His cheek stopped wanting to twitch. “GA&A, the company the Confederacy took over.”
Realization seemed to dawn slowly on Levy. “The TEC ... I’m going to need serial numbers and exact specifications on that safe—”
Dom felt the dimple of the bio-interface on his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tetsami notice his hand move. Her eyebrow arched. She still didn’t know how much of him was hardware. Didn’t matter. “I can give you all the specs you need, all I need is a terminal interface.”
Levy wiped his forehead. “I am still not going to commit to anything until I know how you plan to move in and out without two companies of Confederacy marines erasing the team.”
Tetsami looked at Dom. Dom motioned to her to go ahead. It was still her show. “We know, Johann. Everyone is going to share the risk and the profit. No one goes in who isn’t sure about the plan.”
“Who else?”
“You’re the first we’ve contacted. We had to be sure we can crack the safe when we get there.”
“How many?”
“Two software jocks, two muscle, an electronics whiz, a driver, someone who knows Paralian ship design, and you.”
Levy looked at Dom and asked, “Is he electronics or software?”
Dom answered, “Muscle.”
“As well as our expert on the pre-Confederacy security setup at GA&A,” Tetsami said.
Levy seemed to be calming down. He had stopped sweating and the color was back in his face. “I gathered that from his description of die safe. You’d better have an expert on the inside setup. I’d feel a lot better if he were still inside.”
Dom shrugged. “If I were still inside, this job wouldn’t even be under consideration.”
“I suppose not.” Levy had an expression as though he knew something Dom didn’t. “Have you picked out the other team members?”
Tetsami shook her head. “Not all. I wanted to know if you have any ideas. You’re wired into the community. You’d know who’s available and who’d be interested.”
Levy sighed. “I should charge you for die info.”
Dom pulled out a kilogram note from the IBASC and placed it on top of one of the stacks of paper. “Consider that a retainer.”
“You don’t believe in half-measures, do you?” The kilogram note disappeared. “Off the top of my head, for your electronics and software, talk to Tjaele Mosasa. He’s two of the best free agents on this rock.”
“Two?” Dom asked.
“Talk to him.”
“Where?” Tetsami asked.
“Mosasa works out of Proudhon. He has a surplus place off the spaceport. He’ll be interested. It’ll appeal to his general misanthropy.”
Dom stood up and held out his hand. Levy didn’t take it. “Let’s wait until we have a deal.”
Dom shrugged. “You’ll hear from us.”
Levy nodded. “I’ll find that ship expert for you.”
* * * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
War Crimes
“Ethics only become a problem when taken seriously.”
—The Cynic’s Book of Wisdom
“We are at a great disadvantage when we make war on people who have nothing to lose.”
—Francesco Guicciardini
(1483-1540)
It was the fifth Bakunin night since the operation had taken GA&A. During the previous two nights, perimeter defense had kept its hands full by repulsing nuisance attacks from a coalition of northern communes. There were people on this planet who really did not like the Confederacy. Even so, no real Bakunin resistance had reared its head yet.
As long as the Confed forces confined themselves to the single property, anything more was unlikely.
Tonight was quiet.
Quiet enough to allow Captain Kathy Shane to contemplate the end of her career.
Eight hundred and thirty-seven prisoners huddled below her, crammed behind the impromptu electrified barrier.
Eight hundred and thirty-seven.
That number was etched in her mind. Yesterday it was eight hundred and forty-three. Two lost to exposure, two to injuries sustained in the attack, one attempted escape, one suicide.
The suicide had been pregnant.
Eight hundred and thirty-seven.
Four hundred and ten men. Three hundred and eighty-nine women.
Thirty-eight children.
Shane stood alone on the platform the engineers had built on top of the remains of GA&A antiaircraft battery number seventeen. Kropotkin had long since set and the tiny lump of Guillaume was passing in front of the waning form of Schwitzguebel. The two moons didn’t quite give the scene a double shadow, but the presence of Guillaume managed to fuzz the edges.
Even in the dim lighting, she could make out the forms of individual prisoners. Few of them were military. They were office workers, secretaries, engineers, scientists, laborers.
As well as their families.
The armed defense of GA&A either died in the assault, or defended the evacuation of approximately six hundred personnel—nearly half of them children. The colonel was sending squads of marines on search and destroy missions to target the evacuees.
It was the fifth Bakunin night since the operation had taken GA&A.
The fifth Bakunin night since Colonel Klaus Dacham had ordered the death of all the GA&A workers.
Shane had stalled and delayed things as much as her rank and position would allow. The prisoners were to be cleared out in the morning.
What really scared Shane—and until now she had never thought herself capable of fearing anything—was the acceptance by her people of the coming atrocity. Men and women she’d been to hell with and back suddenly were strangers who talked of the impending murder of eight hundred civilians as if these people were simply another enemy asset to be disposed of.
During dinner, Second Lieutenant Murphy, a man she had known since his training on Occisis, a man she considered a good friend, had started a dispassionate discussion on the best way to dispose of the bodies. Shane had to excuse herself, go to the head, and throw up.
She shivered.
She crossed the platform of the makeshift guard tower. Engineering had been busy during dinner. Someone had actually taken Murphy seriously. Engineering had mounted a wide-aperture plasma cannon on the platform. Unlike the other perimeter defenses, this one covered the small space given the prisoners. If it was used on the civilians, they would only leave a slight shadow etched in the bedrock. Something easily bulldozed over—no disposal problem.
Shane closed her eyes and pictured the half-second the cannon would need to reach full power. A half second when eight hundred and thirty-seven people would feel the flesh melt off their bones. A half-second before they would be flashed into eternity.
Half a second could be a very long time.
It was going to be her hand on the switch.
Captain Kathy Shane cried for the first time since she’d joined the marines.