Within an hour they were under the cover of the forest, safe from most spy sats but not from overflights. Shane let two of the security people lead the way; they seemed to know where to go—and they were going away from Godwin. Shane didn’t want to go toward the city. She knew that the colonel would concentrate any search for the prisoners in the space between GA&A and Godwin.
Even so, the mass of prisoners would be impossible to hide once a concentrated search started. Even though their path seemed to take them directly away from Bakunin’s excuse for civilization.
Shane knew the whole project was doomed. They were still close enough to the GA&A complex to know when the alarm was raised.
She guarded the fatalistic march into the Diderot Mountains, waiting for a miracle.
In two hours, a miracle occurred.
* * * *
The escape couldn’t have gone better. Shane still thought that, five overlong Bakunin days later.
* * * *
Kathy Shane lay sprawled on her cot, thinking about the briefing holos they’d shown on the Blood-Tide before the jump to Bakunin space. The planetary briefings they gave the marines before a drop were always heavy propaganda jobs. All good soldiers knew that, deep down. Just a little bit of spiritual bullshit to help everyone believe that they were on the side of the Angels; they were helping the helpless; God was on their side saying, “Rah! Rah! Rah!”
Of course you believed every word, or at least fooled yourself into believing every word.
“It was too good. Wasn’t it, Murphy?”
Good enough for almost all her people to forget what they’d learned about illegal orders. Good enough not to question the colonel. Good enough to make her people believe that the people of Bakunin deserved what they got.
She should have had her own briefings after those holos. She’d known they were over the top when she saw them....
Bakunin, home of a million perversions.
Bakunin, where every citizen is a thief and a murderer.
Bakunin, economic black hole trying to pull the Confederacy into its anarchic chaos.
Bakunin, where your typical inhabitant would shoot you, rape you, and steal your boots simply because there was no law that said he couldn’t.
Shane knew that by the time Dacham had given the order to vaporize the prisoners, her people had begun to think of Bakunin less as a planet and more like the first circle of Hell. If Dacham ordered carpet bombing the continent with micronukes, Shane thought most of his command would go along without any question. Those who’d question were probably too scared to do anything.
His command.
Shane shivered.
The room they’d put her in wasn’t originally designed as a cell. The mattress she lay on was an electrostatic fluid of variable viscosity, much more comfortable than her bunk aboard the Blood-Tide. There was a separate bathroom that seemed to have an unlimited supply of hot water. There was a half kitchen that allowed her to call up her own menu at any time. There was even a full holo entertainment system on the far wall from the door.
The only thing to show that she was a prisoner was the fact that the door was locked.
For perhaps the dozenth time in the last four days Shane wondered if she should have simply split off from the prisoners once she got them safely outside the perimeter. And again, the same answer: She’d done the right thing.
She had chucked her career—hell, she had chucked her whole life—to free those people, and she’d make damn sure they made it to safety. She’d been the only armed member of the escape, and if she’d split off from them, they’d have been defenseless.
Fortunately for the prisoners, there was an emergency rendezvous set up by the former CEO, Dominic Magnus. They’d been barely three hours out of GA&A when the patrol at the commune here saw them and took them in, through one of the hidden caves that dotted the Diderot Range.
Unfortunately for Shane, the command here took a dim view of her. The guards would have wasted her if the prisoners hadn’t spoken up on her behalf.
So, instead of summary execution it was, “Thank you, Captain Shane; drop your weapon, Captain Shane; do not move, Captain Shane; follow us, Captain Shane; remove the armor, Captain Shane; we’ll talk to you later, Captain Shane ...”
At which point the door slid shut on her, leaving her alone in this room wearing only her sweaty underwear. She had not seen or heard from her captors since. Since the room had its own food and water, they could keep her isolated here indefinitely.
Preferable to the brig on the Blood-Tide anyway.
Shane ran her hand over her head. The even nap of hair felt odd to her. She had been here long enough for her hair to grow back somewhat, and instead of shaving the Occisis stripes back, she decided to do her hair in an even crewcut. The transverse stripes were a symbol of the marines, and it seemed a bit disrespectful for her to maintain them in her situation.
Waiting for something to happen was getting on her nerves.
Hell, maybe they’ve forgotten about me.
Shane chuckled. More likely, since she had discovered the location of their hideout, they’d chucked her in here while they moved the body of GA&A’s personnel elsewhere. In which case she could be abandoned in an empty building being run by a computer, and eventually the food and water would give out. Perhaps a few years from now—
Oh, come on. If they ‘d do that, it would be much simpler to shoot me in the head to keep themselves safe.
The worst thing about this all was that she could see their point of view. She wouldn’t trust her in this situation. Defectors in any situation were terribly unreliable. In fact, she could see Colonel Dacham setting up this whole charade to find out where the GA&A personnel could be hiding. It was a TEC kind of trick. If she didn’t know better, she could easily picture herself as one of his agents.
As if that thought had triggered some sort of security alarm, the door decided just then to open for the first time in five days. Shane leaped off of the cot in surprise, taking a defensive stance across from the door as if it would do any good against a laser carbine. She stood there, naked except for a pair of Occisis-issue briefs, as the door whooshed fully open.
Standing there was the dark lithe form of Sergeant Mariah Zanzibar, the person who—as far as Shane could tell—was in charge of security for this place. Flanking her were a pair of guards in black monocast armor; each had a snub-nosed antipersonnel laser. Looked like Griffith Three-As from where she was. She didn’t get a closer look at them, because Zanzibar stepped through the door and it slid shut behind her.
Shane relaxed a little bit, but not much.
Zanzibar stood in front of the door, looking down at Shane. Probably couldn’t have found two more different-looking women in the Confederacy if you tried. Zanzibar was lean, tall, and built like a panther. The comparison made Shane look like a heavy-boned attack dog. Zanzibar was so dark and Shane so pale that the labels black and white were as accurate as they could be with any pair of humans. Where Shane was rounded, Zanzibar was flat. Where Shane was heavily muscled, Zanzibar was svelte. Where Shane looked like she could walk through an obstacle, Zanzibar looked like she’d flow around it.