Riordan shook his head. “No. Lying. I had to lie to Commodore Cameron to get us down here.”
“Well, you knew that was coming.”
Riordan shouldered his liquimix battle rifle, jacked it into the HUD on his helmet, watched it pick out targets based on thermal signatures and silhouette analysis. “Knowing you’ll have to lie is different than doing it. I’m not saying there was any choice; not saying the stakes aren’t high enough. Just saying it disgusts me, particularly when I have to do it to someone wearing the same uniform.”
“Yes,” Bannor agreed. “That’s the worst.” He raised his head slightly. “The stragglers are starting to run back into the compound, now.”
Caine nodded, swept his scope over the familiar facility. Almost two and a half years ago, he had walked those dusty lanes, dined in that refectory, swum in that executive pool. It was all a bit shabby now. After the Parthenon Dialogues, the then-World Confederation had suspended all operations other than petrochemical prospecting with vertical drilling. The Hague had also tried to mount an investigation into the willful extermination of the local population of Pavonians, now known to be regressed Slaasriithi, but was stymied by procedural challenges. Then the Arat Kur and Hkh’Rkh had invaded and everything other than speciate autonomy, and possibly survival, was set aside. Now, as some semblance of calm was returning, there had been inquiries into whether CoDevCo’s Site One facility had remained in compliance with the suspension order. No direct answer to the question was ever received. However, much verbiage about soliciting advice of counsel before vouchsafing a reply was sent in its place. Which, Riordan was sure, meant that the moment CoDevCo had no longer been under direct official oversight, they had returned to their rapacious ways.
Close passes by Puller confirmed it. Digging around the archaeological site reminiscent of a half-sized Acropolis had clearly resumed, and thermal sensors showed a number of small teams up near the hidden valley that was the preferred refuge of the Pavonians. Whether CoDevCo’s henchmen had resumed hunting them to extinction or were simply containing them was unclear, but it was an absolute violation of the restrictions that had been placed upon their activities.
As Puller had swung around to make its initial approach, missiles had swarmed up out of the jungle at her. Melissa Sleeman had knocked them all down. She had become a pretty fair hand running the lasers in the point-defense fire mode.
Karam had lowered Puller on its vertifans, dropped off the Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform, and fired a few beams into the bushes. That had sent the SAM teams scurrying back toward base, where they were finally arriving. And where CoDevCo was likely to either make a last stand or capitulate. But Riordan couldn’t give them much time to make up their minds about which; they would have already earmarked any incriminating evidence for speedy elimination.
Bannor ran through a radio check. “Everyone’s ready for the show to begin, Commodore,” he reported. “Time to provide some pretext for pacification.”
Riordan leaned towards his own collarcom. “Melissa, shift over to the ROV controls.”
“Got it.”
“Advance the Slaasriithi AMP to waypoint two and hold position.”
“Acknowledged. And Commodore?”
“Yes, Melissa?”
“Is Tygg there with you?”
Riordan suppressed a smile while Bannor rolled his eyes. “No, he’s about three hundred meters to our left, Melissa.”
“Oh. Well, tell him to be careful. Please.”
“Will do. Stand ready to activate the PA system we’ve rigged on the AMP.” Riordan leaned down over his CoBro eight-millimeter’s scope. Site One was relatively quiet; the fleeing SAM teams had repositioned themselves around the central marshalling area where a defunct fountain stood bleaching in the unrelenting yellow-amber sun. There were two prepared positions flanking the open ground, which had already been there when Riordan was an unwanted guest at the facility. Their relatively basic rocket launchers — tripod-mounted, with simple guidance packages — had been swiveled around to guard the main approach. Perfect. Just enough illegal ordnance to crucify CoDevCo in court, but not enough to really be a bother today.
Caine’s collarcom crackled. “Commodore?”
“Yes, Melissa?”
“The AMP has now reached waypoint two.”
“Good. Advance to waypoint three and hold.”
“Do you want me to activate the PA system yet?”
“No, but I’ll be calling for it soon. Riordan out.”
“And there’s our spider-monster, right on time,” Bannor announced.
Sure enough, the much heavier, hexapedal Slaasriithi autonomous munitions platform emerged from the tree line and advanced toward the marshalling ground at a leisurely pace.
From the windows of the refectory, one of the more solidly built structures, small arms barked like a pack of warning dogs. The AMP showed no effect and did not stop. Riordan saw hints of what might have been loading and target tracking movements in the two defensive berms flanking the open ground, but none of the hurried motions consistent with an imminent attack.
The AMP came to a stop just the other side of the fountain.
Riordan leaned his mouth towards his collarcom. “PA, please, Melissa. And please activate the AMP’s PDF system.”
“You are live on the mic, Commodore. PDF coming up.” The back of the radially symmetric automated weapons platform segmented, extruded a pintle-mounted tube, resealed around it. “PDF coil gun is armed and ready. Go ahead, sir.”
Bannor grinned at him. “Show time.”
Riordan nodded, did not smile; he’d seen evidence of too many atrocities against the Pavonians to feel anything other than the heat of an anger he’d had to suppress but which had never guttered out. “This is Commodore Caine Riordan of the United Commonwealths and Allied States, acting on behalf of the Consolidated Terran Republic. You are hereby ordered to lay down your weapons, quit your positions, and present yourself for detention until such time as your individual culpability may be determined in the matter of any and all violations of Emergency Action Order 12509-C, issued by the World Confederation and transferred by political supersedence to the appropriate administrative agencies of the CTR.”
A single shot rang out from the refectory, spanged harmlessly off one of the AMP’s legs.
Riordan did not pause at all. “Failure to follow these instructions will be taken as an indication of continued hostile intent. You have thirty seconds to signal your intent to comply.”
A rocket sped at the AMP from the left-hand berm; the PDF tube swung toward it with eye-defying speed, hissed briefly. The rocket detonated halfway between the berm and the Slaasriithi ROV, the explosion shattering half of the facing windows in the refectory.
“Seems like a pretty clear signal to me,” Tygg drawled over the open channel.
“Hold your fire, everyone. We’re going to give them the full thirty seconds.”
“Why?” O’Garran sounded both eager and annoyed. He was well out on the right flank.
“Because we can afford to do so,” Riordan answered, “and because we need to take the high road on this right up until we engage.”
“Prudent,” affirmed Wu, who was working through the jungle around to the rear of the compound, ready to laser-tag any runners with changed-phase pulses so that Puller’s sensors had immediate targeting discrimination between potential hostiles and noncombatants.
“Thirty seconds have elapsed…now,” Bannor announced.
As if to confirm that timing, muzzle flashes from half a dozen small arms glittered along the shattered line of the refectory’s windows. The rounds rang off the smooth legs of the AMP.