With that in mind, he got out of his mule and walked the fifty odd concrete steps to the Volgan commander's quarters, the two moons cancelling out his shadow. He mounted the stairs and knocked. A somewhat plump Volgan woman answered the door, then turned and called something in a language he assumed was Russian. The man he recognized as Samsonov came to the door quickly.
"Legate Samsonov," Pigna began.
"Legate Pigna."
"I just wanted to let you know I've received orders from Carrera to do some very odd things in the city. My legion is already moving, by vehicle and on foot, to secure certain vital assets and critical facilities."
"War with the Taurans?" Samsonov asked. The prospect didn't seem to worry him overmuch.
"No," Pigna shook his head in negation. "At least I don't think so. Frankly, I'm not sure what Carrera has in mind. Though he insisted we break out and issue our basic load of ammunition."
"Damned strange. I would have expected him to have told me."
Pigna shrugged. "He did say that this was a test of readiness, so perhaps that's why you were not informed."
"Maybe. I hope no blood is spilled by mistake because people were not informed."
"Oh, I understand that he or someone will be speaking tomorrow morning. It should be all right."
Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova
Lourdes never noticed that her knees were covered in McNamara's blood. Perhaps she avoided looking down instinctively. Instead, she paced frantically about the room she shared with Patricio. She heard her children and Arti's crying in the room next door. She went to the adjoining door and opened it, only to be met by a grim faced guard who pointed her back to her own room. Behind that guard, two others were laying Artemisia down on one of the children's single beds.
What am I going to do? What am I going to do? "Anything" Mac's eyes told me. Anything. What is "anything."
Calm, Lourdes, calm. You have to think clearly if ever you did. For your own sake, for your husband's, for your children: Think.
She picked up the phone. Dead. They must have cut the lines. Aha: My mobile . . . She grabbed the phone and flipped it open . . . is dead. Has no signal, anyway. They must have taken control of the wireless system. Damn it! Think, Lourdes, think.
Who is behind this? Not the legions, or not most of them. But maybe some. Who can I trust? Not the police. Who . . . who . . . the Volgans! But how do I get to them?
Quarters 39, Fort Williams, Balboa
So far as he was aware, Colonel Muñoz-Infantes didn't have a single reason to worry about much of anything. Oh, yes, that skinny frog, Janier, had it in for him, but no more than he, the Castilian, had it in for the frog and the Tauran Union. Yes, he was passing information to the other side, but that was an old Tauran tradition, and something the bureaucrats who ran the place would be loathe to curtail. Besides, he was Castilian, and the frogs had no real authority over him. This phenomenon was one of the reasons that the Tauran Union was so militarily ineffective, even though its individual armies were generally quite capable in battle when allowed to be. Though there were rumors, persistent rumors, of a change to this that would create a unified armed forces with a unified chain of command and legal code.
"I can't see that happening, though," the colonel told Victor Chapayev. "We're Taurans; we all hate each other, deep down. I mean . . . maybe if we had an outside enemy threatening us. Maybe."
Maria, the colonel's daughter, hadn't yet stalked off as she usually did. Instead she sat quietly on a chair opposite her father and Victor. Her father had had a very long and not particularly pleasant chat with her on the subjects of rudeness, honor, and the duties owed to one's father and one's guests. She still thought that the work Victor was engaged in was vile, even if he seemed nice enough.
"On the other hand," the colonel continued, "we've got an inside enemy—the bureaucrats of the TU—and that hasn't brought us together."
"The Tauran Union is not the enemy, father," Maria said, heat in her voice. "It's all that's kept us at peace since the Great Global War."
"So say the schools that propagandized you since you were a girl," her father answered, calmly. "Personally, I think it was a combination of Federated States occupation troops and the external threat of the Red Tsar that kept us from each others' throats and that the TU was a beneficiary of that but had absolutely nothing to do with causation."
Best not to take sides, Victor, Chapayev told himself, though the colonel is clearly right.
"And then there's the corruption that permeates . . ."
"I'll get it, father," Maria said, rising to answer a knock at the door. Anything to cut off another of these TU rows, she thought.
"No, never mind," Muñoz-Infantes insisted, likewise rising. "I'll get it. It's probably business anyway."
He walked to the door and undid the latch. As soon as he had, the door swung open hard, knocking the colonel to the floor. Victor stood and Maria screamed. Both stopped, the one in caution and the other in deer-in-the-headlights panic when presented with an armed group of men in Castilian battle dress pushing into the living room, and the muzzles of pistols pointed in their direction.
"Colonel Muñoz-Infantes," said one of the pistoleros, "you are under arrest for . . ."
At that, Maria fainted.
* * *
The colonel was being dragged down the walkway when Maria came to. Chapayev made sure she was all right, then reached under his uniform tunic to take his service pistol in hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Didn't you notice that those men were in your country's uniform but had the local accent? That was no legitimate arrest."
"Bu . . . but why?"
"That I don't know, but I do know your father's been a good friend to me and I'm not going to see him dragged off by fakes." Victor looked around and ordered, "Get into the kitchen, behind the refrigerator. I'm going to go get your father."
"But there were three of them, and there's only one of you."
"There are probably four of them. So? Trust me; they're toast." Chapayev stood and ran for the side door.
Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova
I get to the Volgans by killing at least one of my guards, Lourdes thought, then amended, No, be honest. I get to them by killing the one who obviously intends to rape me. But . . . how?
She looked around the bedroom. Patricio keeps a pistol under the mattress, but it will make noise . . . a LOT of noise. That will put an end to any escape. Knives? No . . . no, no knives here. But . . . aha!
`She kept a small desk in the bedroom, since by common, if unspoken, agreement with her husband that room was hers and he was just an invited guest. And on the desk was a large brass letter opener with an onyx handle.
I can't kill for beans with this, she thought, unless I can get it into his heart or his brain. And I'm not sure I'm strong enough to push it through the muscles on his chest. So brain it will have to be.
She suddenly felt nauseous at the thought of the thin, dull point driving through eye and bone. And then she considered how she was going get him into a position to drive the blow home. That made her more nauseous still.
But still . . ."Anything," Mac said. And . . . if this is what I think it is Patricio is a dead man and my girls orphans—assuming they're allowed to live—unless I act. So . . ."anything." Forgive me, Patricio.