Traitor's Duty (21 page)

 Stopping to take a drink from a nearby fountain, he walked down the short street, trying to avoid looking down at what lay beneath a really rather flimsy platform, and made his way to Magneton, Harper’s picked hangout. He began to feel safer as he noted that many of the people up at this level looked like she did.
I
f she’d found a place where the hackers felt safe, so did he. In a world of computerized surveillance provided by the lowest bidder, anyone with talent could make
himself
invisible to casual detection.

 Walking through the open doors, he looked around what looked far more like a bar than anything else.
A
dozen chairs were sprinkled around three tables, a drinks dispenser on the wall specializing in exotic alcoholic blends. At the back of the room was a door, notably cleaner than the rest of the room, presumably where the doctor dwelt. Harper was sitting near the front, sipping a drink, a man with neon blue hair and a matching thin mustache opposite.

 “Logan, over here,” she said, and he raced towards her.

 “Might not want to shout it too loudly,” he replied, taking a seat.

 With a smile, she replied, “Relax, Logan, everyone here’s already in the know. You don’t get up here without being checked out first, but don’t worry, I vouched for you.”

 “No wonder you managed to secure such nice accommodation.”

 “Just a home away from home, especially for people who like to break through firewalls. This is Jordan, by the way, an old friend of mine, who is to hardware what I am to software.”

 The blue-haired man smiled, nodded, and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 “Not enough to know to cut out the ‘sir’,” Logan replied. “Though if Harper says you can be trusted, that’s fine with me. What about everyone else in here?”

 “Oh, here you have the great and the good of the information underworld,” Jordan said, gesturing around. “None of us want the security freaks taking over. Things are restrictive enough as it is.”

 “What do they want?” he asked.

 “To be left alone,” Jordan said. “We’re in this for the fun of doing it, not because anyone tells us what to do. It’s the challenge we’re looking for, the journey, not the destination.”

 Waving a thumb at him, Harper said, “Jordan considers himself something of an amateur philosoph
er
. He’s got a piece of paper somewhere that claims a degree in it.”

 “But engineering is my passion, especially building the better cybertrap.” He looked at Harper, then said, “I think I’m up, now. Got to get the old fingers fixed up. I’ll catch you later.”

 “Later,” she said as he rose, heading to the back room. “Lot of old friends here,” she said to Logan.

 “Lots of potential recruits,” he replied.

 “Most of these people are even less happy with authority than I am.”

 With a beaming grin, he replied, “When have I ever thrown my rank around?”

 “True, but most of those stuffed shirts aren’t like you. And it’ll get a damn sight worse if certain people take charge.” Looking around, she added, “And before you say anything else, this gang figured out something was going on before I got back. None of them know the whole picture but,” she slid a datachip down her sleeve, “this is the accumulation of everything they have.”

 Taking it, he shook his head, and said, “I presume none of this is admissible in court.”

 “Certainly not,” she said.

 “Still, it’ll throw a scare into a few people if we show them what this contains.”

 “Besides,” Harper replied, “I thought the whole point was that none of this was ever to get anywhere near an open court.”

 “What do they think around here?”

 “That the Progressives want to institute a full security crackdown, which will wipe out all the little data havens like this one. I’d bet that they would, as well.”

 “You might be right about that.” He glanced around at the nearby tables, and said, “I gather you have instructions for me.”

 She nodded, then said, “We’ve got to knock out the planetary defense network, to allow Alamo to get through.”

 Logan’s eyes widened, and he replied, “I assumed the President would be able to…”

 “Apparently not,” she said. “Which leaves it to you, me, and Boris. Assuming he’s the one taking forever to get up the ladder.”

 Sitting back in his chair, he replied, “Four of us. Four of us to break into the most secure facility in the Confederation, without any help or assistance.”

 “Nothing is impossible,” Harper said. 

 “This is about as close as I ever want to get to that.”

 “I presume we can call upon some help from Ragnarok’s infantry if we need it.”

 He looked up at her, shaking his head, and said, “A platoon of half-trained troopers lurching towards the target? That’s the last thing we need. It’s going to have to be an infiltration.” He looked around again, and said, “I hope your friends are damn good at forgery, because otherwise, we might as well just turn ourselves in right now.” 

 “Get me into the base, and I think I can make enough of a mess to keep anything from firing for a while.”

 Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw something moving in the distance, and reacted quickly enough to tip the table and throw Harper behind it, pulling his pistol out of his pocket. A trio of figures were in the door, and immediately, bullets cracked in the air, firing semi-indiscriminately around the room at potential targets. Logan caught one of them in the shoulder, sending him staggering back, out over the handrail – with a quarter of a mile to contemplate what he had done.

 The remainder hurled themselves into cover, but before they could do anything, there was a smell of ozone in the air, and one of them jumped up, his hair standing on end, perfect for a picked shot by Harper, who dropped him to the floor. The remainder turned around, only to stumble into the tardy Boris, who unceremoniously slammed him on the head with his fist; he folded to the ground, unconscious.

 “Sorry I was late to the party,” he said. “There are half a dozen more outside. Esposito’s blended in and will hook up later, but we’re going to have a lot more company any moment now.”

 “Damn it, Harper, that spook of yours has brought the bastards up here,” one of the patrons yelled.

 “This spook will make it up to you later,” Logan replied, “but right now we need to get the hell out of here. You must have a way of escaping.”

 “Sure,” Harper replied, dragging him over to the side of the bar. She pulled open a locker, removed an ungainly piece of metal and fabric, and tossed it to him. “We’ve been raided up here before. It never lasts long.”

 “What is this?” Logan asked, looking at the device in his hand.

 “Follow me,” she said, racing outside. Logan looked down the ladder, and could see half a dozen people coming up – but unlike the rest, they were on a well-secured portable winch, slung up in the top framework of the dome. Clever; anything hasty he tried would stand an excellent chance of causing a pressure breach. Harper pulled a lever on the device, then stood back as it unfolded and clicked into position, forming a set of wings with a harness underneath.

 “Hang gliders!” she said, gesturing to the far end of the structure, where half a dozen people were already taking off, a flight of birds soaring into the air. “Anyone with a warrant on them is taking off right now. Come on.”

 Logan looked at Boris, shrugged, and threw the switch on his glider, waiting for it to expand. The thought of simply trying to shoot it out did occur to him, but they were right at the top of the dome, and the danger of a breach was all too real. Besides, nine dead bodies would attract attention, and that was the last thing they wanted; hopefully the attackers who had already fallen could be dealt with by the people staying behind.

 Strapping the wings onto him, he looked down at the city below, nerving himself to take the jump, trying to pick out his landing spot. Servos on the wings started to adjust, the mechanism fine-tuning the weight distribution for him. Taking a deep breath, he leapt from the platform.

 Immediately, the wings swept back, putting him onto a perfect glide-path. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that a haven of hackers would have added all sorts of features to the wings, and he could settle back and enjoy the ride. He took a few tweaks to the left, putting himself into a steeper decline, and started to experiment; the control computers were happy to let him do anything that wouldn’t endanger him, and Mars gravity was rather forgiving.

 He looked back at the platform, and saw the would-be assailants looking ruefully after him. Two of them had moved off to retrieve their fallen comrades, and the others started the long journey back to the street. Doubtless they would be attempting to track him down on the ground, but that was something to worry about later.

 Over to his right, Boris was playing it as safe as possible, keeping his wings extended, but Harper was having
f
un, swooping around and diving down, laughing as she caught some of the eddies from one of the air circulators that sent her racing to the side, down in a cross-wind. Logan adopted a course in between the two, happy to test out the wings, but not wanting to take too many chances.

 He spotted his target, the roof of one of the lower buildings, one he vaguely recognized as an upmarket brothel frequented by some of the local politicians, which meant that the patron would be both used to keeping secrets and
easily
bribable. A winning combination. He gestured at the others to follow, and adjusted his aim towards it, happy to find that the navigation systems picked up on his intended course quickly, helping adjust his trajectory.

 Swooping over a series of buildings, he turned for the final run in, spilling air to descend more rapidly, but hopefully keeping his speed down sufficiently that he wouldn’t break anything when he landed. As the ground reached up to grab him, he felt a brief sense of regret, before finally dropping down to the deck, gently stepping down onto the flat roof.

 “That was fun,” Harper said, diving down beside him.

 “You speak for yourself,” Boris grunted as he slammed into a near-crash landing.

 “Never mind, you two,”
Logan
said. “We need to go underground for a bit and work out how we’re going to pull this off. Boris, go grab Esposito; she should be heading to Ortega’s House of Tea.” Shrugging off his wings, he said, “I’m going to have a word with the Madame about a private room.”

 “Dare I ask how you know about this place?” Harper asked with a smile.

 “Purely in the line of duty,” Logan replied. “Of course, duty has taken me to some very strange places in the past.”

 “I think it still is,” Boris said.

 “Get going,” he said. “We’ve got a hell of a lot to do in the next five days.” Glancing up at the sky through the dome, he said, “When Alamo arrives in orbit, we need to make sure they get a decent welcome.”

Chapter 21

 Never in all his life had Marshall been so nervous. All Alamo was doing was making its way to Titov Station, the little-used
spaceport
at Mars’ trailing
T
rojan point. It should at the very least be a matter of routine; the crew ought to be looking forward to going on leave, to seeing their families after a too long absence, catching up with everything that had happened while they were away.

 Certainly, they shouldn’t be at battle stations.

 Caine was looking over her board, running a series of final checks, making sure that all the combat systems were ready, and that Alamo could fight a battle if it needed. The thought that it might have to was abhorrent, but he couldn’t afford to take any risks. All eyes were locked on the viewscreen, waiting for it to clear.

 “One minute,” Steele said, still monopolizing the helm. She looked tired, and no surprise; Alamo was short-handed enough that they were on twelve-hour watches at the moment, rather than the usual eight. At least in a week, it would all be over. One way or another.

 “All decks report ready, sir,” Ryder reported, turning back to him from her station briefly before returning to her work. He wondered how she felt, sitting at that station as Alamo’s Exec. It had been an odd road for her in the last three years, tours with Alamo to Ragnarok, Desdemona and Jefferson, then serving on Spitfire Station before essentially returning herself to ship duty. If he’d told the old-for-her-rank Sub-Lieutenant when she’d first reported on board that she’d be the youngest Senior Lieutenant in the fleet at the end of Alamo’s cruise, she’d never have believed it.

 What felt odd, still, was the people who weren’t here. He half-expected Mulenga to be standing at the rear of the bridge, maybe running through his navigational calculations one last time, or Cunningham ready with a remark to drag him back down to Earth, or Orlova to buoy him up with her usual confidence. His crew were scattered all across Triplanetary space. Those who weren’t dead.

 That it itself seemed strange. Triplanetary Space. When he’d reported
to Alamo
as commander, that
consisted of
just Mars, Callisto, Titan and the Asteroid Belt, with a few outposts on Triton, at Proxima and Barnard’s Star. Now their outposts were scattered further than he could have dreamed, out as far as Jefferson, to stars that they didn’t even know existed three years ago. He’d wanted the stars, and he’d got them, but never could he have imagined the price that he would pay for his wish. The galaxy was open now in a way it never had been before, with all its wonders, and all its terrors.

 “Thirty seconds to go,” Steele said, her hands poised over the controls.

 “Combat systems are good to go, Danny,” Caine added. “Orders?”

 “Shoot if we’re shot at, Deadeye. Otherwise hold your fire. We’re among friends, here.”

 “I certainly hope you are right about that.”

 “Steele, as soon as we leave hendecaspace, you are to make course for Mars orbit at maximum acceleration. Don’t wait for clearance or permission, and ignore any orders to the contrary. Just get us the hell out of Titov’s combat radius as fast as you can, and go for best-speed. We’ve got to get Watson and Rogers to Mars before the Senate rests.”