Traitor, Book 1 of The Turner Chronicles

  * * *

  "I see you made it."

  "Sure I made it," Helmet grinned. "I told you I'd be around. What the hell happened to the compound?"

  Field laughed bitterly. "We were betrayed. Apparently, we had infiltrators running all through our ranks. Turner was captured; he squealed to them; he escaped, and we got Turner back with all the valuable information he had gained while a prisoner. He told us an Intelligence operative named Aybarra had infiltrated Mays' outfit and that we had moles in our own ranks. Problem is, he told us all this too late for us to do anything about it, and now everything is gone to hell. We mined the compound and caught some feds when they attacked, but there's too many feds. Can't kill them all, and now I'm on their most wanted list. My picture's on the holovid every night, and they have posters up in every convenience store window. Damn government has seized all my known assets, so all I have left is this place."

  Klein took a careful look around. By most people's reasoning, the building they occupied represented plenty of assets and then some. He stood near the front entrance of an absolutely huge warehouse. The place was mostly empty, but there were goods stacked against one wall with half a dozen people sitting on them. He recognized Aaron's two worst enemies, Sergeants Aimes and Johnston. Benson, the chess-playing layabout was there, and so was Clack, the only man Helmet had ever repeatedly transported back and forth between the two worlds because Clack possessed his own minimal Transferring Talent. The only other man Helmet recognized was Johnston's favorite new recruit, Paxton, a young, hard-eyed bastard who had found a perfect fit in the Militia for his sadistic tendencies. The other two were a mystery to him. Off by itself was the half assembled monstrosity Field had been building for years, the one based on readings taken from his and Aaron's minds. Perhaps it was not so bad that Field's dream had gone bust before he got that thing finished.

  In all, Helmet guessed the building and its contents were worth in the neighborhood of half a million dollars. The secret floors and supplies beneath the building were probably worth another six million. Smiling grimly to himself, he turned his eyes back to Field. The two of them did have one thing in common. Simply being rich was not enough. They both desired power. Right now, the main difference between them was that Field had lost most of his power while Helmet's strength was still growing.

  "Yes," Field said bitterly, "this is all that is left. The rest has been stolen, and most of my people have run away. All I have left is this building and these few who are still loyal."

  He laughed hoarsely. "These few, and the ones you have already taken over to the other world. It's time, Helmet. It's time you took me over there. It's time you took the last of these goods and the last of my people and shipped us all over. Jefferson has rejected us. I will not return here again."

  "I can't do it," Helmet said while looking at the people and wishing they would get their asses off the piled goods. He could grasp the goods and run with them, but his Talent was not discerning enough to allow him to take only the goods he wanted and leave the sitting people behind. "Why don't you get Turner to try taking some of it?"

  "Turner has some answering to do," Field growled. "Corporal Benson especially wants to have a private conversation with him. No, I'm afraid you are it. I want you to send over the men and what goods you can right now. In a few days you will be strong enough to handle the rest."

  Helmet squinted in disgust while he thought that proposition over. The last thing he wanted was to send more of the General's people over to Chin. He had worked too hard to get rid of most of the ones he had already transported. All the ones who remained loyal to Field were gone. Only the opportunists, the greedy, and those willing to switch their loyalties were left.

  Well, he could always think of this as a test. The people he looked at were those supposedly most loyal to Field. It would be interesting to see how many he could turn. Most likely, it would not be too difficult to make them see reason. Remaining loyal was a losing proposition because Helmet had no intention of taking the General over with him when they traveled.

  "I can ship all the people and half the goods over now," he told Field. "The rest will go over in about a week. Will that make you happy?"

  "Ask me that question when I'm finally sitting on my throne," Field replied. "Only that will make me happy--that and Turner's head."

  "Your throne I will give you," Helmet lied. "You'll have to take Turner's head on your own."

  "Don't worry; I'll enjoy handling that little chore myself. Ship what you can now."

  Helmet nodded. After looking the situation over he directed the men to separate the piled goods into two unequal heaps. It was a good thing that this was going to be his last couple of chores for Field because until this moment Field had been left in ignorance that Helmet could ship a load over without traveling with that load himself. He could already see speculation revolving in Field's eyes.

  "Are you ready?" he asked the men when they were positioned.

  "As we can be," Aimes answered.

  "Well hang on then."

  Flicker

  Helmet viewed the newly empty spot with satisfaction. The goods and the people were away. They would arrive in the regular place to be instantly surrounded by the Chin tribe's people, separated, and then distributed to a few far flung clans on the edge of the warring front. If the men survived the fighting and the inner clan politics, they would see Helmet in another year or two. He would evaluate them then, except for Clack, of course, since Clack had already been over and back half a dozen times over the last several years. His loyalty belonged firmly to Helmet, a fact of which the General was still ignorant.

  "That's it," Field said decisively. "There's no turning back now. Nothing is left."

  "No," Helmet agreed, "there is no turning back."

  And then he heard a scratching behind him.

  Clink Clink Clank

  He stiffened. Nerves tense, he slowly shifted while Field turned white beside him. Several people, weapons in hand, had silently entered the locked building.

  "General Mays," Field said cautiously. "This is a surprise. We weren't expecting you."

  "I'm sure you weren't," that worthy replied. "Just as I'm sure that you're surprised to learn that my name is really Colonel David Feinstein of Intelligence, and this is Major Samuel Aybarra. Goodnight, gentlemen."

  Thrunk

  Looking down, Helmet saw the feathered end of a dart sticking out of his belly. The area around it was already numb.

  Thrunk

  Damn.

  He folded.