Things started looking bad at that point, because it was easy to imagine being shot, left here, and only discovered after the neighbors reported an odd odor and a lot of flies buzzing around.
They hauled me into a room, sat me down in a chair, then I caught a cuff on the back of my head. I flashed back to being on Helen, and looked up, expecting to find Commander Reis there. No such luck.
It was Bernard and he was, ah, rather cross.
"You lying sack of shit, Donelly." He backhanded me, but did it badly and cracked his knuckles on my skull. "You're more treacherous than some Kurita suck-up. You sold us out. You told them where we would be and when."
"How would I do that when I didn't know those things?" "Well, you set us up. You made me think of the Palace and made me think of being on Tri- Vid." He glanced at my two escorts as he sucked on a skinned knuckle. "Teach him a lesson."
"Sir?" "Hit him, dammit. Make him hurt."
One yanked me from the chair, slipped his arms through mine and clasped his hands at the back of my neck. The other pulled on some leather gloves that had lead shot sewed into a pouch on the backs. It would add that much more weight to the punches.
Sure, you're thinking that here I am, a Ghost Knight. I've got lots of training in how to handle a lot of situations. With my martial arts skills I'm lethal with no weapon at all. Getting out of this situation should have been child's play.
And it would have been save that my hands were restrained, a guy who could wrestle a 'Mech to the ground had a lock on me, and my kidneys were burning like cherry-red charcoals. This put me at a severe disadvantage, which grew larger as the PSD officer in front of me tried to permanently lodge my navel in my spinal column.
There was little I could do. I puked on him. I let my bladder go and spat until I was dry. The two PSD guys didn't like the whole bodily fluid thing. Bernard thought it was funny that I'd peed on myself. He took great pains in informing me of this fact, humiliating me, which is why he let them sit me down again.
"I hope you like sitting there like that, Donelly, because that's how you're going to die."
"Sure. Fine. I'll die. That won't save you."
He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back. "What do you mean?" "Think about it. Ask Alba. I sent her a message. I told her to abort."
"She didn't get a note."
"It was at the dead-drop. In a can." I turned my head and spat, missing him. "I made the mark. I told you to abort."
"Liar!" "Fine. Not my fault some eco-freak picks up the can." I raised my head myself. "You sure she didn't get it?" "She didn't say anything. . . ." His eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?" "Maybe she didn't. She's a merc. She can be bought. Maybe Emblyn owns her. She knew the details, right? Who else?" "Me, Teyte, her."
"And her boss. Or your cousin's."
That earned me another slap. "Teyte is not a traitor."
"Fine. One less suspect for you." Bloody saliva dripped to pool between my feet. "She'll say she got it too late. She just picked it up too late."
"She's not a traitor, either."
"Yes, my lord. You have a traitor. You have to smoke him out." I snorted. "You don't, Emblyn hurts you bad."
"How do I find the traitor?" I straightened up, then looked at the guards. "How much do you trust them?" Bernard looked up, then waved them out of the room. "How?" "Tell Alba you're doing a political op. Tell her one plan. Tell her subordinates each another plan. If it is a political op, Emblyn will use me to counter it. I get the details, tell you. You know who leaked it."
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "I can see that working."
"Good. Keep the pressure on Emblyn. More action."
"More disaster. We'll get sold out again."
"No, you have to do what he's doing. He can't cover everything. You went for a big bite and got hurt. So now go for nibbles. So many, so fast, targets chosen at random by teams with no oversight. He can't cover them all. A hundred little cuts will bleed him just as well as one big one." I smiled. "Andthen , when he's scrambling to cover the little ones . . ."
"We go back after the Palace." Bernard started pacing. "Was I wrong about you, Donelly, or are you setting me up again?" "You know what? I don't care about you or Basalt. Get me out of here and I'm heading off Basalt. If there's a DropShip going this afternoon, I'm on it."
"Oh, no, you're not."
"Why not?" "You're my man inside Emblyn's organization. You'll deliver the traitor to me."
"Fine, then I'm gone."
"No, Mr. Donelly, nowhere near gone." Bernard gave me a smile that made me nostalgic for Helen. "After the traitor, you'll give me Ring Emblyn himself."
32
He who has the gold makes the rules.
- The Golden Rule Rev. 2.0
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
16 February 3133
Bernard called his bullyboys back in and they dragged me down to their hovercar. Given the deterioration of my personal hygiene, they stuffed me in the trunk and drove around for a while, then dumped me in an alley. They took turns kicking me in the stomach, then uncuffed me.
One grabbed a handful of my hair, then slapped me with the other hand. "Be smart. Do what he wants. Next time we're planting you where you'll never be found." He let my hair go then kicked me into a garbage midden.
I passed out at that point and when I came to, I actually thought I was dreaming. I was on my back in a garbage pile that reeked of puked pizza and oranges. A rather large rodent was sitting on my chest and came upright as my eyes opened. It flashed me a grin full of nibbler teeth, which made my belly ache more, and then it spoke.
"So sorry a sight even a nibbler won't bite you."
It took me a moment to marvel at the nibbler speaking about himself in the third person, but then my brain coordinated things and told me the voice was actually coming from above and to my right. The nibbler and I both looked in that direction simultaneously. The rodent scampered off and I wished I could have.
I groaned. "Good evening, Colonel Niemeyer. Out for your constitutional?" "Nope. Back from the coroner's office, where we're putting BSU corpses together like puzzles.
Lots of work, and it's your fault."
I rolled to my right and gained a knee. "My fault? Enable help files, please."
"Come off it, Donelly. I know what's going on." He posted his fists on his hips. "Why do you think I'm here?"
He almost had me on that one, but my head had cleared just enough for my training to click in.
Any time someone in authority asks an open-ended question like that-"Do you know why I stopped you?" or "Do you know how fast you were going?"-they're fishing for information they can use against you. The logical answer to his question would be to assume he knew about FfW or BSU and actually had tied me to things. In an effort to avoid trouble, I might spill my guts, which would just put me in deeper with him.
I was about to be sullen and vaguely insulting in my response, but my brain had started running and an idea popped up. "Actually, I think you're here because of an internal PSD investigation into the activities of officers Higgle and Giggle. You know they're working for Bernard Germayne, you're afraid laws are being broken and that the integrity of any investigation you might be doing is compromised because of them. You need to catch them red-handed, however, preferably with Bernard there too, because he has enough influence to be able to protect them and discredit you. How close is that?" Niemeyer blinked, then crouched down beside me. "I think you're a lot smarter than I give you credit for." He looked me over, then shook his head. "Not that you give that impression in your current state."
"Yeah, well, I fell down the stairs. Into a urinal."
He reached out and turned my face to the side where a bruise was coming up from Higgle's last slap. "Okay, we're going to have a conversation, and I want to fast forward through all the macho posturing. I know you won't give Bernard up to me. You're not going t
o turn nibbler. And maybe you have it in the back of your head that you'll get Haggle and Gaggle yourself. Ditch that idea. They'll kill you or you'll kill them, and if you do, I'll kill you. I'll just have to."
"Okay, you've saved yourself twenty minutes. The point you're going for is?" "My world, my people, I care. So far, aside from the mercs that got splashed up north, all we've had is property damage. That's not Bernard's style. Someone is exerting a lot of influence to keep things on a simmer. I'm glad of that, but that same person has to know things will boil over. He can't control someone like Bernard. No one can."
I narrowed my eyes. "No one? Not even you?" "I can control him, but I have to be able to put him away."
"And you want me to give him to you, somehow?" "No, that would be going back to the part of the conversation we skipped. You won't do that.
Fine." He slowly stood. "I will get him, one way or another. A smart guy like you might just want to be clear before that happens."
I looked up. "And how would a smart guy like me know when that was going to happen?" "Same way that someone who called a tip into PSD knew when the assault up north was happening. You're not smart enough to leave Basalt, so I hope you'll be smart enough that you don't get stuck here forever."
Niemeyer didn't offer to give me a hand up, much less a ride back to the Grand Germayne.
When I could finally stand I checked myself for injuries. I had lots of bruising on my stomach and chest, but no cracked ribs as nearly as I could tell. I was going to be pretty tender for a while, but could still function.
Once I got to the street, I figured out where I was and made my own way back to the Grand Germayne. I entered through the garage and got to my room unnoticed. For once no one else was waiting for me, so I stripped my clothes off and tossed them into the shower. I let the water run fast and hot, and the steam filling the bathroom felt good. I also liked the fact that it coated the mirror so I didn't have to look at the purple mottling.
I showered carefully, bagged the sopping clothes and called for valet service, then dressed and headed out again. I arrived at the main branch of the public library and stood next to a statue of a stylized lion from the hour to ten past, then wandered down the street to a Javapulse Generator. I got coffee and a scone, getting halfway through both by the time Gypsy showed up.
He was smiling broadly enough that he indulged in a pastry, too. "It was brilliant. We are set to go with the details of publicity and our next move." He glanced at the storefront and I visualized it all fire-blackened and melted.
"When?" "We launch our campaign tonight, with full coverage tomorrow for the early news cycle."
"Good. What do you need me to do?" He chewed and then swallowed as he drew his noteputer from his pocket. "We had hit on an angle of directing praise and, hopefully, money to some worthy causes. I have a list. Pick one."
I looked at the list, then frowned. "The Basalt Foundation isn't on here."
"Family ties make it a negative."
"I disagree. She offers such a contrast to the others that she makes them look worse. They have ostracized her, and she is so nice, they look yet more like monsters. Moreover, having her still present means that when an olive branch is extended, there will be someone who can accept it and salve the sensibilities of disaffected portions of the population, especially the off-worlders she's helped. We have to look two steps ahead here, don't we?" Gypsy slowly nodded. "I'd actually had it on the list, but Elle argued for it to be deleted. It's back on and it's the one we'll use. I like your analysis."
"Good. Do you need me tonight?" "Why, you have a hot date?" I winced as I shifted in my chair, then tapped a finger to the slight bruising on my cheek.
"Niemeyer's boys wanted to convince me to leave Basalt. I could use a lot of sleep."
"We've got it covered. Sleep well." Gypsy smiled, then jerked a thumb at the shop. "Me, I'm going back for two more, large and hot. It's going to be a long night."
Manville boasted eight Javapulse Generators scattered about. We hit three outside downtown, then hit the largest in the heart of the city. As seen on some surveillance holos, a hovercar cruised past the place, a thermal detector checked for inhabitants, then a satchel containing high explosives and a detonator sailed through the plate glass. It bounced once or twice as the hovercar sped away, then a vicious gout of fire vomited from the storefront. Debris spread everywhere and out at the Heights' site the fire companies arrived too late to stop a Capellan-owned shoe store next door from burning.
Luckily it was empty, too.
Almost immediately FfW made its appearance, claiming credit for our previous strikes. The media messages pointed out that the explosives used in these attacks were from the same lot as had been used previously. FfW denounced the BSU as a government operation, citing the extra strikes BSU had taken credit for. FfW went so far as to claim that the reason the attack against the Palace had gone awry is because Ff W, in its quest for freedom for all, had tipped off Emblyn Security. "While we decry the private possession of weapons of war, in a time when the government cannot be trusted, we must be free to make ourselves secure."
The reasons given for attacking JPGs were the usual. They were part of a multiplanetary corporation that generated lots of profits and drew them off-world. While JPG did employ a large number of people, they only offered the Republic-mandated minimums for benefits, and their wages, while competitive within the service industry arena, were barely enough for someone to rise to middle- class status. "Until such capital enterprises realize they have a duty to the community-thewhole community-their cost of doing business as a bad neighbor will be high and get higher."
I don't know who Gypsy used to speak to JPG officials locally, but by noon on the seventeenth, the remaining JPGs had initiated several schemes to help improve their images. They donated a lot of product to shelters, as well as put out boxes as collection points for all manner of things to be distributed to the less fortunate. By four in the afternoon they announced a strategic alliance with the Basalt Foundation to fund some daycare centers for parents with young children.
That part of the plan actually worked far better than I had expected, and I knew Bernard would begin to react. Alba was all that stood between him and being out of control. I had to debate as to whether or not I wanted to flick that safety switch off. Without her he'd lose a competent planner.
While I expected he would begin to model his little attacks after the JPG strikes, that also assumed he wouldn't think he could do things better his way.
It turned out this was a flawed assumption.
I decided that I might not want Alba out of the picture, but having her a bit uncomfortable with Bernard would be good. Using the dead-drop system, I sent her a note saying, "Talked with your boss.
He was curious about what you heard from me and when. Be careful." Once I left it and made the mark in the appropriate place, I returned to the park and saw it get picked up.
I smiled. At least she would be warned. Forewarned is forearmed, and in this game, if you weren't forearmed, you would end up dead.
In retrospect, that was a lesson I should have thought a lot more about.
33
Guerillas never win wars, but their adversaries often lose them.
- Charles W. Thayer
Manville, Capital District
Basalt
Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere
18 February 3133
My warning to Alba Dolehide resulted in a harvest of unintended consequences, which took my plan, removed all calculation, and let things roll forward at the level of gang warfare. While there were resulting casualties, there were no fatalities, but I had no sense that this would always be the case. In fact, I had a disturbing certainty it would not be, and that things would deteriorate rather quickly.
Though I did not learn about it until later, the message to Alba was delivered, but the courier told Teyte about its content. Teyte immediately assumed that Alba was in league with me, and that both o
f us were in the employ of Emblyn. Teyte moved to grab her and have her interrogated as I had been, but Alba was one step ahead of him. She'd learned about my meeting with Bernard, looked far enough ahead to see what was going to be coming down, and had already slipped away. With her went a certain amount of knowledge about where a couple of 'Mechs and several vehicles had been stashed, so not only did Bernard lose competent leadership, he also lost a portion of his firepower.
That loss of firepower was a very good thing, because Bernard decided to hit Emblyn all over the place. It struck me that Bernard must have been getting tactical advice from somewhere, because as things progressed his attacks became more tightly focused and, while still doing more damage than was absolutely required, they were stinging Emblyn badly.
In the immediate aftermath of the JPG strikes, Bernard hit four Minute-Meal™ eateries. They were a Republic-wide chain of franchise quick-food restaurants and, here on Basalt, Emblyn owned them. Those attacks mirrored the FfW attacks and, for all intents and purposes, people assumed FfW had done them.
For his next trick, however, Bernard blew up an IceKing warehouse. IceKing was a grocery supply company owned by Emblyn that delivered product to Minute-Meal™ and JPG, as well as a large number of other restaurants. Quam did an article decrying this shadow war spilling over and affecting the culinary genius native to Basalt. In short, he wrote, the destruction of nonnative eateries was fine by him, but when such an attack destroyed a source of good food for all, things were getting out of hand. While the piece did seem to be praising the terrorists, Quam's true point was that the strikes, while they had killed no one yet, were destroying lives. Those people who worked in the shops that had been put out of business were forced to take temporary jobs or go on the dole.
He centered his story around a small family restaurant that had been serving Asian food for three generations, and showed how their business had been destroyed by the attack. Quam used his skills as a writer to point out the absurdity of Bernard and others calling ethnic Kuritans and Capellans off-worlders, His outrage at their treatment was enough to get blood boiling in some sectors, and a number of private donations flowed to the family profiled.