Rebel hell hells jesters.., p.21
Rebel Hell (Hell's Jesters, #3), page 21
“You’re not so bad, sometimes.” She tried to sit up a little bit and winced, stopped, and sagged back again. “Seriously, though, this really hurts. And my head’s still spinning a bit.”
“Well, the good news is I found this.” He produced the first aid kit and set it down beside her. He took a moment to situate the rest of the items in the little cave before cracking it open. Within, he found what he sought; a thumb-sized medi-sensor. He touched his wrist piece. “Jeanie, you get a good enough nap?”
“This unit is fully recharged,” the AI replied. “You will have limited functionality and memory in this version of Jeanie.” It added after a moment, “And I wasn’t napping.”
Tim smiled. The AI sounded weird—limited, as it said—but the flash of personality told him some fragment of Jeanie was there. “All right, you grouch, I’m going to need you to link to this medi-sensor.”
“It would be helpful if you turned it on.”
“Right.”
The sensor pinged and lit up as he touched its actuator. His wrist piece did the same as they paired. A tiny globular sprang up, showed a series of directions that Tim followed to finish the linking process.
“The device is ready,” Jeanie said. “Pan the scanner lens over Commander Harrison’s injuries. The display will show status and recommend treatment.”
“Got it.”
Doing as the machine instructed, Tim waved the sensor over Kelly’s arm. He hid another wince of sympathy as the scanner’s faint blue light highlighted the damage. The emergency sealants made the torn sleeve look worse, bubbled and oily. But dried blood everywhere, even after he’d tried to clean some of it off her, didn’t lie.
The globular blinked and a diagram of Kelly’s left arm and flank materialized. “Non-displaced fracture of the humerus,” Jeanie reported. “Extensive soft tissue damage and micro-fragments that appear to be blastisteel and control console synthe-glass lodged in the musculature. These are not immediately serious, but will require surgery.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Tim joked feebly.
“You will not,” the AI replied and he wasn’t certain if that was a joke or a function of its reduced attunement to him. “No arterial damage, which is fortunate, though there has been significant blood loss. Clotting has been effective. Commander Harrison will not have the use of her arm until she receives full treatment.”
“Yeah,” Kelly grunted, “I can tell.”
“That’s not going to be possible for a bit. What kind of short-term treatment can we give her, with what’s in the pack?”
“Bandage the wound and sling the arm,” Jeanie replied. “Manage her pain with the tablets in the kit and limit movement.”
“I’m going to be a lousy patient,” Kelly chortled softly.
“I’d expect no less,” Tim jibed back.
“Tim,” Jeanie said, “we’re going to have to take off her jacket, probably cut it off, and treat the wound directly.”
He swallowed, wasn’t a squeamish sort, but saw the flicker of masked pain and fear on Kelly’s face.
“I will guide you,” the AI went on, “and scans show we have the supplies to treat successfully.”
“I understand.”
Kelly set her right hand on Tim’s. “Can we...just give me a few more minutes, all right?”
He cupped hers in both of his, held it for a few moments. “That’s fine.” He released her and sat back against a boulder. “I need to figure a few things out first, anyway.”
“Such as?”
“Such as where the hell we’ve ended up, here.” He deactivated the medi-sensor and put it away. “Jeanie, do you have enough memory transferred from the Hellhound to know our last location before the blast?”
“I should conserve power.”
“Come on, you big baby, I know you have a couple hours in that micro-battery and you’re drawing more off my body heat.”
“I can assure you, your body heat is not sufficient.”
Kelly burst out in a laugh that immediately drew a wince of pain, but a smile persisted, anyway, as she shook.
“All right, you’re both hilarious. Maybe I should just let the two of you figure out how we get out of this?”
Kelly swallowed once to force back what was obviously agony, smiled again. “No you’re doing great. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” Tim drawled. He noted that Kelly didn’t wear one of the wrist pieces, in fact rarely embraced the technology of the Jesters—at least the AI’s—the way the rest of them did. Something about her Navy training still persisted, apparently, that distrust of machines dating back to the AI Wars.
He knew enough now to share some of that worry. But, damn, it’d be more helpful if she had her own.
“So, Jeanie, can you tell me where we are?”
A small globular appeared, flattened over a slab of rock to give a two-dimensional map view of the surrounding region. Perspective shifted a few times as the AI oriented. With each adjustment, each refinement Tim’s dread grew a little more, land features he recognized, town names he knew. The image steadied finally, showed a blinking icon over the crash site and their hiding spot nearby.
“We are in the lower Agnes Foothills, according to a cross-reference of local records and sensor logs before the Hellhound’s destruction.”
Tim leaned back against his slab, let out a long, sickened breath. “Shit...”
“What is it?” Kelly asked in alarm.
“Of all the stupidest damned luck...” He looked at her. “There’s a settlement nearby, about thirty clicks, say, two or three days’ hike.
“It’s Johnsville; my hometown.”
“I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE,” Cory insisted.
“You know where they crashed,” Red corrected her.
“Tim did not crash.” Cory touched the tabletop controls for the Jester conference room. A hologram lit up the chamber, showed Loudon and an icon blinking near what would be the “belly” of the “dragon” that the continent of Sylvania resembled. “His last transmissions indicated he was setting down to rescue Kelly from her wreck here.”
“And he never left,” Red sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Cory, by all indications Syntar hunter-killers strafed every Jester crash site as we were pulling out of the system. We have sensor records of it.”
“He’s alive. They both are!”
“We have no way of knowing that. What’s more, even if we did, what exactly do you expect to do about it?”
Cory looked to Jerry for support.
“We could go back,” he said.
“For two people?”
Jerry clenched his teeth. “‘Not just any two...”
“Oh, don’t lecture me, Rodann! I know exactly who I’m talking about. You think I don’t know what I’m saying? Do you honestly think they mean nothing to me? To everyone? But we’ve got to think about the long-term now.”
“So we’re going to tell everyone we’re now in the habit of leaving our people behind?” he snapped back. He’d been in a fog since the return, a sickening haze of sorrow and rage that clouded his ability even to speak at times. Be it was clearing now. Cory’s blind, even desperate optimism was better than staring another minute down the hole of his despair.
“Neither of you are listening!” Red barked, smacking the tabletop. Her reaction sent a jolt through both Josie Wheeler and Mr. Jones, present for the confrontation. “You want to go back, Rodann? With what? We’ve got thirty-eight operational Hellhounds, two Basilisks, and four transports. We’re hanging by a thread, here, and I’m not going to risk what’s left on another forlorn hope.”
“So what then? What do you plan to do with what we’ve got left?”
“Rebuild.”
“Then you’ll do it without me,” Cory said quietly.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do, and don’t talk to me as a child! I haven’t been that in a long time!”
Red started to retort, visibly stopped herself, held up her palms in a gesture clearly meant to pacify not only them, but her too. “It’s not that I’m not hearing you, both of you. But you need to think this through. Syntar is consolidating their position. Any losses they suffered are being replaced as we speak. But if we go back in there with what’s left, the odds will be even more against us, and we’ll be able to do even less good.”
“I don’t care!” Cory spat.
“And I’m not ready to give up,” Jerry spoke over Red’s still-forming retort. “Solito and so many others didn’t go down so we could just give up on those people, Loudon or Kelly and Tim. I don’t care about the odds. I’d be willing to risk it, no matter what.”
“It’s not risk,” Red replied, softly now, sounding beaten. “It’s certainty. It’s suicide. We cannot physically do this again.”
“What if we had more ships?” Jerry asked.
“There’s nothing more I can do on that front,” Jones said miserably. Something had snapped in the guy since the return, maybe the reality of what was really happening to the galaxy finally sunk in.
“And I get that,” Jerry said a little harshly than he intended. He turned his gaze back on Red. “But there are other places we can get starships.”
“We still don’t have enough Jesters,” Red replied.
“Don’t need them. We can coordinate using another Overmind simulacrum.”
“Coordinate what?”
Jerry smiled. The thought had been warming in his mind since Cory suggested Kelly and Tim might be alive and might still be saved. It was crazy and it took him back down a road he’d thought closed to him. “Let’s just say I have an idea how to get more. A lot more.”
Red leaned over the table, both palms resting there and holding her upright. “I’m almost out of crazy, Rodann.”
“There aren’t a lot of options left that aren’t.” He glanced at Cory. “But this isn’t as nuts as it sounds. I just...need to make a couple calls.”
THE ENORMITY OF THE work astonished Geiger’s senses.
The face of a mountain was just gone and a shaft nearly three hundred meters wide sunk into its roots. From this plumed a column of dust and smoke that rose high enough to mushroom against a low-hung cloud cover, all while a cacophony of machinery, splitting stone, blaring loudspeakers, and white noise gave it the racket of the volcanic eruption it resembled.
Grav drives howled from the sky. Geiger turned from his perch at a railed balcony and watched Syntar heavy transports circle in for a landing at the blastcrete field the engineers and drones had only thrown up in the last forty eight hours. Loaders and bulldozers the size of small buildings rolled down the ramps from these, joined by columns of wheeled drones, followed by more columns of laborers.
At the edges of this field a veritable city of temporary housing and offices had sprung up. And the superstructures of more permanent structures had begun to sprout behind those, buildings that would house the nerve center of operations on the surface of Loudon. Buildings like the one Geiger stood atop, finished first and meant to serve as his groundside headquarters.
He grinned at Denton, hovering at his side and looking smugly satisfied, as always. “You know, I’ve seen star fleets mustered for battle; but this isn’t that shabby compared to those.”
“They’re ahead of schedule,” he replied. “McClintock came through and we’ve had more than enough volunteers.”
Geiger snorted at the term. “Remarkable what can be accomplished with fear.”
“Agreed. We won’t need as many of them soon. These next waves of ships are bringing a full complement of labor drones.”
“Keep the indigenes working,” Geiger replied. “We’ll deploy the drones when their productivity becomes untenable.”
“They’re already showing signs of fatigue.”
“I don’t give a damn. Keep them going till they break. Until then, the drones remain in storage.”
“As you say, Mister Vice President.”
Geiger hated the way Denton said his title, like he was a courtier, sniffing at the seams of some ancient earth noble’s sleeve. Still, he was glad to be free of Lindsey’s endless dissatisfaction. The man was better left with his automated ships and his fretting over repair schedules and overhead.
“We have a meeting, Mister Denton?”
“We certainly do, sir.”
He led Geiger away from the balcony and into the building. Inside, windows lined every wall, allowing floods of natural light to glint off gunmetal gray and polished obsidian surfaces. But Geiger noted the slots at their bases for blast shield shutters; Syntar architecture stressed hostile-readiness as well as aesthetics.
They strode through the corridors of the complex, most of these finished, but a few still showing signs of touch-up. Syntar employees came and went, most in the gray overalls of company rank-and-file. Increasingly, though, Geiger began to notice suits and style. He became increasingly aware of his own lack of it, as well, still wearing the gray and silver merchant fleet uniform. Old habits...
Grated metal floors gave way to carpeting and a darker, warmer atmosphere of posh office suites and softer lighting as they passed security checkpoints and proceeded deeper into the building. The atmosphere smoothed from one of work and noise to one of power and whispers. Attractive, groomed people Geiger didn’t know greeted him as he passed and he quickly realized it wasn’t just the details of the operation he had to know; if he was going to survive at the top of this slickly treacherous hierarchy, he was going to have to know more about the personalities.
A shapely, but stern-faced secretary greeted them as they passed into an antechamber. “Mister Geiger, Mister Denton, welcome back. Mister Geiger, your two o’clock has passed on word that she is running slightly late.”
Geiger sighed rather than growl. He knew she didn’t like the latter. “Thank you, Kat.” He glanced at Denton. “McClintock holds us up again?”
“She’s never outwardly defiant.”
“Just in every other way.” He nodded to the secretary. “Thank you. We’ll be in my office for a bit.”
“And Mister Vice President? There’s a red-band transmission waiting for you from the Home Office. It was not one of your weekly scheduled communiques.”
Geiger frowned. That would be Boxer. “I’ll take it shortly. We aren’t to be disturbed.”
“Yes sir.”
They stepped through the heavy, faux-oak door beyond Kat’s desk and into finery. Built into the highest part of the complex, Geiger’s office was carpets and couches and a crackling hearth burning with real—or at least convincingly so—wood. A domed ceiling allowed Loudon’s currently feeble sunlight to trickle down as he moved to his huge mahogany desk and Denton settled into a padded chair before it. Book shelves lined the cases behind it. A brandy decanter sat to one side, glasses ready.
It dizzied Geiger, sometimes, the pomp of it. He hadn’t requested any of this, just found it here waiting for him. But, damn, how well they had read him. The books were real editions, ancient histories—some which had to have cost a fortune—textbooks, even a scattering of fiction he tried to enjoy. The brandy was from Nova Terra—a vintage he’d favored while staying in Primus. They’d even gotten little things right, like a replication of the china set he’d allowed himself as an indulgence in the Ready Room of the Immolator.
He supposed it could be read two ways: they wanted an environment conducive to get the best of him, or they understood him well enough to control him.
After a life of service and hardship and delayed gratification, Geiger decided it no longer mattered which it was.
He poured himself a brandy, didn’t bother to offer one to Denton, and touched a desktop control. A globular materialized to show fighting between stun-baton-armed men in Syntar paramilitary gear and Loudon laborers in the assembly area outside the mines. More paramilitaries rushed to join the scrum. Bodies tumbled. Blood spattered the blastcrete.
“This one got out of control, last night,” Geiger said, taking a sip.
“It was the fifth one this week. We’re seeing unrest at a number of the facilities, especially as we ramp up the hours expected.”
“How many fatalities?”
“Six, this time.”
Geiger swirled the brandy, let ice clink against glass. “I suppose that will come up with McClintock.”
“I’ve not doubt.”
He set the glass down on a marble coaster. “Begin arming the oversight platoons with blaster weapons.”
Denton blinked. “You think that’s wise?”
“I think the miners will get the message” he grinned wickedly “or they’ll receive quite a different message.”
“As you say, Mister Vice President.”
Geiger touched the control again and the hologram changed became a map of Loudon and zoomed in on the regions south of the mines. Icons sprinkled it, a few further inland, more in the mountains. “Our inspection of these sites is complete?”
“We have confirmed the findings in the old Survey Corps records,” Denton replied. “Rich transuranic veins at all.” He pointed towards the mountains. “Our surveyor drones and teams came under fire here.”
Geiger nodded. “That’s the hotbed, unsurprisingly.” He picked up the brandy again, swirled it, and sipped. “That’s why the Jesters resupplied them there. They’re impeding us.”
“The partisans do appear well-armed.” Denton frowned. “It’s going to be work digging them out.”
“Which is why I’ve requested so many additional resources.”
“Which is likely why the Home Office is calling.” He nodded towards the red light blinking from Geiger’s desktop communicator panel. “They don’t like all the expenses. It makes the bean-counters nervous.”
Geiger waved it off with his free hand. “It’s like Navy quartermasters. There’s never, ever enough. But there always seem to be plenty of hors d’oeuvres at the Admiralty buffets.” He pointed at the icons inland, shaded orange instead of yellow. “And what about these?”
“The Jester crash sites?” Denton shrugged. “Most have turned up pieces of wreckage scattered across considerable real estate, in one case, traces of human remains. Not much to speak of.”
“Well, the good news is I found this.” He produced the first aid kit and set it down beside her. He took a moment to situate the rest of the items in the little cave before cracking it open. Within, he found what he sought; a thumb-sized medi-sensor. He touched his wrist piece. “Jeanie, you get a good enough nap?”
“This unit is fully recharged,” the AI replied. “You will have limited functionality and memory in this version of Jeanie.” It added after a moment, “And I wasn’t napping.”
Tim smiled. The AI sounded weird—limited, as it said—but the flash of personality told him some fragment of Jeanie was there. “All right, you grouch, I’m going to need you to link to this medi-sensor.”
“It would be helpful if you turned it on.”
“Right.”
The sensor pinged and lit up as he touched its actuator. His wrist piece did the same as they paired. A tiny globular sprang up, showed a series of directions that Tim followed to finish the linking process.
“The device is ready,” Jeanie said. “Pan the scanner lens over Commander Harrison’s injuries. The display will show status and recommend treatment.”
“Got it.”
Doing as the machine instructed, Tim waved the sensor over Kelly’s arm. He hid another wince of sympathy as the scanner’s faint blue light highlighted the damage. The emergency sealants made the torn sleeve look worse, bubbled and oily. But dried blood everywhere, even after he’d tried to clean some of it off her, didn’t lie.
The globular blinked and a diagram of Kelly’s left arm and flank materialized. “Non-displaced fracture of the humerus,” Jeanie reported. “Extensive soft tissue damage and micro-fragments that appear to be blastisteel and control console synthe-glass lodged in the musculature. These are not immediately serious, but will require surgery.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Tim joked feebly.
“You will not,” the AI replied and he wasn’t certain if that was a joke or a function of its reduced attunement to him. “No arterial damage, which is fortunate, though there has been significant blood loss. Clotting has been effective. Commander Harrison will not have the use of her arm until she receives full treatment.”
“Yeah,” Kelly grunted, “I can tell.”
“That’s not going to be possible for a bit. What kind of short-term treatment can we give her, with what’s in the pack?”
“Bandage the wound and sling the arm,” Jeanie replied. “Manage her pain with the tablets in the kit and limit movement.”
“I’m going to be a lousy patient,” Kelly chortled softly.
“I’d expect no less,” Tim jibed back.
“Tim,” Jeanie said, “we’re going to have to take off her jacket, probably cut it off, and treat the wound directly.”
He swallowed, wasn’t a squeamish sort, but saw the flicker of masked pain and fear on Kelly’s face.
“I will guide you,” the AI went on, “and scans show we have the supplies to treat successfully.”
“I understand.”
Kelly set her right hand on Tim’s. “Can we...just give me a few more minutes, all right?”
He cupped hers in both of his, held it for a few moments. “That’s fine.” He released her and sat back against a boulder. “I need to figure a few things out first, anyway.”
“Such as?”
“Such as where the hell we’ve ended up, here.” He deactivated the medi-sensor and put it away. “Jeanie, do you have enough memory transferred from the Hellhound to know our last location before the blast?”
“I should conserve power.”
“Come on, you big baby, I know you have a couple hours in that micro-battery and you’re drawing more off my body heat.”
“I can assure you, your body heat is not sufficient.”
Kelly burst out in a laugh that immediately drew a wince of pain, but a smile persisted, anyway, as she shook.
“All right, you’re both hilarious. Maybe I should just let the two of you figure out how we get out of this?”
Kelly swallowed once to force back what was obviously agony, smiled again. “No you’re doing great. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” Tim drawled. He noted that Kelly didn’t wear one of the wrist pieces, in fact rarely embraced the technology of the Jesters—at least the AI’s—the way the rest of them did. Something about her Navy training still persisted, apparently, that distrust of machines dating back to the AI Wars.
He knew enough now to share some of that worry. But, damn, it’d be more helpful if she had her own.
“So, Jeanie, can you tell me where we are?”
A small globular appeared, flattened over a slab of rock to give a two-dimensional map view of the surrounding region. Perspective shifted a few times as the AI oriented. With each adjustment, each refinement Tim’s dread grew a little more, land features he recognized, town names he knew. The image steadied finally, showed a blinking icon over the crash site and their hiding spot nearby.
“We are in the lower Agnes Foothills, according to a cross-reference of local records and sensor logs before the Hellhound’s destruction.”
Tim leaned back against his slab, let out a long, sickened breath. “Shit...”
“What is it?” Kelly asked in alarm.
“Of all the stupidest damned luck...” He looked at her. “There’s a settlement nearby, about thirty clicks, say, two or three days’ hike.
“It’s Johnsville; my hometown.”
“I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE,” Cory insisted.
“You know where they crashed,” Red corrected her.
“Tim did not crash.” Cory touched the tabletop controls for the Jester conference room. A hologram lit up the chamber, showed Loudon and an icon blinking near what would be the “belly” of the “dragon” that the continent of Sylvania resembled. “His last transmissions indicated he was setting down to rescue Kelly from her wreck here.”
“And he never left,” Red sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Cory, by all indications Syntar hunter-killers strafed every Jester crash site as we were pulling out of the system. We have sensor records of it.”
“He’s alive. They both are!”
“We have no way of knowing that. What’s more, even if we did, what exactly do you expect to do about it?”
Cory looked to Jerry for support.
“We could go back,” he said.
“For two people?”
Jerry clenched his teeth. “‘Not just any two...”
“Oh, don’t lecture me, Rodann! I know exactly who I’m talking about. You think I don’t know what I’m saying? Do you honestly think they mean nothing to me? To everyone? But we’ve got to think about the long-term now.”
“So we’re going to tell everyone we’re now in the habit of leaving our people behind?” he snapped back. He’d been in a fog since the return, a sickening haze of sorrow and rage that clouded his ability even to speak at times. Be it was clearing now. Cory’s blind, even desperate optimism was better than staring another minute down the hole of his despair.
“Neither of you are listening!” Red barked, smacking the tabletop. Her reaction sent a jolt through both Josie Wheeler and Mr. Jones, present for the confrontation. “You want to go back, Rodann? With what? We’ve got thirty-eight operational Hellhounds, two Basilisks, and four transports. We’re hanging by a thread, here, and I’m not going to risk what’s left on another forlorn hope.”
“So what then? What do you plan to do with what we’ve got left?”
“Rebuild.”
“Then you’ll do it without me,” Cory said quietly.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do, and don’t talk to me as a child! I haven’t been that in a long time!”
Red started to retort, visibly stopped herself, held up her palms in a gesture clearly meant to pacify not only them, but her too. “It’s not that I’m not hearing you, both of you. But you need to think this through. Syntar is consolidating their position. Any losses they suffered are being replaced as we speak. But if we go back in there with what’s left, the odds will be even more against us, and we’ll be able to do even less good.”
“I don’t care!” Cory spat.
“And I’m not ready to give up,” Jerry spoke over Red’s still-forming retort. “Solito and so many others didn’t go down so we could just give up on those people, Loudon or Kelly and Tim. I don’t care about the odds. I’d be willing to risk it, no matter what.”
“It’s not risk,” Red replied, softly now, sounding beaten. “It’s certainty. It’s suicide. We cannot physically do this again.”
“What if we had more ships?” Jerry asked.
“There’s nothing more I can do on that front,” Jones said miserably. Something had snapped in the guy since the return, maybe the reality of what was really happening to the galaxy finally sunk in.
“And I get that,” Jerry said a little harshly than he intended. He turned his gaze back on Red. “But there are other places we can get starships.”
“We still don’t have enough Jesters,” Red replied.
“Don’t need them. We can coordinate using another Overmind simulacrum.”
“Coordinate what?”
Jerry smiled. The thought had been warming in his mind since Cory suggested Kelly and Tim might be alive and might still be saved. It was crazy and it took him back down a road he’d thought closed to him. “Let’s just say I have an idea how to get more. A lot more.”
Red leaned over the table, both palms resting there and holding her upright. “I’m almost out of crazy, Rodann.”
“There aren’t a lot of options left that aren’t.” He glanced at Cory. “But this isn’t as nuts as it sounds. I just...need to make a couple calls.”
THE ENORMITY OF THE work astonished Geiger’s senses.
The face of a mountain was just gone and a shaft nearly three hundred meters wide sunk into its roots. From this plumed a column of dust and smoke that rose high enough to mushroom against a low-hung cloud cover, all while a cacophony of machinery, splitting stone, blaring loudspeakers, and white noise gave it the racket of the volcanic eruption it resembled.
Grav drives howled from the sky. Geiger turned from his perch at a railed balcony and watched Syntar heavy transports circle in for a landing at the blastcrete field the engineers and drones had only thrown up in the last forty eight hours. Loaders and bulldozers the size of small buildings rolled down the ramps from these, joined by columns of wheeled drones, followed by more columns of laborers.
At the edges of this field a veritable city of temporary housing and offices had sprung up. And the superstructures of more permanent structures had begun to sprout behind those, buildings that would house the nerve center of operations on the surface of Loudon. Buildings like the one Geiger stood atop, finished first and meant to serve as his groundside headquarters.
He grinned at Denton, hovering at his side and looking smugly satisfied, as always. “You know, I’ve seen star fleets mustered for battle; but this isn’t that shabby compared to those.”
“They’re ahead of schedule,” he replied. “McClintock came through and we’ve had more than enough volunteers.”
Geiger snorted at the term. “Remarkable what can be accomplished with fear.”
“Agreed. We won’t need as many of them soon. These next waves of ships are bringing a full complement of labor drones.”
“Keep the indigenes working,” Geiger replied. “We’ll deploy the drones when their productivity becomes untenable.”
“They’re already showing signs of fatigue.”
“I don’t give a damn. Keep them going till they break. Until then, the drones remain in storage.”
“As you say, Mister Vice President.”
Geiger hated the way Denton said his title, like he was a courtier, sniffing at the seams of some ancient earth noble’s sleeve. Still, he was glad to be free of Lindsey’s endless dissatisfaction. The man was better left with his automated ships and his fretting over repair schedules and overhead.
“We have a meeting, Mister Denton?”
“We certainly do, sir.”
He led Geiger away from the balcony and into the building. Inside, windows lined every wall, allowing floods of natural light to glint off gunmetal gray and polished obsidian surfaces. But Geiger noted the slots at their bases for blast shield shutters; Syntar architecture stressed hostile-readiness as well as aesthetics.
They strode through the corridors of the complex, most of these finished, but a few still showing signs of touch-up. Syntar employees came and went, most in the gray overalls of company rank-and-file. Increasingly, though, Geiger began to notice suits and style. He became increasingly aware of his own lack of it, as well, still wearing the gray and silver merchant fleet uniform. Old habits...
Grated metal floors gave way to carpeting and a darker, warmer atmosphere of posh office suites and softer lighting as they passed security checkpoints and proceeded deeper into the building. The atmosphere smoothed from one of work and noise to one of power and whispers. Attractive, groomed people Geiger didn’t know greeted him as he passed and he quickly realized it wasn’t just the details of the operation he had to know; if he was going to survive at the top of this slickly treacherous hierarchy, he was going to have to know more about the personalities.
A shapely, but stern-faced secretary greeted them as they passed into an antechamber. “Mister Geiger, Mister Denton, welcome back. Mister Geiger, your two o’clock has passed on word that she is running slightly late.”
Geiger sighed rather than growl. He knew she didn’t like the latter. “Thank you, Kat.” He glanced at Denton. “McClintock holds us up again?”
“She’s never outwardly defiant.”
“Just in every other way.” He nodded to the secretary. “Thank you. We’ll be in my office for a bit.”
“And Mister Vice President? There’s a red-band transmission waiting for you from the Home Office. It was not one of your weekly scheduled communiques.”
Geiger frowned. That would be Boxer. “I’ll take it shortly. We aren’t to be disturbed.”
“Yes sir.”
They stepped through the heavy, faux-oak door beyond Kat’s desk and into finery. Built into the highest part of the complex, Geiger’s office was carpets and couches and a crackling hearth burning with real—or at least convincingly so—wood. A domed ceiling allowed Loudon’s currently feeble sunlight to trickle down as he moved to his huge mahogany desk and Denton settled into a padded chair before it. Book shelves lined the cases behind it. A brandy decanter sat to one side, glasses ready.
It dizzied Geiger, sometimes, the pomp of it. He hadn’t requested any of this, just found it here waiting for him. But, damn, how well they had read him. The books were real editions, ancient histories—some which had to have cost a fortune—textbooks, even a scattering of fiction he tried to enjoy. The brandy was from Nova Terra—a vintage he’d favored while staying in Primus. They’d even gotten little things right, like a replication of the china set he’d allowed himself as an indulgence in the Ready Room of the Immolator.
He supposed it could be read two ways: they wanted an environment conducive to get the best of him, or they understood him well enough to control him.
After a life of service and hardship and delayed gratification, Geiger decided it no longer mattered which it was.
He poured himself a brandy, didn’t bother to offer one to Denton, and touched a desktop control. A globular materialized to show fighting between stun-baton-armed men in Syntar paramilitary gear and Loudon laborers in the assembly area outside the mines. More paramilitaries rushed to join the scrum. Bodies tumbled. Blood spattered the blastcrete.
“This one got out of control, last night,” Geiger said, taking a sip.
“It was the fifth one this week. We’re seeing unrest at a number of the facilities, especially as we ramp up the hours expected.”
“How many fatalities?”
“Six, this time.”
Geiger swirled the brandy, let ice clink against glass. “I suppose that will come up with McClintock.”
“I’ve not doubt.”
He set the glass down on a marble coaster. “Begin arming the oversight platoons with blaster weapons.”
Denton blinked. “You think that’s wise?”
“I think the miners will get the message” he grinned wickedly “or they’ll receive quite a different message.”
“As you say, Mister Vice President.”
Geiger touched the control again and the hologram changed became a map of Loudon and zoomed in on the regions south of the mines. Icons sprinkled it, a few further inland, more in the mountains. “Our inspection of these sites is complete?”
“We have confirmed the findings in the old Survey Corps records,” Denton replied. “Rich transuranic veins at all.” He pointed towards the mountains. “Our surveyor drones and teams came under fire here.”
Geiger nodded. “That’s the hotbed, unsurprisingly.” He picked up the brandy again, swirled it, and sipped. “That’s why the Jesters resupplied them there. They’re impeding us.”
“The partisans do appear well-armed.” Denton frowned. “It’s going to be work digging them out.”
“Which is why I’ve requested so many additional resources.”
“Which is likely why the Home Office is calling.” He nodded towards the red light blinking from Geiger’s desktop communicator panel. “They don’t like all the expenses. It makes the bean-counters nervous.”
Geiger waved it off with his free hand. “It’s like Navy quartermasters. There’s never, ever enough. But there always seem to be plenty of hors d’oeuvres at the Admiralty buffets.” He pointed at the icons inland, shaded orange instead of yellow. “And what about these?”
“The Jester crash sites?” Denton shrugged. “Most have turned up pieces of wreckage scattered across considerable real estate, in one case, traces of human remains. Not much to speak of.”
