Gears of war, p.24
Gears of War, page 24
The narrow-gauge track ran south from the warehouse, paralleling the river to a point south of the mining camp, where it turned west and ran out toward the highway.
The original miners had carved a big semicircle out of the valley’s western wall. It contained three mine entrances. Each rose to the height of a three-story building, and all of them had twin iron doors. The doors were closed in two—the northernmost and the central ones—and coils of barbed wire were strewn across them. The third mine also stood closed, but a smaller access door had been fitted into one of the larger ones. The snow around it had been churned into mud, indicating regular use.
A number of prefabricated buildings had been brought to the site and set up. They looked well weathered, enough to indicate that they’d been there for a long time. Four had been joined to form one building about halfway along toward the railhead. Two formed a second building between the two closed mines.
None of that looked out of the ordinary to Marcus, but a set-up toward the valley’s south end didn’t fit. Two dozen smaller buildings, tiny homes which maybe had a footprint of ten square yards, had been arranged in four pods of six structures. Those pods defined the four corners of an area. Down the middle were two larger buildings and the sort of open space Cole would have needed for a Thrashball field. A simple wooden rail fence surrounded the perimeter, and a row of razor wire lay about four yards further out.
A bell rang in the largest building and the doors opened. Boys and girls ranging from very young through teens, all wearing red jackets and black pants or skirts, marched out of the structure. They broke into smaller groups, each led by one of the older children. Those children led their charges to a pod, saw to it that each child went to a specific home, and finally went home themselves.
In a couple of cases Marcus saw an adult woman opening the house’s door from the inside to welcome the child, but there was no affection in the greetings.
Shadows lengthened in the valley, crossing the river and rising to where Marcus and the others hid. Lights went on in the camp. A squad of six people exited the largest building on the far side, which Marcus decided was a barracks. They reported to the second building and reemerged with Lancers and sidearms. Two of them headed north, two crossed the river and patrolled the eastern shore. The final two went to the working mine, entered, and in five minutes came out again.
Oh holy shit. Marcus’ eyes narrowed. They’re walking a fucking grub on a leash.
The undersized Drone lumbered along, head up, sniffing the air. A little red pinprick blinked at its throat, which Marcus took to be the equivalent of the device he’d already recovered. The two soldiers led the creature across the river—it clearly did not like the cold water—and to the space between the fence and the barbed wire. The men began a leisurely circuit around the assembly of houses, and the residents emerged from their tiny houses to troop over to the other large building, which Marcus took to be a communal dining area.
He studied the place for another fifteen minutes, then withdrew with his companions. They traveled in silence back to their camp. Marcus cleared out a space on the floor, set up some light, and then used rocks and bits of brick to create a map of the area.
“Did I miss anything, Sam? Karima?”
“Looks good to me, Sarge.” Sam squatted on the northern end of the map. “That’s definitely a barracks there. Room for thirty-six, I’d say.”
Marcus nodded. “Don’t know if they’re housing more in the mine or not, but that’s where they’re keeping the grubs.”
“How many grubs did you see?” Clay checked the load on his Lancer.
“Just the one. Slightly undersized, but doesn’t look sick, though there might have been some lesions on its neck. The ICM messed it up, but didn’t kill it, clearly. These clowns found it, fitted it for that control collar, trained it.”
Damon started counting on his fingers. “So thus far we have five grubs that were sick, two fitted for collars. One has been trained. But where’s the E-hole?”
“They’re containing them in a mine which, last time I looked, actually is a hole in the ground,” Marcus said wryly. “But somewhere there was a clutch of these things, all weak from the ICM, sick and dying, and they scooped them up.” He shook his head. “We spent years wiping out those things, and these guys have made them into damned pets.”
Cole rested a hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Okay, sudden-death overtime, baby. We go in and finish them.”
Sam looked up. “Not gonna be that easy. The guards had body armor, looked sharp. They’ve had training.”
“They could even be Gears.” Marcus’ nostrils flared. “Raul Hasterwith, the ringmaster of this circus, offered me a job. Said he needed people with my skills.”
Brandon pointed toward the cluster of smaller rocks at the south end of the map. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t…” Marcus hesitated for a heartbeat, then smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Cole, it’s what you and Karima were talking about. It’s a ‘proof of concept.’ They prototyped an operation at the Watson farm. A Locust attack proves a space isn’t safe. To be safe, folks should gather together into settlements which, clearly, Seradyne will set up. They hire ex-Gears for security and, hey, no more attacks.”
Damon frowned. “Yeah, but that wouldn’t work, because they only have, what, a half-dozen grubs? That might scare folks with farmsteads and stuff, but Westbrook won’t move.”
Clay shrugged. “Maybe Westbrook doesn’t move, but they still hire Seradyne security to keep them safe. And if Seradyne is gonna be piping news into everyplace, just the rumor of attacks would be enough to have folks accepting their help.”
Marcus’ blood ran cold. “You’re missing it. They found grubs, dying grubs. They nursed them back to health, at least relatively speaking. They trained them. What else do they know about them? Maybe they’ve found a way to clone them?”
They exchanged glances in stunned silence.
Cole growled. “There are probably labs somewhere in the complex. So we get into them, get all of their info, and save all the people.”
“Yeah, and deal with all the hostiles trying to stop us.” Marcus shook his head. “This mission is growing with every second. How many people are we looking to move?”
Karima folded her arms over her chest. “Twenty-four houses in that ‘proof of concept’ village. Two kids, one adult per. That’s at least seventy-two people to evacuate. If the old engine is still in the shed and charged up, we could use it to pull folks out, but that’s a lot of ifs. Plus it requires that the shooting has stopped, and the little houses have survived being down-range.”
“We need more people. Maybe a King Raven, kitted out with air-to-ground rockets.” Marcus frowned. “But we have to cut it fine. The more assets we gather, the greater the chances of a security breach. If Seradyne even suspects we know what they’ve done, they’ll destroy all the evidence.”
He swept his foot through the stones pretending to be little houses.
Karima nodded. “I can get my security forces into Westbrook and up here. That’s a dozen.”
Damon looked up. “How about you talk to Old Man Hoffman. He’s got a lot of favors to call in.”
“Me? Call Hoffman?” Marcus looked at his friend. “Have you been hit in the head?”
“It was just a suggestion. You could have Anya call him.”
“Carmine, hit him in the head.”
Brandon bent down and picked up one of the little houses. He rolled it around in his palm. “I think you leave me and maybe Sam or Clay to keep an eye on things. We call back with any changes. Karima gets her home guards. You call in favors. You get back here in ten days, maybe two weeks, and do what has to be done.”
“I hate to wait that long.” Cole scratched at his jaw. “But I think that may be the game plan, brother.”
Marcus looked at the others. “Thoughts?”
Sam nodded. “You’ll have to leave us your rations, maybe have someone else run out some more, but more intel can’t hurt.”
“You’ll call in nightly reports. We don’t hear from you, we figure you’ve been compromised.”
Brandon stretched. “Sun goes down, you hear from us.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t like it, but we haven’t got much of a choice. We’ll head back at dawn and we’ll leave most of our stuff here so we can travel light and fast.”
Damon gave him a thumbs-up. “It’ll work.”
“It better.” Marcus looked at each of them. “This is a disaster just waiting to happen, and we don’t need anything else to go wrong.”
The sat phone began to buzz.
9: STROUD ESTATE
NEAR EPHYRA, SERA
12 FROST 18 A.E.
Anya sat back on the couch in the main house’s informal parlor. It abutted the kitchen and had a large hearth built into the eastern wall. She’d built up a small fire, a bit for warmth, but mostly just to have the dancing flames inject some life into the house.
Though the Hahns had brought her some dinner and left it in the kitchen, she hadn’t felt hungry. She simply opened a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass before relaxing in front of the fire.
Jamila Shin had pulled back, and the repercussions reverberated through the ministerial world, with everyone looking for a cause, and some fearing for the future. Jamila’s decision would have created more havoc, but her practice of directly connecting people, instead of having things flow through her office, enabled her to ameliorate the damage.
It still created a lot more work for Anya.
Questions that Jamila would have sorted now flowed to Anya—unfiltered and unorganized. She tried her best to direct people to the proper resources and connect them with one another, but the sheer amount of time it took to calm people down devoured chunks of her day. She was used to identifying problems and finding immediate solutions. Having to quell panic and anxiety in others before she could even begin to identify their problems sucked so much emotional energy out of her that she had little energy to spare and even less time to get her own work done.
Not having Marcus to talk to, to be her sanctuary, that all made it tougher to get up each day and continue working. Marcus always listened, letting her vent, frequently not offering a solution until she asked for help. He always had her back, and found ways to refocus her. He’d share his own victories—everything from reconstruction to gardening—reminding her of how important little things were. He gave her perspective, or room to find her own perspective, and she knew he’d never let anyone or anything hurt her.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Anya twisted around on the couch, narrowly managing to avoid sloshing her wine out of the glass. She stared at the man standing in the entryway. “Minister Hasterwith!”
He gestured vaguely back toward the door. “I would have tried your bell, but you don’t seem to have one. Please, forgive me and my ill manners. I arrive unannounced and lacking a housewarming gift. The latter I shall make amends for. I accept blame for the former, but plead exigent circumstances.”
Anya set her wine glass on a side table and stood. “Would you care to join me?”
“So kind, but no. No insult intended to the Stroud winery or cellar, but I eschew alcohol when dealing with sobering matters. But, please, your drinking will not be judged.” The man looked around the parlor. “I see you are well on your way to returning this place to its former glory. Excellent. I mourn what we have lost, but am ambitiously hopeful for the future.”
“Thank you. Please, why are you here?”
“Refreshingly direct. This is a quality I hope politics will not dull in you.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I might have spoken to you sooner, once the rumors of Jamila’s withdrawal became known, but I chose to delay for a bit. I wished to see where the chips would fall, and then address the situation.”
“Do you know why she pulled back?” Anya crossed to the fireplace and used an iron poker to shift the logs.
“Should I?” The man’s face remained expressionless. “I took her statement at face value, that she was making time to deal with family issues. Something about her husband and drinking, I think?”
“That is what she said.” Anya hardly expected the man to admit to having arranged for Jamila Shin’s downfall, but the brazen innocence in his voice surprised her. “He has some issues.”
“As does her son. Please, that look of surprise does you no credit. I could not have gotten where I am without having a plethora of sources.”
“You do run Seradyne Information Services, after all.”
“Indeed, but I do not employ them for brazen political gain.” Hasterwith’s brow wrinkled. “You don’t believe that her son Simon’s issues just happened, do you? Would it surprise you that I think he—and his mother through him—was being blackmailed?”
Anya raised an eyebrow. “You do, do you?”
“Ah, and you cling to the idea that I am the person behind it. Understandable.” The man clapped politely for a moment or two. “While, in the past, I have not been above using people’s peccadilloes against them, that was before the Locust. That was back in a time when compromising someone could result in a payoff worth millions. As you have so aptly noted in our discussions, we don’t have money, or much of an economy.
“Now, while Jamila and I may have had different world views, the fact is that she was the most productive piece of this proto-governmental body we seek to create. Whoever did this to her—and frankly, my money, had I any, would be on Nathan Pendergast—he is an idiot who still battles the ghost of his father to prove his worth. That said, he would ape the sort of ham-handed things his father used to do. The Pendergasts are expert at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, and this trait has bred true in junior.”
Anya turned back to the fire, crouched, and put another quarter log atop the pyre. Pendergast could have been the one to entrap Simon Shin. Nathan had parental issues, and using her son to discredit Jamila would appeal.
Still, someone else might have influenced Pendergast.
“Was that what you wanted to discuss, Minister Hasterwith? The need to expose Minister Pendergast’s activity?”
“No, not at all.” The man opened his hands. “He will have to be dealt with in a different way because, were we to do this openly, the whole sordid affair with Simon Shin would come to light, further hurting his mother. I would hate to have that happen.”
“Agreed.” Anya stood again, but did not return the blackened poker to the rack at the hearth’s edge. “Why did you come?”
“It is rather simple, actually. You see, in the time since Jamila has pulled back, you have emerged as a central figure in our enterprise. You are Jamila’s heir apparent.”
“For?”
“Oh, playing so coy, very good.” Hasterwith smiled as he shook his head. “First minister, of course—and here is where you deny having any desire for that post.”
“I have none. None what so ever.”
“I actually believe you. Others, however, think it is a faux denial intended to add a veneer of modesty to your image, of someone who only wishes to serve ‘for the betterment of all others.’” Hasterwith clasped his hands together over his heart. “I, for one, believe your protestation. I mean, look at your history. Minor COG functionary, then coordinator for Gear operations and, finally, when there’s really nothing left to coordinate, you take up arms and fight to destroy the Locust. A stirring tale, really. In fact, when we reestablish an educational system and approve curriculum, I shall insist that students are made to study your biography to make them understand what true duty and honor looks like. So, I do accept that you have no intention or ambition for high political office.”
The man was baiting her, of that Anya was certain, and she might have risen to the challenge. Had Marcus been there, Hasterwith would have been pinned to the wall like a specimen in a bug collection. But Hasterwith is right. I don’t want political power, so getting riled up—when he’s stating the truth—would be foolish.
“Thank you, I guess.” Anya frowned. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Yes, well, I do have a purpose. Part of it was to confirm that you have no desire to replace Jamila Shin.”
“Because you do.”
Hasterwith clasped his hands behind his back. “I would be honored to accept that position. The committee report on how the office will be structured makes the office one where bold leadership will move us forward. And, truth be told, I feel that with Jamila stepping back, there is need for a strong person to fulfill her role, and to take us to the next stage in the survival of humanity.”
“And what exactly do you see that next evolution to be?” Anya turned toward the fire and stabbed the poker into a log. Sparks rose in a fiery display.
“As I mentioned before, my vision and Jamila’s view are different. I see the world drawn in very stark contrasts. To wit, people are ‘makers’ or ‘takers.’ The vast majority are sheep. They are the takers. They live their lives in fear. They do the minimum they must to achieve enough to keep themselves and their children alive. They have dreams—frivolous dreams—and no drive or ambition. There are times they have desires, which they mistake for ambition. Their lives are brutality punctuated by moments of pleasure, and the height of their contribution to mankind’s survival is their ability to donate genetic material, nothing more.”
Hasterwith began to pace.
“Makers, on the other hand, are the shepherds. We are those who set goals, who assemble the workforce, who—in the past anyway—used our material capital to create something out of nothing. Without makers mankind would still be living in caves, clad in skins, in deathly fear of their only fire going out. And, before you ask, I do consider myself a maker. I feel the same way about you, Anya, and Marcus, even your Damon Baird. We are all people who see a need and take steps to fulfill it. Many can dream, but you can take the practical steps to make your dreams into realities. Just as you have worked to rebuild your family’s estate, you will rebuild society and, I dare say, will make it better than it was before.”
