Cassandra Kresnov: Breakaway Part 25

"Me neither. Ditto any intervention from ground crew, they'll have armed personnel covering the shuttle's departure, anyone getting in the way will be dead. "

Amazing they could do it in broad daylight like this, in a busy civilian s.p.a.ceport. It just showed that if you had the right systems, and the ability to access and control them to your advantage, you could do anything. From the flyer's rear came the clack and rattle of heavy armour and weapons, the murmur of voices running through system checks a even ordinary CSA personnel could operate in armour when needed, which was rarely. But she much preferred SWAT.

"Aside from all that, there's a whole arms bank of jamming and cloak gear I've operated with that could work over these distances, but of course CSA has none of it. I change my mind, I'm all out of options. Any suggestions from anyone that don't involve us getting blown out of the sky?"

A static silence on the com. The Ta.n.u.shan outer perimeter was approaching-if she'd had time to look out the right-side porthole, she'd have seen nothing but green forest and the odd, winding river or transit route cutting through. Well beyond, the broad, open expanse of the mega-s.p.a.ceport-airport complex. Now surrounded by a highly selective four kilometre exclusion zone that would cut them from the sky with the precision of a laser-scalpel if they crossed it. Above, a blue and sunny sky. That, too, was deceptive. At night, when the stations and ships went over in bright, metallic gleams against the lightwashed city sky, you could see just how deceptive. Now, beyond the bright, glaring blue, there was nothing.

"Okay," she said, "get me a direct link to the captain of Mekong. Right now." Vanessa was right-it was a crazy option to be considering upon Ta.n.u.sha's major infrastructural a.s.set. But Sandy didn't care about that, all she knew was that it appeared to be her last option left, and she was going to take it.

"h.e.l.lo, Snowcat," came a new voice from HQ, "we appear to have another seven outbound bogies in the traffic grid headed for Gordon, five appear to be media-registered, the other two are SIB. "

If it weren't for the response-deadening effects of combat reflex, she was sure she would have muttered several very choice phrases to inform all with ears of her very severe displeasure.

"Highlight please," she said instead, and the tac-net matrix abruptly swung focus back to mid-western Ta.n.u.sha, and to several red dots amid the ma.s.ses of afternoon traffic flowing there. Specific detail sprang to visual. She scrolled through fast a five media and two SIB, like HQ said. Both SIB vehicles were breaking lanes on emergency protocols, very obvious and not the kind of thing she wanted to see with an opponent who wasn't supposed to see them coming a "Someone please talk them into their lanes," she snapped, "or else I'll a" The command-SIB was transmitting and she cut into the frequency a "a this is an illegal operation," came the clear, female voice, "we monitor that Snowcat has been given charge of this mission, it is our duty to inform you that the individual 'Snowcat' is presently under legal suspension from duty by direct order of Special Investigation Bureau a "

"I don't f.u.c.king believe it," came someone's unidentified response on tac-net. The SIB couldn't hear that, they weren't hooked into tac-net, no non-CSA personnel could be unless directly authorised to-they didn't have the software. How they'd monitored enough to know that "Neiland's GI" was in charge was anyone's guess-leaks in CSA command was her own bet, it was a common enough rumour, either among personnel or net-systems. And then another call was coming in a "Someone deal with them," Sandy announced, "I'm busy." And linked onto the other, broader, encrypted channel a "h.e.l.lo, Captain Reichhardt." The accompanying text message on internal visual informed her of the captain's name and other details. "I'm sorry to disturb you, have you been following the present situation down here?"

"Yes, Yes I have." With that faintly tinny, static-wrinkled interface that spoke of greater distances and many relays in between. "Your Director Ibrahim contacted me personally, and I am fully appraised of the situation regarding Governor Dali. I understand I am speaking to the famed Ta.n.u.shan GI, and that you are in command of this operation at present. "

"That is correct, sir." Scanning text furiously-the captain's age, marital status, university, degrees, military record (an acc.u.mulated twelve years' frontline service against the League as captain, another fifteen as a lower ranked officer) a anything that might give her an idea of the man's leanings. It was of course a political decision she was asking. In this environment, everything had a political ramification. What this particular ramification would be for herself if it happened, she had no idea. "Our present situation is that Dali will escape our custody if we cannot stop him. The FIA have now acquired complete control of the Gordon s.p.a.ceport fire defence grid. If we venture within the four kilometre exclusion zone, we will be destroyed, and we have only perhaps nineteen minutes before the shuttle leaves its berth. I am asking you, sir, to commit an OMS launch against the five defensive firegrid emplacements to allow us to prevent Dali's unlawful escape from justice. As you will know, I am an ex-Dark Star captain. I am well versed in the operation of such weapons systems, I can safely act as your fire-control officer at this end to ensure zero collateral damage. I await your prompt reply, sir." A brief pause. Too long to be transmission delay. Then a faint, crackling sound that sounded like a a chuckle.

"Ma'am, in Texas where I was born, we call that cahones a no matter your gender, it's still cahones." Texas. USA-or Los Estados Unidos-people from there were called LEUs for short. Lots of Spanish slang. Far more LEUs in the League, generally speaking. LEUs weren't generally known for their love of political chicanery, either. Her confidence level abruptly leapt a she might, MIGHT just have a chance here, because the USA had been one of the most vocal in speaking out against Federation centralism precisely because of FIA heavy-handedness a independently minded, League-sympathetic if not exactly friendly, and still sometimes accused of isolationism, the USA remained somewhat suspicious of their bigger Chinese and Indian partners that dominated the Federation Grand Council alliance, and most recently, it seemed, with d.a.m.n good cause a "Now I do suspect, ma'am, that you are as well aware of the Federationwide regulations against the operation of such militarygrade weapons systems in a civilian environment as I am, particularly as it's now peacetime and all. "

"Yessir. There will be no peace if Dali is allowed to escape, his removal will hide from the various off-Earth governments of the Federation much of the truth about the degree of the Grand Council's complicity in covert, illegal FIA operations a" And she decided to take a great, great chance, "a operations, sir, that I greatly suspect have caused you and your colleagues in Fleet command much anger and frustration for many years past. I'm sure many Fleet captains who served against the League were greatly outraged by many instances of the FIA's conduct in that conflict, and feel the greatness of their cause diminished by those actions. If you want to let yet another of those illegal acts fly straight off this planet and into the black hole of Grand Council justice, you can simply do nothing. Or you can a.s.sist in their lawful apprehension, for the greater good of all the Federation, and in the hopes of the smooth and democratic operation of Federation democratic political process, and launch the OMS on my fire mission. I'll make sure they only hit what they're supposed to, it will not be in any way a dangerous or reckless act. What is your response, sir? We're running out of time."

"I make no comment to you upon my feelings toward the FIA, Ms. Kresnov. " Ibrahim had told him her name. Her hopes sank. "Except to say that I've already had the fire mission locked in from the moment I understood the situation, launch will commence in approximately twenty seconds from now, and y'all go have y'rself a good next half hour down there, y'hear? Fire-control observer protocols will follow, Mekong out. "

She didn't even hesitate. "All units, this is Snowcat, fire mission is on its way, I have observer protocols, please now take all measures to clear all civilians away from the firegrid points. If I do need to detonate a round short of the targets, all units be prepared to improvise advance-and-evade flightplans around the surviving firegrid point."

It was messy, this ad-hoc collection of civilian units and operating procedures a communicating in a language everyone could understand was a challenge, and a long way from the jargon brevity of Dark Star familiarity. But if people misunderstood, they were going to get killed. ETA showed three minutes now until the kill-zone a and if the shuttle's start-up sequence was where she thought it was from the displays, they'd be rolling in about eighteen. Somewhere up in high geo-stationary orbit, Mekong was now firing, high-V sh.e.l.l-casings accelerating at bone-crushing Gs, hitting atmosphere in two minutes, sh.e.l.l-burnoff for another two, flight activation, target acquisition a they'd come straight in at many times terminal velocity, a mere five minutes twenty-three seconds from first firing. Giving them about twelve minutes between now and the shuttle departing. Well, at least they could get close enough then to wing the shuttle while it was still on the ground a although that too could prove tricky, given the variables.

"All units," she announced, "switch lanes to a kill-zone parallel." With a quick flash of mental ill.u.s.tration to show what she meant, flightpaths selected that ran alongside the kill-zone perimeter, attempting to look innocuous. She didn't think it would work, but it might keep them guessing. "We're going to get about twelve minutes once the grid goes down, I'll get you your landing points when it happens. It's a fluid situation, be prepared to improvise."

"Copy that," came Vanessa's reply, calm and unworried. And she suffered her first flash of worry-"Don't trust me too much, Vanessa, I'm not perfect. I can't monitor everything you're doing realtime like I would a Dark Star team-mate through direct neural linkups, I'm relying on you to use your own brain." But she knew she couldn't waste time worrying about that, for everyone's sake, so she forgot about it, realigned the tac-net channel to remote, unplugged herself, unbelted and swung up from the chair into the cramped aisle and headed for the rear a the data-flow was less intense, without the direct linkup, but only marginally, and the complete, stable, tac-net picture remained constant in her head.

The four security agents were already arming up, a tight cl.u.s.ter of armour harnesses, light gear in various pieces and stages of attachment, nothing like the heavy grunt-gear SWAT used, just enough for light protection with full augmentation a She flattened herself past Odano and one of the sec agents, keeping balance in a rough piece of air with practised ease, double-handle twisted the grips on the first available locker and the doors swung open a there were six basic sizes of suit, precise fits were superior but it looked like everyone was going to find a size close enough. Hauled off her jacket and hung it, sent the shoulder holster after it-a tight wriggle as an armoured body squeezed past toward the front-and took calm note of the ongoing tac-net conversation with the SIB, who had neither adjusted lanes, nor slowed down. Nor, just as alarmingly, had the media vehicles. And more were highlighted a like carrion birds headed for a fresh carca.s.s, they grew to a swarm by following each other's lead.

She got a hold of the overhead handles and slapped herself backfirst into the torso armour. A quick, reflex fastening of straps, feeling the auto-measurements rearranging for her size and shape, and snapped the chestplate down, then worked her way down to stomach, pelvis and thighs, each time the familiar snap-whine of connection, and the tightening adjustment to a firm fit. The sec agents cleared the rear, leaving room for Ari, Kazuma and Odano, who scrambled into their gear with somewhat less than her own rapid grace. Bank as the flyer continued course along the kill-zone perimeter. The SIB didn't seem to be slowing a "a Snowcat not to be taken as reliable," the leader was saying as she tuned in directly, "a Dali could not have e s c a p e d without CSA f o r e - k n o w l e d g e , CSA is a t t e m p t i n g t o allow Dali to escape a " Sandy couldn't believe that. She just couldn't. And hacked quickly onto their channela "This is Snowcat to all SIB and accompanying units, this is a CSA operation, SIB is not within CSA tac-net. If you proceed within the four kilometre exclusion zone about the s.p.a.ceport the firegrid will fire upon you a "All SIB units are operating under Senate Security Panel authorisation Meta-Niner-Alpha, direct instruction to apprehend Dali personally. There has been no infiltration of firegrid, SIB sources indicate otherwise a"

"SIB units, your sources are wrong, stand down immediately. " That was Ibrahim's voice. Ibrahim knew of the SIB's "special sources"? And who would be talking to the SIB behind everyone's backs? And could the SIB honestly be stupid enough to listen to them?

"SIB units," she tried again, but a "Listen, you little piece of s.h.i.t," Vanessa cut in, "on your present flightpath you have approximately twenty seconds left to live. Worse, you're going to put them onto us. We're not going to waste breath warning you again. "

No reply.

"Oh s.h.i.t," said Kazuma breathlessly, "I have to see this." Sounding uncharitably excited as she hastily fixed her helmet into place out of sequence, hooking up the feed and getting the visor down a Tac-net showed the lead two SIB vehicles headed straight at the kill-zone. Sandy switched to a visual feed, clear vision of both SIB cruisers, fiveperson aircars, government issue, but hardly combat-worthy a "They wouldn't?!" exclaimed Odano. Sandy watched her feed with as much incredulity as combat reflex allowed to surface. Both aircars kept going, the second perhaps naught-point-two klicks behind the first. Multiple fire-tracks registered on tac-net from the firepoints about Gordon. The lead car shattered to fragmented pieces barely a second later, exploding in flames almost as an afterthought as the combustibles ignited. The second car took wild evasive action, vis-feed tracking from an external camera a shots ripped out to it as it plunged and twisted, sh.e.l.ls exploding in rapid unison a hundred metres beyond as if hitting an invisible barrier. She could see it was going to make it, the fire patterns fixed in her head, the ranges from various batteries, the speed at which they adjusted, sh.e.l.ls chasing, then detonating alongside in fiery bursts, then out and clear, trailing smoke and leftside low as the mayday call went out, and panicked, incredulous exclamations burst across the broader net. Barely two hundred metres inside the invisible kill-zone, a long, black plume of smoke rose from the thick forest like a funeral pyre.

"That," Ari said mildly, "is possibly the silliest thing I've ever seen."

"I wouldn't say that, personally," Sandy replied, bending to finish her final leg-adjustments, "but it definitely makes my top five."

"You've seen four things crazier than that?" said Kazuma. No doubt about it, she looked almost cheerful in her incredulity. "Girl, you must have seen some weird s.h.i.t."

Sandy shrugged. "Mai pen rai," she said, ignoring the helmet to go instead for the light headset a "Mai pen what?" said Kazuma.

"Thai," An informed her, working once more on his own armour attachments with intense concentration. "Means *whatever.' An old Thai friend once told me Ta.n.u.sha was a *mai pen rai society."' Sandy finished settling hair and headset into place, snapped up, checked, loaded and activated the Tanu-55 a.s.sault rifle with a series of rapid moves, and shoved off to mid-aisle, directly confronting An.

"Okay, greenpea, what did you test in armour?"

"Mean average eight-point-three," Ari told her, wincing as the thighplate clacked in and the whole leg a.s.sembly tightened on auto. Apparently calm, but for the brief, flickering glance of dark eyes in her direction a worried, she reckoned, past the typical Ari Ruben deadpan. She didn't think the armour suited him. Too official. "Authority." Not a good look for an underground fringe-dweller.

"What about you?" she asked Kazuma.

"Eight-point-nine," Kazuma said smugly. Further progressed in her suit-up than An. Had more practice, Sandy reckoned. It seemed to be Kazuma's thing, and the little gunslinger seemed to enjoy it. Sandy distrusted that implicitly.

"You'll do what I tell you." Gazing firmly at Kazuma. Half expecting a smarta.r.s.e remark.

"Yessir," Kazuma said smartly, meeting her gaze with total honesty. Unwaveringly loyal. She didn't trust that either.

"Sandy," said An, re-catching her attention. "No hard feelings? I couldn't tell you what Sal Va had, Ibrahim put me onto it personally, straight from Neiland a when it's connected to the President like that, I just couldn't tell you, you're not cleared for that information. It'd be political suicide for her if people found out you'd been told "I understand perfectly," Sandy told him calmly. Just when did you start picking sides and protecting politicians, Ari? she wanted to ask him. Just when did you decide that something mattered enough for you to get involved? But she didn't have the time. "You're also going to do what I tell you. Everyone on this flyer is in the rear, SWAT Four gets the serious work, you get that?"

"No argument here."

"There's a chance we'll get some s.p.a.ce to make a flanking manoeuvre up the left. If that happens I'll go first and you'll cover me. That's all you'll do. Everyone belt in tight, approach should get a little rough." She shouldered the rifle and hand-over-handed her way up the narrow aisle, past equipment, supports and waiting armoured agents, and stopped in the open s.p.a.ce behind the c.o.c.kpit a "Sandy, where's the d.a.m.n missiles?"

"Two minutes, Ricey, I'll get you a countdown in thirty."

Gordon continued to function, net traffic was alarmed. She could see security lights in places, crash trucks on the tarmac, some gatherings of people who'd come out to stare in horror at the plume of smoke from beyond the forest perimeter, some who were just standing stunned, shocked by the sight and sound of the firegrid in operation, rapid staccato thumps from out on the perimeter followed by the angry, buzzing rush of projectile fire overhead. And she added "civil panic" to the list of probable circ.u.mstances she'd have to contend with, and hoped like h.e.l.l the local security had removed all civilians from the north wing a tac-net wasn't clear on that, local security were evidently in a state, there were no clear reports available.

There was a new shuttle in Berth 14, however, right alongside the FIA's craft a the schedule showed it was new, only having docked twenty minutes ago. There were no records of disembarkation. Neither was there a name, or a registration.

"HQ, I want full details on the shuttle in Berth 14, I'm getting nothing on it."

"Roger, Snowcat. "

She was in no mood for further surprises. It wasn't leaving again immediately if it had only just gotten in-shuttles took a few hours at least to turn around. But the proximity and the blacked-out ID were too much coincidence for her liking.

"I don't like that one, Sandy," came Vanessa, reading her mind. "I think I might blow the access early, keep them inside. "

"Could do, let's see a" And saw tac-net highlight red as someone else broke the perimeter, accompanied by alarmed calls of "Someone's in!," and "Who the f.u.c.k is it?"

A fast mental zoom-and-highlight a "Media cruiser," she announced. "Broadcasting civilian press ID on every frequency, don't talk to it, you could trigger an attack, it's too late now."

Aghast silence from on the net. They'd completed nearly a half-circuit of the complex now, and Sandy stared out the right-side windows. She had a broad, clear view back across the crisscrossing of runways, terminal and building complexes, to the looming towers of Ta.n.u.sha beyond a and a small, lonely dot that grew as she magnified it, wandering out into that lethal s.p.a.ce above the s.p.a.ceport.

"What in the prophet's good name are they doing?" muttered the pilot.

"Trying to win "journalist of the year." And betting the FIA won't fire on media." So far it was working. Another minute and the OMS would take out the emplacements. There was a shuttle coming in for landing too-that was safe, she'd discovered on a separate scan, firegrid couldn't fire on civilian shuttles, visual verification was hardwired and wouldn't allow it-and thank G.o.d for the common-sense genius who'd written that protocol into the software. Another was circling. Worse news, three were on the tarmac awaiting take-off, one just now lining up a traffic control were under supervision from CSA HQ, they knew what was going on, she had to hope they'd stay rational. "SWAT Four, change course, reverse circuit, we might need to come in from different angles."

And watched the SWAT flyer comply, banking completely around to head back the other way along the kill-zone perimeter a and then she saw something moving by one of the firegrid emplacements. Zoom-and-focus on tac-net, an overwhelming rush of data a and found a vehicle, grounds maintenance, zooming out along a service way toward the low, squat, ferrocrete bunker that housed the cannon mount a "HQ, I have a civilian vehicle at gridpoint three, please remove them immediately." Impact ETA thirty seconds. "SWAT Four, gridpoint three may survive impact, project fireshadow a" And whacked her own pilot on the shoulder. His hands moved, the horizon banking sharply and Gs shoved down hard a dammit, gridpoint three was due north, they were presently west-headed-north in their circuit of the s.p.a.ceport, now they had to get ninety degrees back south to give them a covered approach from that firepoint. Still the civilian vehicle approached. A hundred metres a too close, it'd singe their eyebrows. Stopped at fifty metres, just beyond the ground perimeter fencing.

"Snowcat, this is HQ, vehicle is not responding, must be a bad com. "

"f.u.c.k it," she said, and mentally sent the termination signal. A bright flash high, high above a she barely looked, she'd done it all before too many times to remember. Firegrid control panicked, rapid projectile fire ripping from five consecutive points, converging in an apex of shredding tracer above the s.p.a.ceport's east wing a the media car disintegrated like tissue paper in a hailstorm, pieces spinning to earth in violently random directions.

"No 'journalist of the year' for you," muttered the pilot, throttle wide open, engines howling at the flyer's maximum, the treetops rushing ever closer as they lost alt.i.tude. The other four target points were clear. She gave the missiles a final OK a final safeties went red, warheads primed, and she spared herself a brief, upward glance. Thin white contrails in the clear blue sky. Headed in and downward at incredible velocity.

Th-th-th-thud, four rapid impacts, fireb.a.l.l.s climbing skyward from four widely spread locations across the broad expanse of s.p.a.ceport grounds, laden with debris.

"We're in," said Vanessa, SWAT Four already in nearly perfect position south of the s.p.a.ceport and banking hard inward, barely ten metres off the treetops.

"Four strikes," Sandy said calmly, watching the fireb.a.l.l.s rise as yet more confusion unfurled across the tac-net schematic of Gordon, emergency calls, com traffic and general chaos-"Live fire from north of Gordon is still imminent, SWAT Four is inbound, Snowcat is inbound in a" Rush of schematic data, topography calculations showing the fire-blindspots and calcing that with their present trajectory. "a fifteen seconds when we acquire fireshadow, everyone stay low and keep the chatter down." And flicked channels. "Vanessa, you've got no angle on the north wing with that firepoint still active, I want you to get down behind north wing, check tac-net V-18Q, disperse and secure the building with two shooters high, I'm coming in at V-15R for rearguard, you right flank secure through to main baggage, we hold and pivot, you push, establish contact and hold, then I'll push the left flank and trap them." With mental ill.u.s.trations across the tac-net display of the s.p.a.ceport schematic, visual backup to the verbal shorthand.

"Gotcha, Snowcat," came Vanessa's laconic drawl.

The pilot banked hard left-again the Gs shoved down, Sandy holding position comfortably, braced and standing behind the c.o.c.kpit seats with a good view out the front a "Under fire!" the co-pilot yelped as the north gridpoint flared a "Hold steady," Sandy said loudly, "they can't hit us a" Even as fire ripped perhaps twenty metres over them with snarling, angry velocity. "a we're in the west wing shadow, they're trying to scare us." Pause in fire, greenery rushing by below, then an abrupt break into open ground. Barely a kilometre to their left, thick, black smoke roiled skyward, bits of debris raining down, pieces of what had formerly been a very expensive, very efficient defensive gun emplacement. Sandy found time to wonder wryly if some fool on the Senate Security Panel would try and bill her for damages. "Five metres lower, we've got a brief gap coming up."

The flyer edged lower a d.a.m.n slow machine, turbine-propelled and labouring at barely seven hundred and fifty kph, but at ten metres off the deck it looked plenty fast enough. The north-west to south-east runway was two Ks ahead, access roads, drainage runoffs and observation posts shot past below a fire from the emplacement and "CLIMB!" she yelled, the Gs smacking them down as the ground fell away, and the burst of fire through the fireshadow gap between west wing and main terminal buildings ripped past below instead of hitting them a "Down down down, back on the deck." And the nose plunged once more, fire re-targeting their new position, gathering from the full eight kilometres of the s.p.a.ceport's far north end in glowing, ponderous cl.u.s.ters, then snapping by overhead at blurring velocity.

"That's it, well done." The pilot, she noted, was sweating profusely, a visionshift showed her a vastly elevated respiration and body temperature a the co-pilot wasn't much better. For SWAT pilots a hotzone approach typically meant a few smallarms-this was something they'd never trained for nor expected. "Don't look at the groundfire," she warned them both, "that's electromag fire, nearly five Ks a second, you look straight at it and you lose spatial perception and your flight track. Trust your flight sense, evade in future-time-realtime is too late, it's too fast."

"I have it," murmured the pilot, breathless as the runway came closer up ahead, then abruptly shot past below a the terminal complexes growing larger ahead by the second. "By the prophet I have it." His voice strained, breathing hard.

"Allah is with us," Sandy said firmly. "Trust in Allah."

"Allahu Akbar," the pilot agreed in a stronger tone, and entrusted them to a hard right bank at seven hundred and fifty as he readjusted their approach track, the right nacelle barely five metres off the hurtling ground. Sandy wondered if too much trust in Allah couldn't be a dangerous thing.

The s.p.a.ceport proper was looming up, the SWAT Four flyer already pulling into a close, decelerating hover low past the left side of south terminal a the size of it struck her as she watched the buildings loom through the armoured windshield, the sprawling southern terminal with multiple wings and covered shuttle bays, layoutgraphics indicating a ten thousand pa.s.senger per hour rating for each of the four main terminals. That was forty thousand people per hour all up, north, south, west and east terminals adjoining to the ma.s.sive central complex, where highway connections looped into multi-level avenues of departures and arrivals, and the maglev connected underground a And she recalled with a brief flash of memory her own arrival here from Rita Prime nearly two months ago, through customs with fake ID and scant baggage, cavernous, gleaming architecture and ma.s.ses of people arriving and departing, to and from all corners of the Federation a and no clue at all of how her life would have changed when she next revisited this ma.s.sive, bustling, vital juncture that connected half of Callay's population to the rest of the Federation.

They hurtled in low past the broad viewing windows of the southern terminal, glimpses of staring faces, civilians gathered on viewing platforms and staring incredulously at the pair of armoured SWAT flyers that howled low past their heads in the aftermath of heavy weapons fire and ma.s.sive artillery strikes on the perimeter a and visual enhancement through the windows showed flaring emergency lights, and uniformed staff attempting to herd hundreds of frightened pa.s.sengers into convenient directions a pity the tourists who'd just arrived for their holidays to discover that all the worst stories they'd heard of the "Ta.n.u.shan troubles" paled to insignificance next to the reality a Past the southern terminal, then, and onto the central hub, ducking low past one towering side where automated traffic piled into immobile jams along the elevated departure zones, crowds of panicked people swarming the roads, emergency vehicles with lights flashing, staff directing frantically, parents clutching children and baggage a it all hurtled past to their right, north terminal looming ahead, Vanessa's flyer already down and unloading atop the furthest edge of the terminal roof, behind the elevated restaurant/observation deck that her schematics had shown her created a fireshadow that the remaining firepoint could not penetrate, a faint glimpse of armoured figures pouring from the flyer's rear a The pilot took them low and left, pa.s.senger avenues shooting past below through decorative trees, Sandy staring leftwards where the west terminal sprawled northwards in a long pa.s.senger wing, shuttle berths breaking the length a that was where the crossfire would come from, Berth 15 was one of the line of berths up ahead on the west side of north terminal, completely exposed to cover-fire from the west terminal. Gordon schematic showed her pa.s.senger evacuation proceeding out of the terminals and back into central, where they would no doubt create an unholy crush. The broad tarmac appeared clear of the usual s.p.a.ceport personnel and activity, empty vehicles littered across parking zones, shuttles left abandoned in their bays. Berth 11 loomed ahead, a great, cavernous shadow filled with a shuttle's thruster-heavy rear end, Berth 11 connected directly to the north terminal building, then 12 to 14 extended from there in a line along the narrow, extended north terminal wing, 15 at the far end, and 16 to 18 down the other side. The shuttle's ma.s.sive trans...o...b..tal thrusters filled the forward view as the pilot decelerated into a howling, nose-up flare, engine nacelles reangling forward and crushing all occupants down toward the deck a roar of noise and wind as the rear doors clacked open and cold air rushed in a "Everybody out!" Clackb.u.mp! Hard touchdown and still rolling, she turned and went, a fast scramble down the narrow aisle. Got out just after Odano, the wind and roar of flyer engines deafening as she sprinted past the reangling nacelle for the looming shuttle-tail, quickly overtaking those ahead as the flyer lifted once more behind, and made back the way it'd come. She slowed to a steady armoured run, weapon cradled comfortably, headed under the shuttle's looming right wing, around the ground vehicles and maintenance gear, aiming for the front-right rim of the huge shed a it seemed empty of people, everyone having evacuated from this position, at least, loose equipment left strewn about the interior, a huge elevator platform left suspended in mid-engine-inspection beside huge undercarriage tyres. Shuttles used covered berths, unlike regular aircraft, all refuelling, engineering, pa.s.senger-transfer and other servicing equipment built into the structure of the berth shelter, locking shuttle and terminal into close, mutual embrace. As she scanned about within the echoing, cavernous interior amid the steady clattering of many running, armoured footsteps, Sandy reflected that they also made for very good defensive cover.

Gunfire erupted on tac-net, numerous sources, vaguely audible to the ear through m.u.f.fling earpieces and armoured helmets a "Contact," Vanessa said in her ear, and she could see on tac-net the lead elements had gotten down into the main levels of north terminal, advanced as far as the narrow north wing entrance, and immediately been pinned down by defensive positions there. Vanessa had several more on the next level up, three pairs out wide to cover the full hall and maintenance accessways, two more on the tarmac down low where the baggage vehicles docked, and two remaining up on the roof, just as she'd asked a that was the full sixteen. "Main level's blocked a that's good defensive position, can't get that out short of cannon. Upper level's the same a maintenance left is b.o.o.by trapped, I could run it, but I'd rather not a "

"No, don't do that, not against FIA." Sandy raced for the forward, right-hand corner of the Berth 11 structure, gesturing the others to stay well back as she slammed her armoured back beside the rim. Snuck a quick look out, and to no great surprise drew fire from well up along the tarmac a "I'm drawing fire from Berth 13," she yelled over the thunder of rounds that clanged and sparked off the rim or smacked heavily into shuttle wheels or maintenance gear further back in the shed, her team-mates flattening themselves hard to wall and ground. "Heavy-cal, looks mounted, that covers the whole west side of north wing a hang ona " And looked back at her group. "a Weng, take your two and Odano back to the side exit there, get up to level one, spread out and hold this flank. Don't let anyone come back around us, or you'll leave SWAT Four exposed on their left."

Weng, the senior of the three sec agents nodded once and left at a clattering run, the other three in tow a truth was she didn't trust GSA's security detail much from what she'd seen of them, theoretically better grunts than field agents but with a fixed, immobile conception of "defend" rather than "fight." Right now she preferred Ari and Kazuma, at least they knew what a fluid situation looked like. The fire stopped, replaced by the m.u.f.fled, staccato thunder on the tac-net, more audible now to the naked ear. Berth 15 was right up the end a had to get close enough to damage that shuttle or otherwise stop it from taking off. d.a.m.n inconvenience that surviving firegrid emplacement, if it was gone they could just use a flyer to do it.

"Look, Ricey, keep them occupied. Pressing too hard won't help, I'm sure they've b.o.o.by trapped the whole d.a.m.n floor, even if they did fall back a I can make up some ground out here, I'll try and get under them."

"Copy that. "

She turned back to Ari and Kazuma. An looked very concerned beneath serious dark brows, helmet visor up for the moment. Kazuma, she was relieved to see, appeared totally businesslike. "We're going that way," she told them, pointing out around the fire-chewed rim, "if you get shot at, fall flat. If you're not getting shot at, run like h.e.l.l. Follow my lead, cover each other, don't try to do what I do, because you can't. And, for G.o.dsake, watch the west wing over there," pointing left over to the line of berths two hundred metres west that ran parallel to this wing, "*cause that's where the secondary cover will be. I can't see anything yet, but there's any amount of cover, and even I can't see everything, it'll be there." A short, flat nod from Kazuma.

"That way?" Ari said with trepidation. "What about that gun?"

"What about it?" She rolled her back to the wall again, shifted firegrip to her left hand, braced, and leaned quickly out, with the rifle propped to her left shoulder. Fired a brief burst. Three hundred metres out along the tarmac, the man manning the tripod-mounted machine gun past a narrow edge of Berth 13's rim took five rounds through the chest and died. A second burst riddled the gun mount, sent it crashing heavily to the ground.

She ducked out, zagged right, cleared the corner of the north terminal building and got a good view of where the long north wing adjoined-the location of SWAT Four's firefight. Immediately did a full-spectral scan across the wing directly ahead-three main levelsthe middle one for pa.s.sengers, upper for maintenance-and a lower one for baggage and flight operations. Only the middle pa.s.senger level offered a clear run through to the end of the wing a SWAT Four were pinned down at the mouth. She headed that way at full sprint, weapon trained upon Berths 12 and 13 up ahead to the left as she ran. Hurdled some abandoned luggage rollers and flattened herself to the side wall of the terminal building behind an outcrop of airconditioning complex-back-first to observe Ari and Kazuma following at full sprinther gaze panning to the west wing. An adjoining empty shuttle berth, accompanying ground vehicles and a lot of cover points a she pointed that way to Kazuma as she arrived. Kazuma smacked the wall beside her and dropped to a one-knee cover, weapon trained in that direction across two hundred metres of exposed tarmac.

Sandy ducked a glance around the corner of the aircon juncture, at the point where the long length of north wing accessway attached to the main building and created the well defended bottleneck a inside the main-level windows, muzzle flashes were clearly evident, already side windows were riddled in places. Further along, the one-shuttle hangar of Berth 12 opened directly toward them, the entire dark, cavernous interior exposed and presently unoccupied a she didn't like it. Between here and Berth 12 were more abandoned ground vehicles, a pa.s.senger bus parked just twenty metres away, some elevating platforms for accessing tall shuttle cargo bays. Tac-net showed two marks well positioned on the roof of north wing, only one was available to cover them.

"Zago, this is Snowcat, cover please, I am advancing."

An arrived and slid in with a metallic clatter.

"Go, Snowcat. "

Sandy slid around the corner and ran for the bus. Registered movement behind a polarised upper window even as she emerged from the other side, snapped fire upward as she ran, windows shattering, and abruptly drew fire from Berth 12 a threw herself behind a baggage vehicle as rounds snapped and tw.a.n.ged all about, and then there was fire streaking across the tarmac from the west wing, several-sourced and heavy. The baggage vehicle rocked and lost pieces violently, Sandy rolled fast, doing mental triangulation on the sources, popped to a knee and nailed a burst back across the tarmac a one source of fire ceased. More fire was coming from An and Kazuma from back behind the aircon juncture, impacts spraying across the various cover two hundred metres away, keeping heads down. She up and ran at a ready crouch, heavy fire thudding overhead from Zago on the roof into Berth 12a "No fix on the target, Sandy, " came Zago's terse comment, "I'm firin' blind. "

"Keep at it, I got no angle here a" Angling closer to the side of the north wing that loomed overhead, running on mag-lines where automated tarmac vehicles normally plied along the sides a more fire from west wing and she dropped to another roll as rounds struck the wall on her right, then up and scanning a movement halfway up the interior wall of the Berth 12 hangar. She fired-a body fell on a walkway, weapon clattering to the tarmac below-and flung herself right at the sound of breaking gla.s.s above, shots from overhead peppering the spot where she'd been. Kazuma swung around from behind the aircon juncture, firing above her head. Shots ceased, either hit or frightened. Sandy unflattened herself off the wall, duck-rolled again as more fire streaked across from the west wing in flat, cl.u.s.tered bursts, popped up and returned fire across the tarmac on a good fix this time, vision magnification saw a body flung backward and rebound from sight.

"Go go," she heard Ari's voice, "I'm covering." And Kazuma was sprinting from cover a Sandy watched it all on tac-net, that everpresent sixth-sense that overlaid her consciousness a the firefight stalemate in the narrow bottleneck in the building above, and now the open path she was trying to carve up the flank here outside.

"Sandy, they just pulled two off the line here," Vanessa said, "they know you're flankin', get ready for company a "

"Got that, Ricey a just hold them there. Keep *em occupied, I want to get a response and see how many they've got a" Behind her the bus blew up in a flaming explosion, she zagged hard left, headed for the outer rim of the Berth 12 hangar as blazing debris spattered the tarmac about her like rain. Slid into it as Ari went running for Kazuma, yelling at her, Kazuma replying groggily that she was okay a thunder of more weapons fire from the west wing, new position this time, it sounded like platoon support a she snuck a glance around, saw the flash of fire-trail and ducked back hard and covered a WHAM!! as the round hit the hangar wall with a force that dislocated reality and turned the world to flames and noise. Fire ripped past from her left, ricocheting from the inner Berth 12 wall in a violent confusion of lethal metal-coming from Berth 13 a Dammit, they were communicating, they thought they had her pinned.

She flipped the rifle about, targeted left across her body. Just the top half of the Berth 13 gunner's head was visible a hundred metres away-she blew it off, and half-spun around the corner, rifle straightarmed at almost a backward angle. Triggered a sustained burst that sent another of them spinning away in a flail of limbs from two hundred metres before the two others could duck for cover that saved their lives by milliseconds. Then she ran through the hangar toward Berth 13, knowing full well they knew exactly who she was now. It was becoming unmistakable that this one trooper headed up the tarmac outside the north wing consistently killed everyone who shot at her, regardless of range, numbers or merely human considerations of accuracy. But she didn't mind if they knew.

"Ayako's okay!" An was saying with great relief. "She's winded a that was some G.o.dd.a.m.n heavy weaponry, they've got G.o.d-knows how many people over on the west wing covering for them."

"Final fire-up on the shuttle," said Hiraki, "we're about to run out of time." Sandy paused her run to crouch by the huge wheelbrace that would have secured a shuttle when the hangar was occupied-seeing movement in the shadow of the Berth 13 hangar but wary of firing in a civilian environment without a clear ID a "I got an angle on a wall here," Vanessa announced, "I'm gonna try it, they're two short on this side now a Arvi, let's go."

"Watch the wiring a "

They had it covered, Sandy knew a fired a long burst into Berth 13 to scare whoever was there, and received the thump of an RPG in return, saw it coming on a flame-trail streaking across the tarmac and threw herself into a calculating leftward run-and-dive for the wall a BOOM!! the shockwave shuddered a fire-tracking her to the wall, riddling punctures through the broad hydraulic piping running across there, a half-blinding spray of green fluid as she pressed left shoulder to the bulkhead and returned fire a Huge series of explosions from the buildings behind, tac-net flaring heat and fury before SWAT Four's position, terse shouts from Vanessa, snap-firing and an advance forward in pairs a suddenly the way was being cleared a Sandy realised something was burning on the hangar wall above her, and was not greatly surprised when the next grenade went shooting that way. She leapt right and kept sprinting, hurdling wheelbraces and access elevators for the hangar's other side as the explosion took out fuel lines on the wall in a ma.s.sive fireball that set the entire wall burning a she smashed a foot into the side access door and went through it, confronted immediately by a cramped upward stairway of metal rails and ferrocrete, up which she exploded a flight at a time a booted the upper door off its hinges and plunged down the short adjoining corridor to the main north wing, obliterated that door in similar fashion and ducked a glance out a she was in the pa.s.senger walk-in from the waiting lounge. Ran quickly up the walk, cranked that heavy door open and was in the lounge itself, rows of empty seats behind a heavy gla.s.s part.i.tion from the main wing thoroughfare a like s.p.a.ceports/airports everywhere, in her short experience with such things. Except that charging up the long walking hall of this s.p.a.ceport came several heavily armoured SWAT troops at full sprint alongside the long pedestrian conveyor belts, weapons levelled, ignoring her as they pa.s.sed, tac-net already having identified her position a "Watch Berth 14," she told them, quickly hurdling rows of chairs, "I still don't have an ID on the occupant." Smashed a fist through the heavy gla.s.s, then crashed shoulder-first into the long, straight hallway, trading the old rifle magazine for a fresh one from the hip-pouch a quick glance back at the choking smoke obscuring all view far down the end of the main building-several more SWAT troops charging her way a and that would be Vanessa, bringing up the rear on short legs. Those were the FIA-fixed b.o.o.by trap explosives she'd seen blow-those huge explosions from where SWAT Four had been pinned-Vanessa had found a way to detonate them herself a she admitted herself puzzled, she knew of several tricks but nothing with the capabilities SWAT Four possessed. But where capabilities were concerned, there was SWAT Four, there were SWAT procedures, and then there was Vanessa a "Ari," she called as she broke into a run, "stay with Kazuma, keep down and don't get exposed."

"I got it a" And another call cut in over the top a "Snowcat, this is HQ, Berth 14 is occupied by a shuttle registered to the Diligent, currently in stand-off orbit from Markov Station a "

"I copy, HQ a SWAT Four, hold and cover!" Ahead the running troopers dropped to skidding, clattering halts just short of where the thoroughfare ahead opened into a broad circular s.p.a.ce. Sandy kept running, accelerating to a loping, over-accelerated gait with explosive thrusts of her legs. "Berth 14 is a League shuttle! Full caution, target left is not secure!" Marking tac-net red-hostile with a mental impulse, sliding in feet-first beside Singh, rolling at the last moment to come over face-first and rifle-braced.

The broad, circular waiting area had two berths, 14 diagonally to the left, and 15 diagonally to the right. Scan-entry consoles and service desks were deserted, security doors across the exits closed and, according to tac-net, locked. Sandy didn't trust that reading for a second. Semi-circular arrangements of waiting seats for pa.s.sengers, an inbuilt cafe to the left, a display arrangement for the Ta.n.u.shan tourist bureau to the right, touch-screen and interactive. Before the waiting seats a flatscreen TV displayed a realtime image from some aircar beyond the s.p.a.ceport perimeter a a newsfeed, camera focused with no doubt horrified fascination upon the various plumes of smoke rising from different locations across the s.p.a.ceport grounds. To the best of her memory, it was the first time she'd ever done an op on live net-broadcast before.

Clatter-thump as Vanessa slid in beside her.

"They didn't get a berth right next to an FIA ship by accident," Vanessa said off-net, voice m.u.f.fled behind the faceplate of heavy SWAT armour. "They must have finagled it."

Sandy's mind raced. Remembered Ramoja's explanations. The change of League government, the new League factions sent out to Callay to help "put things straight." Diligent, however, was not the ship Ramoja had arrived on a that was the Rodriguez, it and Diligent had come in together from League s.p.a.ce, both military-registered cruisers, high on power, low on ma.s.s, very little crew s.p.a.ce a courier vessels, as they were commonly known. Each carried its own shuttle a this was no doubt one, presently docked in Berth 14, its ID kept silent for security protocol reasons, the League admitting to no "official delegation" at this moment.

A new League government sent two courier ships to address the problem the old League government had helped create on Callay. One held Ramoja, a senior and apparently trusted League Intelligence officer, plus a complement of additional GIs for extra muscle. Those GIs were Dark Star a military, not Intelligence. Were all of them on Rodriguez? What was Diligent doing here? And why had they only just sent their shuttle down now, and arranged for it to get a berth directly alongside a shuttle they'd a.s.suredly know belonged to the FIA? Unless a Unless they knew something was going to happen. Ramoja's stolen information from the Zaiko Warren that she'd chased him to try and uncover. Stolen from Sai Va's friends. Sai Va hadn't been able to crack the codes and discover Neiland's plan for the relocation of Federation governance. Ramoja was Intel, and however good the Ta.n.u.shan underground, she doubted they quite measured up to League Intel's capabilities a especially given the League's longstanding underground presence in Ta.n.u.sha. Ramoja had probably cracked Sai Va's information in a few hours, and discovered what Neiland was up to. That done, it couldn't have been a difficult guess for him that the FIA would want Governor Dali off-planet by any means necessary. Intel's obsession with a low profile meant he couldn't intervene directly. But now a mysterious second shuttle had come down from the second League ship in orbit and had just happened to dock beside the FIA shuttle of Dali's intended get-away a Tac-net gave her no reading on the shuttle's readiness, those systems were totally closed off, except to register on basic flight control that engines were powered up and preparing to leave. It should be leaving right about now, especially when they'd hurried up the sequence. It wasn't.

"Everyone just hold," she said on tac-net, "we might be okay here." Recalled Ramoja's access codings, which she'd managed to glean from their brief contact a penetrated the local net infrastructure as far as the main-level grid for the north wing. Berth 15 was impenetrable, severed totally from the surrounding network. Berth 14 a She sent a basic connection frequency, nothing threatening. A knock on the door. It uplinked immediately, an unfolding of multilayered, very familiar League security protocols.

"Ca.s.sandra Kresnov?" asked a cool, unhurried voice in her inner ear a and she switched it to broadcast on tac-net so the others could hear.

"That's me," she sent back. "Can you advise me as to the present status of the vessel currently docked in Berth 15?"

"Berth 15 has been secured by League operatives," came the voice. Just like that. The FIA had evidently been in too much hurry to notice the new shuttle that had docked alongside, and had left themselves wide open. And she felt a surge of temper a it could have saved a lot of trouble if they'd told her earlier instead of persisting with this clandestine nonsense. But then, she supposed, it appeared to have worked.