Fortress
by Becca Abbott
Part 18
The boats skimmed across the water. Katze could see the moon gleaming fitfully as the clouds broke now and then. From time to time, the engine sputtered and died, the mysterious Ripple effect, but the pilot just cursed under his breath, waited a few seconds, and started it up again.
There was no heat and everyone wore reflector suits. If the satellites caught them, the hope was that monitors might mistake them for unmanned cargo haulers that had wandered off route. This close to the magnetic ripples, Iason claimed such situations were common enough.
The disks were in a pack strapped to Katze's back. They weren't heavy. Not really, but they seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. He sat on the bench along the inside of the hold, Guy on one side, a stranger on the other, and wondered how it had ever come to this.
"Katze?"
"Hm?"
"If Jupiter falls, what will you do?"
The question startled him. He turned and looked at Guy. The mongrel's face was an indistinct oval of white in the gloom. "I don't know," he said finally.
"It won't matter what color your hair is anymore, or where you were born."
Katze looked down the bench, down the line of men in black body armor who waited in the dimly lit hold for revolution. He could make out the Blondies at the other end, hair gleaming, distinctive.
"I'll do what I've always done," he said finally. "Whatever Iason wants."
"Sir!"
Draco looked up. Captain Simms was in the doorway.
"Colonel Phillips is here, sir."
He nodded, straightening. "I'll be down in a minute."
The captain gave him an uncertain look.
"Captain?"
"I – uh – I'm sorry to see you go, sir."
That was unexpected.
"You really turned this place around, major. It's too bad..." The captain humphed and reddened. He saluted smartly and was gone. Draco looked after him with a crooked smile and finished putting the last of his papers into the briefcase.
Truthfully, he couldn't be sorry about leaving the Fortress. He was more than ready for surroundings that offered a little more in the way of comfort. Even Erba had more amenities. Illis was as provincial as you got and still be planetbound but at least the facilities were modern. The communications and power stayed on and there was central heating.
The colonel strode into the office. "Brand?" the man greeted him.
"Congratulations on become Committee Chair," Draco said. "I'm honored that you would come all this way yourself."
Phillips inclined his head. "I consider this to be the Templar's most pressing business at the moment and well worth my personal attention. Are you ready?"
Draco nodded.
"Once we get clear of the ripple zone, there's an armored transport waiting to fly you and the mongrel to Illis."
"Has there been any word on Mink's whereabouts?"
Phillips shook his head and looked grim. "None. If he has made contact with Raoul, then it's likely he's failed in convincing him to turn himself in."
"Or been taken out himself," said Draco with some satisfaction. "Have there been any more attempts on the Committee?"
"Not at the moment," replied Phillips. "Perhaps Mink is satisfied."
"Perhaps."
Draco thought it highly unlikely, but he nodded. "I have a few things to finish up," he said shortly. "I have to do a memory dump on my Recorder. Then I'd like the boy sent on to Midas for sale. He won't be coming along."
Phillips shrugged. "As you wish."
A knock on the door drew his attention from his guest. It was Simms again, looking uncomfortable. He darted a look at Phillips, then said, "Major Brand, sir. A - a word, sir. In – in private?"
Startled, Draco said, "Can it wait?"
"Um, no, sir. I don't believe so. It's a – matter of security, sir."
"If you'll excuse me, colonel? I'm sure this won't take long."
Phillips nodded, eyes narrowed.
Draco stepped out into the antechamber. His clerk had stepped away from the desk. With another nervous look at the door, Simms drew him further away from it.
"What is it?" Draco asked impatiently.
"Sir, we were doing a routine sweep of the vehicles that arrived with the colonel."
"Whatever for?"
Simms blinked. "Well, sir – it's routine, sir. Your orders, remember? You said every incoming vehicle, so that's what we've been doing."
Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. "Go on."
"We got a strong explosives reading from the armored transport vehicle, sir – X-11 – and a com-blip."
For a second, Draco didn't move or breathe. "You're certain there's no mistake?"
Simms looked wretched. "Yes, sir. We checked it twice and with two different monitors."
"What about the men accompanying the colonel?"
"Nothing, sir. They seemed to think it was funny that we were conducting the sweep." Simms looked back to the office. "What's going on, sir?"
Draco's gut knotted. "I don't know," he said, "but keep the men clear of the transport."
"Yes, sir."
X-11. Just a few milligrams would be enough to turn an armored transport into scrap. He took a deep breath. "How many men accompanied Phillips here?"
"Ten, sir."
"Get twenty of ours."
"Y-yes, sir."
"Dismissed!"
Simms saluted shakily.
"And captain?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good work."
The man smiled wanly, turned on his heel and strode from the room.
Draco walked back into his office. His heart was thudding. Anger beat with a steady pulse at his temples.
"A change of plans, colonel," he said smoothly. "It appears there's something wrong with the transport you brought. We'll use one of ours."
And he knew then, watching the expression on Phillips' face, that his worst suspicions were true. The man, jaw tensing, turned away. Draco moved toward his desk and the sidearm in it.
"Colonel?"
Phillips shrugged and turned back. Draco caught his breath. Cradled neatly in the colonel's palm was a needler.
"So," said Phillips drily. "The word I've been getting is true. Before you came here, these fools would never have caught it."
Draco stared at the deadly little weapon and said levelly, "It wasn't Mink who killed Mika and the others, was it?"
Phillips smiled unpleasantly. "He killed Jor. That was enough to set the stage."
"You kill me here and your little charade is blown, Phillips."
"Not really. I have the one ally who counts."
Draco's blood ran cold. "What are you talking about?"
Phillips smiled. "What do you think?"
Jupiter.
"I-Impossible! She would never countenance..."
"You don't think so?" sneered Phillips. "Mink had his tentacles all through the Committee, as you very well know, Brand. Now he doesn't. And with the mongrel dead and Am out of the picture – if Iason survives the Wasteland – he's alone. Right where she wants him."
"If he survives."
"She thinks he will," Phillips replied. "I don't care one way or the other. As head of the Templars, even his damned syndicate contacts won't be enough to stand against me."
"If you shoot me, you'll never get out of here."
"Care to wager?"
Draco never had a chance to respond. A tremendous explosion rocked the building. Phillips' mouth dropped, but he kept the needler steady on Draco.
"There's always the chance that Mink will spoil your plot!" snarled Draco.
"This is some trick of yours!" Phillips lifted the weapon, aiming it at Draco's head. The major stared back steadily. Running footsteps could be heard approaching the door. Swearing under his breath, Phillips jammed his hand into his pocket as it burst open.
"Sir! The Fortress — we've been..."
Then there was another explosion. As if in slow motion, Draco watched the wall blow inwards, saw blinding light and flying rock – then nothing at all.
The Templars put up a fight. Iason had to give them that much. Still, they were hopelessly outnumbered and half their troops were hardly more than boys. It took scarcely an hour before Raoul's troops crushed the resistance.
Outside the administration center, Raoul gave Guy his orders. "Run clean-up," he said shortly. "You're probably not going to be facing more than a few more of these scared kids, but be careful."
"I'm always careful," grinned the mongrel.
Raoul's mouth tightened. He grabbed his lover, kissed him hard and let him go. Guy shouted, lifting an arm to wave his men past, then was gone.
Riki, thought Iason and was quietly terrified.
They went cautiously, stepping over what remained of the front facade and into the rubble of the main lobby. Iason kept close to Raoul. There was a knot in his gut and it was all he could do to concentrate on the business at hand. Every nerve, every cell in his body was screaming for Riki.
A Templar ran at them from a doorway on their left, bloody and shrieking obscenities.
"Don't kill him!" shouted Raoul. "We need someone who'll answer questions!"
So they shot the bastard's legs out from under him and between screams, he told them where the major's office was.
Raoul's men streamed around them, heading deeper into the building, looking for pockets of resistance. The missile they'd launched, one of two, had penetrated halfway into the building, taking out most of the walls. They'd deliberately used only as few as they dared for fear of catching Riki in the fire.
"This is it."
They stepped through a gaping hole into what appeared to be a clerical's office. On the other side, another wall was blown out, but the room beyond looked intact. Iason moved through the antechamber, stepping over the broken masonry. A Blondie lay on the floor in front of them. He wore the uniform of a Templar colonel and his head was crushed in. Beyond him was another officer, but this Blondie was just unconscious. Iason felt his heart leap and, hard on the flash of recognition came gut-churning rage. Brand!
Raoul had moved away and was talking in a low voice into his communicator. "...survivors outside in the square in front of the command center. Yeah. Yeah. Watch the rooftops."
Brand had been struck in the head, but he was still breathing, strong and regular. Reaching down, Iason hauled the man to his feet, pulling him out into the middle of the room. Dropping him, he grabbed a man passing by. "Bring me some water," he snapped.
The man nodded and hurried away. He came back with a coffee pot full. Iason took it and dumped it on the Templar. Sputtering, the Blondie choked back to awareness. Opening his eyes, Brand looked up and blinked, dazed, not yet comprehending. Iason kicked him. "Where's Riki?"
Brand tried to get to his feet, but Iason knocked him back. "Riki," he repeated, voice thick. "Where is he?"
Then Raoul's hand was on his arm, dragging him back while Raoul's men moved in around the Templar. "Easy," said Raoul. "Don't kill him yet."
"Where is he?"
"Iason! Wait!" Raoul had his communicator to his ear. "They've found him. He's on the top floor of a building nearby – an apartment – in a room behind a force door. He's alive!"
Iason forgot about Brand immediately. Leaving him to Raoul, he turned and ran from the command center.
"That way, sir!"
It was starting to snow again. The open square in front of the building was filling up with men, prisoners, mostly in Templar uniforms. They were being herded into a group, their hands on their heads, by Raoul's men. Iason ignored them, pushing past and up another of the narrow, twisting lanes toward a tall building on the right that stood in the shadow of the Fortress' great outer wall. It was undamaged. There were lights on at the top floor.
As he approached, he saw more of Raoul's men coming out of the building toward them. They had prisoners, two young men – pets. One was white-haired, sobbing pitifully. The other made no sound, but went quietly with his captors. He, too, was beautiful, but with a distinctive prettiness that made the other boy's good looks seem somehow cheap and tawdry in comparison. As they passed, the second boy turned and looked at them, eyes going straight to Iason. The wind caught his long red hair, whirling it around his face. Then they were gone, rounding the corner and out of sight.
Inside the building, the power was still on. Iason stood in the elevator as it creaked its interminably slow way up, seething with impatience. His entire body burned. Riki. Riki. Riki. Riki.
He was out the door before it finished opening. In the corridor, one of two doors stood open. The apartment beyond was filled with boxes and crates. Brand had been ready to move. If they had been one day later, thought Iason, feeling slightly sick at the thought, they would have been too late.
Three of Raoul's men were on guard. "Through the kitchen," said one. "They made a cell in the back."
"RIKI!" Trembling now, Iason took the distance in a handful of long strides, running through the apartment and down the corridor, managing at the last moment not to hurl himself at the force field. Instead, he stood outside it, paralyzed.
Inside, looking much too thin and pale, was his mongrel.
Riki rose from a narrow bed. He stared as if he could not believe his eyes. "Iason?"
"Riki."
"IASON!" Riki's voice broke. He stumbled forward, only to be brought up short by a chain around his ankle. He tumbled to his knees.
"De-activate this damned door!"
"Sir!" one of the men called, running toward him down the corridor. "I have the code."
Iason stood, shaking with impatience as the man hastily entered it into the keypad. The lasers winked out and he was inside, dropping to the floor, pulling Riki into his arms, heart beating so hard he was sure it would burst. Riki's arms came around him and clung.
"You came," Iason heard him whisper. Then, Riki being Riki: "It's about fucking time."
Raoul designated an undamaged office as his. "Katze?"
Katze, who stood nearby, pressed against a wall and out of the way of the men who came and went, nodded.
"Iason tells me you're a wonder with computers. Come here and have a look at this. Tell me if they had a chance to get an alarm out. Also – see if there's an interface with the old cable from here."
"Iason..."
"Will probably be awhile." Raoul's mouth twisted.
Of course, thought Katze, moving to the desk. Iason had Riki back. He could finally cure his madness. The eunuch pulled over a chair and began going through the immediately accessible files. It didn't take long.
"No one entered an alarm, but there's one set up to transmit automatically in case an attack." Katze pushed back his chair, showing Raoul the blinking icon.
Raoul swore.
"How long before they send reinforcements?" Katze asked, heart thumping.
"They have to go overland because of the Ripples – unless they're insane. At max speed, six hours." Raoul didn't look happy. "Damn! Katze – is there a cable interface?"
"Not in this system," replied Katze, running rapidly through the directories. "At least not that I can see straight off. Considering how old the system must be, the access might be by designated terminal only, maybe one located near the cable itself."
"Stu!" shouted Raoul. Another man pushed through the doorway. "Find someone who knows about the cable. I need the location – NOW."
"Yes, sir!"
"Damn it! Where's Ias.... Guy!"
The mongrel appeared, face dark, eyes blazing. He came straight to the desk, elbowing aside a couple of other men. Leaning over it, he spoke to Raoul in a low voice. Raoul's brows drew sharply together. Katze shifted his chair slightly, but couldn't hear what Guy was saying.
"Brand's with the other prisoners," Raoul replied when the mongrel had finished. "What the hell does Iason think he's doing?"
Guy shook his head. "It's Iason. You're asking me to read his mind?"
Raoul's mouth thinned, but he shrugged. "We don't have much time. Tell him that. Whatever he has to do, he'd better make it quick."
Guy nodded shortly and strode from the room.
"What is it? Is Riki all right?" Katze asked.
"He's alive, but was recently injured. Iason is unwilling to – is apparently afraid of hurting him in his initial – excitement – at their reunion." Raoul took a deep breath. "Damn the bitch," he whispered, more to himself than to Katze. "She has a hell of a lot to answer for." Then he looked over at the eunuch. "Keep searching," he said sharply. "We're going to need every edge we can get to make it out of here alive."