Insanity's Children Page 3

  “Commence firing, all conventional systems and first pair of nukes!” Nomon ordered, and the programmed launches started. The big frigate vibrated from the launch tubes unloading the ready stock, reloading from the reserve magazines, then repeating, competing with the railguns for recoil. Except for the nuclear warheads in the valley, they were launching more firepower in the next twenty seconds than he had in the rest of his career, baring training simulations where everyone threw around megatons like confetti at a wedding. Tajemnica was flying right on the deck, visual pickups showing her low enough to blast a whitewater wake from her transonic passing. Tactical displays showed her lasers and railguns taking out an appalling amount of the ordnance targeted at her. The defensive gunnery was better than anything he’d ever faced in simulations. Suddenly the fleet he was a part of didn’t seem like an absurdly big hammer for a single ancient lander after all. Closer… closer. An interceptor flickered and died on the tactical display. Several flashes indicating hits, but there was no noticeable change in flight pattern. They must have been smaller conventional missiles from the interceptors, merely twenty kilos of explosives. Taking damage, but not crippled. Tajemnica’s flight vector changed, shortened rapidly. He smiled. At last!

  The coms tech sat up. “Signal, Sir!” The displays changed as the jamming cuts out and a clear picture appeared briefly.

  On the com screen a stocky and snarling man in space armor chewing the stub of a cigar stared out at him defiantly. “I’m low on ammo, the armor’s holed, and you heavily outnumber me. But we will. NOT. KNEEL!” The image cut out and the jamming resumed with a vengeance. On the tactical display angles changed and shifted rapidly, the mass of missiles in the air making it difficult to make out clearly what the ship is doing. Another fighter icon disappeared. The visual sensors cut out as a sphere of light appeared above her, then another, and another, and five more in rapid succession.

  The surface of the sea flashed to steam as more unconventional weapons detonated triggering various multi-kiloton readouts, and conventional weapons either exploded or fell into the sea, electronics or firing mechanisms made inert, mangled by the nearby nuclear blasts.

  “Spread out! Search visually and use raw data until sensors are back to normal! Get down there and look up close! I don’t want her slipping away again!”

  The larger ships kept their distance, scrutinizing the area with every sensor they had as the smaller ones close in on the most recent location of the task force’s prey, buffeted by nuclear winds. Circling high and low, crisscrossing the area with every passive and active detection tool they had, no trace of anything could be detected flying within a hundred kilometers, except one very startled and scared private thirty-meter cruising yacht with a local businessman aboard wondering what was going on.

  On the Montserrat’s bridge, his chief tactical officer shook his head, counting the fleet’s losses. “Sir, if we never have to face a ship like that again, it’ll be too soon.” His expression was sober amid the enthusiastic cheer and excited congratulation about the bridge.

  Nodding his head in thoughtful agreement, Captain Nomon lets out a tightly controlled sigh of relief. “If somebody can build one ship like that, they can build more. We really need to find out what’s going on. Intelligence got time and place right for once, but they are not telling us everything. Think what a ship or two like that which got the drop on us could do.”

  The tactical officer raises his eyebrows as he starts to appreciate the situation’s bigger picture. “That would be bad, Sir. Very, very bad.”

  Chapter II

  Criminal Contacts

  They slipped an anonymous paycard in the meter and piled out of the automatic cab no longer wearing armor, but carrying ordinary-looking traveler’s luggage. The non-descript street corner was in a low-rent part of town, and they drew immediate though discreet attention from several young men casually standing around busily doing a lot of nothing. Sharon looked distinctly uneasy, Helton and Allonia alert, and Kaminski stood tall and ignored the street punks with the attitude of experience. “C’mon,” he said quietly as he led them down the street, taking a couple of obvious tails with them.

  “Cab drop us wrong?” Allonia asked out of the side of her mouth.

  “You never take a cab directly to a safe house, of course. It’s several blocks from here.” He walked one way, then another, cut across a street, down an alley, up another, and went around one block completely before heading in a different direction, grinning confidently and meeting the eyes of their tails from time to time, as if to tell them we know you are there, flunky.

  After a circuitous path, he took them into a tavern advertising cheap dates and cheaper beer, drawing disgusted looks from the ladies and a shrug from Kaminski. “High class guy, don’t’cha know.” Inside was dim, with upbeat music, many screens with everything from sports to menus, and an unsavory looking clientele. Kaminski directed them to a booth before waving over the minimally-dressed female waitress.

  “Looking for talent, or just here for the food?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.

  “Business. Four number twenty-threes, a draft,” he looked at Helton, who nodded, “make that two drafts from the left tap, two iced teas for the ladies, and let Skelton know he’s got a visitor.” She noted the order, then turned and swayed provocatively towards the back of the establishment, drawing an appreciative gaze from Helton, who got an elbow in the ribs and a dirty look from his sister, much to Kaminski’s amusement. “She’s new here. Don’t worry, you have nothing to worry about. Things like that are no competition for you.” He gave Allonia a quick kiss, then gazed about the room, studying the surroundings. “They keep the good stuff, whatever it currently is, in the left tap. Usually some sort of local thick and chewy beer. The number 23 isn’t vat-grown, figured you could choke it down.”

  They sat silently. Kaminski looked comfortably alert, the others uneasily cautious, not sure of their situation. Three young men came in, glanced their way, and then sat down just as silently opposite them. They didn’t order anything or obviously look at them. They just sat and studied the menu. After a minute of studiously being ignored by the three, the waitress showed up with the order.

  “OK, two drafts from a new keg of India Pale, two teas, and four twenty-threes. Need anything else, handsome?”

  “Yeah. Tell Marcus over there” Kaminski nodded toward the trio opposite, “the surgery looked like it was a success.” The waitress’ eyebrows rise appreciably, and one of the three men sat upright sharply, turning his head slightly to stare at Kaminski hard through the corner of his eye for a moment, before going back to a studious eyes-front posture. “Last I was here, things went sideways, his face got messed up pretty bad. Convinced me I needed a safer line of work,” the big man explained quietly. “Wasn’t sure he’d make it after I dumped him at the ER.”

  Allonia looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Being a Plataean mercenary is safer?” The unstated question was written all over her face. Sharon’s eyes revealed she’d heard the stories about Plataean soldiers, and not pleasant ones.

  “I left it behind. I’m a different man now. Got responsibilities. Try the fries, better than you might expect.” He shrugged off his wife’s look and took a bite, followed by a hearty drink that left foam on his lip.

  “What sort of people are you getting mixed up with?” Sharon whispered loudly to Helton.

  “Good ones, mostly. Except the ones we kill.” His sister didn’t like that answer at all.

  Swallowing, Kaminski turned slightly to Allonia. “You don’t ask about my past, I don’t ask about yours. It’s what we do together now that counts… Food’s getting cold.” He offered his beer mug, took a drink himself when she declined with the slightest of head motions. “Past is past. Moving on…. Oh, Marcus? We’re in no hurry, so tell him he should let us finish before you bring us back.” The man opposite sat stiffly for a few more moments, then got up without looking at them and exits towards the back door.

/>   Ignoring her food a moment, Sharon looked hard at Helton. “What are you doing here? What are we doing here? I mean, here-here, and… start talking.”

  “I got screwed going through security going to visit you. They took everything. Then I got dumped in the desert by pirates-”

  “Be serious, dammit!”

  Helton looked at the other two with a bland expression. “They never seem to believe me when I get to that part. Don’t know why.” Turning back to his sister, he continued. “After we escaped them, I won a ship in a card game-“

  “Not possible. You were never that good.”

  “Well, I did. It didn’t fly, so I guess he thought it OK to risk it-“

  “That I’d believe, you getting suckered with a clunker.”

  “Anyway, Sis, we got it working, then started getting various jobs. Kind of a freelancer. Then things got complicated, and the port authority didn’t like us, and when Allonia killed the councilor’s son-“

  “What?!”

  “He deserved it,” Allonia explained obliquely.

  “Now that was a beautifully done thing, I tell you. Four shots-“ Kaminski started to say before noting the appalled expression on Sharon’s face. “Oh, he deserved it. She did well.” He hastily took a large bite of burger, remembering that not everyone liked the same sort of professional details he did.

  “A military robo-moon we accessed is now our home base, but….”

  His sister looked down at her plate, picked up her burger, and studiously ignored him. “Guess I’ll finish the story later, when we are not so hungry.” They set about making the food disappear in silence.

  Food mostly finished, with Kaminski polishing off the leftovers like a starved teenager, Marcus came back to sit opposite them again. Without looking directly at them, he talked quietly, using sotto-voice. “He’s surprised to see you again. Any tails?”

  “Only your guys. Could see them from a kilometer away. Quality of recruits is falling off.”

  “Press gang sweeps are tough… Who’s your friends?”

  “Family, and a captain/pilot. You can trust ‘em.”

  “Better. He doesn’t like strangers.”

  “We were all strangers, once.”

  “Always the philosopher.”

  “Shut up, Marcus, and lead the way.”

  “You armed?”

  “Of course.”

  “Them?”

  “Two of them.”

  “Just remember-“

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Do anything stupid, die on the spot, all that jazz. You his personal secretary for human resources now, or something?”

  Markus finally looked directly at them in annoyance, then got up and headed back the way he came. Scooping up the last bite of burger from Sharon’s plate, and getting his hand swatted by Allonia for his efforts, Kaminski rose and followed last, trailing the other three.

  Marcus led them through double doors, down a hallway with humorous unisex toilet placards and supply rooms, around a corner, down stairs, though another hallway, then up three flights of stairs, and finally into a sparsely appointed room with a beefy guard almost as big as Kaminski. He had more lard and less muscle than the sergeant and eyed the newcomers with professional suspicion before waving for them to take a seat. Arguing could be heard indistinctly from the other side of a door behind the guard. As they sat, Kaminski pointed out a few features of the room, drawing disapproving looks from the guard.

  “Those mirrors there are old-school two-way mirrors. Cameras there, there, and there. Likely a few new ones, too. That artwork isn’t just a velvet Elvis, it’s normally got a guy sitting behind it who can shoot through easily. See that bump? Taze-net launcher. Of course the back door isn’t so well guarded, but you can’t really open it from outside, either.” He grinned at the guard’s obvious disapproval. “He likely didn’t tell you the room and back door are mined with high explosives, did he?” The surprised look on the guard’s face was all the answer Kaminski needed before the guard went expressionless in a sloppy parade-rest sort of posture. “Thought so.”

  The sounds of arguing rose and fell noticeably, occasional words becoming distinct, but no obvious meaning could be divined.

  The door into the next room flew open and a pair of young men ran out, a string of barely coherent foul language and a hard thrown bobble-head of a popular soccer player following after their retreating forms. Kaminski and the guard let it pass impassively. “He’s that way sometimes,” the sergeant noted quietly.

  The retreating footsteps could no longer be heard, the guard closed the door gently, and the swearing slowed, then stopped. They waited, the ladies fidgeting uncomfortably, Helton looking mostly calm and relaxed, Kaminski settled down low in his seat, the collar of his traveler’s coat turned up high, looking like he’s trying to take a nap.

  The door opened at last, and the man framed in it looked decidedly unimpressive. Short, wearing nice clothes of older and mismatched styles, stubble on his chin and medium hair, but with an assumed air of superiority that was patently false. “Well, as I live and breathe!” Skelton exclaimed. “Didn’t expect to see you around again, the way things went last time you were here. Sure you were pinched or dead, feared you lead ‘em back here!”

  Kaminski stood up, surreptitiously flexing a bit and standing a little extra tall to exaggerate the size disparity between them. “Naw, wouldn’t do that. Just had to disappear for a bit. Got a lot going on right now, might need a small favor.”

  Skelton glanced at Allonia and Sharon. “Never were a talent scout… Shills? Look honest enough for it…” They both gave him very disapproving looks. “Whatever, come on in and intro your lovelies, see what we can do for each other.” As Skelton waved them into his office, he quietly spoke to the guard. “Kam’s solid. Tell Czech to find what he can about the others, priority.”

  The office was larger than they expected, with a lot of nick-knacks and pretentious cultural items with no discernible pattern in choice or placement. While each of them found a seat, Skelton rattled on to them. “Ketchup! Can you believe it? I’m surrounded by idiots, Kam. They seem to think that they can snag any old thing, show up, and turn a profit. Fools! They even drove directly to one of our warehouses! I try to run a classy operation, and these micron-brains chump a truckload of condiments! Utterly useless! What the hell am I going to do with five thousand cases of ketchup!” He snorted sarcastically. “Start a blood bank?”

  Unable to contain her contempt any longer, Sharon glared alternately at Helton and Kaminski and blurted out “What sort of small-time petty crook did you lead us to?”

  All three men are surprised at her outburst, but before the other two can respond or apologize, Skelton immediately and smoothly countered. “I am not a crook! I’m an honest business man, specializing in connecting supply and demand with low overhead at reasonable prices. But I can’t control everything and everyone around me! Like I said, I’m surrounded by idiots. Not like Kam here – I figured he could be one of the greats. Smart, tough as nails, cool in the pinch, and just-”

  Kaminski cut him off politely. “Long story. Got a business going for myself, sort of, working with these three. This is Alli.”

  “Lovely to meet you” Skelton said while eying Allonia’s curves appreciatively. “Any particular skills, or just the usual trade of tricks?”

  Before Allonia could retort sarcastically, Kaminski offered the street-cred version of events. “She managed to slip a knife in the ribs of a high-family kid who got outta line, total self-defense you understand, but it complicates things a little. She’s with me.”

  “You said she shot him,” Sharon interrupts accusingly.

  “That too, cause he wasn’t dying fast enough. Broke his neck, as well. Very thorough.” Skelton’s expression changed briefly to being honestly impressed as he rapidly reevaluated Allonia. “Now if you’ll please shut up a minute, I can finish telling the story.” At Kaminski’s firm words, Sharon sat back and sulked in her chair,
arms crossed, glaring at everyone else in the room in turn.

  “Oh, I understand completely. I’m sure he got no more than he deserved,” Skelton said with a wink and a nod. “You always picked interesting ones to spend time with.” Nodding toward Sharon he asked “Who’s the snoot?”

  “His sister” tipping his head at Helton. “We just broke her out of the port interrogation lockup, left a few casualties along the way.”

  “I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding,” Skelton finished with a crude chuckle. “She’ll learn, soon enough, I bet.”

  “Helton here is something of a pilot, and-”

  “Does he have a ship?”

  “Well, kind of, but that’s a rather… complicated story, and-”

  “It doesn’t have to fly. Best if it doesn’t, to be honest, and you know I’m always honest.”

  “Why would you want a ship that doesn’t fly?”

  “Oh, I came across the best…” Skelton paused to think of the best ambiguous phrase, “business insurance. For card games. If a chump’s having a lucky streak, you toss the ship into the pot when you run low on money. If you win, you’re back in the game. If not, they’re saddled with something that our friends at the port authority has a lien on. Then you can see how much they are really worth, even if they didn’t bring it all to the table. It’s great. They start as suckers and end up working for me. Traded my last one through a dozen people before it got lost a few months back. Been looking for just the right one ever since. Big enough to sound attractive, but not valuable enough to scare them off.”

  Helton’s face briefly showed his mixed feelings at this revelation, but he said nothing.