Setosha - the Beating Heart
Copyright© 2010 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 23
First Landing, Home
“You’ve been going about all this the wrong way,” Reanne Andersen said.
“Beg pardon?” Fourth Officer Walker asked. She moved her hands along the rails, forcing her legs to work. Some days it was hard, some days it was not. Today was harder, but she would reach the end of the railing. Today she would make it that far before collapsing into her wheelchair.
“Left foot. That’s good. Jessica, I’ve been listening to you and the others for over a month, now. You’ve been looking for your spies the wrong way.”
Fourth Officer Walker concentrated. Sweat poured down her face as she lifted her right foot. It came up slowly. It ... came ... up ... slowly. Holding her breath, she twisted her hips, moving her leg forward. She gripped the handrails, her knuckles white with the effort. She could relax, she could drop her foot ... she swung, placing her right foot in front of her.
Letting out her breath with an explosive gasp, Jessica Walker concentrated again, lifting, moving, placing her left foot. Then her right foot. Again. And again. One step. Another step. Her hands moved along the rail, holding her body erect, giving her the extra leverage she needed to move her feet.
She reached the end of the handrail, her goal for the day. She stood there, clutching the handrails, soaked with sweat and gasping for breath. Reanne was in front of her, hands on hips, lips pursed, a frown on her face.
“Not bad,” she said. “Definite improvement.”
“Wh-what did you mean? We ... we’re doing it all--all wrong?”
“Later,” Reanne told her. “After you get back in your wheelchair.”
“Well, bring it over here.”
“No.”
“No?” Jessica couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean, no?”
“Just that, no.”
“Bring me my wheelchair!”
“No. Get it yourself.”
“What?”
“If you want it so bad, get it yourself.”
“Damn it, I’m your boss!”
“Right now, for this hour, I’m your therapist.”
“I pay your salary!”
Reanne shook her head. “Not this hour, this hour I’m doing it for free.”
“What?! How...?”
“Because I’m a mean, unfeeling creature, that’s why. I don’t have an ounce of mercy in me. You should know that by now.”
“Damn you!” Jessica screamed.
Reanne walked back to the other end of the handrails. Bending down, she set the brake on the wheelchair. “There,” she said. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“Damn you!” Jessica screamed again. She forced herself to turn around. Gasping and straining, she fought her way back down the handrail. “Damn you,” she wheezed. “Damn you.”
“Save your breath,” Reanne said. “You’re going to need it.” Then she left the room.
“Damn you,” Jessica repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks. She reached the end of the handrail. That was when she noticed Reanne had put the chair one step away from the handrail, just beyond reach.
Furious, she straightened her back and forced her leg out that extra step away from the safety of the handrail. She measured the distance. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and swung her other leg forward, releasing her desperate grip on the handrail. She teetered in mid-step. For one moment, she was free of all of the encumbrances that had filled her life since her cruiser had been shattered by three Idenux raiders. No walker, no wheelchair, no handrail; for a dizzy second, she had no help around her.
With a sob, she reached the wheelchair and twisted around to collapse into it.
Jessica sat there gasping, sweat stinging her eyes, her arms trembling. Finally, she found the strength to release the brake and go looking for Reanne Andersen.
She found her a few minutes later coming out of the photo lab, a pleased smile on her face. Suzanne, one of their photo technicians, peeked out the door after Reanne, grinning. By then, Jessica’s rage had settled into a steady, white-hot fury. She glared up at Reanne. “Why did you do that? I could have--”
“Present for you,” Reanne said as if Jessica hadn’t spoken. She held a picture in front of Jessica’s stunned face. It was a picture of Jessica standing, on her own, without a wheelchair, walker, or handrail in sight.
“Suzanne took this just a few minutes ago. See? She even got the calendar and chrono in the picture so people will know when it was taken. Don’t worry. I was right outside the door. I was sure you could make it to the wheelchair, but that twist and turn to sit is tough. You did very well, Jessica.”
Reanne grinned as Jessica gaped at her, anger forgotten. “You’ve done it once, Jessica,” Reanne told her, kneeling in front of her patient. She took both of the woman’s hands in hers. “You did it today,” she repeated, her voice quiet and encouraging, “and you know you can do it again. I wanted this picture so you could show everyone and look at yourself. You can do this.”
“I-I walked,” Jessica whispered. She had walked. The joy, the ecstasy of it flooded her. “I-I actually walked! I took a step! I-I walked!”
“Swearing at me every step of the way,” Reanne said. “Damning me, cussing me, fighting me with every step, but you walked, Jessica. You walked! It wasn’t me moving your legs for you. It wasn’t me helping your body pivot. It was all you. It was you all the way. You took your first step today. Now let’s go get you stretched out. I want to massage your muscles so they don’t cramp up.”
“Do you--do you think Suzanne could get a frame for this?” Jessica asked eagerly. She clutched the picture desperately. “I want to put this over my desk. I want to show it to everyone. I want to--”
“You’ll have time to do that,” Reanne promised. “We’ll get copies made so you can send them home to your sibs, too. Suzanne wanted to put it in the frame first, but I wanted you back on my table so I can massage your muscles. They just worked harder for you now than they have in years.”
“I was so mad at you,” Jessica told her, half laughing, half crying as she painfully levered herself up onto the massage table a few minutes later. Reanne was right. Every muscle in her body hurt, but it was a wonderful hurt, a glorious hurt! For once she loved the way her legs felt.
“That got you to the end of the handrail, didn’t it?” Reanne’s fingers began to knead the leg muscles first, finding the knots and working them out. “It kept you going long enough, didn’t it?”
Jessica laughed. “You live dangerously, Reanne. I’ve never been that mad at anyone. That picture...” She shook her head. “That picture probably saved your life.” She felt giddy. She wanted to dance around the room singing and laughing. Suddenly she felt like she could fly. Anything! She could do anything!
Reanne’s fingers continued their work, relaxing knotted muscles and stressed tendons. “It’ll probably be a little while before you can take another step like that,” she said.
“A while? Why?”
“You got yourself there because you were mad at me,” Reanne said. “You weren’t sure you could take that step, but I gave you a reason to. I doubt if I can make you that mad at me again.” She chuckled. “If I did, I’m sure a picture wouldn’t be enough to save me, either. Today I gave you a reason to take that step. After today, you’ll have to find your own reason. But you can do it, Jessica. Now you know you can do it.”
Jessica digested that truth in silence. Another thought surfaced. “What did you mean when you said we were looking for spies the wrong way?” she asked, changing the subject. “How do you know what we’re doing?”
“Everyone talks to their therapist,” Reanne said calmly. “Mostly it’s personal stuff. Gina talks about her eyes. They don’t focus very well, so she leaves them turned off most of the time. Did you know that? Watch her some time. I’m afraid she’ll forget to turn them on again one of these days and step in front of a bus. You should probably talk to the medtechs about that. I have, but if they do anything at all, it’ll happen sooner coming from you.
“Sonia talks about her lost babies. I think she’ll always do that, but it would probably be good if she got pregnant again real soon. I’m not sure about that. Maybe I’ll be better on those judgment calls when I’ve had more experience. I told my Sept Eldest about it back home. You’re Eldest here, so you should know, too.
“But all of you talk about your work. It’s usually just innocent bits and pieces, but I hear it from everybody, every day. Didn’t take me long to put that mix of puzzle parts together. I’m under a doctor-patient oath, so I can’t talk about what they say, but I can listen. And I’m telling you, you’re looking for your spies the wrong way.”
Jessica pushed herself over on her back. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked at Reanne as the girl began working the muscles around her ankles. “All right, smarty, how should we be doing it?”
Reanne smiled gently, her attention focused on her fingers. “You have people following up on police reports, and others are checking every clue you’ve dredged out of the prisoners we’ve taken. It doesn’t sound like there are many of those still alive. Not surprising; elementary security will keep you from catching any other spies, and you know that.”
Jessica frowned. That much was nothing new. “Go on.”
“No, ma’am, looking for them the way you’re doing it is not the way to find them. You have to ask yourself. If you were them and were going to sneak onto this planet, how would you do it?”
“We’ve already been over that,” Jessica assured her. “We’ve studied every route. Everyone checks out. You can’t get to this planet without passing through one of three Stations. And you can’t do that without using a shunt.”
Reanne shook her head. “See?” She looked up. Her fingers continued spreading blessed relief. “Right answer, wrong assumption, which means wrong question. You’re asking how you would do it. Think of them as cripples. I see people every day who do without all sorts of things I take for granted. I have to admit, though, that I don’t know anybody without a shunt. That’s got to be really hard for your spies.
“Still, people can figure out all sorts of ways to get what they need done. Some of them would surprise you. Like Gina walking around blind most of the time, only using Whiskers to peek every so often to see what’s in her way before she starts. Or there’s Elena: no hands and only one prosthetic, but she can do things with that hook that leave people stunned. And she can use the shunt plates, too, though she has no hands. Watch her: she puts the back of her neck against the plate to open a door. Awkward, but it works. She’s found ways to live here without using her shunt most of the time.”
“Your spies can’t come in where people have to use shunts to move around, so they have to come in some way where they won’t need one. Don’t worry about that. You know it’s out there somewhere. Think about how they have to do things, ordinary things that you and I take for granted.
“We know they have to bring in spare parts for their equipment, and we know they get supplies from somewhere. Some of it must be from off-planet. How do those things get onto Home? What if they brought people in the same way? Somebody told me that the Impies don’t seem to care much about people’s human needs. What if they bring their spies in the same way as they bring in their machinery?”
“Pallets,” Jessica whispered as the pieces fell into place in her mind. “Those stinking, wonderful pallets.” She swung her legs off the massage table. She kept one hand on the table as she straightened up. Gritting her teeth, she took a step, one precious step, towards her wheelchair. She took a deep breath, turned, reached out, and then took another step away from the table. She grabbed the wheelchair, held onto it, turned again, and lowered herself onto the seat cushion. She looked up at Reanne, grinning, and breathing hard. “Those dear, sweet, double-damned pallet reports. Thank you, Reanne.”
The therapist grinned back and then watched her patient wheel out of the clinic. I’d better call home, she thought. I’m going to be late again tonight. When Jessica finally runs out of juice, she’s going to really hurt.
Jessica rolled to a stop in the Pallet Reports Catalog Office ten minutes later. “What do we have for pallets coming here from Medina or anything with Medina as one of the last stops of their itinerary?”
Ritu Savabadru pulled a file down and handed it to her boss. “Won’t be anything there,” she warned. “We already checked them. Standard shipping, machine goods, parts, refined ores.”
“Who receives them here?” Jessica asked. “Who signs and receives that cargo here?”
“Umm, well, that would be...” Ritu’s voice trailed off. “I don’t know.”
“Find out,” Jessica ordered. “That captive Sonia took; she didn’t remember how she got here. It could be because she was unconscious at the time. Do we ever check any of the pallet reports for human skin or body oils?”
“Ship them in a standard cargo pod,” Ritu’s thoughts were already moving down that path. “Ship them and their equipment here in a standard cargo pod. And if you do--”
“They’ll be strapped to a cargo pallet,” Jessica finished for her. “What are the odds at least some of them are our special pallets?”
“I may have something,” Ritu said quietly a few minutes later. Her fingers ran over the summary pages of the reports and then stopped. She disappeared into the archive and returned with a handful of folders. She opened one and pulled out a dozen pages. “These pallets all passed through Medina, then at least one other station, before coming here.” She pointed at the itinerary. “See this? They were reintroduced into the cycle from sources on Home. Not in orbit, but here on the planet’s surface.”
She flipped through the folders. “We didn’t record any residue associated with human body oils, but that’s not a surprise; the bodies were probably not attached to the pallet itself.”
“Who took delivery of these pallets?” Jessica asked. “Where were they introduced back into the cycle? Which Family, or Sept, or person signed for them on Home?”
“I’ll follow up on that and have answers for you as soon as I can.” Ritu looked at her boss. “We know which pallets carried which kinds of cargo. Assuming these pallets carried people or equipment, whoever took delivery is--”
“Could be,” Jessica corrected her immediately. “They could be implicated. It doesn’t prove they are. If I were our spy, I’d want to have a front person. I wouldn’t sign for anything myself. I’d have someone else sign for things, and ideally, that someone would know very little about what they signed for. Still, this gives us a place to start.”
Ritu reached for her comm. “I’ll get right on it,” she said.
Pleased, Jessica rolled away. A little more than an hour later, with a framed picture on her lap, she was back. “What do you have, Ritu?”
“Family Sweetwater River. A Steffina Lewis signed for the last three shipments.”
“Thanks. I’ll--”
“Boss.” Ritu shook her head. “I checked. There’s no Sept Lewis in Family Sweetwater River. The Septs of Family Sweetwater River are Dickerson, Crawford, Gibson, and Clark. I also double-checked with Gene Registration. There is a Sept Lewis, Family Great Island on Weon, but there is no one by the name of Steffina Lewis in that Sept, nor has there been for at least 85 years.”
“Somebody has to sign for them,” Sonia said.
“At the moment, it’s a dead end. I’m still following up a few leads.”
“All right.” Jessica shrugged. “It’s more than we had this morning. Thanks.”
She started to roll away, but Sonia called out and stopped her. “Let me look at those reports,” Sonia said. “I want to see--”
Ritu handed them over. “Yes! The dates!” Sonia smiled happily. “We know when those pallets came through. Maybe we can find out more by questioning people where we believe they came in.”
“It’s a thin chance,” Jessica said. “Do we want to risk breaching security on the pallets?”
“We’re smart enough to avoid that. We can ask about what was on them. Do you have a better idea?”
“I’ll start making the calls,” Ritu said. “It’s a long shot, but worth a try.”
An hour later, she found Sonia and Jessica at Sonia’s desk. “All right, I think I have something,” Ritu said. “The cargo pods came all the way down. They weren’t broken apart at one of the stations. It happens from time to time, and it neatly fits our theory. That’s why the pallets came back to us from Home instead of being collected at a station. The people who received the pods had to hire a heavy lift vehicle to move them. I called around to the various companies that own trucks like that. One of them had records of a cargo run on the day in question.”
“And?”
“It was a funny cargo run,” Ritu said. “They delivered the pod to a warehouse in the town of Misty Falls. I called the warehouse, and their records show they received it. The next day, a different company picked up the pod and delivered it to a place called McKee’s Rocks. Do you know where that is?” Sonia and Jessica shook their heads. “It’s about 60 kilometers upstream from Family Sweetwater River’s Home on the Sweetwater River.
“It took me a while to locate the place,” Ritu went on. “It’s a power-generating station owned by Family Sweetwater River. There’s a drop of about 100 meters in the level of the river there over a stretch of about two kilometers. Family Sweetwater River laid pipes on the south bank and put turbines on those pipes to generate electricity.”
“They won’t produce as much power as a fusion plant,” Sonia said.
“Aye, but hydroelectric power needs very little direct support.”
Sonia began making notes. “So it’s an isolated location, scarcely visited, and with plenty of power and water next to a river. Do they have any housing?”
“Several buildings. About once a year, someone from that family takes delivery of a complete cargo pod from an off-planet merchant, and it’s delivered to McKee’s Rocks using that roundabout delivery method I just told you about. Taking delivery of a complete cargo pod isn’t that unusual; several other families do things like that when they’re bringing in large amounts of raw materials, but why all of the shuffling between warehouses?”
“That sounds like someone trying to confuse the trail,” Sonia said. “Spies used to do that all of the time back on Old Earth. I don’t suppose any of the people hiring the delivery companies really exist.”
“I’ll double-check,” Ritu said, “but I doubt it.” She looked through her notes. “Someone in that family also seems to buy a lot of concentrated food and medical supplies, too, the kind of medical supplies we use to treat off-worlders. Now, none of this activity is illegal, but it’s more than enough to make me wonder.”
“I think it’s time for some covert investigating,” Sonia said. “The Admiral gave me some resources to do that, and I think it’s time I put them to use. Good work, Ritu.”
“Thank your cousin Reanne,” Jessica said. “She’s the one who got us to look at the pallet reports.”
“We’ll have to do something nice for her.” Sonia picked up her comm. “I’ve got a few calls to make. Let’s see what’s really going on at McKee’s Rocks.”
Setosha - Convoy HH51512NN3
“Time to hyperjump limit?” Sir Livan asked. The convoy was boosting steadily toward the outer reaches of the Setosha system, and whatever was out there that was intercepting ships. It has to be the Bitches, he told himself. Nothing else makes sense.
“Just over 11 minutes,” the captain of Sir Livan’s personal ship said. “Nothing’s showing on the scan.”
Sir Livan paced back and forth on the bridge, worrying anyway. This was an escorted convoy--the unescorted ones weren’t making it through anymore. The comforting bulk of the heavy cruiser Mehesme was to one side, while a pair of light cruisers were on the other. Two more warships were nearby, along with the Imperial Navy Hospital Ship Kruspar. Surely even the Bitches wouldn’t be so inhumane as to attack a hospital ship.
The last two weeks had been a descent into horror. It was hard to believe that his first day on that miserable excuse for a planet had been the best. He’d brought 12 teams with him to secure his merchandise. The survivors, enough for two teams, were in their quarters nursing their wounds.
He’d sent his teams into areas that the Army had secured; that had been a pathetic joke. The only places his men didn’t meet resistance were those areas where there were no locals at all. It was as if his men had been targeted specifically. And the one time his men had linked up with an Internal Security unit had been even worse. They’d escaped with their lives, but lost all of the merchandise they’d so laboriously collected when the bastard in command of the IntSec troops had massacred them as a reprisal for an attack on his men.
“Are you sure we’re clear?” Sir Livan asked. “Would it hurt to plot another way out of the system, assuming we’re attacked?”
“There’s nothing showing on the Tac Display,” the Captain repeated. “But if it’ll make you feel better...” His tone said he thought it was a useless exercise, but he’d do whatever he was ordered.
“Why don’t you plot one just in case,” Sir Livan said. “I know we have an escort, but I’ve got a hunch it won’t be enough.”
“Do so,” the Captain told the Astrogator. It was obvious he wanted Sir Livan off the bridge, but he couldn’t think of a polite way to suggest it.
“We have less mass than any other ship in the convoy,” Sir Livan said. “Jump as soon as you can. Let’s not wait for the others.”
“But sir, that’s...”
“Hostiles,” a tech said. “Red 30, down 20.” He touched a control. “And we’re being tracked by active Fire Control. They weren’t there a second ago, sir. I swear it.”
“Jump as soon as you can,” Sir Livan repeated. “We’re not a warship, we can’t add to the defense.”
The attackers went for the Mehesme. The heavy cruiser did its best, but it had apparently been damaged in some earlier battle. Explosions wracked the ship, and in seconds it was just drifting without power.
“Jump Threshold in 30 seconds,” a tech said.
The Captain looked at Sir Livan, and nodded jerkily. “Jump.”
“Sir...”
The attackers were through with the Mehesme, and went after the light cruisers. The Bitch ships had impossibly high acceleration, and they seemed immune to the weapons fired at them. These had to be the Shadow Ships, the ones some of the Navy also called the Black Ships. Sir Livan checked the timer. If one of them turned toward him, he’d be under fire before they could Jump. Their only hope was to leave now, before that happened.
“You heard your Captain,” Sir Livan said. “Jump, or we all die.” He rested his hand on the pistol that had not left his side since that first day.
The tech swallowed, pulled a handle out, twisted it sharply, and pushed it in. “Jump in ten seconds.”
Sir Livan saw the Bitch ship flash past the light cruisers, closing on him. He gritted his teeth, helpless to do anything. He felt the deck tremble as they took a hit. The Bitches launched a pair of missiles. They closed, but just before they would have fired, the lights failed and the gravity went off.
“We’ve jumped,” the tech said unnecessarily. “Resetting.” He and the rest of the Bridge Crew began throwing switches.
“Report damage,” the Captain said. He picked up an earphone. “We took a hit in Hold 3,” he said after listening. “It’s open to space, but we’ll have it repaired within the hour.”
Sir Livan closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his palm. He had left with 40 pieces of merchandise; half of them were in Hold 3. That one hit may have cost him most of his profit.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” he said, turning away. “Tell me what’s left in Hold 3.”
“Sir...” The Captain saw Sir Livan’s face. “Yes, sir.”
Sir Livan, his face set, returned to his cabin. Typical, he thought. The Bitches had been nothing but trouble. He was half-tempted to space the rest of his cargo, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He’d show some return for this whole misbegotten trip. Everyone had let him down, his finances were a ruin, and unless he did something, House Dreiforse would go under.
He poured himself a drink and stared at the bulkhead. It would take at least 20 days before he’d be back on a civilized planet. That should be more than enough time to find a way out of this mess.
McKee’s Rocks, Home
“All units are in position,” Marine Second Officer Robbie Sinclair reported.
“We want prisoners,” Sonia reminded her. “The higher-ranking, the better.”
“We’ll do our best to get you prisoners who can talk,” Robbie replied. Reflexively, she checked her weapons again. She wanted to be in powered armor, but they needed stealth for the initial stages of this attack. Powered armor, for all the strength and protection it offered, was not stealthy. They wanted to capture these people, not kill them. To do that, they had to get close, and that meant they had to maximize the stealth of their approach. Even the Scout version of powered armor would have been too much in this case. Its power system would have alerted every detector in the buildings ahead. All of that meant they could use a little body armor, and not much else.
Robbie didn’t like that, but there were many things about combat she didn’t like. Still, the idea here was to not have a firefight. They wanted to overwhelm the occupants of McKee’s Rocks by shock and speed, and to do that, they had to get close, which meant a stealthy approach over bad terrain at night and in the rain. Of course, it had to be in the rain. The best approaches were always in the rain, with everyone wet, muddy, cold, and grumbling. At least it wasn’t at the junction of two map sheets, she thought. Battles, her reading had taught her, always occurred at the junction of two map sheets, in the dark and rain.
“Last check,” Robbie ordered.
“First Squad, in position. We have clear shots of the open ground to the south and east.” First Squad had the simplest job. If anyone tried to escape from the buildings up ahead, First Squad would stop them. They had all of the mission’s long-range weapons and would provide fire support as well as slamming the trap shut.
“Second Squad, in position. This water is too cold to stay here long.” Luanne’s squad had had the worst approach. They’d done the last two kilometers in frigid snowpack runoff, up the river underwater in heated wetsuits, well, somewhat heated.
“Patience, Luanne. Third Squad?”
“Ready, ma’am.” Zoe sounded confident and bored. Her squad was beside First Squad. Third would assault the buildings everyone thought were used only to house equipment.
“Fourth Squad ready.” That was Tess, right behind Robbie. They were the reserve. Fourth was ready to sustain the attack if it came to that, or do anything else that was needed.
“Coyotes?”
“Ready,” Long Nose, the leader of the coyote pack, reported. “We are at the bottom of the hill.” The coyotes were the only element that was here to track, not fight. Robbie hoped they wouldn’t have anything to do but watch. That would mean her attack had succeeded. Only if the plan went to pieces and someone escaped would Long Nose and her pack be needed.
“Fifth Squad is ready,” Robbie reported for her team. She checked her harness one last time. This was one of the less insane ideas to come from her nutcakes, a trio of small repulsor units worn on the front of a harness, coupled with an equally small impeller unit worn on the back. The combination meant that for a limited time the wearer could fly a meter or so off the ground at speeds up to 100 kilometers per hour.
The trials back on the proving ground had been promising, but this was the first real combat use. Because of her familiarity with the equipment, Robbie, despite her misgivings—she wasn’t too sure of its controls—was volunteered to demonstrate it in combat, and, incidentally, lead this assault.
Admiral Carter had been philosophical about the change in her orders. “We both know that I have a reason to keep you out of combat,” she’d reminded Robbie while the mission was still being prepared. “But we also know things have funny ways of working out. And, as I said once before, we must put the good of the Families above individual good.”
“Aye, ma’am,” Robbie had replied. “You know I didn’t look for this. I would be just as happy serving as the technical advisor for this little stunt.”
“Except that at the moment you are one of three Marine officers on this planet who is healthy enough to actually take an active part in this assault.” Admiral Carter smiled. “And, of course, you’re familiar with the equipment.”
“That’s unfortunate but true, ma’am.”
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