James Axler – Exile to Hell

Salvo continued to consult the papers. “Yes. Your behavior tonight is compatible with your bloodline.”

Something like anger and shame rushed heat prickles to the back of his neck. “What do you mean? Sir.”

“Your father and grandfather occasionally pushed the envelope of discipline. Your grandfather in particular, but then he was a first-generation Magistrate, and all the parameters of duty had yet to be established.”

A haunting of secondhand, misted memories of his grandfather drifted through Kane’s mind. “He was highly decorated. His service record is still held up as an inspiration to recruits. Sir.”

Salvo stopped leafing through the stack of papers, lifted his head and stared unblinkingly. Kane met that stare. Salvo was six or seven years older than himself. He had a flat, sallow face that was almost round, and his eyes were a deep, dark brown like swirling pools of muddy water. His gray-threaded hair was cut very short, and in places, the scalp showed through. He wasn’t very big, but he was big enough.

“I don’t want to discuss your family tree or its accomplishments,” he said dryly. “You and I had problems in the zone tonight. Why?”

Kane shifted in the chair. “Permission to speak freely?”

Salvo shrugged. “This is liberty hall.”

Kane pushed out a deep breath. “It was a triple-stupe mission. No preliminary recce, no adequate Intel. The team was undermanned, underprepared. It should not have gone down the way it did. We were lucky to have gotten out with only one casualty.”

Salvo’s thin lips pursed. “I see. And you hold me responsible.”

“As commander,” Kane said tightly, “it doesn’t matter if I hold you responsible or not. You are responsible.”

Linking his fingers together, Salvo said genially, “Indeed. Why do you think I kept the team to a bare minimum, chose the men I chose and didn’t hold a debrief? Simply a whim on my part?”

Kane frowned. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“Are you interested in hearing them?”

Kane moved uncomfortably in his seat. “I am. Sir.”

“Would you agree that the welfare of the villes is entrusted to our care? That we have dedicated our lives to check the spread of poison?”

“Poison?”

Salvo nodded. “Poison like slaggers, jolt-walkers, roamers. By and large, we’ve been successful. Now, though, the poison is growing in virulence and spreading from the Outlands, tainting the ville territories. Do you understand me?”

“You’re talking about another rebellion?” Kane’s tone of voice was skeptical. Every so often, rumors would float from the Outlands about the formation of an army of the disenfranchised, preparing to stage a revolt against the ville’s cushioned tyranny.

Nine times out of ten, the rumors were simply that. And in the vanishingly small percentage of instances when there was a germ of truth to the rumors, the rebel militia turned out to be a ragbag gang of roamers, outlaw wanderers of the outlands, justifying their robberies and murders by paying lip service to a political cause.

“It isn’t a rebellion, not precisely,” Salvo replied. “It’s something bigger and nastier than that. The baron himself doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. You know what the outland settlements are like, especially the ones near hellzonesno ‘forcer or ville spy can last a minute in them. So all we get are the rumors.”

“Rumors of what?”

Salvo shook his head. “Fantastic stuff about a self-styled warlord holding ancient predark tech secrets. Military materiel, supposedly. Nerve gas, maybe. Possibly even a nuke warhead. Or even more advanced than that.”

Kane gave a slight start. Salvo noticed and smiled. “See anything like that in Reeth’s place?”

Kane managed to keep his face impassive. “Beyond the computers, the gun turret and the electrical generator, no. Damn hard stuff to get, but nothing unusual or predark about it.”

Pausing meaningfully, he added, “Of course, there’s still no explanation how Reeth got the stuff or how he seemed to know you. Sir.”

Salvo’s response was smooth and relaxed. “And you wanted that explanation and so you disobeyed my order to serve an on-sight termination warrant. You questioned him, I assume. What did he tell you?”

“Very little,” Kane admitted. “He refused to speak unless you were present. Of course, when you were present, you didn’t allow him to speak.”