The engines lit with a roar of flame. Wings swung out to provide lift at hypersonic speeds, and the spaceplane turned to streak over empty ocean toward the continental land mass two thousand kilometers away.
The ship circled over craggy mountains twelve kilometers high, then dropped low over thickly forested plains. It slowed until it was no longer a danger to the thin strip of inhabited lands along the ocean shores. The planet’s great ocean was joined to a smaller sea by a nearly landlocked channel no more than five kilometers across at its widest point, and nearly all of the colonists lived near the junction of the waters.
Hadley’s capital city nestled on a long peninsula at the mouth of that channel, and the two natural harbors, one in the sea, the other in the ocean, gave the city the fitting name of Refuge. The name suggested a tranquility the city no longer possessed.
The ship extended its wings to their fullest reach and floated low over the calm water of the channel harbor. It touched and settled in. Tugboats raced across clear blue water. Sweating seamen threw lines and towed the landing craft to the dock where they secured it.
A long line of CoDominium Marines in garrison uniform marched out of the boat. They gathered on the gray concrete piers into neat brightly colored lines. Two men in civilian clothing followed the Marines from the flyer.
They blinked at the unaccustomed blue-white of Hadley’s sun. The sun was so far away that it would have been only a small point if either of them were foolish enough to look directly at it. The apparent small size was only an illusion caused by distance; Hadley received as much illumination from its hotter sun as Earth does from Sol.
Both men were tall and stood as straight as the Marines in front of them, so that except for their clothing they might have been mistaken for a part of the disembarking battalion. The shorter of the two carried luggage for both of them, and stood respectfully behind; although older he was obviously a subordinate. They watched as two younger men came uncertainly along the pier. The newcomers’ unadorned blue uniforms contrasted sharply with the bright reds and golds of the CoDominium Marines milling around them. Already the Marines were scurrying back into the flyer to carry out barracks bags, weapons, and all the other personal gear of a light infantry battalion.
The taller of the two civilians faced the uniformed newcomers. “I take it you’re here to meet us?” he asked pleasantly. His voice rang through the noise on the pier, and it carried easily although he had not shouted. His accent was neutral, the nearly universal English of non-Russian officers in the CoDominium Service, and it marked his profession almost as certainly as did his posture and the tone of command.
The newcomers were uncertain even so. There were a lot of ex-officers of the CoDominium Space Navy on the beach lately. CD budgets were lower every year. “I think so,” one finally said. “Are you John Christian Falkenberg?”
His name was actually John Christian Falkenberg III, and he suspected that his grandfather would have insisted on the distinction. “Right. And Sergeant Major Calvin.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Lieutenant Banners, and this is Ensign Mowrer. We’re on President Budreau’s staff.” Banners looked around as if expecting other men, but there were none except the uniformed Marines. He gave Falkenberg a slightly puzzled look, then added, “We have transportation for you, but I’m afraid your men will have to walk. It’s about eleven miles.”
“Miles.” Falkenberg smiled to himself. This was out in the boondocks. “I see no reason why ten healthy mercenaries can’t march eighteen kilometers, Lieutenant. He turned to face the black shape of the landing boat’s entry port and called to someone inside. “Captain Fast. There is no transportation, but someone will show you where to march the men. Have them carry all gear.”
“Uh, sir, that won’t be necessary,” the lieutenant protested. “We can get—well, we have horse-drawn transport for baggage.” He looked at Falkenberg as if he expected him to laugh.
“That’s hardly unusual on colony worlds,” Falkenberg said. Horses and mules could be carried as frozen embryos, and they didn’t require high-technology industries to produce more, nor did they need an industrial base to fuel them.
“Ensign Mowrer will attend to it,” Lieutenant Banners said. He paused again and looked thoughtful as if uncertain how to tell Falkenberg something. Finally he shook his head. “I think it would be wise if you issued your men their personal weapons, sir. There shouldn’t be any trouble on their way to barracks, but—anyway, ten armed men certainly won’t have any problems.”
“I see. Perhaps I should go with my troops, Lieutenant. I hadn’t known things were quite this bad on Hadley.” Falkenberg’s voice was calm and even, but he watched the junior officers carefully.
“No, sir. They aren’t, really. . . . But there’s no point in taking chances.” He waved Ensign Mowrer to the landing craft and turned back to Falkenberg. A large black shape rose from the water outboard of the landing craft. It splashed and vanished. Banners seemed not to notice, but the Marines shouted excitedly. “I’m sure the ensign and your officers can handle the disembarkation, and the President would like to see you immediately, sir.”
“No doubt. All right, Banners, lead on. I’ll bring Sergeant Major Calvin with me.” He followed Banners down the pier.
There’s no point to this farce, Falkenberg thought. Anyone seeing ten armed men conducted by a Presidential ensign will know they’re mercenary troops, civilian clothes or not. Another case of wrong information.
Falkenberg had been told to keep the status of himself and his men a secret, but it wasn’t going to work. He wondered if this would make it more difficult to keep his own secrets.
Banners ushered them quickly through the bustling CoDominium Marine barracks, past bored guards who half-saluted the Presidential Guard uniform. The Marine fortress was a blur of activity, every open space crammed with packs and weapons; the signs of a military force about to move on to another station.
As they were leaving the building, Falkenberg saw an elderly Naval officer. “Excuse me a moment, Banners.” He turned to the CoDominium Navy captain. “They sent someone for me. Thanks, Ed.”
“No problem. I’ll report your arrival to the Admiral. He wants to keep track of you. Unofficially, of course. Good luck, John. God knows you need some right now. It was a rotten deal.”
“It’s the way it goes.”
“Yeah, but the Fleet used to take better care of its own than that. I’m beginning to wonder if anyone is safe. Damn Senator—”
“Forget it,” Falkenberg interrupted. He glanced back to be sure Lieutenant Banners was out of earshot. “Pay my respects to the rest of your officers. You run a good ship.”
The captain smiled thinly. “Thanks. From you that’s quite a compliment.” He held out his hand and gripped John’s firmly. “Look, we pull out in a couple of days, no more than that. If you need a ride on somewhere I can arrange it. The goddam Senate won’t have to know. We can fix you a hitch to anywhere in CD territory.”
“Thanks, but I guess I’ll stay.”
“Could be rough here,” the captain said.
“And it won’t be everywhere else in the CoDominium?” Falkenberg asked. “Thanks again, Ed.” He gave a half-salute and checked himself.
Banners and Calvin were waiting for him, and Falkenberg turned away. Calvin lifted three personal effects bags as if they were empty and pushed the door open in a smooth motion. The CD captain watched until they had left the building, but Falkenberg did not look back.
“Damn them,” the captain muttered. “Damn the lot of them.”
* * *
“The car’s here.” Banners opened the rear door of a battered ground effects vehicle of no discoverable make. It had been cannibalized from a dozen other machines, and some parts were obviously cut-and-try jobs done by an uncertain machinist. Banners climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. It coughed twice, then ran smoothly, and they drove away in a cloud of black smoke.
They drove past another dock where a landing craft with wings as large as the entire Marine landing boat was unloading an endless stream of civilian passengers. Children screamed, and long lines of men and women stared about uncertainly until they were ungently hustled along by guards in uniforms matching Banners’. The sour smell of unwashed humanity mingled with the crisp clean salt air from the ocean beyond. Banners rolled up the windows with an expression of distaste.
“Always like that,” Calvin commented to no one in particular. “Water discipline in them CoDominium prison ships bein’ what it is, takes weeks dirtside to get clean again.”
“Have you ever been in one of those ships?” Banners asked.