Obsidian's War The Winter City by M S Lawson - HTML preview

OBSIDIAN’S WAR – THE WINTER CITY

 

By M S Lawson

 

 

Readers note: this book is a continuation of the earlier book OBSIDIAN’S WAR. It can be read as a stand alone but readers would still be better off reading the first instalment of Gel Obsidian’s adventures before this one. There will be a third book.

 

ISBN 978-0-6455245-0-5 (e-book)

 

Copyright© 2022 by Mark Steven Lawson writing as M S Lawson

markslawson@optusnet.com.au

 

Published by Clearvadersname Pty Ltd

 

Website: www.clearvadersname.com

 

All rights reserved. The book contains material protected under international and national copyright laws and treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without express permission from the publisher.

 

Other books by this author

 

Obsidian’s War (ebook, 2021)

 

The Musketeers of Haven – a science fiction story (ebook, 2020)

 

Claire Takes on The Galaxy (ebook, published on the web site Dreame, 2019)

 

Darth Vader – The good guy who lost (non-fiction ebook, 2018)

 

A Planet for Emily (ebook, 2017)

 

Disgraced in all of Koala Bay (ebook, 2016)

 

The Zen of Being Grumpy (non-fiction published by Connor Court, 2013)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cover image: shutterstock

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

A biting wind drove flakes of snow across the landing field as Second Lieutenant Gellibrand Bosworth Baines Plymouth Obsidian of the Lighthold Sector Assault Infantry, stepped out of the orbital transfer craft. The newly minted officer, known as Gel to his friends, had just made the trip from the freighter in orbit to the surface of the planet known as Dimarch, and was now taking in the unwelcoming sight of landing field tarmac and collection of huts that made up his new posting from just beside the craft’s loading ramp. He had been warned that the surface would be cold, but even wearing standard-issue polar coat, with the lined hood drawn down and gloves, he shivered.

“Where is everyone?” said the pilot who walked up behind Gel. “Need to get my cargo unloaded.” Gel had been his only passenger.

“There’s a doorway with a light over there,” said Gel, picking up his pack. “I’ll ask for you.”

After a few paces, he drew the heavy cloth that went with the hood across his face and bowed his head against the wind. Outpost-3, where he had last served, had been a miserable, swampy, snake-ridden jungle where a mercenary outfit called The Destroyers had made serious efforts to kill him. No one was trying to kill him on Dimarch, at least not yet, but the jungle on Outpost-3 had been warm. In Dimarch, the wind cut to the bone.

A series of distinct cracks made the Lieutenant raise his head sharply and stop. He was sure that the cracks were shots from the Assault Infantry’s now standard weapon, the AR30, which had considerably more penetrating power than the previous standard AR25, which Gel had found to be useless against the armour of the Destroyers on Outpost-3. This was followed by a short burst of automatic fire - a Storm Cannon. That weapon had also proved ineffectual against Destroyer armour but had been greatly improved by a change in the ammunition used. A few more shots was followed by a distinct Whump! Whump! of what Gel thought sounded like light artillery, then silence.

His comrades were defending the distant perimeter of the base, officially called Forward Base Alpha but dubbed Fort Apache by the Assault Infantry, or Salts as they called themselves, after some ancient earth film about such a fort. There was a Fort Bravo on the planet somewhere, Gel knew, but he had been posted to Fort Apache, and his first observation about his new posting was that there was a long line of transports in front of the one he had just left, all apparently waiting on the tarmac. But there was no visible movement in the open loading dock he could now see in the distance.

The door with the light he had seen from the transporter proved to be the entrance to a non-descript prefabricated hut, with a sign saying ‘Port Admin’. Inside was a harassed female squad leader behind a desk speaking on a comms headset.

“I wish you wouldn’t yell at me, sir,” she said into the phone. She acknowledged Gel’s presence with an upraised hand and a half smile. “You are in the queue to be unloaded. The crews will get to you. Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

She pulled the headset onto her shoulders and smiled. “Yes, sir?”

Gel had yet to get used to being called ‘sir’ by others. Then he recalled Lieutenant Mihocek who had stood on his new dignity as an officer by refusing to listen to Gel’s advice to switch his helmet comms to protected mode, with the result that he had been targeted by a Destroyer missile. Lieutenant Mihocek’s remains had been returned to Lighthold for cremation.

“I’m Second Lieutenant Obsidian. I have orders to report to the base commander, Colonel Lee.”

“Yes, sir,” said the squad leader, whose name tag read Addison. The ‘Obsidian’ name plainly meant nothing to her. “The colonel’s office is down the corridor to the left.” She pointed to a door on the other side of the room. It’s a few minutes’ walk, all inside.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Gel. “Is it always so cold here?”

“Been a bit warmer of late, sir,” she said.

“I didn’t want to hear that – but what about the transports stuck out on the landing area. I heard you being given grief about unloading cargos. Is there a hold up?”

“The cargo crews are on a break, sir.”

“A break? But I saw plenty of other transports besides the one I came in lined up, and they’re on a break? This is a military base.”

“There are fifteen waiting to be unloaded, sir.”

“How long have they been on this break?”

“About an hour. Since the shift started, sir.”

“An hour, seriously! And you’ve told your officer.”

“I’ve told Captain Edge, he’s the port commander, sir.”

“I think I’ve met this Captain Edge. He has a female assistant and another gentleman that handles his personal security?”

“That’s right, sir,” said the squad leader, thinking that this officer was different to the others that had passed her desk and smiled. She was stout and round-faced but had a bright smile.

“I’ll mention the matter to the base commander,” said Gel, picking up his pack again. “Maybe that’ll shake something loose.”

“Wish you would, sir. I had thought about doing it myself but chain of command and all that.”

“I understand, squad leader,” said Gel. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Despite her name, Colonel Lee’s face indicated an American plains Indian ancestry. Gel also thought he had heard somewhere that Colonel Lee was a practising Muslim. But outside Earth, particularly in planets on the rim of the Empire like Lighthold, race, ethnicity, religious beliefs and names had become so jumbled than no-one bothered to comment on any particular combination.

“You’re Second Lieutenant Obsidian,” said Colonel Lee, looking at the orders Gel had handed him. “I asked for someone to sort out a mess I have, and General McMahon recommended you.”

“I’m flattered the general should think of me, ma’am,” said Gel.

“You were suggested just a day or so ago while still en-route, so I haven’t had a chance to look at your record,” said the colonel tapping at the tablet in front of her, “so I’ll just look now and… Holy Cow! An Infantry Cross.” He looked up at Gel then down at the tablet again. “What did you get that for? A rescue under fire, it says here, and close combat with a bunch of Destroyers – that mercenary group?”

“Yes, ma’am. I got caught in a shoot out in a bar – the Easy Spice Bar and Grill.”

“I’ve heard of it – that was you?”

“And another, Private Feodor Turgenev who is somewhere in Fort Apache I’m told.”

“Says here your application for a wound medal was unsuccessful,” said the colonel.

“The Easy Spice barman took to me with a shotgun sir, and I got a couple of pellets in my arm. I thought that was worth a wound medal, but it didn’t count. They have strict criteria for awarding it.”

“I guess they do,” said the colonel. “Shotgun, eh? I’ll sure keep your record in mind for a combat job but here’s the thing, at the moment I really need a good deputy port commander.”

“Deputy to Captain Edge, ma’am?”

“You know Captain Edge?”

“I served under him briefly on Outpost-3, ma’am.”

As a mere second lieutenant, Gel could not comment on the ability of a captain, but he could leave out the traditional praise “it was my honour to serve under him”. Colonel Lee could not criticise a subordinate to a newly arrived officer, but she could choose her words carefully.

“Captain Edge needs someone to look after various aspects of the port’s performance,” said Colonel Lee. “There are mysterious hold ups at the port.”

“Such as now because the dock crew have been on a break since the start of their shift.”

Colonel Lee did a double take. “What?”

“The squad leader at the port office told me there are fifteen transports waiting to be unloaded but the operators were on a break.”

“Sort that out, immediately,” she said. “I see you have quite an ancestry. Your grandfather was a dynamo and your father a manager second to none. Get the port working. Any problems come and see me.”

“Yes, ma’am, I can do that.”

“Sorry it’s not a combat posting, but logistics is very important.”

Gel was a little disappointed he would not be put out on the perimeter, but he already had an Infantry Cross and the base was a lot warmer.

“Yes, ma’am– they talked a lot about logistics in officer training.”

 

***

 

“You may think this will an easy course,” sneered Major Kang, one of the chief instructors of the short-term officer training course. It was the first day on the officer training short course on Lighthold Gel had been sent to by General McMahon. He was sitting with about twenty men and women being lectured by Kang, a whippet lean officer whose Asian features were set in a perpetual sneer. The officer candidates collectively quickly decided that Kang was a sarcastic, nasty piece of work, and never saw any reason to change their minds. All but Gel and one other of the candidates who had also been selected from the enlisted ranks, had been on a two month officers-basic course and knew each other but they did not know Gel. They eyed him curiously.

“Just three months of being lectured,” said Kang, “and then you become officers and gentlepeople, because the assault infantry needs more boots on the ground. It doesn’t work like that people. You will be officers responsible for the lives of the men under your command, and that means you will have to learn some common sense; yes, common sense people. That means learning to avoid basic, stupid mistakes.

“As an example of a string of stupid mistakes, I’ll show you an incident you’ll have heard about. The fight at the Easy Spice Bar & Grill.”

To Gel’s utter astonishment the class was shown the security recordings from the bar shootout, on a large screen with the major using a laser pointer to point to various supposed errors he had made.

“Look at these idiots,” said Kang, voice dripping with sarcasm. “They walk into this bar without their combat helmets or main weapons, although they’re supposed to be looking for Destroyers.” The view was from Gel right, just behind and above him – the camera had been high on the shelves behind the bar - so he was not recognisable. “We are not meant to get involved in shootouts. It’s not about standing opposite your opponent and reaching for your gun.” The class murmured. “It’s about reconnaissance – reconnoitre an area first and then move your forces in – and above all don’t move in as if you’re about to order a round of drinks. And the sergeant in charge probably wonders why one of his men was wounded. Don’t you agree Mr – um – Obsidian.”

Startled, Gel looked around. He had been studying the security recording intently - it was the first time he had seen it – and had not realised the major had come up beside his desk. Gel was a few years older than the rest of the class, which was why he was now being targeted by Kang.

The major consulted a tablet which contained the record of each person in the class. “You were a company commander!” he exclaimed. “How did a shit ranker like you get to be company commander?”

“I was senior squad leader when my company was ambushed while still in transports and everyone above me in the chain of command was killed,” said Gel evenly. “That’s how I came to be company commander, sir.”

The class murmured. Kang was momentarily at a loss for a sarcastic comment.

“The only reason anyone survived was because we were close to the jungle canopy when we got hit by the missile,” said Gel. “Our platoon lieutenant died in the crash. We got the sergeant out, but he died soon after.”

“Very well.\, Mr Company Commander,” Kang sneered, after a moment’s pause, “what do you make of these idiots walking into a bar without their combat helmets?”

“We were told not to wear our helmets in town or carry our main weapons,” said Gel. “We were also told by Command that there were no Destroyers in town.”

Kang looked at the screen and back at Gel. “What do you mean ‘we’ he said. Who’s ‘we’?”

“Sir, it’s the same campaign a few days later. That’s me on the right, and Theo, Private Feodor Turgenev, on the left. I thought you knew that.”

The class murmured again.

“Silence,” snapped Kang, surprised. He had not known Gel was one of those at the fight.

“We went in there looking for the guy who ran the settlement who turned out to be the bar tender in league with the Destroyers and serving them drinks at the time. But we didn’t see the Destroyers until we were well into the bar and they weren’t expecting us.”

Kang looked to the screen and then back again at Gel.

“You didn’t open fire right then?”

“There were civilians still trying to get out of the bar, sir,” protested Gel, “and I was sorta hoping that the Destroyers might surrender.”

“Well officer candidate…” said Kang injecting venom into his words and looking at his pad again to check the name, “…Obsidian, I hope you start showing better leadership than you did on that day.”

Gel was not sure what he could have done differently, and Kang certainly hadn’t given him any indication of what else he might have done, but there was only one possible answer in the circumstances.

“Yes sir,” he said.

 

***

 

Gel thought briefly of major Kang as he stood outside the break hut. This was an unprepossessing pre-fab affair resembling two old fashioned shipping containers stuck together and put on blocks, set to one side of the wind swept loading dock. The main attraction of the hut, so squad leader Addison, whom Gel had collected from the shipping office had told him, was an excellent heating system. The squad leader was interested to see what would happen with this new officer who had become her boss. She thought little of Captain Edge, but the new lieutenant promised fireworks and just might make her life easier. On the walk to the port she had received several increasingly strident calls from transport crews through her comms headphones demanding to know when unloading would start.

“Do you know where the power connection to the hut is by any chance?”

“Think that’s it there, sir,” said the squad leader, pointing to a black box to one side.

“So it is,” said Gel, he opened the box and flipped the main switch to be rewarded by a chorus of yells and groans from the hut. “Hold the door open, squad leader.”

Gel stepped up into the hut, switched on a mining-style lantern he had borrowed from the port office and stuck it on a table by the door. By its light he could see a few men playing poker on one table, and a handful of others sprawled over mis-matched sofas and easy chairs looking at their personal tablets.

“I am Second Lieutenant Obsidian, just appointed port deputy commander by Colonel Lee,” declared Gel. “Captain Edge is regrettably too busy to come himself, so I’m telling you the break is over. Get out and start unloading.”

“Its cold out there, arsehole,” said a private at the card table. “And we’re playing here.”

Instinct kicked in. Before the private finished speaking Gel grabbed the table with both hands and, finding it light, flipped it over their heads making them all duck. One of those who had been looking at screens had to dodge to avoid the falling table.

“Game’s over,” he said.

“I had money on that,” shrieked another private who rushed Gel. The lieutenant side stepped easily, grabbed the front of the man’s jacket and ran with him to the door, giving him a final heave at the exit. The private sailed past Squad Leader Addison, who followed his flight with an air of detached curiosity until he landed with a thud and a yelp on the loading dock concrete.

“And stay there until I get to you,” yelled Gel. He turned back to the others, who had stood up to stare in alarm at the new officer. “The rest of you grab your coats and start unloading. We’ll organise breaks to warm up later. For now get busy!”

A couple grabbed their coats and the rest started moving.

“Staff Sergeant Bradley?”

“Yes… sir.” The last word was said with particular venom. Bradley was a big man, a half head taller than Gel and broader. He had been sitting at the far end of the card table.

“You are to remain behind.”

Gel turned back to Addison.

“Put the cargoes from the first transports just on the concrete here until you run out of space,” said Gel. “Then start sending the containers to their proper bays. And don’t say anything about the unloading crews being on a break, at least to the flight crews. Just say system malfunction now fixed.”

“Gotit,” said Addison and vanished.

“At least give me my coat,” said the private Gel had thrown through the door, now upright, arms tightly wrapped around himself, and shivering. The lieutenant looked at the two coats remaining and tossed the smaller one to him.

“Now Staff Sergeant,” he said closing the door. Everyone else had gone. “What in all of Lighthold did you think you were playing at?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me. You know what I’m talking about. The shift hadn’t even started work and everyone was in here for a full hour. The rules only talk about reasonable breaks. You left reasonable behind a long time ago.”

“Its cold out, sir.”

“I know its cold out, Staff Sergeant!” snapped Gel. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, this is a military base, and the cargoes are needed. Our comrades are out in far worse cold and relying on the stuff we’re supposed to be shipping through here to keep going. Are you qualified for one of those exoskeletons?”

“I organise the shipments to the bays… sir?”

“I didn’t ask what you do, I asked if you’re qualified on exoskeletons.”

“I am, sir,” said Bradley after a pause.

“Good. Then don’t organise shipments for now, get on and exoskeleton and start piling the containers to one side. We’ll sort them out later. Get the first few transports unloaded at least. Colonel Lee was beginning to notice that there was a problem with the docks.”

“Yes, sir… when were you appointed deputy port commander?’

“About half an hour ago,” said Gel. “I came in one of the transports in the queue. And I’m already having fun. Who was the private I helped out the door?”

“Karimov, sir.”

“Very well. Now start unloading.”

Bradley left with a sneer leaving Gel to confront Private Karimov out in the cold.

An officer was not supposed to lay violent hands on other ranks, but then those other ranks were not supposed to charge at officers, making threats. Private Karimov, somewhat warmer now that he was wearing his polar-proof coat and gloves, was in no mood to analyse the legal aspects of his actions.

“I’ll sue,” he said as Gel approached him. He had a mark on his cheek where his face had hit the concrete.

“I’ll sue, SIR,” said Gel, “and stand up straight when talking to me.”

“I’ll sue, sir,” said Karimov, straightening himself, a surly note in his voice.

“Fine, but of course there is the problem of the court martial for assaulting a superior officer, and the disciplinary hearings that will result for you and your friends when it emerges you were playing cards for real money while on shift.”

“Allowed to play cards,” he said. Then added “sir” when Gel stared at him.

“Off duty, no problem,” said Gel. “But not while on shift, and isn’t there some garrison rule limiting the pot size? I’ve only just arrived but I’d be surprised if your game met any of the garrison rules. Looked like decent money on the table.”

“I was winning… sir.”

“I shall take that money to Colonel Lee and tell her that it dropped on the break room floor and that no one came forward to claim ownership. There must be plenty of refugee charities that need the money. You will receive their thanks. You can complain, which means going down a deep, dark legal rabbit hole and get yourself and your comrades into trouble, or you can simply go and start unloading. Either way you don’t get the money back.”

Karimov thought this over and then muttered, “yes, sir”.

“Now start unloading.”

As he watched the private go, Gel heard a burst of small arms fire from the perimeter and wondered if anyone was going to concern themselves with his treatment of Private Karimov.

 

“I heard that someone got thrown through a door in the dock area,” said Colonel Lee when Gel reported back that the queue of transports had been cleared.

“I merely assisted one private on his way when he was ill-advised enough to rush at me,” said Gel. “The door happened to be there, ma’am.”

Colonel Lee laughed. “I can see why General McMahon recommended you, but is this going to come back at us?”

“That’s up to the private but I pointed out other legal issues that could be raised.”

Gel produced the money and explained where it had come from. Colonel Lee accepted the explanation and waved the money off to an assistant for counting and dispatch to a refugee charity.

“I want you to stay as deputy port commander for a time until we sort out a few issues,” she said.

“Issues, ma’am?”

“There is the problem of ensuring that the shifts actually do the work they are supposed to be doing. But there is a bigger question, such as where our rebels are getting arms. I’ve got a lengthy perimeter out there and the people covering it are having real trouble keeping from freezing to death. They don’t need the hassle of being shot at with our own arms.”

“Captured Assault Infantry arms, ma’am?”

“Not the ones we’re using now, but the ones we used to have. Your encounter with the Destroyers brought forward the purchase of the AR30s, and they’re really good weapons. The trouble is that no-one thought to check who they were selling the surplus AR25s to, and if you listen, you can hear them being fired at our people out there. They may be surplus but they’re still good enough for most encounters, especially as we don’t have the armour of the Destroyers you encountered. What’s worse someone is training the Hoodies so they’re a lot more effective than they used to be. We should be taking the fight to them in the city itself but we’re taking casualties just protecting our base.”

“Easy enough to sneak in shipments of arms, ma’am,” said Gel.

“The navy swears they have a lock on the planet and that no unauthorised transports could sneak through. Cargoes have been checked both at departure in Lighthold and here, as well as at Fort Bravo. Nothing. The authorities on Lighthold are sending out an investigator but I would like one of my own officers to look at this.”

“I’ll see what I can find, ma’am.”

“I’m told you’ve had one or two mysteries in your life,” said Colonel Lee, looking at him quizzically.

“You could say that, ma’am.”

 

***

 

Gel had barely settled into his new apartment – a modest affair in the building he owned in the spaceport-water port-warehouse section of Green City – when there was a knock on the door. He hadn’t let anyone through the basic security at the front door, but he had set up a security camera in a wall ornament in the corridor which he checked on his phone.

The camera showed two men with pistols in their hands. One was dark and handsome, the other a tall, fair Nordic type. Gel knew them both, although the first and last time he had seen them had been in a fraught encounter where he discovered that the handsome man was one side of a triangle involving his now ex-fiancée.

“Well, whadda you know,” he said into the phone. He could see the men looking around for the speaker. “My two favourite people, Leo and Dwight. How’s the leg Leo? I heard I managed to fracture it.”

“Fine – how’s yours?” snapped Leo.

“Three stitches, thanks for asking. Now that the pleasantries are over what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“You need to come with us,” said Dwight.

“I regret I have plans this evening.” Gel snuck up to his front door and wedged a chair under the lock. “Some other time perhaps, although the handguns do not strike the right, friendly note, I feel.”

The two men had been standing so that the guns would not be visible from the old-fashioned observation porthole in the door, which they assumed Gel would be using.

“We can kick the door in,” said Dwight.

“It’s a bit heavy to easily kick in, unless you have one of those rams the police use. I’d have time to call the police, who will want to know about the hardware – Glocks aren’t they? Good choice, although the locally made Stahl-Cross 5.7 millimetre is probably better. The lightweight polymer frame is rugged enough for the weapon to operate well in the different environments we get on Lighthold.”

“We know about our weapons, shithead,” snapped Leo.

“Now that wasn’t very friendly,” said Gel. “Why would I want to come with you gentlemen?”

“Your mother wants to see you,” said Dwight.

“She does?” Gel was astonished. “We spoke just a few days ago, and now she’s sending armed low-lifes to collect me for a meeting?”

“Low-lifes huh,” said Leo.

“If she wishes to speak to me, she can always call and arrange a pleasant lunch like last time. Since she’s sending thugs with guns to issue invitations, I would want the lunch to be somewhere public and crowded.”

“She won’t be happy,” said Dwight.

“These days my mother is rarely happy where I’m concerned,” said Gel through his phone. “Come to think of it, at that meeting I mentioned both your names and my mother had never heard of either of you. Is she really asking for me, or is it my uncle reacting to the fact that I called him a low-rent thug at the meeting?”

“Alison moaned when I gave it to her,” said Dwight, sneering. “Said I gave her real pleasure.” Alison had been Gel’s fiancée.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” said Gel. “She moaned with me too, and I realised later she was faking.”

“She wasn’t faking it with me,” said Dwight.

“Okay,” said Gel. He had been through too much since discovering Alison with Dwight to care about what they might have done together. “Then I’m sure you have other women to call on. Don’t let me keep you.”

He saw Dwight whisper to Leo then the two men moved out of sight of the camera, but without holstering their weapons. Gel did not have a camera with an overview of the corridor, but he thought it likely that his callers had moved just out of sight and were waiting for him to look out into the corridor to see if they had gone. They would be disappointed. After waiting for a few minutes sitting beside the bookcase he had been assembling, it occurred to Gel that he could wait out on his balcony which overlooked the front entrance and see if they came out there.

After a few minutes he thought he heard faint sounds from the door. As if one of his would-be abductors was trying to pick it, although he could not see anything on his door camera.

“Please leave my lock alone, gentlemen,” said Gel into his phone. “In any case the door is bolted on my side.” (It wasn’t, but a bolt would soon be installed.) “I’m getting tired of this. Time for you to leave or I will call the police.”

“Shithead,” said one of them. He sounded like Dwight. Ten minutes later Gel was rewarded by the sight of the backs of Leo and Dwight leaving the building.

Gel was to take Athena to dinner and dancing later – she had managed to arrange a night off from her job as a top-drawer sex worker – but he stayed on the balcony a while longer puzzling over this new development. Leo and Dwight had almost certainly killed his father’s friend, Arvind Olsen, a director of his family’s company Obsidian Holdings. Dwight had tried to frame Gel for the murder, but the frame had been a rush job which had fallen apart in the subsequent police interview. Gel was also certain that, whatever his other faults, his uncle had known nothing about the murder or the clumsy frame attempt. That still left the question of just why Dwight and Leo were working for his uncle, or why they had killed Olsen. Where was the motive? There were mysteries in his life.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Gel finally found his superior officer, Captain Benjamin Edge, in the base’s main entertainment complex. He was sitting at a table with the local representative of Imperial Intelligence – known simply as The Eye - Dr Seth Addanc, as well as Edge’s blonde “assistant” who seemed to go everywhere with him. The security man whom Gel knew as Sylvester was sitting away from the table against the wall. The assistant smiled vaguely at him. The thick-set Sylvester, aging but still every inch the sergeant in the Imperial Marines he had once been, nodded. The other two men were indifferent.

“Oh yes, the sergeant who did not hold morning parades,” said Edge, “and they’ve commissioned you, I see. That is a surprise.”

“Yes, sir, despite the reports you sent in on me.”

“I never heard back about those reports,” said Edge, unabashed, taking another sip of his wine. “There was no disciplinary hearing?”

“The colonel marked them as ‘no action necessary’, sir. I was shown them as a matter of routine.”

“You see the low standards they tolerate now,” said Edge to Addanc, who nodded and glared at Gel. Addanc had also expressed dissatisfaction with Gel back on Outpost-3. His complaints, entirely unjustified, had met with the same fate as those of Edge. The captain turned back to Gel. “What poor officer has to deal with you, Lieutenant?”

“You do, sir. I’ve been made deputy port commander.”

“I – I see,” said Edge, momentarily taken aback.

“Colonel Lee wanted an issue concerning the unloading of transports at the dock taken care of first, and then told me to report to you,” said Gel. “She said they’d had trouble locating you, sir.”

Edge waved away the implied rebuke. “Port duties have taken me all over the base, Sergeant – uh Lieutenant. Did you deal with the issue Colonel Lee was concerned about?”

“Yes, sir, the backlog of transports waiting to be unloaded has been cleared.”

“Then they don’t need me, do they?”

“Not now, sir. With your permission I’ll handle those routine matters. I’ll take a work station in the port office. I couldn’t find any port command office.”

“No separate office space available I was told,” said Edge. “I’ve complained to Colonel Lee but she said that all construction material and resources was being used to house refugees. There was nothing to spare for building new offices here. Now she’s complaining that she has trouble finding me. There is no pleasing some people.”

“At least it means that you will be freed up for that project we discussed,” said Addanc. The Imperial spy turned to Gel, “you may go now, Lieutenant.”

Gel did not move. “Addanc is an unusual name, isn’t it, sir?”

The spy was taken aback. “It’s an old family name, Lieutenant. Why would it be considered unusual?”

“In the British, Irish or Welsh legends on Earth Addanc is a demon dwelling in a lake. It can take on the shape of a crocodile amongst other things – not sure what a crocodile is doing in a Welsh legend but, anyway, I was curious about where the name came from.”

Addanc glared at Gel. “My origins are not your concern, lieutenant.”

“Of course, sir. If Captain Edge does not want me for anything else?”

“Go, lieutenant,” said Edge, sounding bored, “and deal with your routine matters.”

Gel left knowing that, as the word “routine” could be used to cover all the work of the port, he had effectively become port commander, and that he had puzzled Addanc. For Gel knew the Imperial spy’s name was an assumed one. The soldier also knew that Addanc was not as important to the Imperium as Gel’s own superior officers, or even the spy himself, believed.

 

***

 

The sun was setting behind Green Bay heads in a blaze of red as Gel waited for Athena in the street outside the sea front restaurant he had chosen for dinner. She did not want him to pick her up as one of her “clients” might see him. Instead, he had agreed to wait outside the restaurant for her as he thought that would be less conspicuous than waiting at the table and having her coming in alone. Wherever Athena went she attracted attention. He was sitting on a post that marked the entrance to the restaurant reading some of the officer’s course material on a tablet when a woman standing next to him said, “nice sunset”.

“Um, oh yes, gorgeous,” said Gel, looking up briefly.

“That top drawer sex worker you’ve been dating is late.”

Startled, Gel stood up and examined the woman. She was in her thirties, maybe, with her brown hair in a pixie type cut and fine features, smiling slightly as she returned his stare with interest.

“You seemed to know a lot about me?” he said. “Who are you?”

“I know a lot about Gellibrand Bosworth Baines Plymouth Obsidian,” she said. “The people I work for make it their business to know a lot about a great many matters involving the Imperium.”

“You mean,” he said, looking around and lowering his voice, “you’re with Dr Addanc.”

“He is the visible symbol of the organisation I represent – an organisation that asked me to speak to you – although he doesn’t know anything about this approach. That report you filed when you caught the mining engineer called Jerrold attracted attention at high levels.”

“He was babbling about how the Gagrim would rise,” said Gel. “I sent that report into my own command.”

“They just filed it, but they passed a copy onto us – a routine thing – and my boss’s, boss’s boss became interested.”

“Lot of bosses,” said Gel.

“We – I – just want to talk more about it,” she said handing him a business card.

“Yvonne Winter, media consultant,” read Gel. “The name sounds like you should be in fashion design rather than media.”

“The names are made up. We never give our real names in this business. You’ll find that Addanc is out of Earth legends. Give me a call when you have a moment, and we’ll have a quiet drink – just a drink you understand.”

“I’m a supporter of the Empire but I’m not about to start working for Imperial Intelligence.”

“That’s good as we’re not about to recruit you,” said Yvonne. “We only want to ask questions which your intelligence people should have asked about the report, but didn’t. There’s no disloyalty.”

“Hmmm,” said Gel.

“Think about it,” Yvonne said. “In the meantime, I should get out of here before your girlfriend turns up.”

She left just before Athena arrived in a taxi looking fabulous in a black low-cut dress and sunglasses, which she still wore despite the fact that the sun had just set. She indicated with a wave and smile that Gel should pay for the taxi, which he did.

“Who was the woman I saw you talking to when I came up?” she asked as they went into the restaurant.

“A reporter looking for an interview,” said Gel. “Somehow she recognised me. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

Athena accepted the explanation without comment, but she had seen Gel put the woman’s business card in his coat pocket. Later, when they were back at Gel’s apartment and he was in the bathroom she found the card in his pocket and took a picture with her phone. Later she sent it to a digital address connected to those who managed her establishment. They examined it curiously and started checking details.

***

 

On his way back from talking with Captain Edge, in the corridor outside the port admin office, Gel encountered his new subordinate, squad leader Addison, talking to another woman, the medic Alyssa.

“Addi was just telling me how her new officer had thrown one of the port workers through a door,” said Alyssa. “I was wondering what officer would do a thing like that and who rolls up but Sergeant Obsidian as an officer.”

“The guy rushed me,” said Gel, after he had embraced his comrade and friend. “I just helped him on his way.”

“And I suppose the card table they were using went flying by itself,” said Alyssa.

“I was merely encouraging them to end the game,” said Gel. “We’re all good friends.”

“Even the guy you threw out of the break room?”

“Me and Private Karimov are like that,” Gel said, entwining one finger with another. “Captain Edge was also overwhelmed with emotion on seeing me.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“In fact, he is my superior officer. I’m deputy port commander and he’s the commander.”

“I bet he was thrilled,” said Alyssa, smiling.

“All choked up,” said Gel. “I was looking for the base IT section.”

“I’m going back that way,” said Alyssa. “I’ll show you.”

“Squad Leader, call me if there is a problem with the unloading. We’ll sort out details later.”

“Of course, sir. Three transports inbound and two lined up for departure. Pardon me, sir, were you in that Easy Spice shoot out thing?”

“Well, yes, that was me.”

“Then you must have given Private Hartmann his combat medal.”

“Hartmann is at Fort Apache?” Gel asked. Alyssa nodded. “That’s good news. I was hoping for a contact in IT and, yes, I gave him that medal. He got blown up three times in one fight, and managed to wound Major Murtagh, the one member of the mercenary outfit we were up against whom we didn’t kill or capture, and kept going. Seemed worth something.”

“Umph!” she said, smiled and left.

“Why the Hartmann question?” Gel asked of Alyssa as they walked to IT.

“Hartmann’s sweet on her. She is undecided.”

“From what little I’ve seen of Squad leader Addison he’d be lucky to get her.”

“My feeling, exactly,” said Alyssa.

Hartmann, looking just as much like an owl as ever, was dealing with three screens at once when Gel found him.

“I hope none of these screens involve football pools,” said Gel.

When his company had been almost wiped out on Outpost-3 Hartmann had been sent to him direct from the transport mother ship jail cells as a replacement because there had been no one else to send. The technical private had been in the cells because a co-conspirator in a scheme to rig the football pools had unwisely told a female administrator what they were doing.

“Sergeant! I mean sir, now. I heard you got through that course,” said Hartmann standing up, grinning. “The football pools system has an anti-me alarm on it. I could get around it easily enough, but this time I’m going to steer clear. Sergeant Sampson” – Alyssa’s husband, a large sergeant in Third Regiment and a keen football pools player – “has told me he would like to catch me alone somewhere quiet.”

“Discuss the issue of computer hacking of pools in a remote corner of the docks?” said Gel. “Sound doesn’t carry much in the cold air, I guess.”

“Something like that, sir.”

“I’m sure Alyssa will keep her husband in check. Incidentally, a certain female squad leader in the port admin office inquired about your combat medal I see you have on your desk. She asked if I was the one who gave it to you. I told her what a heroic person you’d been.” Hartmann beamed.

They talked computer games for a while, then Gel, lowering his voice, said. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Sure, sir,” said Hartmann, “as long as it doesn’t involve football pools.”

“Nope, quite legal,” said Gel. “I want you to look at transport movements and cargoes, without telling anyone.”

“This is about these mystery arms shipments?” said Hartmann also keeping his voice low. “They’ve already tried most stuff.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Gel, “but if the arms shipments aren’t coming through here – or maybe Bravo - I don’t see how they could get the hardware from Lighthold. Troll around maybe, just look for things that don’t fit. Concentrate on transports that are carrying equipment rather than food or bulk cargoes. Look for those that are, say, taking longer to get here than they should, or anything unusual in loading or unloading times.”

“I’ll try, sir,” said Hartmann. “Like I said, they’ve already looked at shipping patterns most ways they can think of.”

“Whatever you can do for me,” said Gel.

Another officer, a cheerful, sandy-haired man a few years older than Gel, strolled up. He was a bulky man who carried his bulk with ease.

“Is it true you are The Obsidian?” he asked.

“Yes, Captain this is The Obsidian,” said Hartmann. “Lieutenant, this is my boss in the digital section Captain Barastoc.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” said the newcomer shaking Gel’s hand. “Quite a shootout you guys had on Outpost-3.”

“All a total accident, sir,” said Gel. “I didn’t know I was going to be in a shootout until it happened, and I didn’t have a chance to get out of it until it finished.”

“You’re in admin here, now?” said Barastoc. “Why not a combat command?”

Gel shrugged. “They needed an extra body on Ports and it’s a lot warmer in here.”

“That it is,” agreed Barastoc laughing. “But as Hartmann here will tell you, I’ve done some literature as well as IT. My honours thesis was in Russian literature and life is all about being miserable and cold, and suffering. Read Russian literature, Lieutenant and then you’ll feel at home.”

“Not to my taste, sir,” said Gel, “but I’ll try to remember that.”

 

***

 

Private Karimov found Staff Sergeant Bradley electronically checking containers with a tablet in one of the distant storage areas.

“That new officer could mess up our deal,” he said.

“I was the real port commander until he turned up,” said Bradley. “The lieutenant is also a fighter. He was the lead in that Easy Spice shoot-out thing.”

“He was? How come we got him then,” said Karimov. “Why not a combat command? No-one knows about our arrangement, do they?”

“Nothing’s been said. No questions asked.”

Karimov lightly kicked the side of a container, while he thought.

“Do we shut down for a while, or what?”

“The people we deal with on Lighthold are more dangerous than a dozen Lieutenant Obsidians,” Bradly said. “We just have to be more careful, that’s all. Each shipment is big bucks for us. Maybe we can do something about our new boss or maybe just wait and see. I gotta think.”

“Think real hard, Staff Sergeant,” said Karimov. “Jail doesn’t agree with me.”

“It doesn’t agree with a lot of people,” said Bradley.

***

 

The sun had set on the wind swept piles of snow outside the Fort Apache loading dock when Gel looked out, listening for the occasional crack of an AR-30 as Salts faced off with the insurgents known as Hoodies, because they always wore hoods tied so that very little of their face was visible. A good idea in Dimarch’s climate. The job of the Salts, at least around Fort Apache, was to keep the Hoodies away from the refugee camp and base which housed the remnants of the population of Jasper, a city just to the North that had been ruined in the fighting. The Hoodies wanted to take the base over and incorporate the inhabitants in their new republic. They had proved uninterested in any compromises such as just waiting until everyone had been evacuated then taking the place over. The refugees, for their part, had proved reluctant to leave their homes forever, even if the planet’s ice age had become unusually severe. Many had taken the Lighthold government’s offer of relocation to Outpost-3, newly incorporated into the imperium, where at least it was warmer. But many had not, and the government was reluctant to force them to leave.

The situation was the same in Fort Bravo, which was just outside the ruined, much larger city of Crown, the planet’s capital in better times. While everyone debated what to do, and argued about the right of self-determination, Salts shivered on the perimeters of both forts and exchanged shots with Hoodies who had proved to be fanatical. Why were they fanatical? Why had this insurgency become so extreme with the Hoodies killing and raping those they caught? No one knew. All the Salts knew was that they were up against an opponent who fought to the last and considered prisoners a useless distraction.

Gel had been spot checking a couple of crates on the far side of the dock because they had been placed in a different position, away from the other crates. He hadn’t expected to find anything and didn’t but there was no harm in being seen checking cargos.

After examining the crates he had walked to the edge of the dock to look out, and he had remembered the warm day when he had lunch with his mother.

“Wish you were on the perimeter sir,” said a voice beside him. It was squad leader Addison who also happened to be in the neighbourhood.

“Not really, squad leader,” said Gel. “Its cold out there. Just thinking of family stuff and warm days.”

“The girl you left behind, sir?”

Gel looked sharply at his subordinate. “Has Alyssa been complaining again that I’m not telling her everything about my personal life.”

That bright smile again. “She has mentioned that you haven’t told her the whole story, sir.”

“Alyssa is a good friend, but I’ll reveal that side of things when I’m good and ready. She can always ask Squad Leader Theo Turgenev, whom she knows, if she wants to find out more.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

 

***

 

Gel was on a break from his officer training course when he got a call from the base hospital about then Private Turgenev. He was sufficiently recovered from the bullet in the lung he had taken at the Easy Spice shoot out to be released if someone could pick him up from the hospital, and he had been unable to nominate anybody. As the private’s last listed commander, the admin staff called Gel who went to the hospital. The former hit man would take the Assault Infantry’s squad leader course but was due a few weeks sick leave first.

“No family at all?” he asked Theo.

“Mum came to see me a week ago, but she lives way down south, and I can’t stay with her. She’s got a partner and another kid.”

“You have a half-sibling?”

Theo shrugged. “Half brother, but mum doesn’t want me anywhere near him. Bad influence, she says. Gave her grief growing up with police always coming to the house. She doesn’t want that happening again.”

“You can live with me for a while,” said Gel. “A while, mind. I’ve got a place in the warehouse district with a couple of spare rooms but the guys that tried to frame me for murder I told you about have been calling. I could do with an extra body hanging around to scare off undesirables.”

Theo was amused. “Crime lords in Five Ways” (Green City’s slum area), “need guards on their place, man. Not rich kids in the warehouse district. How much is this gunna cost?”

“Just pitch in if there’s a problem and that’s fine. Food is split. The cooking I do is from packets.”

Theo was considerably impressed by Gel’s place, or “traps” in the local slang.

“You got an AI to handle security,” he said, “a cleaning unit and … a lava lamp, man?”

“Friend of mine gave it to me. You’ll probably meet her later. I didn’t think much of it at first, but I find it restful to watch the material in there change.”

Gel had been a little puzzled by Athena/Heather’s gift of a lava lamp but in return he presented her with a statue of the Roman god Athena he had found in an antique shop. She had put the heavy statue on her living room sideboard.

“Whatever, man,” said Theo, “you also have a dealer’s door.”

This was the new, solid door which Gel had installed in case Dwight and Leo came calling again. He had also installed more cameras, improved security on the front entrance and boosted the AI to top of the line.

“Dealer’s door?”

“Sure, you see them in the real bad houses in Five Ways. Drugs and money are exchanged through the letter slot, but raids by other criminals are always a problem. The door has to be solid enough so they can’t knock it down easily.”

“I had that slot welded shut. I thought they were surprised when I asked them to do it.”

Theo laughed outright. “You’d be the cleanest cut dealer they’d ever seen. Doors like that make a hit man’s job real hard.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Gel sat down on the chair held for him by Theo at Fort Apache’s entertainment complex.

“How’s life on the perimeter Squad Leader?”

Theo had passed his much shorter squad leader course well before Gel finished his officer training and had been posted to a front line company. Before he left, Gel had read Theo the riot act over not messing with any female soldiers in his squad. After arriving at Fort Apache he had also spoken with the squad leader’s female platoon leader who declared that the former hit man had proved a useful person to have around.

“Cold Gel.. sir,” he added when Gel looked at him. They had agreed that outside of the apartment and social situations on Lighthold Theo would call Gel “sir”.

“Parkinson,” said Gel acknowledging the other infantryman sitting at the table. He was one of the school leavers who had survived the jungles of Outpost-3. “Still on the storm cannon?”

“Yes, sir,” said Parkinson, grinning. “Keeping it firing in the cold is a real problem.”

“I bet,” said Gel. “Much to fire at out there?’’

“A few shots,” said Theo. “Hoodies always testing our perimeter. One of the platoons let its guard down and copped a couple of wounded, but we did okay. Now it’s one week defrosting, then two weeks having our butts frozen off again on the perimeter.”

“He’s not kidding about the butts, sir,” said Parkinson. “We have to be careful even dropping our pants to do a shit. One guy in another company was found dead with his arse literally frozen. Its cold out there.”

“Thought you’d be out with us... sir,” said Theo. “But I hear one of the dock workers got thrown through a door.”

“I just got out of the way when he rushed about,” said Gel. “It’s hardly my fault if he was that anxious to get back to work.”

“Seems a lot of stuff happens when you’re around that ain’t your fault, sir,” said Theo.

“Maybe,” said Gel, “but I want to ask your advice about a problem I have.”

By that time the evening’s live entertainment had started on a stage at one end of the complex. A string of bare-shouldered beauties led by a striking, raven-haired Italianesque model type went into a spirited rendition of Venus.

 

She's got it

Yeah baby, she's got it

Well, I'm your Venus

I'm your fire

At your desire

 

Gel thought the singing may have been slightly off-key. The mostly male audience didn’t care.

“Got a thing for the one at the end,” said Theo.

“The blonde? She’s cute but the dark-haired, tall Italian type lead is more me.”

“Talking about hotties,” said the squad leader, “please tell me this problem is about Athena – man that lady is so hot.”

Athena/Heather had come to the apartment a few times while Theo had been there, telling him the previously agreed cover story that she was “in administration” in a private trust. As it was a private trust, she could not give any details about the work. Theo had also brought ladies home, picked up from the bars of Five-ways, which Gel tolerated on the strict understanding that his real name was not to be used. He was officer-cadet Brandon.

Theo listened, keeping his eyes on the stage, while Gel told him about the arms shipment, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. Parkinson, absorbed in the performance, paid no attention.

“Arms mean a lot of volume to ship in, man… sir. Guns and ammo take up space – and the real bulk is ammo. Did an arms dealer once who was having trouble getting his product onto Lighthold.”

“Don’t tell me what you’ve done,” said Gel, sharply. “I don’t want to know. What should I be looking for?”

“They wouldn’t bring it into the port if they could help it. Maybe they’d do what they use to do with drugs – air drops. The transports into Apache don’t worry about being over Hoodie lines if they’re high enough – no high-alt Hoodie missiles. We’ve seen the lights of transports above us on the perimeter. Need containers that wouldn’t show up on radar and be small enough for parachute drops. The parachute w’d be set to open real low and it’d drop into snow.”

“Maybe they load in orbit after they clear Lighthold station, so no record at the loading end?” said Gel.

“Like ships smuggling drugs on Earth... sir,” said Theo. “But in drugs a few kilos of product goes a long way. Arms and ammo mean volume, and they’ve been shipping combat helmets – older models and not all the Hoodies have got ‘em but it all adds up to bulk. Even one of the space freight containers wouldn’t go far. You’d need a heap of ‘em.”

Theo was not talking about the big shipping containers that had been standard for sea freight on Earth for decades but the much smaller version that was easier to fit inside an interstellar transport, and more flexible in organising different types of cargoes.

Gel thought that he did not have the authority to require checks while the transport was still in orbit. The group on stage had switched to another, more recent song, the dark-haired lead going solo for a time. Parkinson had not looked around at all.

“What gets me, sir,” said Theo, “is why would they smuggle through here?”

“What’s wrong with here?”

“All the action’s at Fort Bravo. It’s just three companies here, holding the line and picking up refugees who get through the snow to us from Jasper. They have two whole regiments at Bravo getting ready to fight their way into Crown.”

Like Jasper just to Fort Apache’s North, Crown had also been completely ruined in the civil war and was now an icy, unforgiving wasteland.

“Bravo has its own transport port, doesn’t it?” said Gel.

“Bigger than ours and more stuff going through,” said Theo. “That’d be the place to go.”

Gel thought about this while watching the lead singer and wondered whether a search of the port records would turn up anything at all.

 

***

 

Yvonne Winter was wearing a simple, backless, silver dress which was attracting a lot of male attention at the harbour side bar when Gel, still on his officers training course, walked in.

“I thought that people in your line of work tried to be inconspicuous,” he said sitting in the booth across the table from her. “The guys are all checking you out in that dress.”

Yvonne smiled and shrugged her bare shoulders. She had declined attempts from two men to buy her drinks and sit at the table. She smiled. “You complement well, Mr Obsidian. The people who trained me tried to tell me to keep a low profile, but I might draw more attention to myself meeting handsome men while dressed as a frump.”

“Handsome – I’m complemented back but while out socially my name is Brandon. My real name attracts too much attention.”

“I suppose it would,” she said. “Very well Mr Brandon, and as we’ve been keeping tabs on you I know its officer-cadet Brandon, we do have one piece of business to attend to. I was followed in here.”

“Heavy-set guy with a drink at the bar seemingly absorbed in the news program?”

“Very good, Mr Brandon,” she said quietly. “How did you spot him?”

“I got caught out a while back at being followed. Since then I’ve been practising at noticing what’s going on around me. He doesn’t fit the crowd. He has a sports-coat thing but he’s too down market, plus he’s about the only guy here who doesn’t have one eye on you, at least not obviously, despite today’s news being boring. This isn’t a gay bar.”

“If you ever feel the need to change careers, Mr Brandon, then The Eye has a place for you.”

“Thanks, but at least as a soldier I know which way to shoot,” he said. “How come you’ve got an entourage anyway? Who has it in for The Eye on Lighthold?”

“A good question,” said Yvonne. “I started getting this attention after I gave you my card. Did you show it to anyone, like that gorgeous sex-worker girlfriend of yours?”

“Hmmm! I didn’t show her the card. Athena saw you and asked who you were. I told her you were a journalist looking for an interview and that seemed to satisfy her.”

“Okay but you didn’t destroy the card?”

“Didn’t think I had to,” said Gel. “I put it in a desk drawer at home.”

“Who’s been in your place, then?”

“I have a lodger – the other guy with me in the bar at the Easy Spice shootout. You know about that I guess.”

Yvonne nodded.

“Athena has been there as well as various young ladies my lodger has picked up at bars in Five Ways. He used to work as an enforcer there.”

“Classy suspect list,” said Yvonne. “We can worry about all that later. Right now, I’m concerned about walking around at night in this dress with heavy set at the bar and his partner outside - boyish face, thin moustache – tailing me. I sort-of got the impression they were seizing me up for a snatch.”

“You didn’t drive here?”

“Took a taxi, and they can be difficult to get about now. In any case I want to ditch my tails before I get into a taxi.”

“I drove. I’m in a car park down the street, but would they try anything in the club precinct?”

“A club area is good for that sort of thing, if the snatchers know what they’re doing. Lots of people around, but some of them drunk and plenty looking for hook-ups. A lot can go unnoticed.”

“Your business I guess, but I can still give you the lift.”

“If you want to help,” said Yvonne smiling, “you can pretend to break up with me.”

 

***

 

Gel and Hartmann were not making some progress in their hunt for arms shipments.

“About all I could find that wasn’t flagged in the initial search was this,” said Hartmann, showing Gel a list of containers on his screen. Gel’s first act on the day after his conversation with Theo, was to visit the former hacker at his desk in the admin centre. “I had the base AI scan for container loads – how much was in each container, compared to similar containers.”

“That’s a refrigerated container,” said Gel looking at the list, “and its already left the port.” As had been standard for many decades, all shipping containers had Radio Frequency Identification chips which meant they could be tracked constantly.

“It’s back in a warehouse in Lighthold,” said Hartman. “What’s interesting is that the same container has made the trip a couple of times and each time it seems to carry less than an identical container with the same load I found.”

“Hmmm, false compartment maybe?” said Gel. “All containers go back empty from here I guess?”

“No industry to export anything, sir.”

“Okay, worth a look if and when it comes back. Good work. We’ve got no news on when it might return?”

“It’s not inbound, sir. I can flag it, so we’ll know when it turns up again.”

“Do it, also I want you to look at flight paths. Theo says the guys on the perimeter see the lights of transports above them sometimes. What about Bravo? Do the transports often go over Hoodie-controlled territory there?”

“I can check, sir, but I know the transports coming to here have been warned not to do that, as we never know when the Hoodies might get hold of some missiles, but some seem to do it anyway. Something about cutting travel time.”

“Can you check if any one transport company does that and if there’s anything odd about the journey to here for those transports?”

Hartmann thought about this for a moment. “Air drops, you mean, Lieutenant?”

“One possibility,” said Gel. “Just concentrate on those for the moment, if you can.”

“Sure,” said Hartmann.

 

***

 

To the man at the bar, the couple looked to be having an intense relationship discussion. Ostensibly watching the news feeds on the bar screen he could see the couple out of the corner of his eye. He passed on the information to his confederates via a microphone in his coat sleeve. The bar tender noticed the man apparently talking into his sleeve and realised it must be part of a surveillance operations but couldn’t work out who was being targeted. Then he figured that, if nothing happened in the bar, it was none of his business.

“Trouble between our two friends,” the man whispered.

“Can see it,” said the confederate just outside. “Looks intense.”

“Do we know who the guy is?” said a second confederate, a woman driving a van used by the unit. She had not been spotted by Yvonne.

“We’ve got his pic,” said the man at the bar, “we’ll match it later. Hold on.”

The woman went through what seemed to be a “its not you it’s me” speech with the man sagging apparently in despair then putting his hand on her arm as she rose to go.

“Give it up, kid,” muttered the confederate outside. “Once it’s gone that far you can’t salvage it.”

“This is from your vast relationship experience?” said the woman.

“I know all about being dumped, sure,” retorted the outside confederate.

“Game on guys,” said the man at the bar. “She’s going.”

“What about the dumpee?” said the man outside.

“Later for him,” said the inside man. “We’ll have a close and personal discussion with this Yvonne first.”

Yvonne marched out of the bar head high, leaving an apparently dejected former boyfriend behind. Gel continued to act dejected, peering into his light beer, until the man at the bar had left, then he got up and followed. The bar tender also noticed some of this but figured that, as the surveillance operation had moved on, it still wasn’t his problem.

Outside Gel found that following his target, the heavy-set man, was comparatively simple in the club-district crowds. The spy had told Gel to get clear while she walked to the self-drive rank of cars at the far end of the club district. From there she would drive away, lose her admirers and set about the business of changing addresses and identity. However, Gel thought that the least he could do was to see she got safely into the self-drive, then vanish himself. So, he followed the people who were following Yvonne.

As the spy had said the crowd was mostly about getting to a club or a restaurant or about hooking-up, not about noticing what everyone else was doing, and Yvonne’s followers never thought that they would be followed by anyone, let alone their target’s supposedly dumped boyfriend. Gel soon identified the confederate who was also walking behind Yvonne and to her left.

This procession of followers and those following the followers led by Yvonne reached the self-drive car rank, only for the spy to find that all the cars had been rented. The last one drove away just as she reached it. Then she realised that the crowd had thinned out. The club district buildings had been built out of brown stones and the streets paved with cobbles to give it what the developers hoped was an old world feel, many light years from the old world of earth. That old world feel extended to a dark alley branching off the main road just beyond the self-drive rental point. The two man closed on Yvonne, laughing and saying “Hey Yvonne”. She turned to face her abductors grabbing for something in her handbag. Then the younger abductor, still laughing to allay suspicion, pressed a hand to her neck and she went limp.

“She’s had a skinful again,” said the heavy set man loudly, as the two abductors stopped Yvonne from falling. A panel van came down the road and turned into the alley. Realising what was about to happen, Gel started running.

 

***

 

A couple of days after asking Hartmann to look at flight paths, and with little happening at the docks, Gel dropped in find out whether the technical private had made any progress.

“I’m still checking, sir,” said Hartmann. “But there’s some weird shit going on in other areas, as Alyssa might say. Captain Barastoc asked me to check excavations in the area and I found two containers way outside the base.”

“Excavations?”

“Sure, sir, a lot of facilities are underground on Dimarch ‘cause of the cold, but you still can’t go around digging holes without getting a permit or authorisation which gets lodged with one of the Dimarch departments. The captain told me they’re looking at expanding the base and want to know if there are any handy holes.”

“You found these handy holes?”

“Found this.” Hartmann brought up blueprint on his screen. “It’s some sort of buried bunker, offsite HQ, something a couple of klicks out along the main access road to the perimeter.”

“You’ve got the blueprints – there’s nothing to say who built it or why?”

“Some corporation, sir. I couldn’t find anything more on the corporation, but my guess is some sort of off-site IT crash recovery centre. Lots of open areas labelled server rooms. But the scan also shows RFID chips for two containers.”

“That is interesting,” said Gel. “Where are the containers from? What’s in them?’

“That’s where it gets really weird, sir,” said Hartmann. “They’re cargo containers, but the numbers aren’t in our systems. Queried Lighthold but haven’t got an answer yet.”

“I see,” said Gel. “Just two kilometres out off the main road, you say.”

“Well, yes, sir,” said Hartmann, sensing that he was about to be dragged away from the warm admin block. “The facility will be completely buried under the snow. Even finding the entrance might be difficult.

“Will Captain Barastoc release you for a quick field trip to help me find the entrance?”

“Well, sir, I..”

“Going out into the field will look really good to a certain squad leader under my command, especially if I go out of my way to emphasise your heroic role.”

“Hmmmm,” said Hartmann, then sighed. “When will we go, sir?”

 

***

 

Busy manhandling their captive into the van, neither man saw Gel until he hit the bigger operative hard and low. All three sprawled onto the floor of the van, Gel on top. The soldier had a weapon, a collapsible stick. He could hardly carry a police baton around with him, but the collapsible stick could be extended to the length of his forearm in a moment. A half twist turned it rigid and a hard rubber knob at the end meant that a blow from it would sting, hopefully without causing death or permanent injury. When Gel had ordered it from Earth after his encounter with Dwight and Leo, the catalogue description had said that the device might not be “carried legally in some jurisdictions”. Gel was not sure about the weapon’s legal status on Lighthold but thought it would be better if the police did not find it.

The soldier had the stick out and rigid as he fell into the van and swung it hard at the moustache’s right arm, as that individual reached inside his coat, probably for a gun. The man yelped. His arm went limp.

“What the hell,” said the woman driver turning around. She saw what was happening then grabbed for something under her seat. Gel dropped the stick, dragged the thickset man up by main force and rammed him hard, face first, against the wire netting which screened off the driving compartment from the storage space, stomping on the moustache man’s face in the process. Gel glimpsed a shoulder holster strap on his opponent. He reached under the man’s coat, grabbed the pistol while his opponent was still pinned, flicked the safety off and pointed it at the driver who was now pointing her own pistol at the pair.

“You want to shoot first,” said Gel from behind his opponent. “Your friend seems thick enough to take a couple of bullets for me.”

“Bastard,” said his opponent, face hard against the wire, pinned by the soldier. Gel ignored him.

The woman, a hard-faced 30s something, dropped her weapon.

“Now drive,” said Gel, throwing his thick set opponent hard against the van wall and stepping back to hook the legs of the still inert Yvonne out of the way before shutting the van’s sliding door, just as a club goer looked in.

“What going on…” the clubber said, before the door was shut.

The van had not moved.

“Drive you fool,” said Gel pointing his newly acquired pistol at the driver, “or there’ll be a flock of concerned citizens in here, and you’ll have way more explaining to do than me.”

As they drove away Gel saw, out of the van’s back windows, the clubber on his phone.

 

***

 

“You want sidearms, sir?” said the squad leader at the front counter of the base armoury.

“Yes, two of us are going to check out some bunkers inside the perimeter,” said Gel, “and want to be safe rather than sorry. I’ve been caught without a weapon before.”

“I can’t just issue side arms, sir.”

Gel had come prepared for that with a special authorisation letter from the Colonel Lee which the squad leader examined suspiciously then checked with Lee’s assistant, before reluctantly handing over two standard issue pistols with spare magazines, a box of ammunition, holsters and combat helmets.

“All to be accounted for, sir,” said the squad leader, as Gel and Hartmann signed lengthy disclaimer forms. “They’ve been really down on issuing weapons inside the base.”

“I understand,” said Gel. “Our Hoodie friends are getting them from somewhere.”

They grabbed a lift to the bunker in one of the perimeter supply snow tractors, checking that the comms on their combat helmets were linked into the base communications.

“Shouldn’t we have long arms and grenades for this, sir?” asked Hartmann.

“The side arms were difficult enough to get as it was and they’re just a precaution,” said Gel. “We’re well inside our own perimeter.”

At the drop off point they put on snowshoes – standard equipment at Fort Apache – and trekked to where Hartmann thought the main entrance should be, to find level snow.

“Nothing for it,” said Gel as they took out small entrenching shovels brought along in anticipation of having to clear away snow, “we have to dig”.

Just under the snow they found the tip of a concrete arch and, after much digging, a metal door under the arch with a sign on it.

 

Gometal Inc

Private

Authorised Persons Only

 

“Gometal?” asked Gel.

“Just the name of the company,” said Hartmann. “Couldn’t find anything more about it.”

“Somebody’s been here,” said Gel picking up a padlock from the ground. “This has been shot off. So much for advanced lock picking techniques.”

They went in cautiously, stood and listened. All they could hear was the moaning of the wind outside. Gel thought to examine the floor by their standard infantry torches.

“Boot prints,” he said. “They look recent but otherwise not much traffic. Not what you’d expect from a smuggler’s den. How would they get the containers here anyhow?”

“Another entrance?” said Hartmann. “The plans show an access road on the other side of the bunker.”

“When it’s not covered with snow, I guess,” said Gel, “then what? The perimeter’s a few klicks away and this bunker isn’t connected with anything underground?”

“Nothing shows on the plans, sir,” said Hartmann.

“Not looking good as our smuggling missing link but let’s find these containers.”

They moved down two flights and looked into what might have been an office space broken up by concrete pillars, but which had long since been stripped bare.

“Not this level,” said Hartmann looking at the display on his tablet.

“How come you can get any display this far underground?” asked Gel.

Hartmann shrugged. “Haven’t looked at the detail, sir, but maybe part of the bunker control system is still working.”

They moved down another flight and Gel suddenly felt uneasy. He pulled out his sidearm and nudged Hartmann to do the same. They switched off the torches and put the faceplates down on their combat helmets, switching to infrared. Why did he feel uneasy? Gel had to think for a few seconds before realising what the problem was – he felt a breeze. Somewhere the lower levels of the bunker were open to the outside world.

 

***

“The boyfriend from the bar,” said the thickset man lying against the side of the van, getting his first good look at Gel.

“He’s no boyfriend,” said the woman.

“Drive to the warehouse district, wharf road,” said Gel, thinking fast. He stooped to pick up his baton, keeping an eye on the thickset man. “You know where that is?”

“I know,” she said.

“Then get there fast,” said Gel. “That guy who looked in was calling the police, and they’ve got real time tracking with city net - unless you’ve disabled the tracking chip in this thing… have you?”

“No,” said the thick set man, reluctantly. “It’s even worse if you disable it.”

“Then you’ve got just minutes before they’ll be all over this fine vehicle,” said Gel. “The good news is that once we get out, taking your hardware with us… that reminds me, you in the front pass your piece out, slowly, through that slot.”

The woman did this with ill grace, the pistol landing with a clatter on the van floor.

“You on the ground with the moustache, take out your piece slowly, holding it with thumb and forefinger.”

The moustache man, who had recovered enough to sit up reluctantly complied. By that time Yvonne was also stirring.

“Put the gun down,” said Gel to moustache man, “and push it across. As I was saying, once we get out, taking these various bits of hardware with us, you can tell the police whatever you like.”

“Fuck you,” said the thick set man.

“Oh charming,” said Gel. “We could’ve been such good friend too.”

“Must have hurt to be dumped like that?” said the thick set man, “younger guy dumped by an older woman.”

“Life is a vale of tears,” said Gel, “or some philosophical shit like that. I used to think it was veil as in a bridal veil but it’s not, it’s vale as in valley. We’re going through a valley of trouble and sorrows before reaching a better world in hitman heaven.”

“We’ve drawn a loony,” said thick set man.

“Sadly, many people would agree with you,” said Gel. “Unless you want more examples of lunacy, maybe we can ride in silence.”

“What’s going on?” asked Yvonne, pushing herself off the floor. Dazed as she was, she managed to keep out of Gel’s line of fire.

“What’s happening is we’re about to get out,” said Gel. “Grab the guns on the ground and stick them in your handbag. That reminds me,” he said to moustache man, “you must have used an electrical shocker on my friend, pass that over too – put it on the floor and kick it over.”

Yvonne collected all the hardware and stuffed it into her bag.

“This is good,” said Gel to the driver. “Turn the van around and then stop.”

“Not much here,” said Yvonne looking out the back window.

“Enough for me,” said Gel. “Try following us, and I’ll put a bullet in one of the tyres. That’ll be fun to explain to the police.”

“C’mon,” he nudged Yvonne, “remember your shoes.”

The pair got out of the van through the back door, slamming the doors behind them. Then Gel dragged Yvonne to a rusty wire fence, pushing open a section of the wire he knew was loose, then dropped down an embankment with her, underneath a derelict pier and out of sight, as police sirens wailed.

***

 

The two infantrymen pushed open the door to the next level and examined the open space beyond warily.

“Containers are on the other side of the room, a few metres away,” whispered Hartmann into his suit mike. Gel had previously told him to be wary.

“Doesn’t look to be anything there at all,” whispered Gel. There was something about the space that unsettled him. Apart from no crates being visible at all, it was too open. On an impulse Gel flicked on his standard issue torch and tossed it to about where the containers would be. A shot knocked it to the ground and then a storm of fire made both infantrymen dive to the ground.

“Ambush. Hartmann, move. Back up the stairs, and I’ll cover you. Get to the top and cover me.

“Gotit, sir,” said Hartmann and crawled away as shots punched through the wall above him. The ambush party had a storm cannon operator who, forgetting anything he might have been told about short, controlled bursts, filled the air with bullets, punching holes along the wall. The noise in a confined space was deafening.

Gel fired twice at the storm cannon flashes and the weapon stopped firing. He rolled across to the other side of the door, as two better aimed shots clipped the door frame just above where he had been. Then the storm cannon opened up again. Hartmann, who was a few steps up the stairs yelled in pain and fired blindly into the wall. Gel fired most of his magazine at the flashes then, in a few moments of silence, picked himself up and ran for the stairs. He found Hartmann holding his leg, which was dripping with blood.

“Move,” he whispered then grabbed the private and heaved him up the stairs as the firing started again. They paused at the top, where Hartmann leant against the wall.

“I’m alright,” he said, although he obviously wasn’t.

Gel fired twice more down the stairs, just to give their ambushers something to think about, put his arm around Hartmann and the two soldiers dashed for the next set of stairs.

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

Military policeman Lieutenant Grier, a tall man with pale, close-set eyes and a beak of a nose, at least as far as Gel could tell through the thick coats and face coverings they both wore to keep from freezing, would have been in his element interrogating spies in Earth’s long-gone Cold War. He was deeply suspicious of Gel and his motives as well as sceptical about just how Private Hartmann came to be wounded so far behind the perimeter, three levels down.

After Hartmann had been taken away in a snowcat Gel was left with this unsympathetic individual in charge of a squad of MPs, the only ready reaction force at the base able to respond to Gel and Hartmann’s call for help from the bunker entrance.

“You were tracking cargo containers, here?” said Grier, looking around. “This is a long way from the port, Lieutenant Obsidian.”

“That’s why it was unusual to get readings for cargo containers,” said Gel, trying not to snap. “But Hartmann, the wounded private, tracked containers here. What were they doing down there? Are you able to tell me, Lieutenant?”

“Hmmm! And you came armed?”

“Just a precaution, Lieutenant,” said Gel. “A wise one as it turned out, as we were ambushed when we got down there.”

“Ambushed down there? Who’d be down there - we’re several klicks inside the perimeter.”

“I know that, Lieutenant!” This time Gel snapped. “But I was too busy being shot at to hand out questionnaires. Maybe now you guys are here with long arms we can go and look at the scene, and you can try and explain away all the bullet holes.”

Lieutenant Grier grumpily agreed to follow Gel into the bunker and even condescended to order his four person squad to keep their combat helmet visors down and weapons ready. They reached the entrance at the bottom level and the squad took up positions, rifles covering the room, scopes set to infrared.

“Can’t see anything on the scopes, sir,” said the female squad leader, Grier’s deputy. “But there are some heat spots.”

“See the holes in the wall,” said Gel. The heat signatures were clearly visible through the infrared optics on their helmet visors. “You can see they’re still warm.”

Grier grunted. “Move in cautiously squad leader.”

A few minutes later they were about where the ambushers must have been, but whoever had been shooting at them was long gone.

“Shell casings,” said the squad leader, who showed some signs of knowing what she was doing. Gel could see her holding one up on and sniffing at it. “Real hot, recently fired, sir. Lot of casings.”

Grier grunted.

“Blood!” said another squad member. “A trail, sir!”

“Did that private…,” said Grier.

“Hartmann,” said Gel.

“…Hartmann get this far?”

“No. He didn’t go beyond the wall back there.”

They followed the trail to a round hole in a back wall big enough for a soldier to get through on hands and knees.

“Look at the blood, sir,” said the squad leader, pointing to a smear. “They dragged someone wounded through here.”

“Quite a breeze coming through,” said Gel, waving his hand in front of the hole. “Don’t think it’s just a crawl space.”

“Might open out further on, sir,” said the squad leader looking through the hole with her rifle scope. “Should we follow it?”

“Well, um...,” said Grier.

“These guys might have set traps,” said Gel. “If I may suggest Lieutenant Grier, if your guys have the standard metal detector sensors, they should use those on the first few metres.”

“Good point,” conceded Grier. Sure enough they found a trip wire a short distance in, but Grier refused permission for his eager squad leader to deliberately set it off. “We dunno what it’ll do. There’s a bomb squad at Fort Bravo with equipment for this stuff.

“You didn’t see these guys?” Grier asked Gel.

“Nope, nothing on the sensors either,” said Gel. “We just fired at the flashes. But they must have come from the Hoodie side of the perimeter. That’s a long way to come, underground, to take shots at me and Hartmann. And where are my containers?”

“I saw something back here, sir,” said the squad leader. She lead him back to a concrete pillar near the ambush site, and picked up two metal objects.

“These are the casings that hold tracking chips on containers,” said Gel. They turned on their suit lights to search the floor.

“Boot marks from your friends but no sign that containers were here,” said the squad leader.

“It’s a mystery,” said Gel. “I seem to be getting a lot of those lately.”

 

***

 

After dropping the weapons into the harbour, Gel led Yvonne out through another point in the fence where the slope on the embankment was manageable and the wire could be pushed to one side. As they walked away calmly, Yvonne holding her high heels, Gel looked back.

“Cops caught up with our friends. They’ve even got aerial support. They’ll be glad we ditched their hardware. With no victim and no weapons to explain, Cops ’ll have to let them go.”

“So that’s why we came here,” said Yvonne, as they emerged on the road skirting the harbour which included a tiny strip of auto-vendor shops. “You live around here, I believe. That’s why you knew about those derelict wharfs.”

“My apartment is just a block up. You can order a taxi or a self-drive from there - the Eye knows where I live?”

“We have a file on you which pre-dates you joining the Salts,” said Yvonne, cheerfully as they walked. “Your family is rich enough to be of interest anywhere in the Imperium but there wasn’t much in it. Apart from your school and degrees and a drunk charge that was dropped, there was just the stuff about the Infantry Cross and how you refused interviews.”

“Publicity annoys me. People read those stories and then want to talk to me about it.”

“There was so little information,” said Yvonne, “I did some discreet shadowing to add to it, saw you with that really hot girl then followed her to that apartment building. Am I right in thinking she both lives and receives clients there?”

“I was a client there for a while myself, then I helped get her mum out of trouble and my status changed.”

“Helps if you’re useful in a crisis,” said Yvonne. “Where is she tonight?”

“Working right through,” said Gel.

“Meaning she’s having sex with other guys for money.”

“That’s right, if you must point that out.”

“Seems a strange arrangement,” said Yvonne. “You could do real well for yourself without her. She knows your last name is Obsidian?”

“Oh yes, and she knows I’ve been disinherited.”

“Any girl couldn’t help thinking you might be re-inherited.”

“Maybe, but I’m not about to discuss my personal life in detail with representatives of the Eye,” said Gel, sharply. “Of much more interest to me is that our recent friends tried to snatch you off a busy street – and they seemed to know what they were doing.”

“Fair enough,” said Yvonne, “and thank you, by the way.”

“Did you know those guys?”

“No. I’m not even sure who they’re working for or why they’d take an interest in me. There have been indications of a new kid on the block, but we’re still in the dark about who or what that new kid might be. Maybe they tracked me through that card I gave you which your friend might have seen, but it seems like a lot of trouble and a drastic step to take. Why snatch me? Do you know anything about who she works for?”

Gel thought about this for a moment then shrugged. “Been curious about that myself but any questions I ask get deflected.”

“Maybe you could look around when you’re next at her place?”

“I’m a soldier,” said Gel. “I didn’t train for the cloak and dagger stuff.”

“You did pretty well with a van load of my not-friends,” said Yvonne smiling. “I think they were impressed. Once the police let them go, assuming they don’t say anything stupid, they’ll start trying to work out who you are. They might find this address and come here and want to talk to you again on more favourable terms. You may want to think about shifting.”

By that time, the pair had reached the apartment block’s security entrance.

“I’ve already had callers wishing me harm,” said Gel. “It may not look it but there’s plenty of security here. What about you? When did your non-friends start following you?”

“Just after I left home, now that I think of it. I’ll have to cut our intimate evening short and go home to move, before the police get tired of them. This is going to puzzle my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Oh yes, she’s at a sleep over tonight but she was part of the reason I opted to serve the Eye in what I thought would be a backwater where I’d file reports about anti-Imperium agitators and suspect senators, not mix it with snatch teams. All the Eye’s usual opponents are on the other side of the Imperium.”

“The Destroyers we ran into on Outpost-3 were also way out of place,” said Gel.

“That’s right,” said Yvonne, “and that’s one of the major reasons I wanted to talk, that and Jerrold - any detail not in the official reports.”

They walked into Gel’s apartment.

“Not bad,” said Yvonne judiciously. “Been a while since I’ve been in a man’s apartment. The neighbourhood’s not the best but you’ve got plenty of space here. Is your boarder around?

“Sometimes he brings a girl home, sometimes he stays out. Either way, I don’t expect to see him until later. We’ll order in and you can ask me these questions.”

“Dinner with a man,” said Yvonne, smiling, “even if it is takeout, and I have to dash afterwards. That also hasn’t happened for a while.”

 

***

 

Colonel Lee was puzzled by Gel’s report.

“No containers, just container tracking chips?” she said.

“Yes ma’am, and an ambush. Those guys were waiting for us. They’d had some training, fortunately not enough to stop them firing too high or wasting ammunition.”

“Hmmm,” said the colonel. “Sounds about right for those guys. That private you had with you took one in the leg?”

“Just going to check on him now, ma’am, but I don’t believe it’s serious enough to ship him back to Lighthold.”

“He may have mixed feelings about that,” said the Colonel, “it’s a lot warmer at Lighthold. But what I don’t get is that this is a lot of trouble to go to just to set up an ambush for you two, and they’ve tipped their hand. The MPs tell me they’ve sent probes through that hole, and it opens up into a gallery which connects to the underground parts of Jasper. It would have been one way for the Hoodies to get in behind our lines and create real problems, but it’s an even better way for us to move troops into the bottom levels of the city.”

“Easy to block at a chokepoint, ma’am,” said Gel.

“Maybe,” said Colonel Lee, but it’s worth keeping in mind if and when I get more bodies to do anything. In the meantime, are we any closer to working out where the arms are coming from?”

“There’s one lead on a suspect container but it’s too early to report, ma’am.”

“Very well,” said the colonel, “the sooner the better with any results.”

“Of course, ma’am,” said Gel.

 

At the hospital, Gel encountered Alyssa and Flight Lieutenant Brigit Nilsen, whom he had last seen at her marriage to a staff officer back on Lighthold. Before that Flight Lieutenant Nilsen had shared many of Gel and Alyssa’s adventures on Outpost-3. They embraced.

“Can you be seen hugging a friend now that you’re a respectable married woman?” asked Gel.

“I told you before,” said Nilsen. “Getting mixed up in the fighting on the ground with the Salts was my social ruin in the flight arm, so it doesn’t matter. Alyssa was just complaining, again, how you didn’t bring that girl of yours to my wedding.”

“She was working that day,” said Gel. That meant she was having sex with other guys for money, but he was not about to say that.

“On a Saturday, and couldn’t even come to the after party,” said Alyssa, glaring at him. “Seems strange”.

“Have you ever known anything about me to be straightforward,” said Gel.

“That’s true,” she said.

“We’ll catch you later,” said Nilsen. “We’ve just been to see Hartmann and he has another visitor.”

The other visitor proved to be Squad Leader Grace Addison, sitting by Hartmann’s hospital bed. The private was lying on top of the bed clothes his leg up on pillows, impressively swathed in bandages.

“All is going well at the docks, I hope, squad leader,” said Gel.

“Oh yes, sir,” she said, standing. “I’ve just finished here, and I’ll go and check now. All cargoes in both directions had been cleared.”

Since the confrontation between Gel and the dock workers there had been no trouble, not even from the giant Staff Sergeant Bradley.

Addison left with a wave and a “bye” to Hartmann, who punched the air and exclaimed “yes!” after she left.

“Date?” asked Gel.

“Drinks in the main bar, after her shift tonight.”

“If you get as far as drinks you can parlay it into dinner,” said Gel. “Keep it casual ‘while we’re here’ sort of thing and go to the restaurant they have here, not the dining hall.”

“Restaurant, not dining hall,” said Hartmann listening.

“Maybe even a little wine, but don’t try to go more than a step or so up from the house wine. Don’t overwhelm.”

“Don’t overwhelm,” said Hartmann

“When the bill comes, pay like a gentleman unless she insists on splitting, but don’t expect anything. As you’ll still be on crutches even walking her back to her room, as you should, won’t really be on the agenda, and she’ll understand that. But you can always arrange to call her again.”

“Call again, gotit,” said Hartmann.

“Anyway, it seems taking one in the leg has advantages,” said Gel.

“Way worse than being blown up, sir,” said Hartmann, “But the sympathy afterwards is a lot better. I said I got shot while exchanging fire, rather than running up the stairs, if that’s alright.”

“I can cover,” said Gel.

“What she wanted to know, and I’m kinda curious about myself, is how come we got shot at two floors down?”

Gel told them what he had found out. “What I didn’t tell the colonel is the obvious point that the container tracking panels were left there deliberately, and those guys must have been waiting for us.”

“Specifically, for us?” said Hartman. “But how did they know we’d be there? We didn’t even know we’d be there until we were there.”

Captain Barastoc came in at that moment.

“I hear you got my guy shot up,” he said to Gel, lightly. “Hartmann wanders away from his screen for a few seconds and takes a bullet.”

“We figured we ran into a Hoodie attempt to infiltrate the perimeter from that bunker Hartmann found – a one in a million shot but a fortunate one. The tracking units must have been left over from some earlier time.” Hartmann looked at Gel sharply, but kept his mouth shut. “As it is the hole is now watched and Hartmann is so taken with the glory of having incurred an honourable wound in beating off a Hoodie assault, he’s even asking women on dates.”

“Hartmann, for star’s sake, you want to take it one step at a time,” said Barastoc with mock exasperation. “First defeat a couple more Hoodie ambushes; win a lottery, then think about saying hi to a woman you’ve known for years as you pass her in the corridor.”

“I’ll try to remember that sir,” said Hartmann, smiling.

They talked for a while, then Barastoc said he had to get back to actual work and left.

“Was it a one in a million shot we found those Hoodies?” said Hartmann quietly, after Barastoc had left.

“Nope,” said Gel. “Like I said, I’m pretty sure they were waiting for us, but the co-incidence thing makes a good cover story to spread around the base. I have a few jobs for you to do on the quiet when you get back to your desk, if you feel up to it.”

“I’ve come this far, sir,” said Hartmann. “I might even get a second date.”

 

***

 

While still at officer training on Lighthold Gel arranged to take Athena/Heather for a harbour cruise in a private boat he had rented, only for Athena to bring three other workers from her building to the dock. These were elegant escort and synth Helena, Latin type Carmen and Asian-dream Annie.

“Ladies!” said Gel. “You’re all coming on the boat?”

“They all wanted to come,” said Heather kissing him. “None of us have been getting out much of late and you said the boat is a big one.”

“It is big enough for us all,” said Gel, “but it’s a bit old – it doesn’t have the elegance to go with the way you ladies look.”

They giggled.

“If it keeps afloat, we’ll survive,” said Carmen.

“If you all come, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Gel said

Athena reached up and whispered, “I’ll make sure you’ll be able to sleep.” Then kissed him on the cheek. This was unusually demonstrative for her, but she was marking her territory, particularly for the benefit of Annie who, she suspected, had Gel in her sights.

The boat was a spacious if elderly cruiser, with a large after deck and a single cabin. The bridge was on top of that cabin with an awning to keep the sun off the helmsman.

Fortunately for Gel’s peace of mind the weather had turned cold so there would be no swim suits but, as they all wanted a turn at piloting the boat, he got to talk to each one as they stood at the steering station, wearing a captain’s hat Gel had brought along.

“Sorry about the crowd,” said Athena/Heather when she took the first turn. “It would have been mean to say no.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” said Gel. “Very high standard where you work – although we’ll attract a lot of attention at the lunch place.”

Athena giggled. “I’ll tell them you said that.”

“More seriously though, they’re all so good looking – Helena rivals you in looks and Annie and Carmen are not far behind at all that I can’t help wonder about the place you work.”

It had occurred to Gel how he might ask questions along the lines suggested by Yvonne without raising Athena’s suspicions.

“It’s just a business,” said Athena, lightly, although Gel suspected that her response concealed a wariness.

“You and the others are obviously top drawer – tip-top drawer – working out of the same building and when we first met you said there were people who would come if I caused trouble. It seems to me that whoever is behind this are seriously organised. I mean do you have any idea who they are? Is it some sort of crime organisation thing?”

“Don’t think it’s anything to do with crime,” said Athena, carefully. “The operation’s not illegal – at least that’s what I was told.”

“If they have all the permits, it’s not illegal,” said Gel, “and they seem to have it arranged so that no-one notices much. I mean its appointment only, right? You can’t just walk in.”

Athena shook her head. “No one off the streets. Conditions are good and the pay is great. A couple more years on my back and I’ll have choices in my life and that’s what I’m aiming for. I tried asking questions once, and the woman I asked said she didn’t know either and her boss frightened her. That was all she would say.”

“Not so good that the boss frightens her,” said Gel, but changed subjects to Athena’s relief.

When Carmen took her turn at the helm, surprisingly, she wanted to talk about politics. She and Gel had a spirited discussion about the Chancellor in power on Lighthold at the time. Carmen did not care for him, Gel thought that he was doing a reasonable job. Incautiously he told her that his mother had wanted him to go into politics and that impressed her to the point of distracting her when they were close to a sailboat.

“You could have gone to the senate here?” asked Carmen, turning her head to look at Gel. The soldier grabbed the wheel and pushed it so that they avoided a collision. The youthful captain of the sailboat glared at them as they went past, then his glare turned to round eyed astonishment as he saw the passengers. “That would have been something.”

“If you’re into politics, sure,” said Gel. “I pay attention but I’m not that into it. Meetings bore me and I detest the horse trading that goes with the job. I prefer being a soldier. My mother even wanted me to go to the Imperial Senate…”

“Far out – you’re kidding!” said Carmen forgetting about the wheel altogether, forcing Gel to grab it. “With that fiancée of yours?”

“Ex – fiancée and sure, she was way more interested in the job than I was. She wanted to strut her stuff on the Imperial stage and thought of me as some sort of puppet and mouthpiece. I didn’t want to be a puppet.”

“What happened to her?”

“Last I heard she was going to marry someone else – I sort of know the guy she’s going to marry, and he’s got money too. He can deal with her.”

“The Imperial Senate,” said Carmen turning back to the wheel, “I’d put up with a lot for a shot at the senate.”

Annie, during her turn, talked about assets and money.

“Guess you would have owned your own boat, before you joined the army,” she said, flicking back her dark hair and smiling at Gel – actions which Athena noted from her vantage point in the stern.

“My dad had a yacht, quite a big one, but I wasn’t into it. I prefer an engine to get where I’m going. When I really wanted to go places I took my skycar.”

“Get out! You had a Skycar?” exclaimed Annie. These were car-sized versions of the transporters used by the military. Like the military transports they did not have the noise whirling blades and downdraft of the old helicopters so they could be used anywhere, even for city commuting. But they used lift crystals and that meant they were expensive.

“It was actually owned by the family trust, so I lost it along with everything else,” said Gel hurriedly, realising he had been incautious again. At least, he thought later, he had not mentioned the Bugatti which had been in his name before he sold it. Annie becoming interested because he admitted to owning a skycar opened up intriguing possibilities, he had to admit, but there would be complications with Athena and he did not want complications.

“That’s a shame,” Annie said, smiling, “you could have taken us out in a skycar. I’ve never been in one of those.”

In her turn to perch the captain’s hat on her blonde curls, Helena had more serious conversation to make.

“Athena said you were surprised to hear I had a son,” she said.

“Surprised certainly, but I didn’t say anything.”

“I know and thanks.”

“He would be adopted, of course,” said Gel. “Your employers must have set it up. They sound like capable guys. What about the woman who is supposed to be your mother? Where did she come from?”

“Someone my employers found. I pay her. It was a condition of my coming here that I be allowed to raise a child and live a life like a human.”

“Must be hard to keep it up, even if you’re very difficult to detect. Can you eat food like humans?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “That’s the way the new generation gets their energy, from eating just like humans. The digestion and stomach systems are simplified but quite effective. I can even taste food – I don’t have a big taste range, but it’s enough to fake the rest.”

“No need for batteries or recharging and you eat and, I guess, excrete, like a human. I’m really impressed. The full bio model.”

She smiled. “I’d be detected the moment a doctor looks at me of course, which brings me to something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I even asked to tag along so I could talk to you. There is another like me who needs to be looked at by someone who knows about Synths but it can’t be official.”

“Another one of you,” said Gel, “this seems alarming. How in all of Lighthold did she get out here without it being official? Is this another import by your employers?”

“Not them. I told her about living here – way less paperwork and checks than on Earth - and she decided to do it too. But didn’t want to do the sex thing when she got here. I’m amazed that she managed it, but somehow she did. She was in a box that turned up out of the blue at my son’s place all systems shut down for the journey. There was a letter explaining it all and saying how to reboot her, but I wasn’t able to do it right.”

“Hmmm! It’s not illegal to administer fix-it services to Synths, and it doesn’t have to be reported,” said Gel. “But taking your friend to any of the recognised places would cause problems, I guess. They’d want to contact her makers.”

“Exactly,” said Helena. “Then it’d all be for nothing.”

“There may be a place. The Synth I grew up with …”

“You grew up with a Synth?” said Helena.

“Sure, the family butler Stebbins. That’s how I spotted you so quick. He’s a friend of mine. There was an incident a few years back when it proved convenient to take another Synth who worked around the estate to a place where they asked fewer questions. I can always ask him.”

“Would you?” She smiled at him. The smile would turn any man into her slave.

“Of course, in return for one tiny favour,” he said. He saw an opportunity to do some information trading with Imperial Intelligence.

“Oh well,” said Helena coquettishly, “you can always ask.”

“The people who run your building; you can repay the favour by telling me what you know about them?”

Her smile vanished. “I met the boss’s boss once,” she said after a pause. “I deal with a woman manager, but I came in once when he was there. He wore a hood but I saw his eyes and they seemed to glow yellow.”

“Yellow?” said Gel thinking of Dr Evil and Jerrold on Outpost-3.

“Like he had some sort of disease,” she said. “When he stood up he was tall and thin, then he was gone. I haven’t seen anyone else, and the woman in charge told me that if I wanted to stay healthy don’t ask questions, so I don’t. That’s all I know.”

“Guess it’s not so surprising that your friend doesn’t want to work at your place?” said Gel. “The place has hidden depths.”

“She doesn’t care what I do,” said Helena, “but she wants a relationship. They talk about love all the time in films and dramas and she wants to try it. I’m not sure it’s possible for Synths but she’s still going to try. You’ve been in love, haven’t you – in relationships.”

“Me?” said Gel, startled by the sudden change in topic. “Sure, leaving Athena aside twice for real and both times the girl was interested in other things.”

“Twice?” said Helena. “Once was that fiancée of yours who cheated.”

“Yep,” said Gel. “The other time was a girlfriend I had at university who took the money my mother gave her to dump me, without blinking.”

“Really?” said Helena. “Your mother bought her off, like in one of those costume dramas.”

“Yep, ready to take her call and negotiate a price, my mother said.”

“You two have been having an intense conversation,” said Athena who had come onto the bridge while they had been talking.

“Oh sure,” said Gel putting an arm around Athena’s waist. “I’ve discovered Helena’s deepest, darkest secret.”

Helena shot a horrified glance at Gel.

“What secret?” said Athena.

“That she’s a romantic at heart,” he said.

Athena’s look of horror relaxed into one of bemused exasperation.

“That’s not a secret,” said Athena smiling. “We all knew that.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” Gel later told Athena quietly. “Anyway, being teased is part of the human condition.”

 

***

 

The grossly fat man sat back in his tattered, worn black chair.

“You’ve seen the reports from Lighthold?” he asked his deputy. “What are we going to do?”

“It is a matter of concern,” the deputy admitted. He was well groomed, wore the latest business fashions and, as far as the world was concerned, was the head of Imperial Intelligence, otherwise known as The Eye. Very few knew that he was, in fact, the deputy head who conferred with his boss by going though a back door in his state-of-the-art office then down two flights to sit in the fat man’s dusty, tattered lair.

“Not only have these Gagrim set themselves up on Dimarch to the point of the whole place sliding into a nasty civil war,” said the fat man, “but they evidently have agents and some sort of organisation on Lighthold, one of our best border settlements. It’s not just a matter of concern, it’s a potential crisis and one the Eye has to nip in the bud.”

“Move assets to Lighthold?” suggested the deputy.

“This Yvonne has done well,” said the fat man, “but she was also fortunate in that the person she was making contact with, Gellibrand Obsidian, proved capable in the field.”

“He seems to have talent for this work,” said the deputy, “should we try to recruit him for starters?”

The fat man shook his head.

“We can consider him a fellow traveller and perhaps someone we can trust where the interests of the Imperium and Lighthold coincide but he’s a soldier not an agent, and too high profile. Yvonne should keep in contact with him. What other assets do we have there?”

“Two besides Yvonne and Addanc,” said the deputy consulting a list on a tablet he carried, “both on watching briefs. This has been the first sign of any actual danger in this posting.”

“Another six field agents with tech support,” said the fat man after a moment’s consideration. “As it can be difficult to get agents to relocate mid-career maybe take two from the academy and get the local Imperial office busy acquiring the equipment they will need.”

“I’ll get onto it at once,” said the deputy standing up.

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

It was down time at Fort Apache. After Gel had incautiously revealed, in passing, that he had never even turned on the oven in his apartment, Medic Alyssa and Flight Lieutenant Nilsen had taken it upon themselves to teach the rich kid how to cook. The two ladies showed him how to turn on the oven in the mess hall and then read the instructions on the side of the food packages to know what temperature to set and how long to cook the food.

“Why does the meat need to rest after cooking?” asked Gel, reading the instructions on the side of one such packet. “We’re about to eat it. Why can’t it rest after we’ve eaten it?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Whoever that is should know it’s a mess hall,” said Gel. “They should just come in.”

“We’re too close to the port exit here,” said Alyssa, “and if there’s no one on the exit they knock on this door.”

The knocking was replaced by a hard pounding as the person on the other side lost patience. Gel finally got up and opened the door on a man who looked as if he had stepped out of an old television detective series complete with leather jacket, frizzed hair and even sunglasses, although the lighting was dim.

“Finally! Where’s the Port Commander, arsehole,” said this apparition.

Gel thought about slamming the door in the face of this rude newcomer, but then thought he would just start knocking again.

“This is the mess hall door, you open it and come in,” said Gel. “As for the port commander as far as I know he’ll be in the main bar, that way.” He pointed off to his right. “Ask at the bar. If that doesn’t work, try his personal quarters in the officers’ barracks on the far side of the fort.” Then he slammed the door.

“That guy probably wonders why doors get slammed on him,” he muttered. “Now, why does meat have to rest? This sounds unmilitary.”

“Because the juices have to redistribute through the meat,” said Alyssa. “Otherwise, they flow away and it’s not as tasty.”

“The meat is still warm enough for cooking to happen, even after it leaves the oven,” said Flight.

They had put the meal in the oven and the ladies were talking Gel through cutting up vegetables when, Sylvester, the ex-Imperial Marine turned bodyguard to Port Commander Captain Edge walked in.

“Captain Edge wants you to come and see him, sir,” he said.

“Now? I’m just cooking dinner.”

“I’m sure the ladies can handle it, sir,” said Sylvester.

“It’s the first I’ve heard from the man for more than a week. Is he asking me or ordering me?”

“Ordering, sir.”

“Oh, very well,” said Gel. “Save me some, ladies.”

“What’s the urgency?” Gel said to Sylvester as they walked through the fort complex.

“A detective has come from Lighthold. He’s the one who wants to talk to you.”

“Black jacket, frizzy hair and wears sunglasses inside?”

“That’s him. Thinks a lot of himself.”

“Any idea why he wants to talk to me. I’ve been a good boy - lately.”

Sylvester chuckled. “When I was a sergeant in the marines if any of my squaddies said they’d been good I knew the MPs were about to come.”

They came to a meeting room in the fort admin headquarters where Captain Edge sat with the newcomer detective. This gentleman had removed his sunglasses, to reveal deep set, intense eyes, and was examining a number of documents spread out in front of him, including what Gel took to be his service record, complete with the picture of him taken when he mustered in.

“Good evening, Captain Edge.”

“Lieutenant Obsidian.”

“It was you who opened the door,” said the detective.

“It was you who called me an arsehole,” said Gel. “Just because you didn’t realise it was the door to a mess hall, so you were meant to open it and come in, is no excuse for abusing the person who has to get up to open it. Who are you, anyway?”

“Your arse is grass and I am the lawnmower,” said the detective.

“I heard that in a very old movie once,” said Gel. “Are you really a lawnmower?”

“I’m your personal arse lawnmower, shithead, like I said.”

“Now you’re being rude again,” said Gel sitting down, although he had not been asked or directed to do so. “No need for a lawnmower around here. It’s all snow outside.”

“There was a suspected kidnapping,” said the detective, ignoring him.

“Where – here or on Lighthold?”

“Lighthold.”

“And you’ve come to Dimarch, claiming to be a lawnmower, to ask questions about it?”

“We found your fingerprints in the van.”

“What van?”

Gel now knew why the detective was asking questions but was certainly not about to admit anything.

“The van used in the kidnapping.”

“You said before ‘suspected’ kidnapping, so now someone has been kidnapped.”

“We have reason to believe there was a kidnapping.”

“I see. Who was the subject of this suspected kidnapping?”

“I’m asking the questions here, shithead.”

“Just answer his questions, lieutenant,” said Captain Edge.

“Pardon me sir, but you can’t order me to answer questions to a civilian police officer. You are a civilian, aren’t you, lawnmower?”

“I can order you,” said Edge.

“Pardon me, sir, but you cannot. There are limits to an officer’s powers. That’s one of them. Compelling anyone to answer questions in an investigation where they’re a possible suspect – and I assume from the way lawnmower has been talking I am a suspect - is a serious matter. I’m not refusing to answer questions, mind you, just showing curiosity about the alleged crime. I’m allowed curiosity.”

“You sound like a lawyer,” said Edge, disgustedly.

“I was a lawyer before I joined the salts, sir,” said Gel. “Admittedly I was patents and trademarks and didn’t get to practise much but I’ve since learned to appreciate criminal law. It’s proved useful.”

“Like when you’re accused of murder,” said the lawnmower detective.

“That sparked my interest, I admit. Have they arrested anyone over Mr Olsen’s murder?”

“Murder?” said Edge.

“One crime at a time, Lieutenant,” said the detective. “I was asking you about your fingerprint in the van.”

“This van on Lighthold where I haven’t been for weeks?”

“This van was involved in an incident where a woman was seen on the floor of the van apparently unconscious, and a person matching your description was seen holding a gun.”

“Sounds dramatic,” said Gel. “Is holding a gun a crime?”

“It can be,” said the lawnmower detective. “We also traced the video surveillance of the mall and found you and several others apparently following a woman who matches the description we were given.”

He paused.

“And..” said Gel after a few moments. He knew that police sometimes used silence as an interrogation technique, hoping the suspect would fill the silence with a silly statement, but he was not about to fall for it. “What happened then? You’re just getting me interested.”

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

“But it’s your story? You’ve put a lot of work into this. You were able to trace the van?”

“I’m asking the questions here.”

“Then ask one. You say you’re a lawnmower and you want to be taken seriously?”

“Stop calling me lawnmower.”

“You haven’t bothered to give me your name, as in a proper interview,” said Gel. “First thing any detective does in an interview is introduce himself and show his credentials. All you’ve said to me is that you’re a lawnmower. What else am I expected to call you?”

The detective grumpily took out his identification and flipped it open on the table, then slapped one of his cards beside it.

“Detective Senior Constable Ben Lewandowski, of the Lighthold Police Authority” said Gel, reading the card. “Just senior constable. I would have thought they’d send at least a sergeant out all this way to ask questions.”

“I’ve got rank enough for you,” said Lewandowski.

Gel sighed. “I’ve no doubt, but to me you’ll always be a lawnmower. Let’s cut this short. I’m sure Captain Edge has better things to do.”

Edge glared at Gel but said nothing.

“I’m guessing you guys traced the van,” said Gel, “and found people still in it. These are all guesses. But you didn’t find any unconscious woman, or guns or anything more incriminating than maybe shoulder holsters.”

Both Lewandowski and Edge were staring at him.

“You interrogated the people in the van but got nothing and had to release them puzzled. You also couldn’t identify the woman and there were no missing person reports that even began to fit the description you had. Under the scenario I’m thinking of I guess the people you found all had police or security backgrounds, which would have made it more puzzling.”

The Eye had access to Lighthold police reports and Yvonne had told Gel this in a subsequent meeting.

“Maybe,” muttered Lewandowski.

“You had forensics do a thorough check of the van, found my fingerprint, identified me through the armed forces records and realised I’d previously been accused of murder.”

“We also found you’ve been associating with one Theo the Turd,” said Lewandowski, reading from the file, “a known hit man for a major Five Ways mob.”

“A hitman?” said Edge. “He’s on staff here?”

“Squad Leader Theodore Turgenev is serving with one of the third regiment companies on this base, sir,” said Gel. “A magistrate gave him a choice between joining the Salts or prison, and he took the Salts. He has proved a useful man in a fight. Back on Lighthold we share an apartment.”

“That really got our attention,” said Lewandowski. “Theo the Turd and the police go back a long way.”

“That’s not my concern, Detective. Back to this alleged possible kidnapping. Where did my look alike – as it wasn’t me, it must have been a look alike - come in the crowd following this woman?”

“You came last.”

“Maybe, and this is just a guess, my look alike was following others who were following this woman.”

“Were you following them?”

“I wasn’t following anyone – that’s just my guess about what my look alike was doing. I can also guess the kidnapping is a dead end and the woman is fine.”

“So you say,” sneered the detective.

“Like I said, that’s my guess take it or leave it, and if you’re going to sneer at me Senior Constable Lawnmower then the interview ends here. Unless Captain Edge has some further use for me…” Gel stood up.

“You were a lawyer?” said the captain, in a tone that implied that it was a ridiculous thing.

“Yes sir, patents and trademarks, as I said. Lawnmower has my service record in front of him, which will set out my previous history.”

“You would be advised not to have anything further to do with Theo the Turd,” said the detective.

“Your advice is noted, Detective,” said Gel. “Next time I see Theo I’ll give him the Lighthold Police Authority’s regards. As for socialising with him we’ve been in tight spots together - parties on Lighthold.”

 

***

 

The social event was not a distinguished one. Gel had not wanted to go. Athena/Heather was not free and he had become interested in a new role playing computer game, but Theo had his own reasons for not turning up to the party by himself.

“You owe me, man,” he had said. “Remember the suit flash thing you forgot to tell me about and I took one in the lungs? Time to pay back.”

The house had once been grand in the ante-bellum American Southern style of two storeys with wide verandas, and Greco-Roman pillars stretching to the roof. Now the plaster on the columns was worn through in places, the balcony railings had turned rusty, the veranda tiles chipped, and maintenance had been neglected to the point where the structure had been condemned for demolition. The people who communally rented the house reacted to this news by putting ice in the downstairs laundry wash basins and invited everyone over, included most of the immediate neighbours to head off complaints about the noise.

When Gel arrived with Theo at the Fiveways address, pack of beer in hand, he realised that even in black tee shirt and scruffy slacks he was over dressed compared to the run of party goers, who had spilled out onto the verandas and once carefully tended garden. Being clean shaven and with a military hair cut further marked him out among the distinctly shaggy crowd.

As he walked in Gel’s attention was caught by a flash of light and looked up to see a man with pale complexion, long, silver blonde hair and white tee shirt, with his arm around a woman in a grey, silver-speckled off the shoulder club outfit that just reached the top of her legs, a sharp contrast to the jeans and tee shirts of the rest of the female party goers. She had a mass of reddish-brown shoulder length hair and, as near as Gel could make out at that distance in the dim light, seemed very pretty.

As he looked a bear of a man with a shaggy beard detached himself from one of the pillars where he had been drinking with friends.

“You bringing narcs here now Theo,” said this vision, inclining his head slightly to indicate that he meant Gel.

“Nah, he’s square,” said Theo. “He’s in the Salts with me. We share traps.”

“Umph!” said this worthy, then he nodded at Gel and went back to his pillar.

“You’re in,” said Theo. “Said you’d need me to vouch for you.”

“You dragged me here,” said Gel. “You said you needed someone to go with.”

“To get in. Single guys are just seen as bad somehow, but once you’re in it doesn’t matter.”

“I feel almost alien,” said Gel.

“Unis,” sneered someone as they worked through the crowd, meaning they had been to university rather than the standard vocational colleges, and that was not good. However, after that, apart from a few puzzled stares from the guys and some tentative smiles from the girls, Gel was ignored. Then Theo deserted him for a girl, vanishing upstairs, and Gel was left to wander the huge house wondering what he was doing there.

After desultory conversation with one group who declared themselves friends of Theo but had little else to say, Gel decided he might as well tour the upper story before abandoning the party. Theo had earlier indicated that he would probably be going home separately.

He looked into one room, door wide open and quieter than the rest, to find several party goers stretched out on tattered sofa and chairs and even the floor in stoned bliss. The one person still functioning was the girl in the club dress Gel had seen on the veranda, sitting in a large chair with stuffed cushions, attractive legs drawn up in front of her, smoking what at first glance appeared to be an ordinary cigarette but instead of tobacco, the cigarette contained some substance laced with hashish, a product fashionable among ladies. Close up she was high cheek-boned pretty, had brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence and, Gel guessed, mildly stoned.

“I can see your chin,” she said, pointing at the offending part of Gel’s anatomy with the hand holding her joint. She spoke with a light Five Ways accent, which people from Earth might have thought sort-off New Yorkish, pronouncing coffee as caw-fee and dog as dawg.

“Is that a problem?” asked Gel. “I can’t do much about it just now.”

“It’s okay as chins go,” said girl, after a moment’s consideration, waving her hand dismissively, “you can keep it”.

Gel looked at the others in the room.

“They’re all gone,” she said, waving her joint at her fellow party goers. “Way to enjoy the party, guys,” she told them, “get here and crash out.”

“You haven’t crashed out,” Gel said.

“Always a chance someone worth talking to might come in,” she said. “I’ve seen you somewhere. You going to tell me your name stranger?”

“Gel.”

“Gel what?”

“Gel Bandon.”

“Bullshit, it’s Brandon,” she said, amused. “Now I remember, you were with Theo in that Spice Bar and Grill shootout thing. I looked at the news feeds on it ‘cause I know Theo. There was an old picture of you on them. You come from one of the mega rich families. Obs.. Obs..”

“Obsidian.”

“Obsidian, yeah, that’s it. Didn’t think it was Brandon.”

“Makes you smarter than a lot of other girls. Mostly they accept Brandon. How do you know Theo?”

She smiled. “’Course I’m smarter – way smarter than a lot of guys too.”

“Don’t doubt it,” said Gel.

“I know Theo from around,” she said. “Lot of girls know Theo. Once you fend him off, he’s not such a bad guy to say hello to. News feed said you’d been kicked out of the family fortune.”

“That’s right. Dirt poor now.”

“That’s bullshit too. You rich guys always have money somewhere.”

“I’m poor. Just my army pay.”

“You’re full of shit, Obsidian.” She dropped ash from her joint on a saucer next to her.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” said Gel.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

“It’s Even.”

“Eve?”

“No, Even, as in even steven, or maybe Evenstar, or some Lord of the Rings bullshit, or maybe mum tried for Eve and put an extra ‘n’ on the end. I think she was stoned when she picked it, or at least she can’t remember why she called me that. As you can see,” she waved her joint, “I’m keeping up my family traditions.”

“Some traditions are worth more than others,” said Gel eying the joint. He had tried such things at Uni but had decided they weren’t for him. “You never thought of changing you name to something more conventional, Emily, say, or Samantha.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want lovers calling me Sam, and Emily sounds like I should be giving home making advice.”

“Just a few options,” said Gel.

“Enough of the getting to know one another crap,” she said suddenly, sitting up. “You wanna fuck?”

“With that tall, platinum blonde boyfriend of yours somewhere close by?” Gel said, taken aback. “I saw you guys on the balcony out there when I came in. He had his arm around you, and I don’t think he’s a relative… or the sharing type.”

She smiled and lent back again. “You’re smart too,” she said. “Not many guys pass my first test.”

“That was a test!” said Gel. “Quite a test. I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

She smiled.

“What’s happening here?”

Gel turned to see the tall blonde boyfriend eying him suspiciously. Up close he had the sort of ice cold blue eyes that might stare down the barrel of a gun.

“I was just suggesting other first names to Even,” said Gel. “She doesn’t like Samantha or Emily.”

The man relaxed and shrugged. “The name’s weird.”

There was a ruckus, a man and a woman yelling, further along the corridor – about where Theo had disappeared to when they first arrived.

“Excuse me people,” said Gel and walked towards the noise.

He found two women peering curiously through the open door of what proved to be a bedroom, with the bed against the far wall. A woman lay on that bed clutching a sheet to herself, watching in alarm as a stark naked Theo grappled with two of the shaggy haired party goers.

 

***

 

Gel and Hartmann watched the security camera as the shipping container previously flagged by Hartmann as suspicious was offloaded by Gel’s old friends, staff sergeant Bradley and Private Karimov.

“Sergeant Bradley altered the unloading sequence and its place in the dock, sir,” said Hartmann. “It’s now to be placed in the stack near this back exit.” He pointed to a floor plan on another monitor.

“So it is,” said Gel, “and it’s on the bottom where access is easier. We’ll wait for the container’s legal cargo to be unloaded then check it out. Unfortunately, we’ll have to get the MPs involved.”

This time MP Lieutenant Grier was more amiable, at least to the extent of not being overtly sceptical about everything Gel said. This was partly due to Colonel Lee ordering him to co-operate, but also because he had also been looking for arms shipments without any luck and welcomed the new lead.

“Suspicious container, huh?” he said.

“No idea what we’ll find, Lieutenant, but the container should have more cargo than seems to have been unloaded.”

“Secret compartment, sir?” said Grier’s deputy, Squad Leader Emily Dawlish, who had proved more switched on than her boss in Gel’s earlier encounter with the police unit.

“That’s the betting, Squad Leader, but of course we won’t know until we examine the container, before it’s returned to Lighthold.”

As even Grier could see the sense in that, he, Gel and Dawlish were soon down on the docks, having checked that Bradley and Karimov were in the Fort Apache bar. Gel paced out the length of the container then opened it and paced out the interior. Sure enough, the interior seemed to be shorter than the exterior.

“Seems colder than usual,” grumbled Grier.

“The refrigeration is still on,” said Gel. “The cargo was meat concentrates, but the power supply should have been disconnected as a matter of routine when the cargo was taken out.”

“This staff sergeant Bradley and Private Karimov must have made sure that the power remained on,” said Dawlish, “but why, sir, arms don’t need to be refrigerated?”

“True, squad leader. Let’s get this interior wall down and see if we can get some answers.”

They found four, small restraining studs on the container’s back wall which could be popped out with an old fashioned screw driver and another small protrusion which they could hook into with the screw driver to take the entire wall down.

“Huh!” said Grier on seeing the contents of the secret chamber, “doesn’t look like arms to me.”

 

***

 

As Gel watched, Theo landed a classic palm strike with the heel of his palm, arm and shoulder lined up behind it as they had been trained in the Salts, making one opponent reel back onto the bed, blood dripping from his nose. But then the other man rushed in, head down, pinning Theo against the wall and kneeing him in the testicles. Theo yelled and dropped to the ground where his opponent kicked him savagely in the side. The first opponent clutching his bloody nose got off the bed to kick Theo from the other side.

“My girlfriend you arsehole,” he said.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” said the girl on the bed.

“Okay, that’s it,” said Gel, stepping forward. “You’ve made your point. Let him up.”

“Keep out of it, uni,” sneered the second opponent, glancing back at him. He was an ill-favoured fellow with a bushier beard than most and lank hair that hung down on both sides of his face. But his shoulders were broad and he moved like a fighter.

“Can’t do that,” said Gel mildly.

The ill-favoured man turned and rushed at Gel, swinging. He was fast but the soldier, who had been expecting a punch, moved his head to let it sail by then shifted his weight and counter punched hard on the side of his opponent’s skull. All those years of martial arts training at his grandfather’s insistence was paying off. The man staggered back then snarled and rushed at Gel who sidestepped again, grabbed his opponent’s right arm then pulled and turned so that his whole body fell on the elbow joint pushing it down and forcing the rest of his opponent’s body to fall with it. Gel pushed himself up, pinning the elbow joint to the floor with one arm, then put his foot on it and stood. All the time his full weight was on the joint, trapping his opponent who was cursing fearfully.

As he stood up another man rushed him, spitting vile curses on “unis”. Gel struck him hard on the Adam’s Apple with a standard karate fist strike and the man reeled away grabbing his neck and choking. Another man in the now crowded room, who had been hoping for a chance to kick a “uni”, hesitated. Theo’s first opponent, blood flowing freely from his nose, glared at Gel but opted to back off while Theo picked himself up. Gel realised this sordid drama had attracted an audience including Even and Even’s blonde boyfriend who had forced his way into the room.

The boyfriend grinned at him. The grin reminded Gel of a tiger, but the man was being friendly enough.

“You were the main guy in that Spice Bar and Grill shootout,” he said, holding out his hand. “My name’s Boris.”

Gel shook the man’s hand, careful to keep his weight on his opponent’s elbow joint, as something stirred in his memory.

“Bad Boris? You’re well known in Fiveways aren’t you?”

In fact, Bad Boris was the area’s most feared enforcer. Now he shrugged and grinned, pleased that his name had been recognised.

“Had my moments ‘round here,” he said. “Never did three in one go, though. Impressive.”

“It was a military thing, not a gang enforcement thing,” said Gel. “And I walked into it blind. I wasn’t expecting a fight that day. You guys w’d plan your hits, I guess. The mark is walking around and then suddenly he’s dead.”

Boris shrugged, again. “Something like that.”

By that time the other party goers crowded into the room had realised who Gel was and distain had turned to awed whispers.

“Excuse me a moment,” Gel said to Boris and turned to Theo who was now leaning against the bedside table clutching his vital bits. He realised that his friend’s shorts were close to him on the floor and used his free foot to kick it to him. “Get dressed Theo. Pants and shirt. Carry your shoes.

“You coming with us or staying here?” he said to the girl on the bed.

She thought for a moment. “Come with.”

“Then get dressed. Maybe ask one of the ladies here for a hand.” Gel turned back to Boris. “Can I ask a small favour?”

“Depends on the favour.”

“This guy,” said Gel, indicating the man on the floor who was still promising to inflict all sorts of damage on Gel the moment he was let up, “do you know him?”

“Sorta. He’s got some beef with Theo. But I can’t off him for you.”

“No, no, I don’t want that. Just stand on his elbow until we’re clear.”

“I can do that,” said Boris, amused.

A few minutes later Gel led the two others out of the room and passed the other party goers who, realising that the entertainment was over, were returning to their conversations. Some stared at Gel as the ‘shootout guy’.

“Interesting to meet you Even,” said Gel, as he passed her on his way out. Theo had recovered enough to hobble along beside him.

“Interesting is it,” she said, arching one eyebrow. “Humph! You’re full of shit, Obsidian.”

“So much for that party,” Gel told Theo when they got back to his car. “Time for you to go back onto deployment, where it’s less dangerous.”

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

The end of the shipping container contained three empty sleeping pods with Perspex lids still in place, surrounded by tangles of cables and pipes. To one side was a panel with a screen for monitoring the vital signs of the people who were to use the pods.

“Stasis pods,” said Gel. “Older models, but still effective for the short hop to Lighthold. These guys aren’t smuggling arms in, they’re smuggling people out. You can’t just stick them in a container like you use to smuggle people between countries on Earth. You need stasis pods connected to power.”

“Lot of trouble to get three people to Lighthold,” said Squad Leader Dawlish. “Maybe it’s a better option than Outpost-3 but who’d have the money here to pay for this.”

Spotting a speck of colour in one corner of the compartment, Gel bent down to pick up what turned out to be a brightly coloured hair comb.

“A woman’s comb,” he said.

“Girls for the sex trade?” said Dawlish. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“Time to bring this Bradley and Karimov in for a talk,” said Grier.

“If I may make a suggestion, Lieutenant,” said Gel. “Wait until they front up to the container with whoever and grab them in the act of putting the girls into the pods. At the moment they can still simply deny everything. We didn’t see them actually go into the concealed section of the container. If you catch them in the act you’ll be able to search their quarters and phones – the whole works – and offer deals for confessions. Close up the container, without the girls, send it back and inform the Lighthold Police. They can watch to see who turns up at the other end. There’s even a Lighthold detective on base at the moment who would, at least, know who to contact at his end.

“Hmmm!” said Grier.

“It’s not arms,” said Gel, “but catching people smugglers looks good on reports, and on service records.”

“Ahhh!” said the Lieutenant and smiled for the first time since Gel had known him.

 

***

 

Two days after searching the container, Gel was summoned to Colonel Lee’s office.

“The container lead turned out to be a bust,” she said.

“As far as arms smuggling goes, yes, ma’am. We turned up some people smuggling, which shows that we’re trying, but not arms.”

“And you had that very strange incident with a firefight underground, well inside the perimeter.”

“Yes, ma’am, also a bust, but we learned something – I’m not sure what we learned but we sort-of know more than when we started.”

As a senior officer Colonel Lee could not giggle, but she could snort in amusement which she did.

“When General McMahon recommended you he said stuff was sure to happen and it has, but I have a more serious matter to discuss, namely finding out where your commanding officer got to.”

“I haven’t spoken to Captain Edge for some days, ma’am,” said Gel. “If anyone asks I tell them to try the entertainment area. An announcement over the PA finds him.”

“I know all that,” she snapped. “The trouble is he’s not on base any more. Two squads of the Guards regiment got here and, just as I was thinking I could do something useful with the reinforcements, I find that they have come here at the request of Imperial Intelligence to go with Dr Addanc to somewhere in Jasper City itself. I’m not told where; I’m not told anything. Dr Addanc takes Captain Edge as commander of the detachment plus that Lighthold detective – no loss there - and a valuable air transport and vanishes.”

“Detective Lewandowski, ma’am? What business do the Lighthold Police have in Jasper?”

“I have no idea,” the colonel said. “But the scouts on the perimeter say they heard gunfire last night, both our weapons and the Hoodies and we’ve had no communication from this party. Now I’m worried. If two squads of Guardsmen are lost then that’s a stain on the Fort’s record, as well as on mine, and a propaganda victory for the Hoodies.”

“Are you going to send anyone in after this group, ma’am?”

“I don’t have any large formations to send. But even if we did have the bodies to break through the Hoodie lines we still don’t know where those idiots have got to, or even if they’re still alive.”

“Pardon me, ma’am, but a small group wearing the white coats and hoods the Hoodies use could move around the city looking for this group,” said Gel. “It’s my understanding that there aren’t many people left in the city itself - just occasional Hoodie patrols, which a small party could evade, or just pass as a Hoodie group at a distance.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said the colonel smiling. “Now that the people smuggling ring has been cleared up and the docks are better organised, I think the basic operations can be left with Squad Leader Addison for a few days.”

Lieutenant Grier had followed Gel’s advice and caught Bradley and Karimov in the act. Both men had opted to reduce their sentences by co-operating. The container had been closed up and sent on its way, with the Lighthold police now waiting to see who would turn up to open the secret compartment. Gel did not expect to see Bradley or Karimov again, but their arrest had scared the other military dock workers into keeping their heads down and doing their jobs, even if only to prove that they had not been involved in the smuggling.

“Pick your team,” the Colonel continued. “We can grab individuals from existing units without upsetting things too much. There is also that MP ready squad we have.”

“Oh right,” said Gel, suddenly aware he was about to leave the warm base in favour of a freezing city full of hostiles. “Thank you, ma’am,” he added weakly. The colonel smiled. Then Gel thought that the fastest way out of the mess he had landed himself in was to do the job and for that he needed a good team.

“The Squad Leader on that MP squad seems to know what she’s doing,” said Gel. “I’ll take her.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” said Colonel Lee. “I can fix that.”

“Then I want Squad Leader Theodore Turgenev, he’s out on the perimeter at the moment, along with Private Parkinson in the same platoon. Then there is medic Alyssa Sampson at the base hospital.”

“I know Private Sampson,” said the colonel, smiling. “This is a quality team you’re asking for.”

“Then there is Private Cliffe who’s somewhere on the base I’m told.”

The Colonel’s smile vanished.

“The MPs have been pestering me about that soldier. Something about wanting to take him for trial over assaulting an officer on Outpost-3.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m just hoping he won’t hit me.”

“It’s your party,” said the Colonel. “Just stay in touch and I’d say try and keep warm, but I don’t think that’ll be easy.”

 

***

 

Gel pushed aside the plastic curtain and stepped inside the refugee shelter, which had been set up for a business as old as humanity. A woman sat at a desk on his left. There were waiting chairs on his right, all empty. A heavy, black, plastic sheet screened off one end of the establishment. A fan heater besides the chairs fought the cold, with only moderate success.

“One of the girls will be with you in a moment, Lieutenant,” the woman at the desk said. “You’re welcome to take a seat while you wait. Our rates are here.” She gestured at a large, plastic-covered list propped up on the desk.

“Thanks, but I’m not stopping,” said Gel. “I was after two of my guys, Theo Turgenev and Arvin Parkinson. I thought I might find them in one of the Flower Houses” (the local euphemism for such establishments). “It’s not about getting them into trouble but getting them back to their jobs.”

“Theo is with Alexia,” said the woman. “I don’t know the other name but a young man, broad shoulders, dark hair came in with him.”

“That’s him. Sorry, but I need to roust them out or our colonel will be displeased.”

“Well, I don’t want to displease Colonel Lee,” the woman said, “but I’ve got no-one to send just now… Ah, here’s Monique.”

A slim dark-haired girl pushed aside a flap that served as a door in the plastic sheet.

“My guy went out the back, Marta,” she said to the woman, then eyed Gel curiously. “You my next?”

“Can’t stop, sorry,” said Gel.

“This gentleman is after Theo,” said Marta. “Can you go and tell him and Alexia that he and the man that came in with him are wanted at reception.”

The girl sighed. “Always the way. Anyone interesting can’t stop.” She smiled at Gel. Although Gel thought her comments were part of the act, he smiled back. She went back through the flap. A few minutes later Theo and Parkinson came out to finish dressing in the reception area.

“I didn’t get all that I paid for… sir,” grumbled Theo, putting on his boots. “How did you know where to find us.”

“The perimeter shuttle guys said you went this way, and I took a wild guess. Asked at two other places before I got here. They all knew you. You were meant to come straight to the admin briefing room so never mind your unused benefits, and now you’re leading Parkinson here astray.”

“Lieutenant,” said Parkinson. “Why have we been pulled off the perimeter, sir? Am I allowed to know?”

“We’ll discuss it at the briefing room. I’ll wait outside. Thanks, ma’am.”

“Happy to oblige the colonel,” said Marta, handing over a business card. “Give her my regards and come back when you’re not on the job.”

Gel looked at the card. “Marta of the Paradise Room sends her regards, gotit.” He waited outside until Theo and Parkinson joined him.

“Speaking of people sending their regards,” Gel said to Theo as they walked to admin block. “The Lighthold Police Authority also says hi. They seem to think they’ll catch up with you one of these days.”

“Not if I can help it,” said Theo. “How come you know this? Since when do the Lighthold narcs get out this way?”

“A detective turned up here and took the trouble to speak to me about this and that.” Gel waved a hand to indicate ephemeral issues. “He also said they were interested in me in part because we shared an apartment.”

“Yeah? You happen to mention that I was helping guard the place?”

“Oh no. I don’t think there’s any need to excite their interest. I’m sure they’ve many other matters on their mind.”

“Yeah, right,” said Theo. “That’s what I tried to tell the guys who arrested me last time. But it’s a long way to come to ask about us sharing traps.”

“Wasn’t the only thing on his mind, but I now think that even talking to me was just a side show. The detective was after something else in Jasper and now we’ve lost contact and have to go and get him.”

“In Jasper, sir?” said Parkinson. “We’re supposed to walk into a Hoodie-controlled area and ask for this guy back?”

“We don’t know if the Hoodies have him and, if it was just this detective who I found to be personally unpleasant, I’d vote to leave him. But two squads of Guards went in with him and, oh yes, Dr Addanc and Captain Edge. Now Colonel Lee hasn’t heard from any of them, and she wants to find out what’s happened before high command asks. Our job is to go in and find out what’s happened, rescue if possible.”

“Two squads of Guards?” said Theo. “There was talk of a fire fight in Jasper last night. Some of our guys heard it.”

“Yep. That’s also got the Colonel worried. Battles and casualties are all stuff that should be reported, and she’s heard nothing.”

“What about that girlfriend of the Captain, sir,” said Theo. “Did she go with them?”

Gel stopped. “Squad Leader Turgenev, that’s brilliant. Parkinson, go on and tell the others we’ll be there in a moment.”

A few minutes later Gel knocked on the door of Captain Edge’s private room and the person he and Theo only knew as Edge’s girlfriend opened the door, clad in a dressing gown.

“Oh hi!” she said. “Sergeant Obsidian isn’t it? It such a pleasure to speak to you at last. But the captain is not here at the moment.”

“I’m a Lieutenant now,” said Gel. “The problem is that Captain Edge seems to be missing and the Colonel wants to find him.”

“The Colonel, oh that nice lady,” she said, then smiled at them.

“Can we come in to talk about where he might have gone,” prompted Gel.

“Oh yeah, come in,” she said and waved them inside.

Alyssa, who had spoken to this woman back on Outpost-3, had described her as an “airhead”. Gel now thought that the medic might be right.

“Did he say where he might be going?” he asked as they sat around a small table in Edge’s quarters, declining an offer of coffee. The table, three chairs and a double bed took up almost all the room. “What is your name, incidentally?”

“Charise Clairemont,” she said, smiling.

“Do you hold a military rank, Charise?”

“I’m a squad leader and Captain Edge’s administrative assistant.”

“Okay, Squad Leader, where has your boss got to? The colonel is anxious to know.”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“For star’s sake, Charise, do you want me to march you in front of the colonel, in that charming dressing gown, and get her to give you a direct order? We have to go and get him and don’t want to have to look in every building in Jasper to do so.”

“Is he in trouble?” she asked.

“He certainly is from the Colonel, if she sees him,” said Gel. “She’s mad because she wasn’t told anything about this expedition, which used a fort transport as well as two squads that could have come in real handy doing other stuff. But the real question at the moment is whether he and those with him are in danger, and we can’t contact the group.”

“Ohhhhh,” she said. “They could be just out of range. I heard them say they had to go deep.”

“Well, that’s something,” said Gel who had been looking at a map of the city. “That rules out a lot of areas where they just have one or two levels of basements.”

“An old part,” she said, after a moment’s thought, brow creased. “…A temple.”

“The temple district? That also helps. It’s the main business district. Did they say why they wanted to go to Jasper?”

“The detective talked about criminal records.”

“Really, the records the police would hold?”

“Talked about the need to solve a case, but the police guys on Lighthold didn’t have access to the right stuff or something. But that Dr Addanc – I didn’t like him at all – was talking about some old place holding brains…?”

“Brains?” said Gel, thinking of the crystal slabs on Outpost-3 that held the personalities of the Gagrim, ready to be transferred into a new body.

“Or bodies…” continued Charise. “That’s all I really know. I saw them look at maps, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

“Okay, well, you’ve given us something to go on,” said Gel. “Thanks for your help, Squad Leader.”

“Not at all, and please call me Charise,” she bubbled. “Come back and see me, any time.”

“That was an invitation, man,” said Theo as they walked away.

“My hold on sanity is precarious enough. If I have anything to do with Charise, I might slide off the deep end.”

“Equipment’s the same when it comes down to it, man. One of those old Kings on earth said that, in the dark, its all the same.”

“One of the French Louies – I think the one before the one that got chopped. His mum was chiding him about humping almost every woman he could find and never mind who they were or what they looked like. His response was that ‘in the dark all cats are grey’. That’s hardly an enlightened attitude Squad Leader.”

“Knew you’d know nerdy shit like that, and it’s the only attitude I’ve got, Lieutenant.”

“Trouble is some fool always turns the lights on.”

“Athena seemed smart enough,” said Theo. “And smoking, burning hot. But if you want a hottie that’s also whip smart, try Even.”

“Oh sure, Even is smart,” said Gel. “Smart and dangerous.”

***

 

A week or so after the condemned mansion party on Lighthold Even called Gel, who could not keep the alarm out of his voice when he realised who his caller was.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said. “I got your number from Theo, because I need advice.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Gel, “I’m alarmed. What trouble am I going to get into with your tests?”

“Don’t be like that,” she said, exasperated. “I was high at the time, and I thought Boris was somewhere else, with someone else.”

“Seemed to me you were setting me up so that you’d have fun watching Boris defend your honour, as they say. I mentioned your tests to Theo who said that Boris had damaged a couple of guys over you.”

“That wasn’t over any test,” she said. “Those guys were being painful without any help from me, and I’ve told Boris to warn off guys who get ideas, not beat them up. It causes problems. Anyway, you passed my test so quit complaining.”

“Okay, I passed. I’ll stay on the line long enough to ask what advice you want.”

“My little sister has been arrested for possession.”

“What drug and how much?”

“It’s a lot but it’s some sort of designer drug thing. The idiot was holding the stuff for a friend who’s a chemist. Cops say it’s a hard drug and that it’s serious. The thing is I remembered you had a law degree and Theo said you knew about criminal stuff. I have no idea who to call.”

“Wouldn’t Boris know someone?”

“It’s sort of a rival gang thing. I don’t dare ask him.”

Gel thought for a moment, and then thought how well Even looked in that club dress. Okay, he was a stupid male. “I’ll get a friend of mine, Gillian Messenger, to give you a call,” he said. “She does criminal stuff and she’s pretty good. As always, I want my name kept out of it.”

Gel then rang Gillian, who had helped Athena’s mother with the charge of stabbing her partner. She was amused to get the call.

“Another woman in distress, Gel,” she said. “You need to concentrate on one woman in distress with whom you might get serious.”

“I can’t help it,” said Gel. “Women in distress seem to think I’m their go to guy. In the meantime you’re earning fees, so I don’t see that we have a problem here.”

She sighed. “I suppose even male egos can generate fees.”

“Speaking of dumb males how is Arch?” Arch was Gel’s law school friend who managed his personal affairs. He sold a Bugatti bequeathed directly to him by his father to finance the redevelopment of an old factory left to him by his grandfather. Gel lived in one of the resulting apartments and the rest had been let. Now Arch was developing other properties. He was also Gillian’s partner.

“I’m engaged to him and pregnant by him,” she said.

“Oh wow! Congratulations on both counts! Am I allowed to ask in what order these events occurred?”

“Mind your own business,” said Gillian, sharply. “You need to concentrate on getting your personal affairs in order. Never mind about mine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Gel.

 

***

 

The scratch rescue squad was in a Fort Bravo transport on its way to Jasper being briefed by its commander, Second Lieutenant Gellibrand Obsidian.

“Okay, people,” said Gel. “We’ve got Hoodie jackets and snow shoes. Keep the hoods over the combat helmets and heads down and we’ll look like any hoodie detachment marching around.”

Besides transport pilots Flight Lieutenant Brigit Nielsen and an offsider she had been assigned, the transport contained Theo, Parkinson with his storm cannon, medic Alyssa, the MP squad leader, Emily Dawlish, and the MP squad’s mule-synth. This was a short, squat, humanoid figure which followed the squad around, loaded with baggage such as the spare ammunition and rations. As it rarely spoke while trailing around after the squad, the Salts occasionally forgot it was there.

Gel had opted to be the ad-hoc squad’s Dart-Gun operator. This was the light infantry support weapon that fired darts capable of messing up droid tanks or blowing away a whole squad of humans, if they happen to arrange themselves nicely in one place. It looked something like an oversized assault rifle complete with a curved magazine at the top and was fired while resting on the operator’s shoulder. Gel had trained with the Dart Gun and thought it would help him win any battlefield arguments.

Another welcome addition to the squad was Private Cliffe who still had the large calibre sniper rifle he had picked up on Outpost-3 and remained just as taciturn.

“I’m an officer now, Cliffe,” said Gel. “Are you going to hit me?”

“No reason, yet,” said the big man. He smiled slightly.

“Well, that’s nice,” said Gel. “I’ll get belted just for being an officer.”

“What happens if we’re challenged?” said Alyssa.

“You do not respond. You do not look at them,” said Gel. “The moment they get up close they’ll realise we’re not their side and all hell will break loose. If that happens then we start shooting and make for the nearest cover. The city is mostly underground, so if we can get to a building, we can go anywhere we want. We also have Hartmann online, provided he doesn’t sneak off to see my subordinate.”

“Gotta date tomorrow,” said Hartmann who had been listening on the comms link. He had been relocated from his usual desk in admin to a desk outside the Colonel’s office, his injured leg up on a chair. “Colonel’s also been asking for an update.”

“Tell the Colonel we believe the group went to the city’s main business district and may have gone deep. We’ll set down on the South West Edge where we know there’s very little Hoodie activity and walk from there.”

“Down behind that group of buildings, just as you asked,” said Flight from the pilot seat. “We don’t want to linger.”

“Visors down and move guys,” said Gel. He slapped his own visor down, the displays projected on the inside of the visor coming to life. One of these showed the direction of Jasper City’s Temple District. “No chatter with others or with Hartmann, unless necessary. Gotit?”

They yessired.

“Keep low and move fast when the ramp goes down. Spread out into a perimeter and wait.”

They landed with a thump in the snow, the ramp went down to let in more snow driven by a howling wind, and they ran out.

 

***

 

A few days after the first call, Even rang again. “Gillian seems great. She’s looking at what she can do, but I asked her about fees and she said that was taken care off.”

“She did?” said Gel, in alarm. In fact, he hadn’t said anything specifically about fees. In the previous job Gillian had done for him, that of Athena’s mother stabbing her partner, the fees had been paid out of funds held for him by Arch. Gillian had assumed the same arrangement applied.

“Well, yes, I don’t know what you expected would happen…” Even trailed off.

“Oh right,” said Gel, realising what she was hinting at. “I wasn’t expecting anything, as I didn’t tell Gillian I was paying, but you know what, now that it’s done leave it done. Gillian needs the money so I’m happy to pay – she’s pregnant.”

“Ohhhh, okay, she wasn’t showing when I met her at the court hearing,” said Even, sounding relieved. “Does she have a partner?”

“Engaged to a law school friend of mine. That’s how I know her. Have you been to her offices yet?”

“We go tomorrow.”

“If you see a harassed looking guy with red hair in another office that’s Arch.”

A few days later Gillian rang him.

“Have you had anything to do with Hestia?” she said without preamble. Gel had the impression that the pregnancy was wearing at her temper.

“I don’t know any Hestias, unless of course you mean the Greek goddess of home and family and the like…”

“I’m talking about the girl whose legal defence you’re paying for,” she snapped.

“Oh right – I only know her as Even’s sister. I’ve never met her. Why, what’s so important about my knowing her?”

“Because I’ve just worked out she’s underaged – sixteen – and she’s model, drop-dead gorgeous,” said Gillian. “I’ve had to clear most of Lighthold’s male police out of the interview room a couple of times in order to speak with her. I had assumed that because she was ultra-gorgeous that was why a male was paying her legal fees.”

“Well, no, her sister is real cute in an off-the-shoulder club outfit…”

“Men,” snorted Gillian.

“But I’ve only met the sister once and didn’t get close.”

“And you’re still paying legal fees?”

Gel decided not to explain the misunderstanding. “Well, yes, because I’m a gentleman and paying for the very best of advice, I might add.”

“Ha!” said Gillian. “Well, this legal advisor is taking some additional fees to call to tell you to keep your sweaty male paws off Hesta.”

“Sweaty paws, okay. Good advice,” said Gel. “Were you able to do much for her?”

“As it happens, they mistakenly charged her as an adult, the search warrant they used is dodgy and the prosecutors will have to prove the designer drugs seized are, in fact, illegal. A little co-operation and she should avoid jail.”

“Like I said, top legal advice,” said Gel.

“That’s right, and this advisor is getting out ahead of the problems by telling you to behave yourself, even if Hestia expresses gratitude. If you must take advantage of the situation, then go with the sister.”

“The sister is also dangerous just in a different way. Like I said, she asked and I’m just being a gentleman.”

“Right!” snorted Gillian. “The ‘gentleman’ excuse won’t go far in court. You need to either get married or go back out on deployment, away from the temptations of Lighthold.”

“Which would be safer?” asked Gel, “marriage or deployment?”

“Try deployment,” said Gillian

 

***

 

Lying flat around the rim of a natural depression in a waste area, behind a group of ruined buildings, Gel’s patrol scanned their surroundings with infrared. As snow driven by a freezing wind blanketed everything and with clouds blotting out the stars, nothing much showed on any scanning frequency. If anyone left in the ruined city heard the transport come and go they did not show it, but then it was unlikely that anyone would be wandering around or staring out of windows. After a few minutes, Gel thought it was time to move before his tiny command turned into blocks of ice and he led them to the ruined buildings, climbing into one through a window where the pane had long been blown out.

The two storey buildings had all once been a swank, residential development but as the structures had been built of the local stone for better insulation, they had served as a fortress in the battles which had destroyed the rest of the city. Now wind whistled through gaps in the walls, there was snow on the ruined carpets and even the occasional frozen body.

“This is why my husband has been complaining about the cold,” said Alyssa.

“Easy street compared to the perimeter,” said Theo.

“We’re not stopping guys,” said Gel. “But we can at least keep out of the wind in the buildings for a while till we get to the main road. They’re all connected.”

“We’re taking main roads, Lieutenant?” said MP Dawlish. “Side roads are less likely to have patrols, and underground would be a lot warmer.”

“True,” said Gel. “But most of the activity is underground. If we go down to the sub basement here and go North we’ll eventually end up in a major passage, but that passage may well contain people who will be curious about why we have Assault Infantry equipment.”

“Inconvenient,” agreed Dawlish.

“For now, we’ll move around on the surface, trust to our disguise as a Hoodie patrol, such as it is, and move on main roads as it’ll be quicker. In the mean-time patrol discipline, people. No talking out of turn.”

They moved on in silence, hearing nothing but wind whistling through gaps in the walls. At the end of the series of ruins was what once might have been a grand curved driveway complete with barred gates. Now only the top half of the gate posts and wall showed above the snow. Beyond that was a space which might have been a major road, also now covered in snow. There was no sign of life.

“Hartmann, you got anything?”

“Nothing on infrared, skipper,” said Hartmann. “But in the weather you guys have got that ain’t saying much.”

“Skipper?”

“Just slipped out, sir,” said Hartmann. “To do with a computer game I’ve been playing.”

“Like it,” said Theo, before Gel could say anything. “Beats sir or Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, Skip,” said Alyssa, “sounds good.”

After that, Gel’s little band called him Skip.

They walked East along the road, ruined buildings on either side, moving as if they were meant to be there. Someone yelled at them from one of the buildings but the squad pretended not to hear. Two Hoddies came from the other direction, but they were too concerned with getting out of the cold to do more than glance at Gel’s band. A little further on they saw the towers of Jasper CBD – a whole four storeys poking through the snow. Then Gel saw movement behind a wrecked car to his left.

 

***

 

A few days after Gillian’s warning, Even called again.

“Gillian was really great,” she said. “My sister will do community service but that’s it. The record will be sealed when she turns eighteen.”

“I’m glad for that – but you know Gillian rang me specifically to warn me not to grope Hestia with my ‘sweaty male paws’ as she put it.”

“Did she?” said Even. Laughter in her voice. “But you’ve never met her.”

“I didn’t even know who she was talking about at first. You didn’t tell me your sister’s name. Gillian assumed I was paying because of her and I got a lecture about keeping my hands off an underage girl who is also ‘model-pretty’.”

“Poor Hestia,” said Evan, now laughing outright. “She asked about you, you know. I showed her the items on the Easy Spice thing. “As for sweaty male paws, I’m the pawing target but you didn’t try anything.”

“That’s what Gillian now thinks is happening but how far would I have gotten if I tried anything? You didn’t sound all that enthusiastic. Anyway, with Boris around that could have been real dangerous.”

“Oh, I dunno,” said Even. “I would have told you ‘He’d never find out’.”

“Right, didn’t I read that on a tombstone somewhere,” said Gel. “Pass. I did it because Gillian needs the experience and the money, but I don’t want her to know that’s the reason. It may seem like charity. Now she thinks it’s about you and you’ll just have to put up with her suspicions about why I’m paying.”

“Deal,” said Even.

“And I have one more demand - no more tests.”

“Okay, okay,” said Even. “Sheesh! I was just having a bit of fun. I didn’t know Boris was there.”

“Well, then, the business part of the conversation is over,” said Gel. “Theo says you’re a singer.”

“You’ve been asking about me?”

“To the extent of making a Boris threat assessment, sure,” said Gel.

“Humph! I sing at a place called Night Beats in the club district – mainly old, old favourites; quieter stuff – some jazz – songs like Smooth Operator and Fly Me to the Moon.”

“This is one of the talkie clubs I’ve heard about?” said Gel. These were clubs where the music was quiet enough for the patrons to talk if they chose to do so, as opposed to the dance clubs where talking was not an option.

“Yep, you should come and bring this gorgeous girlfriend I’m told you have.”

“Now it’s you who have been asking about me.”

“I can also do threat assessments,” said Even. “I dunno why you’re so worried about Boris. Theo says you’re a killer just like him.”

“I’m a soldier, and that’s different,” said Gel.

 

***

 

Two Hoodies unfolded themselves from the wrecked car where they had been sheltering and waved to the band. They were holding assault rifles but not as if they expected to use them. They also walked up to a group that had emerged out of the dark night as if they were fellow Hoodies. Gel knew then what he had to do.

“Dawlish, check out that vehicle for anyone else,” he said over comms, his head bowed. “The rest of you spread out and watch for anyone observing our little drama. Theo, you’re on me with knives. You reckon these guys have any armour?” All this he said as they walked towards the pair. He had earlier put his knife in his side pocket, and he took it out, without trying to be obvious. Both Gel and Theo still had their weapons slung.

“Don’t look like it Skip,” said Theo. “Thrust in on the side and up, between the ribs, like I told you. Aim for the heart.”

Their opponents stopped, suddenly uncertain. One watched Dawlish walking towards the car.

“Heart, gotit. Oh yeah, and laugh,” said Gel.

“Huh,” said Theo.

“Laugh.”

Gel flipped open his visor, turned towards Theo and laughed as if he had just made a joke. Realising what Gel was doing, Theo also flipped open his visor and laughed as both men continued to walk casually towards their opponents.

“What’s so funny in this weather,” said Gel’s opponent pulling down the scarf wrapped over mouth and chin. “And where did you guys get those combat helmets?”

Gel rushed the last few paces, grabbing his opponent in a bear hug with one arm, the man’s assault rifle between them, while stabbing hard, upwards on his opponent’s side with the other. The Hoodies’ eyes widened in surprise, he gasped, and the light went out. Gel let him fall. He thought about what Even had said. Maybe he was a killer but he took no pleasure in it. The killing had been a grim necessity. Beside him he was aware that Theo’s opponent had managed a yelp before joining his comrade in the snow. He heard a bang to his left and rushed to the wrecked car where he found Dawlish backing out slowly. Sitting in the back seat of what had once been a luxury car was the body of a female Hoodie, wearing a comms set, one hand still resting on what was the main control arm of the set. She had just been about to call in the incident when Dawlish shot her through the forehead.

Gel ripped the comm set off the body’s head, heard a female voice say “station three, report”, threw it on the floor of the rear passenger compartment and destroyed it with the butt of the woman’s assault rifle which had been on the seat beside her.

“She wouldn’t stop,” said Dawlish, as Gel came out of car to look around. He noticed she was shaking.

“First kill?” he asked.

She nodded.

“She was too far back to grab the comm set. Only thing to do.”

Dawlish nodded again, still shaking.

“But now someone in Hoodie command will send a patrol to check. We have to get out of here. Theo, take your guy over…” Gel looked around, “there.” He pointed to a bank of snow that had built up, probably against a low wall. “Dig him into the snow along with stuff he’s got on him. Dawlish, drag my guy over there and then go back and get rid of blood and traces. Turn over the snow.”

Gel lifted the woman out of the back of the car – after closing her eyes he tried not to look at the face - and took her to the snow bank. He, Theo and Alyssa scraped out holes in the snow, rolled the bodies in then covered them, spreading the snow around so that there were no visible bulges. Gel checked the car, taking away the broken comms set which he also stuck in a nearby bank of snow. The bodies would be uncovered, eventually but with any luck not until they were long gone.

No-one had seen anything, and Hartmann had nothing to report. They moved on.

“No hurrying,” said Gel over the comms link. “Remember we’re a Hoodie patrol. We’re meant to be here.”

After another kilometre of slogging on snow shoes, with broken stone buildings closing around them and becoming taller, they came to an open area. It was a small city park obviously designed for warmer times, with a fountain in which the water had frozen, snow covered benches and a large, snow covered chunk of wreckage which Gel thought looked familiar. On closer inspection the group realised that it was the missing transport from Fort Apache on its side with the back ramp down. Inside they found the frozen

body of a guardsman, weapons and combat helmet gone, a frosted pool of blood by the ramp, and what remained of the pilot in the ruins of his cockpit. The transport had taken a direct hit from what was, probably, a hand held rocket launcher at close range.

“Hoodies have got launchers, but we don’t seem ‘em that much on the perimeter,” said Theo.

“Idiots shouldn’t have tried landing this close to the centre of town,” said Gel. “I’ll call it in.” He transmitted the bar code on the body tags of both the guardsman and pilot, then dictated a brief report for the Colonel. “Okay guys, let’s see if we can get any idea of where they went?”

“The snow would have covered all traces long ago,” protested Dawlish, who seemed to have stopped shaking.

“Out in the open, sure,” said Gel, “but the nearest cover is there.” He pointed to a doorway half filled with snow close to the exit ramp. “The snow seems lower around the doorway, as if someone has pushed snow aside or beaten it down to get in.”

“Huh!” said Dawlish, looking at the doorway. “Theo is right, sir.”

“I’m sure he is but about what, Squad Leader?”

“You know about blood trails, hiding evidence and bodies. You would have made a really good criminal.”

“Hanging around Theo’s friends is a good way to learn to be a criminal,” said Gel.

 

CHAPTER SEVEN

 

The second party that Theo dragged Gel to was a step or so above the previous event in that it was a little further away from Five Ways and nobody actively sneered at Gel as a “uni”. So far so good. After making Theo promise that he would keep his pants on at least until they left the party, Gel wandered around, beer in hand, to find Even sitting on a tattered couch in one of the house’s common areas. This time she was wearing a green halter top that had too much material to be classified as a bikini, but not much more, and jeans. Sitting next to her on the couch was a very pretty, younger girl in jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Both were holding glasses half filled with what Gel suspected was soft drink.

“You!” Even said, accusingly as he emerged from the crowd.

“It’s me,” agreed Gel. He saw no point in denying it.

“I wondered if Theo was going to get you here so you could meet Hestia… Hestia,” she said to the pretty girl, “Gel here arranged for Gillian to rescue you.”

“Oh right,” said Hestia. Her voice was debutant standard, without any of the Five Ways drawl that occasionally showed in Even’s voice. But with her Elvin face, high cheekbones and blue eyes, men would hang on her every word no matter what she said. “Thanks so much for all that, Gillian was really great.”

“Gillian called to ask me if I’d had anything to do with Hestia,” said Gel. “I said I didn’t know any Hestia. Then when I worked out who you were, she told me I wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with you at all, as you were underaged and way too good looking.”

“Even told me,” said Hestia, laughing. “That wasn’t fair. You hadn’t met me.”

“What’s not fair,” retorted Gel, “is that I had to pay for that advice.” Gel had been sent an itemised bill which included fifteen minutes of time described as, ‘counselling Gellibrand Obsidian to be cautious in his dealings with client’. “I don’t think she trusts me.”

Hestia laughed.

“You poor thing,” said Even, “being made to pay to be told to stay away from someone you hadn’t met. Did Gillian also warn you off me?”

“No, but I didn’t tell her about Boris. Otherwise, I might have to pay more to be told about a danger I can see for myself.”

“Ha!” said Even.

“I will court a little danger to say that Hestia here really rocks the sleeveless shirt look – even better than her sister’s green halter top thing, which is saying a lot.”

Hestia laughed again.

“But don’t tell Gillian I said that,” said Gel, “or I’ll cop another blast on the clock.”

“You’re just full of it, Obsidian,” said Even, amused, “even if there is a certain charm to your shit. But speaking of Gillian what’s happening with her and the baby?”

“All moving along, but last I heard she’d given up trying to organise a wedding before she starts to show. She doesn’t want to float down the aisle in the perfect wedding dress obviously pregnant. Now she’s aiming for after the birth and hoping the baby sleeps through the ceremony.”

“Baby bumps and wedding dresses just don’t go together,” agreed Even. “But where is your friend? She never seems to be with you.”

“I’m going to meet Heather later.”

Even, who was about to take another sip of her own drink, stopped and looked sharply at Gel.

“Hello again,” said a voice behind them. It was Boris with his blonde hair, killer eyes and shark-like grin.

“Even was just getting through telling me that if I so much as looked at Hestia sideways in the wrong way,” said Gel. “She would splatter my guts all over the carpet and then get you to dispose of the body.”

“Oh, that speech,” said Boris, amiably, flashing his shark-smile. “Sounds like you got the mild version.”

While Gel and Boris talked, Hestia leaned forward and said quietly. “He’s reeeallllly nice. If Boris is stepping out on you, then he’d be a trade up – that is if he didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Like anyone else interesting he won’t come near me because of Boris,” said Even. “But I’m going to ask him about that girlfriend. If he thinks I’m trouble, he may be in real hurt with her.”

 

***

 

Gel’s group had left the transport in favour of the building to look for blood stains when the Colonel called on the comms link.

“You’ve found bodies, Lieutenant?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” said Gel. “One guardsman and the pilot and we are sure that at least someone else was wounded, probably seriously. We’re checking for blood trails, trying to work out where they might have gone.”

“This unauthorised activity is causing ructions. General Sims has hit the roof. Have you any idea why they’ve gone off on their own.”

“I believe it’s something to do with Dr Addanc looking for what amounts to a Gagrim mind transplant site.” Colonel Lee was silent for a moment. “The existence of the Gagrim is classified, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am I found one of the sites on Outpost-3,” protested Gel. “And most of the people here were with me when we found it. We can hardly forget what we found out.”

“Oh right, this was why your company got into such trouble?” said Lee, mollified.

“Trouble as in almost all killed, yes ma’am,” said Gel.

“Anyway, it’s something to do with one of those sites. How do you know this? And where is this site?”

“One of my party suggested we talk to Captain Edge’s – um – assistant.”

“The blonde squad leader?”

“Yes, ma’am. She didn’t know much but she knew that they were going for the Temple district and going deep and that Addanc was talking about a place where they store brains.”

“Okay,” said the colonel. “All this can be reported to the General but the main reason for this call is to tell you that the General has authorised a continuous overwatch of Raptor N20 missiles on a launch platform. You’ve got fire support, in other words. I’ve passed control over to Hartmann.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you ma’am,” said Gel. As most of the city was below ground, Gel was not sure just how much use the missiles would be, but it was certainly better than not having them.

“In the meantime, I’ll have the MPs search Dr Addanc’s and Captain Edge’s quarters for clues and bring in that assistant for further questioning,” she said. “Keep up the good work, find those missing soldiers and, oh yes, if Dr Addanc is with them that would be good too.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Next on the line was Hartmann. “Weather’s cleared enough to get infrared traces around the checkpoint you wiped out, Skip. Someone’s taking an interest.”

“Hoodies?”

“Looked at maximum mag and all I can tell is that there are warm bodies there.”

“Anything on the road to here.”

“Nothing I can see but they look now to be moving along the road.”

“Okay – time to move out people.”

Dawlish had been checking the building for indications about where the missing party had got to.

“Shell casings here where they came in, Skip,” she said, “but no where else that I can see. There is a blood spot here by this window on the opposite side, and the snow looks more beat down than elsewhere.”

With clouds obscuring the stars nothing was visible with the human eye, but after switching on his visor’s light magnification option, Gel thought he could see the buildings of the Temple business district. Several of these were a whole four storeys high, skyscrapers by Jasper standards. That was a good a direction as any in which to head, and there was no reason to linger.

“Remember, guys, we’re just a Hoodie patrol. Do not try to sneak around or hurry – take it slow and calm, like we’re meant to be here.”

They moved on in silence, but with Hartmann giving a running commentary of the force somewhere in their rear to Gel.

“They’ve gotten to the transport. Some milling around.. might be a hundred and more.”

“A hundred!” said Gel. “That sounds like trouble. Good idea if they don’t find us.”

They reached the edge of the business district. All the avenues and building entrance courts were covered by snow so that the buildings seeming to stick straight out of that white covering. They began checking for blood traces and tracks. There was nothing in the first building, or the second. They did not see anyone else.

“Lot of ground to cover, Skip,” said Theo.

“Maybe we should check the underground galleries,” said Dawlish.

“Out of the cold sounds good,” said Alyssa.

“When you can’t feel your toes, that’s when it’s time to get warm,” said Parkinson.

Cliffe, as usual, scanned their surroundings and said nothing.

Gel was just about to order a move underground when a shot was fired a block or so up the main avenue they were on. More shots followed, then a burst from a storm cannon followed by silence.

“Sounds like our guys,” said Theo.

“Move out, slowly along the street,” ordered Gel. “No hurrying and be careful. If our guys are up there, they’ll also think we’re a Hoddie patrol.”

“That big force not far behind you, Skip,” said Hartmann after a couple of minutes.

“Theo, check out that building,” said Gel pointing to one of the four-storey skyscrapers to their right.

The display windows of this once grand building had been blown out long ago, the fine plaza was covered in snow drifts and there were two frozen, snow-covered bodies in front of the reception counter. Gel’s group hid in various nooks and crannies and watched on infrared as the large band of Hoodies filed past. Just as the file seemed to be coming to an end one of the group stopped, indicated two Hoodies, waved them at the building next door, then pointed to two others and waved at Gel’s building. The two Hoodies moved towards them.

“We’ve got company people,” said Gel over comms. “Hoodies are checking out the buildings around what must be a siege.”

“I can take them out in a second,” whispered Parkinson over the comms link. “One burst from the storm.”

“The rest ’d be down on us in a moment,” said Gel. “We wait for the others to pass and then do knives. Theo we’re up.”

“Gotit Skip,” said Theo. “I’ll take the one on the right.”

Gel shifted his position slightly. He was crouched down on the left side of the reception counter, peering around the counter’s edge, as the two Hoodies, still with the hoods that gave their opponents their names pulled right down over their heads, walked up and then stepped through the empty display window frame. All that remained of the transparent plastic that had been in the frame were fragments which crunched under their boots. Then they lifted their hoods and Gel realised they were both wearing combat helmets – helmets with visors down. He could see the heads up display projected directly on the inside of the visor. The helmets were older models but still effective at calling for help if the wearers were not silenced in a breath.

“Helmets, shit!” Gel heard Theo whisper over the comms link. “Right in under visor, Skip, hard with the knife. Don’t give ‘em a chance.”

“Control, scans show recent activity,” said Gel’s target, voice muffled by the helmet.

It was a female voice, Gel realised. His target was a woman.

 

***

 

After Gel and Boris had swapped pleasantries, Boris asked about the time he and Theo had used knives on Outpost-3.

“Just one each that day,” said Gel. “And I had an assist from one of the squad with a storm cannon distracting mine. But we only got down to knives because I was too close to use the Dart-Gun and our bullets didn’t work on their armour.”

“I heard that,” said Boris, “but knives worked?”

“Depends on the armour, I’m told. A sharp knife can go through bullet proofs, but the Destroyer armour could keep out both. I came in through the arm pit.” Gel gestured at his own arm pit and remembered the Destroyer struggling under him and screaming as his knife sank deep. He was also aware that Even was listening. “Theo went in under the visor.”

“Up close and personal like that leaves too much to chance,” said Boris.

“Yep,” said Gel, “like a lot of our encounters the whole thing was unplanned, and we were lucky. The officer we had died heroically taking two others with him.”

The conversation became more general with other party goers crowding around the couch, including Theo clutching the girl he had been caught with at the first party. When Boris was distracted by another conversation Even stood up close to Gel.

“When you said Heather before, did you mean Heather Barton?” she said.

Gel was taken aback. “Well, yes, I did. Do you know her?”

“Heather worked at the club for a time.”

“Did Heather sing as well?”

“They tried her at that, but she was a terrible singer. They switched her to bar service and that worked, sort of, if she had help with the drinks, but then she got an offer from a weird group.”

“Weird group?” said Gel. “You have my attention.”

“A man and a woman offered me a gig in a black book operation.” (Black book meant top drawer escorts). “High end, they said. I didn’t know what they were talking about at first and when I did, I told them no thanks it wasn’t my scene. But I don’t think Heather said no thanks.”

“It’s how we met,” said Gel. “The first visit was paid for by my ex – fiancée who had an affair.”

“Your fiancée, no way!” exclaimed Even. Hestia looked around at her sister’s exclamation and then returned to her own conversation. She would demand a report later.

“Ex – fiancée. She’s marrying someone else now.”

“Whatever,” said Even, “but you’re not paying to see Heather each time, are you?”

“No, not now.”

“But everyone else with money is?”

“Thanks for pointing that out. The initial arrangement was for convenience. Then I was able to help Heather at a crucial time, and we clicked, I guess, so the arrangement has continued without money.”

“I bet its convenient!” snorted Even. “She’s hot, I admit, but it’s hardly a long term thing. You could do a lot better for yourself.”

A little tired of these comments Gel lent forward. Keeping a mild tone with without smiling he said: “Even, keep your comments about my personal life to yourself.”

The singer saw the mask of the soldier’s easy going persona slip for a moment, sensed the power behind it and opted to back off.

“Just saying,” she said. “You should be complemented.”

“Should I be?” said Gel, smiling again, resuming the mask. “I prefer to keep relationships light at the moment. Apart from going on deployment where people have been trying to kill me, there was also a serious attempt to frame me for murder.”

“What?” said Even. “Who were you supposed to have murdered?”

“Friend of my father’s. I’ll tell you the story another time.”

“Did you kill whoever he was?” said Even, thinking of the change she had seen.

“No – do you really think me capable of murder like that?”

“You were talking about killing people with knives with Boris just before,” she said.

“Fair point, I guess,” said Gel. “But my killing has always been part of military action. Cold blooded killing of someone unarmed and defenceless, that’s different – unless they’re making comments about my personal life.”

“Humph! There are women soldiers. If the soldier was a woman, would you still kill her?”

“She’d be part of a force trying to kill me,” protested Gel. “If she’s going to be part of that force then she should take the same risks as the guys. Equality of the sexes and all that. But knife work is different, I admit. Up close and personal.”

 

***

 

At the last moment, realising that the combat helmet was more like a diver’s helmet than one for land combat, Gel reversed his knife so that the butt end was up then rushed forward and slammed it into the woman stomach, just under the rib cage. She folded, the wind knocked out of her. Gel pulled her back to the elevator hall, as she gasped for breath, ripped off the helmet – it had to be twisted and pulled as he had expected, and examined it. He was dimly aware that Theo was grappling with his man who yelled and then gargled. When he looked around, Theo was dragging the man’s limp body into the elevator hall.

“Parkinson see if anyone reacted to the noise,” said Gel.

“Knife didn’t go through under the visor, Skip,” said Theo. “Or the side. Had to go way down and thrust up.”

“They’re wearing a motor bike style divers helmet,” said Gel. “It’s an older Destroyer model, meant to go underwater, and it goes with a short vest that’s harder than most of other armour.”

“Underwater?” said Alyssa as she scanned the woman. She stepped back again. “She’s just winded. Were these guys going underwater?”

“Doubt it, said Gel. “My guess is that the whoever is behind the Hoodies have been picking up whatever suits they could find second hand. As it happens these second-hand suits are also much more effective at keeping out our style of knife attacks.”

“You let her live,” said Dawlish.

“Knife wouldn’t have gone through so I knocked the wind out of her instead,” said Gel. “Couldn’t give her the chance to call for help. Just as well for us the suits are in protected, non-comm mode to avoid our scanners. That means they may not have heard Theo’s guy – at least not through comms, I hope.”

“No movement our way, Skip,” said Parkinson.

“Arsehole,” the woman Hoodie managed to gasp out, doubled over. She was older, with a touch of grey in auburn hair, perhaps a woman sergeant.

“Dawlish search her and tie her. Tape her mouth, while you’re at it.”

“You’ve got it, Skip.”

“We taking prisoners now, Skip?” said Theo, fingering his knife.

“We’ll let her loose the moment its operational safe to do so which may be in just a few minutes. In the meantime, no-one says anything in front of her.”

A storm of fire erupted from the street two buildings down, or about where they were trying to get to.

“The new force is going to swamp the holdouts,” said Gel. “Behind me, guys, let’s move.”

“How are we going to link up with them now?” asked Parkinson.

Ignoring the question, Gel went back to the display windows and cautiously peeked out through the empty display window frame, to see a lot of gunfire flashes. Infrared scans did not tell him much more about the flashes, but in light amplification mode he could just see another group hunched over, crossing the street as the bullets streamed over their heads.

“Hartmann, time to play with your new toys. Missile strike. You can see where the gunfire is coming from?”

“I can get a range from your suit, Skip,” he said. “Give me a few seconds… there. These things are small compared to the ones we faced back on Outpost-3, so I’ve opted for two. You may want to get back under cover.”

Gel saw two rockets fired from portable launchers like his own Dart-Gun streak across the street and smash into the buildings where the party they were meant to be rescuing had holed up. The sporadic return fire from the building abruptly ceased. The group trying to sneak across the open space raised their heads, coiling up to spring that last few metres.

“Everybody back and down,” said Gel. “When our rockets hit we go out onto the street, guns blazing. Parkinson, you spray the buildings on the other side, Theo and Cliffe, there’s a party trying to sneak across the open ground between the buildings, shoot anyone of that party who doesn’t put his hands up. Dawlish cut our friend’s hands loose and do like Theo and Cliffe.”

“Got it, Skip,” they said.

Then the rockets hit, with two successive ‘whumps’ that shook the ground and sprayed a fresh coat of snow over the buildings they could see. They ran out. It was still pitch black but through the thermal scan on their visors they could see the storming party, scattered over the front of the building they were aiming for, blown there by the shock wave. A couple were shaking their heads as Gel’s group reached them.

Parkinson’s storm cannon chattered briefly but no-one from the buildings on the other side were stirring.

“Salts coming in, guardsmen, don’t fire!” yelled Gel, throwing back his hood. Then said to his own team, “if the Hoodies don’t resist just take their weapons!”

He was aware of Cliffe wrenching an assault weapon from one Hoodie and Theo taking another. A body in front of Gel tried to stand up and raised his assault rifle. It was too close for the Dart-Gun but Gel’s experiences on Outpost-3 had taught him the value of keeping a sidearm – one liberated from the Destroyers on Outpost-3 - in an easy to reach holster. He drew it and shot his opponent through the chest, the bullet going clean through the man’s body armour. Gel thought he saw something unusual under the man’s hood and dragged the body along with him as they rushed through the frame of that building’s display window.

There was little left of the interior. The reception desk and a stair to the next floor was so much twisted metal and shattered plastic with a mangled body of a guardsman behind the desk. An elaborate corporate logo which must have been displayed above the reception desk in better times was lying drunkenly over the rubble.

“Guardsmen! Guardsmen! Salts here.” Gel could hear firing downstairs. “Theo, Cliffe, see what that firing is about. The rest of you keep an eye on the street.”

A form just inside the elevator hall raised his arm weakly. “Here.” He was obviously badly wounded.

“Where are the others?” asked Gel, dropping the body he had dragged in as Alyssa got to work on the guardsman.

“Ivan was just behind reception,” the guardsman said, “but I think that rocket got him. That Sylvester guy is downstairs, holding them off down there. Another at the rear entrance. Heard some firing before. Then there are the wounded and others through there.” He pointed to another door of the hallway.

“Others?” thought Gel. He pushed open the door to find a room crowded with a wounded guardsmen on a stretcher, another with a bandaged leg propped up against the wall, Dr Addanc, detective senior constable Ben Lewandowski and twelve refugees, men, women, and two children. One of the women was obviously pregnant.

“At last,” said one of the men, “someone who can get us out.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

Gel stood as Even came to the table and slipped off her light coat to reveal the sparkling, low cut green outfit in which she had been singing that evening.

“Love the outfit,” said Yvonne.

“It’s sensational,” said Gel, taking the coat. “Even, this is Yvonne, the woman I said who wanted to know stuff.”

“I was intrigued,” said Even, sitting down, “and worried maybe, but I’m told this restaurant has style, so I decided to check it out.”

“No need to worry, no-one but my bosses are ever going to know we talked and I’m not with the police,” said Yvonne.

“Not police? Then who are you with?”

“A party which is also concerned with peace and order.”

“Yeah?” Even looked quizzically at Yvonne. “Does the big boss of this party have a portrait of an eye on his wall?”

Yvonne said nothing.

“Told you she was smart,” said Gel.

Even’s eyes widened. “You mean you’re for real Imperial…”

“Ssssh!” said Gel putting his hand on her bare forearm.

Even smiled and glanced down at Gel’s hand on her arm. He withdrew it.

“I never discuss my employers,” said Yvonne, “you’re here because you owe a favour to Gel...” Even nodded, “...who has a mutual interest in the people behind a certain establishment. You told him you thought the group ‘weird’, and I just wanted to explore that. Your thoughts will be recorded but not shared with any other party. However, first supper. You’ve been singing at that club, Night Beats. I haven’t been there. Are you soul, blues, pop...?”

“Classics of all kinds, but not the fast pop stuff” said Even. “I’m told I do a good ‘Smooth Operator’ which is 80s Earth, or ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’. Popular, corny stuff maybe, but it pays the bills.”

“I like both those songs,” said Yvonne. “I’m into retro.”

They ordered, then Yvonne got down to business.

“Why did you think that group was ‘weird’ when they approached you?” she said.

“It’s not my scene but I know something about how those operations work,” said Even. “The guys who approached me were talking really good money – more than they could expect to get even from rich clients. Where was the profit for them? And it was to be in some sort of apartment block where the girls would live in their own places as well as entertain clients. Really? High end girls are booked and go out to clients – they don’t want to live in the same place they do business.”

“Some girls took the offer?” said Yvonne.

Even shrugged. “Good money if you don’t mind the work, and no rent to pay. But like I said it sounded weird from the start, and the way the offer was made seemed strange.”

“Strange, how-so?” asked Yvonne.

“A man and a woman approached me, but they made it clear that they reported to others. The woman said something about her boss not understanding relationships.” Yvonne and Gel exchanged glances. “And how it would all be explained fully if I agreed to sign-up.”

“It’s the bosses that interest me,” said Yvonne.

“You’re not interested in this brothel thing just who’s behind it,” said Eve. “That makes way more sense.”

 

***

 

“Still want to arrest me, Lawn Mower?” Gel asked Lewandowski.

“Stop calling me that. I was just asking questions,” the detective said.

“To me you’ll always be Lawn Mower, but enough of the small talk where is Captain Edge?”

“Didn’t he send you here?” said Dr Addanc. “He said he was going to get help.”

“No-one’s heard from him since you guys left Fort Apache for parts unknown, for reasons unspecified to anyone on staff,” said Gel. “Colonel Lee sent my group on her own initiative, to find out what had happened to you guys and the two newly arrived squads of the Guards regiment.”

“Edge hasn’t spoken to you at all?” said Addanc, apparently astonished.

“I told you we haven’t heard from him. General Sims is hitting the roof over unauthorised activity. Lucky for you, Captain Edge’s girlfriend overheard a couple of snippets of your conversation, so we knew where to start looking. But enough of this! We have to get moving, now. You!” He pointed at the man who had spoken to him when he first came in. “You the leader here, and what’s your name?”

“Cale,” said the man. “I guess I am the leader.” He was in his mid-40s, Gel supposed, tall, dark and angular as near as he could tell under the clothes. Like the rest of the refugees Cale was swathed in whatever coats, scarves they could find, topped by a fur lined hat with flaps.

“We need everyone here to move soon and move fast. Make sure every child has someone with them, as well as the pregnant lady and assign stretcher bearers.” Gel turned to the soldier on the stretcher who had obviously taken a bullet to the leg. “You able to hang onto our mule synth?”

“Yes, I can do that, sir,” said the guardsman.

“Right, one person to help him along and there’s at least one more wounded outside. We are moving in minutes.”

“I guess we can help with the wounded,” said Cale, “but aren’t you guys supposed to be helping us?”

“We are helping you,” said Gel. “You want to get out? Well, we’re not going anywhere without our wounded. Get busy – and make sure these two,” he indicated Addanc and Lewandowski, “have a job.”

“I’m not supposed to be involved in such matters,” protested Addanc.

“Dr Addanc,” said Gel, quietly but with considerable intensity, “you help with the wounded, or I’ll leave you behind to explain to the Hoodies why you didn’t want to be useful.”

(Addanc later complained about Gel’s threat to Colonel Lee. “Quite right,” snorted the Colonel, “and I’d have done way worse to you than anything the Hoodies could dream up, if I found you hadn’t helped with the wounded.”)

Gel then thought to check on the back exit and found a guardsman, the only unwounded one they had found to date, keeping watch on what had once been a loading dock from behind a pile of rubble. One fresh Hoodie corpse sprawled near the dock entrance showed that he had been doing his job.

“They tried, but they weren’t serious, sir,” said the guardsman, a fresh-faced heavy-set man who might have come direct from a lecture hall. He was called Harvey, as both a first and last name, he said, and seemed to enjoy his work. Gel was confident he could hold out a little longer and went to find the people he had sent to the level below.

He found Theo, Cliffe and Edge’s bodyguard Sylvester hunkered down behind a pile of rubble between two pillars overlooking the main below ground entrance to the building – a concrete ramp which looked something like a railway station exit. It was a difficult position to rush but, to judge by the bodies Gel could see on the ramp, the Hoodies had tried.

“They’ve been getting just besides the ramp to the left there, where we can’t see them and throwing grenades,” said Sylvester after greeting Gel.

“Might be able to fix that,” said Gel. He crawled out to the right-most pillar then rose to a crouch so that his body was still covered by the pillar and rubble, and carefully sighted the rocket launcher on the area beside the ramp railing. He could not see, or shoot, anything but he was able to make out a slight reflection in the surface of the railing. When the reflection changed he fired, the high explosive round hitting the concrete just behind where he suspected the grenade thrower was hiding.

Gel ducked behind the rubble as the rocket hit with a whump, causing debris to drizzle from the ceiling. When he looked back, he could just see the top of a hood-covered head and bloodied hand belonging to a body slumped on the concrete. He crawled back to the others.

“They’ll rethink the hand grenade throwing for a time,” he said. “We’re leaving real soon so get ready.”

“How so, sir?” said Sylvester. “We can’t go out that way, there are Hoodies front and back topside and we’ve got refugees to drag along.”

“We’ve got fire support,” said Gel, “and I intend to use it. Where, incidentally, has Captain Edge got to and how come you’re not with him? We appreciate having you around, it’s just that Command has been hassling me about where he’s got to.”

“When we got here, we liberated those refugees by chasing away the Hoodie guards,” said Sylvester. “But the guards called in more Hoodies and, after a fight Captain Edge said he’d take a squad of the Guards and go and get help.”

“Take away most of the fighters to get help?” said Gel.

“I told him it was his job to stay here, sir,” said Sylvester. “I told him he should send one of the squad leaders with another body to get help. He told me that I was just a bodyguard and that I should get ready to go. I told him that I hadn’t been an Imperial Marine for twenty years to walk away from soldiers in trouble, and that if he left, I quit. He said I could suit myself and left. One of the squad leaders used rocket launchers and grenades for cover to break out North along the main avenue on the surface.”

“Why didn’t he call it in and ask for a rescue?”

“The only real Comms we had got trashed when our transport got messed up, sir. The guard’s equipment uses different frequencies and they hadn’t changed over. Only takes a few minutes at base, but my understanding is that Dr Addanc was concerned over the guardsmen and guardswomen talking out of turn.”

“What a mess, but it’s not my problem,” said Gel. “My job is to clean up. Get ready to go. When you get the call, throw grenades down there and get to the back entrance, fast. There’s a loading dock. We’ll be minutes.”

Sylvester said, “yessir”, Theo said “okay Skip” and Cliffe nodded.

Back on the ground floor, after checking with Dawlish; to be told that the Hoodies still seemed stunned by the missile strike, Gel called Hartmann.

“We need a place nearby we can set down a transport. We are going out the back – that’s East - and a block or two down. I’m thinking maybe the top of a building where the sides are high enough to protect the transport.

“Flight, you with us?”

“Its real peaceful up here above you Lieutenant,” said Flight, cheerfully. She had gone back to base to refuel and was now holding station high above the city to avoid detection and stray missiles. “Just give me a spot and I’ll set this crate down.”

“Okay. Hartmann, we can’t go far now that I think of it. Work fast and, oh yes, I want to drop a pattern of three of those missiles just outside the back entrance of this building on my say so.”

“Three, Skip? That’ll be a real bang.”

“I aim to please,” said Gel.

He went back to the refugee room and got the group, which included Dr Addanc and Lewandowski as part of a four person stretcher bearer detail out into the elevator corridor. The other two wounded were strapped to the Mule Synth.

Alyssa got his attention.

“That wounded guardsman,” she indicated the stretcher, “needs to get to the operating theatre real soon.”

“We’re making a dash for our transport now but before we do, Dr Addanc I noticed something about one of the Hoodies we killed out there, you can put your stretcher down for a moment.” Gel went to the Hoodie body he had dragged in from the street and pulled back the hood of its head to reveal a human with cables implanted on each side of the skull, with those cables connected to a small flat box carried in a pouch on his upper chest.

“He’s wired up just like Jerrold was back on Outpost-3,” he said. “This guy is a Gagrim in a human body, and I suspect he was leading the attack. Is this why we’ve all been dragged here?”

“It confirms what we suspected,” said Dr Addanc, “the Gagrim are in charge.”

“Just like I said when I saw this stuff on Outpost-3,” said Alyssa. “It’s more crazy shit.”

 

***

 

After supper, Even demanded that Gel give her a lift home.

“Is Boris going to be around to shoot me?” he asked.

“He’s never home when I get there,” she said, “but if you’re scared you can drop me down the street.”

“I prefer scared and alive to fearless and dead,” said Gel, “but sure.”

As they left, he looked back to see Yvonne wagging her finger at him.

“Are you also the Eye?” said Even quietly as they walked to the pick up point. The car would drive itself there.

“Nope, simple soldier, that’s me.”

“Yeah, right!” snorted Even. “Like I said, you’re full of shit, Obsidian. How come you happen to know Yvonne, then - if that’s her real name?”

“First names are usually the same – she contacted me as she wanted to know more about my activities on Outpost-3 after my superiors had passed on my report.”

“What activities?”

“It’s classified. Even us simple soldiers know when to keep our mouths shut.”

“And you don’t trust me?”

“The trouble is you’re slim and hot – a real, suspicious femme fatale,” said Gel. “If you were fat and frumpy, I’d tell you all.”

Even laughed. “You slid out of that one, simple soldier Obsidian. Anyway, I want to hear about this fiancée of yours paying for a first session with Heather.”

“When she handed me Athena’s card – Athena is Heather’s working name - it was the first time we’d spoken since I found out she’d been having an affair.”

“Really? Is there’s enough distance in this to laugh about it?” asked Even.

“I’ve been through a lot since then,” said Gel. “Now I use the story to make other girls sympathetic.”

Even rolled her eyes. “The guy grieving process. Let’s hear the tale.”

***

 

“Hartmann, launch,” said Gel. A little later the ground shook as three missiles hit the ground outside the building’s back entrance, making the party of refugees and soldiers waiting in the loading dock hug the concrete and spraying them with snow.

“Go, go,” Gel told his group. The soldiers and refugees dashed out or, in the case of those carting the stretcher, jogged as best they could. Theo and Cliffe were in the lead, scanning on infrared and night vision for any movement. Gel and the storm cannon toting Parkinson were at the sides and the rest of the soldiers bringing up the rear with Squad Leader Dawlish. Gel had decided that they would stay above ground, trust to the darkness and hope their Hoodie besiegers would be too stunned to keep tabs on which way his group had gone.

They passed down an ally way in pitch darkness. Without scanners the soldiers would have been unable to see anything at all. The refuges held on to each other. They crossed what might have been a road covered in a thick blanket of snow, and through another alley. With Dr Addanc visibly tiring – he was considerably older than the others – Gel took over one side of his stretcher.

“Seeing some movement now,” said Hartmann. “Just a couple of people spaced out and they are following you.”