Part 27 (2/2)
He was on the fourth such bounce when he realized that there was a light blinking insistently in his heads-up display. Comm Channel 2. No one had said anything about his having a second comm channel, and it took him a minute to figure out how to activate it. ”Mil... Milhouser.”
”Lieutenant Milhouser, this is BackGate Command. How copy?”
”Five by... Did you say BackGate Command?”
The sound of a chuckle came over the headset. ”Sure did, kid, and you don't need to worry about us being overheard by Spinacre. As far as his console is concerned, this channel doesn't exist. But we're having a busy morning here and I need to ask you a couple of quick questions. But before I do, you see the doorway to the Dandy Bantie across the street and up from you about twenty yards?”
”Yessir.”
”Don't 'sir' me, Lieutenant, I work for a living. Okay, you scoot on up to that doorway. We don't want to tip our hand to anyone watching your read-outs.”
”Yessir... I mean... err...”
”Sarge'll do. Now move.”
Milhouser did as he was told, too surprised to do anything else.
”Good lad,” came the voice in his headset just as his back touched the wall in his new location. ”Now, I need a straight-up answer to this next question, Lieutenant. What the h.e.l.l were you thinking when you sent that strike force roster to Amy?”
”I... uh... It... ohh.e.l.l, Sarge, I don't know. I guess I figured she'd get it to someone who could do something with it. This whole operation has stun... felt wrong from the beginning, and I guess I wanted to do something to keep her and the baby safe.” He paused for a second and then asked, ”Are they? Safe, I mean?”
”You know what a flag of truce is, kid?”
”Yessir... A... sure.”
”Then let's make your next move straight up the street to the door of The Rising Sun. Your Amy and a couple of my troops are waiting for you inside. That flag of truce covers everybody; you don't try to hurt them and they don't hurt you. They'll explain what's going on and you can decide how you want to handle it. That sound okay to you, Lieutenant?”
”Yes, Sarge.”
”Good man. Get moving!”
The smile that curled Spinacre's lips as the telemetry from the last ”scout” went dead was brief but triumphant. One problem solved, the next one poised and prepped with orders both official and clandestine. Ten men, chosen more for the tarnish on their service records than their combat experience, responded to the punching of codes by moving toward the gate. Another master stroke, priming his orders with broad hints that no official notice would be taken of any valuables they happened to acquire along the way, and reinforcement of his belief that the criminal element was even easier to manipulate than the innocent.
As the tenth man's telemetry came up on the console, Spinacre made a small bet with himself that the entire operation would be successfully concluded in time for a late lunch. Which reminded him that he'd need to look over the roster and pick a new aide.
”Hey Jake!”
”Wha'?”
”These crips we're huntin'...I thought they were supposed to already be dead.”
”They are. We're just makin' sure of it.”
”Oh.”
Fifteen feet later, ”Hey, Jake!”
”What?”
”Why? I mean... guys missing arms and legs... seems like they're as good as dead already? How come the Commander can't just let 'em be?”
”Ask Spinacre not me. All I know is we got our orders, and he made it unofficially oh-ficial that he ain't too particular how it gets done.”
”Oh.”
Twenty feet later, ”Hey, Jake!”
”Dammit, Woody... what?”
”How're we supposed to know if the gimps we find are the ones we're looking for and not part of the... uh..indigenous population?”
Jake stopped walking and rounded on the other man. ”How the h.e.l.l should I know? What the h.e.l.l does it matter? We see one, we plug him. Simple as that.”
”What if it's a woman?”
”Huh?” Jake turned around again, following Woody's upraised and pointing arm. It was a woman, a young and attractive one if you discounted the fact her legs ended abruptly mid-thigh, seated on a wheeled platform she'd apparently just propelled around the corner half a block away. For a count of perhaps two beats, no one moved, then Jake jerked the weapon he'd left dangling at his side up to a firing position. He didn't make it. Lasfire from the roof directly above the pair drilled into the top of his head and dropped his smoking, sizzling remains to the cobbles.
Later, Woody had the chance to ask why they'd let him surrender. Chuckling, an old man turned empty eye sockets toward the sound of his voice and replied, ”I've heard 'mean' in plenty of voices since I lost my eyes and, soldier, I just didn't hear it in yours.”
Five streets away and two blocks back, a second team of Spinacre's goons caught the gleam of gold through slatted shutters and kicked in the door to Marem's shop. As their eyes adjusted to the interior gloom, they caught sight of low counters displaying jewelry and gems enough to make their detour worthwhile. They also caught sight of what appeared to be the shop's only defenders-two women, one old, one young, holding antique contraptions of wood and metal. The two soldiers were still grinning when they dropped to the floor, a crossbow bolt between each pair of eyes.
Two by two, the readouts went dead, and Spinacre went from disbelief to anger to full-blown, eye-bulging, capillary-popping rage. As he alternated between incoherent sputtering and equally incoherent screamed invectives, the remainder of his strike force went from amus.e.m.e.nt to concern to glancing toward one another and coming to the unspoken understanding that where they were was the last place they wanted to be. In fact, several of the a.s.sembled troops took the opportunity provided by Spinacre's tantrum to absent themselves from the immediate vicinity altogether.
And none too soon. Spinacre suddenly went deathly pale and frighteningly quiet, except for the quiver that vibrated his entire body.
”Fall in and prepare to engage the enemy.” So focused was he on his anger and his mission that he took his place at the front of the column and marched them out the gate without taking time to don armor.
His focus continued to propel him up Gate Street, totally oblivious to the fact that the ranks of the strike force behind him were melting away, one or two soldiers at a time. Some merely stopped in the middle of the alley, shook their heads, turned around and walked back toward the station. Others had their attention caught by people peeking out of doorways, friends and acquaintances who beckoned them into safety. And the few who tried to draw a bead on the residents of BackGate found themselves silently and efficiently taken out of action.
By the time Spinacre reached the town square, he was in supreme command of a force of five. Needless to say, the force that stepped and rolled and crutched to surround his was much, much bigger.
”Commander Spinacre, I presume?”
The man whirled toward the sound of his name, coming face to face with Flossa and Billem. His look of surprise gave way to one of disdain as he raked his eyes across Flossa. ”What do you want, wh.o.r.e?”
In the next second, he was lying on his back several feet from where he'd been standing, his body having followed his chin in an elegant arch translated from the tip of one of Billem's crutches. Flossa raised one eyebrow and the corner of her mouth in Billem's direction. ”Now how do you expect him to learn any manners when you don't explain his mistake? Besides, I am a wh.o.r.e... or was.”
Billem shrugged and grinned down at the woman. ”Sure, but he made it sound like there was something wrong with that. And besides, I didn't like his att.i.tude.”
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