Sierra Bravo Page 8

  "How many people do you have?"

  "Three."

  "Three!"

  "Including Birch and myself," said Harriet reluctantly.

  "No wonder you're knocking on my door." Caldavir rubbed his chin. "Can't you get anyone from Peace Force HQ?"

  "They won't send reinforcements. We're on our own."

  Birch cleared his throat. "Harriet doesn't have to stick her neck out for Chirless. She's volunteering because she considers it her duty."

  "All right, all right. I've done plenty of stupid things in my life. What's one more?"

  "Thanks," said Harriet. "We're using the Chirless Peace Force building. Come by as soon as you can, and bring a gun if you have one. We're short of weapons."

  "Of course you are." Caldavir shook his head. "No guns around here, though. No weapons at all, unless you fancy your chances with a spear or a crossbow."

  Harriet eyed the primitive weapons on the wall. If they had to resort to spears and shields, the fight was already lost.

  "We'll pass, thanks," said Birch.

  "I must be mad, signing up for this," muttered Caldavir. "Darting's going to kill us all."

  And on that cheerful note, Harriet and Birch went to find a cab.

  Chapter 12

  Alice studied a display projected onto the fighter's canopy, watching the green cross-hairs like a hawk. The marker was crawling across the city, slowly approaching the red circle Arnie had painted on the building they suspected might be the gang's hideout. As the two matched, Alice throttled back, bringing the ship to a halt in mid-air.

  They were hovering a couple of hundred metres above the ground, well out of range of any hand-weapon, and the cross-hairs were centered on half a dozen black vans in the car park below.

  "Have you checked for wind?" Alice asked the ship.

  "Drift has been calculated, yes."

  "And you'll move the ship to compensate, if the wind changes?"

  "As much as I can. There may be small variations." As Arnie spoke, the fighter moved slightly, but the cross-hairs were rock steady.

  Alice watched the screen. She could see a group of people near the building, one of them pointing up at her. There was a flash, and she guessed they were shooting at Arnie. "Wasting your time, suckers," she muttered under her breath. Her red-hot anger had faded, replaced with cold, hard determination. The enemy had shot up her brand new ship, and she wanted payback. She knew she could hurt someone, maybe even kill them, but that was their problem.

  Alice undid her harness and crossed to the back of the cockpit, where she took the steps down to the airlock. She discovered the chunks of masonry she'd brought along had moved around in flight, and she had to move several pieces off the hatch before she could open it. When it swung back she was assaulted by the sound of the thrusters, and she winced at the loud roar. Then she put the hammering waves of sound out of her mind, leaned over the edge of the hatch and looked down. The vans looked like toys at this height, the cars alongside even smaller. She saw more flashes, and several shots flew past, bright against the afternoon sky. Arnie had assured her they could do him no damage at that range, but she'd forgotten to ask what would happen if they hit her.

  Alice reached for the first chunk of stone, sliding it over the decking towards the hatch. She hesitated when it was right on the lip, balanced precariously, then shrugged and gave it a gentle push.

  The chunk disappeared, and she held her breath and started counting. At four seconds there was a puff of dust next to one of the vans, and the men scattered. Alice frowned. She'd expected more than a piddly little dust cloud, and she wondered if she should have brought something a lot bigger. Still, she could always come back.

  She took the next chunk of stone and released it. Seconds later the left-most van seemed to shake, and she smiled as a giant crumpled hole appeared in the roof. Another hit, and one of the doors fell off. More lumps of masonry followed, until the vehicles were smashed into twisted metal shapes, and when Alice saw black smoke and flame pouring from one of the cars she pumped her fist and shouted with delight.

  "Is everything okay?" Arnie asked her.

  "Getting better," said Alice, as she watched the flames spreading. There was a bright explosion, scattering burning fragments over the car park, and before long all the vehicles were engulfed. A thick plume of smoke drifted across the city, and Alice grinned to herself. They'd damaged her transport, she'd smashed theirs.

  Satisfied, she got up and closed the hatch. Then she dusted off her hands and headed to the cockpit.

  "Was the mission a success?" Arnie asked her.

  "Yeah, we gave 'em something to think about." Alice took her seat. "Come on, let's go home. I want to tell Harriet where they're hiding out."

  — ♦ —

  Harriet was quiet as the cab drove through the city outskirts. At one point she thought she heard thunder, but when she looked up the sky was clear. "That better not be Alice."

  "Reckon she's terrorising the locals in her ship?" asked Birch, with a smile.

  "She's got a whole tank of fuel and she's itching to burn it up." Harriet frowned. "She'd better save enough for the trip home, or I'll give her what for."

  "I admire your positive attitude."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're talking about home, when we're not out of this mess yet."

  "I've dealt with bigger threats than Darting before now."

  "No you haven't."

  They fell silent, and Harriet wondered whether Birch was being deliberately hard on her. Maybe she was underestimating this Anita Darting woman, but how bad could she be?

  They turned off the main road and took a tree-lined avenue. There were cars parked along both sides of the streets, and modest gardens overlooked the road. They reached a house halfway down, and the cab drew up across the driveway.

  There was a clatter nearby, and as Harriet got out of the cab she saw the strangest sight. An old man was pushing a lawnmower up and down a neat lawn, enveloped in fumes from the smoky, chattering exhaust. And walking alongside, supporting him with a firm hand, was a battered bronze robot. There was a picnic table in the shade, with a half-empty glass and a jug of something or other.

  The man looked round as they entered the garden, then reached down and did something to the mower. The chattering stopped, and Harriet saw the robot studying them curiously. It had warm yellow eyes, and the serial number on its chest spelled out XG-87 in faded lettering. Its owner was staring at them too, and when he recognised Birch he gave a shout of joy and advanced with his arms held wide. Birch hugged the older man, and they clapped each other on the back in a friendly greeting.

  "Dave Birch, you old reprobate. What are you doing here?"

  "You calling me old, Skin?" Birch turned to Harriet, his face lit with a beaming smile. "This is Sid Flint, our old desk sergeant. Best organiser you ever met!"

  "Just don't call me Skin," said the man. "It wasn't funny twenty years ago, and it's not funny now."

  Harriet smiled and shook hands. "Harriet Walsh. Dismolle Peace Force."

  "Scrap, two more glasses!" cried Flint. "And this time, bring something stronger."

  "Your doctor advised against it," said the robot, in an even male tone.

  "Now's not the time for fussing, Scrap. You can tell me off later."

  "As you wish."

  The robot turned and left, and Birch watched it go. "New toy?"

  Flint shook his head. "Carer. He fusses over me, but it was either this or a rest home."

  "We're all getting old," said Birch diplomatically.

  "Betty passed a couple of years back." A shadow crossed Flint's face. "Nothing's been the same since, truth be told."

  "I'm sorry." Birch laid his hand on the older man's shoulder, and they stood in silence. Then the robot came trotting back, glasses clinking in one hand. Up close, Harriet could see it had lived a hard life, with small scratches and dents all over its body. It seemed to move easily enough, and when Flint knocked a glass
over the robot caught it before it was halfway to the ground, its arm moving like lightning.

  "Thanks, Scrap. The table must have a wobble."

  "Of course it does," said the robot diplomatically. It replaced the glass and poured juice from the jug. "Would you like some?" it said to Harriet, studying her with its yellow eyes. There was good humour and intelligence in its glance, and she was momentarily taken aback. She was used to Bernie's eye plate, which was capable of expression … in a fashion. This robot was almost human by comparison. "Thanks, er …"

  "Mr Flint calls me Scrap. Amongst other things."

  "Why?"

  "He says it's because I put up a good fight."

  "Oh! I thought it was—"

  "—a comment on my somewhat battered exterior? Mr Flint would not be so unkind."

  Harriet nodded and sipped the drink. It was delicious … tart from the fresh lemons, with just enough sugar to take away the sharpness. "Hey, that's good!"

  "Thank you," said the robot solemnly, and he looked pleased.

  "Scrap makes it himself," said Flint. "He's a damn good cook, too."

  Where do I get myself one of these? thought Harriet. Her cooking was so bad Alice had threatened to have a go … a sign of true desperation.

  "So, what's the occasion?" asked Flint. "You didn't drop by for Scrap's lemonade."

  Birch started telling him about Darting, and Flint's expression grew serious. Halfway through Birch's explanation, Scrap touched Harriet's elbow. "May I have a word in private?"

  Harriet eyed the robot. "Er, sure."

  They strolled away, until they were in the shadow of the hedge surrounding the small garden. Scrap eyed her thoughtfully. "I assume you're here to enlist Mr Flint's aide?"

  "That was the idea." Harriet watched Birch and Flint speaking together. They were animated as they discussed the situation, and the years seemed to have fallen off them.

  "In that case, you're wasting your time," said the robot evenly. "He is unwell, and incapable of exertion."

  "We only need his experience."

  "Ms Walsh, my orders are to care for Mr Flint until the day he … he no longer needs me." A pained expression crossed the robot's face. "This means shielding him from daily stresses and strains, and nothing is more stressful than a Peace Force investigation."

  "We're just talking to people. Seeing who can help, not forcing them to join us."

  "Mr Flint will not be joining you. He's not strong enough."

  "Don't worry, Scrap. I can see that for myself."

  They rejoined the others, and Birch smiled over his glass. "Great news! Flint's agreed to run the Peace Force office for us."

  "What?" said Scrap. He shot an accusing look at Harriet, who made an apologetic face.

  "Isn't it great?" said Flint, beaming at the robot. "It'll be just like old times."

  "But … you cannot work!" protested Scrap.

  "Sure I can. It's only admin."

  "A Peace Force station is no place for a … a …"

  "An old wreck like me?" said Flint. "Don't fuss, Scrap. This will give me a whole new lease on life."

  "Leases expire," said the robot, with a frown.

  "I'm going, and that's flat."

  The robot studied his expression, saw Flint was determined, and gave up the fight. "Then I will accompany you."

  "Good. You can teach these Peace Force newbies how real coffee is made." Flint turned to Harriet. "When do you need us?"

  "We're trying to get everyone together as soon as possible."

  "Give us a couple of hours. Birch said you need supplies and equipment, and I might have one or two other items you can use."

  "Thanks. We really appreciate this." Harriet shook his hand, apologised quietly to the robot and left. On the way to their cab, she glanced at Birch. "Are we doing the right thing, here? Flint looks a bit frail."

  "Is that what the robot wanted?"

  "Yeah. He's worried Flint will overdo things."

  "He's probably right," said Birch cheerfully. "Still, better to go out with a bang, eh?"

  "That's not quite—"

  "Anyway, Flint's not frail. Just wait until you mess up. He'll give you a roasting you'll never forget."

  "I've got Bernie for that."

  "Not in Chirless." Birch gestured at the cab, and the doors opened for them. "Back to the station?"

  "Yes. And let's hope Alice is back safely."

  Chapter 13

  The cab drew up at the Peace Force station, and Harriet frowned at the red paint daubed across the front of the building. "I wish we could get rid of that."

  "It's like they've taken a dump on our doormat," muttered Birch. "Why don't I try and organise someone to clean it up?"

  "Thanks, but we've got more important things to worry about."

  They got out, and had barely entered the station when Alice came over. She looked pleased with herself, and Harriet got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. When Alice was happy, it usually meant bad news for everyone else. "What's up?"

  "I found the enemy's base. Arnie spotted the van I shot up yesterday."

  "That's great! Where?"

  Alice explained where the building was, and Harriet frowned. "Did they see you?"

  "Er, yeah. You could say that."

  "Dammit, Alice. We're not ready! If you've provoked them, they might drive over here any minute."

  "I don't think that's likely," muttered Alice, with a sidelong glance.

  Harriet's eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"

  "Nothing!"

  Still not convinced, Harriet tried another tack. "What happened? How did you find them?"

  "I told Arnie to scan for black vans, like the one we saw yesterday. We spotted a couple but they were just regular tradies vans, and then we saw a bunch in this car park, outside a warehouse. We hovered overhead, then left when they started shooting."

  Harriet swore. "They actually fired at you?"

  "Yeah, they hit Arnie's wing." Alice saw Harriet's expression. "It's fine, didn't even scratch his armour."

  "I'm not worried about the damn jet. They might have killed you, Alice." Harriet frowned at her. "No more flying. Got it?"

  "But—"

  "I mean it! Now they know we've got a ship, they might go looking for bigger guns … or missiles. No flying."

  Alice nodded. "Okay, I understand."

  "This isn't one of those say one thing and do the opposite kind of deals," said Harriet quietly. "Do you promise?"

  "I swear I won't fly Arnie without your permission."

  "Thanks." Harriet gestured towards the canteen. "Dave found a couple more people to help out. We're going to need a bit more room for them, and you can start by clearing the locker room."

  "Shouldn't we raid the enemy's base? We could end this right now."

  "Are you kidding? Two trainees and a pensioner, with a couple of guns between the three of us?"

  "When you put it like that, it does sound pretty hopeless."

  "Right. So we're going to dig in and set up our own base. When Dave's people get here we'll discuss the situation. Until then, we're in defensive mode. Got it?"

  "Sure. But shouldn't someone keep watch from the roof?"

  Harriet cursed under her breath. Of course someone should be watching from the roof. Why hadn't she thought of that? "Okay, take the roof and try and keep watch on all four sides." She raised her hand, forestalling the inevitable protest. "I know it won't be easy, but do your best. Call me the instant you see anything."

  Alice nodded and left, and Harriet went to find Birch. "It seems Alice found Darting's base. One of them, at least."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. She wants us to charge over there and arrest them all."

  Birch snorted.

  "They were shooting at her, Dave." Harriet shook her head slowly. "I have to figure out a way to get Bernie here. When she sees the situation, she'll call in some proper reinforcements. She has to."

  "Think on it wh
ile we're making room for the others," advised Birch.

  They spent the next couple of hours collecting junk and piling it up out of the way, until they were both covered in dust. They'd barely finished when there was a hammering on the front door. Birch went to check, and came back with Henry Banville and Maggy McCluskey. They were carrying more gear, and they nodded their approval as they saw how much tidier the station was. "You guys are doing pretty well," said Banville, putting a crate down.

  "Pick a spot and make yourselves at home," Harriet told them. "When you're done, can one of you go up to the roof and check on Alice? She's trying to keep watch on her own."

  "Sure, I'll go," said McCluskey.

  "Watch the apartment buildings," said Harriet. "They overlook us, and the enemy might try and get a vantage point. If you see anyone pointing so much as a finger, take cover. These people have guns."

  "Yes sir," said McCluskey, and she put down her things and made her way to the stairwell.

  "What about me?" asked Banville.

  "Henry, isn't it?"

  The old man smiled. "Yes, but everyone calls me Duke."

  "Can you check all the exits? I know there's one in the garage, and the front door is sealed, but I don't know about any others. After that, check the basement. There might be something useful down there."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "Weapons, body armour, comms gear … anything at all."

  Duke saluted her, and set off on his errand. After he'd left, Birch cleared his throat. "You're handling them well, Harriet."

  She nodded her thanks. "By the way, can you organise all these supplies?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "It looks like they're moving in," said Harriet, as she eyed the bedding Duke had brought along.

  "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Get a bit of the old Peace Force spirit going, eh?"

  There was a bang on the front door, and Harriet frowned. "We need a doorbell or something." Birch took a step towards the front office, intending to get the door, but Harriet stopped him. "You've got plenty to do. I'll get this one." Out front, she found Martin Caldavir standing with his hands cupped to the glass. He too had bedding, and there was a suitcase on wheels behind him. Harriet glanced up and down the street, checking it was clear, then opened the doors to let him in. She felt silly being so cautious, but she didn't want the enemy to catch them by surprise.