Marten found it difficult to breathe in the stale, hot air. He was glad the police didn’t have any stunners or needlers.
Gasping, he stopped a level later, his throat and chest aching because of the polluted air. How in the world was he going to find Ah Chen or Molly like this?
7.
Marten thought up a strategy thirty minutes later. It happened as he stumbled upon a snoozing cop. Marten had slunk careful through a rubble-strewn street, and ducked behind a building when he heard voices. Then he heard snoring, and to his amazement, he saw an overweight old man sleeping on a cot. It was hot, and the old man had taken off his police shirt, helmet and heavy utility belt. Inspired, Marten took the three items, hurried away and a few blocks later donned the old man’s garments.
He tested his plan several blocks later. A squad of three police doing a routine sweep marched toward him. With his helmet on, dark visor lowered, and with his hand on the shock baton swinging at his belt, Marten swaggered toward them. It brought back haunting memories of how his father had once tricked Sun-Works personnel.
“You!” he bellowed. “Report!”
The three men stiffened to attention.
“I said report!” Marten shouted in his best imitation police voice.
“We’ve rounded up four stragglers, sir,” said the sergeant.
“Just four?” Marten asked angrily. “This area crawls with refugees. Find them. Or soon you’ll be busting rubble.”
They hurried off. With his hands on his hips, Marten watched them go. When they were out of sight, he sighed with pent-up fear and went his own way. Just like in the old days on the Sun-Works Factory circling Mercury, the very audacity of the ploy had protected him. No one would dare impersonate a police inspector; at least no one raised on Social Unity credos.
He reached the Deep-Core Station that he’d entered what seemed a lifetime ago, and he waited until he saw a brown-uniformed deep-core worker strolling home. The man looked young and wore shiny black boots. He smoked the stimstick that seemed habitual with deep-core workers and had an arrogant way of holding his shoulders. Marten trailed him, waiting until no one else was in sight. Then he strode quickly, catching the man unawares.
“You!” Marten said, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
The man glowered. “Don’t you know who I am? Take your grubby hands off me this instant.”
Marten drew the shock rod and touched the man’s neck.
With a scream, the deep-core worker fell to the ground, twitching.
Marten felt sorry for him but was certain this was the only way he could gain the needed information. He kicked the deep-core worker in the side, but not too hard.
“You’re a straggler!” Marten shouted.
“No!” howled the man.
“Liar,” Marten shouted, kicking him again.
The worker covered up. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Marten hauled him to his feet, the shock rod poised for a beating.
“I’m a Deep-Core Worker,” the man wailed.
“Prove it.”
The man dug a wallet from his pants pocket.
“Bah,” Marten said, knocking it out of the man’s hands. “Fake IDs don’t interest me.”
The man’s eyes boggled. “No one fakes Deep-Core IDs.”
“Who is Ah Chen?” Marten barked.
“What?” the man asked, bewildered.
“So you don’t know.”
“Wait. Yes, yes, I know Ah Chen. S-She’s Deep-Core.”
Marten barked harsh laughter.
“She’s a Third Grade Engineer. They sent her down this morning.”
“Down?”
“To the deep station.”
Marten’s stomach knotted. “For how long is she down?”
“Why do you want to know that?” asked the man, suddenly suspicious.
Marten slapped him across the face instead of using the shock rod again. “You’re a straggler.”
“She’s down permanently, or until they train her replacement. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”
A cold sinking feeling filled Marten. Ah Chen had told him that Major Orlov had slain almost all the deep-core personnel in Sydney. The Highborn would dearly need the deep-core running if Sydney and the outlying areas were to have power. She’d feared the Highborn would take her and send her down-station for a long time, and she’d been right. There was nothing Marten could do for her now.
Marten shoved the man away. “Run.”
“What?” asked the bewildered man.
“Run!” roared Marten, raising the baton as if to swing.
The man took off running, slipping and stumbling until he ran out of sight.
Disgusted with his methods and depressed that Ah Chen was gone from him for a very long time, Marten stalked off in the opposite direction. How long could he keep on running and pretending? Maybe long enough to find Molly, he decided.
8.
Transcript #30,512 Highborn Archives: of an exchange of notes between Paenus, Inspector General, Earth, and Cassius, Grand Admiral of Highborn. Dates: February 1 to February 7, 2350.
February 1
To Paenus:
Disaster was barely averted in Sydney. A court of Inquiry thus convenes on the Twenty-fourth concerning it and other anomalies regarding the Australian Campaign. Whether you are in the dock or on the bench remains to be seen.
Luckily, for you, the suicide squadrons were able to breach stubborn city strongholds. Reports indicate that cortex-bomb-laden Earth troops preformed best in this regard. Surprisingly, renegade police personnel showed an avid bloodthirstiness when pitched against Social Unity security forces. Because of these specialist troops, Highborn casualties remained within the accepted limits during the underground city fighting. I am recommending a hundred and fifty percent increase in the number of suicide troops.
That is, however, the only bright spot regarding your premen troops. The Hawk Teams and panzer crews—I wish to remind the Inspector General of staking his reputation upon them if they were given the right training. The Hawk Teams and panzer crews have failed miserably. They lacked adequate zeal and cunning, while the casualties among the Hawk Teams were simply staggering. The panzer crews were worse: timid in the attack and cowardly during exploitation maneuvers. Because of this, Highborn casualties exceeded the acceptable limits during the first half of the Australian campaign.
I await your explanations and your plans in order to avoid this in the future, provided you have one, my dear Paenus.
February 3
To Cassius:
Grand Admiral, please forgive my delay in answering. My training personnel are strained to the limit and I am overloaded. We badly need more Highborn drill lieutenants and captains. As it is, I have been forced to take veteran Earth troops off line to use as instructors. Their veteran status is dubious at best, as you indicated in your letter. Earthlings lack fiber and fighting ferocity—I had simply not realized the extent of their non-Highborn qualities. To instill this into them is daunting in the extreme.
One might as well take sheep and teach them to be wolves. The best we can do is to find the rams among them. Unfortunately, we must comb through thousands in order to find one who has the fire. As might be expected, the former policemen have more fire than the rank and file Social Unitarians.
Grand Admiral, despite these grave flaws, I believe the Hawk and panzer teams will improve from campaign to campaign. The very nature of their specialty takes longer to gain mastery than suicide troops. Suicide troops are not so much rigorously trained as highly motivated to make frontal charges. My records indicate that the best suicide troop results came after double doses of Shaker were force-injected. Some suggest we inject Shaker into all our troops. I highly recommend AGAINST this. Hawk and panzer personnel are seldom composed of former policemen, and I believe would become listless and inclined to apathy if faced with forced injections. The Hawk Team and panzer crews wish to live through the conflict and take up civilian occupations afterward.