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"Go!" Kyle slapped the muskylope and sent Tim riding out through the rear gate. Then he ran to hook it shut. Tim needed every second.
Lights had already come on in the compound. Kyle scooped up the frozen vials from the ground, leaving the other items for later, and ran to the rear door, hearing the hoofbeats of Tim's muskylope. For the first time in his life, he was acting without thinking, and he launched himself at the first dark shadowy figures that came ru
Kyle thrashed around as much as he could. His two assailants shouted to each other in Cantonese and were soon joined by others. They got in each other's way, however, in the narrow hall. Since Kyle's purpose was not to escape, but to create a diversion, he just kept struggling.
More shouts sounded in other rooms, down other halls. By the time Kyle's assailants had a firm grasp on all his limbs, he could hear mounts being tacked up outside. Someone else had heard Tim's hoofbeats, too.
In moments, Kyle had been dragged into a well-lit room to face the grim visage of Lungho Lei, dressed in a coarse brown robe.
"So," said Lungho Lei. "You return our hospitality by fleeing? You have more interest in the northern steppes than you admit."
"He chose to stay!" Linwah shouted in English, then changed to Cantonese.
After a moment of quick talk with her in Cantonese, Lungho Lei switched to English again. "Where is your brother?"
"You know where he is gone. But I wish to stay and I have my fee." Kyle held out his vials. "The manual and instruments are outside. Can you keep these frozen?"
Lungho Lei nodded at someone, who quickly took the precious vials. Those holding Kyle released him.
"So. My daughter tells me that when your brother chose to escape, you refused. She also confesses that she chose to unbar your door. How do I know you will not unbar our gate some night when your brother chooses to return with his Mongol friends?"
Kyle looked into the old man's face, knowing it was at last time for him to land on his own feet, without his older brother to help. The white-haired man looked back sternly, but not angrily; he spoke with reasonable concern, not paranoid suspicion. What Kyle said next would determine his life and maybe his death. For one more time, he would have to trust his older brother to protect him and care for him even from a distance, as he always had since their childhood.
"I ask for your daughter in marriage." He bowed, imitating the old Chinese style he remembered from some immigrants. "We shall give you grandsons and work your fields. We shall raise fine horses for you. This will be my land, too, and my brother will not raise his hand against it."
The old white-haired man stared back, his face impassive. He glanced at Linwah, who looked down, reddening, but smiling, too. Then Lungho Lei nodded to Kyle, less deeply, in return.
"It is enough. Welcome home."
FROM:
Consul-General Edgar Blair
Government House, Castell City
Haven, Tanith Sector
TO:
Director Stephen Sca
CoDominium Colonial Service
CoDominium Headquarters, Luna Base
Luna, Earth Sector
DATE:
October 18, 2089
Dear Stephen, I regret the necessity of having to ask an old friend for yet another favor, but the situation here on Haven grows graver with each passing day. According to Admiral Hartman, Commander of the CD Naval Force for the Tanith Sector, there are no troops or ships to be spared in our attempt to police Haven. Local records indicate that Haven was-well, not peaceful-but under CoDominium authority until the discovery of those cursed shimmerstones. Now that the Haven Gear Consortium is no longer the sole official exporter of shimmerstones, theft, piracy and everything but outright war has broken out among the miners, "exporters," and thieves who control the discovery and exportation of Haven's most valuable export. While the 201st Provisional Marines and the Haven Volunteers have returned law and order to Castell City and the populated areas of the Shangri-La Valley, the same ca
FIRE AND ICE
ERIC VINICOFF
"Devil's Brewery ETA five minutes, Sarge," Darrow said conversationally. He wrestled the stick two-handed, while his gaze jumped back and forth between the instruments and the blurred terrain beyond the windshield.
The ice-sharpened faces and scraggy vegetation of the narrow rift valley shot by at 240 KPH, ten meters down and closer off each wing. Gale-force gusts slammed into the transport. It boogied, groaned, and scraped belly and wingtips. My fingers were putting dents in the duraplast of the copilot's seat armrests. "You sure you've done this before?" I demanded.
"More or less. The idea was, I believe, to avoid detection."
"And the ground."
"Bugger off."
"If I knew what that meant, I don't think I'd like it." But Darrow had chauffeured CoDominium Marines in some heavy action before deserting, so he might know what he was doing. I staggered back to the cabin to check on the rest of the squad.
The red-lit cabin looked like the ready room for Hell. Ski, Preacher, Toglog, White Cloud and Schmidt sat on the facing benches, field-stripping their weapons. One good thing about a black-budget pickup force was that you went first class. White Cloud, our sharpshooter, wore/carried a Gauss gun, while Toglog amped our firepower with a Remington Enforcer over-and-under grenade launcher. The rest of us had CoDominium-issue Kalashnikov 7-mm assault rifles with ten-shot clips. Bandoliers, grenades, commando knives and white cold-weather combat suits with Nemourlon body armor rounded out the tools of our trade.
Toglog and Preacher were passing a flask of castor oil. Boozing on a mission was contra regs, but then so were we.