Ghost War

We spent two days poring over the plans and patterns until we had the plan down solidly. During that time I got a good feel for the team and knew they’d be able to pull the job off without a hitch. I’d rip open the armory, Falcon would keep the constables back, and the others would load weaponry into my ’Mech’s bucket-loader attachment. We’d be in and out fast and victorious.

The only bad part about the pla

“We’re not compromising this op, so we’re picking where we’re going at random. Jiro, pick a number between one and five.”

“Two.”

“Steve, between one and five, not two.”

“Three.”

“Okay.” I crossed one, four and five off my list and looked at Falcon. “Up to you, big guy. Three or two?”

He glanced at Letitia, but she was no help. “Two.”

“Two it is.” I smiled, already feeling caffeine jolting through my system. “Javapulse Generators here we come.”

Letitia snarled through clenched teeth. “That’s owned by Jerome Redhawk. He’s a Republic Knight. We can’t go there.”

I frowned. “He’s an industrialist, knighted because he gave a lot of money to The Republic. If you think every one of the places his corporations own are Republic spy centers, we’re in serious trouble. The realtors handling the other two lofts here are one of his companies.”

That set her back for a second and I pressed my attack. “Besides, it’s like wearing leather. Who would expect us to go there?”

She sniffed. “I’m not going.”

“You’re not staying alone.”

Falcon immediately volunteered to stay with her, and Steve decided he wanted to double-check some numbers, so Jiro and I took orders and headed out. We resolved to do a quick recon on our target before hitting the coffee place. The both of us gri

We didn’t want any surprises.

9

One must plow with the horse one has.

Overton

Joppa, Helen

Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere

23 November 3132

Jiro was not very talkative, and I think this was natural to him, not some sort of act. I let him drive and gave directions while watching our backtrail. We were clean, so we proceeded on, but not taking any direct route. We weren’t exactly traveling aimlessly, either, since our path ran across the parade route a couple of times, and we could see where the Constabulary had already begun to position ferrocrete barriers, and where grandstands had been built along the way.

Our precinct house, the ninth, held no real surprises. Three stories tall—roughly a third again as tall as the ’Mech I’d be driving—with narrow windows and some statues of Justice by the front door, it sat in a regentrified area with little shops and restaurants clustered about. It was located close to the starting point of the parade, and by the time our op took place, the parade would be an hour and ten blocks distant.

So would the crowds.

As we were looking around, I did have to assess the chances that Handy was still using us as the bait operation. I couldn’t wholly discount it, but it seemed unlikely. We were more of a “salt in the open wound” affair. Reis would be embarrassed by the success of the primary operation, and our strike would just deepen his difficulties. Given that I only had four clowns to help me, being outside the center ring of the circus struck me as being just fine.

Jiro and I found parking near the Javapulse Generator shop—one of them, I should say, since they are more common than mildew in showers. We wandered in, waited in line and listened to folks order drinks as if the names were magic formulae used to conjure the things. The drinks were sized as giant, titanic and Leviathan, and if it grew anywhere within the prefecture you could get it added to it. Jiro, the quiet one, ordered something so quickly I couldn’t follow it, but the server punched buttons on his noteputer and some machine spit out a frothy, bile-colored drink billowing with a frosty vapor.

I ordered for everyone else, then myself. “I’ll have coffee, black, Leviathan, I guess. Oh, and three sugars.”

The server looked over toward Jiro. “The service station is over there. We have a variety of sweeteners.”

“All I want is sugar, raw, not exotic, not processed, not flavored.” I gave her a smile and fished Republic scrip from my pocket. “You can’t just punch that in?”

“Sir, we let people sweeten their own drinks.” The sour expression she gave me suggested the possible reason for this. “Will there be anything else?”

It’s at that point that one usually has to make a decision: will dealing with this person make my life more miserable, or her life more miserable? I saw it as a draw, but ordered a bunch of baked goods to go. While it was a zero-zero thing for her and me, I knew Letitia would consider the stuff as evil as a rare steak, and that was one in the win column for me.

The server bagged the order and gave me change, including a beat up five-stone coin that I bit just to see if it was real. Jiro caught that and smiled. I shrugged. “The place is owned by a Knight, after all.”

The machine spit out my drinks and we hauled them to the hovercar. We managed not to spill and, luckily, our backtrail was clean. That meant we didn’t have to try any tricks that might have caused spillage and certainly would have made the drinks cold.

Letitia’s reaction was as predicted, but Falcon scarfed down the food I’d brought for her. I’m sure he saw that as the equivalent of tossing himself on a grenade for her. She seemed less than impressed. I did note, however, that she drank the herbal tisane I’d gotten her.

Our field trip let us refine a couple other points in the plan, but we were good to go from that point forward. Letitia reported same to our master. We worked through our plans for the next two days and then, on the eve of Founders Day, we made our final move. It took us three blocks away, to another warehouse just that much closer to our target, and waiting therein was a wonderful surprise.

The biggest problem with ’Mechs of any variety is that they are huge. Not only are they tall, but they are heavy. Your average roadway is not built to withstand a lot of ’Mech traffic. Even just wandering along, a ’Mech can compress the ground enough to snap water mains and crack storm sewers, which is why they tend to be restricted to certain routes in the cities.

The second biggest problem is that there is no hiding them. MiningMechs, for example, come from the factory in a bright yellow or brick red, depending on manufacturer preferences, and despite being humanoid, are odd enough looking to attract a lot of notice. While folks are used to seeing them around construction sites or in industrial parks, it would easily be possible for folks to go days if not weeks without ever seeing a single one anyplace other than on a Tri-Vid broadcast.

On a parade day like Founders Day, however, ’Mechs abounded. My MiningMech had seen better days. It had languished in a warehouse, then been recently fixed up, splashed with bright paint and hung with bunting and metallic garlands that made it look like it was ready for a night out on the town. Whoever had decorated it had even run holiday lights around the legs and torso and plugged them into the auxiliary power sources at the heels.