Lord Banshee Lunatic (Nightmare Wars Book 3) Read online

  More silence.

  Me, “Begum, I need to say this more clearly. Those dreams are my best guesses about what would happen for each scenario. But they are based on assumptions about society in the Belt that are almost certainly wrong. I could do better now that I’ve met a few people from Syrtis, Qinghai Mining, and Western Textiles, but I’m still ignorant of anything but the corporate structure of the rest. Would that knowledge make things better or worse? I cannot know.

  “Even more important, simulations depend upon people following normal behaviour. They cannot assume remarkable events, nor remarkable people, except averaged over whole populations. Our trip to the Moon with the Hammerhead and Mao was remarkable. Our fighting passage to Valhalla was remarkable. Our rescue of the pirates and farmers was remarkable. Your initial return to the Moon was remarkable, as was your rescue of us from the Lansdorf on this mission. By all expectations, we should be dead three times over, yet here we are.

  “You, Begum, are remarkable. Raul was with you on the Manila Bay and helped plan the nearly bloodless occupation of the pirate ship. He is remarkable, too. I cannot simulate people like you because you are smarter than I am and better at doing your own work. Any simulation that includes you will be wrong because I cannot anticipate what you will do. The pair of you together will be stronger and smarter than either alone and therefore completely unpredictable.

  “As Sergei said, the nightmares were just warnings. The uniformly dismal conclusions merely mean that I believe the conventional forces are aligned against us. We will need to employ unconventional tactics to win through to a better future. We have to do something unpredictable, impossible, something that is shockingly hopeful in the face of what seems to be certain disaster.”

  Silence.

  Me, “Begum?”

  Begum, “I will not be your messenger of hope.”

  Me, “No, of course not. That was Doctor Toyami’s job and I overdid it by half.”

  Begum, “They want to kill me. The ships that attacked us did not give war cries about their glorious factions. They declared their intention to kill me, personally. I cannot face the whole Imperium. I have no future.”

  Me, “Begum, I hope your Com had the presence of mind to record those war cries for the ballads they are going to compose. Remember, two weeks ago you were an anonymous officer in the TDF. Today you are the brilliant, daring, gallant and beautiful Cap Thieu, who wins every fight and leaves her enemies groveling in humiliation.

  “Have you ever heard of counting coup? The native peoples of Noram before the colonial period were fierce warriors, but their highest honours were reserved for those who struck an enemy without killing zim and escaped without harm. The count of your coups is shockingly impressive.

  “The entire TDF is dazzled with you. Half the factions must want to recruit you and the other half are terrified they will succeed. Of course, they are gunning for you. With all the changes happening around us, it may be that to have a long and happy life you will need to move off this particular chessboard.

  “There are lots of other possibilities. There are a thousand ways to hide on the Moon and a hundred of them remain within the TDF. So far, I expect the Imperium is happy with what you have been doing. There must be ten thousand things that they are going to need, but don’t yet recognize as requirements. Many of those things will have a military aspect. Communications, food production, shipping, every branch of government will have ways to employ your talents.

  “But right now, you are the captain of a TDF FAS, not a mercenary, nor yet a diplomat. Study Admiral Wang and maybe talk to Commander Sa’id. Talk to Surgeon MacFinn. Above all, talk to Raul, who may know things that you have not yet thought of yourself.”

  Begum, “Will Raul even talk to me? Oh, Brian, I’ve lost him! I was a coward and tried to run away. I tried to kill myself without even thinking about him. He must despise me...”

  Me, “Stop, stop! The scariest fights you will ever face are with the people you love, whose respect is more important than life itself. Pirates and enemy assassins are nothing in comparison. Remember I told you that you would need marriage counselling? I meant it then and I mean it even more now. Get help. Ask Doctor Toyami for a reference. She is surely too busy and unstable to do it herself, but the TDF and Commerce both have marital counselling services. Or go for someone private. Your case is not unique, you know.

  “Begum, promise me that you won’t fight with Raul until you have a counsellor to act as referee. If you have someone impartial in the room to keep you from killing each other, have at it. You both need some open emotion, especially Raul. Can you promise me that?”

  Begum, “Like you and Leilani?”

  Me, “Nothing even remotely like. I’m certain that the Martians intend to arrest me as an explicit goal of the war. They hardly know who you are except as a spectacular TDF captain and probably know far less than that about Raul. So even if most of the time you commune in silence, take the opportunity every now and then to fight, shout and laugh at each other. Just stop there. Promise?”

  Begum, “How can you live with that? Your whole life sounds to me like a nightmare. Except my worst nightmare is that Raul and I will never see each other again. You are planning on it.”

  Me, “His worst nightmare might be the same as yours. Talk to him and see what you can do. If a short separation destroys your love, it was never real. If it is real, you will do what is needed to save it. I know that might be painful. It will take work, patience, and a lot of compromises. From what I’ve seen, you are both capable of that.

  “This is a terrible time to fall in love, but love rarely gives us much choice and never cares about convenience. If you offered me the choice to have missed Leilani, never to have fallen in love with her, I would reject it without a second thought. However ill-timed, it has been the best thing that ever happened to me. My only regret is that I must hurt her to be true to that love.”

  Begum, “Oh, Brian, forgive me for dumping my petty concerns on you. And thank you. I will try. If you really think Raul will still talk to me, I will agree to a counsellor.”

  Me, “Begum, this is not petty. It is why I live and breathe now. I have nothing else left but to help my people.”

  The communications system started buzzing loudly and urgently. The voice from the original announcement came on again. “Forgive my interruption, but we are stopping soon to allow Surgeon Kaahurangi and Agent Lakshmi-Lee to disembark. If you have anything to say in farewell, now would be the time. The comm system is now switching to broadcast.”

  MacFinn/private, “Lad, b’quiet. This place’s too public. Ye know they’re wantin t’thank ye and will ha the good sense to say it indirectly. If ye ha anything t’reply, I’ll be in regular contact wi’em f’the next while. Ye can reach me through the Admiralty when I’m na in the room.”

  Kaahurangi/local, “This has been the most frightful and exhilarating experience I have ever had. I thank you for an opportunity that could never have happened without the courage and vision of the people in this bus. I thank you all.”

  Lakshmi-Lee/local, “I would like to thank everyone for their support and help during the last few weeks. I especially want to thank the TDF and Cap Thieu for my rescue from LUVN and Lunar Recovery for their excellent care. If you have a chance, please thank our Imperial friends for the opportunity to defend LUVN from the forces that are trying to destroy it. All of you who gave me your personal help – you know who you are – thank you for everything.”

  There was a general round of farewells and personal goodbyes, while I remained silent and reset myself to the Ghost repeatedly. The bus slowed to a stop, rocked a bit, and started up again. The five of us left on board were all TDF, at least officially, so we must be going to the TDF base or somewhere nearby.

  2357-03-20 09:30

  Into the Asylum

  The bus rolled on for another ten minutes before stopping.

  MacFinn, “Lad, I dinna know what she told ye, but we’re ent
erin a boilin vat o’trouble. F’now we’re still t’be isolated from the rest o’y’team. Ye’re carryin bugs that could track y’movements. I canna hand ye directly back t’the lass, but it’ll be almost like bein there. Keep y’mask opaque till we’re in y’suite.”

  I was carted out of the bus, still in my bag, and loaded onto a local transport. As we left the transfer point, air pressure returned to the vehicle and my opaque bag lost its rigidity. We were driven on a jerkier ride that ended when I was pulled out of the bag onto a gurney and wheeled into my new quarters.

  The room had only one door, an airlock, and so could function as an airtight room in an emergency. It was outfitted with physiotherapy equipment, food preparation equipment, bedding, and big monitors on every wall.

  MacFinn looked around. “This is y’place now. It’s a hospital facility f’possibly dangerous people. Mostly, it’s intended t’keep ye in, but it also works t’keep everyone else out. I canna stay wi ye all the time, but there’ll be an orderly by in a moment, an y’dear Doctor’ll be on the other side o’the monitor.

  “It’s pretty secure in here, ‘cept for these monitors. The bugs inside y’gut canna talk t’the outside, so we’re na too worried. They’ll pass soon as we get a good flow through.

  “I’ll go for debriefin wi the rest o’the TDF people at the main facility. I gather Cap Thieu wants t’stop wi the Banshees, but she’ll ha t’be debriefed first. Then, I expect she’ll be due f’some extended leave.”

  There was a buzz at the door. MacFinn checked the ID of the new arrival and ushered him through the door. “Here’s Orderly Nasruddin, who’ll be takin care o’ye f’the next while.”

  Commander Sa’id stepped into the room.

  MacFinn, “Let’s get ye out o’this suit and start some light exercise. Ah, ye’re flabby an weak, just as I feared. Still, doin well for a lad who should be dead ten times over. An it’s na just y’arms n’legs that need exercise. Your whole insides ha done na work f’days, almost weeks. Liquids first, lots o’liquids top an bottom, then soft, pasty solids wi lots o’ fibre, then we get on t’real pablum. Orderly, could ye help wi the arms o’er here.”

  “Wait,” I said, processing what he said slowly. “Top and bottom?”

  MacFinn, “Gotta flush the bugs. Trust me, it’ll be fun. We’ll put special meds in the stuff ye drink. Na much, but enough t’keep ye cheerful.”

  “Please, back off on those meds. I need to be rational before all else. You said we are entering a vat of trouble and I need to be able to navigate the currents in that vat.”

  MacFinn, “Relax, just enough t’keep the nausea at bay. Seems the bugs’re stuck t’y’stomach and intestinal walls and need some solvents to encourage em t’leave. Nasty stuff, but effective. Nothin sticks around, whether goin forward or backward. Alas, y’body knows what to do about such stuff and ye’ll be spewing both ways without some meds t’keep it all under control.

  “And if rational thought’s the goal, nausea’ll stop it fast as anything I know. Ye bin t’the Earth? Ever try t’write an exam wi the flu? I did once when I went there f’med school. Never e’en signed my name on the paper. Could na remember how t’do it. Too busy tryin to retch. Spent the next three weeks wi the Environmental Intelligence folks tryin t’figure out how the eight o’us who’re affected managed to catch the flu, another six months b’fore they’d let us rewrite that exam, six months more b’fore they’d let me come back t’the Moon. If we back off the anti-nausea meds, flushin’ll take two weeks, cause we’d have t’give tiny doses o’the solvents. Reckon ye do na ha that much time t’lie around, so meds it is. Twelve hours, maybe a day tops, an ye’re done. Enjoy!

  “B’sides, ye canna talk to the others till the bugs’re gone. The beasties canna broadcast out o’this room, but they might record, so na discussions. Anyhoo, I’m goin on to me own decontam and debriefin, then off to’work again wi Leigh.”

  I looked over to Orderly Nasruddin, a.k.a. Commander Sa’id, and realized that his armour, like mine, could be configured to display different colours and patterns. Right now, the pattern it was displaying was a scrolling text message, “Recreate every report from MacFinn and Kaahurangi and pass them to me after the bugs are gone.”

  The pair of them maneuvered me onto a horizontal exercise machine that barely allowed me to move my arms and legs. They got me started on wrist and ankle rolls with some head rocking for variety, then gave me a big bulb of fizzy liquid to drink. The Moon is so much better with food preparation than the TDF, almost as good as Mars. The stuff had a flavour halfway between coffee and beer, with only a hint of bitterness from the meds that I could excuse as reminiscent of hops if I was not critical. If I had to drink gallons of meds, this was a decent way to do it.

  And then the nausea started. Things got even more unpleasant when the rectal insert began to irrigate my lower intestine. I began to appreciate how nausea, mixed with dizziness and a spreading itch across my belly, could seriously affect my thinking.

  MacFinn watched the monitors that were displayed behind my head. He made a few adjustments on the field station that eliminated the itch and dizziness but made the nausea worse. He attached another hose to the field station and attached a mouth-sized flexible cup to the end, which he clipped to my frame beside my head.

  “Ye should na need t’vomit often, but when it happens, grab this an dump into the mouthpiece. No sense lettin all that good water splash around. I’ll tell the orderly t’keep ye distracted as best he can.”

  He sounded so cheerful about it, I had half a mind to puke just for the effect, but the happy juices in the meds were starting to kick in so I decided to hold off for a bit. MacFinn gave a few quick instructions to my ‘orderly’, then left the room.

  Nasruddin kept his armour on, but with a new scrolling message. “Do not use voice or comm until we remove and destroy the three internal bugs. I have channels available in this facility that you do not. Doctors Marin and Toyami recommend different settings for the field station to manage your internal med monitor. I will change them with the next bulb, after which you should feel more in control of your mind. Good time for mild exercise and free association.”

  He started a light show on the ceiling. Panoramas of harsh terrain on the Earth with rocks, cliffs, and boulders, alternating with lots of scenes from the Moon and a few from Mars. I realized after a while that most of the scenes that I had thought were from the Moon were not. The horizon was far too close, the shadows too sharp, and the colour balance off from the normal dark grey of the lunar rock. I realized at last that they must have been taken from the surfaces of several asteroids.

  It was quite literally a pretty puzzle trying to recognize the crater-pocked, boulder-strewn plains, deep chasms and oddly flat volcanoes (if that is what they were). Putting names to the places was another challenge. Even as a Kid, I had known that people living in the Belt had frequently changed the names of features assigned by ancient astronomers, so they now commemorated local events and heroes.

  Sometimes names were just whimsies because of what the feature looked like. The central peak of Rheasilvia, the giant crater at the south pole of Vesta, had at various times been known locally as Ayodele, Marcus Montes, and Austral Amondi, but I had been told on Mars that freight crews heading out to the Belt just called it the Nipple. It was almost impossible to recognize when seen from the crater floor, barely more than a direction in which the horizon was much farther away than anywhere else.

  The salt craters of Ceres were even more puzzling because the panorama was taken from the top of a whitish lump of something surrounded by a plain of much darker material. I only realized what I was looking at when I dredged out of memory an image of the salt, ice and mineral mines in an adjacent crater.

  Ceres and Vesta, I knew, were surviving protoplanets left over from the earliest days of the solar system. They were vastly more interesting under the surface than could be seen from orbit. Early in my career as the Assassin, I had been fascinated for over an
hour by the ancient solar system and what could be learned from Ceres and Vesta. My previous mission had left me in the display lobby of the Mining Geology Department at the Martian Academy. Now, I was wishing I had stayed for a day and spoken to some of the professors.

  Unfortunately, they had fled when I arrived in powered armour, firing a heavy rifle and tossing grenades like confetti as I cleaned out a nest of traitors who had been organizing marches against the Governor. After an hour spent peacefully examining the displays, I had received the orders for my next mission and left on the run. Five corpses had littered the display hall when I left, with three more in the surrounding offices, so the surviving professors would not willingly have satisfied my curiosity. The Assassin had thought it a very productive day, the Ghost disapproved, and I did not want to hear what the Cripple had to say.

  Regardless, I had a strong feeling that the other images were supposed to be as famous as the Nipple and the Salt Bowl if only I had known the background and history of the Belt in more detail. These images might be precious to our new rulers.

  I asked Nasruddin if there were captions explaining the images. There were, but most of them were in languages that I could not read. Sometimes my comm unit helped, with a bit of delay. I recognized something that looked like Germano-Tamil and used the same Abugida script used by Tamil languages, but the translator suggested Irula as the base language, one in which I had never learned even how to say hello and goodbye. It did not attempt to identify the second language in the pidgin. One caption was in Arabic characters but was not Arabic. It may have been a Turkic language with a mix of Russian and Mandarin, but not enough of any of them for reliable translation. Only two were in Germano-Tamil and Swahili-Zapotec, which I had learned on Mars. In one caption, I thought I might recognize the name of one of the companies related to Qinghai Mining, a minor food producer that had married into a cadet branch of the larger family. It was a guess, though.