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Two new main characters are introduced, awkwardly.

This introduces two (well, three, really) major characters in the setting—I think, as well, the final new moreau character we'll be following through the novel. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Crucible, by Rob Baird. Part 3.

Geruda Combat Center, “Fort Sheridan”

_Northwestern Arcadia, Jericho

30.4.2560_

If Ellison Coble hadn’t known that he was looking at a dispersion plot—hadn’t seen the guns being fired—he would’ve called it a random distribution. Denel’s operations manual for the Jackal 66P specified that the Colt railguns had a nominal accuracy of 40 microradians.

In practice, Coble found it could be as much as 100 on a bad day. That still meant putting both rounds in a one-meter circle from five kilometers away; most times, that would still do the trick. If the results he was reviewing were to be believed, Bravo Company, 2nd Battalion—one of the better in the Jericho Home Guard—had managed no better than 900 microradians at any point in the exercise.

“I need to think about this,” he said.

Jodi Owen, his client liaison, knew what that meant. “Are they doing better?” she asked. “Mr. Coble, I have to be able to tell Business Planning that they’re doing better, at least.”

“That could almost be random, too. Give me until tomorrow morning, Ms. Owen. These numbers are so awful I’m not even sure they’re being measured properly.”

“I have a review call at noon,” Jodi reminded him. “Anything you can tell me by then would sure help.” And she ended the call, leaving him sigh his frustration in brief solitude.

Then Ellison’s analyst showed up, with the thermos of coffee he’d requested. It took them most of a second serving, going through the telemetry millisecond by millisecond, until Ellison thought he had an answer. “Fuck. Niland, you know the status codes for the 181, right?”

The table between them had a glass surface; the holographic reports cluttering it lingered like koi in a still pond, framing the reflection of Master Sergeant Niland’s curious face. “Most of them, yes.”

What does ‘3’ mean for the stabilizer?”

“Probably a fault?” Niland brushed his fingers over the personal computer where his manual lived. “Yes, sir. It’s a fault. Zero is okay. Three is… the stabilizer’s resolving a disagreement from one of the secondary sensors. But there’s no more details on what sensor. You think it’s a miscalibration?”

“Most of the time, they’re firing at ‘3’. It goes to ‘0’ after they fire. Wouldn’t that flag the solution?”

Dennis Niland was a studious, bookish, quiet-spoken man. He also had twenty years of service with Geruda, nearly all of them in Denel mechs. “No. Not necessarily,” he said; Ellison trusted him implicitly, even though the answer surprised him. “If the firing solution fuzziness is below the railgun’s measured accuracy, it ignores disagreement faults as unimportant.”

“That seems, uh… risky.”

“Well, but anything could be disagreeing. It’s not one of the primary sensors. So… not the laser, not the gyro, not the holographic comparator… Temperature goes into the solution computer, too, right? If one of the temperature probes measures five degrees higher than another, it’ll flag that difference, sure, but… if it doesn’t push the accuracy out of spec, there’s no reason to fail the solution. As far as the computer’s concerned.”

“Okay, that’s fair enough. But they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, sergeant. I’m not sure they could hit the farm it was built on.”

Which they would need to. The Jericho Home Guard had become extremely worried about the militia that styled itself as the “Kashkin Self-Defense Force.” Both organizations implied their function was purely protective. Coble was not that stupid.

After 25 years of peace, Arcadia fully intended to avenge the Kashkin’s secession. That was why they’d rearmed so heavily, why they were practicing their long-range marksmanship, and why they paid Ellison Coble to live in a well-furnished apartment and whip their army into shape.

Or, at least, to try. Niland understood his frustration, and tried to stay sympathetic. “Which body are you looking at?”

“Frame, uh… F23. Today’s op. Second salvo, but I don’t think that matters. It’s ‘3’s all the way down, Mr. Niland, no matter what frame.”

“Well.” Dennis scratched through his thinning hair before shrugging. “Let’s pull the report cards for any solution that didn’t have that fault. It doesn’t look like it’s random—few mechs more than others. If it was a calibration problem, you’d think it was global.”

“I don’t think it’s calibration. Maybe software, though… look at the run times. Sixteen seconds? Fourteen. Twenty? How does it take twenty seconds to get a firing solution?”

The other soldier’s brow furrowed deeply, and he started pushing data into the hologram they were looking at one card at a time. “It doesn’t. Maybe they’re holding the calculator switch in that long, but… uh… wait. Wait a minute. How’s that valid? That can’t be… hold on…”

“Mr. Niland?”

His hand jerked, and the cards beneath it scattered and faded away. He swept more in impatiently. “The solution is valid because the M181 says it has an error of four milliradians. Because it’s… in mode two?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.”

Some of Denel’s mechs weighed over a hundred tons. At only forty, the 66P had been designed to be fast and agile—but it lacked the mass of its larger siblings, heft that helped dampen a walker’s movements and keep its railguns stable. Both barrels of the small-caliber M181 moved together, suspended by precise electromagnets in the mech’s chin.

Any time the Jackal moved, that needed to be compensated for, and some directions posed greater challenges than others. Experienced drivers learned to plot courses that minimized disruption, and to keep their gait smooth and clean. Coble thought of himself—unkindly—as only halfway decent, and his crew had nailed shots at ninety kilometers an hour.

If the movements were too abrupt, or too frequent, the targeting computer assumed the Jackal was taking evasive action and switched itself into a secondary mode so the gunner could still return fire, even if the barrel’s sway made it unsuited for anything but very close targets.

Nobody in B Company had been taking evasive action—at least, not intentionally—but they handled the Jackal so badly that the effect was the same. “Which is why it takes so long. And when they finally have a solution, it’s inaccurate, but the firing computer assumes they’re aiming a couple hundred meters out…”

“There’s your fault, too, I bet.” Dennis leaned back, gripping his chin and dragging his fingers down it in exasperated disbelief. “Yes. I will bet you, EJ. First round. What do you say?”

If he kept focusing on the performance summary, he was going to need more than a beer. “You’ll tell me how you saw something like this on Kaltrig?” Like Coble, and unlike nearly all the Home Guard, Niland was a combat veteran: he knew what to expect from a Jackal’s crew under pressure.

And what was supposed to be expected from the machine itself. “Nope. Never seen it before. But I can tell you which sensors to pull, and when to look at them, down to within a second or two.”

“Do that and skip Kaltrig, and you can have whatever you want.”

Sergeant Niland shook his head. What passed for a grin was really more of a disgusted grimace. “Thermocouple A0, B0, and B1. From… say, five seconds before they fire to two seconds afterwards, B0 is going to be at least twenty degrees higher.”

Coble pulled up the data. The sharp rise in the temperature sensor was plainly visible in the log. “Yeah.”

“In fact, it plateaus at 65 degrees—doesn’t it?”

“Close enough. That’s causing the sensor fault?”

“Yes. B0 is left barrel, forward sensor. I’ll skip the Tyrolean whiskey and stick to beer if you can guess—”

“The laser?”

“That’d be it.”

“Shit.” The targeting laser was only supposed to stay on for a few seconds at a time. It took so long for the mech’s gunner to get a solution, though, that the laser hit its temperature limit and started cycling on and off to keep from destroying itself.

Almost certainly there was still some damage. He needed to pull the targeting module from every mech in the battalion to inspect it. And figure out a way to keep it from happening in the future. And tell Jodi something that will keep her bosses happy.

“Shit,” he said again, and sighed. “Don’t worry about the whiskey. You’ve earned it.” And Ellison had half a mind to save the alcohol for himself. He dismissed Niland, gathered his thoughts, and checked the time.

Too early in the afternoon for whiskey, is what it was. Worse, though, the Lucania was coming over the horizon, and he had no excuse to put off his call any longer. Ellison logged in to the secure link and waited.

The other man’s face lay in shadow that only accented his complexion. “EJ, you’d better have good news for me. You have good news for me, don’t you?”

“Probably not, sir.”

Colonel Stutts wasn’t happy with that, of course, but Ellison knew he was also level-headed about what they could expect. “Why are you calling me, then, major?”

“I’m going to tell our liaison the truth. We—”

Stutts held up a finger, silencing him. “We are being paid a lot of money to whip the JHG into shape. That’s the truth. That’s why we upgraded them to a training contract. You’ve been there four months, Major Coble. How are we still not making progress?”

“Money is part of the problem. They think that’s all it takes. We could probably get a decent battalion out of the JHG, but they’re insisting they can maintain a full division. There’s no way, sir. And the humps they’re keeping on are only holding everyone else back.”

“So, your recommendation would be…”

“We need to wash out forty percent of the new recruits. They’re not going to be happy hearing that, I know, but it’s the truth. What they have? It’s not an army.”

Stutts was not a bad man; Coble had known him for the better part of a decade, and his approval had been part of the reason Ellison took the assignment on Jericho to begin with. He was relieved, though not altogether surprised, when Stutts agreed to bring it up to his superiors.

He was definitely unsurprised to find Jodi waiting for him in his office the following morning. She was livid, of course. “I think the phrase they’d use was ‘no uncertain terms,’” he explained. Captain Tatsuki Shirakawa, sitting next to him at the bar, waited for him to continue. “They must’ve tore the colonel a new one, too.”

“What were you expecting?”

The Home Guard would not turn away recruits, because any recruits they turned away would find one of the other militias to join instead. The Moody family financed plenty, and they were the wealthiest independent company on the Jericho Administrative Board. Most of the Board’s members were local subsidiaries of off-world companies; they had more legitimacy, and more stability, but far less zeal.

So we’re not giving up anyone who wants to stick with us. Find a way to make it work. That was the last thing Jodi said before storming out. Ellison had called Niland back and, together, they brainstormed ideas. He decided he would tell the mech operators to come to a halt for a few seconds before trying to get a targeting solution: that was simpler than teaching them how to properly drive a Jackal, after all.

But not appealing—not in the long run. “Have you studied the last war?”

Tatsuki tilted his beer back, holding a skeptical, sidelong look at Ellison for the long swig that followed. Ellison waited, rather than clarifying. “Sure. I have. So what?”

“It was a debacle. I’m seeing the same patterns here.”

“They’re trying to build an army from scratch, Ellison. You didn’t think it would be easy, did you?”

“I thought I could get them to fire a damn railgun in the right direction. The worst part is… is they won’t even let me tell them. They’re going to insist I pass this class, just like the last one.”

“So?”

Ellison gestured for a refill of his empty glass. How many now? Two? Three? However many it had been, his Sanganese partner matched him for the round. “They’re going to get cocky.”

Tatsuki shrugged. “So?”

“So they’re going to do something stupid. Worst-case scenario? We get pulled in to haul ‘em out of the fire. CODA wouldn’t, but… they have standards, you know? Now Jericho’s got our dumb asses trying to help.”

The other man took his beer with a nod of thanks to the bartender. “You worry too much. Have you heard of Reshen?”

“Huh-uh. Who’s that?”

“Where’s that. The animals had a little colony there, on a good copper mine. We routed them, earlier this year—no losses. They were supposed to have support from the locals here—some mercs or something that joined the fight—but if so? It didn’t do them any good.”

“Why haven’t you cleared out the mountains, then?”

“I ask myself that every day. Nobody’s told us to, for some damn reason. One of these days, though—just wait.”

“I’m not sure.” And whiskey had neither muddied his thoughts, nor made him any less apprehensive. “We can’t be overconfident.”

“You can’t, maybe. Ellison, my friend. Who created the animals? God?”

“We did. Us and the Soviets.”

“Exactly. You think a sculptor can use his chisel to, what, carve a sharper chisel? You created them. They can only be as smart as you, and trust me… they’re not. You’re very overconfident—in them.”

“Your logic might be—”

Tatsuki waggled his fingers at Ellison’s glass. “Finish that. I’ll show you.”

“Show me?”

Dubiously, Tatsuki judged himself sober enough to drive his company car: a sleek Yucatec luxury model, adorned with the logo of the man’s employer. Hachisuka Muramatsu Group: the letters spun in a slow ring on the side of the door, circling a subtly animated map of the star system where the zaibatsu had been founded.

Geruda did not provide Coble with a car, and neither did the JHG. The Sanganese had begun to take Jericho seriously again, Coble thought. Tatsuki wouldn’t give any useful answer, if asked. His attention, as they drifted languidly through the streets of Presbyter City, was elsewhere.

“That one,” he said finally. He indicated a canine moreau waiting to cross the street. Nothing about the floppy-eared, grey-furred dog struck Coble as particularly unique, but Tatsuki was firm: “That one will do fine.”

“What for?”

He’d already rolled the window down. “Get in.”

The moreau hesitated but, when he repeated the command, it pulled open the passenger-side door and sat carefully next to Coble. “Am I under arrest, sir?”

“That all depends.”

“How much to suck my friend off?”

The dog’s ears swiveled, as though they’d only just realized the situation they’d found themselves in. Coble thought himself equally surprised at the bizarre, blunt request… but the moreau swallowed, and spoke before he could protest. “Thirty.”

Tatsuki twisted around, looking back at them from the driver’s seat. “What did you just say?”

“Thirty obols.”

He slapped the dog, the sound sharp and jarring in their little car. Her ears went back, and flattened further when he raised his voice. “What did you say?”

“Th-thirty obols. Sir, I meant. Thirty obols, sir.”

Tatsuki reached behind the dog, grabbing her scruff to tug her closer to him. “You’d do it for free. Try again. And don’t say ‘I.’ We’re not stupid.”

“Fifteen—sir,” she added, a hasty yelp occasioned by a rougher grasp to her neck. “Twelve. Twelve, sir.”

He let her go, rolling his eyes scornfully. “Make it good, and maybe he’ll tip.”

As her paws started opening his pants, Ellison cleared his throat. “We don’t need to… look, captain. We could call this off, I think. Another night, maybe.”

“Seems like I’m teaching both of you a lesson. Ellison thinks you’re smart, or something. Are you smart, bitch?” She averted her eyes, busying herself with the last bit of tension on his belt. “Answer me.”

“No, sir,” she murmured. “I—the… the bitch is not smart.”

“What are you good for?”

“Nothing, sir.”

He grabbed her again, her body went tense, and Tatsuki shoved her down and into Ellison’s crotch. “Sell yourself better. You must be good for something.”

“Sucking your friend’s cock, sir.”

“Then what are you talking for?” Ellison opened his mouth to speak up. “No. Not you, either.”

Firmer, slicker heat replaced the dog’s nervous breathing against his bare skin. He felt her tongue run over him, and without real intent he began to react. It felt good, after all—warm and soft—and she seemed to know how to bring him to full attention all but immediately.

When a longer, slower lap wrapped the blunt head of his cock in supple velvet he heard its wet passage. Tatsuki grunted, like he’d heard it too. “Knows what it’s doing, doesn’t it, Ellison? Don’t nod, man. Speak so it can hear.”

“Yes.” The dog chose that moment to press herself onto him: heat engulfed his shaft, spreading as she took him deeper, and he hissed a reflexive gasp before steadying himself. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“It,” the other man corrected. “And of course it does. What did I say?”

The dog rocked and slurped over him, and with every successive bob of her head Ellison felt his concentration slip further. Tatsuki kept his running commentary going—about whether they were even worth keeping as whores, because of the shedding, because of the smell, because of how impossible it was to train them—but Ellison had lost the thread.

He grunted, eyes closed, thrusting his hips gently into her canine maw. The dog sucked encouragingly, her tongue working over his cock. Between its silky texture, and her heat, and the depth her muzzle afforded there was no way he could’ve confused her for a human.

But every second of it was exquisite. He glided smoothly as she pumped on him, starting to throb and twitch in the warm, slimy suction coaxing his release skillfully. His thrusts became less gentle with the need for it and she didn’t slow down, not even when his breathing went deep and ragged, all but a groan—

Then nothing. She was frozen in place, half his cock stuffed between her lips. He opened his eyes to find a sneering grin on Tatsuki’s face. He’d taken hold again, bringing her to a halt. “Ready, dude?”

“Getting there…”

His hand relaxed, not completely but enough that the dog started to move again. “Grab the bitch by the scruff when you’re gonna. I’ll let go.”

“That’s not…”

He didn’t feel it should’ve been necessary, but her movements were constricted, the friction just enough to be teasing. He was riding the edge of his peak, seconds from it, but she couldn’t pull him over with her tongue alone—or she sensed Tatsuki didn’t want her to.

It was that, Ellison decided, when he tried to thrust upwards and his partner’s grasp tightened to freeze her and pull the dog away. Captain Shirakawa needed to make some point to him, send some message—as if it hadn’t been sent already. Telling himself it was the only way to bring the encounter to a close, Ellison reached for the moreau’s neck.

The moment their hands brushed, Tatsuki let go, just as he’d promised. Ellison sank into the coarse warmth of the dog’s pelt, bunching it in his fingers. She dropped, and he hitched into her, and the shock of pushing all the way inside her muzzle had him past his limit before he knew what was happening.

His cock jumped, throbbing with pleasure that verged on overwhelming as he spurted into the irresistible pressure of her maw. His groan was too loud; he couldn’t stop it. And he couldn’t stop his sharp, demanding thrusts. And he couldn’t stop the desperate, clenching grip he took on her scruff.

The dog’s ears flattened—but she seemed to suck harder, too, and that brought a wave of gratification that left him grunting hoarsely. So did the rippling flex of her throat muscles as she tried to swallow the load he pumped heedlessly against her palate.

He throbbed in her, drained, for a few delirious seconds before his orgasm eased enough for Ellison to think again. It was a few more until he felt the tightness with which he’d seized her scruff. A few more, still, until he realized he’d tugged her into his crotch—her nose buried in his pubic hair and her breath coming from the side of her muzzle as she panted messily around his cock.

Satisfaction turned into abrupt awareness. He let go; the dog carefully slid free, turning to look at Tatsuki expectantly. The man shrugged. “Was it good? Worth the twelve obols?”

“Tatsuki…”

“Doesn’t sound like a ‘yes.’” The dog obediently lowered herself, lapping over his softening shaft. “Look at that, dude. It’s cleaning you off and everything. The bitch must’ve really liked the treat you gave it. Didn’t you, mutt?” He raised his hand warningly and, instead of answering, she licked a few quick times and suckled the head of Ellison’s cock between her lips. “Wag your tail, too.”

Her tail wagged. Ellison tried to push her off. “We’re fine, Tatsuki. Worth the twelve, yes. More than that.”

“See? You made him happy. Job well done. Get out.”

“Sir?” It was the first thing she’d said in long enough Ellison was almost surprised she could speak.

“Get the fuck out. This isn’t an approved zone, is it? And I’ve got places to be—places where if I hauled you back and skinned you, nobody in Presby’ would give a shit. So tell me you’ll take your little snack as payment, and we’ll leave it at that.”

She shrank back into the rear seat. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me.”

“The dog should… leave now. Th-thank you for letting it please your friend, sir.”

“Any time. Go—before I think of something else.” She opened the door, slinking into the night, still cringing even after she was out of Tatsuki’s reach and the door had closed again. “What’d I say?”

“Jesus, Tatsuki. That was…”

“What they’re good for. All they’re good for. You’ll see. Ready to head back to base?”

“I…” He wanted to be out of the car. His pants were still unfastened, and he thought he could smell what had happened, and he wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t make him sick. “I gotta get to McKeever.”

“McKeever? That’s all the way south, dude. C’mon…”

“That’s fine. We can catch up tomorrow. I just need to brief the JHG on some new directives that came down from corporate. If you don’t want to come…”

He snorted. “It’s your night to ruin.”

Coble took deep breaths, clearing his lungs as Tatsuki sped off, until the car had disappeared around a corner. Then, more in command of himself, he looked around. The moreau was walking away from him, her pace deliberate and unhurried. She paused at a crossing, lifted her head to scan the billboards on the far side of the street, where the city’s nightlife was still in full swing. Ellison raised his voice. “Hey—hold on!”

She froze, half-turning, catching him from the corner of her eye. Her ears flattened with the rest of her—she seemed to shrink into herself, like a domesticated animal faced with an angry owner who’d found them rummaging around in the trash. For whatever reason, she didn’t run.

He lowered his voice when he caught up to her. “Thanks for staying put.”

Now that he was close enough for their eyes to meet, she looked away, fixing her gaze on the sidewalk. “Yes, sir.”

“I hope I didn’t hurt you. Did I?”

“No. No, sir.”

“Alright. I’m… I’m still sorry about what just happened.”

Her voice stayed carefully modulated; deferential, barely above the sound of conversation drifting from the bars. “You do not need to be.”

“But I am. What’s your name?”

She swallowed, tucking her tail further. “The dog has none, sir.”

The sense Coble had of a chastened housepet disappeared at once. Instead he found himself thinking of a presentation he’d seen as a child. It was at the aquarium: an interactive exhibit about cuttlefish. The way they shifted colors and shapes on a whim: to hunt, to hide, for protection. Which was this? “Yes you do. I’m Ellison—EJ. EJ Coble. What’s yours?”

“The dog—”

“Drop it. I’m not with corporate security or anything. Just tell me the truth.”

She raised her head. In the flicker of an instant when she looked at him, and he could see her eye, he became even more sure of his earlier hunch. “Dani.”

“Thanks. You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“Is thirty obols really your usual price?”

“Sometimes there’s some negotiation.”

“And sometimes people don’t pay,” Ellison guessed. He held out a pair of twenty-obol chips. “Especially the miners, I imagine.”

At the sound of the chips in his hand, Dani glanced over. “Yes. Sometimes. I’m used to it.”

“This is where they hang out, anyway.” Miners—a mix of locals and Kingdom workers—and the mercenaries protecting them. “Do they all like the same act?”

“Act?”

“Take the chips. Before it looks suspicious.” She palmed them, slipping the obols into her pocket. “The ‘obedient pet’ act.”

“Or something like it, yes, sir. Your companion especially.”

So she did know Tatsuki, after all. Did that explain why she’d gotten in the car with them? She’d known what he wanted from her; only Ellison’s presence had been unexpected. “He’s a regular, I take it?”

“I’ve seen him before, although never with anyone else. From what he said, I guess that it was your first time in this part of town… or your first time with one of us… or both, I suppose…”

Her English was flawless, and while he couldn’t quite place her accent it sounded almost Damantish to his ears. “Were you born on Jericho? In the… ‘Kashkin’?”

“Yes. Near Davis.”

“Interesting. Take a walk with me.”

“I should really—”

He sharpened his voice to a brusque, commanding growl. “It wasn’t a request.”

Immediately her ears lowered—then raised, briefly, while her brow knit—then dropped again and stayed there. “Of course, sir. Did you have somewhere in mind?”

He began walking, away from main streets and towards the darkness of Presbyter City’s riverfront park. “Not yet. But if people see us, they might ask questions. Unless you’re a regular, too, eh?”

“They know me. They know I’m looking for clients.”

“You can go back soon enough. I don’t have enough cash for a second round.” He sighed sharply. “I know it doesn’t make up for what happened. I’ve never seen Tatsuki like that. I know they don’t really like moreaus, but…”

He let the words hang. Dani said nothing.

“Ah, well. It’s a beautiful evening. Oh, moody, tearful night.”

She paused just a fraction of a second too long; her stance tightened a heartbeat more than mere stumbling could explain. “Yes, sir. Beautiful.”

“I know it doesn’t work.” Ellison stopped. Dani did too, facing away from him. “Look at me.”

The dog turned. Her ears had lifted, and while she didn’t quite meet his eyes he saw that her own flitted over his expression, inspecting it. “It is a beautiful night, sir. You’re right.”

“Where are you really from?”

“Davis, sir. I said.”

“But you’re not from Kashkin. I’m sure they don’t teach you control phrases.”

She was uncomfortable—not fidgeting openly, but her ears kept twitching lightly. “You would be surprised, sir. They… some of them… they think it’s important we remember.”

“Not just ‘in case you run into it in the wild,’ then? What brings you up to Presbyter City, anyway? That’s a long way from home. McKeever would be closer, even.”

“But Presbyter is where the money is.”

Ellison nodded. He was positive that this was not, in fact, her motive. Presbyter City, close to the western mountains, had more than its share of Sanganese immigrants and travelers, for a Yucatec-aligned colony. Somebody with a license for corporate moreaus would want to know what was going on with them, and a dozen different mining firms called Damanti home.

He developed the theory nearly to his complete satisfaction on the ride back to his apartment, in an empty self-driving cab. Not until he was at his front door did another idea strike him. The mining companies weren’t the only ones in Presbyter City—Geruda was there, too. And mining companies weren’t the only ones with abundant moreau stock. Other PMCs were an even more likely explanation. Gambling, he connected himself to the long-range communications network.

“EJ?” his old friend was out of uniform, but he didn’t seem to have roused her from sleep. “Wow, it is you. How’s life in the sticks?”

“Oh, it’s great. You’re missing out, Michelle. Every day is a new adventure—the excitement’s really starting to get to me.”

“Uh huh. And you need a favor from me, right?”

“If you’re game, yeah. CODA personnel shit.”

Michelle laughed. “You do have too much excitement going on. What’s up?”

“Need you to check on if CODA picked up a 2130 from Damanti. Female, probably a 468E or a 466S, but maybe off-license.”

“Not from Damanti, they’re not. The corps there are all sticklers for IP rules.” Michelle busied herself, attention turning off-screen. “I have a 468E-DAN. Making friends with the locals, I see.”

“What can you tell me?”

“Just the name, from the offline databank. I have to log in to personnel if I want any details, and they get pissy when I do that off-hours. Can it wait a bit?”

Ellison was pretty sure he already knew enough. “Yeah. Not urgent.”

What did it mean that CODA was monitoring them? Was the Defense Authority concerned about rival PMCs? No, that didn’t make sense—surely CODA couldn’t think Geruda was trying to usurp other assignments, not based on anything as inconsequential as a training contract on Jericho.

Perhaps… he drifted off without being able to answer the question. Sharp buzzing snapped him back into the world—his communicator, alerting him to a priority message. Orbital, it said. He’d been asleep for five hours; it was only a few minutes past 0700. Orbital got his attention, though; he opened the channel. “Major Coble speaking.”

“You need to be in the Combat Center, major.” It was Colonel Stutts.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of recent sleep. “What?”

“JHG launched a joint op with the Sanganese two hours ago. Check your computer for the details—but get over there ASAP. Dave Whitt’s trying to triage everything, and it sounds like a mess.”

“What are their expectations for us?”

The colonel’s grimace dripped plainly through the audio-only link. “Officially, there aren’t any. I want you to make sure things don’t go too badly, though. If they get overwhelmed, step in to help coordinate. Otherwise, they’re on their own.”

Geruda would provide no armed support. Even if they’d been able to put something together on short notice, Stutts wouldn’t approve it. They’re on their own was, Coble felt, somewhat punitive. And, he couldn’t deny, deservedly so. On the short cab ride over to their planetary headquarters, he skimmed the information he had from Stutts.

0530 Received flash message for deconfliction. BCT “Cormorant” attacking north into Deerhaven Valley (EN405402) beginning 0500. Air traffic from northeast likely. Company of JHG 2/Houston attached for support.

Supplemental: objective unspecified but likely to take and destroy any OTH mining operations. Secondary objective will be protecting Sanganese operations from reprisal. Last known positions of allied mining operations marked in the named layer.

Orbital intel (30VT) from 0520 expect high-res 0745

It wasn’t much for “details.” A 30-meter survey—visual and infrared only, at that—wouldn’t be much help in figuring out what was actually going on, and Coble only bothered with the maps for a few minutes before giving up entirely. What did it mean that Houston Brigade’s 2nd Battalion was providing ‘support’?

Worse, what did it mean if the Home Guard hadn’t bothered to tell Coble before joining the attack? Either they were keeping secrets from their trainers, or they’d jumped in at the last minute. Or, possibly, it was both. He buzzed himself into the operations center.

“Attention!” Dave Whitt looked unsettlingly relieved at Coble’s arrival.

“Thank you, Captain Whitt. Mr. Hardy—talk to me. Where are we at?”

“Local C3, callsign ‘Aries,’ is in position at point Mozart, just south of Deerhaven Lake and about five klicks up. They finally gave us a good downlink about ten minutes ago, and we’re still trying to sort the data. Tactical Ops promised me that you can have a Raven if you want. Just say the word.”

“Straight from the colonel, sir,” Whitt added. “He sounded apologetic.”

I can just imagine. “Put the call in.”

Chief Hardy, too, looked happy to have Coble there with them. A few minutes later, he confirmed that the orbital task force had launched one of their reconnaissance craft to provide additional intelligence. The RA-32B was a 30-ton behemoth, expensive to launch and expensive to keep flying.

And EJ was plenty sure that Geruda wouldn’t be billing Jericho for that cost.

As it got into position, more details of the mission filtered in. It was, indeed, intended to clear out any lingering moreau camps in the valley. And Jericho had committed all of 2nd Battalion’s A Company, plus two platoons from Company B, to conduct some armed reconnaissance to the west of their allies’ main advance.

No word was given as to expected resistance, and neither the Kingdom nor anyone in Houston Brigade encountered anything out of the ordinary. Coble kept his eye as the two forces began to drift apart, in case ‘armed reconnaissance’ wound up being useful. With the data coming in from their RA-32B, a thought struck him. “We’ve got a great view.”

“Sir?” Whitt asked.

“I wouldn’t trust ‘Aries.’ They’re stingy with their information—probably worried we’ll yell at ‘em again. But this way, we can see them. And the Sanganese combat team. The Geruda Board will pay pretty handsomely for direct observation of whatever toys the Kingdom has here, won’t they? Plenty of good intel.”

“That explains why they launched the Raven.”

“Yeah.” The next conclusion came inevitably. “We can’t be the only ones. What do you figure CODA’s watching us? Seeing how we perform… keeping track of the Kingdom…”

“I bet they’d love to, sir. But they can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got a noncompete clause. It’s part of our agreement to pitch in with the Webster operations: they stay out of here, and it’s ten million obols per violation if they decide to do otherwise and stick their nose in.”

It was the first Coble had heard of any such agreement, and he had no idea why CODA was so willing to abandon a colony—even a wayward one like Arcadian Jericho. “Really? I wonder what the hell we were thinking when we agreed to that.”

Whitt couldn’t help his quiet snort. “Why do you think they’re so successful, major? They’ve got all the good negotiators.”

Fair point. But CODA was there, so they clearly thought it was important to run the risk of the fine. Must be why they’re using moreaus. It was obvious, in retrospect. Coble poured himself some coffee, and went back to monitoring the tactical display.

“Update from C3. The company is at their primary objective, sir. They report encountering no resistance.”

Coble checked the time, and shook his head. “They’re ahead of schedule.” And their Sanganese counterparts in Brigade Combat Team ‘Cormorant’ were half an hour away. “Anything from our boys?”

“Nothing on passive.”

“Have them take a closer look and report back.”

The Raven saw nothing on its active survey, either. Ellison asked Whitt if he thought the whole thing was merely a show of force, and the JHG joined to get some extra training in. Captain Whitt shuffled on his feet, until Coble asked the question again and the man admitted he didn’t see the Home Guard volunteering for training.

“What about something they could take credit for?”

“Maybe that, sir,” Whitt said.

By the time BCT Cormorant was supposed to be at its objective, they hadn’t moved from where Coble last saw them. Chief Hardy provided the answer. “The leading Sanganese battalion has halted its advance, and the rest of the brigade is waiting for instructions. Nobody’s shooting, but from what I can understand on the net they ran into a minefield. Or they think there’s a minefield.”

That made sense to Coble, given the map. It explained what happened next: half the Kingdom units dug in while they brought up engineers to inspect the valley; the other half moved forward carefully, probing any sign of moreau defenders. Four artillery barrages implied the scouts might’ve found something, but Coble’s RA-32B couldn’t confirm that and nor could the Jericho militia.

The operation had now run 90 minutes off-schedule, past the point where the two allied forces should’ve linked up. If there were defenders, and if they counterattacked, the company would be vulnerable. Coble asked what preparations had been taken, and received no reply.

He relaxed in his chair and, while they waited, started scrolling through the Raven’s telemetry from the start of the operation. They’re aggressive with those Jackals. They move too fast; don’t clear their vulnerable angles. Something else to bring up with their instructors, I guess. If they don’t have infantry to back ‘em up, they’re gonna get in trouble.

That could take many forms, of course, but—

“Major Coble, friendly forces are under attack.”

“Where? How?”

“Based on EM radiation, probably about twenty… no, they’re too small to be tanks. Espatier? Powered armor, sir, I think. Alpha Company is returning fire.”

To any effect? Coble was happy to see that at least some of them had read his short memo about halting the Jackal before getting a targeting solution. Not that it mattered—they were firing kinetic penetrators against small, highly mobile infantry with plenty of cover.

“Aries is reporting to the Sanganese that they’re engaged and need support. Ah, they’re attempting to hold position but they’re up against two companies of hostile armor.”

“Armor? Any new contacts we can see?” Captain Whitt caught Coble’s arched eyebrows, and shook his head. Coble’s right hand bunched into a fist, fingers rapping at the coffee mug. Fuck it. “Tell Aries the enemy is in no more than platoon strength, dispersed across the western valley. They should be able to counterattack and drive them off.”

Whitt leaned closer, softening his voice while Hardy passed the message along. “I’m not sure they will. If they start taking fire from their flank, they’ll panic.”

“What other option do they have?”

The other option, he learned to his disgust, was for the JHG to ignore any further intelligence and pull back half a kilometer to where the walkers could shift into a defensive crouch and snipe at anything that came over the horizon. Coble didn’t think anything would come over the horizon.

But the moreaus surprised him. A second platoon, moving slowly enough or sufficiently cloaked to avoid detection, managed to infiltrate forward. In the Combat Center, their first sign was a burst of targeting scanners, and the sudden loss of three Jackals.

Coble waited, in vain, for the company to take action. And then he waited for the Sanganese to rescue them. Fifteen minutes went by before he had any new information. “Message from orbital, sir. Tactical Ops has an update.” Coble set his computer down, looking expectantly at Hardy. “We’re… wait, what’s this? We’re being told to pull the Raven out. Recovery on the next cycle.”

“Why? We go blind if we don’t have the Raven. Are they out of fuel?”

“No, sir. Directive from the planetside joint command. Everyone’s pulling back. Sanganese are clearing the valley for an airstrike—planning to burn the whole thing, I’m pretty sure, based on these numbers.”

“What about the mining operations? I thought the point was to protect them?”

Whitt, reading the message over Hardy’s shoulder, shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. They say it’ll ‘send a message.’”

At least four levels of command, military and civilian, sat between Coble and the order to abandon their mission: there was no point in protesting. Hardy interpreted the second-hand data as best as he could. Forty Sanganese fighter-bombers—three quarters of their entire local strength, as far as he was aware—had been dispatched from their base in the continent’s far north.

From one orbital pass to the next, the valley disappeared under raging firestorms the task force’s sensors couldn’t penetrate for any further detail. A few of the ‘allied mining operations’ fell victim, the personnel having been evacuated well beforehand—even still, the loss would hurt. Right?

What kind of ‘message’ is it supposed to be sending?

He closed the door to his office and downed a full mug of coffee before starting work on a perfunctory debrief. The first draft, halfway finished, was scathing. They’d expect something more politically correct, he knew. Coble wasn’t looking forward to blunting his honest judgment.

He’d have to anyway, eventually, but the ‘incoming call’ alert was a welcome distraction for the moment. It was Michelle: “Interesting pup you got there.”

“Dani, you said?”

“Yeah. I pulled the file. E5, junior sensor operator in a ground-mobile division; no records on education, but she came out of a TRW campus on Damanti with her papers intact, so probably a BS in computer science or maybe some radio certification.”

“Where is she now?”

“No idea.”

“Let me guess: classified?”

“No, we kicked her out two years ago. It seems she stirred up some trouble in a sweep-and-clear on Zulo III… another corporate zone, from what I can see. She and two other 2130s disabled a lighter that had been chartered to evacuate some company property. General discharge.”

“Section 12E?”

Michelle gave him a thumbs-up. “You knew before you asked, I bet. See, you’re smart enough for CODA—wasting your life with those ragtag second-string mopes.”

“Probably.”

“I’m always telling you I could find you a place in my group, EJ—all you have to do is say the word. Why’d you want the dog, anyway. More trouble?”

“Chance encounter. I figured she was one of yours.”

His friend snorted. “On Jericho? Even if you do get court-martialed, the Board won’t send you there. Cruel and unusual punishment went out last millennium, EJ.”

He was finding it harder and harder to think of that as simply a joke. When he’d taken the assignment it sounded like an interesting challenge, and a good next step on his career path. Parlay it into a proper command, and then perhaps a stint of proper teaching, too…

Making it up that ladder in CODA would take ten years longer, and the pay—while more regular—wasn’t as lucrative. CODA handled the more serious operations, the ones that legitimate governments paid for. Jericho seemed legitimate. His research even explained why CODA would’ve stepped back.

Geruda did not explicitly bar animals from serving, and a few starships rented Trimurti moreaus because it was much cheaper than finding qualified humans, but he doubted if there were more than a few dozen serving voluntarily. CODA Directive 2130, on the other hand, authorized the Defense Authority to openly recruit moreaus, and even to offer them a pathway to Yucatec citizenship. By some accounts non-humans made up 5% of their enlisted ranks—a quarter or more in some niche specializations.

And as time went on, they’d grown wary of police actions aimed at suppressing moreaus. Hell, one of the ‘autonomous’ colonies even had a standing CODA protection contract, although it had never been called in. The Authority avoided pitting moreaus against their kin. And if it happened, and their Directive 2130 soldiers acted insubordinately, Section 12E allowed for a general discharge instead of more aggressive punishment.

That wasn’t supposed to happen in cases of violence, and when he took the job Coble would’ve scoffed at letting someone who disabled a starship off the hook so lightly. He would’ve said Jericho hired Geruda to train their Home Guard because they needed someone who wasn’t so soft on the fucking animals.

And why would anyone be soft? The moreaus were, at best, living computers with a vague sense of self-awareness; at worst, nothing more than tools for humans to use as they saw fit. CODA taking the easy way out to fill its ranks was a sign of their weakness, not Geruda’s.

He recharged his coffee, staring at his haggard reflection in the black surface for a long time before taking the first drink.

—rough wedge, offering reasonable visibility towards the west-northwest.

However, a small group (15–20) of OTH infantry in powered armor of indeterminate manufacturer and capability used the ensuing quiet period to position themselves on the company’s flank, closing to no more than two kilometers without detection. No airborne sensors were programmed to search for such equipment.

At 0815, 2 AT-56s were fired at a Jackal (2/B/1, frame F89) from the formation’s southwest. Despite the close range, only one missile hit, causing minimal damage. F89’s commander reported being in contact. In the next 90 seconds, 9 further shots disabled or destroyed F89, F91 (2/B/1) and D43 (2/B/2).

1st Platoon, B Company indicated their perilous situation, but the company commander would not issue new orders without explicit guidance from OC Col. Reyes and section leaders would not reorient to meet this new threat on their own initiative. By the time new orders had been issued and clarified at 0825, B Company had lost 7/14 Jackals in 1st Platoon and 3/14 Jackals in 2nd Platoon.

Although 3rd Platoon, A Company was positioned with clear lines of fire, they failed to engage the infantry or, indeed, to even shift their own orientation to meet a now-obvious flanking attack until Reyes directed two sections to cover B Company’s retreat, by which point the OTH infantry had infiltrated close enough that area-effect rockets could no longer be employed.

This inexplicable display of incompetence all but ensured that—

Coble’s finger over the word ‘incompetence,’ although he couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. The whole sentence would really have to go, and Jodi was definitely going to object to his tone. Stutts wouldn’t, he figured. And then he got the chance to find out: he answered the door’s chime to find the colonel on the other side. “Uh—sir?”

“Came down on the last lighter. At ease, EJ.”

“Yes, sir.” He let Stutts into the office, and secured the door. “What brings you to Sheridan?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news after the mess this morning, and you oughta hear both of ‘em in person. So: what’s your take, EJ? Just between us assholes.”

“The operation? It was a complete disaster.”

“No silver lining?”

“No, sir. None. Between us assholes.”

“I was worried about that,” Colonel Stutts admitted with a nod. “Here’s the good news: there’s a slot opening up soon for a battalion commander in the 3rd Legion. It’s mostly acting as auxiliaries for corporate light mercs—but competent ones. Your experience would be pretty handy, major.”

“There’s a catch, right? What do I have to do?”

“For a start, you have to stop telling the truth when you’re asked.” His grin was wide… and very forced. “Try again. But make it one of those ‘compliment sandwiches.’ Start with something good, end with something good. No—don’t object. Find something, major.”

Coble grimaced as he racked his brain. “The machines held up, I guess. Maintenance and supply is not as big of a problem as I might’ve thought, considering they’re learning advanced technology on the fly.”

“Nice. And now, if there’s anything bad?”

“They’re slow to react, and without orders they’re all but hamstrung. The OC just barely handled a company and a half—no way in hell you can manage a brigade if your span of control runs all the way down to the section level. And, maintenance aside, there’s no way to argue with how they handle the Jackals. Four KIA, another 31 wounded, and twelve mechs unsalvageable for six probable kills.”

“And to wrap it up?”

He couldn’t tell if Stutts was putting him on. “Sir…”

“Do better, EJ.”

“They… they didn’t break. It shouldn’t have come down to it the way it did, but they fought… bravely. Ineffectively, but bravely.”

“‘Ineffective’ makes the compliment sound insincere,” the colonel warned him. “But that’ll do. A few more ops, and we can get you out of here. What about the other players?”

“The Sanganese are aggressive and competent. They weren’t up against much, so I’m not sure what it would look like on more than a police action, but they’re reliable. The moreaus… I don’t know what to make of the intel. This is the first time they’ve used powered armor. Was it an elite unit? Just scouts? We’ll have to watch that.”

Stutts became immediately serious, the change in his demeanor and sincerity apparent. “We will. The analytics group is working on a report. You’ll have their findings as soon as there’s a draft.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Here’s the bad news.” He held out a computer, with a memo open and waiting.

To: [EXTERNAL] Col. Stuart Stutts

_CC: Gen. John Devry, Gen. Royce Stevenson, Cate Breckenridge (SVP-OPS), PJ Gowan (SVP-IHR)

From:_ Jodi Owen (SVP-CSM)

Subj: Operation in Deerhaven Valley

Mr. Stutts,

I must start by apologizing that you were not informed of the planned operation before it took place. The opportunity arose and Generals Devry and Stevenson agreed that we should advantage of it. I know this is not a normal way of working, and we must avoid it in the future.

But I don’t want to detract from the victory that we achieved, thanks to your dedication and training. Deerhaven Valley is now cleared, I am told, which is an obvious testament to your company’s skill and to the virtue of aggressive, decisive action. Cate approved my request for a 15% bonus this month to your team. Feel free to distribute that however you want.

When something works, it should be recognized—and replicated. I and everyone here in Jericho look forward to even greater future success based on today’s lessons. When should we talk about the next steps?

Coble closed the memo. “They’re happy?”

“Very. They got results, major. It took setting the valley on fire, sure, but… results, no? Can you argue with them?”

“You tried,” Coble realized. His commander had not, after all, included a bonus payment in the ‘good news.’ Stutts saw what would inevitably happen. “You tried to argue. Is it improper to ask what happened, sir?”

“‘Results’ was mentioned repeatedly. They liked seeing the airstrikes, and the artillery. They want to use that more often. If we don’t support them, initiative passes over to the other militias—anyone who will support them.”

“With all due respect, sir, then… that means all I can do is…”

“Damage control. All you can do is damage control.”

“It’s one thing to say that, sir. But people are going to get killed over this.”

Stutts didn’t disagree. He shook his head sympathetically when Coble told him about advising the mech drivers to freeze before locking their railguns—but he left, too, with parting words that echoed Jodi’s: “do the best you can, and find a way to make it work . However we can manage, let’s do that.”

Ellison didn’t know what it would mean. He finished writing up the debrief, soft-pedaled the least dangerous parts, and finally checked the non-priority alert that had been waiting in his inbox for hours. It was from Captain Shirakawa:

told ya. PS—drinks tomorrow?

Coble read the first two words over and over. That, he thought. That was the ‘message’ the Kingdom intended to send, and it was the one the Jericho Administrative Board had received. They believed it, far more than they believed anything he’d had to tell them.

And it wouldn’t stop. Even ‘damage control’ was an absurd idea, because he was no longer in control. And they were on their own. The sector government had abandoned them. CODA had abandoned them, despite his suspicions.

So what could he do?

He took a taxi to Nottoway, where he lived, walked across town, and took a different taxi over to Presbyter City. There was no reason to think he was being followed, but also no reason to be careless. An hour of strolling, picking his way from narrow street to the next, took him to the river.

Dani tensed when she saw him, though she made no attempt to flee. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Why? What about?”

“What you’re doing here. On Jericho.”

She lapped at her muzzle nervously. “I live here.”

“But you’re not from here. I don’t think you just came here because they were the only ones who’d take you after you left the military. With a 12E? Suppressed? Most people won’t know to read between the lines if you wanted to find work in the civilian sector. Probably better than this work, even.”

She splayed her ears. “I could give you a discount.”

“I’m not blackmailing you.” Dani stared at him. “You want to keep up the act? Do I need to grab you by the throat again?”

He heard the moreau sigh: a short, sharp sound. Nothing about her moved or gave any other sign. Her ears were still back. “Yes. Against the alley wall back there.” She didn’t resist when he took her scruff and dragged her over. A jerk of her muzzle brought him closer, curiously. Their faces were nearly touching, and as her eyes narrowed and she hissed at him Ellison became aware of how sharp her teeth might be. “What do you want?”

“Tell your superiors I want to talk.”

“What?”

He let go. They were deep enough in the alley no casual observers could see them. “I’m an instructor for Geruda. We’ve been brought in to train the JHG on all the new toys they’re buying. As a street-walker, you might not care.”

“I don’t.”

“But you might know someone who does. You must meet many people in your line of work, right? Maybe some of them, unlike you, are active in Kashkin intelligence.”

“If they were, they’d be smart enough not to tell me.”

“Or they’d gamble that you were trustworthy. There’d be a reward if you reported someone politically unreliable to the Arcadian government, right? Maybe a few weeks of pay, for a prostitute with your negotiating talents.”

“If they believed me.” He dipped his hand into his pocket; the data card fell with a soft clink. Dani didn’t look down. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“I figured.”

“But?”

“But tell them anyway. And we’ll see what happens.”