Corporal Tandon heard a faint chirp in his left ear. He touched the control in his breast pocket. "Sarge," he whispered into his throat mike. "Stand by. Message coming in."
Sergeant Miscowsky acknowledged with a tiny shrug. He didn't look around to where Tandon was standing behind him, but went on talking with the village headman. Etienne Ledoux was the blackest man Miscowsky had ever seen. Although clearly past his forties, he had slim hips and a solid barrel chest. He spoke excellent Anglic, sometimes breaking into the Cooney patois to shout something to a villager or make a point with Purdy, then switching back to Anglic without a pause. His voice was musical and surprisingly high. Tough-looking, though, Miscowsky thought. Could have been a good boxer.
"Yeah, we can leave some of the penicillin, no problem," Miscowsky said. "Fungus powder, too. We carry lots."
"So do Major Barton's men," Ledoux said. He set his tea cup down on the table between them and grinned broadly. "For my people's sake I am not sorry you both are trying to bribe us."
Miscowsky grinned back. "And I'm glad we've got your nephew with us."
"Buford was ambitious," Ledoux said. "Not that this place could do much to keep an ambitious boy." His grin faded as he surveyed the oblong clearing from the open thatched pavilion where they sat. Miscowsky followed his gaze. Thatch-and-wicker houses stood on two-meter stilts. A long house on a low platform occupied the side of the village square opposite them. There was a well in one corner of the square, and the brick-lined fire pit in the center was surrounded by benches and tables much like picnic tables.
"Looks pretty good to me," Miscowsky said. "I've seen pictures of jungle living on Earth. This doesn't seem so bad."
"If you like the jungle it is not bad at all," Ledoux said. He paused, and Miscowsky thought he seemed to come to a decision. "Sergeant, let me be frank with you. We cannot help you. Whatever your quarrel is with Major Barton, we want no part of it. We hold no title to this land. In truth, we own nothing. We survive because the planters don't think we're worth the trouble to evict us—"
"I know," Miscowsky said. "The Old Man—Cap'n Frazer—told us. Maybe he could talk to the governor about it."
Ledoux laughed. "You are kind, Sergeant. But I cannot quite believe your governor would make enemies for our sake."
"Maybe not." Miscowsky sipped tea. Behind him Corporal Tandon excused himself and went off to the privy behind the long house. "Cap'n Frazer says the governor's a pretty good guy, though. And the local planters here are already his enemies. They hired Barton."
Ledoux poured more tea and Miscowsky waited. They'd stressed patience in his training. You don't ask too many questions on a prison planet, and anyway Purdy had told him most of the story. Ledoux, and Purdy's father, and some others like them had led a band of time-expired convicts into the jungle, as far from the plantations as they could get and still be able to get back to a road if they had to. By now most of the villagers didn't need or want anything to do with roads or what was at the end of them; but they'd done too much work, clearing jungle and damming streams, to move on.
Nobody knew how many villages like this existed. Satellite photos said several hundred, but most of those were a lot smaller: two or three families, no more. Purdy said his uncle's compound was one of the largest, with almost two hundred people, counting the children.
"Heck, a few more years and you folks will outnumber the planters," Miscowksy said.
He missed Ledoux's reply. Tandon's voice spoke in his ear. "Sarge, we've got new orders. There's a plantation about fifty klicks southwest, on the sea. Cap'n wants us to haul ass down there. Top priority."
Shit fire. Miscowsky visualized the map. Cut straight across the jungle, just about due southwest. No trails mapped. Maybe they'd find one. Have to find something. He gave hand signals to the others. Leave the supplies and get moving, and hope Ledoux didn't think they were being impolite.
"Sure ain't much for a trail," Miscowsky muttered. "They want somebody up there in a hurry, they'd do better to drop a new team in closer."
"Cap'n Frazer said they couldn't do that," Tandon said. "Regiment thinks they'll be watching that place real close."
"What's up there anyway?" Cloudwalker asked.
"I couldn't ask, could I? Only transmission we made was a click to acknowledge orders. One thing, we're supposed to report helicopter traffic, day or night. Break radio silence on that one."
"Won't the rebels be waiting for us?" Purdy asked. "I mean, if we can hear headquarters, they can too, right?"
Miscowsky waved to shush them while they went through a thicket. Then the underbrush thinned and it was safe to talk again. "Nope," Tandon said. "Look, what happens is they send up a chopper so it can see us. Not really see us, but we're in the line of sight, right? Then they aim a beam where they think we are. When I hear it, I click the set. That sends back a signal they can home in on. They narrow the beam down so it's no bigger'n ten meters when it gets to us. Anybody wants to listen to that, he's got to be between us and the chopper. Not much chance of that."
"Besides, it's all in code," Miscowsky said.
"Oh." Purdy peered ahead into the jungle and automatically veered around to the right. "Watch it up ahead. Something in the mud."
"Weems?" Cloudwalker asked.
"Maybe just a log," Purdy said. "Sure rather not find out, though."
Miscowsky shuddered and held his bayonetted rifle warily at chest level. "Tell you, kid, I'm getting right glad you're along."
They were quiet until they were past the small open mud flat. "If it works so well, how come we can't talk back to them the same way?" Purdy asked.
"We don't carry enough gear. Can't aim close enough," Tandon said. "Sure, give me a stable platform and enough time to set things up, I can lock on to the chopper, but it sure ain't any use trying from the crapper in your uncle's village."
They slogged on, Purdy in the lead. Thick mud dragged at their boots but the spiny underbrush slid harmlessly off the nylon of their tunics. After an hour, Purdy stopped and let Miscowsky catch up.
"Sarge, it's getting thicker. We won't make much time."
"Shit fire. We're not making any time now."
"Going to be slower yet."
"Yeah, I can see that. Nothing we can do."
"Well, there's one thing, Sarge. There's water off east of us. Don't remember just how far, but it can't be more than about five klicks. Slough. It runs past the village, and down to the sea. We could get over there and use boats."
"Boats, huh? And where are these boats gonna come from?"
"I can go back and borrow them while you cut over to the water. Then I pole down and pick you up."
"Shit, I don't know," Miscowsky said. "Tandon, just how'd they say that part about the place being watched?"
"Just like that, Serge. Barton's guys'll probably be watching the whole area around the plantation. Chopper patrols, too, maybe, but probably not."
"Purdy, how close does this stream—"
"Not a stream, Sarge. More like a slough—"
"Stream, slough, whatever. How close does it get to the plantation?"
"Lets out into open water about six klicks southeast of there, but we don't want to follow it that far. Gets too deep. But we can get out straight east of the plantation and cut across. It'll be thick, thick as this, but we won't have more'n a klick of it."
"Kid's got a point, Sarge," Cloudwalker said. "No way we'll make more than twenty klicks a day in this stuff no matter how hard we try. Maybe not even that."
"That's right," Purdy said. "The boats would save a day, maybe two."
Miscowsky stared hard at Purdy. "Well . . . Okay. Cloudwalker, you go with him—"
"He'd just slow me down, Sarge," Purdy said.
"Yeah. So how'll you know where to meet us?"
"You cut straight across, due east," Purdy said. "You'll hit the slough by dark. You can't miss it, the water's over your waist. Camp there. I'll start at first light. Can't take me more than two hours. Watch for me."
"Okay, but don't start at first light. Give us a couple hours in case we don't get through this stuff as fast as you do. Got that?"
"Right, Sarge!"
Miscowsky and the others watched as Purdy disappeared back into the underbrush they'd just come through.
"Not too shabby," Owassee said.
"Yeah, the kid just might do. Okay, let's hump it."
Captain Rottermill's light pointer swept around the image projected on the situation room wall. "Good location, all right," he said. "Deep water to the south. Low hills on three sides. Thick jungle for a hundred kilometers in all directions. One narrow road runs northwest to hit the main road to Dagon. Big plantation, six registered helicopters, lots of chopper traffic."
"Did you see anything new in the survsat photos?" Ian Frazer asked.
"Not a thing," Lieutenant Swensen answered.
"Nothing real," Rottermill said. "But I did some fooling around. Watch."
The map table projected the satellite photograph of Rochemont Manor, then dissolved into a computerized drawing of the building and the hill it stood on. An outline formed on the side of the hill next to the helipad, solidified, and opened.
"It's big enough," Rottermill said. "Not one shred of evidence, of course. If there's a door they were careful to use material that gives off the same IR signature as the rocks around it. There's probably not a straight line anywhere in it. Not easy, but not all that difficult either."
"Deep water," Falkenberg said. "How deep?"
"Twenty, thirty meters," Rottermill said. "Maybe more. Charts aren't that accurate for that region. Less than fifty meters, more than twenty."
"Enough," Falkenberg said quietly. He bent over to study the photograph. "These structures here. Docks?"
"Well, some kind of floating platform, sir," Lieutenant Swensen said. "It could be used as a pier. Colonel, do you think—"
"Exactly," Rottermill said.
"It certainly is odd," Falkenberg said. "Only fools regularly go out in deep water on Tanith. Could a landing ship actually operate in that water, Captain?"
"Tough question, sir," Rottermill said. "The inlet's long enough. Bit short for takeoff, maybe. It would depend on the landing ship."
"Could any of Tanith's landing craft operate there?"
"No way, Colonel. Those crates shouldn't be allowed out of a wading pool. You just might get one in but you'd sure never get it out again."
"But military craft could land and take off," Falkenberg said. "Especially if the takeoff load wasn't too heavy."
"Yes, sir. I thought of that, but there aren't any CD Marine landing boats on Tanith," Rottermill said. "I checked. None here to start with, and that cruiser took all hers with her when she left last week."
"You're certain of that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good work. I doubt Captain Andreyev would be involved in a plot against the Fleet, but it's well to be sure. No other ships have arrived since the Kuryev left?"
"No, sir. At least the governor's office hasn't reported any, and they're supposed to advise us of all space traffic."
Falkenberg frowned. "The harvest season's nearly over and more than ninety percent of the crop is in. Tell me, Captain Rottermill, is Ace Barton a fool?"
"No, sir."
"Precisely. So just what does he expect to do with that—merchandise?"
"We've known all along there had to be a ship coming for it," Major Savage said.
"No question about it, Major," Rottermill said. "There's sure no other way to turn the drugs into cash." He slid the keyboard tray out of the side of the map table and began typing.
"She should be coming soon, too," Captain Fast said. "The longer they wait, the more things can go wrong for them. Such as an assault on Rochemont. Colonel, shall I order an alert?"
Falkenberg frowned. "Jeremy?"
"Stage One. Get ready to move," Major Savage said. "But don't go in there just yet. Whatever else Barton is planning, you may be sure he'll have air defenses ringing that plantation."
"Agreed," Falkenberg said. "Amos, if you please . . ."
"Yes, sir." Captain Fast typed rapidly at his computer console.
"Pity we don't have a Fleet Marine assault boat," Jeremy Savage said. "That would give Barton a surprise."
"Sir, could we borrow one from Kuryev?" Lieutenant Swensen asked.
Falkenberg chuckled. "Ingenious, Lieutenant, but I'm afraid we'd never get that much cooperation from Captain Andreyev. Besides, by now they'll be halfway to the Alderson point."
Rottermill looked up from his keyboard. "No incoming shipping scheduled for a month, Colonel."
"Not good." Falkenberg ran one hand through his thinning straw-colored hair. "Damn it, they must have plans for what to do with the blasted drugs once they've collected them—Captain Fast, would you please get the governor on the line. Use the scrambler."
"Sir."
"Ian, when do your lads reach the plantation?" Major Savage asked.
"Be surprised if they're anywhere near the place before Wednesday night."
"Four days," Rottermill said. "Sounds about right. It's thick out there."
"Governor Blaine's office, sir."
"Thank you. Falkenberg here. Good afternoon, Mrs. Chang. I really do need to speak to the governor. Yes, thank you, I'll wait—Ah. Good afternoon, Governor. Yes. Yes, possibly something significant. I'd rather not discuss it on the telephone. Perhaps you'd care to join us for dinner tonight?" He glanced at Captain Fast and got a nod. "The Mess would be honored—Well, yes, it may be important. I'd like to show you. Excellent. Eighteen thirty, then. One other matter, not your concern of course, but we need a complete schedule of all ships expected for the rest of the year. Well, as soon as possible—Yes, of course. Perhaps I should speak to her directly? Good. I'll wait." Falkenberg touched the mute switch on the telephone. "Should have asked Mrs. Chang when I had her on the line. I'll put this on the speaker."
Lieutenant Swensen opened her notebook and unclipped her pen.
"Yes, Colonel?" Ann Chang's amplified voice filled the room. "What can we do for you?"
"We need a full shipping schedule as soon as possible," Falkenberg said. "All space traffic from now through the end of the year."
"Of—of course, Colonel. But you know not all traffic is scheduled—"
"Yes, of course," Falkenberg said impatiently.
Captain Rottermill frowned and reached under the table for his briefcase.
"I'll send you a copy of everything we have at the moment. If you'll wait just a moment. It'll take a few minutes to search the files."
Rottermill set his briefcase on the table in front of him and lifted out a small plastic box. He pressed a switch on it and placed it facing Falkenberg's speaker-phone.
"We can wait," Falkenberg said. He glanced at Rottermill and raised one eyebrow. Rottermill nodded curtly.
"Colonel, the computers are doing odd things with the data base," Ann Chang said. "Let—let me call you back, please."
Falkenberg glanced at Rottermill. The intelligence officer nodded again. "Very well," Falkenberg said. "We really do need that schedule. We'll wait for your call."
"Thank you, Colonel," Ann Chang said. "It'll be just a few minutes. I appreciate your patience—"
"Not at all. Goodbye." Falkenberg punched the off button, looked to make sure the connection was broken, and looked back to Rottermill. "Well?"
Rottermill turned the Voice Stress Analyzer so that Falkenberg could see the readout. A line of X's reached far into the red zone. "Colonel, she's scared stiff."
"What put you onto her?" Ian Frazer asked.
Rottermill shrugged. "Do enough interrogations and you get a feel for it. Mind you, this isn't certain. That damn scrambler could affect the patterns. But I'll bet dinner for a week that woman's hiding something. Three days' dinners it's something to do with shipping schedules."
Jeremy Savage laughed. "Rottermill, I doubt anyone will take your bets no matter how you dress them up. I certainly won't."
Rottermill made a wry face. "Colonel, if we could have the next call without the scrambler?"
"Of course."
Captain Fast scratched his head. "Colonel, if the Chief Administrator is in league with the rebels—"
"We don't know that," Rottermill said.
"But it's not unlikely?" Amos Fast asked.
"With Rottermill willing to bet?" Ian Frazer said. "Christ, do you think she's been feeding Barton satellite data? No wonder they keep finding my patrols!"
Captain Fast whistled softly. "Colonel, shouldn't we send some of the Headquarters Squad to see she doesn't run away?"
"A bit hasty, perhaps," Major Savage said. "Still, if this proves out—"
"I'll ask the governor to bring her to dinner tonight," Falkenberg said.