uncharted caves.
For the Hammers, the karst was military horror writ large, a three-dimensional puzzle they could never solve: too big to isolate, too expansive to carpet bomb, too broken to cross on foot, too fractured to reconnoiter, every boulder an ambush site, every sinkhole an escape route.
But for the NRA, the karst was a sanctuary: big enough, tough enough, intricate enough to shelter tens of thousands of people far underground, secure enough to nurture an independent society safe from the Hammer's tacnukes, orbital kinetics, and fuel-air bombs, well watered and blessed with tunnels and thickly forested valley highways out of sight of drones and satellites.
For the first time, Michael began to understand why the Hammers had such trouble rooting out the NRA, how the tiny flame of resistance had managed to survive and flourish for more than fifty years, the full might and power of the Hammer state unable to snuff it out.
The topography had changed dramatically in the space of a few kilometers. Granite gave way to limestone, rounded hills surrendered to a flat-topped plain, water-worn valleys yielded to sheer-sided canyons, subtropical forest degenerated into a miserable tangle of scrubby bushes and trees fighting for survival in the thin soil. Michael's interest did not last long. He was overwhelmed by the need to keep going, to keep up with the rest of the group; the going was hard in the still, humid air.
Hour after hour, they plowed on. Farsi's people had an uncanny ability to find a way through the scrubby undergrowth; without them, their speed would have been measured in meters, not kilometers, per hour. 'About time,' Michael muttered when Farsi called a halt. Even with Adrissa's help, Michael knew he had only a few kilometers left in him.
'Okay. We're here. Welcome to Branxton Base. Follow me and stay close,' Farsi said, and plunged into a small opening in the cliff.
Michael's heartbeat picked up at the prospect of meeting Vaas. He had last met the man in charge of the NRA in December '99 and wondered how much he had changed. Taking a deep breath, he followed Farsi.
'Michael. Welcome. Sure as Kraa didn't expect to see you again.'
'I never planned to be back, sir,' Michael said. 'Shit! I never wanted to be back, much as I enjoyed your hospitality the first time around.'
Mutti Vaas had aged since Michael had last seen him, skin washed gray by the cold lamps set around the wall of the cave and stretched over hunger-sharpened cheekbones, stress lines cut deep. His eyes had not changed: Dark brown, almost black, they looked right into him, unwavering, unblinking, unforgiving. Interrogator's eyes, hard, penetrating, cruel even, the eyes of a man used to untangling truth from lies. The eyes of a man not to be crossed.
'Can't say I blame you,' Vaas said with a broad grin. He leaned forward as if to reassure himself that he really was looking at Michael Helfort, the fingers of his left hand fiddling restlessly with a small charm hanging from a thin gold chain around his neck. A tiny shiver caressed Michael's spine when his neuronics identified the charm. It was no charm; it was a gold sunburst, the insignia found on the lapels of every DocSec officer's dress uniform. Pity the poor bastard from whose uniform the sunburst had come, Michael thought; he would have died a bad death.
'After the Bakersfield business, after what you did to the Hammers at Kraneveldt,' Vaas continued, 'why would you? The Hammers still have warrants out for your arrest. Anyway, enough history. Michael, you'd better introduce me.'
'Yes, of course. This is Captain Adrissa, our senior officer, and Lieutenant Kallewi.'
'Captain Adrissa, welcome,' Vaas said with a smile. 'All a bit unexpected, I gather.'
'Thank you, sir,' Adrissa said, 'and yes, it has all been a bit unexpected. This is not quite how I imagined spending the rest of the year, I must say.'
Michael sympathized. 'Unexpected' did not come even close to describing what Adrissa and her people had been through. Less than a week ago, she had been the senior officer of a Hammer prisoner of war camp, an unhappy but predictable existence. She might be forgiven for wondering what she had done to deserve this.
'Lieutenant Kallewi,' Vaas said. 'I don't suppose you ever imagined you'd get dirtside on Commitment after Comdur?'
'No, sir,' Kallewi said, grimacing. 'I wanted to but was beginning to think I never would.'
'This,' Vaas continued, 'is my chief of staff, Brigadier General Cortez, and my intelligence chief, Colonel Pedersen.'
Cortez, a heavily framed man, stocky, powerfully built, and Pedersen, a tall, slight woman with hair stubble cut down to her skull and piercing blue eyes, both nodded. Neither smiled; neither spoke.
'This might not look much'-Vaas waved a hand around the cave-'but it's secure. The Hammers don't know it even exists, and even if they find out, it's too deep for their ordnance to reach. Right,' Vaas said. 'We've studied the message you sent during your attack, and I must say it raises more questions than answers. I imagine your Lieutenant Cheung is someone very special, Michael.'
'Yes, sir, I think she is,' Michael said, his face reddening with embarrassment.
'I'd hope so, after what you've done.' Vaas paused. He nodded, his lips ghosting into a brief smile, fingers still playing with the sunburst on the chain hung around his neck. 'But I think I understand now,' he said. 'We didn't enjoy Colonel Hartspring's performance, not that we were surprised. He's a bad one, a view I know Colonel Pedersen will agree with. Her parents were rounded up in one of the Hammer's purges. Hartspring killed them both during interrogation. He likes to do that, so you were lucky, very lucky. He's not a man used to failure.'
Michael had glanced at Pedersen while Vaas talked. The woman's face was impassive; not a muscle moved.
'I digress,' Vaas said. 'The question we want answered is this: Why in Kraa's name should we have anything to do with you? Why shouldn't we just cut you loose? We have enough to worry about what with the Hammers calling us Fed-loving traitors, something they like to do all the time. How is having you here going to help us? We've studied every guerrilla war in recorded history, and history shows that we risk our legitimacy by working with you. This is our war; this is a people's war. It has nothing to do with the Federated Worlds. It's not your business.'
Michael shot a glance at Adrissa; she nodded.
'Look, General,' Michael said. 'I study history, too, and I-we-understand the point you make, but you said something last time we met, something I've never forgotten.'
'Oh?'
'Yes. You said, 'All we want from people like the Feds is help. Give us the tools, and we'll finish those Hammer scum off.' '
'I said that?' Vaas said, eyes narrowing into a skeptical frown.
'Yes, General, you said that,' Michael said firmly. 'So that's what we're here to do: help. If you and your people want to pretend we don't exist, that's fine by us. We'll still help, but if you didn't mean what you said'-Vaas's eyebrows lifted-'if you're not interested in three assault landers, you're not interested in our microfabs, you're not interested in hundreds of well-trained military personnel, that's fine. We'll go and start our own guerrilla war somewhere else. It's your call, sir.'
Michael sat back, his eyes locked on Vaas's. Vaas stared back, and there followed a long and uncomfortable silence. Michael sat unmoving, praying that he had not overplayed his hand.
The corners of Vaas's mouth turned up a fraction before his mouth opened wide into a broad smile. 'Oh, you Feds,' he said, shaking his head. 'Some things never change. Self-doubt never was a problem with you people.'
'Nor with yours,' Michael said.
Vaas laughed. He turned to Adrissa. 'You know what, Captain?'
'No, General. What?'
'We were all raised to regard all Feds-and everyone else in humanspace, come to that-as Kraa-less heretics, evil and corrupt. The Kraa-less bit is no problem; there's not one NRA trooper who doesn't think it's all fundamentalist bullshit, but we have to be careful. There can be no 'you' and 'us.' Your people must be part of the NRA, must commit to the Nationalist movement. You must share everything: what we stand to win, what we stand to lose. They must live with us… and die with us. Your people cannot be different. It won't work otherwise.'
Adrissa considered that for a moment before she nodded. 'I agree, but I'll not allow the NRA to coerce my people into anything, and I'll still be responsible for their overall welfare. How that works in practice is something we can sort out later.'
Vaas glanced at his chief of staff. Cortez nodded. 'Good,' said Vaas. 'I think we are agreed. However'-he raised
