Duty, Honor, Planet

change within the next few years. If you will continue to have faith in yourselves,” she smiled modestly, “and a little in me, things are going to get better. Thank you for your time.”

Thunderous applause filled the old warehouse as she stepped down from the hand-made wooden podium, and, somehow, she found it even more satisfying than the ovation she’d received in the Senate. Looking out at the hundreds of small farmers, some dressed in little more than rags, with their faces beaming with the hope she represented, she was almost moved to tears. A sight like that made all the travel and sacrifice worthwhile.

“How come it’s gotten so fucking cold all of a sudden?” Glen muttered, shivering in his thin, Italian suit, glancing out the open freight doors at the faint glint of the setting primary star.

“This is the desert, Glen,” she reminded him quietly, closing the upper fasteners of her light jacket. Together, shadowed by the ever-wary form of Tanaka, they stepped down from the speaking platform, and immediately were met by Miguel Huerta, the chairman of the Independent Farmer’s Council. He was a stocky, greying man in his early fifties, face cracked and weathered by more than three decades in the desert—he’d been one of the first of the forced immigrants, brought there only months after the policies were enacted.

Yet, after all the hardships and mind-numbing labor, he’d not only prospered, but he’d kept a positive, cheerful disposition: she couldn’t remember a time she’d met with him when he wasn’t laughing and smiling.

“Thank you so much for coming to see us again, Senorita O’Keefe.” He embraced her warmly, beaming through his salt-and-pepper beard. “You leave us, as last time, with a new sense of hope.”

“It’s people like you who are the true source of hope, Miguel,” she told him, squeezing his arm fondly. “You give me hope for the future.”

Glen glanced over to make sure the RHN reporter was picking all this up on the little holocam resting on his shoulder mount—this was good stuff.

“Ms. O’Keefe,” Jason McKay said, stepping up to them, “your flitter is warming up outside.” Val regarded him coolly. She still burned a bit from his insistence on running all the attendees through a weapons scan before allowing them inside.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she told him dismissively. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, trying to be patient. “Please try to hurry, though—there’s quite a crowd outside, and it’s getting difficult for my people to keep them away from the vehicle.”

“That’s your problem, McKay,” Glen snapped. “We’ll be out when we’re damn good and ready.”

“Mr. Mulrooney, I’m curious,” Jason asked him, showing his teeth in something less than a grin, “did your parents have any children that lived?”

“Listen, you…” Glen flared, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Jock Gregory, who ran up to McKay with a concerned look on his face.

“Sir,” he announced, slinging his grenade launcher, “there’s a couple of CeeGee troop carrier pulling up outside—looks like a platoon of ’em.”

“What do they want?” Jason asked him.

“Don’t know,” Gregory told him. “Lieutenant Stark’s going to talk to them now.” He shook his head. “Things are getting out of hand out there, sir.”

“Jock, you get back out there and back her up,” he ordered. He pulled a small comlink out of his pocket, hitting the send control. “Crossman, get in here and cover the entrance—don’t let anyone in but one of us.” He didn’t wait for the reply, just tucked the radio away and turned to find Tanaka, who was standing on one of the steps up to the speaker’s platform, surveying the crowd carefully. “Tanaka, you keep Ms. O’Keefe in here till we find out what’s going on out there—don’t let her or Mr. Mulrooney out of here until you hear from me or one of my people.”

Not waiting to hear the bodyguard’s reply, McKay drew the 10mm service pistol from the shoulder holster beneath his field jacket and headed out the door. Outside, he saw immediately that things did not look good. There had to be at least four or five hundred people gathered outside the front entrance, hoping to get a glimpse of Valerie, and they were getting a bit restless—pockets were chanting political slogans and some had begun to shout angrily at the Colonial Guard troops slowly clambering out of their armored personnel carriers. They all were in full combat armor, rocket rifles carried at the ready, except for Captain Shan Loa-Deng—she still wore her dress uniform, with the cosmetic addition of a small sidearm.

As Jason approached, squinting at the harsh brightness of the APC’s floodlights, he could see Shannon engaged in a heated conversation with the CeeGee Captain, their words almost lost in the roar of the crowd. One of the forward lights from the nearest armored car backlit the pair, sending an elongated, ominous shadow stretching out on the rocky ground before them.

“Look, Captain,” Stark was saying as Jason walked up, “we have things under control here—I think it might be unwise to provoke this crowd.”

“I have no interest in what you think, Lieutenant.” Deng waved a hand dismissively. “I have been stationed here for an intolerable two years, and I know this immigrant trash. They cannot be allowed to get out of hand or they will start their riots again.”

Yeah, Jason, sighed to himself. What she was saying made sense, until you considered that the Guard troops were arraying themselves in a semicircle on the far side of the crowd, not separating the crowd from the building, but trapping them against it.

“What’s the problem here?” Jason asked, looking from Stark to Deng, letting his pistol hang casually at his side. This, he realized, had the potential to get incredibly ugly.

“There is no problem, McKay.” Deng smiled—not a pleasant sight, speaking of incredibly ugly. “You will take your little Senator’s daughter from this place, and my troops will disperse this crowd of troublemakers.”

“These people aren’t causing any trouble, Captain,” Valerie’s voice came from behind McKay. “They have every right to be here.” Jason just stared at her in disbelief as she and Glen Mulrooney paced through the crowd into the middle of the gathering of officers. Glancing around, he saw Tanaka close behind her, and considered demanding why the bodyguard hadn’t kept her inside. Deciding that recriminations could wait, he turned back to the brewing confrontation between Val and Captain Deng.

“You have no authority here.” The Guard Captain didn’t try to hide her sneer of disdain as she regarded O’Keefe. “All your ridiculous prating can do is cause trouble for those of us who are forced to live here after you leave.”

“You have orders from the Senate to cooperate with me,” Val reminded her.

“And I have cooperated. You had your little speech, now I will make sure it did no damage.” She turned to her XO, a broad-shouldered Filipino in full armor. “Munos, have the drivers begin launching the gas gren…” She wasn’t able to finish the sentence because of the sudden appearance of a gun barrel in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she looked past the pistol, and the arm that held it, to the stony face of Jason McKay.

“No disrespect intended, Captain,” he spoke quietly, trying to keep the anger and desperation out of his voice, trying to sound calm. “But I believe my position as senior Intelligence officer onplanet gives me authority over all planetary troops and constabulary. So I’m going to give you a direct order to put your people back into their vehicles and vacate the area.”

“McKay, you can’t…” Deng began to protest, her voice comically distorted by the gun barrel.

“If you disobey this direct order,” he continued, ignoring her. “I will have no choice but to charge you with insubordination, try you and execute you. Should take… oh, about three seconds, more or less.”

“Captain,” Lieutenant Munos said uncertainly, aiming his rifle at McKay.

“First one that moves,” Shannon warned, pulling out her compact pistol and leveling it at Munos, “gets a bullet through the faceplate. Vinnie! Jock! Tom!” She shouted. “Get over here now!”

The three enlisted men rushed forward, putting themselves and their heavy weapons between their officers and the CeeGee troopers. Vinnie obviously disliked CeeGees—he looked as if he would relish putting a few grenades into the bunch of them. Jock was nearly spastic, quivering with adrenaline and anticipation. Tom wore a confident smugness, sure of his invulnerability.

“You’re being foolish, Lieutenant,” Deng said, her voice almost a whisper—but McKay could see the doubt in her eyes. “My troops will cut your people down in a heartbeat.”

“That’ll be one heartbeat more than you live,” Jason declared flatly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of me, Captain, but I’m well-known for my bad relationship with Colonial Guard officers. I’ve already punched out one