Africa Zero (19 page)

“I’d
have thought so, and the quantity of them tells us something as well,” I said.

“A
private army,” said Susan, noncommittal.

Gurt
was looking from one to the other of us. I expected him to say something, but
he just watched and listened.

“The
question is, which Family?” I said.

Just
then the lift door opened and in walked a short ugly man carrying a large tray.
He stopped in the middle of the floor, the ripples now spreading out from his
feet looking exactly like ripples on water. Susan nodded to the end of her desk
nearest to Gurt. The man walked there and placed the tray on the desk. It was
loaded with fancy foods. Gurt looked at the tray and his stomach rumbled
loudly. The man stood by the desk waiting.

“Drinks,
anyone?” Susan asked.

“Beer.
Same for Gurt,” I said.

Susan
nodded at the man and he went on his way. She gestured at the food.

“Please,
help yourselves.”

Gurt
pulled his chair forwards, picked up a chicken leg, sniffed it then shoved it
in his mouth. He ate it all, crunching up the bone as well, then he steadily
began working his way across the tray. I didn’t bother with anything. I do have
a sense of taste and can be hungry if I so wish. The pleasure of eating is
there for me if I want it, but when that pleasure is infrequently reinforced it
ceases to be of interest. Susan had yet to get out of the habit. She nibbled at
a
vol-au-vent
and watched Gurt with amusement.

“Do
you have any idea which Family it might be, then?” I asked again.

Still
watching Gurt eat, Susan said, “Over the last month we’ve lost to sabotage a
factory and two comsats. This sort of thing hasn’t happened in three centuries.
I would say our problems are related.”

I
leant back and looked at the ceiling, aware she hadn’t really answered my
question. I wondered what she might be concealing from me: she’d had a
more-or-less free hand at JMCC for the last century and a half.

“Molly,
which Family’s sun laser was used four days ago against the surface of Earth?”

The
smooth sexy voice of a woman I had known more than a thousand years ago,
replied, “The sun laser used has long been listed as an historical monument
under joint Family ownership.”

Gurt
looked up at the ceiling, looked around the room, grunted and shoved another
chicken leg in his mouth.

“Is
there any way of finding out who used it?” I asked.

Susan
replied, “There isn’t. It’s already been looked into. Someone had obviously
kept the laser secretly online for a long time for ... eventualities. There’s
no trail to follow.”

“That
eventuality was one of my battle tanks,” I said.

“Poor
boy,” said Susan.

“Ask
the God soldiers,” said Gurt.

We
both looked at him, but he thereafter ignored us and continued with his
munching.

“Well,
someone provided them with weapons and piloted gun ships,” I said.

“You
should have snatched one of the pilots,” said Susan.

“I
did, but I left him in the tank.”

“Remiss
of you. We’ll send people in, get another one then, or a military adviser,
something.”

“No,
I’ll go in,” I said.

Susan
shook her head.

“Killing
you is just a way of destabilising JMCC; just a preparatory move before a
strike. Why put yourself in that kind of danger? I’ve got professional people
here who can do this.”

“If
you give me cover I won’t be in much danger. I know another satellite strike is
unlikely now, but I want that small likelihood covered.”

“You’ll
be taking out another of those blasted tanks?”

“Oh
yes.”

Our
conversation was interrupted by Susan’s servant bringing in another tray. On
this were bottles of beer and thin beakers made of artificial pearl. He poured
us each a drink from one of the large bottles then quickly retreated. I had to
ask.

“Servants,
Susan? Are you over-budgeted on manpower?”

“Jank
is not a man. He’s my protection.”

“Android?”

Susan
shrugged. She wasn’t telling. I let it drop.

“I’ve
got another store over near the border of Cuberland. I’ll run out there in a
wing and take it from there. I suggest you prepare for attack,” I said.

“Already
underway. Since the sabotage we’ve been expecting something,” she replied.

“Satellite
strike?”

“Even
now I have platforms moving into the ionosphere. You’ll be covered.”

I
sipped at my beer. I needed liquids as coolants and beer was as good a liquid
as any other. On my second sip I remembered to turn on my taste buds and as
always, was pleasantly surprised at the unaccustomed input. Gurt watched me for
a moment then picked up a beaker. After his first taste he looked with
suspicion into the beaker before taking another sip.

“I’d
also suggest you let it be generally known about Gurt’s people on Madagascar.
Once that’s done everyone will be watching,” I said, and turned to Gurt. “What
do you want, Gurt?”

“I
want to kill God soldiers,” he enunciated perfectly.

I
hadn’t expected any different.

* * *

The
wing was just a two-man transport, with AG, an array of thrusters, and a single
steering wing mounted underneath. It was the fastest way of getting from point
A to B in atmosphere. By the time Gurt and I reached the landing field it was
fuelled and ready for me on the glassite surface. Gurt was walking a little
unsteadily. He’d told me he had not liked the beer to begin with. It seemed to
me that he soon acquired the taste. He’d emptied two of the two-litre bottles
while Susan and I made our plans.

I
lifted the wing on AG, hit the thrusters, and in seconds we were out over the
veldt. It took less than an hour to cover the distance it had taken us four
days to cover on foot. At extreme detector range I picked up on four gun ships
heading for the Atlas Mountains. I ignored them and turned east towards
Cuberland. Below us the veldt was swiftly encroached on by ambatch trees,
acacia scrub, and scattered groundsels. There were river valleys down there
where bamboo and cycad forests fought their slow war. Into some of these
valleys were the crushed-plant highways of mammoth trails, and on one occasion
we passed over a herd of some three hundred mammoth. I turned to Gurt to point
this out, but he was fast asleep. It seemed he did not remain long impressed by
anything.

Another
hour brought me over a river valley, in which the red-stained ground had been
planted with dwarf water-oaks. Sometime someone was going to make the
connection. I reversed thrusters and decelerated into the valley. Gurt snorted
and looked round blearily. He sat up and looked down at the wide, slow-flowing
river below us. I brought the wing down until it was ten metres above the
surface and we could clearly see the crocodiles lying like logs washed up on
the banks, and a single completely pink hippo charging into a bamboo thicket.
With a couple of bursts from the thrusters I had us travelling upstream to the
inevitable cave from which the river issued. As we slid into the shadows,
swarms of bats thumped against the screens. So thick a swarm was it that the
wing slowed. I hit the lights and waited for it to clear. When it finally did I
gave us another little boost from the thrusters.

The
cave went deep under the land. After about two hundred metres the river dropped
away below and I brought the wing down on a stone floor mounded with bat
droppings and crawling with cockroaches.

“This
is it,” I said to Gurt.

He
looked askance at me as I got out, but he followed.

In
the dark I used infrared and Gurt his saurian vision. Carrying weapons we’d
brought from JMCC we walked between the swarming mounds to a wall of the cave.
I didn’t know precisely where the door was so I sent the signal from there. The
stone-effect door ground open about ten metres to my right. Bat droppings,
cockroaches, and a couple of foot-long centipedes dropped into the lighted
lift. Great. We’d brought along a couple of APW carbines, QC handguns, some
explosives and a pack of supplies for Gurt. What we hadn’t brought was a
shovel. I walked up to the lift drawing my QC gun. On wide beam I fried
everything living in the lift. I didn’t want my hideaway crawling with
cockroaches. I do have some standards. Using our feet Gurt and I kicked most of
the bat droppings out of the lift. Once we were inside, the door grated shut
and the lift immediately took us up. Let it suffice for me to say that a few
hours later Gurt was at the controls of another of my tanks and we were
crossing into Cuberland.

* * *

It
soon became evident that we were entering the territory of the Army of God when
Gurt brought the tank onto a dirt track through the acacia shrub. At regular
intervals along the edge of the road were stakes on which had been impaled
those guilty of infractions of the severe religious laws here. Soon we came to
a wooden gate across this road and a small guard outpost. I decided it was time
to ask directions.

“You
stay in here,” I instructed Gurt.

“I
don’t want to,” he said.

Four
guards had come out of the outpost and were standing looking at the tank,
unsure about what to do next. I decided I would use a more indirect approach
than was usual for me.

“Okay,”
I said to Gurt. “Stand back from me and don’t kill anyone unless it becomes
necessary. We’re after information here.”

We
climbed out of the tank and walked over to the guards. Gurt carried his APW and
his laser. I only carried a laser.

“Good
evening,” I said to the one I ascertained to be the leader here. He was a tall
fair-skinned man with long blond hair under his mirrored helm. His three
companions were bushmen. One of them, by the marking on his face, looked to be
a Yoruba tribesman. The soldier looked at me impassively.

“I
was wondering if you could help me.” I gestured back to the tank. “I have here
a gift for the Bishop, but I seem to have become lost.” Really lame.

“Papers,”
said the soldier, holding out his hand. His three companions had their Opteks
pointed at us. I continued walking until I was up against the gate. They stood
a couple of metres away on the other side of it.

“Paper?
No one said anything about papers,” said I.

“Remove
your weapons and drop them on the ground, now,” said the soldier. So much for
all my good intentions. I reached down, heaved the gate up, and threw it at
them, then I drew my laser. They all went down in an ungainly heap under the
heavy gate. One Optek discharged its box into the sky. Gurt stepped past me and
burnt a hole through the Yoruba’s face.

“Leave
one alive,” I said, holstering my weapon again. Gurt stamped hard on the chest
of one of the remaining bushmen then burnt a hole through the throat of the
other. The fair-skinned one had by then scrabbled out from under the gate and
was reaching for the pistol in his belt. Gurt kicked his legs out from under
him, swatted him on the side of his head with the flat of his hand, then
removed the pistol from his slack grip. I’d been worried about Gurt getting
hurt. I’d forgotten how he had performed in the forest.

“Check
that,” I said to him, gesturing to the outpost. He nodded and trotted towards
the building. I hauled the unconscious soldier upright and dragged him back to
the tank. By the time I had him propped up against one of the tracks, Gurt was
on his way back and the building was in flames. Gurt had two companions with
him: two women wearing nothing but neck yokes and chains. When they reached the
dead guards Gurt stopped them for a moment. One of the women pointed to my
captive. I guessed what was required and rifled his pockets. By the time Gurt
and the two women reached me I had the key to the yokes. Gurt set about freeing
these slaves. I left him to it and methodically slapped my captive to
consciousness. Finally I got his attention.

“Now,”
I said, remembering conversations I’d had like this before, “if you want to
live you’ll answer my questions. Now, which of the Families is providing your
lot with weapons?”

“I
don’t know,” he said.

I
believed him. He looked scared enough.

“Okay,
who will know?”

“I
don’t know,” he said again, sticking to a trusted formula. This time I knew he
was lying. Some people just can’t help looking shifty when they do it. I
reached down and took hold of his hand.

“I’ll
ask you again, and each time you say ‘I don’t know’ I’ll break one of your
fingers. It’s a tedious process but it always gets results.”

“The
Bishop knows and the upper Clergy. Soldiers are not told,” he said quickly.

That
figured.

“Where
will I find the Bishop or members of the upper Clergy?”

“In
Christoford,” he said.

“How
do I get. . . no, I think I’ll bring you along. You can give me directions.”

I
hauled him to his feet then looked round at Gurt and the two women.

“What
about them?” I asked.

Gurt
shrugged.

One
of them, a Masai beauty with coal-black skin, looked at me very directly.

“You
don’t need him.” She pointed at the soldier and there was contempt in her
expression. “We can lead you there.”

“Very
well,” I said.

I
didn’t mind. There was seating in the tank for twenty people and room for a lot
more. Still holding onto my captive I turned to the tank, then turned back when
one of the two women ran back to the dead soldiers and collected their weapons
and ammo. Gurt looked on and nodded his approval.

“Please
don’t kill me,” said the soldier. I had almost forgotten I was holding on to
him. I released him and he staggered away. He looked at all of us and began
backing off. Gurt started to reach for his pistol but desisted when I looked at
him and shook my head. He looked puzzled until I directed his attention to the
Masai woman. She had dropped all of her load but for one Optek. The soldier
turned and ran for the scrub. The Optek stuttered out half its thirty-round
box. The soldier went head-first into the bushes with one arm and half his back
blown away. I climbed onto one of the tank’s treads and stepped inside. Gurt
followed.