House of the Sun (40 page)
Gordon Ho blinked. Behind him, I saw Pohaku glaring at me.
"Stop it?" Ho echoed. "Stop Project Sunfire? Why? I admit, I
did
consider it dangerous. But there's danger and then there's danger, if you take my meaning." He gestured out the window toward the corp gunships hanging against the sky.
I sighed. "Maybe I should have told you about this earlier," I said, then summarized, as succinctly as I could, what bug-boy had told me.
Ho held his peace throughout my spiel, not even asking any questions. He understood what I was telling him, though, I could see that in the way his eyes narrowed and his face hardened. Finally, after maybe five minutes of talking, I concluded, "The way I scan it, your Project Sunfire
kahunas
are going to get a frag of a lot more than they bargained for."
The erstwhile King Kamehameha V nodded thoughtfully.
"If
you believe an Insect shaman is telling you the truth," he said slowly.
I shrugged uncomfortably. That was the fragging point, wasn't it? Did I believe bug-boy? "It's not like I've really got much choice."
Ho glanced away, as if not wanting to meet my gaze. I knew what was coming. "I understand, Dirk," he said quietly. "I do. But ..."
"She's not your sister," I said, my voice cold and bleak in
my own ears.
The ex-king shrugged. "I understand your concern," he went on, still not meeting my gaze. "But I have to consider more than just one person. The entire nation—"
"Will get drek-kicked by these 'entities'," I broke in sharply.
"If
bug-boy's telling the truth. Hell, maybe he's lying through his fragging teeth. But
I
don't know, and neither do you." I leaned forward intently. "You're right, you've got to think about your people—
all
your people. Are you willing to put them at this kind of risk?"
Ho fixed me with his gaze then, and again I felt the immense force of will, of personality, I'd experienced when I'd first met him in the Iolani Palace throne room. "You make a good case, Dirk," he said calmly. "But am I willing to put them at risk from the corporations? I
know
that risk exists. What you're talking about—"
"It's not immediate, that's true," I said. "Frag, it might not even be real. But there's a big fragging difference,
e
ku'u
lani
. You can negotiate with megacorporations ..."
Ho had to smile. "... And not with malignant 'entities.' Granted." He sighed. "If anyone ever tells you they'd like to be a head of state ..."
"I'll tell them they don't know what the frag they're talking about," I finished. I paused. "So what's it going to be,
e
ku
'u
lani?"
My chest was tight, as if a cold fist were reaching down my throat and trying to turn my lungs inside out. I was afraid I knew which way he was going to jump. Frag, it was the way I'd probably decide if I were in hits position. Which threat would any reasonable person consider the most important? One that anyone with a pair of eyes could recognize? Or one based entirely on the testimony of a soul-sucking Insect shaman?
Yes, I thought I knew how Gordon Ho would have to decide. And then what the frag would
I
do?
I jumped fragging near out of my chair as another voice broke into my thoughts. "The Insect
kahuna
was telling the truth."
Like two puppets on the same strings, Ho and I pivoted our heads to stare at Akaku'akanene. The bird-boned woman was still sitting in full lotus, staring off into space. For all
the reaction she'd shown—or showed now, for that
matter—I'd have sworn she was so wrapped up in speaking to geese that she hadn't heard a word we said.
Gordon Ho leaned forward, his gaze drilling into her. "Say that again," he instructed. His voice was soft, but it was an order nonetheless.
Finally, Akaku'akanene focused her eyes and turned to look at her sovereign. "The Insect
kahuna
was telling the truth," she repeated calmly. "To the best of his understanding."
" 'To the best of his understanding'?" Ho echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The Nene shaman shrugged her scrawny shoulders. "He spoke the truth as he believed it to be," she elaborated, almost casually. "There was no prevarication in what he said. He spoke the truth to the best of his understanding. Nene tells me so."
"But he could be wrong," Ho pressed.
"Of course," Akaku'akanene agreed easily. "But
he
didn't think so."
The ex-king fell silent, and I could almost hear his brain working. Unbidden, my memory brought back an image of Theresa—of her glassy, unblinking eyes. It was all I could do not to speak out, not to throw every argument I could think of behind Akaku'akanene's take on things. But I knew that was the worst thing I could do at the moment. Ho had to come to his own conclusion. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but somehow I managed to keep my yap shut.
"What do
you
think,
makuahine?"
' he asked after what seemed like forever.
"You know what I think,
e
ku'u
lani
," the old shaman said with another shrug. "What I always thought, what I always told you. Forgotten, have you?"
Gordon Ho smiled wryly. "No,
makuahine,
I haven't forgotten." He turned to me. "What do you want to do about this, Dirk?"
I wanted to slump back into my chair and just enjoy the relief that washed over me. But I'd have time for that later. "Shut down Project Sunfire," I said flatly.
To my right I heard an exclamation, quickly muffled, from Pohaku. Ho turned to the bodyguard, one eyebrow raised in query. "You have something to say, Pohaku?" he asked dryly.
The hard-man swallowed visibly. "No
e
ku'u
lani
," he said firmly. "I ... No.
Kala
mai
ia'u,
forgive my rudeness."
I shot die bodyguard a sharp look.
Like
frag
you've
got
nothing
to
say,
I thought.
The
ex-Ali'i
was speaking again, and I turned away from Pohaku. "Shut down Project Sunfire," Ho echoed with a crooked smile. "It sounds so simple. But how, Dirk? I'm no longer
Ali'i,
remember. And the faction of the government with direct control over Project Sunfire is the same faction that arranged to pry me out. Somehow I don't think they're going to listen to a decree to close down the project, do you?"
"Don't just tell them.
Do
it."
"And how do you propose I manage that?"
I swallowed hard. We all knew it was going to come down to this, didn't we? "Send me," I told him. "By all the fragging spirits,
I'll
shut it down."
He fixed me with those sharp, dark eyes. "How, Dirk?"
"It doesn't matter, does it?" I shot back gruffly. (Translation—
I
haven't
got
a
fragging
clue
...) "Just give me some assets and some gear, and get me there. I'll do the rest."
Ho's gaze didn't shift, and I felt as though his eyes were burning their way deep into my brain. "You have your reasons for this ..." he said slowly.
"So do you,
e
ku'u
lani
," Akaku'akanene put in.
The moment stretched out until I was fragging near ready to scream. But then the
ex-Ali'i
nodded once. He seemed to shrink in on himself, as though—just for an instant—he was just plain Gordon Ho instead of King Kamehameha V. "You know, Dirk," he said quietly, "apart from Akaku'akanene, you're the only one I know who treats me as a
person,
not as a king. You tell me what you think, and you don't care if I agree with you or not. Do you have any idea how refreshing that is?"
He sighed, and his face changed. King Kamehameha V replaced Gordon Ho once more. "What do you need?" he asked me.
* * *
If Ho's capabilities were limited by being booted off his throne, I'm not sure I wanted to know how all-encompassing they'd been beforehand. With the sole exception of Jacques Barnard, I'd never dealt with anyone who could whistle up a military transport, personal gear, and personnel with a single phone call. (It was funny—Ho was fragging apologetic that he could supply only one military transport, and that the personnel he could offer were limited to Louis Pohaku, Alana Kono, Akaku'akanene ... and a SWAT-style Quick Response fireteam.
Only!
Cut me loose, here.)
Down in the elevator we went—me, Pohaku, and Akaku'akanene. Another call from the ex-Ali'i had arranged for a car—a Toyota Elite, as it turned out, gleaming like brushed stainless steel under the lights of the underground parkade. My little entourage piled in—Alana Kono was waiting for us inside—and we were off, howling westward along the semideserted streets.
It wasn't what you'd call a comradely ride. Akaku'akanene was talking to geese again, staring off into space like a chiphead. Alana Kono looked like she
might
be up for friendly conversation ... if her boss, Pohaku, hadn't been doing his best imitation of a slotted-off statue. So I sighed and settled back in the upholstery, trying to relax . . . and trying to figure out just what the frag I'd gotten myself in to.
Out onto the Kamehameha Highway we hurtled, me wondering idly what it would be like being descended from someone they named fragging
highways
for—and westward toward the airport.
And past the airport. Lord knows, I was no expert at Honolulu geography, but I could recognize an airport when I saw it flashing by at 200 kilometers per hour. I leaned forward and rapped hard on the kevlarplex partition. "Hey, slot
!
" I yelled at the driver. "You missed the fragging turn"—I hesitated—"didn't you?"
Pohaku's iron-hard hand on my shoulder pulled me back. He sneered at me and pointed out, "You think we're going to the civilian field ... e
ku'u
haku?"
His tone of voice turned the term of respect into the foulest of epithets.
"Where, then?" I shot back, loading my response with as much sarcasm as I could generate on the spur of the moment.
Pohaku didn't even bother to answer. Instead he just turned away, and pointedly stared at nothing out the Elite's window.
Alana Kono touched my arm, and she shot me a slightly embarrassed grin. Apparently, she'd finally decided that her job description might just include acting like a human being after all. "Kaiao Field, Mr. Dirk," she explained softly. "Used to be Hickham Air Force Base."
I sat back and tried to pretend I was as unconcerned as Akaku'akanene. But it wasn't easy. Jam or no jam, did Gordon Ho really think he still had any influence over the military?
Within a matter of minutes the Elite slowed, and we took a long sweeping left onto a minor connecting road. A few hundred meters to our right, I could see the floodlights and warning signs of a military compound. Ahead of us was ...
Well, nothing that I could see. It was pitch black ... apparently all the way to the horizon. The only illumination came from the headlights of the Toyota limo.
Finally, after a minute more, those lights fell on a heavy-duty chain-link fence topped with hair-thin lines of refracted light that I identified as monowire. A sign on the fence read, "Lahui Mea Ki'ai o Hawai'i." Basically meaningless, until I saw the translation in small letters underneath: "Hawai'i National Guard."
The Elite sighed to a stop in front of a reinforced gate. Uniformed guards double-timed it toward the limo from an armored guard post, then suddenly snapped salutes to the car—or anything else that happened to be in their field of vision—and double-timed it right back to the guard post. The gate rolled back silently, and the Elite accelerated through.
Out onto the apron of a small airbase we drove, hanging a sharp left and finally to a stop in front of what looked like an administration building. A uniformed NCO—a troll, looking entirely too spit-polished—opened the door of the limo and snapped me a textbook-perfect salute as I climbed out. "Welcome, sir!" he damn near bellowed. "If you'll come this way ... ?"
Believe me—I've never been one of these hard-case slots who thinks that happiness is a warm gun, but ...
By Ghu, it felt good to wrap my hands around something with a little more authority than a pistol, let me tell you that, chummer. The spit-polished troll presided over a load-out that would have left an NRA nut juicing his jeans. Basically, I'd been given my choice of any personal arms and armor I wanted from the Hawai'i National Guard's extensive collection. Full-on battle armor? What's your size,
hoa!
Panther assault cannon? Would you like that with or without a
smartlink, sir?
Don't get me wrong—I didn't go overboard. There are people out there who think they're innately capable of handing top-drawer military hardware. Active battlesuits? Man-pack miniguns? Bring'em on!
Not me. Frag, I remember how much it affected my balance the first time I tried on a suit of heavy security armor during my Lone Star Academy training. I fragging near did a face-plant when I tried to get up off the bench. Any sales slot who tells you "Anyone can wear any kind of armor, right off the shelf' is giving you the major song and dance, trust me.
So I crammed my fears way down deep into the back of my brain, and I kept tight rein on my impulses. No heavy security armor or miniguns for this kid. I picked out a nice, familiar set of Level 3 form-fitting body armor, and—okay, maybe I overreached myself on this one—an Ares high-velocity assault fire. As an afterthought, I picked myself out a nice assault vest—basically, a harness with the sole purpose of carrying an obscene number of spare ammo clips—and I was ready.
