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Trouble in Paradise

Kevin J. Anderson and Kevin Ikenberry


New Sapporo Spaceport

Meiji


Ellwood clung to the night shadows between a triple-stack of shipping containers. The usual clutter he expected from a United Nations customs-and-clearance zone was absent, which made it hard to stay hidden behind the concertina wire-topped fence.

It wasn’t just the New Sapporo spaceport—the whole planet of Meiji was obsessively clean and neat. Between his failed, rushed attempts to secure passage on any outbound freighter, Ellwood had tried to stay hidden in back alleys and fringe zones. But even those places were as clean as the meticulously maintained thoroughfares of the main city. Now, with time running out, he’d given up going to ground. Instead, he stuck close to the spaceport, hoping for a chance to make his move.

He had to get off this planet.

Three weeks of repeated unsuccessful bids to catch an outbound ship soured his mood. If not for his Blazer training and experience, he would either have been discovered by the UN patrols or would have died from starvation or exposure. Time was running out. He needed to go home.

He drew a long breath and held the chilly, damp air in his lungs. Meiji’s perpetual clouds covered the night sky with a blanket of amber-tinted gray. The cold temperature and annoying mist tried to penetrate Ellwood’s confidence. He would find a ship, and he would make it home to Grainne. And he swore he wouldn’t be too late.

All things are a matter of heart and time.

Ellwood exhaled and closed his eyes for a second. His father’s words rang through his mind like a bell carillon. The last news he’d had from Grainne was of his father’s illness growing worse, the family gathering at the old man’s bedside. Ellwood pictured their somber faces over the sallow, living cadaver which was all that remained of the vibrant farmer after years of cancer. He simply couldn’t believe the old man would go out like that. No, his father was supposed to remain strong and resilient until his last breath.

Ellwood had promised him that he would return from the war. The old man wanted nothing more than that, and Ellwood would cling to that promise with fierce determination.

If you want something enough, you will do anything for it.

Anything.

The cold breeze shook him from memories as another late-season storm approached. The locals refused to call them typhoons because they rarely brought a storm surge or funnel clouds, yet the powerful winds and rains could suspend ships landing from orbit, with commensurate effects on interstellar shipping. The wind brought a repugnant stench from the nearby lichen farm outside the spaceport’s fenced restricted area. Oddly, though, the smell of the lichens—one of Meiji’s primary export crops—only made him recall childhood memories. As a young man traveling to Earth with his father, Ellwood was familiar with the stink of processing mills . . . 

Hang on, old man. I’m coming. As soon as I can get out of here.

To do so, though, he’d have to brave more than the odor of a lichen farm. The only shuttles still on the tarmac occupied berths along the outer border, but an impatient glance at his chronometer gave him a measure of hope. For seven days now he’d observed the UN soldiers patrolling the spaceport, and he knew their rigorous patrol schedule. They did not deviate.

A personnel carrier rolled past at the prescribed time. As the security personnel ended their shifts, a four-minute window would open. Ellwood prepared for the four-hundred-meter move from the terminal fencing to the outer berths.

Eyes closed, he visualized his path through the maze of container stacks. He slowed his breathing and sank down into his Blazer training. Physical exertion meant little. He could easily complete the run in the time allotted but avoiding the security cameras as they swept the area would be the greater problem. He relished the challenge, glad to maintain his carefully honed edge after months away from duty.

Ellwood inched closer to the end of the rusted and dented transport container, where he could peer at the first unmanned security tower. The three closed-circuit television cameras panned from left to right in an orderly, laconic fashion. He’d timed the delay precisely. Each sprint between concealed positions would take him no more than three to five seconds.

That brought a rueful smile. Never forget your training. As a basic infantry soldier, before his time with the Blazers, he’d learned the simple three-to-five second rush. The sergeants had taught him to remain in a covered, prone position and identify a new objective a short distance away, one he could reach in less than five seconds, then return fire before moving again. Repeating the process, one brief dash at a time, would theoretically allow a soldier to move forward under fire.

As a Blazer, though, he’d learned that technique was bullshit. The best option to move forward under fire meant keeping the enemy cowering in their positions with direct fire.

Yet, like everything in his short career, there was a time and a place for each skill he’d learned. The run to the outer berths would be no different. He would make it, one way or another.

Five.

Four.

Three.

He pushed his shoulders off the container, turned to the open tarmac, and drew a long, deep breath.

Go!

Ellwood reached full speed in five steps and got to the first container stack in another twelve. In the clean shadows, he hustled to the opposite end of the container and glanced at the cameras before timing his departure and arrival at the next container. He repeated the simple task without glancing at anything other than his watch. After a minute and a half, hopscotching from place to place, he’d covered half the ground. The extra time gave him a long look at the containers near the remaining ships on the tarmac. Slim pickings. Instead of the forward stack close to the loaders for the ships, he saw the containers were back against the fence line and set for departure. Not what he expected.

He spat a silent curse into the wind and ran for the next container group. The only explanation was that there had been a change in the departure schedule. If containers were too close to a freighter’s powered lift engines, that would cause mass destruction on the tarmac, and the UN would never allow that.

Change of plans, but he could deal with it. A minute later, after adjusting course for the relocated containers, he skidded to a stop in the shadows. A uniformed crew member carrying a slate computer appeared at the opposite end.

Morton.

“Where have you been?” the man hissed. “The Dahlonega is warming to boost now. I can’t get you aboard the Willis either! You’re too late.”

“The hell I am,” Ellwood grunted between breaths. “I’m earlier than you told me to be.”

“Departure time changed two days ago. You didn’t get my message?”

Ellwood swore and shook his head. “Ain’t got a slate, asshole. Been stuck here. How am I supposed to know?”

A curl of breeze carried cigarette smoke to his nostrils. He recognized the scented tobacco; a brand popular in the exchanges of the UN soldiers’ compounds. No sooner had Ellwood recognized the scent, then Morton turned toward the open space and marched toward the ships, leaving him behind. He called over his shoulder. “You better get your ass moving. You know what to do. Could be your last chance.”

Ellwood didn’t argue. He sprinted in the opposite direction, curling around the containers to hug the fence line. Above him, three strands of concertina wire wrapped over the crumbled stone wall. The lower section of discarded antiquated steel containers had seen better times. Rust-rimmed holes dotted several of them. Other voids seemed cut by laser torches. Undoubtedly emptied of their goods and no longer viable for hard vacuum, the decommissioned containers had been used to brace others against the vectored thrust of the transports.

Through a fist-sized hole in the stone wall, Ellwood could see a row of barred concrete cells on the other side of the barrier. The structures were open to the sky above. In the darkness, there seemed to be movement, but he couldn’t discern who, or what, it might be.

Hyper-alert, Ellwood crept deeper into shadow and reached for the pistol tucked inside its makeshift holster. A flitter of movement at a rusted container five meters away made him freeze. A small human head poked out and glanced in both directions. A child.

The little one turned back to him. Ellwood tried to smile, tried to ease the wide-eyed kid’s flash of panic. “Hey! It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. The boy did not seem to understand, and Ellwood mentally slapped himself. The child looked Japanese, and Ellwood switched effortlessly. “Konnichiwa?”

With surprising speed, the boy slithered out of the container and sprinted thirty meters away before sliding on one leg and ducking under the stone wall. Before Ellwood could even move forward, the child disappeared into the stockade on the other side of the barrier.

His brow furrowed. Why would a kid be in there?

From the tarmac, the unmistakable whine of lift engines spooling up propelled him forward. The Dahlonega pulsed her lift thrusters to idle, and the gentle breeze around him became a hurricane. Ellwood dropped to the ground, pressing his face into the alkaline-smelling soil, and crawled forward. As Ellwood peered inside the stockade, he thought the ragged breach in the barrier seemed too small for even the child to have gone through.

UN soldiers with their rifles at the low-ready patrolled around rows and rows of open cells wrapped in heavy bars. As the Dahlonega fired her lift engines behind them and the winds tore sheets of dust and trash into the maelstrom, many of the guards covered their faces and turned away from the blast. Blue-tinted light illuminated the far, dark corners of the interior space, and Ellwood could see that the cells on the other side of the wall teemed with children! Some even younger than the boy he’d seen, the oldest maybe eleven or twelve years. Girls and boys sat together in squalid conditions, in utter contrast to the usual cleanliness of New Sapporo. Some sobbed in muted voices with blue-lit tears streaming down their faces. Others, the older ones, sat glaring at the armed guards around them.

As he realized what he was seeing, Ellwood fought a rising wave of rage at the depravity of the UN. Beautiful, clean, perfect Meiji, like so many things, was too good to be true. A child screamed inside the compound, but no one moved or responded. The familiar actions and reactions of both guards and captives indicated long-term incarceration, as if they’d gotten used to the situation. What the prisoners had done did not matter to Ellwood. They were only children and had no caring adult in sight.

Though he’d been trying to get out of here for weeks, to get home in time to say goodbye to his father, Ellwood forgot his desperate plan to run to the Dahlonega. A prison compound full of kids, right here on the edge of the New Sapporo spaceport—in plain sight, but not on any public records.

Ellwood wasn’t going anywhere until he understood what was happening here—and did something about it. There would be other ships. There had to be. He needed to go home, needed to escape and get to his father’s side.

But he also needed to be here. Now. How could he just leave these children?

Another little boy cried inside the stockade, and the guards barked commands. Chaperones, civilians by their dress, flinched and scurried toward the unseen child. From his hiding place, Ellwood stared at the back of a nearby guard’s head and wished he had a bayonet to fling. Instead, he lowered his face to the crook of his right elbow, covering his eyes from the flying dust. As much as he tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fight, Ellwood knew better.

His father would have insisted he stay.

Tyrants were owed their due. Ellwood closed his eyes and let the last vestiges of hope turn to the simmering fuel of anger. He muttered, expressing the anger that came from several different directions. He was going to miss his last chance to get out of here. “Oh, you fucking bastards.”


UN Forces Cantonment Area

New Sapporo


Sora Hasegawa waited.

Only a few years before, Hermann would have been at her side to place the ancestral string of pearls around her neck. The final moment of careful preparation, long practiced and disciplined by her family’s custom, should have been an intimate moment of trust and love between husband and wife. For every state dinner and official reception they’d attended in their eight years of marriage, he’d known and understood the simple ritual.

But during the last two years, especially following his promotion to command colonel at only forty-three, his fixation on rank and duty had wedged itself between them. Sora had demurred to his needs, since her family’s interests in the United Nations centered on profit from interstellar shipping. Like Hermann, her family’s interest in her was dwindling. Sora knew her role, yet dissatisfaction grew in her heart. More than once, she’d stared in the mirror and watched the gentle acceleration of age while wondering if there was anything more to her life.

She wanted something more.

Hasegawa Interstellar would belong to her when her parents died, but that time did not seem at all imminent, since both were in their seventies, rigorously healthy and vibrant. While Hermann’s rapid acceleration up the chain of command undoubtedly meant they would be recalled to Earth in two years, Sora no longer knew if she wanted to go. Hermann’s first star appeared likely, given the UN political climate. Only results mattered. He’d married the heiress of Hasegawa Interstellar, after all. She had thought their bond was more of love and respect than profit and gain, but that was proven wrong by Hermann’s greed.

While she finished dressing, by herself, Hermann talked loudly into his comm in the bedroom. He’d been staring out the windows toward the spaceport. The approaching storm outside would not likely delay the landing of the Chitose, a shuttle from the Hokkaido, the flagship of Hasegawa Interstellar, but it could complicate the arrival of the Undersecretary for Colonial Expansion. It might cause difficulties for him to arrive for the dinner in his honor.

Difficulties would be too good for them.

Catching herself at the surprising mental remark, Sora drew a sharp breath, but did not rebuke herself for it. Hermann had his own plans. He wanted her to impress upon the undersecretary how much they needed continued commercial and strategic support for UN operations on Meiji. The Hasegawa shipbuilders on Earth were angry and tense because of the continued incarceration of immigrants from Earth and, worse, the separation of minor children from their parents. Hermann, though, justified the action to ensure proper bureaucratic order. Workers were a necessity on Meiji, workers the UN could trust—meaning those without ties or ideations of the Resistance against Earth. No matter where they came from.

Yet, she could not trust the United Nations. On the advice of the general secretary, Hermann and his advisors drafted a temporary policy to secure the loyalty of the immigrant workforce building the Meiji fleet. The UN could hold minor children for six months, with a fee of five thousand marks each. If a family wanted their children, it was not enough for them to pass multiple security investigations and submit to routine searches and continuous observation. The fiscal aspect, Hermann argued, would keep them in line. Living on Meiji was not inexpensive. But Hermann wasn’t satisfied with simple extortion. Should the working parents fail to attend the required wages, they faced deportation themselves. Any children would remain wards of the state until the age of seventeen when they would be conscripted into the Meiji Defense Force, a subordinate command under Hermann’s control as command colonel.

She’d argued that he was perpetuating war, and Hermann had laughed and told her the answer was not so simple. War provided opportunities, and those opportunities would benefit Hasegawa Interstellar and themselves, personally. He’d kept his own role in the war at arm’s length and prided himself in the docile Meiji environment, but he didn’t realize his errors. The first gentle flames of the resistance burned in the quiet alleys and the establishments near the docks . . . and Hermann didn’t see it. Heartsick workers, wanting family more than money, would not be ignored much longer. While her husband and his advisors plotted a way to line their pockets in relative peace, the war slow-marched toward them. Her summoning of the Hokkaido would speed events up considerably.

With a sigh, Sora grasped the ends of the necklace, raised it to her neck, and clasped it with practiced ease. Each time she wore it, and Hermann wasn’t there to fasten it for her, she imagined her mother fainting dead away. The thought made her smile as she straightened the necklace along her skin.

From the bedroom, Hermann ended his comm and called, “Are you ready, Sora?”

Hai,” she replied, before switching to English as Hermann preferred. “Just putting on my necklace.”

Her words had the desired effect, and she was pleased he caught the small, barbed reminder. Hermann sighed heavily in the bedroom and appeared at the vanity door a moment later, stepping behind her. His white uniform contrasted against her simple, elegant black dress. His longish blond hair rakishly swept back and coiffed perfectly, also in striking contrast to her long, straight hair, pulled back in a matching pearl clasp behind her neck.

His lips draw tight and blue eyes turned serious. He met her gaze. “I forgot again.”

She nodded but did not reply.

“You’re upset with me.” He tried to smile. “I neglected my duty, Sora. I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” She nodded again and did not take her eyes from his. “I will be downstairs in a moment. Please ask Mako to come in? I will need her help to finish my preparations.”

Hermann smiled. “Of course, love.” He turned to go but paused in the doorway and spun around with parade-ground precision. Business again, not loving partner. “You are prepared to ensure that Hasegawa takes sole possession of the shipping routes from Meiji to Caledonia? And take responsibility for subcontractors and partners along the other major routes?”

Her voice became formal, too. “I cannot speak for subcontractors, Hermann. Their policies, and those of any partners, are governed by the board of directors. Neither I nor my family have any impact on such agreements.”

“Those shipments must be guaranteed, Sora. The UN will pay handsomely to guarantee that these agreements remain in place.”

She smiled softly, not trusting herself to speak.

He took that as an answer. “How much longer will you be?”

“Five minutes. It will be faster if Mako comes in.”

Hermann flushed and left, and a surge of emotions threatened to bring tears to her eyes, but she held them off, as usual. With fists curled at her sides, Sora stared at her reflection again. Is this how you’re going to live your life? Or are you going to do something about it?

Mako promptly entered the outer suite dressed in a black jacket and pants, the diplomatic uniform. The younger woman’s face showed concern, but she said nothing.

Sora asked, “Do we have communications with the Hokkaido?”

“Yes, Miss. The shuttle Chitose will deorbit in an hour and thirteen minutes. Landing in just under two hours.”

It would have to be enough time. “And Yuichi?”

Her aide’s face clouded. “Yes. He reports the children are healthy and ready. They know he’s coming for them.”

Her pulse began to beat faster. “The storm will provide cover. Have him readied and alert the others.” Sora could count her trusted confidantes on one hand. Roles needed to be played. Sora lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tonight is the night.”

“Oh,” Mako said, then she finally smiled.


New Sapporo Spaceport

Meiji


As the ominous storm coalesced over the spaceport, Ellwood realized he could follow the boy or get back into a hiding space he’d located in a nearby container. He glanced at the hole in the fence the boy had crawled through, back toward the stockade. He couldn’t follow the boy. At least, not yet. With the cold rain soaking his borrowed coveralls, Ellwood crawled instead for the container and studied the hole. He could make it. Barely.

Flat on his stomach, Ellwood wormed his way into the dark hole leading into the hiding place. His shoulders caught the raw edges, and just when he thought he was stuck, a twist of his upper body sent him the rest of the way through. He crawled upright in the pitch-black night and froze. Someone else was inside. Smelling acrid tobacco smoke, he turned and saw the glowing end of a lit cigarette. Ellwood made out the barest image of a man’s face.

“You in the wrong place, gaijin.”

Ellwood made no move. “What place am I in?”

A rifle bolt slammed into firing position, likely chambering a round as well. “You not UN.”

He clamped his tongue between his teeth. “What makes you say that?”

“A feeling.” The cigarette pulsed again, and now he saw the man smile. “If not UN, you Resistance?”

“What does that matter?”

The man laughed. It was a harsh, short burst, but quiet enough not to carry. Rain pounded against the sides of the container. A cascade of thunder rumbled like a full battery artillery barrage outside. “You from Grainne, then?”

Like I’m going to tell you, dogfucker.

Ellwood brought his hands up slowly with his palms toward the man. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m trying to get a ride off this planet. To get home. My father is sick.”

“But you a soldier, yes?”

His hands free and open, Ellwood watched the cigarette glow to confirm the man was three meters away at worst. In the darkness, and unless the man snapped some kind of torch to life and blinded him, he could cross the distance and disarm the man before he could fire a shot, much less aim.

“Are you with the Resistance?” Ellwood asked, risking a half step in the man’s direction. The man made no move other than another long draw on his cigarette.

“From Caledonia. Gave up trying to get back. Thought the war couldn’t find us here on Meiji.”

“You’re here because of the children across that wall?” Ellwood asked. He brought his trailing foot along under him, inching closer to the man.

“Punky. We give them food and water. The little ones can crawl in and out. UN guards no pay attention to them.” The man sighed. “Families broken so the UN make credits from them. War would be too good for the fucking UN.”

Ellwood blinked and sucked on one cheek. “They’re holding the children for ransom?”

“Extorting the parents. Same thing. We trying to help them.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Ellwood asked.

“Can’t say. You wanna help? I get you a seat off Meiji.”

Ellwood chuckled and shook his head. “You expect me to believe that? A man hiding in a dark container? You could be a plant or an informant just as easy.”

“If I was, I’d have shot you or called for help. Especially with you creeping forward like a Blazer.” The man smiled again around the cigarette. “Oh, yeah, I can see it, gaijin. Plain as the shock on your face.”

Ellwood couldn’t hold back a smile. He laughed and nodded, stepping forward a little more intending to knock the man’s rifle away. Another rifle cocked from behind him in the gaping darkness. He mentally cursed himself for losing situational awareness. Someone else was there. Someone fantastically good.

“Not another step, gaijin.” The voice was deeper and gruff. “Blazer or not, we kill you here and now unless you help us.”

“Help you do what?” Ellwood turned toward the voice. A match crackled and spat to life, ignited a candle, and a soft yellow glow filled the space. A large Japanese man in gray-and-black striped fatigues—the Meiji Defense Force uniform from two decades before—approached from behind. The man with the cigarette was a young boy, no more than twenty.

The candlelight revealed rations and water cans. There were crates of weapons, too.

“You thought Meiji was a paradise, right?” The second man frowned. “The war is here, too, but it’s a different war. One for profit. We will end that tonight.”

“By freeing the kids? Returning them to their families?”

“That’s part of it.” The man smiled at him. “My name is Yuichi. This punk is my son, Keiko. There are others who will help us free them.”

Ellwood squinted. “I saw at least ten guards inside the holding area. Those aren’t great odds.”

“As I said,” Yuichi replied, “there are others. We have friends inside. Some of the locals aren’t too trustworthy so we not tell them everything. But they take good care of the kids, so we get them out, too. They know we’re coming soon. And we have firepower arriving shortly.”

Ellwood nodded, realizing that the storm would provide excellent concealment. The children already had a known way in and out of the stockade. All they would have to do was widen the hole, but once free, they would be on the wide-open tarmac of the spaceport, and easy targets. Unless . . . 

He smiled. “Your firepower is approaching from orbit, then?”

Yuichi grinned. “Smart man. The UN perimeter towers would cut us down otherwise. We bring the children and caretakers through the hole, and the shuttle deorbits and provides cover as we move them to Hangar One. From there, the others will take them and get them to their families. Once to safety, we get them underground. Hidden. The UN chases the empty shuttle. Maybe they blow it up. But here? Here we get the rest of Meiji to stand against the UN. Show our people we can win. We do not need the UN here for the protection they promise. The UN only wants our lichens and our money. You understand this, yes?”

“The UN is now willing to take the children to profit from those resources, too.” Ellwood shook his head. For a moment, he thought of his father in his hospital bed. The old man would expect him to do his duty, just like a Blazer would. He couldn’t turn his back, now that he knew the situation. “There are certain things I can walk away from, Yuichi . . . but not if it’s harming kids and especially not for money.”

Keiko opened a crate to brand new Meiji-made XA-4 4mm rifles with 15mm grenade launchers still in their shipping configuration. Next to them were magazines and boxes of ammunition. “Even seen those? How fast can a Blazer prepare and load an XA-4?”

Ellwood picked up the rifle he’d handled only in training. He turned it in his hands and worked a finger under the wrappings with a grin. “You’re about to find out. While I do, tell me that your extraction plan is more than the two of you blowing a hole in that wall and running like hell. I got the rest of it—getting the kids underground and all. But you gotta get them outta the stockade first.”

Yuichi grinned and pointed to several scraps of paper on the wall. He squinted and made them out as maps of the neighboring compound. “We show you.”


UN State Dinner

Headquarters Palace

New Sapporo


Diplomatic functions. Hermann had discussed them when they were first married, but Sora hadn’t really understood “mandatory fun” until she had suffered through glacial speeches and watched the seconds tick on her watch. As Hermann ascended in rank, she had to endure more and more such events. Her practiced facade, smiling and bowing to all manner of dignitaries (whether or not she liked or admired them) had grown tired. Her fatigue, she recognized, came both from so many events per month and from her own discomfort with the situation on Meiji.

Now, away from the receiving line and watching the torrential rainfall through the windows of the main hall, Sora cradled a glass of wine and waited. Big band music wafted through the party, but not loud enough to interfere with normal conversation. Pretending to sip her wine, she closed her eyes, remembering fondly her first dance with Hermann at his family’s traditional wedding ceremony. For the music, she’d chosen “String of Pearls” by Glenn Miller, much to the satisfaction of the elder Hasegawas. They’d marveled over her exquisite taste and keen ear. As much as she loved the music of that era, her choice didn’t come from her own tastes, but she played her role. Even as a young woman, Sora had put her own feelings and emotions aside for the wants of her family. Her marriage was their desire, and while Hermann had once been charming as he pursued her instead of his career, over time her unease had been replaced with discomfort and now abject dissatisfaction.

In her blurry reflection, she saw Mako approaching, and her throat went dry. The time had come. Her assistant’s instructions had been to observe Hermann closely. When he noticed that she was not at his side and came looking, then Mako would appear to intercept him.

“Miss?” Mako asked. “A Hasegawa Interstellar vessel is approaching, but it is not on the arrival manifest. They have requested your presence.”

Sora consulted the offered slate and studied the message carefully. She felt rather than saw Hermann approach from behind. “Is everything all right, darling?” His warm was warm, but she could hear the annoyance.

She shook her head and forced a tremble into her voice. “The Chitose, a shuttle from the Hokkaido, is arriving within the hour. The board of directors have sent me a sealed message.”

Hermann’s brow furrowed. “Why would they not just send you an encrypted message when they reach orbit?”

Sora willed tears to her eyes and did not respond. Mako filled the void with the answer Sora wanted him to hear. “Command Colonel, private and personal messages are sealed by the board and are traditionally delivered by hand. There are formal reasons they do so. The last time such a message came, it was the death of the Honored Grandmother.”

Hermann’s impatience washed away in an instant. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and Sora flinched. “You should leave before any loss of decorum, love.”

She let a tear slide down her left cheek. “Yes. I am terrified the news is . . . my father.”

When he nodded, she noted a flicker of light in his eyes. In that instant, her hatred for the man came full circle. Hermann believed her father would leave a portion of the company to him as well, despite her position as the sole heiress. His only care for her was that she would not ruin his diplomatic party or his reputation with a sudden burst of emotion.

“Go. Take my car to the spaceport and then go home, where you can have all the privacy you need. Send it back for me, and I will join you as soon as the dinner is complete.” Hermann forced another smile and when he saw another tear race down her cheek, he added, “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

A million retorts swirled in her brain. “I will have to return to Earth.”

“Do what you must if you have more pressing matters. I will be fine here without you, Sora.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I know, Hermann.”

Of course, you will.

She walked directly to the front staircase and down into the foyer. Several sets of eyes followed her. As she reached the first landing, she turned to Mako, who was ever-present at her left shoulder, and nodded once. The signal was simple and clear: Don’t speak.

Outside, under the covered entranceway, the sound and smell of the pouring rain surrounded them. The noise blotted out everything as they ducked into Hermann’s dedicated car, with the flags bearing his command colonel’s rank mounted on each front fender.

“Spaceport—all possible speed, on Command Colonel Sturm’s orders,” Mako snapped to the driver.

Trying to control her pounding heart, Sora sat back in the seat and looked out the window as the car sped through the rain. Fifteen minutes later, as they reached the spaceport, Sora peered around the driver’s head through the front windshield to see the military checkpoint. She stole a quick glance at Mako, who nodded.

They had hoped the driver would follow established standard operating procedures. With her husband’s car and insignia present in the floodlights, the checkpoint guards collected themselves and formed up to salute the vehicle. A sergeant stepped forward and spoke to the driver. Sora saw the young man’s shoulders sag, but she couldn’t tell if it was relief or annoyance.

No soldier ever wants to stand in the cold rain any longer than they have to.

Hermann’s sayings over the years had all played into her plan. It took only the right weather and the right men and women willing to put their lives on the line for these children. Hermann wouldn’t hear complaints from the workers. Without a voice, the strained families of the imprisoned children had no choice but attempt rescue even at great cost. Sora hoped they would be successful without loss of life, but things seldom happened flawlessly. But she could hope even if her husband always told her it wasn’t a method. It was all she had left.

Through the vehicle window, Mako pointed at a descending ship’s amber thrusters firing gently above and approaching the spaceport through the storm. “There’s the Chitose.” With a quick glance, Sora confirmed it to be on approach to the far end of the field, near the UN compound. While not as fast as other shuttles, the Chitose had wide, capable bays.

It would work perfectly for their purposes.

The sergeant stepped back into his shelter from the rain and gestured. The diplomatic car rolled through the checkpoint and sped across the military portion of the tarmac. As it approached the far checkpoint, another group of soldiers made the same frenzied run into the rain. The customs and courtesies of the service were predictable to a fault. Now it all worked on Sora’s behalf.

The detonation of an explosive device on the wall of the stockade near the lichen farm caught all of them by surprise. Torn between their duty to defend their position and also to respectfully receive the command colonel’s wife, they froze.

As shockwaves and fire expanded from the explosion, Sora shouted to the driver, “Go!” Without questioning, he stomped the accelerator pedal to the floor and rocketed through the gates as the checkpoint guards dove out of the way. “Get to the Chitose! It’s the safest place on the field!”


New Sapporo Spaceport

Meiji


Sudden torrential rain muted the dust and smoke from the explosion as the platter charge brought down a section of the stockade wall. Ellwood watched Yuichi and Keiko dart into the breach, firing at the known guard positions. No hesitation. They meant business. They’d practiced their attack, marking the position of the predictable UN guards and set their timing accordingly. For resistance fighters, their discipline was commendable. While it wasn’t quite the method he’d learned as a Blazer, their initial attack appeared successful. Less than fifteen seconds after they’d charged into the stockade, the first children scrambled through the hole blasted in the wall.

Ellwood called out to them in Japanese. “Here! Follow me!”

The first boy ran toward him, closing the distance quickly, with more children at his heels, panicked, desperate, but filled with hope. A few adults came through with the next wave looking addled and shocked, urging the children ahead of them. The kids understood the plan and dashed to salvation, quickly lining up behind the container. Ellwood heard the methodical firing of the two rifles, creating chaos among the unsuspecting guards in the stockade, and he knew Yuichi and Keiko were having the effect they’d wanted . . . but he also knew it couldn’t last. They didn’t have much time. Through the rain, he saw the approaching ship bearing the familiar paint scheme of Hasegawa Interstellar. The markings indicated the ship was the Chitose.

As the massive shuttle flared on its final approach, landing engines blasted the surrounding tarmac with hurricane-force winds. The rain swirled into a blinding mist, obscuring everything around them. Ellwood grinned. The shuttle was much more than a diversion.

As he did his best to round up the fleeing children, Ellwood watched the Chitose pivot on its maneuvering thrusters, which eased the wind along the planned escape route. Leading the kids, he ran for the next container stack with the children right behind him. In the distance, he saw a group of ramp hands waving their lighted cones—the signal. The children sped around him in silence as the roaring rainstorm covered even the slap of their footfalls through the puddles. Ellwood turned and counted them going past.

More than fifty! Damn, all those children held hostage!

“Go!” he cried, and the steady stream of children continued out of the mist and past him. The amber-tinged light of the Chitose’s engines shone down on small, strained faces. Yet they kept coming. Another fifty.

The rattling gunfire increased from the stockade—the stunned UN soldiers finally returning fire, still not knowing how many rebels were attacking the facility. The children raced past him, following their leaders to the safety of the hangars where others would speed them to their waiting families while the Chitose and the raiding party, himself and the others, helped them escape. Ellwood hoped they could divert the attention of the UN soldiers a few more minutes.

The line of children grew more ragged, groups of two and three interspersed by longer distances. Two young teens limped past him, and Ellwood saw blood running down one’s torn pant leg. Spurred to action, he turned and ran back for the entrance, passing a few last children. An aircraft’s turbine engine roared to life as he passed the end of the container, and a blur of movement caught his eye in the same instant he collided with a silhouetted figured. He sprawled across the wet tarmac, rolled, and came up with his rifle pointed at the figure on the ground. She pushed herself up to lean on her arms.

A woman? She seemed utterly incongruous here, wearing a soaked black evening gown. Her long, dark hair was plastered across her face. She wore high heels, one of which had fallen loose as she tumbled.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Her face turned to his, and he felt a shiver of recognition run down his spine. A string of elegant pearls encircled her neck, and Ellwood wondered if her husband, the command colonel of the New Sapporo garrison, had purchased them for her. The photos of the two of them adorned propaganda posters all over the Meiji terminal areas with bold slogans of “Together We Thrive.” Sora Hasegawa, shipping heiress, wore a traditional neo-kimono and Command Colonel Sturm stood in his impeccable dress whites.

Now she was at the spaceport, in the middle of a raid. Unarmed. He pressed forward with the rifle’s barrel pointed at her chest.

The flagship’s shuttle, which belonged to her family, pivoted as it landed. Sora Hasegawa stared up at it. Ellwood gasped in realization. He spoke in broken Japanese. “You’re here for the children.”

She climbed to her feet as if trying to regain her dignity and replied in fluent, unaccented English. “To get them home.”

Ellwood jerked his chin toward the landing Chitose. “You brought them here as a distraction? Just for this raid? Big risk.”

“If all the children get out it’s worth it.” Her eyes flickered past him, alarmed.

The young rebel Keiko staggered out of the dust and waved a bloody hand. “Blazer!” The boy had taken at least three bullets in his legs and one arm but was still on his feet.

Desperate to rescue him, Ellwood ran and yelled over his shoulder to Sora. He had to trust that she was an ally. Right now, he had no other choice. “I’ll get Keiko! You get the children to safety!”

He ran for Keiko. The boy limped toward him, his rifle threatening to slip out of his grasp. He stumbled and fell forward, but Ellwood caught him with one arm. Forcing the words out, Keiko said, “My father . . . still inside.”

Ellwood hefted the boy, draping a thin arm over his shoulder, but the young man’s legs wobbled. “Get up, Keiko. You gotta get up!”

“I’ll make it.” The boy tried to smile, but there was no way he would walk—

“I have him,” Sora barked in Ellwood’s ear. “You seal off the stockade wall.”

Before he could respond, she raised Keiko’s arm and pivoted under it, taking his weight on her shoulders. The shipping heiress, despite her fancy gown and pearl necklace, was remarkably strong and determined. The dichotomy of her elegant garb walking a soaking, camouflaged soldier to safety disoriented him. Ellwood stepped back as Sora and the boy limped over to the hangars where the ramp hands moved toward them.

A firefight raged inside the stockade. Without his son’s rifle, Yuichi was vastly outnumbered. Ellwood hesitated, torn. The urge to simply follow the plan overwhelmed him. He had to whisk the children into hiding so the Chitose could boost away. The UN would assume the Hasegawa spacecraft had taken their charges. Ellwood couldn’t turn his back on them.

If this isn’t my fight, I don’t know what is.

Dammit.

Ellwood ran. A few straggler children passed him, and he yelled at them to move, pointing through the rain as the squall intensified. The Chitose’s timing had been perfect.

Reaching the barricade of containers, Ellwood flinched as flashbangs detonated along the wall. Even muted by the wall, the light still made him flinch, but he could see a shadow bounding out of the glare and mist—Yuichi carrying the body of a small girl. Wounds dotted her chest and legs, and Ellwood could see that the other man bore similar injuries. He staggered forward, then collapsed to his knees in the rain.

Ellwood was there in an instant, reaching for him. “Come on, Yuichi. Get up.”

“I can’t, Blazer.” His head turned too slowly to face Ellwood. His dark eyes danced back and forth and struggled to focus. “Take her.” He had barely kept himself alive, forced himself to keep going, to carry the child.

Ellwood saw that the girl was dead, her face a porcelain mask of peace despite the horrible pain she must have felt.

Yuichi didn’t know. He struggled to stay upright. “Take her! I will keep them back.”

“No, Yuichi. You’re in no shape to do anything but get to safety. You need the medics. You just have to get up. I’ll take her, Yuichi. Get to the hangars!”

Yuichi reached up, and Ellwood gingerly removed the little girl from his arms. He checked for a pulse and found none. As he did, the older man scrambled to his feet and lurched toward the hangars in the swirling cascades of rain. Two workers appeared in their dark, soaked clothes. One took Yuichi’s arm and assisted him. The other bit her lip and took the little girl from Ellwood’s arms.

Arigato, Blazer,” the older woman said. His identity was out, for better or worse. If the UN started asking questions, it was only a matter of time before they came for him.

Not without a fight, they won’t.

Ellwood spotted movement, and his rifle came up without thought and swung toward the figures emerging from the hole blasted in the stockade wall. As soon as he identified their UN uniforms, he squeezed the trigger in short bursts, knocking them down. Now it was time to defend what Yuichi and Keiko had done.

He strode toward the hole as more UN soldiers pushed through. Again, Ellwood fired. His face twisted in sudden anger at the United Nations, the war, and how it had kept him from his ailing father. Years of frustration surfaced, coming to a head, and he used that to his advantage. Relentless, Ellwood took cover at the corner of the containers, working his way toward the damaged wall. He had to keep the enemy at bay.

“Come on, you bastards!” Ellwood yelled over the thundering rain. Several rounds struck the container wall near his head, and he ducked out of the way, letting them fire wildly in his direction. To his left, in the wide-open space of the outer berths, Sora Hasegawa walked toward the Chitose with her arms above her head, waving. Somehow, even drenched and bedraggled, in the middle of a firefight, she managed to look elegant.

What is she doing?

She turned toward Ellwood. Deep in shadows, he couldn’t be sure she was looking at him, but at the same time he felt her eyes on his with a deep intensity. Her left hand, still raised over her head, made a circling motion. Her right arm pointed at the stockade wall.

Ellwood slipped around the corner and fired six quick shots, hitting at least one soldier in the tight, smoke-obscured space between the container and the stockade wall. The enemy would keep coming. More rounds slammed into the container wall next to him. Too close. They knew where he was. It was a matter of time until—

WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!

WHUMP! WHUMP!

He turned back to see that the woman had disappeared as the familiar chorus of the Mark-32 20mm grenade launcher lobbed round after round into the UN stockade. He saw the launcher mounted and manned inside one of the Chitose’s open cargo bay doors. Now that all the children were gone, the shuttle’s crew kept the UN attention on them by fire. The diversion was almost complete, the rescue successful, but he needed to give the ramp hands more time. The last few children and the last of the workers crept toward the hangars as rebels ran to collect them and get them away. They just needed a few more seconds. He wouldn’t need to delay the UN soldiers long.

With covering fire from the Chitose, Ellwood reloaded his weapon before bursting forward and charging up the narrow chute between the containers and the stockade wall, intent on killing anything in his path.

* * *

Five steps into the confined space, Ellwood reeled as another barrage from the Chitose detonated along the top of the wall. The blast scattered hot debris across his face and arms. He retreated to the corner of the container in time to see the wall give way and collapse outward. An odd, sudden silence created a calm eddy in the storm.

In the distance, Ellwood heard a cacophony of Meiji’s famous wind chimes tolling in their random symphony. He’d not been into the city to see the iconic structures. His sole mission had been to get home.

Focus, Blazer.

Muzzle pointed into the swirling dust and rain, Ellwood waited for a target to materialize. Seconds passed. His eyes swept across the collapsed wall again and again, but there was nothing. A burst of gunfire from behind snapped his attention around. The UN forces had given up on the stockade and now they were attacking the Chitose itself!

The shuttle’s shielding took the brunt of the UN small-arms fire with indifference. From the open bay, the grenade launcher continued to fire. A few of the crew lay prone on the lowered ramp and fired various small arms, whatever they had, into the UN forces charging their direction.

Ellwood raced to the nearer line of containers, the same place he’d tried to meet Morton so he could arrange a ride home. In the shadow, the command colonel’s wife huddled in the rain. Seeing her fearful expression, he understood what had happened. The Chitose hadn’t had time to fully descend and scoop her up, to snatch her away from here. Sora Hasegawa had chosen for them to be safe enough to boost, to maintain the illusion, while she waited for her husband’s forces to collect and arrest her.

Ellwood approached her cautiously, expecting her to be despondent. Her head snapped up, and she glared at him with fierce, dark eyes. “What are you still doing here?”

“Getting you out of here,” he blurted. It seemed the proper thing to say, realizing she was a woman who had betrayed everything she’d known.

“You are a Blazer.” It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement of fact. “Keiko told me.”

“I was.” Ellwood knelt beside her, taking cover. “I’m not sure what I am right now, except trying to get home.”

“To Earth?” Rain ran down her face. The urge to wipe it away nearly overwhelmed Ellwood.

He shook his head. “Grainne. My father is dying.”

A pained look crossed her face. “My father will die of shame when he learns of my betrayal. I have given up everything.”

Ellwood nodded. There was no other response that came immediately to mind. Then he said, “You saved the children. We’ll get them back to their families.”

“For now.” She sighed. “There is no guarantee that Hermann and his zealous assistants won’t continue their abysmal policies.”

“No, there isn’t,” Ellwood agreed. “But, the Resistance has come to Meiji. The rescue of the children will only embolden others to join and keep up the fight. I thought your family had a contract with the UN. Why did the Chitose fire upon them?”

“A contract is merely a document.” She sighed. “Like my family, Meiji wanted nothing of this war. They tried to remain unaffiliated. I’ve learned that between good and evil there is nothing neutral. So, I made a choice. I pray it was the right one.”

Pressed against the damaged shipping containers, some bearing her family’s name, the heiress looked impossibly . . . human. Her gown soaked through, Sora pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her shivering arms around them.

Before he could say anything, she looked up at him. Her brow furrowed with a question and then a soft smile formed on her lips. He watched her tilt her chin down to her chest. She brought her hands to her neck and unclasped the string of pearls. As she placed them into one palm, her expression was serene and troubled at the same time. Her eyes came up as she held out her hand. “Get on board the next ship you can. These will pay for you to get home, Blazer. Tell everyone what happened here.”

“My name is Ellwood.” He stared at the pearls before reaching out and taking them gently. He strung them between his hands, knowing they would more than finance his way, letting him acquire a second set of identification and commercial fast transport in the general direction of Grainne. “And you’re Sora Hasegawa, shipping heiress.”

She bowed, as if it were a formal introduction back at the diplomatic reception.

Ellwood leaned forward. “If we’re going to get out of this, we must move fast. There’s another way. Something more important.”

Sora brought her chin up. Still close together, he felt her breath on his face as her beauty almost stunned him silent. “We?”

He thought for an instant about his father and imagined the old man in his hospital bed, smiling and laughing. Ellwood hadn’t fallen all that far from the tree. His father would understand, and if he died before Ellwood could make it home, the old man would agree it was for a noble cause, the greater good.

Opportunities are like lightning, son. They rarely strike the same place twice. When you see a good one, for yourself or to stick it to anyone who stands in your way, do it.

Do it.

He extended the pearls, reached for her neck. Uncertain, Sora swept her hair out of the way and he secured the strand back in place and put his hands on her shoulders. “The rest of the galaxy will know about what happened here, Sora. We’ll make sure of it.”

When she smiled at him, the crusty deployment-caused layers around his heart crumbled. There would be no going home. At least, not yet. Here, as unlikely as it was, might be something worth fighting for, after all. His father would understand.

Ellwood stood up as the gunfire reached a crescendo behind them. He pulled her along with him. At the touch of her hand, the ripple of electricity down his spine was unmistakable, and when she didn’t immediately let go, his heart jumped in anticipation.

Sora kicked off her expensive shoes, and he chastised himself for underestimating her. “Let’s go.”

They started for the hangars and the rescued children as the maelstrom of rain and wind whipped around them. Bright light suddenly bathed the tarmac, extending their shadows ahead of them as they ran. He smiled at her as the Chitose’s ascent engines fired and the shuttle rose into the sky. By the sounds, carnage rolled behind them in the blast, but he didn’t risk glancing away from the beautiful woman.

“Welcome to the Resistance, Sora.”


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