Hector’s voice boomed in my ears. “Sam, you okay? Heard an explosion. What’s going on?”

I pinched my right thigh. It hurt. “I thought it was a nightmare, Hector, but I don’t seem to be waking up. Tell Rusty to hurry on grading the road and send Pep back for the evac cart. And forget the sweet rolls. I’m not hungry anymore.”

3

ARU Lot 47-6

Joppa, Helen

Prefecture III, Republic of the Sphere

14 November 3132

I set about, as quickly as I could, trying to clear away as much brush and material as possible so rescue teams could get to the CDRF folks and the GGF terrorists. Off the latter they’d only be getting DNA samples, since the tree mushed the hovertruck into half-pipe and made the occupants rather oozy. The guy with the satchel charge had been reduced to vapor and scattered limbs.

Reis picked his way out of the bushes and pretty much looked as if he’d been through a wood-chipper. He was livid, of course, and started yelling at me about destroying evidence. I just flicked the external pick-ups off and kept clearing stuff so that when Pep got there with some medtechs, they were able to pull the wounded out.

Alas, they didn’t take Reis with them. When Hector got there, Reis gave him two ears-full, and was looking for a bucket for when that ran out. Hector listened and calmed him—or so I guessed from the body language—but glared at me hot enough to melt armor. I was getting the impression it would be a long time before I ever got sweet rolls again.

It was mid-afternoon before I got called off the line. Hector had me park Maria at the command center and Pep gave me a ride down to our housing. She gave me a sidelong glance with those blue eyes. “You are in serious trouble, Sam. Reis says you’re one of them and that you dropped trees to stop his pursuit.”

“You think that’s true, Pep?” I let my anger flow full force into my voice.

“Hey, Sam, I’m a friend of yours, remember?”

“Then mind your own damned business.”

She gave me a harder look. “You telling me it’s true?”

“Leave it.”

Pep stopped the hovercar and punched my shoulder. “You know, I used to think you were different. I thought this tough-guy act was just that, an act. I know it is. You didn’t need to do anything there, but you did, and now you won’t tell me about it? What’s going on?”

My nostrils flared. “What’s going on is that you don’t know me, Pep. I’ve been here, what, ten weeks? Sure, we’ve palled around, had some good times, but what you’re seeing as an act isn’t. I really just want to be left alone, and I thought I had that here, and now this. It’s a disaster.”

She hesitated. “What’s going on, Sam? You can tell me. Are you in trouble with the law and think Reis will find out or something?”

“Just leave it at ‘or something,’ okay?” I softened my voice a bit. “What I did last night got this going and people got hurt. Just walk away.”

Pep nodded and, hurt, started the hovercar again. We rode the rest of the way down the mountain in silence. She dropped me off then headed back up. By the time I got to my billet I was told I had to report to the Constabulary headquarters in Overton as soon as I took a shower and cleaned up.

I lingered in the shower. I washed off a lot of grime and wished the water could wash away the image I had of that CDRF trooper rolling through the pine needles. I knew she was dead the second she started to spin. The medtechs confirmed it, but when an antivehicle weapon is used on a human, the human usually comes up worse for the experience.

Eventually the hot water ran out, so I dried off, found clean jeans, and would have used the shirt from the night before, but Boris had gone and bled on it. I had another clean shirt, one I saved for special occasions, and I didn’t want to use it, but I really didn’t have any choice. I looked pretty good in it, but decided not to shave just so Reis wouldn’t think I was going to show him respect.

In retrospect, not looking my best was a mistake. By the time I’d finished with my shower, Reis had dispatched a Constabulary vehicle to fetch me. Riding in the back, I looked like a felon nabbed for something horrible. I could see it in the eyes of others at the yard and even in Pep’s eyes. That hurt, but there was little I could do.

The driver didn’t talk, which was fine with me. In a little over an hour we arrived in Overton, which is the largest city in the district—known as the “Gem of the South” in all those adverts trying to get people to come visit the sort of pristine forests I was cutting down. Overton isn’t built up too much—I don’t know what name it had when it started as a Combine town—and aside from the stone-and-steel central corridor, most of the town is low and built in harmony with the hills and valleys that make up the city.

The Constabulary headquarters is a big blocky building convenient to the spaceport. I was led up the steps and immediately taken in a lift to the fourth floor. The driver passed me off to someone else who, apparently, was deaf. She never heard my request for water. She took me to an interrogation room and sat me down. For just a second or two she considered restraining me but thought better of it.

As interrogation rooms went, this one was pretty good. It had a strong central light that allowed the walls to remain in shadow. Over on the far wall they had a one-way mirror, but I just sat in the hard metal chair in the center of the room. I could have gone over to the mirror and inspected myself, but that would make them think I was bone stupid. That assumption on their parts might be amusing, but would make the whole ordeal that much more unpleasant.

The door banged open behind me, and Reis strode in as if he were Devlin Stone himself. He carried a lot of weight that made his jodhpurs and two-tone shirt look even more ridiculous than the thorn-torn fatigues I’d last seen hanging in tatters from his body. I could see the shape of countless bandages beneath the clothes, but he bore two scratches bravely on his face. I’m fairly certain he would dismiss them as nothing in some media conference, and the local media would laud his bravery.

He gave me about as steely a stare as his piggy eyes could manage. “You clearly thought you could fool me, didn’t you? Make it look like you were helping, but you let them get away. You stopped my troops from catching your confederates.”

I frowned. “That’s the way it’s going to go in your memoirs?”

“Yes, Sam Donelly, if that is your real name.” He loaded that last with a lot of gravity, as if the only way I’d save myself was to confess, since clearly he already knew everything. “You’re not going to get away with this.”

“Get away with what?” I snarled at him, sitting forward in my chair rather abruptly. “I was out there, someone was going to bomb my ’Mech, and you walk and talk your people into an ambush. I did what I could to stop your people from getting hurt and, in the process, killed more terrorists than your whole operation did.”

Reis snorted and began to pace back and forth before the mirror, so I knew he was doing it for an audience. “We’re checking everything, Donelly, everything. We know already that you had congress with PADSU members last night.”

“I decked one.”

“And don’t think your history of violence has gone unnoticed. You also attacked a coworker last night and he required hospitalization.” He clasped his hands at the small of his back—it was a bit of a struggle, but he did it. “You are of bad character, Donelly, and we don’t tolerate people like you in this district.”