Part 8: All the World's a Stage

Riding in the back of the Kettenkrad, for that seemed to be the tank-cycle's proper designation, was a bumpy, stomach-churning experience. The freshly-anointed Richardson's young and unprotected backside was entirely numb from the machine's vibrations by the time Schuhart pulled up in front of another warehouse and shut the engine off. ''Everybody out,'' he called, swinging his bad leg up with his hands and fitting the brace strut against it. Richardson was grateful for the chance to stand, and it looked as if she wasn't the only one. While stretching her arms and legs, she took a few moments to survey the scene. Large crates were stacked in several places, along with numerous oblong containers of blue, yellow or red plastic. All of the latter had a prominent 'X' shape molded into each side.

''Schuhart!''

''Nice timing, Daemon,'' the one-eyed man grunted as he carried one of the red containers to the Kettenkrad's side. ''What's the news?''

''We found Chief Inspector Zhenyuan.'' The man who had joined the group was a serious-faced African with close-cropped hair and narrowly rectangular glasses. He wore a vest like Schuhart's over his shirt and tie and had a long rifle with a blunt nose cap slung across his back. ''He's out cold - probably a concussion at best.''

''The harangue-utan himself, huh?'' Schuhart unscrewed the container's black cap, extracted the yellow nozzle nestled inside and reversed it. ''What about the Arume?''

Daemon shook his head. ''Apart from the shuttle that went after you, there's been no sign of them. The bombardment is still a stand-alone event.''

''Lucky us,'' Schuhart observed sourly, opening a cap atop the compact half-track's left side. ''What about all the civilians who fled into Shenzhen?''

''The situation's murky. I assume aid will be sent from Guangzhou or by the provincial authorities.''

''They're not getting any awards for promptness,'' said the blond man, pouring fuel all the while. ''No sign of our neighborhood marauders, I take it?''

''None.''

''What's the rest of the world saying?''

''Hear for yourself.'' Daemon produced a compact radio from his pocket and extended a long silver antenna.

''...Parliament today Steven Gilham blasted the ruling party's passage of the seventh Emergency Powers Act, decrying the legislation as 'stimsim fantasy drafted by habitual octagon patchers.' When asked to clarify his remarks, he recommended a good cyberpunk novel... A spokesman for the People's Republic of China has refused to comment on reports that Arume forces have bombed the center of old Hong Kong, allegedly in response to the rocket attack in North Hong Kong yesterday... In Karachi, ministers of Pakistan's interim government are meeting to - ''

Daemon switched the radio off. ''That's all.''

''The revolution will not be publicized.'' Schuhart closed up the Kettenkrad's left tank and carried the red jug around to the right. ''Listen, I need to make some calls and get these girls set up. Can you drive the tractor over to Nereus for me?''

''Certainly.''

''Thanks.'' Schuhart recovered his weapon, slung it over his shoulder and clipped a blocky electronic device to the front of his vest. ''One of the steering brakes feels a little loose,'' he advised, placing the dented helmet on his head but leaving the strap undone, ''so go easy on the turns.''

''I'll keep that in mind.'' Daemon climbed aboard, started the engine and drove off without more ado.

''All right,'' Schuhart sighed as the trailer's rattle died away. ''Follow me, everyone.'' A line formed behind him as he began to walk, Richardson, Harrington and the rest following one by one. The man lifted the electronic thing as he went, pushing a series of buttons before holding it beside his head. ''Hi, Philippe? Yeah, it's me... We're okay. Still sorting through the rubble, but the apocalypse has been deferred. I just wanted to let you know that the goods are fine and we'll deliver as contracted... No worries... Sure, we can do that. Let me dig through what's left of my desk and I'll call you back with an estimate... Of course. You too... 'Bye.'' He let the rubber-cased brick fall to his side. ''Whoo... Thank goodness for satphones.''

''Um... Mister Schuhart?''

''Yes, Harrington?''

''That man back there works for you, yes?''

''Daemon's head of the intel division. He's a pretty cool guy - done a lot of traveling and speaks five languages... Any other questions?''

''What were you saying about marauders?''

''Oh, that... Yesterday afternoon, an Arume dignitary came down to the north city to do business with a few government types. As they were wrapping up, some jackasses fired a rocket-propelled grenade at them - supposedly nobody got hurt, but I doubt any of them took it kindly... Then, while you and your friends were floating down on us this fine morning, said jackasses fired another RPG at one of the sky eyes' big carrier ships. Now those jackasses are running loose somewhere around here, and we don't like that. There are enough destabilizing elements in town without the competition.'' Schuhart suddenly made a right turn and walked into an oblong single-story building. ''Last night we sent a team out to see if we could find them,'' he continued, holding the door open for the gosta procession. ''Didn't catch the people, but we did uncover a hideout and some of their stuff out in the ruins of the abandoned coastal district.''

Harrington was paying close attention to the narrative. ''Do you know who they are?''

''Not yet - they weren't stupid enough to leave any ID lying around, of course.'' The big man opened another door and led the girls into a long room with a skylight and a series of low tables down the middle. ''Pick a seat, any seat... The guns we recovered were all Egyptian made, but there were also a bunch of documents in Japanese. Both could be red herrings.''

''Egyptian?'' As far as Richardson could remember, this was the first time that particular girl had spoken all day.

''Yeah, Egypt. You know, pyramids, hieroglyphs and Gamal Nasser?'' Schuhart's one eye squinted at their blank expressions. ''Guess you don't know. Ah, well... Sit tight for a minute and I'll bring out some food.''

''But...'' Richardson hesitated a moment, then pressed on. ''Isn't it more important that we be helping the rescuers?''

''Every man and woman I can spare is out there searching already.'' The cyclops cocked his head. ''No offense, but there's not much you can realistically accomplish on empty stomachs. A peg-leg like me can't go scrambling over rubble, either... No, you get something in your bellies and recover your strength for a bit, and then maybe we'll rotate you in to replace some of the guys coming off duty.'' With that, he exited.

Harrington and Richardson looked at one another. ''He seems... strange,'' the former ventured.

Richardson nodded. ''How do you think he lost his eye?''

The gosta across from her shivered in her chair. ''I don't want to think about that.''

''I don't want to think about that.''

''You might have to,'' Elaqebil pressed, trying to keep her voice sympathetic. ''If they break off the negotiations now - ''

''It's all over,'' Renaril finished, staring through the window morosely. Outside, the edge of this brave new world curved away into the distance, a thin blue glow along the fringe giving way to the blackness of empty space. ''I'll know soon enough,'' she sighed. ''Their representative will be here any minute.''

''You sent another shuttle?'' Elaqebil raised an eyebrow. ''That's kind of risky right now, isn't it?''

''It's safer than going down there myself.'' The group commander shot a glance at her companion. ''Funny.''

''What is?''

''Back at the academy, you were the one who always told me I shouldn't run away from risky chances.''

''Was I?'' There came a sheepish laugh. ''Serves me right.''

''Group Commander Renaril, Colonel Kang has arrived.'' The voice from the communicator dropped to a furtive whisper. ''She doesn't look happy.''

''I understand,'' the Arume officer replied dejectedly. ''I'll be right there.''

As Renaril turned to leave, she felt a hand on her shoulder. ''Hey,'' said Elaqebil. ''Don't forget the other thing I told you in school, all right?''

''Other thing..?''

Elaqebil gave the younger woman a reassuring pat. ''You'll go far, kid.''

The food turned out to be a rather salty dried meat product which Schuhart referred to as 'jerky' and seemingly regarded as less than optimal, accompanied by mugs of water. Richardson was grateful of it regardless of its quality.

''Now that you all have your names,'' the man himself was saying, ''we need to figure out where in the company you'll be working. Once things have quieted down around here, we'll see about running some aptitude - whoops.'' The 'satphone' on his vest had begun to emit a shrill beeping. ''Just a second... Yes? Oh, Chloe - what news? ...I thought so. How much?'' There was a whistle. ''Nice... Well, their loss. Yes, I think you could tell them that... Very good. Thanks for the tip... Talk to you later. Bye-bye.''

Richardson watched the proceedings carefully. This must be part of his work, she thought as he thumbed a combination of buttons, but what exactly is he doing?

''KK, it's me. London just called - sounds like the Czechs are about to put a block of Vzor Fifty-Eights up for grabs. We can get 'em now for the asking price, or hazard a bidding war against bin Salaad... I'm thinking we can ship a batch to Kiev and let Blue Falcon pick up some real contracts, maybe lay up the remainder until those DDR AKs from Helsinki are sold off... I know it could be a while, but this is quality stuff. I'll see what Daemon and Nereus think... Yeah, the girls are fine. Keep an eye on Metford and beware of low-flying Winnebagoes. Catch you later.'' Beep!

''Mister Schuhart?''

''Yes, Richardson?''

''Is a lot of your work like that?''

Schuhart blinked. ''What, talking to people on the far side of the world about glorified yard sales? Well, that's part of it, but meeting face to face is important too.''

''Oh.''

''By the way...''

''Yes?''

''Could you not call me 'Mister Schuhart' all the time? Makes me feel old.''

''Yes... Master.''

''Ack.'' The one-eyed man made a wry face. ''Even worse.''

The one-time living bomb felt a little frustrated. ''Father?''

''I was never one for having kids... Eh, how about an uncle? All in favor of 'Uncle Roland' raise your - ''

He was rudely interrupted by a loud explosion.

''I'm sorry.''

''You will be sorry if you don't pull yourself together,'' Kang growled unsympathetically, not looking at all impressed by her first visit to an alien spacecraft. ''Bombing the entire city is not an appropriate response. What were you thinking?''

A shiver ran down Renaril's spine every time the furious colonel put extra emphasis on a word. Dear First Mother, she thought, please kill me now and get it over with!

''Answer me!''

''It...'' The Arume couldn't look her guest in the face. ''It wasn't me.''

''Why should I believe you?''

The coldness in the other's voice assured Renaril that she was in very real danger of having her wish granted. Why had secluding herself alone with this forime in her own cabin seemed like such a good idea? ''It's true that I am partly to blame.'' Her words came out in a desperate rush. ''I didn't think to explicitly forbid use of special weapons in my area of jurisdiction.''

''What!? Are you saying your own subordinates - ''

''No! It was the Japan branch, they...''

Kang let out an exasperated sigh as the sentence faded off into an unintelligible whimper. ''Sit down,'' she ordered, motioning towards the circular bed in the corner. ''Take a deep breath and start from the beginning.''

''Ouch...'' Schuhart pushed himself off the floor with a grimace. ''Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?''

Richardson and most of the other gosta had instinctively rolled out of their seats and pressed themselves against the cold cement of the room's floor upon hearing the blast. She was relieved when nobody volunteered any injuries. ''What... was that?''

''Trouble.'' The man slipped the rifle off his shoulder and into his hands. ''Stay there.''

''Is it the Arume?''

''If it is, they're even slower on the uptake than - '' Schuhart's eye narrowed to a slit. ''Someone's coming. Get down.'' Moving as quietly as his leg brace would permit, he made his way to the door and took up a position beside it as thumping footsteps sounded just outside. There was a moment of silence, then the door flew open as if kicked with great force. Schuhart's left-handedness had placed him on the hinge side, and the face of the door slammed right into him. Over the clatter of Schuhart's gun hitting the floor, Richardson's ears made out a faint metallic tink-tink.

Schuhart twisted away from the door, covering his ears. ''Flashbang!''

Richardson squeezed her eyes shut. Suddenly she couldn't hear anything.

''Early this morning I was woken by a call from an aide working at our Japanese division,'' Renaril explained, the cooling of Kang's temper bolstering her self-confidence. ''She told me that forime there had provided intelligence about the attackers from yesterday... Turkic insurgents, operating out of the ruins of coastal Hong Kong. She asked if I objected to her office pursuing the matter further.''

Kang, leaning against the opposite wall of the cabin with her arms folded, didn't look convinced. ''Go on.''

''I assumed she simply meant that the Japan branch would continue to investigate, so I told her I had no objections... Then I went back to sleep, until one of my own staff woke me again and told me that your city was being bombarded by us and that our comrades in Japan were saying I had authorized it. She wanted to know why I hadn't informed her.''

''You hadn't told her because you didn't know yourself,'' the Chinese woman prompted.

''Yes. I rolled out of bed and demanded an immediate withdrawal of the gosta carriers when I found out, but the damage is already severe...''

''And after that..?''

The group commander began to fidget. ''Well... Mostly I've been pestering the Japan office for more detailed information and - and trying to think of a way to explain this.''

''I see... Wait.'' Kang looked visibly taken aback. ''That's all? You haven't sent aid to the city? Anything for the casualties?''

''I... assumed your government would want to take charge of that.''

Renaril let out a panicked yelp as Kang stepped across the room, clamped her hands on the Arume's shoulders and bent until the pair were almost nose to nose. ''Do you realize,'' the latter snarled, ''that we have been sitting and waiting all day because someone up here ordered us to hold back!? The city was still dangerous, we were told, so we should just stand aside and watch while our injured and displaced citizens were looked after by your superior methods! And now you tell me not only that you don't know what your own comrades are up to, but that nothing is being done for the victims?'' Kang straightened. ''Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on the radio. Either send the help you should dispatched have hours ago, or clear Beijing to send theirs. Move it.''

''I - yes... Yes, you're right.'' Renaril pushed herself to her feet and went to her desk. ''I'll call for both. Our aid and yours.''

''...Me?''

Richardson blinked. There was still an indistinct afterimage burned into her retinas, as well as a loud ringing in each ear. Looking around in a daze, she found Schuhart looking at her worriedly, a rust-splotched pistol in his hand. ''I said,'' he repeated, looking as though he were speaking quite loudly, ''can you hear me at all?''

The man's voice came to her only dimly, as if from a long distance. ''Yes,'' the girl replied, barely able to make out her own speech. ''Yes!''

''Good! Check the others for injuries!'' As he turned around, the gosta saw that he had a rifle - also rusted - hanging under his arm by a ragged strap. This one was shorter overall than his last model, itself returned to its former position on its owner's back, with a long magazine underneath that curved forwards at a steep angle. Two more leaned against the wall by the door, next to the three dead men piled just inside the entryway. ''I'll be right back!''

''It's done,'' Renaril breathed. ''I sent everything I could get clearance for. The first flight will land in forty minutes.''

''Where exactly?''

''North Hong Kong, near the - ''

''Not good enough,'' Kang barked. ''You have to send them into the old city, where the damage is!''

''But it's still dangerous there - they'll be attacked!''

''Group Commander,'' the colonel said, quietly now, ''is there something else you haven't told me?''

''No - that is, I thought you knew already since your government has been in communication with us...''

''The news didn't reach as far down as my stratum, it seems. Has there been another attack?''

''Two,'' the Arume answered. ''First, one of the gosta carriers was fired on while over the city this morning. It sustained minor damage... More importantly, a group of the gosta it was deploying must have been affected by the disturbance. They failed to explode and reached the surface... Gosta only know how to destroy themselves: they're programmed with basic knowledge so that they can follow orders, but that's all. Without control, they are extremely dangerous.''

''So now there are volatile clones wandering around the ruins too?''

''Probably.'' Renaril swallowed. ''When these gosta were detected, the fleet sent a shuttle down with a team of forime troops from our second layer defense corps... The renegades had divided into two groups. One was destroyed from the air, but the second had encountered some forime on the ground. The troops were killed by them, and the shuttle destroyed.''

Kang put a palm to her forehead. ''Inadequate communication is going to be the death of us. Do you have any leads on the attackers?''

''Only what the Japan branch told me... It seems they established a working relationship faster than we have.''

''We'll have to catch up,'' said Kang with determination. ''Is there any sort of command center we can use? Somewhere to manage information from?''

''Yes, a small one two decks up. It should be empty right now.''

''Then let's get to work.'' Kang nodded towards the door. ''Helping the casualties takes priority over all else. If we move quickly and tell Beijing this mess happened because of a communication error, they might settle for an eloquent apology and an offer of restitution.''

Renaril stood, albeit hesitantly. ''Why are you still helping me?'' she asked, reaching for the door controls. ''Yesterday you said - ''

''Since my superiors seem content to meekly do as you tell them, I've no choice.'' Kang stepped into the corridor briskly. ''You'll be replaced if you fail this, am I right?''

''Probably, yes...''

''Your successor might be someone more competent, but she might also be a tyrant. You are inexperienced and childish, but you at least seem to mean well.''

The assessment wasn't unfair, but it still stung Renaril as she led the way to the nearest elevator. ''In that case, I must do my best to avoid mistakes.''

''Were you trained to handle civil emergencies?''

''Yes.'' The alien officer glanced at her companion as the elevator doors slid apart. ''You?''

''Disaster relief is part of a soldier's duty,'' Kang affirmed, ''and I spent eight months advising AU peacekeepers in Liberia. I've learned a few tricks.''

As the elevator gently hummed around her, Renaril felt a sense of real hope for the first time since waking.

''...Thing around?''

''You know me.'' Richardson recognized the second of the incoming speakers as Schuhart. ''I never pass up a free AK... Anyway, it saves me the trouble of getting one from inventory.'' His head appeared in the doorway, followed by the rest of him. ''How's everyone?''

The gosta straightened without thinking. ''Nobody is hurt.''

''Good... This - '' Schuhart motioned to the silver-haired man in coveralls who stood behind him. '' - is Nereus, chief of our machine shop. There's been a change of plan, so I'll have to pass you off to him for a while. We have a submarine coming in with cargo. That cargo needs to be unloaded in a hurry so that we can send the sub out to get supplies.''

''But where will you be?'' Harrington asked.

''Dealing with this.'' The one-eyed man indicated the corpses of the attackers. ''Some of the others got away - looks like we aren't rid of them yet.''

''How? I mean, what will you do?''

''Here's your first lesson - ready?'' Schuhart looked over the assembled gosta. ''The successful arms dealer is polite, prompt and professional. Good manners can save you a lot of trouble, but there will always be someone stupid, desperate or just damn cocky enough to think he can take what's yours. When that happens, you have to make a stand... No survivors.''

''You mean to fight them?'' Richardson interjected gingerly.

A mean grin crossed Schuhart's scarred face. ''We'll send 'em to Hell, and their Helwans with them.''

Nereus, having sat down at the table with the girls in the meantime, raised an eyebrow. ''Was that a pun?''

''No, a pun would be more like... 'We're gonna put 'em outta their Misr-y.'''

''You're awful.'' Nereus waved towards the door. ''Away with you.''

Schuhart nodded and went to the door, stopping to pick up one of the rusty rifles. ''Might as well get the kids started on the nitty-gritty while you're waiting,'' he remarked, setting it on the table. ''Oh, I got another one - 'Break out the funny hats: it's Maadi Gras!'''

The newcomer shook his head as Schuhart exited, closing the door behind him. ''I can't believe that man sometimes... Well, shall we get started?''

Harrington nodded. ''Yes, please.''

''All right.'' Nereus picked up the degraded firearm and held it out for all to see. ''There are five hundred million guns on this planet,'' he began. ''A hundred million of them look like this.''

It is well known among biologists that such animals as geese exhibit a behavioral phenomenon called filial imprinting, in which the young of the species bond to objects which get their attention. Had a biologist been present, he might have drawn a comparison with these gosta: Richardson and the rest were psychological blank slates, concerned with little beyond their own survival. Certainly they felt little care for the reality that their new way of life heralded the dispensing of considerable destruction, differing from the old in little save the lack of an obligation towards suicide.

In the next few days, their commitment to Roland Schuhart and the way of the arms dealer would be put to the test.