Redoubtable

37

Cara hoed the weeds.

That was her job. Hoe the weeds and be sure not to kill any of the yellow bugs. The yellow bugs, both as cute, furry caterpillar things and as butterflies with lovely multicolored wings, somehow made the drug plants grow.

Or maybe they turned the plants that stood in rows nearly as tall as she was into drugs. Cara was not sure exactly how it worked. She doubted any of the people standing by with ready whips understood things better than she did.

What Cara did know was that she was supposed to hoe down the weeds and never touch one of the plants, and never, ever squish a bug. If one of the whip-wielding overseers spotted her squishing a bug, she’d get a beating.

In even the short time Cara had been here, she’d seen lots of whippings. One of the new girls had died from her beating. The ones that had been here longer warned the new folks that you really didn’t want to screw up when Oli was around.

It would have been nice if they’d passed along that warning before that poor girl got whipped to death.

For now, Oli was working in the barn, processing the leaf into the powder that was exported. For a whip, that was a kind of punishment.

So Cara kept her head down, and hoed the weeds, and dodged the bugs.

Some of the older girls said you could eat the caterpillars. They didn’t taste like much, but they kept you alive.

Cara was hungry, but not that hungry.

At least not yet.

Cara kept her head down and her hoe moving carefully, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of what went on around her.

Behind her, at the end of the row she was slowly backing down, three of the whips had gathered.

That was strange.

In all the days Cara had worked here, the overseers usually roved the fields alone. The only time they talked was to occasionally yell at a worker. Most often, they didn’t say a word, they just cracked the whip.

But today, three were clumped together and talking.

Cara didn’t slow her work, but she listened.

“The boss lady is not happy,” one said.

“That’s not good. What kind of bee does she have up her ass?”

“Something’s wrong at the space station.”

“Something’s always wrong at the space station. Remember that fire they had in the comm center? We still got five guys in Hardy’s gang working off their thirty days for that one.”

“Well, they’re not talking again. Word is that Carita’s gonna fire up one of the shuttles and run it up there even if it doesn’t have a cargo to bring down.”

“Carita don’t never waste a penny.”

“Well, she’s getting ready to waste a bundle on a shuttle launch to find out what’s happening up there. And if Carita’s spending money, something’s wrong, and our boss gal ain’t liking it.”

They paused for a while. One of them cracked the whip on Betty, who had paused to lean on her hoe and listen to them. Betty cursed them but went back to her work.

There was a boom. No, a double boom.

“What’s that?” one of the overseers asked.

“Sounds like a sonic boom. I guess Carita has done launched a shuttle.”

“Sounded awful far off.”

It had sounded far off to Cara. And it was followed by two more booms, then a third pair.

“That’s a lot of booms for one shuttle,” a whip observed with more wisdom than he knew.

Cara smiled. She kept her head down and her hoe going, but she knew what would cause six booms in that kind of a pattern.

Uncle Bruce, Sergeant Bruce to his Marines, had shown Cara a video of the landing the Marines made on Texarkana. It was homemade video, not as clean as the stuff you saw on the news, but three assault boats in battle formation made just that pattern of booms on approach.

Uncle Bruce told Cara that Marines liked to drop from orbit well away from the target area, glide in close, then make the final jump.

They found me! Abby and Bruce and maybe even Jack and Kris are coming for me!

Cara wanted to throw down her hoe and tell those stupid men with the whips just what was headed their way.

Oh, she wanted to.

She kept her head down, did her best not to smile, and kept hoeing. The Marines would be here soon enough.

And the Marines would have guns. It was going to be so much fun watching those whips guys tell a Marine in full battle rattle what they should do.

Cara finished that row and managed to switch to another right under all three overseers’ noses without getting their attention.

She’d hoed another row and was working her way back toward them again when one of them shouted, “What’s that?”

Cara risked a glance at the three. One of them had his hand up, pointing. The other two were shading their eyes with one hand, staring up into the sunny sky.

Cara looked up herself; others of the girls were doing the same. The whips couldn’t crack them all.

Even though Cara knew what she was looking for, it still took her a while to spot one. Marine drop-chutes were designed to blend into the sky, whether it was a painful blue like today or gray and cloudy. Marine battle armor also changed color like a chameleon.

It wasn’t easy, but Cara did spot three, then four, then a whole lot of Marine jumpers.

And she’d had enough of being a scared little girl.

“Those are Royal U.S. Marines,” Cara cried. “Let’s see you use your whip on those bad dudes.”

Cara relished the look of shock on the three slave overseers’ faces.

Oops, those faces were now turned toward Cara. One of the overseers swung his whip at her.

Cara knew that a good slave was supposed to just take it. But Cara had had enough of being a good little slave. She raised her hoe up just right . . . and the tip of the whip ended up wound around it.

Then she yanked.

Slave boss hadn’t expected that from a slave. The whip came out of his hand and flew toward Cara.

That really got Cara noticed. All three of the overseers took off after her.

Cara hadn’t learned dumb on the streets of Five Corners. She was already racing down the row of drug plants. She refused to toss the hoe away. Now she had a whip, and a hoe.

She’d cut down plenty of weeds.

If she had the chance, she cut herself down an overseer.

Then again, three to one were very bad odds.

Behind her, she could hear her pursuers. They were shouting to each other as they cut across rows of plants, trampling them as they tried to get on both sides of Cara. She had a wild thought about who’d whip them if they smashed a bug, but she didn’t have the breath to laugh.

She dodged over one row, trampling plants herself, then another.

And ran smack into the most wonderful sight in the world.

“That you, Cara,” came in Uncle Bruce’s wonderful voice.

“Oh God, thank you,” she said, and discovered that running into full battle rattle at full speed could lead to a painful full stop.

“I figured you’d be the one they’d be chasing,” the sergeant said. “To everyone on command net, I have Cara. She looks much the worse for wear, but she’s talking and not bleeding.”

Cara couldn’t hear the answer to that but she could see the smile widen on his face.

Then the Marine sergeant stood tall and moved Cara around behind him. “What have we here?” he asked.

“They’re overseers,” Cara said. “They have whips.”

“So I see.”

Cara felt the change in her guardian’s stance as his rifle came up. “I suggest you fellows throw away your whips and get down on the ground.”

Cara heard a pistol shot and a thunk. Uncle Bruce swayed back for a second.

“I am under fire,” the sergeant reported in a voice deadly calm. “I have a slug sticking out of the armor of my shoulder.”

The next voice Cara heard came powerfully from the speaker on the sergeant’s helmet. “Weapons release. All Marines, we have taken fire. You have weapons release for deadly force.” Cara recognized the voice, Uncle Jack, or rather Captain Jack. She’d never heard his voice sound just like that.

She’d never heard anyone sound like the voice of God on Judgment Day.

Sergeant Bruce fired his weapon three times. Cara didn’t look to see what he did. She was crying.

“Okay, honey, things are going to be okay now,” he said, turning to her and lifting up his faceplate so she could see his eyes and his smile better. He safetied and slung his weapon; it still smelled hot and fired like it did when he and Abby went to the range. He put his arms around her.

“Cara, I still have a few things I have to take care of. Remember, today I’m a Marine.” That was a joke between him and Abby. What were they today? Marine and maid? Sergeant vs. second louie? Or just Steve and Abby.

“I know,” Cara said, trying to control herself. “Can I help?”

“I think maybe you can. What’s that big house over there?”

“That’s where the boss lady lives.”

“Are there any slaves inside?”

“Not during the day. She has business and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Let’s disturb her. Second squad, I have a fire mission for you. Rocket grenades, maximum high explosive. Target . . . the big house.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant,” came back from his net.

Sergeant Bruce pulled a rocket from his backpack and sighted it at the house. Cara saw the house reflected for a moment on the battle lenses over his eyes.

“Fire.”

Six rockets took off, leaving small smoke trails behind them. A few seconds later they hit. For about half a second more, the large, cream-colored house just stood there.

Then it came apart. Prefab sections flew in every direction. Fire and smoke went up, then curled back in upon itself.

“That ought to take care of that,” Sergeant Bruce said, grinning. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they store this poison? The drugs?”

“In those big buildings,” Cara said, pointing. “They process the plants and make it into a powder.”

“Those barns?” he asked.

“I think that’s what they call them. I forget.”

“Right,” Sergeant Bruce said with a chuckle. “You’re a city girl.”

“And I never want to be a country girl again.”

“Country ain’t bad when you aren’t a slave,” he said, half-distracted. “Second squad, I have more business for you. Our primary targets are in those two large barns to the right of the burning building. Select incendiary. A fire team, take the right one. B fire team, take the left one.”

The “Aye ayes” were very enthusiastic this time.

Again six rockets rose and fell. This time the walls stayed put . . . for a while. Smoke immediately began billowing from the eaves of the barns. Cara wondered if Oli would manage to get out.

Then she decided she didn’t care.

“Uncle Steve, is there anyplace I could get a drink of water. And something to eat?”

“We’ve set up a medical receiving station at the southern end of the farm, hon. Abby’s there waiting for you.”

Which was obsolete information. Auntie Abby was charging toward Cara even as the Marine misspoke. She was in full armor and pounding drug plants into the ground as she ran for Cara.

“I am so sorry, Aunt Abby,” Cara said, throwing herself on another armored shoulder. It hurt, but it felt wonderful.

“I don’t know whether to tan your hide, child, or hug you and wrap you in plastic.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do anything like that again.”

“No, you won’t, baby ducks. But if you’re my niece, you’ll likely come up with something new and worse. Come on. Doc Izzawa is waiting to get a good look at you.”

Beside them, Sergeant Bruce turned his speaker up to max. “All agricultural workers, you are free now. We have set up a medical station on the southern edge of the farm. We also have food and water for you. We ask you to gather there and help us identify anyone who has been swinging a whip before today. We want to make sure they get the reward they deserve,” he ended dryly.

From around the drug fields, people were standing up, straightening their backs, and groaning before heading south.

Here and there, the rows of plants swayed, but not to the wind.

“Marines, let’s collect the folks going north and bring them along,” the Marine sergeant ordered.

Around the field, men and women in battle armor stood tall and began beating the bushes. Shots were fired twice.

After Marines returned fire the second time, people started standing up with their hands above their heads.

Even the dumbest . . . or the guiltiest . . . could see it was better to risk the uncertain fate of surrender than the certain quick death that came to those who tried to stand against the troopers with the rifles.