Ironshield Page 21

  Another item, sitting on a corner of the table, had Aldren doing a double take. A black metal box about the size of both his fists put together, with a round lens protruding from it. Is that a camera? he wondered. Aldren had never seen one so small. A strap was hooked to the device, and a leather case lay nearby that looked to be fitted for it.

  “Please, Sargent, take a seat.”

  Why? I won't be here long. Aldren decided to keep his mouth shut. No need to jinx things now. “Pretty tough security, just for a debate.”

  “Yes, well, assassination attempts seem to have that effect.” Paulson settled into the seat across from Aldren and filled the glasses from the decanter, sliding one to him.

  Right. He’d read about the attempt on Mutton’s life in a newspaper on the trip over. Or rather, he’d skimmed the headline as another passenger on the train perused the paper. Nervous, Aldren clinked glasses with the secretary before drinking. He nearly spat the liquid out, and coughed, his throat raw from the liquor’s burn.

  “Too strong?” asked Paulson.

  “Has more bite than I usually go for,” Aldren admitted with a shudder.

  Paulson let out a chortling laugh. “It’s not my usual brand, either. Northern whiskey. Easier to get, now that the fighting is over.”

  Aldren nodded as he put the empty glass down. Now he knew what to use if he ever needed to remove rust. “So…” he said, trying to keep the anxious note out of his voice.

  “Ah, yes, Dalbrook,” Paulson said as though he’d just remembered. The secretary drew the leather folder toward himself and flipped it open. “Officer Tanner said in his report that you refused to fire on an active rebel combatant.”

  “A girl. Barely in her twenties, if that…” Aldren fidgeted. “She was already beat, her machine broken. She was running away.”

  “Hmmm.” Paulson dug in his ear with a pinky finger and examined the digit as he spoke. “Before she ran, did she happen to shoot and injure members of your team from the seat of a half-built Warsuit?”

  “Yes.” Aldren didn’t want Samuel Mutton’s right-hand man impressed with him. He wanted out of this job. But still, Aldren couldn’t help but feel ashamed about how things had gone. Had Leon been killed, would he be able to live with himself, knowing he might have been able to stop it?

  “Please, describe the machine.” Paulson leaned back and sipped his whiskey, for all the world as though the liquid fire were sweet tea.

  Aldren cleared his throat. “Not much to say. It looked about the size of a Krieger, put together out of salvage and repurposed tractor parts, mostly. It fits, since farm equipment was their operation’s front.”

  “And you’re sure this was an attempt at a Krieger, not the beginnings of a Kaizer suit?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tanner seems to disagree with that estimation—”

  “Tanner is a pompous moron.” Aldren couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “The machine was a Krieger. Even unfinished, there was no mistaking it.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “I think I would know.”

  The secretary chuckled. “I suppose you would at that. Well, that’s something of a relief. It means the remaining rebels haven’t figured out how to replicate the Kaizer Engine. Maybe Clint Kaizer and his son really are dead, after all.”

  “That, or retired.” Like I should be, Aldren added to himself. “Don’t see much difference, so long as the Warsuits are gone.”

  “You should have captured or killed the girl and her friends, if that’s what you wanted. They will try again, Sargent, you can be sure of that.”

  Aldren’s dwindling hopes plummeted. He wasn’t here to be fired. He’d been called over for a fucking lecture. Mutton, Aldren seethed. The damned man doesn’t even have the courtesy to talk to me himself. In place of hope, his anger rose. To hell with this. “If they do, Mr. Paulson, someone else can lead the search to find them. I’m finished.”

  Paulson raised both eyebrows. “I think you misunderstand how military service works, young man.”

  “What I understand is that your boss is a hypocrite. All draftees were issued honorable discharges after the Civil War. All except me and the other poor folk you and him decided to rope into your secret little task force. I never volunteered for active duty, and since we’re in peace time I’m long overdue to stand up for my God-damned Arkenian rights.” Aldren took in a shaking breath. “Mutton can throw me in prison if he wants, but I’m done. Done risking my life in a war I never signed up for. I am done paying for my brother’s mistakes.”

  “This is not about Yannick—”

  “Leave the bullshitting to the politicians. Mutton and his friends had Yanny hanged for a spy and didn’t let me find out the bad news until the war was over. Then, conveniently, he promoted me just enough to put me in charge of his secret operation. All with one of your moles watching my every move. I’m supposed to think I’m not being scrutinized? That I’m not being punished?”

  Paulson put down his mostly empty glass. “I’m sorry about your brother,” he said. “I was there when Salkirk hanged him. The boy deserved better.”

  Aldren scoffed. “And I bet you just watched, even when one of Salkirk’s people decided to use my brother’s body for target practice. The whole lot of you are bastards."

  Something changed in Paulson’s expression, a twitch in the corners of his eyes, so fleeting it might never have happened. The chair creaked beneath the rotund secretary as he adjusted his weight. “Horrible business. But have you not considered that, maybe.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together. “Just maybe, your situation might have more to do with your desertion at Flemmingwood?”

  Aldren scoffed. “You’ve been drinking too much of that northern pipe cleaner. I did what every man there did and saved my neck.” Aldren raised a finger. “Which, by the way, is the same thing Mutton did. Only difference is I didn’t have ten feet of steel protecting my back as I ran for my life.”

  “Samuel Mutton ordered a retreat to save his army,” Paulson countered. “While you ran like a frightened deer.” The secretary sighed. “And if I’m honest with you, which I will be, it’s exactly what I would have done, in your place.”

  “Uh… okay?” Where was he going with this?

  Paulson closed the file. “Your brother’s betrayal did put you on my list,” he continued. “When one relative defects, it’s not uncommon for family -especially siblings- to be in on the plot. However, as far as we’re concerned you’ve proven yourself to be a different man than Yannick.” Paulson’s lip curved, as though he were enjoying a private joke.

  Aldren was sure he could guess what the secretary was thinking. Oh, I’m different alright. “You believe that, even after Tanner’s report?”

  “Sargent Mal, if every man with a conscience were a traitor I’d hate to be a patriot. And while it’s unfortunate that the last members of the Dalbrook rebel cell escaped, I can’t blame you for not wanting the first kill of your military career to be that of a young woman. Yes, Aldren. I know of your combat history, or lack thereof.”

  Aldren’s shoulders unknotted. He wasn’t headed to the brig, it seemed. Your mouth’s gonna get you killed one of these days, he thought, repeating one of his mother’s common admonishments. Wasn’t there a story, about Mutton and his secretary facing Retribution with nothing but a field gun? Whether Aldren believed that tall tale or not, he had to remind himself just who he was talking to. “So, if Mutton knows I’m no traitor, and he knows I’m useless in a fight, why keep me in the ranks? I’m a liability, if anything.”

  Paulson nodded. If Aldren had raised the secretary’s anger with his earlier insouciance, the man didn’t let it show. That, however, meant little. Paulson was an impossible man to read. Aldren had wandered the streets of Talenport enough to know a skilled liar when he saw one. Paulson was the best he had ever encountered.

  “For the hunt being conducted here on Arkenian soil, you’re right,” Paulson said. “Those rebels
who remain active against the state are the staunchest opponents to disarmament. Men and women who turned down the Surrender Pact and chose fugitive status over a simple signature. These individuals are committed, one hundred percent, and I’m afraid there might never be a peaceful solution to the problem they embody. In which case, the operation is better off without a… pacifist dragging it down.”

  That’s a nice way to say ‘coward.’ “So, do you have discharge papers hidden around here?” Aldren thumbed at the envelope on the table.

  Paulson smirked. “However,” he continued, pushing the envelope toward Aldren. “While your non-combatant nature is a hindrance against entrenched enemies here, it is exactly what we need elsewhere.”

  “…Elsewhere?” Is he offering me a desk job? The prospect was boring, but Aldren would take boring, so long as he wasn’t being shot at. He whisked the envelope off the table. It was thick, hefty.

  “In there are your written orders, along with tickets, maps, and a banker’s note for incidentals. Enclosed you’ll also find half of your pay, including severance. Sargent Mal, this is the last job the state requires of you before your service with the Arkenian military is terminated. Complete this -without bungling it- and the senator will happily sign your discharge papers, with honors.”

  Aldren tore the top of the envelope. His eyes widened at the figure on the cashier’s note for his pay. Even deducting severance, this was more money than all of his missions combined had earned, and it was only half of what he had coming. Then, he read over the orders and saw why. “No.” Aldren put the packet down and slid it back.

  “Partial as I am to a healthy bit of insubordination, I’d think carefully before refusing if I were you, Sargent.”

  “I am not going to Xang.”

  “It seems you’d be safer there than you are chasing rebels here,” said Paulson. “Besides, most of the ground you’ll be covering has already been overseen by your predecessor.”

  “Oh? And what happened to him?”

  Paulson grimaced. “An unforeseen illness, nothing violent. He’s been recovering nicely.”

  “If there’s no danger, why send anyone at all?”

  “Because many Arkenians, whether they leaned North or South during the war, refuse to take the Xangese royal family at their word. The Dao who rules now is the same man who commanded the assault at the Bay of Rust. Scars such as that run deep, for some.”

  “I bet.” Aldren knew Mutton had fought in that historic battle, before he mustache-paddled his way into politics. The last gasp of the Arkenia-Xang war had taken many lives, including that of the original Ironshield, Heinrich Edstein.

  “Your job,” Paulson continued. “Is to tour the countryside and confirm, to the best of your ability, that the Xangese have complied with disarmament on their end. You’re being sent as a state auditor. A representative, if you will, not a soldier.”

  “Tour,” Aldren repeated. “That is, until I fall mysteriously ill or have an ‘accident.’” He snorted. “I really must be expendable, if your boss is sending me there.”

  “You assume it’s the senator who picked you. Regardless, you have it wrong.”

  “If that weren’t the case, you’d be talking someone higher ranked and better trusted into the deed. For fuck sake, this sounds like a mission for a diplomat, not a sub-par foot soldier with a sketchy family history.”

  “I’d say you’ve made your mark as a diplomat,” Paulson mused, lacing his fingers over his gut. “Gleaning information the way you have, weaseling contacts out of hostile territory in the northern provinces, all without giving away who you are or who you work for. None of that is easy. People with your skills are valuable, Sargent, and hard to come by.”

  “I’m flattered,” Aldren said dryly. “But smooth talking won’t count for much in a country where people speak a different language. I may have picked up a phrase or two, but the Xangese can discuss the designs of a new Warsuit, in detail, right in front of my face and I’d be none the wiser. You’re crazy if you think I can pull off what I did in Dalbrook overseas.”

  “That is why you’ll be rendezvousing with a partner. Someone to serve as both translator and guide. In Xang, you’ll find a lot more than language to navigate around.”

  “Wonderful. The answer is still no.” Aldren looked at the envelope as he said it, filled with doubt. Those kinds of marks could pay off Ma’s house repairs. Maybe even set her up with a motorcar. Forget that, with the money I’d make if I finish the job, I can move her into a nice flat back in Talenport. The ‘if’ floated in his mind, but so did the image of his mother, living in comfort in the city she’d had to leave behind. “Not unless you tell me why I’m the one you picked. Then, if I think your answer’s good enough, I’ll want a guarantee. A guarantee that, after this, me and my family are off the hook.”

  “Five minutes!” Someone called from beyond the curtain. The murmur of the crowd had continued all this time, but now it grew louder as their excitement mounted.

  Paulson poured himself another drink. Aldren waved the secretary off from filling his glass and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, waiting for Paulson’s nod of approval before lighting one up.

  “I’ve been paying attention to your evaluation, Aldren,” the secretary said after a long swig of whiskey. He tapped the leather folder. “Reports, personality profiles. You’re smart. Brave, even, in your own way. You’re also mostly apolitical, with no strong leanings one way or the other.”

  “Which is another way of saying I’m not a defector or a spy. No one for me to spy for if I don’t play for either team in the stupid game, right? Funnily enough, though, I have been a spy, since you and Mutton forced me to jump hoops in this circus. You watched my brother hanged, only to turn and make me do what earned him the rope. Now you want me to pull the same shit in Xang.” Aldren blew smoke out his nostrils, sneering in disgust. “And you tell me I’m not being punished for Yanny’s mistakes.”

  Paulson leaned forward. Placing his hand on the envelope, he pushed it toward Aldren once more. “One more job, a few weeks of sightseeing. Then, you get your pay and your honorable discharge. Any suspicion, any black mark on your family’s name will be wiped from all records. Even your brother’s crimes. I guarantee it.”

  The secretary stood. “You have a week before your boat leaves Talenport. Time enough to travel and think things over, All the details are in the envelope. I warn you, Sargent Mal, not to try running with the money, tempting as it may be. I don’t relish the thought of hunting you down.” Paulson said it in an easy tone, but something in his smooth voice, and in the way his dark eyes met Aldren’s, made Aldren think twice about calling the bluff. Crazy as it is, I think he’d do it himself, too. Who was this man?

  Aldren cleared his throat. “If I was gonna run, I’d have done it when the war ended.” He stuffed the packet into his coat and rose. “Hell, I’d have done it when I got drafted. But what family I have left needs me.” He held Paulson’s gaze. “I won’t turn into a fugitive.”

  The secretary nodded. “Good. One more thing.” He gestured to the black metal rectangle and leather case on the table. “Take that along. Included in your report, I want photos of anything important you come across.”

  “Savior, so it is a freaking camera.” Aldren picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

  “It’s time, Senator!” someone called to Mutton from the tent opening.

  “Duty calls.” Paulson came around the table and made to leave.

  “Hold on,” Aldren said.

  Paulson paused. “Yes?”

  Aldren swallowed his nerves. “If I get killed out there, my mother gets the money, understand? Every red penny of it. Or I swear to God and the Savior’s fucking ballsack, I’ll haunt you.

  Paulson smiled. “Consider it done, Aldren. Although I’d try to stay alive, if I were you.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Aldren muttered as the tent flap fell behind Mutton’s secretary, leaving him alone in the canvas room.
/>
  Aldren looked to the file Paulson had perused. Unable to stop himself, he flipped it open.

  “Son of a bitch,” Aldren said aloud. The pages were blank.

  A cough sounded from the curtain, and Aldren spun around to see Kinley, the head guard from earlier, glaring at him.

  Aldren scratched the back of his neck with an apologetic laugh and followed the guard out.

  “Here you go, by the way.” Aldren flipped Franz’s lapel button into the air. Kinley caught it reflexively as Aldren walked away from the tent. “Tell Franny I said no hard feelings.”

  Chapter 15

  Doubt nagged at Samuel, but he was used to that. Constant self-recrimination had become a state of being for him ever since Quarrystone. Samuel had long ago mastered the ability to quash the pervasive concerns, to shove them aside and focus on the task at hand.