by Marko Kloos
“The data storage modules for the neural network,” I say.
Colonel Drake looks at me and nods with a smile.
“Very good, Major.”
“I was a neural network admin before I became a podhead,” I say. “And I once spent a few weeks in the ops center of a Class IV.”
“Very good. Then you can take point on the retrieval mission,” the commander says. “I want you to put a team together to go down there and see if the data storage facility is still intact.”
“The Lankies knocked out the power to that place almost right away,” Colonel Rigney says. “Is there anything on those memory modules that’s worth a few hundred SI lives?”
Colonel Drake shakes his head.
“I don’t want to send a few hundred SI troops down there. We’ve cleared the planetary orbit, but we could get jumped by more Lankies at any time. If we have to make a quick exit, it will be much easier to pick up an STT platoon than to airlift an entire infantry battalion plus heavy gear out of there.”
“A platoon isn’t going to be able to hold much ground if the resident Lankies start popping out of the ground in numbers,” Colonel Rigney replies. “Podheads or not. I’d want at least a heavy weapons company down there with PACS.”
“The skipper has a point,” I say.
“I would have figured you’d rather have some heavy guns on overwatch while we’re rooting around above the Lankies’ heads,” Colonel Rigney says.
“More guns are always better guns, Colonel. No argument there. But we had that scenario at New Svalbard, four years ago. A whole regiment on the ground, plus PACS. And when the Lankies started to roll up our line, we barely got everyone out in time. We needed the SI regiment to hold off the Lankies while we got the civvies on the drop ships. But this time we don’t have to hold the line if things get tight. We can have a pair of drop ships on standby in low orbit. We take in a few STT squads, we can be out again in a few minutes,” I say.
Colonel Rigney shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong. It won’t hurt my feelings if I don’t get to send my people down there to get bloody. And I am sure you know what you are doing. But that’s a long wait for backup if you find yourself needing us after all.”
“Is there anything on those storage modules that’s worth even setting foot in that place?” Colonel Pace asks. “Something we can’t gain from just letting the recon birds map the whole place from top to bottom?”
“The neural network would have been tied into all the sensors on the planet,” I say. “Every terraformer, every satellite. Every surveillance sensor. The network forensics people could dissect the entire event from start to finish. It’s like the colony wrote a real-time diary of its own death.”
“Well, that’s a bit morbid,” the XO says. “But I can see the value. I don’t think we’ve ever had a firsthand account of a Lanky invasion.”
“Even if there’s no military value to that data, we lost almost two thousand colonists here,” Colonel Drake says. “Four hundred eighty-nine families. I checked the files. We can’t bring their bodies home. Not anymore. But we may be able to retrace their steps. Take back whatever last messages or images they left before they got wiped out without warning. If there’s a chance we can recover any of that, I’d say it’s worth the risk so we don’t go back home and tell their relatives that we went forty-two light-years to this cemetery just to take a few pictures.”
There’s a moment of silence in the room.
“I’m for it,” Lieutenant Colonel Campbell says. “But I’m not the one who will be sticking out my neck down there. If we go through with this, the podheads will have most of the risk.”
She looks at me expectantly. “What do you say, Major? This may be a quick in and out, and everyone pats you on the shoulder. Or you have boots on the ground, and ten minutes later, you are in over your heads.”
I look from her to the map imagery on the bulkhead display and shrug.
“That’s pretty much our job description,” I say. “But I’m not going to lie. Five hundred meters of line of sight isn’t much. By the time we see them coming, they’ll be almost on top of us. And then we’ll be back at square one because we’ll need a whole space wing’s worth of close air support to extract a handful of podheads.”
“We can do a little better than that,” Colonel Pace says. “BCS-55 has a bunch of the new seismic mines in inventory now. With the target area being as small as it is, we won’t even need to deploy a lot of them. Two dozen, maybe, and we can triangulate incoming Lankies. It’s not accurate enough for close-air-support runs, but we’ll know if something is headed your way. Even if it’s underground.”
“How much early warning are we talking about?” I ask.
“Depends on how much of a hurry they’re in. But I’d say at least ten minutes. They’ll be able to give you a rough vector.”
“If they work as advertised,” Colonel Rigney says. “Last I heard, that was still experimental gear.”
“So were the PACS four years ago,” I say. “Anything’s better than flying blind. Ten minutes ought to be enough to call down our ride and get the hell out before the neighborhood watch shows up.”
I look around at the faces of the colonels at the table. “I’m comfortable with those parameters if everyone else is fine with it. I conclude with the XO that the potential payoff is worth the risk.”
“Very well,” Colonel Drake says. “In that case, the mission is a go. Colonel Pace will have BCS-55 send down the recon birds to place the seismic gear. Major Grayson, assemble your team and designate a backup for the standby drop ship in case we have to come and get you. We will coordinate the mission from the CIC and give the STT team the green light for deployment as soon as we’ve dropped the sensors dirtside. All departments, report mission readiness by 2200.”
“Aye, sir,” I reply. The other officers at the table murmur their assent as well. Colonel Drake shuts off the bulkhead screen and gets out of his chair.
“I know it may be a bit of a letdown,” he says. “Twelve years later, and the best we can do right now is a smash-and-grab burglary. But I don’t want to commit us to a fight we can’t win. We have more to lose out here than they do.”
“If we get my team back up here with the data modules and no casualties, I’d file that one under ‘win,’” I say.
CHAPTER 15
RIDE-ALONG
Half an hour after the briefing, I am back in my quarters and rinsing off in the shower when my comms panel trills its incoming message alert. I step out of the tiny bathroom of my cabin and walk the three steps to my desk, where the terminal base flashes a soft, pulsating red light.
“Major Grayson,” I say when I accept the comm.
“Major, this is the CO,” Colonel Drake’s voice says. “Could you report to my ready cabin when you get a minute?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll be right up.”
I slip into fresh camouflage uniform trousers and spend a minute rolling the sleeves of the blouse before putting it on. When I check my appearance in the mirror, I notice that I have a few strands of gray hair now, made obvious by the harsh and unflattering light of the mirror’s LED fixture.
“Fabulous,” I mutter, and grab one of the little silver strands to yank it out. It comes away clean, and I look at it for a moment as it curls between my fingers.
At least I got old enough to start getting gray, I think. Then I flick the strand of hair into the garbage receptacle on the wall next to my desk and turn to walk out of my quarters.
“Major Grayson, reporting as ordered,” I say when I step into the commander’s ready cabin. He’s standing at his desk, bent over the display screen he has tilted into an almost horizontal position, and he’s typing something into a data field with both hands.
“Step up, Major,” he says over his shoulder. “Have a seat. And you don’t need to formally report in every time you come in here. You’re part of the command staff.”
“It’s still your ship, sir,” I say, and st
ep closer to the table without getting too curious about the contents of the commander’s screen. He finishes typing and turns off the screen with a flick of his hand.
“The XO seems to think I was an NCO for too long,” I continue. “Old habits and all that.”
“I’ve always found that the mustangs make better officers than the academy wonders,” Colonel Drake says. “They know both sides of the trade. It’s easy to lose the bigger picture if you’re only used to looking from one angle.”
“I got boosted up from limited duty, sir. I was never supposed to even make major.”
“No such thing as limited duty anymore, I’m afraid.”
The colonel sits down, and I follow suit only when he’s settled behind his desk.
“I have a task for you that concerns the upcoming STT mission,” he says. “Are you still sure you want to put boots in the dirt personally?”
“Wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t, sir. And as you’ve already pointed out, I know the layout of the place better than any of my section leads do. I won’t have to spend much time getting my bearings.”
“What’s your team setup?”
“Like you said, sir, it’s going to be a smash and grab. I’m taking the SEAL section, plus one of the Spaceborne Rescue squad leaders. If we end up needing combat control, I’ll be there for that. Eighteen troopers, no heavy gear, in and out in one drop ship.”
Colonel Drake nods. “That makes sense to me. But I’m a cap ship jockey, not a podhead. Whatever you need to get the job done, you know to ask for it.”
“What’s the task you have for me, sir?” I ask.
“You’ll have to keep a seat open on the drop ship down,” the CO says. “We have a science detachment from the research division along for the ride. Their xenobiologist has requested to come along for the mission. She wants to take a look around on the surface, maybe bring back samples of whatever it is that’s growing all over the old colony now. This may be the only chance we get to put boots on the ground, and the science mission wants in on it.”
“You want me to take a civilian along on an STT mission?” I ask.
“Technically, the research-division scientists are all officers in the Corps,” Colonel Drake replies. “But they’re officers in the way that Fleet dentists are officers. They do the shake-and-bake officer course you’ve been through for your LDO promotion. But once they’re in their jobs, they don’t have much to do with the regular military business.”
“I don’t know if that’s a smart idea,” I say. “If things go wrong, we may end up shooting our way out of there and back to the drop ship. If she’s off picking flowers somewhere, we may not be able to wait for her. Does she know that this could end badly?”
“She does. But she wants to come anyway. She was quite adamant about it.”
“You make it sound like I have an option,” I say.
“The STT is your shop,” Colonel Drake says. “I’m in charge of the ship and the overall mission. But I leave the department heads to their own business. Ultimately, you’re the one who can make that judgment call. I can tell you that the science division would be very happy with us if we let them gather some firsthand data. But I won’t order you to bring one of them along. That is your decision alone. If you think it’s too risky, they’ll have to get over their disappointment.”
I consider the request for a few moments. Whenever I have a strong initial gut feeling to a proposal, I’ve learned to take a few slow breaths and refrain from a knee-jerk reaction.
“We all came a long way for this,” I say. “And as you said, it may be the only chance we get to go down to the surface. I’m not wild about the idea. But I suppose she can come along. As long as she knows that she has to follow our lead and take direction. The science people saved us at New Svalbard. I figure we owe them a favor or three.”
Colonel Drake nods. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear that you see it that way, Major. I’ll let the science people know that the ride-along is a go.”
“Can I give her the green light in person, sir? I want to go and talk to her to make sure she understands everything she’s signing up for.”
“Sure,” the commander says. “Like I said, it’s your show. She’s down in the main medlab. Ask for Dr. Vandenberg.”
“Aye, sir.”
I get up and almost do a formal heel turn before I remember the commander’s earlier admonition about excessive formality. Colonel Drake seems to notice because there’s a faint smile notched in the corners of his mouth when he nods to dismiss me.
“Oh, and Major?” he says when I am at the door.
“Yes, sir?” I turn around.
“If you do give her the green light, I would appreciate it if you would keep her very close when you get down to the surface. You know those science types. They know a lot about their field, but they don’t think like soldiers. Even if they are commissioned officers.”
“I’ll do my best to bring her back to the ship without a dent, sir,” I say.
The woman sitting in a back corner of the ship’s medical lab doesn’t look like the stereotypical image of a research-division scientist in my head, and she doesn’t look like the typical Fleet officer, either. She’s wearing overalls that are in the same color scheme as the ship we’re on—white with orange trim. Her back is turned toward the aisle between the rows of work nooks, and I see that she’s wearing her hair in a short blonde braid that reaches just past the collar of her overalls. She has her feet propped up on the desk of her work nook, and she’s flicking through a bunch of data screens in front of her. I rap my knuckles on the partition to get her attention.
“Dr. Vandenberg?” I ask.
She takes her feet off her desk and swivels her chair around.
“I’m Major Grayson,” I say. “The special tactics team lead. Your chaperone for the upcoming field trip. The skipper told me that you’re asking for a ride-along.”
“Hello,” she says, and gets out of her chair. “Be careful with the ‘doctor’ around here, or people start asking me to look at their ailments.”
She holds out her hand, and I shake it.
“Elin Vandenberg. Just Elin is fine. Or Captain Vandenberg, if you absolutely must,” she says.
We smile and size each other up for a few heartbeats. She has the lean build of someone who does a lot of cardio exercise. There are fine wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and her teeth have the slight unevenness that’s the hallmark of an upbringing in the PRC, where the public dentistry focuses on basic function instead of cosmetics.
“Andrew Grayson,” I say. “Just Andrew is fine. Don’t call me ‘major’ too much, or people start looking to me for guidance.”
She chuckles at the joke and tucks her hands into the back pockets of her overalls. Then she nods at the office space behind her.
“Welcome to Lanky Labs,” she says. “I’d offer you a seat, but I’m not actually set up for visitors. The bio division doesn’t get their own space. We have to share the medlab, so they tuck us all the way in the back.”
“How many people are in the bio division?” I ask.
Elin raises her index finger and shrugs.
“It’s not a permanent billing. I kind of blackmailed my boss into getting me on this ship on short notice. I figured I’d maybe get a shot at Mars. The other biologists on my team are going to lose their shit when they find out what they’ve missed.”
“First Alcubierre trip?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve been to Arcadia a few times with the xenobotanists. Never been to a Lanky colony. This is like Christmas and Commonwealth Day all rolled into one.”
“You may have come a long way for a short stroll. We may not be on the surface for very long. It’s not a friendly neighborhood. I don’t want you to be disappointed if you don’t get to collect a lot of samples or set up any science gear. It may not be worth the risk.”
“I’ll come along even if it’s just for a thirty-second stroll down there,” she says.
“I’ve been doing this for ten years, ever since I got out of college. And I’ve only ever had lab samples to work on. Stuff that other people brought back. These things are supposed to be my field of expertise, and I’ve never been in their own habitat. Feels like I ought to take the chance if it’s in front of me.”
“We may get a little more time than just thirty seconds,” I reply. “It’s a recovery mission. We’ll land in Willoughby City and get the data storage units out of the basement in the admin center. It may not be the most pleasant environment. Last time I was here, I saw hundreds of dead settlers in the streets. If any of them died in the admin center, the Lankies didn’t collect those bodies. It’ll be like a tomb in there.”
“I’m not squeamish,” Elin says.
“Neither am I. But I still have bad dreams every other night.”
“Emotional candor. I’m not used to that from grunts. But if you’re trying to scare me off with that, it’s not going to work,” she says with a little smile.
I do a bit of quick math in my head and guess that she’s about my age if she has a doctorate and ten years of experience in the field. But somehow, she looks like I have a decade on her, despite the little wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. Frontline grunts age faster than their peers because the job is a physical and mental grinder, and not even long stretches of shore duty are enough to halt that clock or reverse it. Dr. Vandenberg looks fit and toned, but there’s a kind of softness about her that’s unmistakably civilian, and the braided hair only emphasizes the effect. Few of the women who serve on a warship keep their hair long because it gets in the way of the helmets that grunts, deckhands, and pilots frequently have to wear.
“The SEALs are really good at what they do,” I say. “And we will have an entire drop-ship wing in support if we need to leave in a hurry. But I won’t tell you that you have no reason to be anxious. This is a Lanky planet now. It’ll be the most dangerous place you’ll ever set foot.”