The rest of the team was lined up behind the Deltas, waiting for the attack to begin. Katra wasn’t in very good shape either, but the Omegas were helping her place the breaching charges, and Doria knew they’d be fine too. It wasn’t going to be an easy adjustment, but they’d been at this a while.
Besides, Jarl wouldn’t let anything happen to Katra. Not while he was alive.
When Jantine finished, she moved over to Doria’s side and handed her several grenades from a pouch on her harness. Even though it hurt, Doria pushed them away, and smiled. She answered for both herself and Malik.
"We’re covered. And something tells me that you’re going to need those a lot more than I will."
Jantine smiled, and stood up. Without another word, she walked over to the rest of the team and crouched into a firing position. She snapped her helmet’s faceplate closed, and the rest of the team did the same.
Doria leaned a little closer to Malik and whispered to him.
"Malik, Do you want me to watch her for you?"
Malik surprised her with an image of a handheld, with text scrolling across the screen. It took her a second to figure out what he was trying to do, but when she did she gave his hand a small squeeze and read his message.
No, it’s all right. We have to finish the launch sequence. She’ll buy us enough time to get the sleepers down safely, and once I confirm the team’s launch, we can let go.
"Malik, I . . ."
What was it you said? It’s going to be all right. We can do this.
"No. That’s not it."
Before she could tell him, the breaching charges went off. Jantine and the Deltas sent a three-second burst of hell through the resulting hole, then stopped firing long enough for Jarl and Katra to go to work.
Doria couldn’t hear any screaming from the other side of the wall, but the Omegas could see just fine. Through their eyes she watched the thermal blurs of her fellow Gammas tear through the much cooler forms of the enemy. The hallway was clear five seconds later.
The Omegas waited until Carlton and JonB were through, and then paused to look back at her and Malik. Then she felt them enter her mind, sharing their lives with her and showing Doria her part in them.
Doria had spent her life interpreting the emotions of others. The joy she felt when communicating like this was almost as good as the drugs Carlton had given her, but this time the Omegas weren’t holding back. Doria finally experienced the full impact of feelings that they always held back from other mods. Doria let it fill up the corners of her mind, taking away her pain and giving her a few more minutes of clarity to work with.
She didn’t bother to send her thanks through the link—none were necessary. She’d already said her goodbyes, and they were carrying away a part of her with them to share with their next Gamma.
Instead, Doria turned her thoughts back to Malik, and the job they still had to complete.
"Malik, I think you should show me how to set a timer on the destruct charges. I don’t think I’ve got that much time left . . ."
Aloysius
"WHAT EXACTLY AM I LOOKING AT HERE, SIR?"
Harlan’s confusion was understandable. Martin had his own doubts about the sleeper tank installed in the Environmental Systems bay, but as the person who’d put it there and arranged for an independent power supply and round-the-clock guards, he had at least some of the answers she was looking for.
Harlan was using a private suit channel for the question, so he responded in kind. So far, neither had received any signals from the main comms, but Harlan’s damage control teams were the best in the fleet and it was only a matter of time before they’d need to have their stories straight.
"That, Commander, is humanity’s future. It’s what the gennies call an Alpha, one of their leaders."
Martin didn’t offer more information, letting Harlan draw her own conclusions as to why it was aboard the Valiant.
The techs were fitting the bulky unit with a grav harness, but Martin’s eyes went as always to the doll-like face of the being in deepsleep inside. Whatever dreams he and his co-conspirators had of taking back their destiny rested inside that perfect head, and had done so for longer than he’d been alive.
"It’s one of the first ones, actually. We found it in a crashed gennie transport on a frozen planet I’m not cleared to tell you about. But it had been there for some time, so long in fact that the Alphas in the Colonies now are much, much different biologically."
This time he’d aroused her curiosity, and Harlan turned her suited head to look at him directly. Martin saw the reflection of his own helmet in her visor, and found the metaphor apt.
Go ahead then, ask it. It’s what I’d do in your position.
"With respect, sir, how is this thing supposed to help us?"
Martin jetted forward, motioning for Harlan to follow. His hardsuit was the same model as hers, minus all the pouches and extra weapons. And although the extra time he spent reclaiming it and a few personal effects from his quarters might still bite him in the ass, it was worth it to be fully mobile again. He used a gauntlet jet to stop himself, then placed the same hand on the sleeper unit.
"The gennie bloodlines, or mods, as they call themselves, stabilized about two centuries ago. Every one of them comes out of the womb perfectly designed for their role in Colonial society, and then they spend a dozen or so years in a crèche downloading all the education they need to fulfill it.
"This one though . . ." Martin’s voice trailed off as he thought about the magnitude of what he was saying, "this one isn’t done yet. Its genes are still in flux, being acted on by a version of the Transgenic virus we haven’t seen in centuries. When we found it, well, it changed everything."
Harlan’s shoulders shifted slightly, and Martin wished he could see her face.
Do I really have to right to involve her in this? So far she’s just following my orders, but soon there’ll be a line she can’t uncross.
Martin nodded to a vac-suited tech, who released the clamps securing the sleeper unit to the Valiant’s environmental systems and power grid. The damage to his ship hadn’t propagated this far, and the unit’s independent power supply was still operational. Watching the techs work, Martin was glad Harlan had come looking for him first—he doubted the guards he’d posted would have deterred her for very long if she’d chosen to restore the ship’s air and heat instead.
Martin switched over to an area broadcast and spoke to the crew. His real crew, the ones he’d selected for loyalty over the past few months. That group also now included Harlan and part of the security team that followed them from the command center.
One other benefit of stopping off at his quarters was a quick consultation of their personnel files—all but three of them were on Bill William’s expanded list. He’d had Harlan send those he wasn’t sure about to the squads forming up around the intruder object, one to each deck, to deliver his orders.
Stand fast. Observe.
"All right people, let’s move out. We’re making for transfer bay six, the captain’s shuttle. No delays, we’ll apologize for any bruised shins or feelings later."
Martin watched the security team move into place both ahead and behind the now-mobile piece of history, as well as taking up positions behind himself and Harlan. Like Harlan, they had a lot of gear affixed to their hardsuits, and Martin was sure it was all meant for causing damage. Harlan’s kit was a combination of extra ammunition and a variety of tools the captain didn’t recognize, but he was sure she had quite a few nasty surprises hidden away as well.
Ammunition. Should have brought some more of my own, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that. If I can’t get the job done with only one pistol . . .
As soon as it was clear of the bay doors, he nodded to Harlan, who jetted up to kill the portable lighting unit. She detached one of the boxlike compartments on her back and stowed the light away, returning everything to its proper place in a fluid movement.
Harlan twisted through the
air as she came back down to land beside him, and the two officers started floating after the rest of the team. Several troopers were waiting on the other side of the hatch; after they dogged it behind them, it would be as if they were never there.
"Still with me, Mira? This can’t be an easy thing to learn about, especially today."
Harlan floated silently alongside him for a few meters before speaking.
"Yes, sir. No problems here. I’m assuming you’ll give me the full story on who ‘we’ are before I get shot for treason, but I’m with you."
"I appreciate that, Harlan. More than you know. And it’s not treason we’re facing, but extinction. We have been, ever since the first gennie mutants expressed. But that one"—Martin waved ahead—"it’s still cooking. Still mostly human, and with the technology we have now we can properly analyze the changes it’s going though and reverse the process."
"Reverse, sir? Are you suggesting we . . . this . . ."
Martin had a very real sense that Harlan was about to dig in her metaphorical heels, and spun himself to face her directly.
"No, Lord no. You have to believe me, Harlan, we’re not talking about vivisection, or weaponization. We, our people, are looking for a vaccine at best. I don’t want to eliminate the gennies, I just want to save the human race! Those of us who are still human, still able to call ourselves that."
This time Harlan did stop, jetting to a halt. Martin did the same, bringing up his internal visor lights and making his faceplate clear so she could see his face. Almost instantly, Harlan did the same, and for the first time since she’d joined him in the command center he could see real doubt in her eyes. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, locking herself into the same plane of reference. Though they were drifting slightly, they were doing it together, and he thought that was just fine.
Here it is, Aloysius. Decision time. She’s already made up her mind, but she needs to hear the words.
"You said we were at war, sir. I need to know right now with whom, and for how long."
Martin leaned forward to touch his helmet to Harlan’s. Once he was sure she he had her complete attention, he made a show of moving his eyes down to the left. Martin narrowed his focus on the holographic icon that turned off the private channel they’d been using, and waited.
Harlan’s eyes tightened, searching his face for some clue as to his intentions. Through their joined faceplates he could hear her breathing, then heard it stop as she made the same mental connection. Without turning her head, she scanned the edge of her peripheral vision for the security troopers that were still behind them in the passageway. When they made no overtly hostile move, she dropped her focus to the lower left of her own display, and killed her comms.
"Go." Her voice was muffled after passing through two faceplates, but its tone was colder than interstellar space.
"Harlan, the reason we’re out here, out of contact with the rest of the fleet and far enough above the ecliptic that no one will even think to look for us is because there are people who want to do the exact same thing you were just about to accuse me of. There is a faction in the fleet that’s not content with keeping the most important human being in the universe on ice, and from this moment on you have to assume that anyone you know could be the enemy."
Martin watched the realization set in, how carefully her eyes stayed fixed on his, how fast the breaths started coming when she finally remembered to breathe. He remembered the cold line of sweat at the back of his neck when Admiral Worthy pulled him aside during a hyperspace hull survey just after he’d been given command of the Valiant, when he realized the man he’d idolized for half his life was prepared to shove him off into interdimensional space if he gave the wrong answer.
The same moment he realized that that man was contemplating genocide, and that Martin would do anything in his power to stop him.
"I didn’t find the Alpha, Harlan. I stole it. Then I stole this whole battle group, and parked it out here until I could be sure of who I could trust. You can hate me for what I’m planning, you can hate my methods, but you have to believe me when I say that I’m one of the good guys here."
"How?"
Martin was taken aback by the simple question. There were so many things she could have asked, so many different ways he could have answered why. But Harlan didn’t want justification. She didn’t want an explanation. She wanted a reason to trust him, and to believe.
He had an answer. Of course he had an answer. But it pained him to even think about it, and explaining it was even worse.
"Because gennies always travel in pairs, and the fleet has already tried to kill one of them. Tried, and succeeded. If we can’t protect that little gennie girl in there, I think they’re going to use the virus to kill us all . . ."
Jantine
JANTINE FELT THE LAUNCH VIBRATIONS SHAKE THE corridor, but didn’t have time to reflect on what it meant for her and her team. Her attention was wholly focused down the sights of her pulse rifle at the enemy.
That’s it, just a little closer . . .
She could make out eight figures limned in soft green light. They were floating in a staggered formation, almost exactly in the center of the corridor. They were each carrying some kind of bulky rifle, easily twice the size of the weapon in her hands.
She fired a shot high over their heads, almost pitying them for their lack of mobility. The hardsuited opponents drew up fast with hasty course corrections, but ended up floating slowly down the corridor instead of moving into secure firing positions. They were essentially helpless in the seconds before they could redirect themselves with boot or hand jets. Just like the first group, they were no more threatening than target drones.
Jarl and Katra waited until the last enemy was past them to disengage their active camouflage, then they opened fire with hand pulsers. In less than three seconds they’d neutralized all eight enemies, and Katra was bounding down the corridor back the way they came.
You people have to have grav generators, otherwise this area of your ship wouldn’t have a "floor." Why do you keep wasting your tactical advantages by coming in weightless?
Malik would have an answer, he always did. Jantine tried to bury her sadness, but his loss was too raw to process right now.
How am I going to do this without you?
Jantine took a moment to steady her breathing then opened her faceplate. The cold air of the corridor was like a slap in the face, and an urgent reminder that they needed to get off this ship as soon as possible.
"Wrap it up, JonB. It’s time to go."
Jantine’s whisper was barely audible, especially compared to the sounds of combat that filled the corridor just moments ago. JonB shot her a worried look then turned his attention back to the pile of technology laid out in front of him.
JonB started tapping on his handheld, while at the same time intently studying Jantine’s portable terminal. He’d had to power both down while the mods set the ambush and now was catching up on what was happening outside the ship.
When he didn’t acknowledge her order, she waved Artemus ahead and then chanced a look at the rest of her team. Even in the soft light of the terminal, she could see that Carlton was in bad shape. One of the Omegas had a hand on his shaking shoulder in a gesture strongly reminiscent of Doria. Jantine understood—she wasn’t doing much better, but wishing wouldn’t bring her friends back.
JonB was another matter. He seemed more annoyed than upset that three members of the team were either dead or permanently incapacitated. The scientist wasn’t on the mission to make friends, none of them were. But he hadn’t gone out of his way to do so either, even with her. If anything, he’d kept the other mods at a distance intentionally, as if predicting this exact situation.
"JonB. We need to move."
"Another minute, Commander. Please. I need to confirm the container’s course. The debris field out there is huge, and any number of things can go wrong."
Jantine understood what JonB was saying, but she didn
’t have to like it. Malik was good at what he did, and even using Doria’s hands she trusted him to get the sleepers out of danger. But no one could have predicted the presence of enemy spacecraft at their insertion point, and there could be even more surprises coming their way.
"Take two, and then we’re leaving even if Crassus has to carry you."
JonB returned to his energetic tapping. Jantine couldn’t pretend to understand the calculations necessary to track the container—she wasn’t born that way. Her responsibility now was to get the team down to the planet and recover the sleepers. She needed the scientist, now more than ever. But she also needed to know her orders would be carried out.
Malik is—was—so much better at this.
The thought spawned a fresh wave of grief and self-doubt in Jantine. She needed to start thinking of Malik in the past tense, and let go of the memory of her second-in-command propped up against the wall with a massive head wound. The knowledge that Doria was dying alongside him didn’t make it any better.
I need to be doing something. Moving, killing enemies, anything. Waiting around here is just making this worse.
Harren’s death was unfortunate, but what bothered Jantine was that her reaction to it was so clinical. Carlton was barely upright after the loss of his sib, and she’d simply written Harren off when she saw the body. It was more that their specialties weren’t immediately useful to her, so Jantine regarded the support Betas differently than she did JonB.
If they ever did get down to the planet, Carlton would be far more valuable than just another pair of arms. Jantine’s job right now was to make sure that happened. And to do it, the team had to get moving.
Crassus waved a free arm to catch her attention. The Delta was a bit cramped in the corridor, but at least he and Artemus could still stand upright. The Omegas had it much worse, almost doubled over when not moving. The enemy ship seemed to be designed for a fairly narrow range of human being, and no one they’d seen so far was out of the ordinary.
Homefront Page 6