Planetside

by Michael Mammay

  “I guess I can ask, sir.”

  “Yeah. That’s all I want you to do. What do you think keeps him down there? Is the situation with the Cappans really that bad? The level of attacks seems pretty steady.”

  She shook her head. “It’s bad, sir. We’re keeping it under control, but the insurgents . . . they’re brutal. They go after us without mercy, and their own people, too. Women, children . . . it doesn’t matter. They have no conscience.”

  “Huh. I guess he’s got his hands full then.” I hadn’t known the Cappans to be quite so ruthless, but I hadn’t spent as much time with them as Chu, and certainly not living as close. “See what you can do. Get word to him personally. Tell him Butler said it was important, and ask if he’ll come up. He’s due for a break anyway.”

  “Yes, sir.” Chu paused. “Just so we’re clear . . . I wouldn’t hold out a lot of hope.”

  I smiled. “I understand. And I’m not going to put you in a bad spot with your boss. Just make sure he gets the message.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make the call right away.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll let you get to it so you can get back to the rack.”

  “Yes, sir. It was good to meet you and put a face to the stories.”

  “Good to meet you, too, Chu. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I went directly from Chu’s office to the hospital, and after checking in and learning that they still had Hardy sedated to speed his healing, I headed for the command offices to find Colonel Elliot. Or at least to find out if she’d returned from planetside. I got my answer when she intercepted me before I could even enter her wing. Obviously one of her people had warned her upon my arrival.

  “Here you go.” She waved a reader with a green cover at me. “This is a list of everyone who had duty during the time period that you requested. After twelve hundred on thirteen eleven 3943 and before oh six hundred on fourteen eleven, I think it was.”

  “Sounds right.” I took the reader from her hand. “Thanks.”

  “The ones with asterisks by them are the ones that are no longer available, mostly due to reassignment.”

  I tabbed through three sheets of data, consisting of maybe two hundred names. “There are asterisks by almost half of them.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “My folks rotate in and out monthly and do mostly twelve-month tours. It’s been what, six months? Half should be about right.”

  I pursed my lips and bit back a sarcastic comment. I didn’t know if she’d completed the list on her own or if she’d gotten pressure from whomever Serata talked to. I also remembered Serata saying not to be a dick. “Great. Can I start tomorrow?”

  She kept her face unreadable, her shoulders hunched. “Sure. Oh eight hundred start?”

  “That works. How was your trip down to the planet?”

  A little of the tension came out of her neck. “It was a good visit. I’m very pleased with the progress we’ve made with the forward clinics. Any particular order you want to do the interviews?”

  “You choose. You know, I’ve never seen a hospital commander at the front before.”

  She shrugged. “It’s a lesson I learned from an early mentor. You get a lot of value from early treatment planetside. It saves lives.”

  “Makes sense.” I wanted to press her about the Cappans in the med ship, but I couldn’t get a read on her. She’d be able to deny it and I wouldn’t be sure if she was lying or not. “Do you own the MEDEVAC birds?”

  She shook her head and half frowned, pausing to consider her answer. “It’s a weird command relationship. I’ve got operational control, but technically they belong to the air squadron.”

  “Actually, that makes sense,” I said. “You get to schedule the flights and set the hours, but they’re responsible for the maintenance.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just a question I had when they evacked Lieutenant Hardy.”

  If the question made her suspicious, it didn’t show on her face.

  “Thank you, Doctor Elliot. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  I started the kilometer-and-a-half or so walk back, winding through the corridors and levels of the space station toward my quarters, pretty pleased with how the day had gone so far. I didn’t think anything would come from the hospital interviews, but if I pushed on the right person I might get a hint that could lead me to another line of questioning with Elliot.

  I’m not sure when I noticed someone following me.

  It wasn’t a conscious realization at first, but I became aware at some point. Definitely closer to the hospital than my quarters, so it couldn’t have been too long. I heard the sound, first. Footsteps behind me, faster than my own, but then they slowed to match my pace. I checked back over my shoulder, trying to look casual. I didn’t recognize the man. A big guy, maybe twelve or fifteen centimeters taller than me and broad, dressed in civilian clothes. A contractor, maybe, by what he wore, but he walked like a soldier. That wasn’t uncommon. Lots of guys retired and moved into the ranks of civilians who serviced distant bases.

  I took a random turn off of the main, high-ceilinged passage down a smaller hallway to clarify for myself that it was more than coincidence. He followed me, fifteen meters behind. I stopped and turned to face him. I wasn’t going to outrun him, so that left confrontation. “Can I help you?”

  He closed the distance impossibly fast and I barely got my arm up in time to block a blow aimed at my head. My arm flared in pain before going totally numb to the shoulder and falling limp to my side.

  Stun stick.

  Shit.

  A stun stick is an ugly, illegal weapon that works by deadening the neurons around where it hits. I wouldn’t be able to use my arm for maybe half an hour. What made it worse is he’d aimed it at my head. A stun stick blow to the head usually wasn’t lethal, but shutting down the neurons in your neck and brain . . . not healthy.

  I took a step back to gain space as my attacker reset himself, my heart slamming in my chest.

  I wished I hadn’t left my pistol locked up back in my quarters. Or left without Mac. I looked around for a potential weapon, but the hallway continued unbroken and quiet. Not even a door I might be able to run through.

  I exaggerated my injury, hung my head a little. The man moved forward, stalking, and I kept giving ground. I needed to lure him in. I only had one arm and he had a weapon, so a long fight didn’t favor me. I’d only get one chance.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I said, still moving backward. I hoped to draw him into conversation and distract him, but he kept moving forward without speaking.

  I waited until he stepped forward and had his weight on only one foot, so he wouldn’t be able to react. I reversed my direction quickly, stepping forward instead of back. I launched a low side kick at the knee of his planted leg.

  I don’t know how I missed.

  But suddenly his leg wasn’t there and I was off balance. My head exploded and the world went dark.

  I woke on Polla Five, though the lighting seemed off. Too bright, too white. Polla Five’s air gave everything a reddish tint, which was missing. Something dug at the back of my mind, telling me this couldn’t be real, but I couldn’t shut it down. My foot and lower leg screamed in pain. I’d been hit, and even without looking I knew it was bad.

  I slapped at a burning sensation in my arm. When I hit it the pain flared. An IV line. Had the medics reached me? When did that happen? I tried to call out, but it came out of my dry throat more like a croak. Too much dust on Polla.

  Sweat dripped from my forehead, down my temples. I needed to roll over onto my front. I couldn’t walk. I needed to crawl. Get out of the kill zone. But I had the IV. They must have dragged me clear already. No sense in chancing it.

  I couldn’t turn over. Something blocked me, and I couldn’t get my head turned around
to identify it.

  “Colonel Butler.” A female voice. The calm, authoritative tone of someone in charge. Why was she on my radio? How could I hear my radio without my helmet?

  “Colonel Butler.” The same voice. I hadn’t misheard it.

  “This is Butler. I’m hit and I need immediate evacuation. They hit us hard. We need air support.”

  “Colonel Butler, this is Colonel Mary Elliot. Do you know where you are?”

  Elliot. On Polla? That wasn’t right.

  “Give him five cc’s. I don’t want to put him to sleep, just calm him down.” Elliot speaking again, to someone else this time. Softer. Distant.

  “Elliot?” My own voice sounded far away, like speaking under water almost.

  “Butler, listen to me. You are in the hospital at Cappa Base. Do you understand?”

  Cappa, she said. Not Polla. I opened my eyes, then immediately shut them again against the blinding light. Cappa. Tears formed under my eyelids, leaking out. I could feel my pounding heart slowing. Cappa.

  I nodded, though I don’t know how much my head actually moved. It hurt, but in the dull way that things hurt when narcotics mask the pain.

  “Good,” said Elliot. “You’re safe here. You have a mask on to help you breathe, and you’ve got IVs in both arms. Nod again if you understand.”

  I nodded, stronger this time.

  “Good. I’ve given you a mild sedative. Continue to focus on where you are. Cappa Base. Sergeant Mac is here. You remember him?”

  I nodded again.

  “Okay. He’s going to stay with you and talk to you. You’re going to be fine. I will be back in a little while.”

  I nodded.

  “Keep him calm. Do not rile him up. Do you fucking hear me, Sergeant?” I assumed she was talking to Mac.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mac’s voice sounded defeated, like he’d been through a fight and lost.

  “Can you take the mask off?” I croaked. “Thanks,” I said, once someone removed it. My voice came back. “I can breathe. The mask always makes me feel like someone is choking me.”

  “I’ll be back in about half an hour,” said Elliot.

  “Can you turn down that light?” I asked.

  Elliot chuckled. “Sure.” The light pouring through my eyelids dimmed.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  I listened to people shuffling out of the room. More than two, but how many I couldn’t say.

  “You okay, sir?” Mac asked.

  “Yeah, I’m good. We alone?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “There’s nobody in the room with us, but I wouldn’t rule out someone listening.”

  “That’s okay. What happened?” I forced myself to open my eyes. It took a moment for things to come into focus, and even then, I was looking straight up, so I didn’t see much.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing, sir.” Mac stood close to the bed, and I could see the worry on his face.

  “Someone jumped me.”

  Mac grunted. “That much I know. I showed up just as he hit you.”

  “You . . . how?” I started to get my voice back.

  “I spent all morning trying to track you down,” he said. “I was headed to the hospital when I heard something. Imagine my surprise.”

  “Yeah. Sorry I ditched you.”

  Mac chuckled. “Bet you won’t do it again, sir.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “Sir, I shot at the guy.”

  “Good. He had it coming.”

  “No, sir, you don’t understand. I shot at him and I missed.”

  I paused. “That’s okay, we all miss.”

  “No, sir, we don’t. I don’t. Not from that range. Not with a guided bullet. It’s impossible.”

  “Weapon malfunction?”

  “No, sir. I checked. And from that range it shouldn’t have even mattered. He moved . . . I don’t know.”

  “No, finish that thought. He moved how?” I got a chill that I didn’t think had anything to do with my current condition.

  “He moved too fast, sir. He took off, and I shot. I led him . . . fired right where he had to go. Except he didn’t. I know that sounds—”

  “No, it doesn’t. My brain got scrambled a little by that stun stick, but I saw the same thing. The guy was super quick. One moment he was there, the next moment I missed a kick that should have hit.”

  Mac stopped pacing. “Maybe I’m not losing my mind then.”

  “I’m not ruling out me losing mine. How long have I been out?”

  “Maybe two hours? I didn’t really check the time, sir. We got you here, then they mostly shoved me out of the way while they treated you. A lot of docs. Scanners and other stuff too. They were worried for a few minutes.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Shit.”

  “Yes, sir. You feel okay?”

  “You mean other than the flashbacks and the splitting headache?” I thought about it, wiggled my fingers and toes. My left foot didn’t work right. It had that weird feeling I can’t describe that comes with the robotics. Like it might be moving, but you can’t quite tell.

  I started to sweat again, and the light dimmed. There was something in my arm. IV. Right. Hospital. Cappa Base. “I’m at Cappa.”

  “Sir . . . yes, sir. You’re at Cappa. Where else would you be?”

  Cappa. Cappa. I repeated it in my head until I started to calm down again. “Sorry.”

  “Sir . . . are you okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Was that . . .” he stopped.

  “A neural rejection flashback? Yes.” I lay there in silence for a moment. “It’s okay.”

  “Sorry, sir. I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never actually seen one before. I didn’t know it was so . . .”

  “Yeah. It’s real. It’s really fucking real.” It didn’t bother me, Mac’s thoughts. A lot of people didn’t really believe. Things that are in your head are hard for people to see. No outward signs, most of the time. I’d gotten over worrying about what other people thought.

  Mac sat down. “I’m really sorry, sir.”

  “I’m sorry too, Mac. Sorry I didn’t wait for you.” He wouldn’t say anything, but I knew that for a personal security officer, your primary getting hit had to feel like a kick in the nuts. It didn’t matter that I’d deserted him. He’d still blame himself. He was too good to do otherwise. “They find the guy?”

  “No, sir. Not yet. They’re doing a search. Colonel Stirling’s people. But the guy was long gone. Once they run through all the camera feeds they’re going to show me some pictures. I can ID him.”

  That was one benefit of being on a space station. There were only so many places a guy could run to. We sat mostly in silence until Elliot came back in, a flock of hospital staff trailing her in a neat formation. They started buzzing around the room, checking monitors, poking and prodding me.

  “Did you have any episodes?” Elliot asked.

  “One,” I said.

  “And?” She raised her eyebrows, looking directly down at me, watching my response.

  “And I controlled it.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Not my first time,” I said.

  She stared a moment longer, then nodded. “Good.” She stepped back and let her minions do their work. “Okay, give us the room,” she said, apparently satisfied they’d attended to everything.

  The staffers swarmed for the door, as organized leaving as coming in. “I said give us the room.” Elliot turned to Mac, who hadn’t followed the others out.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s okay, Mac.” I waited for Elliot to explode, but she stood silently and watched him leave.

  “I’ll be right outside, sir,” he said as he reached the door.

  “Thanks, Mac.”

  “You’re going to have to talk to him,” Elliot said, once the door sealed behind him.

  “Why’s that?” I thought I probably knew the answer, but it seemed the proper question to k
eep the conversation moving.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’ve cut him a lot of slack. Even let him bring his weapon in the hospital, given that there’s still an attacker at large. But he’s been threatening my staff, and I can’t have that.”

  I nodded. “I’ll talk to him. He’s just feeling protective. But you’re right, he can’t do that.”

  “Thanks.” She paused a moment. “The irony of you being here, needing treatment in my facility is pretty rich, if you think about it.”

  I started to chuckle, but ended up coughing. “Forgive me if it’s lost on me at the moment. So what happened? Medically speaking.”

  “Best that I can tell, when you got hit in the head with the stun stick, it scrambled your brain a bit. That’s my technical, medical opinion.” She smiled. “Remember all of the neural training you did when you got your cybernetic appendage?”

  “Yes.” How could I forget? It had been the worst three months of my life. Constant agony, headaches, nausea, flashbacks. They never put that in the advertisements. They always showed the benefits of robotics, but didn’t mention that your brain would rebel against it. They never mentioned that without neural training, it would drive you insane . . . but that the neural training comes close to driving you insane too. And I just had a foot. Some people had full limbs. That had to be harder. Much harder. It pushed the very limit of what the human brain could withstand. It actually made it so that you couldn’t replace more than one limb. The brain couldn’t handle it.

  “Colonel Butler?” said Elliot.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you with me?”

  She’d said something, and I’d missed it. “Sorry.”

  She continued. “As I was saying, when you got stunned, some of that neural training got scrambled, which—”

  “Which brought me back to where I was when I lost my foot.” Ghosting, they called it. Something in your mind that nobody could figure out. It took you back to when you lost the limb, sometimes. The neural training made it better. Mostly.

  “Yes, that’s what we think,” said Elliot.

  “I can’t do that training again.” I tried to sit up, and Elliot helped me by propping two pillows under my head and upper back.