Planetside

by Michael Mammay

  “Sergeant Mac told us to,” she said. “Told us not to let anyone inside for any reason.”

  “Okay then, G. I’m going to sleep now. Don’t let anyone in for eight hours. Nobody. Not even Sergeant Mac.” I knew I’d have trouble sleeping, and if somehow I did manage to doze off, I couldn’t afford someone waking me up.

  “Yes, sir,” the two Gs said.

  Inside my room I went straight to the whiskey and poured myself three fingers, then I looked to see if I had any painkillers to dull the throbbing in my shoulder. You never thought about your shoulders until one of them hurt and you had to try to lie comfortably on a bed.

  I was definitely thinking about it now.

  I sipped my whiskey and savored it, so smooth after the horrible chemical burn of synth. I peeled my clothes off, struggling with my shirt because of the pain. My shoulder had already turned an ugly shade of purple and black that streaked down into my upper arm.

  I’d finished half my drink before I stepped under the shower. My mind churned, even with the booze and the pulsing water. I kept coming back to the brigade. Serata had planned to send it before he even sent me out here. But he still sent me instead of sending a general. That was way out of the norm. Why would he do that? What did he expect me to do? He’d said that he wanted me because I didn’t face any political pressure. I’d thought, at the time, that he meant from the senator. I wasn’t so sure any longer.

  Technically, I could wrap up my investigation. I had definitive evidence on Mallot and what happened to him. They’d already taken his body for transport home. I’d blasted his face, so they wouldn’t see the eyes, but I couldn’t rule out if some other test might discover the Cappan influence in his system. They’d certainly see he had two artificial legs, and that would raise suspicion.

  In the end it wouldn’t matter. I’d lied to Stirling about Mallot’s death, but Baxter’s people—what remained of them—they’d seen humans fighting beside the Cappans. They saw me captured. That story would get out, if it hadn’t already, and when it did, somebody would start asking questions and draw the link back to Mallot. It might take weeks, it might even take months, but the truth always finds the light.

  I padded out to the main room in my robe, whiskey still in my hand, almost empty. I needed to send Serata a note before I went to bed. I’d never sleep if I didn’t.

  I just had no idea what I was going to say.

  Finally, though, the words came to me.

  Sir—Found Mallot. He’s dead. 100% confirmation. I saw the body, but there are complications I need to clean up with the investigation. We had issues with the Cappans that you have probably heard about. They’ve got more capability than I thought they did. Potentially dangerous situation. Not sure that Stirling appreciates it. He’s counting on the additional brigade. What’s the intent for that force?

  Respectfully, Butler

  I read it over, then went and poured another drink, came back, and read it again. I wanted to mention the brigade without directly questioning him about it. If he wanted to tell me something, he would. I took another swig of my liquor, then pushed send. I shut down the terminal. If I left it on, I’d be too tempted to get out of bed in half an hour and sit there, waiting for a response.

  I shut down the rest of the room, poured a water to keep bedside, and lay down. I tried to push all the thoughts out of my head. Everything I’d seen the last two days. That part was easy. Easier, at least. I’d had a lifetime of practice of pushing dead people out of my thoughts. The future . . . that’s where it got tricky. I could let go of the dead, but I couldn’t let go of the living. The dead—nothing you did could change that. The living might soon be dead, though, unless someone did something. Unless I did something. I could hope for Serata to send me a magical solution, but in my heart I knew he wouldn’t. I could hope for Stirling to get the right intel, to make the right decision. I didn’t feel great about that, either.

  My mind churned through all that until the exhaustion took me. At least for a while.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I woke up some time later for no good reason I could explain. I don’t know how long I slept, but it hadn’t been eight hours. I’d have felt lucky if it were half that long. Once I lay there awake, though, I started to think that Serata would have answered by now, and once that thought took hold in my mind, I couldn’t dig it out. It grew there like a weed.

  I padded over to the terminal in bare feet wearing just my shorts. Sure enough, a message flashed as soon as I powered up and logged in.

  Carl—Aware of the situation with the anti-aircraft. Stirling says it’s containable with little risk. Need you to put another set of eyes on it. We had intel that suggested they had more capability than we knew, but nothing like this. I can’t transport anyone out there fast enough, and you’re the guy I trust the most. Do whatever you need to do. Acknowledge on Mallot. Will organize a notification of the family within the next twenty-four hours and notify you when it’s complete.

  Serata

  I sat in the dark room, bathed in the glow from the screen. I understood Serata to a point. He wanted my assessment and action, but he still didn’t say what action. He had another brigade on the way, but if we expected a ground war against the entire Cappan population, we needed a lot more, and a lot heavier. And a lot of folks were going to die. Mostly Cappans, but a shitload of humans, too, both here and throughout the galaxy, if I believed Karikov. Stirling says it’s containable with little risk. Idiot.

  We could cut our own casualties if they authorized drones. If we put the big, mechanized killer bots down on the planet, it would be indiscriminate slaughter. That seemed unlikely given the political climate, however. The press would have a field day with that, and the politicians would lose their will soon after.

  Shit.

  Alenda showed up exactly on time carrying a disposable container with mess-hall breakfast. “Eggs and fruit,” she said, when I looked at it questioningly.

  “Eggs and fruit? What kind of breakfast doesn’t have meat in it?” I frowned.

  “Yes, sir. I was messing with you. There’s sausage.”

  “I’ve shot people for less.” Sausage sounded perfect. It had so much crap in it already that the mess hall couldn’t screw it up. I took the container from her and pulled out a greasy patty, ignoring the rest of the fake food. “You want coffee?” I asked around a mouthful of meat.

  She thought about it for longer than it required. “Yes, sir. I could drink a cup of coffee. Black.”

  I hit the button for coffee and gave her the first cup before returning to make one for myself. “Okay. What do you have for me?”

  Alenda blew on her coffee. “Not much, sir. Activity planetside is consistent with normal patterns. Calmer, if anything. Less movement.”

  I stopped and turned to her. “So no attack imminent.”

  “Not that we can see, sir.”

  “What about the search for ground-to-air or ground-to-space weapons?” I asked.

  “No trace yet, sir.”

  “Huh.” I took a sip of coffee and snagged another sausage patty from my breakfast, which I’d set on the desk. “Well that’s about useless.”

  “Can you give me a day, sir?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “For what?”

  “I have an idea. Had an idea, really. Last night.”

  She hid a smirk behind her coffee, as if thinking herself exceptionally clever. If I wasn’t starving and focused on my sausage, I might have wondered why. “Sure. Take a day.”

  She knitted her eyebrows, probably surprised that I didn’t ask about her idea. I was just messing with her. She’d tell me anyway. Kind of a dick move on my part.

  “We didn’t have anything to scan deep underground,” she said, confirming my judgment about her patience.

  She waited for me to comment, but I just took another bite of sausage. “So I thought about who might be able to do that sort of thing, and I checked with the mining companies. They have liaisons who work u
p here. It turns out they have commercial sensors that do deep planet scans.”

  “Makes sense. To look for minerals.” I had to admit, she’d gotten my attention.

  “Exactly, sir. Except they can do more than that. They can detect pretty much any anomaly in the ground up to five thousand meters down.”

  Wow. I had no idea. “That would help.”

  She nearly vibrated with energy. “Yes, sir. I asked them how long it would take to do a scan of the entire inhabited land area.” She paused, waiting for me to ask how long.

  “How long?” I gave up playing games. She’d done good work, and now I wanted to know the rest.

  “Four months. So I narrowed the parameters of the search to the current mine locations, based on your conversation with Colonel Karikov.”

  Had I told her that? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. “What did they say?”

  “They thought it was silly, sir. They know what’s in the mines, because those were the areas where they did their most in-depth studies.”

  “But the studies are old,” I said.

  “Yes, sir. Months. Even years in some cases. So I convinced them to do it.”

  “Nice. How’d you do that?”

  “You don’t want to know, sir. Contracts. Supplies. Access. Basically, we owe them some favors.”

  I chuckled. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”

  “They can do it in two passes. Two days. But we’ll get the first half of the data today.”

  I nodded and took a sip of my coffee. “Nice work, Lex.” She deserved to be proud. But it left me wondering what I’d do while I waited. “How hard would it be to send a platoon over to apprehend Major Chu and bring her here?”

  She scrunched her face up. “The Special Ops guys won’t be pleased, sir.”

  “Obviously. But what are they going to do about it?” I asked.

  “Complain to their bosses, probably,” she said.

  “And their boss is?”

  She looked at me, as if wondering what I was getting at. “Colonel Karikov.”

  “Right. Karikov. Who’s planetside, maybe dead, and even if he’s not, he’s unlikely to answer. They’ll call down there and get some operations officer, who will claim to be speaking for Karikov.”

  “Sir . . . you lost me.”

  I smiled. “The only one who can chew me out is Karikov himself. Colonel to colonel. I’m betting he won’t do it.”

  “So you’re bluffing,” she said. “I don’t understand the game.”

  “Not exactly bluffing. More like confirming a theory. Plus I want to talk to Chu.”

  She still looked confused. “Yes, sir. I’ll get some people over there.”

  “Tell them that if she doesn’t come willingly, they can drag her,” I said.

  “Sir, you know that if you give that order to soldiers . . .” She spoke with caution in her voice, like I should know better. Which I did.

  “That’s why I gave it.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll get on it.”

  “Thanks.” I poked at the reconstituted eggs in my tray and decided against them. The fruit didn’t look bad, but I let that sit too. Instead I pulled up a listing of combat assets in the theater and started to read. I needed to know what I had available.

  Chu walked in smiling, not nearly as pissed off as I expected. That disappointed me a little bit. Maybe she hid it well. Good trait to have. Probably one reason she was in Spec Ops in the first place. I gained a little respect for her, even though I should have known. Serata liked her, and the general didn’t make many mistakes about people.

  Chu wore full uniform, which told me that either she’d known something was coming or the people I sent gave her time to change. I’d bet on the latter.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Chu spoke like she’d popped in on her own for a chat.

  “Needed to see you.” I stood up and walked over to shake her hand.

  “Yes, sir. The soldiers made that pretty clear. You could have called.” She took my hand firmly, but not overly aggressive.

  I met her eyes. “I could have. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  “What are you talking about, sir? Of course I’d come.”

  “When was the last time you talked to Colonel Karikov?” I changed the direction of the conversation, purposely not answering her question to keep her a little off balance.

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know, sir. Yesterday, I guess.”

  “No. When was the last time you actually talked to Karikov himself, rather than someone speaking for him?”

  “Sir, what are you getting at? I never talk to the colonel directly. I haven’t since I’ve been here.”

  “So all his orders are relayed,” I said.

  “That’s right, sir.” She frowned, but I didn’t care.

  “You can sit if you want.” I took the desk chair, faced it toward the sofa and plopped down in it. “What did they tell you yesterday? That there was a firefight?”

  Chu sat on the right arm of the sofa. “Yes, sir. Minor firefight, everything under control.”

  I stared without speaking for a moment. “Minor firefight? So they didn’t mention getting overrun by a couple hundred Cappans?”

  Chu’s eyes widened. It either legitimately surprised her or she was the best actor I’d ever met. “Sir . . . what are you talking about?”

  Ignoring that, I said, “Chu, I’m not even sure that Colonel Karikov is still alive. He’s sure as shit not in charge. Did anybody mention to you that half your guys were fighting for the other team?” I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but failed.

  “Sir, that’s impossible.” She stared, as if trying to read my face, figure out what I was playing at. I doubt she’d find anything. But it didn’t matter, because I was telling her anyway.

  “Screw impossible. I was there. I talked to Karikov, I got shelled by a few dozen rockets, and then chased by a bunch of pissed-off Cappans, aided by some of your people.”

  Chu didn’t speak for a long moment. She nodded her head up and down slightly, but not enough to mean anything. “That explains a few things,” she said, finally.

  “It does? Like what?”

  “Well the obvious one is why Colonel Karikov never speaks to me. If he’s a hostage . . . but that can’t be.” She shifted herself off the arm onto the couch itself, then sagged back into it.

  “It can be,” I said. “Here’s one thing I can guarantee: There are a lot of things that we think can’t be, that absolutely can.”

  Chu nodded again. “Okay, sir. I’ll make contact with them.”

  “You can put a call through?”

  “No, sir. Only at specific times. The enemy jams their commo, and they have to . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “They can only contact you on their schedule, right?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it.

  “Yes, sir. But that’s not unusual for our teams in the field.” Her tone told me that she knew it sounded weak, even as she said it.

  “Right. So nobody wondered why.”

  She nodded. “It’s a little odd, sir, but not so far out that I thought to question it. I’ve got to get some people down there.”

  “Not going to happen. They’ve got hidden anti-air weapons. Until we find them, shuttles would be easy targets.”

  “I read that report, sir. I thought it had to be exaggerated. Pilots overreacting to shoulder-fired weapons.”

  I shook my head. “No overreaction. I saw the shoot-downs live.”

  “Fuuuck.” Her face sagged.

  “That sums it up,” I said. “Even if you could get down there, who knows how many armed Cappans they have crawling around?”

  “I have a pretty good guess at that, sir.”

  I paused. “How’s that? You don’t even know how many of your people are left alive.”

  “No. But I know how many weapons we shipped, sir.”

  I took a deep breath in through my nose. Of course she did. W
e’d been arming the Cappans who fought on our side. Not with our weapons. They used lighter rifles with different trigger mechanisms that fit their short, stumpy fingers. But we made them. “How many?”

  “In the last six months, seven thousand. Give or take,” she said.

  “Okay, that’s not so bad.” Seven thousand we could handle. Although they clearly had heavy weapons from another source, so we couldn’t be sure they didn’t have more rifles.

  “We’ve been arming them for a lot longer than six months, though, sir.”

  I drew my lips into a flat line. “What’s your total number? Best guess it for me.”

  “Forty, sir.”

  “Shit.”

  “What are we going to do, sir? I’ve got to call this in to my higher headquarters. Not Colonel Karikov. Higher.”

  “I’ve got a feeling they already know,” I said.

  Chu slumped deeper into the sofa. “They can’t, sir.”

  I shrugged. I was done trying to convince her of what could or couldn’t be. “I hope you’re right. Do what you need to do.” It didn’t matter. Even the fastest reinforcements would be too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Done with Chu, my next order of business was MEDCOM. I had to do something about Elliot’s experiments before word got out on its own. I needed to send another message to Serata, though I almost didn’t want to. Somewhere deep down I think maybe I still wanted to solve this without bringing the general too far into the details. At least that’s what I told myself. I think that’s why I didn’t tell him in my previous message.

  Once I told him everything . . . well, at that point it would no longer be airlock-tight. Hell, it already leaked out of a half dozen cracks, all of them getting wider by the minute. But formally reporting on the genetic research . . . that would blow the entire oxygen supply. I knew better—at least, subconsciously I did—I couldn’t keep it quiet for long. It had to come out at some point. Too many people knew to keep it quiet.

  And yet my orders were to close it up tight, and I didn’t like to fail. I compromised and sent half a message. A piece of what I should have said earlier.