Planetside

by Michael Mammay

I searched in a drawer for something to write with. All I could find was a crappy pen, but it worked. I got some paper and sat down to write. I needed to put some things down, and I didn’t want it on the network.

  I woke up several hours later, the lights still on, but at least I’d made it to the bed. I didn’t know what time it was, but my gut said probably the middle of the night. I’d ignored two buzzes at my door that I knew of, and who knew how many more while I laid there passed out. The visitors had clearly given up and left.

  The pressure behind my eyes told me a hangover draped over my future, so I got a big cup of water and drained it to lessen the effect. I went over to shut down the monitor and checked my messages. Nothing new. I didn’t pull up the operations feed, because I didn’t want to head back down that black hole. I planned to go back to sleep, and that would wreck it for sure. On a whim, I opened a new message to Serata.

  Sir—No matter what happens, take care of Sharon.

  Butler

  I hit send and shut the system down. I stopped by the counter and took the last swallow out of my next-to-last bottle, then called for lights out.

  The buzzer at my door sent shards of pain into my pounding brain. As expected, mixing a bunch of booze and not enough water with a potential concussion had been a poor idea. The inside of my mouth reminded me of a sweaty sock that had dried in the sun.

  “Open,” I croaked. I didn’t bother sitting up in bed. “Lights.”

  “Sir . . . you’re still in bed. And there’s half a battalion outside your door.”

  “Hardy. You’re right. You’re also out of the hospital. How’s the hip?” I asked.

  “Still stiff, sir. But I’m going to continue therapy on an outpatient basis.”

  I nodded, then thought better of it as it started my head throbbing. “Be careful at the hospital.”

  “Yes, sir. Mac mentioned that to me when he told me to get out of there, but I didn’t understand. What’s going on?”

  “They’ve been doing genetic experiments using humans and Cappans. I know about it. They might not be happy that I know about it. Of course, now you know about it too,” I said.

  “Holy shit. Sorry, sir, I meant—”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “‘Holy shit’ is about right.”

  “What are you going to do about it, sir?”

  I half smiled at the innocence of being a lieutenant and thinking that the colonel could do something about it. I wish I shared that feeling. “Unfortunately, we’ve probably got bigger problems.”

  Hardy stood there, looking at me expectantly.

  “You missed a lot,” I said. “Get an ops brief. That will give you most of what you need to know.”

  “Yes, sir. You want me to turn the light off as I leave?”

  “No, leave it on,” I said. “I’m getting up.”

  I lay there for a few more minutes after he left, but eventually I did force myself out of bed and over to the coffeemaker, then turned on my monitor. A message from Serata flashed in the upper corner, and I touched it open. His response to my drunken message to take care of Sharon. One word.

  Always.

  I knew the answer before I ever asked the question, but seeing it on the screen still gave me chills. We’d promised each other a long time ago that if something ever happened to one of us, we’d look out for family. That was back in times when the chance of something happening seemed higher. With the recent events and the lack of direct guidance, it was good to confirm.

  After a moment I flipped open the ops feed to see what progress Stirling had made, and more important, if there’d been any interference from the enemy. It took me a moment to fight through my fuzzy head and digest everything, but when I pieced it together, it looked good. Stirling had moved fast, shuttling troops up throughout the night. He had more than half the force off the surface, and the rate would only pick up from there. They’d be removing support stuff first, leaving lighter combat troops to secure the area for the transports to continue their mission.

  I flipped it off and stared at the blank screen, sipping my coffee. I really wished at that moment that I had someone I could bounce my thoughts around with, but I didn’t fully trust anyone. Alenda had proven herself, but the fate of a planet—that was beyond her. Stirling was definitely out. Hardy . . . his head would explode. I had Mac, but I couldn’t put that kind of burden on him.

  What made it worse was I had hours. Hours until the surface cleared, hours until I could take any sort of action at all. Hours where I had nothing to do but think about the most horrible act in a century. I couldn’t sugarcoat it with myself. It was easy to blame the Cappans, but it really wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t asked us to show up and take over their planet. We were the invaders, and it would have been hypocritical to blame them for wanting to fight back.

  That’s why he’d sent me. He knew I’d do the job, despite my misgivings, despite my conscience. I’d live with it. There was too much risk to do anything else. If the Cappans got off planet with fusion weapons, there was no telling how many people would die because of it. That didn’t make it right for us to attack them. But there was more than one right, and I always picked the right that helped our side.

  I considered one more message to Serata, but decided against it. He’d said what he was going to say. I considered sending a message to Sharon, but decided against that, too. She’d only worry at the change in routine.

  I looked around the room for anything else I might need to do. I pulled up the map and checked the recon reports that Alenda had provided for the fourth or fifth time, just in case I’d find something different. I didn’t. The door buzzed and Alenda entered.

  “Hello, Lex. Any news?”

  “Nothing that’s not in your feed, sir. What do we do now?” she asked.

  “We go to the gym,” I said. It was a stupid thought, given my badly beat up body, but habits die hard. I didn’t know what I’d do there, but I’d find something.

  “Excuse me, sir?” she said. “You want me to come?”

  I smiled. “No, Lex. I don’t. Your part in this mission is done. It’s time for you to go back to your regular duties.”

  Hurt washed across her face, but she composed herself quickly. “What do you mean, sir? There’s still work to do.”

  “There is. But only I can do it.”

  “I can help, sir.”

  I shook my head. “You’ve done great work. I couldn’t have done this without you.” I paused. “But right now I need you to give me some space. It’s important.”

  She looked like she expected me to elaborate further, but I didn’t trust myself to keep talking. She went over and made herself a coffee, then took a seat on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions.

  “That’s bullshit, sir.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m part of this. You can’t push me away like that.” She looked at me over her mug. “Whatever you’re doing, I want in.”

  “You . . .” I started to snap at her, but caught myself. I nodded, slowly, so my head didn’t hurt as much. I needed to help her understand. It would have been easier if I could tell her everything. But I couldn’t. “Lex, I trust you. But now I need you to trust me when I tell you that you can’t be part of this.”

  “I can help!” I’m not sure if it was anger or frustration that crept into her voice.

  I sighed. “Watch after Lieutenant Hardy for me. Make sure he’s got a good mission.”

  She held my eyes for a time without speaking. “Sir, what are you going to do? If you need me to take care of Hardy . . .” Her voice tailed off.

  I sat silently, letting her think things through.

  After a minute she nodded, set her cup down, and stood. “Sir, it’s been an honor serving with you.”

  I struggled to my feet. I put my hand out and waited for her to take it in her firm grip. “The honor has been mine.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I stood in the hangar after dinn
er, watching the last ship arrive with troops from the surface. A big transport, long and narrow, it carried sixty soldiers. I waited patiently for them to come through decon, standing back so they wouldn’t notice me. I wanted to gauge their mood, try to get a feel for what the last soldiers from planetside thought about pulling out.

  I think I expected to see disappointment, but they didn’t show any. They smiled and joked among themselves, but I guess that didn’t mean much. They could simply be happy to be out of the miserable planetside existence and back to the relative comfort of a base station. Their real feelings wouldn’t set in until later, and that made me feel a bit silly for thinking I’d learn something.

  I gathered my funeral procession of guards and headed back to my quarters. When we arrived, I told a soldier whose name I hadn’t learned to get Mac, and one of the other soldiers scurried off.

  I looked over at the one unopened bottle of whiskey and thought about it. I thought about it hard. But I didn’t touch it. That was a long five minutes, waiting for Mac to buzz at the door and come in.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yeah.” I took two envelopes off the desk. “Take these. In twenty-four hours, no matter what happens, I want you to hand this one to Plazz.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mac had to have questions. Where I’d be, why Plazz. But he didn’t ask. I knew he wouldn’t, and I loved him for it.

  “The second one, have it sent to Sharon,” I said.

  “Sir, that will take months,” he said.

  “I know. I have my reasons.”

  Mac stood silently, looking at me. “Yes, sir,” he said, finally. “Sir . . . is everything okay?”

  I forced a smile. “It’s okay. Just cleaning some things up, that’s all.”

  I stood there, unmoving, and watched him leave. Once he’d gone I sat down in front of my terminal and opened up a comm link to the operations floor.

  “Operations.” A woman’s voice, the hum of activity around her. Things always moved and buzzed in ops.

  “This is Colonel Butler. Let me talk to fire control,” I said.

  “Yes, sir.” The line went silent for a few seconds.

  “Fire control, sir. This is Major Salcedo.”

  “This is Colonel Butler. I want you to port a link to the fire-control program to my terminal.”

  The line stayed quiet for a few seconds, but I knew he was there from the noise around him. “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Check my authorities. I’ll send a bio confirmation.” I tapped to open the box on my screen, then placed my thumb against it.

  “Got it, sir. I acknowledge your authorities.”

  “Okay. Good. Send me the link,” I said.

  “Sir, if you have targets, I can execute them for you.”

  “Salcedo.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. If you know who I am, then you know that I’m perfectly capable of managing the interface with a fire-control computer. Right?” I’d spent a lot of time with fire control. It wasn’t a secret, and as a fire-control officer himself, Salcedo would know.

  Silence. “Link is open, sir.”

  “Thank you.” I cut the voice connection, then opened the link. I didn’t have long. Right now Salcedo was panicking, trying to decide if he should monitor my activity or report it. He’d be calling for the ops chief, who would take less than a minute to decide whether or not to call Stirling. Stirling would take longer, though. He’d think about it, wonder if he could stop me. Wonder if he should. I’d have enough time.

  I gave a last second thought to how I’d reached this point. If any one of half a dozen things had gone differently, it may have ended another way. If I’d managed my relationship with Elliot better. Or Stirling.

  Or Serata.

  I took a handwritten page of notes out of my drawer and typed in eleven sets of coordinates from the paper. I left the munitions field on the fire order blank, until it was the only thing left to complete, in case Salcedo was watching.

  XB25

  The comm beeped almost instantly. I didn’t wait for it to beep a second time. “Butler here.”

  “Sir, this is Major Salcedo. You entered XB25 in the fire order.”

  I smiled to myself without joy. I knew he’d be watching. “I know what I entered.”

  “Sir, with that munition and that firing solution, the result will—”

  “I’m completely aware of the result. Thank you.” I hung up.

  I looked at the screen for perhaps two more seconds, then hit execute. I couldn’t see the result, but within a couple of seconds missiles launched from ships in orbit around the planet. They’d have been on blockade duty, but their fire systems were still active and the remote order would trigger them. I stood up, walked over and picked up the unopened bottle of whiskey, then opened the door.

  “Sir!” The team outside snapped to attention.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Colonel Stirling’s office.”

  We didn’t quite get to Stirling’s office. Stirling met us in the hall, doing some sort of funky run where he tried to make it look like he was walking. He pulled up short when he saw me. “What did you do?” he asked.

  “Let’s talk in your office.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then he looked at the soldiers around me. He turned and headed toward the office. My protection detail danced to get out of his way. I followed behind, not hurrying. My leg throbbed. Neither of us spoke until we reached his inner office and he’d shut the door.

  “XB25s! What the fuck did you do?”

  “I brought you my last bottle of whiskey.” I held it out to him.

  He looked at the bottle in my hand for at least four or five seconds. “Carl . . .”

  “You’re going to need to arrest me,” I said.

  “Arrest you? For what?”

  “Probably genocide,” I said. “They’ll figure out the charge.”

  His shoulders slumped for a moment, his normally rigid posture shrinking in on itself. He reached out and took the bottle from my hand. “Carl . . .”

  “I know what I’m doing with fire control, Aaron. I picked the targets carefully.”

  “Fusion weapons. Planet busters . . .” He walked over and got two glasses out of a drawer in his desk. Real glass, heavy and perfect. He popped open the bottle and poured us each two fingers, then got ice from a dispenser and put two cubes in each glass. He walked back to me and handed me one, then held his up.

  I clinked my drink against his, then swirled the brown liquid, listening to the ice tinkle against the glass. “The situation is contained.”

  He took a drink, then nodded. “At a heavy price.”

  I sipped my drink, savored it. I wouldn’t have another for a long time. “A heavy one indeed. But I paid it. I acted alone. I had the authorities. Nobody could have stopped me.”

  He stood silently, looking into his cup, probably trying to think it through, see if it would come back to him. “So what now?”

  “Now—after I finish my drink—you arrest me. You put me in cryo, put me on a ship, and send me back to SPACECOM. By the time I get there in six months or so, they’ll have figured out what comes after that.”

  He blew air out through his nose. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “Take care of Mac. Sergeant McCann. I mean it. Whatever he needs, you make it happen.”

  He nodded. “Sure. Of course.”

  “One more thing I need you to do,” I said. “I can put it in a written order if you need me to.”

  “Not sure a written order would matter after I arrest you. At that point an order would be a pretty flimsy cover.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “What do you need?” He picked up the bottle and poured more of the liquid into my glass.

  “You need to go into the hospital. Find the geneticist and arrest him. Elliot and her people conducted genetic experiments on Cappans and humans. I don’t
care if you have to burn down the hospital. Send him back on the same ship as me.”

  Stirling smiled. “I’d be happy to execute that order.”

  “It will piss some people off,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Fuck ’em. Are you okay?”

  I thought about it for a moment, but I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. I nodded and gave him a fake half smile, then finished my drink in a big swallow.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I set down my glass. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  Acknowledgments

  A novel is not a solo endeavor. Many, many people had a hand in this.

  I could not have done this without my agent, Lisa Rodgers. She believed in the book, sold it, and answered my ridiculous debut author questions, but more than that she provided absolutely brilliant editorial advice that refined the story into what it is today.

  Thank you to David Pomerico and the entire team at Harper Voyager for their belief in my book and their hard work to make it a reality. Thank you to Sebastian Hue for the art, and anybody else who had a hand in the awesome cover.

  I owe a debt of thanks to Dan Koboldt and the entire Pitch Wars crew. Dan has been a huge help to me through more than just the Pitch Wars contest. He’s taught me a ton about what it means to be a professional writer, and he continues to mentor me to this day.

  Thank you to my brother, Steve Mammay, who was the first one to read any of this. His advice and confidence gave me the initial push I needed to turn it into something better. Thanks to my sister-in-law, Melissa Mammay, for her excellent feedback. Thank you to my early readers David Kristoph, Jessica Bloczynski, Tahani Nelson, and several others who read smaller portions of the book and offered advice.

  Three critique partners have been with me before, during, and after I wrote this book. I learned more than I can express from each of them. Morgan Levine does beautiful things with words to which I can only aspire. Her fingerprints are on this book in a dozen subtle ways. Rebecca Enzor kept me sane during the trying times that come with any book, and continues to do so.

  I cannot possibly overstate the importance of the support and advice of Colleen Halverson. Her work on this book, and more significantly, helping me to develop as a writer, defies words. I appreciate her attitude, her work ethic, and her friendship.