by Mike Moscoe
A young man and a matronly woman had the Navy watch. “I've told the mess deck to make them trays,” she said. “If you don't mind, I'll send Ahmadi to get it before the ice cream melts.”
“Do it. When you marines due for relief?” Mattim asked.
“Not for a while, sir,” the corporal answered.
“Ahmadi, bring enough ice cream for all of you. Tell Hassan I said so.” The marines were smiling when he left. With luck, they'd find it harder to shoot sailors, prisoners or no.
Half an hour later, Mattim came across a different kind of marine. Bald except for a fringe of gray, the old fellow wore warrant bars. Alone, he stood on a ladder hanging a new camera to cover an arc of passageway. Now that the passageways were radials, not straight, it took four or five cameras to cover one corridor. That had to leave lots of dead space for the admiral's spying. Damn! Why didn't think of that sooner?
Because conspiracy ain't part of my average day.” Old-timer, can I get a work party to help you?” Mattim asked.
“Thanks, sonny,” the fellow said, grinning, “but I work best alone. Besides, the admiral wants us marines to do this.” He squinted at Mattim's shoulder tabs and his eyes widened, “Captain, is it now?”
“Yeah,” Mattim said. “I'm skipper of this lash-up.”
“Sorry about the mess.” The guy waved a hand, screwdriver still in it, at the walls. Mattim spotted another camera blending smoothly into the wall. Hardly a mess, unless he meant the general situation.
“They live yet?”
“Not 'til I activate 'em.”
Mattim sidled around until he was in the visual dead space. “I been trying to say hi to your boss woman. She about?”
“Seen her twice today. Like you, she keeps moving on.”
“If you see her, tell her I said hi.”
“Will do that.” The old guy saluted, screwdriver still in hand. Mattim headed for the magazine to check on his rocks.
* * * *
Like a robot in a do loop, Mary made rounds, one post after another. She also kept missing Mattim the merchant. Do I really want to talk to that dude?
Truth was, she didn't know. There were three people in charge on this ship—the admiral, the captain, and her. Any two of them could cause or stop the death of a billion people. Mary was new to this officer business and didn't much care for the responsibility. But, so long as she missed the captain, the admiral stayed, ahead on points. Mary walked slowly around an empty passageway. Lek had yet to put this one on camera. Out of sight of anyone, she stopped, leaned her forehead against the cool of the wall, and just stood there. Thoughts tumbled into her head. Like a trained gunner, she popped each one of them. Don’t think. Don't feel. Just be.
She stood there for a good thirty seconds in peace.
“Oh, sorry, Mary. I'll come back later.”
She turned to find Lek, his ladder and toolbox in hand. “Got a problem, old friend?” Why had she called him that?
He smiled, a sardonic one that wiggled all over his face. “You're standing where I need to put up a camera.”
“Oh, sorry.” She started to move off.
“Got a minute, Mary?”
“I guess.” That wasn't the way a marine captain talked. But it was the way she'd talked to Lek since she was just a kid and he'd pulled her out of the way of a flood of acid that would have dissolved her down to her toenails.
“Boat's captain says hi. I think he'd like to talk to you.”
“I imagine he would.” She glanced around the corridor. “Is this dead space?”
“Dead as the crew of the Flying Dutchman . But it's a waste of my time covering them all. Any good observation program watches who goes into one and when they come out. They stay in too long, you got an anomaly. They stay in too many too long and you got yourself a real live skunk. It's a waste me doing this.”
“Then why you doing it?” Mary asked.
“ 'Cause there ain't nothing good I want to do for the bastard we're working for.”
“The admiral.”
“Yeah.”
“Dumont likes him.”
“Dumont's a kid and don't know better. Mary, how many times you been told things will be different this time, extra overtime for just a few more weeks and then ... what do they promise us? Don't matter. Management don't deliver.”
“You don't trust the admiral.”
“Bad instruments don't give good data. The boy is bad. Nothing good's gonna come of him.”
“Would you stop him?”
“How?” Lek shrugged.
Mary heaved a sigh. “That's the problem. How?”
“I don't know, Mary, but you're a good girl, smart too. Let me show you something.” He handed her a disk not much bigger than a wrist comm unit. “Push that button, and cameras in line-of-sight go off-line for two, three minutes. I've used it a dozen times and the admiral hasn't bitched. Must put it down to cheap Navy shit.”
She flipped it over; there was nothing to see. When she glanced up, Lek was studying a video display. “Captain just left the brig. If you're gonna talk to him, you better do it soon. We're an hour out from the sun doing its swing thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a useless camera to install.” Without looking back, he was gone.
Mary never remembered dropping down three decks, she just did. Even if they did bump into each other, he might have nothing to say. She didn't have to tell him about Lek's hole card. Even if she let him talk, she didn't have to agree. After all, the admiral was the admiral, and he did talk like he knew what he was doing. Mary swung down a ladder and picked up the pace. It wasn't fair to let a billion people die just because she didn't make a decision, didn't listen to the one man who might speak for them. A billion people deserved listening to—even if they were the enemy.
* * * *
Ray smiled as Rita slipped naked into bed beside him. But the assault she began on him ended in tears. He held her close as she cried. When she went to wash away the tears, he was still awake. “Tomorrow, after I brief the President, things will be better for Wardhaven.” There were mikes in the room. No video, but what they said was recorded.
Rita kicked the bathroom door closed. She was a long time coming back to bed.
* * * *
Mattim sauntered slowly down the passageway. He'd bet everything on talking to Mary, and for seventeen hours he hadn't found her—one person on his ship. His weight tugged at him; the sun must be accelerating them up toward 2.5 gees. It was time to settle into high-gee couches. Even if he found her, there was no time left to negotiate. Sixty minutes wasn't enough for a gambit, proposal, cooling-off period, and closing. No time.
The marine CO marched around the curve, saluting as she approached. He came out of his depressing slouch to return her salute. “I understand you've been looking for me,” she said.
“Uh, yeah, right,” Mattim stuttered. “I wanted to welcome you aboard.”
“Sorry about your officer. My sergeant was just following the admiral's orders.” She came to a stop not a foot from him, face in his face.
“Yeah, I know. We're all just following orders. Makes for a good epitaph.”
“It could end the war real quick. My people have had enough of being targets for these damn colonials.”
Mattim rocked back on his heels at the sheer force she put into those words. Have I ever felt that strong about anything?
Yes, damn it. I want this war over, too. So we stand here and see who can shout “I want out of the war” the loudest.” How long you studied war?” he asked. That took her aback.
“Five, six months. And you?” she spat.
“Same six months. But Guns spent his entire life, forty years, studying it. My exec is a lifer too. Guns died saying this was no way to end a war. Ding—you had lunch with her—is just as sure. How long's the admiral studied war?”
“I cut the cameras and mikes out halfway through that spiel, before you got us shot.” Mary held up a small plastic disk. “We got three minutes. Talk to
me, Mattim the merchant. What are you selling? Admiral's offering a wide-open ticket for the rest of my life. What's in your bag?”
“A billion people who won't haunt your dreams.”
“No good. Us marines already got more than we can sleep with, a billion more won't matter. Besides, they're enemy. To my folks, they're just targets waiting to die. You got to do better, Navy.”
Time, Mattim needed time. But it was all gone. He rummaged in his brain for another argument. “They ain't after your blood yet. You massacre them, their ghosts'll be screaming for you to the day you die and beyond. You kill one planet, and ninety-nine others will come howling after you. You think this war has been bad, wait 'til the gloves come off. We've got a few like Guns and Ding who've studied war for twenty, forty years. The colonials got folks that have been fighting for fifty years.”
“We got tech and industry. They ain't,” Mary snapped.
“How long we gonna keep it when they start slipping ships through jump points at high speeds? It only takes a few minutes to launch relativity bombs. Sirius, Vega, Earth.”
“That's suicide.”
“Yes, and after we kill a billion people, you think everyone will stay rational.” Mary didn't answer that one; Mattim pressed on. “You trust Whitebred to remember you if he makes it big?”
Mary gave him a curt head-shake. “Not five minutes unless we can make him.”
“So for a promise from a guy you can't trust, you want to do something everyone who should know better says will only make things a hell of a lot worse. Mary, this is a no-brainer.”
Now Mary's shake of the head was slow and sad. “Not for desperate people who want it to work. Matt, I got people behind me with loaded guns who came into this war with nothing. Whitebred may sound like an idiot to you, but to them, he's a golden skyhook. Those people have kept me alive, and I won't kill them just because you think they're wrong. No matter how this comes out, marine don't kill marine.”
“Given,” Mattim shot back. “Marines don't kill marines or Navy or the other way around. No matter what happens, we bring this crew out alive.”
Mary chuckled. “I thought you wanted to save a billion.”
“So I start small and work up.” Mattim paused, to swallow his elation at getting this far and to figure out what his next step was. “You and I have an agreement. Now it looks to me like it's up to our crews. None of mine will fight for the admiral. Think you can work your marines around?”
“I'll have to talk to them.”
“We don't have much time before we're in high-gee beds. After that, we're all rigged for sound. Admiral is monitoring anything that goes over the net.”
Mary laughed. “Admiral don't know Lek.”
“The old guy?”
“Right. For years Lek's been getting us private channels the mine bosses didn't know about. Trust me, we can talk without being listened to.”
“Deal, miner.” Mattim offered his hand.
“Deal, merchant.” She took it firmly and shook. Lek's gadget beeped. The cameras were back up.
* * * *
Mary checked two guard posts, but her mind was elsewhere. No marines die. No more sailors die. It came down to trust. Whom did she trust, Whitebred or the man she'd shared drinks and a night with? She remembered Mattim talking about bringing his ship back from halfway across the galaxy. He knew how to lead people, help them pull together. He was no liar. Whitebred was a lot of noise. Most managers were. Mary would trust her instincts, and they said trust Mattim. Mary “happened into” Lek. “Dead space?”
“Still,” he said.
“How's the net rigged for spare channels? We'll be in high-gee carts in an hour. Can the boss man listen in when you fart?”
Lek looked hurt. “Mary, you've always been kind enough not to notice. I'm hurt. We're covered.”
“Got a spare line for some Navy types?”
“Figured you'd want them. Yep.”
The shipwide address system crackled to life. “High gees in thirty minutes. Prepare for high-gee running in half an hour.”
Lek yanked a half-installed camera from the wall. “Glad that's over. Now we do something for real.” Mary hoped he was right: What if Dumont and his kids wouldn't get behind her? Would he run to the admiral, shoot her? She'd fought to save marines. Could she fight for navy and colonials, too?
“Captain, this is the admiral.” The audio cut into her thoughts.
She jumped. “Yes sir.”
“This high-gee thing. I hope that doesn't mean you'll be closing down the guard posts. Sailors can still move about. I want your marines on alert for anything, anytime.”
“Yes sir,” Mary answered, trying to figure out how to say no. She needed a face-to-face talk. With her marines scattered, that wasn't going to happen. Still, now was no time to tell the admiral no. “I'll keep guards at all posts. Anything else, sir?”
There was a pause. “Add another two men to my guard post.” A longer pause. “And double the guard along the bomb accelerator.” Mary waited. “Keep your eyes peeled. Don't trust anyone. And pull the marines out of the brig. They're getting too friendly with those damn sailors.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, Captain, good. You'll go far with me.”
Mary hoped not too far.
* * * *
Ward Star gave them a rough ride as it slung them toward the second planet of the system. The gee monitor on Mattim's chair bounced between three and six gees for the better part of an hour. Once the ship was steady on course at 3.8 gees, Mattim verified the damage was acceptable. Then he punched his mike.
“This is the captain. The Sheffield’s a good ship and you're a great crew. Let's call it a day. Set minimum watches and the rest, sleep if you can manage.” He turned his gee cart to face Ding. “Exec, you have the conn. As soon as you can rustle up a replacement, hit the rack yourself. Tomorrow will be another busy day.” Just how busy, Mary the marine would decide.
Ding answered with a “Will do, sir” that could fit most anything. Mattim motored off the bridge, his cart hardly slowing as it high-stepped over the hatch coaming. He had the passageway to himself... most of his crew would sleep at their posts.
His room was a shambles. The desk had sheared away from the wall. “Bet the bolts came from the lowest bidder.” Mattim didn't laugh, not at three-point-something of his normal weight. His comm link lay scattered on the deck, still working, but monitor and camera facedown. “Off,” he ordered. He'd hoped the room might provide some extra privacy. He hadn't expected this much. He activated his cart mike.
“Bridge, captain here. I'm in my cabin. My desk collapsed. We'll worry about it later. Call me on my cart if you need me.” Mattim rigged the cart as a bed and settled in to see how well he'd sleep. Just as he got comfortable, the comm beeped.
“Merchant, do not reply.” Mary's voice poured quickly into his ear. “When you want to talk freely, activate channel Lek twenty-three. My crew is staying at guard posts. We'll get no chance to talk. Any suggestions that could get all of us together in quarters would be gratefully appreciated. Out.” Just what Mattim needed—another puzzle to unravel when he needed sleep. He stared at the overhead, trying to order the various parts of his problem. They kept cascading in upon themselves. He hadn't gotten much sleep when the comm buzzed six hours later.
Fifteen
Next morning, Ray ordered breakfast in their room; he would not talk to a recording today. Breakfast was half eaten when the room's comm link buzzed. It rang only once, then began recording a message. Ray interrupted the young colonel. “Another delay?”
“The President was up until very early this morning. His afternoon briefing is only for the most urgent, sir. As a field commander, you understand, sir. Now, if you will excuse me...”
“Colonel, I am from Wardhaven. Are there many issues on the President's plate as pressing as the situation at Wardhaven?”
The young man seemed surprised; he studied something out of sight. “Oh, you ar
e from Wardhaven; an army type, though. I will advise my superiors. I must ring off now, sir.” And he did.
“An army type.” Santiago exploded from his chair and began storming around the room. “They are inviting the Earth to invade Wardhaven and have no time for an army type.”
“Enough, Captain. Sit down.” Actually, Ray would have loved the release of pacing. Deprived of it, it was mean of him to deny the captain that release. Still, he needed some semblance of tranquility to think. Santiago subsided into an easy chair. Rita began rubbing Ray's back. He found himself relaxing, almost against his will. “I suspect,” he muttered, “that we will hear nothing more from that colonel today.”
“The President must feel he has the situation well in hand,” Rita mused without slowing her ministrations.
“So he's staying up to the small hours?” Santiago growled.
“You and I have been there. Check, double-check, and check again. We did it with our first platoon, and we did it with the brigade. What we checked was different, the long hours were not. Our President does a thorough job.” Spoken loyally for the mikes.
“Ray, you are going swimming,” Rita announced. “If necessary, I will drag you down to the hotel pool and throw you in. You need exercise.”
Santiago jumped to his feet. “With willing help, Admiral.”
“Pulling rank on me again, wife?” They laughed. It was a good day not to die.
* * * *
Mattim wouldn't mind dying today, if he could just take that bastard with him. One glance at the changing of the guard outside the admiral's quarters showed what a waste any try would be. There were now five marines outside. Only the prettiest woman was invited in. Only she came in and out, and then only to get meals. Apparently even Whitebred and Stuart gave up their fun and games at three gees. No, Mattim could do something stupid like the middie, or he could wait for the right moment.
He rolled over to the helmswoman. The slingshot around Ward Two would be late tonight. A day or so after that and they'd be in place to start throwing rocks. So, when do we stop the bastard? Mattim was still looking.
“Helm, how close do we get in our pass?” Ding asked.