The Hot Gate - [Troy Rising 03]

by John Ringo

  “I’ve been working with these guys for a year and I still don’t really understand what positively motivates them. Negative motivation I know chapter and verse. The CO seems to get it but he’s just charismatic and friendly. Frankly, you probably should have played the ‘I’m just a poor pitiful little girl’ game from the beginning but it’s too late for that.”

  “You got all that in, what, three hours?” Dana asked.

  “They also back channel a lot” Megdanoff replied. “That’s the one part I do seem to be tapped into.”

  “So is this an official counseling statement on cultural interaction, EM?” Dana asked, thinking furiously.

  “No,” Megdanoff said, sighing. “This is absolutely unofficial. From my official point of view we’re all best friends and the birds are great. Remember the bit where you talked about not wanting to go to the memorial service? This is about that. Or seeing a promising career just as shot to hell.”

  “I have a hard time believing they’d sabotage my bird because I... dissed their machismo or whatever,” Dana said, shaking her head.

  “These cultures are all about... face if you will,” Megdanoff said. “It’s about their concept of honor. And I do mean all. There are some really strong cultural reasons for that in their home countries and that goes for all of them and all their countries. Like I said, these are all kids from ‘good families.’ Some nobody farm girl is not allowed to disrespect their kids because that is disrespect to the family. Rank has nothing to do with it, survival has nothing to do with it. Palencia. Take a closer look at his file. He’s got a bachelor’s in engineering from the University of La Paz. His primary hobby is listed as polo. You know how much money it takes to be a polo player even in Argentina? In his country a nobody farm girl is just a casual lay.”

  “That explains the athleticism,” Dana said. “Hell, I’d probably like him if he wasn’t such a prick.”

  “And he’s saying the same thing about you, I’m sure,” Megdanoff said.

  “So what do I do?” Dana said.

  “That’s the problem,” the EM replied. “I really don’t know. Like I said, if I’d caught it ahead of time I’d have suggested, up to you, playing the poor-poor-pitiful girl. Let them carry the tool bag and such. ‘Could you please check the relay again? I’m afraid something bad might happen if it goes bad!’ Bat your eyes. Too late for that.”

  “I’d say that’s a hell of a way to run a railroad but it’s more like I’m not sure you can run a space navy that way,” Dana said, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously. These boats are not up to standard and up to standard is close enough to breathing vac.”

  “They’d rather lose boats than honor,” Megdanoff said. “They’d rather lose lives than honor. Think of it that way. Know why there are only kids from good families working as, face it, wrench monkeys?”

  “Why?”

  “The 143rd is the combined contribution of all the countries. They’re paying for the boats, personnel and maintenance. Supposedly to, and I did not use this word, ‘our’ standard. But from their point of view, they are their boats. And they’re the most advanced weaponry any of those countries possess. This is the absolute top of their line. They’re trying to field a combined Constitution class. Different name, mind you. But the same ship. It’s one hell of a lot of money to them. The U.S. has fielded fourteen. So this is their best and their brightest. Seriously. They’re not stupid. And one more thing.”

  “Go,” Dana said.

  “They are, and I am not understating this, absolutely fearless,” Megdanoff said, shaking his head. “Various reasons but you guys had it relatively easy with Station One. And from what I heard, that was bad enough. But we had lots of problems with integrating with the support ships.”

  Dana remembered what taking the station had been like. If they hadn’t had support from the Constitution- and Independence-class ships they probably could never have boarded it. The Troy could have blown it out of space easily enough, it had destroyed over thirty warships in the system, but taking it would have been another issue. On at least three occasions the support ships had blown away resistance that would have been a major issue to both the Marines and the boats.

  Taking it without effective support? That would have been double tough.

  “And that has been another point of contention,” Megdanoff said, sighing. “They feel like they were left in the lurch. That the Americans got better support because the ship crews were all American. Truth was, again between you and me, the chain of command simply didn’t get the way you did that sort of interaction. They were too hierarchical about it. By the time they requested the fire, because it had to be approved through a dozen layers, they’d already taken the casualties. It was cultural, again. But you can explain that until you’re blue in the face and they won’t listen. That would be—”

  “A violation of honor?” Dana said, nodding. “Okay, I get it. I’m screwed, blued and tattooed. Which means there’s only one way forward. Changing course at this point would just make me look like, well, a pussy. So that means I have to play the same game, just with some minor variations. Which means we have to discontinue this evolution and go to another one. Where can we keep the tools where they won’t get stolen?”

  “Good luck,” Megdanoff said. “There are plenty of tools and parts. There’s no particular reason to steal them. It’s like a game to them.”

  “Okay,” Dana said. “I’m good at those sorts of games.”

  “What are you going to do?” Megdanoff said nervously.

  “We’re going to play for the rest of the day,” Dana said. “Like I said, I’m good at games.”

  * * * *

  NINE

  “They will figure out where they are hidden,” Palencia commed.

  “Sure they will,” Dana said, finishing the lashings on the toolbag. “But are they as questioning of their suits as you were?”

  “Admittedly, yes,” Palencia said. He still sounded a bit nervous being out in the main bay.

  “Then they can feel free to boldly go out onto the exterior of the hulls to get our tools,” Dana said. “And if their suits are as screwed up as yours were, they can feel free to suck vacuum. They’re not my people. You are my people. And now we are going to go play.”

  * * * *

  “Where the hell did you come from?”

  The speaker was an American. Dana tagged him and shook her head.

  “From the One-Four-Three, Sergeant First Class,” Dana said, smiling. The null grav courts weren’t full but they were close. And from the looks of things the only thing the Pathan Marines knew how to play was jungleball. On the other hand, they didn’t play it very well.

  “You’re not authorized in this space, little lady,” Sergeant First Class Mat Del Papa said.

  “If you’ll consult the schedule, Sergeant First Class, you will note that three of the null grav courts currently under use by your Marines are scheduled for the One-Four-Three.”

  “Who never use the courts, miss,” the SFC said patiently “And, just an FYI, we try really hard not to mix in girls with the Pathans. It’s a straightforward religious insult to see a woman dressed the way you are.”

  “In my issue PT T-shirt and issue shorts, SFC?” Dana said, smiling. “Since I’m, you know, a member of the Navy with a rank, Sergeant First Class?”

  “That’s the way you wanna play it?” the SFC asked, his face blank.

  “I’ve been playing games all day, Sergeant First Class,” Dana said, her smile fading and her eyes going from blue to gray. “I’m about sick of them to tell you the truth. A nice round of jungleball will do three things. One, it’s a game I know, not flailing in the dark. Two, my men need training in micro. Three, it will cement that while I’m a split, I’m not a pussy, Sergeant First Class.”

  “These guys barely play by jungleball rules, Engineer’s Mate Parker,” Del Papa pointed out.

  “Any weapons?” Dana asked.

  “No. We’re pretty careful a
bout that one.”

  “Then it’s all good,” Dana said. “Which court?”

  “Four,” the SFC said, shaking his head. “If you’re really going to do this.”

  “Palencia, you’re going to have to talk to them, I suppose,” Dana said.

  “Talk to them?” Palencia said. “I barely like carrying them. I talk to those Islamic assholes as little as possible.”

  “Ah, the joys of being in an Alliance,” Dana said, putting in her mouth guard as the door to the court opened up.

  “Sergeant First Class, what is this... this doing here?” one of the Pathans asked, pointing at Dana.

  “This is Engineers Mate Second Class Parker, Sergeant Charikar,” Del Papa said. “She and her division are here to play null ball.”

  “Her dress is as a whore, Sergeant.” The Afghan Marine was tall and, to Dana’s surprise, had blue eyes. “She should not even be allowed into our presence. It is an insult to God.”

  “Nonetheless, her unit actually is scheduled to use this court,” Del Papa said. “And she and her team wish to play null ball. Since they didn’t bring anyone else, I suppose they need to play your team. Or you can cede the territory to her and wait for another and they can... play with themselves.”

  “This is a deliberate insult,” Charikar said. “Our liaison will be informed of this incident.”

  “Hey, what’s another reply by endorsement?” Dana asked.

  “Says you,” Del Papa said, putting in his mouthpiece.

  “You going to ref?”

  “Wouldn’t miss this for worlds,” the Green Beret said. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “My guys are about to find out how to work in micro,” Dana said. “I’m about to get my mad out. Pretty much covers it.”

  Five of the Pathans spilled out of the court, making way for her team. She was used to guys looking at her in her PT uniform. She was in shape and not particularly ugly. What she wasn’t used to was expressions of loathing.

  “Is that really a woman?” one of them asked sotto voce.

  “You’ve seen them here,” a lance corporal replied. “They are whores.”

  “You call our NCOIC a whore one more time and you’ll lose teeth,” Sans snarled.

  “Then tell her not to dress like a whore, infidel!”

  “Whoa!” Del Papa said. “Marines, keep your comments to yourself. Suds, do the same. You want to fight, you’re about to get your chance.”

  “This is insane!” Palencia whispered to Dana as they walked onto the court. “These are animals.”

  “Time to be a better animal,” Dana said, rotating her neck. “Look, you’re about the only one that has any ability in micro. These guys play by grabbing on and wrestling. And, apparently, biting. Keep moving and break their hold. Just let me carry the ball.”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to carry in null ball,” Velasquez said nervously.

  “This is jungleball,” Dana said, rotating her jaw. “First rule of jungleball is technically no weapons. Real rule is do whatever you have to do to win. Now let’s beat up some Pathans.”

  “And grav... off,” Del Papa said, releasing the ball upwards. “Game on!”

  Dana pushed off from the wall and intercepted the ball before the first of the Pathans could get near it. A hand snaked out at her and she slammed the ball backwards and grabbed the Afghan’s wrist. She had enough velocity that they immediately went into a spin. Three more were closing on her, clearly intending a little four-on-one smack-down. Or, knowing Pathans, something much more personal. She spun the lance corporal into them and then bounced off the resulting tangle. That had four of them out of action for a moment. The only one remaining was Charikar, who was closing on her, not the ball. She bounced off a wall, caught one of his ankles and went into a flat spin. By bouncing off the still tangled Afghans she managed to get a major rotation out of his body and slammed him into the pile. Hard.

  “Call me a whore, you flea-ridden, balless faggot?” Dana said. “Your mother was a whore in Peshawar who serviced only Jews.”

  “And that’s goal!” Del Papa shouted. “Return to your sides.”

  “What?” Dana said, looking around.

  Palencia came bouncing back by her from the Afghan’s goal, grinning.

  “You may be having fun but we have a game to win. Where did you learn that insult? It sounded like a direct translation.”

  “It’s amazing what you can find on the hypernet.”

  * * * *

  “Oooh,” Sans groaned as they walked out of the court. “That last round was a nightmare.”

  Del Papa was just shaking his head.

  “Did you have to send half the team to the infirmary? There’s getting your mad out and getting your mad out.”

  “They were trying pretty damned hard to send me to the infirmary,” Dana said. She had a bite on her leg that was going to need to be looked at. “I was just returning the favor.”

  “You’re not going to get them to respect you by being more Billy Bad-Ass than they are,” Del Papa said. “Quite the opposite.”

  “I’m not trying to get the Pathans to respect me,” Dana said. “I don’t need them to respect me. I like Marines, generally. Get along with them great. USMC at least. These guys? Apparently this whole damned station runs by jungleball rules. Okay. I understand there’s a MASSEX in a couple of weeks to try to figure out this whole boarding thingy. Sergeant, I control your air, gravity and inertia. And as screwed up as everything else is on this station, I could kill a whole load of them and not only get away with it, because I am a very good engineer, but apparently it would be shrugged off with a, variously, mañana or In’sh’allah. Sergeant, they should be sending me expensive chocolates”

  “I’ll keep that firmly in mind,” Del Papa said, chuckling. “And try to make sure I get a different boat.”

  “Sergeant,” Dana said. “It wouldn’t even be a boat from my division.”

  * * * *

  “Are we going to have to do that again?” Palencia asked when they were back in the squadron area.

  “Every damned day,” Dana said. “One hour of weights and one hour of jungleball. Until you make my standards of micro activity. Vila, you’re going to have to make yourself scarce, as in in the squadron area but not in your room, while I have a private chat with Palencia.”

  “Yes, EM,” Vila said, his eyes widening just a bit.

  “Quiet chat?” Palencia asked.

  “We’ll have to hold that until we’re, well, private,” Dana said, smiling and batting her eyes.

  * * * *

  “Leonidas, Comet,” Dana said as soon as the hatch was closed.

  “Go Comet,” Leonidas said over the IMC.

  “I need a high level lock on a recording,” Dana said. “To clarify, if the question ever comes up officially as to what was discussed, there is a recording. If there are simply rumors and low-level personnel are curious for prurient reasons, the recording cannot be opened.”

  “You’ll need a high enough level lock-out,” Leonidas said. “I cannot interfere in chain-of-command.”

  “Send a standard query to Chief Elizabeth Barnett,” Dana said. “That way the only person who can open it is one of the officers or the squadron chiefs.”

  “Sent and... agreed,” Leonidas said, with a tone of curiosity.

  “Thank you, Leonidas,” Dana said.

  “You are welcome, Comet.”

  “You have a good relationship with the AI,” Palencia said curiously. “I don’t think that I have heard him more than twice.”

  “I get along with AIs,” Dana said. “It’s a knack. Since they don’t have gonads, I figure it doesn’t have anything to do with my pheromones. Grab a seat, Palencia. We need to chat.”

  “About?”

  “I got a... not so much a dressing down as a cultural lecture from Megdanoff,” Dana said. “Apparently, everything I’ve done since hooking up with the division is wrong. And wrong in a really big way. Thing
is, I get that I’m stepping on your culture, but I also know space. And while there may be a... fatalistic attitude about that in your culture, in my culture everything I said goes. I don’t want to go to your memorial service. I especially would like to avoid being the centerpiece of one. And the way the birds are, that’s more than likely. You’re an engineer, what I call a ‘real’ engineer. You’ve got to know that.”

  “My bird is fine,” Palencia said, shrugging. “The air, gravity and drive work.”