“Near the bridge is best. We can cover our backs better once we clear it,” O’Malley said.
“Agreed,” Eastaway said.
“Let’s do this,” Sapp said. “Cowgirls up!”
The squad boarded the dropship and buckled themselves into their seats. Just large enough for its two-man crew and a platoon of infantry, the small vessel departed the Slipstream and traveled toward the freighter. The dropship lacked artificial-gravity generators, so the soldiers and its crew encountered a zero-G environment after leaving the cruiser.
Eastaway floated into the flight deck and provided directions to the freighter’s airlock as the pilot brought the ship up next to its hull. Once the dropship hovered adjacent and stationary to the airlock, Eastaway exited the flight deck, and its crew closed the pressure door behind him.
A ten-second countdown commenced, indicating depressurization of the dropship’s cargo area. As Sergeant Sapp stood out as the tallest soldier in the group, Eastaway easily found him and nodded. Sapp understood the signal and said, “Breachers up.”
Two soldiers unbuckled and floated toward the starboard-side door. The remaining soldiers also unbuckled, but they rose in place and readied their weapons. After the depressurization countdown finished, the cargo area hissed for several seconds and then the starboard-side door opened.
The two soldiers nearest the door jetted their way across the five-meter gap between the dropship and the freighter’s air lock. Sergeant O’Malley exited after them and hovered in the gap, pulse carbine at the ready. Two other soldiers floated up to the dropship’s starboard door and prepared themselves to follow O’Malley and the breachers.
One of the breachers—Private First Class (PFC) Sylvia Holt—hovered at the airlock’s porthole and looked inside. After hanging there for several seconds, she said, “Looks intact inside; no visible activity.”
Next, Holt moved over to a panel adjacent to the airlock’s door marked with the words “Emergency Use Only.” She unlatched the panel and reached inside the compartment it covered. Holt looked at her breaching partner, Corporal Viktor Vinetsky, and said, “Opening the door in three, two, one—now.” She twisted the manual release lever inside the compartment, opening the airlock’s exterior door.
Corporal Vinetsky jetted inside the airlock, followed by PFC Holt and Sergeant O’Malley. Artificial gravity immediately gripped Vinetsky once inside the freighter’s airlock. Adjusting his thruster jets too late, he tumbled onto the floor. “They’ve got gravity over here, in case anyone didn’t notice my landing.”
“Next stop, Bolshoi Ballet,” Eastaway said. “Good work, Corporal.”
Fleeting snickers permeated the intercoms until Sergeant Sapp said, “Focus, everyone; focus.”
One by one, members of the team jetted over to the airlock and entered, Sapp and Eastaway bringing up the rear. Once inside, Sapp stood upright and banged his head against the top of the airlock, sending vibrations through the small compartment.
“Ok, Holt, we are all in,” Eastaway said. “Close it down and get us some pressure.”
Next to the interior door, PFC Holt worked a keypad on the panel for the airlock’s controls. Within seconds, the exterior door closed, and positive pressure filled the compartment. Once several green indicator lights on the panel illuminated, Holt said, “We’re good to go.”
Sergeant Sapp directed the group. “Team one and Sergeant O’Malley, you’ve got point, followed by team two and me, and then team three with the lieutenant. Give us a three-second countdown, Holt, and then open the door.”
“Roger. Three, two, one, opening door,” Holt said, pushing a circular button on the panel.
The teams and their leaders moved down the white-and-gray paneled corridor that led away from the airlock until they neared the first intersection. To the left stood a closed hatchway to a corridor that led to the bridge. To the right, a closed hatchway for a corridor that led to the cargo hold and access routes to other parts of the ship.
Team one opened the left hatch and cleared its adjacent corridor. After they found no threats, Eastaway signaled for Sergeant Sapp and team two to perform the same tasks to the hatch and corridor on the right.
But their entry into the passageway revealed a body.
“Boss, we’ve got a freighter crew member down,” Sapp said.
“Status?” Eastaway said.
“Dead. Looks like a blaster shot took off half his head. It ain’t pretty, that’s for sure.”
“Roger. Hold there while we clear the bridge.”
Eastaway signaled for Sergeant O’Malley’s team to move forward into the bridge. He and his own team then moved in behind them.
“Multiple down crew members,” O’Malley said.
Entering the dim bridge, Eastaway and his team observed the carnage for themselves. Between erratic bursts of flickering overhead lights and occasional illumination from electrical sparks ejected out of damaged consoles and equipment, the bridge revealed its deadly scene. The area contained several deceased Combine personnel. Some slumped in their chairs. A few others reposed on the floor. All of them were obvious victims of blaster fire.
“Confirm status of the bodies and check for booby traps,” Eastaway said. “O’Malley, get plugged in to comms and logs.”
While his soldiers commenced their tasks, Eastaway switched to night vision and scanned the bridge. Just as his eyes settled on a closed door about five meters away, Eastaway’s intercom crackled.
“Sir, there’s a room at the far end,” PFC Holt said.
“It’s not on the schematics, but I see it now,” Eastaway said.
“Thermal shows movement inside.” As Holt’s words trailed off, the room’s door opened and a pimple-faced male freighter crewmember walked onto the bridge.
“Threat!” Eastaway said. He stepped toward the teenager who held a blaster pistol at his side. Raising his carbine at him, Eastaway eased in between the young man and his soldiers, shielding them from the danger.
From behind Eastaway, Sergeant O’Malley said, “Sir, don’t do that, I’ll—”
“I killed them all,” the young crewmember said. His squeaky, trembling voice interrupted the conversation and halted all movements on the bridge. The pistol he held remained at his side, but his hands shook, his face twitched, and his eyelids fluttered. Moistened cheeks glistened from tears.
“We’re here to help,” Eastaway said.
“He told me to do it. And I obeyed. I killed them all. My friends, my captain. Just like he told me to do.”
Whispering, O’Malley spoke to Eastaway through the intercom. “I and about five others can take the shot anytime. Just say the word.”
“Who told you?” Eastaway said, lowering his carbine.
“The old lizard man.”
Old lizard man? Eastaway thought. “Where is he now? Is he here?”
“No, no, not here. Out there.”
A new participant entered the discussion via the intercom. “Uh, Boss,” Sergeant Sapp said. “I’m hearing some crazy talk down your way. I suggest you let O’Malley take this guy down before I head over there and do it myself.”
“When did he talk to you?” Eastaway said, ignoring Sapp.
The crewmember’s eyes drifted upward, they gazed left, and then right. “When we were laying nav beacons and comm relays on the fringe.”
“Does he still talk to you?”
Through increasing sobs, the teenager said, “Not anymore.” He paused and looked at the dead bodies scattered around him. “I killed them all.” His knees buckled and he fell onto his back.
Eastaway lunged forward, trying to pin down the youngster and halt his movements.
But he was too late.
He landed on top of the crewmember just as the blaster pistol fired. The suicide shot splattered Eastaway’s faceplate with the kid’s brains and bone matter.
Soldiers rushed in and lifted their lieutenant off the body. Several confused and concerned voices crackled through the intercom.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Eastaway said over the commotion. “He shot himself. Finish searching the ship!”
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Dejected, Eastaway sat in the freighter’s captain’s chair. Sergeant Sapp stood next to him. Both had their helmets removed, and a few other platoon members moved casually about the bridge. Sergeant O’Malley stood hunched over a nearby comm panel, working switches and various buttons. Although the bridge’s overhead lights still sputtered occasionally, they were more stable than earlier.
“No survivors?” Eastaway said, feeling cold to the core.
“None,” Sapp said, shaking his head.
“What the hell…?”
“The ship has only a small armory, but it was probably his first target.”
“How so?”
“The few odd rifles and pistols there are all damaged by blaster fire. They’re useless.”
“He kept them from having a fighting chance.”
“Yep.”
Eastaway sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead.
“Nasty business earlier,” Sapp said.
Tilting his face up, Eastaway said, “And yet, here I am.”
“Sir?” O’Malley said, interrupting.
Eastaway stood up. “You have something?” He and Sapp stepped over to the comm panel where O’Malley worked.
“Just a partial vid from the Oeskone colony to this freighter. It’s not much. Just a ‘Hello, let us know if you need anything’ kind of transmission. Seems to be the last comm the freighter received from anyone.”
“Alright, well—let’s take a look,” Eastaway said.
O’Malley pulled up the static-filled, garbled transmission with imagery. Portions of the video flickered, and at first, it was difficult for the troops to discern the face of the male behind the garbled voice.
“It may be from the bad feed,” Sapp said, “but this guy looks like a mesh of Safari Joe meets uber-thug.”
Eastaway and O’Malley chuckled, but the young lieutenant’s smile and good cheer quickly faded.
“Play it once more,” Sapp said. “Not sure I caught it all.”
A whirlpool surged inside Eastaway’s gut, and his heart kicked him in the chest. A ringing deafness collapsed around his head. He barely heard the next words, which sounded as if spoken in slow motion.
“Yep, just a simple greeting from a guy named Eagan Rodenmeyer,” Sapp said.
“Like I said, not much,” O’Malley said. “Maybe they’re friendly on Oeskone after all.”
“Boss, what do you think?” Sapp said, turning to his platoon leader.
Eastaway’s knees buckled and he collapsed. He hurled his last meal in a violent torrent onto the deck.
Chapter 4
Oeskone
Inside his private quarters, Captain Beach read the after action report from the freighter boarding. He rubbed the top of his bald head and addressed Eastaway, saying, “His name was Myers. Henry Myers. Seventeen years old.”
Eastaway stood at attention before his commander. “Yes, sir.”
“The ship was laying nav beacons and comm relays on the fringe. Ship data indicates they passed near Oeskone, soon after which, the killing started.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You fucked up, Eastaway,” Beach said, while continuing to read the after action report.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your over-protectiveness for your soldiers is going to get you killed. This is your Achilles heel, from what I can tell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember that when you’re on Oeskone.”
Beach peered up at Eastaway and squinted. His narrowed focus made the twenty-three-year-old lieutenant feel as if he stood in a sniper’s cross hairs. Eastaway fought to maintain control over his unsteadiness.
“Why’d you vomit?”
Eastaway struggled with his moral and military obligation to tell the truth. But he didn’t want the truth to change Beach’s mind, either.
“I caught a bad whiff of the kid on my armor’s collar.”
Beach furrowed his brow. Redness inflamed his face and bald head. “The kid’s brains all over you upsetting? Killing and dying is a big part of our business, Lieutenant. It’s what we do and it’s what we witness. Get over it and move the fuck on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll make a note of your bad decision-making on the freighter for your next performance evaluation. It won’t look good. We don’t just hand out promotions to first lieutenant around here. You’re going to have to earn it. Hopefully, you’ll have some redemption on Oeskone.”
“I hope so too, sir,” Eastaway said, anger reinforcing growing resolve in his voice.
“Now, this video—”
“Aw, not much of anything, Boss,” Eastaway said, waving a dismissive hand at his superior. “Just a useless, friendly ‘Hello, let us know if you need anything’ kind of transmission from Oeskone.”
The sniper’s cross hairs returned. Eastaway offered a minor grin and nodded.
“That’s what your NCOs said in their reports, too,” Beach finally said.
“Roger that.”
“HQ’s prerogatives still apply. Expect the locals to perceive you as the bad guys and stay away.”
“Good plan, Boss.”
After the door to his commander’s quarters closed behind him, Eastaway stood in the corridor and heaved a weighty sigh while pressing his hands against his stomach. His knees quivered, so he leaned against the wall for support. He even considered wandering up to the officer’s club two decks above for a drink.
Looking at his watch, he determined only four hours remained until the Slipstream orbited Oeskone. With the reckoning time looming like a finger pulling a drawn-out squeeze on a trigger, he opted instead for sharpened focus over one blurred with alcohol.
He would need a clear head to confront his past head on.
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With fists on her hips, Tatiana sneered at the blank screens on the table inside her quarters. “Fine, we’ll just go to plan B.”
“What’s that, Mama?” David said from the bed.
“Nothing, just talking to myself.”
“Look at the teeth on that!”
Startled, Tatiana twisted around, her eyes wide open. David held up a datacom image—a close-up—of the head and gaping, toothy maw of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Tatiana gushed out a relieved chuckle.
“It would be cool if dinosaurs still lived,” David said.
“Not with choppers like that.”
David smiled, then resumed reading an image-filled story about dinosaurs on the datacom cradled on his lap.
Tatiana set about removing her black leather calf-high spike-heel boots in favor of a dusty and worn pair of tan hiking boots. She threw a heavy khaki-colored outdoors shirt over her blue tunic and zipped up its front.
One of the corners of the room held equipment, clothes, and boxes clustered in a mess. Peeling and pushing away the clutter, she managed to navigate her way into the corner, where she found the brown leather backpack she had sought. She withdrew a water container from within the sack and jiggled it. Satisfied it was full enough, she shoved it back inside and then confirmed both a navi-locator and Chuanli burst transmitter remained inside too. After tightening the top of the backpack, she rose, and then tossed the pack over her shoulders and onto her back. She grabbed two short heavy-duty data batons concealed inside a drawer in the computer table and then shoved them into one of her shirt’s cargo pockets.
“David?”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I need to… Check on something. After I leave, stay inside and keep the door locked.”
“Can I go with—?”
“NO!” Tatiana said, spatting out a response laced with festering guilt and frustration.
David dropped the datacom on his lap. He bowed his head and his lower lip quivered.
Tatiana’s chest tightened and a lump thickened in her throat. “Oh David…” she said, leaning and reach
ing for him. He shifted away from her. Tears rolled down Tatiana’s cheeks, and she knelt on the floor beside the bed. “Forgive me, little man.”
“Just go,” David said, turning his back toward his mother. “I’ll lock the door behind you.”
Tatiana cupped a hand over her mouth and her breathing hitched.
“Go!” the boy shouted.
<> <>
“I told you, he’s got it in for you,” Sapp said. “But, procedurally, he is right. You should have backed off and let O’Malley and the others intervene.”
Eastaway shrugged and fiddled with the cold synth-eggs on the plate in front of him.
“And he’s not getting promoted, so no one is getting promoted. Especially a twenty-three-year-old newbie second lieutenant he doesn’t like,” Sapp said, continuing. He too pondered the synth-eggs on his own plate and frowned. “I sure hope Oeskone has something tasty to kill and cook.”
“Always with you, the killing,” Eastaway said.
Sapp chuckled, along with a few others seated close enough at their mess hall table to hear Eastaway’s comment.
An announcement from the Slipstream’s captain over the mess hall’s intercom abated the chatter inside the area. “Attention, attention. We are approaching Oeskone orbital transition and are now on yellow alert. That is all.”
Sapp and Eastaway looked at each other over their unfinished meals.
“Come on, let’s go find an Oeskone chicken to kill,” Sapp said, smiling.
Eastaway tagged the end of grin with a quick nod. “Signal the platoon to draw weapons. Rally with gear and armor in the hangar.”
<> <>
Her objective completed, Tatiana traversed a different return course to the complex. She cut back and forth between heavy foliage as the dusky orange and purple rays from the local sun settled low over Oeskone.
Colony policies forbade traveling in the jungle after dark, and they required a minimum of a pair to travel together into the bush during daylight. Trudging onward, Tatiana tried to relax, and prepared herself to plead ignorance if anyone challenged her on rules violations. She hurried her steps, as returning to comfort David—and in turn, assuage her guilt—remained a priority.
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