The First Casualty

by Mike Moscoe

  Trembling—Mattim put it down to her own rage—Ding stared back at him. Slowly she nodded.

  Before Mattim could say any more, the chief of staff entered, heading for the helmsman, no doubt willing to pass the admiral’s orders direct to Thor. Mattim would not become a figurehead on a ship whose name would be linked with infamy for the next thousand years. He arrived at Thor’s station the same second Stuart started talking. “We want a high-gee course. I suggest diving sunward, using it to accelerate the ship, then swing around.”

  “We’ll have to swing by five or six planets to get us aimed at Wardhaven.” Mattim pointed out the system map Thor had at his station. The helmsman looked on in growing puzzlement.

  “I don’t think so.” Stuart was wearing that smug smile again. “A deflection around planet two, using four-gee lateral acceleration followed by three-gee acceleration for Wardhaven ought to do the trick. Don’t you think?”

  Mattim pursed his lips tightly to cover the impotency he felt. He was playing catch-up to a guy who had spent days planning this operation. Only the marines at his back kept Mattim from smashing the smug captain’s head against the bulkhead. “Yes, that course will do it. It’ll be rough on the crew, and the magazines might not take the load.”

  “You’ll have a couple of days at two-gee acceleration. Captain, I suggest you order the course change.” Mattim needed time, and they weren’t giving him any. This was their hand. He’d lose money this round, but if he anted up, he’d be in and ready for the next—assuming there was time for another. He gave Thor his orders without mentioning relativity bombs. It didn’t matter. About that time they brought Guns’ body out on a gurney. Everyone swiveled to look, eyes growing wide. Ding looked, then turned away as tears slipped down her face.

  Mattim had had all he could handle. “XO, you have the conn. I’ll be in my cabin.” He left with as much haste as he could permit himself.

  • • •

  Alone, Mattim let his rage out in one long howl. Pacing his cabin, he slammed his palm into the bulkhead. What he wanted to pound was Whitebred, and Stuart, and the damn marines. Mary the miner had talked about after the war. Was that why she and her marines had bought into Whitebred’s promises of wealth and power if they followed his every whim?

  Grabbing control of himself, Mattim plopped on the edge of his bunk. Enough worthless emotions; he had a mission and orders he was damned if he’d carry out and a crew that he could not allow to be slaughtered. “Think, damn you, think.”

  He glanced around his cabin. Was Whitebred watching? The comm link did not face the bed. Whitebred had been on board for five days, but he had not asked for any work done by the ship’s company. Still, any mikes and cameras on board were probably accessed, but no new ones added.

  Maybe.

  Mattim called up the load out the marines had brought. Most was standard issue. There was an exception. Lek what’s his name, Mattim didn’t even try to pronounce it, had several crates of uncatalogued electronic equipment and broken parts! Who was this guy? Mattim accessed the ship’s personnel files. The marines had not been added. Okay, there was an electronic wizard on board, probably on the admiral’s side. Coordinating anything was going to be a bitch.

  Mattim settled into his bunk. What assets did he have? A crew that had followed him to the ends of the galaxy and back. They’d do whatever he asked. But he couldn’t say what he wanted to without risking a bullet in the back. And he could not stand by and watch them be murdered.

  He’d stopped at Wardhaven a dozen times. One industrialist had invited him home to enjoy an evening with his wife and daughter. While it hadn’t slowed Mattim’s haggling, now it gave him faces to match with the bombs.

  Alarms went off. He drifted up from his bed. “Oh, shit.”

  His screen lit up—Whitebred. “Captain, you seem to have an engineering problem,” he said softly. Then his face hardened. “If we are not back at two gees in five minutes, I’ll have the marines fix it. Your way or my way, we will be back at speed in five minutes.”

  Launching himself from his bunk, Mattim was out the door and going hand over hand down the main passageway. “Make a hole,” he hollered. “Captain coming through.” People made space even if it meant drifting away from the emergency handholds. He passed two sets of marines. They watched him, but made no move to follow.

  In engineering, Ivan and his watch hunched over stations. “Damn groundhog reactor hiccuped and sent a spike through the system. Damn near fried main power.” He glanced up, a resigned scowl on his face. “I’ll need thirty-six hours to straighten this out.”

  “You got two minutes,” Mattim growled, “or they’ll put a bullet in your brain like they did Guns. Sandy first, then you, then your team one by one until somebody cracks and turns back on what you turned off. Ivan, don’t be stupid.”

  Marines clattered through the hatch. The sergeant who’d murdered Guns was leading.

  “Back off,” Mattim said in a harsh whisper. “Now, Ivan.”

  Ivan tapped his board several times. The normal hum returned to the engineering spaces.

  “Very good, Captain,” The admiral’s unctuous voice issued from the speakers in engineering. “I knew you could make your man see the error of his ways. Sergeant Dumont, bring that officer to my quarters.” And Mattim had to follow Ivan and his marine escort because he wasn’t about to have another of his officers wheeled out of the admiral’s quarters feet first. Meeting demands with counterdemands, screams with shouts, threats with veiled threats of his own, Mattim got Ivan back through the door alive. The admiral looked smug.

  In his quarters, Mattim collapsed on his bunk, trembling. He’d been to zoos with poisonous reptiles and man-eating carnivores. He’d never been so up close and personal with one.

  The comm beeped. Ivan was in tears. “They took her.”

  “Sandy?”

  “Yes. While they had me, they took her to the brig.”

  “Let me take care of this.”

  “Please, Matt, she’s my life.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Mattim broke the connection. “XO, I need some help. Who has control of our brig?”

  “We do,” she answered.

  “Maybe not anymore. Check with the chief master-at-arms.”

  “Wait one.” Ding was back in only seconds. “The marines took charge of the brig about three minutes ago. Faced with assault rifles, our people bailed out fast. Hadn’t had time to report. Damn it, he can’t just take over sections of our ship!”

  “He can and is.” Mattim cut her off before she talked herself into the brig. “Okay, this is what we do. Sandy’s in that brig. Ding, please call up the lead marine and offer her any assistance in making the brig secure and its occupants comfortable. Offer to have a couple of our people work under her people. Colin, I want our folks down there as witnesses to what happens in that brig. Sandy’s only the first of us.”

  “Put our people under her marines?”

  “Yes, Colin, our people. She’s got to be shorthanded with this whole boat to patrol. If we put one or two nonthreatening old farts in there to be gofers and do the unarmed stuff, that’s got to be a load off them. And I do mean old farts who know better than try to be heroes. No kids. Got that? No kids.”

  “Yes, sir. You are giving up the brig. We are to render full assistance to the marines in managing it.” The XO said the words like they were poison.

  Mattim didn’t like it any better. “Yes, Colin. Anything to get us through this without people dying.” He hoped she noted his inclusive language. Not crew killed, but people.

  There was a change in her voice when she said, “Understood.”

  Mattim made a quick and very unsatisfactory call to Ivan, then tried to settle back on his bunk. Sleep was impossible, but he had to get some rest. In the morning, he’d have to be sharp when he made a walk around. There had to be a way around Whitebred and his marines and his damn rocks.

  • • •

  Mary looked sharp as she ma
de a walk-around of the guard posts before turning in. The crew was sullen as she passed them. There’d been no public announcement; still, you didn’t keep the death of the gunnery officer a secret. Damn Dumont! He’d taken the admiral’s bait, hook, line, and sinker. Stupid kid! And the admiral had played all of them like a damn piano. While she’d been trying to figure out how to react, he’d pushed Dumont over the edge. Pushed, hell. Dumont had jumped at the chance. And Mary couldn’t let the sailors tear Dumont to pieces.

  Now what? Her teams were stretched thin. The offer from the exec to keep a couple of hands around the brig was appreciated. Mary had rousted Cassie out of bed to take over the brig watch. She should be taking over soon.

  “Captain.” It was Cassie’s voice.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Brig is secure. Prisoner secure. For this you got me up?”

  “You got two people from ship’s company helping you?”

  “Yeah, a middle-aged man and woman.”

  “Keep an eye on them.”

  Cassie snorted. “Hero types these two ain’t, but understood.”

  “Rodrigo out.”

  Mary stepped carefully over the coaming of the bridge hatch. The bridge crew pointedly ignored her—only the XO nodded. Mary had assigned four marines to guard the admiral. The two male guards lounged in chairs outside the admiral’s cabin, their guns at the ready. The two woman guards were nowhere to be seen.

  The XO joined her. “Hope you don’t mind us loaning your marines chairs. At two gees it gets a bit heavy on the feet.”

  Mary had glanced through the marine guard manual once. It was definite about standing guard duty. She hadn’t noticed anything about high gees. “Thanks. I think.”

  The Navy type shrugged, then glanced around the bridge. “Tough situation. No need to make it any tougher on the poor working folks than necessary.”

  Obviously, this woman would never make it in management. “You know where my other two guards are?”

  “Admiral said the women could stand their watch in his cabin.” More likely in his bed hung unsaid.

  Mary agreed; the admiral had been specific about two of his four guards being girls. “And the two helping out in the brig?”

  “Captain suggested you could use a hand. We’ll pick from the old and smart types. Captain doesn’t want anybody killed.”

  “Thanks,” Mary mumbled as she turned to go. So, Matt the merchant had no taste for blood. A virtue in a trader that had no place where they were, but Mary would use it.

  Her last stop before hitting the rack was the brig. Cassie and two privates were monitoring the prisoner by video—a woman, an officer from the shoulder tabs.

  “Why’s she in?” Mary asked.

  Cassie just raised her eyebrows. “One of Dumont’s corporals marched her in. Don’t know.”

  “She’s the Jump Master,” a middle-aged woman in blue Navy coveralls answered. “Wife of the chief engineer.”

  Mary stared at the ceiling for a moment, absorbing it all. Power loss. Chief engineer restores power; wife lands in the brig. That little admiral was playing hardball. Just how hard?

  Mary checked her prisoner. The woman lay on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. “Cassie, enter into the brig log. I want to be called if there is any change in a prisoner’s condition. All prisoners will be treated as guests and will leave here in as good a shape as they arrived. You got that?”

  “You bet, boss. Loud and clear.” Cassie grinned. “You hear that, guards? Pass that along verbally when you’re relieved. You Navy types, too.”

  Mary took in a deep breath. She’d spent a night or three under hack. Mining company guards were picked for their heavy hands. She would have none of that on her watch. Mary yawned. Cassie quickly caught it.

  “Girl, we’re both too old for this shit,” Mary said. “Get one of your sergeants to take over here. I’m headed for the rack. You too.”

  “Joyfully, Captain.”

  Mary was halfway to her quarters when something went thud in the mud her brain was turning into. I said I didn’t want any of the crew dead. The XO said no people dead. Was she quoting the captain? And did he mean that? No people! Well, Matt, does that include a billion enemy non-combatants?

  Mary undressed for bed, but kept her gear handy. It was already after midnight; she’d be back up at 0515. She needed some sleep. What she got was thoughts that wouldn’t go away.

  The admiral had told them quickly and bluntly what he wanted and the rewards they’d get in return. Just like at the mines, he’d say “frog jump” and they would. Mary rolled onto her side, tried to get comfortable at twice her normal weight—and rolled back over.

  A billion people were going to die. She tried calling up the horrible visions of the hundreds she’d killed and imagined a million more for each one of them. Her mind balked. Since that first day, it had. Some part of her that cared about others had frozen over that day into icy stone. Marines she fought to keep alive. No one else mattered, any more than the waste runoff from the mines mattered.

  Worker bees just did what they had to.

  But I’m not a worker bee, Mary snapped at herself. I’m an officer, just like Umboto. She had sworn to defend humanity against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That had to mean something. The admiral said it meant a billion peaceful women and children dead. That couldn’t be right.

  Still, with Dumont in the admiral’s pocket, could she stop him? Did Mattim really mean he wanted this thing ended with nobody dead? She had to talk to that guy. Maybe, just maybe, together they could figure out what was right and how to do it.

  FOURTEEN

  IMPECCABLY UNIFORMED, MAJOR Longknife, his bride, and his aide ate breakfast in the formal dinning room of the only grand hotel on Rostock. In the background, a live string quartet played softly. Despite the waiter’s encouragement to try every pastry on the menu, they ordered plain food in small portions. As their meals arrived, a cheer went up from across the foyer.

  “What is that?” Ray asked.

  “I do not know, sir. There is a television in the coffee shop. I imagine further success on the war front has been announced. Should I find out?”

  Captain Santiago lifted the briefcase from its place beside him, flipped it open, and called up the stored news feed. “I’ll search on ‘Wardhaven’ first, sir.” It was not a long search.

  The President, in the red dress uniform of a field marshal, smiled confidently as he announced that Earth stooges were attempting to land on Wardhaven. “Our armies stand ready to show these cowards how real men fight. We will never surrender. We will crush their landings. We will collect the pathetic survivors and ship them to the outermost colonies where they can find out what real life is like. We will fight on to victory for us and our children. We fight for all humanity. We will be triumphant.”

  The watching crowd went wild cheering. Ray reached for the case and punched up the Oasis.

  “Have you heard the news, Major?” her captain asked.

  “One could not help but hear it. Captain, have the Earthie stooges formally asked for our surrender?” Ray used patriotic drivel to cover treason.

  The captain coughed softly. “No, sir.”

  “Are their troopships moving into position to assault?”

  The captain looked uncomfortable, “Our information is that they have no transports with them.” Ray waited, calm as an officer must be when a subordinate is slow giving him the rest of an unpleasant message. “One ship, apparently the flag, has begun a dive toward the sun. It is picking up speed, sir. We do not know what course it will follow, or how long it will take it to acquire whatever energy it considers desirable.”

  Rita had been sipping from her water glass. It fell from her hands—shattering on the marble floor. “Thank you. I or my aide will talk with you after we brief the President.”

  “If you can possibly,” the captain began slowly, “explain to the President the full military implications of the course of action the enemy is pursu
ing, sir.”

  “If the President affords me the opportunity”—Ray cut the naval officer off before one or both of them committed high treason for the records—“I will surely brief him to the fullest extent of my knowledge. Thank you, Captain. Out.”

  Ray sampled his oatmeal. At his leading, the others also nibbled at their meals while their waiter cleaned up the glass. Once alone, there was still nothing to say, nothing they could allow the inevitable mikes to hear. Meals were only half eaten when, by unspoken consent, they placed napkins on the table.

  “The President awaits us,” Ray said.

  “Yes,” both his wife and his aide agreed.

  “Let’s see what he takes from a tired old warrior’s words,” Ray added as the two helped him from his chair, The hug Rita gave him as she settled him on his feet held love and loss, dedication and resolve in equal parts. He gave her a quick kiss; then, as he slowly marched to the elevator, he began the familiar process of turning flesh into cold, hard steel. He had done this many times before battle. The only difference today was the poor likelihood of the return to flesh and blood tomorrow.

  • • •

  Showered, shaved, and dressed, Mattim did a quick check of the bridge on his way to breakfast. The night had produced no more surprises. They would round the sun in another eighteen hours. If he didn’t come up with something before three gees put everyone at high-gee stations and only able to talk on battle net, one billion women, children, and men would die.

  As usual, Mattim took one meal a day with the crew. He chose breakfast today. The marines occupied a table in one corner of the mess. Ship’s company were leaving it a wide berth. Mattim considered joining the marines, trying to build some sort of bridge. Sergeant Dumont, who’d pulled the trigger on Guns, sat at the head of the marine table.

  Mattim headed for a table full of chiefs. They started to rise; he waved them down. “Relax, it’s chow time.”

  “Kind of hard relaxing, sir,” Chief Aso muttered as he sat. Mattim raised a questioning eyebrow to the chief who’d served for years on the Maggie D and now was a turret captain. “Don’t like losing a good officer, Captain.” Aso glanced around the table; all eyes were on Mattim, nodding agreement. “What we gonna do?”