by Mike Moscoe
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. “Yessir.”
“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.”
“Yessir,” 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.”
“Yessir.”
“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 are 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.
“Fifty kilometers, ma’am.”
“Does it have an atmosphere?”
“Carbon dioxide,” Mattim answered, “and lots of other crud. Lousy with storms last time I passed it. And I was a lot farther away than fifty klicks. Plan for another bumpy ride.”
“Right, Captain. Our sun pass broke four carts loose. None were at battle station lock-downs. Two were marines. Captain, I recommend all personnel go into lock-down an hour before our close encounter with Ward Two.”
“Please advise the marines.” Mattim kept his voice even.
The admiral interrupted thirty seconds into the call. “I want all guard posts manned.”
“Sir, I respectfully recommend against that.” Ding stayed Navy formal. “Four carts failed. We got no chance to do maintenance. I expect a much higher failure rate this time.”
“Sir,” Mary cut in, “I have one marine in sick bay and another one who’s just plain lucky. I only had fifty to start with, sir, I can’t afford to lose any more.”
“Sir,” Mattim added, “everyone will be locked down at battle stations. We have cameras scattered about the ship. They can be put in surveillance mode.” As if you didn’t know. “Anybody moves off station, you’ll know.”
“You will keep the guards at my quarters.”
Mattim knew he should grab the compromise and run, but bulldozing Whitebred felt too good. “Sir, there are no lock-downs outside your quarters. At three-plus gees, I can’t have them installed. Here, on the bridge, we’ll be juggling a very high-risk encounter. We can’t have a cart go careening around.”
Whitebred sputtered on net, apparently at a loss for words. Mary was gentle when she spoke. “You’ve had several marines in your quarters, sir. That looks like a pretty solid bulkhead between it and the bridge. I could move your guards inside.”
“Do it. Admiral Whitebred out,” he snapped.
Ding continued as if there had been no interruption. “Your bunk space has lock-downs, Captain Rodrigo. I’ll have a work party help your troops lock their carts. Would you like them standing by in case anything comes loose?”
“That won’t be necessary, Commander. I suspect my troops will sleep through the whole thing.”
“I hope mine do too. Exec out.”
“Glad that’s over,” Ding sighed. “Now, how much ice do we have left on this boat’s snout? Damage control, exec here.”
Mattim left her to her duties. Like a good captain, he motored from station to station, checking and double-checking. But his mind was elsewhere. If the marines go with me, the bombing is off. And if they don’t? That was Mattim’s nightmare. Mary sounded none too sure her marines would back her. If they didn’t, Mattim wasn’t done. Marines were marines; they rode in ships they didn’t operate. If it came down to it, would any of them know whether a sailor was fixing a problem—or making one? Then again, a five-thousand-pound rock loose at three gees was not something captains wanted. How do you bust a ship so it can’t throw rocks—and not kill anyone?
Mattim spent what spare time he had looking for just that spot as he prepared to sling shot around Ward Two. He’d studied everything and was going over the accelerator for the fourth time when it kicked him in the face. For the first time in a long while, he smiled.
• • •
For the first time since coming aboard this tub, Mary had most of her marines present. The six guarding the admiral were a mixed bag. Three were old miners who thought like her. The other three would follow Dumont through hell. The Navy work party was done and gone; her troops were locked down, some already nodding off. She glanced at Lek. “Now,” she said.
Only one camera covered the room. With a soft pop it came off the wall, hanging by its cabling. In a few seconds, those wires gave way; the tiny spy shattered as it hit the deck.
“Listen up, folks,” Mary announced. “We got a problem. In case you didn’t catch it on the grapevine, let me fill you in on this mission, and what’s in it for you.” And she did.
Their reaction held no surprise. The billion deaths drew a shocked recoil from most of her miners. Dumont and crew shrugged it off. The promised reward got cheers from his crew—scowls from the miners. Had any fighting team ever been so split?
“So, why we talking, old lady?” Dumont hadn’t used that crack in a while. “Pop a batch of colonials, end the war, and make a friend in high places. All fun and games by me!” It was to most of his youngsters.
Cassie almost came out of her gee-cart. “Didn’t you hear her? Kill a billion people. A billion! God forgive us for even listening to the idea. We’ve got to stop him.”
“Your God never done nothing for me,” Dumont snorted. “If He’s so all-fired against killing, where was he when Blacky or Amy or Har or any of us got popped? He got a special place in His heart for them colonials dirtside, He can play catch.”
Cassie, the only religious one in the troop, turned pale. “Let me take this,” Mary said softly. Slowly, she went over what she and Mattim had shared. The miners had no trouble agreeing that any promise from Whitebred wasn’t worth the air he used to say it. The youngsters, however, bought his line.
“He forget us, we cut him up good” came from somewhere in the back. For the next minute, the youngsters competed coming up with nastier ways to remind a forgetful Whitebred of his old friends. Mary let it roll, then turned to Lek.
“What you think?”
“He wins this war by killing a billion people, there’s gonna be a lot of eager folks that want his hide. Powers that be’ll wrap him in a wall of security sunshine can’t get through without a retina scan and strip-search. Take it from an old cracker and hacker. He don’t want to see you again. He don’t.”
That quieted the kids.
“What worries me is whether this stunt will end the war,” Mary said slowly. “I’ve been up to my eyeballs in war for six months. I don’t want no more of it. You been there with me. Would this scare the shit and surrender out of you, or make you mad enough to never quit fighting?”
“Like we was when Blacky and Amy got popped” c
ame a quiet voice from behind Dumont.
“I don’t think this admiral’s spent any more time in uniform than us. You think he really knows what them colonials will do?”
Dumont was uncomfortable with that one. “I don’t know how long he’s been Navy. Who knows how good he is? But he’s got us here, and the colonials by the balls.”
“Guy don’t talk much about Navy stuff,” one of the girls drawled. “He’s all the time bragging. All of it’s business.”
“He talks when he’s screwing you” came from the back.
“All you guys brag when you’re screwing,” she snapped back, “and you all a bunch of liars.”
Mary couldn’t afford to lose them to another catcalling contest. “Du, Whitebred’s as green as we are. He’s guessing. That old guy that went up against him. He was forty years Navy. Lek here’s been in the mines for forty years. If he says it can be done, you can bet on it. If he says it’s a bad idea, I want out of the way.” A chorus of “Me too” and “You bet” backed her up.
“Well, Whitebred didn’t exactly give me time to play five questions with the old fart. Boss man said joke him, I did the joke.” Dumont was defending himself, no longer Whitebred.
Mary tried one more slice. “Dumont, there’s a billion faceless people, and rocks are cheap, and people die real quick under them. Once we do it, who’s gonna do it next? I left some friends behind on Pitt’s Hope. How long before some crew with a ship full of rocks is looking down on them as a bunch of faceless enemies? You must have left some people you care about.”
“Only person I care about is me” came from the back. This time nobody echoed him.
“Mary,” Dumont said slowly, “the only folks I care about are right here. A mom or a dad are things other people got, not me. Mary, you could be right, but then again, you could be dead wrong. This is the one chance anybody’s ever handed me in my life. I can’t piss it away. Maybe Whitebred’s like everybody else and can’t be trusted. But maybe he can. I got to try.” His voice went loud. “We got to try.”