Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  “It’s gonna have to wait, Mak.” Murphy paused, Always take a second or two to build rapport. “But…what’s the basic issue?”

  “Consumption of stores, sir. It seems excessive. Also, I suspect there is some falsification in current requisitions.”

  Murphy rolled his eyes. “Hoarding for resale? There’s a black market starting up already?”

  “I think so, Major.”

  “Then look into it, Captain Makarov. You’ve got the chops—um, skills for the job. Let me know when you have something to report.”

  Makarov snapped as straight as a ruler. “Yes, sir.”

  Murphy waved a quick combination farewell and salute and got moving toward the refectory; he was just glad Mak hadn’t called him “your Excellency.”

  * * *

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  Kevin Bowden looked up from his lunch, seriously annoyed that individual meals were served on a rigid, and widely distributed, schedule. His eyes took in the unwelcome visitor in front of him, then all the empty tables in the refectory that served the section of the habitat in which the Lost Soldiers were billeted. He shrugged. “Fine with me, sir,” he finally said. “The answer’s ‘no,’ though.”

  Major Murphy raised an eyebrow as he sat. “Not sure what you mean.”

  Right. Bowden pointed with his spoon toward Murphy’s folder-filled hands. “You’re not here for lunch. That means you’re here to recruit me for a mission, just like you did everyone else who was in the Mogadishu chopper wreck. The answer’s ‘no.’”

  Murphy’s tone cooled. “How do you know what the answer is when I haven’t even asked the question?”

  “Because I’m done. I’ve done enough for my country.” Bowden looked back down at his food and shoveled in another mouthful. Hell, more than enough.

  “I need you for this. You’re the only one who can do it.”

  “What?” Bowden exclaimed, loud enough to cause everyone nearby to glance over at the pair of humans. “You’ve got more kids for me to kill?”

  “Easy, Lieutenant,” Murphy said, making a calming motion with his hands. “This is not a combat op. You’re the only tactical aviation guy we’ve got from around our time frame, and that’s the skillset I need to look at a mission in the CONOPS stage.”

  Bowden’s eyes narrowed. “Just look at something?”

  “For now, I just need you to look. There are no missions being planned.”

  “‘No missions being planned yet,’ you mean.”

  Murphy shrugged. “Lieutenant, you and I know that, given our current situation, there’s no guaranteeing you won’t have to get back into a cockpit again. And I’m not going to insult your intelligence and make myself a liar by saying otherwise. But at this point, what I need is your knowledge and expert assessment. And only that.”

  Bowden sighed as he let his shoulders slump. “Guess I could look at something for you. It’s not like I have a whole lot else to do here. Don’t appear to be going home any time soon.”

  Murphy’s smile was small, brittle, and shadowed by more than a little regret. “Thanks,” he said. “Meet me in three hours in docking bay 2A.”

  Bowden, appetite suddenly gone, shrugged. “I could go now, sir.”

  Murphy was already moving away. “Wish I could. Got to get back to our hosts’ ops center.”

  “Captain Lee’s mission?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Bowden shrugged. “Because you were at the comms early this morning. Or so I was told. That’s right after the SpinDogs stood up a full staff for their ops center in the middle of the night. Generally not good signs.”

  “How’d you hear about all that?”

  “Scuttlebutt is just as lively amongst officers as enlisted, sir.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. See you in three hours.”

  Bowden looked after him, pushed the tray away. Yep, his appetite was completely gone.

  * * *

  Murphy paged the door into the ops center, was admitted quickly.

  The hatch sealed just as quickly behind him. Two of the SpinDog security types had their trademark angular submachine guns pointed at his gut.

  Murphy decided that he was losing the ability to be shocked by anything. “Anyone care to tell me what’s going on here?”

  “I was hoping you would answer that exact question,” said a SpinDog that Murphy had seen at one of the meetings with Nuncle and Nephew. Bramath. From a “breedline” that was under the umbrella of Family Kormak. A junior nephew of its Primus, if memory served.

  “All I heard last night was that there was a mechanical failure. Your team here was not very forthcoming with more information. I was told I’d be contacted as soon as there was any news.” Murphy stared at the two unwavering muzzles. “Wasn’t told that would be done at gunpoint.”

  “That was before we had reason to believe that you may be duping us.”

  “Duping you? How?”

  “By presenting yourself as our allies when you may be working for the Kulsians.”

  Okay, I guess I can still be shocked. “What?”

  “How else would you explain the attack that has destroyed one of the polar towns where Family Otlethes’ liaisons visit, and which has taken various hostages?”

  “Taken by whom?”

  Bramath’s smile was not friendly. “That is what we are waiting for you to tell us.”

  Somehow, Murphy forgot about the two submachine guns; he was too busy trying to get his head around the suppositions behind Bramath’s accusation. “So, let me see if I understand this. Despite the huge losses we inflicted on your enemies not quite three weeks ago, you believe that we are actually on the Kulsian’s side?”

  “Perhaps you are only pretending to be outsiders. Perhaps you are working for a single faction, or just one of the Overlords, whose own units were not present at the battle,” Bramath suggested. “An attempt to lessen his rivals’ power in this system so that he might have more exclusive access to the high-value exoflora during the coming Harvesting.”

  “Really?” Murphy folded his arms. “So why wouldn’t this treacherous Overlord use all the superior technology demonstrated during the battle here to eliminate his opposition back on Kulsis? Because it seems certain that none of his peers could have stood against it.”

  Bramath was silent but no longer smiling. Several of the others in the ops center, particularly the observers from Matriarch Kelrevis’s own family, were watching him, waiting for a reply that never came.

  Murphy shrugged and continued. “And if we’re the agents of this Overlord, then how the heck did we know about your existence in this system? Because we’d have had to already know you were here in order to orchestrate everything that happened.”

  Even the pair holding the machine guns were glancing toward Bramath, now.

  “I could keep asking questions—there are plenty more to ask—but I’ll let you reply to those first.”

  Bramath’s brow was lowering. “You take great chances with your—”

  The comms specialist gestured sharply. “Scion Bramath, there is communication from R’Bak!”

  “A ransom demand? A parley?”

  “No, Scion. From Healer Naliryiz of Family Otlethes.”

  “Is she, too, a captive?” Bramath did not sound entirely displeased.

  “No, Scion. She has the troglody—she has Captain Lee standing by.”

  Bramath glared briefly at Murphy before questioning the comms officer. “Does Lee intend to make demands?”

  “No, to coordinate rescue attempts.”

  Murphy unfolded his arms. “Let me speak to her.”

  “Why? So, you can exchange coded information?”

  Murphy shook his head. “Bramath, can you really—?”

  “Silence! This could all be part of an act, a means to lure even more of us to our death. Perhaps with the cooperation of some in Family Otlethes.” The silence in the ops center became simultaneously tomb-like and tense.

 
Okay; so, I’m up against paranoia, not rational thought. “Look, that’s why you have me at gunpoint, right? To use me as hostage, as leverage, to prevent…well, whatever it is you think you’re preventing. So, if by speaking to Captain Lee I activate some treacherous scheme, I’ll be its first casualty, won’t I?”

  Bramath considered. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not suicidal, and it sounds like we need to arrange a rescue.”

  One of the individuals from Family Otlethes stood. “Bramath, allow him to speak.”

  “And why should I trust you?”

  “Because you did not allow any of our Family to carry guns here, either. We, too, are your hostages, it seems.”

  Bramath frowned, stepped back from the console, drew his sidearm: another almost box-like weapon. “You may speak to your captain, Major Murphy. But should your conversation become questionable—”

  Murphy almost rolled his eyes. “Yes. I understand why you have your pistol out, Bramath.” He reached for a headset. “Captain Lee, this is Major Murphy. Status and sitrep.”

  A grainy image of Lee, looking somewhat worse for wear, appeared in a small screen located just under Murphy’s equally small camera/mic combination. She said that she and her student were alive and well, their Huey was not, nor was the town to which they’d traveled. Evidently a group of Kulsian raiders had wandered unusually far north in their depredations, an event which she unironically described as “Murphy’s Law in action”—which caused trigger fingers to tighten in the ops center. Fortunately, her next sentence included a statement of the axiom: “Yesterday, anything that could go wrong did, and at the worst possible time and place.”

  Trigger fingers relaxed; so did Murphy’s belly muscles.

  However, as Lee started her appeal for additional units to aid in a rescue, Bramath shook his head. Remaining quiet and outside the range of the pickup, he warned, “You will send no additional personnel, Major. The hostages are SpinDogs; they are our affair.”

  Murphy kept his face and voice as neutral as he could when he responded to Lee. “I understand your position, Captain, but the rest of the task force isn’t ready to deploy planetside yet. And if it was, it is far too early for us to show our hand.”

  Her reaction, her eyes in particular, gave him a sense of what it might be like to crisped by a very large laser. “Fine,” she said. “Then given the strategic imperative of our mission here, I request permission to take command and do it my damn self!”

  Murphy returned her glare; her tone warranted that sternness, at least, but more importantly, he had to keep her from suspecting that there was something hinky happening on his end. He kept his tone crisp. “A moment, Captain Lee.”

  Bramath reached over and cut the comm feed. “What do you mean, a moment? There is nothing to discuss. Order her to remain as she is.”

  Murphy looked sideways at Bramath. “Let’s say that this raid is exactly what it appears to be: extremely bad luck. Murphy’s Law, as you heard her say. Then when I prohibit her from joining a rescue, I am also prohibiting the use of the helicopter they have available.” Murphy glanced at the crew present from Family Otlethes. “How do you think the hostages’ Family will feel knowing that you prevented their own personnel from using the helicopter, which is probably the only way they can hope to effect the rescue?”

  Bramath did not turn toward the persons Murphy had glanced at; the Scion could probably feel their eyes boring into his back. He nodded but raised his weapon slightly higher. “Careful, Major.” He reactivated the comm feed.

  As soon as Lee’s face appeared, Murphy said, “Agreed. We can provide assistance, but you should send your student instead, Bruce. Your abilities are far more strategically important than—”

  “Ending the call. Enemy could triangulate and locate.” Lee cut the connection before Murphy had a chance to say more. He suppressed the urge to nod; she’d made the right decision, the one he had hoped she’d make: to take the initiative and mount the rescue.

  Bramath was frowning mightily. “That was less than completely reassuring, Major.”

  Murphy shrugged. “I did what I could. Now what?”

  “Now we wait.”

  Murphy sighed. “Then I have just one favor to ask.”

  “What would that be?”

  “If I don’t leave here alive, I’d appreciate it if you’d contact Lieutenant Bowden and tell him I’m not going to make our meeting after all.” Murphy sighed. “Now, in the meantime, can I at least have a seat while you’re deciding whether or not to shoot me?”

  It took Bramath two hours of close consultation with the senior members of Family Otlethes and then his own uncle, Primus Kormak, for the hapless Scion to decide in the negative.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Spin One

  Kevin Bowden walked into docking bay 2-A, exactly three hours later, to find Major Murphy talking to two of the SpinDogs—who sure didn’t look like aliens—standing next to one of their interface craft. Murphy nodded to the two humanoids, and they went back to working on something on its nose.

  “What do you think?” Murphy asked as he walked up, nodding toward the craft. He seemed calm, but the armpits of his duty uniform were as wet and black as if he’d been working half a day in the tropical sun.

  Bowden managed not to raise an eyebrow, instead he went over to the interface craft and started walking around it slowly, picking out details. “Looks like a cheap version of the space shuttle with ducted-thrust nacelles, built by the lowest bidder.” He looked again and saw where some of the pieces had been hammered to make them fit in place. “In Russia.” He took a few steps to one side to get a better look at the forward section of the craft. “Looks like it’s seen a lot of use. Wouldn’t be surprised if they bounced the nose off an asteroid or two. I’m not talking little ones, either.”

  He shrugged and walked back. “Looks like a work vehicle that’s been ridden hard and put away wet plenty of times. Why?”

  “We’re going to turn that craft—and two others just like it—into fighter/bombers, just like your old Hornet.”

  Bowden laughed for at least 20 seconds, finally stopping when his stomach started hurting. “Thanks, Major,” he said when he caught his breath. “I haven’t had a laugh like that since…” His voice trailed off as his thoughts came up short against the event that split his life into two parts: everything that had come before, and everything since that day. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time,” he finished after a few seconds. He smiled. “Seriously, though, what’s it for?”

  “Exactly what I said. We’re going to turn it into an attack craft for a mission we have coming up, while giving it enough air-to-air capability to get it there and back safely.”

  “That thing is a beast,” Bowden said, walking up to one of the wings and slapping it. The sound it made told him it wasn’t made of the same metal as his beloved Hornet. “It’ll never be a fighter. Maybe a bomber. It’s ugly enough, just like the old A-6E Intruders that used to be in my air wing.”

  “You may not know this,” Murphy said, “but the SpinDogs have never thought about fighting in atmosphere before, and this is their craft with the best in-atmo performance. All they were ever worried about was getting in and out fast, so it’s got plenty of power, but no real armament.”

  “Reminds me of an F-4 Phantom,” Bowden said. “You know? The plane that proved even a refrigerator will fly if given enough thrust?” He paused and then added, “That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? You want me to turn this into a fighter/attack craft.” He narrowed his eyes. “You probably want me to fly it, too, and then you want me to carry out whatever mission you’ve got in mind for it.”

  “Well, of course I want you to turn it into a bomber. You’re the guy with the aviation engineering background. You’re also a Navy Test Pilot School graduate, and you were an applicant for the astronaut program—”

  “Yeah, and now look at me,” Bowden said, his voice heavy with sa
rcasm. “Now I’m a ‘real’ astronaut.”

  “I’m not here to debate your qualifications. I’m here—”

  “How do you know all that about me, anyway?”

  Murphy’s jaw tightened, and his eyes hardened; he clearly did not like being interrupted. “I probably know everything there is to know about you.” His jaw relaxed a little. “Our liberators found extensive records on all of us. They knew more about me than I think I knew myself.”

  “Then you know why I’m not going to fly this thing.”

  Murphy nodded. “I do. Although it took digging in general records, not your personnel file. Nothing ever was entered there about your last flight in Africa. I also know that event happened hundreds of years ago, and it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” Bowden said. “I can still see that child…and it feels like it was just yesterday. To me, anyway.”

  “I understand. It seems like just yesterday to me, as well, and I’m hoping to use your experience to make sure we don’t have it happen here, too. There are civilians in the vicinity of the target and killing them will…will only piss off their leaders that much more.” Murphy’s voice was as hard and carefully controlled as his face.

  Bowden nodded and turned away so the major wouldn’t see the moisture in his eyes. “What—” His voice caught, then he said more normally, “Tell me about the target and its environment.”

  “The target is an intersystem transmitter and antenna complex located in the foothills of the planet below us. Our leading plan is a ground operation: recruit indigs, grab cached enemy equipment, and take it out.

  “But we can’t depend on just one plan. The transmitter must be destroyed, or the locals are going to announce our presence here and call in the Kulsians to wipe us out. I’d rather that didn’t happen as I’d like to still be here when our ride home gets back.”

  Bowden nodded. “Okay, so probably an antenna and a building. Both can be taken out with the appropriate application of high explosives. What’s so hard about it?”