“Damnation. We had no idea of what had happened. The station went dead, yeah. No communications. We’ve had turmoil on the planet; all our data centers were corrupted by some kind of virus.”
Steg didn’t think it would be constructive to mention the Intel team had been responsible for releasing the software that had caused the system failures. “We’re assisting there, also. We’ve been training your operators, showing them how to clean their systems.”
“I heard that, yeah. Now can you keep me informed of the progress of your search and rescue operation? I’d like to hear from station management or from our naval people, yeah.”
“We’ll keep you informed. Someone will update you twice a day, with progress on-station. As for your frigates—I’ve got one of your captains under arrest. He kidnapped three of our crew and tortured one of them. I haven’t yet had reports on whether your frigates survived the alien attack.”
“You arrested one of our frigate captains? By what right—?”
“We had to raid your frigate to recover our people. Your captain was being blackmailed by Ser Bedwyr to find out what we were doing. I don’t know his name. I’ve been too busy fighting aliens to worry about him. I authorized his arrest, and if necessary, I’ll push him out an airlock and he can breathe vacuum.”
“What? No, don’t do that. One of those captains is my cousin; I don’t want to report to my family that you executed him, yeah.”
“He said his sister is addicted; that’s how Bedwyr got leverage.”
“I think you have the other one. My cousin doesn’t have a sister. Let me know details. If possible, I’d like to speak to the man you arrested, yeah.”
“We have more important issues. We’re helping you recover your way station. We’ll raise an invoice for services rendered.”
“I suppose we can—”
“Search and rescue is free. Except for our ship’s supplies. No, I’ve got a proposal for you. I’ll arrange for the Alliance skipper to send a copy of his operational report to your president. He’ll confirm we destroyed an alien dreadnought, which was attacking your way station. They made quite a mess of it; the station will be inoperative for three, four months, or longer, depending how you handle repairs and the rebuild. I suspect your frigates are damaged or destroyed. Currently, your way station is unprotected. We’ll manage its repair. You provide the workers, bots, and materials. We’ll provide security against pirates and other possible attackers. Wasp will run the way station, handle inbound starships, provide security, support you as required. You need this stability to help you recover. The Alliance skipper has agreed to lend us missile pods, which Wasp can use to defend both the station and Eos against possible attacks. There’ll be rules for their help. What do you say?”
“I recognize the needs, yeah. I’m worried about the costs.”
“We’ll make sure costs aren’t excessive. Do we have a basis for negotiation?”
“I’ll need to talk with people, yeah. Get me that action report as quickly as you can. Keep me updated with search and rescue activities. I’ll do my best to set up negotiations. Contact me in twenty-four hours, yeah.”
“Very well. Expect the Alliance files in the next hour. They’ll provide details of the attack on the way station and our destruction of the dreadnought. We’ll identify as best we can the survivors and bodies as we continue with our searches. I’ll find out the status of your frigates and other Eos ships docked at the way station and let you know.”
“Deal, yeah. Talk tomorrow. President’s office out.”
*****
Chapter 43
It was a week later and Steg was still waiting for an answer from the president or his aide. Media reports were not helpful; news of the attack on the way station by the Xesset had caused a range of violent dirtside reactions, and the politicians were in turmoil. As a result, communications were sparse and noncommittal. In the meantime, search and rescue operations on the way station were discovering more and more survivors, some close to death from injury or lack of atmosphere. The body count was increasing to alarming numbers. The marines from Defender together with Wasp’s mercenaries were working all hours and were close to exhaustion. At last Steg decided the silence from Eos was unacceptable. He arranged to meet with Dean and the marine major to share his worries.
“We’ve got issues, dirtside,” Steg said.
“Thought as much,” Dean said. “We need medical supplies, fresh food, and there are survivors who need urgent treatment and care beyond what we can do here.”
“I’ve been monitoring the medical issues. The Fain are overwhelmed,” Steg confirmed. “How much longer will Montrose keep Defender in the Eos system?” he asked Carter.
“He wants us to continue with this S and R. He won’t head away if we’re still finding survivors.”
“Good to know. What’s your estimate for clearing the rest of the core layers?”
Both men sighed. Dean said, “Every time we make an estimate, we uncover issues. This station was not well constructed.”
Carter said, “We’ve been reassessing our focus. We’ve concluded it’s too late for anyone in the upper levels; the Xesset destroyed that area. We’ve sent teams in, and they’ve found gaping holes, collapsed bulkheads, fallen beams, and few survivors. None, the last couple of days. Even the repair bots are struggling to find a way through. The body count is high.”
“We thought we should focus now on the lower core levels. We think we can do good there. We estimate it will take another week to check them all.”
“There’s still some freighters to inspect?”
“Just about done. Your Intel guys have been cleaning all the ship systems. Most have crew and officers on board, and they have supplies, water, atmosphere, and power. There’s a lot of repairs needed before they can travel, though.”
“The two frigates were destroyed?”
“Yes, the Xesset focused on them. Shot them to pieces. No survivors,” confirmed Dean.
“Are any of the surface transport ships ready to move survivors to dirtside for treatment? Should we use one of our shuttles? Or a Defender shuttle?”
“One of yours and one of ours, I suggest. Only one of the tugs is usable, we could use it to pull up fresh supplies.”
“The patients need to be transferred as soon as possible. I’d take an armed team—some of our mercenaries. We’ve no idea of the dirtside situation,” Steg said.
“That will move people off S and R, though. I know, we need to do it,” Dean said.
“Major, can you discuss this with Montrose, see if he’ll provide a shuttle and crew? We can configure one of our shuttles as a hospital ship by tomorrow morning, and I assume Defender can do something similar? In any event, it’ll be a rough ride; we don’t have proper ambulance shuttles. Tell him I plan to fly our light shuttle dirtside first, with fifteen of our marines, in case there’s unrest in the capital city. Maybe you should add five of your marines, or more if you want, to my flight. I’ll take over the central hospital and other facilities, if necessary.”
Dean said, “My concern is the more serious cases. Perhaps we can hold them here rather than subjecting them to that trip? Maybe you could bring some Eos medicos back with you?”
“I’ll ask Stacia for a head count. She’ll know who we can move. Her team can list what medical supplies they need, and the number of doctors and nurses they could use.”
Steg tried again to contact the president’s office. The call went unanswered. He left a voice message advising he planned to deliver four shuttle loads of injured way station personnel to Eos City for hospital treatment. It was, he thought, extremely odd that the politicians did not appear to be interested in their way station nor in the condition of survivors. He identified the senior surgeon at the central city hospital and called him. He spoke with an assistant who immediately disconnected the call when Steg said he needed emergency assistance for wounded survivors from the way station. Subsequent calls went to a recording, which state
d no one was available to speak with him. He decided he would, if necessary, take over the hospital in order to ensure the survivors received proper treatment.
When he informed Stacia of the lack of response from dirtside, she was immediately angry on behalf of her patients.
“I’ll come with you,” she said. “I agree you should take over the central hospital. I‘ll see everything is done properly. Finch will list the patients we should transport; she can come with us. Two shuttles—that should give us room for sixty patients in each. We’ve well over four hundred who need hospital care.”
“We’ll do multiple runs. First trip, though, I’m taking a squad and you and Finch in the smaller shuttle. We’ll use a larger shuttle for patient runs. It will need some conversion work so that it can carry patients. You’ll need to allocate two Fain, and we’ll have fifteen marines, ours or Alliance, to accompany patients on each flight. The flights dirtside will be quick. The teams won’t be able to do much for people while they’re in transit.”
Commander Gillespie supported his plan and arranged a team of Wasp engineers to convert her largest shuttle, as far as possible, to provide suitable accommodation. The passengers would be patients who needed more intense treatment or surgery beyond the scope of the Fain and Wasp’s equipment.
Steg made further attempts to contact the president and the senior surgeon, and again there were no responses.
That evening Steg held a briefing meeting with Stacia, Finch, Captain Dean, and Major Carter. He said, “No replies from dirtside, so far. According to our Intel team—Major, I sent you maps and flight plans about five minutes ago—the central hospital is adjacent to a large park area. They’re both near the center of the city. The hospital’s not far from the president’s office. We’ll use the park as a temporary base; it has enough room for three shuttles and more.”
The Alliance major replied, “Good. As I messaged you, Montrose agreed we should move injured people off the station. He’s impressed that your Fain have managed to maintain such a high treatment standard under these conditions. We’re authorized to fly as many trips as necessary.”
“I’ll fly our small shuttle in first, secure the area, and move out any civilians. The shuttle’s armed with light weapons, although I don’t expect to use them. We’ll drop an hour ahead of the first load of patients. I’m taking Riddell and some of our most experienced mercs, half of whom are heavyworlders, so we’ll have extra muscle.”
“It might add to your authority if you have an Alliance presence so I’ve arranged for some of my marines to accompany you. Of course, we’ll disown you if you kill anyone. Well, at least take care to minimize casualties. I’ve allocated five to fly down with you, and five to ride with Wasp’s medical shuttle. Ten marines will be in our shuttle. I don’t want to remove any more of my marines—we need to continue with our S and R mission.”
“Agreed. Per the flight plans, ETA for the first hospital shuttle is 7:00 a.m. local, an hour after sunrise. Major, your shuttle is scheduled to depart an hour later, unless we encounter difficulties. We won’t overwhelm the locals—well, not too much—if we do this in stages. We can achieve two flights each, today. We’ll follow up with more tomorrow—we may need to find another hospital, though. I’m not sure how they’ll cope, dirtside.”
“Will anyone be in danger, do you think?” asked Stacia. “I don’t want my patients to suffer any more.”
“We’ll convince local law authorities we’re legitimate. The hospital symbols on our shuttles with the patients will help. I can’t imagine anyone is going to shoot at them. If necessary I can defend them. The small shuttle flies like a fighter.”
“I’m bringing my armor, anyway,” said Finch. “And my Gauss. I don’t want anyone attacking my patients.”
Major Carter looked surprised. He was about to comment and decided otherwise.
Dean understood the major’s unasked question and said, “Finch is one of our best shots, even if the weapon is as big as she is.”
Carter stepped back and bowed to the Fain. “Finch, I did not intend any disparagement.”
Finch blinked her lashes at the major and giggled. She said, “None taken, Major. Now you know you shouldn’t get in my way when I’m shooting.”
*****
Chapter 44
Steg departed on schedule and dropped the small shuttle towards the planet. He ignored comments from his passengers as he increased power and pace. Stacia’s face was pale, whether from his shuttle piloting or from anger at the silence of the Eos authorities, he was unsure. Finch held determinedly to her weapon as the shuttle bounced. The ride was going to be a record breaker. He wanted to be visible yet too fast for anyone to catch—unless they had missiles, of course. If the shuttle’s sensors detected a missile lock, he’d activate all shields and take evasive maneuvers, flying the small craft out of the planet’s gravity well and back into deep space. He planned then to make a return flight, find a remote location, and approach the capital city more circumspectly. This trip, he was making a statement.
The flight was uneventful, without missile locks. He crossed over the city at a low altitude, breaking the sound barrier as he approached and then as he departed. His return to the city center was slower, with less noise. He located their intended destination and checked for pedestrians. There were none near his planned landing spot, and he settled the shuttle down. To everyone’s relief, it almost floated to a stop. His squad quickly exited and took up defensive positions, weapons ready. The small team of Alliance Marines followed his mercenaries.
One of the mercenaries bent over and tapped the grass with her hand. “So that’s what it’s like,” she muttered.
“What’s up, Sergeant?” asked one of her companions. “Forgotten what a planet’s like?”
“Just reminding myself,” replied Sergeant Velez. “It’s been a while.”
“Velez, you’re coming with me—select two to support you. Stacia, you and Finch, too. Corporal, would you and your marines guard the shuttle?”
The corporal acknowledged the request and placed his men around the shuttle. Steg continued, “Riddell, be prepared to protect our way out. In the meantime, mark out the areas where we want to land the other shuttles. Use the spray paint to indicate the boundaries. If you see any locals, let them know this park is now a hot landing zone—and restricted. Use force, not deadly, and only if necessary. We want to keep some friends.”
Steg headed towards the hospital with his escort of three heavyworlders who were carrying enough weapons to start a war on their own. Stacia wore light armor, although she had decided not to carry a weapon. Steg had brought a spare rifle in case she changed her mind. Finch was armored and carried her Gauss with intent. He ignored the handful or so of staring locals; they were apparently amazed at the presence of the shuttle and armored soldiers in the middle of their city.
There was a security guard inside the hospital lobby, seated inside a glass cage beside a barrier he operated to ensure visitors could enter only one at a time. Steg didn’t stop as he crashed through the flimsy construction. The guard looked appalled.
“I don’t have a pass and yes, I’m entering the hospital. Don’t try to use your weapon, it won’t do any good against our armor and would only upset us. Which floor do I need for the head surgeon? What’s his name—Dr. Dalrymple?”
“Th-th-third floor, s-sir,” the guard stuttered. “He’s not in, yet.”
“Then call him, tell him I’ve taken over his hospital.” Steg, frustrated with the doctor’s refusal to take his comlink, had messaged him the previous afternoon, announcing his arrival time and his intention to move hundreds of patients into the hospital. “When he arrives, tell him we’re in the emergency intake section.” The guard nodded, apparently too nervous to risk his stutter.
Steg checked the directional signs and determined if he followed a solid red line, he’d arrive at the right location.
“Velez, place a marine here—your corporal. No one is to enter the hosp
ital unless they’re a doctor or a nurse, understand?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Follow the red line,” he called back over his shoulder. Stacia and Finch ran to catch up. He knew Velez would follow with the other heavyworlder.
At two hundred yards or so along the red line, he reached the beginning of what appeared to be the outskirts of a series of hospital wards instead of offices. There were beds in side rooms and the antiseptic odor reminded him of the Fains’ medical area on Wasp. He stopped a nurse and asked, “Is this the emergency section?”
The nurse did not conceal her nervousness. “Yes, sir.” Steg assumed his armored presence, including obviously high-powered weapons, was the likely cause of her reaction.
“Where’s your doctor in charge?”
“He’s not in yet, sir. He won’t arrive for another four—or maybe five hours.”
“Who’s in charge in the meantime?”
“The senior nurse, Nursing Manager Bollard, sir.”
“She’s in, I assume?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Nurses are always on time.”
“Lead me to her.”
“Oh—but—very well, sir.” Sergeant Velez had stepped forward as the nurse was about to refuse. The presence of the large offworlder seemed to change her mind.
“It’s this way, sir.”
Steg, the two Fain, and his mercenary escort followed the young nurse for another fifty yards or so, intruding further into the wards. Most of the beds, he noted, were empty. Their guide stopped outside a small office.
“Nursing Manager Bollard, sir—this is her office.”
“Thank you for your assistance.”
The young woman scurried away, an expression of relief on her face.
“You frighten everyone, sir,” murmured Velez.
“Only if they don’t realize how soft I am,” Steg murmured back. He indicated the desk and the anxious receptionist. “Sergeant, take over this desk—we don’t want the nursing manager to be diverted from her critical tasks, today.”
Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) Page 28