“What do you want to do about the mining stations and PVNs that haven’t acknowledged?” Ford asked, clearly eager to get in some more gunnery.
“If they have weapons that can threaten anyone else, and you can pinpoint those weapons, take out the threats. If not, let them sit there for the moment. They may change their minds. Hell, some of them may have internal factions fighting for control. Johnstone, tell Bull to leave a squad at Io base and get all the rest of the survivors back to Conquest. I may have more work for him to do.”
Chapter 11
Lieutenant Cheng looked sadly down at Sergeant Tama and holstered his pistol. The hardest thing he’d ever done in his young life had been to put a bullet into the man’s head, but Tama had adamantly refused to give up his oath to the Empire, and had tried to fire on another defecting orbital.
Even now, Cheng’s hands shook with reaction. He’d never killed anyone before, and it made him want to vomit. In fact, he availed himself of a trashcan from beneath the desk, turning away from the sergeant’s staring eyes and the blood pooled on the deck. Once he’d emptied his stomach, Cheng keyed for a robot to come clean up.
“I’ve eliminated two more loyalists,” Captain O’Rourke said as he stepped back into the command center, pistol smoking in his hand.
Cheng had no idea how the man could seem calm after killing twice. It made him wonder about his commander, and how long he might have been part of the resistance movement that everyone had heard rumors of.
O’Rourke gazed alertly around the room, not lowering his weapon. “Chief Shamblin, continue broadcasting our declaration of allegiance to EarthFleet, but maintain all systems at the ready.”
“Aye, sir.” The chief looked pale at the enormity of what they had done, but seemed determined. “What about Earth, though? Will they punish our families?”
“I don’t know.”
Cheng found himself suddenly happy the rebels – EarthFleet, he reminded himself – had destroyed the terror weapon on the moon that had been pointed at Earth for his whole life, an explicit threat to any who would oppose the Empire. Even though there was another moon-based laser, it pointed outward, away from Earth, and lovely Brenda’s legs. “What do we do now, sir?”
“I don’t know that either,” O’Rourke replied. “Wait for orders from our new commander.”
“Yes. Of course.” The reminder of authority comforted Cheng. Freedom sounded attractive as a concept, but what did one do with it? Then he remembered Brenda and thought of one thing he’d do. “Sir, do you think we might try to send personal messages to Earth?”
“Somehow, Lieutenant, I doubt that would be healthy for anyone receiving the transmission.”
“Yes, sir.” Captain O’Rourke was certainly the smartest man he knew. Cheng resolved to observe closely and learn.
Chapter 12
Spooky Nguyen watched Trissk sleep curled up on a divan in the corner of Roger’s sumptuous virtual reality space. He ached all over from sparring with the big cat, even if the effect was largely psychosomatic, but was happy he had finally tired Trissk out. “Thank the gods,” he said as he poured himself a tall glass of virtual Scotch. “Can you keep him under a little extra time?”
“My ethics will stretch that far, yes,” Ezekiel replied drily. “He’ll never know the difference, and it’ll keep us all from going bonkers.”
“No sign of your mother?”
“If there was, we’d know.”
Spooky sipped from his glass, leaving the obvious unspoken: maybe she’s dead. More than eighty years had passed since they’d left Earth’s solar system. Anything could have happened. “At least the broadcast from your sister is good news.”
“Yes…” Ezekiel mused. “But we’re light-hours away from Jupiter, and from Earth for that matter.” He stood and swung his arms. “We have to head back, I think. All the action is going to be on Earth. We need to be there to help foment rebellion. For all we know, she’s there now.”
“Fine by me,” Spooky replied. “You think we can sneak by the Meme?”
“We have the latest codes from the Sentries, and we’ll keep on our toes, so yes, I think so. If not…we’ll run back to Conquest like a scalded dog.”
“I’ll feel better when I’m down on a planet,” Spooky mused. “I’m at my best among people.”
Ezekiel snorted.
“What?” Spooky swirled his Scotch.
“Yes, you’re such a people person.”
Spooky did not reply. Instead, he asked, “Can you make this thing go any faster?”
“I can make it seem that way, if you want. I’ll just have Roger speed up your sense of time passing until something happens. Take a seat.”
Sitting down, Spooky set his glass on an end table, closed his eyes and folded his hands. “Ready.” A moment seemed to pass, and then Ezekiel was calling his name. “Yes?” he said, opening his eyes.
“We’re entering translunar space. You want to see what’s going to kill us?”
Standing up, Spooky saw that Trissk was awake again, and he and Bogrin stood at the wide plate glass forward port. Through its preternaturally clear non-substance he could see Earthrise over Luna. Near the moon loomed eight Destroyers, scaled up by Roger’s organic VR to be visible. Behind he could see Earth’s four orbital fortresses, superdreadnought-sized weapons platforms composing a relatively cheap last line of defense.
Spooky cleared his throat. “I’m no space tactician, but this seems like a poor route to take, straight past all the enemy eyes.”
Ezekiel smiled, reaching out to manipulate large, shiny metal controls. In response to his adjustment, the view swung radically, as if they themselves had been thrown magically sideways and upward. “I just wanted you to see that view. In reality, we’re coming in as far from the Destroyers as possible. I’m counting on their underlings on the orbital fortresses not looking too closely at a Meme-grown ship like Roger.”
“So this is a true view?” Bogrin rumbled from Ezekiel’s other elbow. He gestured at the single orbital fortress visible well off to one side.
“Yes. Earth is between us and Luna, and since the Destroyers are all parked there next to the Weapon for mutual defense, they can’t see us directly. We have Meme recognition codes…why do you ask?”
“Because the orbital fortress’ main weapons array seems to be lining up on us. You may want to ask Roger to begin evasive maneuvers.”
“Shit.” Before Ezekiel completed the expletive, the view swung wildly, though the four bipeds inside Roger did not feel it through the VR. “Roger, get us down and into the water as fast as you can!” Abruptly their perspective stabilized, rock-steady except for its motion past the orbital fortress. “I’ve reset the program so it appears as if we’re pointed toward the enemy, but in reality, Roger is blasting for splashdown.”
Ponderously, the spherical orbital continued to turn itself and its large cluster of lasers in their direction. When it seemed to line up, it fired. Beams lanced out, visible only because of the simulation, crisscrossing around them but not striking. The artificial steadiness of the virtual reality made the danger surreal. In reality, just one of those beams would instantly fry little Roger and everyone within. They would never feel a hit before they died.
Slowly, slowly their point of view sank toward the blue surface of Earth, dodging lasers and railgun bullets. The glow of atmospheric friction crept in from the edges of the viewport, and moments later they plunged into the waters of the western Pacific. “I’ve brought us down near the Marianas Trench, and that’s where we’re –”
Then the clean, comfortable simulation shattered, and Spooky found himself naked and immobilized inside his biogel coffin. He almost threw up as his body and mind tried to reject the transition and crawl back into a place that wasn’t there anymore.
Whatever happened must have been severe, even catastrophic. Only Ezekiel or Roger knew, but Spooky wasn’t about to just lie here like cake in a pan. Scrabbling with his hand, he found the large biom
echanical pushplate and shoved on it with all four fingertips.
In response, living probes withdrew from all of his orifices and the coffin he was in opened to vomit him out onto the warm, living deck. Rolling over and coughing effluvium, he crawled to the largest coffin nearby and began to pound on it, his fist making meaty smacks.
Whether from his efforts or something Bogrin did, the enclosure split, revealing the half-ton Sekoi inside and repeating the procedure that had ejected Spooky. A moment later, the two stood, looking at each other.
“Well, friend,” Bogrin said, his real voice rough in the moist air, “we live.”
“For the moment,” Spooky replied. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew what was going on. Is Roger injured? Should we try to wake Ezekiel?”
“As Blend, I monitor some of Roger’s sensations. I believe laser struck water above us as we descended into ocean, flash-boiling it. Ship is in pain, but will recover. Cannot maintain VR space for us. We must wait.”
Chapter 13
Bull awoke, his heart pounding, and came close to panicking. He hit the eject button and rolled out of his armor as it cracked open. Doc Horton grabbed him and tried to stabilize him, but the small woman couldn’t prevent the big man from sprawling on Conquest’s flight deck.
How did I get here?
“I’ve got a gurney, Major ben Tauros, if you’ll just hold still.” The doctor signaled two telefactors, which quickly and precisely lifted Bull’s half-conscious frame onto the rolling bed. “You’re back aboard, and you’re going to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered, and then his head seemed to swell up like a balloon and his eyes went fuzzy. “Just hungry.”
“No, you’re not fine,” the doctor said firmly, walking alongside for a few steps as the machines carted him away. “You’re concussed, you have stress fractures running throughout your body, and half your cybernetics are burnt out. If not for your support systems you’d be dead. Now just stay horizontal and hope for no brain damage. Not that anyone would notice.” Horton muttered this last.
“I heard that,” Bull mumbled, then let himself fade from consciousness as the gurney stabbed him with a needle.
***
Sergeant Major Repeth traded looks with Horton as she stepped out of her own armor onto the deck. “We got nine or ten other bad ones, Doc,” she said as two armored Marines carried a third one in. “Set her on the deck,” Repeth ordered, then keyed in the standard code to crack the armor. It opened along the seams like a split lobster tail, allowing the medical bots to lift the injured Marine out and place her on another gurney. A dozen more automated beds waited behind with perfect patience, their trauma arms ready to help stabilize the casualties.
“This one is expectant,” Horton said, peering down at the remains of a man inside another battered set of armor. “Vitals are flat, no brainwave. Record TOD at…1223.40 hours.”
Repeth stared at the remains of Corporal Salen, remembering his ready smile as he spotted for her in the gym. Another good kid gone because of the Meme and their lust for domination. She hoped losing half the company had been worth it.
Moving on down the line, she helped Horton and two medics with the rest of the casualties, paying special attention to the five Ryss. All of these had been severely wounded and left behind by their own. Amazingly, all had survived. Tough critters, Repeth thought. None of those that had made it through to the Weapon had lived, but the HUD network had recorded Slash’s last moments before he blew the nuke.
Someone grabbed Jill from behind and she almost clocked him before she saw it was Rick. Burying herself in his arms for a moment, she fought back tears, saving them for later.
“This is the worst part, isn’t it?” he said. “But I’m glad it isn’t you in the infirmary.”
“Or worse, you mean?” Repeth shook her head to dry her eyes. “Ultimate liability clause in every Marine contract. You know that.”
“I do, but I’m selfish enough to be happy you didn’t cash out. Come on, let’s go get a drink.”
“I have to –” She gestured at her armor and the Marines sufficiently unhurt to walk away from their own.
“Let the bots tend to the armor. Gunderson can shepherd the troops.”
“No. It doesn’t work like that. I make sure all of my people are taken care of before I’m off duty. And I need to go see Bull.” Repeth saw a flash of something very like jealousy cross behind Rick’s eyes, but right then she didn’t care.
“All right,” Rick said with more than a hint of chill in his voice. “When you’re all done, I’ll be around somewhere.” He stalked away, shaking off her hand.
“Trouble in paradise?” Master Sergeant Gunderson said from her elbow.
Turning, Repeth punched the man in his meaty chest hard enough to stagger him. “Shut your cake-hole, you prick. When I want lip from you, I’ll beat it out of you,” she snarled.
“All right, all right,” he said with upraised hands and a triumphant smile. Needling her had been a favorite game of his ever since Repeth had spurned his advances back on Earth and she knew he’d just scored a point, but she didn’t care. Everyone seemed to want a piece of her and she really wasn’t in the mood.
“Since you’re untouched,” she said to Gunderson with venom, “you can do the debrief and put everyone not in the infirmary to bed. Have a full report in my queue by 1800. Then you can start a double guard shift on the brig. I’m going to check on the wounded.”
“There’s no one in the brig, Sergeant Major,” Gunderson said as his face fell.
“Then guard yourself. Just as long as you’re there and awake. I’ll be checking the logs.”
Gunderson looked sour and stayed silent.
“Acknowledge, Marine!” Repeth snapped.
“Aye aye, Sergeant Major!” Gunderson retorted, drawing himself to attention.
She left him standing there fuming, and then headed for the infirmary.
Later, Captain Absen waved her to a seat in his office after offering her a cigarette. She declined, waiting for him to light up.
He stared at the burning cancer stick in his hand for a moment. “You know, I rarely smoke, even though it’s not particularly risky anymore. I drink a little, I read a lot, I eat…and I work. That’s about it. Do you know why?”
Repeth thought furiously, wondering what her commander was getting at. She’d expected to give him a firsthand report as Bull usually did, not share some kind of moment. That was what officers were for – standing between her and the skipper. “No, sir, I don’t.”
“Good. Then probably no one else does either. Whiskey?” Absen reached for the bottle.
“All right, sir.” It seemed impolite to decline both offers of shared luxury, so she took the glass and sipped at the smoky liquor.
“So this Blend. Leslie Denham, she calls herself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you believe her?”
“That she’s who she says she is? Tentatively, yes.” Repeth felt on much firmer ground now, discussing work. “The other Blend that took a shot at her, the one who calls himself Brand, wasn’t playing around and had no way of knowing my response would be nonlethal. Blends aren’t big on self-sacrifice, so that is a point in her favor. Also, she just…feels right.”
“I’m going to interview her, but I wanted your impression. Anything else that will help me?”
Repeth sighed. “I didn’t know Raphaela had more children. Ezekiel never said anything to me and I’ve been on several missions with him. I can’t think of any reason to keep a secret like that for so many years.”
“OPSEC. Need to know.” Absen shrugged. “I guess for now I’ll have to accept Bannum’s and your judgment. I’ve put out an encrypted broadcast for Ezekiel to contact us, but heard nothing. They either didn’t get the transmission or are maintaining EMCON for now. Either way, we’re on our own.”
“One thing I did think of,” Repeth said. “Blends are rumored to be able to influence people if they can
touch them – probably some kind of biochemical mind control. But it’s highly unlikely a Blend can influence an AI.”
“Good thinking. Michelle?”
“Yes, Captain?” came Conquest’s voice from the speaker in the overhead.
“Escort Leslie Denham here, will you? And make sure she stays under full surveillance at all times.”
“Yes, sir. Five minutes.”
When the door opened and the woman in yellow stepped in ahead of Michelle’s avatar, Absen stood up involuntarily. On the vidscreen Leslie had reminded him of her mother Rae, but in person it was déjà vu all over again. The force of her personality, her presence and poise, brought long-buried feelings to the surface so strongly that he excused himself abruptly to the cabin’s head behind him. Inside, he flushed the toilet as an excuse, splashed water on his face, and composed himself in the mirror before stepping back out, pointedly wiping his hands on a clean white towel.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Leslie said before Absen could speak. “I’ve seen you many times in pictures and records, of course. All of my brothers and sisters have.” She did not hold out her hand; neither did Absen.
“How many brothers and sisters?” Absen asked, sitting down at his desk.
“I am one of a set of quads, two boys and two girls, and then there’s Ezekiel, whom you know.”
“Rae had no more children?” Absen inquired. For some reason, he felt the answer important to him.
“She considered it. Genetic material from my father was available – is still available, I presume – but she never did. I don’t know why.” Leslie cocked her head knowingly. “Ah.”
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