“Man, you’ll have days to sit and chat with Mulligan. Get some rest, Mike.”
“I will.” He walked toward the SCEV’s open airlock door, the lower half of which formed a short stairway up into the airlock itself. As he mounted the stairs, he half-turned his head, just long enough to see Laird shrug and turn his attention to more pressing matters.
Andrews hauled himself inside the Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle. The quarters were tight; the airlock was supposedly big enough for two people fully suited in Advanced Mission Oriented Protective Posture IV gear, which was true—presuming one of them was a circus midget. The inner airlock door was open, so he was able to step right into the rig’s second compartment, which housed the engineering and science workstations, as well as the crew’s microscopic “living area”—the portion of the SCEV where they would eat and do whatever it was they fancied when not piloting the rig, conducting experiments, or sleeping. A small dinette was set against the left bulkhead, opposite the kitchenette, which consisted of an over-and-under refrigerator and freezer, a convection/microwave oven, a sink, and storage cabinets. When not in its stowed position against the overhead, a twenty-inch LED display could be lowered to face the dinette as well. The SCEV had thousands of hours of movies, games, and other programming available, though it was all over ten years old.
The compartment floor was opened up, and several technicians were going over the rig’s transmissions from the interior access points. Andrews saw the drive shafts that connected the rig’s multiple differentials. The panels were opened all through the vehicle, even in the sleeping compartment in the back, where Andrews clearly heard Spencer sawing wood despite all the activity occurring right next to him. The technicians held data tablets, which were directly linked by DIN connections to the SCEV’s maintenance access harness, and they compared settings.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “Mind if I step in?”
“You’re good to go, sir,” one of the technicians said, barely glancing up.
“Why aren’t you guys using the wireless?”
“It’s saturated, sir. We’ve got a couple of dozen techs working this rig over, so all the access points are taken.” The technician touched the cable connecting his tablet to the rig’s data bus. “It’s this, or nothing.”
“Roger that. I’ll leave you guys to it, then.”
The technicians didn’t acknowledge him further, so Andrews stepped over the gap in the floor beyond the airlock and turned to his right. Squeezing past the engineering and science stations, he made his way to the cockpit. The door was very narrow, so he had to bend slightly and rotate his shoulders. He knew Mulligan was sitting in the left seat—the command seat—so he turned toward the copilot’s seat on the right side of the cockpit.
“Sarmajor,” he said, slipping into the cockpit and lowering himself into the confines of the copilot’s seat.
“Evening, Captain,” Mulligan said. His voice was its usual basso rumble, and he turned his clear, green eyes toward Andrews, watching as he slipped into the seat. “You’ve been at it for quite a while, sir. Shouldn’t you be getting some rack time?”
Andrews waved away the suggestion. “I’m good, Sarmajor. What are you up to?”
Mulligan pointed at the forward instrument panel, where the wide touchscreens glowed. On the center display, the computerized checklist was up and available, and several items had already been marked green.
“I’m going through the safety checklist. Even though we were instructed to skip the nonessential checks, I’m going through as many as possible. When I leave the cockpit, I intend to leave it sterile—with your permission, no one gets in or out until we’re ready to jump out. That way, we’ll preserve the vehicle status.”
Andrews grunted. “Uh, you are aware that the rig’s still being torn apart and put back together, right, Mulligan?”
Mulligan looked at him expressionlessly. “Yes, Captain, I’d caught onto that. This is how we did things back in the day, when there was the chance we wouldn’t have time to run through checklists and the like, but recognized there was a high-threat level that could mandate equipment use right off the cuff.”
“I understand, Sarmajor. But these vehicles are going to be accessed right up until we leave …”
Mulligan shook his head. “Untrue. We’ll go into a rest cycle before we jump out. I’ve already been over that with General Benchley. He agrees that we’ll need a bit of downtime before we leave, after everyone’s been burning the candle at both ends trying to get these vehicles ready for departure.”
Andrews blinked, surprised. Just how much pull does Mulligan have, anyway?
“I don’t see how that’s possible, Mulligan. We need to get to California ASAP and—”
“The successful completion of the mission is what’s important, Captain, and if Harmony can give us six hours to get some rest to increase the chances of mission success, then the command group is all for it. After all, we’re the last card these people have to play.” The big man paused for a moment. “I take it that Benchley or Walters haven’t talked to you about this yet?”
“No. Not yet.” He tried to keep his composure, but he was already getting irritated with Mulligan. What he said made sense, but he should have discussed it with Andrews first before going to the command group. As the mission commander, Andrews was the one who should be lobbying for such things, not a command sergeant major, even one as storied as Scott Mulligan.
Mulligan must have been able to read his mind. “You and the other officers were all wrapped around the axle trying to get the rigs up and mission capable, sir. I decided to go to the command group on my own initiative, figuring that it was something you wouldn’t have time for. Sorry if I stomped on any toes.”
Andrews was mollified a bit by his apology. “No … no, that’s cool, Sarmajor. Thanks for doing that. I hadn’t even thought about it.” As soon as he said the last bit, he felt a surge of embarrassment.
Mulligan didn’t appear to notice. “No problem on this end, Captain.”
“Yeah, well … thanks again.” Andrews hesitated for a moment. “Listen, Mulligan. I wanted to talk to you about Rachel.”
“All right.”
“You know what her problem is with you, right?”
“Sure,” Mulligan said without looking away. “I killed her parents.”
The big enlisted man’s response was so casual, he might have been discussing the merits of his favorite color. That flustered Andrews even more; he was so taken aback, all he could say was, “You did?”
“They were in SCEV One with me, Captain. Is that what you want to talk about?”
Andrews considered that for a moment. “Do you want to tell me about that?”
“No, sir. I do not.”
Andrews nodded. “I just wanted to tell you that I know there’s going to be friction, so Laird and I are working to keep the two of you apart. Separate vehicles, separate shifts, all that stuff. If we can manage it right, you guys won’t even have to talk over the radio.”
“That’s great, sir. This deployment is going to be a real ball-buster, so I appreciate you taking these measures on the behalf of your wife and myself.”
Again, Mulligan’s demeanor was so damned nonchalant and his responses were so glib that Andrews found he was getting pretty pissed off. And Mulligan’s presence was going to make a lot of people uncomfortable, most notably Rachel. Scott Mulligan was feared by most, and revered by a few; for his part, Andrews was starting to finally get a handle on him. The guy was just an asshole.
“You know, Sarmajor, it might be better if you were to unass and stay in Harmony,” he said. “I’m pretty sure the mission would go a lot more smoothly without the rest of us having to keep an eye on the drama meter and all.”
“I agree with that, Captain. Maybe you can speak to Benchley about that, since he’s the one who ordered me to be added to the roster? Come back with orders from him to unass, and I’m gone—otherwise, I’m going along for the ride.�
� There was a certain coldness to Mulligan’s voice that Andrews found intimidating.
“I’ll see what I can do, Mulligan. But from where I’m sitting? You probably aren’t the best asset for this mission.”
Mulligan shrugged. “Like I said, I agree. But it’s not my call, Captain.”
Andrews shrugged and changed gears. “I like what you said about sterilizing the SCEVs. We’ve never done that before. How can we enforce it?”
“Easy. I post guys with guns with orders to shoot anyone who doesn’t have authorization to touch the vehicles,” Mulligan said. “Pretty old world, but also pretty effective.”
“You’re kidding me,” Andrews said, shock evident in his voice.
Mulligan frowned. “If someone presses your buttons hard enough, you’ll find killing them is pretty easy.” He seemed to take stock of Andrews’s distress, then sighed and looked at the displays before him. “Listen, no one’s going to get shot, and I know no one’s going to maliciously fiddle with the rigs. But we’ll want to prohibit physical as well as electronic access to them while the crews are in their rest period. Posting armed guards is an effective deterrent.”
“If you say so, Sarmajor.”
Mulligan looked back at Andrews once again. “I say so, sir. Now, if I were you, I’d hightail it out of here and look to get an audience with Benchley, if he’s available. If not, then I’d take the opportunity to get some rest.”
“Roger that, Sarmajor.”
***
Benchley felt like death warmed over as he went through the latest damage control reports at his desk in the command center. Even though the chamber was dimly lit—all nonessential systems had been ordered shut down to preserve energy, and that included a fair share of overhead lighting—the center was fully staffed, everyone busy coordinating the ongoing emergency responses. Benchley was shocked by just how badly damaged portions of the base were. While the big ticket items were obviously the loss of Harmony’s primary and secondary power generation systems, the devastation to the SCEV bay elevator, for instance, was simply stunning. It could take weeks to restore that platform’s capability, and Harmony had only one central vehicle lift. Benchley shook his head. So much for contingency capabilities.
He must’ve zoned out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, Mike Andrews was standing at attention before the desk. Benchley blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head. He rubbed his chin and felt the rasp of razor stubble there. What the hell was Andrews doing here? Benchley tried to straighten up in his chair. He looked old and rumpled, he knew. Hell, he felt old and rumpled.
“What’s up, Mike?” he asked finally, not terribly surprised by how rough his voice sounded.
“Wanted to talk to you about Sergeant Major Mulligan, sir.” Andrews relaxed minutely and looked around the command center quickly. “I know you wanted Colonel Walters to be the relay between the team and the command group, but I’d just as soon drop this one on you myself. Can I bend your ear for a moment, sir?”
“And what about the most interesting man in Harmony Base did you want to talk about?” Benchley placed his elbows on the desktop and leaned forward, trying to at least appear interested. He already knew Andrews was going to try to get Mulligan off the mission. Andrews could be a very persuasive young man when it suited him, and Benchley knew his rationale would be sound. He found himself confronted with two possible responses. The first option was to explain his decision to the mission commander in a way that he could break down and digest, which would have been a tough thing for Benchley to do even if he wasn’t running on fumes. The second was to just shut Andrews down right away. He was a company grade officer, and he was mostly still a receiver of orders, not an issuer. Benchley decided to opt for expedience.
“Sir, you know some of the personal history between Mulligan and—”
“Everyone needs to get over it, right now.” Benchley kept his voice even but stern. “I’m aware of the conflicts between Mulligan and your wife, and I obviously consider that friction to be survivable. Both Mulligan and your wife have skills that might be needed—therefore, they go. Anything else?”
Andrews blinked. His overall expression did not change, but Benchley could tell his response had caught Andrews flat-footed, and the SCEV captain didn’t know what to do. Benchley was pleased when the other man decided to press on. Mike Andrews had stones. No other SCEV commander would run right back to the line after being shoved back.
“He might have the appropriate ratings, sir, but he’s not one of us. He’s going to get in the way, and he’s going to be stepping on everyone’s air hose the entire way out and the entire way back. In my opinion, he poses a substantial risk to this mission’s success.”
Benchley leaned back into the confines of his chair. “Under normal circumstances, Andrews, I’d agree with you. You know I’d never assign Mulligan to anything other than a training mission to keep his ratings current. That man’s wired pretty tightly, but he’s a consummate professional in his field, and he just might very well be a force multiplier in this circumstance.”
“Sir, I don’t get it. He’s a Green Beret. Those guys ran around blowing stuff up and making a lot of people fall over dead. How can he possibly add any value to what we do? Please, sir, help me out here.”
“Army Special Forces was about a lot more than ‘blowing stuff up and making a lot of people fall over dead,’ Captain. There’s a specific heritage of service embodied by that branch, and part of that heritage involves making substantial personal sacrifice. Mulligan hasn’t forgotten any of that. Hell, he’s probably been waiting for the past ten years to bang some of the rust off those old skills of his. The non-killing ones, I mean.”
“Uh … sounds great, sir, but—”
Benchley held up a hand. “But nothing, Captain. He’s going. Sorry it’s a personal inconvenience for you, but do us all a favor and figure that shit out, all right?” Benchley looked at Andrews significantly, and he knew his expression alone would have been enough to tell Andrews he’d run out of altitude on this one. “You get where I’m coming from on this, Andrews?”
Andrews brought himself to attention as smartly as he could. “Yes, sir. I get where you’re coming from. Sarmajor Mulligan’s on the roster, and that’s how it’s going to be. I’ll get everything squared away, sir.”
“Outstanding, Andrews. Simply outstanding. Anything else?”
“No, sir,” Andrews said woodenly.
“Then get some rest, Captain. Colonel Walters tells me the rigs will be locked down within the hour, and that your mission jumps out at zero eight hundred tomorrow. That gives you five hours of rack time. I suggest you make the best of it.”
“Roger that, General.” Andrews saluted. Benchley sighed at the unnecessary formality—he was seated, after all—but he got to his feet and returned the salute. There was no need to piss Andrews off any more than he already had. He would have his hands full in the field, and Benchley needed him as focused as possible. He watched as Andrews slipped out of the center, defeated, then sank back into his chair.
***
“Mulligan’s going,” Andrews told Rachel later as he held her in their darkened quarters. Aside from the commotion of ongoing repairs, the base seemed unusually quiet; the customary noises of working machinery that moved air and water and powered lights were mostly absent, and Andrews thought the void made the darkness a bit spooky.
“Benchley wouldn’t talk with you about it?” she asked after a long moment.
“He talked to me. Well, more like I listened to him talk, but that’s what it came down to. Mulligan’s on the roster, and this is what it’s going to be.” Andrews kissed her neck tenderly, breathing in her smell. Even though she hadn’t had a hot shower in the past day or so, she still smelled great. “If it means anything, I talked to Mulligan as well. He doesn’t want to go either, but he has to roger up and do what he’s told.”
Rachel said nothing.
“We just have to get through it, ba
be. We get those supports and get back here so the lights can be turned on again, and that’s all there is to it. Mulligan isn’t important, and he’s not going to do anything to screw this up. This is his home, too.”
“Let’s get some sleep,” she said finally. “We have a long day tomorrow.” She turned away from him and faced the wall, presenting him with her back. Andrews sighed. He knew why she was pissed, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“Good night,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
7
“We seem to be spending more time here than usual,” Jim Laird said when Andrews stepped into the vehicle ready bay. It was already full of people, most of them standing around and waiting. Spencer looked agitated, and it didn’t take a social scientist to figure out why. When Mulligan had said the rigs were frozen, he hadn’t been kidding; armed guards had kept the SCEV maintainers and crews away from the waiting rigs.
“Okay, what’s the SITREP here?” Andrews asked.
Laird pointed at the waiting SCEVs. “Rigs are frozen, and no one goes near them until you give the word. You’re the mission commander, so both assets are under your operational control.” He sniffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “They wouldn’t accept my authority to grant the crews access, so we were waiting for you. I was about to have you paged over the intercom, actually.”
Andrews checked his watch. “Hey, I’m a half hour early.”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure you get a commendation for that.”
Andrews ignored Laird’s slightly pissy tone. “Oscar, are you in charge of the guard detail?” he asked one of the sentries. He was a tall, broad-shouldered staff sergeant of Hispanic extraction, and his dark skin was covered with a slight sheen of sweat.
“Yes, sir,” Oscar said.
“We’d like to access the rigs now, and start the pre-launch checks. Any problem with that?”
“Negative, Captain. You’re good to go, sir.”
Andrews waved to the waiting maintainers. “Let’s get it done,” he said.
This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection) Page 52