by Black, Alan
"Yes, I’m fine," he snapped. "How the hell do I tell if it is your APES out there and not more of Paradise's stooges?"
Misha rolled her eyes upward, glad the signal only carried audio. "Try the hatch intercom, Colonel."
"Do you think I’m stupid, McPherson? I shut it down earlier, and um…I shut it off rather forcefully. I got tired of listening to the lies and false promises of Paradise and his followers. Now, all I get is a buzzing noise when I open the comms."
"Well, Colonel. Go to the hatch comm. Ready? Press the buzzer to get a long dash. Good now do a short dot and a long dash. Okay. Then a dash-dot-dash. Last one is a dot-dot-dot. That spells TAKS. It's a special code for Second-Level Commander Takki-Homi. He's the one I sent up to help you."
"Okay, Third. I did that. Now what?" His voice sounded as if he thought the whole episode was a foolish waste of time.
"Colonel, did you get an answer?"
"Yes, I got an answer," he replied with a sneer to his voice.
"Well?" Misha asked. She was struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice. The man had developed such a pattern of keeping information to himself it was a habit. It was obvious he still did not recognize that his inability to share relevant data had brought about the present situation.
"Well what?" Britaine asked.
"Well, what was the reply?"
"Oh," he said. "I heard a dot-dash-dot, then a dot-dash-dot, and then a dot-dash-dot."
"Are you sure the middle set wasn't dash-dash-dot?" Misha was sure that the reply had been RGR, but Britaine was reporting it as RRR. Still, it was close enough.
"Yes, I’m sure, dammit. I wrote it down so I would be sure. So, what the hell do I do?"
Misha smiled, "Colonel. I would open the hatch and say hello to Second Takki-Homi."
Chapter Fifty-Two
Misha looked around at the people gathered in the intelligence office. Officially Major Krandiewsky was in command, but he was just standing there looking back and forth between her and Chief Brown. As an APE, Misha didn't have any authority other than her force of personality over any spacer staff regardless of rank. She was sure the Major would do whatever she ordered, but she was equally sure that she could not run roughshod over Chief Brown. No enlisted person ever reached that rarefied rank without an understanding of what the organizational chart said, plus a true knowledge of who was really in charge.
Misha nodded to both, "Major, I suggest you split your forces. Chief Brown doesn't need all, or even have room for all three of your shifts to run the intel shop, so you could take a few of your people up to the flight office to give Colonel Britaine a hand. What do you think, Chief?"
Chief Brown replied, "Sounds right to me, sir. You know Colonel Britaine would be much happier with you up there than a mere enlisted person. I doubt if who you take with you much matters. Just leave me Clancy, Cuffs and Jimmy. As long as we are dead in space, there isn't that much outside intel to gather."
Forrester lowered his voice so that only Misha, Chief Brown and the Major could hear. “Just between us; I don’t get this whole mutiny thing. This spacecraft is jam-packed full of highly trained, well-disciplined military people. How can they just ignore all that and commit mutiny against the rightful commander?”
Misha smiled, “Spoken like a real civilian and an investigator at that.”
Forrester frowned, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Most civilians get the wrong idea about the military. They think that we’re all just killing machines who always toe the mark and blindly obey every command. And as an investigator, you’re used to thinking a situation through to its logical conclusion. The military is made up of people who are neither robots nor exceptionally logical.”
Brown nodded, “Amen to that! I think about thirty percent of any group, the military included, thinks with their crotch. Mostly, that would be the thirty percent that are men. Thirty percent of any group only thinks with their emotions. Again, mostly that would be the women part of the group. And thirty percent only follow the crowd, caving to peer pressure.”
Misha smiled, “Sounds about right. That would leave about ten percent of any group of people thinking logically. But, even logical thought doesn’t mean their course of reasoning will lead them to the right series of actions, because everyone’s train of thought is colored from the beginning by their own agenda and desires.”
Major Krandiewsky said, "Chief, I know we already discussed this, but are you sure we shouldn't stay out of this command mess? I mean, what if Paradise is right? Wouldn’t logic dictate that we keep to our own jobs?"
Brown snorted. "Okay, Buzz. Look at it this way; it doesn't matter if Paradise is wrong, right or completely indifferent. He doesn't have the authority to relieve Britaine under any circumstances. Only the chief medical officer on a vessel can certify the commander is unfit for duty either physically or mentally. Doctor Dimms has made no such announcement nor has Paradise even claimed he has. I doubt that Paradise has asked him to make a certification. Puke would be risking more than his military and medical career to pronounce a commander mentally unfit. Do you know how many times a flight surgeon has made a psychologically unqualified certification in all the eight hundred years of the Alliance?"
The other three shook their heads.
"Well, I do," Brown continued. "I looked it up. It has happened just once, about 750 years ago. A court-martial pronounced him guilty of mutiny and he was hung along with everybody else who did not give active support to the legal commander."
"Hung?" Misha was startled. "You mean with a rope."
Brown smiled, "Yep. That is a pretty picture, huh? And that is still the standing punishment for AMSF mutineers."
Krandiewsky shook his head, "But, what if a commander is unfit? Surely the medical staff has some discretion."
Brown said, "I’m sure they do. There are a lot of cases where a commander is relieved of duty because of physical damage. Plus there are a butt load of cases where a commander is relieved of duty because of mental defect. But, and this is a bigger butt than Spacer Third Class Masterson down in environmental has got, every case of mental defect has documented and I mean a bushel basket full of documented physical and chemical imbalances that a doctor can see, measure, photograph and chart. Even then, except for that one time, it was only done when the spacecraft was at a base, using multiple base doctors and base facilities."
Misha said, "That’s really a moot point. Major Paradise hasn't said Colonel Britaine was crazy, just a coward. I don't like siding with anyone running from a fight, but I like the sound of being hung with a rope even less."
Brown reached out a hand and squeezed Misha's bicep. "Don't worry, Third McPherson. I’m sure they couldn't find a rope to hold you. They’d probably have to use a docking cable."
Misha gave Chief Brown a sweet smile.
Brown continued, "I don't like supporting a coward either, but unless the command stalemate gets broken, we’re all truly screwed because this spacecraft isn't going anywhere fast. And speaking of going: Misha, can you provide Buzz with a couple of your grunts to help him get past any of Paradise's people?"
Krandiewsky waved his hand dismissively, "No. I’m sure that wherever Third McPherson is going, she’ll need all the hands she has available.”
Brown said in a voice everyone in the room could hear, "Oh, better leave Rickie and Sticks here, too. Those two idiots don't know when to keep their mouths shut and they’re liable to get us all in hot water if they are around Colonel Britaine for too long. I can put them on some internal monitoring."
Rickie looked at everyone in the room with mock horror. Sticks blew an old-fashioned razzberry.
Brown smiled and said. "By the way, Misha, how do I contact you if I run across internal information you need to know? You seem to be using some special APE code."
"Well, Chief. You need to talk to my intelligence staff, Troopers Lamsa and Everridge. You can rig up a secure comms line between the three of you. Let me go
find them and you can get something secure set up."
Forrester spoke up before she could exit the hatch to look for Everridge and Lamsa. "Hold up, Misha. You’ve got better things to do than be a liaison between APES and AMSF intelligence staff. This sounds like a task specifically designed for an old Marshal Service data pusher."
Misha said, "Thank you, Gan. Tell them I said to do it double time. We’ve got places to go, things to see, and people to do."
Chapter Fifty-Three
Race Jackson shouted down the corridor in frustration. "Dammit, Taks. You're on the wrong side of this. We should be fighting the Binders and not each other. Come on and answer me, you stubby little bastard."
Sigget Donnellson looked at his Second. "I don't guess he’s going to give up without more of a fight."
Foxtrot Squad clustered at the corridor intersection. Jackson had backed up until he had two blind angles between him and Taks’ squad defending the FO. He lay on his stomach, peering around the first angle. This gave him a clear angle of fire for anyone coming around the other angle ahead. The double corner also gave him cover against any ricochet fire from Taks.
Race spit onto the deck plates, causing a nearby trooper to slide a little closer to the bulkhead. "Dammit, Sigget. We have both Foxtrot and Kilo Squads against just a couple of guys from Taks’ Charlie Squad. We know Kranitchovich's Hotel Squad has got half of Charlie locked down in the training bay. Even if he hooked up with McPherson, we've got a lot better than three to one superiority."
"Yeah and we have at least twice as many needlers. We know they don't have more than two weapons."
Race snorted, "How do you figure that?"
Donnellson replied, "One to fire at us this way and one to fire on Kilo from the other direction. I’m not stupid, you know. I only heard two needlers going when first bumped heads and they shot at us and took down a couple of your rookies." He glanced behind him as their med-tech Dashell worked feverishly over a prostrate form.
Race said, "Yeah, but you know how Taks works. He was scrounging for weapons all the way here. Just because he didn't commit them in our first brush doesn't mean he doesn't have them. But, it doesn't matter, Second Moraft said to get Britaine out of the flight office and give control of the Kiirkegaard to Paradise. We've got to figure a way in there."
"I am not going down this corridor into the spray from even one needler," Donnellson said. "That’s suicide without armor."
"Yeah, but we don't have armor, do we? Hey wait! We don't need combat suits. All we’re getting from Taks in needler fire. We can stop that with any metal shielding. Go grab a couple of tabletops from somewhere. Rip them out of the walls for all I care. Take a couple of troopers with you."
Race thumbed his comm unit on. Static blasted his ears. Someone was jamming communications. He ordered the glass-pack to squelch any interference and search for an open channel to anyone in Kilo Squad. He would have to send a runner around the long way to let Kilo Squad know what he was planning if he couldn't get through to Second Cauton by comms. Both squads needed to use shielding and attack at the same time to get at the FO. Takki-Homi was defending and could hold against a superior force. The edge always went to a well dug-in defender. Surprise was no longer in the equation. Race had lost one trooper already and he had one wounded. He did not mind losing rookies to Taks needler fire; he just did not want to join those rookies any more than Siggit did.
Race looked behind him at Dashell and mentally updated his count to two dead in their first encounter with Takki-Homi. It surprised Race that Takki-Homi had gotten his defenders in place before Race could get Foxtrot and Kilo to the flight office. "Dammit," He said to no one in particular. "Theda was right. We spent too much time looking for that bitch, McPherson. Now Taks has got the high ground on us."
The trooper next to Race said, "High ground? What gives, Deuce? This is on the same deck. It's level."
Race shook his head, "It's a figure of speech, numb-nuts. It means he has the upper hand in terrain. Don't look so frightened, rookie. No fight is perfect. He may have the high ground, but we have numbers superiority in personnel and weapons, plus we have mobility. With a coordinated attack between Kilo and us we can hit him at the same time from two directions."
Jackson’s comm unit beeped as it signaled a channel through to someone in Kilo. He tapped his unit open. “Second Jackson of Foxtrot calling anyone from Kilo. Who have I go?”
"This is Trooper Eleven Smith," a young woman’s voice answered.
"Good. Smith, you tell Deuce Cauton that we've got Takki-Homi flanked. Grab a couple of metal shields from somewhere to use against the needlers. Tabletops should work if he can get them free. We do a coordinated attack on the flight office in exactly thirty tics. Exactly, on my time hack! Got it?
"I got it, Mr. Jackson. I will relay the message right away."
Chapter Fifty-Four
Trooper Eleven Smith looked at the tall blonde woman crouched next to her, "I would guess that Mr. Jackson still thinks I’m with Kilo Squad, huh? Well, that's one message that won't get through."
Second Level Commander Aardmricksdottir smiled, "Both Jackson and the glass-packs seemed to be confused about where your loyalties lie. But, you’re wrong. That message needs to get through. Not to Kilo because they won't believe a thing you tell them since you left their squad, but try to punch a signal through to anyone in Charlie Squad. When you get one, let me talk to Second Takki-Homi."
Chapter Fifty-Five
Race Jackson crept forward as he crouched down behind the tabletop. With this protection, they should be able to crush Takki-Homi's team between his squad and Kilo. They were close enough for hand to hand combat where his superior numbers could quickly overwhelm any flight office defenders.
"Hey, Race."
"Not now, Sigget. Get your mind on the job."
"I just had a thought, what if Taks sees us coming from both directions, then ducks back into the flight office and locks the hatch."
Jackson shook his head sadly, "You are a putz. Do you know that? Then, at least he ain't shooting back at us, right? So we punch a hole in the hatch or the bulkhead and shoot our way in. Hell, at the same time, maybe come in through the ceiling from the deck up above. Now pay attention, Sigget. Check that hatch there." Race pointed to a hatch they had just passed. It was in no man's land. No one had gone into or out of the hatchway since their first contact with Takki-Homi's squad.
"Already did, Race. It was locked up tight. Hey, do you think this tabletop is really going to stop needlers?"
"Damn, you’re a worrier. Yeah, it will stop needlers. I guarantee it or your money will be cheerfully refunded."
"Okay, but what if they got something other than needlers?"
"Shut up, would you? Look, if Taks had something else, he would have used it earlier, right?" His voice was confident, though he didn't believe what he was saying. "His team took some hits from us, too. Remember? We damn near took them the first time. He wouldn't have held much in reserve and if he had something, we would have more dead than we got. Not to worry, chicken-breath. This’ll be a cake walk in the park."
Foxtrot Squad moved ahead until they were almost at the last angle of the corridor. One more slide forward and they would have Takki-Homi in their needler sights.
Jackson said, "Everybody, listen up. They know we’re coming. We aren't the quietest bunch, but with us here and Kilo coming the other direction, we’ll get them in a crossfire and burn their butts. The curve of the hallway will cut down on friendly fire coming in from Kilo to us, but stay down behind this shield anyway."
He looked around at his squad. Two rookies were dead. He had already forgotten their names. They were gone and he hadn't even gotten to know them; which was for the best. Trooper Eleven Portman was off to who-the-hell-knows where. Probably with his buddy Singletary running some scam. That left him with eight effectives. Two of them, Spaz and Dog Boy were hanging back. Both had been complaining about headaches after McPherson's day office esc
ape. He shook his head and motioned them to move forward next to him in the front. He would give them real headaches when this was all over.
"Last thing: the word we were given is that all we have to do is get to Britaine and take him down. The Kiirkegaard's computer will record the coward's death and then automatically roll command to Paradise and we can get this bucket of crap back into the game so we can kill some weed-eating S.O.B.s."
He glared at Spaz and Dog Boy. "Okay pivot, and I do mean pivot, this table around the corner. Keep your heads down because Takki-Homi is a damn fine shot. Go!"
Spaz held the edge of the table against the left bulkhead. Dog Boy inched the right edge out and around it in an arc creeping along behind.
Jackson snorted. He expected to come under fire when they first came into view, but nothing happened. He peered cautiously over the table top and ducked back down. Halfway down the corridor he saw a small barricade built by the open FO hatchway. Takki-Homi must have had the same thought he did and used the conference table as a barrier. But, there must have only been one table, because he saw two needlers pointed in his direction over the barricade. Both shooters had their backs to the open corridor where Kilo Squad would approach.
He glanced at his timer and then scanned the faces of each of his troopers. His gaze came to rest on Donnellson's face. Something wasn't right. It felt too easy. The only thing at their backs was that one hatchway, but they had watched it constantly since they moved into position. No one could have gone in there and no one had come out. Besides, the hatch was locked, wasn't it?
Jackson said, "Hey, Sigget. You said that hatch was locked, right? Was it locked from the inside or the outside?"
"Damfino, Deuce. Locked is locked, ain’t it?"
"Go back and check it again. Stay focused," Jackson ordered.
Before Donnellson could move to the hatch, it flew open, slamming with a loud clang against the bulkhead. Jackson watched in horror as a table dropped into place across the corridor. He saw Gaineretti, some trooper he didn't recognize and that crazy Peanut Trammler drop into place behind the covering shield. Quicker than a heartbeat and before he could react, three needlers popped into sight and began spraying a hail of needles into his squad.