A crew manifest came up, a list of names with links to service records, communications logs, and biosensor readings. Except that all the data showed the technicians weren’t currently onboard.
Well, where the hell had they gone, then?
The command-level display had access to the ship’s entire contingent. He ran through lists of marines. All missing. Bridge crew. Gone. He found Ginger and Candless, fine, he knew where they were. He tapped a link for LANOE, ALEISTER (COMMANDING OFFICER).
The display blinked an error message at him.
Bury frowned and tried to remember the name of the other one, the big pilot with the black helmet who had briefly shared their cell. VAUK, TALIS, he typed. The display corrected it for him automatically.
VALK, TANNIS (CIVILIAN ADVISOR). Bury sighed and tapped the link.
His eyes went wide at the result.
Hellfire, what had happened to that guy? He and Lanoe had seemed pretty tight, back on Rishi. What in the hell of all flames was going on?
It would have to wait while he figured out the most pressing mystery. The three of them, the two cadets and their instructor, were apparently alone onboard the Hoplite. Lanoe and the entire crew, and all of the marines, had left the ship en masse. With no explanation at all.
“There has to be someone else onboard,” he said to the display. “They must have left somebody to keep us from crashing into a star or something. Show me all biosensor readings for the whole ship.”
The display blinked and then resolved into a ghostly line drawing of the Hoplite as a whole. It showed him his own data, a speck of blue light near the engines, and then two more dots for Candless and Ginger. Otherwise, there was only one dot on the entire cruiser, one heartbeat being monitored at all, and it showed up in orange. A warning color. Bury tapped at it.
MAGGS, AUSTER (LT, NEF)
LOCATION: DETAINING CELL B
There was plenty more data if he wanted it—this lieutenant’s service record, pictures of him, whatever—but Bury had already kicked away from the terminal. Headed to find some damned answers for a change.
Someone brought him a chair. Lanoe shrugged and sat down. He didn’t plan on being in the tent for very long, but he knew enough about life on a military base to take whatever creature comforts were offered. There wouldn’t be many.
Major Sorensen fidgeted with a minder, rolling it up and then spreading it out again on his desk. “Your credentials are, well, impeccable,” he said. “I’m not going to argue with that.”
The major would be a very small man if he weren’t wearing a bulky marine suit. He had the pinched face and squinting eyes of a scholar rather than a warrior. When Lanoe showed up and started making demands he’d blustered a bit. That stopped as soon as he pinged Lanoe’s cryptab.
Fleet Admiral Varma had not, of course, signed some kind of blank check for Lanoe’s use. The authorizations and clearances would all be encrypted, with no data trail leading back to Varma or anyone else in the Admiralty. Yet it was clear that while he was on this mission, he would find very few closed doors.
“It’s just, and this is a bit … well, sticky,” the major said. “You see, she was hit by an earworm on her last patrol and … you do know what that means?”
“Earworm? Never heard of it,” Lanoe told him.
The major’s lips pulled back from his teeth. It made him look as if his face were trying to crawl off his skull. “I daresay not. I saw from your service record that you were last on active duty at the end of the Establishment Crisis. Well, thank you for your service, of course. But warfare has come some way since then. I don’t mind telling you things have grown a bit harsher than you probably remember. For the longest time we’ve had the better of the polys in terms of technology—well, they’re catching up. The earworm is one of their more pernicious inventions, and it leaves people, er, unfit to serve. In fact—”
“Maybe,” Lanoe said, “we shouldn’t talk about her in the third person like this. You know, when she’s in the room.”
The major slid his eyes sideways to where Ehta stood at attention, just to one side of his desk.
“Of course,” he said.
“Ehta,” Lanoe said, “it’s good to see you again.”
“Sir,” she told him.
He resisted the urge to sigh. He could have been kinder to her, back when they last saw each other. He had needed pilots back then, and she’d signed on—but only because she’d been too afraid to tell him she couldn’t fly anymore. He’d been … angry. Zhang had tried to temper his mood, but still he’d probably said some things he regretted.
“I need your help,” he told her. “You don’t owe me a damned thing, but it’s important.” He didn’t want to have to pull rank on her but he would if he had to. “I need marines. A squad of them, at least. Preferably ones with shipboard experience—if you can find some people who know how to work Naval guns, that would be very helpful. A couple of neddies wouldn’t hurt, either. But the crucial thing—and the reason I’m coming to you—is that I need people who you trust.”
Her brow scrunched up as if she didn’t understand what he was asking. “You want a list of names,” she said.
“I want a team,” he told her. “And I want you leading it. Good people who can work together. Career people.” That would be the hardest part, maybe. Plenty of people joined the Marines—those who couldn’t make a living any other way, those on the run from something or someone back on Earth or the solar system colonies. People who signed on intending to make a life of it, though, career soldiers, were rare. “People with no connections to the polys. Specifically people who have never been associated with Centrocor.”
Ehta glanced at the major, her CO. “Sir, may I speak candidly?” she asked.
“Yes, yes,” the major said, raising a dismissive hand.
“Lanoe, you’re asking me to come on another of your incredibly dangerous adventures. You want me to drag my own people—good people, comrades of mine—along for the ride. And I’m guessing I don’t get to hear any details before I say yes or no.”
“Sure,” Lanoe said.
Ehta’s mouth pursed and he knew she was trying not to roll her eyes. “But I keep my rank and I keep working. If I stay here, Major Sorensen, sir—I get rotated out. A medical discharge.”
“Correct,” the major said.
Ehta nodded. “Very good, sirs. I’ll start compiling a list tonight and have something for you tomorrow morning.”
“I need the list in an hour,” Lanoe told her.
Ehta shrugged.
The major, sadly, wasn’t as compliant. “Now, hold on a tick, Commander,” he said. “Need I remind you we’re fighting a war here? You’re talking about stripping out some of my best people. Scooping them up and running off with them! I have objectives to meet, by hell! I know you have friends in high places, but—”
“I’ll replace anyone I take,” Lanoe told him. “You might even come out ahead on this deal.”
The major’s face went through a complex and extraordinary change. Anger turned to confusion turned to hope to greedy excitement to suspicion in the space of a few moments. “Ah. How exactly are you going to accomplish that?”
Lanoe bent over his wrist display and tapped a few virtual keys. Lieutenant Harbin, the pilot from the Hoplite, lifted the flap of the tent and stepped inside. “You wanted me, sir?”
“Lieutenant, this is Major Sorensen. He’s your new commanding officer.”
“Sir,” she said, and he could see her whole body tense. “Sir—I’m not sure I understand. Was there some problem with my piloting?”
“None.”
Harbin let out a breath she’d been holding. “Then—but. This officer is a marine, sir.”
“Ahem,” the major said, looking a bit peeved.
“I meant no offense.” Even though she probably had. Naval personnel had a pretty low opinion of marin
es, on the whole. Just as hawks look down on wolves. “It’s just—I’m a Navy pilot,” Harbin pointed out. “Not a marine. Myself. I don’t understand how I can be seconded to a marine unit.” She looked around, as if searching for someone to validate her position. She definitely didn’t get anything from Ehta.
“A theater like Tuonela needs a lot of air support,” Lanoe said. “I’m sure you’ll find work here to suit you. And you won’t be alone. I’m reassigning the entire crew and marine contingent from our ship. My ship, that is.”
“You—you can’t be serious,” Harbin said. “You’re turning us out? All of us? Just dumping us here, in this—this war zone?”
He understood her panic. The crew and marines Varma had given him were handpicked people, probably all up-and-coming elite Naval personnel expecting bright futures. Some of them probably had political connections to earn the sinecure of working on such an important mission. As of now he had turned them all into grunts in the middle of some of the nastiest fighting currently going. They would have a hard time adjusting.
He found it very hard to feel sorry for them.
“When you joined the Navy, you signed on to fight,” he pointed out. He turned to look at the major. “That’s about twenty people rated for pilot work, a full squad of neddies from our engineering department, and twenty-five more marines, to replace the people I’m taking from you. Do we have a deal?”
“You seem upset,” Bury suggested.
“I’m being held against my will. Of course I’m agitated,” Lieutenant Maggs said.
Bury watched him carefully. The prisoner drifted around his cell, occasionally coming close to touching one of the walls and then at the last minute pushing away again, as if it irritated him even to touch the padding. He was dressed in a fancy suit—maybe he was worried about getting it dirty.
The display that showed the interior of the cell included a text panel listing Auster Maggs’s service record. It didn’t explain what he was doing in there—there were no charges listed against him. Bury had heard him talking to Lanoe, back on Rishi, though. It had sounded like there was bad blood between the two of them. Which made Bury wonder if this was all on the up-and-up.
“I suppose you want me to let you out,” the Hellion said. Cautiously.
Maggs couldn’t see him. The display was strictly one-way. Still, Maggs seemed to peer through the door of the cell, his eyes narrowing. “Hmm. Intriguing. But no. You would just get in a ridiculous amount of trouble,” he said.
“Kind of you to think of me,” Bury said, sarcastically.
“Anyway, you said we were in orbit around Tuonela? I hardly want to go there. They’re having a war down there. Ghastly places, wars. No, you shouldn’t let me out of here, even if I am crawling out of my own skin. I’ll just have to wait to see what Lanoe has in store for me. Just like everybody else.”
“He hasn’t told us anything,” Bury said.
“No, and he won’t—until he literally has to. That’s how he operates.” Maggs pushed off another wall. Maybe he was just trying to get some exercise.
“Is there anything you want? Are you hungry?”
“Some cologne would be nice. And razor paper. I’m going to go mad if I can’t groom myself properly.” He stroked his chin and his upper lip. “Though perhaps I’ll just turn this crisis into an opportunity. I’ve always wanted to see what I’d look like with a proper mustache.”
“Seriously? That’s what you want, toiletries?”
“Oh, I could ask for a great deal more, but I know I won’t get it. I suppose I’m just grateful to have someone to talk to. You’re Bury, yes? I recognize your voice. You were one of the cadets we picked up at Rishi.”
“And held against our will,” Bury pointed out.
“Yes. Terribly sorry about that. Orders from above that couldn’t be quibbled with—I’m sure you understand.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Bury told him.
The Lieutenant didn’t respond to that. “Bury,” he said, as if he were trying to remember where he’d heard the name before. “Bury. Yes. You were at Rishi on a full scholarship, isn’t that right?”
“How do you know about my scholarship?”
“I saw your records from the flight school. Excellent marks, though your instructor seemed to feel you suffered from hubris.”
“She never understood me, never even asked if I—”
“Oh, young man,” Maggs interrupted, laughing. “Do not get me wrong. Hubris is good. You need hubris to be a pilot. To fly into a formation of enemies and think you might actually win out. I’m all for hubris. They’ll try to break you of your pride. Don’t let them. It’ll serve you well, in your future career. Assuming you have one.”
Bury frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t speak out of turn. When Lanoe deigns to tell you what this mission is really all about, you can start worrying then. For now enjoy a little blissful ignorance. You’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
Bury felt his face growing hot. “Damn you,” he said. “You’re trying to manipulate me. Flatter me to get me on your side. Get me angry so I cause trouble with Lanoe. Aren’t you?”
Did Maggs look impressed? Just a little? He drifted over to one wall and this time grabbed a handhold to stop himself from floating away.
“Of course I’m trying to manipulate you, Cadet,” the prisoner admitted. “Everyone you ever meet in life is trying to manipulate you, into one thing or another. Good on you for spotting it so quickly.”
“I think we’re done here,” Bury said, and reached for the virtual key that would turn off the display.
“Fine. Though—just one last thing.”
Bury sighed. “What is it?”
“When Lanoe does brief you on this mission—when he tells you what he wants from you, because believe me, he does want quite a lot—do yourself a favor. Ask him how all this connects to the Blue-Blue-White.”
“The Blue what?”
“You heard me. Just ask, and see how he responds. Do yourself a favor.”
“By which you mean, do you a favor.”
“Certainly. But there’s no reason we can’t both benefit at the same time. Cadet, you deserve to know the full truth of what you’ve been drafted into here.”
Bury gritted his teeth. He hated it when people kept things from him. “Ensign,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lanoe promoted me to ensign. I’m not a cadet anymore. So he’s got that going for him. You’re just some bastard in a cell.”
“Blue-Blue—”
Bury didn’t let him finish. He tapped the key and the display blinked out of existence, hiding Lieutenant Maggs from view.
Lanoe flew both craft back to the Hoplite. Sitting at the controls of the cutter, he could operate the troop transport remotely, bringing it into the vehicle bay carefully so he didn’t jar all the people inside. Both ships were both packed to capacity, and when they finally set down, their hatches popped open and marines and neddies poured out, filling the vehicle bay with noise and motion. As Lanoe tried to herd his new crew deeper into the ship, he found Candless pushing through the crowd, a look not so much of confusion as of curiosity on her face.
“I imagine I should welcome you back, Commander. Though perhaps I would have appreciated knowing where you were going in the first place,” she said, her voice almost drowned out by the bellowing of the marines. A big PBM with a robotic arm pushed between them, kicking his way toward the exit. Tough as he might look, he was already green with spacesickness, his stomach probably still acclimating to the lack of gravity.
“Somebody get him a bag!” Ehta shouted. “Or just put his helmet up, he’s going to … damn it, too late. Somebody get a cleaning drone in here.” The marine sergeant seemed to notice that she’d just shouted directly into Lanoe’s ear. “Who’s this?” she asked, jerking her head in Candless’s direction.
“My XO,” Lanoe told her.
“How quickly we do rise around here. A little while ago I was a prisoner on this ship. Now I’m second in command. Marjoram Candless. I’m—” She held out one hand, then jerked it away as a group of marines kicked through, one of them tumbling as two others laughed and pushed him along. It was enough to make Ehta scowl, but she didn’t admonish them directly.
“Like children,” she said. “Marines, right? Every time they get off a rock, every time it’s like they’re the first people to discover microgravity.”
“Meet Sergeant Ehta,” Lanoe said, gesturing at the marine.
“Candless, you said?” Ehta’s eyes flicked down across Candless’s cryptab. “Got your blue star in the 305th, huh? That wing doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Correct,” Candless told her.
“So a very old friend.”
Candless offered a chilly smile and glanced down at the front of Ehta’s suit, presumably pinging her cryptab in turn. “You have a blue star of your own. In the 94th—Lanoe’s last command, before he retired. So a newer friend. Interesting.”
“Yeah?” Ehta asked.
“Not a lot of marines I’ve met had blue stars.” Because, of course, the only way to get one was to be a pilot with five registered kills. The PBMs tended not to keep count like that. “Except those pilots who’ve done something so terribly wrong they had to be kicked out of the Navy.”
Ehta bristled instantly. Lanoe could tell that these two would never be friends. “I volunteered for the Marines,” she said. “I’d had all I could take of sanctimonious pilots pretending their suits didn’t stink after a six-hour patrol.” Then she turned and looked across the deck, toward the troop transport. She put two fingers in her mouth and let out a whistle that pierced right through Lanoe’s skull. “Paniet!” she shouted.
A man who had just emerged from the transport looked up. He put a hand on his chest, as if to ask if she was calling him. Ehta jerked her head and he came kicking over in a hurry.
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