“Are you here to rescue us?” asked Shoden. “It’s coming,” said Benedict.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, then why are you here?” asked Shoden.
“I figure sooner or later, Hastings will notice I’m here and want to talk,” said Bene-dict. “I could have made it to the bridge, but the Colonel would probably assume the worst and have me shot on sight. This way she’ll just have me escorted at gunpoint to her.” He didn’t mention he was also a distraction for his fellow sappers. The cells were wired for sight and sound and this entire conversation could be being moni-tored.
“I’ll trust your judgment on this, Sir. How long until your plan works?”
“Hastings is slipping. She should have already noticed,” said Benedict. “They treating you okay?”
Shoden shrugged. “Could have been better, could have been worse.”
Benedict nodded and looked at his watch. “I don’t have all day.” He inserted his card into Shoden’s cell lock and the bars slid into the walls. Benedict waited. “That should have set off an alarm. I only programmed it with the most basic pass code. They’ve been real sloppy. Please step out of the cell.” Shoden did. Benedict timed off thirty seconds. “Okay, you can go back in,” said Benedict, using the card to put the bars in place. “No reason for them to shoot you when they come in. Or me either.” Benedict put his hands out and up and stood waiting.
The outer brig doors opened and six armed men entered using standard Host procedure, each soldier moving in as the others covered them and repeating the pattern until Benedict was in the sight of each solider without any of them being in another’s line of fire.
“Do not move,” ordered a sergeant.
“Took you long enough. My arms are getting tired. Can we move this along?” said Benedict.
He was unceremonious secured, again searched for weapons, then had his arms cuffed behind his back. “March.”
Benedict listened, but not until he looked back at Shoden and the rest of his people in the cells and winked at them.
It took them a relatively short time until they reached the bridge. Two soldiers preceded him onto the command deck, took up positions on either side of Colonel Hastings and trained their weapons on Benedict.
“Still can’t trust your self-control if you are left alone with me, Andie?” said Benedict.
“Hans, what the hell are you doing on my station?” Hastings demanded.
“I would think you’d be more concerned with how the hell I got on your station,” said Benedict.
“In time. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to come here. The fact that your people didn’t come back should have been a clue that you are not welcome on Kyk-lopes.”
“You’re actions say no, but your eyes say yes,” said Benedict. “And the status of my diplomatic team is something I want to talk to you about.” “Diplomatic team? They arrived and told me that Kyklopes was now under your command. Forgetting the fact that I outrank you…”
“Only because you slept with a general and his staff. Or was that you sat on a general’s staff?” said Benedict.
“Why is it if a man is promoted, it must be because of merit, but a woman had to spread her legs to get ahead?”
“Or she could just give some,” said Benedict. The major knew full well Hastings had earned her rank, but he also knew the rumors were a sore point with her. It would be safest for his people to have her angry and not thinking straight.
“You have no authority to order me or anyone else. You disobeyed direct orders,” said Hastings.
“I left a few old doffers to stew in a mess of their own making. They betrayed humanity. Unlike the rest of the dead, they got what they deserved,” said Benedict. “That sounds very noble, but you are a soldier. Soldiers obey orders, not lead coups.”
“Not ones that would leave millions more to die. And it’s not a coup. I did not take over control of any government body.”
“Just the 142nd Starborne, which has enough firepower to take over an entire system,” said Hastings.
“Not our job or goal. Our job is the same as it ever was—keep the peace. Just a little more difficult now that the monsters aren’t even pretending to be on our side. Even harder than that when those in charge of the forces meant to protect the people abandon them to the monsters. Which is worse, I wonder?”
Benedict’s words practically drew blood. “So you’re a philosopher now? We did not abandon the citizens on Ozark. We did everything by the book,” said Hastings. “I followed orders.”
Benedict chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?” demanded Hastings.
“Only in the most tragic of ways. For you to stand there and tell me of all people about how you always follow orders. We went through the academy together.” “Pranks and breaking curfew hardly constitute disobeying orders,” said Hastings. “We’ve served together. You made captain for breaking orders. The only reason you weren’t court-martialed wasn’t because you did the right thing. It was because the right thing brought victory,” said Benedict.
“That matter is classified,” barked Hasten.
“By a government that no longer exists. Tell me, when did you stop being a real soldier and become a bureaucrat? What did they give you for your soul?” asked Benedict.
His answer was a sharp slap which left his left cheek only slightly redder than Hastings’ entire face.
“I could have you shot for treason,” said Hastings.
“I was about to say the same thing,” retorted Benedict.
Hastings’ laugh was a harsh, brutal sound. She walked to the sensor station to verify there were no ships in the Ozark system. “You’re in my house, Hans, unless you’re going to magically produce the Behemoth and try to take away my station.”
Benedict’s answer was a shrug. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary. All you have to do is admit you made a mistake and start correcting it. There are still untainted humans on Ozark’s surface. Evac and quarantine them before it’s too late.”
“I am not going to risk my people or my station. It’s too late for the people down there and for that I’m truly sorry,” said Hastings.
“So am I. So, does anyone else on this bridge have the balls or breasts to stand up here and tell your CO that she’s wrong?” asked Benedict, making eye contact with each of the bridge and security officers. One man, a Lieutenant Shaker, looked as if he was about to speak, but ended up just looking down at his polished boots. “Pa-thetic. Colonel Hastings, you and your officers are hereby relieved of both your duty and command. I will ask you to peacefully bring yourselves to the brig to await your sentencing.”
Benedict had spoken with such subtle conviction it was several moments before the laughter and mocking began.
“Hans, I hadn’t believed the rumors about your losing your mind were true, but I guess they are,” said Hastings, sitting in the command chair. “It’s so very sad. Take him to the brig to rot with the other traitors.”
When Benedict didn’t move, one of the six security men tried to move him. Benedict took his gun away in one swift move, cocking him in the jaw with the butt of the weapon. The man fell unconscious.
“Sad when a soldier has never actually seen combat, isn’t it?” said Benedict.
The other five tried to fire on Benedict, but none of their guns were in working condition. Before they could move to restrain the Major physically, Benedict had moved so he was sitting on Hastings lap in the command chair.
“Jericho,” he said and the safety systems flared to life. Armored plating snapped down from the ceiling, reinforced by energy shielding. The bunker was a failsafe built to protect the commanding officer of a station or starship in the case of a mutiny. Only command-level officers were supposed to even know about the lockdown, or the fact that all operations could be run from inside the bunker, with enough life support and food to last one person three months.
“How the hell were you able to trigger my command bunker?” demanded
Hast-ings.
“I’ve told you—It’s no longer your command. I even gave you a chance at redemption, which you wasted,” said Benedict, standing up in the cramped space around the command chair.
“I’m putting an end to this.” said Hastings. “Joshua.” The code to open the bunker was ignored. The Colonel said it three more times with no more luck than the first. “Kyklopes no longer recognizes your authority,” said Benedict. “You don’t have the authority to do that. Only a five-star or above with a thimble controller could…” Benedict waved his index finger, and then touched it with his thumb. A sleek, grey metal cap appeared, revealing the failsafe device the upper brass held over the fleet. One allowed the user to override all other commands over any computer in the Host. There were rumored to be thirteen in existence. The praetor had one, as did the twelve highest ranking members of the Host. “How in the hell did you get a thimble? Forget how you got it. How’d you program it to your DNA?” “Not your concern,” said Benedict.
“So you shut down the handheld weapons before you let us capture you in the brig,” said Hastings. Benedict’s face stayed stony. “You could have taken command without us even knowing where you were, couldn’t you?”
Benedict said nothing. There was no reason to tell her that total control of the sta-tion could only be achieved after the wearer had been on the bridge at least once, even with a thimble. True he had laid the groundwork at the first console he had come upon, but it wouldn’t begin until he spoke the codeword on the bridge. He had chosen Andie. Benedict knew he’d have no problem working the Colonel’s name into conversation. Once he said it, all weapons, both personal and station wide, were ren-dered useless.
“You still won’t be able to take this station alone,” said Hastings.
“Andie, you should know never to bet against me after having faced me in over three decades of war games. You know damn well from in here all I have to do is shut down life support outside and I win,” said Benedict.
“That would be murder!” shouted Hastings.
“No worse than what you did to the people planetside. If anything, it’s quicker, more humane,” said Benedict. “No one is forced to eat human flesh or feel their mind slowly stolen away. And I’m not alone. Behemoth is in weapons’ range.” The last could have been a bluff. Benedict didn’t know for sure, but he was working under the assumption that Barnes had indeed knocked out the sensors that otherwise would have picked up his ship.
“You’d kill your own people,” said Hastings.
“I can affect every section but the brig,” said Benedict. He didn’t bother to pretend not to notice his former lover reach behind her back to slide out a hidden blade. “Andie, you really should have changed where you hide your knives. The thimble has a built in weapons system.” In reality it had a one shot electric blast that would probably knock her out, but if he fired too soon it would be an hour before he could use it again. And she’d still have the knife. Plus there was the very real risk the surge would end up frying the thimble. It was too valuable a tool to risk. “I’d prefer not to kill you, if for nothing else for what we once meant to each other. Please drop the knife on the floor and kick it to me.”
Hastings did as instructed.
“This would be much easier if you helped by ordering your people to the second docking bay,” said Benedict.
“What are you going to do to them?” asked Hastings.
“Punishment by way of a mission, not execution,” said Benedict. “Not spacing them?”
“I’m fighting the monsters, not looking to become one,” said Benedict. “Your word?” said Hastings.
“Yes.” Benedict handed her the microphone. Hastings did as she was asked.
It took several hours until the five thousand crew members were rounded up. There was some question of whether or not everyone had arrived, but security teams from the Behemoth were doing a thorough search of the station for stragglers. There were relatively few problems.
Benedict stepped up to the walkway that stood far above the docking bay. When he got to the center, he paused and looked out over the five thousand soldiers below him. Then he shook his head.
“For those of you that do not know me, I am Major Hans Benedict and since the destruction of Host Command on Earth, I have assumed command of our remaining forces.” Assorted grumbles and mumbles rose up from floor level. Benedict lifted a hand to quiet the assembled. “The opinion of grunts has never mattered in the Host. That much has not changed.” A couple of half hearted “ha’s” acknowledged the dark humor in the comment. “I am ashamed and disappointed in the behavior of every sin-gle person serving on Kyklopes from the CO down to the lowest grunt. Your mission was to protect the people of Ozark. When the zombie threat reared its rotting, flesh-eating head here, the Host turned away, abandoning every man, woman, and child on the planet below. That is unacceptable and that kind of dereliction of duty is pun-ishable by death in times of war. And make no mistake, we are at war all across the galaxy.” Fearful chatter filled the air. Hastings was screaming very unkind things about her former lover, the mildest of which was calling him an oath breaker.
Benedict again raised a hand. “Execution of soldiers who made a mistake, sol-diers who let their fear rule them instead of the other way around, serves no good pur-pose. The Host still needs its soldiers. Ozark still has people in danger. Here is what will happen. All of you will be split into five hundred teams of ten and dropped at var-ious points around the planet. You will all have trackers which will let you search for life signs and drop points to bring survivors to. You will also be given working weapons and ammo once planetside. As of this moment, all of you are rankless.” Shouts rose. Rankless soldiers had less than no rights. “To regain first rank, each soldier must rescue at least ten humans. If you lose a member of your team, their duty falls upon the survivors.” Benedict had been in enough combat situations to know that some soldiers would betray honor to save their own skins. He did not want the soldiers fighting or killing each other.
“Anyone who completes this mission will be taken back into the Host, this incident forgiven. You may choose your own teams and move toward the Harpies for transport. Also, we will need officers. Teams that go above and beyond will be promoted at my discretion. The playing field is level. I plan to have at least the same number of officers on Kyklopes when this is done. Good luck.”
With that, there was some enthusiasm. Now everyone was either dreaming of rising up through ranks that were formerly denied them or scheming on how to hold on to what they once had.
Benedict met quickly with his senior staff. “I need quarantine plans for at least fifty thousand, but plot out up to full capacity. Have Harpies standing by for rescue and evac at all times. I also want bombing solutions for the largest concentrations of the enemy. Start broadcasting on all frequencies that we’re coming for them and include where the drop points are. Now let’s get those people out of there.”
In less than two hours, the Harpies had deployed all but one hundred soldiers. Hastings was in that last party. Benedict came to see her off. The former colonel was trembling. She ran up to Benedict. “Hans, I’m fifty-two years old. I’m not fit for combat conditions. Don’t make me go down there.” Benedict looked into her eyes. “Don’t. You’re better than this.” “Don’t send me. Please, I’m begging you.”
“There is only one other option…”
“Yes, I’ll take anything,” pleaded Hastings.
Benedict unholstered the side arm he was now wearing and pointed it between the eyes of his once lover.
“If that is what you want. I’m sorry it had to end like this,” said Benedict. “Good-bye.”
Hastings fell to the floor, crab walking backwards up the Harpy ramp, screaming with every hand and footstep. Benedict stopped a half smile and motioned for the hatch to be closed.
“That was very wrong,” said Benedict.
“That Hastings disgraced herself or that you pointed a weapon at a former office
r and friend?” asked Colonel Westminster.
“That I enjoyed it,” answered Benedict.
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PERSPECTIVE
Tony Ruggiero
WHY DO YOU THINK THEY CALL THEM COFFINS?” LIEUTENANT KEEFE COULDN’T HELP SMIRKING AS THE statement flowed across his lips to the new ensign who just joined the ship.
“But it’s not in the literal sense of the word . . . is it?” The ensign asked in an unsure voice.
“Of course it is,” Keefe said and then chuckled. “Well not exactly,” he admitted. “These coffin-shaped canisters are an older version of an ordnance carrier converted to transport the vampire to target, hence the new name of coffin.”
“Oh I get it,” the ensign chuckled hesitantly. “But, Sir, don’t you ever get nervous about . . . well having them around?”
“The vampires? Nah. They’re loaded into the containers in the safe area. Once inside the container it’s locked, then we shove them in the torpedo launch bay and shoot them out. Think of it like loading a cartridge or bullet into the breach of a weapon and then firing it.
The ensign appeared to struggle with the analogy but Keefe went on. “The container doesn’t open until it reaches the surface of the planet—hopefully intact—I hate to lose these containers they’re such a pain in the ass to refit.”
“But how do they get back here to the ship?”
“When their mission is done—or when the sun comes up—whichever comes first, they have to return to the coffin.
“Why don’t they just escape?” asked the ensign.
“Ah . . . good question, Keefe said. “You see, each vampire has a little cylinder imbedded in their bodies. The cylinder contains a tracking device and a small amount of liquid which is poison to them. If they don’t follow orders, such as returning to their coffin, a signal is sent and releases the poison.”
Breach the Hull Page 27