“Second Lieutenant Imari, an enviromental support specialist. She was tracking an air-filtration error and wound up in a crawl space on the outermost level of the drum. A small improvised explosive device was remotely detonated. Lieutenant Imari was killed instantly. One of her techs received minor injuries and is being treated on the Storm.”
“Imari,” Singh said, concentrating until he could place a face with the name. He’d only met her a few times. Pleasant and professional in all their interactions. And her skills with environmental systems would be sorely missed in Medina’s refit. “Do we know who?”
“I had bomb techs on the site within minutes of the blast,” Overstreet said. “The chemicals used to manufacture the explosive were traced to a storage compartment on drum level two. I pulled the logs. The majority of those with access have been identified. Marines have already begun rounding them up.”
“That is excellent work, Major,” Singh said. Overstreet brought him a solution with every problem he reported. It made his own terrible misstep with Tanaka feel like a blessing in disguise.
“The rules of engagement allow us to treat active terror cells as enemy combatants,” Overstreet said. “But unless one of these idiots has a hideaway gun, I’m betting we’ll bring them all in alive. So, it’s your call, sir.”
Overstreet looked like he had no opinion one way or the other. If Singh ordered him to go to the holding pens and shoot every single person in the head, it would just be the next thing he did that day. No lectures on how he’d fought Belter cells back in the day, no subtle digs at his lack of experience.
“We’re going to need to start holding trials at some point,” Singh said. “This seems as good a time as any. We’ll need some time to form a civilian justice system for Medina and the colonies. Something less encumbered than the local habits.”
“Yes, sir,” Overstreet agreed with a nod. “I’ll have my people put together all the evidence we’ve collected and forward it to the advocate’s office. We’re not police, but whatever we can do to expedite the trial process, we’re happy to help out.”
Singh leaned back and pointed at one of the visitor chairs next to his desk. “You’re doing outstanding work, Major. You’ve slid into Colonel Tanaka’s role without a hiccup. I appreciate it.”
Overstreet stretched out, relaxing but without the aggressive informality of his predecessor. “Tanaka was a great mentor. She left me detailed files on … the duties of this post. Give her credit for the smooth transition.”
“Mmhmm,” Singh said. “Anyway, I’ve sent in my recommendation that you be promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel, as befits the posting you now hold. We’re just waiting on word from Laconia to make it official. You’ve certainly got the years in, and your record is exemplary. I don’t foresee any difficulty.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Overstreet started, then looked down at the monitor on his wrist. “That’s fast work. The detachment reports that all seven of the suspects have already been rounded up and taken to a holding area, awaiting your orders. Shall I have them taken to the open-air cells, pending trial? Let everyone on the station see them locked up? Sends a message.”
“Yes, I—” Singh began, then rethought it. “No. If that holding area is private, keep them there. I’d like to speak to them.”
“Of course,” Overstreet said. Into his monitor he said, “Triphammer oscar mike. We need transport and escort to level four, compartment one three one one echo bravo. Ready to move in five.”
Singh had studied detailed files on the history of Medina, from its aspirational beginnings with an Earther religious faction to its outright theft by the OPA and conversion into the universe’s worst battleship before finally settling in as the hub of human expansion through the gate network.
Singh found the idea of a generation ship fascinating, in a morbid sort of way. He could understand taking great risks for your children. He was doing that right now. Trying to help build the well-regulated human empire that his monster Elsa and her future children could thrive in. There was a romance in the idea of setting out on a journey you’d never see the end of so that your grandchildren might live a better life. But all the numbers he’d seen on how a hundred-year voyage like that would play out were fairly horrifying. It was, to say the least, a very high cost and very low probability of success. Singh assumed there was a faith element to the risk that he was just missing. In his opinion, faith was generally for people who were bad at math.
Compartment 1311EB turned out to be a former storage compartment for animal feed. Another of the many structures built into Medina Station back when it had been the Nauvoo and had interstellar colonization as its purpose. Medina was filled with these relics of the station’s original purpose even as they had been converted over to new uses. Seven Belters sat on the floor, hands zip-tied behind their backs. Four men, two women, and one person who could be any gender or none and who looked far too young to already have decided on a career in terrorism.
Singh entered the room flanked by two Marines in power armor and Overstreet taking up a position by the door. The four Marine guards in the room snapped him a salute, then went back to watching their little gang of prisoners. With fifteen bodies in the room, it felt very cramped.
“I am the station governor, Captain Santiago Singh,” he said, taking time to stare each of the seven prisoners in the eye as he spoke. The youngest stared back with a fierce rage that looked entirely out of place on their beautiful, genderless face.
“No one fuckin’ cares,” one of the men spat back at him. The Marine closest to him casually kicked him in the ribs. Singh waved him back.
“I need you all to listen to me very carefully,” he said. “A bomb was made using chemicals from the warehouse you seven work in. That bomb killed a Laconian naval officer, and injured another.”
“Good,” said one of the women.
“Not good,” Singh replied, without changing his tone. “Because the penalty for this criminal act will be death by firing squad. At this point, there is no reason to believe all seven of you aren’t in collusion. You are either working with terrorist cells, or you are in fact the cell that planted that bomb.”
“Better to die a free Belter than live a slave,” the young one said. They had a singer’s voice, high and clear.
He started to wonder if it might have been better to have seven different conversations with the prisoners rather than one with all of them. They were performing for each other now. Each of them signaling their loyalty to the others. It made it more difficult to know what their actual flexibility might be.
“We can debate the benefits of centralized government later,” Singh replied. “For now, I have one offer to make, and only one. When I leave this room, I am going to ask that an appointed judge review the evidence from the bombing and find all seven of you guilty of terrorist acts. You will then be taken to a public place, and shot.”
“Not much of a fuckin’ offer,” the first man said, rubbing his bruised ribs.
“While the judge reviews that evidence, I am going to have you held in private cells. The first one of you to cooperate in our investigation of terrorist activity on this station, lives.”
“Turn traitor to save our own necks,” the young one said. “You don’t know Belters at all.”
“I know humans. I know that staying alive and keeping one’s family safe is not a trivial reward for valued service to the empire. It is the only choice you have left in your lives. Make the right one.”
Before they could shout any defiance at him, Singh turned and left. As they walked away, he said to Overstreet, “Put them in separate cells, far enough apart that they can’t hear each other. Then make sure there’s a guard outside every door. Just in case someone decides to take me up on my offer.”
“Copy that,” Overstreet replied. There was a hint of skepticism in his tone.
Singh stopped. Overstreet turned to face him, a puzzled look on his broad face.
“Something troubling you, Major?”
“I didn’t intend any disrespect, sir.”
“Our mandate from High Consul Duarte is to win over the population of this station, as a first step in winning over the population of the colony worlds. We do that by entangling our interests. By teaching them that what they think of as ‘informing’ is actually just good citizenship. This is just a first step in building what will hopefully be a network of cooperators to help us.”
“Understood,” Overstreet said. “Marines make terrible police, sir. We’re not trained for this sort of job. If we could build up a security force made up of local cooperators and Marine elements, it would help a lot.”
“Good. Make that part of your mandate going forward. You have full authority to offer amnesty to people you think might be useful.”
“I’ll pass it down the ranks,” Overstreet said. He began gently pushing Singh back up the corridor toward their little convoy of carts.