011
“WELL,” BERTO SAYS from the cockpit, “that could have gone better.”
Cat shoots him a murderous glance. Berto’s never been much for sensitivity.
“Three people just died,” I say.
“Yeah,” Berto says. “I saw. What the hell happened down there? It looked like Security turned their burners on Dugan?”
“They were trying to save him,” Cat says.
“Hell of a way to do it,” Berto says as we bank over the main dome and slow to a hover over the landing pad. “Even combat armor won’t stand up to a burner set to full power for long. What were they thinking?”
I glance over at Cat. Her hands are clenched into fists.
“They were thinking Dugan had two creepers wrapped around his leg,” she says. “And not for nothing, but those were my friends down there, asshole. Also not for nothing, maybe if you’d warned us that we were standing on top of a nest of those fucking things, the whole sortie would have gone a little better, huh?”
Berto glances back from the cockpit as we settle down onto the pad. I’m slightly surprised to see that he actually looks embarrassed.
“Sorry,” he says. “No disrespect intended.”
“Yeah, well,” Cat says. “Disrespect taken.”
Berto powers the lifter down, then starts working through his shutdown checklist. I can feel my weight settle a little more firmly into the padding of my jump seat as the gravitic field dissipates.
“I really am sorry about what happened out there,” Berto says. “I would have warned you if I could have. I don’t know where those things came from, but they weren’t just moving under the snow. There was nothing on my radar the last time I passed over you, and that was no more than a minute before the attack.”
“Whatever,” Cat says. I can’t see her face through her visor, but I can hear the scowl in her voice.
“Anyway,” Berto says, “mission accomplished, right?” As Cat and I unbuckle, he climbs out of his seat and comes back to stand over us. What’s left of the creeper lies on the floor of the cabin. Berto nudges it with the toe of one boot. Two of its legs spasm, and he almost trips himself yanking his foot back. “Shit!” He regains his balance, grimaces, then steps forward again and crouches down between us. The carcass is vibrating. He touches the carapace with one finger, but this time it doesn’t react. “Huh,” he says. “I hope this turns out to’ve been worth it.”
* * *
“YOU’RE GOING TO need to help me out here,” Marshall says. “Because I’m having a lot of trouble understanding how we lost three people in the last two hours—four, if you count Gallaher, and five if you count Torricelli—and you weren’t one of them.”
Cat shifts uncomfortably in her seat next to me. Marshall leans forward, elbows on his desk. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to decide whether to kill me or not. He looks like he’s trying to settle on the method.
“You’re right, sir,” I say. “I apologize for surviving. I’ll try to do better next time.”
That brings him to his feet. “Don’t give me that shit, Barnes! You’re an Expendable! You’re not supposed to be worried about surviving!”
He sits back down slowly, while I wipe his spittle from my forehead.
“Now,” he says, “I want you to explain to me, clearly and concisely, why you chose to save your own ass out there rather than rendering aid to Mr. Dugan. Give this some thought, Barnes, because if I don’t find your answer convincing, I’m going to personally shove you down the corpse hole balls-first.”
“Sir—” Cat says.
“Shut up, Chen. I’ll deal with you when I’m done with him.”
They’re both looking at me now, Cat with a mixture of pity and concern, Marshall with the same basic expression a hawk might give to a field mouse.
“Well,” I begin, then hesitate. I was going to say something about how it’s all well and good to say I shouldn’t be worried about surviving when he’s sitting safe and sound in the same body he was born with, while I’m getting irradiated or eaten or dissolved every six weeks, but looking at his face, I suddenly realize that he might be serious about the whole corpse hole thing. I begin again.
“Well, sir, we were sent out there for a reason. You ordered us to retrieve a creeper. Given what happened to Torricelli and Gallaher, we were all very much aware that this was a hazardous sortie, but you decided that we should attempt it anyway. Therefore, I concluded that doing what we were sent out there to do was our first priority. By the time we realized what was happening to Mr. Dugan, it was my judgment that there was nothing we could have done to help him. Therefore, I decided to put my efforts to accomplishing the mission—which, I will note, I succeeded in doing.”
Marshall stares at me for what feels like a very long time. “So what you’re saying,” he says, “is that what I saw on Gomez’s video feed was not in fact you running for your life in abject terror, but rather you calmly doing what was necessary to further the mission and protect the colony. Is that correct?”
I look at Cat. She shrugs.
“Uh … yes?”
The silence stretches on for a long five seconds. Cat opens her mouth to speak, but Marshall silences her with a glance.
“Did you know, prior to leaving the dome, that our burners would be ineffective against those things?”
“No,” I say. “Not for sure.”
“Then why did you choose to carry an accelerator?”
“Primarily because I’m better trained in the use of an accelerator than in the use of a burner, sir. Also, I’m aware that I was carrying a burner on two other occasions when I encountered creepers, and that I did not survive either of those missions. So, I thought this time it might be wise to change tactics.”
Marshall’s eyebrows come together at the bridge of his nose, and his mouth shrinks down into a thin, hard line. I risk a glance over at Cat. She’s staring straight ahead. Marshall turns his attention to her.
“What about you, Chen? Can you explain your actions? You were out there to protect Mr. Dugan, were you not?”
“Yes, sir,” she says. “I was.”
“And you abandoned him because…”
“I abandoned him because I could see what was happening, sir. The other two Security officers were my friends. If I had believed that I could do anything to help them, I would have done it. But the fact is, our weapons were not useful, and I couldn’t see any point in feeding myself to those things along with Mr. Dugan.”
“Barnes’s weapon was useful. You could have commandeered it.”
“I could have,” she says, “but I couldn’t have done anything useful with it. A linear accelerator isn’t a precision weapon, sir. I could have blown Mr. Dugan’s leg off, but I couldn’t have saved him.”