FIVE
CORPORAL Maya crouched next to the body, not touching it and being careful not to let any part of her armor except the soles of her armored boots touch the surface of Europa. “I don’t think she’s one of ours,” she reported, her voice professionally unemotional. Maya moved her rifle’s muzzle with surprising gentleness to sweep some of the masking hair away, the frozen strands snapping like tiny icicles.
“That’s not her,” Desjani said, her voice rough. “That’s not Lieutenant Castries.”
“Did you copy that, Gunny?” Geary asked.
“Roger, Admiral. We’re looking, and this is the only body out here.”
“Air lock is right above me,” Maya continued as she stood straight again. “She’s got an empty holster. This wasn’t a suicide. Somebody took her gun and tossed her out. You’re right, Gunny. She was trying to climb back in when Europa got her.”
Geary looked to another virtual window open next to that of the Marines, this one showing Dr. Nasr as he and the quarantine doctor watched the same events. “Doctor, is there any way to tell whether or not that woman was infected before she died?”
“No,” Dr. Palden answered shortly.
“Do you mean was she ejected from the craft because she was ill?” Nasr asked. “It is very hard to tell with such little data, but if the reports we have of the plague are accurate, if she had been infected and showing the illness, she would have been too sick to try climbing back up. Once the plague manifested, disorientation and weakness came quickly. The others may have suspected she was infected, or the cause of her ejection may be unrelated to that.”
Dr. Palden frowned but did not dispute Nasr’s words.
“They pushed her out alive,” Desjani said. “They wanted her to suffer. This was about thieves falling out, not the plague.”
“I agree with your captain,” Commander Nkosi said. “I have seen people shoved out of air locks by criminals like these before. They even call it walking the plank, as if they were romantic pirates rather than vicious murderers.”
Orvis must have reached the same conclusion. “One less for us to worry about. All right, they know we’re here because we had to knock on the outside of this bird to ground it. First Squad, Third Squad, commence forced entry. Weapons free. Take out any threats, but make sure you don’t shoot until you’re sure the target isn’t one of our officers. No grenades or other area weapons. This is a hostage rescue, not an assault. Second Squad, Fourth Squad, provide cover, and make sure no one drops out of any secondary hatches.”
Corporal Maya beckoned to her squad, bent her legs, then jumped nearly straight up, aided by the weak gravity of Europa and the power of her battle armor. She grabbed the outer hatch and brought her boots down on a narrow ledge running along the hull just below it, waiting while three of the Marines from her squad joined her. The rest of her squad gathered beneath them. On the other side of the ship, Sergeant Hsien and his squad did the same at the air lock on that side. The squads commanded by Corporal Bergeron and Sergeant Koury held their positions, their weapons aimed toward the stealth craft, ready to fire.
“Outer hatch is locked,” Sergeant Hsien reported.
“Same here,” Corporal Maya said.
“Crack them,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis ordered.
A private whose window data indicated a subspecialty in Demolition and Entry edged next to the air lock and placed a small box next to the external controls. “What is that?” Senator Sakai asked from the back of the bridge, jarring Geary out of his absorption in the events on the surface.
“It’s called a skeleton key,” Geary replied. “I’ve seen the Marines use them several times. They’re designed to open doors by any means they can access.”
But after several seconds, the private shook his head, producing a dizzying effect on those watching the view from his armor. “No go. Our gear can’t get a grip on the software these guys have. It’s nothing weird like the Kick junk, but it’s too different from the stuff we or the Syndics use.”
“Can you do a mechanical-override entry?” Hsien asked.
“Trying.” Another couple of seconds passed. “It’s hard to read stuff even just under the hull’s outer surface with these stealth coatings in the way.”
“Got a lock mechanism,” the Demo and Entry Marine working on Maya’s side reported. “Look about here.”
“Where? There? Got it. Thanks. That looks close to our own designs. A mag field right here . . . got it.”
Two Marines hauled the outer air lock hatch open while their companions held weapons at the ready. “Looks clear,” Sergeant Hsien said, peering into the small compartment beyond.
“Open and clear,” Maya reported.
“Fry ’em,” Orvis directed.
One of the Marines on each side tossed a round object inside the nearest air lock, then joined their companions in huddling away from the outer hatch. Geary saw alerts flash on the display of each Marine as electromagnetic pulses flared inside the air locks, frying all but the most heavily shielded electronics, hopefully including any booby traps, weapons, or sensors.
“Ready,” Maya said.
“Ready,” Hsien echoed.
“All right. Inside.” Orvis waited while some of the Marines crowded into the two air locks, and others jumped upward as space on the ledges cleared.
“Got some lightweight composite armor inside the hull,” Maya reported. “Nothing on the inner door, though.”
“Same on your side, Hsien?” Orvis asked. “Good. Prep Banshees. Prep to blow the doors. I’ll count down. On one, fire the Banshees. Wait three seconds, then crack the inner doors and get inside.”
“Fire Banshee when count reaches one, wait three, go in,” Hsien repeated back.
“Fire on one, wait three, go in,” Maya added to indicate she had also understood the orders.
One Marine at each air lock knelt and placed a short tube against the inner hatch. The two with the Demo and Entry skills stood by the doors and rapidly traced the edges of them with what looked like narrow tape, then laced a crisscross pattern across the surfaces of the doors as well before sticking small remote detonator tabs into the tape and stepping back. “Stand by,” Orvis said. “Begin count. Three . . . two . . . one.”
Geary saw the views from the Marines with the Banshee tubes jolt as the devices fired. The Marines scrambled to their feet, weapons ready, leaving neat holes where the Banshee rounds had punched through the inner air lock doors as if they were paper.
“Three . . . go!” Hsien and Maya yelled simultaneously.
The demo tape on the doors abruptly flared into brilliant light as it instantly ate through the material behind it. The inner doors blew out in fragments, the pieces flying past the Marines under the pressure of atmosphere venting from the interior of the stealth craft. The Marines surged into motion the moment the fragments were past, racing into the craft against the wind of the inner atmosphere pouring out into the barely present atmosphere of Europa.
Even through the Marine sensors, the scenes they confronted inside were of confusion and chaos. Each Banshee had burst after it tore through the hatch, setting off more EMP charges as well as dazzlingly bright bursts of light and thunderclaps of sound. Men and women carrying a variety of small arms had been covering the hatches from inside the ship, but now were reeling in disorder, some pounding on weapons whose fried circuitry had rendered them useless, others frantically grabbing at the inoperative breathing gear on their survival suits as they began to grasp that those circuits had been fried along with those in weapons.
The Marines, barely fitting inside the craft’s passageways in their battle armor, fired with deadly efficiency. Within seconds, every criminal still holding a weapon had been hit, while a few others had fled.
A Marine private from First Squad paused, looking down at a figure writhing on the deck at her feet, then fired.
“Hotch!” Sergeant Hsien snapped.
“He was choking to death, Sarge!”
Hsien paused. “All right. No sense making ’em die slow like they did that woman they tossed out the air lock. We got six locals down on this side.”
“Got five bad guys down here,” Maya reported.
“Get moving,” Orvis ordered. “Secure the rest of the ship.”
The Marines from Hsien’s and Maya’s squads raced through the ship as fast as they could, literally hammering down hatches and doors with the strength of their combat armor. With only two decks in the fairly small craft, it didn’t take them long. Behind them, at the air lock doors, other Marines hastily fastened emergency seals across the broken doors, keeping in what atmosphere remained in the grounded spacecraft.
“Heads up!” Private Francis called.
Geary yanked his eyes away from the screens of the Marines in First and Third Squads. Francis was in Fourth Squad, watching the outside of the stealth craft, and because of his angle of view had been the first to spot a small hatch near the underside of the spacecraft as it began opening.
Two figures in space suits dropped out, both carrying weapons, both firing wildly as they fell toward the ice.
Francis and a half dozen other Marines fired back, slamming shots into both figures before their feet even hit the surface. The two criminals landed in loose sprawls, to lie motionless.
“Got some here, too!” a Marine in Second Squad called. “Forward, just under the bow!”
This time, hand weapons were stuck outside the new hatch and fired without aiming, spraying shots as the ones holding the weapons stayed completely under cover.
“Do they think this is some stupid video?” Sergeant Koury grumbled, as she and the rest of her squad fired. Aided by the precise targeting abilities of their battle armor, the energy pulses slammed into the weapons sticking out of the hatch, knocking two out of the hands of those holding them while a third exploded in a flurry of propellant all going off at once. Three figures fell out of the hatch, one dropping to the ice and scrabbling feebly, while the other two pawed at survival suits with rents in them from which atmosphere was pouring out.
“Ancestors forgive us,” Orvis mumbled. “Put them out of their misery, Koury.”
“But, Gunny, we stopped doing that to the Syndics! What about prisoners?”
“We can’t take them back. They’re going to die fast now or slow later. You want to watch?”
“No,” Sergeant Koury answered after a second. “But I’m not going to ask anyone else to do it.” She raised her weapon and fired several times.
“They are being merciful,” Commander Nkosi murmured next to Geary, as if trying to remind himself of that.
“Got four in here,” a private in Third Squad called out from inside the craft. The view from his armor showed four terrified criminals huddled together between the beds in a sleeping compartment barely large enough for several bunks stacked along the walls.
“No weapons?” Sergeant Hsien asked.
“Don’t see any, Sarge.”
“Ask them if they know where the fleet officers are.”
The private relayed the question over his external speaker, the sound coming out weakly in the thinned atmosphere left inside the spacecraft. “They say they don’t know, Sarge.”
“Then back out and leave one Marine to guard the compartment while the rest of you continue the search.”
“Hey, Gunny,” Corporal Maya called a minute later. “This looks like the hatch into the bridge.”
Commander Nkosi nodded to Geary. “It should be the right location for a bridge on a spacecraft like that. The hatch is probably armored, in case of mutiny.”
“We’ve seen that sort of thing before,” Geary commented before calling Orvis. “Gunnery Sergeant, the local commander agrees that Corporal Maya has probably found the bridge. The hatch is likely armored, so it can serve as a citadel like the Syndics use.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Sir, we’ve covered the whole spacecraft except whatever’s behind that hatch. Our people must be in there, along with however many of the enemy are still active. We’ve accounted for twenty hostiles so far.”
“It will not be a large compartment,” Nkosi warned. “It will not hold more than a half dozen at the most. Blasting your way in could be hazardous to your officers if they are inside.”
“We might not have much choice,” Geary said. He glanced at Desjani. Her rigid face showed no feeling even though he could see anguish in her eyes. But she nodded in response to his unspoken question.
“You’re right, Admiral,” Desjani said. “Let’s see what Gunny Orvis can do first, though.”
“I’m on my way to that bridge hatch,” Orvis reported, jumping up and pulling himself into the temporary air lock rigged from sheets of thin, transparent material that ballooned outward under even the gentle pressure still inside the ship. “Maya, I want your breaking and entering guy there along with half your squad. Don’t do anything until I get there. From the sound of things, we can’t afford to use a Banshee without risking serious harm to the fleet officers.”
“Figures,” Corporal Maya grumbled. “Jaworski, get your butt down here with me. The rest of you apes hold positions.”
Orvis scrambled through the craft until he reached the hatch where Maya and her Marines waited. “Have you tried knocking? Did you push any buttons?”
“No, Gunny,” Maya replied. “You said not to do anything.”
“And you listened? You may make sergeant someday.” Orvis walked to the bulkhead holding the hatch, examining it carefully. “I never saw one just like this. It does look armored, though. Let’s see who’s home before we blow the door down.”
Orvis reached out a hand, one armored finger gently touching a comm panel next to the hatch. “That ought to be the call button, right?”
His question was answered a moment later when the comm panel lit up, showing a man brandishing a hand weapon, his face twisted by fear. “I’ve got them in here! You break in and I’ll kill them both!”
“Martian,” Commander Nkosi said, disgust clear in his voice. “That tattoo under his left ear. It’s a gang mark. Red mobs use them.”
“Hey,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis said to the criminal in soothing tones very unlike his usual way of speaking. “Relax. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. Yeah. You break in and I’ll kill them!”
“Understood. We don’t want you. We just want those two officers.”
“It’s not my fault we’re down here!” the hostage-taker cried, his words falling over each other as they came out too quickly and too loudly. “It was Grassie! She took us down before the rest of us knew she was aiming to land on Europa! It wasn’t my fault!”
“Pal, I don’t care whose fault it was, I just want our people back safe,” Orvis assured him. “We’ll let the locals worry about what to do to this Grassie.”
The man laughed, high-pitched and rapid, the sound unnerving. “We already took care of her! Shoved her out the air lock while she tried to claim she had some plan to get us out of here! It’s all her fault; she wanted to be on Europa, so we gave her to Europa!”
That explained the body outside the ship. “Idiots,” Desjani said in disgusted tones. “They panicked and killed their pilot.”
“They would have had a backup pilot aboard,” Commander Nkosi said. “Or, at least, an autopilot routine so the ship could fly itself. But it was still a very stupid as well as brutal thing to do.”
Gunnery Sergeant Orvis was speaking to the hostage-taker again, still using the same calm, measured tones. “All right. You took care of your pilot. So we got no problems.”
“No . . . no problems?” The criminal sounded bewildered as well as frightened.
“That’s right. You the only one in there with our people? What do you need?”
“What?” The criminal stared at Orvis.
“What do you need? You and me, we’re just doing our jobs, right? Now, me, my job is to get those officers safe and sound. That’s what I want. What do you want? You want a deal?”
“A deal?” The hostage-taker grasped at that like a man in a vacuum grabbing for a survival suit. “Yeah. A deal. I’ll trade you those two.”
“That’s fair,” Orvis said. “Trade them for what? What’s the deal?”
“Uh . . . get me off this rock! That’s the deal! You promise to get me off here along with you, then you let me go, safe, or I kill both of your friends!”
Orvis handed his rifle to a nearby Marine, then held his empty hands up in a nonthreatening way. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“Yeah! Promise you’ll get me safe off Europa! In one piece!”
“Sure,” Orvis replied. “We don’t care what happens to you. You got a deal.”
“I’ve got . . . ? That’s it? You don’t have to check with anybody?”
“Hell, no. I got full authority for this,” Orvis assured him. “You let us in there, we get those two officers safe and sound, and we’ll do what you ask.”
Commander Nkosi turned an angry gaze on Geary. “Admiral, you can’t—”
Geary shook his head, his grim expression stopping Nkosi’s words in their tracks. He felt a sickness inside as he realized what Gunny Orvis intended, but no orders reached his lips to stop what would soon happen. I need to own this, too. I knew it might come to this. It’s my responsibility. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he told Nkosi.
“He doesn’t,” Desjani said. She didn’t sound upset, just implacable. Geary wondered how many times she had faced similar situations and made similar decisions.
The traitor who had provided a Syndic hypernet key to the Alliance, and who had led the Alliance fleet into an ambush that might have been the death of that entire fleet, had died on this bridge. No one had ever told Geary who had pulled the trigger. But whether or not Tanya herself had executed the man, he realized that she could have.
A child of an endless war, she did what was necessary.
“But your man is promising—” Nkosi began again.
“We were at war for a century with opponents who would lie at the drop of a hat and commit any atrocity,” Desjani interrupted. “We learned to do what we have to do.”
Nkosi stared at her. “But . . . your own honor—”
“Don’t,” Desjani said in her most dangerous voice. “Don’t go there. You have no right to judge us.”
Nkosi looked away, clearly distressed, but he said nothing more.
“You promise? That’s binding?” the hostage-taker was demanding once more.
“Yeah, I promise,” Orvis said in a casual voice. “Yeah, it’s binding.” Unseen by the hostage-taker, but visible to Geary and the other watchers who could see activity on Orvis’s helmet display, Orvis tagged the image of the criminal, then highlighted Corporal Maya’s name. Almost instantly, Maya’s acknowledgment glowed green on Orvis’s display.
“Look,” Orvis pressed, “you’ve only got so much life support left, and the longer any of us hang around this ice ball, the more risk we’re all running. Let’s get this done, all right?”
The hostage-taker hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Remember. You promised. I got a record of it.”
“That’s fine. I got a record of it, too.”
A low thunk sounded as the bolts holding the hatch retracted, then the hatch swung open. Atmosphere puffed out as pressure inside the bridge equalized with what was left inside the rest of the spacecraft. Orvis entered slowly, still unarmed, his hands once again held out as far as they could be and get through the hatch. A few other Marines followed behind him, their weapons pointed toward the deck or the overhead, everyone moving in a relaxed way. Last of all came Corporal Maya, her weapon pointed slightly away from the hostage-taker.
The criminal obviously still didn’t trust the Marines. He had the pistol barrel pressed against Lieutenant Castries’s forehead. Castries was dressed in a shapeless coverall and propped into a seat. Her eyes were closed and her body slack.
“Drugged,” Dr. Nasr told Geary. “If she were merely unconscious, her respiration would be more rapid.”
Lieutenant Yuon lay on the deck next to the chair holding Castries, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his own breathing.
His attention focused on Orvis and the other Marines in the front rank, the hostage-taker did not notice Maya’s weapon shifting slightly as she took aim. “How are we going to—?” he started to say.
At such close range, the shot and impact seemed to occur simultaneously. The hostage-taker jerked as the energy pulse from Corporal Maya’s weapon blasted all the way through his head and impacted on one of the screens behind him.
Orvis stepped forward quickly, grasping the pistol and pulling it away from the limp hand of the dead criminal as the body dropped to the deck under Europa’s gentle gravity.
“Stupid git,” Maya commented conversationally. “Even the Syndics aren’t dumb enough to fall for that anymore.”
“That’s because the Syndics taught us that trick,” Orvis said with brutal directness.
“Gunny, we couldn’t take him back! The only way to keep him from killing these two squids was to tell him what he wanted to hear.”
“It was still a false promise. Remind me when we get back to the ship to apologize to my ancestors and beg forgiveness for the lie.”
“Sure, Gunny,” Maya said, her voice now subdued. “Won’t be the first time, will it?”
“Hell, no. Wish it could be the last.” All traces of gentle persuasion dropped from Gunnery Sergeant Orvis’s voice. “All right, you apes! Get them into the spare armor, on the double! Minimize physical contact with them until they’re sealed in!”
“Minimize . . . what, Gunny?” a private asked.
“Don’t touch them!”
“How are we going to get them into the armor without touching them, Gunny?”
“Make sure you don’t touch them when you touch them, that’s how. Now get it done!”
As those aboard Dauntless watched the Marines gingerly sealing the unconscious bodies of Castries and Yuon into the spare battle armor, Commander Nkosi shook his head. “If I had done that, I would be going to jail.”
“Lucky you had us here to do it, then, isn’t it?” Desjani replied bitingly.
“This isn’t over,” Geary said to break up the painful debate. “We still have to recover them.”
Nkosi licked his lips before speaking again. “Sir, you must understand that if my physician does not certify that your Marines’ armor has been decontaminated, my ships will fire upon those men and women before your ship can recover them. My presence here will not stop my ships from acting as I ordered.”
“I would expect no less,” Geary said. “So far, your physician seems satisfied, though.” He did not bother saying what everyone knew, that Dauntless would not sit passively while the quarantine ships attacked Alliance Marines. “We’ve dealt with that stealth craft for you,” he reminded Nkosi.
Orvis was checking the seals on the armor now holding Lieutenants Castries and Yuon. “Looks good. Let’s go. Pull out, everybody.”
As the other Marines began moving, Maya and three of her squad carrying the two suits of armor with the lieutenants in them, one Marine called out a plaintive question. “Sarge? What about these guys? The four in this berthing compartment?”
“Leave them,” Hsien snapped.
“But—”
“Just leave them!”
The Marine moved away fast, as if trying to flee the compartment where the last four criminals were still alive. The other Marines went quickly, too, clearing passageways rapidly, past the dead criminals who had fought at the air locks and going out through the temporary air lock as swiftly as they could.
Orvis waited on the ice, counting as he watched Marines come out and jump from the air lock to land nearby. “That’s everybody.”
“Gunny?” the private who had been guarding the four prisoners asked.
“I know what you’re going to ask,” Orvis said. “We can’t help them. They did this to themselves.”
“Gunny,” another private said, “that ship is a mess now. It’s gonna be unlivable in—”
Orvis pointed toward the wrecked ship. “We left the weapons dropped by the guys we killed inside. Some of them still work. And we left the med supplies and drugs undisturbed. There’s more than enough drugs for them to knock themselves out and not feel a thing when the end comes. That’s the best we can do for those four who are still alive. You understand? That’s the best we can do. Unless you want to climb back in and finish them yourself.”
“No. No, Gunny. I got too many nightmares as it is.”
“You and me both. Now line up. We jump in sequence. Check your jets. Put everything you got into the jumps, and your jets will kick in automatically as you clear the surface.”
The Marines formed a loose column on the surface of Europa, most of them looking upward to where Jupiter loomed. No one looked down at the hard, dirty ice under their feet. “Follow the drill,” Orvis cautioned. “Three-minute intervals. You screw up, and even I can’t save you. Maya, those two officers still out?”
“Yeah, Gunny. Must be nice to sleep late, huh?”
“Funny. You and the others with the officers slave their armor to yours, so they’ll automatically jump along with you.”
“Got it. All right, Gunny, their armor is in zombie mode.”
Geary looked toward Desjani, who was studying her display. “Are we in position?”
“We’re ready. Shuttles, stand by.”
“Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, we’re ready for you.”
“That’s it,” Orvis announced to his Marines. “Ready? Begin count. One.”
The first Marine in the column, his knees already flexed, straightened in a convulsive leap, the power of the armor and the weak gravity combining to hurl him high upward even before the jet assists cut in and yanked him away from Europa with startling speed.
Three minutes later, a second Marine jumped. Then a third, a fourth . . .
Geary watched their progress on his display, a string of shapes rising from Europa. It struck him suddenly that these were the first humans to leave that cursed moon since before the human-created plague struck long centuries ago. From this high up, he could see one of the domed cities that had held nothing but the dead during those centuries, many of the solar-powered lights still functioning even after so long to create a false image of life and warmth in a place that held neither.
As the first Marine rose into orbit, one of Dauntless’s shuttles snagged him with a tether that shot out and latched onto one leg. The shuttle brought the Marine into position near Dauntless and waited.
Desjani touched a comm control. “Senior Chief Tarrini, target is one Marine. Make sure you get everything.”
One of Dauntless’s hell lances fired. The particle beam, which at full strength would have easily punched completely through the Marine’s battle armor, had been carefully adjusted to put out just enough energy to flay the armor of its outer layer. As the armor jerked under the impact of the stream of charged particles, Geary heard the Marine inside grunt under the force of the blows transmitted through the armor. Stress data appeared on his helmet view, along with warnings as damage rapidly accumulated to everything on the surface of the armor. Then the image and sound cut off as the last external comm relays on the armor evaporated under the lash of the hell lance.
The shuttle used the tether to rotate the Marine carefully, ensuring that the weapon played over the entire surface of the armor.
“How does it look?” Geary asked Dr. Nasr.
Dr. Palden answered before Nasr could. “That spot needs another hit. And there. What about under the tether clasp?”
“That will be hit when the shuttle releases the tether,” Nasr said, his tone of voice uncharacteristically short.
“Proceed,” Dr. Palden said grudgingly.
Several seconds later, the two doctors gave their approval. The shuttle ejected the used tether so that it fell toward Europa, then shot out another to grab the next Marine, while the second shuttle swung over to pick up the first Marine. Geary blew out a gasp of air as he looked at the heat readings on the outside of the first Marine’s battle armor. “I sure hope Dr. Nasr and Gunnery Sergeant Orvis were right about the Marines inside the armor being able to endure that.”
Desjani, who was beginning to relax, smiled thinly at him. “Doctors make mistakes sometimes, but gunnery sergeants? Doesn’t happen.”
As the next Marine was pummeled by the hell lance, the first was hauled into the second shuttle, where everyone paused while the doctors carefully examined their data. “He is fully decontaminated,” Nasr said.
Dr. Palden scowled as she checked the same data, saying nothing.
“There is a person inside that armor,” Dr. Nasr finally prodded her.
“I need to be sure!” But five seconds later Palden shrugged. “It’s good.”
“Get him out,” Desjani ordered.
Geary watched sailors kneeling by the rigid figure of the Marine. Master Chief Gioninni was personally supervising the work, and Geary had earlier observed Dauntless’s hull technicians practicing on the broken set of battle armor, slicing it into pieces to get the precise settings needed for their equipment. But he still felt worry as incredibly sharp blades with edges only a single molecule wide sliced into the Marine’s armor. Such a blade could cut completely through a human arm or leg without even noticing the resistance.
But there were no signs of trouble as the cutters came off the armor. “Put the ’shroons on,” Gioninni ordered after inspecting the cuts.
Geary had no idea what the official name for ’shroons was. Like everyone else, he had only heard the nickname universally used for more than a century for the means to crack or pry open objects using only the tiniest of openings as a start. Rumor had it that the nickname derived from the ability of mushrooms to crack concrete slabs as they grew.
Following Gioninni’s command, the techs slapped ’shroon pads onto the cuts in the Marine’s armor. Unseen, tiny filaments slid down from the pads into the cuts, then began expanding and growing, inexorably pushing the openings wider and wider despite the immense strength of the inner layers of material on the battle armor. Reaching the extent of their reach and life span, the ’shroons shriveled and dropped away.
“Get him out,” Gioninni said.
The techs knelt again and slid the Marine out of the split armor. The private looked back at them with a dazed expression, still bemused by the blows from the hell lance and the subsequent heat inside his armor. Helping him to a seat, one of the sailors offered a drink which the Marine sucked down avidly.
Lowering the drink bulb, the Marine locked an accusing look on the sailors. “Gunny said there’d be beer.”
“You’ll get beer when we get back to the ship,” Gioninni assured him. “Right now, that stuff the docs cooked up is best for you.”
“Look at them bruises on him,” one of the techs commented in awed tones. “You look like you just came back from some really great liberty,” he told the Marine.
“Don’t feel like it,” the Marine grumbled, taking another drink and grimacing.
“That’s all right,” the sailor assured him. “You guys did good down there.”
“Hell,” the Marine said. “We did our job. Those goons never had a chance.” He stared gloomily at nothing as the sailors prepared for the next Marine.
It seemed to take an eternity to decontaminate every Marine and pry them out of their ruined armor. But, finally, Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, the last, climbed out of his armor unassisted, his face mottled with bruises already forming, disdaining any help from the weary sailors. Orvis looked at the piles of destroyed armor, shaking his head. “Operation complete, Admiral. The bean counters are going to raise hell about all this trashed armor, though.”
“I’ll let Captain Smythe worry about that,” Geary said, knowing that his senior engineering officer would find some account to charge the expense to that would, if not justify the expense to the bean counters, at least confuse the bean counters as to whether they should object to the charge. “But the op isn’t complete yet.” The two sets of battle armor holding Lieutenants Yuon and Castries still lay intact inside the shuttle, their exteriors darkened and radiating heat. “Dr. Nasr will meet you at the shuttle dock. Help get those two sets of armor to the total-isolation compartment in medical.”
“Yes, sir. Admiral, I have to tell you, it was pretty tough inside that armor. We need to get those officers out of that as soon as possible.”
The shuttle had almost reached Dauntless as they spoke. Within a minute, it had landed, and the ramp was lowering. The worn-out Marines, groaning just loud enough to make their unhappiness apparent but not loud enough to draw a rebuke from Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, put on insulated gloves and hoisted the armor-encased officers onto medical stretchers that raced off with Drs. Nasr and Palden running behind.
Geary felt an irrational urge to trot down to sick bay himself, but he was still watching the overall situation and so waited on the bridge, viewing remotely as the stretchers deposited the two officers inside the total-isolation compartment. The two barely fit in the small room, which was intended for only the most extreme emergencies and could normally hold just one person.
Dr. Nasr moved with assured speed as he activated autonomous devices within the total-isolation compartment. After ensuring that the seals on the compartment were in place and solidly locked, he set the devices to work cutting the officers out of the armor. It was a longer and more complex process than when sailors could do some of the work and oversee the rest, but eventually the limp bodies of both officers were free of their protective shells.
Remote diagnostic sleeves attached themselves to the two officers, taking samples and readings which were relayed to Nasr. “No sign of infection,” he declared in a relieved voice.
“No sign of active infection,” Dr. Palden corrected.
Instead of replying, Dr. Nasr ordered the equipment inside the isolation compartment to begin supplying both lieutenants with solutions for liquid and nourishment, as well as some drugs to counteract those keeping them unconscious.
After several minutes, Lieutenant Castries blinked and looked around groggily. She tried to stand up, wavering on her feet, and staring down in confusion at the medical sleeves and other devices attached to her. Geary winced in sympathy at the bruises vividly marking her visible skin, hoping that whatever the docs were giving Castries and Yuon including some powerful painkillers.
Dr. Palden peered intently at the readouts, her expression suspicious. “Disorientation and weakness,” she said like someone condemning a prisoner.
“Completely explainable by her ordeal and condition,” Dr. Nasr shot back. “Body temperature is stabilizing at normal. Brain functions show no deterioration or abnormality.”
“That is so,” Palden admitted reluctantly.
Lieutenant Castries had lifted her gaze to stare at the monitor in the compartment. “What happened? Where . . . Is this Dauntless?”
Geary broke in to answer. “Yes, Lieutenant. You’re safe aboard Dauntless. Do you know you were kidnapped?”
“What? No. I was on some street and . . . now I’m here.” She looked around, spotting Yuon, who was beginning to stir. “Him, too? Why are we both in here? And what the—?” Castries was staring at the broken battle armor in absolute bafflement.
“You are in complete medical isolation,” Dr. Nasr explained. “You show no signs of current infection, but will have to stay totally isolated in that compartment for the next three weeks.”
“Infection?” Castries was staring at her hand, which seemed to be covered with colorful hues of black, purple, and green as bruises developed.
“You have been on Europa.”
“I’ve— That’s— What—? I’m actually awake? This is real? I have to spend three weeks in here?” Castries suddenly realized something and her stare shifted to Yuon, who was blinking himself to awareness. “Three weeks in this little hole with him? What have I done to deserve this?” she wailed.
“A sedative may be required,” Dr. Palden noted dispassionately.
Relieved at seeing Castries all right, and at having the risky rescue operation successfully completed, Geary could not keep himself from laughing briefly as he looked toward Desjani. “I think that lays to rest any possibility that Castries and Yuon could be an item.”
Tanya grinned. “You never know. They’re going to be stuck in there together for three weeks, so there’s always the possibility of hostage syndrome.”
Geary escorted Commander Nkosi back to the shuttle dock, where they were met by the two doctors, as well as by Senior Chief Tarrini and the two weapons specialists that Nkosi had brought with him. Behind Geary came Senator Sakai and Victoria Rione. As Geary entered, he saw that a jovial Master Chief Gioninni had backed the two weapons specialists into a corner, where he was apparently thanking them profusely.
Nkosi paused before entering his own shuttle, gazing at his comm unit. “My ship has relayed a message to me. Sol System government orders me not to permit your operation until further consideration.”
Geary smiled. “Sometimes light-speed limitations and communications lag can be your friends.”
“Certainly, especially when those to whom you send reports and who send orders back are close to a light-hour distant.” Nkosi hesitated again. “I will tell them all that I saw.”
“That was the idea,” Geary said, no longer smiling. “We didn’t try to hide anything. And we only did what you would have done if your orders permitted it, and what you would have done as soon as you could.”
“Yes,” Rione emphasized, “we did as your rules required. Ensure that you tell everyone that, Commander. We carried out the actions that Sol Star System rules made us carry out.”
Nkosi gazed steadily back at her. “I will ensure that is widely known. Enforcing the quarantine of Europa is a lonely, boring, and on rare occasions horrible experience. I will not hesitate to remind the people of Sol Star System what their rules require of others and require of my own crews. And I will tell them that your actions were not only necessary but have eliminated an awful threat to us all.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Senator Sakai said. “The Alliance is grateful for your cooperation in this.”
“Hopefully, you won’t be the only ones who are grateful for that!” Nkosi saluted, then turned and walked into his shuttle. Behind him came Dr. Palden and the two weapons specialists. As the hatch to the shuttle closed, Geary saw those two hauling out large comm devices and shaking them with puzzled expressions.
The moment the shuttle left the hanger, Senior Chief Tarrini and Master Chief Gioninni broke into laughter.
“What did you do?” Geary asked.
“Nothing bad, Admiral,” Tarrini assured him. “You saw those big units those two specialists had? Comm units, hell. Even Sol Star System isn’t that far behind on their tech to require something that large. Those were collection devices. They were scanning and recording everything they could while they were close to our weapons.”
“So we set up a strong mag coil in that corner,” Gioninni said with a chuckle. “I backed them into the corner while telling them how grateful we were for them helping out, then Senior Chief triggered the coil. The field was strong enough to send all of their files down the backassward black hole of degenerate data.”
“An unfortunate accident,” said Senator Sakai with a rare smile showing. “I believe my own files have encountered that black hole on occasion.”
“Senator,” Geary said, “with the permission of the Alliance government, I would like to head for the hypernet gate now and get on our way home.”
“Permission granted,” Sakai said, solemn again. “Is that how you say it properly?” He looked around at the others. “Thank you for finding a solution that saved those two young officers and for the excellent work in carrying it out. I would like to thank the Marines personally when the opportunity arises.”
Tarrini was eyeing Sakai as if uncertain of the politician’s motive in saying “thank you,” but Gioninni grinned. “You are welcome, Senator. It may be a few days before the Marines are up to meeting you, though. They’re all pretty beat-up.”
“And they will, I think,” Dr. Nasr added, “need additional meds and therapy to cope with the events on the surface.” Despite his dour words, since Dr. Palden left, Nasr had been acting as if a dark cloud had lifted.
“It was a dirty job,” Geary agreed. “I’m sorry we had to ask that of them.” He tapped the nearest comm panel. “Captain Desjani, head for the hypernet gate. We’re going home.”
Only a few seconds passed before he heard cheers echoing through the passageways of Dauntless. The word had spread fast.
He didn’t feel like joining in the jubilation, though. The events on Europa had cast too dark a pall over his feelings. All he could feel was a tired sort of relief that, once again, an unavoidable job was complete.
? ? ?
SENATOR Costa would sometimes take a seat in one of the dining compartments, engaging crew members in conversation. Geary had long ago figured out that Costa’s goal in this was not simply to ingratiate herself with the crew but to find out what they knew and gauge their feelings on different issues.
He usually made only a polite greeting when he saw her doing that, but this time as he walked by Geary saw the two sailors sharing Costa’s table getting up to go, their meals finished. Before the senator could stand as well, Geary came to the table where Costa sat. “How are you doing, Senator?”
Costa’s smile was as insincere as that of a Syndic CEO. “Not badly, Admiral.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course. I’m surprised that you’re seeking out a conversation with me.”
Around the two of them, the nearest tables were being unobtrusively vacated as the sailors at them moved away. Other crew members who were walking past changed their paths so that they also did not come close. In a matter of seconds, without any obvious message or conversation, a large unoccupied region had appeared around the table where Costa and Geary were, granting them some measure of privacy even in this public area.
Senator Costa didn’t seem to have noticed, instead waiting expectantly for Geary’s reply, but he noticed one finger tapping the small bracelet on her left wrist twice. Because of his time around Rione, Geary recognized what had happened. Costa had activated a personal security field which would garble the sound of their voices for anyone trying to listen in.
The senator could be blunt when she wanted to be, and on this occasion Geary decided to do the same, keeping his voice at a normal volume to see how Costa would react. “I was just wondering what information you’ve gathered about how the crew feels,” he asked as he took a seat opposite her.
The senator’s artificial smile widened. “Is there anything that you are worried about me learning?” Her own voice wasn’t pitched low, so his guess had been right. She wasn’t worried about being overheard.
“No.” Geary met her eyes with his own. “I want you to know how the crew feels about the Alliance government.”
“And how they feel about you?” Costa said.
“There is no disloyalty to the Alliance here.”
Costa didn’t reply immediately, her false smile being replaced by an appraising look. “I know you toured as many ruins and wrecks on the surface of Old Earth as we did, Admiral. We didn’t have time to see a fraction of what was there, let alone the remnants of the devastation sometimes inflicted elsewhere in this star system.”
“I saw them,” Geary said. “It’s . . . sobering.”
“How much was built by the old, great empires, and how much destroyed when those empires fell? No one can calculate the answer to either question.” Costa leaned forward, her expression now challenging. “What will be the cost if the Alliance falls? We’ve seen examples of that in territory that once belonged to the Syndics. What would you do to prevent it, Admiral?”
“I don’t want it to happen,” Geary said.
“Everyone says that,” Costa said with a dismissive wave of one hand.
“The Dancers showed us that we have much in common as humans, that we need to see what we share rather than only the things that we differ on. You said so yourself.”
“Of course I did,” Costa admitted, with none of the emotion she had betrayed during that event on the surface of Old Earth. “But that doesn’t mean that I have to accept so-called solutions based on soft sentiment rather than hard reality. What will you do, Admiral? What is your solution?”
“I’m doing it,” Geary said. “I am supporting the government, I am following orders, and I am defending the Alliance against every threat I know of.”
“Every threat?” Costa’s gaze grew colder. “Are you issuing a warning to me?”
“That was not my intent,” Geary said. “I’m not threatening anyone. I am following orders and taking what measures I can to preserve the Alliance.”
“Passive measures! All of them! Would you block others from taking the actions needed to save the Alliance? Would you take the necessary actions yourself?” Senator Costa pressed.
Geary said his next words with great care. “Opinions differ on what will save the Alliance and what actions are necessary.”
“But you feel qualified to decide? You who slept through the long trauma of the war with the Syndics?”
“I experienced the beginning of that war,” Geary said, hearing a trace of anger enter his voice and trying to eliminate it. “I was there at the end of it, as well.” I brought about the end of it, but I won’t say that. I won’t boast about something like that which I survived and so many others did not. “When I awoke, I was told about a lot of things that had been done because they were judged necessary to win the war. None of them had worked, and some had, in my judgment, actually kept the war going. As a result, I am skeptical of things that are claimed to be necessary to save the Alliance.”
Costa smiled again, a movement of her lips only. Nothing else about her expression reflected emotions appropriate to a smile. “Modest words. But if you block others, you are yourself deciding what is necessary and what is not. Some of us do not want to see the Alliance go the way of those ancient empires, do not want to see the chaos and destruction that would follow. We will not permit that to happen. You know the need for a firm hand, the need to employ force without hesitation, just as we did on Europa.”
Just as we did? Senator Costa had apparently decided to claim ownership of that action now that it was successfully concluded. “Force should never be used except with wisdom and restraint,” Geary said. “What if the actions you deem necessary to save the Alliance actually bring about the chaos and destruction you want to prevent?” he asked, remembering when Senator Sakai had asked him pretty much that same question.
Another fake smile, as Costa leaned back with feigned informality. “Who said anything about me?”
Geary managed his own false smile. “No one. I’m sure you wouldn’t propose actions without concern for those who would pay the price for those actions.”
“We all have to be willing to sacrifice, Admiral.”
“It seems to me that some people are expected to sacrifice a great deal more than others.”
Costa’s look of benign superiority slipped. “That sounds like a very subversive sentiment from someone who claims to support the Alliance government.”
“Not at all,” Geary said. “The only sentiment I expressed was that I respect the people subject to my orders too much to be careless with their lives.”
The senator dropped all pretense of camaraderie, her gaze on Geary hardening. “You’re so very sure of yourself. Maybe you should be wondering, Admiral, why the actions I think are necessary have the backing of your fleet headquarters as well as ground forces headquarters. We could use your support as well. But we don’t need it.”
She stood up, waved a farewell, and walked off through the groups of sailors who opened a path through them for the senator.
Geary tried to keep his feelings from showing as he stood up. So, whatever actions Senator Costa is pushing aren’t being done behind the backs of fleet headquarters and ground forces headquarters. My own superiors are backing the construction of a secret fleet and support placing Admiral Bloch in command of that fleet even though Bloch planned to stage a military coup before he nearly destroyed the Alliance fleet and was captured by the Syndics.
Ancestors help us all.