The First Casualty

Chapter Fourteen

Impeccably uniformed, Major Longknife, his bride, and his aide ate breakfast in the formal dinning room of the only grand hotel on Rostock. In the background, a live string quartet played softly. Despite the waiter's encouragement to try every pastry on the menu, they ordered plain food in small portions. As their meals arrived, a cheer went up from across the foyer.

“What is that?” Ray asked.

“I do not know, sir. There is a television in the coffee shop. I imagine further success on the war front has been announced. Should I find out?”

Captain Santiago lifted the briefcase from its place beside him, flipped it open, and called up the stored news feed. “I'll search on 'Wardhaven' first, sir.” It was not a long search.

The President, in the red dress uniform of a field marshal, smiled confidently as he announced that Earth stooges were attempting to land on Wardhaven. “Our armies stand ready to show these cowards how real men fight. We will never surrender. We will crush their landings. We will collect the pathetic survivors and ship them to the outermost colonies where they can find out what real life is like. We will fight on to victory for us and our children. We fight for all humanity. We will be triumphant.”

The watching crowd went wild cheering. Ray reached for the case and punched up the Oasis.

“Have you heard the news, Major?” her captain asked.

“One could not help but hear it. Captain, have the Earthie stooges formally asked for our surrender?” Ray used patriotic drivel to cover treason.

The captain coughed softly. “No, sir.”

“Are their troopships moving into position to assault?”

The captain looked uncomfortable. “Our information is that they have no transports with them.” Ray waited, calm as an officer must be when a subordinate is slow giving him the rest of an unpleasant message. “One ship, apparently the flag, has begun a dive toward the sun. It is picking up speed, sir. We do not know what course it will follow, or how long it will take it to acquire whatever energy it considers desirable.”

Rita had been sipping from her water glass. It fell from her hands—shattering on the marble floor. “Thank you. I or my aide will talk with you after we brief the President.”

“If you can possibly,” the captain began slowly, “explain to the President the full military implications of the course of action the enemy is pursuing, sir.”

“If the President affords me the opportunity”—Ray cut the naval officer off before one or both of them committed high treason for the records—”I will surely brief him to the fullest extent of my knowledge. Thank you, Captain. Out.”

Ray sampled his oatmeal. At his leading, the others also nibbled at their meals while their waiter cleaned up the glass. Once alone, there was still nothing to say, nothing they could allow the inevitable mikes to hear. Meals were only half eaten when, by unspoken consent, they placed napkins on the table.

“The President awaits us,” Ray said.

“Yes,” both his wife and his aide agreed.

“Let's see what he takes from a tired old warrior's words,” Ray added as the two helped him from his chair. The hug Rita gave him as she settled him on his feet held love and loss, dedication and resolve in equal parts. He gave her a quick kiss; then, as he slowly marched to the elevator, he began the familiar process of turning flesh into cold, hard steel. He had done this many times before battle. The only difference today was the poor likelihood of the return to flesh and blood tomorrow.

Showered, shaved, and dressed, Mattim did a quick check of the bridge on his way to breakfast. The night had produced no more surprises. They would round the sun in another eighteen hours. If he didn't come up with something before three gees put everyone at high-gee stations and only able to talk on battle net, one billion women, children, and men would die.

As usual, Mattim took one meal a day with the crew. He chose breakfast today. The marines occupied a table in one corner of the mess. Ship's company were leaving it a wide berth. Mattim considered joining the marines, trying to build some sort of bridge. Sergeant Dumont, who'd pulled the trigger on Guns, sat at the head of the marine table.

Mattim headed for a table full of chiefs. They started to rise; he waved them down. “Relax, it's chow time.”

“Kind of hard relaxing, sir,” Chief Aso muttered as he sat. Mattim raised a questioning eyebrow to the chief who'd served for years on the Maggie D and now was a turret captain. “Don't like losing a good officer, Captain.” Aso glanced around the table; all eyes were on Mattim, nodding agreement. “What we gonna do?”

Mattim's empty stomach lurched. Why didn't I eat in the wardroom? No, in my cabin . He took a deep breath. “Chief, you'll do what you've always done. Follow my orders.”

For a long moment, Aso and the other chiefs, most of them regular Navy, stared back. Several of them sucked on their lips as if searching for words. Aso finally spoke.

“Yes, sir, I reckon we will. And you never gave us a bad one, not even when you was just a kid officer. I'll trust you, sir. Just don't forget to trust us.” Mattim glanced at the camera in the corner of the mess deck; Aso did too. Take care, sir. And put some chow in ya. You're getting puny.”

That seemed to lighten things up. Mattim took a forkful of pancakes. As usual, they were great. Before he could say anything, laughter came from the marines' table. The sergeant Mattim had come to hate glanced around, measuring the eating sailors like a farmer might vats of growing protein. Their eyes locked. As the stare lengthened, a grin slowly spread across the marine's face. I’m a killer. You want to be next? it said.

I command, you obey was Mattim's response. But that bastard wasn't in his command. He did not have to obey the captain of the ship he rode. Mattim looked away, his appetite gone. He stood, mad at himself for flinching, unwilling to give the sergeant the pleasure of a second glance.

“Captain, I'll take care of your chow,” Aso offered. With no backward glance, Mattim marched out of his own ship's mess. Inside anger raged. At the sergeant, and at himself for letting the anger loose again. Where was that damn Mary the miner who's really an iron-assed marine officer?

Mary slept straight through her alarm; it had been a long while since that happened. She quickly dressed and rushed for the wardroom. With luck, she'd find the captain at breakfast. There had to be somewhere the two of them could talk. Was he out to save his crew or get around their orders? She was none too sure how she'd handle the latter, but until she talked with him, there was no way of knowing. The captain was not in the wardroom, and the XO was just leaving. Mary stepped aside as the two passed. “Have you seen the captain?” she asked softly.

No,” the woman answered, “but he often does a morning walk-around when we're not actually being shot at. He could be anywhere. Shall I mention you'd like to see him when I do?”

“No,” Mary lied. “There's just something in the books about paying your respects when you report on board. I thought maybe I should, but this cruise doesn't look like it's normal.”

“Yes,” the exec agreed softly. “He's a good man; I hope you two meet.” Which told Mary something—and nothing—all at the same time. Mary wolfed down breakfast and went hunting for Lek. Just how much privacy could she get in this fishbowl?

The hotel phone was blinking when Ray returned to their rooms. Rita quickly activated it. “I regret that the President's schedule has to be adjusted,” a fresh-faced young colonel told them from a recorded message. “Your briefing has been delayed until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Call him back,” Ray ordered.

Rita messed with the comm unit. “It's not a flash message, and he left no return number.”

“So we cool our heels,” Santiago growled.

“Another day for us.” His wife smiled at Ray.

“But how many days for. . . ?” Ray left the sentence hanging. In tears, Rita ran for the bathroom.

Mattim prowled his ship. His crew went about their duties, heads down, hands busy. No one looked up as he passed, no chief invited him over to share a word with his work party. Mattim could hardly believe this was the same bunch that had managed a smile and a laugh when home was on the other side of the galaxy. But then they'd known the mess they were in and had been pulling together to fix it. Now, he wasn't telling them anything and they all knew the mess. None of them knew how to get out.

But a few had to try. Returning to the bridge before noon to relieve the exec for lunch, Mattim had to stand aside as the chief master-at-arms led four away in handcuffs, including the black belt Zappa who'd been critical to their jumping back home.

She looked him straight in the eye. “Well, somebody had to do something,” she snapped.

“Move along, miss.” The chief gently urged her.

“What happened?” Mattim asked.

“Best talk to the exec, sir,” suggested the second-class coming up the rear. No marines were in sight.

“Captain on the bridge,” the JOOD announced as Mattim crossed the coaming.

“Commander, I'll take the conn and relieve you for lunch.”

“I stand relieved, Captain,” Ding said, standing and heading for him.

He waited until she was close. “What was that all about?”

She shrugged. “A couple of the crew decided they could talk the admiral into revising his strategy. They didn't get much past the hatch, and our guards were able to take care of them.”

“Even the little middie, black belt and all?”

Ding shrugged. “She hadn't thought it through. They couldn't go around me, and they”—a quick nod toward the marines—”would have had to shoot me in the back. Brilliant scientist, but I don't know what she was thinking with today.”

Mattim considered the fiasco. “Have the chief post security in the passageway so we can stop our problems before they get here. Can't always trust the assault rifles to think twice. Now go get some chow. Have a plate sent up here for me.”

The exec hesitated. “Ran into the commander of the marine detachment at breakfast. She wanted to know where you were so she could pay her official visit. Told her to look for you in your walk-around. Did you see her?”

“No.”

Ding gnawed her lower lip for a second. “She seems like good people to me.”

What did Ding mean by that? With all the surveillance, and nobody free to say what they meant, communications was going to hell. Working together, they'd beaten the odds and brought themselves back from nowhere. Now, locked in their own skulls, smart people like the middie were making stupid mistakes. Damn!

He checked to see that the four made it to the brig safely. Though a plate soon arrived from the wardroom, it was cold by the time he got to it. The admiral had found out. He wanted all four shot on live vid with all hands watching. Again, Mattim went through the cajoling and pleading, promising and bowing. If four lives hadn't depended on it, he would have told the admiral to go stuff himself. Mattim had the feeling the four didn't matter to the admiral. He just wanted to rub Mattim's face in how powerless he was. Mattim would have gladly stipulated to all of the above and got on with his day. Instead he turned in another stellar performance ... and ate a cold lunch.

There was little to report to Ding after lunch. Course was steady for the sun. “You want to keep up your walks, sir?”

“I think better on my feet.” It hurts less on the prowl.

“Had lunch with the commander of the marine detachment,” the exec said casually.

Mattim stiffened in his chair, but tried to change nothing in his appearance. Missed her again! “Oh.”

“Quite a woman. We swapped war stories. The last three months have been hell for them. It's a different kind of war on the ground. She seemed interested in that side trip we took. Kind of surprised she knew about it. Once things calm down, she wants to see my logs.” Ding's voice was low, no inflections ... and Mattim hardly breathed.

So Mary the miner hadn't forgotten. If we just had ten minutes . “What's she doing?”

“Making the rounds of her guard posts. Stopped by the bridge twice this morning,” Ding said helpfully.

“And I'd better drop down to engineering, see how Ivan's taking things.”

“I'll hold the fort. It's not as if we're going anyplace.”

Mattim snorted. Life had reached a new low when diving into a sun at two gees was going no place. Since a billion deaths waited at the other end, maybe they weren't.

He wanted to check the brig and engineering. He headed for Ivan first. Ivan could be depressing on his best days. It took Sandy's bubble to keep him smiling. There was no Sandy and no smile today. Mattim did his best to keep him at his job and out of mischief. Ivan took almost as much cajoling as the admiral. Mattim was an hour later getting to the brig.

“I guess we kind of blew it, sir.” The young middie talked to her hands.

“You did that.”

“But, sir ...”

“No buts about it.” Mattim was not going to say anything here in the brig that might land him in it. “You violated orders. You will spend the rest of this cruise here, and you will not cause either the security guards or the marines any trouble.”

She glanced up, an innocent grin on her face, “I've offered to show them some of my best throws.”

“Stay put. Behave.”

“That's what the marine officer said, too.”

“What marine officer?”

“The woman, two silver bars. Lieutenant?”

“Captain in the marines,” Mattim corrected.

“Oh, right. She was in here an hour ago. Said behave and don't cause any more trouble.” The middie reached over, tried to rattle very solid bars. “I guess we will.”

“Good. I'll drop by to make sure.” He turned to go.

“Captain, they're having ice cream tonight. Are we getting bread and water?”

Mattim glanced at the marines. An older marine corporal was in charge. She shrugged. “We got no orders.”

A young man and a matronly woman had the Navy watch. “I've told the mess deck to make them trays,” she said. “If you don't mind, I'll send Ahmadi to get it before the ice cream melts.”

“Do it. When you marines due for relief?” Mattim asked.

“Not for a while, sir,” the corporal answered.

“Ahmadi, bring enough ice cream for all of you. Tell Hassan I said so.” The marines were smiling when he left. With luck, they'd find it harder to shoot sailors, prisoners or no.

Half an hour later, Mattim came across a different kind of marine. Bald except for a fringe of gray, the old fellow wore warrant bars. Alone, he stood on a ladder hanging a new camera to cover an arc of passageway. Now that the passageways were radials, not straight, it took four or five cameras to cover one corridor. That had to leave lots of dead space for the admiral's spying. Damn! Why didn't think of that sooner?

Because conspiracy ain't part of my average day.” Old-timer, can I get a work party to help you?” Mattim asked.

“Thanks, sonny,” the fellow said, grinning, “but I work best alone. Besides, the admiral wants us marines to do this.” He squinted at Mattim's shoulder tabs and his eyes widened, “Captain, is it now?”

“Yeah,” Mattim said. “I'm skipper of this lash-up.”

“Sorry about the mess.” The guy waved a hand, screwdriver still in it, at the walls. Mattim spotted another camera blending smoothly into the wall. Hardly a mess, unless he meant the general situation.

“They live yet?”

“Not 'til I activate 'em.”

Mattim sidled around until he was in the visual dead space. “I been trying to say hi to your boss woman. She about?”

“Seen her twice today. Like you, she keeps moving on.”

“If you see her, tell her I said hi.”

“Will do that.” The old guy saluted, screwdriver still in hand. Mattim headed for the magazine to check on his rocks.

Like a robot in a do loop, Mary made rounds, one post after another. She also kept missing Mattim the merchant. Do I really want to talk to that dude?

Truth was, she didn't know. There were three people in charge on this ship—the admiral, the captain, and her. Any two of them could cause or stop the death of a billion people. Mary was new to this officer business and didn't much care for the responsibility. But, so long as she missed the captain, the admiral stayed, ahead on points. Mary walked slowly around an empty passageway. Lek had yet to put this one on camera. Out of sight of anyone, she stopped, leaned her forehead against the cool of the wall, and just stood there. Thoughts tumbled into her head. Like a trained gunner, she popped each one of them. Don’t think. Don't feel. Just be.

She stood there for a good thirty seconds in peace.

“Oh, sorry, Mary. I'll come back later.”

She turned to find Lek, his ladder and toolbox in hand. “Got a problem, old friend?” Why had she called him that?

He smiled, a sardonic one that wiggled all over his face. “You're standing where I need to put up a camera.”

“Oh, sorry.” She started to move off.

“Got a minute, Mary?”

“I guess.” That wasn't the way a marine captain talked. But it was the way she'd talked to Lek since she was just a kid and he'd pulled her out of the way of a flood of acid that would have dissolved her down to her toenails.

“Boat's captain says hi. I think he'd like to talk to you.”

“I imagine he would.” She glanced around the corridor. “Is this dead space?”

“Dead as the crew of the Flying Dutchman . But it's a waste of my time covering them all. Any good observation program watches who goes into one and when they come out. They stay in too long, you got an anomaly. They stay in too many too long and you got yourself a real live skunk. It's a waste me doing this.”

“Then why you doing it?” Mary asked.

“ 'Cause there ain't nothing good I want to do for the bastard we're working for.”

“The admiral.”

“Yeah.”

“Dumont likes him.”

“Dumont's a kid and don't know better. Mary, how many times you been told things will be different this time, extra overtime for just a few more weeks and then ... what do they promise us? Don't matter. Management don't deliver.”

“You don't trust the admiral.”

“Bad instruments don't give good data. The boy is bad. Nothing good's gonna come of him.”

“Would you stop him?”

“How?” Lek shrugged.

Mary heaved a sigh. “That's the problem. How?”

“I don't know, Mary, but you're a good girl, smart too. Let me show you something.” He handed her a disk not much bigger than a wrist comm unit. “Push that button, and cameras in line-of-sight go off-line for two, three minutes. I've used it a dozen times and the admiral hasn't bitched. Must put it down to cheap Navy shit.”

She flipped it over; there was nothing to see. When she glanced up, Lek was studying a video display. “Captain just left the brig. If you're gonna talk to him, you better do it soon. We're an hour out from the sun doing its swing thing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a useless camera to install.” Without looking back, he was gone.

Mary never remembered dropping down three decks, she just did. Even if they did bump into each other, he might have nothing to say. She didn't have to tell him about Lek's hole card. Even if she let him talk, she didn't have to agree. After all, the admiral was the admiral, and he did talk like he knew what he was doing. Mary swung down a ladder and picked up the pace. It wasn't fair to let a billion people die just because she didn't make a decision, didn't listen to the one man who might speak for them. A billion people deserved listening to—even if they were the enemy.

Ray smiled as Rita slipped naked into bed beside him. But the assault she began on him ended in tears. He held her close as she cried. When she went to wash away the tears, he was still awake. “Tomorrow, after I brief the President, things will be better for Wardhaven.” There were mikes in the room. No video, but what they said was recorded.

Rita kicked the bathroom door closed. She was a long time coming back to bed.

Mattim sauntered slowly down the passageway. He'd bet everything on talking to Mary, and for seventeen hours he hadn't found her—one person on his ship. His weight tugged at him; the sun must be accelerating them up toward 2.5 gees. It was time to settle into high-gee couches. Even if he found her, there was no time left to negotiate. Sixty minutes wasn't enough for a gambit, proposal, cooling-off period, and closing. No time.

The marine CO marched around the curve, saluting as she approached. He came out of his depressing slouch to return her salute. “I understand you've been looking for me,” she said.

“Uh, yeah, right,” Mattim stuttered. “I wanted to welcome you aboard.”

“Sorry about your officer. My sergeant was just following the admiral's orders.” She came to a stop not a foot from him, face in his face.

“Yeah, I know. We're all just following orders. Makes for a good epitaph.”

“It could end the war real quick. My people have had enough of being targets for these damn colonials.”

Mattim rocked back on his heels at the sheer force she put into those words. Have I ever felt that strong about anything?

Yes, damn it. I want this war over, too. So we stand here and see who can shout “I want out of the war” the loudest.” How long you studied war?” he asked. That took her aback.

“Five, six months. And you?” she spat.

“Same six months. But Guns spent his entire life, forty years, studying it. My exec is a lifer too. Guns died saying this was no way to end a war. Ding—you had lunch with her—is just as sure. How long's the admiral studied war?”

“I cut the cameras and mikes out halfway through that spiel, before you got us shot.” Mary held up a small plastic disk. “We got three minutes. Talk to me, Mattim the merchant. What are you selling? Admiral's offering a wide-open ticket for the rest of my life. What's in your bag?”

“A billion people who won't haunt your dreams.”

“No good. Us marines already got more than we can sleep with, a billion more won't matter. Besides, they're enemy. To my folks, they're just targets waiting to die. You got to do better, Navy.”

Time, Mattim needed time. But it was all gone. He rummaged in his brain for another argument. “They ain't after your blood yet. You massacre them, their ghosts'll be screaming for you to the day you die and beyond. You kill one planet, and ninety-nine others will come howling after you. You think this war has been bad, wait 'til the gloves come off. We've got a few like Guns and Ding who've studied war for twenty, forty years. The colonials got folks that have been fighting for fifty years.”

“We got tech and industry. They ain't,” Mary snapped.

“How long we gonna keep it when they start slipping ships through jump points at high speeds? It only takes a few minutes to launch relativity bombs. Sirius, Vega, Earth.”

“That's suicide.”

“Yes, and after we kill a billion people, you think everyone will stay rational.” Mary didn't answer that one; Mattim pressed on. “You trust Whitebred to remember you if he makes it big?”

Mary gave him a curt head-shake. “Not five minutes unless we can make him.”

“So for a promise from a guy you can't trust, you want to do something everyone who should know better says will only make things a hell of a lot worse. Mary, this is a no-brainer.”

Now Mary's shake of the head was slow and sad. “Not for desperate people who want it to work. Matt, I got people behind me with loaded guns who came into this war with nothing. Whitebred may sound like an idiot to you, but to them, he's a golden skyhook. Those people have kept me alive, and I won't kill them just because you think they're wrong. No matter how this comes out, marine don't kill marine.”

“Given,” Mattim shot back. “Marines don't kill marines or Navy or the other way around. No matter what happens, we bring this crew out alive.”

Mary chuckled. “I thought you wanted to save a billion.”

“So I start small and work up.” Mattim paused, to swallow his elation at getting this far and to figure out what his next step was. “You and I have an agreement. Now it looks to me like it's up to our crews. None of mine will fight for the admiral. Think you can work your marines around?”

“I'll have to talk to them.”

“We don't have much time before we're in high-gee beds. After that, we're all rigged for sound. Admiral is monitoring anything that goes over the net.”

Mary laughed. “Admiral don't know Lek.”

“The old guy?”

“Right. For years Lek's been getting us private channels the mine bosses didn't know about. Trust me, we can talk without being listened to.”

“Deal, miner.” Mattim offered his hand.

“Deal, merchant.” She took it firmly and shook. Lek's gadget beeped. The cameras were back up.

Mary checked two guard posts, but her mind was elsewhere. No marines die. No more sailors die. It came down to trust. Whom did she trust, Whitebred or the man she'd shared drinks and a night with? She remembered Mattim talking about bringing his ship back from halfway across the galaxy. He knew how to lead people, help them pull together. He was no liar. Whitebred was a lot of noise. Most managers were. Mary would trust her instincts, and they said trust Mattim. Mary “happened into” Lek. “Dead space?”

“Still,” he said.

“How's the net rigged for spare channels? We'll be in high-gee carts in an hour. Can the boss man listen in when you fart?”

Lek looked hurt. “Mary, you've always been kind enough not to notice. I'm hurt. We're covered.”

“Got a spare line for some Navy types?”

“Figured you'd want them. Yep.”

The shipwide address system crackled to life. “High gees in thirty minutes. Prepare for high-gee running in half an hour.”

Lek yanked a half-installed camera from the wall. “Glad that's over. Now we do something for real.” Mary hoped he was right: What if Dumont and his kids wouldn't get behind her? Would he run to the admiral, shoot her? She'd fought to save marines. Could she fight for navy and colonials, too?

“Captain, this is the admiral.” The audio cut into her thoughts.

She jumped. “Yes sir.”

“This high-gee thing. I hope that doesn't mean you'll be closing down the guard posts. Sailors can still move about. I want your marines on alert for anything, anytime.”

“Yes sir,” Mary answered, trying to figure out how to say no. She needed a face-to-face talk. With her marines scattered, that wasn't going to happen. Still, now was no time to tell the admiral no. “I'll keep guards at all posts. Anything else, sir?”

There was a pause. “Add another two men to my guard post.” A longer pause. “And double the guard along the bomb accelerator.” Mary waited. “Keep your eyes peeled. Don't trust anyone. And pull the marines out of the brig. They're getting too friendly with those damn sailors.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, Captain, good. You'll go far with me.”

Mary hoped not too far.

Ward Star gave them a rough ride as it slung them toward the second planet of the system. The gee monitor on Mattim's chair bounced between three and six gees for the better part of an hour. Once the ship was steady on course at 3.8 gees, Mattim verified the damage was acceptable. Then he punched his mike.

“This is the captain. The Sheffield’s a good ship and you're a great crew. Let's call it a day. Set minimum watches and the rest, sleep if you can manage.” He turned his gee cart to face Ding. “Exec, you have the conn. As soon as you can rustle up a replacement, hit the rack yourself. Tomorrow will be another busy day.” Just how busy, Mary the marine would decide.

Ding answered with a “Will do, sir” that could fit most anything. Mattim motored off the bridge, his cart hardly slowing as it high-stepped over the hatch coaming. He had the passageway to himself... most of his crew would sleep at their posts.

His room was a shambles. The desk had sheared away from the wall. “Bet the bolts came from the lowest bidder.” Mattim didn't laugh, not at three-point-something of his normal weight. His comm link lay scattered on the deck, still working, but monitor and camera facedown. “Off,” he ordered. He'd hoped the room might provide some extra privacy. He hadn't expected this much. He activated his cart mike.

“Bridge, captain here. I'm in my cabin. My desk collapsed. We'll worry about it later. Call me on my cart if you need me.” Mattim rigged the cart as a bed and settled in to see how well he'd sleep. Just as he got comfortable, the comm beeped.

“Merchant, do not reply.” Mary's voice poured quickly into his ear. “When you want to talk freely, activate channel Lek twenty-three. My crew is staying at guard posts. We'll get no chance to talk. Any suggestions that could get all of us together in quarters would be gratefully appreciated. Out.” Just what Mattim needed—another puzzle to unravel when he needed sleep. He stared at the overhead, trying to order the various parts of his problem. They kept cascading in upon themselves. He hadn't gotten much sleep when the comm buzzed six hours later.