by J. L. Curtis
Telling the animals to stay and hide, he quickly wiped down as well as he could, then stepped quickly on the porch and grabbed the monocular hanging on the back of the chair. Focusing on the shuttle, he saw Colonel Keads coming down the ramp with a small redheaded female warrant officer.
Looking quickly over at the storage building, he didn’t see either one of the animals. Relieved, he started jogging down the meadow toward the shuttle, only to be waved back by Colonel Keads who shouted, “We’ll come to you. Stay put.”
Shrugging, Fargo stopped where he was and waited. Keads and the redhead walked up, “Fargo, this is Warrant Boykin. She flew the lift when we went to Delhi.”
He nodded, “Nice to meet you ma’am. Pardon me for not shaking hands, but I’ve been up to my… neck in Slashgator trying to clean a hide.” Turning to Keads, he asked, “What can I do for you, Colonel?”
“A bulb of coffee would be nice, and someplace we can talk privately.”
Fargo turned, “That I can do, come on up to the cabin. Coffee, Warrant?”
Boykin said in a flat voice, “Never turn down coffee. Donuts either.”
Fargo glanced at her, and saw a smile lifting one corner of her mouth, “Coffee, and I’ll see what the autochef can do about a, what did you call it, donut?”
Once they were seated around the table, Keads asked, “You have an offline datacomp?”
He nodded and dug the standalone unit out of the bottom of the e-tainment system. Placing it on the table, he picked up the bulbs of coffee from the autochef, handed them around and placed the strange looking pastry in front of Boykin. She looked at it skeptically for a second, then took a bite, “Not a donut, but a beignet is close enough. Thank you.”
Fargo couldn’t contain himself, asking, “Does this have something to do with the data from two weeks ago?”
Keads nodded, “It does. I’m here unofficially, in that Colonel Cameron doesn’t know and I’m hoping you won’t tell him.”
He rocked back in his chair, “No, of course not.” Now isn’t this interesting… Number two is bypassing number one? I fucking hate politics…
Keads continued, “I’m actually the senior intel rep on Hunter, but in mufti, so to speak. We really need to get eyes on before the fleet gets here. I know your folks have real battle armor hidden away, and I want to insert a couple of scouts to check the location, if possible.”
Slipping a cube in the datacomp, he called up a detailed overhead view of the site, let it run through one sequence, and then stopped the holo. “I spent a stealth to get this, passive only, two nights ago. Reorienting the display, he pointed out, “Looks like two sensors of some type, here and here, on top of the cliff and ridge that surround their outpost.”
Fargo asked, “Confirmed outpost?”
Keads replied, “Yep, through other parties, but confirmed. At least two Dragoons on planet.”
“Lovely,” Fargo muttered.
“Now approaches, here, here and here,” he pointed out three separate locations outside the rim of the ridge. “Boykin can drop your people far enough away to prevent counter detection, but that’s going to mean a hike in. Figuring the drop at zero three, that would give four hours to get into some kind of hide for the day, maybe launch a Ferret or three in completely passive mode, spend the night checking for trips, sensors, anything of interest that might save a troop’s life.”
Fargo looked at Boykin, “How close do you figure you can get us?”
Boykin cocked her head, reoriented the holo, rescaled and said flatly, “No detection, six miles. Minimal detection opportunity, four miles. Drop would be five hundred or less. Other option is high and hot, drop you from suborbital, but even with stealth, your odds of detection exceed sixty percent. Not sure you want to trust a suit’s anti-grav from eighty thousand.”
Fargo shuddered, “Not only no, but hell no!” Curiously, he asked, “How do you know we can get in covert?”
Boykin half smiled, “Nape of the planet. Lots of canyons up there. We’d be down in the canyon on stealth. Unless we’re seen visually, they’ll never know we’re there.”
Fargo grinned sickly, “So, a bumpy ride?”
Boykin finally smiled, “What is that old Earth term? Ride ‘em cowboy. You’d be locked in an external chute, I promise to pop you out on a flat piece of ground.”
Site and Situation
Fargo dropped into the clinic, and he and OneSvel went into one of the exam rooms as Fargo said, “Need a little something for nausea, and need to get my ears checked for vertigo.”
OneSvel extruded a pseudopod and lightly touched Fargo’s temple, What is going on?
Fargo projected, Colonel Keads, the number two on the planet is going to get us, well me and two others, inserted to try to scout this Goon outpost. Apparently, we’re going in through the canyons and be spit out on a flat piece of ground. I’m really not wanting to spend two, three days in armor that I’ve puked in.
When will this happen?
Tomorrow night. I need you to push this up in case things go to shit.
Fargo caught a bit of something from OneSvel’s mind that he didn’t think was complimentary and exasperation, then OneSvel projected, Your pharmacope is topped off, but I will give you a nanoinject that should mitigate the nausea. Seventy-two divs you say?
At least…
OneSvel extruded another pseudopod, rummaged it around in one cabinet, then another, then exuded two more that mixed something, and inserted it into an injector. His GalTrans said, “This should fix your balance and vertigo problems, sir. In any case I’d like to see you…
Doc Jenkins stuck his head in the exam room, “Oh, sorry. OneSvel, we need to get an order put together for the supply ship. As soon as you get through with Ethan, can you get on that?”
OneSvel answered, “Certainly, Doctor. Five minutes. Fargo has a minor ear infection that I’m treating with a nanosteroid injection.”
Jenkins nodded, “Very well. Good to see you, Ethan.”
OneSvel projected, I will get this out tonight, but I do want to see you when you get back and have a report to forward on what you find.
Will do. Does it bother you to play technician? You’re probably far more qualified than Doc Jenkins.
OneSvel didn’t do anything for a minute but prepare and then inject Fargo. Finally he projected, Actually, it doesn’t. Jenkins has eighty years of experience, a vast pool of knowledge that I could never get if I weren’t here. He enjoys telling the stories, treats me better than I treated technicians, and I enjoy the interactions with basic humans. It is making me a better surgeon. More, what do you call it, empathic to conditions? I am also increasing my knowledge of diagnosis, since few here have laces or anything that assists in displaying the symptoms.
Fargo nodded, I’m glad, I was worried you would be frustrated, and want to go back to the GalScouts.
OneSvel’s GalTrans gave the equivalent of a Taurasian laugh, “Give this shot twelve divs to act, then you should be good.”
***
Fargo had sent Cattus and Canis back to their respective packs early in the afternoon, then sat down and composed an ‘if you are reading this’ letter, and updated his will. Saving it to his datacomp and e-tainment message queue, he took the time to hit the fresher, eat a good dinner and brewed himself a cup of real coffee.
Just before ten, he stripped and hit the fresher one more time, then dressed in his undersuit, plugging the tubes in, and cursing them as he finally got everything seated. He walked gingerly out and sat on the front steps, looking up and the sky and marveling at the stars and moons, George and Celeste. They seemed so close you could almost touch them. I wonder if this will be the last time I see them.
Hearing the shuttle’s approach, he turned the lights off and pulled the door closed, wondering if he would be back. Stop that shit! Get your damn head in the game. If you don’t your ass is dead anyway. Dammit, I forgot to message Nicole. Damn…
The shuttle settled to the ground, groanin
g on the skids as the anti-grav came off and the aft ramp came down. He walked slowly toward it, inhaling one last scent of the nearpines as he stepped up the ramp when it thumped to the ground. The only people in the bay were a Kepleran crewchief, XMfsmer! And Ban and Shar. “Pop? Bahn, Shar good to see you. Y’all ready for this?”
Bahn and Shar smiled and chorused, “Fun times, we’re ready.”
Pop’s GalTrans said, “Captain, we should mount up now. I have to insert you in your chutes.”
Fargo nodded, “Let’s do this. You’re chief of the boat, Pop?”
XMfsmer! bared his teeth in what Fargo knew was a grin, “For ten years with the warrant. We’re known as the little people crew.”
Bahn added, “Other than you, Captain, we’re all little people,” as he climbed into his armor.
Fargo chuckled as he climbed in and wiggled into position, connected his evacuation lines, started the closing sequence and powered the armor up. He felt the snap as his neural lace connected to the suit’s AI, and it responded, “Good evening, Captain. Are you ready for full power up?”
Fargo replied, “For now Cindy, but we will be going into stealth mode shortly. Please run all BIT checks now.”
BIT checks completed, Fargo walked the armor down the ramp and around the side of the shuttle to the external chutes as Boykin continued her briefing, “There is an LEO constellation up for the next ninety-six divs, spread two hours apart. I’ve downloaded the sat tracks to your suits, they are passive receptors only, no confirmation receipts. Each of you has a broadcast window for burst transmissions only at two, four, and six after each even div.”
Fargo watched Pop load Bahn and Shar into their respective chutes, then it was his turn. His comms popped as Pop selected his discrete, “Ready, Captain? A little forward, half step left, okay easy up.” Fargo bumped his anti-grav up a notch to seventy percent and felt Pop guide him into the chute as he armor lifted, “Hold what you have.” Then heard the clank as the bottom of the chute closed.
“All chutes loaded WO. Raising ramp, we’re clear to lift.”
Fargo shifted to the shuttle’s video cameras, hating the shut in feeling and looking for a way to see what was going on.
***
Boykin’s voice came over the comms, “Go full stealth now. Entering canyons, ETA to drop, twelve minutes.”
Fargo commanded, “Cindy, full stealth now. Burst transmit only on command. No active emissions, EMCON level two.”
He watched the HUD as various systems changed colors from white to green and orange, then Cindy’s voice said, “Full stealth configuration completed. Weapons cold. Disconnecting from ship net now.”
Fargo’s sense of claustrophobia closed in as the shuttle began to rapidly bank left and right, rise and fall. He bounced off the top of the armor and commanded, “Combat retention now.” The gel expanded, locking him in position, holding him centered in the armor. As the banking and pitching continued, Fargo breathed deeply, feeling sweat break out on his brow, aS he fought off nausea.
Suddenly he was falling, momentarily panicking until he realized he could see again and was out of the chute. Looking down, he saw a small patch of smooth ground below him and looked up to see about four hundred feet of cliff face staring back at him. “Auto land, Cindy.”
The AI responded, “Auto land in two seconds.”
***
Four hours, two broken stacers and multiple sessions of cussing later, Fargo was situated fifty yards below the military crest of the bowl, crouched in a group of boulders. Keying the Ferret micro-UAV function, he programmed four of them for passive search, two high and two low. Reviewing their tracks so that he could recover them, he rechecked the overlay of the bowl, wishing he knew exactly where Bahn and Shar were, not just where they were supposed to be. Lack of comms sucked.
With a mental shrug, he keyed the launch cue, felt one of the auxiliary panels open as the four Ferrets ejected. Passively scanning to his visual range, he didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean much. Relaxing the gel, he took some nourishment, did a few isometrics, and napped for a couple of hours.
Coming awake to Cindy’s voice, “Alert, alert, Ferrets inbound.” Fargo stretched, sipped a drink of water, opened the auxiliary panel and waited impatiently. Three of the four Ferrets returned, slotted back into the panel and started transferring data when he closed the panel.
Matching the data against the overlay, he didn’t see any new construction, but did see two guards in front of what was obviously a constructed tunnel leading back into the wall of the bowl. The most western Ferret had overflown an object that had Fargo flipping back and forth on the video until he realized it was some type of receiver. Cataloging the data feeds, he finally found what he thought was a transmitter from the easternmost Ferret. They looked like they were about four feet off the ground, and he wondered if it was a laser, sonic, sniffer or what.
Eight hours later, he’d confirmed there were no sonics in his area, there weren’t any patrols on top of the bowl, and he’d gotten data from fourteen of eighteen Ferrets, and was sorely tempted to program one to try to enter the tunnel. There were, in fact, two rudimentary pads for ships at the far end of the bowl, five camouflaged bunkers, one of which was a barracks, and he estimated the guard force at something around a platoon. He’d seen, via a Ferret, one Dragoon come out of the tunnel and go into one of the other bunkers, apparently some kind of supply bunker as it had come out carrying what looked like a rations pack. He’d also gotten some recordings of Spanglish, confirming the humans were Traders.
Pushing reports out every cycle kept him alert, and as darkness fell, he slowly uncoiled the armor from its position in the boulder field. Easing up to the military crest, he commanded, “Cindy, smoke plume straight ahead, one second.”
Watching closely, he saw a glitter four feet off the ground as a spit of smoke rushed out. Satisfied, Fargo eased back a few yards, launching more Ferrets, including one targeted at the tunnel mouth. He was startled to see a glow overhead, quickly looked up and saw a glow in the low clouds on the opposite side of the bowl. Realizing it was probably a tight beam laser, he quickly took a bearing and video capture.
Another eight hours, two foul emergency food bars, sixteen more Ferrets’ worth of data later, and Fargo was going batty with boredom. He wondered how Ban and Shar were doing, and was to the point that he was humming songs to himself, when he finally said screw it. The sun would be up in an hour and his position was directly up-sun from the bowl.
Backing the armor down the slope to below the military crest, he crouched the armor and climbed out. Low crawling up to the edge of the bowl, he looked directly down, cataloging what the Ferrets had picked up. He saw what appeared to be two more tunnel entrances and watched the guard force change. Satisfied, he eeled back, stood up and did his best to brush his undersuit off as he climbed back into the armor.
Four hours and another broken stacer later, Fargo was standing on the same little plot of ground that he’d been landed on. It was definitely easier going downhill, and he’d used the anti-grav a couple of times rather than actually climb down a cliff or two.
Drowsing in the armor, he was surprised when the shuttle rose up directly in front of him and backed the open ramp slowly toward him. It grounded and he walked quickly up the ramp as the shuttle dropped back down into the canyon. Pop said, “Ramp secure, Captain, please lock in.”
Fargo swiveled to see Ban and Shar’s armor locked into the side of the shuttle so he carefully stepped up next to them and felt the clamps attach to his armor. “Captain is locked in, Chief of ship is locked in, ready to maneuver WO.”
“Roger.” Boykin dropped the nose of the shuttle, and the rocking and rolling started as she flew back down the canyons. Fargo connected to the shuttle cameras, but soon turned them off, not wanting to throw up from the constantly changing visual horizon. He couldn’t help but wonder how Boykin did it and kept her stomach, much less her sanity.
***
Thr
ee hours later, Boykin grounded the shuttle at the Enclave and was met by Colonel Keads, Nicole, and Lal. Boykin came over the comms flatly, “Grounded, crew and pax are cleared to unlock and depart.”
Fargo led them off and walked the armor over to the weapons building before dismounting. When he climbed out, Nicole met him then backed up two steps, “Damn, you stink! The colonel wants a face to face debrief in the intel spaces, but you need the fresher first.”
Fargo sniffed, “Sorry, you try spending two days in this damn thing, and see how you smell.”
Bahn and Shar climbed out and started laughing, Fargo glanced at them and joined in as Nicole cocked her head, trying to figure out what was going on. Ban looked at him, “Ekavir, I saw you climb up to the edge of the bowl. You are crazy.”
Fargo replied, “Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that wanted a look, was I?”
Nicole, finally picked up on the dirty undersuits, “Oh, you stupid men!” Turning around she stomped off toward the door. Fargo looked at her, shook his head, and walked to the fresher in the weapons building.
***
Nicole pivoted the holo again, and Colonel Keads asked, “So everything here agrees with what you individually collected?”
Fargo glanced at Bahn, then Shar, and turned to the colonel, “It does. Passive sensors up top, other than the lasers which are set for four feet. One tight beam comms laser, pointed opposite of the space station into deep space. No patrols observed, guards only on the main tunnel. No visual on anti-ship missiles and other defensive weapons, but we’re pretty sure they are there. Two, maybe three smaller tunnels all on the south side of the bowl. Very little wear on the pads at the far end of the bowl, so we’re betting they come in and depart on anti-grav with some kind of suppressed power plant. Not something we saw. Definitely Spanglish, and we saw at least two distinctly different Dragoons, but no rank tabs on either one of them. Total body count appears to be two platoons worth, about fifty humanoids. Some mix of techs and soldiers.”
