The Razor's Edge

by Seanan McGuire

  * * *

  McCallum felt sorry for Doctor Hanson, but couldn’t help her, not with three armed opponents. He’d been briefed on the resistance, which wanted to be free of the company and the Imperial government. According to the Legion’s Intel people, only two-thousand rebels belonged to the group, which made it more of a nuisance than a threat.

  Wilson led them into a crowded hallway, but rather than join the ambulatory patients who were shuffling towards the elevators, Wilson shoved them out of the way. “Make a hole … Step aside … Emergency personnel coming through.”

  McCallum couldn’t tell if people believed that, but if they didn’t, the presence of two people armed with machine pistols kept them from complaining.

  Wilson followed the emergency stairs up to the hospital’s roof, where a darkened air car was waiting. Once the doctor was loaded into the back, Wilson ordered McCallum to get in, which he did.

  The car departed two minutes later and headed north. It wasn’t long before the vehicle began to bank right and left as it followed a pass up through the mountains to the manmade plateau on top of Mine 1. It was an old dig, and no longer in operation.

  Half a dozen people met the car. Doctor Hanson was able to stand, but was a bit unsteady, so McCallum offered his arm. Together they followed Wilson up a dimly lit path.

  The rebel leader was talking to some of his subordinates, and McCallum could tell that things weren’t going well for the Madsen Company’s mercs. Not that it mattered to Wilson, because he wanted both sides to lose.

  After being escorted into the mine and through a maze of tunnels, the prisoners found themselves in a side gallery. A faded “Office” sign hung over the entryway. The walls consisted of machine-scored rock, the furnishings were utilitarian, and the floor was damp. A com center occupied one corner, and all of the incoming reports were negative.

  A man with narrow-set eyes and prominent jaw came forward to meet them. McCallum knew the man was military, or ex-military, because of his bearing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. I’m Mark Coogan. I hear the Legion tried to kill you.”

  “They came close,” McCallum replied.

  Coogan nodded. “We know about your mission. It was a thing of beauty.”

  “Until it wasn’t,” McCallum said grimly.

  “Would you like to get even?” Coogan inquired.

  “Yes,” McCallum replied. “Put me with General Atov and I’ll kill her.”

  “I’d love to,” Coogan replied. “But that isn’t possible. According to the most recent intelligence reports, she’s aboard the destroyer Maximus and well out of our reach.

  “There are other ways to strike back though.”

  “Count me in,” McCallum replied.

  “Even if that involves fighting the Legion?”

  “When Atov ordered legionnaires to kill my team, they obeyed,” McCallum said darkly.

  Coogan nodded. “We’re working on a mission, one you’re uniquely qualified to carry out. But I’m not ready to brief you yet. Grab something to eat and get some rest. Rivera will show you around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Coogan replied. “Dismissed.”

  * * *

  Carla turned to go as Rivera led McCallum out of the office. “Hold on,” Coogan said, “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “About McCallum,” Coogan replied. “What I said was true. I might have a mission for him. But I need to know if he’s capable of pulling it off.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Carla responded, “not a military person. I have no way to know how competent McCallum is.”

  “No. What I want is your assessment of whether McCallum could take charge of a team and hold it together long enough to blow up an enemy target. He’s subject to hallucinations according to one of your coworkers.”

  One of Carla’s peers had been feeding information to the resistance. Which one? Not that it mattered. “McCallum is a very responsible person,” Carla replied. “That’s why he feels so badly about losing his team. Even though there was nothing McCallum could do to prevent their deaths, he blames himself.

  “So, if he had a new team, it seems reasonable to suppose that he would feel equally responsible for it,” Carla concluded. “And that might keep him integrated. But it’s just a theory. The human mind has a lot of moving parts, and his was injured.”

  “Thank you,” Coogan said. “I appreciate your input. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like to. Lord knows we need doctors. But it won’t be pretty if you’re captured. You might want to leave while that’s possible. We’ll provide you with supplies and a map.”

  Carla knew the rebel leader was right, but was willing to take the chance. “I’m going to stay. And, if you send McCallum on that mission, I want to go with him. The team will need a doctor.”

  Coogan frowned. “Is that the doctor speaking? Or the woman?”

  “Both,” Carla replied. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  * * *

  After drawing a set of civilian work clothes and eating some glutinous macaroni with Rivera, McCallum was free to choose one of the cots in Tunnel 1. Each bed was equipped with a soiled pillow and a Madsen Company blanket. That’s all McCallum needed. Sleep pulled him down.

  There was nothing other than nothing at first. Then the dreams began. McCallum was running, shouting orders, and looking for cover. When the mercs fired, legionnaires fell. His legionnaires. McCallum paused to grab a corporal’s harness and drag her into the relative safety of an equipment shed.

  The metal siding was thick enough to stop the small caliber stuff, but .50 caliber rounds passed right through it, and green tracers crisscrossed the interior head-high. That would have been the end of the fight if it hadn’t been for the team’s heavily armed Trooper Vs. Intense fire from their machineguns and arm-mounted energy weapons kept the mercenaries from advancing.

  McCallum and his radio operator sat huddled under a tractor. “Ground Pounder to Sky Eye,” McCallum said. “This is Ground Pounder. Over.”

  McCallum heard a burp of static followed by a female voice. “This is Sky Eye. I have you five-by-five. Over.”

  “We have the prize. But we’re surrounded and taking heavy fire. Request air support and a fly form. Over.”

  A moment passed while General Atov was summoned. McCallum recognized her voice. “This is Sky Eye actual. Hang in there Pounder, air support is five out. A dust-off will follow. Over.”

  McCallum felt better after that. If Atov said help was on the way, then help was on the way. The fire fight continued. Men, women, and cyborgs died. But that was what they were paid to do. What he was paid to do. And something each of them had chosen.

  Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the air assets arrived. Rather than announce themselves, as they normally would, the fighters attacked. Not the mercenaries, but the shed the legionnaires were hiding in, and that’s when McCallum screamed.

  McCallum woke to find that he was sitting up. His body was drenched in sweat, and his heart was beating fast. He looked left and right. Had he screamed out loud? No, apparently not. Rivera was snoring two feet away. Thank god for that.

  McCallum forced himself to lay down. Now he was afraid to sleep lest he betray himself. Time passed slowly. Eventually a runner arrived. “Coogan wants to see you,” the woman said. “He’s waiting in his office.”

  McCallum was grateful for the chance to get up, but Rivera wasn’t. He bitched all the way to the coffee pot, and from there to the office, where Coogan and members of his staff were waiting. “You know Rivera,” Coogan said, “and this is Lieutenant McCallum. He was a member of the Legion until recently, and he’s willing to help us.

  “Lieutenant McCallum, this is Captain Hassan, our S-1, Captain Fenton, our S-2, and Major Ossey, our S-3. I told you that we might have a job for you, and we do. Captain Fenton? Bring the lieutenant up to speed.”

  McCallum knew that an S-2 was an intelligence officer, and the u
se of such titles seemed to confirm his suspicion that Coogan was a veteran of someone’s army. A planetary force perhaps.

  Fenton was thirty-something. She wore her hair in a ponytail, and was dressed in an olive-drab jump suit and a pair of muddy boots. A pistol was slung beneath her left arm. She nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. The Owens snatch was a work of art. Please accept my condolences regarding the loss of your team.

  “What I’m about to describe is a mission which, if successful, will hand General Atov a significant defeat. It won’t win the war, but it will drag the conflict out for a year, and provide us with a chance to regroup.”

  “I’m in,” McCallum said. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Fenton smiled. “I like your attitude. Here’s some background. As you are no doubt aware, the time-space continuum is thinner in some places—making it easier to enter or leave hyperspace at those locations.

  “There could be tens of thousands of such points in our galaxy, but only eight-hundred and sixty-seven have been mapped and marked with beacons. A Madsen Mining scout ship discovered a jump point in this system. The company marked it with a beacon, filed a claim on the planet, and spent billions to settle it.

  “Time passed. And as more and more shipping began to use the jump point, the Imperial government sent Madsen an electronic draft for half a billion dollars and took control of the beacon. Now the government intends to tax everything that comes and goes through the jump point—and levy a surcharge on the proceeds from Madsen’s Rhodium mine too.”

  “That’s where the mission comes in,” Fenton added. “If we could put a team on the space station where the beacon is located, and destroy it, shipping would slow to a crawl.

  “Yes, the imperials know where the node is. But to reestablish the beacon they’ll have to send a new one, plus ships to protect it, all through normal space. And Madsen’s mercenaries will be waiting for them.

  “After that, who knows? Maybe we win and maybe we lose. But we’ll have a chance. And that’s more than we have now. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes,” McCallum replied. “Why me?”

  “Because,” Coogan replied, “you are, or were, a Legion officer. And the space station is protected by legionnaires. You know how they think, and you know how they fight. Once on the station that could give you an edge.

  “But there’s something more as well. Only a person with an Imperial implant can operate the space station’s outer lock. Yes, it might be possible for someone else to bullshit their way in, but the station’s crew will expect to receive a navy officer, or a legionnaire, and it would be a shame to disappoint them.”

  McCallum gave the proposal some thought. Desertion was bad enough. But what if he was forced to kill some legionnaires? Could he live with that? Yes, the inner voice said. The Legion killed your team. And while he couldn’t kill Atov he needed to do something. McCallum nodded. “I’m your man.”

  That’s what McCallum said. But, deep inside he wondered. Are you up to it? Can you face combat again? Are you the man you were? No one answered.

  * * *

  Strange shapes squatted or loomed all around as Carla followed McCallum’s team through a maze of worn out mining machines. Two days had passed since she’d been abducted from the hospital and McCallum had agreed to Colonel Coogan’s proposal. “There she is,” their guide said. “Straight ahead.”

  The Solar Queen was about sixty-years old and was waiting to be scrapped when members of the resistance brought her back to life. The freighter was crouched on her skids, ramp down, waiting for the team to board. A rectangle of light beckoned.

  As Carla followed the others aboard she saw peeling paint, some loose wires that dangled from above, and a badly scarred deck. “All she has to do is get us there and bring us back,” McCallum assured her. And that was true. But could she? That remained to be seen.

  Assuming the old lady could lift, and exit the atmosphere, what then? Would the Imperial navy blow the Queen to smithereens? The answer was “no,” according to Coogan.

  The transponder had been stolen from an Imperial warship that was undergoing repairs on the far side of the planet. Since that time the device had been installed in the Solar Queen which, according to the signal she was broadcasting, was the Imperial cargo vessel Helios.

  Unless someone decides to check, Carla thought, in which case we’ll wind up dead.

  The Solar Queen’s pilot was a man named Nevis Blackburn. He liked to talk about “sticking it to the man,” “screwing the system,” and “making them pay.” “Them” being the Madsen Mining managers who fired him for drinking on the job.

  Carla strapped herself into a seat. The team included five people, all disguised as legionnaires. The team included a brusque miner named Stacy Hardin, an explosives expert named Frank Pedy, and ex-security officer Jan Omata. Her job, as McCallum put it, “is to kill people.” And, judging from Omata’s expression, she was looking forward to it.

  “Okay, boys and girls,” Blackburn said over the intercom. “Hang onto your panties, we’re gonna light this thing off.”

  That was followed by some heavy gees as Blackburn took the Queen straight up. Carla closed her eyes and waited to die. She didn’t. There was a brief moment of nausea as the ship left the planet’s gravity well, followed by a sudden return of gravity as the freighter’s argrav generator came on. “They bought it,” Blackburn said over the intercom. “The Queen is cleared for an in-system shakedown cruise. We’re twenty minutes out.”

  McCallum released his safety harness and stood. He looked different now. The surgical scrubs had been replaced by a set of the Legion’s light-bending camos, body armor, and a combat harness.

  McCallum smiled. “Welcome to the Legion, Doc.”

  He turned to the others. “Okay, listen up. We’ve been through it before, and yes, we’re going to review it again. The orbital command authority is under the impression that this is an Imperial vessel which, after being repaired, is on a shakedown cruise.

  “So, when Blackburn declares a mechanical emergency, traffic control will approve his request to dock with the space station. That’s when we’ll enter, make our way to the compartment where the beacon is housed, and plant our explosives.

  “Then we’ll return to the Queen. If we’re lucky Blackburn will put the ship down in the western hemisphere. Then we’ll run like hell, because once the Legion figures out what happened, they will destroy the ship.

  “Do you have any questions? No? Good. Dr. Hanson? Would you join me please?”

  Carla stood, and followed McCallum back to where the post-landing expedition packs were stored. The cargo hold was mostly empty, utilitarian in appearance, and very worn. McCallum turned to face her. “Can I call you Carla?”

  “Yes, you can.”

  McCallum nodded. “Thank you. I need a favor Carla, one that only you can grant me.”

  “Okay,” Carla replied tentatively. “What is it?”

  “You have a pistol,” McCallum said. “If I start to hallucinate, I want you to shoot me. I know you aren’t trained to fire a pistol, but we’ll be close to each other, so I’ll be impossible to miss. Just pull the trigger and keep pulling until I go down. Save me Carla, save me from myself.”

  Carla felt a lump form in the back of her throat. “That won’t happen.”

  “I feel better than I did before,” McCallum said. “A lot better. But who knows? People are depending on me. So, promise.”

  Carla looked into his eyes. “I promise.”

  McCallum looked relieved. “Thanks. That takes the pressure off. And, if something happens to me, please accept my thanks. You’re a good shrink, not to mention a pretty one, and if things were different … Well, you know.”

  “Yes,” Carla said. “I know.”

  McCallum smiled. “Good.”

  “Strap in,” Blackburn said via the intercom. “It’s show time.”

  There weren’t any ports in the hold, or view screens, so all the
boarding party could do was sit and sweat as Blackburn docked the ship. Time seemed to stretch, and Carla had to battle her right foot, which had a tendency to jerk up and down.

  But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Carla felt a gentle thump and knew the Queen was in contact with the space station. “We have a lock,” Blackburn announced. “You can leave your seats and board once air pressures are equalized. Have fun.”

  Fun was the one thing Carla knew she wouldn’t have as the team made last minute adjustments to their gear. They were wearing skintight bio-spacesuits in case fighting caused a catastrophic decompression on the space station. There was no need to bring anything other than their weapons, ammo, and two satchel charges.

  Once they were ready, McCallum led the way to the airlock. Omata was in the two slot, with Carla in three. Hardin and Pedy brought up the rear.

  The group paused in front of the lock and, when a light flashed green, the air-tight hatch hissed open.

  * * *

  McCallum entered the lock, waited for the rest to do likewise, and pushed a button. Air hissed, thirty seconds passed, and the inner hatch irised open. That allowed McCallum to enter the space station’s lock, where he had to shove his hand into a scanner or request an override from the platform’s duty officer. Something that would invite closer scrutiny.

  McCallum slid his hand into the scanner, felt a tingling sensation, and knew that the ship’s computer was communicating with his implant. He heard a click, followed by a computer-generated voice. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant McCallum. Please proceed through the tubeway.”

  The inner hatch cycled open, and that was Hardin’s cue to place a steel pry bar across the opening, a precaution that would prevent the space station’s crew from closing their side of the lock. McCallum spotted a navy lieutenant entering the other end of the tubeway and knew that was to be expected. The navy was responsible for operating the platform and it was the Legion’s job to protect it. “Hello,” the navy officer said. “My name is …”