The Halls of Montezuma

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  And we don’t know how many enemy soldiers got drowned when we blew the mountain and unleashed the flood, he reminded himself. Thousands of bodies had been swept downwards to the sea. The locals had picked up a number of dead soldiers and taken their bodies to mass graves, but thousands had never been found and buried. It was quite possible that some of them had survived and gone rogue, living off the land in a demented bid to continue the war until they died. The locals are never going to be sure they’re all gone.

  He shook his head as the shuttle powered up its drives, then leapt for the sky. The normal evasive manoeuvres were also gone. A good sign, but also something that bothered him. Better to take precautions and look paranoid than not take precautions and wind up dead. He tried to put the thought out of his mind as he keyed the datapad and linked into the shuttle’s communications systems. Havoc had departed orbit, two days ago. He felt a flicker of discontent, which he ruthlessly suppressed. He’d had no reason to think his brief affair with Captain Stumbaugh would last. There’d certainly been no guarantee his unit would be assigned to Havoc again. And there was no way he could ask.

  Major-General Anderson would not be pleased if I tried, he thought. He wouldn’t want personal feelings interfering with our duties.

  The shuttle’s gravity field twisted as it docked with the MEU. Haydn felt the stomach-twisting sensation, feeling - once again - as though the world was slightly out of kilter. He’d never quite gotten used to it, although he’d learnt to keep the reaction under control. There were poor bastards who honestly couldn’t handle it. They tended to stay planetside and never leave their homeworlds.

  Poor bastards, he thought.

  Command Sergeant Mayberry raised his voice as the hatches opened. “Report to your berths, then relax,” he barked. “And don’t leave your compartments without permission.”

  Hayden smiled at the handful of good-natured groans. The MEU was designed for the Marine Corps. There was no such thing as Marine Country on a ship that was owned and operated by the Marine Corps. But they had to stay in their berths, at least until the ship was underway and they could move about without getting in the way ... he smiled. No one was going to be shooting at them. For real, at least. He made a mental note to arrange more training time in a day or two. It would keep them busy.

  He watched the men hurrying through the hatch, then nodded to Mayberry. The Command Sergeant would keep an eye on them. He returned his datapad to his belt and headed through the hatch himself, making his way down to the briefing room. As always, it was a scene of organised chaos. Holographic images glided around like ghosts, brushing shoulders with flesh and blood officers from the MEU. He was mildly surprised they weren’t meeting in person, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been. The only thing all the rumours agreed upon was that the two divisions would be moving out within the week.

  “Captain,” a voice said. “Major-General Anderson requests the pleasure of your company.”

  Hayden turned to see Lieutenant Gold, looking as tired and harassed as the rest of the officers. The corps was designed for hasty movement from planet to planet, but loading up the marines and their equipment - and ordering replacements for everything lost during the campaign - was never easy. It didn’t help, he supposed, that so much of the original chain of command had been shot to pieces during the war. There would be so many gaps in the manifests that the pre-Earthfall Inspectorate General would have a field day.

  “I’m coming,” Haydn said. A request from a senior officer was an order. There was no point in trying to deny it. “He’s in his office?”

  Gold nodded, then hurried off to do something else. Haydn felt a flicker of sympathy as he made his way around the compartment, passing a bunch of logistics officers who were waving datapads at each other as if they were weapons. The marines had expended more ammunition during the fighting than anyone had expected, if the reports were accurate. It would take time, time they didn’t have, for the factory ships to start replenishing their stockpiles. They were lucky, he reflected sourly, that the second division had arrived. They’d have enough supplies to handle a major engagement.

  Major-General Anderson’s hatch was closed. Haydn pressed his hand against the scanner and waited. Anderson would have left the hatch open if he wanted people to just walk in and out of the office ... Haydn snorted at the thought. Senior officers thought they were owed a little privacy. They probably were - if nothing else, they had to handle matters junior officers weren’t supposed to know about - but it still irked him. He rather suspected he’d change his mind when - if - he reached such rarefied heights himself.

  The hatch hissed open. Haydn stepped into the office and looked around with interest. It appeared no more permanent than a FOB in the middle of a warzone, complete with collapsible furniture, portable datapads, and holographic projectors. A lone drinks dispenser was parked against the far bulkhead. Haydn suspected it was designed to send a very clear message to visitors as well as its owner, a reminder that no one - not even the Major-General himself - would remain permanently on the giant starship. They’d be going in harm’s way soon enough.

  And the starship is one hell of a target, if any enemy warships start prowling around, Haydn thought. He came to attention and saluted, smartly. The entire division might get blown away if she is caught and trapped before she can retreat.

  “At ease,” Anderson ordered. His voice was gruff, suggesting he wished he was somewhere - anywhere - else. The senior officers had to do a lot of paperwork, even though the corps cut it down to the bare minimum. There’d been Imperial Army officers who did nothing but paperwork. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that their units tended to be the least capable on the field. “Welcome back, Captain. Help yourself to coffee.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Haydn said.

  He relaxed, slightly. If he was being offered coffee, he probably wasn’t in trouble. He poured himself a mug of coffee from the dispenser, added a hint of sugar and turned to face his ultimate commanding officer. It wasn’t the first time they’d met. Major-General Anderson was good at talking to his subordinates, making sure he had a clear picture of what was actually going on. Haydn admired that in him. It was all too easy for a senior officer to look down from his lofty perch and completely miss the little details.

  “You did good work down there,” Anderson said. “Do you think the city is relatively stable?”

  “Relatively, sir,” Haydn said. “The local economy has been shot to hell. They’re eating ration bars and drinking recycled water ...”

  “A known cause of civil unrest,” Anderson said. His lips twitched in a faint smile. “And the enemy snipers?”

  “We captured or killed every enemy soldier we encountered, sir,” Haydn said. “However, I cannot guarantee we got them all.”

  “No, of course not,” Anderson agreed. “Some of them will throw away their weapons and try to blend into the crowd. Others will bury their weapons and wait for a chance to strike again.”

  “The locals will handle them,” Haydn said. “They might not be entirely fond of us, sir, but they’re even less fond of their former overlords.”

  “We can, but hope.” Anderson looked him in the eye. “Are your men ready for deployment?”

  Haydn hesitated. “We lost seven men during the battle in space,” he said. He felt each and every one of those losses. He’d have to spend time writing to their families, if their families were still around. Earthfall had shattered everything. The families could have fled the chaos or ... or died, caught up in one of the civil wars that had started tearing the remnants of the empire apart. “Three more were wounded, but should return to active duty within the next two months. The remainder are ... tired, sir; tired but ready to resume their duties if necessary.”

  “It may become necessary,” Anderson said. “We’ll be leaving the system within the next two days and heading for the RV point. Depending on what Havoc finds, we may be going straight into action. We just don’t know.”

&n
bsp; He keyed a terminal and brought up an image. Haydn leaned forward. A cone ... a small emergency landing pod? No, the scale was too big. A dumpster, designed to land enough supplies to set up a small colony in a single drop. He frowned. The basic idea of using them to land troops had been around for centuries, but the Onge had been the first people to actually risk it. Their troops had had no line of retreat. They could have been caught on the ground, if the defenders had had enough warning, and annihilated. No wonder they’d expended so much firepower on flattening anything that so much as looked like a threat. They didn’t dare risk letting their forces be pocketed and destroyed before they had a chance to deploy.

  “We may need to get a lot of troops to the ground in a hurry,” Major-General Anderson said. It was easy to tell he wasn’t remotely happy about it. “This may be our only option.”

  “All or nothing,” Haydn said. He felt a thrill of excitement, mingled with fear. It would be daring ... the sort of daring idea that was best suppressed unless they were truly desperate. Were they? “Sir?”

  “Yes,” Anderson said. His face was grim. “Prepare your men. We may have no choice, but to risk everything on a single throw of the dice.”

  “Yes, sir,” Haydn said. “We could land an entire regiment with a dumpster.”

  “Yes,” Anderson agreed. He lowered his voice, echoing Haydn’s thoughts. “And there’ll be no way to get them off in a hurry if the operation goes badly wrong.”

  Chapter Seven

  No, of course not. He has, at best, the potential for ten credits. The value of the trunk depends on the beholder. One person may value it highly, another may see it as just ... useless wood. The trunk is only worth ten credits to the right person. And, of course, unless the lumberjack sells the trunk it will be effectively worthless.

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  The hatch bleeped, once.

  Julia looked up. The voyage hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared, once they’d dropped into FTL and left Hameau behind. The crew had served ration bars and water and otherwise insisted she stay in her cabin, but ... she told herself she should enjoy the flight. Admiral Agate had once told her about officers who’d told their men to enjoy the war, as the peace was going to be terrible. Julia understood how they felt. She was going to be in deep trouble the moment she stepped off the transport, if not before. Someone had probably already reported home, just to destroy Julia’s career. It was what she would have done.

  “Come,” she said.

  The hatch hissed open. The young man - Ensign Taros - stuck his head into the compartment and saluted. Julia hid her irritation with an effort. Taros didn’t seem to be able to decide if he should be treating her as a lowly civilian, on the ground she was a guest on the transport, or kissing her ass because she was corporate royalty. Julia was tempted to point out that kissing her ass was likely to end badly, if only because her career was about to fall so far and so fast she’d probably wind up on the other side of the planet. Anyone who stood too close to her would be struck by the disaster. Anyone she recommended for promotion would probably be demoted instead.

  “Commissioner.” Taros saluted, again. “The Captain wants you on the bridge.”

  Julia stood, brushing down her ill-fitting tunic and tucking the datapad under one arm as she followed him out of the hatch. She had grown to loathe the cabin in the last few days, even though she knew it was vastly superior to sleeping in the onboard barracks or cargo holds. The air smelled faintly unpleasant, as if the life support was reaching the limits of its capacity. Julia knew little about starship mechanics, but she knew enough to be concerned. If the atmosphere went bad, they were doomed. The thought wasn’t reassuring.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she followed Taros onto the bridge. It was small and cramped, compared to the battlecruiser’s command deck; it looked as if someone had thrown a dozen consoles together at random and wired them into a holographic command network. A middle-aged man sat in the centre of the compartment, looking as if he were worried and trying to hide it. Julia didn’t recognise him. He probably hadn’t been assigned to Hammerblow. He’d have some other commissioner keeping an eye on his behaviour.

  “Commissioner,” the captain said. “I’m Captain Arbroath. Thank you for coming.”

  You could have invited me at any moment, Julia thought as she shook his hand. She knew she was being unfair and she didn’t really care. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything more important than trying to find a way to blame everything on someone else.

  “Thank you,” she said. “What’s happening now?”

  “We’re about to drop out of phase space,” Captain Arbroath informed her. “I thought you would like to contact your superiors.”

  Julia gave him a sharp look. She was no expert, but she wasn’t a complete ignorant either. “I thought it took at least ten hours to get a message from the phase limit to the planet.”

  “It does,” Captain Arbroath confirmed. “However, we’re running on empty here. Our life support is on the verge of breaking down. We need to offload at least a third of our passengers within the next twenty-four hours or we’ll be in deep shit.”

  “I see,” Julia said. “Why didn’t they give us more life support?”

  “They did,” Captain Arbroath said. “But the datanet is too badly battered to handle it. If they hadn’t hardwired the course into the navigational system, I wouldn’t be entirely confident we’re heading to the right place. We rely so much on our computers that we’re lost without them.”

  Julia nodded, curtly. “I’ll transmit as soon as we arrive,” she said. “And hopefully ... they’ll listen.”

  She took a seat and waited, watching the displays as they counted down to zero. The reports were largely incomprehensible, but she understood some things. On impulse, she tested the datanet. It was so slow and crude it felt like something out of a museum. She shook her head, then swallowed - hard - as the transport ground her way back to realspace. Julia’s stomach heaved. She had to force herself not to be sick. Judging from the noise behind her, not everyone had been so lucky.

  “The communications console is ready,” Captain Arbroath said. The display lit up, showing a handful of planets orbiting a star. If there was anything close enough to be a threat, it wasn’t showing up. “Commissioner?”

  Julia took a breath, trying to decide what to say. The week in transit suddenly felt very short ... too short. She suddenly didn’t want the voyage to end. She told herself, sharply, not to be stupid. The life support was already failing. Soon, they’d suffocate in their own wastes. She wanted to live. She wanted to ... she wasn’t sure what she wanted. All her hopes and dreams had died when Hammerblow had surrendered.

  “This is Julia Ganister-Onge, Political Commissioner attached to OSS Hammerblow,” she said. “We require assistance. I say again, we require assistance. This ship’s life support is failing. We require immediate assistance.”

  She sat back, allowing Captain Arbroath to take over and explain what was actually going on. It was unlikely anyone would refuse, now the transport had declared an emergency, but it was impossible to be sure. She tried to tell herself they wouldn’t let her die, yet ... she had to admit she was an embarrassment. Her family might be happier if she died a long way from home, rather than returning in failure. And yet, they needed to know what had happened. Didn’t they? If someone had been watching the battle from a distance and slipped back to report ... they wouldn’t know everything. She hoped ...

  “That’s the message sent,” Captain Arbroath said. “We’ll be heading in-system now.”

  Julia looked at him. “Shouldn’t we wait for permission?”

  “We don’t have time,” Captain Arbroath said. “It’ll take ten hours, more or less, for the message to reach Onge. Even if they reply at once, which they won’t, it’ll still take another ten hours for the message to get here. We have to head to the planet, to the orbital station, and hope to hell they let us dock
without delay. If they don’t ...”

  He waved a hand at a display. Julia couldn’t understand what she was seeing, but she was sure that a line of red lights was nothing good. She shook her head as a dull rumble echoed through the giant ship, a grim reminder that her realspace drives had been badly damaged during the fighting. Tenos had even told her that there were entire sections that were still depressurized, effectively unreachable. Given the limits on the life support, Julia thought that wasn’t a bad thing. They simply didn’t have the capacity to spare.

  “Just get us there as quickly as possible,” Julia said. Her eyes lingered on the display. A lot of icons that should have been present weren’t. The cloudscoops, the asteroid miners, the in-system transports ... all gone. She told herself the sensors had been badly damaged during the engagement. “And hope they take us in without an argument.”

  “Hopefully,” Captain Arbroath agreed.

  ***

  “They’ve just transmitted a rather worrying message,” Rachel said. “Their life support is on the verge of conking out.”

  Phelps nodded, his expression grim as he paced the tiny compartment. Rachel understood. They’d timed it well, in hopes of convincing the enemy defences to let Botany Bay enter orbit without searching the transport from top to bottom, but she knew it was quite possible the locals wouldn’t believe the message. There was no way to verify the ship’s distress without actually being there and that would take time the ship and her passengers didn’t have. She felt a little guilty. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done to carry out her duties - she had a long list of things she regretted, for one reason or another - but that might change if the air turned poisonous before the ship could be unloaded. She’d never sentenced thousands of people to death ...