"Hell, no. I said everything I wanted to say to that guy a while back."
She grinned humorlessly. "I understand the next batch of shuttles is supposed to start taking off the Third Division enlisted apes who preferred going home to staying with us."
"I know." Rash. Have a good flight, pal. I'm gonna miss you, but I sure hope you don't come back. How long has it been since we two Privates hid behind rocks while the enemy tried to see how well our armor worked? Or since we got into that bar fight and ended up being chased by half the Indigs in the city? Man, been a long time. And if he comes back here, he'll be with an army trying to defeat us. Shooting at us and getting shot at. Rash, don't come back. "How many decided to bolt, anyway?"
"You mean how many Third Division soldiers chose going home to staying with us? About two-thirds of the survivors." She paused, face carefully composed. "Which is so small a number I can hardly stand it."
Two-thirds. Two-thirds of how many? They were still trying to tally the dead from Meecham's ill-advised offensive. Far, far easier to count those from Third Division who still lived. It wasn't supposed to be that way. Third Division wasn't supposed to have been gutted by being thrown against unshaken enemy fortifications. But things never did happen the way Generals planned. "How can they go back?" Stark asked softly. "After what was done to them?"
"Don't blame them, Ethan. They're not lunar veterans at heart. Home is still home to them. Plus, they're still shell-shocked from getting cut to ribbons during Meecham's offensive, and before that they were confused and disoriented from being rushed up here."
Stark managed a small, self-mocking smile. "They ain't the only ones who're confused. I don't blame 'em, Vic. Everybody makes choices. I'm not exactly in a position to claim my choice is the best one."
"Not yet, anyway." She nodded toward the incoming line. "Hey, here comes another visitor aiming for you. You're popular today."
"Just my luck." Stark stared at the man approaching, uncertain legs marking him as another new arrival, trying to shake off a feeling of familiarity. I never met that guy. Why does he seem like somebody I used to know?
The man, some years younger than Stark, saluted cheerfully. "Private Grant Stein, reporting for duty."
"Stein." The half-familiar face fell into context, matching half-buried memories. Stark held his expression with difficulty, noting as he did so the tight glances Vic shot toward him and the new arrival. "You related to Kate Stein? Corporal Kate Stein?"
"That's right. I'm her little brother."
Stark swallowed, fighting off shock. "I never knew she had . . . that is, you're a lot younger than she was when . . ."
"I was just a kid when she, uh, fell at Patterson's Knoll. Maybe you could tell me about it sometime, Sergeant?" The grin shifted to eager shyness.
"Uh, sure, I don't usually . . ." Stark shook his head, emotionally off-balance, angry at the disorientation fogging his thinking. "How'd you get them to let you up here? The exchange is only supposed to be for family members."
Stein grinned again, the simple gesture sparking memories of his sister in Stark. "Civs are running the exchange. For the right bribe, you can do anything. Somebody altered my record to show I had a relative up here. Easy."
"Easy?" Vic questioned sharply. "You're a Private? An active duty soldier and you got up here? Family member or not, why would the authorities allow that?"
"I'm not the only one," Stein protested. "I don't know why they allowed it, but there's maybe a half-dozen of us."
"That's very odd." Vic looked at Stark as she said it, even though her words were apparently aimed at Grant Stein. "Why send us reinforcements?"
Something about her tone aggravated Stark. "How the hell should I know? For that matter, most of the family members we're getting are retired mil. They're sort of reinforcements, too. Maybe not good enough for the front line, but they could free up a soldier to fight."
Reynolds chewed her lip, then nodded reluctantly. "That's true. Welcome to the Moon, Private Stein. I'm sure you and Sergeant Stark have a lot to talk about." She saluted Stark, uncharacteristically formal. "With your permission, I'll get back to work."
"Sure." Stark returned the salute, looking questioningly at her, but Vic simply nodded before heading off across the concourse.
"Is she a friend of yours?" Private Stein asked casually.
"Yeah. Real good friend." Stark focused back on the man who carried a ghost from the past in his features. "Look, you've gotta settle in. Attend the orientation briefings. But you call me after that. I'll tell you what I can about your sister."
"That'd be great. Thanks." Private Stein beamed happily, snapped a sharp salute, then returned to the file of incoming personnel.
Never expected to see a brother of Kate's. Stark fought down a shiver. Every night, the long-ago-lost battle raged in his mind. Every night, Kate Stein and his other fellow soldiers died. Now here was Grant Stein, somehow forcing that nightmare into waking hours. Why now? What's it mean? He suddenly imagined Vic talking to him, expression exasperated. Maybe all it means is that you've met Kate Stein's brother. Maybe.
Stark eyed the nearby window warily despite the thickness of its synthetic "glass" and the gleaming knife edge of the emergency seal barely protruding on one side, ready to slam shut in an instant through any obstacle if the window somehow cracked. Thinking of the airless waste outside, he couldn't appreciate the bleak beauty of the dead landscape painted in shades of gray. Off to one side, the spaceport landing field was visible, a large flat plain leveled and painstakingly swept clear of dust. On the field, the squat shapes of shuttles pointed upward from the centers of blackened patches, access tubes latched on like remoras temporarily linking them to the Colony.
He stole another glance, intrigued despite himself by the view. Many times he'd been out on the surface and seen the few Colony towers built of excavated lunar rock, but he'd never been inside one. "Why are we here?"
Stacey Yurivan gestured toward the closed door. "I found a shuttle commander willing to talk, but only in a nice place near the spaceport."
"A shuttle pilot'll talk to us? Is he corporate or government?"
"Neither. Our former bosses wanted our former officers back so bad they hired some foreign shipping to help on the pickups this time."
"What's he got to say?" Reynolds wondered. She stood near a corner, even farther from the window than Stark. "The officers from the first exchange should be home by now, and they were probably debriefed all the way back."
"You can bet on it," Stark agreed. "Most of the senior officers went on that first exchange. I wish I coulda been a fly on the wall when they were being talked to. This second is mostly junior officers, right?"
"Mostly. And like Stacey says, there's more shuttles in this one. We'll still need a third shuttle exchange to get everybody back, though, counting the Third Division survivors who want off this rock. What does this guy know, Stace?"
Yurivan shrugged elaborately. "Stuff about the situation on the World. I figured you'd find it interesting."
"Can't wait," Stark agreed dryly. "Did you invite any of the civs?"
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, you have to. Just a couple, though. Campbell and his chief aide."
Vic nodded in agreement. "They deserve to be here. Those two made this exchange happen." As Yurivan made the calls, Vic turned to Stark. "What do you think they've been saying about us? Back home?"
"We'll know in a few minutes. I'm sure it ain't good."
Reynolds screwed her face up thoughtfully. "They'll probably try to make us out as renegade scum. I imagine they'll paint you as a beer swilling, insubordinate warlord-wanna-be." She squinted at Stark. "Which won't take too much work."
"Very funny. What'll they paint you as, Whore-Empress of the Moon?"
"You think? I always wanted to be a Whore-Empress. Maybe they'll enhance my figure when they fake the vid."
"Your figure don't need any enhancing."
"Says you," she laughed.
"You been admiring me in my battle armor all this time, Ethan Stark?"
"Yeah. That's it. The battle armor. I got a thing for women shaped like over muscled gorillas with really big heads. The civs on their way, Stace?"
"Yup." Yurivan strode over to a nearby duffel bag, fishing inside for a moment before she emerged with a bottle filled with dark liquid.
"What," Stark demanded, "is that?"
His Security Officer smiled back. "A bribe. Also a way to keep our shuttle commander's lips flapping."
"Rum," Reynolds observed. "Good stuff. Where'd you get this, Stace?"
"The Officer's Club stocks."
"I didn't know you had access to the Officer's Club stocks. Sergeant Gordasa never mentioned it."
Yurivan shrugged. "Ah, well, I haven't bothered Gordy about it. He's pretty busy, you know."
"Uh-huh," Vic agreed with a sardonic smile. "He's going to be a little busier now, running an inventory on those stocks."
"Whatever." Stacey carefully set up the bottle and a shot glass on a small table next to a seat at one end of the room. "Your civs should be here by now. I'll get them and the shuttle guy."
A few minutes later, Licensed Shuttle Commander James Plant leaned back in his chair and took an appreciative sip of the rum, smiling as he did so. "This is excellent, though I suppose its virtue is enhanced by its rarity, eh? Not many people have drunk rum that has journeyed this far from the Caribbean. From the Commanding General's private stock, I imagine?"
Stark shook his head. "Officers' Club stock. I guess they kept this stuff for the Generals, though."
"I can see why." Plant took another taste. "What is it you want to know?"
"What makes you think we want to know something?"
"I am not a fool. I also am not privy to any secrets, but I have no loyalty to your superiors. I am only a temporary hire. And my time here is limited. So, if you have questions, you should speak them without further games."
Stacey Yurivan nodded nonchalantly. "What are they telling you? About things up here?"
Plant sipped again, face thoughtful. "Not much, really. Certainly not enough to satisfy those curious about the situation, which is almost everyone. Initially, there were claims of security clampdowns associated with enemy action. Then statements that technical problems associated with sunspot activity had halted communications with this Colony. No one believed it, naturally. Finally, official American sources declared a breakdown of law and order here, attributed to unnamed criminal elements in the pay of foreign powers." Plant smiled again. "Though not, of course, my particular foreign power."
"Of course not. What're they saying about Stark and the rest of the leaders?"
"Very little." Commander Plant spread his hands. "The official story is that anarchy reigns. For a brief time, it was stated that Colony Manager Campbell had died at the hands of a mob. All other lawful authority is in hiding, it is claimed, fearing a similar fate."
"You look pretty good for a dead guy," Stark observed to Campbell.
Campbell smiled back as Plant continued. "However, Mr. Campbell's continued existence apparently became obvious during the negotiations for this exchange of prisoners, so your government has shifted their tack and now decided he is not dead after all."
"That's good to hear," Campbell noted sarcastically.
"Thank you. Unfortunately, I must inform you they are now claiming the stress of the lunar environment has rendered you mentally unstable."
"I see. Then it's sort of a good news/bad news thing."
Plant nodded, took another sip of rum, then reached into the thigh pocket of his coverall. "I have a recording here which might be of interest to you." Extending the screen of his hand unit, the Shuttle Commander turned it so his audience could see. "This is a copy of a vid released by your government. It has become somewhat valuable for reasons I will disclose in a moment." He tapped the terminal, bringing the vid replay to life. On-screen, a small group of men and women in dirty, torn military uniforms were shown brandishing weapons and firing randomly, pausing only to drink from variously shaped and colored bottles. The perspective jerked repeatedly as if the operator of the vid cam were shaking in fear.
"Looks like none of those soldiers have shaved or bathed in weeks," Yurivan observed facetiously. "They get these guys from the Ranger Battalion?"
Stopping before a doorway, one of the men kicked viciously, causing the portal to slam open. Ducking inside, he quickly reemerged with a screaming, crying woman. "What is this supposed to be?" Stark wondered.
"You," Plant stated. "Or rather, the soldiers up here. According to the back-story for this vid, an unidentified but deranged renegade has set himself up as the nominal leader of otherwise out-of-control, mutinous soldiers. This," he added with a wave toward the screen, "is allegedly a covertly filmed incident in which his minions are seizing civilian women for a slave harem."
"You're kidding," Vic chuckled. "Well, Ethan, it looks like you've finally figured out how to get women."
"Very funny," Stark observed. "At least Campbell and I can be 'mentally unbalanced' and 'deranged' together."
On the vid, the scruffy soldiers were shoving the woman around with their rifle butts. Suddenly, a small figure darted from the open doorway, obviously a child rushing to cling to her mother. With a wicked smile, one of the soldiers kicked the child away, then raised her rifle. "Hey," Vic began, her laughter dying. Before she could say anything else, the rapid bark of automatic fire came from the vid screen and the child was tossed back to lie motionless in the street.
"This ain't funny, anymore," Stacey Yurivan growled. "That's just sick. Am I the only one who's noticed these apes are moving like they're in Earth gravity?"
"No." Stark stared at the now-blank screen, his eyes hard. "Even if those plug-ugly so-called soldiers weren't a giveaway, the normal G would be. I'd like to get my hands on whoever faked this vid. I'd show them a damn atrocity."
"Not to worry," Commander Plant advised, replacing the unit in his pocket. "A good number of people on Earth noticed the gravity problem, too. Quite a stupid mistake, apparently the result of rushing to create the vid within a short time. Your government quickly shifted from saying it was real footage to claiming it was a reenactment of actual events, but any credibility it might have had was long gone by that point. It has since attempted to reclaim every copy of the vid in existence, a task remarkable for its scope and futility."
"You'd think our government would have at least learned how to lie right by now," Reynolds observed angrily. "Commander Plant, there hasn't been any effort to publicly identify the leaders up here? None at all?" Plant shook his head. "It's odd they haven't named us so they'd have someone to demonize."
"Not really," Plant lectured. "If you consider, any leader can be a focal point for either hatred or admiration. I believe there is a great fear that the public would come to admire the leaders up here if they were identified and given faces and personality."
"They think we're that great?" Stark laughed shortly.
"No, I believe they realize how weak they measure as leaders against you. Bold action, risking life and fortune for fellow humans, no deception or half-measures masquerading as sacrifice for the welfare of others. You see? The moral opposite of your country's current leadership on Earth. One need not be a giant to stand tall beside dwarfs."
Stark looked down, plainly uncomfortable at Plant's words, then glanced over in relief as Campbell began speaking. "What else is happening? Have events up here had any other impact?"
"Ah. Impact." Commander Plant seemed to find the word amusing. "Let us see. The loss of revenue from lunar investments caused the profit projections for a number of large corporations to fall significantly. There is also fear they might have to completely write off those investments. Their stocks have fallen as a result. Those stocks have dragged down the general market. The average citizen, I am told, is worried, and since so much of the American economy is based on services, which are not necessities, people ar
e not spending money on such services."
Sarafina closed her eyes briefly. "We're triggering a recession?"
"Apparently. Your government has instituted a number of measures to increase confidence, but a government lacking in credibility cannot easily generate confidence, eh?"
Campbell nodded, eyeing the pilot narrowly. "What about other countries, such as yours? What do they think?"
"What do they think?" Plant pondered the question for a moment. "They wait. America is too powerful. What will become of you here? Can you withstand the pressure from your home, as well as that from the coalition that has fought you all these years?"
Stark smiled in a manner that had nothing to do with humor, the barest curling of the corners of his mouth. "That coalition got a nasty bloody nose and several black eyes when they tried us. They've been a lot quieter since."
Stark's Command Page 14
