He took a long look at the tactical display, one thought echoing through his head.
What now?
Chapter Seventeen
The fact remains that they no longer see us as a microstate.
We are not an isolated single-system power that somehow lucked its way into first-rank GalTech, not any longer. We are a technologically-advanced race that bested the unquestioned masters of the known universe. They are hardly going to leave us alone for another two hundred years. I know they’re slow and steady, not given to rash action, but if they have any idea of the scale of the threat we represent - ideologically as well as technologically - they’ll act sooner rather than later.
-Solar Datanet, Political Forum (Grand Alliance Thoughts).
She felt ... she felt unclean.
Rebecca stood in the shower, silently welcoming the water as it washed her bare skin. She’d nearly been killed ... no, she’d nearly been lynched by a mob. That hadn’t happened for over sixty years, not when local governments had known there would be retribution. Now ... she closed her eyes and forced her head under the water, trying to blot out the smell of burned flesh. It clung to her, a grim reminder that she had failed. There would be ... what?
War, perhaps, she thought. But why?
She forced herself to open her eyes, even though part of her wanted to retreat into a VR sim and leave the whole affair to someone else. There was no one else. She'd accepted the mission, when it had been offered to her. She couldn't back out now when the closest possible replacement was weeks away, if not months. And yet ... she’d clearly failed as a diplomat. What had she done wrong? Had she made a mistake by agreeing to talk to the king? Or had she been set up to fail? Perhaps the Harmonies had been more interested in looking for a provocation than anything else.
They haven't fired on the ship, she told herself, firmly. And that means ... what?
She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, hastily drying herself off. She’d washed herself thoroughly, yet she could still smell burned flesh ... she gritted her teeth, telling herself that she was imagining it. The evacuees had gone through a full security sweep before they’d been allowed out of the teleport bay, their clothes removed and probably fed into a matter recycler. She should be clean, yet ... yet it was impossible to believe that she was clean. Her hands were shaking helplessly.
“I made it out,” she muttered, studying her right hand. It was trembling. “We escaped before we could be killed.”
Her body didn't seem to care. It knew she’d barely escaped certain death. She’d played countless VR sims where she’d been captured, tortured or killed, but she’d always known - back then - that she could just disconnect if it got too intense. Or pop back to the last checkpoint, if she was killed. The real world wasn't nearly so obliging. She'd come very close to dying outright, despite the marines and her augmentation. And that would have been the end. The e-personality recording she’d made before departure wasn't her and never would be.
She stumbled to the bench and sat down, hard. Her entire body was trembling. Her implants flashed up a set of options, offering everything from hormonal readjustments to direct neural simulations, but she ignored them. She couldn't hide from the world. She couldn’t hide from what had nearly been done to her. She thought she understood, now, why so many recent immigrants always looked as if they were constantly glancing back, as if they expected someone to stick a knife in their backs. They'd understood the realities of the universe far better than herself. She’d left Earth before the descent into civil war - and a hellish multi-sided blood swarm - had truly begun.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Her body was still trembling. She gritted her teeth, then asserted control. The trembling seemed to subside, just for a moment. Forcing herself to stand, she reached for a robe and pulled it over her body. It smelt fresh, as if it had just come out of the fabricator. And yet ... her stomach heaved as she scented burned flesh, again. She told herself, savagely, that she was imagining it ...
... But it didn't seem to work.
She walked through the hatch and out into her stateroom. It was surprisingly large, she’d thought. The last starship she’d spent any time on had been tiny, so small that her stateroom barely had enough room to swing a cat. And yet, right now it seemed too large and empty to suit her. She didn't want to be alone. She wanted someone to hold her as she slept, just to remind her that she was still alive. But there was no one.
Shaking her head, dismissing the thought, she sat down at her desk and checked the local processor. Odyssey was still in orbit over Harmony, waiting for something - anything - to happen. Rebecca wasn't sure why something hadn't happened. The Harmonies were clearly up to something, but what? A counter-coup? Or ... or perhaps their society had finally started to break down. But ...
Nothing is happening on the surface, as far as we can tell, she thought, as she studied the analyst reports. If their society was breaking down, surely we would be seeing something.
She looked at the timer. It was 1700. Really? It felt like days - perhaps weeks - had passed since her last meeting with the king. Had it really been less than an hour since she’d been teleported out of the burning embassy? She felt as if she’d grown older overnight, as if her body had somehow shifted to match her chronological age. And yet ... some of the older people she knew, the ones who had been in their nineties before Contact and rejuvenation, had been oddly detached from the world. She couldn't help wondering if it would be better to be more like them ...
“Idiot,” she told herself, sharply. “You don’t have time!”
Bringing up her personal files, she started to go through them. Her body craved sleep, but she didn't have the time. The captain would want to see her soon enough, if the shit didn't hit the fan - again - in the next few hours. By then ... if there was an answer in the files, she wanted to find it. The captain would want answers and, in truth, so did she.
Because they have a plan, she thought. And if we don't figure it out before it’s too late, it might be the end of us.
***
“You’re clean,” Lieutenant Jansen said. He waved one last scanner over Levi’s naked body, then stepped back. “They did manage to attach a couple of bugs to you, but I think we got them all.”
“Hah,” Levi said. “And what if you’re wrong?”
“Then we’re fucked,” Jansen said. “But then, we’re probably fucked anyway.”
Levi nodded as she took the new uniform and started to get dressed. She was used to taking sonic showers, even though she could probably convince Major Rhodan to give her and the rest of the platoon an extra water ration, but they didn't have the time. And yet ... she had no illusions. Ten marines wouldn't make a difference if the massive orbital fortifications surrounding Harmony opened fire. Odyssey and her crew would be dead before they knew they were under attack.
“The civilians aren't bearing up well,” Jansen said. “I think half of them are going to want to go into the stasis tubes before the end of the day.”
“Cowards,” Wahid commented.
“They haven't been stress-tested,” Levi pointed out. “How many of them went through Boot Camp?”
She smiled, grimly, at the thought. Her Drill Instructors had told her that the only easy day at Boot Camp was yesterday, but she hadn't believed them until she’d actually started training in earnest. A quarter of the new recruits had quit within the first day, when they’d discovered that their implants were deactivated or denied access to the datanet. Others had decided the military wasn't for them when they realised it wasn't like a VR sim. You couldn't dial the pain and suffering down in real life.
Well, you can, she thought. But that doesn't help recruits build character.
“Be nice,” she said. She glanced at Stewart. “Take the rest of the platoon to Marine Country, then get orders from staff. I’ll report to the Major.”
“Ouch,” Stewart said. “Good luck.”
Levi resisted the urge to make a r
ude gesture as she left the compartment. Her new uniform itched, even though it was designed for combat wear rather than ceremonial functions. She just hadn't had the time to break it in, not yet. But then, her old uniform had been broken down to its component atoms just to make sure it wasn't carrying a powered-down bug. The sheer level of surveillance on Harmony was enough to turn the most trusting man in the universe into a twitchy neurotic shell of a man.
And the level of surveillance in Boot Camp has been known to wear recruits down too, she reminded herself. They just hate being monitored all the time.
“Lieutenant,” Major Rhodan said. They exchanged salutes as she stepped into the compartment. The marines were preparing counter-boarding deployments, although she had a nasty feeling that they would be next to useless. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Levi said. She didn't know Rhodan that well. They’d served together for the past ten months, but she’d never served with him in combat. It was impossible to get the measure of a man until the bullets started flying. “Do we have any idea why they went mad?”
“No,” Rhodan said. He gave her a humourless smile. “I was hoping that you had some insight.”
“It was a pre-planned riot,” Levi said. “And it was about as spontaneous as early-morning drill.”
Rhodan nodded, curtly. “They just knocked down the wall?”
“Blasted it down,” Levi said. “And then they forced their way into the embassy.”
She wondered, as she outlined everything that had happened, if Major Rhodan was looking for a scapegoat. Someone would have to take the blame and she’d been the marine on the spot. It wasn’t common for senior officers to try to escape responsibility, but this was a little more serious than a pack of marines getting drunk or a squad heading in the wrong direction because someone had trusted a lieutenant with a map. She told herself, firmly, that she’d done nothing wrong. She tried not to consider the possibility that it wouldn't matter.
“I believe we did the best we could, under the circumstances,” she finished. “We certainly could not have engaged the crowd with lethal weapons as long as there was a way to get out.”
“I agree,” Rhodan said. “And I will make that clear in my report.”
Assuming we see home again, Levi thought. Marines were used to being a long way from home, but Harmony was nine months from Earth ... assuming unchallenged passage through the gravity points. It won’t be easy.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, instead.
Rhodan met her eyes. “Is your squad up to going back on duty now?”
“Of course, sir,” Levi said. “Where do you want us?”
Her lips twitched in droll amusement. Marines couldn't stop just because they wanted a break. The real world was rarely so obliging. She’d certainly never heard of an enemy force that put the brakes on because their quarry needed a rest. The constant marching - and shifting of the goalposts - at Boot Camp had seen off a few hundred more recruits. But the ones who had passed stopped for nothing.
“Draw combat armour from the stocks, then join the Rapid Reaction Force,” Rhodan ordered, shortly. “If they try to board us, I want the RRF to move out to back up the local defenders and drive the boarding parties back to their shuttlecraft.”
Levi kept her expression under tight control. Odyssey’s crew would be armed, of course. They’d all had basic weapons training in the academy and constant refresher courses over the last few months. But she had no illusions about their ability to do more than slow any enemy intrusion down for a few minutes. The Harmonies wouldn't send unprepared or unarmoured troopers to board an alien starship.
“Yes, sir,” she said. She had the nasty feeling it would prove useless, but she kept that thought to herself. “We’ll get right on it.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Major Rhodan agreed. He sounded frustrated. “Maybe next time we can wrangle a deployment to Chicago.”
“Semper Fi,” Levi said.
***
“They’re trying to wear us down, Captain,” Biscoe commented.
“It’s working,” Elton said. It had been an hour since he’d yanked the ambassador and her party out of the embassy gardens, an hour since the shuttlecraft had been picked off by the ground-based defences ... an hour, during which nothing had happened. He’d expected to be challenged, he’d expected to be fired upon ... but the Harmonies had said nothing. “How long can we keep the crew at full alert?”
He rubbed his forehead, tiredly. He’d had to send the alpha crews to catch some rest - the beta crews had taken over - but he couldn't take some rest himself. Even stepping into his office was a risk, if the Harmonies decided to open fire. Not being on the bridge in the middle of a war zone was a court martial offence ...
His lips twitched. Under the circumstances, he would happily have faced a kangaroo court if it meant that he’d managed to get his ship and crew home.
“Not long, sir,” Biscoe said. “No military crew can remain on full alert indefinitely.”
Elton nodded, irritated. That was conventional wisdom. And it was true. The wear and tear on the crew - as well as his ship’s defences - would grind them down, eventually. The longer the stalemate continued, the greater the advantage to the other side. They didn’t have to worry about keeping all their weapons and defences at full alert. Elton didn't have to look at the display to know that a number of fortresses had stepped down their weapons and sensors ... why not? It wasn't as if they were needed to reduce Odyssey to free-floating atoms.
“Make sure the alpha crew gets enough rest,” he ordered, although he knew it would be difficult. Being trapped in low orbit, surrounded by enough firepower to vaporise a planet, was enough to keep even the stoutest crewman awake. He might have to order them to run sedative programs through their implants, but they created their own problems. Waking the crew in a hurry would be impossible. “And get some rest yourself.”
Biscoe frowned. “I submit, Captain, that you should get some rest.”
Elton glanced, longingly, at the couch. A few hours of sleep were tempting ...
“I can't leave the command deck,” he said. He looked back at the display. The red icons hadn’t moved, but it was hard to escape the sense they were looming closer. “You should go for a rest.”
He shook his head in annoyance. There were stimulant programs that would keep him awake, if he wanted to use them. But they tended to have side effects he couldn't afford when he was in the command chair. He’d overused them at the academy and wound up seeing things during an exam. The proctors had been very sarcastic, he recalled ...
... And his mind was wandering. That wasn't good.
“I should be on the bridge too,” Biscoe said.
“Get some rest,” Elton said. He understood how his XO felt, but his presence on the bridge wasn't going to make a difference one way or the other. “That’s an order.”
Biscoe nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Elton watched him go, wondering - not for the first time - what Hoshiko Sashimi Stuart would have done. Tried to leave orbit, daring the fortresses to open fire? Or tried to blast her way out? Or ... Elton cursed, under his breath. He didn't know what was going on, something that made it impossible to come up with any plans. The only thing he was sure of, really, was that time was running out.
And that I’m in the hot seat, he thought, numbly. And to think I wanted starship command.
He rose and headed for the hatch, stepping onto the bridge. Nothing had changed; his ship still held position in low orbit, watched by enough firepower to deter an entire fleet. He was morbidly surprised the Harmonies hadn't simply opened fire by now, although a miss would send their missiles plunging into Harmony’s atmosphere. But then, if they were concerned about accidentally striking their homeworld, all they had to do was summon their own warships to drive Odyssey away.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Suborn said. He looked young, surprisingly young. Elton told himself, firmly, that he wouldn't have won a coveted promotion if
he hadn't been reasonably competent. Besides, looking youthful was fashionable these days. “The freighter crews are getting antsy.”
“Tell them to hold position,” Elton ordered, stiffly. He understood how the merchants felt, but there was no choice. “They can't go anywhere right now.”
“Aye, Captain,” Suborn said. “I ...”
He broke off as his console bleeped. “Captain, they’re hailing us!”
“Put them through,” Elton ordered. He leaned forward, eagerly. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear, but he found it hard to care. Something was happening, at last! “And call Mr. Biscoe back to the bridge.”
A low atonal voice echoed through the compartment. “You will surrender your ship or be destroyed,” it said. “You have twenty minutes to comply.”
The Long Road Home (A Learning Experience Book 4) Page 18
