by P. A. Piatt
When the shuttle was gone, the platoon stood and coughed up the dirt that had been driven into their mouths and noses. A strong wind whipped stinging sand across exposed skin, and Fortis squinted as he searched for somewhere to escape the torment.
A person in a white contamination suit and respirator approached the Space Marines and gestured for them to follow. Fortis signaled “follow me” to the rest of the platoon. The white suit led them down some steps and into an airlock. Once the entire platoon was in the airlock, the white suit secured the exterior hatch and crossed to a hatch on the other end.
“Wait here. We need to get you blown down before you can come in.” He stepped through the interior hatch, secured it behind him, and stood at the viewport. “Place your bags on the deck. Hold your arms over your heads and close your eyes. Try not to breathe. High-pressure air will blow the dust from your clothing.”
Fortis and the Space Marines did as they were told, and air blasted from overhead jets mounted in the ceiling. When gale ceased, powerful vacuum vents removed the dirt and dust that had collected on the floor.
“Exit this way.”
The interior hatch swung open, and the platoon entered a large room with rows of chairs. To Fortis, it looked like the passenger lounge in a space port.
Double doors at the far end of the room opened, and a dozen soldiers in black uniforms with pulse rifles at the ready rushed into the room. They lined up shoulder-to-shoulder and leveled their weapons at Fortis and his men.
“What’s going on here?” Fortis demanded. The Space Marines behind him growled and grumbled. Ystremski held up a hand to silence them.
A tall blond-haired man strode in and stood before the soldiers. He was also wore a black uniform and a scabbard on his belt with a short sword which Fortis assumed was a badge of rank. He had thick red-purple scars on his cheeks which twisted when he scowled at the Space Marines and put his hands on his hips.
“Who are you and why are you here?”
The reception at the barrels of the guns, coupled with the scarred man’s abrupt manner, surprised Abner and he struggled not to react with anger.
“I’m Second Lieutenant Abner Fortis, International Space Marine Corps. These men—” he indicated the Space Marines, “—are Third Platoon, Foxtrot Company, Second Battalion, First of the Ninth. Who are you?”
“Why are you here?”
Fortis fumbled in his pocket for the platoon’s travel orders. “We’ve been ordered here for the next ten days. For liberty.”
Scarface snorted. “Liberty? Here? Surely there’s some mistake.”
“Hmm. This is Eros-28, right?”
Scarface nodded. “Correct. This is Eros-28.”
“Then we’re in the right place.”
A chubby, balding man rushed in and stepped in front of Scarface.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded of the blond man.
“They’re Space Marines, Governor. Here for liberty, they say.”
The governor turned to Fortis. “Liberty?”
Fortis stepped forward and held out their travel orders. “Ninth Division is on liberty in the Eros Cluster. We were ordered here.”
The governor studied the document while the two groups of men glared at each other. Finally, he handed it back to Fortis.
“It looks like your orders are valid. Still, they must be mistaken. This is not the right place for you and your men, Lieutenant.” The governor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “Eros-28 is an industrial planet. We maintain and repair heavy equipment from survey, mining, and construction missions. We even get the occasional asteroid cowboys. The equipment comes here and the personnel go to Eros-69 for quarantine and R&R. When we’re finished, we either store the machinery in one of our underground garages or pack it up to go back into orbit. There’s no liberty here.”
* * * * *
Chapter Four
Fortis and Czrk sat on opposite sides of the governor’s desk. Director Chive stood by the closed office door. Ystremski and the rest of the platoon were in a transient crew dormitory with Bob Drager, Czrk’s executive assistant and the man in the white suit who had greeted the Marines at the airlock.
“I want to apologize for our reception of you and your men,” Czrk started. “When a large military force arrives unannounced, we get nervous. Even though we’re a GRC colony, we’re not immune to privateers or slavers.”
“I’m the one who should apologize, sir. It was a mistake to assign Space Marines to Eros-28. I will do everything I can to get out of your hair.” Like punch Reese in the mouth. “If you’ll show me to your communications center, I’ll get word to Second Battalion to send a transport to extract us.”
Czrk winced. “It’s not that easy, Lieutenant. We’re in the middle of a four-day sifter. We can’t transmit or receive until it passes.”
“A sifter?”
“A sifter is a dust storm. This is an arid planet, and when the wind blows down from the mountain, it creates massive dust storms. We call them sifters because the damned dust sifts into everything.” Czrk coughed, a deep, phlegmy cough, and spat mud into a trashcan behind the desk. “Including your lungs, if you’re not careful. Frankly, I’m surprised your transport was able to land.”
“Four days?” Fortis’ heart sank. Third Platoon would be unhappy to hear that half their liberty would be spent here.
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. It’s been blowing for two days and my weather advisor reported that it won’t last much longer.” The governor smiled. “Your time here won’t be the party you’d find on Eros-69, but we’re hospitable here on Eros-28. We don’t have a pleasure dome, but the food is reasonable, our gym is top notch, and our VR library is only a few months out of date.”
“Governor, we’re grateful for your hospitality, and again, I apologize for dropping in on you like this.”
“No apology necessary. I have one question for you, though. Are you the same Lieutenant Fortis that led the attack on the GRC facility on Pada-Pada?”
Fortis’ cheeks burned as blood rushed to his face. “I was on Pada-Pada, but it was hardly an attack on a GRC facility. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but the test tubes made an unprovoked attack on us. My Marines and I acted in self-defense.”
Czrk stared at the lieutenant for a long second before he forced a smile across his face.
“No matter. Pada-Pada is far away, and I assure you that we don’t have a clone army here on Eros-28.” He stood up to signal the meeting was over, and Fortis followed suit. The two men shook hands and the governor gestured to Chive.
“Director Chive will show you the way to the transient crew dormitory.”
Chive gestured at the door. “This way, Lieutenant.”
“Welcome to Eros-28,” Czrk called as Fortis left the office.
* * *
Chive didn’t say a word as the two men walked through wide passageways to the transient crew quarters. The silence was uncomfortable, and Fortis got an unfriendly vibe from the tight-lipped security chief. They arrived at a set of double doors marked “Transient Personnel Quarters A.”
“Your men are in there,” said Chive as he pointed to the door.
“Thank you,” Fortis replied, but Chive was already returning the way they had come.
Fortis shook his head and went through the doors into an open bay barracks. Ystremski spotted him and greeted him.
“Hey, LT, how did it go with Battalion? Are they sending a troop transport?”
Fortis shook his head. “We can’t get a message out until this sandstorm ends. The governor said it might be another couple days before we can get a report out.”
Ystremski swore under his breath. “The lads won’t like that, sir.”
Fortis shrugged. “DINLI.”
“Yeah. DINLI.” Ystremski pointed to an open bunk near the door. “That one’s yours, LT. I’m next to you, and the rest are billeted by squad. The mattresses are soft and the shitter stalls have doors. This is
the lap of luxury for us grunts. I’m not sure how you’ll survive, being a posh officer and all.”
Fortis laughed. ISMC enlisted accommodations were notoriously spartan, even aboard Fleet troop transports. The rigid Fleet caste system that provided him with privacy and comfort while his men lived in close quarters embarrassed the young officer. He was grateful that same system didn’t seem to exist on Eros-28.
“I put your duffle on your rack. That little guy that works for the governor, Drager, said we’ve got twenty minutes until the chow hall opens, if you want to unpack. Do you want to address the men?”
In the short time he’d served with Ystremski, Fortis had learned to recognize the difference between a legitimate question and a suggestion disguised with a question mark. Chevrons or not, Ystremski was still the gunnery sergeant he was before he slugged Captain Reese, and Fortis respected his knowledge and experience.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I didn’t get much from the governor, but they need to know what’s going on. Form them up.”
Ystremski had the platoon fall in.
“Third Platoon all present or accounted for, sir.”
“Very well, Corporal. Put them at ease.”
All eyes were on Fortis. “You men know we’re here because of some kind of foul up.” He paused, but there was no response. “The governor expects the sandstorm we landed in to last another two days, and I can’t report our status to Captain Brickell and call for an extraction bird until it clears up. Which means we’re stuck here for the short term.
“The governor told me their gym is excellent, and the food isn’t bad, either.” He shrugged. “I will do everything I can to get us out of here as soon as possible, but until then DINLI.” Several heads nodded. “I’m going to leave our daily schedule up to Corporal Ystremski. If he says we train, then we train. If he says we lay in our racks all day—”
Ystremski gave an evil chuckle, and the platoon groaned. “Not going to happen, sir. I predict sore muscles in the mornings and tired bodies at night.”
Fortis smiled. “There you have it.” He tried to make eye contact with every Marine in the platoon. “Does anyone have questions for me?”
Nobody spoke up, so Fortis turned to Ystremski. “Corporal, dismiss the platoon, and let’s get ready for chow.”
* * *
While the Space Marines ate, Governor Czrk and Director Chive met in the governor’s office.
“What do you make of them?” Czrk leaned back in his office chair and made a steeple with his fingers in front of his nose. “Do you believe their story?”
Chive shrugged. “It’s the ISMC. They’re certainly capable of a screw up like this.”
The governor nodded. “You think it’s a coincidence they sent Fortis? He looks like a cherry, but he led the ISMC attack on Pada-Pada.”
“Anything is possible. He certainly didn’t like your question about it.”
“Huh.” Czrk scratched his chin thoughtfully. “If they came here to cause trouble, you’d think they would have brought more than a platoon. I didn’t see any weapons, though.”
“It might be a reconnaissance mission. I ordered my men to scan their bags while they’re in the cafeteria. We’ll soon know what they’ve got hidden in their duffels.”
The governor sighed. “Okay, let me know what you find. I sent Drager to show them around and monitor them. Maybe he can learn something.”
Chive’s face darkened. “Drager? Drager’s not a trained operative. He’s a fool.”
“He’s not there to spy on them; he’s supposed to make sure they find what they need and not wander around.”
“Drager should be able to handle that. If he doesn’t get lost.”
“I’ll get Fortis on the comm link with his chain of command as soon as the sifter blows over. The sooner they leave, the better.”
* * *
The affable Drager joined Fortis and the Space Marines for lunch. Governor Czrk had understated the quality of the food on the cafeteria. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was far better than the dried ham steaks known as pig squares the Marines subsisted on in the field. It was better than the chow on the flagship, even.
“Your quarters and this dining facility are on a branch off the main corridor of the company facilities,” Drager explained to the lieutenant. “Almost everything is underground.”
“Why is that?”
“When the GRC first built this facility, they started constructing a standard dome. They were halfway finished when a massive sifter buried everything under five meters of dirt. That’s when they decided to build everything underground. Before this latest sifter started, about half of our facilities were underground and half remained uncovered by the dirt. It changes.”
After their meal Drager took Fortis on a tour. The corridors were ten meters wide and five meters high, and the floor, walls, and ceiling gleamed with a composite material Fortis had never seen before. A thick double yellow line divided the corridor into two lanes, and black and yellow stripes outlined doorways and hatches.
“There are six attached garages where we store equipment that branch off the main corridor, and twelve workshops where we repair and refit machinery. There are also eight remote garages we use for long-term storage, but we can only access those when the weather is clear.”
“How many people work here?”
“Currently, we employ almost five thousand workers. A new group arrived two weeks ago, and we sent two hundred to Eros-69 to quarantine before they head home. Our workforce lives in ten habitat branches on the other side of the main corridor, and a thousand or so live in Boston with their families.”
“Boston?”
“The first governor named the capital after his home city on Terra Earth. I guess it was a dirty hellhole, too.”
Fortis stared, and Drager laughed.
“I’m joking, of course. We don’t have family quarters in the facility, but there’s no stopping human biology. Employees who choose to marry and have children live in houses they build in Boston. The first governor also named this facility Fenway, after a sports stadium in the original Boston.”
Fortis searched his memory, but he drew a blank. “Never heard of the place.”
The pair paused when they reached the door to the transient quarters.
“Hey, Bob, the governor mentioned a gym?”
“Ah, yes. The gym is right down there.” Drager pointed at some doors down and across the corridor. “It’s open all hours, although it can get crowded when the shift changes at 0800, 1600, and midnight colony time.” He gave Fortis a sheepish smile. “It’s not much, but it’s home. Do you have any other questions, Lieutenant?”
Fortis shook his head. “We appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Drager.” He extended his hand, and the two men shook. “It will be a shame to leave all this after the sifter passes.”
They shared a laugh, and Fortis entered his quarters.
* * * * *
Chapter Five
Aboard the Fleet flagship Atlas, General Gupta tightened his seatbelt and prepared himself for the trip down to Eros-69. Captain Nilsen, his aide-de-camp, was strapped in next to him. The gentle pressure of her leg against his electrified the general, and he allowed his thoughts to wander toward his liberty plans for the young Nordic beauty. One of his Fleet Academy classmates had given Gupta his highest personal recommendation when Nilsen’s name appeared on the list of candidates for her current position, but the general had yet to explore the extent of that endorsement. He hoped—
The pilot’s voice came over the speakers, interrupting Gupta’s fantasy.
“General, sorry to bother you, but there’s a staff runner on the way with a message for you.”
“Bah! Tell him we’re already gone and forward it to the surface.”
“Sir, the staff duty officer said it was a Whiskey priority message.”
“Whiskey? What the hell?”
Fleet communications were prioritized due to limited bandwidth through the jump gate
communications portals. Alpha was the lowest priority and was assigned to routine administrative message traffic. Zulu was the highest priority and was reserved for warning of imminent enemy attack. Gupta had seen a Whiskey priority message only once in all his years in the ISMC, when his Battalion was ordered to track down slavers who had kidnapped all the residents of an agricultural colony.
The hatch popped open, and the runner entered and handed Gupta an envelope. The general looked at Nilsen, who shrugged and shifted her weight so their legs were no longer touching. He tore open the envelope and discovered that the message was a jumble of letters, numbers, and symbols.
“It’s double encrypted, sir,” the runner said. “Only you have the keycode.”
Gupta fought back the urge to vent on the runner. He tore open the buckle on his seat restraint and stood up.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he shouted at the pilot. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Eight minutes later, after he’d broken the encryption and verified the message, he dialed the number to the watch center. “This is General Gupta. Immediately recall all 9th Division Space Marines from Eros-69 and set Alert Condition Bravo.”
The duty officer acknowledged his orders, then he hung up and punched in the number for the Fleet commander, Fleet Admiral Burle Kinshaw.
“Guppy! Good to hear from you. Why aren’t you down on Eros-69 yet?”
“You haven’t seen the Whiskey message yet?”
“Whiskey? What the hell?”
“That’s what I said. Fleet Intelligence has detected unknown potential hostile activity in the sector where Nelson disappeared last month. We’ve been ordered to investigate and be prepared for action.”
* * *
Fortis and Ystremski were the only two people in the cavernous weight room. They could hear the shouts and curses of the other Space Marines through the swinging doors at the far end of the room, who were engaged in a game of Calcio Fiorentino on the highly polished basketball court.
