by David Weber
“I informed Governor Dueñas I would be sending a boarding party aboard your station within fifteen minutes of making Cinnamon orbit,” Zavala continued. “My pinnaces are en route now. I have no desire to inflict additional casualties—especially not civilian casualties—but my orders are clear and I intend to follow them. That means my personnel will be coming aboard Shona Station very shortly. I don’t suppose Governor Dueñas has instructed you to release the people I’ve come to reclaim into my custody?”
“I’m afraid he hasn’t,” MacNaughtan replied.
“May I ask what instructions, if any, he has given you?”
“I’ve been informed that he declines to release your people from quarantine,” MacNaughtan responded in a very careful tone. “Aside from that I have no specific instructions in regard to this matter.”
“Should I assume that means you intend to refuse to cooperate with my boarding party?” Zavala’s voice was noticeably colder, and MacNaughtan drew a deep breath.
“Your personnel aren’t in the Saltash Space Service’s custody,” he said. “Their security and medical treatment are an Office of Frontier Security responsibility under the terms of OFS’ management of traffic here in Saltash. Governor Dueñas made that point to me rather firmly when his medical staff determined that a quarantine was appropriate. As a consequence, I can’t release them to you, however cooperative I might otherwise wish to be.”
Zavala gazed at him for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully. Then the Manticoran tipped back in his command chair and cocked his head to one side.
“May I assume, then, that you’re as desirous as I am to avoid any unfortunate incidents aboard your station, Captain?”
“I’m administratively responsible for the safety and well-being of the better part of a quarter million civilians, not to mention a major portion of my star system’s industrial infrastructure, Captain Zavala,” MacNaughtan said flatly. “I think you can assume no one in the entire galaxy could be more desirous of avoiding ‘unfortunate incidents’ than I am.”
“I can appreciate that. I trust you can appreciate that my people are coming aboard, one way or another. I would vastly prefer for my pinnaces to dock with Shona Station like any other small craft and for my personnel to come and go with the minimum disturbance of your routine, your civilians’ well-being, or the operation of your industrial nodes. Since both of us would obviously prefer that outcome, will you be good enough to issue docking clearance?”
“I suspect Governor Dueñas would prefer for me to refuse you clearance, Captain Zavala. Unfortunately, he hasn’t specifically told me that, and it seems evident you have more than sufficient firepower available to compel me to at least allow you access to the station. That being the case, yes, your pinnaces are cleared to dock, although I feel constrained to point out that it’s only under official protest. Understand, however,” he looked very steadily into Zavala’s eyes, “that I am responsible for those civilians’ safety. Should they be endangered, it will be my duty to intervene.”
He spoke firmly, crisply, and Zavala nodded.
“I understand, Captain MacNaughtan, and I assure you my people will have no intention of endangering your civilians. Of course, once they board, they will have to make contact with the Frontier Security personnel responsible for maintaining the medical quarantine aboard your station. Would it be possible for you to provide them with a guide or a map board to direct them to the quarantine facilities when they come aboard?”
“I can certainly see to it that they have directions,” MacNaughtan replied. “And in order to minimize the possibility of any of those incidents you and I both want to avoid, I’ve taken the precaution of evacuating both civilian and Saltash Space Service personnel from the module supporting the quarantine facilities.”
“I appreciate that,” Zavala said with a thin smile. “Hopefully this will be a relatively painless visit, Captain. We’ll certainly try to keep it that way, at least.”
* * *
“All right, people,” Lieutenant Abigail Hearns said, standing at the head of the pinnace passenger compartment. Her image appeared simultaneously on the main bulkhead viewscreens in each of the other three pinnaces, and she hoped she looked calmer than she actually felt.
“According to our last update, the locals don’t want any part of this. They haven’t come right out and said so, but we have docking clearance and their CO’s withdrawn his personnel from the portion of the station between our docking bay and our people. That’s the good news. The bad news is that we still don’t know how many of the gendarmes stationed here are currently on board and how many may be deployed elsewhere in the system, but we do know our people are in their custody and they don’t have orders to give them back.”
She saw the tension in the faces actually looking back at her aboard her own pinnace and she knew the faces aboard the other small craft of her flight were just as tense. And well they should be, since only one member of her entire boarding party had ever been a Marine. Gendarmerie intervention battalions had a well-earned reputation as thugs and enforcers, rather than soldiers, but they were at least nominally trained with infantry and support weapons, and there were almost certainly more of them aboard Shona Station than there were Manticorans and Graysons aboard her pinnaces.
“Obviously, we all hoped these people would be smart enough to recognize reality when it smacked them in the face,” she continued. “What happened to their battlecruisers should have convinced them it would be a really, really bad idea to make Commodore Zavala unhappy with them. They seem to be a little slow, however…even for Sollies.”
Her timing on the last three words was perfect, and several people laughed out loud despite the tension curdling the pinnace’s atmosphere.
“I have no intention of getting any of you killed,” she told them when the laughter had faded. “A lot of you were with me and Mateo pulling SAR in Spindle, and that’s why you lucky souls get to take point with the two of us. The rest of you know the plan, and I expect you to stick to it. We don’t want any shooting if it can possibly be avoided. We don’t want to escalate any confrontations that don’t have to be escalated. Having said that, your own safety is paramount. I don’t want anyone killed if we can avoid it, but I’d a lot rather have some Solly gendarme killed than one of you. Is that clear?”
Heads nodded, and she nodded back.
“Once we’ve boarded, the pinnaces will undock under Lieutenant Xamar’s command. Thanks to Captain Zavala’s discussions with the station’s personnel, we know which module our people are in, and we already know roughly what route we’re going to have to take to reach them. While we’re doing that, Lieutenant Xamar will take up station on the module. Hopefully, we won’t need fire support from the pinnaces, but if we need it, it’ll be there.”
Heads nodded again, far more grimly.
“All right. Remember your briefings, watch your backs, and come home safe. If any of you don’t come back in one piece, I’m going to be really upset with you, and you won’t like me when I’m upset. Understood?”
* * *
Eardsidh MacGeechan was acutely conscious of how alone he was as the Manticoran pinnaces mated with Shona station’s personnel tubes and the Manty boarding party swam quickly and efficiently aboard.
All of them wore skinsuits, not powered armor, he observed, but they seemed to be frighteningly well equipped with pulse rifles, side arms, flechette guns, tribarrels, and grenade launchers. He even saw a few anti-armor launchers he hoped to hell were armed with chemical or kinetic warheads and not impeller heads. They moved with grim, disciplined competence, and he reminded himself he was effectively a neutral.
The question, of course, was whether or not they knew that.
A slender (and preposterously young looking) brunette with gray-blue eyes and a skinsuit showing the rank markings of a senior lieutenant crossed the bay gallery to him. A massively built fellow who would have made at least two and probably three of her followed at her heels in
an armored skinsuit, carrying a flechette gun casually at port arms while a slung rifle hung over his shoulder. He also carried a pulser in a belt holster and another one in a shoulder holster, and all of his weapons had an ominously well-used look. So did his dark eyes, for that matter. He should have looked ridiculous festooned with so much firepower; instead, he looked like a man accompanied by several old friends who were ready to help out if he needed them. MacGeechan didn’t recognize the insignia on his skinsuit, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t Manticoran.
“Lieutenant Abigail Hearns, Grayson Space Navy,” the brunette said in a pleasantly throaty contralto. MacGeechan’s eyebrows rose, and she smiled. “We’re Manticoran allies. Don’t worry about it,” she advised him.
“Whatever you say, Lieutenant,” MacGeechan said. “Lieutenant Eardsidh MacGeechan, Saltash Space Service.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Hearns extended her hand and gripped his firmly. “This is Lieutenant Gutierrez, Owens Steadholder’s Guard.” MacGeechan felt his eyebrows twitch again, and she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she repeated.
“Uh, yes, Ma’am.” MacGeechan wasn’t certain she was senior to him, but he suspected she was, despite her apparent youth. It was always a bit difficult to estimate someone’s calendar age without knowing which generation of prolong he’d received, but this Lieutenant Hearns exuded a quiet aura of competence that spoke of a lot more experience than someone as youthful looking as her ought to have.
“I suppose we should go ahead and get ourselves organized, don’t you think, Mateo?” she said, smiling up at the towering lieutenant, and he nodded.
“I’ll get right on that…My Lady.”
Hearns’ eyes flickered as if in amusement at some private joke, but she only nodded, and MacGeechan watched her watching Gutierrez as he began briskly and competently sorting out the rest of her boarding party. Then the Saltashan frowned as the pinnaces quietly unlocked from the buffers on the far side of the bay’s armorplast. He started to say something about it, then changed his mind as he saw them back out of the bay on reaction thrusters, alter heading, and drift off in the direction of Victor Seven. Surely they weren’t going to—?
His thought trailed away as he remembered what had happened to Vice Admiral Dubroskaya. Under the circumstances, it was probably just as well not to invest too much confidence in what these people weren’t going to do.
He considered that for a moment or two, and then, ever so slightly, he began to smile. If they hadn’t been gendarme pricks, he might almost have felt sorry for Major Pole’s troopers, and in the meantime…
Chapter Fifteen
“Excuse me, Lieutenant Hearns.”
Abigail turned and raised an eyebrow at Lieutenant MacGeechan. The Saltash Space Service officer gave her an apologetic look that seemed to have an odd, almost gleeful edge to it, and extended a tablet display.
“I’m afraid it turns out we’re even more shorthanded than we thought we were, given the nature of the current situation,” MacGeechan continued, “and Commander MacWilliams needs me back in her command center. Since that means I won’t be able to personally guide you to Major Pole after all, Captain MacNaughtan asked me to give you this. I know it’s not as good as having an actual guide, but I hope it’ll be good enough.”
Abigail started a sharp retort but stopped herself. If MacGeechan really did have orders to stay out from between the gendarmes and her people, her yelling at him wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, she couldn’t blame him—or any of the other Saltashans—for wanting to keep as much distance as possible between themselves and anything Frontier Security could construe as collaboration with Manticore.
She took the tablet, but MacGeechan didn’t let go of it immediately. Instead, he hung on and looked across it at her.
“As I say, Ma’am, it’s not as good as having an actual guide, but Captain MacNaughtan said to tell you he hoped it would help.”
There was a strange emphasis on the last few words, and Abigail’s eyes narrowed. Then they dropped to the tablet and widened, instead.
“I can appreciate your manpower difficulties, Lieutenant MacGeechan,” she said after a moment. “And under the circumstances, we won’t detain you any longer. Please pass my compliments to Captain MacNaughtan.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
McGeechan released his grip, came briefly to attention, and saluted. Abigail returned the courtesy and watched the Saltashan officer step back a half-pace, turn, and stride briskly away without so much as a backward glance.
“Excuse me, My Lady, but wasn’t that supposed to be our guide?” a deep voice rumbled behind her, and she turned.
“That was what I expected, yes, Mateo,” she agreed calmly. “It seems there’s been a change in plans, however. Captain MacNaughtan and Commander MacWilliams need Lieutenant MacGeechan elsewhere.”
“And we’re just supposed to go waltzing through this space station all on our own, are we?” Lieutenant Gutierrez sounded a tad skeptical, and the look he bestowed upon Lieutenant Hearns was remarkably similar to the looks certain of her tutors had given her back on Grayson. Usually immediately after something expensive had gotten mysteriously broken.
“I’m afraid so,” she sighed. “The best they could do for us was this.”
She held up the tablet, and Gutierrez’ eyebrows rose.
“Is that really—?” he began, then shut his mouth tightly. He hated people who asked obvious questions.
“Yes, it is.” Abigail smiled thinly. “Changes things just a little, doesn’t it?”
“That’s one way to put it, Ma’am,” Gutierrez acknowledged, still gazing at the tablet.
Its display showed a position icon to indicate their own location here in the docking bay, but that was about its only resemblance to the standard electronic deck guide he’d expected to see. A standard guide would have shown them where they were and highlighted a route to their intended destination. The purely schematic layout would have told them when and where to turn, what lifts they needed to take, and what decks they needed to cross to get to Victor Seven. Of course, Lieutenant MacGeechan would have been a better—and, under the circumstances, a more reassuring guide—and it wouldn’t have shown any details aside from their direct route, but it would have sufficed.
What Abigail Hearns actually held, however, was a damage control guide from Shona Station’s engineering department. True, it would guide them to Victor Seven. But it was intended to get emergency repair crews anywhere they had to go under any conditions. Instead of showing a simple, highlighted route to Victor Seven, it showed engineering access ways, ventilation conduits, plumbing, blast doors, emergency bypass routes, circuitry runs…and the exact location of the gendarmerie brig in which the Manticoran spacers were confined.
“Pity there wasn’t time for them to get you a standard deck guide, My Lady,” Abigail’s personal armsman continued. “I guess we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.”
* * *
“Well, what do you think of Abigail’s brainstorm?” Namoi Kaplin asked Alvin Tallman, and her XO laughed. There wasn’t a lot of humor in that laugh. In fact, Kaplan could hear the echo of her own bared fangs.
“I like it, Skipper,” Tallman replied over her earbug from his station in AuxCon. “There’s a reason she decided to strike for the tactical track.”
“Agreed.” Kaplan nodded, but then her expression turned serious. “On the other hand, I think she’s right about us owing MacNaughtan a little cover.”
“I agree. Not that I think he’s doing it just out of the goodness of his heart, you understand, Ma’am. Looks to me like these Saltashans have a few bones of their own to pick with the Sollies.”
“Who doesn’t?” Kaplan asked bleakly.
“Only people who’ve never met them,” Tallam replied. “Returning to the matter in hand, though, how’s O’Reilly doing on providing that cover?”
“Well,” Kaplan’s lips quirked as she glanced across at her
com officer, “I think she’s a little pissed the suggestion came from Abigail, but she grabbed it and ran with it, anyway. Interesting how those damage control guides tie into the emergency communication nets, isn’t it? And how easy it is to invade the system when you’re already inside it?” Her smile grew much nastier. “Trust me, Wanda’s making sure her tracks are going to be easy to find. By the time anyone starts looking, it’s going to be obvious we managed to hack their info systems from the outside—more of that ‘preposterous’ Manty hardware for them to worry about, I suppose—to get our hands on those schematics.”
* * *
Captain Jørn Kristoffersen, CO, Able Company, 10347th Independent Battalion, Solarian Gendarmerie, was an unhappy man.
As a general rule, he enjoyed his slot as the 10347th senior company commander. True, Saltash was on the backside of nowhere, and it was somewhat lacking in the more sophisticated forms of entertainment he preferred. It was still immensely better off than some of the Verge hellholes he’d been assigned to in the past, however, and as long as a man was careful, there were plenty of opportunities for him to enjoy himself. Better still, Major Pole understood the traditional Verge fringe benefits when it came to R&R, and things had improved noticeably since Dueñas had replaced the previous governor and reminded the locals who was really in charge. Kristoffersen wasn’t about to go wandering around in uniform without three or four other gendarmes to watch his back, of course—no telling what some of the local yokels might do if they caught a gendarme all on his own—but that was par for the course anywhere in the Verge.
The present situation, however, was not par for the course, and even as he stepped on his anger, he tried to convince himself that something besides fear gave that anger so much strength.
Fucking bastards, he thought resentfully, glowering at the lift shafts and acutely conscious of the long, empty corridor stretching away behind him. Too damned uppity, that’s what they are! We need to be smacking them down, showing them why they don’t want to try to pull this kind of shit with us!
