by Alan Black
Triplett said something under her breath about stupid military mindset; both Stone and Menendez ignored the comment. Academics and researchers were often dismissive of the military and looked at them as substandard. It didn’t matter that the officer ranks of all three military branches were populated by men and women with advanced degrees. Their rampant contempt for anyone resorting to physical force for any reason was more than evident on most educational campuses.
Menendez said, “Ensign Stone, how you feel isn’t the problem! The corpsman gave you a full treatment of marine combat nanites, the best the empire has to offer. They should simply overwrite your navy nanites, flushing the less enhanced nanites out of your system. However, something has interfered with the programmed flush. The nanites have combined in your system. The marine nanites have subverted the navy ones to their own uses and instead of attacking the drasco DNA as they should any invading virus, they have begun to combine and mutate.”
No one had mentioned this to Stone before. He shook his head. “I don’t understand. I’m going to mutate into some kind of marine drasco?”
Menendez shook her head. “Don’t be silly. DNA doesn’t work that way, neither will a broad spectrum nanite. All we know is that you should be sick or already dead.”
SEVEN
Stone gave a little internal shiver as LCDR Butcher shouted at him for the umpteenth time since leaving Lazzaroni Station. He should be used to Butcher’s tirades during their daily conferences by now, but he wasn’t. He didn’t appreciate being yelled at for things beyond his control and he didn’t imagine anyone ever did. Every time the man lost his temper, he directed his anger at Stone. Shouting was only the first stage of the commander’s anger. The man would quickly change into stomping around a room, spittle flying, eyes red, and fists clenched. The next step involved throwing things, never at anyone, just throwing anything not welded onto the deck.
The XO, LTSG Bhutros, seemed to sleep through Butcher’s fits of rage as if they weren’t happening. The planetary staff attending the conferences politely ignored the tirades. No reports of his temper tantrums ever made it into the daily logs. Someone even thoughtfully and carefully scrubbed all video records. Stone’s only proof of how he was harangued was located on his personal assistant. Recordings were running constantly since he and his drasco’s had boarded the UEN Vasco de Gama.
Stone understood Butcher’s assignment frustrations. Neither he nor the commander was happy about going to Allie’s World. An explorer third class wasn’t a combat vessel and Butcher hadn’t earned his combat command red stripe. Butcher far outranked the lowest ranking ensign in the navy, yet having said ensign wear a combat command stripe while you didn’t, might drive a normal person to the ragged edge of rage. But, it wasn’t right to take it out on him.
MCPO Thomas had caught him filling out an official complaint and stopped him. Thomas explained Butcher’s anger wasn’t all about the red combat command stripe, some, but not all. Butcher’s first ship command had been a higher rated vessel than the Vasco de Gama. Taking command of an explorer third class was a step backward. Backward meant Butcher’s career, while not over, had peaked. The man couldn’t take his frustration out on the enlisted, not his own crew or the crew in transit to Allie’s World. As a ship commander, Butcher couldn’t exercise his emotional overloads on the other ship’s officers. They were in his chain of command and he needed a close working relationship with his XO and his chief engineer.
All the planetary staff was under Stone’s authority, as was 1LT Hammermill, the marine platoon officer, so Butcher certainly couldn’t vent his frustration at any of the sixty-four marines on board or the civilian scientists. Dr. Mohamed, a planetologist, was in charge of the scientific staff and acting as his assistant was Dr. Triplett, the xeno-biologist intent on dissecting his drascos. Both of the civilians already evidenced a remarkable distaste for all things military. A naval officer verbally berating any Emperor appointed scientist would evaporate Butcher’s career.
Stone was shocked to learn his orders made him the overall ground commander on Allie’s World, not for just the navy, but the civilians, the medical corps, and the marine security contingent—a full company of marines, 260 men counting officers. Three of the four marine platoons were already on Allie’s World, the fourth platoon led by 1LT Hammermill was with him in transit. Once on the planet, he would have to file all reports through his communications staff led by none other than the overly sexy PO3 Tammie Ryte to the Vasco de Gama and LCDR Butcher in orbital overwatch.
Butcher wasn’t his supervisor, just the channel for his reports. Stone’s direct supervisor was the commander-in-chief himself, the Emperor. He couldn’t blame the Emperor for scrubbing away the tradition navy chain of command. Stone had done it to himself. Upon discovery of the planet, he’d taken a sixty-five percent ownership, giving twenty-five percent to Danielle Wright and offering only ten percent to the Emperor. The Emperor wasn’t a dummy. He may be the minority owner of Allie’s World, but he’d managed to place himself in overall control of the exploitation of the world by putting himself in command of the majority owner.
They were still a week away from jumping into hyperspace and jumping out again into the area near Allie’s World. Butcher’s rants grew louder the longer they delayed the jump into Allie’s World’s solar system. People were crowded, stacked, and racked in every nook and cranny of the tiny ship. Stone could only wonder how bad Butcher’s frustration might become on-board the ship once Stone went down to the planet and the man didn’t have anyone left to yell at.
Butcher shouted, “What the hell do you mean you never caught a clear picture of these night stalker creatures during your first time on the planet? All we have is this fuzzy picture of a half dozen of them stalking some house-sized tree-eating shit-making monster. Those were high-resolution shuttle cameras, right?”
“Sir, we never managed to record them again. We did record in the highest resolution possible, but those things, whatever they are, are still fuzzy no matter how you tweak the recording. Frankly, the only time we saw them was at dusk and we tried to be locked up tight before nightfall. We didn’t want to go looking for those things.”
“Then how the hell is anyone supposed to defend against them?”
“All we had were survival knives. Most shuttles are not stocked with tactical nukes.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass, Ensign.”
“Sorry, Commander Butcher. We never saw them in packs of less than six. One looked too dangerous to go up against with only a knife. We were concerned more about survival, not doing a flora and fauna study. I don’t know if we can defend against them. Maybe they’re fuzzy in the pictures because they’re out of phase with the universe, vibrating in and out. For all I know, they can phase through shields, ship’s bulkheads and marine armor.” Stone noted how both 1LT Hammermill and Dr. Triplett made notes about such a possibility.
Dr. Mohamed was in this meeting, yet he rarely spoke. His contempt for the military was even more evident than Dr. Triplett’s. After repeated attempts to be put in charge, but having no way to overrule the Emperor’s fiat putting Stone in charge, the man sat and sulked, his hulking frame hunched over his dataport display. The man was older than his assistant, but no less fit. While she appeared to be a long distance runner, Mohamed looked like a weightlifter.
After Stone’s first meeting with the pair and their dismissive attitude toward his leadership, MCPO Thomas told Stone to ignore them as their manner was common on educational campuses throughout the empire. Thomas let slip about his master’s degree in engineering that he’d earned it at the Navy’s Non-Commissioned Officer College on Strathmore Upon Drumme. Even 1LT Hammermill ignored their constant jibes at the military, only mentioning in passing that he’d earned his degree in mathematics through the Marine Corps online college. Stone knew he would have to earn a degree to get promoted past lieutenant junior grade. Military educations were dismissed by civilian scientists across the empire as being somehow
beneath their own.
“Yes.” Butcher tried to take a deep breath to calm his jangled nerves. He failed, rounding on Stone again. “And control your marines, dammit. That corporal, what’s her name? Tuttle, has tried jumping every swinging dick on this ship. It’s a small ship, but it isn’t that small. Get her under control or I will have her locked up for the betterment of moral.”
Stone wanted to say morale always seemed to improve when Corporal Tuttle was around. Morale improved especially for the men, but even the women with boyfriends and husbands didn’t seem to mind much since Barb never tried to steal their men, just borrow them for a little friendly bedsheet mambo, quickly giving them back better than she found them. So far, Stone managed to avoid her advances, in spite of that he often wondered where she found privacy on the overly crowded ship. He was a guy, so wondering about Tuttle and Ryte was a daily occurrence, yet Allie still occupied his mind.
Stone wanted to say that, but he didn’t. “Yes, sir. I will speak with Lieutenant Hammermill and with Lance Corporal Tuttle personally about her conduct.”
“Just get her to dial it back or at least, try to get her to be discrete, Ensign.”
Stone glanced at Hammermill. The marine tried not to smile. His eyes rolled as if he knew getting Tuttle to be discrete was like trying to ask her not to breathe for an hour or so.
Butcher continued in a calmer voice, “We only have one week before exiting out Brickman’s Station space and entering into hyperspace. Navigation assures me we will achieve orbital insertion around Allie’s World a few hours later. We only have three small personnel shuttles and one freight shuttle for debarkation. It will take half a dozen trips each to get the planetary contingent off my ship. Hell! Even our freight shuttle can’t take any more than your two pets at one time.” He glared at Stone as if the size of his command was his fault.
“Yes, sir.” Stone couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You will provide me with a load out schedule by the end of the day.”
For the first time in days Dr. Mohamed spoke, his voice booming as if he were no less used to having his commands obeyed than LCDR Butcher. “Ensign Stone, my team must go to the planet first. We have work we must begin as—”
1LT Hammermill interrupted, “With all due respect to the good doctor. My marines should go first.”
Mohamed said, “Your marines may be more cramped than my scientists, but that isn’t any reason—”
“It’s got nothing to do with space. It’s about security.”
Dr. Triplett spoke, her voice old, reedy, sure, and confident. “I understand there are already three platoons on marines on the ground for our protection.”
Hammermill replied, “Sure, but—”
MCPO Thomas said, “Ladies and gentlemen, as ground commander, protocol demands Ensign Stone and his personal staff debark first.”
Stone blanched at the thought of going outside again. He was saved from commenting by Butcher shouting, “Enough squabbling, I don’t need to hear this. Stone, get it figured out.” He stormed out of the room.
Everyone started talking the minute the door closed behind him. Stone listened to the babble and tried to diagram the debarkation to meet everybody’s wishes. He was hopelessly fouled in minutes. No matter what he did, he wasn’t going to make everyone happy. The last time he had taken command of a ship, everyone was happy except him—well, him and those who ended up being arrested. He smiled. This time he would make himself happy.
EIGHT
1LT Hammermill pleaded, “Come on, Ensign Stone. It’s a perfect opportunity to practice a jump. We have a full platoon of bored marines to take down to the planet anyway. We just land a few miles from the existing base, chew up some dirt and march to our new home.” He repeated the request for the umpteenth time trying to get Stone to overrule the original denial.
Hammermill wanted to borrow the existing marine company’s shuttles to take his platoon down to the planet while practicing combat insertions using high-speed descent with suited and armed marines bailing out in staggered formations, hitting the ground simultaneously to overwhelm any planetary forces. He was positively foaming at the mouth thinking about jumping out of a descending shuttle screaming down at an atmosphere burning speed encased in nothing but his combat suit, armed to the teeth, blasting away at their landing zone with enough ordinance to raze a small city.
Butcher had overruled him since it would mean extra time getting his platoon off the Vasco de Gama. While being in hyperspace, they didn’t have any way to gain input from the marine company commander already on Allie’s World. However, as of the last message received by Butcher, the three marine platoons on the ground had all known dangers under control. Promising Hammermill opportunities at a later time to practice jumps and insertions didn’t mollify the man.
Stone shook his head no. He could’ve given Hammermill’s platoon, now designated as Charlie Platoon, the go-ahead anyway. As planetary governor, he was in charge of everything on the planet, theoretically outranking every officer already on the ground. He didn’t want to step on the toes of a navy commander and a marine company commander, both of whom he would have to work with for the foreseeable future. He hadn’t spoken to the marine commander and wouldn’t until he took command on the ground.
Stone planned on commandeering all shuttles located on the planet to get his people and their equipment off Butcher’s ship as quickly as possible. A marine combat insertion happened fast, however, it did take more preparation time than just boarding a shuttle and departing. Everyone was still demanding to get to the planet first. He was happy to let everyone go ahead of him, though all of his leadership training courses stated he should go first as the man in charge.
1LT Hammermill and his platoon were joining the marine company on the ground. A quick reaction force of three additional platoons was already in place, sent forward by the Emperor to build and guarantee a secure site for the planetary exploitation team. Alpha, Baker, and Delta Platoons had cleared the ground and raised a two-story compound to house and protect all civilians, navy, and medical personnel. The compound was a thick ring filled with offices and barracks. It had sharp triangles jutting out in four cardinal directions. Each triangle housed a marine platoon complete with their own shuttle, offices, barracks, and storerooms. Stone planned to borrow the shuttles for extra transportation to get his people off the Vasco de Gama. The existing buildings had ceilings, meaning he could go from the ship to inside a shuttle hangar, avoiding all the dangerous outside, his highest personal concern.
Having an existing marine presence meant he had a valid reason not to let Hammermill’s marines off the Vasco de Gama first. The base was already secure. It didn’t mean Hammermill wouldn’t keep pushing for a combat insertion and to go first. It did mean Stone could allow another group to depart first—still he received conflicting requests.
Dr. Mohamed said, “I should go on the first shuttle. I’ve said this before—”
Dr. Triplett said, “Yes, and you’ll say it again and again and again. We know you want to go first, in spite of that, it isn’t logical for you—”
Mohamed interrupted “I don’t care if it’s logical. I’m the head of the civilian study group and I should go first.”
Triplett replied, “Nonetheless, you can’t do anything until we get the equipment transported and the technicians off-loaded to set up the equipment. There’s no reason—”
Mohamed waved a hand, cutting off his assistant. “Someone has to survey the laboratory setup and tell the technicians where to put everything. I don’t want our equipment off loaded and stacked willie-nilly every which way by untrained military hands. Who knows what damage they’ll do to our delicate instruments. Besides, I’m a planetologist, I don’t need any more reason. Planets—as in outside. I’ve been cooped up long enough. I want to see open sky.”
Stone shuddered at the thought of going outside, but he understood claustrophobia, as the opposite of his agoraphobia, could give Mohame
d the same feelings of panic and dread as he felt. He sympathized with the man. He tried scribbling on the grounding chart, figuring out how he could shuffle Mohamed to the front of the list, even though he knew Triplett was right. Letting Mohamed go first wasn’t logical any more than it made sense to let Hammermill go first.
MCPO Thomas tapped the chart. “The navy has operational oversight and should be on the ground first—whether the new planetary governor goes first or not.”
Stone said, “I agree, except the marines already beat us to the ground.”
Hammermill nodded, “Then I should be able to get my platoon off the ship first to join the rest of the marine command, certainly for ground defense, to protect the civilians.” He grinned at Mohamed and Triplett.
Stone shook his head in frustration. Everyone wanted to go first. He didn’t want to go at all. He looked at LTSG Bhutros, Butcher’s representative at this meeting, but the man had his nose buried in a stack of reports on his display, ignoring the conversation.
Thomas leaned over and said, “Sir, this isn’t going to be the biggest decision you have to make. It isn’t even one you have to make when you think about it. Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you have to micromanage the load out. I mean, you aren’t going to personally run a loader onto a shuttle, right? How many shuttle trips will it take?”
Stone tapped the chart in front of him. “Fifteen shuttle trips. We have four shuttles from the Vasco de Gama and four we can commandeer from the marines on the ground.” They couldn’t receive or send any messages in hyperspace. He tapped the shipment order request he’d received from the ground marines, the last message from them before their jump. They requested one marine shuttle transport a dozen bodies and a dozen seriously injured marines to the ship. He didn’t want to deny the request, but there wasn’t any reason to approve it. The Vasco de Gama wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were the dead marines. The injured marines had as good medical care on the ground as they would get on a third class exploration vessel. It would become even better once he transferred the medical corps to the planet.
