“You have orders?” she asked as she sat.
“No, ma’am, I lost everything on the station,” William replied. Not that he had much. When the Lawrence crashed, most of his possessions went poof.
“Very well, I’ll see what we can manage.” Her voice sounded tired.
“Ma’am, I apologize, but I don’t know your name.” He dreaded the moment where he’d have to ask. The last Captain listed on the logs was Harlond James—this was definitely not Harlond James.
She raised her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I hadn’t received my orders yet, ma’am.”
She sniffed and smiled weakly. “I am Captain Lakshmi Khan. You are Lieutenant William Grace, yes?”
William nodded. Her name placed with the tone of skin. Although the accent was not Indian it was definitely European. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Your hand, please.” She leaned closer.
“Ma’am?”
“Your hand, the augmented one, let me see it.”
William held out his left hand and stared down at the perfect seam.
She grasped it like a slab of meat and turned it. She pulled on the fingers, bent them back and forth and inspected them closely.
“What sort of control do you have?” She poked the palm firmly.
“Functionally identical, it tingles on occasion.” William wondered what the hell she was getting at.
“If we’re engaged I’ll need you to power it down.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am. This is an issued augmetic, not a civilian piece.” This wasn’t how he had hoped to start off his first post as an XO.
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
A touch of perspiration formed on his brow. “Ma’am, it’s simply an augmented hand, nothing hostile about it.”
“I’ll decide that, Lieutenant.” She stared down at the tablet and tapped it several more times.
The room was still. The sounds of the finger taps on the tablet the only sound. She shifted and leaned back before beckoning to the booth. William sat and wasn’t sure whether to feel comfortable or tense.
“Mr. Grace, you have an impressive record. Though I’m a bit disappointed with your Naval experience. In my eyes, you’re not fit for an XO position.” She looked up at William with hard eyes.
William wasn’t sure how to answer. On one hand she was correct: his previous endeavor was a ground command, rallying the survivors of the Lawrence and escaping from the planet Redmond. Before that he had been a Midshipman, and not an exceptional one.
“Ma’am, had the Lawrence not fallen, I’d have had plenty of time for an XO post.”
“Yes, and you’d still be on her as well, working up to that point. As it is, one of my Middies would be a better fit.” She slid her hand across the tablet, closing it off.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His first posting as an XO and she told him he wasn’t ready. Was he? The seed of doubt began to sprout and he felt very uncomfortable.
“However, the Gruffalo seems quite confident in your leadership abilities,” she said as she glanced down at the tablet. “I’ll be supervising you, submit everything to me before putting it out to the crew.” She looked back up and held his gaze for a second.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He noticed that she kept glancing at his augmetic hand.
The room grew tense. She snapped her eyes up from his hand and glanced back down to the tablet. “We’re bringing an armor platoon to Canaan. You’ll be my liaison. They’ll be doing a stowage drill in a few hours. Once you’re settled, go and keep an eye.”
William nodded. “Yes, ma’am, further details?”
“We were supposed to be with a larger convoy, but the Dropship is running late, we’ll rendezvous in system. For ship details, you have a tablet in your room. Dismissed.”
He stood, saluted, and walked out. He turned to close the door and saw a look of disappointment on her face. He walked a few steps and sighed. He hadn’t expected the augmetic conversation. All his arguments were primed for colony questions.
This was going to be a long deployment.
*
The final crate locked with a satisfying thunk. Lieutenant Takumi Yamaguchi pushed away from the largest of the boxes and floated to a piping array.
On the edges of the hold, uncomfortable looking soldiers wore sweat stained coveralls. A cluster of blank-faced Marines hovered near a large panel.
“Clear!” Yamaguchi yelled. He turned himself and forced his feet against the floor. Shit, was it the floor? He snapped his head around and caught the green arrow. He was pointed the right way. That moment of embarrassment only happened once.
“Gravity in ten!” a stocky Marine called out.
The soldiers awkwardly shifted and anchored themselves. None looked comfortable and a few looked like they were going to be sick.
The Marines supervised the stowing of the boxes and crates. They were unforgiving taskmasters who caught even the slightest error. The rivalry between soldier and Marine had flared once again. A single Naval officer casually floated up to the Marines.
“Three…two…one.”
An alarm shattered the silence of the hold. Gravity began to grow.
Yamaguchi stared at the ceiling and watched to see if any of the crates broke loose. They were tricky things in zero gravity, never seeming to move or shift like he thought they should.
The gravity grew. His calves tightened. The inside of his gut wiggled and settled. He cast an eye around, the other soldiers did not look comfortable. He heard the dreaded sound, a tiny metallic tink.
One end of a long, slender crate drifted down slowly and crashed into the crate anchored beneath it. The alarm sounded once again and the Marine dropped out the gravity once more. The sounds of jeering and whistling echoed down the hallways.
“Move!” Yamaguchi shouted. His face burned red. Every damn time, he thought, and everyone knew it.
The gravity ebbed in a sudden shift. They wedged, pushed, shackled and ratcheted the heavy crate back into position.
A thin faced Naval Lieutenant spun through cargo hold and gently edged himself next to Yamaguchi. He looked bored.
“Lieutenant, having some difficulties?” the man asked. He wrinkled his nose as the soldiers propped it into place.
Yamaguchi looked at the Lieutenant and nodded. He tried not to show his displeasure, or anger at being interrupted. This was his task, his duty, his job to see it done right. “A few, and you are?”
The Lieutenant edged his head forward and tapped the side of the crate. A hollow thud echoed out. “Grace.”
Yamaguchi pushed himself in front of Grace and slapped a bald headed Sergeant on the shoulder. “Suck it down tight, Wilsey.”
Sergeant Wilsey strained against the lever of the ratchet. Veins popped out on his forearms and neck. The base of the crate as tight as could be.
“There,” Yamaguchi said, as he slammed the latching mechanism closed. He pulled away from the crate and raised his arm to signal the Marines.
“Lieutenant, may I offer some advice?” Lieutenant Grace asked. One eye closed and the other sighted down the length of the crate.
Yamaguchi glared at the thin framed Lieutenant. He scrunched up his mouth and prepared to tell the Naval Officer exactly where he could stick his advice. A bit of serenity came and he exhaled. This would be a long trip, and he’d have to dine with this man. At least he’s not in my chain of command, he thought.
“Please,” Yamaguchi said, with a fake smile.
Lieutenant Grace beckoned to the far side of the long crate. “You’ve got the other end too tight, and when you try to latch this side the center curves, as it is under tension.” He slid forward with his hands and pointed out a narrow gap in the center of the crate. “Once the gravity comes on it gets even worse and the overload pops.”
Yamaguchi squirreled himself along the crate and stared at the gap. His face turned red. “Sergeant Wilsey, relax the tension on the other end and b
alance out the loads.”
The Sergeant slid to the other end and relaxed the tension before removing the ratchet system. William followed Yamaguchi away from the cargo and into the safe zone.
“Lieutenant?” Yamaguchi asked, beckoning towards the Marines.
Lieutenant Grace smiled. “All you, Lieutenant.”
Yamaguchi signaled to the Marines. The alarms sounded once more and the gravity settled in slowly. The crate creaked as the gravity increased. He strained to listen—nothing, silence.
The alarm sounded again and the gravity increased beyond 1g to the max combat load. The crates groaned and creaked under the increased tension.
Yamaguchi steadied himself and waited for it to end. It worked. Nothing crashed downward. The tension dropped just as quickly as the gravity till it settled back just under 1g.
“Thanks for the advice. Name is Takumi Yamaguchi.” He turned to face William and extended a hand.
“Someone has to mediate between you and the Marines, eh?” Lieutenant Grace said. He pointed down the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some inspections to run.”
Yamaguchi walked beneath the secured crates towards the Marines. They stood with arms crossed and a smug look.
“Hello, Lieutenant. Navy offered some advice?” a Marine Sergeant asked in a tone that was just offensive enough to be felt, but not so much as to be reprimanded.
“Sergeant, I’ll take any advice from anyone as long as it gets the job done. You included.”
The Sergeant looked down on the shorter Lieutenant. “Well, he is your Commanding Officer, sir.”
Yamaguchi shook his head slightly. “I think not, Sergeant. He’s a Naval Officer.”
The Marine shrugged. “Check the org chart, sir, the XO has a ground rating.”
Yamaguchi scrunched up his face and felt that anger rising once more. This was his damn command. The XO, his superior?
“Isn’t that right, PFC Avinash?” the Sergeant asked an olive-skinned Marine.
Yamaguchi turned and looked at the PFC.
The face that smiled back lacked the tip of a nose or ears. A grayish tint signaled a serious bout of frostbite.
Yamaguchi was taken back by the disfiguration, it was rare to see anyone with such horrible scars.
Avinash smiled back widely. “Oh, you have no idea, Lieutenant.”
The Marine with half a nose stood proudly and began to tell a story the way only a survivor can.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vice
The cell was like a monk’s chamber from the 10th century. The edges were mostly straight with the slightest curve to one wall. A curved slot protruded from another. The opposite wall held a hatch that was bolted shut.
Curled up on the floor was a man sculpted with bruises. His feet were pressed against one wall while his back was arched against another. His stomach was pressed in from high gravity acceleration.
Major Archie Theodore was not happy. He had woken inside of the cell stripped down to his service uniform. His head ached, the force of the punch was staggering. At first the room was cold as hell, but it had warmed up slowly. A gentle whir of air streamed in from the curved slot.
The first thing he had done was explore. The curved slot would slide out into a basin sink that was also a toilet. He wasn’t excited to shit where he’d get his drinking water from. A small bulb provided a few squirts of tepid water and took painfully long to fill back up.
He stared at the opposite white wall and wondered if it was really white, or just an off cream color. The boredom was tight in his chest. The hatch was sealed, but not like a door, more like a mechanical joint. Every six hours the basin would slide out a rectangular bar on a plastic plate. It was his only diversion now.
The basin silently sprung forward. He gripped the flimsy plate and plopped it on the floor. The featureless bar was like an extruded wheat tablet. He reached a sore hand out and slowly ate it. The hunger didn’t drive him as much as the boredom did.
The most entertaining part was watching the plate shrink and disappear. Nanites, he assumed, would strip down the plate and the air system would draw them back in. He watched with his head resting on his hands. The plate drew up on itself like a dead spider before turning brittle and crumbling into dust.
The ship’s acceleration was enough to make him uncomfortable but not so much that he would suffer from it. A gravity and a half, he guessed. Exercising had been one of the first ways he passed the time. His core muscles were tight and tender. Planks, pushups and crunches were strange enough in the cramped space to give him the first good workout he’d had in quite some time. It was the only thing that pleased him so far.
For now he ran the events through his mind. Nothing much more could be done. The station functioned as it would have. Send the data out and die. Be the canary in the coal mine. He always disliked that line, the canary had to die in order for the coalminers to know. Canary. He didn’t like to think of himself as a damned bird.
The thought that at least they knew there was an attack made him feel a bit better. Details as to the Sa’Ami fleet would be helpful, but he knew that they’d assume the worst.
The ship was eerily silent. Every ship had a routine, a sense, a feeling, but not this one. Even the best starships made shifted just enough to be noticed. Whatever he was on must have been big in order to dampen out any vibrations.
He was thinking of the wrestling match when the hatch swung open. He didn’t even notice until the cooler air rushed against the small of his back. The one satisfying thing he had to think about was wrestling a suit of Sa’Ami power armor. He hoped they’d have come for him in a more foul mood.
“Out.” The voice was accented in a close approximation of French and North African.
Archie rolled over slowly. The hatch revealed a barren hall. He took in all of the relevant details and decided that there wasn’t much to see. His jailer, though, was more interesting.
The thing that stood outside was quartered away from him with the armored head looking inside. The edges were smooth, graceful, simple. It reminded him of a bird of prey. The waist was wasp thin while the legs expanded out into hydraulic-like legs.
“A fucking robot,” Archie mumbled. He took his time and grasped the wall firmly.
The armored humanoid in the hallway said nothing. It offered enough room for Archie to exit and go one way. He stopped. His eyes scanned up and down. A slip, a push, a grapple. The bastard would be tied up in a knot, he’d already tested something of a similar size.
It shifted stance and drifted backwards. The metallic creature of grace and subtle violence was poised to pounce.
“You could just ask nicely.” Archie stepped out into the hallway. He arched his back and stretched. The hallway was devoid of anything. It was about ten meters long, ending in a curve. He turned his head to look behind him and was rewarded with a nudge.
“Move,” the voice stated.
Archie walked slowly down the hallway. As slowly as he thought he could get away with. He turned his head and scanned but found little of interest. He neither saw, nor heard, anyone.
His knowledge of the Sa’Ami was greater than most, but still lacking. Colonies of North Africans with Southern French tossed in for good measure. They had stolen a copy of the entire database of the industrial giant Siemens and left Earth with a patent library unlike any other. Medical. Military. Naval. Augmetic. What they lacked in volume they made up for with technology.
As with the Hun there were growing pains and territorial disputes. Cease fires led to an agreement. No one entered Sa’Ami space. They were satisfied to trade at neutral outposts. Neutral outposts like the one where Archie was stationed. As colonies grew, expanded, and the Haydn drive was refined, the distance between the factions shrunk.
They rounded the sweeping corner into a narrow room. A small stool sat near a low circular table. A metal cup sat on the edge of the table. On the far wall a console blinked nothingness. The strider walked past and stood on the
opposite side of the table. It beckoned to the chair.
Archie sat on the cold alloy and rested his arms on the table in front of him. The metal chilled his skin, as if the entire room was open to vacuum before he came in. The thought made his heart flutter, what if it was?
“Name.” The slender body shifted.
“I’m not going to have a conversation with a robot.” Archie looked over at the cup. He locked his eyes onto the strider and nudged the cup over. Water splattered onto the floor. “Clean it up, robot.”
The sound of the water dripping finally stopped. The humanoid didn’t move.
“Name. Please.” The tone hadn’t changed, but the inflection was a touch different.
“Ahh, well done, a polite robot. The Sa’Ami do make wonders.” Archie sat with his back straight and gripped the edge of the table tightly. He pulsed his muscles, it didn’t move, but it wasn’t bolted down. “Call me Klaus. Santa Klaus.”
The humanoid titled its armored head slightly and nodded. The humanoid gesture made Archie uncomfortable.
“Position at Transfer Station?”
“To find out who’s been naughty or nice.” Archie smiled and leaned forward slightly. It wasn’t entirely untrue.
The strider remained locked into the same position. Archie sat back and took the opportunity to stretch. The increased gravity hadn’t taken him long to get used to. He just had to move a bit on the slow side.
Drips stopped. The silence loomed as the only sound in his ears was the beating of his heart. It had never seemed so loud.
The thing could strangle him. He half expected that it would. It simply waited as if on a perch.
The tone of the voice changed. “Rank.”
Archie sensed a shift—someone was paying attention. “Major.”
Footsteps grew closer in the distance. An older man with salt and pepper hair limped slowly in with a slender cane. He had a gentle face with the hard edges of age. He nodded slightly to Archie and stood next to the humanoid robot. The man passed off the cane in a fluid motion without even looking at the strider. He sat and straightened his shirt.
Edge of Solace (A Star Too Far) Page 4
