East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by John Ringo

  "Won't be anything easy about fighting in space," McCullough said. "Generally, though, the whole inertial thing is overrated. You're going to be using mag-boots. You won't be able to jab without worrying if you or your opponent are going to be doing a flying Dutchman..."

  "Sorry," Megan said, "term?"

  "Flying Dutchman," McCullough said. "Floating off into space forever."

  "Ah," Megan replied with a grimace. "Thanks."

  "But you can use your weapon's momentum," McCullough said, picking up the axe. "Ever trained with an axe?" he asked.

  "Nope," Herzer admitted.

  "Then don't try anything fancy," McCullough said, lifting the axe. "Set up a figure eight. Swing up and down one way, bring it around, swing up and down the other," he continued, demonstrating. "Use the pick end for armor, the axe for soft suits. Don't try to drive through your opponent. If you're pushing down when it hits, you'll be lifting yourself up. Use the momentum of the weapon only. Don't try to maneuver; if you lift a foot you'll probably go flying off. You'll have safety lines, but I don't think you'll have time in combat to use them. We thought about installing small thrusters but they're damned hard to use so...no thrusters. If someone does a Dutchman, you might be able to use a shuttle to recover them."

  "Two handed," Herzer noted. "No shields. No way to form a shield wall."

  "Nope," McCullough agreed. "Shield wall's easy enough to break in space."

  "How?" Herzer asked.

  "Reverse the figure eight," the dwarf said with an evil grin. "Hit the shield coming up. You're being pressed down into the hull, your opponent just got a couple of dozen kilos of impetus away from it. Shield goes or he does."

  "Range weapons?" Herzer asked.

  "Don't bother in zero-g," McCullough said with a grunt of laughter. "You know an arrow bounces up as it's fired, right?"

  "Sure," Herzer said then shook his head. "Completely off the target."

  "It'll just head off to no-where," McCullough said, nodding. "Same problem with a crossbow for different reasons. We'd considered a type of air-gun but it's probably not worth the time on training."

  "Interesting assortment," Herzer said.

  "We considered a bunch of other things," the dwarf admitted. "Clamping and severing weapons, for example. Got a few of them around if you want to carry them. They're damned slow to use, though. Recommend you have a few boyos with the pole-arm version, though."

  "Why?" Megan asked.

  "Well, they're dandy for keeping Celine's little toys off aren't they?" McCullough said with a grin, revealing the last table which had only a long pole with complex devices at both ends. One end looked very much like a scorpion pincer while the other had a winch of some sort on it. "Spread the jaws," McCullough said, pressing a stud at which the jaws flew open. "Press it against a target," he continued. When it was pressed onto the arm of the bronze armor it quickly ratcheted down to a snug fit. "Then crank," he said, twisting the crank on the end. The jaws moved very slowly but as they watched the armor began to deform. After a period of about ten seconds of hard cranking, the jaws suddenly snapped most of the way through the armor.

  "Like I said," McCullough said, letting go of the weapon and dropping it to the floor, "it's slow. But thorough."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Oh, now this is homey," Courtney said, looking at her room. "And where is Mike going to sleep? And the kids?"

  "We're going to move beds into one of the rooms for the children," Lieutenant Commer said, nervously. "Mr. Boehlke will have the room adjoining yours."

  "Well, there's indoor plumbing," Courtney said, opening up the door. "That's a change..."

  "So, how do you like the digs?" Herzer asked, knocking on the door of the room.

  "Tell me that Megan's got better facilities than this?" Courtney said.

  "Nope," Herzer replied, shrugging. "Okay, a little better. A bit more room and her own bathroom, complete with shower and toilet."

  "You dragged us up here for this?" Mike asked incredulously.

  "You're not here for a vacation," Herzer pointed out. "You're here so that your kids, and you, are protected."

  "So I'm going to be cooling my heels while Courtney does whatever it is she's going to do?" Mike asked, angrily. "Take care of the kids?"

  "There's a problem with that?" Megan asked, coming down the corridor. "Hello, Courtney, Mike."

  "No, of course I can take care of the kids," Mike snapped. "It's all I've got to do, isn't it?"

  "Uh," Herzer hummed, interjecting himself between the two. "There's a few points I'd like to make before Mike tries to kill a Council Member and gets turned into a newt..."

  "I wasn't going to..."

  "I wouldn't do that..."

  "Yeah," Herzer snapped. "Megan, please chill out for a second. Mike, you're going to be doing something other than taking care of the kids. I can think of a half a dozen things. And you'll get briefed on what's going on around here, as soon as I get a chance, okay?"

  "Okay," Mike growled, glancing at Megan. "But that better be soon."

  "It will be when I can get to it, Mike," Herzer replied. "I've got about a billion other problems on my plate."

  "Who's going to take care of the kids?" Courtney asked, frowning.

  "Four," Mike pointed out. "From swaddling clothes to four."

  "Babies, bleck," Herzer said then shrugged. "For the time being, Shanea."

  "What?" Megan snapped. "Why Shanea?"

  Herzer, closed his eyes for a second then turned and simply looked at her.

  "Okay, so she makes the most sense," Megan said after a long glare. "But you could consult me next time."

  "I hadn't thought of the problem until it was brought up," Herzer admitted. "I thought there would be enough people here to handle minor details. But there aren't. Are you aware that they don't even have the cooking staff replaced, yet?"

  "No," Megan said. "Who's going to cook?"

  "Well, there's all these women..." Mike said then stopped when both Megan and Herzer fixed him with a glare. "What? It's true! Besides, Herzer, I've had your cooking. You can't boil water. Pass."

  "I've gotten better," Herzer said. "We're probably going to be getting food from the Legion for the time being. But there are a billion details to work out and I haven't even figured out who is in charge."

  "Hem," Lieutenant Commer cleared his throat. "You are. Sir."

  "What?" Herzer snapped.

  "Colonel Carson was the base commander, sir," the lieutenant said, nervously. "I suppose, that the position devolves to either you or the Countess."

  "I don't have time to manage the base and get ready for the mission," Herzer said, angrily.

  "Sorry, sir," the lieutenant replied, ducking his head.

  "Don't be, you just gave me more bad news," Herzer said, throwing up his hands. "Megan?"

  "You think these soldiers are going to listen to me?" she asked.

  "Yes," Herzer replied. "As automatically as breathing. Why?"

  "Well..." Megan said, temporizing. "You want me to run the base?"

  "No," Herzer said after a moment. "That won't work, either. You're going to have too much to do. We'll find someone. Damnit, where in the hell is Tao!"

  "I'm here, sir," Van Krief said, quietly.

  "Go to the portal, then go to Colonel Torill at SpecOps. Tell him we're in a classic FUBAR. I need an officer of rank of captain or major who has base management experience and appropriate clearances; I don't have time to manage the base and plan and train for the op at the same time. We also need support staff, replacements for the previous casualties... Point out to him the situation and, beyond that, please ask him to exercise his best judgment but right now the only thing working around here is security and the dwarves and we need more than that."

  "Yes, sir," Van Krief said, folding her notebook.

  "Go! And if you see Tao, tell him to get his butt moving!"

  "Yes, sir," the lieutenant said, turning to walk away.

  "Shit
," Herzer muttered. "Amy, give me your notebook."

  "Yes, sir," she said, handing it over with a quizzical expression.

  "You can't get out without authorization," Herzer explained, writing a short note and handing it to her. "Lieutenant...Commer, what's the name of the Blood Lord commander?"

  "Captain Van Buskirk, sir," the lieutenant replied.

  "Bus?" Herzer said. "I didn't even know he'd made lieutenant much less captain. Okay, Megan, could you please get with Courtney and Shanea and discuss specific housekeeping arrangements. There may be more kids that have to be looked after; we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I need to go see the detachment commander. And maybe arrange dinner."

  "Yes, sir!" Megan snapped.

  "In a moment," Herzer said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her down the corridor. "Okay, what?" he asked when they were in her room.

  Megan started to reply then bit her tongue. He waited through a jaw flex and an inhalation, expecting at any moment to have his head ripped off.

  "I'd gotten used to giving orders," Megan said, finally. "And I've got a question; who's in charge here?"

  "Oh," Herzer said, blowing out a breath. "In all honesty, I suppose you are. You're the Keyholder."

  "True," Megan replied, shaking her head. "But I'm not the right person to be in charge. I wouldn't have known to contact...Colonel Carson and I wouldn't have known to ask for...that officer you asked for. So what are we doing?"

  Herzer thought about it for a moment, scratching his chin with his prosthetic and then nodded, sharply.

  "Council Members, with a few exceptions, are responsible for strategic decisions, not operational or tactical, agreed? And, with the exception of Duke Edmund, they are defined as civilians, not military."

  "Agreed," Megan said. "So you're saying I get strategic calls and you get operational and tactical? I get civilian, you get military?"

  "When we're prepping the mission and when we're on the mission, I'm in charge," Herzer said, bluntly. "Up and until we come to a strategic decision. Then you make the call and I carry it out. Agreed?"

  "Agreed," Megan said.

  "Now," Herzer said, delicately. "What the hell was that with Mike?"

  Megan's face worked again and Herzer just waited.

  "He has a tendency to piss me off," Megan admitted. "And the whole 'me man, me work, you woman, take care of babies and cook' really..."

  "Triggered something?" Herzer asked.

  "You could say that," Megan admitted with a breathless chuckle. "Very...strong stab of anger."

  " 'Irrational' stab of anger?" Herzer asked.

  "Oh, I dunno," Megan said, smiling unhappily. "I think it was pretty rational, don't you?"

  "The degree?" Herzer asked.

  "No."

  "You know what was happening there?" Herzer asked, carefully.

  "I'd analyzed it myself the moment you brought it up," Megan said, bitterly. "Thank you."

  "There is going to be a lot of stress on this mission," Herzer pointed out. "A lot of tension. Probably a fair degree of shouting. Certainly orders that are going to have to be acted on, sometimes without thinking about it. There is not room for someone who is not in control of their emotions."

  "I'm in perfect control," Megan said, coldly.

  "No, you're not," Herzer replied, gently. "Not if Mike can get you that angry by just being...Mike. Stress is not cumulative, it's multiplicative. There's small background stress, then you another stress on and another and finally there's that one that sends you right up to the brink of loss of control, or over. And life threatening stress is worse than what we've been dealing with. If you panic, up there..." his jaw worked and Megan reached up to stroke it.

  "You'll lose me," she whispered. "Are you trying to find a reason for me not to go on this mission?"

  "I'm not willing to lose you," Herzer replied, tightly. "I don't, frankly, give a damn about the Key. I'm not willing to lose you, Megan Travante. I'm not. Hell, for that reason if no other, one or the other of us shouldn't be on this mission. And, of the two, I think you're the one to worry about."

  "Herzer," Megan said, "I'm strong, okay? And we're both coming back from this mission. Get that through your head."

  "You're strong," he admitted. "But you've got weird stress points. And you get stubborn. I won't have time to let you work things out for yourself up there," he added, pointing.

  "What about when I tell you to do something or not to do something?" Megan asked. "When it's a strategic decision."

  "You tell me to jump off the damned ship, and I will," Herzer said, definitely. "But you'd better have a damned good reason."

  "I won't ever ask you to do that," Megan said, chuckling.

  * * *

  "Ten'hut!" someone bellowed as Herzer walked in the orderly room of the Blood Lord headquarters.

  "At ease," he bellowed. "Where's the captain?"

  "In there, sir," one of the sergeants in the room said, gesturing at the rear door.

  Herzer knocked on the door and entered at a bellowed "Come."

  "Hey, Bus," he said as the captain started to get to his feet. "Chill. When'd you pin on your third pip?"

  "Last month," the captain said. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir."

  Captain Van Buskirk was nearly as large and broad as Herzer but where Herzer was dark, "Bus" Van Buskirk was light; blonde hair, skin so white that his vascular system stood out like a model, sunburned nose and cheekbones. Herzer remembered that he had a tendency to burn if the sun was below the horizon. They weren't friends exactly, but the Blood Lord group was so small that he tended to know most of the officers and a good many of the NCOs.

  "Can the 'sir,' Bus," Herzer said, sighing and settling in the room's only other chair. "This is a classic FUBAR, you know that?"

  "I'm just starting to get an inkling of what's going on in this camp," the captain replied. "But I'll agree that all signs point to FUBAR."

  "Fisked up beyond all recognition," Herzer admitted, his eyes narrowing. "But part of that fisk up I'm going to stop now. We're going to have to discuss distribution on things, but bringing you in on what you're guarding is just going to be part of the change..."

  "Do you have authority?" Van Buskirk asked.

  "I do indeed," Herzer replied. "And if I don't, fisk it. What we're supposed to be doing here is planning to retake the fuel tanker that's headed in."

  "Thought so," the captain said, grimacing. "That's the thing with the lake, right?"

  "I have no idea," Herzer admitted. "Why?"

  "Zero g, training," the lieutenant said. "It's the really old way to train for zero g."

  "You've been in space?" Herzer asked.

  "A couple of times," Van Buskirk said. "I used to play...well...you did ER, right?"

  Herzer had, indeed, spent much of his time prior to the Fall in Enhanced Reality, the computer generated world of holograms and nanno-forms where a good many people gamed.

  "Yeah," the commander said. "But I was always in a medieval fantasy environment. You?"

  "You were lucky," the captain said with a laugh. "I was playing shooter games. Some of the best were on simulated spaceships. A couple of times I went up for live group tourneys, just to see if there was a difference. There wasn't enough to matter."

  "I wish we could use ER for training, now," Herzer said. "I've never been in free-fall and neither has anyone on the team as far as I'm aware. And speaking of teams..." he added musingly. "I'm authorized to recruit in the Blood Lords for the replacement fighters on this mission. Given the security group here, and at Blackbeard, there aren't many that are available. But your company is right here, already..."

  "Oh, crap," the captain said, shaking his head. "We can't be pulling security all night and training all day. I won't even go into the whole: 'shouldn't you ask for volunteers?' thing. I'll volunteer in a heartbeat; I've always liked fighting in space. But the rest of the company..."

  "They volunteered twice," Herzer said. "First for
the legions, then for the Blood Lords. Why ask a third time?"

  "How caring of you," the captain said, grinning.

  "Apparently a lot of the trainers got killed along with the team," Herzer said. "So don't be surprised if you get press-ganged as a trainer. And I want you to go talk to Angus McCullough over in Building Seventeen. Use the back door and tell him I sent you..."

  "That's a blue zone building," Buskirk pointed out. "I'm only cleared for purple."

  "Not any more," Herzer intoned.

  * * *

  "Shanea, you've met Courtney before," Megan said, as the girl came in her room.

  "Hey," Shanea said, smiling. "Good to see you again."

  "Shanea, do you have any experience with children?" Megan asked, carefully.

  "I had a younger brother," Shanea said, her face suddenly creasing in an unusual frown. "I don't know what happened to him, you know?"

  "You took care of him?" Courtney asked.

  "A little," the girl said. "Me and the nannies. And Mom," she said, quietly.

  "The problem is, Courtney has to do some training," Megan said. "And she has some children here. Could you watch them? One of them's a baby so you're going to have to change diapers..."

  "Oh, sure!" Shanea said, smiling happily. "I like kids. I want some myself. I kept hoping that Paul would get me pregnant so I could have a baby, but he never did."

  Courtney's face twitched at that and she carefully didn't look at Megan.

  "Great," Megan said, smiling blankly. "Courtney, why don't you go introduce Shanea to your children while I go see if I can help Herzer? The replacement personnel are coming in and I foresee some problems, there."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Linda was frowning in her mirror when there was a knock at the door. Ever since the debacle with Herzer Herrick, Shamon had been a bit less friendly. He still was maintaining the apartment but she suspected it was time to start shopping for a new "friend." However, Duke Dehnavi was out of town at his country home at the moment, so she had time to look around and certainly wasn't expecting visitors.

  She stood up and put on a robe, hair up and makeup half done, and went to the door. Whoever it was, they could damned well see her like this. Maybe it would scare them off.