Bert hit a button.
The PK broadcast again. "Ten seconds."
Warning icons appeared on the wallscreen and Bert wiped them from the display. A strain gauge swung to the right and blinked red…and then the crane's spreader tore the cargo container from the deck. The power and control cables that connected the container to the ship snaked after it, reached their full extension, popped, and snapped.
Several of the PKs standing in the lunar dust looked up away from their prisoners at the crane.
The PK broadcast. "Did you think I'm not serious?"
Mike's stomach clenched. This was a high stakes game, and he wasn't sure that he held the winning hand. Still, he wasn't going to give up. His mouth was dry and it was hard to speak. He swallowed.
"You can take off with three OMSes, but if we -"
"You're out of time." On the screen the same PK shouldered his rifle and shot another kneeling figure. Again the explosion of blood and brain matter splashed across the lunar surface.
On the ground several of the other captives tried to stand but they were pushed back down into the dust by their guards.
The PK on the radio said, "Now listen to me - we've got twenty-three more terrorists here. Do you want - "
Mike turned the channel off. "Bert - can you - " He closed his eyes and breathed. "Bert, I need you to rip off -"
Bert shook his head. "Mike, no - we've got to -"
"Ten seconds."
Mike blinked. "WAIT! Wait! We'll take the crane off. On one condition."
A pause. "Let's hear it."
"We get all our people back."
"These are captured terrorists. They're coming with us to face trial."
Mike clenched his jaw. "'Face trial'? I know what that means. I might as well let you execute them right now."
"We don't execute prisoners."
Mike laughed darkly. "The hell you don't! Look in front of you!"
"Get your crane off our ship."
"It's not your ship. And if you're going to disappear them into a black site, I've got nothing to lose. Give me all my people back or we rip the OMS off and let you run out of air and die here on the surface."
There was a long pause.
"Your crane comes off and you get half your people. Then we get a full charge for our batteries."
"And then we get the rest of our people?"
A long pause. "Yes."
Mike closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He opened his eyes. "OK."
"OK." The PK cut the connection.
Bert twisted awkwardly in his chair and looked at Mike.
Mike nodded.
Burt turned to his console and tapped a key. On the screen the crosshairs on the second crane's control screen went yellow and the 'twistlocked' icon disappeared. The spreader rose into the sky, empty.
A moment later the video panel on the wallscreen showed the PKs standing on the lunar surface count off prisoners, and prod half them to their feet.
Two of the freed captives lifted the corpse of their executed shipmate, and they all walked away from the PKs and the RTFM.
There was a long moment of silence, and then the PK leader broadcast again. "Now get us the recharge."
Mike breathed deeply. "Let me make some calls."
* * *
Mike called Trang first, got his voice mail, and left a message.
He hung up and called Kirk with the auxillary power vehicle team. "Yes, I'm serious. Give the ship a full charge." He listened. "OK, good."
Mike placed three more calls and then - was he done? He ran through the list in his head. Yes, he was. For a short while, at least. He cleared the phone interface on his helmet screen. He was still standing behind Bert in the crane control room and saw that Bert had brought up video on the wallscreen. Kirk hadn't wasted any time; his auxiliary power unit vehicles surrounded the RTFM and crews were already dragging power cables to the ship. Mike nodded in satisfaction - and then saw something on one of the other video screens.
A hundred meters away from the APUs a dozen PKs in space suits still surrounded the eight remaining Aristillus captives. Mike's satisfaction disappeared. This wasn't over yet. He hated dealing with these thugs, but he had to. The plan wasn't working perfectly - he was giving them the RTFM, after all - but it was working. He'd get the rest of his people back. If the peaker kept his word, that was. And if he didn't -
He pushed the thought from his mind. There was something else. A nagging sense that he was forgetting something. What was it? There was something important that -
"Darcy!"
Bert swiveled his head. "What?"
Mike ignored him and placed a call. Pick up... pick up, damn it!
Three rings. Four. Five.
Voice mail. Damn it! He hung up. Why wasn't Darcy answering her phone? The bridge couldn't already be out of air? He checked a clock. No. They were fine. Her phone must be broken, or lost. "Bert, we forgot the bridge crew."
"Shit! OK; I'm on it." Bert tapped the crane controls and dropped the spreader to the surface transport next to the Wookkiee, aiming for the e-lock. Mike heard him radio a construction team.
Mike's helmet rang with an incoming call and he answered it. "Mike, it's Trang. I got your message. Sorry we're late to the party. Should we come to the Wookkiee?"
"Where are you now?"
"On the surface at ramp 181, at the top of the bluff."
Mike knew where 181 was; they were in a good position, overlooking both ships.
"Who's with you?"
"Six other guys from the rifle club. Where do you want us?"
"You're perfect right there."
"What's going on down there?"
Mike explained.
Trang blew air out through his lips. "You're going to let them keep the ship?"
Mike pursed his lips; he didn't like it either. "We need to keep our people alive."
Mike could almost hear Trang thinking. Then: "If they get the ship, they get the drive. I hate to say it, but the cost might -"
Mike cut him off. "I talked to Fifth Ring. These aren't the only two ships. There's a third one that's definitely missing and a fourth that's overdue for a check in." Mike paused. "We have to assume that they've already got the drive."
Trang said nothing for a long moment. Then, "OK. We'll sit tight; call us if you need us."
Mike cut the connection and checked the clock in his helmet display.
Time had never passed so slowly.
* * *
It felt like several centuries later when the message popped up in his display. The recharging was complete.
Mike took a deep breath and called the PK. The man answered on the first ring. "Is the ship charged?"
"It is. Now give us our men back."
"OK. We'll send them over." The connection went dead.
There was movement on the screen - the PKs were letting the prisoners get to their feet. Mike let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The knot that had been in his shoulders for the last two hours relaxed - just a bit. On the seized RTFM one of the cranes swung and began to lower a man-basket to the surface.
Mike clapped Bert on the shoulder, and started to congratulate him... And then he saw that the PKs on the surface were pushing the captives toward the man baskets!
Mike called up the phone app to call the PK when it rang. "We need to verify that the charge is really there, then we'll release your people."
"Bullshit - you're not taking them onto that ship -"
"These are illegal combatants, and we're going to hold them until - "
Mike muted the call and placed another. "Trang!"
"I'm here."
"Your men still in over-watch?"
"Been here the whole time."
"They're double crossing us - stop that crane."
"On it." The line went dead.
Mike held his breath.
* * *
Trang slapped Ng, his best sniper, on the back.
&nbs
p; "You heard him; take it out."
Ng pulled the massive rifle tight. A moment later, a giant punched him in the shoulder and a cloud of dust exploded off the lunar surface.
The first bullet flew through the vacuum for over a second, first rising, then halting its climb, and then gently falling in the low lunar gravity.
Not a wisp of air, not a speck of dust disturbed the round's flight.
Then the bullet hit. The massive tungsten-cored round smashed into a support strut on the RTFM's crane. A small fraction of the projectile's energy was wasted splashing copper cladding into the vacuum, but most of the power was dumped into the crane's superstructure. The steel support member buckled and tore, and a shock wave radiated out from the point of impact. The crane's boom shook and the cable it supported cracked like a whip, slapping the manbasket at the end and throwing it half a meter sideways in the lunar vacuum.
Trang surveyed the damage on high magnification. Ng's shot had been close but he'd missed the target. The crane was still functional. He was about to ask Ng for a second shot but before he could there was another explosion of dust off the ground. Trang watched the crane. Nothing.
A miss.
Another explosion of dust, another shot - and another miss. Damn it! Trang checked the man basket. It was at the surface now and the PKs were loading prisoners onto it.
Trang had just turned back to the high magnification view of the crane when the fourth bullet hit - a perfect shot, dead center on the winch mechanism. There was an explosion of movement as the cover plate, the ratchet, and the motor coil were ripped apart - then stillness. Trang zoomed in and smiled. The machine had been truly fucked - even the bearing blocks were torn and bent.
The PKs wouldn't be using that crane to get captives onto their ship.
* * *
Mike watched as the man basket near him, full of expat prisoners and their guards, rose. It was two meters off the ground when suddenly it jerked to a halt.
Mike's phone rang. Trang. "We've taken out crane one. Hit the other one?"
"Not yet, I want to give -"
Mike's phone chimed. The PK officer.
"Hold on, Trang."
He switched to the other channel.
"Do not fuck with us. We can still execute your men -"
Mike shook his head. His earlier fear was gone and now he felt only anger - and resolve. He cut the PK off.
"No. You listen to me. You've got a deal - and it's better than you deserve. You've got one crane left to get your own men off the surface. Harm even one more of my people, and that other crane gets shot. Then we rip the OMS off the ship. Then we punch holes in the AG drive on your deck. And then men start shooting your troops, one by one. And after that -"
"Wait-"
"And after that, you and anyone else in the ship get to die slowly as your air runs out."
* * *
Mike watched the scene on the wallscreen.
The last two PKs on the surface walked backward into the man basket, feeling their way carefully as they kept their rifles trained on their hostages in front of them.
Suddenly, from somewhere near the Wookkiee, another space-suited figure ran toward the PKs. Mike furrowed his brow. What the hell was this? Was one of his rifle club guys going to make this fucked-up prisoner swap even more of a disaster? He started to key his radio when he saw that the figure was wearing a suit with Wookkiee markings.
Who the hell was that?
The two PKs twisted, pointing their rifles. The running figure stopped, waved his arms, then made some hand signs. Mike leaned forward and zoomed the video, but by the time he had recentered the view, all three of the men were on the lifting platform. The first two PKs kept their rifles pointed at the hostages and the third man, the one who'd dashed out of nowhere, secured the gate across the front of the basket.
What the hell had that been? Had one of the PK hijackers from the Wookkiee somehow survived the decompression and gotten into a spacesuit?
The platform lifted. Mike watched it rise, meter by meter by meter, until it cleared the gunwales and the crane swung it over and onto the deck.
A moment later the three PKs were out of the man basket and inside their stolen ship. A moment after that gray dust began to whip in the vacuum beneath the ship.
Even at this distance, buried deep in the bridge of the Wookkiee, Mike felt the twisting in his gut as the RTFM's AG drive powered up.
His phone chimed. Trang. He answered. "Mike, it's not too late. My sniper Ng can hole the AG drive. He says it's a big target, and -"
"Let them go."
"Mike, you can't -"
"This situation is bad enough as is. No need to make it worse."
Slowly the ship lifted.
* * *
The crew on the deck of the Wookkiee positioned the e-lock against the wall of the bridge and then triggered the fusing ring. A moment later the first construction worker disappeared into the lock, carrying a pile of compact rescue suits over one shoulder.
The lock door cycled shut.
Mike gripped the back of Bert's chair.
A moment later Mike's phone rang. Jefferson. He answered.
"Mike, I'm inside - the entire crew is OK. Darcy is here and -"
Mike heard the phone being wrested away from Jefferson.
"Let me talk to him!"
Mike grinned. That was his girl.
Chapter 56
2064: Fifth floor, E ring, Pentagon, Virginia, Earth
Tudel stood at attention outside the closed door. Despite the fact that he was alone, his form was perfect: back straight, knees almost-but-not-quite locked, hands cupped as if wrapped around rolls of quarters, thumbs held alongside the seams of his pants.
He opened his hands briefly and wiped his palms on his uniform pants, and then returned them to position. He'd been in the shit before. Even deep piles of it. But the shit he was in now? Incomprehensibly deep. It felt like just yesterday he was worried that if he didn't seize an expat ship he'd fail the promotion board. And now, his problems were so much bigger. He'd taken a company of sixty men and gotten fifty-nine of them - every single one except for himself - either killed or captured. He'd barely managed to escape from the moon, almost getting shot by the expat team as they stormed the Wookkiee, and then almost getting shot a second time as he sprinted from the Wookkiee to the RTFM.
The days after they'd landed the ship off the coast of LA had filled him with dread. As soon as the choppers had ferried them from the RTFM to the carrier, Navy MPs had separated him from the others and kept him alone. Not in the brig, no, but in a bunkroom with no other men. Meals had been brought to him; he hadn't left the room once. He knew where this was going.
"Enter!"
Captain Tudel started and then responded: a crisp right face, a step, another right face, and then he opened the door, stepped inside, closed the door behind him, took three perfect steps toward the desk, and saluted. He kept his eyes straight forward - perfectly so - but noticed that General Bonner had a second officer present. He didn't let his eyes stray to the other officer's nametag - he'd learn who he was soon enough. Or he wouldn't.
He held the salute and felt droplets of sweat bead and fall from his armpit. There was a part of him that wanted to scream at them to get it over with, but he'd end his military career the way he'd begun it - with honor. With precision. This meeting had to be a prelude to a court martial, but he was a man - he'd take his medicine stoically, in a way he could be proud of. He wouldn't let them see the fear. He'd make them respect him even as they swung the axe.
General Bonner acknowledge his salute and Tudel moved his hand back to his side. The knuckle of his right index finger found the seam of his pants and registered his hand there, perfectly.
Discipline.
"At ease."
Tudel snapped to parade rest and kept his eyes focused a kilometer away, through the wall and the framed pictures of General Bonner with superior officers, senators, and the president.
; "I said at ease, captain. Have a seat."
Tudel blinked.
Warily, he let his eyes drop, found the chair, and allowed himself to sit. He sat at the edge of the cushion and kept his back ramrod straight.
General Bonner seemed to consider his words before speaking. "Fifty-nine of your men - every single one - lost."
Here it came.
"Yes, sir. I take full -"
Bonner cut him off. "As the only survivor from the Wookkiee, you are the only one who saw the expats in combat. What do you think of their skills?"
Tudel blinked. "Sir?"
"You heard me. The crew of the - " he coughed " -RTFM didn't fight. What about the expats on your ship? How were they? Disciplined? Aggressive? Do they have any sort of doctrine, or were they making it up as they went along?"
Tudel's vision swam for a moment. Were they - was he - what was going on? He allowed himself a faint spark of hope.
But, wait. This could still be a trap. If he said that the expats were disciplined, was he implicitly saying that they were more disciplined and better trained than his own men? If he said that the expats who had killed his team were a rabble, did that mean that his own men were even worse?
What game was the General playing with him? His eyes flitted around the room. He was being recorded, certainly.
He reached for an explanation that was true - but one that would also play well. "Sir, the ship's crew was just civilians. Most of my men died in the deck before we seized the ship. Once we got inside the expats on the ship weren't much of a threat. But the quick reaction force on the moon that retook the Wookkiee - they struck me as well-trained." He paused, to give the general a chance to interject. He didn't, so Tudel continued. "I've been thinking about it and my bet is that their QRF is made up of defectors with military training. They weren't better than us, but they have one thing we don't: experience. Experience operating in space suits. Experience in operating in low gravity."
Bonner nodded silently.
Tudel felt more droplets of sweat ball in his armpits and slide down his side.
The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1) Page 22
