The Price of Honor

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  The steak looked delicious. He bent down, taking in the aroma until it filled his senses, his mouth watering uncontrollably. He looked over to Cara, who was smirking at him, and licked his lips dramatically.

  He pointed his fork at her, then turned it over to stab his steak . . . when the ship’s alarm went off and a voice came over the 1MC saying, “Condition Alpha, Condition Alpha, I repeat, Condition Alpha. All hands report to your battle stations immediately.”

  The Marines jumped to their feet, some looking confused as the lights started to flash between yellow and the routine white.

  “You heard the man,” Staff Sergeant Rutledge yelled out from the small SNCO table in the corner. “Back to berthing, now!”

  The Marines were not part of the ship’s crew, so their station was the enlisted berthing. With a rush, the Marines pushed toward the galley entrance. Hondo took one quick longing look at the steak sitting there untouched. He was tempted to slip it into his cargo pocket. If he’d been a lance corporal, maybe he would have. Instead, he rushed to the side of the entrance and started directing traffic.

  The IMC blared out the condition again while Hondo and Cara pushed and prodded the Marines into an orderly exit. Within 45 seconds, the galley was empty, and Hondo was following the last of the Marines down the passage.

  “What do you think’s going on? Is this a drill?” Cara asked as she strode beside him.

  “I hope so,” Hondo said, but some warrior sense told him this was the real deal.

  The sergeants had their own berthing space, but during Condition Alpha, the entire platoon, minus the lieutenant, would be in the troop berthing, each squad in its own cubicle.

  Falt met them at the hatch, and Staff Sergeant Rutledge asked, “Where the hell were you?”

  “I had a . . . an assignation, as they say. What’s going on?”

  “See me when this is over,” the platoon sergeant snarled. “For now, get with your squad.”

  Shit, Falt. You were hooking up? Now?

  Deployed Marines in a combat zone did not have “assignations.” Falt was going to have his ass handed to him. That wasn’t Hondo’s concern now, however.

  Two minutes after the ship went into Condition Alpha, the entire squad was in the berthing, sitting on the lower racks.

  “Head count,” Staff Sergeant Rutledge said, poking his head into the cubicle opening.

  “All accounted for,” Hondo said.

  The platoon sergeant left to get the rest of the headcounts, so he could report to the gunny.

  “Are we going to get into it?” Private Zacharias Radiant Purpose asked, his voice rising in excitement.

  Hondo wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a Marine so gung-ho as RP, as the others called him. That was generally a good thing, if it could be controlled. Hondo wasn’t so sure it could be in this case, though.

  “We don’t know what’s happening,” Hondo said. “So just sit back and relax. They’ll tell us soon enough.”

  “Soon,” however, turned out to be 45 minutes later when the 1MC crackled back on, and the ship’s captain said, “This is Alezerdes Black. I want to give you an update on what’s going on. We’ve got a Brotherhood frigate closing in on us. They are demanding us to heave to. If not, they’ve threatened us with a hook.”

  There were murmurs from some of the Marines.

  In the old days, ships in bubble space were essentially untraceable. That wasn’t the case anymore. Not only could ships be tracked, but some ships were outfitted with “hooks” that could force a target ship out of bubble space. Unfortunately, the violence of an uncalculated bubble space exit had a tendency to destroy the ship and kill the crew.

  “We are not going to heave to under their terms. We have diverted our course to the Lore System where we will exit bubble space and defend ourselves. We anticipate reentering normal space in three hours, twenty-seven minutes. Stand by for further instructions. This is the alezerdes, out.”

  There was dead silence for a moment before the entire compartment broke out into chatter.

  Things had just gotten serious.

  EARTH

  Chapter 11

  Skylar

  “This development portends increased difficulty to the effort against the Dictymorphs. We are at a loss as how to understand the current situation.”

  Yes, it does “portend” difficulty, Sky thought as she stared at “Glinda,” the head of the Klethos liaison quad.

  She stared at the Klethos queen, trying to read into her. Confederation Intel had determined with a 96% probability that Glinda had been a Klethos gladiator thirty years back, registering two victories in the ring. She’d killed two humans, and now she was back as what was essentially the ambassador to the UAM, complete with a somewhat flowery grasp of Standard that seemed at odds with the gladiator Skylar had seen on the recording of her fights.

  And now it’s my job to appease her . . . all four of them, that is.

  There were three others in the quad, of course. Two rarely spoke and the third, the male member, had never spoken a word to a human. Sky had discussed the roles of each of the quad members at length with Harry al Upton, her K-Team leader. Harry was of the school of thought that the other three were window-dressing, but Sky didn’t buy that. There had to be more to their relationship. But the fact of the matter was that no one knew for sure how the quad functioned. Everything was conjecture.

  Glinda was yet again questioning the split between the human factions. Her predecessor hadn’t taken much issue when the Brotherhood-led faction had pulled out of the war effort, but after the killing of Klethos on Krakow, that quad had been recalled, to be replaced by Glinda and her crew. Every day, they made their rounds, pushing their human contacts for a resolution to the problem. Today, it was the Second Ministry’s turn, and the minister had pushed the visit off on Sky and her team.

  “I can assure you, Ambassador, that we have teams of diplomats negotiating now with those humans who are not contributing to the effort. I have no doubt that we will come to a resolution soon.”

  Hell, am I becoming that much of a diplomat that I can spew bullshit like that?

  “We believe that the current situation has significantly degraded at present, not improved. The fact that the recalcitrant human faction has now detained one of the Marine units planned for the reaction force at the J-Point lends credence to this supposition.”

  What? Who’s doing what to whom?

  With a quick subvocalization, she told Keyshon to call Throckmorton and find out if there was some sort of problem with the next alert force.

  “I can assure you, Ambassador, that the might of the UAM is dedicated to eliminating the Dictymorph threat, but to humans and Klethos alike. Anything else is just a bump in the road,” she said, smiling at the quad leader.

  There! she noted as the quad leader moved almost imperceptibly to one of the other Klethos. She’s getting input.

  Sky was sure they could communicate with each other in ways that humans didn’t understand yet. Most people agreed that the Klethos had at least one yet-unknown method of communication, and a form of telepathy was the current flavor of the month, but Sky didn’t buy that. In some ways, the Klethos seemed so backwards, but in others, their technology far outstripped humans’, and Sky was sure this was just another example of that.

  “I’ve got a response from the commander,” Keyshon reported back. “The SMS Zrínyi, carrying Marines to J-Point for the turnover, was hailed by the Brotherhood frigate Temperance and told to heave to. The Zrínyi’s commander refused, bringing them out of bubble space in the Lore system where the Brotherhood commander is demanding boarding rights. It’s a standoff now.”

  Sky tried to keep a neutral expression as she took it all in, keeping her eyes locked on the Klethos queen. The quad evidently knew what was happening. The question now was what they would do about it.

  There were now three camps in the UAM. One camp wanted to enjoin the Klethos to spank the Brotherhood alliance and get them back
into the fold. One camp wanted to hold a two-front war, but keeping both separate, while the third advocated pulling back and leaving the Klethos to face the Dictymorphs on their own.

  Sky had seen the Dictymorphs with her own eyes. She understood the threat on a visceral level. She’d tasted the sour bile of fear rise in her throat as she saw her death approach. Humans couldn’t ignore the threat, or they would face total genocide.

  But the UAM could not unleash the Klethos, so to speak, on the Brotherhood and their allies. That would tear humanity apart in total war. Sky thought that those who pushed for that option were in the minority, but they weren’t the problem.

  Sky thought that the Klethos themselves wanted to become involved. She felt it was a matter of honor to them. The Brotherhood-led alliance had revoked their agreement, after all, and that made them vermin—non-sapients, in their view. It was only the presence of the UAM that stayed their hand, at least for the moment.

  As she stared at the queen, she became certain that she was being evaluated, being tested. All of the humans remaining in the alliance were. The Klethos needed humanity, but their sense of honor could lead them to turn on humankind, and not in the gladiatorial ring. Their numbers might not be enough to defeat the human masses, but the destruction would be horrendous.

  Sky might be a mid-to-high-level bureaucrat now, but she was uniquely positioned on a razor’s edge that she thought was being overlooked. The problem with being on a razor’s edge, however, was that not only could you fall to either side, but if you delayed too much, you could sink straight down and be cut in half.

  “Well, Ambassador, I thank you for your time. I appreciate the meeting, and I can assure you that we will resolve any differences among us. We are dedicated to the fight against the Dictymorphs.

  “But now, I have another meeting, so if I can make my excuses?”

  As one, the four Klethos nodded, all four arms on each spread low and wide, their version of a handshake, one which the humans copied with their two arms. She didn’t stay to watch them leave but immediately told Captain Throckmorton to meet her in her office. She might not have any input into the standoff in the Lore system—she didn’t even know where it was—but she had to keep abreast of developments.

  She had a new calling, one that she felt was vital to humanity’s very existence. She had to keep the Klethos out of the human conflict long enough for the two human factions to come back together.

  And she didn’t have a clue as to how she was going to achieve that.

  SMS Zrínyi

  Chapter 12

  Hondo

  “Hey Burger,” Antman said. “Do you know the difference between the Marines, the Navy, and the fuckdicks?”

  Lance Corporal Hanaburgh rolled his eyes, but then said, “No, Antman, but I bet you’re about to tell me.”

  “Well, when the Marines are told to secure a building, they go in weapons hot, kill the motherfuckers inside, then kill anyone else who tries to get in.”

  There was the expected round of “ooh-rahs” and “get some” at that.

  “If the Navy is told to secure the building, they get the SPs and put a lock on the door with a sign that says, ‘Do Not Enter.’”

  “Better than shooting up the place,” Doc Leach said.

  Antman paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Now the fuckdicks, you tell them to secure the building, and they take out a twelve-month lease with an option to buy.”

  There was a roar of laughter and one “I don’t get it” from Diva while Hanaburgh raised his middle finger in response.

  “Hey, why should you always use a fuckdick gym,” Pickerul shouted out, then before anyone could answer, “Because the heavy weights are all in unused condition!”

  Hondo smiled despite himself. There was, and would always be, a degree of rivalry between the Marines and the much larger FCDC, and Hanaburgh was just going to have to bite the bullet on getting shit upon. Pickerul, all 50kg of her, couldn’t lift half of what Hanaburgh could in the gym, but that had no relevance. When you could burn the FCDC, you did, as simple as that.

  It was good to hear the laughter, and if some of it sounded forced, that was to be expected. The squad was still in berthing, waiting. Outside in the black, a Brotherhood frigate lurked, and for all they knew, a Sword of God shipkiller could be heading their way as they sat there.

  Hondo had faced combat against the Grubs, but this waiting was mind-numbing. He’d considered the Navy before enlisting. His best friend was set on it, but Hondo decided that only the Corps would do for him. He was developing some mad respect now for the sailors; not just the corpsmen like Jay Leach and La’ei Kekoa, of course, who were almost Marines, but the sailors who manned battle stations inside this tin can, not knowing when any moment might be their last.

  The Zrínyi had popped out of bubble space inside the Lore system two hours before. The Brotherhood frigate had followed 15 minutes later, but outside the outer ring of planets. Hondo had to assume it was maneuvering closer to the out-gunned New Budapest transport. He wondered why they just hadn’t run for it, but then again, he knew next to nothing about Navy ships, other than what he saw in the flicks. And if the Navy flicks were as inaccurate as those that depicted the Marine Corps, then he knew squat.

  He reached up and ran a finger between the seal of his emergency hood and his neck, where sweat was building. Coming out of bubble space, every Marine had to don a hood, leaving the faceplate open to save O2. That was a sobering moment, letting them know that this was for real. Gunny Gustav even came in and made them practice slamming the faceplate shut several times.

  “Sergeant McKeever,” Staff Sergeant Rutledge said, coming into the compartment. “Send a Marine from each fire team to the ship’s weapons locker. They’ll draw weapons there.”

  “Buddie weapons? Why can’t we get our own, Staff Sergeant?” Ling asked.

  “‘Cause ours are in the sec-crates in the secured holds, that’s why,” Rutledge said. “Just be glad we’re getting these.”

  “Antman, Hanaburgh, Haus, that’s you,” Hondo said. “Get down there and back. No diversions.”

  For once, Antman didn’t crack a joke. He nodded, and the three left the compartment, following three Marines from Second Squad to the weapons locker. Hondo didn’t know what the New Budapest Navy carried in their armory, but anything would help. The Marines had their sidearms with them, but Hondo had been feeling decidedly under-armed.

  Fifteen minutes later, the three Marines returned, smiles on their faces as they showed off their GE Oxars. The Oxar was a short-muzzled hand cannon that used a magno-ring to “throw” the eight-centimeter-wide “pillow” at the target. It was a close-range weapon, powerful enough to tear an unarmored pirate in two, or defeat most armor at five meters or closer. The power dissipated quickly, however, so it would not be able to punch through a ship’s outer hull, making it a favored weapon for ship’s defense.

  The rest of the Marines crowded around, oohing and aahing over the weapons.

  “How long do you think it’ll be before we know something,” Wolf asked Hondo quietly, while the others’ attention was focused on the Oxars.

  “Don’t know. We just need to be ready for whatever happens.”

  Wolf fingered the edge of his emergency hood, then asked, “Are we gonna surrender? I mean, I don’t think I can do that.”

  Hondo hadn’t considered that the ship’s captain might surrender, and he looked at Wolf in surprise.

  “Surrender? I don’t think so . . . I mean, well . . .”

  The thing was, the captain could surrender the ship. But would that be binding on the Marines? Hondo didn’t know the answer.

  “Don’t worry about it. We take our orders from Captain Ariç. Whatever she says, we do.”

  Wolf didn’t seem convinced, but he moved over to one of the racks on the other side of the compartment. Now, Hondo had yet one more thing to worry about.

  “All hands, don hoods and brace for impact!” the excited voic
e came over the 1MC.

  Hondo jumped up and yelled, “Now, now! Seal your hoods!” before slapping his faceplate shut.

  There was a flurry of motion as Marines rushed to comply, then Hondo checked each Marine and Doc Leach to make sure the faceplate was sealed properly and good to go. Staff Sergeant Rutledge, hooded up, stuck his head around the corner and Hondo gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Now brace yourselves!” Hondo shouted, his voice sounding tinny through the hood.

  The compartment consisted of four racks of three bunks which didn’t offer much in the way of bracing, but the Marines did they best they could, jamming themselves in the racks. Hondo made a last check, then started to push himself into the foot of one of the racks when a massive blast shook the ship, a flash of light almost blinding the Marines. Debris flew past the opening to the compartment for a moment before the air started rushing back the other way, a maelstrom that threatened to pull the Marines with it.

  Hondo grabbed the vertical support of the rack and hugged it as his feet lifted off the deck. He felt an arm grab him, pulling him back. He risked turning his head to look; debris was flying towards Third Platoon’s berthing, closer to the hull of the ship. Like otherworldly mantas, sheets of biopatch fell off the overhead and bulkheads, flattening out as they were sucked to the breach.

  There was a second shudder, then a third as the lights and gravity failed. An instant later, emergency lights flickered on, followed by a klaxon that sounded odd in the now-depleted atmosphere.

  For a moment, Hondo thought he was out of O2, that his hood had failed, before he realized he was holding his breath. He forced himself to draw in three deep breaths as the grip of the escaping air lessened. There was still no gravity, but he no longer felt that he was going to get sucked out of the ship.