Citizen X - BP01

by DePrima, Thomas

  "What do you think it is?" Sydnee asked Sgt. Autumn Kolter about the tiny piece of black silicon she was hiding in her hand.

  "My guess is either a tracking device or a motion sensor to detect and report movement."

  "Well, we know now how the rebels placed us. Either someone was tagged at some point or this unit reported our movement past this point. Did you see any others?"

  "None yet, ma'am, but I haven't been looking for them. They're tiny, but I'll keep my eyes open for more. They're kinda hard to spot though. I only identified this one because the moon glinted off it while I was wearing my low lux goggles."

  "Good work, sergeant. This clears up a mystery. Better get out on point again."

  "Aye, Ma'am."

  As Sergeant Kolter left, Sydnee summoned the platoon's radioman. "Ever see anything like this, Walsh?" she asked as she held it out.

  Cpl. Walsh took the chip and examined it. "Yes, ma'am. They sell these in security equipment stores for special event protection. It uses ground vibration to report any motion."

  "How does it report?"

  "Just a plain tone signal on a set frequency. Nothing fancy."

  "Can you tell me what frequency it uses?"

  "I can once I have my equipment set up. Usually these are simply dropped on the ground and each one employs a separate frequency. They act like a sort of sensor net. They're cheap and only last a few weeks before they use up the stored charge once the package is opened. They can't be recharged, and they're biodegradable with exposure to sunlight."

  "I need to know what frequency this one is sending."

  "No problem once we're in the cave, ma'am."

  "But I don't want the rebels to know about the cave."

  "The signal from this thing is so weak it won't give us away once we're inside, and I can store it in a small non-conductive pouch until then so the rebels will see it wink off and think the person has passed out of range. They don't send position information, so they won't know that it's been moved anyway. Location is determined by the receiver only through careful parceling of the units in a set order as someone walks along. "

  "Very good, Walsh. Block its signal and check it out when we're in the cave."

  "Aye, Lieutenant."

  It was almost midnight when the platoon reached the cave. It had been almost thirty exhausting hours since anyone had slept, but they set up camp while the mist devices killed the insects. Once the cave was clear of flying bugs and the holo-projector was concealing the entrance, the ones who hadn't pulled guard duty removed their armor and cleaned it in preparation for its next use.

  Sydnee was ecstatic at being able to peel off her outer skin, as she had begun to think of the armor. She had been hit dozens of times by lattice rounds and lasers during the charge, and she knew she owed her life to the equipment. Still, it was a delight to shed it for a while.

  The Marines had filled their bellies before they left the battle site, so while a few with hollow legs wanted more sustenance, most spread their gravity-shielded bedrolls on the floor of the cave once their chores were done and dropped off to sleep.

  While Sydnee relaxed on her bedroll, she thought about Kennedy. As Kelly MacDonald had said, he was a little stiff at times, and Sydnee had seen how intractable he could be at others, but he was a good Marine and a good person. She would miss him, and she would never be able to forget the horrible way he had died. Fortunately, he hadn't suffered very long. She also thought about Pineta and Hotaling. She hadn't known them well, but they had been under her command when they died so that sort of made her responsible. The manner of their death was horrific, but there wasn't really a good way to die in battle. She knew she would remember the sight of the dismembered bodies, torn apart by RPGs, for the rest of her life.

  Sleep finally pushed all conscious thoughts from her head, but Sydnee would relive the battle in her dreams for many nights to come.

  Chapter Twenty

  ~ Mar. 10th, 2285 ~

  Four days of rest and plentiful food had recharged the internal batteries of the Marines. Some were even getting a little antsy from sitting around, so Sydnee approved requests from two squads who wanted to venture out as a hunting party in search of fresh food. Everyone had enjoyed the Lampaxa Vorheridine, but it was just a memory now and they wanted something fresh as opposed to dining on the emergency meal packs.

  Sydnee had no idea how long they would be there and preferred to save the meal packs as backup anyway. But before she allowed them to leave, she uploaded a copy of the Diabolisto database about the planet to each Marine's helmet information storage chips so they would be able to identify edible and inedible flora and fauna and avoid danger. Each group took an oh-gee sled in case they were successful and the load was heavy.

  After the hunting parties left, Staff Sergeant McKenzie said, "I hope you know what you're doing Lieutenant. If they run into a company of rebels, they may not be able to handle them."

  "I think they'll be okay, Staff Sergeant. We're a long way from the rebel base, and their more militant ones stayed at their positions and fought until their end. The ones who ran away won't want any more trouble with the GA Space Marines."

  "How long do you intend for us to remain here, if I might be permitted to ask?"

  "I can't think of a better place to be until help arrives, can you?"

  "Uh, not really. I was just wondering if you had worked out the details of the plan you mentioned."

  "Pretty much. We're going to attack the rebel camp."

  "Attack the rebel camp?" McKenzie said, his eyes opening wide.

  "Yes. I wanted to have everyone rested and ready for the hike."

  "Ma'am, there is still a large force there. If they had two-hundred-eighty something at the start, they must still have over two hundred. What do you hope to accomplish, ma'am?"

  "I want to steal, or perhaps I should say recover, one of the small ships they stole from the Clidepp military. We may be on this planet for a very long time and we'll need some transportation. Should the rebels get transportation off the planet, they'll most likely take the shuttles with them. If we've taken one and secreted it somewhere, we'll have both transportation and access to space around the planet after they're gone."

  "You think someone is coming to pick them up?"

  "I'd put money on it."

  "I think I'd have to agree. They must have sent distress messages to the rebels back home while they were on their way here."

  "And there's another thing. If the Perry doesn't return, we'll have to go search for the IDS jamming satellite the Perry dropped and shut it done so we can send a message to Space Command. If the Perry has been destroyed and hadn't informed anyone that we'd been left down here, this could be our permanent home if we can't get a message out."

  "The thought of remaining here for the rest of my life doesn't appeal to me, ma'am."

  "Yes, in a few months it's going to get hot here."

  "It gets hotter?"

  "Sure. We're in mid-winter right now. Tourist season."

  "I'm sure the travel agents would have trouble finding anyone who wanted to book a tour to Diabolisto, mid-winter or spring."

  "It certainly wouldn't top my list of choice travel destinations."

  * * *

  "The freighter we sent to pick up our people on Diabolisto has been held up at the border," Citizen X said to the other cloaked opposition leaders present at the clandestine meeting. "The Spaccs have changed their policy regarding illegals trying to enter their space. Rather than simple internment pending return to Clidepp space, the GA now requires the ship to return and drop them off before proceeding back to GA Space for another inspection. The military has seized upon this as a way to inspect all outbound ships because they have the excuse that timetables will be less affected if all passports, visas, and travel papers are checked before the ship leaves Clidepp space. As a result, the queue of ships waiting for clearance grows daily. Any ship refusing to wait and trying to leave Clidepp space without an in
spection will be fired upon and possibly destroyed."

  "Barbarous," one of the leaders said.

  "They can't possibly continue to hold ships once the queue grows to an unmanageable size," said another. "The reason for simple spot checks in the past was owed to the impossible task of checking all ships."

  "Our fight for independence is having an effect on all space travel. But there's a positive side. Although our freighter has been forced to wait for clearance, the tactics of the Empire are helping to sway citizens to our cause. The screams from the shipping companies about delays are like a mere whisper when compared to the shouts from angry travelers."

  * * *

  "We still have no word from the Perry," Admiral Platt said to the other admirals at the regular meeting of the Admiralty Board. "Captain Brookings, base commander at Simmons Space Command Base, has ordered the Pellew to the last reported position of the Perry to begin a search, but it'll be months before it reaches the sub-sector."

  "Even with the acquisition of Region Two," Admiral Plimley said, "it sometimes seems that our territory is shrinking because of the FTL speed improvement, but then something happens to bring you back to the realities of just how large our space really is."

  "The Uthlaro armada should be reaching Quesann any day now. It was imperative we send Admiral Carver every ship we could. That naturally included everything capable of Light-9790. The fastest ship assigned to the Border Patrol fleet is only capable of achieving Light-225."

  "Even my Light-9790 transports have predominantly been traveling to Region Two. Every ship has been filled with ordnance and supplies in support of the fleet located there," Admiral Ahmed said.

  "The situation in Region Two is critical, and I'm sorry to say that, at this time, we cannot spare any resources from that effort to search for the Perry," Admiral Moore said. "If Admiral Carver is victorious, we may begin to free up a few more ships for border operations, but it will take years to realign our forces and resume normal operations. Owed to the tremendous size of Region Two, our fastest ships must be concentrated out there."

  "I do hope some calamity hasn't befallen the Perry that has left them dependent on help arriving in less than two months," Admiral Bradlee said.

  * * *

  "Mom, it's been five weeks since Syd's last message," Sheree Marcola said to her mother at dinner. "I'm really worried. It's not like her not to call. There's something wrong. There has to be. Before this, I got at least one message every single week. Have you heard from her?"

  "Not since early last month. Don't worry, dear. If something had happened to her, Space Command would have notified us. They're probably just doing some secret military thing or other and communications have been blocked until it's over. I went through that many times with your father."

  "How can I not worry? This isn't right. If she knew she would be blocked from sending vids for an extended period, she would have prepared us. Is there somebody we can call?"

  Kathee Deleone looked at her husband. "Curtis, do you know someone we can call?"

  "I'm sure it's nothing, dear. She's in the Border Patrol— that's border, as in boring. Nothing ever happens in the Border Patrol. They don't fight wars, don't shoot at other ships, and never get shot at themselves. It's not like she's out fighting in Region Two where she might actually get injured. They've probably just had a com failure in that old ship she's on. She's probably lounging on her bunk right this minute, staring up at the overhead and cursing that old ship and its ancient com equipment."

  "But do you know someone you can call to find out? It would put our minds at ease to know she's okay and that it's simply a technical problem."

  "Oh, alright. I have a few friends in Space Command Headquarters. I'll place a call tomorrow and see if one knows anything about a problem with the Perry."

  "Thank you, dear."

  * * *

  Captain Lidden stared up at the overhead from his bunk and cursed the ancient com equipment on the Perry. They had been floating almost helplessly in an area of space that saw little traffic, and even if freighters or passenger ships were nearby, the Perry couldn't contact them and request assistance. Also, the engineers hadn't yet been able to restore control to the starboard Sub-Light engine or two remaining stern drives. Every available man was being used outside the ship, trying to repair the damaged hull so that an FTL envelope would coalesce around the ship, but it was an overwhelming task. It would probably take six months of intensive effort in a shipyard, and they were trying to do it in space with an enemy ship floating nearby that might come to life at any moment.

  In his entire career, Lidden had never felt so impotent as he had every minute of every day since the collision. It was taking all of his inner strength to remain calm in the daily status meetings. He knew that everyone was giving a maximum effort, but he wanted to scream at somebody just to get it off his chest.

  He was especially worried about the people he had left on Diabolisto. One young lieutenant in command of a platoon of Marines operating without orders or guidance from more experienced commanders wasn't a good scenario. And then there was Marcola. She was probably completely disorientated in that Marine environment. A young female pilot, essentially fresh from the WCI, thrown in with forty rough and tough ground-pounders sounded like a recipe for disaster. Lidden hoped they weren't being too rough on her.

  Then again, he'd heard that she'd been invited to use the Marine Combat Range following the incident on the diplomatic ship. So perhaps she was a little tougher than she appeared to be. Lidden had never been able to learn why she'd been assigned to the Perry, and it would continue to bother him until he did.

  In addition to being worried for his people, Lidden was scared for himself and his future. What scared him most was that the rebels may have detected the presence of the Marines on the planet. It had been his call to send them down alone when MAT-One suffered engine problems. If he'd known that other destroyer was going to show, he never would have ordered MAT-Two to continue on with the mission. If the platoon has been attacked on Diabolisto, Lidden might be court-martialed and booted out of the service. Where would he go? What would he do? He knew that he probably couldn't get a job as a freighter captain. Most of the freight companies had grudges against him for holding up their shipments while thorough interdiction operations took place. He might find that no one would hire him. If they stripped him of his pension, he'd have nothing.

  Lidden sighed, turned off the overhead light, and rolled over to see if sleep would claim him.

  * * *

  The hunting parties returned with something that looked a little like a water buffalo, and a ton of leafy vegetables, nuts, berries, and tubers. They said they had confirmed that all were safe to eat by locating the item in the Diabolisto database, but Sydnee forbid anyone to eat anything until it had been verified safe by the alien food analyzer.

  A few hours later, the platoon was feasting on roasted buflo, the actual DB name for the buffalo-like creature, baked tubers, and fresh salad with nuts and berries.

  After dinner, Sydnee called for attention and informed the platoon that they would be attacking the rebel base camp the following evening. Everyone appeared a bit incredulous, but no one challenged her decision. She laid out the operation, made sure that everyone knew the objectives, and then closed the briefing. She estimated that they could easily reach the camp if they weren't slogging through swamps and bogs as they had done to hide their trail after the initial operation. They would move out at dawn, leaving most of the gear in the cave. Sydnee had decided that it would be their base of operations until they left the planet.

  Sydnee tossed and turned for hours but finally fell asleep. Taking over after Kennedy was killed had been a spontaneous act, but planning and executing a new operation burdened her with great anxiety. She'd tried to plan for every contingency, but she knew it was impossible to predict every possible outcome of every action. She finally fell asleep wondering how Admiral Carver did it. Sydnee was making herself a
wreck just worrying about commanding thirty-eight Marines. How did the Admiral manage to sleep knowing she was responsible for hundreds of thousands of Space Command and Space Marine personnel, not to mention the trillions of civilians relying on her to protect them.

  When Sydnee was awakened by movement in the cave the following morning, she wished she could cancel the operation and go back to sleep, but she knew that wouldn't be prudent if she was to continue commanding the respect of the platoon. Instead, she jumped up and busied herself with the preparations. Somewhere between awakening and completing the preparations for leaving, she managed to grab some chow and slip into her armor.

  At 0700 the platoon left the cave and headed west toward the rebel base camp. The two Alpha scouts were out ahead and two Charlie scouts behind. They would notify Sydnee of any danger ahead or if anyone was trailing them, but she never received any calls. At one point, she tested Com 2 by asking them to respond just to ensure her com system was operational.

  The platoon walked all morning, sticking to solid ground as much as possible and never worrying about leaving a trail once they were several klicks from the cave. At noon they stopped briefly to eat a meal of leftover buflo meat and greens, then started walking again.

  As the sun disappeared over the horizon, the platoon was just a kilometer from the rebel base camp. Sydnee had used the oh-gee vid units to survey the rebel camp and finalize her plan. The platoon ate a cold dinner and rested up prior to moving to their attack positions.

  At midnight, Sydnee had the platoon head for their planned attack point. She then left with Sergeant Pedro Morales, who had been the advance scout known as Alpha-Two during the withdrawal, for their attack position.

  After a wide sweep around the encampment, Sydnee and Morales moved stealthily through the trees on the north side of the camp to the clearing where the small ships were kept. Following the first attack, the ships had been moved closer to the camp and now sat in one of the areas that an ordnance stockpile had occupied. Sydnee spotted her target and pointed it out to Morales.