The Best of Us

by Karen Traviss

  “That sounds like a violent solution.”

  Which I should have opted for, if I’d had the guts or the ability. “No, I think we can achieve that by taking her with us, powering down to force Solomon into a bot frame, which is where he feels safest, and severing both the external network link on the radio mast and the orbital FTL relay.”

  Cullen rested his chin on his hand. “You do mean collapsing the wormhole, then.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Well, just disabling the relay means it can be repaired if anyone survives. Or if and when APS decides to take a closer look.”

  Erskine nodded. “Destroy it all, then.”

  “It’s not my department, Director, but I don’t think we’ll be able to restore the wormhole from Elcano or the orbital.”

  “But we keep forgetting the mission was designed without FTL. It won’t stop Elcano reaching Opis, and the base is built.”

  “And Kim?” Kent asked. “She won’t come voluntarily.”

  Erskine could have done with some help from Marc and Tev right then. They’d had experience of planning operations like this. “First, we find her. Solomon’s going to try to stop us, but once he’s shut out of the building’s systems, we can detain her, by force if need be.”

  “If he bolts into one of the bots like you think he will, then he’ll still have a wireless link to the network,” Cullen said.

  “So we physically destroy the external comms mast as well. That’s what he uses, isn’t it? We just hold him off while we load and launch.”

  “And afterwards? Even if everyone’s dead, there’ll be recoverable data for APS to use.”

  “We make sure that’s destroyed, or on the shuttle with us.”

  Erskine turned over the list of names and started drawing a flow chart of actions on the back of the last sheet. She did it unthinkingly, then saw how this document would look if displayed in a museum: the cold calculation of how best to abandon more than four hundred people to their deaths, all of them named on the reverse. It was a testament to callous pragmatism.

  Beck shuffled along the bench to look at what she was sketching out. “If we shut down by floors, we drive Solomon down to the basement bot garage. Just to make sure. Even if he realises what we’re doing, he won’t have a choice.”

  “It’s going to need careful timing,” Kent said. “And what happens if he decides to smash his way through the building?”

  “That’s what we have Trinder’s people for,” Erskine said. “To prevent access and neutralise threats.”

  Trinder’s detachment didn’t have Marc’s or Tev’s skills, but they took the job seriously, and unlike Alex, they wouldn’t let her down. Trinder would stand by her and carry out her orders. So where was Dr Kim? Erskine checked her screen. The tracker hadn’t moved. It wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Gentlemen, let’s do this while we still can,” Erskine said. “I want to be ready to power down everything manually, except the reactor. But first we need to find Kim.”

  13

  Why do you think we have equal numbers of vets and civilians here? Because we paired every civvy with one of us to make sure they survived, even if they needed carrying on our backs. Nobody left behind because they couldn’t keep up. Nobody picked off because they were stragglers. Nobody sacrificing themselves because they were slowing us down. And we did it. Because we don’t leave anyone behind. I still had to make hard choices, but everyone who came with us knew they wouldn’t be abandoned.

  Chris Montello, explaining his last mission to Doug Brandt

  Staff Restaurant, Ainatio Park Research Centre:

  6 Hours After APS Warning Of Intent to Deploy Plant Pathogen Countermeasures

  Small groups had been gathering for an hour in the places where staff normally stopped for a chat during the day, quiet and orderly but definitely anxious. Trinder couldn’t wait any longer.

  What they needed was someone like Erskine or Alex to stand out front and tell them something, preferably the truth. Trinder decided to walk the floors and show his face instead. But he could tell people nothing that wouldn’t panic them, and he could give them no solutions. They needed facts, followed by clear instructions. He had too little information himself to work out what those instructions should be, and he didn’t know if people would find his intervention reassuring or worrying.

  But he couldn’t sit on his ass and do nothing. He kept walking.

  When he reached the staff restaurant, the crowd in there had grown again. He found Tev at the centre of it, giving a talk to a surprisingly attentive audience, and explaining how he’d learned survival techniques in the army. It was packaged as a funny story about setting up his tent in the wrong place and being woken by a stream of water running downhill through it during the night, making him think he’d peed himself until he realised what was happening. That led painlessly into a quick lesson about where to pitch a tent, accompanied by diagrams drawn on the menu board next to the servery. Tev always looked cheerful and sounded confident. In uncertain times, men like that were sorely needed. Even if none of the lesson served any purpose, he was keeping people occupied and radiating reassurance.

  Trinder was going to miss him.

  Tev held up his camouflage shelter sheet. “We call this a basha,” he said. “Think of it as a weaponised furoshiki in you-can’t-see-me colours. Tent... casevac stretcher... whatever.”

  He showed them how to make the sheet into a tent with a length of rope, and then turn it into a makeshift stretcher. He even got them laughing when their “casualty” slid out of it and ended up in a heap on the floor. While they were distracted tying knots, Trinder beckoned him over.

  “You need to leave, buddy,” Trinder said quietly. “Go. Or at least get clear of the area.”

  “We’re guessing what the problem is. How about telling me?”

  “APS spotted the die-back on sat imaging. As of four hours ago, they’ve given us two days to evacuate before they nuke us again.”

  “Bloody hell. You’ve got to tell people.”

  “Erskine’s prepping to ship out as many as Elcano can take. So Sol’s locked down the ships to stop her abandoning the rest, and now he’s gone AWOL.”

  Tev looked down at the floor. “Well, bugger. Eleven hundred from fifteen hundred equals four hundred angry, scared people.”

  “Sixteen hundred. Kill Line and the camp as well.”

  “How long does Erskine plan to sit on this?”

  “No idea, but I’m done waiting.” Trinder tried to do things by the book. The book said he had to secure Ainatio assets and information. But it also had a paragraph about protecting the civilian workforce and members of the public living near the facility if there was an industrial accident. This situation qualified. “I’ve got to move people, orders or no orders.”

  “You’ve got all the firearms. That normally clears up any legal grey areas.”

  “My gut says do it but my brain says it’s the collapse of military discipline.”

  “Well, normally I’d say you shouldn’t pick and choose your orders for all kinds of good reasons, but saving civilian lives is pretty much what we’re here for.”

  “And Kill Line and the camp don’t even know yet.” Trinder knew he had to be more Chris Montello and less Ainatio. Chris would have taken action the moment he got out of that last meeting. This was what happened to your brain when life was too easy. “We need Sol right now. He wanted to get Dr Kim to talk to APS and negotiate something, seeing as she’s one of their own, but Erskine wasn’t having it.”

  “Daft cow. They’re going to find out about Nomad eventually.”

  Trinder tried Solomon again. “Sol, where are you?” The AI had to be able to hear him on his collar mike, if not via the room audio. “Sol, I need you to tell me what’s going on, because I’m not going to sit back and let this happen.”

&nb
sp; Tev stood watching, arms folded. “I hope he’s up to something creative.”

  “Where’s Marc?”

  “Rounding up people in the sports hall.”

  “Take one of our utility vehicles.”

  “You’ll need those. Marc says he’s staying anyway.”

  “This isn’t your fight. You’ve both got homes to go back to.”

  “Marc’s not interested in going back to normal life, Dan. He’ll never have one again. He just wants to die doing the job.”

  Tev had never put it that bluntly before. What a waste of decent men and women this whole sorry episode had turned into. It seemed even more tragic when there were so few people anyway.

  But Marc’s right. If we have to go down, let’s go down fighting this.

  Trinder had made up his mind, a couple of hours too late but better than never. But he still didn’t have a plan. Then it hit him square in the face. He was looking at this from the wrong end. If people couldn’t get clear, maybe they could dig in.

  “Tev, we’ve got five basement floors. They’d hold a lot of people. It’s our best shot.”

  “Not ideal, but I’m doing the maths, and I don’t think we’ve got the vehicle capacity to evac in the time available.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, wait one while I give the class some homework to take their minds off this.”

  Tev jogged back across the restaurant to the group, who were still engrossed in the basha. Whatever he said to them made them laugh, but it was hard to tell if it was just ignorance of the situation or cheerful courage. Trinder wondered if they’d still be so co-operative when they discovered which of them hadn’t made the Elcano list. Tev rejoined him and they headed for the fire exit.

  “This place wasn’t designed as a long-stay nuclear bunker,” Trinder said. “But it was built to stop stuff getting out, so maybe it’ll stop stuff getting in.”

  “I can’t think of a better option right now.”

  “Nor can I. Maybe I haven’t thought it through.”

  “Making a decision — any decision — is always better than fannying around.”

  “Okay, but feel free to make robust suggestions if I’m doing it wrong. I’m basically an armed caretaker who just reads all the manuals.”

  “Nah. You’re all right.” Tev tapped his temple as they took the fire escape steps two at a time. “It all about what’s up here.”

  Trinder got on the squad radio. “Echo Five to all callsigns except Gate — report to the briefing room immediately. Do not communicate with staff or management, out.”

  Trinder was on the ground floor and halfway to the security wing before his twenty men and eight women, minus the duty sentry on the main gate, had finished reporting in on the radio. Half of them were already in the briefing room in full fighting order when he arrived. The rest of the detachment arrived within six minutes, some more out of breath than others. In the harsh white lighting, they all looked ashen.

  Last chance to step back from this.

  No. It’s got to happen. But I’ll try Erskine one more time.

  He went to the console at the front of the room and switched to the secure management channel so everyone could hear it.

  “Director, this is Trinder.”

  “Go ahead, Major.”

  “Do you have any updates for me? Any changes to the plan we discussed?”

  “No, we’re going ahead.”

  “When do you plan to notify staff? They’re already aware that something’s wrong.”

  “In a few hours. When we’ve finalised the names. And if APS can give me blast zone projections, we’ll know where the safer areas are.”

  “Understood. But you know we don’t have enough vehicles to evacuate everyone in time.”

  “Has Solomon made contact with you? Have you seen him?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve tried.”

  “Have you been talking to Alex?”

  “No. His tracker says he’s in his office.”

  “I know, I was just checking. I’ll get back to you later.”

  That was the end of the conversation. Trinder glanced around the room. Everybody looked like they understood exactly what had just happened and were putting a brave face on the fact that not only did they have an impossible deadline, but their commander was about to do something drastic.

  “So she’s lost Alex as well,” Simonot said. “Wow. How’s she going to cope without Mr Fixit?”

  There was no going back now. “Okay, people,” Trinder said. Marc walked in at that point, which was galvanising in itself. Trinder wasn’t about to let the side down in front of special forces. “You know the problem, you know the numbers, and you’ve just heard Erskine fail to implement the site emergency plan, which makes us responsible for the safety of civilians in and around the site. So we’re no longer taking orders from her. We need to maximise the survival chances of all those folks outside the wire. And that includes us. I can order you to give up your shuttle berths and stay, but I won’t. And if you feel I’m ordering you to mutiny and you can’t square it with your conscience, leave your weapons and comms units here, and go join the staff in the restaurant. But if you decide to stay, you follow my orders. We probably can’t evacuate Kill Line, the camp, and our own list rejects in time, let alone house and feed them elsewhere, so we’re going to set up an emergency shelter in the underground levels and bring everyone in. That’s the plan. Make your decision now.”

  Trinder waited. He realised he hadn’t focused on any of the faces around him while he was talking, and now he almost couldn’t. Fonseca and Tev caught his eye, though. Tev winked.

  But nobody moved, not one. Nobody left the room.

  Aaron Luce broke the silence. “Erskine can’t have us shot at dawn, Major. We’ve got all the guns. And I’d rather die barricaded in the food stores than fighting Schwaiger for the last mutant cockroach outside.”

  “That’s my damn cockroach, Sergeant,” Schwaiger said. “I wrote my name on it.”

  There was a ripple of uneasy laughter. Nervous or not, it was a good sign. This was what was supposed to happen, a little black humour to keep everyone going. But now Trinder had to make it happen.

  “Okay, we’re the dim kids at the back when it comes to evacuations,” he said. “But Marc and Tev have been there and done that, and so have Chris and his guys. We’ll listen to their advice, okay?”

  Trinder turned to the screen wall to start writing, but Fonseca beat him to it. She called up an aerial view of the county, zoomed in to Kill Line, and overlaid it with the evacuation routes and names they’d already drawn up hours before. Every home was marked, every family named, and every farm identified.

  “Remember this isn’t up to date,” she said. “It’s the old one we kept in case we ever had a reactor incident. But it works whether we’re moving people away from the facility or bringing them into it.”

  “I’ll never mock your bureaucratic streak again,

  Fonseca.”

  “Appreciated, sir. And as a bureaucrat, may I say that I totally respect your use of the small print in the site plan to stage a coup.”

  Trinder almost flinched at the word, but she was right: it was a coup, polite and bloodless, but still a coup. “I’m going to see Chris Montello to brief him, and we’ll operate as a combined team.”

  “And if you haven’t already done it, split your squad into watches now,” Marc said. “This is going to be round-the-clock work for forty-eight hours solid. You don’t want everyone burned out at the same time with nobody to relieve them, so some of you need to get some sleep now. Next — assess the space available downstairs, earmark resources like mattresses, blankets, food, extra heating if necessary, and work out the order in which you’re going to fill the billets. Because you don’t want too many people milling around with nowhere ready to take them. Par
k them in the empty floors of the accommodation block if you start getting a backlog. But first you’ve got to break the news to them, give them clear instructions about what to bring with them and when their turn’s coming, and deal with all the fretting about pets and farm animals. So get Chris’s guys in now and draw up the plans.”

  “You make it sound easy,” Fonseca said.

  “It’s a piece of piss compared to telling a bunch of diplomats that they can’t take their art collections on the helo unless two of them are willing to stay behind and die.” There were more laughs. Everyone was pumped up and focused now. “A tote board on the wall is your friend. Do it old-school because it doesn’t need a network or a power supply. Write it up there and action it.”

  “Sol’s still not around, so we’re on our own,” Trinder said. “Fonseca, I want a guard on the armoury and the vehicle compound at all times. And I authorise lethal force if any staff turn out to have a weapon and want to use it.”

  “I shut down the three-D printer line when people started congregating in the halls, sir,” Luce said. “So nobody’s going to be manufacturing any weapons.”

  “Good call. Just because folks have always been nice, it doesn’t mean they’ll still be nice when they think they’re going to die.”

  I don’t believe I said all that. Lethal force.

  “We’ll move the Lammergeiers out front too,” Fonseca said. “You never know if Erskine’s going to block off the hangar area to load the shuttle.”

  Clarity was a marvellous propellant. At some point, Trinder was going to clash head-on with Erskine, but what could she do to stop him? Nothing. And he couldn’t imagine any of the staff standing in his way, either, because they had more pressing things on their minds.

  Tev edged through the press of bodies making rosters and checking things with Fonseca. “See, it’s in you, mate. You just needed a real situation to bring it out.”

  “I just hope I’m not giving people a slow death instead of a quick one. But if we can’t link to Shackleton or launch a shuttle afterwards, we’re fucked anyway, aren’t we? We’ll starve eventually, even if we survive the blast.”