A World of Hurt

by David Sherman

  Then it was off to New Oslo for a formal reception with the President, the Althing, the national judiciary, and local dignitaries.

  It was the fourth day of his visit before Commandant Aguinaldo was finally able to sit down with Brigadier Sturgeon to discuss the other reason for his visit to Thorsfinni's World. Neither their staff nor aides attended. They met alone because the Skinks were part of the discussion. The FIST staff could have met with the commandant without compromising security because they knew full well about the Skinks, but Aguinaldo's people weren't cleared for that knowledge, and they'd have too many questions he either couldn't or didn't want to answer if he met with the FIST staff and excluded his own.

  "Congratulations, sir," Sturgeon said. "And here I thought Assistant Commandant was a terminal appointment."

  "Thank you, Ted," Aguinaldo said modestly. His use of the first name signaled that the meeting was informal and off the record. "It always has been, but President Chang-Sturdevant believes I can serve the Confederation better as commandant than as commander of a special task force. It happened right after I sent you that last back-channel."

  They were in Sturgeon's office. He served tea for them both from a pot on a side table. Aguinaldo had brought two kilos of Earth-grown tea as a present. Sturgeon set the cups down on a coffee table and sat opposite Aguinaldo.

  "But you knew when you wrote that, didn't you, Andy? Or did you plan to retire and visit on your own?" The message had concluded with, Be patient, I'll fill you in when I see you--which will be sooner than you expect, and this was certainly sooner than he'd expected.

  Aguinaldo nodded. "I knew, but wasn't at liberty to say. This trip," he gestured vaguely, "well, it's been several administrations since a CMC toured any but the installations closest to Earth."

  Sturgeon briskly nodded. It took too long to visit remote Marine bases, and most Commandants of the Marine Corps were political animals who didn't like to spend any more time than absolutely necessary away from the center of power.

  "So I'm breaking with recent tradition." He paused to sip at his tea. "I'm actually taking this tour to visit you, but it would be too obvious if Camp Ellis was my only stop. Thorsfinni's World is the first of four 'hardship posts' I'm visiting." His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Showing the troops their commandant really does care about them."

  Sturgeon simply nodded and waited for Aguinaldo to get to the reason for his visit. He didn't have to wait long.

  "Kingdom's been quarantined."

  "I suspected it would be."

  "As has 26th FIST."

  Sturgeon merely nodded. He'd thought that was a foregone conclusion.

  "And the Grandar Bay has been reported lost in a Beamspace jump."

  "She was a good ship, a good crew," Sturgeon said. "Commodore Borland and I formed a strong working relationship, even a friendship, during the Kingdom campaign. How did it happen?"

  "Ted, I said 'reported.' Right now, the Grandar Bay is on station a couple of light-hours from Thorsfinni's World."

  Sturgeon looked at him sharply. "Are are you saying what I think you are, Andy?"

  "I'm sure I am. Someone far enough above me that I don't know who decided it was easier to 'lose' the Grandar Bay than to quarantine her."

  Sturgeon sat back and slapped his hands on the arms of his chair. "Well! The powers that be are certainly trying to contain knowledge of the Skinks."

  "They are indeed. I have to wonder how much longer the secret can be kept. The Skinks' next incursion probably won't be the one that breaks the news into the open, but the one after that could be."

  Sturgeon cocked an eyebrow. "Do we now have intelligence about their plans? Do we know what their next incursion will be?"

  Aguinaldo shook his head. "No. What we do have is reports from a colony world that sound like the Skinks are present and doing something, maybe setting up a staging area the way they did on Quagmire." He looked Sturgeon in the eye. "I'm sending 34th FIST to Maugham's World aboard the Grandar Bay to deal with the situation there. Whatever it is."

  "How soon?"

  "The Grandar Bay can be here in days. How well are your new men integrated?"

  "Well enough to do the job." He chuckled. "They've had time to acclimate to the shock of being assigned here for the duration, even if they aren't over it. We can be ready to embark as soon as she arrives."

  "You don't need to go that soon. Take two or three weeks. You'll need the extra time to sort out the other present I brought you."

  Sturgeon cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?" A "present" that would need a week or two to sort out wouldn't be something on the order of a two- kilo block of tea.

  "I have, still on board the Northumberland, another hundred Marines for 34th FIST. You can assign them however you like, but I convinced President Chang-Sturdevant to go outside channels to get them to you for use as a Whiskey Company, to supply immediate replacements for combat losses. Another fifty Marines should arrive in a few days, certainly before the Grandar Bay reaches orbit."

  For long moments Brigadier Sturgeon simply looked at the Commandant of the Marine Corps. Getting replacements for combat losses before a deployment was unheard of. "How bad is it on--where did you say, Maugham's Station?"

  Aguinaldo shrugged. "All we have is two seemingly routine Unexplained Expiration reports about isolated individuals who died under mysterious circumstances. Some kind of acid seems to have been involved. The reports didn't include the results of lab analysis, so I have no way of knowing whether they were killed by Skink acid shooters."

  "So it could be something as big as Kingdom, or it could be nothing."

  "Exactly."

  "And we don't know what reports might have come in since you left Earth--or might be en route now."

  Aguinaldo didn't bother to reply.

  Sturgeon smiled the wry smile Aguinaldo had earlier. "Well, we're Marines. Half the time when we go on deployments, we don't know what to expect when we get where we're going. The other half of the time, what we expect to find is no longer the case when we get there."

  "Anything else I can get for you?"

  Sturgeon thought for a moment, then said, "I hate to do this to anyone, but there was a surveillance and radar tech on board the Fairfax County when one of my platoons first encountered the Skinks. I understand his work was instrumental in locating their base for my Marines to destroy. I'm sure it would be extremely helpful if he was assigned to the Grandar Bay."

  "If you can get his name and rating for me, I'll get a drone off to the CNO before I leave tonight."

  "I'll have it. Excuse me, sir." He reached for his comm. "Lieutenant," he said when his aide came on, "Contact Captain Conorado. Tell him I need the name and rating of that SRA tech on the Fairfax when his third platoon went to Society 437. I need it ASAP."

  He barely had time to ask if the commandant wanted another cup of tea before his comm unit sounded an incoming message. He answered, said "Thank you," then turned to Aguinaldo. "He was SRA3 Hummfree. It's been long enough that if he's still in the navy, he's probably been promoted."

  "If he can be found, I'll get him for you. There's no telling how long it'll take to get him to the Grandar Bay, though." He stood up.

  "Thank you, sir. I know that you'll do everything possible, and quite a bit that isn't."

  Aguinaldo smiled. "I may be spending nearly all of my time in Fargo now, but I'm still a Marine."

  Sturgeon smiled back. "I know. We're Marines; the merely difficult we do immediately, the impossible may take an extra day."

  Hours before the Northumberland left orbit, one hundred Marines made planetfall and were transported into a vacant, isolated barracks. Their barracks was doubly isolated: not only was it set somewhat apart from the others on base, it was surrounded by a hastily erected fence, and the single entrance was guarded round the clock by two military policemen. The MPs neither talked to the Marines behind the fence nor allowed anyone through it without a pass signed by Brigadier Sturgeon--and the FIST command
er signed only one such pass. FIST Sergeant Major Shiro used it only after the hundred Marines had been joined by another fifty off the CNSS MacAninley, when he came to escort them to the base theater for orientation.

  The Marines off the MacAninley, who had only been incarcerated for a few hours, were merely curious about being locked away. The Marines off the Northumberland, having been locked up for six days, were in a state of controlled fury--particularly those who had already served a tour of duty elsewhere and knew how replacements were normally treated upon arrival at a new duty post.

  "COMP-ney, a-ten-HUT!" Sergeant Major Shiro's voice rang out through the base theater.

  The buzz of conversation ceased and there was a clatter of feet and the harsh rustle of cloth as the 150 Marines in the theater's front rows jumped erect, heels together, feet at a forty-five degree angle, legs and backs straight, heads facing forward, arms along their sides. Their eyes should have looked straight ahead, but all tracked the Marine who strode onto the stage to the podium at its center front. He wore undress reds, khaki shirt over gold trousers. The silver nova of a brigadier adorned his shirt collars. Surprisingly few ribbons for someone of his rank were arrayed above his left breast pocket--surprising until the observers realized every one of the ribbons was a decoration for personal or unit heroism in combat, none were campaign or service medals.

  The brigadier gained the podium and placed his hands on its sides as he looked over the Marines standing before him and made a mental note of the fact that some--many--appeared unhappy. He understood their unhappiness; he would feel the same way in their situation. After a moment he ordered in a crisp voice, "Seats!"

  There was another rumble as the Marines resumed their seats. None slouched, none lounged, all looked alert, all were quiet. The most experienced prepared themselves to demand an explanation for their treatment if one wasn't forthcoming.

  "I am Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon, commander of 34th Fleet Initial Strike Team, Confederation Marine Corps. Thirty-fourth FIST is one of the proudest units in the Corps. We have been on more deployments and seen more combat than any other in the modern history of the Corps. Thirty-fourth FIST is more often than not on deployment, fighting in major wars, minor wars, peacekeeping missions, peace-making missions, search and rescue missions, and show-of-force missions.

  "Those of you who have been around for a while know that when a large number of replacements joins a FIST, the commander gives brief 'welcome aboard' remarks, then hands them off to his staff, who provide whatever further orientation is necessary.

  "I would like to do that, say, 'Welcome to 34th FIST and I'll hand you off to my staff,' but I won't." He paused for a few seconds, then repeated, "I won't say 'welcome to 34th FIST.'

  "Some of you, I know, are angry about the fact that you have been locked away for six days, as though you had been tried and convicted and nobody told you what the charges were. To you, I offer my apologies for that treatment. But I wanted to give all of you your briefing at once, and didn't want you to hear things from someone else before you heard them from me.

  "You see, 34th FIST has another kind of mission in addition to those that FISTs are normally assigned. I believe I would be derelict if I didn't tell you about it myself.

  "I'm sure many of you have heard rumors of hostile alien sentiences on the frontiers of Human Space." He ignored the surprised gasps of some of the men facing him. "I'd be very surprised if any of you have not at one time or another seen vids or trids, or read novels about intrepid Marines, sailors, or soldiers fighting hostile aliens; such entertainments are rather popular. I'm sure most of you who have heard the rumors that hostile aliens are real discounted them as the products of overheated imaginations. After all, there are never any confirming news reports, and the Confederation has long held the position that there are no sentient aliens, hostile or otherwise." He paused a beat to read the audience. Nervous rustling was increasing throughout the theater.

  "I am going to disabuse you of what you think you know. There are alien sentiences--34th FIST has been in contact with three of them--and at least one is hostile. Thirty-fourth FIST has gone to war with that sentience--which we call 'Skinks'--and an element of the FIST has also engaged the Skinks on one other occasion." The nervous rustling stopped. It was as if the Marines seated before him had turned to stone. "Because 34th FIST, by chance, became the first Confederation military unit known to have encountered hostile aliens, we have been designated the unofficial military first-contact unit when aliens are encountered. To the extent possible, we will be the only unit to make contact with aliens, hostile or otherwise." He didn't bother to mention that 26th FIST was now also a "first-contact" unit, nor did he say anything about the navy ships and crews that supported them in such operations.

  "There is official denial, and there are no news reports, yet 34th FIST or its elements have been engaged with a hostile alien sentience on two occasions. That lack of information to the general public is because the existence of the aliens is a tightly held state secret. As a step in holding that secret, 34th FIST has been removed from the normal duty rotation of the Marine Corps. Assignment to 34th FIST is for the duration. There are no transfers, no retirements, no releases from active duty, no off-world leave.

  "You are here until the existence of the Skinks and other sentient aliens is no longer a closely held secret, or until you die, whichever comes first."

  The quality of the silence changed; the Marines were no longer as stone, now they were somehow red. Not the red of flushed faces or elevated blood pressure or even the red of anger, but the blue-tinged red of stunned speechlessness. Sturgeon waited for it to change again. When a lance corporal in the second row suddenly stood and sounded off, "Sir, permission to speak!" the floodgates broke and everyone burst out with shouted questions.

  The Marines were all on their feet, but they kept their places, so Sturgeon let them shout for a few moments--better to let them blow off steam than risk them blowing up later.

  Eventually he said, loudly enough to cut through their voices, "As you were, people! Seats! " It took a few seconds for them to quiet down, but they retook their seats immediately.

  "Yes, I know," Sturgeon said drily when all but a few soft voices had stilled, "that's quite a shock." His voice turned harsh. "But at least someone stood up and told you outright what's going on. Those of us who have been here for a while had to find out the hard way--when we noticed nobody was being transferred out of 34th FIST on normal rotations.

  "I know you're angry--especially those of you who did not plan to make a career of the Marine Corps. That's only natural. But you signed a contract when you enlisted. There is a clause in that contract that says you will serve at the convenience of the Confederation of Human Worlds. The Confederation finds it convenient that the term of enlistment for anyone assigned to 34th FIST be extended for the duration.

  "This is tough, but it isn't as bad as it could be. You were selected for assignment to 34th FIST because none of you have families or close childhood friends waiting on your home world for your return."

  "Sir, permission to speak, sir!" It was the same lance corporal in the second row who had requested permission before everyone began shouting.

  "Yes, Lance Corporal, you had a question before we were interrupted. What was it?"

  "Sir, you answered that question, but now I have another one."

  Sturgeon nodded for him to go ahead.

  He looked grim. "Sir, this means we're expendable, doesn't it?"

  "No Marine is expendable, Lance Corporal. We're all valuable. But within the context of being valuable, yes, you could say we are expendable; no individual Marine is irreplaceable when we go in harm's way. Does that answer your question?"

  "Yessir, thank you, sir." The lance corporal didn't sound fully satisfied with the answer, but he sat back down and remained quiet.

  Another Marine called out, "Sir, there are more than enough of us here, all replacements, to form a full line company. Does this m
ean 34th FIST has an exceptionally high casualty rate?"

  Sturgeon thought for a moment about how to answer. Finally he said, "Yes and no. The first time we met the Skinks, it was a single platoon from Company L of the infantry battalion on detached duty. Casualties were modest--especially when you take into account that the contact was totally unexpected and the aliens were armed with weapons of a kind unknown to humanity. Thirty-fourth FIST recently returned from fighting a major campaign against this foe. Again, they had new weapons we had never encountered before. Before we learned how to counter the effects of those weapons, yes, we suffered serious casualties. But once we learned, our casualty rate dropped to almost zero.

  "We suffered heavy casualties in the early months of that campaign, but most of them were replaced during the course of the campaign, and the rest shortly after we returned to Thorsfinni's World. None of you are here to fill vacant billets. You are here as a reserve force to fill billets caused by illness or injury in the future, so the FIST doesn't have to wait months for HQMC to send us replacements."

  "Sir, what are these unknown weapons?" a PFC shouted without asking to be recognized.

  "Please hold all questions about the Skinks, their weapons, and tactics for now. When I'm through, FIST Sergeant Major Shiro will brief you on those topics.

  "I doubt you've ever heard of the world where we just fought the Skinks, the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles. 'Kingdom,' as it's more commonly called, has been quarantined in order to prevent word of the aliens from spreading throughout Human Space. Thorsfinni's World, however, has not. Which brings me to a dire warning I must issue to you.

  "Under no circumstances are you to say anything to anybody outside your own company, battery, or squadron about the Skinks or other alien sentiences. I'm sure you've all heard of Darkside. Darkside sounds bad enough to be a myth, but it's not; it's real. The penalty for informing anybody about the existence of alien sentiences is summary sentencing to Darkside. Whoever you tell will also be summarily sentenced to Darkside." He paused to let that sink in. "If you heard that consignment to Darkside is a life sentence without parole, you heard right. There are people there--not Marines--who are there because they have unauthorized knowledge about the existence of the alien sentiences. I don't want any of my Marines to join them.