Back From the Dead (25 page)

Intruder’s cabin

Six men are stacked up next to the airlock hatch, ready to pour through. They wear black space armor, slim air packs, and helmets with tinted visors. They have carbines slung across their chests for ready action and a variety of weapons on their belts, including grenades, combat knives, ammo pouches, and sidearms. A man in similar space armor sits at a pilot chair to the front of the cabin, while another stands ready to operate an airlock door. They all look professional and disciplined, but there are no obvious insignia anywhere.

Outside

Horkle and Kaminski cling to the airlock hatch on the side of the intruder’s ship with magnetic boots and one hand each. A red light glows on the hatch access pad. Horkle pulls out a pair of credit-card-sized devices connected with wires and slips one into a slot in the access pad. He presses a few buttons on the other card, and the red light on the pad flickers, then green and yellow lights flicker on. More button pushes, and all three lights glow steadily. Horkle touches his helmet to Kaminski’s so they can talk by sound conduction. “Piece of cake. Air’s out, the warning lights are off.”

“Okay. Pop it.”

Horkle shoves the hatch hard and Kaminski dives through, then waits in the airlock holding his carbine in one hand while he readies a grenade with the other. Horkle swings in and closes the hatch behind him, then inserts his security override device into the access pad for the inside hatch. Lights flicker, then stay lit, and Horkle opens the inner door with a gentle shove.

Intruder’s cabin

Kaminski takes in the layout in a glance, tosses the grenade into the middle of the cluster of men gathered around the airlock on the far side of the cabin, and ducks back inside. Horkle closes the hatch, the grenade explodes, and there is screaming.

Horkle shoves the hatch open hard, and Kaminski goes through fast, firing three-round bursts so close together it almost sounds like full-auto. The bullets and brass and blood fly fast and thick, and the intruders go down quickly.

Cargo bay

Kaminski’s voice comes in over the intercom, “Intruder has been secured. Stand down. Threat neutralized. I say again, threat is neutralized. Unload and show clear, make safe your weapons.” The recruits sigh in relief and straighten up, relaxing.

“NOT YOU GUYS!” Harbin yells. “Stand ready until I say so.” He thumbs a button on his throat mic. “Harbin to Kaminski, private. Code?”

“Gold three. I think you should bring Kat and Helton over to take a look at this. It isn’t what we thought.”

Marque

In the intruder’s cabin lie eight violently dead men in lightly armored dark uniform spacesuits, all armed. Kat, Kaminski, Harbin, Horkle, and Helton look over the carnage. One of the men is sprawled on his back, a badge showing on his chest. Harbin examines the bodies professionally.

Harbin
: Intrasystem Customs Enforcement, trying a no-warning boarding.

Helton
: Oh God what do we do now? We just killed a bunch of our guys.

Kat
: Not so much our guys as government guys.

Kaminski
: They’re pirates, just the kind with badges and formal pay grade.

Helton
: GUYS! What do we do with them? What will they do with us? Kat?

Kat
: Not really my specialty, but I’m pretty sure killing law enforcement is a capital offense around here.

Horkle
(looking rather green in the face)
: Oh, just fuckin’ GREAT!

Harbin
: They acted like pirates. They get treated like pirates.

Kat
(testily)
: That’s not how the law works, you know.

Harbin
(unconcerned)
: That’s why I’m not a lawyer.

Horkle
(strained voice, rationalizing)
: Didn’t even notice the uniforms until they were dead. I popped the hatch for Ski, just like a boarding drill we practiced last week. He dove in, I followed, a couple of seconds later it was over. Dead man. I’m a dead man. First mission and I–

Harbin
: No. You are not a dead man, yet.
(To the others)
Options?

Kaminski
: If we toss ‘em all in the Carbon Recovery Unit, sterilize the weapons and the ship, it can’t be traced to us.

Helton
: Destroying evidence? That’s gonna look good at trial.

Horkle
: I think I’m going to puke.

Kaminski
: Why can’t we just CRU the bodies, strip the hardware, keep it, or sell it? It’s not like they need it anymore.

Helton
: We are not pirates.

Harbin
: They attacked us first, we just won the fight.

Kat
: Wait. Maybe there is a way. Are any of the injured soldiers pilots?

Helton
: I wouldn’t think so, but we can check. Are you taking him seriously?

Kat
: Give me a minute. I need to look at something in that word salad Lag calls orders. Don’t touch anything, don’t say anything. Go back to our ship, guard the door, secure things, and find a pilot or two if you can.

Harbin watches as the recruits remove and stow their armor, then start cleaning up the various messes on the cargo bay deck. Most recruits are babbling non-stop, wired on post-action adrenaline, though a couple look almost asleep. One recruit looks troubled. He stands still, frowning, looking down at his neat pile of armor and weapons, slowly clenching and unclenching his hands. Looking up, he catches Harbin’s eye, turns towards him, and approaches him directly.

Alvarez
(quietly but intensely)
: Can I talk to you?

Harbin
(with understanding but firmly)
: If you feel the need to say something to a superior that might be not very polite, the proper thing is to ask for permission to speak freely.

Alvarez
: Permission to speak freely, First Sergeant.

Harbin nods, but holds up a cautioning hand. He waves Alvarez over to a quieter corner of the cargo bay. Reaching it, he motions for the recruit to speak his mind.

Harbin
: Tell me.

Alvarez
: I don’t understand it at all, First Sergeant.

Harbin
: What?

Alvarez
: Why you put us out there to get killed like that. It was stupid.

Harbin
: I’ll overlook the attitude for the moment. What, exactly, do you think was stupid?

Alvarez
(increasingly agitated)
: Everything. Us just standing there. You said last week that we should never throw away a perfectly good weapon if we didn’t have to. Wearing bright, old-fashioned armor when we should be hiding. Throwing AXES, for Christ’s sake, at guys we expected to be armored and carry guns. It was all stupid.

Harbin
: If it was so stupid, why was I standing right there with you? Am I stupid, too?

Alvarez
(stiffly)
: No, First Sergeant.

Harbin
: Then I must have had something in mind, right?

Alvarez
: Uh, I suppose so. But–

Harbin
: What would they be armed with?

Alvarez takes his time, reviewing his training.

Alvarez
: Carbines, I’d guess.

Harbin
: Right, carbines. Rifles can usually punch through a ship’s skin.

Alvarez
(exasperated again)
: What difference does that make? They are shooting at us!

Harbin
: You think that particular shield will stop a carbine round?

Alvarez
: Uh … yes?

Harbin
: Yes. And what attracts the eye: things that are big and shiny, or small and hidden?

Alvarez
: Shiny?

Harbin
: Three for three. If they are looking at us, what would they see?

Alvarez
: … Us, throwing axes at them.

Harbin
: Right. And if you saw someone throwing an ax at you, where would you be focusing your eyes, guns, and thoughts?

Alvarez gets it.

Alvarez
: At them.

Harbin
: Which means you would not be seeing … what? Remember tunnel vision?

Alvarez
: I wouldn’t be seeing anyone else.

Harbin
: And who else had a great view of the door they would have come in through?

Alvarez
: The guys with rifles on middeck.

Harbin
: Yes. Combat vets, some with years of practice and training. Anyone coming in the hatch would see you and ignore them.

Alvarez
: So, we were just there to be shot at.

Harbin
(patiently)
: Yes, we were. You are recruits with a very little bit of training and marginal marksmanship skills. You were placed in the one spot where you could do some real good.

Alvarez
: My first combat, and I’m nothin’ but bait.

Harbin
: But you stood your ground. You held. Yes, I was there encouraging you. Yes, you were scared. Yes, you puked your guts out when it was over. But you held your ground when the unknown was beating on the door in front of you, not just in a drill. You didn’t have any idea what was about to come through the door. You followed orders exactly, even when you were not sure why you were doing it, because you trusted your leaders standing there with you to not be stupid. And you had the guts to ask why later, so now you do understand.

Alvarez
: But they never came through the door!

Harbin
: But they might have, and you thought they were going to. We just had a better plan and better people than they did. Remember that. Work with good people, get a good plan, follow good leaders, get good results. Work with smooth-talking arrogant fuckups and expect to fail spectacularly. Now, go get yourself cleaned up, and see if any of the other recruits have the same questions you did. And see if any of them had a better plan; there is always more to learn.

In Kat’s cabin. She studies an e-reader, tapping occasionally, switching back and forth between sections. Kaushik and Helton watch intently.

Kat
: Yes, I think it will work. Appendix L has some really odd pieces in it, and now I know why. Letters of Marque.

Kaushik
: What?

Helton
: Really?

Kat
: Letters of Marque. Legal paperwork granting the power to a private ship to act as a warship in attacking the shipping of other specified nations. An old idea from early in the days of sail. All but forgotten, but still on the books. I think, with the proper legal obfuscation and verbiage, we can grant you nominal Plataean warship status to carry out military actions against certain types of “enemy” shipping. In this case, a suspected pirate vessel attacking without announcement, warning, provocation, and only a veneer of legal authority. We give your command a Letter of Marque, declare that ship a lawful target, buy it from you and sterilize its origin.

Helton
(intrigued)
: You can do that?

Kaushik
: That doesn’t seem … right.

Kat
: It’s technically legal, if not common. It gets us out of this situation. It gets Plataea a cheap ship. It makes you a healthy profit. It’ll only work if we can pilot it out of here to an appropriate Plataean base out-system. If you see any better options, I’m all ears.

Helton
: Now I know why Lag wanted you working for him.

Kaushik
: Warfare operates at many levels. You and I see only the most obvious. Kat and Lag play a much deeper game.

Helton
: Glad he’s on my side.

Kat
(smiling indulgently)
: He isn’t. You are on his. Or, rather, you both happen to be aiming in the same direction right now.

Helton
: Comforting thought.

Kaushik
: Trust me, there are much worse places to be.

In the Officers’ Mess. Helton, Kat, Allonia, and Bipasha sit across the table from an embarrassed and uncomfortable Horkle.

Horkle
: ME?

Helton
: Well, you and a very one-legged Lieutenant Plumon were the only guys with any pilot experience that we can spare. Cooper and Kaushik we need here, and you have more experience than the Sergeant, anyway.

Kat
(calmly encouraging)
: It’ll mostly autopilot itself. You are there as much to take care of Plumon as you are to fly.

Allonia
: Just think, not even a fully ranked private, and you are off on a secret mission of your own!

Horkle
: Well, uh, yeah, I guess, but…

Kat
: She’s right. It’s a good career move.

Bipasha
: You’re lucky. You get to jet off among the stars, the rest of us have to stay here to clean up the mess and plod on to the transfer station.

Cooper
(over the intercom)
: Kaushik says the ship’s cleaned and supplied. Plumon’s aboard and says it looks easy. Time, Horkle.

Horkle stands up quickly, knocking his chair over.

Kat
: You’ll be fine. You can’t transition for another eighteen hours or so, and we’ll have all the legal stuff beamed over to you. It’ll be fine.

Horkle
(nervous, but game)
: Well, better get going. Hope to see you again soon!

Exit Horkle. He closes the door, and everyone looks at Kat.

Kat
: And as long as nothing happens to them between now and then, it will be fine.

Helton
(neutrally)
: So, how much are we really talking?