Waypoint Kangaroo (42 page)

I don't say anything until we get Lynch secured in Sickbay. Then I bring Brutlag back to the cargo bay and show him Lynch's grappling claw.

“See here?” I point to the tip of one of the three digits. “That's too clean to have broken off due to shearing stress. He must have shaved it before jumping.”

Hesch's voice buzzes over the radio. “Colonel, both landing teams are through the airlocks. They're inside the ship. Losing signal now.”

“Copy that, Hesch, thank you,” Brutlag says. He thumbs off the intercom and turns back to me. “I always knew Lynch was a short-timer. Thank you, Major.”

I'm confused by his nonchalance. “You're not concerned?”

Brutlag casts an almost amused expression toward me. “That he was trying to sabotage this operation?”

“Well, frankly, yes, Colonel,” I say. “He damaged his own claw. He didn't want to get onto that ship, which reduced the chances that you'd get the fifth artillery component on board by half—”

“If any pair of jumpers hadn't made it onto that ship, we would have picked them up and tried again. Lynch knows that. If he wanted to stop us, he would have tampered with the artillery itself, and we wouldn't have known until it was too late.”

“What if he's planning something else? We're a skeleton crew here now. He could overpower us, take over the boat—”

Brutlag holds up a hand. “Are you always this paranoid, Major?”

“Well, no.” But considering D.Int is trying to glass Mars, I feel pretty justified in my suspicions right now.

“I know my people, Major,” he says. “Lynch is young. His wife just gave birth to a baby girl. He wants to go home. I can respect that. His inability to be open with this desire, I don't respect so much, but every man has his own way of dealing with things.”

“And there's no chance he could have been compromised?”

Brutlag frowns. “I know my people. Lynch is not a security risk.”

I sense it's time to drop this issue. “If you say so, Colonel.” I can ask Jessica to keep an eye on Lynch.

“Humans are social creatures,” Brutlag says.

Now I'm confused. “Yes?”

“We want to belong,” Brutlag continues. “To have a tribe, whether it's family, race, or team. Not everyone is suited to the Expeditionary Forces. And allegiances change with time. Lynch's bond with his family is now stronger than his wish to continue doing this job.”

“Okay.” I wonder if anthropology lectures are common in this unit.

“I hear that this hijacker used to be in the military. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. Army Special Forces.”

“And he was dishonorably discharged.”

“For insubordination and theft.”

Brutlag nods. “I've seen a lot of people wash out of X-Force, Major. A lot of angry young people wanted to fight the war with Mars. But being an X-4 is about more than fighting. It's about being part of a unit. I know that was the hardest thing for me to learn—harder than zero-gee close combat, harder than orbital mechanics. Some people don't have the skills to pass our training. Some don't have the intelligence. But others just don't belong.”

“Colonel, I hope you're not suggesting that the military drove Alan Wachlin to hijacking and murder.”

“No, Major,” Brutlag says. “I believe that Alan Wachlin desperately wanted to belong in groups for which he was completely unsuited, and the military was merely more forceful in its rejection than most.”

Which made him a perfect target for Terman Sakraida. D.Int could pretend to give Wachlin exactly what he wanted. The sucker never knew he was being played.

“Almost makes you feel sorry for the guy,” Brutlag says.

I remember the only clear picture of Alan Wachlin I've ever seen, as he stormed into
Dejah Thoris
's engine room and killed an innocent man.

“No,” I say. “I don't feel sorry for the bastard at all.”

Brutlag nods. “As you say, Major.”

The next words leave my mouth before I realize they're going. “Get me in a spacesuit. I'm jumping.”

Brutlag blinks. “Major?”

“You're down one spaceman,” I say. “You need to get that last PBC component over to
Dejah Thoris.
I'm a trained astronaut. Get me in a suit.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

X-4 transport—Cargo bay

7 minutes from waypoint zero

“This is insane,” Oliver says from the observation pod.

“What else is new?” I reply from the cargo bay.

“
Major,
” Jessica says, standing next to him, “I strongly discourage putting yourself in harm's way yet again.”

“Are you volunteering to take my place,
Lieutenant Commander
?” I ask. “We don't have time to debate this.” Her cover identity doesn't outrank mine. I wonder if Paul did that on purpose.

“Helmet,” Brutlag says, raising the last piece of the spacesuit over my head. I nod. He lowers it onto my neck and locks the collar into place.

“We know all nine other spacemen made it inside the ship,” Oliver says. “They already have all the parts they need. They're probably cutting through the bulkhead right now.”

“We don't know what's happening over there,” I say as Brutlag circles me, checking my suit. “Some of the X-4s might be injured. One of the PBC parts might be damaged.”

“The major's right,” Brutlag says. “And if he's willing to jump, I'd rather give my spacemen every chance to succeed.” He pats the side of my helmet. “You're good to go.”

I nod and look down at the bulky PBC component attached to the side of my suit. It's easily half my body mass. I'm only able to move around with it because I'm in zero-gravity.

“You guys really run drills with those things?” I ask Brutlag as he guides me to the open cargo bay doors.
Dejah Thoris
looms below me, and it seems to be much bigger and moving much faster than before.

Brutlag smiles. “Major, if we're lucky, the only thing we ever do is run drills.”

“Major!” Oliver calls. “For the last time. I am begging you not to go.”

I look up at the observation pod. “This is probably the least dangerous thing I've done in the last twenty-four hours. Why are you being such a killjoy now?”

He glares at me. “Because this is not part of your mission.”

“You're right,” I say. “I'm not on mission. I'm on a fucking vacation.”

I look from him to Jessica. She doesn't say anything. She can't say anything.

“Stand up as soon as you can,” she says.

I think there's some dust in my eyes. That must be what's causing these tears.

“You're going to get thrown around pretty hard once you land,” Jessica continues. “Lock your mag-boots, get yourself upright. Move slow.” She turns to Oliver. “Lieutenant?”

“Bloody hell.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “We'll be in your ear until you enter the airlock. Once you're inside, your suit will sync up with X-4 battle comms. They'll tell you where to go from there.”

“Don't extend your arms,” Jessica adds. “Your instinct will be to steady yourself against the rotation, but three gees can break your bones. You could snap a wrist when your hand hits the wall. Use your shoulders to cushion against impact.”

“Protect your head,” Oliver says.

“Thank you.” I blink the wetness out of my eyes and turn back to Brutlag. “Let's go, Colonel.”

“The heads-up display in your helmet has been programmed with
Dejah Thoris
's deck plans,” Brutlag says as he positions me on the scaffolding. “There are two airlocks on deck fifteen. They'll be outlined in yellow. I'll mirror your display to the observation deck for your team.”

“Got it,” I say. One glowing yellow rectangle whizzes past in the overlay. It's moving a lot faster than I expected.

The air inside the suit feels alternately icy cold and sweltering hot. My hands and feet tingle, and I curse at them and insist that they not go numb.
This is easy. Come on, Kangaroo, you just killed a nuclear reactor. This is, what, a little space-jump? This is nothing.

Hesch moves the transport to within half a kilometer of
Dejah Thoris.
Brutlag gives me the signal to jump.

And my legs don't work.

“Major?” Brutlag says. “Is there a problem?”

“Just checking my suit,” I say, finally convincing my knees to bend. “Safety first.”

“You're good to go,” Brutlag says. “Any time you're ready.”

I hear the impatience in his voice. Before I can have a second thought or a fainting spell, I launch myself off the scaffolding, out of the cargo bay, and into open space.

I barely have enough time to enjoy a clear view of Mars off to my right before it's blotted out by a burst of countermeasures from the X-4 fighter. Then the bulk of
Dejah Thoris
rushes up and slams into me.

The right side of my suit scrapes along the hull for a second before I manage to stab my claw into the hull. Three gravities of acceleration pin me down. Just as I get my bearings, the thrusters fire again, spinning me sideways. The side of my face pancakes against the inside of my helmet. Sunlight blinds me for a moment. The rotation changes again, and the ship falls away from me.

I'm glad this claw is holding on tight, because I sure as hell couldn't. The rotation flips in the opposite direction, and ninety thousand metric tons of spacecraft smack into me. Again.

“Goddammit!” I shout at no one in particular.

“Get your feet under you,” I hear Jessica say.

“Mag-boot controls are in your palmpad,” Oliver's voice says.

“I'm working on it!”

This is worse than any training. I drag my boots against the hull until I can place them flat, locking the soles to the hull. I triple-check my footholds, making sure I'm stable, then release the claw and stand up.

“I'm on my feet,” I say.

“Airlock at your two o'clock,” Oliver says, “range three meters.”

“One step at a time,” Jessica says. “Take it slow. Slow is smooth—”

“And smooth is fast, yeah yeah yeah, I got it.”

Now that I'm standing, it's easier to brace myself against the changing acceleration. I find the airlock in my HUD and stagger toward it slowly, carefully, taking one step after each rotation change, ignoring the wrenching in my gut every time the ship lurches.

After what feels like hours, I reach the airlock. The spacemen left their override gadget stuck to the hull. I slap the device to open the outer doors.

“I'm at the airlock,” I say. “Going in now.”

“Remember,
shoulders,
” Jessica says. “Hands at your sides.”

“And loss of signal after ingress,” Oliver says. “Time to waypoint zero is—”

“Don't want to know.” I lean down, turn off my boots, and pull myself inside the airlock. “I'll see you on the other side. Over and out.”

I smack the control panel to cycle the airlock. The outer doors clang shut. A few seconds later, the inner doors hiss open. I wobble out into a service corridor and wait for my suit to sync up with the X-4 battle comms.

After a few seconds, the helmet HUD shows me a red stripe glowing on the wall to my left: battlefield smart-dust, sprayed on by the spacemen to provide wireless comm relays inside the signal-blocking superstructure of
Dejah Thoris.
I move into the corridor, following the trail of high-tech breadcrumbs and bouncing from side to side.

“X-4 teams, this is Major Rogers,” I say. “Spaceman Lynch was injured during the jump. I've taken his place. I have the second PBC firing coil with me. What is your status?”

“Welcome aboard, Major,” says Kapur, her voice ringing over the audible groaning of metal every time the ship's rotation changes. I can feel the vibrations through my boots, and they don't feel good. “I'm afraid you're late to the party. We're in main engineering, and the crew has control of the ship again.”

I have to know. “Who's in charge down there?” I ask.
Did you find Ellie?

“I think it's the chief engineer.”

“Fisher?”

“I don't know her name, sir. Do you want to speak to her?”

My voice catches in my throat. “Yes. Yes, Kapur. Affirmative. Yes!”

I'm feeling lightheaded. I stop walking. The radio crackles.

“This is Chief Engineer Gavilán.” Her voice is the most wonderful thing I've ever heard. “Whoever you are, we don't have time—”

“Ellie, it's Evan,” I say. “Are you okay?”

Static hisses back, and for a second I'm afraid I've lost her. “Evan? I thought—Andie said you were off the ship.”

“Well, I'm back. Are you all right? Why aren't you in Sickbay? It looked like you were bleeding—”

“I don't have time for Sickbay. Where are you?”

“I'm coming to you.” Rotation slams me into another wall just as I start moving again. This is really getting old. “Did the X-4s get Wachlin?”

“What?”

“The hijacker. Is he in custody?” I'm secretly hoping the answer is
No, he put up a fight and they put a bullet through his head.

“He got away.”

I'm not sure I heard her right. “What do you mean, ‘He got away'?”

“I mean he ran when the X-4s blew the bulkhead.”

“Okay, where do you need me to search?”

“Forget him,” Ellie says. “We have bigger problems. You might have noticed we still don't have RCS control.”

My nausea and headache are both getting worse. I stop and brace one shoulder against a wall. “So we catch Wachlin and make him undo whatever he did.”

“I know what he did!” Ellie says. “I was watching him the whole time. He overloaded the ionwell ignition batteries to trigger an EMP. Fried all the electronics in Main Eng. And right before that, he flushed drive plasma into every cable bay in this section, so we can't load new software from the network. We're moving backup hardware now to reinstall navigation controls.”