Toth Page 3

  Her face showed surprise, and softened. For the moment, he had defused her. “I’ll do the job, Major,” she said.

  “The situation sounds hostile, but might not be, and I’ll need a cool head for security. No show of force; a couple of squads will do, and I don’t want any trigger-jerkers with us. You don’t have much to choose from with all these fuzzy-faced recruits, so go over their psych-profiles and weed out the heroes. I want a force ready for security action only on orders from you, but respectful of the natives and their customs. Everyone should be a diplomat on this drop. Okay?”

  “Laser and jump suits, sir?”

  “Negative. Assault rifles are lighter, more intimidating, but less vulnerable to defense hardware. Call me old-fashioned, Captain.”

  “Yes, Sir. How long have I got to do this?”

  “Mootry wants the team assembled in the drop bay at sixteen-hundred today.”

  “We’ll be there,” she said, stood up and toweled her face. Michael stood, moved a step closer to her and spoke softly. “Krisha—one more thing. You’ll be my number one down there, and I want to be able to depend on you a hundred percent as a professional marine. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that. Do you understand?”

  Krisha looked him square in the eye. “Yes, sir. I’ll get the job done, sir.”

  “Good. Break time for me. I have to pick the rest of the team before I get back to this torture-pit. Carry on with your workout, Captain.” He looked over at Kari, who was grinning at him from a quad machine. “Lieutenant,” he said, then turned and left the room. The look on Kari’s face stayed with him a moment and he could guess what she’d been thinking.

  You always were a good talker, Mike.

  * * * * * * *

  Michael spent the rest of the morning in his cubicle, dialed up personnel records and selected a small group of scientists commissioned as marine lieutenants to accompany drops. He lunched alone in the officers’ mess, forced down a carbohydrate porridge said to be easily digestible for stomachs fresh out of deep sleep. It was flat, grainy and tasteless, and he had a sudden yearning for real food. He spent an hour with the logistics officer to arrange for supplies, figured a one-week mission for twenty people without reliance on native help or foodstuffs, and then returned to the gym for another hour of sweat and pain. His legs were sore and wobbly when he returned to his cubicle, but he felt stronger, and his stomach had ceased its grumbling. He even felt pleasantly relaxed and caught himself nodding off as he studied the global map of Emerald on the video screen. The signal had come from the southern coastline of the greater landmass to the north, one long island and several smaller ones scattered offshore out to fifty kilometers. There were no details, and no topo maps to go by.

  They would be landing blind.

  At fifteen hundred he took a shower and got into full dress uniform for the meeting with the team. The walk to the drop bay on level one seemed like ten kilometers, and by the time he got there he was sweating again. Mootry had warned him about changing times on the ship, the fact that mustering out time was approaching for both of them. It had only been reinforced by what he’s seen in personnel records that morning. Everyone was new, young, without experience, only a handful from the old crew, including Kari and Krisha. He’d had to use both of them, and knew it could possibly lead to trouble on the drop. All the young marines were untested in battle. Krisha could have whipped them into shape if they’d had the time, but they didn’t.

  Mootry was waiting for him at the door leading to drop bay one. “Well, how are the bones holding out?” he asked, smiling.

  “Sore but secure, sir.”

  “Good. So, let’s go in and meet some young people.”

  The big door hissed open and someone cried “TEN-HUT!” over a loud-speaker. The team was standing at attention in two rows on both sides of them along the flanks of two ungainly-looking entry sailing craft appropriately named Gull One and Two. Krisha had assembled her security force in full assault gear with helmet and rifle, an intimidating sight compared to the scientists in simple dress blues. Michael followed Mootry down the ranks and back again on inspection, past Kari in her blues, and Krisha’s unfocused stare from under her helmet. He passed Hal Odin, who had fought with him on Rigal, and Nik Balestrieri, a civil engineer forever. Everyone else was a stranger.

  A podium had been set up forward of the Gulls. Mootry called parade-rest, introduced Michael as drop commander, and stood away from the microphone. Michael stepped up to the podium and gazed silently for a long moment at the collection of bright faces looking up at him. A strange feeling passed over him, an alien thing, remoteness as if he didn’t belong there, had somehow been thrown into a parallel world with history and culture unfamiliar to him. He was old, even by military standards on the survey ships, a relic of past wars the young people before him might not have read about in their classes. Muster out time. The last drop. Time to hang it up.

  A last drop, with strangers now looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, and spoke.

  “All of you have been hand-picked for this mission by me and Captain Elg. It is our expectation that all of you will uphold the traditions of The Corps and conduct yourselves with dignity and discipline during planet fall. We will tolerate nothing less.” He stared at them; jaw set, a long pause for effect. Krisha seemed to stand taller than an instant before, and even Kari’s expression was grim. “Now, here’s our situation,” he finally said.

  The briefing was short, for there was little to say. They were going in without reconnaissance, and the welcome mat was not out for them. Resistance was a possibility, but not likelihood. Their behavior could earn them a welcome, and their mission was service, not hostility. They would assemble in the drop bay in full battle dress, all of them, at oh-four-hundred two mornings from now. In the meantime they would relax and study the briefing packets awaiting them on a table in aft bay. He looked forward to serving with them.

  Mootry stepped forward, called the team to attention and dismissed them. There was a rush to the table, names called out, the sound of envelopes being opened. Mootry took Michael by the elbow. “Sounded good. Nice touch with Krisha, made her sound like co-commander. She’ll like that.”

  But Krisha was waiting for them at the aft door. “Major, sir, may I have a word with you in private?”

  “I’ll meet you in the mess-room, Mike,” said Mootry, and left them at the door.

  “What is it, Captain?”

  “It’s Kari, sir. I don’t understand why she’s going on this drop.”

  “That’s easy. She’s the most experienced botanist we have, and this is a survey party.”

  “Lieutenant Ganeff has two drops, sir. Were you aware of that?”

  “I was, yes. His specialty is grasses, and I don’t think that’s appropriate for Emerson. What are you getting at here, Captain?”

  “I would prefer it if Kari did not accompany us, sir. It could be dangerous from the time we hit the ground.”

  “And for all of us, Captain. Why is it different for Kari? She has marine training.”

  Krisha swallowed hard, struggling to speak. “It—it’s our relationship, sir. I don’t want it to distract me from my responsibilities down there. If I’m watching out for her, I’ll—”

  “I wouldn’t have chosen you as security officer unless I was convinced you’re a total professional, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Michael looked at her closely. “Kari will be under your protection along with all the other scientists, and you’ll be billeted in the same compound, so what’s the problem?”

  “I just don’t want her to get hurt, sir.” Krisha was struggling for control. Gone, for the moment, was the strutting butch whose very presence often irritated him, a woman he didn’t understand and, when he was able to admit it, a woman he saw as a competitor. And then it occurred to him what the real problem might be.

  He leaned close to her and spoke softly. “I don’t want anyone h
urt, Captain, and that’s why you’re heading up security. Look, Krisha, what happened between Kari and me was a long time and lots of deep sleep ago when you two barely knew each other. She’s made her choice, and I don’t intend to do anything to mess it up. Okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Krisha, and for the first time since he’d known her the arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by something softer. She sniffed. “Thank you, sir.” And then she turned from him, and walked quickly out the door.

  Mootry was waiting for him in the officers’ mess, sipping tea. “Well, what was that about?”

  “Kari. She didn’t want her on the drop.”

  “Doesn’t want to share, huh?” Mootry smiled.

  “There’s nothing between me and Kari anymore,” said Michael.

  “Yeah? You tell that to Kari?”

  “I think she gets the idea,” said Michael, feeling a little defensive.

  “Well I’ve got news for you, mister. I don’t think that little girl believes it for a minute. You watch your ass down there. I don’t need any love triangles on this drop, and neither do you. Jesus, Mike, why don’t you and I just find some nice ladies on Emerson and hang it up here? That’s assuming, of course, they don’t shoot our butts off first.”

  They both laughed at that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The drop bay was bathed in deep red light, and there was the smell of machine oil and leather. Everyone moved quietly, for it was part of the drill. They formed two inspection lines along the flanks of the Gulls, and each figure leaned slightly forward with the burden of full pack and assault rifle. Krisha used hand signals to direct her flock into position while Michael watched from the door. Watching her work renewed his confidence in his decision to make her his number one on Emerson. He paced the ranks quickly, stopped only once before a tall man who gave him a wan grin. “How you doin’, Nik? Here we go again, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Nik Balestrieri, “just like the old days, and using the same old equipment.”

  Nik had saved Michael’s ass on Rubion four deep-sleeps ago. He’d driven an earthmover over a laser emplacement that had just shot away part of Michael’s elbow, and was preparing to do worse. A good engineer. A good marine.

  Michael moved ahead, counting shadows in crimson gloom. The number was too high by one. The reason for this anomaly was standing at the forward-bay end of right rank, and came to a brace as Michael stepped up to him and growled softly.

  “Osen, what the hell are you doing here? I didn’t pick you for drop, and I’m sure Captain Elg didn’t either.”

  Osen’s eyes flicked left, past Michael’s shoulder. “Orders, sir. Commander Mootry has assigned me as your orderly on the ground. I’m responsible for daily, private communication between yourself and the Commander, sir.” He was whispering.

  “Orders?”

  “In my shirt pocket, sir.”

  “Let’s see ’em.”

  Osen withdrew a tightly folded piece of flimsy from his shirt pocket, and handed it over. The statement was short, and Osen had repeated most of it. The supplies order had even been corrected for the addition to the drop team. An orderly? Why? He handed the refolded flimsy back to Osen. “We’ll talk about this later, private,” he whispered.

  Metal groaned. The maws of the two Gulls opened simultaneously to receive their human cargo. Mootry’s voice blared from a loudspeaker; “The drop will commence in ten minutes.” Krisha barked an order, and her security force of fourteen trotted quickly up the loading ramp of Gull One. Michael moved his crew of scientists, and Osen, into Gull Two. The two flyers, though heavily armed with laser cannon, guided bombs, and two twenty-millimeter Gatlings were mostly hollow shells with benches along the fuselage and a closed-in supplies bay aft. Michael got his people strapped in. Their faces were grim. For everyone in Gull Two, except Michael, Kari and Nik, it was a first drop.

  A moment later their stomachs lurched with the impulse of thrusters pushing them out of the bowels of Belsus and into the vacuum above Emerson. Leaving their rotating home after days in orbit, they were suddenly weightless again, and there was a muffled groan from one of the scientists. There were no portholes to give them an outside view, and it was hot and humid in the cargo bay within minutes.

  At the sound of the Gull’s triangular wings deploying for atmospheric entry, Michael unstrapped himself and went forward to climb the ladder leading to the cockpit. He knocked on the closed door there. “Queal,” he said, and the door opened. There were three more unfamiliar faces: pilot, co-pilot and gunnery officer. Above the control panels a meter-high observing screen enveloped the cockpit. To the right, on the black velvet of space, Belsus was a flickering star, while straight ahead black turned to violet and then deep blue. As he watched, the curving horizon of an emerald green globe came into view, and the gunnery officer gestured to an empty chair beside him. “Better strap yourself in, Major. It’ll be a little bumpy for a while.”

  Michael strapped himself in and watched the forward screen. There were wispy, white clouds over shades of green and blue. It was a watery world. His stomach sank as the Gull’s wings bit into the thickening atmosphere. The craft shuddered for several minutes before steadying, and they were sailing in lazy, descending loops towards a dead-stick landing on the surface. Gull One was far ahead of them by now, going in under power and deploying wings at ten kilometers above the approximate landing site. He thought of Krisha standing before her observing screen, waiting for a flash of light, a puff of smoke that might indicate hostile fire. Her orders were clear. A hostile response would be instantly met with all the firepower her Gull could bring to bear. One way or another, they were going in, and although he was not a practicing New Christian, Michael prayed silently to whatever power had brought the human race this far that the landing would be a peaceful, uneventful happening. The image on the screen showed a pristine planet, unspoiled. This was no place for war.

  “Landing area coming into view, sir,” said the pilot. “Lansen, gunnery system to power, and clear the Gatlings.”

  The fingers of the young man next to Michael played the keys of a control board, and there was a brief shudder as the Gatlings fired a short burst of armor-piercing rounds into space. “Green board, sir,” he said.

  Michael unstrapped himself, and stepped up behind the pilot.

  “There it is, sir, just coming up on the lower left. Security is over the drop zone, now. You’ll need these, sir.” The pilot handed a headset to Michael as the Gull made another, descending turn.

  Michael put the headset on in time to hear Krisha say, “—boats spread out all over the bay. Looks like a fishing fleet. There’s a village on the shore ahead. Copy coordinates 39-30-3-40-21-2.”

  “I copy,” said Michael’s pilot.

  “We’re being scanned, but nothing hostile yet. I’ve called twice on three-oh-seven, but nobody’s answering. I don’t think we’re gonna get any help from these guys. Over.”

  “See any clearings, Captain?” said Michael.

  “No, sir. The village is in a bowl at shore edge, and there’s heavy growth down to the beach. Scattered houses, look like stone, a white tower on a hillock just east, and it’s—yes, that’s it. We just passed the tower, and the scanning power peaked. Maybe a homing signal, sir, for all those boats we saw. Heading inland, now, then back to shore. Didn’t see a single person in the village. Very quiet.”

  “Try to find a clearing near the village, and close to shore. I want our backs to the water.

  “Yes, sir. Turning, now. Scattered houses—dense forest and steep hills down there—one clearing—too small, though—water ahead, and—we’re coming over a plateau, sir. Pretty high—steep drop to the beach, a couple of klicks west of the village. Looks good, sir. Request permission to land.”

  “Granted, Captain, but wait until we’re in view to set up a perimeter, and keep your power up.”

  “Done, sir. Going in, now. Over.”

  A hiss replaced Krisha’s voice in the headset. They
waited expectantly as the pilot sailed towards coordinates 39-30-3-40-21-2, the sea below them smooth at first, and then rippling, dark splotches appearing beneath the waters. Clear water became shallower, and then ahead of them boats appeared, spread out in two long arcs, colorful sails taut. Michael flinched as a warbling tone suddenly came from the headset.

  “Beacon, sir. They’re down and deploying.”

  “Here we go, then,” said Michael. He stepped back to the cockpit door and opened it. “Everyone buckle up! We’re coming in. Everything is looking good so far.”

  The pilot turned left and trimmed so that the wings were in a para-sail configuration, and they were floating slowly west along the shoreline. A white tower jutted from the forest to their right, and then they saw the plateau dead ahead, a formidable-looking cliff dropping to a sandy beach. Gull One was fifty meters back from the drop-off, stirring up dust, maws opening fore and aft, and tiny figures were running down the forward ramp and fanning out in all directions. A cargo pod rolled down the aft ramp and instantly the maws were closing, the Gull rising in a yellow cloud and veering towards them, passing to their left at high speed and wiggling wings in greeting.

  They came in to float ten meters above the precipice and landed with a gentle thump. Michael descended the ladder to the cargo bay. “Up and on! Everyone out in ten seconds and spread out in a line fifty meters from the flyer. Move!”

  Light flooded the bay, there was fresh air, and they were running down the ramp. Michael led them. His feet felt thick grass and solid ground for the first time in eighteen years, and a gentle breeze brushed his face. He was startled by sudden exhilaration. He ran hard, heard the thump of the cargo pod being discharged, the whine of turbines. “Flank left!” he shouted over a shoulder, and pointed. When he turned around, Gull Two was already hovering meters above them, maws snapping shut. Hot wind hit his face as the craft drifted out over the beach and began to rise, engines screaming. In seconds it was a speck disappearing into a light blue, morning sky.