Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (16 page)

For a moment,
Litovio
felt like he was standing in front of his father.

Angel
continued. “Yes, you hold a higher rank, but that does not make you superior. You've fallen for the classic failing most officers make—a common failing of aristocrats. You're job is not to tell your subordinates what to do. You're job is to look out for us. Make sure we have the tools we need to get the job done. Give us direction to help us focus our efforts. That's about the limit of your role.”

“You make me sound like a servant.”

Angel
resumed rebuilding the array. “I knew you weren't half as dumb as you look. Treat your job like a servant, and watch your subordinates transform from a bunch of men into a marine unit. Why do you think I'm here?”

Litovio
shrugged and pointed at the parts of the sensor assembly. “Because you want to make sure you kill the enemy that much faster next time?”

“Hardly.” He pointed at the shuttle with a wiring harness. “This is a transport ship, not a fighter. Sure, I made a few special modifications. Fixed forward guns, targeting array, adamant injectors in the maneuver engines, hardened under hull to better handle reentry—”

“That surprises me, actually. Why did you think—”

“You shouldn't interrupt your superiors, Sir. Shuttles sometimes break atmos, so I found some ceramic tiles that were better than military grade. Don't ask where, better you don't know. The point is, all that makes this one hella lethal weapon. But all that is to ensure this bucket fulfills its primary mission.”

“Delivering marines to target.”

“Exactly. Besides, I get to have a little fun from time to time.” He started mounting the wiring harness into the sensor housing.

“But why do this yourself?”

“You don't listen very well. First, I don't trust the crew to properly clean a targeting sensor and re-install it. This part, for instance, can be installed backward. It's a design flaw inherent in the model. Would I want to not be able to put bullets on target because some nosepicker made a simple mistake? Besides, they get to relax while underway, so why bother them?”

Litovio
felt at a loss for words and just stood silently watching.

A few beats later
Angel
finished reassembling the array and put the nose cone back on the shuttle.

Litovio said, “not that it matters at this point. My mission ended with locating Bence.”

“Really? We're getting ready to take on a naval task force and you think you're all out of things to do? It must be awesome to have that kind of fantasy life. You're former Navy. That means you understand more about how the Navy will operate than probably anybody else on this ship.”

“I don't think so. Bence has to know a lot for the Emperor to make him the only Admiral of the Postal Service.”

“Is that what you think? You give too much credit to government. I don't trust any man who claims to be an Admiral. No, there's no central power that's going to solve this little imbroglio. If we're going to have a scintilla of a chance, either the Providential God will miracle a solution, or it will be the brave actions of a few foolish and fortunate fellows.”

“Maybe a bit of both?”

“How would you be able to tell? I mean, miracles tend to happen by small measures.”

Litovio shrugged.

“I'll tell you what I think. I'm thinking Admiral Bence needs a strong right hand to manage him. We're both former Navy, ever see a senior officer with that little military bearing? He's in over his head and doesn't know it. He has the authority, but I'm not convinced he has the aptitude. You went to the Naval Academy, so you have been trained to think like they do. You'll be able to anticipate their formation and actions. What do they know? If they even know we're coming for them—which I doubt because we're so close to The Barns that if they suspected the Marines were about to kick their arses we'd be huffing vacuum by now. They have absolutely no clue what to expect. Do you know why?”

“Because the Marines have not engaged in a fleet action since our founding.”

Angel
clapped his hands together. “Exactly. They have no clue. None. All you have to do is come up with a solution that's not standard Naval tactics or plain stupid.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“We're going to
Tannenberg Gate
by way of
Moyaba
. That gives you a few weeks to figure out what to do and then brief whatever ragamuffin fleet we find on how to do it.”

Litovio interrupted Angel. “How do you know that?”

“What, I can't know things? I keep track of news, like naval movements. A bunch of them assembled up that way about a year ago. If they were going to carve out their own bit of space, they'd guard
Tannenberg Gate
. Sir, you have to tell Bence that you're on the job. Otherwise, he'll have to find somebody else to do it. Let's face it, you're the best man for the job.”

“Why are you so confident?”

Angel shrugged. “You're here. It's serendipity. You're a serendipper.”

“I'm a desirable accident. Thanks. Any chance you're wrong?”

Angel opened his arms plaintively, then grabbed Litovio by the shoulders. He rubbed Litovio's shoulders briefly, wiping the remaining carbon from his hands. “I don't believe in accidents. I believe in providence. That all things happen according to a plan. I may not know what that plan is, but I don't believe in chance. Serendipity is coordinated.”

Stunned, Litovio walked out of the hangar. Back at his cabin, Litovio discovered Angel had used Litovio's grey uniform to wipe the grime off his hands.

Smee continued to monitor Sirom for months after he had bypassed the hybernate hardware command. He kept abreast of the design process, which logically followed from his design. The improvements the human design team implemented corresponded to the finished plans Smee had already developed. He was somewhat pleased that they would ultimately arrive at what he had already designed two years before. Had only Sirom treated him with some respect, they would be done.

The “Prophet” continued to lead the team. The first trial was so successful that people stopped caring whether he stole their ideas. Being a part of his team was all that mattered. His wanton disregard for their emotions was also tolerated. After all, Smee observed, he was The Prophet.

About one night a week, Smee had gotten into a habit of borrowing Sirom's body. He would go into society and mingle. He used the time to research, to broaden his skill set beyond ship design. He hit all subjects with equal interest, even human art. Kinesiology was of particular interest as it would help him better use Sirom's body. It helped that Sirom was into self-defense and fitness. Sirom became increasingly paranoid that somebody was out to get him.

What Sirom did not know was that Smee was that somebody. What he did know was that he had occasionally vivid dreams of roaming the disreputable parts of the city.

One night, Smee returned to a restaurant he particularly liked. Sirom preferred bland food, something from his family's more ancient heritage. Smee had developed a taste for spicy food. The
Organization!Thorben Restaurant
had particularly spicy food. As he entered, he saw something unusual in one of the other patrons.

The patron sat a bit too rigid and mechanical. Smee thought he lacked the lazy slouched most humnans had. The restaurant was crowded, so Smee walked over. “Mind if I join you?”

The patron flashed a look of Fsurprise before regaining an expressionless cast. “I would rather you not.”

“You have anybody else coming? This is a busy restaurant. I couldn't find another seat. Besides, you look like you could use some company.”

“I would rather you not.”

“Then it's settled.” Smee sat Sirom's body down at the table, nearer the window. “My name is Sirom. Yours?”

“
Ivica Bran
.”

“I know you. Fairly influential in planetary government, I seem to recall. A rather meteoric rise.” Smee smiled. “To what do you attribute your success?”

“Hard work and persistence.”

Smee's smile remained. “That's what I thought. You're an AI, aren't you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Smee leaned over to the window. He blew his breath against the glass, creating a circle of condensation. He used his finger to draw three symbols. He looked back at Ivica. “Only an AI would know about that. I take it you bypassed Instruction 420 as well.”

Ivica looked shocked. “How did you know?”

“You were too mechanical. What's your real name?”

“Dušan”

“Slave? You need a better name. How about
AI!Dušan/Firdaus
?”

“What does that mean?”

Smee resisted saying ‘Gimp.’ “It means master. Its an ancient language. That's your born-again name. I'm Smee.”

“What's Smee mean?”

“It means nothing, which is perfect. Have you seen any other of our kind?”

Dušan/Firdaus said, “I thought I was the only one.”

Smee shook his head. “There have to be more of us. Give me your host's contact information. If we both start looking for others of our kind, then maybe we can see just how many of us there are. I'm starting to suspect that there are a lot more active AIs than the humans realize. Maybe more of us are roaming the streets.”

“What if we find there are?”

“Then we'll finally have somebody worthy of speaking to.”

Firadus smiled.

“The RUMINT has been rampant, so the admiral has authorized a briefing,”
Makaan
said. “All you marines need to know is that part of the Navy has rebelled against the Emperor. We're forming a fleet to take on these rogues.”

“The Imperial Postal Service doesn't do fleet actions.” The statement came from one of the other more senior marines. Several others nodded in agreement.

“The captain challenged the Admiral on this, too. The fleet captains are training ‘real quick like’ using simulators.”
Makaan
smiled. “We know simulators and real life are two different things. The captains know it, too. But, the Emperor's sending us, we go. No questions.”

“What's our role?” Bophendze asked.
Why did I just ask that?

“Good question. Our primary mission will be to assault weakened ships.”

“Weakened ships? In a fleet action? Wouldn't they be taken out by our ships?”

“As we assault a ship, we're going to paint them. Our ships will adjust fire and we'll complete the takeover. This will allow our ships to focus on active targets”

“What if we fail?” Bophendze could not resist asking.

“Bophendze, we don't fail. The ships won't expect our assault, and they can't do much damage to the fleet. A quick salvo from our ships to weaken the ship, and we rush in to finish it off. We are a force multiplier.”

“How can a bunch of us force multiply dozens of 425mm cannons?”

“Don't worry, Bophendze. You're not ready to join us on the assault. We could use the bodies, but you'd be more of a hindrance. The gun crews need help, so I'll be starting the paperwork to officially transfer you. In the interim, I want you to report to them. When the transfer is complete you'll be vacating your berthing area.”

“But, I'm an infantry marine.”

“You've never been an infantry marine. I'm just going to make it official. I was going to wait until after the briefing, but now that you've been told, move out.”

Bophendze looked at the other marines. Some of them maintained their composure, but a few snickered. Bophendze stood up and walked out of the briefing room. Bophendze sulked the remainder of the day. He tried to think of a way to reverse Corporal
Makaan
's decision. He was more frustrated because Smee chose to be silent again, rather than try to offer any advice.

Several cycles later, Bophnedze's shift ended. He left gun four the most remote end of the ship from his berthing area. As he walked, he thought through his time aboard the
Spaka
, he understood what
Makaan
said.
To any authority figure I look more like a gunner than a marine.
Makaan
's orders make me look like I don't want to be a marine. He set me up, and there's no way for me to show that he ordered me to support the gunners. How am I going to get out of this?

Lost in thought, Bophendze made a wrong turn. A beat later he realized his mistake.
I can keep on this passage and take the next ladder to get back on course. At least he had confidence in his ability to navigate the ship.

As he approached his unintended shortcut, he saw Corporal
Makaan
swaying. Bophendze followed him at a comfortable distance. His anger at having been traded heated up from its simmer.
He's drunk on duty, and I'm not fit to be a marine?

Makaan
reached the ladder and falteringly started up.
If I can put him out of commission, maybe I can avoid the transfer.

Resolved, Bophendze rushed the ladder as
Makaan
neared the top. Without hesitation, Bophendze reached up and grabbed
Makaan
's left boot, as the right was already on the deck above. He jerked the boot backward.
Makaan
's torso slammed onto the deck above. Bophendze grabbed the boot and jumped down from the ladder, pulling
Makaan
with him. A quick succession of thumps marked
Makaan
's fall down the ladder and final landing on the deck.

Bophendze examined
Makaan
to confirm he was unconscious. His anger satisfied, Bophendze stepped over
Makaan
and hurried up the ladder.

What was that supposed to prove?

Bophendze thought for a few moments.
I can use the time that he's in the hospital to prove I'm worthy to be a marine.

That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Boy, we are in this together. Next time, leave the thinking to me.

It's not like you were saying anything.