Starfist: A World of Hurt (12 page)

"Gunnery Sergeant, dismiss the company."

"Aye aye, sir." Thatcher saluted and held it even after Conorado returned it. He didn't cut until the Skipper walked away.

"All right," he addressed the company, "don't anybody ask me who the 'distinguished visitor' is, I can't tell you what I don't know. Reveille will be at oh-dark-thirty, so you'll have time to chow down before we leave. Platoon sergeants, taps is in forty-five minutes. Make sure your troops are bedded down, I don't want any sleeping beauties missing the flight out of here in the morning.

"COMP-ney, dis-MISSED!"

A hundred kilometers east of Olympia a blue-backed yort fled for its life. Its spindly legs seemed to ricochet off the ground, sending it in a different, unexpected direction with every bound. The pursuing storkatt didn't always guess right at the yort's direction changes and wasn't able to close on its prey. But the predator was determined, and knew it had strength and speed to outmatch the yort's endurance and unpredictability. When the antelopelike animal bounded, its lithe body had to go between branches and bushes, between tree trunks and treelings. The bigger, stronger storkatt could easily crash through the bushes and brush the branches and treelings aside; if necessary, in hot pursuit, it could carom off the tree trunks.

Fliers flapped their wings to gain perches safely above the ground-bound high-speed chase; long-limbed tree dwellers scampered higher, out of reach of the catlike animal. Other prey animals had already scattered to safer environs, leaving their fleeing brothers and cousins to make the sacrifice that would save them all for another day.

The storkatt's determination began to turn the tide, and the blue-backed yort felt the predator's hot breath on its rapidly contracting and expanding haunches, felt the ground tremble with each impact of its pursuer's feet. Desperate before, now the yort panicked and raced uphill, and its legs ricocheted it through a screen of dangling branches--

--and over the edge of an unseen drop. The yort bleated in terror as it bounced down the steep slope, skidding and flipping. Behind it, the storkatt saw the yort unexpectedly fall from sight and jinked into a slender tree trunk to help it stop before it too might fall. The catlike animal shuddered and
whoofed
at the sudden pain caused by its aided stop, then bounded to where the yort had disappeared. It saw its dinner struggling to its feet far below, looked about for a way down but didn't see anything that looked safe. The storkatt screamed in frustration, then turned about and stomped angrily away to find another dinner to chase down.

The blue-backed yort shakily regained its feet. The fur of its sides was scraped down to the abraded hide in places, and it was copiously bruised, but no bones were broken or tendons sprung. Timorously, it looked back up where it had come from, but the storkatt wasn't following--the yort heard the predator's cries recede as it went in search of other prey.

Saved, its chest heaved and legs trembled as its body labored to regain its breath, to quell its terror. It took a few tentative steps toward the forest that stood a few bounds in front of it and felt strength and steadiness return. It calmly walked into the safety of the trees, where it found many strange things to see and smell, but familiar ones as well. There, dangling from a low-hanging branch, was food. It took two confident steps and stretched its neck out to nibble at the succulent fruit. The fruit's juice reminded the yort it was thirsty after its energy-expending flight. It listened for the sound of water bubbling in a brook and heard it.

Moments later it stood lapping its fill.

Fully refreshed, the blue-backed yort lifted its head and sniffed the air, twitched its ears from side to side and front to back, listening. It scented no predators. That was good.

Neither did it scent its own kind, which was strange, since the forest was where its kind lived. Nor did sound carry a hint of predators, which was equally odd. No fliers flapped their wings, or glided bough-to-bough, nor did tree-clamberers screech from above.

Then another dangling fruit caught its eye and it went to feed anew.

The yort was halfway through the second fruit when an unexpected sound caused its ears to perk up. It whuffled at the air but smelled nothing threatening. There was another sound, and it began to turn its head to look for the source, but it looked too late and never saw the streamer of greenish fluid that arced through the air and splashed across its body. The blue-backed yort bleated in agony and bucked to the side, but was splashed by another arc of greenish fluid. It dropped to its knees, bleating...

No Unexplained Expiration report was ever filed on that incident. After all, it was just a blue-backed yort, not a human being. Nobody had looked for it and nobody knew how it had died.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Send her in," Admiral Joseph K.C.B. Porter, Chief of Naval Operations, snarled when his aide opened his office door and announced that the officer he'd sent for had arrived. He didn't bother to look up from his console.

Captain Wilma Arden marched smartly to a spot two meters in front of the CNO's desk and stood at attention. "Captain Arden reporting as ordered, sir!" she said as smartly as she'd marched. On the outside she was as calm and determined as a navy captain should be. On the inside she was quaking so badly that she wondered if she'd be able to survive the meeting without collapsing. Certainly, she'd reported to any number of admirals in the past--she'd once harbored dreams of becoming an admiral herself. She'd even met the CNO before, as well as his predecessor.

But this was the first time she'd ever been ushered into an admiral's presence under armed guard.

Admiral Porter ignored her for a few moments while he read through the Colonial Development, Population Control, and Xenobiological Studies report one more time. He'd caught reference to acid the first time he read the report. Unlike everybody else who'd read the report, he hadn't heard a rumor, but rather, he
knew
about the hostile aliens and their acid guns. Finally, he looked up at Arden and fixed her with a glare like a mad entomologist holding a pin over a still living butterfly. She barely noticed when he flicked his fingers in dismissal to her armed guards.

He swiveled his console so she could see what it showed. "Where did you get this?"

She glanced at the console and recognized the report. "One of my people, sir. Lieutenant Commander Gullkarl." She swallowed.

Porter looked past her to his aide, who was standing at parade rest in front of the closed door. "Get him."

"Aye aye, sir." The aide snapped to attention, then opened the door only far enough to slip through. He closed it firmly behind him.

Porter returned his glare to Arden. "Tell me everything you know about this, and why you thought it was worth taking to Admiral Sung."

She had to swallow before she could speak. "Sir, it says something about acid damage to the remains. I heard a rumor..." Her face flushed. Now that she was facing the CNO, it all seemed so ridiculous.

"Speak up, Captain. I don't have all day. What was the rumor?"

"Aye aye, sir." She cleared her throat. "Sir, I heard a rumor that aliens have invaded several outlying worlds. They were armed with weapons that shot acid. I know," she continued hastily, "that's not possible, there aren't any aliens, but there must be some truth in there somewhere. Maybe one of the worlds has developed a new weaponry and has embarked on a campaign of conquest. If that's so..." Her voice trailed off again.

"Yes?"

"Sir, if one of the Confederation worlds has begun attacking its neighbors, the navy needs to know when they strike again, because we'll most likely be called on to do something, whether it's fight the attackers or otherwise protect Confederation interests. That's why I took it to Admiral Sung, sir."

Porter leaned back in his chair and drummed the fingers of one hand on his desk while his eyes continued to bore through Arden. After a moment he stopped drumming and asked softly, "So you think the idea of hostile aliens armed with acid guns and rail guns is ridiculous, do you?"

"Yessir." She hoped her voice didn't sound as girlish to the CNO as it did to her. And what was that about rail guns?

He sat up straight and planted both hands on his desktop. "Well, Captain, you managed to stumble across the first uncontrolled piece of evidence I've seen on these hostile aliens.

You now know about something that's so secret
I'm
barely cleared to know about it."

"Sir?" This time she was positive her voice squeaked.

"What do you think would happen if knowledge of a hostile alien sentience became public knowledge?"

"Sir?"

"Yes, Virginia, there really is a Santa Claus."

She blinked, not understanding the arcane reference.

"Captain, on two different occasions in the past few years, Confederation Marines have engaged in combat against an implacable alien sentience that seems bent on, if not conquest, at least annihilation of
H. sapiens.
"

"Ohmygod."

"Oh my God is right. Can you imagine the public's reaction if that became public knowledge?"

"There would be panic, sir."

Porter nodded slowly. "That's why their existence is one of the most tightly held military secrets in the Confederation."

"Yessir. I understand, sir."

"Good. Then you understand the decision you have to make."

"Decision, sir?"

"Yes. We can't risk having this get out. I will give you your choice, Captain. Darkside or permanent assignment to the CNSS
Grandar Bay.
"

Arden staggered, but managed to regain her balance and stiffen herself. Darkside, the penal colony from which no one ever returned, or--

"Sir, the
Grandar Bay
was lost."

"Have you heard any rumors to the contrary?"

"Nossir."

"Good." He smiled. At least something was working right. "We want everyone to believe the
Grandar Bay
was lost." He almost smiled at her shocked expression. "The
Grandar Bay
was involved in a major campaign against the aliens on a world that is now quarantined. It has been marked in the records as lost in Beamspace, and its crew is frozen. None of them will leave that ship for the duration." The
Grandar Bay
was the Crowe-class amphibious battle cruiser that carried the Marines of 34th Fleet Initial Strike Team to the outlying world called Kingdom.

"Sir?"

"We can't afford to have anybody who has had contact with these aliens to ever have contact with the Confederation's general population. You know about them now, so the same goes for you. What's your choice, Captain? Darkside or the
Grandar Bay?
"

"The
Grandar Bay,
sir," she said without hesitation.

"Good! That's the response I expect from a navy officer. You're not married, are you? No children? No 'significant other'? No one with powerful political or news connections who can cause major problems if you vanish without explanation? Good." He didn't wait for answers because he knew them before he asked the questions. "Don't worry, you won't be alone on your new assignment. Gullkarl will be going with you. Unless he chooses Darkside."

He touched a button on his desk. "Send them back in."

The door opened and the two armed guards entered.

"Take her to segment Alfa."

"Aye aye, sir." The guards--one a lieutenant commander, the other a very burly master chief petty officer--flanked Captain Arden and marched her from Admiral Porter's office.

They didn't know where she was going once they delivered her to the prisoner transit office, all they knew was she wasn't to speak to anybody--including them.

They passed Lieutenant Commander Gullkarl in the corridor. He recalled the horrified look Arden gave him when he stood before Admiral Porter. He had made the same choice Arden had.

Himan Birkenstock and Tarah Shiskanova, as civilians, weren't given the choice. They were quietly taken on their way to work the next morning and shipped to Darkside. Their families were told they'd been killed in a freak traffic accident, their bodies burned beyond recognition.

Once he was sure that everyone in the Heptagon who knew about the Unexplained Expiration reports from Maugham's Station had been identified and safely removed from circulation, Admiral K.C.B. Porter leaned back and pondered his next move. He hadn't known about the incidents until Vice Admiral Sung, Assistant CNO for Weapons R&D, under whose auspices the Directorate for Orbital Weaponry Assessment and Evaluation fell, brought the Unexplained Expiration Reports to his attention. Sung knew about the Skinks and their weapons; he was responsible for R&D into countering and duplicating the alien weaponry.

Of course, Porter knew he had to take the matter to the Combined Chiefs. Otherwise he risked being accused of overreaching his authority in shipping two civilians to Darkside. But if the Skinks were on Maugham's Station, he had to take action
immediately,
not when the Combined Chiefs got around to doing something about it. He pushed a button on his desk.

"Yessir," his aide-de-camp responded immediately.

"Give my compliments to Commandant Aguinaldo. Tell him I would be pleased if he could receive me in, say, half an hour." That was how long it would take for him to get from his Heptagon office to his landcar, and be driven from there to the Headquarters, Marine Corps, complex elsewhere in Fargo, the capital city of the Confederation of Human Worlds.

"Aye aye, sir."

Thirty-one minutes later he was ushered into the office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps.

"Ken." Aguinaldo was already standing next to his desk. He strode forward with hand extended.

"Andy." Porter shook his hand. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

"It's not every day a fellow member of the Combined Chiefs wants to drop in on me. Have a seat, please." As he led Porter to one of a pair of leather armchairs facing each other across a low table, Aguinaldo couldn't help notice how strained the CNO looked. "Can I offer you some refreshment? I'd offer coffee, but Marine Corps coffee isn't up to the standards of navy coffee." Navy coffee was reputedly used to scour old paint off starship hulls. "Would you settle for a glass of something potent in a different way? I happen to have an unopened bottle of Invergordon."