Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (34 page)

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Authors: Jean Johnson

BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
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The voice of her teammate wafted out of the head. “You know, I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. I know I can’t do a damn thing about it, but I just don’t get it. Why
you
? Why did
you
get the Lance Corporal rank fresh out of Basic? I’m up for review and promotion in just three more weeks! Why
you
, Ia—and what kind of name is ‘Ia’ anyway?”
“What kind of name is Estes?” Ia shot back, tucking the last weighted strap back into its carry case. She kept her tone light, not wanting to antagonize the other woman. “It’s just my name.”
“Yeah, but usually there’s more.” Swinging her upper body around the corner of the wall, she started to say more. Ia jumped back, startled by her teammate’s appearance.
The green goop on her face was unexpected. Nothing foreseen in the timestreams. Cut off by her sudden movement, the other corporal blinked, then blushed. Or rather, some of her face blushed, the parts uncoated by whatever-it-was Estes had smeared over her forehead, jawline, and chin.
“. . . I get acne if I don’t clean up right after I sweat, okay? It’s the late twenty-fifth century,” Estes added tartly, swinging back into the bathroom, “and you’d
think
modern medicine could come up with some sort of cure for pimples, but
noooo
. I even keep a jar of this stuff in my armor locker so I can pre-coat my face if it looks like we’ll be suited up for more than an hour. So. You got any bad habits, Ia? Aside from being promoted straight outta Basic? By the way, you have to take the top bunk. I don’t care if you outrank me, I have the seniority time-wise in this cabin, and I want the bottom one.”
“I prefer the top bunk, actually. I don’t like being touched when I sleep. Particularly when it’s unexpected.” The face-goop was unexpected. Ia didn’t like the unexpected. She cautiously probed the nearest fringes of the timestream, then offered a little bit more. “My only big ‘bad habit’ is writing a lot of letters. And . . . I sing.”
“What, like in the shower?” Estes asked, voice echoing once more from around the corner.
“Sometimes.” Fetching her writing materials from their locker, Ia hauled herself into the upper bunk. The ship swayed around them, undocking from the Battle Platform. They wouldn’t be back to the
Hum-Vee
for a good two weeks. They would, however, reach Battle Platform
Johannes
, which lay on the far side of their circuitous patrol route.
“Well, singing’s not so bad. It’s part of being a Marine and all. But if you sing off-key, I’ll have to shoot you.” Splashing noises followed, before Estes added, “Nothing personal. So just make sure you sing quietly, and keep the door shut.” She poked her head around the corner again, this time pink-scrubbed and damp around the edges of her hairline, making her brunette hair look even darker. “You’re also gonna have a hellish time convincing everyone in A Squad that you can lead us, fresh from Basic.”
Ia spread her hands in an eloquent shrug. “Blame the DoI. They actually thought I should be D’kora’s new platoon sergeant.”
Estes stared at her. “You’re
shakking
me.”
“Only if the Lieutenant was
shakking
me,” Ia returned. “He gave me the option. I pointed out I’d never get anyone to follow me, not fresh from Basic, so he made me the A Squad leader instead. His idea, not mine.”
“Yeah, but it’s up to you to pull it off.” Ducking back inside briefly, she did something in the head, then came out again. “Where’d you put your gym stuff?”
“Laundry bag, in the locker by the head.” Her own ablutions had been quick, a wipe down with a damp cloth and a change of clothes were all Ia needed to freshen up at this point.
Estes opened it up briefly, eyeing the mesh bag. “Not quite enough to go to the sonics yet. I’ve filled it up twice by myself, since . . . Corporal Suvrapati was a good woman. A good Marine.”
Since there wasn’t anything Ia could say, she kept her mouth shut and focused on typing her next letter to the future. There were only so many minutes in a day she could spare for these precognitive directives, and far too many years they had to cover.
 
 
AUGUST 2, 2490 T.S.
DEEP SPACE, NOT FAR FROM THE GLIESE 253 SYSTEM
 
A sandwich was a deceptively simple thing. Layered of meat, greens, sauces and sprouts, a slice of cheese and two of bread, it represented a complete meal, save only for something to drink. Which Ia had yet to consume, being a glass of orange juice. The Navy crewmembers assigned to feed the Marines on board the
Liu Ji
made simple fare, but they made it well, with ingredients assembled as fresh as modern transportation and a small hydroponics garden could manage to procure. In fact, she had two sandwiches, which was appropriate given her daily caloric requirements as a heavyworlder.
There was just one problem.
“You gonna eat that?” The question came from the lead private of Delta team, Harry Soyuez, affectionately known as “Ticker” by his fellow squad mates. Why, Ia didn’t know. Given his fondness for food, she would’ve thought “Tucker” would have been a more appropriate nickname. How he kept his figure, she didn’t know, either, other than perhaps though the route of spending plenty of time in the ship’s gym.
Since she couldn’t confess the real reason, Ia shook her head and pushed the tray with its plate of sandwiches and glass of juice away from herself. The ship’s alarm blared just as he reached for it, making the man jump in reaction, as if the sandwich was the cause.
“Attention, all personnel. This is Captain Davanova. We have received a distress call from a Gatsugi merchanter, and are altering route at best speed. ETA is forty-five minutes. Ferrar’s Fighters will be briefed by Lieutenant Ferrar in the lower boardroom in five minutes.”
“You heard the Captain. Lock and web—take care of your dishes—then lock and load,” Ia ordered her tablemates, grabbing her tray and rising from her spot on the bench. “You have four minutes, forty seconds to get to the briefing.”
Leaving them to handle their own half-eaten meals, she carried her tray back to the serving line and offered it to the nearest of the three Navy men working in the galley.
“Can you put this in the fridge for me? I’ll be back for it later,” Ia added.
“No problem. If it’s gonna be a fight, better not to go in with a full stomach. Or a full bladder,” the crewman quipped, taking the tray away.
A hand clapped her on the shoulder. Had she been lightworlder-dense, it might have staggered her, but Double-E didn’t even rock her physically. His words were meant to rock her mentally. “If it’s a fight, what makes you think
you’ll
be coming back for that? You’re raw meat—no offense, of course, Corporal. But you’ve never been in combat.”
“None taken.” Slipping out from under his fingers, Ia headed for the boardroom. “Lock and load, Private. Make sure
you
survive, if this comes to a fight.”
The lower boardroom wasn’t far. The upper boardroom was big enough to hold almost the entire ship’s complement, which she knew from studying the ship’s schematics, but the lower one was just large enough for their Company.
Shaped like a small auditorium, the cushioned seats lining the room came with restraint straps and could be used as acceleration couches if needed. They faced a broad table at which the platoon’s cadre could sit, and a quartet of screens on the back wall, a large primary one, two secondaries to either side, and a narrow one along the top, all of which could stream information for whomever needed to view it.
Claiming one of the seats in the front row, Ia waited as the others filed in and took whatever chairs they wanted. The 3rd Platoon had been asleep when the call came through; most of them were fully dressed, but some were still dragging bootlaces and looking like they needed a cup of caf’ to wake up. Ferrar and his three platoon lieutenants entered with the last few to trickle inside. Everyone stood out of respect.
“At Ease. Sit down,” he added as soon as he reached the head table, dismissing them back into their seats. “Here’s the situation. The comm officers have received a distress broadcast from a Gatsugi merchant vessel, the
Clearly-Standing
. They had enough time to report their location, dead-stop in an ice field, and that they were under attack from another vessel, but that was it. From the way the signal was cut off, either their hyperrelay dishes were damaged, or the enemy in question is working with the criminal elements intent on circumventing the Blockade. If they are, we are under standing orders to find their jamming equipment and bring it back intact. Which means the Marines will be going in on this one, and not sitting back so the Navy can take their usual potshots.”
A touch of his command wrist unit, twice as long as the standard issue one Ia and the other Marines wore, called an image to the main screen. Chunks of grey, barely lit ice filled the screen, floating slowly in space. The left-hand screen lit up with a view of the galactic plane, showing the time-frozen whorl of stars forming the Milky Way. One of those pinpoints of light had a circle around it
“This is NGC Ceti Ceti, a star system on the zenith leeward edge of the Vela Ridge, at the border of Terran/Gatsugi space. It is also on the far edge of long-range for flights from Salik space. Because of this, patrols sweep through here twice a day, including us. Normally, we’d be arriving on the other side of the system. And while there are plans to build an official refueling station in the system within the next three years, since the ice fields in the seventh orbit make it an ideal refueling stop . . . well, budgets are budgets, particularly when it comes to intergovernment budgets, and budgets don’t budge very much.
“Currently, it is most commonly used by those long-range ships carrying the right equipment for midflight ice skimming, or by ships who are willing to stop, grapple, and haul on board chunks of ice for processing into purified hydrofuel. Most ships can usually make it from port to port without having to stop, but a few of the shipping lanes do route awkwardly enough that a midflight stop can be considered justified by some captains. For whatever reason or need,” Ferrar stated, “the
Clearly-Standing
decided to stop and take on fuel. That’s when they ran into trouble.”
“Sir.” The interruption came from the 3rd Platoon leader, Lt. Nguyen. He showed Lt. Ferrar something on his wrist unit, and the Lieutenant nodded. Nguyen transferred it to the right-hand screen.
“Lt. Nguyen is relaying ship schematics received from the Gatsugi government regarding the ship class which the
Clearly-Standing
is registered under. There may be differences, as merchanters like to rearrange things internally,” Ferrar warned them, dipping his head in wry acknowledgement, “particularly as time and patchwork repairs take their toll. Be mindful when boarding. There’s no telling what damage their attackers have done at this stage, nor how fragile the ship’s hull may be. We do know there was a second ship involved, but whether the Gatsugi came upon them unexpectedly or whether they decided to ambush the next merchant freighter in the system, we can’t say.
“We don’t have much more information than that, but we will know at least a little more as soon as we come into the system. Updates will be scrolled to your mech HUDs. We could be dealing with a crippled hulk, a tail- or a tow-chase, two ships still dogging each other in combat, or two ships grappled together.” Another tap of his wrist unit changed the main screen to a computer-projected view of the last known coordinates for the Gatsugi freighter. “We’ll be coming in at system nadir, same as the most plausible plotted vector for the
Clearly-Standing
, but skimming the disc from the other direction.
“Captain Davanova says we’ll be coming in within ten minutes’ insystem flight from their coordinates, but no closer than five; navigation will have one minute thirty from the moment we hit the system’s far edge to determine how close we can safely get. There’s no way of telling if these attackers have damaged, destroyed, or altered the navigation beacons in the system, though the
Clearly-Standing
should have reported any discrepancies within minutes of entering the system, so I doubt their attackers took the time to alter the projections. Regardless, expect it to be a bumpy flight, particularly if the unknowns are still in the system and not grappled to the freighter. They may take objection to the Space Force’s presence.
“3rd Platoon, you’re on prep and standby for this fight; get some rest while you can, but no falling asleep at your post. 1st and 2nd, you’ll be our boarding parties this time around. Lt. Cheung is more familiar with Gatsugi ships and their layouts than Lt. D’kora, so his team will board the merchanter. If there is an enemy vessel, D’kora and the 2nd will take them on. If not, you’ll be backup to the 1st. Your two platoons will suit up in full, and be ready to seal up and move out as soon as we know it’s a boarding situation, if it is. Lock and web, lock and load. You have less than thirty minutes. Dismissed.”
Bodies scrambled out of their seats. Rather than wade through the crowd heading for the two exits, Ia remained in place, studying the schematic of the Gatsugi ship. A hand came down on her shoulder from over the top of her seat.
“Scared, Corporal?” Double-E asked her.
“You just might break your hand if you keep doing that.” Slipping out from under his palm, she stood and faced him. Most of A Squad was still there, clustered in the seats behind her. Guichi and Cooper had gone on ahead, along with Estes, but Double-E, Harkins, Ticker and Estradille, Knorrsson and his teammate Hooke were all there. All of them eyeing her like a combination vidshow and meat counter. “Is there a reason why you aren’t eager to follow the Lieutenant’s commands?”

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