The Myriad: Tour of the Merrimack #1 (29 page)

“Alone. As you left her the first time. Except this time, she knows she was loved.”

Blue eyes turned up to the overhead. “Ah, shit, Jose Maria. Next chance. As soon as we get out of this one. I’m going home and stealing that gal away from whoever’s got her.”

Kerry toyed with the short springy hairs of Steele’s chest. Trapped a few golden coils between her fingers. “I’m coming back as a blonde in my next life,” she said.

The blond meadow heaved under her hand with Steele’s snort. He didn’t open his eyes. “Just don’t do it in this life. I like your hair.”

Kerry grinned, parked her chin on his chest, peered across the meadow to his face. He looked younger with his eyes shut, all his facial muscles relaxed.

The two lay in a pleasantly tired tangle, enjoying the press of damp skin. Steele’s heart thudded slowly under her chin. Sounds from the rest of the ship were noisily peaceful, engines, voices, the whap of balls on the squash court—probably Farragut because there was a whole lot of spectator noise. Men hooting like a baboon troop. There were always plenty of side bets when the captain was on the court, lots of money on the table, lucky pieces changing hands, someone drinking out of a shoe. Voices rose expectantly, fell away laughing. All was right aboard
Merrimack
.

Except that Flight Sergeant Blue was sleeping with her CO. And that seemed right, too, at the moment.

The ship’s spirits had bounced after the memorial service for the dead. John Farragut had been amazing. Could keep his dignity in tears. He sent their comrades on their way with words of glory, words for each by name. The service took four hours. You didn’t notice the time passing. He had you laughing and crying. And at the end of it,
Merrimack
felt whole.

“Everybody’s talking about what they’d do differently. You know, if we can go back in time and change what we did.”

Steele’s eyes stayed shut. Voice sleepy. Not so much interested in what was being said as the simple act of talking to her. “So what are you thinking of changing, Marine? And it better not be your hair.”

“I’d tell Dak not to turn his back on that gorgon. I’d tell Cowboy not to be such a dick and just fly his Swift forward.”

That opened his eyes. “You would bring
him
back to life?”

“Yeah. So I could kick his balls inboard. I’ll never get to do that now. That lying, cheating, rat bastard. How ’bout you?”

“How ’bout me what?” He was not going to wish Cowboy back for any reason. Liked Cowboy fine as he was. Dead.

“What would you do different?”

He grunted, didn’t answer.

Kerry changed topic, quick as a butterfly changing flowers. “Did that count as one furball or two?”

“Did what count? Those two swarms we just hit? That was two. Why?”

Kerry gave a merry wiggle against him. “I just ticked over lucky thirteen.”

Thirteen. The magic number of hand-to-hand encounters with the Hive, after which your survival rate takes an enormous leap.

Steele snugged her closer to him. “Good. Don’t get careless.”

“Yes, sir.” Kissed him. “How many have you been in?”

“How many what?”

“Furballs.”

“Thirty. Forty. I don’t know.”

“Well, hell, Thomas! You’re gonna live forever.”

“Workin’ on it.”

She suddenly remembered, and for the first time understood, one of the xenos trying to explain mocking-birds to her. That the boy mockingbird with the most stolen songs gets the girl. Because if he can sing the song of a hawk, it means he’s met the hawk and lived to tell about it.

She loved Thomas Ryder Steele for all his hawk songs.

Then he was asking her, “Got any interest in propulsion systems?”

“Me?”

“You see anybody else here?”

“I’m too dumb. Why?”

“You’re not dumb, Kerry Blue. Navvies lost most of their propulsion department.”

Marines were pretty much interchangeable. They all had the same basic head-bashing, straight-shooting skill sets. They’d all been trained in twenty-one different scenarios, and were making up more all the time. On top of that, Kerry was a Swift pilot. But if she pranged, they’d just bring another up from the Battery.

Navvies, on the other hand, navvies were smart. They were all excessively educated specialists. They held lofty-sounding ranks, but most of ’em were outside the chain of command. Civilians in uniform—that’s what they were. But they knew things. They were engineers.

Merrimack
was a long way from home, and there were no replacement engineers to be taken out of a box somewhere on board. If they wanted a trained engineer, they had to haul all the way back to Fort Ike and put in a request, or else they had to educate one right here.

“Sounds like what Reg wants,” said Kerry. Reg Monroe had only ever enlisted so she could go to college.

“I already got Monroe.” The bodies hadn’t been cold when Colonel Steele was surrendering Reg to the navvies. “I’m talking about you here.”

She gushed a giggle. “You see me as a navvy?”

No. He didn’t. But, “Like to get you out of my chain of command. Think you could be interested in engineering?”

“I’m a Marine. Why don’t
you
do it?”

“Too dumb,” said Steele.

“Then I guess we’re screwed.” Kerry laid her cheek to his chest.

He closed his eyes again, ran his hand down her smooth back. “Yeah.”

Shrieks cheered from somewhere in the ship. A resounding
hoo ra!
together with a falling groan. Taunts and laughter. Steele guessed the squash game was over.

Kerry lifted her head at the sounds. “Hey. We beat Farragut.”

The chant took form: “Serge! Serge! Serge!” Serge Olivero. Big ox of a gunner from the Battery. Any time the Fleet Marines beat Navy was cause for celebration. And winning against Captain Farragut, well that was cause for a near riot.

After a while Kerry asked again, “What would you do different. If you could go back in time?”

“Nothing,” Steele said.

“No, really,” she coaxed. “Would you . . .” she broke off, afraid to finish. Touched his face as if fearing it would vanish. “Us. Would you . . . not . . . if you had it to do again?”

He dropped his chin to his chest, the better to glare at her.

Her hand retreated. “I just get the idea you don’t think this is the brightest idea you ever had.”

He coiled her hair around his big hand, imprisoning her head in his grip. Growled at her. “You think I’d have come this way if I had a choice? You’re with me, Marine, no matter where this goes. So just get used to it.”

She nipped his scowling lips. “Yes, sir.”

As
Merrimack
approached the Arran system within the Myriad, the ship’s low band sensors picked up the LEN’s giant spherical ship in orbit around the planet, with
Merrimack
’s two space patrol torpedo boats near it at the Trojan points.

The LEN sent a message demanding John Farragut’s presence aboard
Woodland Serenity
immediately.

“Captain!” the tac specialist started in alarm. “The SPT boats are transmitting the wrong IFF!”

His report silenced all chatter in the control room and brought Farragut to the tactical station. “So what are they sending?”

“There’s an embedded code within the normal recognition signals. It’s—” Jeffrey paused, double-checking, nodded, finished, “Yeah. It’s code beta twelve.”

Farragut looked to his control room officers. “What’s beta twelve?” Emergency code, he knew that much. But beta twelve was not one he had ever used in his seventeen-year career.

“Hostage situation, sir.”

“Oh, for Jesus,” Farragut breathed. “
Mister
Carmel!”

Calli took up the loud com: “Battle stations.”

15

L
IGHTS FLASHED. The klaxon blared.

Colonel Steele reported to the control room. Squeaky clean and flush red. His Marines were at their stations, the Battery at their gun blisters; the Wing sitting in their cockpits in the drop decks.

“What’s the LEN ship transmitting?” Farragut demanded.

“Normal IFF. The LEN doesn’t seem to see the problem.”

“Strongly suggests that they
are
the problem,” said Farragut. Looked to his officers for confirmation. “Anyone?”

“That would be my take on it, Captain,” Calli concurred.

“Mr. Steele?”

“I agree, sir. Never trusted ’em.”

And the LEN wanted Farragut aboard their ship immediately.

“TR, let’s see how clean your dogs got their gun barrels. Open all ports. Uncap all guns. Load torpedo tubes. Mr. Carmel, bring us in angry.”

Steele saw to the running out of the guns, as Calli barked orders to the helm and the engine room.

When
Merrimack
closed within one light-minute, Farragut moved to the com tech’s station to hail his SPT boats on a tight beam. “SPT 1, SPT 1, SPT 1.
Merrimack
. Glenn, this is John Farragut. Respond.”

Listened to dead air. Repeated the hail. More dead air. Then, finally, a voice. Not Glenn’s, on SPT 1’s tight beam: “This is Ambassador Aghani, LEN envoy. You are showing guns,
Merrimack.
May I assist you, Captain Farragut?”

Farragut clicked off the caller, demanded of the com tech, “Where’s that signal coming from?”

“SPT 1, sir.”

“Aghani’s on my Spit boat?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

Anger coalesced in John Farragut’s face. You heard it in his breathing. He began to get an idea of the nature of this hostage situation.

Farragut clicked the caller on. “Aghani, this is a military channel. Put Captain Hamilton on the caller.”

Until the lieutenant commander was back aboard
Merrimack
, Glenn Hamilton was captain of her Spit boat.

“Mrs. Hamilton is not available. May I help you, Captain Farragut?”

Farragut did not ask anything more. Shut the caller off. Too white hot angry even to sound angry, he ordered softly, “Mr. Carmel. Start shooting.”

“Fire Control. Wake up five starsparrows,” Calli ordered. “Plot some near misses around the LEN vessel
Woodland Serenity
.”

“Fire Control here. How ‘near’ a miss, sir?”

Calli glanced to Farragut who answered, “Near enough they can
hear
the birds. And slow enough for them to see them coming.”

“Loads, sir?”

“Shipkillers.”

“Shipkillers, aye. Firing solution plotted. Fire Control standing by.”

The XO looked to the captain. At his nod, Calli ordered, “Fire shipkillers.”

“Fire Control, aye. Shipkillers away.”

Farragut hailed
Woodland Serenity
again. “Mr. Aghani, put Captain Hamilton on the caller.”

“Captain Farragut,” Aghani began condescendingly, broke off in a squawk, “
What are you doing!
”

Shipkillers ringed the LEN ship. The LEN sphere hung trapped into stillness like a knife thrower’s assistant, death brushing all sides.

“I am attempting to establish contact with my officer. You must believe I will do so, no matter your cost.” Farragut shut off the caller. To his XO: “Status.”

“Star Sparrows clear of
Woodland Serenity
. Not quite a clean miss, sir. We ticked a solar vane. Warheads still live.”

“Bring ’em back for another pass.”

“Fire Control.”

“Fire Control, aye.”

“Bring the Star Sparrows about, Davy. Do it again.”

“Fire Control, aye.”

As the missiles turned a one-eighty, the com tech reported, “Sir, it’s
Woodland Serenity
. They are speaking in tongues. Demanding to talk to you.”

The missiles headed back for another ringing pass around
Woodland Serenity
.

The com tech yanked off his headset. Reported: “Sir. They are screaming.”

Farragut turned to the tactical specialist. “Is
Woodland Serenity
showing arms?”

“No, sir.”

“I hope they don’t think I’m bluffing.”

Colonel Steele assured him, “The
Mack
does
not
look like she’s bluffing. They know they can’t take us.”

“They don’t have much to bring to bear, Captain,” said Tactical. “Couple asteroid sweepers.”

“Are they showing?”

“No, sir.”

Fire control reported the Star Sparrows clear of
Woodland Serenity
.

Calli turned to Farragut. “Sir?” Awaited direction.

Farragut took up the caller. “SPT 1. SPT 1. SPT 1. This is
Merrimack
. Captain Hamilton, respond.”

Aghani’s voice again, indignant. “If
Woodland Serenity
’s auto avoidance had reacted to one of those missiles and twitched it into the path of another, you would have the murder of five hundred civilian lives to answer for!”

“They’re not dead, though, are they?” Farragut replied.

“More’s the pity.” A murmur from behind.

“Not now, Augustus.”

The tac specialist reported sharply, “Sir! Both Spit boats have left Trojan points and are moving
toward
the LEN ship!”

“Aghani, cease the progress of my boats toward
Woodland Serenity
or I will space
Woodland Serenity
.”

Calli’s brows flew high, but she did not protest the threat.

“Calli. Line it up.”

Calli opened the com link. “Fire control. Target
Woodland Serenity
and stand by shipkillers to go hot.”

“Fire Control. Targeting, aye. Standing by.”

Farragut looked to the com tech. “Any acknowledgment from the LEN?”

“The captain of
Woodland Serenity
is calling you a terrorist. That’s an acknowledgment, I guess, sir.”

“Calli, are we close enough to hook our Spit boats with our force field?”

Calli relayed the question to Tactical. Received the answer, “Momentarily.”

Calli put Engineering on standby.

Tactical reported, “Sir, both SPT boats have stopped progress toward the LEN vessel
Woodland Serenity
.”

“Don’t care. Calli.”

“Range,” Calli demanded of Tactical.

“One boat, aye. Now both. Aye.”

A glance to Farragut.

“Hook ’em.”

Calli: “Engineering. Engage force field hook.”

“Engineering, aye. Hook engaging.”

Merrimack
’s distortion field extended like a pseudo-pod to enclose SPTs 1 and 2.

“Command. Engineering here. Targets acquired. We got ’em, sir.”

The com tech reported, “Sir, the LEN captain says our force field is preventing them from displacing their people off our spit boats.”

“Well, glory be. How ’bout that?” Farragut breathed, as if the thought never occurred to him before. “Advise
Woodland Serenity
that I will restore their people to their ship as soon as all of my people are restored to
Merrimack
.”

The whole command deck could hear the LEN captain’s voice through the com tech’s headset as he pulled it away from his ears: “This is piracy!”

Farragut took up the caller. “I am towing U.S. boats aboard a U.S. ship. What is the basis of your charge?”

“There are LEN personnel on board those spacecraft!”

“Why, yes, there are. They did not ask my permission to board my boats, but there they are. I shall have to ask them why they’re there.”

“You will return my people
now
.”

“You will be free to collect your personnel pending a head count of
my
personnel aboard my boats.”

And listened to dead space again.

Import descended in a horrid chill.
They can’t deliver
. The LEN could not comply, because
someone is missing
.

Merrimack
reeled in her extended force field to bring the patrol boats back to the flight decks, where they were captured, clamped, and hauled inboard to the hangar deck.

When the deck pressurized, the SPT boat hatches opened to a gunpoint welcome by a Marine detachment armed with splinter weapons.

First to disembark down the ramps were the LEN personnel. Stiff. Trying to show umbrage, but could not disguise their fear in the face of all the guns and the determined, angry faces glaring squint-eyed down the barrels. “There has been a misunderstanding.”

“Someone for sure misunderstood something,” a Marine muttered, cheek mashed to his splinter gun’s stock, keeping a bead on the speaker’s forehead. Kept the visitors pinned for the captain’s arrival.

The MPs sent a cadre of dogs aboard the returned SPT boats to sniff for booby traps. Dogs had an uncanny sense for rooting out wrongness.

The captain arrived on deck. Said immediately, “Where is Glenn Hamilton?”

Met silence from the LEN, from his own recovered personnel, who stood at embarrassed, blank-faced attention.

Surprising how a face so open and friendly could turn so frightening so fast. The LEN got a gorgon’s eye view of John Farragut, the ferocity, the deadly energy. He became someone who threw lightning bolts. He roared into the silence:
“Where is she?”

Everyone recoiled from the force of it, even his own Marines.

Ambassador Aghani took a breath as if he might speak. But his eyes only searched for somewhere to look other than at the captain’s face. Found only guns and growling dogs.

Glenn Hamilton’s second-in-command, Ensign Kenyon Kent, whom everyone called “Ken Ken,” filled in at last: “We think she escaped, sir.”

Aghani abruptly found his voice. “It’s not like that.”

“Shut up. Brig ’em.” The captain waved an arm at the lot of them.

“Yes, sir,” Colonel Steele acknowledged. “With pleasure.”

As Marines ringed the LEN boarders, Aghani protested, “We are free citizens of Earth!”

“When Glenn Hamilton is free, you’re free. Till then, you’re in my brig. And if that’s the rest of your natural life, then you know where you’re going to die.”

And the deep terror in their eyes struck John Farragut with a fear he did not know he could feel.

They can’t free her. She’s dead.

“You,” Farragut barked at his rescued crew, none too gently. “Proceed to ops and await debriefing.”

He detained Ken Ken out of the unhappy group. “Talk to me. Where’s Glenn?”

“Not sure, Captain,” said Ensign Kent. “When Hamster went planetside to deliver your message to Donner, the LEN came in and took over both boats.”

“How? How did they get aboard?”

Kenyon’s baby smooth cheeks blotched ruddy. “We let ’em aboard. Bagging us was like hunting cows. Come this way? Yeah, sure. Hatch locks. There we are. We were stupid, sir.”

“I see that. What about Glenn?”

“We were locked up, but you know these bulks.” He rapped a thin partition with a bottom-fist. “We overheard them receive Captain Hamilton’s request for displacement back to SPT 1. They signaled
Woodland Serenity
to yank her up there.”

“They displaced her to the LEN ship?”

“I
thought
they did, sir. But later—hours later—more LEN came storming aboard SPT 2, ransacked every centimeter, pulled on our faces to make sure we were real. We guessed that meant she got away. And since she’s not here, she’s either doing a really good job of hiding on board the LEN golf ball, or she’s planetside. But, sir, I’m pretty sure
they
don’t have her.”

“Who turned on the beta twelve code?”

“I did, sir.”

“Then you don’t walk the plank.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Calli!” Farragut called into his com while climbing up the ladder.

“Captain.”

“Scan the planet for Hamster’s com signature.”

“Scan initiated, aye.”

“And have Mo do a full physical workup on our guests. Look for contaminants. Any possible physiological cause for paranoia and delusion. Tell him to make it uncomfortable. And if he finds something, make sure
we
don’t have it.”

“Understood, sir.”

Farragut arrived in the control room to receive Calli’s report on the search for Hamster. “Her com is not reading. She may have turned off her link to avoid LEN detection.”

But there were other ways to track a crewman. “Locate all displacement collars.”

Calli signaled the supply officer to punch up the inventory. He reported one collar unaccounted for, logged out to the Hamster.

“Where is the collar now?” Farragut demanded.

“It’s . . . not functioning,” Calli reported guardedly.

“You mean she’s not wearing it?”

“No.” That would be a void reading. “We have no reading on it.”

It went without saying that you can’t turn a collar off. To destroy a displacement collar’s locator was to destroy the collar.

“Run the history,” Farragut ordered, pale.

“Running it,” said Calli.

Given that the collars never turned off, the ship’s sensor log would have a continuous record of the activity of all collars at every moment. It did not take long to isolate the moment that Hamster’s collar ceased to function.

“Last successful displacement logged on collar P240H was from the LEN ship
Woodland Serenity
to the planet surface forty-two hours ago.”

So Ken Ken had guessed right. Lieutenant Commander Hamilton had managed to escape LEN captivity.

“Last intact location of the collar was on the Arran surface.”

“When did it flat line?”

“Forty-one hours ago.” Calli sounded quite hollow. “In transit.”

Farragut grabbed the signal log to read for himself. The signal for the final abortive displacement had originated from
Woodland Serenity
. The LEN had tried to retrieve the escapee using only the signal from her collar. They had initiated displacement
without
a corresponding signal from an LD.

You never, ever displaced a human being without three matching signal sets. The LEN tried to displace Hamster with only two.