“And it came into existence five hours ago,” Geary said. “How can our systems estimate that sort of thing? The life span of an unstable jump point?”
“Somebody must have studied unstable jump points,” Desjani said. “Maybe remote observations from surrounding star systems that gave them some astronomical data to work with. Or maybe someone just ran the math for interactions of gravity fields for two stars, and that ended up in our ship systems as part of the baseline data for jump point analysis.”
“We couldn’t go anywhere anyway until we recovered Mistral,” Geary said, “even if there was any chance of that jump point still being there by the time we got there.”
With the dark ships still about an hour from any possible intercepts, Geary checked the status of the Marines. The sooner they got their job done, the sooner he could focus exclusively on battling the dark ships.
The stacked tiles of virtual windows showing views from the Marine armor revealed what were now slightly time-delayed images, over a minute old due to the distance between the fleet and the government facility. The Marines were inside, some progressing without resistance down corridors and into rooms that mostly had a feeling of having never seen human presence since being constructed.
But other Marines were traveling into areas of the facility that had actually been used. There were signs of wear on walls and floors, occasional bits of trash that had so far evaded the small housekeeping robots, and here and there rooms bearing signs of hasty departure. Scattered clothing littered floors and furniture, abandoned snacks and meals rested on desks and tables, and unmade beds bore in the shape of the sheets traces of the people who had once used them.
“What happened to them?” Geary heard a Marine ask her platoon leader.
“Best guess is they ran for it, and their ship got nailed,” the officer replied. “Everybody look for signs any of this stuff has been disturbed since it was abandoned in place. We need to know if there is anyone left here.”
The lieutenant’s question was rudely answered seconds later as nearby Marines finally encountered opposition. Geary switched his view to one of those Marine officers, seeing a wide corridor ahead that was sealed by blast doors at the far end. “It’s automated defenses or someone directing fire,” a captain was reporting to his superior. “We can’t tell which yet.”
“Hold your positions. We’ve got units working around the flanks of this passage, and two platoons from Second Company on the next level down.”
Geary involuntarily jerked as bursts of fire came from the vicinity of the blast doors to lash the area where these Marines were hunkered down. “Can we return fire?”
“Not unless you see a target. Hold position.”
Switching his attention back to the big picture, Geary saw that Delta One’s battle cruisers were maintaining their position near the main Alliance formation, which was proceeding along a shallow curve that would eventually form an orbital path around Star Alpha if they stayed on it. The Dancers were nearly a light-minute away and above the Alliance warships, gathered into a group but not engaging in any of the playful maneuvering that they were famous for.
The five dark ship formations were all lined up to hit Geary’s formation, aiming for near-simultaneous intercepts along the path ahead. The earliest of those intercepts was forty-two minutes away.
“Ideas?” he asked Desjani.
“We need to know if there’s anything on the facility that will unblock that gate,” she replied. “If there is, we need to stall and wear out the dark ships like last time, which will be a lot harder this time. If there isn’t, we need to figure out how to close with them and kill more of them than they kill of us.”
“You’re recommending I avoid action until we know which tactics we need to follow?”
“Yes, sir,” Desjani said, nodding, her eyes on her display. “We’ve got at least fifteen minutes before we should maneuver to mess with their plans. Why don’t you see how the Marines and that woman are doing while I watch the overall situation?”
“Good idea.” He refocused on the Marine action.
Spotting some Marines proceeding cautiously up a set of emergency access stairs, Geary linked his view to the armor of their platoon leader. An enlisted Marine was kneeling at an access hatch, working on the lock, then gave his lieutenant a thumbs-up.
“We’re ready to go,” the lieutenant reported, her breathing deep and regular as she prepared for action.
“Hit ’em,” the order came back. “Through the hatch and left. You’ll take them in the rear.”
“Got it. Through hatch, left. Are we weapons free?”
“If they fire, you are cleared to engage. The brass wants live prisoners, though. See if they’ll surrender when they realize they’ve been flanked.”
“Roger.” The lieutenant repeated the orders to her platoon, then as the nearest Marine yanked open the hatch, the entire force charged through, the Marines in their heavy combat armor having to duck and twist to get through an opening intended for typical human sizes.
The Marines emerged into what Geary recognized as another section of that broad corridor, this part on the other side of the defended blast doors. Several men and women wearing reinforced survival suits were crouched near the doors. They did not realize at first that there were Marines behind them, but when one turned and cried a warning the rest jerked around rapidly to face this new attack
“Drop your weapons!” The voice of the Marine lieutenant, amplified by her battle armor, boomed through the corridor.
One of the defenders brought up a weapon to aiming position, and died a second later as several Marines put shots through him.
The rest stood frozen before dropping their weapons hastily.
“We got six prisoners and one body,” the lieutenant reported.
The six survivors, whose reinforced survival suits bore a private security contractor symbol, sounded terrified, not defiant like the agents Geary still had detained aboard Dauntless. “We didn’t sign up for this,” one announced. “Don’t want to fight no Marines. We’re on the same side.”
“Uh-huh,” the lieutenant replied. “Who’s in charge? This guy?” She indicated the dead defender.
“No, no, it’s the suits! They only talk to us to give orders. They’re holed up in the command center.”
“Pack ’em up,” the lieutenant told her platoon. “And get those blast doors open.”
“Wait!” another one of the private security guards cried. “We can help you guys! I heard what they’re doing. They’re getting ready to fry all the files in the system! Sanitize the records, they call it. If they know you’ve made it past us, they’ll set off magnetic pulse bombs all over the station!”
“Captain?” the lieutenant called.
“I heard. We’ve got hack and cracks breaking into the systems at remote locations and trying to sever the links from the command center. Hold your position and see what else those guys can tell you.”
The captured contractors had no qualms about spilling their guts since they had been told to stay behind when most of the other occupants of the facility had tried to flee. “No room, they told us. They said they’d send somebody back for us. Then we saw them get blown to pieces. Ever since then, we’ve been hiding in here, hoping those damned ships wouldn’t notice us.”
Geary pulled his attention away from the Marines again, hoping they would successfully prevent the “suits” from destroying all of the records on the facility. “Any changes?” he asked Desjani.
“They’re a bit closer, that’s all,” she said. “How are the grunts doing?”