“How do you know this?”
The Belter spread his hands. “I live here. I know things not everybody knows.”
“Is this correct?” Singh said, not to Onni but to Kasik.
“I’ll have a report prepared immediately,” Kasik replied, and left the room already talking at his wrist.
“So, yeah,” Onni continued, laughing a little now. Acting as if he’d already ingratiated himself. If he wasn’t corrected, it would become true. “Transport Union’s gonna be pissed you just cooked four of their freighter crews.”
Singh considered the man. He would need local contacts. Natives of Medina Station who were loyal to the new power structure and supporters of Laconian rule. The prospect of having this bootlicker as one of the first among them was beneath his dignity.
“Dismissed,” Singh said to the man. He needed to call Trejo on the Tempest and report this.
Onni’s face fell. The smile faded first into surprise and then indignation and resentment. Rejection bloomed into hatred while Singh watched. He’d rarely made a decision proven right so definitively or so quickly. People of this low character would never be part of his administration, and it was telling that Onni had managed to gain power on Medina.
“Bossmang, you gotta listen to me,” Onni said.
“I said you’re dismissed,” Singh barked at him, then looked to one of his Marine guards. She immediately grabbed Onni by the arm, halfway lifting him off the ground with her armor’s augmented strength.
“Ouch! Fuck!” Onni yelled as she dragged him out of the room.
“Have a cart brought around,” Singh said to the remaining Marine. “I want to go to the ops center and look over the data about this gamma-ray burst.”
“Aye, sir,” the Marine said, then stepped out of the room.
Singh needed to corroborate Onni’s story first, then get a full report to Admiral Trejo. If the man was correct, then they had the ability to release a lethal gamma-ray burst through the gates whenever they wished. Could there be a more powerful means of controlling travel through the network? It had the potential to shave months off their timetable in establishing control over the various colony worlds.
For the first time that day, Singh felt himself relax. He might have just won the empire for Laconia, all without firing a shot in anger.
Chapter Fifteen: Bobbie
As an operator in the Orbital Drop Task Force, Bobbie had trained with Spec Ops personnel from every command in the Martian military for a single purpose: the invasion of Earth. And while the old axiom “If you wish for peace, prepare for war” was not without its skeptics, that skepticism wasn’t shared by the Martian military. The doctrine that drove Mars in the century and a half following its declaration of independence relied on it. Mars would never have as large a population or as big an industrial base as Earth. The only thing that prevented Earth from reconquering her wayward colony was a constant demonstration of Mars’ willingness and ability to hit back hard. As long as they could land on Earth streets, Earth would hesitate to fight in their tunnels.
Bobbie and her fellow Marines in Force Recon regularly and visibly trained for that day. They took drugs and worked out in full gravity until Earth would be merely uncomfortable, not bone-crushing. They practiced dropping from orbit in troop carriers and one-person pods. They trained in urban pacification and insurgent elimination. They learned to make up for what they lacked in troop numbers by using aggression and intimidation to keep the conquered people in line. She had literally spent years preparing to move through the streets of Earth commanding obedience through the threat of death.
The invasion and conquest of Medina Station was civilized by comparison. She wondered whether that would last.
Four Laconian Marines in their power armor stood watch in the dock offices, mag boots locked to the deck, and kept a close eye on the line of people waiting to talk to the dockmaster. But while they appeared vigilant, they were not aggressive. They acted like their presence was sufficiently intimidating to keep the populace in line. With some sort of slug thrower built into the armor in each forearm, and a pair of what looked like grenade launchers on each shoulder, Bobbie decided they were right. There were probably thirty people on the float waiting for the dockmaster. The four Laconians looked like they could have handled ten times that number.
She’d been like them, once.
“I like your suit,” she said to the Laconian closest to her.
“Excuse me?” he said, not looking at her, continuing to scan the room.
“I like your suit. I wore an old Goliath back in the day.”
That got his attention. The Laconian looked her over once, feet on up. He was so much like the teams she’d trained with when she’d joined up, it felt like looking back through time. She wondered if he was as ignorant as she’d been back then. Probably. Hell, maybe more so.
“MMC Force Recon?” he said. There was something like respect in his voice.
“Once was,” she agreed. “You guys have made some improvements.”
“Studied the Recon operators at the academy,” the Laconian said. “You guys were the real deal. Heart breakers and life takers.”
“Less and less of both, as time goes on,” Bobbie said, and tried out a smile. The Laconian smiled back. He was half her age, at most, but it was nice to know she could still pull ’em when she wanted to. She could have imagined the kid on the tube station back at home. Shit, he probably had family back on Mars.
“I bet you do okay,” he replied, still smiling. “You see any action?”
She smiled back, and the kid realized what he’d said. A little blush touched his cheek.
“Some,” Bobbie said. “I was on Ganymede in the lead-up to the Io Campaign. And I was on Io.”
“No shit?”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way an old Marine could try one of those suits out, is there?” Bobbie said, ratcheting the smile up a notch. I don’t use sex as a weapon, she thought to herself. But I’d love to get my hands on your outfit.
The Laconian started to reply, then got a distant look on his face that Bobbie recognized. Someone on the group comm was talking in his ear.
“Move along, citizen,” he said to her, the smile gone.
“Thanks for the time,” she said, then pulled herself to the back of her line.
The wait was long and uncomfortably warm. The others there with her had flight-suit patches from a dozen other ships, and the same hangdog expression. It was like they were being treated this way because they’d done something to deserve it. Bobbie tried not to look like that.
The dockmaster’s office was small and harshly lit. She identified herself and her ship, and before she could give any context, the new dockmaster cut her off.
“As a military vessel, the Ceres-registered ship called Rocinante is now impounded by the Laconian Naval Command.” He was a small, dark man in a Laconian naval uniform, and the look on his face was the mix of boredom and irritation shared by all natural-born bureaucrats. A screen on the wall listed all the ships in the slow zone and their statuses: LOCKDOWN in red, over and over again like it was a mantra. The counter in front of him glowed with the name CHIEF PETTY OFFICER NARWA.