“Well,” Kaplan’s lips quirked as she glanced across at her com officer, “I think she’s a little pissed the suggestion came from Abigail, but she grabbed it and ran with it, anyway. Interesting how those damage control guides tie into the emergency communication nets, isn’t it? And how easy it is to invade the system when you’re already inside it?” Her smile grew much nastier. “Trust me, Wanda’s making sure her tracks are going to be easy to find. By the time anyone starts looking, it’s going to be obvious we managed to hack their info systems from the outside—more of that ‘preposterous’ Manty hardware for them to worry about, I suppose—to get our hands on those schematics.”
* * *
Captain Jørn Kristoffersen, CO, Able Company, 10347th Independent Battalion, Solarian Gendarmerie, was an unhappy man.
As a general rule, he enjoyed his slot as the 10347th senior company commander. True, Saltash was on the backside of nowhere, and it was somewhat lacking in the more sophisticated forms of entertainment he preferred. It was still immensely better off than some of the Verge hellholes he’d been assigned to in the past, however, and as long as a man was careful, there were plenty of opportunities for him to enjoy himself. Better still, Major Pole understood the traditional Verge fringe benefits when it came to R&R, and things had improved noticeably since Dueñas had replaced the previous governor and reminded the locals who was really in charge. Kristoffersen wasn’t about to go wandering around in uniform without three or four other gendarmes to watch his back, of course—no telling what some of the local yokels might do if they caught a gendarme all on his own—but that was par for the course anywhere in the Verge.
The present situation, however, was not par for the course, and even as he stepped on his anger, he tried to convince himself that something besides fear gave that anger so much strength.
Fucking bastards, he thought resentfully, glowering at the lift shafts and acutely conscious of the long, empty corridor stretching away behind him. Too damned uppity, that’s what they are! We need to be smacking them down, showing them why they don’t want to try to pull this kind of shit with us!
Unfortunately, Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s effort in that direction seemed not to have worked out very well. So now he was the one left holding the shit-end of the stick, although why it had to be a commissioned officer out here wasn’t quite clear to him. If he’d had the option, he would have delegated it right on down the chain of command, but the order had been too specific to work around and pass it on to someone else. Besides, if these fanatics were really likely to push it, his neck probably wouldn’t be any safer elsewhere, in the end.
Maybe the Major’s right, though. I sure hope to hell he is, anyway! And—
His thoughts broke off as the lift shaft door opened and an extraordinarily broad lieutenant in an armored skinsuit stepped out of it. A flechette gun which looked almost like a toy in his massive grip pointed unthreateningly at the deck, but the dark eyes behind his helmet’s armorplast bubble didn’t look especially friendly.
Another Manticoran followed him, and Kristoffersen was careful to keep his hand away from the holstered pulser at his side as another dozen Manties spread out from the lift, behind the first two. No one blustered or threatened, but they were all well armed, and they spread out smoothly to establish a perimeter around the lift banks. One of them said something into his helmet microphone, and a moment later the second set of lift doors opened to admit another dozen Manties who fanned out just as quickly and efficiently as they had. In less than three minutes, the boarders had set up an all-round defensive position, and no one seemed to have the least interest in Kristoffersen. They were too busy keeping their eyes—and attention—on their zones of responsibility, and his heart sank at the evidence of their obviously well trained competence.
“I’m Lieutenant Abigail Hearns,” the second Manty out of the first lift car said over her skinsuit’s external speaker. “And you are?”
Her brisk voice wasn’t overtly threatening, but it was that of someone who clearly had better things to waste time on than deference to Solarian self-importance. Kristoffersen felt a quick, fresh flash of anger at that almost unconscious dismissal, but he warned himself to tamp it down.
“Captain Jørn Kristoffersen, Solarian Gendarmerie,” he replied curtly.
“Well, Captain Kristoffersen, I assume you’re aware of the reason for our visit. Captain Zavala’s instructed me to present his compliments to the senior Gendarmerie officer and request the immediate repatriation of the Manticoran civilians illegally detained here aboard Shona Station.”
“I’m afraid the personnel to whom you refer are in a legally declared state of medical quarantine, ordered by System Governor Dueñas on the advice of his medical staff,” Kristoffersen replied. “Major Pole regrets to inform Captain Zavala that without specific instructions from the Governor terminating the quarantine, it’s impossible for him to release any of the personnel covered by it.”
He knew the response had come out sounding stilted and rehearsed, but he didn’t really care. Which wasn’t to say he felt especially cheerful about finding himself all alone in a compartment with the better part of two dozen armed Manties while he delivered it.
Make that three dozen, he amended sourly as the first lift car opened again with a second load of boarders.
“That’s unacceptable, Captain.” For someone with such a naturally pleasant contralto voice, Lieutenant Hearns could sound remarkably icy, Kristoffersen noted. “I think Major Pole had better reconsider his position.”
“Major Pole will take your advice under consideration, Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll give it all the weight to which it’s entitled.”
Kristoffersen smiled unpleasantly as he delivered that sentence. Despite the anxiety percolating through his system it felt good to put this neobarb in her place, but—
“That wasn’t ‘advice,’ Captain,” Hearns replied. “It was a warning.”
“A warning, Lieutenant?” A sharper edge of anger crackled in Kristoffersen’s tone as the Manty’s insolence registered.
“Neither Captain Zavala nor I are prepared to put up with any more Solarian obstruction, Captain Kristoffersen.” Blue-gray eyes bored into him from the other side of her helmet’s armorplast. “Personally, I think Governor Dueñas has already managed to get enough people killed for one day. I’d hope Major Pole isn’t prepared to add to the total.”
“Are you threatening the Solarian Gendarmerie?” Kristoffersen demanded, and his face darkened with anger as Hearns rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“Captain, we just blew four Solarian Navy battlecruisers out of space,” she said with the patience of someone addressing a particularly slow-witted child. “In case you can’t do the math, there were over two thousand SLN personnel several hundred real honest-to-gosh Marines aboard each of them, and I’ll be surprised if half of them survived. Precisely what part of that suggests that we should be frightened of gendarmes?”
Kristoffersen’s face went from dark with anger to pale with fury under the lash of her scathing contempt and his hand twitched towards his pulser. It was only a tiny movement—an instinctive twitch, no more—but the muzzle of the flechette gun which had led the way out of the lift rose from the deck to about knee level, and he froze instantly. The thought of having both legs amputated by a single squeeze of the flechette gun’s trigger was not an appealing one.