Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY) (11 page)

“They’re already in there, are they?” the lieutenant commander asked, glancing up from the datachip. She slotted the chip into her arm unit, though she didn’t open up the screen just yet. “Official Company rules for these onboard parties doesn’t make them sound very enjoyable.”

“We’ll be calling them Wakes, to go with the overall ‘Damned’ theme, but they’ll be as cheerful as we can make them. They’ll also run in twenty-four-hour segments,” Ia added, “to ensure each watch gets some time to relax and enjoy the party when they’re not sleeping or on duty—come
Hellfire
or
Damnation
, our ship will be manned at all times with rare exception—but we’ll squeeze in onboard Leave wherever possible and try to make it as relaxing as we can.”

“And by ‘we’ you, of course, mean ‘me,’” Helstead quipped dryly, toes resuming their silent rhythm.

“Oh, I fully expect the other officers to pitch in. Including myself. This first one has been preplanned, and there’s a list of themes and such,” Ia pointed out. “Things we can pull out of the onboard supplies. But I’m always open to ideas.”

“Even if they conflict with your precognition?” her 3rd Platoon officer asked, lifting a brow.

“Like all superiors, I may not always follow up on an idea for a particular instance, but I’m willing to listen whenever I have the time,” Ia conceded dryly. Mention of the T-word made her dip her head. “Of course, I’m not always going to have that time, which is why I think this is something you might enjoy handling. Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Helstead frowned softly. “Yeah. Something Harper said. Something about a…a trip to Antarctica coming up soon?”

Oh, stars
…Lifting her hand to her brow, Ia pinched the bridge of her nose, then massaged the muscles just above it. “He would mention that,” she muttered. Mindful of the surveillance pickups in her office, she sighed and dredged up a half lie. “Snow and ice are dangerous on my homeworld—you’re from Eiaven, which has double Standard gravity, so you
know
why it’s dangerous. Sanctuary has more than triple gravity, so everyone lives in the tropical to subtropical climates. Still, while we avoid it back home wherever possible, the
concept
of frozen water fascinates my brothers.

“They made me promise, if I was ever in Earth’s vicinity, I’d bring them some actual snow from Earth. Even now, Antarctica is still virtually uninhabited. That means it’s the one kind least likely to contain the sort of bacterial contaminants requiring quarantine measures—and I’d know precognitively which patches to avoid.

“So, long story short, I promised them I’d get them some snow from somewhere near the South Pole, this trip,” she explained. “I told Harper all about this back in the Academy, but we never had Leave long enough from the fast-track program to get down there. He probably figures since I have full control over our patrol routes, I’ll be wanting to make a stop on Earth, then a shakedown run out to Sanctuary,” she related.

“Sanctuary’s on the backside of Terran space. I thought we were going to be hunting Salik as soon as we leave dock,” Helstead said, fiddling with one of her stilettos again. The rhythm of her toes changed, as if whatever song playing inside her head had been replaced by a new one.

“We still get a shakedown cruise first. Training on the various ship systems while in dry dock isn’t the same as when
you’re out there in space,” Ia admitted. “We’re also being hired by one of Sanctuary’s defense contractors to transport goods to Sanctuary for storage against the coming war…which again, Harper knows about as my first officer and which will make it that much more convenient for me to pick up some genuine Terran snow for my family.”

“Genuine Terran snow,” Helstead repeated dubiously, fingers, toes, and sheathed blades going still for a moment.

“Yeah, genuine Terran snow,” Ia confirmed, keeping her tone even for the sake of the surveillance pickups. “If you think this is some excuse to fraternize with my second-in-command, think again. I haven’t the time for extraneous relationships. Harper knows this, and we both know I won’t
shakk
away my chance to save the maximum number of lives.”

“Wait, let me check something,” Helstead muttered. She reached for the command unit cuffed over her left forearm and tapped on a few of its keys once the lid was open. “Aren’t we scheduled to leave here…December 19? If we take a couple days to get to Earth, a day to load cargo, and we’re being given a day for Leave…that would have us leaving Earth right before Christmas. We’re not staying near the Motherworld for Christmas?”

“The schedule is correct; we’re not staying for Christmas,” Ia agreed. “But if you look at it another way, we’re also missing Chanukah, because we’ll still be working hard. And we’re missing Bodhi Day, which is at the start of December, and several other celebrations, too. As much as I’d wish otherwise for the crew’s sake, I cannot stop this ship or its mission for religious reasons,” Ia said. It was an irony to put it that way, considering her plans for her own homeworld, but she didn’t hesitate. “Everything has to happen at the right moment in time. Wars do not take a holiday, and we’re headed straight into a really big one.”

“Unfortunately, most religions have been known to
start
a few wars, but they rarely stop them,” Helstead agreed dryly. She eyed Ia, toes still wiggling, but fingers still. “Mind if I come along on this snow-gathering trip of yours?” the petite lieutenant asked, her expression as skeptical as an arched brow and a dry tone could make it. “Or would I be a third wheel between you and Harper?”

Ia paused for a moment, skimming the near timestreams.
She blinked, then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s just a gathering mission, followed by a trip to Afaso Headquarters afterward. I was planning on three days’ transit from here to Earth to test out the insystem thrusters, then a day of Leave on Earth for each duty shift of the troops after we’ve loaded that cargo for Sanctuary.

“Anyone can go anywhere, so long as they arrange for transport and are back on board the ship when their time is up. But it’ll be a small group headed to the South Pole, just you, me, and Harper. We can take one of the shuttles down, pack a lunch, and have a little picnic in one of the most remote corners on Earth,” she finished lightly.

“So you don’t mind my coming along to play the third wheel?” Helstead asked, pausing her stiletto-twirling.

“If you keep referring to your otherwise freely welcome presence as a ‘third wheel,’ Lieutenant Commander, I’ll make
you
carry the picnic basket,” Ia retorted. “I’ll set it up on the schedule for download to our arm units when we get closer to our departure week. And we’ll have that onboard party after we set course for Sanctuary since we’ll have time for it then.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have inspection reports to wade through, a progress update for Admiral Genibes, followed by a reminder call at 7:34 to warn Privates MacArroc and Redrock that they’re not allowed to blast music in their quarters, and 263 more prophecies to write before I can go to bed tonight.”

Tucking her stilettos into the braid wrapped around her head, Helstead rose. She didn’t head for the door immediately, though. Bracing her palms on the edge of Ia’s desk, she leaned forward just as Ia reached for the button that would raise her workstation screens. “…Can I have a peek?”

“You haven’t earned that level of trust from me, yet.” She knew the words sounded a little cold when put that way, but Ia didn’t retract them. She did meet the other woman’s gaze, keeping her tone soft. “Take comfort in the fact that one day you will.
If
you don’t do anything to break my faith in you between then and now.”

Helstead wrinkled her nose. She pushed away from Ia’s desk. “I can see that working for a precog is going to be a pain in the asteroid.”

That made Ia chuckle. She was still smiling when the shorter woman left her office, though it faded quickly enough. The
missives she had to write, most of which were destined for her family and friends back on Sanctuary, were a little too sober for mirth.

DECEMBER 3, 2495 T.S.

Seated in her office on board the
Hellfire
, Ia waited for her call to go through. When it finally did, the face that filled the screen was sleepy, puzzled, and familiar to Ia. Blinking his brown eyes a couple times, former Private Tom “Happy” Harkins frowned a moment, then widened those eyes in recognition.

“Bloody Mary!” he rasped, staring at her. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he gave her one of his trademark half smiles, one warm enough that it actually curved the other side of his mouth after a second or so. Since they were both in the same star system at the moment, there was zero lag in communications. “How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in—whoa, is that a brass eagle?” he asked, blinking and rearing back from the vid pickup in his quarters. “Lieutenant Colonel, sir! Congratulations on the promotion, sir. And you’re in Greys; somehow I figured you’d end up in the Special Forces.”

Ia smiled. “Thank you, Happy, though it’s technically Ship’s Captain, not Lieutenant Colonel. And yeah, I wound up in the Special Forces. Congratulations on completing your Service with honors and on landing in a cushy job.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Harkins agreed wryly. He sat back on the edge of his bed, the pickups following his movements. Clad in a worn yellow T-shirt with a faded joke logo and a pair of brown sleeping shorts, he plucked at the material covering his chest. “Saved the life of an attaché to the ACDC in the first month I was a civilian and got roped into bodyguard duty—the only thing worse than pressure-suit drills is contamination-suit drills. The chem scrubbers hurt worse than depressurization sickness. So…Lieutenant Colonel Bloody Mary,” he teased her, “what can this lowly ex-grunt do for you?”

“Actually, it’s what I can do for you,” Ia told him. This was the reason she had saved his life all those years ago, on the very same first combat where she had earned her military nickname. Picking up a datachip, she showed it to the vid pickups on her end, then slotted it into her workstation. “I’m sending
you a comprehensive list of Quarantine-Extreme scenarios. I need you to get the Alliance Center for Disease Control to start practicing these scenarios and implementing the suggested measures contained within them, and keep practicing them.”

“Sir?” he asked her warily.

“I’m a very strong precog, Happy,” Ia confessed. “I always have been. You remember my first combat? I
knew
I’d end up covered in Salik guts and Choya blood, and knew it before I stepped foot on the
Liu Ji
. I also know you’re going to have an opportunity in three days to offer these scenarios to your boss to propose to the rest of the ACDC. Make sure he proposes them.”

“I don’t know, sir,” he hedged, hesitating. “Beggin’ pardon, but last I heard, you were winning medals right and left, not medical diplomas.”

“You owe me your life,” she reminded him gently. “That very first mission, where I insisted you come with me, instead of heading back through that stairwell entrance? You would have died if I hadn’t rearranged our two team pairings on the fly, so that you
had
to stick with me. You
know
you would have died. I saved your life, that fight…and with these scenarios, I’m hoping to save a lot more lives than just your own. I
knew
Ferrar and the others would be captured, and cultivated that pirate crew well in advance, knowing we’d need their help to break into the Lyebariko’s stronghold. You’re in the right place at the right time to do a whole lotta good, Happy. I made sure you would be.”

He stared at her a long moment, then sighed and scrubbed at his face. Another sigh, and he reached for the controls on his bedside comm. Or rather, for the drawer under them. She heard the thumps and rustles as he rummaged for something.

“Yeah, I do owe you my life. More than once. Datachip, datachip…Here we go.” His hand loomed large for a moment as he pressed the chip into the base of the comm. A couple taps later, he confirmed the download, transferring it from the cache on his bedside comm to the chip. “Right. Show this to my boss in three days. Just tell me something in return, Bloody Mary. How badly
will
we need these quarantine measures?”

“We’ll be at war in a few months, and the Salik will be throwing everything they can at us,” Ia stated. “Robotic soldiers, genetically engineered animals, microbial infections, you name it.”

“Everything and the kitchen sink, eh?” he asked rhetorically.

“A scummy, slimy, unscrubbed kitchen sink,” Ia agreed. “You remember what your Drill Instructors said back in Basic about using the same playbooks over and over for practicing battle scenarios?”

He half smiled and chuckled. “That if you stuck to the same drills over and over, it was nothing but a load of
shova v’shakk
shoveled by a bunch of
shakk-tor
officers talkin’ out their brass, because it made you predictable to the enemy. That flexibility, on the ground, in the trenches, with the grunts making their tactical decisions based on what
is
, and not on what
should be
, is what will save a fight. I remember, Ia. So, if you’re really a precog—which would explain a helluva lot, back on the
Liu Ji
—then you’re saying we’re gonna get some biowarfare plays outta left field, and that we need to learn some new field maneuvers for ’em?”

“These plans will help prepare the Alliance to apply the bleach to the upcoming mess in the sink in the most effective ways—from mild infestations all the way up through the absolute worst-case scenarios of having to quarantine entire planets. The ACDC’s been using the same playbook for too long, and the Salik got their tentacles on it ages ago. Better to be flexible than sorry, and all that. I’ve also tried to be thorough with each scenario presented,” Ia added, “because if you or your boss has any questions, I’ll probably be out of reach. Each scenario includes contact numbers for a couple higher-ups in the Afaso Order. They’ll have a list of answers and backup contingency plans if you do need answers. Hopefully, you won’t need them, but I like to be thorough.”