In Every Clime and Place (5 page)

The housing complex was the kind of slum that other slums wouldn’t sit next to on a subway. It looked like the riots had started here. That was no huge surprise. Poverty and desperation are the perfect kindling for the spark of revolution.

The social workers were a half dozen idealistic young women fresh out of university. I must confess some lustful thoughts when they ran out and embraced us. They were obviously relieved to see a heavily armed friendly face. It was too bad O’Rourke was doped up. The sympathy they piled on the poor brave wounded Marine made me almost envious.

The sight of the poor bastards they were out helping was damn sobering. Twenty kids, ranging in age from maybe two to around ten or eleven. That’s the age that gets hit the worst. By twelve, the boys were carrying guns and the girls were turning tricks to get food, drugs and protection. These kids were the only ones too young for any kind of involvement except that of victims.

They looked malnourished, as the corporation cut food rations to stop the riots. That always affects the youngest and poorest first. Rebels with guns can always get food. Some of the kids also showed signs of injury. Firebombs don’t discriminate. The real innocents always bear the brunt of the horror in wartime. I had seen this too often on good old Mother Earth to be shocked about it here. You get cynical pretty damn quick in a Marine Expeditionary Unit.

Right at that moment, cynic or not, I wanted to shoot every guard and gun-toting rebel on the asteroid, then hand their rations over to the poor. That doesn’t happen in the real world. I guess part of me belongs with the idealistic college graduates.

“It’s gonna be a crowded ride home,” Sabatini muttered.

I nodded. “That about says it all.”

ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7

I refilled my coffee, offered some to the reporter. He shook his head.

“That deployment always felt wrong to me,” I said. “Like we were set up to fail.”

“That’s closer to the truth than you know,” he said. “But it wasn’t just your unit. The whole outpost was supposed to fail. The company wanted an excuse to shut it down. It wasn’t making enough money. They had an offer to sell, but they had to get out of the contracts with labor. Break the back of the union. So they kept making things worse and worse until there was a strike, then kept stonewalling on negotiations until things exploded. If they could have dragged the fleet into putting down a workers’ uprising, that would have suited them fine. Even a catastrophic failure of the life-support system would have worked so long as they could blame the strikers and dodge the liability.”

“So the whole thing was an inside job?” I asked.

He sorted through his memory sticks, selected one and inserted it into a reader.

“Here.” He offered it to me. “This is a bit of a dramatization, since it’ll sell better as a thriller than a documentary, but the facts are all verified.”

I took the reader, swallowed some more coffee and looked at the words scrolling across the screen.

SNN News File 1, courtesy Brian Jensen

14 Nov 2075

Field Security Office, United Belt Mining Industries Outpost

Security Director Walt Fredericks tugged at his goatee as he replayed the transmission. The guards had sprung the trap as he ordered, but it seemed to have gone badly. His officers’ description painted a picture of a premature ambush which caught only part of the Marine squad, then became frantic and finally ended in a hail of explosions. He swore under his breath.

Fredericks had no combat experience, just a hitch in Air Force as an MP. That was enough to know that the plan was a bust. Stage the loss of a squad of infantry to the rebels. Pull the Fleet in to crush the riots. That’s what was supposed to have happened.

He had not gained his position at the mining corporation because of his accomplishments or expertise, but through his unique ability to sense the winds of fortune and adapt to the atmosphere of a bureaucracy. That instinct had saved him before, and brought him promotion when other, perhaps more skilled men were destroyed.

The wind was changing. It was time to move on.

He had done what he could for his current employers, carefully escalated the tension while looking like he was working to tamp it down. Dragging the Fleet in would have been a masterstroke worthy of Pinkerton himself.

“Can’t win ’em all,” he sighed.

It was time to change jobs. If somebody in the fleet or a government inspector started counting the chickens and found out about the planned riots, and the money from that Washington guy, O’Hooley, the company might try to hand over a security man gone rogue. Or silence him before he could implicate anybody higher up the chain.

Fredericks wasn’t indignant about that. It’s what he would do if he were them. That didn’t mean he was going to gladly fall on his sword for the good of UBM and its board of directors.

He left the office, initiating Plan B. That was one of his mottoes: Always have a Plan B. His security clearance would allow him access to the ordnance and transport he needed.

He heaved a last sigh of regret as he left his plush office for the last time.

There’ll be others, he told himself.

USS
TRIPOLI

We passed our nutrition bars around to the children. Concentrated, foil-wrapped dietary supplements made of dehydrated extract of grains, with protein and vitamins added. They tasted like corn syrup and sawdust, but they would keep you alive. These kids needed some energy if they were going to make it to the shuttle.

After that, we tried to form up in some kind of order, with the civilians and poor Terry in the center and us grunts fore and aft. It was tough, as there were only ten unhurt Marines, and twenty-six refugees. I could tell that the gunny was unhappy with the situation, but he wasn’t paid to be happy, just to do a job.

Nolan led us out the way we had come in. We figured anyone who had seen us deal with the ambush would probably think twice before messing with us. The one guard post along the route was no longer a threat, and the rebels would know beyond a doubt that we weren’t here on the corporation’s behalf.

All the same, nerves were on edge. We knew we were a big, slow-moving target.

I finally switched off with Doc, letting her carry the stretcher with Johnson. I took a long look at my newest teammate’s face. I knew he had gone through the combat rollercoaster of fear, excitement, anger and relief. The ambush angered him. He took it as a personal affront. He would have to get used to that. The children affected him more deeply. He could not comprehend that people would allow their offspring to be treated so badly. I felt the same way, but I had developed an emotional callous. Africa had given me that much.

I saw my TAR man in a new light. He’d been a nineteen-year-old kid when he filed onto the shuttle for this landing. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He had passed the test of fire and was now a member of an exclusive club. Until this deployment, there was a barrier between the boot and the veteran. I no longer suspected he’d make a good Marine. I knew.

Sabatini was unusually reserved. The sight of the children sobered her. I can only hazard a guess that they touched some maternal chord.

Or maybe she just didn’t have O’Rourke to snipe at.

I wanted to talk to Sgt McCray about Terry. He had shoved me out of the path of that machinegun burst. He was badly wounded saving my life. Maybe I could get him written up for a promotion. He shouldn’t be so low-ranked with his experience. It was criminal.

All this went through my head, but just as background noise in a brain hyperactive with adrenaline. I was focused on shepherding our vast flock of new dependents out of this mess alive. Every window, corner or hole in the wall was still a potential threat. I held my ACR in my shoulder, sweeping the muzzle across any possible bit of cover. Screw pointing it at the deck. Blood was spilled, we were effectively at war. I would shoot first and worry about the rules of engagement later. I was confident that Lt Mitchell and the gunny would back me up.

We passed the spot where the guards had sprung their ambush. Chan’s team scouted ahead while the rest of us awaited the signal to proceed. I took out my canteen and knocked back a drink, then passed it to the civilians. I was drenched with the sweat of nerves and exertion.

“Hey, boss?” Sabatini asked.

“Yeah?”

“Should there be a breeze in here?”

I concentrated for a second. I felt a cool rush of wind against the perspiration on my cheek. That was not a good sign. This should be a totally sealed environment. The filters that purified the air and converted the CO2 to oxygen made small currents, barely noticeable more than a few feet from them. Any large movement of air was a bad thing.

“Oh, shit. Gunny!” I hissed into my mic.

“What is it, Collins?” the speaker crackled.

“We got air movement. Probably a pressure drop coming.”

He switched channels without bothering to reply.

As Gunny Taylor conversed furiously with the Lieutenant, I motioned to my people to get ready to move. I didn’t know what the crisis was, but I would rather go out and meet it than have it come and get me. The breeze grew stronger as we got to our feet. The civilians looked to us for enlightenment which we had no power to give. I masked my confusion with activity.

“Come on, people, let’s get it together. On your feet.”

Sabatini started to ask me what the plan was, then saw the look in my eyes and closed her mouth. The civilians assumed I knew what the hell I was talking about.

“Collins,” Taylor whispered over the mic.

I turned away from the crowd. “Go ahead, Gunny.”

“Some dumb fuck blew open an airlock. Must’ve got hold of a crew-served weapon or some serious explosives. We need to haul ass back to the assault shuttle. This place is gonna be real unhealthy real soon.”

I choked down a stream of curses.

“OK, we need to pick up the pace,” I ordered. “On the double, everybody.”

I selected the four strongest looking social workers and had them grab the stretcher. If we were going to rush, I wanted more Marines bearing arms. We set a pace as fast as the kids could walk. The wind was increasing. At least it was in our faces. That had to mean that the damaged airlock was far from our destination. We could presumably leave the way we had come.

As I walked along behind the kids, mentally willing them to speed it up, I wondered what kind of idiot would blow an airlock. That was suicide unless somebody got it sealed. Maybe it was a corporate exec with a ship waiting. Maybe he had just bought his depressurization insurance.

Maybe that was a bit too cynical, but I was in a pretty cynical mood right then. I suppose some fanatic rebel with a martyr complex might’ve done it. It was stupid, but so was using Molotov cocktails in a sealed environment, or trashing their own neighborhoods.

A few rebels and miners came into view, but they showed no desire to screw with us and veered away from our formation when we turned our rifles toward them.

Amazing, that.

We were three-quarters of the way to the airlock, and the wind was much stronger. One of the youngest refugees, a little girl of five or so, gave up. She sat down in the roadway and cried.

I scooped her up in my left arm, carrying her on my hip. “It’s alright, sweetie,” I whispered, kissing her on top of the head. “We aren’t gonna let anything happen to you. Just hang on to Uncle Mick.”

She clung to my neck with surprising strength. Her sobbing continued, but more quietly. Seeing her desperation made me really want to kill somebody. For Christ’s sake, water buffaloes guard their young. Why the fuck couldn’t human beings measure up?

I could use my ACR one-handed if I had to, especially as pissed as I was and at ranges we were likely to encounter in the city. I was hoping somebody would try to mess with the people under my protection, just to give me an excuse.

We made it to the airlock. Sergeant Hernandez and his team had the corporate security disarmed and under guard. Lieutenants Mitchell and Evers were discussing our options with the ambassador, roaring over the wind. Gunny Taylor trotted up to them.

“How many?” I heard Mitchell demand.

I looked around the airlock. It was a total clusterfuck. Everyone who could was trying to worm a place on one of the docked shuttles. They steered clear of our craft only after Sgt Pilsudski drew his machete and started to stalk menacingly toward the crowd, the mad light of slaughter in his eyes.

I sincerely hope some of what he does is for show.

The commanders’ pow-wow was heating up. I couldn’t make out the words, but Lt Mitchell’s harsh Chicago accent was clashing with Ambassador Merrill’s polished Ivy League. As usual, Lt Evers was acting as moderator, his Virginia drawl strained as he tried to smooth the conflict.

I decided that since nobody was making any decisions, I would.

“Get the children, the wounded and the social workers on the damn shuttle!” I ordered. “If there’s still room, start with the dependents of the embassy personnel. Anybody not collecting a check from the government gets off first.”

“What about us, corp? The round trip is too long,” said one of Chan’s Marines.

“We’re armed, shit-for-brains,” I explained patiently. “We’ll overrun and secure one of these tubs if it comes to that.”

A crowd will take orders from anyone who acts like they should be giving them. Sabatini and Johnson began herding our charges onto the assault craft. I directed the social workers to get O’Rourke strapped in. When they’d finished that, I started loading dependents. Sgt McCray got the civilians lined up and filing on as space was available.

This was a shit situation. We might not all get out, but I would be damned if I was going to see the kids I trekked across this rock to save go down. Lt Mitchell would either promote me or shoot me if we ever got back, but I had to answer to my conscience. If we died, it would be with honor. We all die eventually.

Before that happened, we would make a credible attempt at commandeering a corporate shuttle. Let those bastards asphyxiate. They started this mess, they could clean it up.

Our assault shuttle was designed to carry thirty heavily armed Marines and supplies. We now had nearly ninety people aboard. It was straining the equipment, but we could do it in two overloaded trips. On the first, we got everybody loaded except for Marines, a handful of Navy men and the embassy officials. A gunner’s mate got off the shuttle to make room for the ambassador’s daughter. That made me decide to go easy on the Navy for a while. At least everyone left hanging was on the government’s payroll.

We backed everybody out beyond the docking chamber and the shuttle took off. My ears popped as the pressure in the asteroid sank lower. I crossed myself half unconsciously. I’d been raised Catholic, back when the Earth was young, but had lapsed a bit since.

I was lost in thought when Sabatini grabbed the collar of my armor and pulled my head down. She planted a kiss on me. I was so startled I almost didn’t respond.

Almost.

“You looked like you needed that, chief,” she said. “Johnson wanted to do it, but I pulled rank.”

I grinned like an idiot. “Well, it sure as hell hasn’t been a boring deployment.”

“So, how long till we board a corporate scow and go out, guns blazing?”

“Since I made the call at the shuttle over six higher-ranked Marines, I think I’ll let the Old Man sound the charge on this one.”

I waited for the order with a strange calm. The pressure drop might be playing hell with my reason.

Lt Evers walked up to me.
Oh shit, here we go.

“Cpl Collins.”

“Sir!”

He eyed me from under lowered brows, a neutral expression on his face. “You made the right call back there. The Old Man can’t decide if he should tear off your stripes for jumping the chain of command, or give you another one for keeping your head.”

I waited for him to go on. The best thing to do when you aren’t sure how much trouble you’re in is keep quiet. Talking can only make the trouble bigger.

“Just wanted you to know that it was the right choice. We all agree on that.”

Was he reassuring me because he thought we were dead anyway?

“By the way, we caught a lucky break. A rescue rig showed up. They’re trying to seal the breach now. Don’t get too excited, it hasn’t worked yet.”

“Still nice to know somebody gives a rat’s ass, sir.”

He nodded. “Yes, it is. If it doesn’t work, we take the next corporate boat. They won’t like it and we won’t all make it. If this is it, good luck, you’ve been a good Marine. I ain’t gonna kiss you though.”

This last was said with a look at Sabatini. She put on her innocent face, the one that made the Virgin Mary look like a pickpocket. The lieutenant walked back to his place by the boss.

Gradually, it seemed the wind was slowing. It might even have stopped. Son of a bitch! They must have gotten that seal in place.

A cheer went up from the platoon. If we met that Rescue team, they wouldn’t have to pay for their own drinks for a year. We settled down and waited for the assault shuttle to return.

It was nice to know we might get off this rock.

Now that we were going to live, I had to worry about things like the crowding on the ship, O’Rourke’s commendation, my insubordination, and where we were going to get a fourth for poker until Terry got back to duty. Maybe some of the social workers could play.

All things being equal, there were worse problems to have.