Steel Walls and Dirt Drops (2 page)

Trooper
One Donnellson of Foxtrot Squad frowned at the beer in front of him. It was only his second brew and it was a freebie to boot, since the owner of the beer had passed out shortly after buying the beer and was even now under the table. He really wanted to drink it, but he knew he shouldn’t. Second-Level Commander Race Jackson, his squad leader, would tear a wide strip off his backside if he so much as sniffed it. It did seem to make sense not to drink too much since he was technically on duty. Then again, half of the troopers in the bar were on duty.

H
e thought, “Still, Race put me here to keep an eye on the slide-walk for our new third-level commander. She isn’t due until tomorrow, but then Race doesn’t trust anyone above second-level.” Donnellson understood the feeling because he did not much trust anyone at any rank above trooper. Donnellson snorted to himself thinking about the last third-level the old ninety-second had endured. The man was a full-fledged domestic-level waste of air. No wonder so many troopers were dogging it at the Monkey Hole, on duty or off.

He thought, “M
aybe I can chug this one really fast when Race isn’t looking, just like I did the first beer a few minutes ago.”

“Hanging dirt! There she goes
,” Trooper One Sigget Donnellson shouted over the noise.

Second
Jackson spun around just in time to catch sight of a woman’s back as the slide-walk moved her around the space station’s gentle curve and out of his sight.

“Did ya see her, Race?”
Donnellson asked excitedly. “It has to be her. Big woman! A damn amazon in uniform and I swear I saw the triangles of a Third. I think it looked like her pix on the vids download last week.”

“Crap in the bag! Then it’s
probably her,” Jackson affirmed.

He swung his gaze around The Monkey Hole. As usual
, the barroom was crowded. It was a favorite location for APES, the ground combat troops for the Allied Systems. It was as common a bar as on any other space station catering to military clientele. There were few decorations or adornments, fewer tables and even fewer chairs along the pre-fabricated plasticine bar covering the whole length of the back bulkhead. It did have plenty of standing room. An oddity of station architecture left the ceiling little more than a gaping hole through three decks. It was completely open where the fourth wall would have been as it faced the slide-walk. That openness made it particularly popular with APES. These men and women spent most of their working lives confined to a station, in transit on troop transports, or encased in the hard-shelled APES combat suits. It was the most non-claustrophobic hangout possible on Heaven’s Gate. At least, it was the most non-claustrophobic hangout that served alcohol this close to the AMSF hangers. As usual, the Monkey Hole was jammed with APES from all over the station. Most were stationed on parked spacecraft but a few were just passing through.

Race Jackson knew he and
Donnellson weren’t the only APES in the bar deployed on the AMSF Spacecraft Kiirkegaard. He finally spotted Second-Level Commander Takki-Homi. “Taks,” Jackson shouted over the noise of the bar. “Hey, Deuce Taks! We got company knocking at the hatch.”

Heads swiveled and bodies crushed toward the open
space between the bar and the slide-walk. Voices shouted, “Where?” “I don’t see anybody special.” “Who?” “Is that her? The hero of Hydra?” It was well noised about that the 1392nd was getting a new third-level commander. What made the gossip particularly juicy was that this commander was a certified, battle-hardened hero.

Jackson snorted and shouted over the din. “Shut your
frakking pie-holes. It was the Battle of Guinjundst in the Hydra Sector, you morons, and yeah it was most likely her. Donnellson spotted her on the slide-walk.” He turned to Takki-Homi and asked, “What do you think, Deuce? Can we beat her back to the Kiirkegaard?”

Second
Takki-Homi nodded slowly. He tapped the communications unit tagged onto his breast pocket glass-pack data unit turning their unit’s comm gear on and opening up a channel. With a little luck, their new boss would not have slaved her comms to their unit’s frequency. “Unit 1392: McPherson’s Second Tier, listen up. This is Second Takki-Homi,” Taks spoke swiftly, broadcasting to everyone in the 121 trooper outfit. “To the APE on the gate: The new third-level commander is on her way. Do a slow stall, don’t get yourself in a jam with the boss, but try to slow her down. Do a triple bip warning on the comm when she gets past you. Vark, are you on board?”

Takki-Homi
heard a single bip from the comm unit. The bip told him that squad leader Second-Level “Vark” Aardmricksdottir was listening and on board the transport. She knew she did not need to take mission-critical time speaking.

“Good
,” Taks said. “Set-to with whomever you got, no matter whose squad they're in. She’s early so scramble to unshamble. Every APE not on board the Kiirkegaard is to head to the delta deck gate. Cut across the maintenance bay and get onboard through the cargo hatches. If the vacuum-heads yell about you being on their turf, just ignore them. I’ll straighten it out with the load master later. Move it, APES!”

Chapter T
hree

Misha stepped off the slide-walk and turned toward the AMSF main gate leading to the military's principal decks.

Misha kn
ew her uniform, boots, hair, eyes and even her teeth were spotless. She changed from her blood-red utility jumpsuit into the dress uniform just a short time ago in the transport pod coming up from Heaven Three. She deliberately delayed a hundred meters short of the gate. She had stood gate duty on many stations and knew what it was like to have any commander catch you unprepared. The delay should have given the gate guard time to spot her and be ready to greet her.

Each APE
S unit deployed to an AMSF spacecraft regardless of size was required to assign a trooper to the main gate. Officially, it was to vouch for APES with the AMSF guard on duty, thus eliminating the need to carry passes, authorizations or any other sort of bureaucratic red tape. After all, APES were just tenants and passengers on Allied Mobile Space Force vessels.

On a large station like Heaven’s Gate, APES
were deployed on any one of a dozen or more spacecraft. A lot of troopers from a lot of units would be on gate duty at any given time. Her delay at the mirror should give the troopers on duty time to sort out who she might be and which trooper should be on his feet and at the gate to greet her.

Unofficially, gate duty was
designed to have a friendly face greeting returning APES. It was also a time to meet troopers in other commands, tell war stories, trade gossip, make new friends and network. However relaxed it might become, most troopers made sure the right trooper was available at just the right time so a returning APE wouldn’t even break stride passing through the gate. Delaying an APE at the gate was traditionally bad form. Delaying a command level APE at the gate, even seconds and thirds, might land a lazy trooper on a punishment detail: scrubbing toilets, shuffling mobility pallets, or scraping the bottom of the combat skid plates.

Misha had no desire to start her new command by jumping down the throat of the first
trooper in her unit she met. She was more than a little surprised to see that only an AMSF spacer stood to greet her. She could see small clusters of APES troopers behind the gate, many of them looking decidedly nervous. However, none of them stepped up to the gate. The spacer, a young, absolutely tiny woman, glanced behind her at the knot of troopers and shrugged helplessly.

Misha halted at the gate entrance, neither remaining outside the area nor stepping
in as her bulky size blocked the gate entrance. Misha shrugged back and said, “Third-Level Commander Hamisha Ann McPherson reporting for deployment aboard the AMSF spacecraft Kiirkegaard.” She handed the young woman her glass-pack. The spacer slid the glass-pack into the slot on her command board and pressed the big green 'go' button.

The glass-pack was a leaded crystal rectangle about three inches by two inches and only a
n insignificant fraction of an inch thick. Data was stored at a molecular level and transferred by light code at light speed. Each subset of stored data was encrypted and buried behind a maze of firewalls, thus insuring that when a user dropped the glass-pack into a slot the reader could only access authorized data for the specifically requested data transfer.

Misha’s glass-pack, like everyone’s, contained her whole life, private, professional and archival. It held enough copies of books, plays, and movies to stock a small planetary library. It held all of her photo-images and mail from home. It held her financial and banking records, small as they were. It also held her orders the Kiirkegaard
deployment orders and the orders authorizing her to take command of the 1392nd.

Glass-packs could automatically transmit
appropriate codes without inquiry or comment, but certain military traditions remained sacrosanct. Reporting to a new duty station had its own set of rules having nothing to do with any available technology. Faster than either could have requested the data verbally, the command board queried the glass-pack, which responded equally fast with the appropriate answer.

The command board’s resident hologram image was a twelve-inch high AMSF General in
full-dress uniform. It popped into existence and hovered a few inches above the board. Speaking loud enough for every trooper in the area to hear and in a clear well-modulated voice, it said, "Welcome aboard, Third McPherson. Proceed to hangar E-315, please.” The little man blinked out before Misha could say thank you.

The
diminutive spacer said, “Yes, ma’am. Let me locate your trooper.” She handed Misha back her glass-pack.

Misha smiled to put the young girl at ease. “Thank you, Spacer Second Class
. It is second class, is it not?”

The girl blushed. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, even accounting for the delayed aging GerinAid injection. She was obviously on her first term of enlistment and just out of boot camp.
“Um, yes ma’am. It's Morin, um…Spacer Second Class Brianna Morin.” The girl almost saluted, but halted her arm midway up, remembering at the last moment that APES don’t salute. Instead, she started to turn to the troopers behind her. Misha stopped her.

“Spacer Second Class
Morin, it is ‘sir’,” she said.

The girl looked confused. “Pardon me,
ma’am?”

“In the Allied Protective Expeditionary Service all commanders of
third-level and above are called sir not ma’am. Second-level commanders are called mister. Gender does not matter. It is hard to tell the sex of someone encased in a combat suit. It might do you well to remember that. Who knows, Spacer Morin, you may want to become an APE someday!”

“Me,
ma’am? I mean, sir,” the spacer stammered. “I’m way too small to be a fighter type.”

Misha replied,
“Well, when I was a first-year rookie, the second-level commander of my squad was just about your size. Deuce Saheed kicked my butt every day of the week. Size, just like gender, does not always matter. Now you may find me my trooper.”

Misha had deliberately delayed beyond all reason and
was beginning to get a tad bit peeved. If she delayed at the gate it was her business, but she should not be delayed by others. Not even a newbie rookie trooper should have been left standing this long. The girl turned and motioned frantically to a trooper lounging in a chair off to one side. The man came over, not on the double as Misha would have expected, but quick enough she held her tongue.

Misha glanced behind her. A line of
APES and spacers was starting to back up, waiting their turn to gain entrance. Misha was glad she had sent all of her gear on ahead by cargo pod. At least, she wasn’t carrying her bags. Still, she completely blocked the entrance to the main gate.

“Sir?”
the trooper asked.

“Sir what, Trooper?” Misha asked. “Has the hearing standard been relaxed for the Thirteen Ninety-Second?” She looked the man
in the eyes. In them, she saw boredom, not apprehension, not worry, not confusion, just boredom. “Are you or are you not assigned to the 1392nd currently deployed aboard the Kiirkegaard?”

“Yes,
sir, it is now McPherson’s Second,” he said, still not motioning for her to move through the gate.

Misha bit back the growing anger. To be delayed was one thing; this was close to being a deliberate insult. The calm showing on her face belied her raging emotions. She looked the man up and down.
He was a good looking, dark-haired man with the frame of an ex-athlete who did not work out as hard as he could, but still looked fit. He was older than her, but far from going gray.

S
he said, “Beyond any reasonable doubt, I am sure you heard me tell Spacer Second Class Morin I am that very McPherson.”

The
trooper started to reply, "But Trey, you aren't here officially until tomorrow and-”

Misha cut him short. “Trooper, you will call the Kiirkegaard, get the
second in charge to send out your replacement, then you will escort me to the Kiirkegaard. Do you understand?” Without waiting for a reply, she continued. “You will do it now.” Misha could barely keep a calm face as the man reached up and turned on his comm unit to make the call. The insult was becoming incompetence. Never had she heard of anyone shutting down their comm unit when on duty. That was the equivalent of sleeping on the job. Fuming, she listened as the man called into the APES detachment aboard ship. She held her temper in check, knowing that pounding someone in your command on the very first day would be very bad form.

“The call’s in and Second Moraft is on her way
,” the trooper said. “It’ll be just a tic, sir. I’ll grab my gear and be back before they get here.”

“Freeze, Trooper
,” Misha all but shouted through gritted teeth. “I will stand right here. You will stand with me.”

“But my
stuff-” the man whined.

“Trooper
, upon returning to your squad, you will report to your squad's medic for a hearing exam.” Misha interrupted and leaned in close to the man’s face. She was a foot taller than him, so she bent slightly, causing the trooper to crick his neck upward to stare into her face. Speaking so softly only he would hear she said, “Trooper, know this: I will take no more crap, sass or back talk from you. I do not want to hear anything other than ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’. Do not test my patience further.”

Misha heard a shout from behind her, “Hey! What’s the hold up? I got duty in fifteen.”

Misha looked behind her at the ever-growing line of men and women waiting a turn at the gate. She swiveled her head back around to the trooper. She could sense his dismay as she stepped a fraction closer to him. Eyeball to eyeball, nose-to-nose, not a drop of sweat separated the two, she hovered over him. Neither Misha nor the trooper blinked. Her anger grew and she could see the realization in his eyes that he had pushed the wrong person.

Misha
caught sight of Spacer Morin in the corner of her eye. The young spacer glanced at the growing crowd at the gate and back to the two APES.

“Um,
sir?” Morin asked in hesitation. “Third McPherson? Would you care to wait for your escort inside the gate office where you might be more comfortable?”

“No thank you, Spacer
Morin,” Misha answered without taking her eyes off the trooper before her. “I am fine here.”

“Yes,
ma’am, I mean sir. But, the Kiirkegaard is way around the tarmac. And…well, the traffic at the gate?” More shouts from the line interrupted the girl.

“Yeah, move it up there.” “Come on, we ain’t got all day.” “Hey,
Beaudry! You got a new girlfriend?” Misha realized that until this moment she hadn’t known the trooper’s name. Not that it mattered, a person would not remain anonymous for long in a unit of only 121 people.

Taking her eyes off Trooper
Beaudry, Misha turned only her face toward the girl and said, “Thank you for your concern, Spacer. I am sure that I will be fine right here. Don’t worry, Brianna. Here comes the cavalry. You have done fine. Let your boss handle it. That is why he gets to wear the fancy uniforms at officer’s parties.” She smiled and gestured towards the hatch of the gate office. A young second lieutenant was bustling toward them.

The
lieutenant pulled up short. Misha could see his eyes bug-out at the Aries Ribbon on her chest. She knew how he felt. Before she had an Aries medal of her own to wear she had only seen them on recruiting posters and then only on ancient and scarred veteran warriors.

The man swallowed, obviously nervous. “Third, we must clear the gate. I am sorry, but I must ask you to step into the holding area until we can resolve whatever is, um, what is, I mean, you know…” The man trailed
off as the growing crowd behind Misha became louder and more profane.

Misha spun on her heels and faced the queue of men and women. “Silence!”
she bellowed. “You will behave like adults or you will be treated as children.” Smiling, she turned back to the man. “I am in no mood for more insults, Lieutenant. I am sure if we work together we can run this crowd through the gate faster than a hot knife through warm butter, if you get my drift.” She tapped the man’s officer tab, a single gold bar.

“Y
-y-yes, ma’am,” the man stuttered.

Misha shook her head in amazement.
Spacer Morin hid a smile behind her hand. Misha saw the girl had the grace to blush at the officer’s gaffe. Misha shot her a wink that said, ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ She decided she was not in the mood to instruct any more people in the manners and customs of her outfit, not even to instruct an officer of a sister service who should know better.

Misha said
to the lieutenant, “Call me Third or Trey if it suits you, or even Misha. Now, shall we clear this deck?”

Before the man could respond she shouted, “All right. All
APES on gate duty form a double, gauntlet style line to the outside curve of the gate. Move it!” Troopers scrambled to fall into place. Beaudry started to move, but Misha put a restraining hand on his chest. “Not yet, Trooper Beaudry,” she said. “Lieutenant, if you would be so kind, form your people to the inside curve. We should be able to clear the decks, toot sweet.”