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Rodina space station
Pvt. Patwardhan's hospital room
Leon tries to diffuse the rising hostility with his calm, reassuring
advice. "I think the answer is clear: we're going. Patwardhan
seems to think there's a chance some of them might be alive. We've
got to find out. Which begs the question: how do we prepare? I didn't
see any of the creatures when I was onboard, but I did see the damage. I
can imagine how tough they must be to subdue." He shoots a look
at Booths, noting the crutches and the cigarette, new
affectations. "Private Patwardhan, we'll be waiting for you
outside. Our debriefing begins in half an hour."
The smoke-filled council chamber is crowded, for once. All of the
chief administrators are there: general manager Holcomb, his aides,
the district marshal Burnett, the shipping superintendent Katy Roder,
dozens of spectators, about a hundred heads altogether. Healy
recognizes most of them by looks, some of them by surname, others are
close friends, compatriots, former lovers. A couple of years on a
space station, and you tend to get close with everyone at least once.
Squeezing past one another in a hall, sitting at the same table in
the cafeteria, picking up your checks at the same time.
Most of the assemblage, consisting of the cargo handlers (thirty or
forty of these, upset at having to stand by, doubly upset if they
have to do any work), packs against the chamber walls, while others
work to stay in their seats, huddled around several tables that have
been shoved toward the center of the room. The marines stand in the
center of the room, awkwardly spotlighted, while their escort and
liaison, Sgt. Healy, keeps the crowd from moving in too close.
They're jostling, taunting, throwing rude gestures. In the mix
are the shop owners, the labor unions at work aboard Rodina. A powerful
lobby, these plain clothes small businesses are big money at the end
of a tour, despite their low profile. Their motivation is pure greed:
a sudden influx of bulk supplies (possibly perishables, if the
Korea's power supplies are really down) means that the general
store won't be making its usual commission as long as those goods are
available. Profit margins, end-of-tour payouts, numbers crunching,
reducing in their little brains.
Someone in the darkened recesses of the room shouts, "Start the
fuckin' meeting!" Eyes momentarily turn from the center of
the chamber to this loud nuisance, before settling back on the marines,
and the high-ranking officials they've been brought before.
It is from here that a wiry man in round glasses, name of Seidler,
calls the meeting to order. As the voices slowly die down, a large
group of security personnel hurries into the room, late for the
meeting. There's a lot of head-shaking and eye-rolling. Healy
knows they've just left a meeting of their own, discussing the security
team's policies and contingency plans. She didn't need to be
there; she had already been briefed by the marshal.
"As I was saying," Seidler clears his throat. "The Company's policy,
as I interpret it, is to immediately and authoritatively salvage the
USCSS Korea to best of our ability. I believe we can keep the Korea
intact if we can restore power."
"That means sending someone over there," interrupts a younger
man in a suit. Healy knows him well; Steve White is one of Rodina's few
attorneys, a cautious kid with bad acne. "We talked about this.
There's a liability issue. We've already lost lives in this
matter." He shuffles some papers into a folder, nervously shaking his head.
A medic interjects, "We don't know if anyone died." Her voice fades under another round of discontentment.
Seidler, ever the Company rep, pushes his glasses up his nose. He
takes his time and considers the marines carefully. Finally, he says
to them, "What do you think we should do?"
USS Gaines, docked to Rodina
Level 04, sanitation/engineering center
Thankful for high rubber boots, Adams goes to work on the valve with
an oversized wrench. Gonzales steps back and holds his nose, moving
completely out of the area to where the insurance lady gone.
Gonzales walks up the hallway to search for her. Earlier she
had been asking about a restroom. She'll get lost in here without
directions. She could have just pissed on the floor and nobody would
have been the wiser. Now she's wandered off and ... Jesus, that
shit stinks! Alex doesn't stop moving until the muted clangs and huffs
coming from Adams' direction fade and the overpowering reeking
sewage is just a memory. He finds himself in a narrow hallway nearly blocked
by thick pipes and ducts that were installed after the Gaines rolled
off the assembly line. No way that fat broad could have fit through
here, not in a million years. These cruisers are designed for a lean
crew that don't mind bending to get where they're going.
Further up along the constricted hallway, a hissing valve is venting a steady
blast of steam. Looks like a good place to wash one's hands. Just wish they would run some lights in here. Besides, what's to fear?
Whatever went down, it happened on the Korea. This ship never even got involved.
Jimmy's arms are pumping, wrenching away at the valve's bolts.
Experience had developed the reflex to pull on his respirator mask
and goggles in the event of a leak. The stink is filtered out, but
it's like breathing through cotton. The glass fogs up in about tens
seconds flat. He just keeps working with the wrenching, working by
feel, trying not to think about the consistency of those soupy chunks
that sometimes flow through the break. By the time Jimmy's got the
leak sealed off, his main source of light has left him. Looking up
through the goggles, he can vaguely see that Alex and the fat broad
have both vanished. His own torch had been resting on a block of
diagnostic computers near the entrance to the hall leading back to
the ladder. Something just brushed past it, knocking the flashlight
to the floor, plunging him into abject darkness. Something enormous
blocks out the faint blue light in the hallway, moving toward the
stairs. It had moved right past him without seeing him. It moves
further down the hall and crouches, unaware that it's being
observed.
It begins to move away again, standing three meters high, a whole
tangle of arms and legs, black and spindly, fuzzed out by the foggy
goggles. A cold wind moves through his spine.
Booths didn't say a further word. He just stood there, looking at the
pack of cigarettes in his hands. An overwhelming feeling of revulsion
swpet over him. He did not like being dependant on this shit. His features were
carved from stone as he crushed the pack in his hardened hand. He did not
flinch as the wounds inflicted on him flared briefly.
The craving for a cigarette burned inside him, to inhale searing
smoke, to relieve the stress, the pain, the anger. His fists clenched, and his
knuckles cracked loudly. He would not be a tool. He would not let himself
become a tool. He let the crumbled packet tumble from his hand.
He had been paying passive attention to both Padwardhan and Healy. He did
not respond to Healy's request for information, and neither did he say
anything to Aishwarya's statement concerning the unti being hosts for
those fucking pieces of shit.
*And we're not even necessarily asking you or Private Patwardhan to
go back
in.*
The words echoed in his mind hollowly. They weren't asking, but as
the most fit military person, he would have to go in. It was his duty. He
hated it, and he didn't know whether or not he'd survive a second time, but he
had to do it. The mission was incomplete, and that meant that the military
had the obligation to finish the job, with whatever was at hand.
He recognized the demons that plagued, kept him awake at night, and
made him wish for a smoke right now. He began making his way towards the door.
He could get by without the crutches, especially if he could get out of this
dress uniform. But he used them for now. His toe would thank him for the
relief later.
The armoury should still hold plenty of spare weapons.
"Leon, let's get back to the Gaines and take inventory." He turned
his head to peer over his shoulder at Healy and Aishwarya. "Healy, what you
need is an armoured battalion, but what you've got is a banged up marine, an
android, and an arsenal big enough to mount an assault on the gates
of hell." Which they would be mounting. Death is as light as a feather,
and duty heavier than mountain. Now where had he read that? He gave a
slight shake of his head.
"If you go in there, I'll be along for the ride." His insides
clenched, and his stomach became a ball of ice at his pronouncement. "Doc...I'll
see you before I go."
He opened the door, and crutched outside.
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