Against All Enemies (8 page)

"Any chance I can hire her off of you?"

"No, sir. Sorry."

The captain extended one hand. "Grady Perseus."

The commanding officer of a ship named
Prometheus Rising
is himself named Perseus? Figure the odds
. Paul shook hands. "Lieutenant Paul Sinclair."

"I really appreciate the help from you guys." The captain of the
Prometheus
turned to point to his companions. "These are your passengers."

Both of the others wore new coveralls, and neither had hair cut short in the usual manner of professional spacefarers. The woman, some of whose long blond hair had escaped from its bun and was drifting in front of her face, smiled politely as she used her free hand to bat at the annoying hairs. "Reverend Alice Fernandez."

Her companion, tall and dark, nodded with equal politeness to Paul even though his expression remained noncommittal. "Doctor William Chen-Meyer."

Paul glanced behind them, where two wreaths formed from cloth were fastened to the bulkhead. "If you're ready, we can leave immediately."

"Thank you," the blond replied. Reaching back to gather in one of the wreaths, she used her other hand to propel herself awkwardly toward the gig's hatch. Paul steadied her, gesturing to the two bosun mates waiting inside to help her to her seat. The dark man followed with the same lack of low-gravity skills.

Paul looked back at the freighter captain. "We should be back in about one and a half hours."

"No problem, sailor. I'll be here."

Paul sealed the hatch and returned to his seat, fastening the straps again quickly. Physically tired and emotionally exhausted from events of the last day and a half, all he wanted was to get this extra job over with. "Let's go, Boats."

"Aye, aye, sir." Several minutes later, the gig was on its way toward the asteroid's surface.

Paul averted his eyes from the screen, which displayed the looming mass of rock they were to all appearances falling onto, and found himself looking at the blond. The reverend, he corrected himself.

Her smile was gone as she stared at the asteroid. Then she looked at Paul. "The reports we received weren't sure how many of the settlers survived."

Paul bit his lip before replying. "Seven."

She winced as if in physical pain. "How many children?"

"Only two."

The dark man was shaking his head. "I just don't understand."

Paul felt anger growing. "We did all we could—"

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply . . . that is." The man took a long, slow breath. "I don't understand the South Asians. Or the settlers. Why fire upon the settlement when other options remained? Why kill your own children? What possible reasons could justify either act?"

Paul met his eyes. "I honestly don't understand myself, sir."

"We hoped we could stop something like this from happening. If the police had just waited—"

"Bill," the blond interrupted. "We don't know enough, yet." She looked at Paul. "Do you know why the police moved in last night?"

"No, ma'am, I don't." At least he could honest about that, and there was no way he was going to share Captain Hayes' suspicions that the cops had moved early to try to forestall the
Prometheus
's arrival.

"We understand you tried to stop the attack by interposing yourselves between the South Asians and their targets." She leaned forward as far as her straps would allow. "That was a tremendously courageous act. All of my comrades want to express our thanks to you."

The dark man nodded. "I personally feared someone would start shooting and everyone would join in. We'd have had a major war triggered. I don't know what kept you from firing, but it was the right thing to do."

Paul stared at him.
We couldn't fire. We wanted to, but— Is he right? What if we had started shooting at the SASAL ships? The Brits would've backed us, I bet. The others? Who knows. Warships would've been destroyed. Would it have triggered a big war, here in space or on Earth as well
?

Was there nothing else we could've done that wouldn't have been worse than what actually happened? I've hated those orders not to fire, but would I have wanted to live with a war started by those stupid fanatics on that asteroid? How many other people would've died because of that
?

Wait a minute. These people are
thanking
us for what we did. I thought they'd be all over me about what'd happened. Courageous? No, we were just
— He remembered the simulated sounds of SASAL shots ripping past the
Michaelson
.
We could've died, I guess
.

The blond was nodding to Ivan Sharpe and the bosun mates. "Yes. You all risked your lives to save others. Thank you. I know your training is to kill—"

Sharpe coughed loudly, but one of the bosun mates just grinned and nudged her comrade. "Hell, ma'am, I spend most of my time keeping people alive. War's just kind of a hobby."

Both of the visitors looked at Paul, who shrugged. "That's pretty much true in a way. We train for what we might have to do, but war's pretty much the last option after all else has failed."
At least it's supposed to be the last option
.

The dark man looked skeptical but nodded. "I wish we'd had a chance to fail."

Paul nodded back but said nothing.

The chief bosun handled the approach to the asteroid with the same skill and aplomb she'd shown earlier. As the gig came to rest several meters above the surface of the asteroid, Paul gestured to the guests. "How do want to do this?"

The blond looked distressed. "We don't have suits. We should've thought—"

"We can drop 'em internally," the chief bosun advised. She pointed downward. "There's a drop chute there. Put in your, uh, objects and I'll open the chute. There's a little spring loaded launch pad that'll push them down toward the surface."

"Thank you. That will do very nicely."

As the two visitors cautiously loaded the wreaths into the drop chute built into the deck of the gig, Paul panned the visual display around. On the surface below, he could see scattered remnants of the settlement. No bodies were visible, but at least twenty security personnel were in place and watching the gig.

The chief bosun tapped Paul's arm and pointed to another display. "They got weapons trained on us."

"What?"

"Yeah. Light anti-orbital stuff. Only good for taking out tourists and boats like this."

Paul glanced back at the visitors and kept his voice low. "What the hell do those cops think we are?"

"I guess they figure better safe than sorry, sir."

"Well, they'd better do a better job of recognizing real threats, then. And of trusting people on the same side."

The drop chute safely sealed, the chief bosun triggered the drop while both of the visitors prayed. The blond watched the wreaths fall toward the asteroid, tears from her eyes drifting away from her face. The female bosun scooped the errant spheres of water up with a cloth, her face impassive.

Paul watched the wreaths, too, then looked at the security forces arrayed below. He caught Sheriff Sharpe's eye and Sharpe shook his head.
As soon as we're gone they'll get rid of those wreaths. Hell. What's wrong with grieving for the innocent dead
?

A few minutes later they were on their way back to the
Prometheus
. Paul was trying to decide whether or not to report that weapons had been trained on the gig when he realized both of the visitors were watching him intently.

"Excuse me," the dark man stated. "But I wonder if you could tell me, in your own words, why you do what you do."

Paul tried to sort the question through his weary brain. "Why I'm in the Navy, you mean?"

"The Navy. The military. Why you wear a uniform and, as you said, train to kill if your superiors should find it necessary."

"That's a rather complicated question and I've had a very long day." Paul thought about it for a while. "I guess because it's important."

"But, why? Why do you think so?"

"Because . . . look, we take this oath. Yes. An oath. When I put on the uniform I swore I'd, um, 'support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic.' There's more, but that's basically it."

The blond looked intrigued. "Then you don't swear to defend the country, or to follow orders, but to defend the Constitution?"

"Well, yes, we swear to follow orders, but they have to be legal orders."

"Legal orders?"

"Yes. You know. They can't violate the law. Or the Constitution. You can't be ordered to do something illegal. Well, okay, you can be ordered to do something wrong but it's your responsibility not to obey an illegal order."

"Such as one violating the Constitution?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah."

"Any part of it?"

"We swear to defend the entire thing."

She laughed, then looked at her companion. "Did you hear that, Bill? They're here to defend the Constitution. Including the Bill of Rights! People with guns and uniforms to defend freedom! It's funny, isn't it?"

"Why?" Paul asked.

"I'm not sure. Maybe funny is the wrong word. Incongruous. Ironic." She sighed. "We don't really understand you. The military, I mean. And you don't understand us, do you? But, really, you've got the weapons.
You've
nothing to fear from
us
."

Paul found himself smiling lopsidedly. "You've got a point there."

They were almost back at the
Prometheus
when the blond reverend spoke again. "Your captain told our captain that your ship will be leaving here soon to return to your base."

"If he told you that, then, yes, that's so," Paul said.

"We're going to request permission for the
Prometheus Rising
to accompany your ship back."

Paul frowned. "Why?"

She hesitated, looking over at the dark man, who nodded reluctantly. "To put it bluntly, we'd appreciate your escorting us to ensure we reach home safely."

Paul was sure his eyebrows were rising in surprise. "Escort?"

"Yes. Isn't that the right term? Those ships, the South Asians, they're still out there. We'd like your protection."

Surprise was putting it too mildly. Maybe shock, Paul decided. "I can't promise anything like that."

"We understand that. The captain of the
Prometheus Rising
will make a formal request to your captain. If you could do us the favor of letting him know the request will be forthcoming, we'd be grateful."

Paul nodded. "Sure. I'll tell him."
I can't wait to see how Captain Hayes reacts to that
.

Ten minutes later the gig was docked and the two pacifists made polite farewells to Paul and the sailors with him. Five minutes after that the gig was headed back to the
Michaelson
. The chief bosun looked back at Paul and grinned. "They were kinda nice, weren't they?"

"Yeah." Paul saw Sharpe rolling his eyes. "Give me a break, Sheriff. They were nice."

"Probably just deception, Mr. Sinclair. Get us off guard."

"I can't tell if you're joking this time."

Sharpe grinned. "I'm not telling. Don't fall for their act, sir. Maybe they are really nice people. But they don't understand how the world works. How people work. They just cause trouble for you and me."

"Sheriff, honest to God sometimes I wonder how much I do understand how things work."

Sharpe pointed to Paul's uniform. "You're wearing that, sir. That means you understand something. Of course, that officer's rank means you don't understand too much. That's why you need enlisted around to explain things."

"Very funny. You know as well as I do that there's always more than one way to handle a situation."

"Yes, sir. The Right Way, the Wrong Way and the Navy Way," Sharpe recited.

"Uh huh. Maybe sometimes their way might work. Or at least make things a little easier for us."

Sharpe scratched his cheek meditatively. "Mr. Sinclair, I don't mind admitting you've got good instincts sometimes. In this case, though, I figure letting misguided idealists get involved would just make our problem worse."

"Would it?" Paul stared at the deck for a moment. "You know what, Sheriff? When push came to shove on and around that asteroid all our weapons couldn't make any difference.
Before
that our weapons hadn't resolved things. There's limits to what we can do."

Sharpe didn't try to hide his skepticism. "You think those peaceniks could've really made a difference?"

"We'll never know, Sheriff. Maybe they could've talked some sense into those settlers. Maybe their presence would've made the SASALs a little less likely to take out as many settlers as possible. Maybe. But I do know one thing. Things couldn't have turned out any worse than they did. I wish those people had been given a chance to try."

* * *

"What the hell were they doing there?"

Paul looked over at Lieutenant Mike Bristol, surprised by the junior supply officer's uncharacteristic outburst. Meals in the wardroom had been subdued lately. They were on their way back to Franklin Naval Station, the civilian freighter
Prometheus Rising
following five thousand kilometers astern, far enough away to avoid giving away the
Michaelson
's exact position or colliding with the warship by accident, but close enough to be within easy reach if protection was needed. One of Paul's few enjoyable moments lately had been watching the expressions on the faces of Commanders Kwan, Garcia and Moraine when he told Captain Hayes in their presence about the civilians' impending request for escort home. But Hayes had agreed. "Why was who where?" Paul asked.

"Those people on the asteroid."

Paul had seen the reports. "The survivors claim God told them to settle the asteroid."

"Why?"

"Hell, Mike, I don't know. God hasn't talked to me lately. Next time he does, I'll ask."

Something about his tone of voice got through to Mike, who nodded. "I know you don't know. It's just . . ."

"Yeah."

"And the SASALs," Bristol continued. "Using a ship named the
Saladin
for that kind of atrocity. Saladin himself never murdered civilians. He was a decent, honorable soldier."