The Price of Peace (35 page)

"Four of the exits sealed," Gunny reported. "Now we start on the right side." "What's that smell?"
Mordy
growled.

"Damned if I know" seemed to be the general response, as if any of them cared. "Smells like welding. I got stuck on a welding crew once. That's welding."

"And who do you think has a welding torch around here?" That got the other guards laughing at him.
Mordy
shut up.

Zylon didn't laugh. Who would be welding? She studied the squiggles on her no longer talkative tech's board. All of them stayed low, where they were supposed to be. None of the video showed anything new, certainly not a welding torch. The tech had told her about a test you could run; see if the system was picking up random inputs, or if the inputs were too orderly to be random. He only ran that test once a day; had to shut down input for five minutes to evaluate one minute.

Zylon punched the test button. All screens went blank. They stayed that way for a long minute. When the screens came back to life, red letters streamed across them: 52% PROBABILITY THE SIGNAL IS GENERATED. TEST STILL RUNNING.

"Somebody stick their head down an access hole. I want one eyeballed," Zylon ordered.

There was a pause while one of her men raced up the corridor to the first access hatch. "It won't turn," he shouted.

"Put your back into it, wimp."

"It won't turn. It's hot, like it's been welded." "I told you so,"
Mordy
bellowed.

"Everybody, check all the access hatches. Take your guns, you idiots. Move." With and without guns, then all with guns, the mob scattered unevenly in different directions.

"This one's hot and won't open, too," one shouted. "Mine, too."

"Mine turns. I can open it,"
Mordy
hollered.

"Get back here, you stupid idiots," Zylon screeched. "Back this way. Those hatches are open. To them."

Eighteen or twenty armed men pelted back up one maintenance corridor and headed down another. Zylon followed them. Not too closely. She wouldn't want to be hit by a stray bullet. She would supervise this, but from a safe distance.

"We got problems."
Tru
came over the net smooth and even. "They're shouting and moving up there."

"Gunny, clear teams out of the left-hand side. I'll take the right," shouted Trouble. That was where the hatches weren't yet sealed. Gunny ran; so did Trouble.

At the first right-hand branch, Trouble skidded to a halt. "Clear out, folks, we got company coming. Keep an eye on the service hatches."

"You heard the man," Corporal Taylor shouted. "Lock and load. We got targets coming." With a cheer, marine gunners readied themselves. Demolition people kept their heads down, going from pallet to pallet, pulling red-flagged pins from their charges and flipping switches.

Trouble headed farther down the tunnel. He got there as the first hatch swung open. The fire team was only four strong; still, the private first class had deployed his crew to cover both hatches. Unconsciously, the teams had gone to cover—behind stacks of explosives. Trouble had read somewhere that direct bullet hits weren't supposed to set the stuff off. Like all marines, he didn't trust what he read in manufacturer's flack ads. "Get away from the explosives," he shouted as he opened fire on the first one to drop to the floor of the tunnel.

That one crumbled. He looked familiar—
Mordy
? Others fired long,
unaimed
bursts from the lip of the hatch. One ducked his head down to get a better picture of what was happening. Trouble put a three-shot burst into his skull. As if in slow motion, the guy who wanted to know too much fell through the hole to land atop the first one. There was a break in the racket of rapid but
unaimed
fire.

"Quick, close the doors. Don't let them get through!" came a familiar scream from up above. Zylon!

Is that bitch everywhere ?

Both hatches clanged shut, almost in one sound.

"Any of you demolition guys got booby traps for those hatches?" A chief was already pulling something out of a satchel at his waist. He underhanded one to a blue-
suiter
close to Trouble; then both clambered up the rungs in the tunnel. The explosives slapped onto the hatches with a solid plop.

"Don't want to be the joker who opens that the next time," the chief said, dropping to the tunnel floor. "Now, ladies, gentlemen, and marines. I suggest we get the hell out of here." "You first," Trouble offered. Navy men ran. Marines backed up quickly, weapons at the ready.

"Keep the exits covered. Anybody comes through them, shoot. You, tech, call Central. Tell them we need more guns. They're coming in the back."

"But they were welding the hatches shut," the tech answered.

"Weren't those explosives down there in the tunnels?"

"I didn't get a good look; were they?" "Shut up. Call Big Al. Tell him I've got the army stopped, but I need more guns. Do it now," she shrieked.

Trouble was the last one out. Gunny waited for him at the main tunnel. "No more after you, sir. Everybody's accounted for."

"Good, folks. Let's back up some. Chief, if one of those booby traps goes off, will it take everything with it?"

"Don't know, sir, but it sure won't give me the blow I planned. By the way, sir, that's no way to handle the detonator." To use his rifle, Trouble had slipped the little finger of his left hand through a strap on the detonator. It dangled there rather firmly, Trouble thought.

"I'll take it," Tom said. He stepped forward, gently removed the device from Trouble's finger, and tossed it toward the chief. He threw high. Steve caught it.

Trouble was already jogging down the tunnel, headed for the next junction where Ruth and
Tru
waited with the rest of the platoon. He patched himself through to the command post to bring them up to date. "The demolition charges are in place, but we were discovered. I suggest you issue your ultimatum and give them five minutes to respond. Otherwise, we're going to have to go back in there and fight them for the explosives. Not something I want to do."

"Fire in the hole!" came from behind Trouble. He twisted as he ran. Tom and Steve had the detonator. Tom took the safety cover off. Steve yelled, "Fire in the hole!" once more. Trouble yelled, "No!"

Steve pushed the button.

The mountain danced around them; Trouble dove for the mud at the bottom of the pipe. For the next week or two he bounced around, a ping-pong ball in the devil's own game. When the dust settled, the ceiling was still above him, not on top of him. He sat up, facing where Tom and Steve lay laughing like maniacs.

"When they ask you what happened," Steve said as he gasped for breath.

"Tell them it was two disgruntled ex-employees," Tom finished. "I think we had good cause to be disgruntled," he said, slapping Steve on the back.

"Very good cause," Steve agreed.

Trouble shook his head. Would he ever finish the paperwork on this one?

Fifteen

PAPERWORK COULD WAIT; mopping up took priority. People had to be fed and the basic laws enforced. Using her recent hires,
Tru
cobbled together a complete credit system. That took care of a big part of getting Riddle going again. Closing down the drug farms and feeding their displaced workers had to be started, and started quickly. Trouble volunteered for that.

The guards on the farm compounds vanished. The second day they found most of the farm rigs in a garage across from the bunker. Apparently all the farm managers like Zylon made it to the bunker before it blew. That explosion not only took out all or most of the criminals, but every record of their crimes. Trouble was passing the redoubt when a crane lifted out a mass of computer hardware.
Tru
was standing by with a team of her techs, grinning from ear to ear. Trouble figured if there was any way to recover that data,
Tru
would do it.

Trouble was too busy to stop. He had several thousand hungry, naked people to bring in. What Riddle had done to them was Riddle's problem and expense.

Late on the fourth day, Trouble was enjoying his first real dinner in a restaurant the occupation army had taken over for an "O" Club. Everything was on the house. He'd just ordered when Ruth walked in. She quickly dismissed herself from the five she was with and approached Trouble's table. If he hadn't seen her damn near naked, he'd have thought her shy.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked softly.

"I was kind of hoping to find you." The honesty of his own words surprised him. The smile that swept her face was worth it. She settled at his table, sweeping the skirt of her dress effortlessly away from the chair as she sat. He'd never seen her in a dress. He thought she should wear one more often.

Her smile was the first sign he'd spoken his thought aloud. Now it was his turn to retreat behind shyness. Damn strange feeling for a combat marine.

"Sorry I haven't seen you. I've been busy bringing in slaves from the farms. Tomorrow we start burning the crops." That would feel good. A good job for a hard-charging, fire-breathing marine. Burning death masquerading in green drag.

"I know about the folks you've been bringing in. Izzy has me working in a displaced bureau of some sorts. We see they get fed, housed, clothed, tickets home with some kind of pay settlement. Trouble, they look so pathetic."

"We looked just like them five days ago," he reminded her. "Hard to believe."

"Yes, kids younger than I was when I ran off and joined the Corps. Hell of an introduction to life as a grown-up."

Their waiter took her order. She studied the tablecloth for a long minute after the interruption. "You ran off to join the marines?" she said.

"Not really. Mom was only too happy to sign me in. I was a handful. Best to let a DI straighten me out."

"Mom? What about your dad?"

"He was deployed, more often than not, and when he was back, he was training his platoon and getting ready to go back out. Not much difference between the two. My first word, I am told, was 'mama,' and my second was 'Ops Tempo.'" "Ops Tempo?"

"Marine for Operations Tempo, or how long can you keep guys away from home before they do horrible things to you? Even in a long peace, there's always somebody who wants marines in somebody's backward. The only reason we were on Hurtford Corner was a businessman's complaint about being gouged."

"I'm glad you were on Hurtford Corner." she said simply. "A dozen or so wives of my troops probably weren't."

"So that's what the wife of a marine has to look forward to."

"Gone, and getting set to go. It's no life for a woman. No way to raise a kid. Swore I'd never do that to anyone I loved."

That seemed to leave her with nothing more to say. Trouble sat as the silence between them stretched out and started to twist into knots. "What's it like farming?" he finally said.

"After the last couple of weeks, I figured you'd tell me."

"I mean real farming. Facing a field with a full belly and pride that what you planted will mean life to someone, not an empty death."

She pursed her lips. "It's nice like that. I remember some beautiful mornings and wonderful sunsets." She paused and studied her hands. "They haven't found
Mordy
; at least they haven't identified a body. There were thousands in the bunker when it blew. Some of the bodies are in pretty bad shape. It's going to take a while." She looked up, hard into Trouble's eyes. He searched for the words to tell her he had probably shot
Mordy
himself. "I don't give a damn about him. They can toss him out with the rest of the sewage. You and I watched them use better men than him to fertilize the next crop. He's gone. I'm glad."

"I am too," Trouble added with a gulp.

"So what do we do?" Ruth rushed on. "If we were back home, I'd move in with you until the first child came. It would cause a scandal, but it would give you time to try me out before you had to make any commitment. Where can a marine keep a woman?" "This marine doesn't need to try you out, woman. You've stood toe to toe with me through hell and back. I'd take you as a sergeant, I'd take you as my CO. Damned if I won't take you as my wife ... if that's what you want." Suddenly he was afraid she'd tell him thanks for the offer, but no thanks.

"
Tru
really is a wizard with computers." Ruth talked softly to her hands. "If she doesn't know it, she knows someone who does. I think she's got the civil register recreated for this burg. If she hasn't, I'm sure I can talk her into cobbling something together. Do you want to finish supper before we get married?"

"I'm not hungry," Trouble discovered.

"So there you two are. I've been looking all over for you."

Trying to keep confusion from piling on top of confusion, Trouble stumbled to his feet. "Captain
Umboto
," he said. Ruth stood too. He'd have to explain to her that wives did not stand for officers.

"Sit down, sit down. I've got to talk to you."

"I've been on net since I got my combat gear back," Trouble assured her.

"I understand you didn't have much in the way of gear when they found you."

"All the essentials were there, ma'am," Ruth assured his CO. The two women exchanged knowing looks. Trouble found his face getting warm. Marines do not blush.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't connect with you sooner. These last four days have been wild, and today a full Senate investigative team showed up. Damned if they didn't find two junketing senators out this way and add them in. Demanded to know what we thought we were doing out here." The skipper grinned. "I think they planned to shut us down. Showed them what we had. Crew members of thirty-seven pirated ships. Four pirate crews in the brig. Over two thousand slaves. Suggested they go find the people responsible for this lash-up and ask them about paying the slaves and explaining the rest. Mr.
Nuu's
rep is betting they won't find anything. He's put in a bid to buy all this—debts, penalties, everything."

"Is there going to be any trouble about that hole in the ground?" Trouble figured he'd spend the next year in front of a court-martial trying to get to the bottom of that pile of rubble.

"Your report is being taken at face value. Two disgruntled employees did it. We assume they perished in the explosion. Heaven knows there's enough here to make a lot more than two people disgruntled with the goings-on. Now when Stan caught up with his brother yesterday, it was a good bet he'd kill him."

"Is Tom all right?" Ruth missed the humor and was concerned.

"Stan just busted into tears and hugged him. Then stuffed him in Junior along with all the data
Tru's
dug out of the rubble of their computer system. They're headed back to Wardhaven. Spy wants to debrief Tom before he turns him over to an Earth inquisition. My guess is, once the spy guy has the full picture, he'll make sure it comes out in the nicest way possible. I would not care to be the bastards who ran this show when that happens."

Trouble listened. For himself, he was glad to be off the hook and find Steve off it, too. What Steve and Tom did was out of line. But what had been done to them was way across the line. Best leave lines to other people.

And it didn't sound like Tom was headed back for an easy life. The spy would drain Tom of every scrap of truth and rumor in him. The bomb they'd set off under the bunker was nothing compared to the bomb the spy would set off under some very deserving higher-ups.
Izzy's
good news set Trouble's blood to racing, but it couldn't outrun Ruth's marriage proposal. "Captain, I've got an announcement to make." Trouble eyed Ruth; she gave him a lovely smile and a nod.

"Announce it, Lieutenant."

"I am going to marry this young woman, and we are going to raise whatever she wants on a farm wherever she wants." Trouble had expected the skipper to take it one of several different ways—all bad. Instead, she beamed.

"I'll be leaving the Corps," he added. "Maybe, maybe not."

"I'm not leaving my wife and kids behind in base housing while I'm gone half the year." "Wouldn't ask you to. That's why I've been looking for you. Both of you, not just you, Lieutenant. Navy department has come up with some new wild-assed ideas. Most of them would be a laugh if they didn't come with an execute date. I just got one that says our ships are spending too much time deployed."

"God, whatever gave them that idea?"

"That's their studied opinion," the skipper assured him. "And it's costing the Navy a small fortune buying fresh vegetables on the open market. We pay a premium to have them certified disease- and bug-free. Did you know that?"

Trouble didn't.

"So, they're requiring each ship set up hydroponic gardens in the voids between armor and hull, just like the
merchies
do. There's plenty of room. Then there's the second departmental instruction. They want us to reduce crews by twenty percent. It's peacetime, don't you know? Nobody's shooting at us. Don't need all those damage repair teams. They did a study. It's cheaper to abandon an old ship every year or so than keep all the fleet in a full crew. God, I got to get a few more promotions under my belt so I can get assigned back there. They must be drinking some powerful stuff to come up with this shit."

"So you won't mind if I ask for an early out bonus and leave?" Trouble summed up what he'd heard.

"Who's talking to you, marine? I'm asking her if she'll contract to run the hydroponic farm I'm setting up on the
Patton
. I know some great hands that would be glad to work with you. Experienced. Won't get sick on you first time gravity goes out."

"And when they aren't farming, you wouldn't happen to have a part-time job for them?" Ruth had liked Izzy at first sight. It would be fun working with this woman.

"Well, it wouldn't surprise me if a lot of them were in the Navy Reserve." "And if the
Patton
gets into a hot spot?"

"I imagine they could be recalled to active duty real fast," Izzy said with a grin, "unless it's harvest time. I understand that's a real do-or-die time for farmers."

"On planets, ma'am. I don't think they have the same problems with hydroponics." "Good. There's one more thing."

Trouble looked around for a ten-ton truck. That was about all they and Izzy hadn't run across this table.

"Your dad wants to head back to Hurtford Corner. He figures he's done all he can, and wants to go home."

"Ma will like that." Ruth nodded.

"I need an Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms agent, maybe a Drug Enforcement Agent, too. Know anyone willing to take a When Actually Employed appointment with those outfits? Means associating with hard cases like Trouble here. Not much pay, but all kinds of excitement."

"I'd get to close down two or three joints like this one?" Ruth asked, glancing around. She didn't mean the restaurant.

"God, there can't be more than one of these." Trouble sighed.

"We can hope so. Won't know until we turn over a few rocks," Izzy assured them.

Ruth reached for Trouble's hand and clasped it firmly. "If it means I won't get left cooling my heels at some backwater base six months out of the year, you got a deal."

Guns entered the restaurant and plowed straight for them. "I thought I left you minding the store," Izzy tossed his way.

"As if somebody could swipe a cruiser in orbit," Guns shot back. Trouble raised an eyebrow. After the last three months, he wouldn't put it past some people. "I got a message for you, Captain." There was an inflection in the way he said the skipper's rank that caught Trouble's attention.

While Izzy read the orders, Guns rummaged in his pockets and came up with two shoulder tabs with four stripes on them.

"You're out of uniform, skipper." Guns grinned.

"So are you," Izzy shot back. "We're all promoted!"

"Yeah, I double-checked with
BuPers
. They swear they're just correcting an oversight from when you took command."

"When gravity grows soft," Izzy snarled. Then she broke into a wide smile. "Then again, maybe somebody up there does like what we've done."

"Be glad to do more of it," Guns chortled. "Lots more of it," Ruth added.