Troy Rising 3 - The Hot Gate (47 page)

The side view showed that the multi-billion ton door was not only heavily dinged on the inside but had, in places, ripped away hull metal. The hinge pins of the Troy were the size of the now vanished twin towers but unlike those structures were made of solid stainless steel.

Now they were stainless steel pretzels.

“Open,” Clemons said. “And we’re not going to get it closed soon, so kindly keep those Rangora from using their shuttles. Commodore, order all mobile units to proceed for deployment.”

“Proceed for deployment, aye,” Commodore Guptill said. “It worked?”

* * *

“First law of engineering, Leonidas,” Granadica sent. “If you can’t fix it, you’re not using a big enough hammer.”

“This is crazy!” Angelito said, carefully following the caret.

“This is an inherently unsafe profession, Angel,” Deb said, trying not to sound nervous. It wasn’t just that the door wasn’t quite completely open, requiring a bit of maneuvering to get out into the Dark. It wasn’t just that she still didn’t trust Angelito’s driving. It was that it required a bit of maneuvering, she didn’t trust Angelito’s driving and at least in his case she could, in a pinch, take over. That wasn’t the case with the other units—a Monkey Business class, nine Paw tugs, thirty-six Myrmidons, two Aggressors, four Constitutions and six Independence class—all passing through the door-tunnel in one massive cluster…pack.

“Watch the…watch the…”

“I’m watching the…”

“Yaw!” Deb barked as Twenty-Three side-swiped a Paw tug. Both units were designed for durability but the Paw tug outmassed them by twice and the Myrmidon started sliding hard to port and down with a grinding screech of tortured metal. Towards the wall of the chamber which more or less defined “durability.”

“Do you want to…” Angelito said, getting the shuttle under control.

“No,” Deb replied, crossing her arms. “This is your job, CN Angelito. And you can do it. Just take a breath.” She leaned forward and sighed. “Frackety frack… Besides, I need to get out the toolbox.”

“Yeah, I’m…” Angelito said, trying not to whimper. “I think I’m missing…”

“Starboard lower thrust control?” Deb asked, pulling out her toolbag and ripping up a panel. “As I said, your bird, cox. But turn on the repulsor screens. Let the next Paw get a load of a gigawatt of angry force shield…”

* * *

“Colonel To’Jopeviq to CIC… Colonel To’Jopeviq Lieutenant Beor to CIC…”

“I’m not sure what use we can be at this juncture,” To’Jopeviq said, unnecessarily straightening his tunic. “I suppose they could just be starting the disintegrator party early.”

“I doubt that,” Beor said, following him out of the intel section. “We work directly for High Command. General Sho’Duphuder doesn’t have the priorities to remove us.”

“Colonel,” General Sho’Duphuder said as they entered the command center. “A truce of sorts has been arranged. The humans are redeploying their light forces to engage us but in the meantime they would like to remove their diplomats from the battlefield.”

“I take it was have agreed to that, sir?” To’Jopeviq said.

“On certain conditions,” the General said, dryly. “I considered one of the conditions being calling a cease fire and permission to withdraw all of our forces. But that was unlikely to be accepted. The battle is not yet lost but numbers do not lie. And the shuttles from the Thermopylae are returning to earth, presumably for more Marines.

“I must compliment you, Colonel, and I will do so formally. Your plan, with the firepower suggested, would have worked. This debacle was simply, again, ignoring the suggestions of your team. Which is why one of the requirements I demanded was that you and your…assistant be allowed to withdraw with our diplomatic group.”

“I would prefer to remain, sir,” To’Jopeviq said, tightly.

“And if I may, sir?” Beor said. “He really isn’t being pro forma.”

“More or less expected,” Sho’Duphuder said. “And the order remains. Among other things, I do not want the humans getting their hands on two analysts from the upper command. And next time, perhaps, you can convince someone that your analyses are not overstated. There is a shuttle standing by. Don’t bother to pack.”

* * *

“Thirty-Three.”

“Thirty-Three, go,” Dana said, trying not to sigh in relief as they exited the tunnel and the formation started to spread.

“Conditions: Temporary state of cease-fire to get the diplomats on all sides out. Orders: Proceed to Ogut ship to take on diplomatic personnel. ROE is only fire if fired upon. Max rate authorized. Return to gate and transfer single if necessary.”

“Pick up the diplomats, aye,” Dana said. “Don’t fire at the Rangora, aye. Boost it, aye. Get the hell out of dodge, aye. Angel, you heard the man.”

“The most direct route takes us close to the Rangora fleet.”

“Hopefully they got the word,” Dana said, tightening her straps and abs. “Kick this horse, Angel.”

* * *

“Colonel, shuttle pilot.”

“Go, pilot.”

The vessel was a no frills military shuttle. Hopefully the envoys would not take that as an insult. To’Jopeviq was still hoping to get out of this debacle with his head attached and pissed off diplomats would not help.

“Human shuttle vectoring in our direction. Closest point of approach will be within one thousand kilometers. Orders.”

“Ignore it,” To’Jopeviq said. “They’re probably on the same mission. Do not fire. Do you comply?”

“Comply with orders to not fire, Colonel,” the pilot said. “It is not that I am blood thirsty, Colonel. But failure to engage the enemy could be looked upon as cowardice.”

“Understood,” To’Jopeviq said. “This is an “unofficial” cease-fire. Assuming we lived, we would get in even more trouble for restarting things as both sides are trying to pull out their non-combatants.”

* * *

“That’s nearly the size of a frigate,” Angel said. “Are you sure it’s a shuttle?”

“Ubogho class,” Dana said. “Apparently refers to a fast carnivorous xenorept pseudo-avian on Rangor. Call it a peregrine.”

“Where in the hell do you learn all this?” Angel asked, shaking his head.

“Continuous study of relevant information, CN,” Dana said. “Now pay attention. We’re getting into Rangora space.”

* * *

“They are assuming a parallel course,” the pilot commed. “And pulling ahead of us. Their acceleration is close to three hundred and fifty Rangora gravities.”

“ ‘What did they get in the update?’ ” To’Jopeviq quoted quietly.

“Everything,” Beor said. “And they spend treasure on such a minor system.”

“Their screens will shed any ground portable system but a penetrator missile,” To’Jopeviq said. “What is that human saying: Bullets not bodies.”

“American specifically,” Beor said.

“Noted,” To’Jopeviq said. “I recall that after the last great war they engaged upon, they rebuilt their enemy’s countries. I wonder if after this war I can get a job with them?” He paused and froze. “That was not intended to…”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Beor admitted. “But all things considered, you’re more likely than I.”

* * *

“Peregrine hell,” Dana muttered, watching the rapidly opening vector between the two shuttles.

Dana grinned for a moment then keyed a switch. The fact that they were not only flying through the Rangora’s primary fire basket but were within visual range of the AV caused her to pause for a moment then key the com.

“Ubogho hell,” she commed. “Eat space dust, Rangora Shuttle Six-One-Four.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Angel asked.

“What?” Dana said. “Suds don’t do smack-down talk?”

* * *

“Toothy,” To’Jopeviq said, ruffling his spines. The pilot had automatically transferred the transmission as soon as the human shuttle opened up the channel.

“Timber is for a human female,” Beor said.

“Pilot, open channel.”

* * *

“I suppose they chose females so they are small enough to fit in that small scavenger shell?”

“Ooo,” Angel said. “All it needs is something about your moth… Shit, miss…”

“Not a problem,” Dana said. “And it’s EM. It’s not what you’ve got, it’s how you owned it. And you’re being owned.”

* * *

“…are being used as a slave to clean out shit pits.”

“You realize you are in easy range of laser fire,” To’Jopeviq said. “Accidents happen.”

“I heard your quality control was bad.”

“You left yourself open…”

“I know that…” To’Jopeviq said, trying to decide whether to snarl or laugh.

“I take it you lizards don’t do smack down talk. Let me give you a class using task, condition and standard. Task: Insult your enemies. Condition: Com channel between two shuttles during a very shaky ceasefire. Standard: Use insults that maximally insult your opponent but not to a level that will cause fire. Step One: Determine such areas in a xeno-person as may be reasonable to use as insults. Step two: Determine methods to modify standard insults, see appendix, to fit the xeno form. Extra points for being topical. Step three: Deliver smack-down. Analysis and lessons learned after practicum.

“Practical demonstration: Your mother is so ugly that when the gods turned her into a kordo she thought her prayers were answered. Your mother is so fat when she sits on the Troy it goes out of orbit. Your AVs are so puny compared to our battlestations that their commander’s penises shrivel at the thought. The reason you guys can’t shoot straight is your stubby little lizard arms and beady little eyes that are useless in the shining light of our human magnificence. You, the suitably instructed, shall now proceed to perform the task to standard.”

To’Jopeviq paused, amazed. Not at the string of insults, however.

“What is your rank?” he asked.

“Why, you going to send me a reply by endorsement for insulting you? I don’t think it’s classified. Engineer’s Mate Second Class Parker. You?”

“Colonel To’Jopeviq,” the Rangoran replied. “I take it that you simply constructed that…task, condition and standard? Or is it something you’ve heard before?”

“Want to hear the task condition and standard for opening a can of fresh skul, sir? No, I just made it up. Why?”

“I withdraw the field, mastered, Engineer’s Mate,” To’Jopeviq said, rippling his scales. “Pilot cut the com.”

* * *

“Luzer,” Dana said, making an L on her forehead. It was with some effort. They were still pulling three Gs.

“I still think you’re insane,” Angelito said.

“I’m not so insane as to not point out we’re at turn-over,” Dana said. “So try to get the skew-turn right. On second thought, my bird. I want this to look right.”

“What about…”

“I will take you on at jungleball…”

“Your bird, coxswain.”

* * *

“You did not wish to perform the task?” Beor said, mildly amused.

“Engage your brain, Lieutenant,” To’Jopeviq snapped. “That was a junior enlisted person. In, as noted, the middle of a battle. Performing a complex task. Who none-the-less had the presence of mind to not only engage in insults, easy enough, but to develop a standard procedure for them.”

“I was actually thinking that she was junior for the mission,” Beor said. “Our pilot is a captain.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping my point,” the Colonel said, calmly. “Have you ever worked at the ground level of operations?”

“Only Kazi,” Beor said.

“Very different than in the regular forces I assume,” To’Jopeviq said, dryly. “A ship, a unit, a force, is composed of many parts. Both the physical equipment and the personnel. Just as every part of one of the ships has to work properly, the personnel must work within that ship…properly. In sync. They are part of the machine in a way and must do the dance of the machine.”

“Turning to the side in the corridors?” Beor asked.

“Much more complex than that,” To’Jopeviq said. “My first post was as a laser gunnery officer. Managing the maintenance of the equipment, training the junior personnel on damage control. As one example, there was a particular collimator that would frequently blow out during sustained use. There were parts. But I was in charge of several systems. During training, often I would get the word that one of the lasers was down. It would, almost invariably, be a collimator. But until I arrived and ordered that it be repaired, that someone go get the collimator from stocks and then supervise the installation, often it would not be done. At least at first. I take quiet pride that by the time I left the post when a system broke my men worked on it immediately and intelligently.”

“Why?” Beor asked. “And how?”

“Depended upon the individual,” To’Jopeviq said. “Some because they feared the consequences of failure. If I had to turn up to supervise, they knew that it would go hard on them. Some because they looked to me as a father figure and wanted to please me. None, I think, because they really cared if the system was repaired or not.”

“It took constant supervision by officers such as myself to simply maintain the systems. The mid-level enlisted were not much better. What I would have given for one mid-level enlisted with that much brains. Someone like that would have been grafted to intelligence or another intellectual job. And they are motivated to perform their duties. They are maintaining their maximum acceleration. There are any number of ways that they could have shirked this duty. Just go slow. Move further away from our fleet. Yet they are not only flying fearlessly within visual range of our AVs, they are exchanging insults and composing standards while doing so.”

“Your point being that there enlisted are good?” Beor asked. “Does that matter?”

“Does that matter,” To’Jopeviq snarled. “Does that matter? Does it matter if the lines of code are all properly written? Does it matter if the airlocks are sealed or not? Who writes the code? Who ensures the airlocks work? Yes, it matters! It is a piece of intelligence that is useful. Even crucial. It demonstrates another reason that they are so effective and efficient in war. And I’m sure that the High Command would ask the same question. Does it matter…”