Illuminae
Page 36
My hands were shaking.
Chau was short. Carved out of wood. Dark hair. Pistol at her belt. Running on no sleep, by the look, standing at her post like some old lighthouse keeper—the only thing between us and the rocks. I identified the commtechs from their shipboard IDs—both still pounding away at their consoles, like nothing was happening. I spoke loud enough to be heard across the whole bridge.
“Byron Zhang, Consuela Nestor, you are hereby ordered to accompany me to the UTA Battlecarrier Alexander.”
“Tell me how you think this ends, Lieutenant.”
It was Chau speaking. Hand on her pistol. She was looking out the huge viewscreen dominating one end of the room. I could see a tiny spark on the long range scanner, out there amid all the black and starlight. Its ID tag and countdown to intercept pulsing red:
BT042-TN. 52 hours: 17 minutes.
Lincoln.
“I don’t get paid to think,” I said. “I follow orders. Stand aside, Captain.”
Chau smiled like I’d said something funny. One of the commtechs stood up, then. Byron Zhang. Supposedly a top-tier console jockey. He sure looked the part. Overweight. Thinning hair. Underarm stains.
“It’s a good thing they don’t pay you to think,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Zhang, get your gear, you’re coming with us.”
“No.” He set pudgy hands on his hips. Tried to keep his voice from shaking. “You’ll have to drag us. Kicking and screaming.”
“I’ll give you something to scream about,” Sykes growled.
“ ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny,’ ” he said.
“Listen, Zhang, I appreciate the rhetoric, but anyone can do math this simple. We need every swinging dick back on Alexander and you two are the best chipheads on Hypatia.”
Zhang’s lips twisted, then. An “I know something you don’t know” kind of smile that turned my mood darker. I wanted this over. I wanted to be back in my rack with a canteen of rocket fuel and a few hours of the forgetting it would bring. Still, I knew what kind of edge Sykes was dancing on. I should have given the order to someone else.
“Corporal Sykes, secure the conscripts for transport back to Alexander.”
His grin went all the way to his eyes. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”
He slapped Hart and Bedggood on the arms, and the trio loped forward, pulling zip ties from their belts. I could feel my Kerenza rookies beside me, all of them playing at being soldiers, all of them just nerves and gritted teeth. Doherty in particular looked jumpy. What had she done before this? Security guard at a shopping mall? A library maybe? I couldn’t remember …
My eyes were on the Hypatia security team—they all looked a crossed word away from drawing. Sweat in my eyes. Hard to breathe. Chau’s voice rose above the pulse in my ears.
“Lieutenant, do you know your commanders plan to re-activate the artificial intelligence responsible for destroying the Copernicus? Do you know Major Hawking and two other Alexander officers were executed under General Torrence’s direct orders—”
“Shut up. One more minute and this will all be over.”
Sykes and the others reached the commtechs. Zhang had sat himself on the floor and folded his arms—some gesture of peaceful protest that earned him as much latitude as a faceful of spit. Sykes grabbed his arm, and when Zhang resisted, the corporal popped him with the butt of his VK. Zhang’s nose spat blood, the other commtech shouted protest. And that was all it took. Fists and elbows and knees. Pasty flesh slapping the floor. In about five seconds, Zhang and Nestor were trussed up on the floor like abattoir meat.
“Stop it, Jesus!” the SecTeam Lieutenant roared. My VK was right in his face.
“Stand down, LT,” I warned.
“This is bullshit! You people are animals!”
“Captain, order your people to stand down! No one needs to get hurt here!”
The LT’s hand was on his pistol.
My finger on my trigger.
Doherty beside me, her voice rising an octave. “Lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant, stand down!” Chau barked.
I think that’s what did it. Simple mistake. Chau should’ve used his name. Should’ve made it clear she was ordering her own LT, not me. Because to someone with a few light-years under their belt, it would’ve been obvious Chau was drawing her pistol to surrender it. I’ve watched the recordings a hundred times. You can see it on her face. Resignation. One hand up in surrender. But to a terrified rookie who used to guard the school library, it might have looked like Chau was drawing the piece to use it. That she was shouting at me to stand down, and if I didn’t, she was prepared to shoot me in the back.
So Doherty did what she’d been ordered to do.
“… you be the push that makes them move.”
It was a good shot. Took Chau right in the head. I heard a scream from the Nav-Comp, and Syra Boll, one of Chau’s 2ICs was charging across the deck, cradling her dead Captain in her arms. The SecTeam were shouting, we were roaring, VKs in their faces. I don’t know how it held together. I don’t know what stopped us heading south of heaven, right then and there. Maybe it was Zhang. Sitting with his bleeding face, tear-filled eyes locked on his Captain’s body. Legs crossed. Back straight. Not fighting. Just resisting.
What had he said?
“ ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.’ ”
Chau was short. Carved out of wood. Dark hair. Pistol at her belt. Running on no sleep, by the look, standing at her post like some old lighthouse keeper—the only thing between us and the rocks. I identified the commtechs from their shipboard IDs—both still pounding away at their consoles, like nothing was happening. I spoke loud enough to be heard across the whole bridge.
“Byron Zhang, Consuela Nestor, you are hereby ordered to accompany me to the UTA Battlecarrier Alexander.”
“Tell me how you think this ends, Lieutenant.”
It was Chau speaking. Hand on her pistol. She was looking out the huge viewscreen dominating one end of the room. I could see a tiny spark on the long range scanner, out there amid all the black and starlight. Its ID tag and countdown to intercept pulsing red:
BT042-TN. 52 hours: 17 minutes.
Lincoln.
“I don’t get paid to think,” I said. “I follow orders. Stand aside, Captain.”
Chau smiled like I’d said something funny. One of the commtechs stood up, then. Byron Zhang. Supposedly a top-tier console jockey. He sure looked the part. Overweight. Thinning hair. Underarm stains.
“It’s a good thing they don’t pay you to think,” he said. “It doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“Zhang, get your gear, you’re coming with us.”
“No.” He set pudgy hands on his hips. Tried to keep his voice from shaking. “You’ll have to drag us. Kicking and screaming.”
“I’ll give you something to scream about,” Sykes growled.
“ ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny,’ ” he said.
“Listen, Zhang, I appreciate the rhetoric, but anyone can do math this simple. We need every swinging dick back on Alexander and you two are the best chipheads on Hypatia.”
Zhang’s lips twisted, then. An “I know something you don’t know” kind of smile that turned my mood darker. I wanted this over. I wanted to be back in my rack with a canteen of rocket fuel and a few hours of the forgetting it would bring. Still, I knew what kind of edge Sykes was dancing on. I should have given the order to someone else.
“Corporal Sykes, secure the conscripts for transport back to Alexander.”
His grin went all the way to his eyes. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”
He slapped Hart and Bedggood on the arms, and the trio loped forward, pulling zip ties from their belts. I could feel my Kerenza rookies beside me, all of them playing at being soldiers, all of them just nerves and gritted teeth. Doherty in particular looked jumpy. What had she done before this? Security guard at a shopping mall? A library maybe? I couldn’t remember …
My eyes were on the Hypatia security team—they all looked a crossed word away from drawing. Sweat in my eyes. Hard to breathe. Chau’s voice rose above the pulse in my ears.
“Lieutenant, do you know your commanders plan to re-activate the artificial intelligence responsible for destroying the Copernicus? Do you know Major Hawking and two other Alexander officers were executed under General Torrence’s direct orders—”
“Shut up. One more minute and this will all be over.”
Sykes and the others reached the commtechs. Zhang had sat himself on the floor and folded his arms—some gesture of peaceful protest that earned him as much latitude as a faceful of spit. Sykes grabbed his arm, and when Zhang resisted, the corporal popped him with the butt of his VK. Zhang’s nose spat blood, the other commtech shouted protest. And that was all it took. Fists and elbows and knees. Pasty flesh slapping the floor. In about five seconds, Zhang and Nestor were trussed up on the floor like abattoir meat.
“Stop it, Jesus!” the SecTeam Lieutenant roared. My VK was right in his face.
“Stand down, LT,” I warned.
“This is bullshit! You people are animals!”
“Captain, order your people to stand down! No one needs to get hurt here!”
The LT’s hand was on his pistol.
My finger on my trigger.
Doherty beside me, her voice rising an octave. “Lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant, stand down!” Chau barked.
I think that’s what did it. Simple mistake. Chau should’ve used his name. Should’ve made it clear she was ordering her own LT, not me. Because to someone with a few light-years under their belt, it would’ve been obvious Chau was drawing her pistol to surrender it. I’ve watched the recordings a hundred times. You can see it on her face. Resignation. One hand up in surrender. But to a terrified rookie who used to guard the school library, it might have looked like Chau was drawing the piece to use it. That she was shouting at me to stand down, and if I didn’t, she was prepared to shoot me in the back.
So Doherty did what she’d been ordered to do.
“… you be the push that makes them move.”
It was a good shot. Took Chau right in the head. I heard a scream from the Nav-Comp, and Syra Boll, one of Chau’s 2ICs was charging across the deck, cradling her dead Captain in her arms. The SecTeam were shouting, we were roaring, VKs in their faces. I don’t know how it held together. I don’t know what stopped us heading south of heaven, right then and there. Maybe it was Zhang. Sitting with his bleeding face, tear-filled eyes locked on his Captain’s body. Legs crossed. Back straight. Not fighting. Just resisting.
What had he said?
“ ‘The man dies in all who keep silent in the face of tyranny.’ ”
