Fire with Fire(96)
Downing closed his eyes. “Lieutenant Weuve—”
“—and now you just want me and my whole crew to obligingly pop ourselves into the emergency cryocells with no explanation why, and no guarantee of when—or if—we’ll wake up in this century? Not on your life—sir.”
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry—but this is a matter of national security. Actually, it’s a matter of global security: I’m here at the express orders of the World Confederation.”
“I don’t care if you’re here to announce the Second Coming, Downing. Neither I, nor my men, are hopping into the meatlockers on your say-so. I want more verification.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t accommodate that request. This must remain an entirely compartmentalized operation. No external communications, not even by encrypted lascom.”
“Then you’re out of luck, Mr. Downing.”
“Then I am afraid I must relieve you of your command, Lieutenant.”
Weuve’s shock became a smile, then a smirk. “Oh, really? Didn’t see you bring a Marine detachment on board with you from the other ship.”
“That’s because they are also, along with the rest of that crew, in cold sleep now. Besides, I don’t need any Marines.”
“No? Why’s that?”
“I think I can handle this myself.”
Weuve’s eyes went wide again, then narrowed. “Mr. Downing, I think you’ve seriously overestimated your authority and your combat power on this hull. Mister Rulaine,”—the lieutenant hooked a finger in the direction of his security chief—“please take Mr. Downing into custody and place him in the brig.”
Rulaine—tall, spare, silent—produced his NeoCoBro liquid-propellant sidearm. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lieutenant?”
Weuve turned to stare at the query. “You may be new here, Chief, but on this hull, you don’t question your orders: you obey them.”
Rulaine shrugged. “Yes, sir.” He quickly raised the gun—but aimed it at Weuve’s cheek.
Who took a drift-step back in the microgravity. “Hey—”
The NeoCoBro uttered a weak cough—consistent with the low propellant setting used for nonlethal rounds—which sent a gel-capsule splatting against the side of Weuve’s face.
Who was shouting: “McDevitt, Gross, get—” Weuve’s orders to his first pilot/XO and second engineer slurred into a groan and then a rough sigh; his feet drifted up off the deck and he floated slowly toward the bulkhead, already senseless.
Downing breathed again. “Those new tranq rounds work rather quickly.”
Rulaine nodded as he steadied his own recoil-induced drift with one hand, trained the gun on the other two bridge crewmen. He nodded at them. “Are we going to have any trouble with you two?”
McDevitt swallowed and shook his head. Gross was actually smiling. “Hell, no: I’d have been happy to pop the CO myself.”
“That’s insubordination, mister: your CO was out of line, but he’s still your CO. Be glad I don’t put it in your record. Now, take the lieutenant, and get the others ready for cold sleep.”
“Yessir.” The two of them skim-trotted off the bridge, towing Weuve. As the bulkhead door started sealing, Richard heard McDevitt ordering the ship’s complement to gather in the galley.
Downing put away the Executive Orders that Weuve had—erroneously—dismissed as forgeries. “Very well done, Captain Rulaine. Obviously, you roused no suspicions when you replaced their ‘ailing’ security chief a week ago.”
“Guess not, sir. But I have to say this is the strangest assignment I’ve ever been given; what’s it all about?”
“I can tell you what some parts are about, Captain. But I can’t tell you what it’s all about—as I suppose you have already surmised.”
“I suppose I have, sir.”
Glancing at the green beret’s patient hazel eyes, Downing wondered what unusually gifted recruiting sergeant had seen beyond the insubordination of Rulaine’s undergraduate years, and had instead discerned a spirit that would not only accept the practical dicta of a military life, but would thrive under them. As an OCS candidate, Bannor Rulaine had not been the average shave-tail—and afterward, he had not been given average assignments. To date, his battlefield choices had been frequently unorthodox and overwhelmingly successful. More importantly, his discretion was legendary, having brought him to the attention of intelligence chiefs, and hence, to Downing.
Downing shrugged. “What I can tell you about your part of this mission is that we will be consigning this hull and its complement to the care of another ship once we reach Mars orbit. From there, we will make planetfall at Syrtis City, where you will be responsible for overseeing the protection of ten extremely important persons. It is not merely their lives that you must protect, but the information that they will soon have: they must not be buttonholed, seduced, drugged, kidnapped, or otherwise made susceptible to any kind of debriefing or interrogation. Any questions?”