Insanity's Children Page 11

  With a shrug, Kell responded without enthusiasm. “I can ask.”

  Helton eyed him closely. “Tell you what. Here’s the deal. That man, Unknown his name tag says, is an old friend of mine. A friend of ours. He saved my life once, and he’s one of the most dangerous men you will ever meet. If we can get him patched up, our odds of living through this go up. Way up.”

  “You’ve seen me fight, right?” Kaminski asked, quietly. Kell nodded. “Last time I saw him, Unknown could have beat me any day of the week, easily. I’ve fought beside him as a soldier. We need him whole. You make progress towards getting access to the auto-doc or control systems, or we put someone else a bit more aggressive in charge. The man’s hurt, and needs help soon.”

  “I thought you said go cautious, slow and careful, Mister Jones, Sir?”

  “I did. Plans changed. Can you do it?” Kell looked at them skeptically, cautiously. “His life may depend on prompt attention. They gave him a real beat-down. He’s pissing blood. He’d be a real asset.”

  Kaminski’s voice was low and coldly calm. “And if he dies because someone doesn’t try their absolute damnedest, I might be a bit more than a little angry.”

  Seeing Moffet started to appear both frightened and angry, Helton added “I’m sure you’d like to be the hero before Nesbit breaks into the software side of things, right? You’d never live that down, would you?” Moffet straightened his shoulders, sniffed dramatically, and pivoted about, stalking back to his squad and yelling orders.

  Two hours later Nesbit’s hacking squad was getting exactly nowhere, when a howl of excitement from 5th squad announced a winner to their competition. One of them stuck his head around a corner, gloating. “Duke! Ha! You lose! You’ll want to come take a look at this!”

  Duke Nesbit’s chagrin at being beaten by someone he clearly saw as an inferior was obvious, but from long experience dealing with management he hastily swallowed a sharp reply even in his current fatigued mental state. At the bow end of the port passage what had been assumed to be a storage closet door had been opened. Inside were stacks of emergency space suits, emergency food and water pouches, and a normal electrical access panel, one that didn’t appear to be locked down tight like those in the common areas they’d tried, and failed, to open.

  A moment later Helton showed up. “What do we have? Oh, yeah! Great work!”

  Duke looked at him a little surprised. “What’s the big deal? Can’t really go anywhere, can we?”

  “We can go outside. None of the forward compartments can be accessed from the back here for security reasons. The doors can’t be opened from this side in a robot conscript ship. With these, we can go forward outside…. Damn, wish Horkle was here.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Guy I know, would be useful here. OK, any space-walkers?”

  “I went to space-camp in ninth grade,” Duke offered tentatively, drawing disdainful looks from the hardware squad that had gathered around.

  “We’ll see if anyone has more. You might have just won a space-walk with Mr. Smith.”

  Nesbit’s eyes widened in fear. “I don’t know if I’m up to that, I mean-” he started to stutter and object.

  “We all have to do what we have to do. For now, see what you can get at inside that panel.”

  A short while later it was clear that the only two with any spacewalk experience were Kaminski and the rather nervous programmer. With wider access to systems through the closet panel, there still did not appear to be any way to access the auto-doc, which Nesbit confirmed was in the forward section of the ship. Everybody on board was exhausted, and seemed to be getting jumpier by the minute, except for Sixth Squad, who still looked wired and wide-eyed as they ran around following the ship’s programmed orders, occasionally hurling insults to the rest as they ran past. Realizing they’d been awake, or at least seriously under-rested, for a long time, Helton ordered every to take a nap, except for a few to stand guard on general principles, while Kaminski and Nesbit donned space suits and hefted gear belts to go on a space-walk, while Helton listened in on the suit com.

  The airlock door security systems balked at opening for them, but let them enter after they’d suited up and checked seals and air supply, with Nesbit’s nervousness increasing so much he’d checked the same thing several times and Kaminski had to have him slow down and breathe, carefully exhaling all the way, to calm himself. Eventually they were ready, the airlock pumped the air out, and the suits give them a green light for positive air-retention, so they could open the outside door. Kaminski checked the safety lanyards clipped inside, then rotated the handle and pulled it open. The door faced away from the planet; the vast star-studded blackness of space was all they could see. Kaminski pulled himself through the door and clipped the other line to the exterior tie-down point, then reached in and unhooked the inside clip. “You OK?” he asked Duke, who was frozen, motionless, staring out into the deep. Kaminski rapped the mirrored visor gently to snap him out of it. “You OK?” No response reached his ears on the radio, but the helmet bobbed slightly. Duke started to move slowly and carefully, following the safety-clip maneuver Kaminski had done. Once Duke was through, Dorek pulled the hatch closed.

  They pushed off gently toward the bow, gliding slowly along, paying out safety line from the equipment belt as they went. As the forward hatch became visible, Kaminski started to gently brake, squeezing the line as it spooled through gloved hands. He halted smoothly by the hatch and clipped on the short safety line, then grabbed the flailing Nesbit by the ankle as he bounced back from trying to stop suddenly by pulling too hard. Eventually Duke got himself clipped down as well. Kaminski flipped open the access port cover and pushed the OPEN button. Nothing happened. No status lights came on, no visible changes, nothing. Nesbit pulled out a screwdriver from his equipment belt, and started prying on the unit.

  “Hey, knock that off!” Kaminski objected. Duke kept prying. Kaminski knocked the screwdriver away before he broke anything. As he pulled his hand back and flailed about trying to get under control, Nesbit accidentally stabbed himself with the screwdriver, poking a small hole in his suit at mid-thigh.

  Inside his helmet, Nesbit stared at it in horror, motionless, as the automatic vent-loss pressure bands inflated. An oddly muffled voice resonated in his ears, the first thing he had heard in his suit yet. “Use the Force, Duke.”

  He looked around wildly, but saw nothing in front of him.

  “The Force.” The voice was strange, ghostly. He looked blankly into space, wondering for a fraction of a second if he was having a near-death experience.

  “The Force, Duke. Trust me.”

  “I- I don’t… I don’t know what you mean!” he shouted, now even more frightened. He was turned around in space, and Duke finally realized Kaminski was simply man-handling him. The Sergeant pulled him close, so the helmet visors are touching, rather than Kminski’s visor to the back of Duke’s helmet. When the technicians recognized the other face in front of him moving his mouth, Nesbit realized the voice sounded odd because of the contact sound conduction.

  “Duct Tape, Duke. Force brand. It’s got a light side, a dark side, and it holds the universe together. Pretty good for patching air leaks, too. Here.” Pulling back slightly, Kaminski lifted a roll on a lanyard from his equipment belt, tore off a strip of the sticky stuff, and slapped it on the hole, pressing firmly with one hand while he held on to the back of the leg with the other. After a brief inspection, he tore off another piece and applied it. He looked at Duke and asked “Can you hear me?” He got no response, so he pulled Nesbit closer and touched visors. “Can you hear me now?” Nesbit nodded. “Bummer. Radio’s tits up. Touch helmets if you need to talk to me.”

  Duke nodded understanding.

  Kaminski applied himself to determining the problem on the airlock. Clicking on a helmet light, he saw that years of use and neglected maintenance had left a great deal of dust and crud on a sensor that detected an open access port. He carefully scraped the
buildup away with the screwdriver. When the sensor noticed that the control access hatch was open, a “locked/sealed” indicator lit up. He pushed the open button, and was rewarded by the yellow cycling indicator. They waited impatiently until a minute later the green ready light came on. With the push of a button the hatch unlocked and swung open. The two pulled themselves in, twisting as they went to orient to the artificial gravity field. They closed the hatch behind them and then waited again for it to cycle and let them into the forward crew section. While the air was cycling back into the lock and their suits slowly relaxed and rumpled from the increasing lock air pressure, Kaminski touched visors once again.

  “There is likely nobody here. These ships are usually totally robotic, with remote contact and control if needed. But on the off chance there is someone home, stay out of the way and let me deal with him.” Nesbit, expression now more serious than actually scared, agreed.

  Kaminski put his hand on the door’s manual interlock lever and rotated it hard, mechanically securing the outboard door while unlatching the interior. The “ready” light blinked then glowed a steady green. He pushed it open sharply and stepped through like he’s supposed to be there. Lights came on, dim at first but rapidly ramping up to normal brightness, revealing a bare and empty staging compartment. Their suits stay rumpled, indicating positive air pressure. The external oxygen sensor indicates a common mid-pressure 25% percent mix. A good sign.

  A quick search of the forward section offered nothing but three empty and apparently infrequently used decks. They were equipped with only basic stocks and supplies, except for the infirmary, which was equipped with a number of standard robo-doc “tanks,” as well as a substantial provisioning of field supplies. Kaminski turned one of the robo-doc tanks on, so that it would be warmed up and ready for the First Sergeant when then get him there.

  After making a slower, more methodical search to be sure it really was clear, the two made for the lower-deck hatch leading to the aft compartment. As expected, it was locked and dogged with an entirely manual lock that could not be overridden from the aft section electronically. Throwing the levers and checking to ensure that the pressure was equalized, they pushed the hatch open to be greeted by several of November Companies men, armed with entrenching tools, ready for any non-friendly face s they might see as best they could be.

  “All clear. Get him in here, so we can toss him in a tank and see what can be done. Nesbit, get your squad and see if access is any better from forward, here. Someone find Moffet, tell him to get his squad in here for a serious inch by inch search.” One of the men nodded and trotted off to get him, while Nesbit, brushing aside questions, passed rearward to collect his own team.

  Helton and Kaminski, with help from a couple of 1st squad volunteers, carried Harbin carefully into the infirmary on a stretcher. Kaminski flipped the tank’s lid up and punched the “evaluate” button while the others deposited him gently inside. When the lid was closed, the scanner could be heard revving up, then running the length of the sarcophagus-like contraption. The screen behind it lit up with readings, status indicators, and multi-hued images. Some of the readings were flashing red, many more were a deep pink. Instruments could be heard probing and measuring, taking samples and testing chemistry that couldn’t be remotely sensed. Off to one side a display came to life revealing the puzzled image of a doctor in uniform, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “What’s your name and clearance code?” Kaminski snapped back.

  “What? Commander Sanjay, and why do you-” the doctor began, taken aback.

  “Clearance code, damn it!” Kaminski repeated, cutting him off.

  “Secret Medical, level One Whiskey Romeo, but why-”

  “Only one Whiskey Romeo, and you’re a commander, Doc?” Kaminski’s face looked serious and frustrated, like a drill sergeant talking to a new private who just executed stupid perfectly yet again. “Good grief! Somebody screwed up this op badly. Can you see the scan and vitals there?” Sanjay looked off-camera a moment, then back into the screen and nodded. “Not sure who you’re expecting when, but right now you have him. We can sort out which admiral gets to ream whom later. But if he dies, more than one life will be lost. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be wearing this uniform they are hiding me in right now.”

  “But there wasn’t supposed to be any fighting for another week!” the commander objected.

  “I know that, but do you see any bullet holes? He came aboard like this! Look at B/P, urine in the blood, massive blunt force trauma, pulse weak, the concussion knocked him out for hours, by the smell I suspect drugging well beyond self-medicating. Now, either do what you can, now and quietly, or go away and wake up your boss and explain why you can’t do your job.”

  Recovering from his surprise, and responding to Kaminski’s convincing act, Commander Sanjay set to work. He gave a continuous stream of commentary as he checked numbers, directed robotic arms remotely, and rapidly did his best to get a handle on Harbin’s condition and a course of action. He directed the robo-doc tank to apply cold compresses to swollen places, insert IVs for medications and fluids, injected drugs, and got detailed scans of places which indicated critical concerns. A half-hour later, with the vital-signs measurements looking much steadier, he looked up from the screen and paused, drawing a deep breath. Looking at the information he had before him he spoke in as neutral a voice as he could. “I’ve done what I can, for now. May I ask what happened?”

  Kaminski scratched his chin thoughtfully, apparently debating how much to say. “You can always ask…. Hmmm. A commander with only medical one, pulling night shift on conscript robo-doc monitoring when no action is imminent or ongoing… You are on someone’s shit-list, Doc. Likely only a bad morning away from corpsman pips in a regular front-line unit.”

  “Sanjay, Sanjay… Doctor Sanjay.” Helton mused aloud. “That sounds familiar. Some sort of whistleblower scandal a year or two back, wasn’t it?”

  The doctors face went from a neutral blank to a more tired, resigned look as he slumped, the excitement of doing something useful replaced by the weariness of dread. He replied with a short nod, burned out from trying to explain himself and the situation.

  “Ah, that’s right.” Smiling broadly, the sergeant turned to Helton, following his lead. “Mr. Smith, it’s our lucky day.” Addressing the doctor, he continued. “I’d assume you can see the identification information for the man you’ve been working on so diligently?” Sanjay looked more closely at his console. His mouth turned down into a frown. “Ah, good. How many men are really ‘Unknown?’ The press gang didn’t believe him, so they worked him over and tossed him into the general conscription cell. We were trying to work from the inside on a major corruption problem. I believe you received a message about people involved with your trial and fines a few days ago, with the various conflicts of interests they had?”

  Sanjay’s eyebrows rose. “You mean that was real? Those were actual addresses and account information, not just some sort of scam?”

  Helton nodded. “We sent it- well, some of the people we are working with sent it- to you and a number of others, each with details about their particular cases.”

  “But, why, I mean, there were hundreds of names there, you couldn’t possibly have solid evidence of-“

  “Evidence, but not one hundred percent airtight convincing proof. But build a mosaic with enough points, it becomes a picture that cannot be denied. That’s what we, the three of us, are working on here. The bluecaps put the hurt on him, and… not sure how much I should say… Let’s just say that if he gets better, and this works, more people will get those messages. I hope you can still recover that message and make a hard-copy of it. I think you’ll find it quite useful in the near future. Some of those names might be in the news, soon.”

  Kaminski suddenly snapped his fingers, as though he just thought of something. “You said a week. We were supposed to get loaded onto RCL 119, and I didn’t see any other
s in formation outside. What ship are we on, and where are the others?”

  Sanjay looked at the readout. “The tank says 032-7-”

  “Damn! Robot Conscript Lander thirty-two is the wrong ship! They even screwed that up!”

  “Down here in the basement they don’t tell the medical staff anything.”

  Kaminski chewed his lip, thinking. Helton, following the sergeant’s lead, speculated aloud. “Did someone find out and plan on dumping us on some other suicide mission, or just SNAFU?”

  “Thirty-two was supposed to be one of the landing forces, but… Too many unknowns.” Kaminski looked at the screen inquiringly.

  Sanjay spread his hands in mute apology. “They tell me nothing. Certainly nothing of tactical use.”

  “Hmmm… Everything is of some use, but not surprising. Does anyone still talk to you, or are you still career-toxic?”

  “A few. No one of consequence. Nothing but medical rotations, really.”

  “But that means you know when they are staffing up for expected action, and what sort of injuries, right?

  “Of course.”

  “We know what the plan was,” Helton extemporizes, “six ships twelve days from now, rifles only.”

  “We were told,” the doctor glanced over to a side calendar “eight days from now, only enough medical staff to deal with about four hundred men, three ship loads, and we got the standard refresher on blast casualties as well as gunshots.”

  “Focus on foot and leg injuries, or body?”

  “Lower extremities.”

  “Ah, I see. A battalion clearing land mines the hard way. Any other oddities?” Sanjay shrugged. “OK, thanks. Keep an eye on this guy. He’s an old friend. Keep your ears open for anything new coming up. Can’t get the bad guys if we don’t live through this.”

  “And don’t forget to hard-copy and hide, somewhere off-base, your com message. It may lead to your best leverage, push come to trial,” Helton reminded him.