CHAPTER 37

Dina’s voice breaks the silence. “What did I miss? The cannons are hot.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do us any good,” March answers.

I know as well as he does that it might be too late. Can we justify landing when that means risking the whole ship? March is the lynchpin of the war effort. If anything happens to him, the Conglomerate will never be able to replace him in time.

“Why not?”

“Check the settlement,” I say.

She’s clever; she’ll see what I mean.

“Shit.” Her dismay is palpable. “Are there any survivors?”

“We should try to find out before we put down.”

That’s new. Once, March would’ve landed without question, but he realizes what’s at stake as well as I do. We can’t rush to the rescue unless there’s some surety we’ll do more than expose ourselves to the Morgut for the dubious benefit of burying the dead.

I suggest, “We’re close enough for direct comm link. Let’s see if anyone answers.”

March tries several frequencies, cycling through all available channels. Toward the high end, we receive a reply. “Triumph? Thank Mary! You got our message. The Morgut are inside the facility, and they’re getting close.”

So there are survivors. That’s torn it, then. We’ll be putting down on asteroid Dobrinya, whether it’s wise or not.

“Give us your location,” March instructs. “We’re sending a team to help you.”

“Transmitting coordinates. I can also program the SDIs to let you pass from here.”

I study the terrain rising before us as the ship descends. “What kind of resistance can we expect?”

“Heavy. We didn’t fight. When we saw they’d breached our defenses, we fell back immediately. The only thing saving us is the fact that our complex is a series of prefab tubular buildings, connected via a series of vacuum locks and pressure doors.”

“In case of a breach,” Dina guesses.

I surmise the rest. “So there’s no atmosphere on the asteroid.”

“Correct. You’ll need to wear suits in passing from your ship to the facility.”

March has been studying the coordinates. “You’ve taken shelter in underground storage?”

“Yes. There’s machinery kept down here, but it was also dug to shield us from the worst of the tremors. The asteroid isn’t entirely stable.”

“Lovely,” Dina mutters.

“We’ll liberate you as soon as we can,” March tells him. “Keep this channel open in case you need us while we’re on the move.”

There’s no conversation while he lands. March needs all his concentration because there isn’t a nav com on the other end, assisting and providing trajectory. I remember all too well another crash on Marakeq, but he doesn’t repeat the mishap. We land as smooth as can be expected on a rock like Dobrinya.

“I’ll meet you at the hatch,” Dina says.

Normally, the captain would stay on the ship, but March has the most ground-combat experience. He won’t remain safely on board while his men take all the risks. If I know anything about him, I know this.

“Squad one, report to the disembarkation chamber.” Turning to me, he adds, “You have the ship, LC.”

My brows go up. “Excuse me? Sir.”

“You’re not going with us. We can’t afford to lose you.”

Is he being professional here? If I stay behind, he’ll give me the satisfaction of the real reason why.

“Any navigator can be upgraded if they’re willing to sign off on the risk,” I say coolly. “You have Argus on board. I’m sure he’d agree to more gene therapy to deliver the cations, so even were I killed in action, the fleet would not lose its advantage permanently. The same cannot be said of you, sir.”

“Are you refusing a direct order?”

“I’m merely pointing out the fallacy in your logic, Commander. Through technology and gene therapy, I am expendable. Your combat experience and your leadership abilities cannot so easily be replaced. Therefore, by your logic, you should remain on ship, and I should lead this mission as next ranking officer.”

Unless you’re speaking of yourself as the royal collective, unless it’s you who can’t bear to lose me. Break your rule. Say it out loud, and I’ll stay behind.

There’s nobody here. Nobody listening.

His eyes narrow, his lashes a dark tangle. “You sound like Velith.”

“My time as ambassador taught me to argue my points well.”

“To hell with protocol,” he mutters at last. “We’ll both go. We’re taking a full squadron with us, so the risk should be minimal.”

Ah, well. If I had to choose between making him admit his feelings and being left behind, I’m glad it fell out this way. Despite my slight disappointment, I smother a smile. Faced with the inarguable point that I’m right, he’ll be damned if he sits and waits to find out what happened down there. I’ve done my share of sitting and waiting, so I understand his reluctance. Authority doesn’t come easily to either of us; we aren’t the sort who delegate tasks, then expect other people to do the work for us.

He makes one last comm. “Lieutenant, you have the ship in our absence.”

The first lieutenant is a capable clansman who will keep things together while we’re gone. That settled, March leads the way to disembarkation, where squad one is already assembled. They’ve gathered the need for protective gear and are suiting up. I pull a small one out of the nearest locker and start my preparations as well.

The mood is somber. Everyone knows what we face today. Our first fight against the Morgut in this war isn’t occurring out among the stars, behind the protection of shields and reinforced hulls. Instead, we oppose them in our fragile flesh, eighteen brave Armada soldiers. If I were a poet, I’d construct a verse in honor of the occasion, but I have nothing like that to offer.

Once everyone is ready to go, suits on and weapon packs to hand, March studies us lined up beside the hatch. “You are the best this ship has to offer. If you’ve never fought Morgut before, beware their bite for its paralyzing effect. It’s better to take them from a distance. Use your Morfex grenades.”

Damn, we have heavy artillery, then. Good to know. I received a memo from March earlier in the week about a new toxin Tarn has commissioned. It’s a synthesized poison gas based on Ithtorian physiology. The Morgut absorb it through their pores and mucous membranes; they die within ten minutes of exposure.

March lists off a few more issues to beware, like web traps and their spiky limbs. To their credit, none of the soldiers around me stir. They’re listening. They’re ready.

“Moving out.”

Outside the ship, rock crunches beneath my boots. The horizon is dun and gray, no sky to liven our progress. There’s rock, more rock, and a pit so vast it seems it must extend straight to hell. Within the crevasse, I can hear the distant hum of machinery.

We pass by the three dead Morgut ships. At this range I can see the scoring along the hull, see where chunks have been torn away by the stress of landing. It doesn’t look like a hatch opened so much as they crawled out of the remaining pieces. Only one of them looks like it could be repaired.

“Tracks in the dust, Commander.” The scout’s mouthpiece distorts his voice slightly, adding an edge of reverb. He kneels briefly, then indicates a path so wide I could’ve followed it. “Based on the size of the ships and the prints here, it looks like they lost a good portion of their number.”

Dina says, “Unless they were running a skeleton crew.”

I’d rather believe that a bunch of them died on impact, at least until that becomes impossible, like when we’re staring at way more than we expected. Without further discussion, we continue toward the facility.

To me it looks like a train made into living quarters. The buildings are strung together like cars, connected as the man said, by a series of locks. It stretches an incredible distance, forming a semicircle around the open pit out of which they bring the uranium. On the other side of the complex, there’s a proper landing area, but if we want to come in quietly and have a chance at taking the Morgut by surprise inside, we need to sneak up behind them.

“I don’t think they’ve had time to nest,” March says.

That’s in our favor.

Each step feels slow and heavy in these weighted boots. There’s not much gravity out here, just a tiny residual, and if I wasn’t wearing the suit, I’d go floating off this rock. But even in the protective gear, I notice that the squadron marches in cadence. They keep pace to the song I can still hear in my head.

Lachion tried and Lachion true,
We will bring the war to you.

We reach the outer door without incident. My nerves string tight, adrenaline pumping in anticipation of the coming fight. One of the soldiers steps forward to examine the door.

“The Morgut came this way,” he confirms after a moment. “See the scoring here and here?”

March nods. “Then we must follow. All comms off but mine, please.”

The soldier disengages the lock and slides from sight. One by one I watch them go. I’m among the last. Taking a deep breath, I, too, pass into the dark.