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“What an ugly place. Sure, I’ve seen worse, but this has to be among the bottom three.”
Hak shook his head in disgust. The Marine barracks were simply a module filled with wire-mesh cubicles stacked five high like the miners' quarters. Each cubicle measured a bare three meters square. It contained only a cot and a small shelf for personal items. Roll-up blinds provided what little privacy there was. Steel ladders welded to the horizontal beams supporting each level gave access to the upper levels.
At one end of the module, as stark as the rest, lay the showers and latrines. While the toilets provided the customary privacy, the showers and sinks were wide open for everyone to see. The command post, fully enclosed, occupied the other end, along with an armory for spare weapons, ammo, and demolition kits. Personal weapons were kept locked up in each trooper’s cubicle when not carried. But, if nothing else, the place seemed clean, as befit proper Marine barracks.
Delgado nodded, eying his surroundings.
“No wonder Captain Jerrold wanted to leave this place so fast. Crowded living, no privacy, and no amenities for three months have to be a stretch. Even troopships on long passages offer more comfort. How the hell do civilian workers live like this without losing their minds?”
Hak shrugged. “They must get a much bigger hardship bonus than us. If so, three months in, one week travel, two and a half months at home, one week travel back and do it again until you can retire before the age of fifty. When you look at it that way, it’s worth doing.”
“Not where I come from, but I understand the attraction.”
The first few cubicles on the ground level, close to the command post, were permanently screened off by scrounged sheets of polymer and steel. One was marked Commanding Officer and another First Sergeant. Delgado pushed aside the curtain of what would be his home and walked into what was effectively a suite of three adjoined cubicles, one for sleeping, the other two arranged as an office, complete with a workstation.
Leaving Hak and the troop leaders to sort out the accommodations and settle the company in, he stripped off his tin suit, carefully hung it on pegs set aside for that purpose, locked his weapons in the rack welded to the cubicle wall, and unpacked, which didn’t take long.
Then he sat at the metal desk, switched on the workstation, and scanned the data dump Jerrold gave him. Breaking up fights, or preventing them in the first place, dealing with the odd narcotics smuggling case — most were never uncovered, in Delgado’s experience — and generally showing the flag seemed to be ninety-nine percent of the garrison’s work. Jerrold also ran a few combat scenarios of the repel boarders kind Marines in warships would practice. But that, in essence, was it.
Delgado found the garrison information node and uploaded Jerrold’s files so everyone else in the company could read them. He saw that Sergeant Testo had already posted the first patrol assignments, which meant his people would be out and about within minutes.
Before he could think about paying the station commander a courtesy visit, Delgado received a summons to report as soon as possible. He checked his battledress uniform to make sure it was presentable and holstered the needler with non-lethal loads police patrols would carry. Then, he put on his sky blue beret with the silver insignia of the 42nd Marines, a stylized thistle surrounded by a band inscribed with the regimental motto Nemo Me Impune Lacessit, No One Provokes Me With Impunity. As mottoes went, Delgado considered it a good one, the sort applicable to their present situation even if it wasn’t the Special Forces own Audeamus — We Dare.
He called up a three-dimensional holographic map of Tyrell showing his current position and Captain Engstrom’s office with a blue line connecting them via several sets of stairs. He could have taken lifts instead but wanted a quick familiarization tour along the way. After memorizing the route, he ducked into First Sergeant Hak’s quarters next door.
“I’m headed upstairs to make my manners with the station’s CO.”
“Roger that, Skipper. Enjoy.”
The metal staircases seemed endless, but Delgado met few people since this was the middle of a shift. One-third of the complement would be working, one-third sleeping, and the other third enjoying what little recreational facilities there were.
Those he encountered barely acknowledged his existence. That the Marine garrison now wore a different badge on their berets wouldn’t register right away with civilians anyhow. They saw the uniform and dismissed its wearer as just another part of the station’s utilitarian tapestry.
The contrast between the lower levels and the administrative modules was striking. Gone were the unpainted steel beams, naked deck planking, and plastic pipes overhead. Carpets in a pleasant light blue shade covered the corridor floor while pastel-colored wall sheets hid the steel walls and ceilings. Delgado even saw potted plants placed at strategic intervals. He bet the brass around here didn’t sleep in steel-mesh cubicles either.
Upon arriving in front of a door marked Commanding Officer, he touched the call panel, and it opened silently, revealing a small antechamber where a woman sat at a narrow desk, working. She looked up at him.
“Yes?”
“Major Curtis Delgado for Captain Engstrom.”
The woman touched her desktop, and the inner door opened, revealing a large, well-appointed office dominated by a stylish black desk surrounded by soft, comfortable-looking chairs. Three were occupied — two men, one in uniform, and a woman.
“Please go in. The captain is expecting you.”
When Delgado walked through the doorway, the large, bearded man wearing a captain’s four stripes and executive curl on his tunic collar rose from behind the desk and held out an open hand.
“Welcome, Major Delgado. I’m Nero Engstrom.”
Engstrom had a solid grip. However, Delgado thought his smile seemed somewhat forced.
“Pleasure, sir.”
The naval officer gestured at a vacant chair.
“Please, take a seat, Major.”
Neither of the other two stood. They merely examined Delgado with expressionless eyes, as if he were an inferior ore specimen mistakenly brought back by one of the mining recon drones.
Engstrom gestured at the thin, sallow-faced woman of indeterminate age clad in a severe business suit that seemed out of place. Frown lines and thin disapproving lips gave her a permanent look of supercilious disapproval.
“This is Romana Movane, Chief Administrator, under contract from Assenari Mining.”
She nodded once but didn’t offer her hand.
“And this is Edgar Limix, the Tyrell shop steward of the Assenari Miners and Smelters’ Union.”
Limix was a complete contrast to Movane. Delgado wondered how the two related. Broad, heavily muscled, clean-shaven, he wore a pair of used but freshly washed coveralls. His handshake was firm, testing, and Delgado returned the pressure. They locked eyes for a few seconds, and then Limix smiled broadly.
“Pleased to meet you, Major, I’m sure.”
Where Engstrom’s smile held a hint of uncertainty, even insincerity, Limix seemed like the hard-working, open, honest, and law-abiding miner he probably was. The calluses on his hands and neck proved he wasn’t one of those professional unionists so common back on the industrialized planets. Most of them never worked on the shop floor or underground and were politicians rather than defenders of workers’ rights. No, Limix showed the signs of doing his shifts at the ore face, alongside the men and women he represented.
“Can I offer you a coffee, Major? Or something stronger?”
“Thanks, sir, but I’ve ingested my dose of caffeine for the day.”
“Did Captain Jerrold brief you before he left?” When Delgado nodded, Engstrom said, “Good. You’ll find there’s not much for you to do here. Tyrell Station isn’t well known and pretty isolated, so it’s unlikely we’ll ever use those big guns out there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the nearest ridge visible through the transparent aluminum window. “As for internal security, you know that you’re the station’s provost marshal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Edgar can tell you his people like to party rough when they’re off shift, but it rarely gets out of hand. At least by Tyrell's standards. Removed as we are from civilization, things are bound to be different. I suggest you get a feel for the place and our tolerance levels before you knock any heads. In my view, if operations keep going without a hitch, I can tolerate roughhousing.”
Limix nodded at Captain Engstrom’s words. When the latter stopped for breath, he said, “Of course, your Marines are welcome to socialize with the rest of us. Can’t avoid it since there’s only one cafeteria and one bar, the Miner’s Reach. We enjoyed a good relationship with the last batch of Marines, and I’m sure we’ll manage just as well with you and yours.”
Limix gave Delgado a friendly smile when he finished speaking. Engstrom took over again.
“Major, I expect you to keep me informed of everything you do. Conversely, don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything. As they say, my office door is always open. We three here often eat supper together, and I hope you’ll join us. It’s our way of keeping on top of things and ensuring the station works smoothly.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Just one question, if I may,” Movane said, speaking for the first time in a low, raspy voice.
Delgado turned to her. “Please go ahead.”
“Why did Fleet HQ replace the garrison before Jerrold and his people finished their three-month tour?”
Delgado shrugged. “I don’t know. My regiment received orders for a company to deploy here, and the CO picked mine.”
“Aren’t companies usually commanded by captains?”
He nodded. “Usually, but sometimes promotions come through before people are reassigned. For instance, in my case, I’ll be moving to a major’s position on the regimental staff when we’re back home.”
“I see.”
For a moment, Delgado wondered whether Engstrom would broach the matter of the recon drone’s classified discovery. He presumed that despite secrecy warnings, both Limix and Movane would be aware something was afoot. He could detect a faint hint of suspicion in the latter’s eyes, suspicion he and his Marines relieved Jerrold’s company before time because of the unusual event, and that they weren’t just another normal, albeit early, rotation.
“Well,” Engstrom tapped the desktop once with his fingertips, as if to punctuate the conversation, “I expect you face a lot of work right now, so I won’t keep you any longer. We will speak again soon. It was a pleasure meeting you. Please pass our welcome along to your troops.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Delgado stood, although none of the others did, and saluted. Then he pivoted on his heels and walked out, feeling their eyes on his back until the office door closed behind him.
Moments after entering the Marine barracks, First Sergeant Hak intercepted Delgado.
“So?”
“It seems this place is being run by a sort of triumvirate.” Delgado briefly described Engstrom, Limix, and Movane and recounted the gist of the conversation.
When he finished, Hak nodded knowingly. “Sounds like they might suspect why we’re here, or at least this Movane character does. Will you speak with Engstrom privately and discuss the matter?”
Delgado thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “We already know Tyrell might leak all the way back to Earth. Better if the opposition doesn’t receive confirmation about us and our mission.”