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The Miner’s Reach, a vast, low-ceilinged space wedged between the administrative levels above, the workers’ living quarters below, and the cafeteria to one side, was in full swing as Delgado and his Marines finished unpacking and settling into their new roles. Workers from the beta shift, whose day ended an hour earlier, were enjoying their free time after a challenging eight hours overseeing excavation machinery deep in the bowels of the planet or the smelter as it processed ore.
A handful of Marines, equally off-duty, sat around a table in one of the corners from which they could watch the entire bar and slip out unnoticed if need be. Throbbing, overly loud music from unseen speakers filled every nook and cranny of the industrial-chic decor and made conversation difficult.
The aroma of spilled beer and whiskey fought with that of vat-grown food high in proteins. Gyrating men and women filled the small dance floor while others played various games at crowded tables or simply stared into the void while drinking the tipple of their choice.
Delgado’s Marines, who could whoop it up with the best of them in the Pegasus Club back home, were among the latter, save for the empty stares. They considered themselves Erinye Company’s recce party, getting a feel for the place where they’d likely be breaking up fights regularly and nursed their beers while studying everyone and everything.
The workers barely looked up when they entered, even though word of a fresh contingent must be making the rounds by now. Same uniforms as before, even if the faces were different. Nobody paid them any attention except for two miners in a corner booth not far from their table.
“Those aren’t ordinary Marines like the last batch, Joey.” The man who answered to the name Harry shook his head before taking a sip of his drink.
“What do you mean? Marines are Marines. The last batch didn’t give us any trouble. Why would this lot?”
“Something about the way they move, the way they’re scanning the room, and barely drinking tells me that this isn’t the usual sort. I did a hitch in the Corps when I was younger. Guys like that, they’re more likely to be something different from simple line infantry. The watchful eyes, Joey, they worry me.”
“What does that mean, different from simple line infantry?”
“They remind me of the Pathfinders I once worked alongside. You know, special operations. The toughest, most dangerous fighters in the Commonwealth. The thing is, they spend their time hunting raiders, pirates, rebels, and every sort of scumbag there is. And they nab them too, without fail. The one thing special ops don’t do is garrison duty, especially not in a damned mine at the hind-end of the galaxy.”
“Doesn’t that prove they’re not special ops but simply new guys getting the lay of the land?”
Joey slammed back his drink and carefully placed the unbreakable plastic tumbler on the table before him.
“Maybe. Or not. The last batch left early. Never saw that happen since I started my rotations here. I heard this lot is under a major when the others are always run by captains.” Harry rubbed his chin with a calloused hand. “You have to wonder, after the rumors that a recon droid found something funky the other day, the sort that made upstairs clamp down on any information coming out.”
“So, you think the Fleet sent special operations guys for that?”
“That’s what I wonder now that I’ve seen them up close. They might wear the insignia of the 42nd Marines, but I’ll bet my next performance bonus that’s not their usual badge. I think we should go see Lyle. If he doesn’t know yet what Santa Claus brought us, he needs to find out.”
“Who the hell is this Claus guy, Harry? Some sort of Fleet bigshot?”
Harry stared at his friend.
“Seriously? You never heard of him? Talk about missing out, old buddy. Anyway, if my gut feeling is on the money, these guys could be serious trouble.”
“The last batch wasn’t a problem. They minded their own business.”
“And I keep telling you, these aren’t regular Marines. They look way more dangerous. Have you ever studied how a predator hunts, like in nature documentaries? Well, that’s what they remind me of. If I’m right, they could really bust our chops because they’re good, the best in the Corps.”
The two miners put on a nonchalant air as they left the bar. But Joey, who was drinking harder than his friend, kept glancing sideways at the Marines, looking for what made them so special. Sure, they came across as tough — muscular, steely gaze, emotionless features — and seemed as if they were eyeing the bar’s patrons rather than enjoying themselves. But from there to worrying?
When they reached the main elevators, Harry punched the call button and thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. The chime announcing the arrival of a car caught him by surprise, and he instinctively stepped forward as the doors slid open. Then, he did a double-take and took two steps back.
A pair of Marines, clad in black battledress and tactical harness with holstered needlers, and wearing blue berets with the 42nd Marine Regiment’s thistle, stepped out of the car. Both carried scatterguns slung over their right shoulders. Superficially, save for the insignia, they didn’t differ from the previous Marines. But the way they moved, the way their eyes seemed to search everywhere, that was different.
Harry quickly recovered, hoping neither of the men noticed his reaction. The senior of the two, a corporal, politely nodded at the two miners as he and his partner walked by. Harry pulled Joey into the elevator car and savagely punched the ‘door close’ button. He was furious with himself.
When the doors slid shut, and the elevator slipped downwards, he wondered whether his imagination was spinning out of control. Still, he should tell Lyle, just in case he was right, and these weren’t the regular brand of Marines rotating through Tyrell every three months.
**
“I must say, Skipper, our temporary command post in the VIP block on Earth was light years ahead of this.” Sergeant First Class Metellus Testo grimaced at Delgado as the latter surveyed his new, albeit temporary, domain. “By the way, I swept everything and found no listening devices, so at least there’s that.”
Three of the command post’s four walls were plastered with displays above workstations, but Delgado had to admit that his operations sergeant wasn’t indulging in hyperbole. The entire setup screamed cheap security guard station as if the Marines were nothing more than rent-a-cops.
Most of the equipment probably dated back to when Delgado was nothing more than a brand new private and bore plenty of signs it had been subjected to expedient field repairs. In comparison, the gear they’d drawn on Earth had been new and installed to Sergeant Testo’s exacting specifications.
“The equipment isn’t even the biggest problem,” he continued. “Sure, we can watch any of the public spaces from here, and I programmed the tactical AI to alert us if it sees something that needs our attention. But we can’t access Tyrell’s systems, meaning we’re blind to many potential threats and dependent on the station’s operations center. And you know how much I enjoy depending on others for my information.”
“Is there a way of tapping in with no one catching us doing so?”
A smile spread across Testo’s face.
“I was hoping you’d ask, sir. What would you like me to concentrate on?”
“As Master Sun said, ‘If you know heaven and know earth, you may make your victory complete.’ Give me omniscience, Sergeant, which shouldn’t be a problem since you’re such a good hacker they sent you to Ghost Squadron. What was it again you did on Starbase 25 that saw you posted out of the 122nd Pathfinders with a boot-print on your backside?”
“Never mind, Major, sir, never mind. Omniscience is probably beyond even my considerable skills. If we want it kept quiet. So how about you list the essential elements of information you figure we need?”
“First thing I need is access to personnel files, logs, reports, and such. The Admiral’s people figure the opposition might have at least one operative already in Tyrell, and I wouldn’t mind finding out who that could be.”
“Read-only access? I can hide that from just about anyone, but I can’t hide data manipulation, at least not from an expert.”
“Okay, read-only, but give me an out, in case we’re stuck doing dirty work.”
Testo nodded. “Check.”
“Next, I want a copy of internal and external messages sent by anyone other than us. Think you can hide the diversion?”
“That’ll be a lot easier than hiding the file access path, especially with the subspace radio messages. What else?”
“Every airlock, elevator, door, and maintenance access hatch on this base has a coded lock, which is monitored and controlled by the main computer. We’re supposed to go through the ops center for access to any out-of-bounds section or to seal off any area. Now that’s not the right way of running a defensive operation, is it?”
“No kidding, Skipper. It’ll take a while, but I can program the main computer to accept a secret access code for every lock, one that won’t register with the ops center.”
“With one little modification, Sergeant. Have it register the use of our own code on our segregated node. Just an added precaution in case something happens. While you’re doing that, the Top and I will modify our predecessors' patrol routes so everyone in the unit walks over every square centimeter of the base. And as the guys are doing their familiarization tours, they’ll be updating the schematics. Things must change fast in a mining facility built so it can be moved, and we need to know every detail. It could mean the difference between success and failure if things go sideways.”
“You’ll send them into the mine shafts as well?”
“Yeah, there too.”
“From what I read in the logs, our predecessors never went underground. I’d check with the head digger before barging in, sir.”
“I plan on discussing that matter with Chief Administrator Movane shortly. While I’m up in the ivory tower, is there anything else we need?”
“Other than a brand new command post? No. But please don’t ask for anything I’ll be getting via the station network through the back door. People might become nervous and check up on things when they deny a request. Once our special paths are in place, the chances of being discovered are slim. However, while I’m hacking away, I can be caught red-handed in a snap. And that would be embarrassing as hell.”
“Is that how it happened on Starbase 25?”
“No comment, sir.”