“And one bacterium would be enough,” Geary said.
“One would be enough.”
“Why did those idiots land there?” Desjani demanded.
“Because they are idiots,” Rione said, upset enough to actually answer Desjani directly. “They were hired for a job, chased, trapped, and saw a way out. They took it. Even though it was stupid.”
“Actually,” Geary said, “they may have thought it was incredibly clever.”
“What could possibly be clever about it?” Rione demanded.
Geary pointed to the image of Europa floating above the table like a very large Ping-Pong ball with tan patches and striations all over its surface. “They knew no one could chase them down there, and for some reason the locals aren’t firing on them. They must have known they can sit on the surface without being attacked. They’re probably planning to sit there for months. We can’t wait here for months. When we leave, they can lift, go stealthy again, and escape past the blockade.”
Dr. Nasr shook his head. “No. It would not work. No one, no friends of theirs, would accept them for fear of the plague.”
“Exactly. That’s the stupid part of their clever plan. But if they can get off the surface and away from Europa, they can spread the plague.”
Rione gazed at the image of Europa. “The quarantine ships couldn’t stop them? That gives us leverage if we can come up with a plan.”
Once again, Nasr shook his head. “We cannot go down, and we cannot allow them to come up. The craft did not land near any of the dead cities, but we do not know how much the plague may have spread across the surface of Europa. It only takes one bacterium,” he repeated.
Geary looked toward Desjani. “Any ideas?”
She shook her head angrily. “No. We can’t use the Marines. Their battle armor would keep out the plague. It’s designed to do that sort of thing. But we don’t have battlefield decontamination gear with us, and can’t be sure that would be good enough against this bug. If something was on the outside of their armor when they came back aboard Dauntless…” Her words trailed off because they all knew what could happen, and none of them wanted to spell it out.
Several seconds passed without anyone’s saying anything, then Dr. Nasr held up his forefinger, his eyes clouded with thought. “The battle armor will keep out the plague. Do you have the details on this armor?”
“Of course,” Desjani said. “Full specs. What do you need?”
“I am wondering about sterilization,” Nasr said slowly, the words spaced out as his thoughts produced them. “Not simply decontamination. If we sterilize the battle armor before it comes aboard, if we can apply sufficient energy to the outside of the armor without harming those inside…”
“Outside the ship?” Geary asked. “What do we have that could do that?”
“Hell lances!” Desjani said. “Scale down the energy. We can calculate exactly how much we need and blast every square millimeter of the battle armor!”
“I need to do some research,” the doctor cautioned.
Desjani had already walked quickly to the nearest comm panel. “Gunnery Sergeant Orvis! I need you on the double in the Admiral’s stateroom. Bring every spec you’ve got on your battle armor.” She tapped another address. “Senior Chief Tarrani. Admiral’s stateroom, on the double. We need to talk hell lances from a surgical perspective.”
She paused after that and looked at Geary. “Should I call Master Chief Gioninni? Are we going to try to make a deal with these guys or just go in shooting?”
Rione frowned and also addressed Geary. “Any diplomatic matters should be handled in proper channels.”
“This isn’t a diplomatic matter,” he replied in as diplomatic a way as he could manage. “This would be making a deal with criminals.”
“Making deals with criminals is a major part of most diplomacy. Didn’t you know that? Do you believe that this Master Chief Gioninni is somehow expert at dealing with criminals?”
Geary paused, then spoke with great care, aware that Desjani was desperately trying to avoid laughing. He felt the same way, in part because of the giddiness brought on by the realization that they might, just might, be able to develop a viable rescue from what had appeared to be a hopeless situation. “Master Chief Gioninni is… very familiar with… extralegal means of… conducting business.”
“I see,” Rione said in a frosty voice. “Whatever he does, whatever he says, could produce extremely serious consequences for the Alliance and for your missing lieutenants. You had best keep that in mind.”
“Perhaps,” Desjani said in a slightly strangled voice brought on by her attempts not to laugh, “Master Chief Gioninni could work with our… diplomatic representatives.”
“That’s a good idea,” Geary hastily agreed. “Tell him to contact Envoy Rione and coordinate communications with the occupants of that stealth craft. We want to know how die-hard they are, or whether they can be convinced to give up Lieutenants Castries and Yuon without a fight.”
“I’ll see what can be done,” Rione said. “You do realize, Admiral, that the occupants of that craft have signed their own death sentences. They have nothing to lose. Any deal is going to involve lying to them about being able to save their lives.”
Nobody answered that immediately. Eventually, Geary shook his head. “We didn’t put them in that position. They did it to themselves. If I have to lie to save Lieutenants Castries and Yuon from the stupidity and criminal acts of those people, then I am willing to do so.”
“Don’t bother yourself, Admiral.” Rione smiled sardonically. “I can lie for both of us. That’s also a big part of diplomacy. It’s what I do for a living, remember?”
The next hour involved considerable references to specifications of armor and weapons, debates about tolerances and backups, calling up medical references on the ability of bacteria to survive the most extreme conditions, and what little had ever been revealed about the bioengineered plague that had escaped a lab complex on Europa and wiped out every human on that moon with a speed and efficiency that had terrified the rest of humanity.
In one corner of the stateroom, Victoria Rione and Master Chief Gioninni stood listening to the others and talking quietly to each other. After initial coldness on Rione’s part, they seemed to be getting along famously.
Finally, Dr. Nasr looked at Geary and nodded. “Yes, Admiral. We can subject the outside of a suit of battle armor to sufficient heat and other forces to ensure that nothing survives.”
“Excuse me, Doc,” Gunnery Sergeant Orvis said, “but we should clarify that when you say nothing survives, you aren’t including the Marine inside the suit.”
Looking startled, Nasr waved his hands. “No. No. Of course not. The armor will protect the occupant. It will be ruined, though. External sensors burned out, joints fused, external coatings badly damaged. The occupants will be fine, but they will have to be cut out of the armor once we are done.”
Orvis scratched his head, grimacing. “By fine we mean uninjured. Mostly uninjured. Nobody’s going to be comfortable, though. It’s going to get pretty damned warm inside that armor until it’s pried open. But the closed-circuit backup life support inside the suits will keep oxygen going for the amount of time we need to worry about.”
“Your Marines can definitely handle the discomfort though?” Rione asked.
It was Gunnery Sergeant Orvis’s turn to look surprised. “Oh, sure. We’re Marines. Too much heat and discomfort and getting shot at and beat up is just run-of-the-mill for us. It’s when we’re really comfortable that we get thrown off by how unusual it all is.”