“That will be hit when the shuttle releases the tether,” Nasr said, his tone of voice uncharacteristically short.
“Proceed,” Dr. Palden said grudgingly.
Several seconds later, the two doctors gave their approval. The shuttle ejected the used tether so that it fell toward Europa, then shot out another to grab the next Marine, while the second shuttle swung over to pick up the first Marine. Geary blew out a gasp of air as he looked at the heat readings on the outside of the first Marine’s battle armor. “I sure hope Dr. Nasr and Gunnery Sergeant Orvis were right about the Marines inside the armor being able to endure that.”
Desjani, who was beginning to relax, smiled thinly at him. “Doctors make mistakes sometimes, but gunnery sergeants? Doesn’t happen.”
As the next Marine was pummeled by the hell lance, the first was hauled into the second shuttle, where everyone paused while the doctors carefully examined their data. “He is fully decontaminated,” Nasr said.
Dr. Palden scowled as she checked the same data, saying nothing.
“There is a person inside that armor,” Dr. Nasr finally prodded her.
“I need to be sure!” But five seconds later Palden shrugged. “It’s good.”
“Get him out,” Desjani ordered.
Geary watched sailors kneeling by the rigid figure of the Marine. Master Chief Gioninni was personally supervising the work, and Geary had earlier observed Dauntless’s hull technicians practicing on the broken set of battle armor, slicing it into pieces to get the precise settings needed for their equipment. But he still felt worry as incredibly sharp blades with edges only a single molecule wide sliced into the Marine’s armor. Such a blade could cut completely through a human arm or leg without even noticing the resistance.
But there were no signs of trouble as the cutters came off the armor. “Put the ’shroons on,” Gioninni ordered after inspecting the cuts.
Geary had no idea what the official name for ’shroons was. Like everyone else, he had only heard the nickname universally used for more than a century for the means to crack or pry open objects using only the tiniest of openings as a start. Rumor had it that the nickname derived from the ability of mushrooms to crack concrete slabs as they grew.
Following Gioninni’s command, the techs slapped ’shroon pads onto the cuts in the Marine’s armor. Unseen, tiny filaments slid down from the pads into the cuts, then began expanding and growing, inexorably pushing the openings wider and wider despite the immense strength of the inner layers of material on the battle armor. Reaching the extent of their reach and life span, the ’shroons shriveled and dropped away.
“Get him out,” Gioninni said.
The techs knelt again and slid the Marine out of the split armor. The private looked back at them with a dazed expression, still bemused by the blows from the hell lance and the subsequent heat inside his armor. Helping him to a seat, one of the sailors offered a drink which the Marine sucked down avidly.
Lowering the drink bulb, the Marine locked an accusing look on the sailors. “Gunny said there’d be beer.”
“You’ll get beer when we get back to the ship,” Gioninni assured him. “Right now, that stuff the docs cooked up is best for you.”
“Look at them bruises on him,” one of the techs commented in awed tones. “You look like you just came back from some really great liberty,” he told the Marine.
“Don’t feel like it,” the Marine grumbled, taking another drink and grimacing.
“That’s all right,” the sailor assured him. “You guys did good down there.”
“Hell,” the Marine said. “We did our job. Those goons never had a chance.” He stared gloomily at nothing as the sailors prepared for the next Marine.
It seemed to take an eternity to decontaminate every Marine and pry them out of their ruined armor. But, finally, Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, the last, climbed out of his armor unassisted, his face mottled with bruises already forming, disdaining any help from the weary sailors. Orvis looked at the piles of destroyed armor, shaking his head. “Operation complete, Admiral. The bean counters are going to raise hell about all this trashed armor, though.”
“I’ll let Captain Smythe worry about that,” Geary said, knowing that his senior engineering officer would find some account to charge the expense to that would, if not justify the expense to the bean counters, at least confuse the bean counters as to whether they should object to the charge. “But the op isn’t complete yet.” The two sets of battle armor holding Lieutenants Yuon and Castries still lay intact inside the shuttle, their exteriors darkened and radiating heat. “Dr. Nasr will meet you at the shuttle dock. Help get those two sets of armor to the total-isolation compartment in medical.”
“Yes, sir. Admiral, I have to tell you, it was pretty tough inside that armor. We need to get those officers out of that as soon as possible.”
The shuttle had almost reached Dauntless as they spoke. Within a minute, it had landed, and the ramp was lowering. The worn-out Marines, groaning just loud enough to make their unhappiness apparent but not loud enough to draw a rebuke from Gunnery Sergeant Orvis, put on insulated gloves and hoisted the armor-encased officers onto medical stretchers that raced off with Drs. Nasr and Palden running behind.
Geary felt an irrational urge to trot down to sick bay himself, but he was still watching the overall situation and so waited on the bridge, viewing remotely as the stretchers deposited the two officers inside the total-isolation compartment. The two barely fit in the small room, which was intended for only the most extreme emergencies and could normally hold just one person.
Dr. Nasr moved with assured speed as he activated autonomous devices within the total-isolation compartment. After ensuring that the seals on the compartment were in place and solidly locked, he set the devices to work cutting the officers out of the armor. It was a longer and more complex process than when sailors could do some of the work and oversee the rest, but eventually the limp bodies of both officers were free of their protective shells.
Remote diagnostic sleeves attached themselves to the two officers, taking samples and readings which were relayed to Nasr. “No sign of infection,” he declared in a relieved voice.
“No sign of active infection,” Dr. Palden corrected.
Instead of replying, Dr. Nasr ordered the equipment inside the isolation compartment to begin supplying both lieutenants with solutions for liquid and nourishment, as well as some drugs to counteract those keeping them unconscious.
After several minutes, Lieutenant Castries blinked and looked around groggily. She tried to stand up, wavering on her feet, and staring down in confusion at the medical sleeves and other devices attached to her. Geary winced in sympathy at the bruises vividly marking her visible skin, hoping that whatever the docs were giving Castries and Yuon including some powerful painkillers.
Dr. Palden peered intently at the readouts, her expression suspicious. “Disorientation and weakness,” she said like someone condemning a prisoner.
“Completely explainable by her ordeal and condition,” Dr. Nasr shot back. “Body temperature is stabilizing at normal. Brain functions show no deterioration or abnormality.”
“That is so,” Palden admitted reluctantly.
Lieutenant Castries had lifted her gaze to stare at the monitor in the compartment. “What happened? Where… Is this Dauntless?”
Geary broke in to answer. “Yes, Lieutenant. You’re safe aboard Dauntless. Do you know you were kidnapped?”
“What? No. I was on some street and… now I’m here.” She looked around, spotting Yuon, who was beginning to stir. “Him, too? Why are we both in here? And what the—?” Castries was staring at the broken battle armor in absolute bafflement.