One hour until they went into the station. Fred called up the negotiation team on the command ship.
Psych ops here, said Captain Santiago, the team commander.
Captain, this is Colonel Johnson. Weve been given authorization to retake the station. My people go in in an hour. Do we have anything left to try? A Hail Mary pass? Have you warned them about the assault?
There was no reason for secrecy. There would be no way to hide three Marine assault craft on breaching maneuvers.
The silence from the other end stretched out, and Fred was almost at the point of checking to see if the line was still open when the reply came.
Colonel, are you double-checking my work here, sir?
Fred counted to ten slowly.
No, Captain. But Im about to send six hundred marines into the station. In addition to the 170 hostiles, there are over ten thousand civilians. Many or all of them could die before the days out. I just want to make sure weve exhausted every other possibility before we commit to?
Sir, Ive got my orders just like you do. We did what we could, but Psych Ops is standing down now. Your turn.
Am I the only one that sees that this doesnt make any sense? Fred said. They claim they took the station because of a three percent cargo transfer fee? I mean, they already threw the administrator who implemented it out the damned airlock. There is literally nothing left for them to win by forcing a fight.
The only answer was static.
Let me talk to them, Fred said. Maybe if they hear it from a different voice, theyll understand?
Sir, Santiago cut in. I am not authorized to do that. You want to argue about it? Call General Jasira back at OPCOM. Santiago out.
Fred launched himself at Dawes, pushing out with numbed legs, and Dawes scuttled back. Fred landed on the deck hard. The world grayed out for a second, and he tasted blood. He struggled forward, trying to get at Dawess feet with his teeth if that was the best he could manage. He saw the Belter up to the knees, stepping back. Fred twisted. Something in his left shoulder made a sick crunching sound, and a sharp pain shot up his neck. Then the woman stepped forward.
He looked up into the triangular barrel of the flchette rifle, and then past it to the womans eyes. They were the blue of oceans seen from orbit. There was no pity in them. Her thumb was on the safety. Her finger on the trigger. A little pressure, and the rifle would send a hundred spikes of steel thinner than needles through his brain. And she wanted to. It was in the set of her shoulders and the angles of her face how much she wanted to end him.
The problem with you, Dawes said, his voice calm and conversational as if they were sitting in a bar somewhere sharing a beer, and I dont mean this as a criticism of you in particular. Its true of anybody who didnt grow up in the Belt. The problem with you is that you are wasteful.
Im not a fucking coward, Fred said through his rapidly swelling lip.
Of course you are. Youre smart, youre healthy. Maybe a few hundred people out of forty billion have your combination of talent and training. And youre trying to waste that very valuable resource. Youre like the guy who delays replacing his airlock seals when they start to leak. You think its just a little bit. It doesnt matter. Youre one guy. You get killed, no big loss.
He heard Dawes walking behind him, but his gaze was still on the rifle. Dawes grabbed Freds collar and hauled him back to kneeling.
When I was growing up, my dad used to beat the crap out of me if I spat someplace other than the reclamation duct because we needed the water. We dont waste things out here, Colonel. We cant afford to. You understand that, though. Dont you?
Slowly, Fred nodded. Blood was seeping down his chin even though Dawes and the woman hadnt laid an angry hand on him. Hed done this to himself.
When I was about fifteen, I killed my sister, Dawes said. I didnt mean to. We were on this rock about a week from Eros Station. We were going out of the ship to get some survey probes that got stuck in the slurry. I was supposed to check her suit seals, but I was in a mood. I was fifteen, you know? So I did a half-assed job of it. We went outside, and everything seemed fine until she twisted sideways to pull up a rock spur. I heard it on the comm link, and it just sounded like a pop. We had the old Ukrainian-style suits. Solid as stone unless something broke, and then it all failed at once.
Dawes shrugged.
Youre a fucking piece of shit, then, arent you? Fred said, and Dawes grinned.
Felt like that, yeah. Still do sometimes. I understand why someone could want to die after a thing like that.
So why not kill yourself? Fred asked, then spat a dark red clot on the deck at his feet.
Ive got three more sisters, Dawes said. Someones got to check their seals.
Fred shook his head. His shoulder vibrated with sudden pain.
Why are you telling me this?
Builds rapport, Dawes said. Hows it working?
Fred laughed before he knew he was going to. Dawes gestured, and the woman put up the rifle, walking back to her doorway.
So. Colonel, Dawes said. What information did you get on Anderson Station that you ended up here talking to a sad sack of shit like me?
Fred took a long breath.
There was a message sent to us as we went in, he said. A message I didnt see until it was too late.
Let me see it, Fred said.
There are a couple things here, the lieutenant said. Got a partial that was never sent. And one that looks like its being sent to the command ship on infinite repeat. Also, a running feed that looks like a straight dump of the security cameras.
Do the unsent partial first.
The video started, and the man in the mining jumpsuit stared out of the screen. For Fred, there was a surreal quality to watching a man alive and speaking while his corpse lay cooling on the floor behind him.
I could have told him this would happen.
The dead man said, Citizens of the solar system, my name is Marama Brown. Im a freelance mining technician for Anderson-Hyosung Cooperative Industries Group. I, and some like-minded individuals, have taken control of the company resupply station.
Fred hit pause and turned to his lieutenant. He had a sinking feeling in his gut. The dead man had expected this to get out. Even though he had to know they were jamming, hed expected the message to be heard.
Where was that security camera feed going? Fred asked.
Ill check on that right now, sir, the lieutenant replied, and called up the electronic warfare people back on the Dagmar. Fred tuned their conversation out, and hit play again.
I believe?we all believe that this action is justified by what has been done here. A man named Gustav Marconi, the station administrator, recently implemented a three percent surcharge on supply transfers. I know that doesnt sound like much to some of you, but most of us are living on the ragged edge out here. Prospectors, wildcat minersyou strike it rich or you starve. Thats the game. But now a bunch of us are going to have to buy three percent less supplies because it just got that much more expensive. You can eat a bit less food. You can drink a little less water. You can fly a little slower and stretch your fuel, maybe. You run life support at bare minimums. But?
Sir? said the lieutenant, and Fred paused the playback. Sir, the transmission, at least some of it, got out. Theyd left a tightbeam receiver and broadcast transmitter anchored to a rock just outside our jamming range. We missed it. But the e-war geeks have triangulated its location and are sending a Phantom to frag it.
Too late, Fred thought, and hit the play button again.
?what if youre already running at the bare minimum? How about every year, you just dont breathe for three days? That would about cover it. Or you dont drink any water for three days. Or you dont eat for three days when youre already on the brink of starvation. When theres nothing left to cut back on, how do you make it up then?