"That's not a word, it's a phrase," Doc replied.
"They're both going to be phrases we'll all get accustomed to if we don't figure something out!" the bosun muttered.
"Well, Manticore doesn't generally use the death penalty," Tyler pointed out, rubbing his chin in thought. "And if they do, they generally wait until the ship gets to a major port where a court-martial can take place with due process. Why not try to... Never mind."
"Yeah, he'd never go for that," the bosun said. "If we even brought it up we'd be added to the list."
"Is he talking about just spacing them?" Kearns asked. "I mean, not even a bullet in the back of the head or anything?"
"No," the Bosun replied with a grimace. "He wants to either shoot them or give them a lethal shot and then... Hey!"
"Yeah," Kearns said with a narrowed glance. "Now all we have to do is convince him not to space the bodies."
"Decent burial," Tyler said after a moment. "I mean, you're all religious nuts, right? Surely it would only be proper to return them to the cool green hills of Grayson or something."
The warrant looked at the senior NCO and the SBA for a moment and then narrowed his eyes.
"Okay, what we're talking about here is conspiracy to mutiny by circumventing direct orders of a superior." He looked them both in the eye. "And the penalty for that is death."
"I'll take my chance on a court-martial on Grayson," the bosun responded.
"Me too," Tyler said. "Hell, I'd prefer Peep justice to this friggin' nut-case."
CHAPTER FIVE
The Quick and the Dead
The XO stomped down the deserted corridors of the crew compartment, looking around in delight at the near pristine conditions. With none of the pesky crew cluttering things up, it was possible to have a truly efficiently run ship. Suddenly he slid to a stop.
"BOSUNNN!" he shouted, pointing at the floor. "What is that??!"
"Gum, sir," the bosun replied.
"Who is in charge of this area?" the XO asked, furiously.
"Cooper," the bosun replied. It was getting easier and easier to remember as the number of crew dropped precipitously.
"Well, space him!" the XO said. "Gum on the floor is just slackness."
"Yes, Sir," the bosun replied. "You'll remember that we're returning them to their families..."
"Very well," the XO said, continuing on his survey. "Send him to the medics."
"No, no!" Cooper yelled, hopping up and down in the grip from two men-at-arms and winking for all he was worth. "Don't kill me, Doc!"
"Oh, shut up and take it like a man," Tyler replied tiredly. He rolled up Cooper's sleeve and injected the engineering tech with a sedative. "Take him to the forecastle."
"I bet he dropped that gum on the floor on purpose," one of the men-at-arms grumped. "I could do with a three day vacation at this point."
"If we lose many more engineering techs, we're never going to make it," Sean replied darkly.
Captain Zemet opened his eyes and stared blearily into the face of Admiral Judah Yanakov. A quick glance to the side showed the two medics, the engineering officer and the astrogator lined up against one wall of what was apparently a hospital room.
"Captain, would you kindly tell me what in the Tester's name was going on up there?" the admiral said furiously. "I would especially like to know how you came to be in a coma and left that Masadan of an XO in charge. The one hundred and twenty-three personnel that your former XO had sedated have all been returned to duty, by the way."
"Well, Sir," the captain said, not even glancing at the figures against the wall, "we were drilling on compensator adjustments in movement. The ship went right and I went left and that's all I remember."
"Warrant Officer Kearns?"Admiral Yanakov asked. "Corpsman Tyler? Is that an accurate report?"
"He's our Captain, Sir," Kearns replied. "What he says is what happened."
"Hmmmph." The admiral peered at the captain for a moment then shook his head. "That's not quite the same as saying 'It happened like he said.' I don't have anywhere more out of the way to put you, Zemet, except Blackbird Base and I already stashed your XO there. So I guess I'll have to leave you in command. The rest of you are dismissed."
"That's it?" Tyler asked, collapsing into the sickbay chair. The flight back from Grayson had been made in total silence.
"What's it?" Kearns asked, pulling out his bladder of whiskey and pouring some into his cup.
"No investigation?" the Manticoran asked. "We just go back out on patrol?"
"You remember you're in Siberia, right?" the warrant asked, taking a sip of his tea. "And you know that Siberia was nothing but a giant prison?"
"Sort of."
"We're all prisoners, trapped in a Siberia called the Francis Mueller. You. Me. The Captain. Hell, even Kopp and the Chaplain, both of whom have been thrown out of at least one decent ship so far. And prisoners don't rat out other prisoners to the warden."
"Oh."
"I notice you didn't say anything," Kearns pointed out.
"Well... hell," Tyler said. "I guess you're right. Why didn't he just say he fell in the shower?"
"He's too professional for that," the warrant officer said, tossing the bladder over to the corpsman. "Only amateurs fall in a shower. Welcome to Siberia."
LET'S GO TO PRAGUE
by John Ringo
CHAPTER 1
A PLAN IS HATCHED
"Let's go to Prague, Johnny!"
John Mullins looked across at his partner and seriously contemplated pegging him in the head with his beer mug. Instead he slid the container of thin, sour brew aside and let the next drop of condensation hit the tabletop.
He recalled the heady days when they first arrived at Seaforth Nine. The most prestigious base in the entire Havenite Republic had just been taken intact by a coup de main and since ONI was already going to be pouring over it, what better use could it be put to than stabling the elite Covert Insertion Teams. Heady days indeed; the unit had been barracked in a converted warehouse behind the Manticoran consulate on New Ghuanzou.
As it turned out, there were worse things than New Guano; the "most advanced base" the People's Republic of Haven had ever produced turned out to be a dump. Make that a dump and a half.
Much of the interior partitioning was of wood, for Christ's sake. Combined with the fact that the dessicators didn't and the chillers wouldn't, the place was a perpetual steam bath. It said much that teams had been trying to get moved up in the mission roster, just to get the relative luxury of beating around on Silesian tramp freighters and risking their lives behind Peep lines.
But that didn't mean he was willing to take leave in Prague.
"So, for our leave, you want to go beat around on tramps for two weeks, maybe a month, spend a couple of tension-filled months hoping we don't get picked up by StateSec and then have to hop tramps back? In what possible way does that differ from work?"
"I hear it's lovely in the spring," Charles said with a sardonic grin. He pushed his hair back and chuckled. "And we can drink as much of that fine Peep beer as we choose. Besides, you know how much you love your work."
When Charles Gonzalvez wasn't on a mission he was the spitting image of a mad scientist. Same wild hair, same crazed, glazed expression, same oddball sense of reality. He would be discussing Peep information system security in one breath and be off on how best to kill a sentry in the next.