Stark's Crusade (14 page)

"Corporal, the only people your council
may
represent," Stark replied, carefully emphasizing the 'may,' "are some soldiers in Fifth Battalion. I will not break faith with every other soldier up here by giving in to your demands."

Corporal Hostler gulped. "We, uh . . ."

"Where are your senior enlisted, Corporal? Where are the sergeants from Fifth Battalion?"

"They're. . . all under arrest. Hostages." The words came quickly, almost too quickly.

Stark glanced over at Reynolds, who shook her head skeptically, then he spoke with a mix of calming and authority. "Let's take things one step at a time. First, I have to know any hostages are safe. Second, I need your people to evacuate that ammunition magazine they've occupied."

"No! That's our ace! You wouldn't dare do-anything as long as we hold that magazine!"

"Listen, Corporal, if somebody blows that magazine, either on purpose or
by accident,
it'll cause one helluva lot of damage. And kill everyone inside the magazine, as well as a lot of people outside it. A lot of your fellow soldiers. You don't want that, do you?"

"It's . . . our ace," Hostler insisted, his confidence waning once more.

"I can't let you hold this Colony hostage. I can't let you hold the lives of a lot of your fellow soldiers' hostage. There's too much chance somebody'll make a mistake that you and me and everyone else will regret. You understand, right?" Stark waited a moment, letting his statement sink in, speaking again only after Hostler's eyes reflected growing worry. "I can talk. I don't want shooting. But I can't let you hold on to a magazine full of ammo. If somebody on your side screws up, or somebody on my side, a lot of soldiers could die. A lot of civs, too. I don't expect you to care about the civs, but how many of your buddies are you willing to see blown to hell?" Hostler started to reply, then bit his lip, his eyes straying slightly to one side.
So, like I thought. You're not in charge, are you, Corporal? There's somebody talking off-screen, and you're listening.

"Uh, Sergeant Stark, we don't want to risk any of our, uh, fellow soldiers, either. But we need something to make sure you don't attack us."

"I'll give you my word."

"Uh, no. We need, uh, a hostage. Somebody important."

Stark didn't have to look around to know Vic was vigorously shaking her head at him. "You can't volunteer for that!" she hissed.

"Why not?"

"Because you're in charge! Who makes decisions if you're a damn hostage?"

Stark screwed up his mouth as if he'd tasted something bitter, then glowered at Corporal Hostler. "You got anybody in mind?"

"Yessir. Sergeant Reynolds. You provide her as a hostage, and we'll withdraw from the magazine."

Keeping his face carefully composed, Stark looked over at Vic, but instead of answering him she leaned into the vid camera and nodded. "Done. I'll be at the entrance to your barracks in fifteen minutes. Do you need any assistance communicating with your people inside the magazine?"

"No. We're talking to them." Hostler grinned in relief, then looked anxious again, his eyes once more indicating he was listening to someone off screen. "You come here unarmed, Sergeant Reynolds. No weapons, no armor."

Reynolds pursed her mouth in disdain. "Of course. I'll be there, unarmed." Hostler broke the connection, leaving Stark staring at Vic. "Come on, Ethan. Private conference." She led the way to a briefing room just outside the command center, where no watchstanders could overhear their words. "I know you don't like this, Ethan, but it's necessary." Stark looked mutely at her as Reynolds unstrapped her sidearm, laying it carefully on a table nearby. "Keep an eye on this for me, will you?"

"Vic, I—"

"Save it." She looked straight at him. "I agreed to be the hostage for two reasons. First, because I'm sure those fools wouldn't agree to give up the magazine for any other hostage. Second, because it gives us an edge. A big edge."

"An edge."

"You know what I mean, Ethan. Those apes," she stated with a wave in the general direction of Chamberlain Barracks, "think you won't let me get killed."

"Which you might be! What if they panic? What if the enemy hears about this and tries a push and everything falls apart? What if they just decide they can demand anything they want as long as they got you as a hostage?"

Her expression didn't alter. "You stop them, Ethan. You stop them. You take them down."

"And they kill you."

"And they kill me. That's our ace in the hole, our edge, if we need it, Ethan. They don't think you'd let me get killed in order to save everyone else up here."

The ice he'd once felt fill his body had come back, so his limbs felt frozen in place, yet Stark could still speak, though only in a hoarse whisper. "I would if I had to. To save the others. I'm responsible for taking care of them, Vic."

"I know. Nobody else knows you'd do that, but nobody else knows you as well as I do." She reached out one hand, slapping his shoulder lightly. "There's no time for speeches. Do what you have to do, Ethan." Vic turned to go. "If the worst happens, I'll see you in hell."

"Sure."

"Hell's likely to be real crowded, but I'll try to save you a seat."

"You do that." The ice filling him broke, thoughts tumbling through his brain.
How can she joke about this? Because she's scared to death, you idiot. Vic's going into a life-and-death situation without any weapons, without any armor, depending on me to handle things right and get her back, and I don't exactly have a perfect record in either respect.
"Vic." She paused, not looking back. "I'll get you out of there."

"You do
your job,
soldier. That's what matters." Then she was gone.

The transfer took place almost too smoothly, Reynolds standing at relaxed parade rest at one of the Fifth Battalion barricades as the mutineers evacuated the magazine and Shwartz kept her loyal forces calmingly out of sight. Stark watched on vid as Reynolds was escorted by the mutineers into the barracks, feeling simultaneously empty and full of dread.
Now what do I do? I don't know. What would Vic advise? She'd tell me to talk to my staff. Let the civs know what's happening. Keep people informed so I'm not indispensable, and so they know the situation's under control. Okay. Let's get on it.

Half a day dragged by, then a full twenty-four hours. Corporal Hostler, looking increasingly ragged from tension, kept repeating his demands that Stark step down from command. The failure of other units to follow Fifth Battalion's lead had apparently thrown off the mutineers' plans, but they showed no signs of surrendering despite that.

"Alright, people." Stark's staff, augmented by Sergeant Shwartz, the Colony manager, and another civilian Stark had never met, sat around the conference table looking as if they hadn't slept for more than a day. Which was appropriate, Stark noted to himself, since they hadn't. "What've we got?"

Sergeant Shwartz gestured toward her display. "I've been canvassing the other senior enlisted in Second Brigade on who in Fifth Battalion might be behind this Corporal Hostler and so-called Enlisted Council. We have some good candidates, but we also have quite a few people we're certain wouldn't take part. We have to assume they're hostages, just like Sergeant Reynolds."

Sergeant Stacey Yurivan checked the list. "Good assessment. When did you have a chance to put this together?"

"I just used my copious free time," Shwartz replied, trying to stifle a yawn.

Stark nodded. "You've done a good job keeping things stable around that barracks. What about you, Stace? Any leads on who's behind this?"

Yurivan made a face. "I'm sure our good buddy Harry Kalnick is behind this, like you guessed, but I can't find any footprints and probably won't be able to find any until we get at the stuff inside Fifth Batt's barracks."

Bev Manley shook her head. "I met that guy a few times. Kalnick's competent, I guess, but he's no evil genius. Could he have had any help in bringing this about?"

"I'm sure he had help. I'm sure some professional knuckle-draggers from certain national agencies have been using our boy Kalnick as a means to an end, though Kalnick might believe he's pulling the strings. But proof of that is likely to be real hard to come by." Yurivan tapped her screen again. "But, good-news-wise, it doesn't look like we're dealing with a full Battalion of malcontents. The guys in Intelligence have been adding up the numbers of soldiers seen when the mutineers tried to take over, and it doesn't add up to anywhere near a battalion. Maybe two companies worth of grunts, more or less."

"Surely they held back some soldiers," Gordasa argued.

"We thought about that." Yurivan nodded toward Sergeant Shwartz. "The mutineers manning the barricades haven't disabled the IFF systems on their battle armor."

"IFF?" Colony Manager Campbell asked.

"Identification friend or foe," Stark explained. "It's a system that makes sure you don't shoot at the people on your side by telling you who's enemy and who's friendly. How's that helping, Stace?"

"Because you can query a suit's IFF to get an individual identification, without alerting the suit's wearer. Didn't know that, Stark? Most people don't. So Shwartz's people have been monitoring the mutineers manning the barricades. Based on the turnover of individuals, we're talking maybe six platoons worth of soldiers actively involved in this little party."

"Two companies," Stark mused. "That ain't great, but it's a lot better than a full battalion. Good work. Anything else?"

Yurivan smiled like a cat digesting a canary. "My little idea for handling the Jabberwocks turns out to be doable, and it may also allow us to take down these mutineers without hurting anybody." She paused to relish the surprise radiating from most of those present. "You can tell me how brilliant I am later. For now, I think Mr. Campbell can fill you in."

Campbell shook his head. "I know just the bare bones. This is the expert." He indicated the man sitting next to him, an individual who at first glance seemed small in stature until you realized he held himself small. "This is my head of Nano-Research and Development, Doctor Gafton. He has some important information."

Doctor Gafton blinked a few times before speaking. Even though no one had to wear glasses anymore, Gafton somehow looked as if he needed them. Focusing closely on Stark, the doctor began speaking. "Mr. Stark—"

"Sergeant," Stark interrupted.

"Sergeant?"

"Yeah. Sergeant."

Gafton blinked again. "Mr. Sergeant—"

A strangled sound came from one end of the table as Sergeant Manley attempted to hold in laughter. Stark glared at her, then back at Doctor Gafton. "Sergeant is my title, Doctor."

The doctor's face creased in puzzlement. "My netlink informs me 'sergeant' is a low-ranking position of limited responsibility. The commander of a large force should be titled 'general.' "

Stark glanced over at Campbell, who shut his own eyes for a moment in seeming exasperation before replying. "Doctor Gafton doesn't get out much, I'm afraid. Doctor, Sergeant Stark is the commander of our military forces."

Before Gafton could say anything else, Stacey Yurivan raised an accusing finger toward him. "You've got an active netlink implanted? Despite the danger?"

Gafton grimaced, then nodded. "It is necessary. I could not coordinate our work without an implant. Of course, the risks are severe despite all the security measures provided, but I must take those risks to fulfill my duties."

Stark glanced from Yurivan to Gafton.
What's that about? Nobody else seems confused. I'll have to ask Vic later. If there is a later.
He shied away from the thought. "So, what is it you've got to tell me, Doctor?"

"The nanobots you have requested are in final design testing and should—"

"I requested nanobots?" Stark looked around the table. Everyone else looked back with blank expressions, with the exception of the smug smile on Sergeant Yurivan's face.

"Yes, you did. Absolutely. A special order."

"Tell me about it, Doc. What do these nanobots do?"

More blinking. "What you requested, of course."

"And that would be?"

"Internal reprogramming and system disabling of a complex, autonomously operating robotic entity. I must admit the requirement that the nanobots had to be delivered using a high-velocity penetration device made the design process a little tricky even with current nanotechnology, but once we established a cushioning medium—"

Stark stopped the flow of words with one hand slapping onto the table with the sudden shock of a rifle shot. "You've designed nanobots to knock out robots?"

"Ah, well, the specifications indicated reprogramming was also desired, but since we know nothing of the hardware or software to be used in the original programming, we cannot build enough options into the nanobots to achieve that function."

"But the nanobots will stop a robotic combatant?"

"Certainly. They will seek out command junctions and interrupt control signal flow. Simple jamming seemed the most reliable concept to pursue, though there is a backup short-out of power relays function which will also be employed." Doctor Gafton peered around as if trying to assess whether his words were understood. "In basic terms, the robots will suffer the equivalent effects of a human exposed to a nerve agent such as sarin."

Manley leaned forward. "How can you be sure they'll work?"

"There is no guarantee of success, pending the outcome of experimental trials. There are a number of variables we must deal with. The degree of shielding of command junctions, the power of command signals which are to be blocked, the presence or absence of defensive nanobots designed to stop or repair internal sabotage—" Gafton stopped in mid-sentence, his expression thoughtful. "Mind you, defensive nanobot systems have not been utilized prior to this time, so we have no reason to expect their presence. This nonetheless represents an uncontrolled variable."

"So we can't be sure they'll work until we use them?"

"Ah . . . yes. Unless you can acquire a working model of the targeted robotic entity to conduct tests upon, that is correct."