Battlespace. Ian Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ artifact. Another remnant of one of the ancient civilizations that had been kicking around this part of the galaxy thousands of years ago. Maybe the An. Or maybe it was something really special … something left by the Builders at about the same time that Homo erectus was in the process of making the transition to Homo sapiens.

      “Sirius sounds just fine, Gunny.”

      Okay, there wouldn’t be a planetfall. But a chance to see a high-tech artifact left by a vanished, starfaring civilization? And whatever the thing was, it would have to be damned huge if they were sending a whole Marine Interstellar Expeditionary Unit—a force that would number over a thousand men and women, all told. What the hell had they found out there?

      “Does that mean I’m in?”

      Eckhart grinned. “You’re in, Doc.”

      I’m going to Sirius! I’m going to another star! …

      He almost didn’t hear what Eckhart said next.

      “You’ll continue your training here for the rest of the month,” Eckhart was saying. “After that, you and the other Corpsmen from this class who make the grade, the ones who’ve volunteered for extrasolar deployment, will ship for L-4 for your XS training and final assignment. And just let me say, Doc … welcome aboard!”

      “Thanks, Gunny! Uh, does that mean you’re coming too?”

      “Yes, it does. The brass is doing some scrambling right now, looking for famsit ones and twos.” He grinned. “I figured you damned squids’d need me to keep an eye on you!”

      “That sounds decent, Gunny.”

      “Now get your sorry ass down to debrief. We’re gonna want to hear, in exacting detail, just what you did wrong on that last field exercise!”

      Vacation over. “Aye aye, Gunnery Sergeant!”

      “For one thing, you could’ve used a thermalslick.” He grinned. “Chief Hart is gonna tell you all about that!”

      Lee blinked. He hadn’t even thought of that. Thermal-slicks were part of each corpsman’s field kit—a tough, polymylar sheet like aluminum foil on one side, jet black on the other. It could reflect sunlight or absorb it and the black side had the added trick of a layer of carbon buckyball spheres that made it almost frictionless—great for dragging the dead weight of an injured man.

      But then, he hadn’t even thought about the problem of sunlight melting the wound’s clot until it was too late.

      At the moment, none of that mattered.

      I’m going to Sirius. …

       Alpha Company Headquarters Office Star Marine Force Center Twentynine Palms, California 1535 hours, PST

      “Comp’ny … atten … hut!”

      Sharply dressed in newly issued green utilities, Garroway and his five fellow Marines came to attention. They were standing in Captain Warhurst’s office at Twentynine Palms, a fairly Spartan compartment made warm by the desert sunlight streaming through the transparent overhead. Staff Sergeant Dunne had marched them in; Warhurst himself was behind his low, kidney-shaped desktop, hand on a palm reader as he downloaded a report in his noumenal space.

      After a moment, his glazed expression cleared, and he looked up. “Staff Sergeant?” he said.

      “Sir!” Dunne rasped. “Corporals Garcia, Lobowski, Vinton, Lance Corporals Womicki, Garroway, and Eagleton, reporting for captain’s nonjudicial punishment, sir!”

      “Very well, Staff Sergeant.” Warhurst folded his hands and looked at the six, studying each of them in turn. “Will all of you accept nonjudicial punishment? You all have the option of requesting formal courts-martial, at which time you would be entitled to legal representation.”

      “Sir,” Garroway said. They’d agreed earlier on that he would be their spokesperson. They’d been invited to the party by his friend, after all. “We accept the NJP.”

      “Very well. We’ll keep this short and simple then.” He leaned back in his swivel chair. “What the hell were you young idiots thinking, getting into a brawl ashore? Were you, each of you, aware of the delicate nature of the relationship between Marines and civilians here just now?”

      “Yes, sir,” Garroway replied.

      “What about the rest of you? You all downloaded the spiel before you went on liberty? The one about being good ambassadors for the Corps while ashore?”

      All of them nodded, with a few mumbled “Yes, sirs” mixed in.

      “I didn’t hear that.”

      “Yes, sir!”

      “Right now, ladies and gentlemen, the Marines can not afford a major firefight with the civilian sector. Brawling in a bar in downtown San Diego is one thing. Smashing up a condecology in the high-rent district of East Side LA is something else entirely.”

      As Warhurst spoke, Garroway wondered what was in store for them. Warhurst had told them they were on report when he’d bailed them out of that police holding tank. “Captain’s nonjudicial punishment” was an old tradition within both the Navy and the Marines, a means of noting and punishing minor infractions short of the far more serious proceedings of an actual court-martial. It was more commonly called “captain’s mast,” from the ancient practice of holding these proceedings in front of the mast on board old-time sailing ships at sea.

      But when Warhurst had said they were going up “before the man,” they hadn’t realized that “the man” would be Warhurst himself. Captain Warhurst must know what had really happened that night. …

      “Liberty, as you all have heard many times since you enlisted, is a privilege, not a right. I know that was the first liberty in some years subjective, but that is no excuse! Do you read me?”

      “Sir, yes, sir!”

      “What happened?”

      “Sir,” Garroway said. “First of all, we didn’t smash up anything. And besides, they started it. …”

      “Excuses are like assholes, Marine. Everyone has one, and they all stink.”

      “But someone grabbed Anna … I mean, Corporal Garcia. All she did was break the hold. Some guy started to rush her, then, and I took him down … pretty gently, I thought.”

      “Pretty gently? Martial arts as adapted for close-quarters battle tactics are not gentle. You dislocated his knee cap and tore some tendons. The medical report says he is not seriously injured. He’ll be walking again after a few days of medinano treatment. But you are very fortunate, Marine, that that man is not pressing charges. Do you understand me?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “You said they started it?”

      “Yes, СКАЧАТЬ