Breach of Containment. Elizabeth Bonesteel

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СКАЧАТЬ recognized it as frustration, but he found himself long over the impulse to rescue people who would shoot at those sent to help.

      “What are they firing?” he asked the shuttle. It was remotely possible they were using something old, something that might be vulnerable to a generated EMP or even a radio jam.

      “Plasma P7 rifles,” Sparrow said.

      “How many?”

      “Five hundred and forty units. Two hundred and twelve with the group south of the shuttle, the rest with the group north of the shuttle.”

      More guns than people. Never a good equation. “Sparrow, keep an eye on Budapest’s shuttle. If any of those rifles locks on her, fire on the shooter. Understood?”

      “Understood.”

      If Sparrow shot a colonist, it would be an act of war. It might also come far too late to save Elena and Arin Goldjani.

      But Greg would sleep better.

      Behind him, all nine of his passengers were pulling on env suits. Herrod returned again, and said, “I can pilot, Captain.”

      Greg met Herrod’s eyes through the clear fabric hood of his suit. Serious, military, entirely straightforward. He nodded, and stood. Herrod slipped into his seat.

      “The comms jam is broken,” Sparrow said as they approached.

      Greg tied into the colonists’ comms. “Drop your weapons!” he shouted. “This is Captain Greg Foster of the CCSS Galileo. That shuttle you’re targeting contains people in need of medical help. According to the Armed Conflict Act of 2976—”

      One of the colonists pointed his P7 upward and took a shot at Sparrow.

      They were high enough that the shot did nothing but scar the shuttle’s hull, but the message was clear. Before Greg could shout an order, Herrod was keying in a command, and Sparrow laid down a line of shots ten meters before each group of colonists. Greg saw them stop, saw some of them throw up their arms before their faces, saw a few turn and run. You guys are the brains of the outfit, he thought at the fleeing people. Herrod dropped Sparrow to the ground in front of the others.

      “Stand the fuck down, all of you,” Greg shouted over the comm, “or we’ll shoot straight next time!”

      They did not, he observed, drop their guns, but they stopped advancing and avoided pointing anything at his ship. He stood, grabbing one of the large shoulder cannons from the back of the ship, and slung it next to his ear. “Sparrow, keep us covered,” he told the shuttle, and opened the door.

      The colonists watched him, wary, as his platoon filed out of the door, Greg among them. “Anybody fires,” he told them, “the ship will take you out.”

      “That’s illegal,” someone called resentfully.

      “Your next of kin is welcome to sue.” The platoon, weapons raised, gave him cover as he backed around Sparrow’s nose until he was completely sheltered by the shuttle’s hull.

      He turned to the others. “Keep them back,” he said, then slung the cannon over his shoulder and ran toward the wreck of Budapest’s shuttle. “Elena?”

      “I’m here,” she commed back. “We need to get Arin out of here.”

       We need to get both of you out of here, you damn fool.

      He covered the last ten meters to the shuttle’s open doorway, and squeezed in between the upended shipping containers.

      And there was Elena, hanging on to a handle on the wall, hovering over a battered-looking civilian who had to be Arin Goldjani. Goldjani was young indeed: rangy, all knees and elbows, a patch of hair shadowing the brown skin of his jaw. The kid was conscious, and his color wasn’t bad, but his nose was clearly broken; through the hood of his suit Greg could see most of his face was covered in blood.

      Elena herself … well, he had seen her look better. Her env suit was covered in dust and grime, and through the clear hood, he could see long strands of hair hanging in her eyes. He squinted and looked closer; he thought some of her hair was blue instead of her natural dark brown. If she was pleased or surprised to see him, she did not let on. Her expression, beyond concerned, was singularly irate.

      “Can you get us out?” she asked him.

      “Are you abandoning this bird?” he asked.

      She looked as if she hadn’t considered the question, and he realized she must be very worried about the kid. “I think we have to for now,” she said. “Maybe we can come back for it later.”

      “I don’t think so,” he told her. “I think as soon as we get out of here, they’re going to throw themselves at each other.”

      “But we brought food.” This came from Goldjani, and he seemed genuinely confused. “More than enough. What do they need to fight for?”

      “I don’t think need comes into it at this point,” Greg told him, but he kept his voice gentle. There were some truths about humanity that were never easy to learn, even when they were laid out before your eyes. “Let’s get you out of here, and take you somewhere that has a doctor.”

      “It’ll have to be Galileo,” Elena told him.

      She looked at him, saying nothing else, and he realized what she was telling him: the kid’s injuries were beyond the limits of simple first aid. Worse than he looks. Whatever she had seen on the shuttle’s small med scanner had spooked her. Budapest may have had a full-service med kit, but she thought Goldjani needed a surgeon. “You ever been on a Corps starship, Goldjani?” Greg asked him.

      The kid smiled. “No, sir.”

      “As long as you’re a civilian,” Greg corrected him, “I’m not ‘sir.’ You can call me Captain, or just Greg, if you like.”

      “I’d like to see Galileo, Captain,” Goldjani said.

      “Excellent. Then let’s get you out of here.” He turned to Elena. “We need some kind of a stretcher.”

      “Come on, Elena,” Goldjani put in. “I can walk.”

      She ignored him. “We’ll need to pull one of these containers apart,” she said. “We dumped all the usual supplies off this bird to make room for the seed.”

      They poured the contents of one container into the sand outside the door. Greg took a quick look; the colonists were still milling around in front of Sparrow, murmuring to themselves, their hands still on their weapons, eyeing Greg’s infantry with increasing boldness. We are running out of time, he thought. Behind him, Elena had brought out a power saw and was running it rapidly through the corrugated material of the container. “I’ll need to reinforce it,” she told him, eyes on her work. “It’s too flexible.”

      “Isn’t there anything I can do?” Goldjani asked plaintively.

      Elena’s jaw set. “You can stay home next time,” she snapped, and the boy fell silent. Greg glanced at him; his СКАЧАТЬ