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Chapter Forty-Four

“Permission to come up,” Harry asked, drifting just outside the corvette’s bridge. The ship looked about the same as Harry felt. All the blood had been cleaned up, but dimples and rough patches on the alloy hatch frame and nearby bulkheads were evidence of errant pulser needles.

Through the wide-open hatch, he saw the midnight-and-silver star field framed by the forward port. Partially obscuring his view were the gray cranials worn by Bowden and his RockHound copilot. Beyond them, several multifunction displays scrolled through screens liberally dappled with yellow alerts and at least one red caution light.

“Granted,” Bowden replied, looking over his shoulder and tilting his boom mike upward. He twisted to the right as far as his straps permitted to see who it was. Grinning, he reached out a hand. “Good to see you up, Harry! How are you feeling?”

“Little sore,” Harry answered, and used the hatch coaming to push off toward the flight deck. Once in range, he took Bowden’s hand and used it to steady himself. The motion sent a few twinges through his left arm and shoulder, but he gripped the grab-bars on the overhead anyway. “Listen, I wanted to come sooner, but with this busted arm, I can’t manage the main passageway under thrust. The skew turn is the first chance I’ve had to say thank you. You’re most likely going to catch some shit from Murphy for delaying our return while you ran SAR, but you saved some of my guys. I owe you.”

“Introductions first,” the former Hornet jock replied, releasing Harry’s hand and turning to the dark-haired woman in the right seat. “Meet Malanye Raptis. She’s a rock miner and our RockHound piloting expert. Raptis is supplying most of the know-how needed to drive this crate. Malanye, this is Harry Tapper. He’s the leader of the team we carried all this way.”

“Black Knife.” The petite woman nodded, her eyes flicking over Harry, then over to the instrument board and back again. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Uh, thanks?” Harry asked, wondering what she was on about. “Really, I didn’t do a whole lot. I passed out before you even boarded the ship, too stupid to know I’d caught some of the rounds the last Kulsian bastard sprayed at me. Frankly, I’m getting tired of waking up and seeing med-bay ceilings.”

“Major Korelon hasn’t stopped telling the story since we took the last survivor aboard,” Raptis said, intently meeting Harry’s confused gaze. “Clearing the ship single-handed. You and your hidden knife against a pulser.”

“Korelon talks too much,” Harry protested. “And we took—”

“Major Tapper, what the hell are you doing up here, sir?”

Harry heard the familiar bellow of his favorite Army sergeant.

“Why, Sergeant First Class Marco Rodriguez, as I live and breathe.” Harry turned to see the exasperated NCO rocketing up the passageway. “Meet the pilots flying this heap.”

“Sir.” Rodriguez sketched a cursory salute toward Bowden as he grabbed another handhold. He turned toward Harry. “I’ve already met Major Bowden, Harry. While you were nobly filling up your EVA suit with blood, he helped me drag your sorry ass back to medical. Which is where Roeder says you’re supposed to be, anyway.”

“Black Knife, we need to start our retro-burn,” Raptis said. “You should get to an acceleration couch.”

“See you later, Harry.” Harry saw Bowden wave as Rodriguez tugged him back to the corridor.

Harry waited until they passed the next hatch.

“What the hell is this bullshit, Marco?” Harry shook his good arm free of Rodriguez’s grasp. “Are you spreading some kind of ‘Black Knife’ crap?”

“That’s all Korelon, sir,” Rodriguez answered, grinning. “You impressed the hell out of him with the itsy-bitsy holdout you tote around everywhere. I suspect he’s also grateful as hell we got back half his guys, on account of you finishing the job of taking the ship. Our Dutchmen hadn’t gotten too far before Bowden and his tame SpinDogs used the lighter to round up the strays.”

The main passageway split, and Rodriguez led them down the starboard side.

“We didn’t get them all,” Harry said.

“No one ever hardly does, sir.”

Ahead, Harry recognized the fully kitted figure of one of his RockHounds. The EVA suit was spotless, as was the combat gear, complete to punch spike, grappler, and gas pistol. One foot braced in a deck-mounted stirrup, the man saw the approaching pair and straightened briskly from a posture Harry recognized as “parade rest.” The EVA’s helmet visor was up, polished mirror bright. Drawing closer, Harry glanced over the rig, noticing an additional detail beyond the man’s identity.

“Hello, Markaz,” Harry said, returning the RockHound’s salute. “What duty is this?”

“Major Korelon’s orders, sir,” Markaz replied impassively, locked into a perfect position of attention.

Harry looked at his NCO, quirking an eyebrow.

“Honor guard, Major,” Rodriguez said. “We converted one of the botanical storage areas into a temporary morgue. Our guys are in there.”

It hit Harry like a sucker punch.

“All of them?” He carefully kept his voice even.

“All of our boys, sir. Terrans and RockHounds. We have the Kulsians netted up outside on the hull. They’ll keep.”

“How long?” Harry managed. His eyes were beginning to smart.

“We’re rotating through the roster, keeping watch over them,” Rodriguez said solemnly. “Our honored dead are never alone, sir.”

“What happens when we resume thrust?”

“No change, sir,” Markaz spoke up. “The major has rigged a brace for the post, but the compartment is guarded continuously, regardless of ship operations.”

Harry felt the sting of tears, but he braced against an overhead grip and assumed a modified position of attention. He carefully saluted.

“Carry on.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The RockHound returned the salute, and Rodriguez led off again.

Down the corridor a bit, Harry wiped his eyes.

“Fucking allergies,” he muttered. “Make a note, Rodriguez. We need to change the air filters on this scow.”

Ahead, the NCO answered crisply, “Aye, aye, sir.”

Harry sniffed, then repeated it even harder. Then he glanced at Rodriguez from under beetled brows.

“What’s with the parade ground response business, Marco?” he asked. “Since when do you use ‘aye, aye’? And what’s Markaz doing with a knife clipped to his forearm? Is this some kind of joke?”

Rodriguez snagged one of the handholds lining the corridor. As he spun neatly to face Harry, the bandage on his right leg bulged against the fabric. Harry frowned, realizing he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Sir, it’s no joke,” Rodriguez said, his face serious. “You don’t get it, and that’s okay since you just got up. But no one’s pranking you.”

Harry made “go-on” motions and grabbed himself a handhold with the other hand, halting his drift down the corridor.

“The knife, the nautical responses, it’s because you’re a bit of a talisman. Short version, Major, is they like you, are proud of you, and the troops want to be a bit like you.”

“The ones that lived through it, you mean.”

“Major,” Rodriguez continued earnestly as Harry looked back over his shoulder. Markaz had returned to parade rest. “Harry, look at me.”

Harry dragged his eyes off the door next to Markaz.

“Yeah?”

“Soldiers die. That’s the deal. We lost a bunch, and that sucks. But every man on our team knows that such as lived, lived because of you. If you hadn’t pulled a couple rabbits out of the hat, we’d all be dead or prisoners. I know it. Korelon knows it. All the lads know it. And what’s more, this op you led us on has done something I haven’t seen in a very long time. I’m cynical enough I still question if it’s real.”

“If what’s real?”

“Harry, you made us into a team. The message traffic has been nonstop. The RockHounds are astounded. Volo’s boss is telling everyone that will listen, ‘I told you so.’ Everyone on the two returning ships is strutting around with their chest out like fucking Westmoreland on a high body count day! Korelon is singing your praises, not just because you helped save his men or because you saved his ass—and by the way, I’ve been busting his balls about getting caught—and not just because of your nifty knife trick. He didn’t wait to be told to put our dead together. He did it on his own. His idea. You welded us into a single unit, Harry. It’s because you’re a hell-on-wheels field commander. You lead from the front. You take your hits. And you’re lucky. These guys would follow you anywhere.”

Again, Harry looked over his shoulder at Markaz’s post. He snorted.

“You gotta know the op was ten klicks of bad news, right?” Rodriguez explained. “If everything had gone perfectly, I figured we had no better than a break-even chance to pull it off. And surprise, surprise, it didn’t go well at all. In fact, it went about as badly as possible. A spy on the lighter? Sabotage? And you still made it work. There’s good leadership and there’s luck. You got both. You don’t believe me? Ask Pham when he wakes up, once they finish putting his shit back together again.”

“Is it worth it, Marco?” Harry asked, letting go of the handhold and shoving off toward the room where he’d woken up. “Is this war worth it? Do you suppose anyone back on Earth gives a shit?”

“Well, if we can duplicate this across all of the Lawless, I figure we might pull the whole thing off, sir.” Rodriguez followed Harry down the passageway. “I can’t say for Earth. It will matter for the people on R’Bak. But that’s for later. Like any self-respecting NCO, I’ve got my mind on the ‘now.’ Tell you this much, I’m not sure who’s gonna catch more hell: you from Murphy for banging up his pretty new ship or me from Stella, for letting you get shot up again.”

“A thousand credits on you, Marco.”

“No bet, sir.”

Harry nodded, but Rodriguez’s reminder had spurred his thoughts elsewhere. Not toward the RockHound station that was their destination, but perhaps along a detour to the surface of R’Bak. He could see Stella’s face. A detour could be just the ticket. Harry rubbed his chin.

I took control of this ship once; I could damn sure do it twice. The team would back me…

But that probably wouldn’t be a good look. Be a shame to spoil the reputation the Lawless were building. He sure didn’t need another ass-chewing from Murphy. And, of course, there was the annoying, if minor, impediment of hundreds of surveyors now flying, sailing, and driving all over the surface of the planet, to say nothing of enjoying a full command of its orbital space. So, on to another, even more pressing objective.

Clapping Marco on the shoulder, he led them farther down the passageway.

“First stop, coffee,” Harry said. “Then we let Mama Roeder tuck us in for acceleration.”


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