Clidepp Requital (4 page)

After just a few minutes, Sydnee believed she understood the controls well enough to take off— but controlled flight that allowed her to make a low-level pass over the rebel camp was another matter.

"Major Burrows?" Sydnee said on Com channel Two.

"Burrows."

"Major, I believe I can fly this ship."

"Well enough to make a low pass over the rebel camp?"

"I really won't know that until I get this ship in the air and see how responsive it is, and how well I can control it."

"Understood. Weems, how about you?"

"I believe I can get it in the air and fly it out of here, but I don't think I should try a low-level pass until I have some flight time in it. Lt. Marcola has had flight training in the FA-SF4 Marine Fighter that I haven't had yet, and I haven't had any fighter time at all since coming to the
Perry
, other than simulator time."

"Understood. Okay, Marcola, you'll do a few passes over the camp as low as you feel comfortable while Weems takes his ship up to three hundred feet and circles the camp. I'll leave two of our people here to watch your backs until you take off. There's no question that the third fighter is incapacitated. Give us thirty minutes to get into position near the rebels before you start the engines. Then take off when you feel comfortable with the controls. After you complete your mission, park your fighters in the clearing where we left the shuttles and stand by for new orders. Confirm."

"Confirmed," both pilots said.

* * *

The fighter roared over the rebel camp in what was, locally, the middle of the night. Everyone had been asleep and staggered out of their shelters, trying to comprehend what was happening.

Sydnee completed a three-sixty, coming in so low on the second pass that leaves on the ground rustled from the trailing vortices. The rebels dropped flat to the ground, sure the fighter was attempting to land in the camp clearing until it disappeared over the trees again. Weems, in the other fighter, completed wide, looping circles around the camp at three hundred feet above ground level. After Sydnee had completed several more ground-shaking passes, she headed for the clearing where the shuttles were parked. Weems broke off and followed.

"What's going on, Currulla?" one of the rebels shouted.

"Like I know," Currulla said testily.

"That looked like a Clidepp fighter," another said.

"Yeah," several more chimed in as they stood up.

Following Colonel Suflagga's death, military discipline had all but disappeared. Perimeter sentries were never posted at night, and recently they had even been lax with keeping campfires burning all night since they had never been bothered by creatures unless they entered a swamp. Besides, the fires only attracted more insects.

"Light the fires," Currulla said. "I think we're about to have visitors."

"You think our rescue ship is finally here?"

"Yes, but not one from our people."

"What do you mean?" someone asked.

"I think the Spaccs have finally come for us."

"Everybody grab your weapons," someone screamed.

"No!" Currulla screamed. "No weapons. Put your hands on your heads."

"You intend to surrender?" someone shouted.

"Would you rather spend the rest of your life on this miserable planet? It's a pretty good bet our own people aren't coming to get us, and I want off this mud-ball. If we resist, they might decide to leave us here. This is the GA, not the Clidepp Empire. That means there are no death camps here. A clean prison cell with clean clothes, hot food, and a peaceful nighttime without biting insects would be a thousand times better than this life."

Currulla punctuated his remarks by dropping the knife and scabbard he had in his belt to the ground and placing his hands on his head. A second later, one of the other rebels joined him. Like a ripple spreading out on a pond, the rebels dropped the meager weapons they had and put their hands on their heads.

* * *

"Well, I'll be damned," Burrows muttered to himself as he witnessed the spectacle of complete surrender before he had demanded it and even before he had announced the presence of his platoon among the trees that surrounded the camp clearing. On Com-Two, he said, "Lt. MacDonald, light up the area now that the fighters have left."

Several hover-flares streaked skyward from somewhere among the tree cover and held position over the camp area as they blossomed into a light that suddenly turned night into day. The rebels twitched in surprise, but all held their positions with their hands on their heads.

On Com-Two, Burrows said, "MacDonald, move your people towards the center of the camp and herd the rebels into a group away from their weapons."

"Everyone move in," Lt. MacDonald said on Com-One. "They appear to be surrendering, but watch them closely for any indication of treachery."

Two hundred three rebels remained from the original two hundred eighty-three that made it to the planet. Sixty-three had been killed in battle, and the rest had either been killed by the indigenous life forms while hunting for the Marines or foraging for food, or simply never returned after running from the battle scene. Since there was no place on the planet to run to, it could be assumed the latter had either died from wounds received in battle or been eaten by the local wildlife— perhaps both.

After each prisoner was thoroughly searched for weapons, their hands were secured and they were moved to a different part of the camp area to await transport. It took almost an hour to process the prisoners. They all appeared despondent and offered no resistance, but things like that could change in an instant, so the Marines didn't take any chances and treated them as they would any dangerous enemy combatants.

When the initial processing was complete, Burrows called for the shuttles to come to the camp area one at a time. The rebels had originally made their camp in a treed area, but they had moved to a large clearing after Currulla decided that all was lost and they should make their presence as obvious as possible to anyone coming down to the planet.

It took thirty-four trips to transport all of the rebels to the
Babbage
in the small shuttles. Once a group to be transferred was seated in the shuttle and the hatches closed, the misters and air-purification devices were turned on to kill all insects that had flown or crawled in while the hatch was open and clear the air of any pollens or pollutants.

Following the ninth run for each shuttle, Sydnee and Weems were relieved by the
Babbage's
own shuttle pilots but were transported back down to the planet to retrieve the two functional fighters. The third was destroyed by explosives so it couldn't be scavenged. The rebel camp was dismantled and the remaining military supplies were collected in a clearing and burned or destroyed by explosives.

Once aboard the
Babbage
, the rebels were processed by the ship's medical staff. All were covered in bug bites but otherwise were in fairly healthy condition. They'd had plentiful medical supplies and the planet had abundant food supplies for survival, if they didn't get killed trying to harvest it.

* * *

"I'm kinda glad that's over," Sydnee said to Weems as they left the shuttle bay after returning with the fighters. "I mean, it was fun making the flights to the planet and back, and having a chance to fly those Clidepp fighters, but I never want to set
foot
on that planet again."

"Not even to get a Lampaxa Vorheridine steak?"

Sydnee gave him look that made him chuckle before she said, "I thought I was going to be the consumed, not the consumer, when we tried to recover the MAT."

"Okay. So maybe that wouldn't be much of an incentive for revisiting Diabolisto," Weems said with a grin.

"I can't think of a single incentive to visit that planet, other than to save your life if your ship is running out of oxygen."

"That cave the Marines found wasn't too bad."

"Only because we had the insect-misting devices. Without those, we would have had to remain sealed in our armor the entire time."

"Yeah, it would have been pretty miserable if we'd had to do that." As they neared their quarters in the visitor area, Weems asked, "Hey, wanna grab some chow?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm more tired than I am hungry right now. All I really want is eight hours in the incredible bed in my assigned quarters. I had a gel-comfort mattress on the
Perry
, but in this bed I can actually spread my arms out."

"Okay. How about afterwards?"

"Um, okay. Say 1400?"

"It's a date."

"Um, okay. See you later."

As soon as she was in her quarters, Sydnee stripped off her body armor and jumped into the shower. As the hot spray struck her body and ran off in rivulets, she felt the tenseness in her muscles drain away like the water. She stayed there until she began to feel so sleepy that she feared she would fall asleep in the shower if she stayed much longer.

Slipping between the sheets on the gel-comfort bed was even better than jumping into the cockpit of an FA- SF4 fighter for a quick trip around the planet. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't quite that good, but it was about as close as she could come on this day. She glanced up at the chronometer to estimate how much time she could sleep and still be ready to have lunch at 1400, set a wakeup call with the computer, and then closed her eyes. There was no tossing or turning of which she was later aware. She was asleep in seconds.

Sydnee was awake and alert before the computer finished announcing the time in her wakeup call. Her sleep in the new bed had been restful, and she felt wonderful. She dressed quickly and spent several minutes pulling a brush through her hair. When she felt that her appearance was as perfect as possible without makeup, she sprayed just a hint of her favorite scent onto her hair.

As she stepped out of her quarters, she found Jerry Weems standing near the bulkhead opposite her door. His appearance there brought her up short. "Are you waiting for me?" she asked.

"Of course. We're having lunch together, aren't we?"

"Um, yes. I just didn't expect you to be waiting outside my door. I assumed we'd meet in the mess hall."

"I'm just a couple of corridors over, so I figured we'd walk to the mess hall together."

"Um, okay."

Weems stepped next to her and matched her stride as Sydnee turned and began walking down the brightly lit corridor. After a few paces he leaned in towards her and sniffed. "Great perfume," he said.

"Perfume?" Sydnee said coyly. "Probably my shampoo you smell."

"Well, then you use great shampoo."

"Thanks. I like it. It leaves my hair clean and shiny."

"I see that. You look great."

"Thank you. So do you. And you seem more buoyant. Is it because the mission here is over, or because we're headed home?"

"Maybe it's because of you."

"Wow, you
are
feeling buoyant."

Weems just smiled in response.

The officers' mess was similar to every other ship's mess hall. Gleaming chrome and glass food displays and counters allowed the officers to select whatever they wished from appetizers, salads, and fresh fruit. A mess attendant stood by to dish up whichever of the hot entrées or side dishes the officers selected and would even prepare a few items to order at every meal. Food synthesizers were available to anyone who cared to use them, but mostly they were just used to create sweet, zero-calorie desserts for people who were watching their weight.

Weems did most of the talking during lunch. It became obvious that a level of trust had evolved in his relationship with Sydnee to where he felt safe lifting at least part of the invisible cloak people maintain as societal armor to conceal their true feelings and personality. He talked about growing up in Calgary and developing an early interest in flying and outer space that had never slackened. Sydnee could relate to that completely. He was far from ready to say what had landed him on the
Perry
, but the lunch date began to establish a personal bond that could be strengthened over time.

* * *

"What now, great leader?" Colonel Suflagga's unofficial second-in-command said to Currulla as he squatted next to him on the deck of the hold where Currula's gravity-shielding cloth and bedding had been rolled out. Irritability was evident in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Currulla asked candidly.

"I mean, what's the plan now that we're inside the ship?"

"There's no plan. We're being held prisoner by Spaccs, in a hold inside a Spacc ship. What? Do you think we're going to take over the ship or something?"

"Why not?"

"This isn't the Clidepp military, and this isn't a ship sitting in a dockyard for repairs. Look around you. This prison is fully staffed with armed Space Marines. So just sit back, relax, enjoy the food, the beds, the absence of insects, and the first comfortable sleeping environment we've had in months."

"You may be content to be a model prisoner but not the rest of us. We never had a chance while we were stuck down on that miserable planet, but now that we're off, we intend to get back home. That means commandeering this ship."

"You're a fool, Klieppaso— just like Suflagga."

"Suflagga was a great commanding officer. Don't talk disrespectfully about him."

"We don't have a chance of taking over this ship. All you'll do is get yourself— and maybe a lot of others— killed."

"We've already done the hard part. We're
inside
."

"Getting locked inside a prison is no great accomplishment. The stupidest of people have been doing it successfully for eons."

"If you're afraid, we'll do it without you. Just keep acting like a model prisoner. It'll make the Spaccs think we've given up."

"I
have
given up. And what I'm most afraid of is that you'll get more of our people killed needlessly. Now leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

"Just stay out of the way when things start to happen, Currulla. If you don't, you'll be the first one to die."

Currulla scowled as Klieppaso stood up and walked towards where his own bedding was located. Currulla saw him shake his head towards several of the more militant members of the rebel band as he passed them. Klieppaso had been desperately trying to solidify his position as military commander ever since Suflagga had been killed; but there had been no need for a military commander, so there was little support for officially designating him as such. Being stuck on Diabolisto, nobody wanted a commander organizing daily drills and maneuvers. Whether this was just a power play or he really intended to try a takeover of the
Babbage
was anyone's guess at this point, but Currulla couldn't go against his people and warn the Spaccs. He didn't think the rebels who might be supporting Klieppaso had firmed up any plans yet, so he laid down and tried to sleep.