Chapter 2--Escape from Cabot's Landing

approximately 2160 words

Chapter Two

         Everyone sees what you seem to be, few know what you really are.
                     --Nicolo Machiavelli


         Athos Base
         Cabot’s Landing
         Monday, 1100, 02.13.2462

         
Gunnery Sergeant Rafael Martinez glanced at the clock and brushed invisible lint from the crease in his fatigues. Sleet pinged against the metal roof of the MP headquarters, and frigid air leaked through the windows of his CO’s anteroom. He’d been posted to worse places than Athos Base. At his last assignment, on Rybnicia, the flying snail worms were a constant threat. At least the lifeforms here on Cabot’s Landing weren’t dangerous. Except for the human ones, of course.

         As far as Raf was concerned, the human ones were always the problem.  That's how it was for MPs.  Sometimes it was a just a brawl between a couple of drunken Marines, but more often it was the brass that burned his butt. For exmaple, his CO, Crebbs, a junior lieutenant desk jockey who acted like a Chairborne Ranger. Crebbs didn't give a rat's ass about his troops or his command; all he cared about was his next promotion.  Raf sighed.  Nothing he could do about that except embrace the suck.

         The Lieutenant’s new staff assistant looked up from her computer and a perky smile lit up her features. Raf had chatted with her when she first showed up last week. She had an odd name, just on the tip of his tongue. When she spoke, he recognized Hopeulikit in her rustic accent. “Ah’m sure the Lieutenant will be with ya any time now, Sah-gint.”

         As usual, wasting Rag's time was the last thing on Crebb's mind. 

         The receptionist’s name came back with the drawl of her accent. Joan Taliaferro. Except she’d pronounced it “Tolliver” instead of phonetically, like how it was spelled on her nametag. Probably some hick peculiarity from Hopulikit. Raf took in her rumpled and coffee-stained uniform, firmed his lips, and didn’t reply.

         In just six short weeks, his current enlistment would be up. Maybe it was time to pack it in. But he couldn’t imagine living in the chaos civilians tolerated, so he was probably stuck, even though it meant dealing with asswipes like Crebbs.

         The intercom on the aide’s desk buzzed, and a male voice rasped, “We’re ready for Sergeant Martinez.”

         She glanced at Raf and grinned. “See, I toldja.”

         He responded with a curt nod, stood, and marched into the adjoining office. He closed the door behind him, snapped to attention, and saluted. “Sir. Gunnery Sergeant Rafael Martinez reporting as ordered. Sir.”

         Orson Crebbs, the commander of the base MPs, gave him a sloppy salute without bothering to stand. “At ease, Raf. Have a seat.”

         Raf perched on an uncomfortable metal chair and glanced at the three other people in the office. He recognized Lieutenant Commander Lebedev, the Navy physician assigned to the base, but who was the female corpsman in the wrinkled surgical greens? And who the fouk was that fancy boy civilian slouching next to Lebedev?

         As if he’d read Raf’s mind, Crebbs said. “I think you’ve met Katya Lebedev. Toshi Watanabe is one of the Navy Corpsman serving under her at the base infirmary." He nodded to the civilian in the frilly shirt. "Mr. Balthazar Prince is here representing the Governor-General."

         Raf gave him a curt nod.  What a putito.  And why the hell did the Governor-General of this rat-hole send a representative to Athos Base? Raf knew better than to ask. He just nodded in their direction but didn’t otherwise respond.

         Crebbs leaned back and templed his fingers. “I think you’ve probably heard things are kind of chaotic on the other side of the planet, what with the evacuation of civlian personnel.”

         Raf kept his face impassive. They were on a moon, not a planet. But Raf knew better than to correct an officer. “I’ve heard sir. Not sure what that has to do with us.”

         “You might not be fully aware of the background. I'll defer to Mr. Prince."

         The fancy man spoke with a faint lisp and the prim accent of an upper-class Brit. "Two years ago Cabot Industries started closing down the dysprosium mines and transferring their employees to more profitable locations. The recent political instability--"he paused to clear his throat---"back on Earth has given an added urgency to this project. The company's first priority now is to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. The Governor-General has appointed a Legate Déménagement to oversee the emergency evacuation of all civilians from the planet. The Grand Alliance has tasked the Fleet with supporting the Legate and has assigned troop transports to expedite the evacuation."

         Satellite, not planet. These dumbasses couldn't get anything right. And it was just like a civilian, lecturing on what everyone already knew and thinking everything was an effing emergency. It still didn't say why this nob was here. Raf waited. They'd explain when they damned well pleased and not before.

         Prince continued. “Those transports carry an entire regiment, over three thousand troops each. Using them for the evacuation of civilians has turned into a logistical nightmare. That's why I'm here. I'm working with the Legate Déménagement."

         Raf's stomach chilled. So he must be here to ask for crowd control, and his idiot CO must have already agreed. Like all MPs, Raf had been through riot training. If he had a choice, he’d rather be deployed to a combat zone, say back on Rybnicia. But dogfaces like him didn’t get choices. They just did their duty.

         His CO fingered a folder on his desk. “It would appear there’s been a murder in the village of Lansbury.”

         Raf raised an eyebrow. Maybe they weren’t looking for crowd control after all. “A murder, sir? In Lansbury?” That was the holy roller colony on the northeast coast of Bountiful, an island the size of Ireland and the only landmass on Cabot’s Landing.

         Crebbs nodded. “A couple of kids found a headless corpse about two klicks outside the terra-formed boundaries of the settlement. The victim was wearing Grand Alliance Marine fatigues. The Governor General has requested our assistance."

         This sounded way better than crowd control. Not combat, but way better. Raf kept his face expressionless. “I see, sir.”

         “That’s where you and Toshi come in. As Mr. Prince explained, the ongoing evacuation has overwhelmed civilian law enforcement, and they don’t have any resources to devote to a case in a remote village. We do, and the two of you are it. We’re going to asssign you to temporary duty at Lansbury, where you’ll coordinate an investigation with the civil authorities. You’ll be in charge of that, even though Toshi will be the ranking member of the team. She’ll do the autopsy and any forensics, and you’ll do the rest. Is that clear?

         TDY.  At least temporary duty meant he’d be out from under Crebb’s thumb. Still, the devil was in the details. “No, sir.”

         Crebbs clenched his jaw and scowled.

         Lebedev rolled her eyes and snapped, “Why not, Sergeant? It seems straight forward enough to me.”

         No murder investigation was ever straight forward. Raf kept his voice even. “With all due respect, sirs and ma’am, the chain of command is not clear. That’s critical, especially for TDY at a detached location. The Corpsman is the ranking member of the team. I can see that from the insignia on her collar. But I’m to be in charge? Of a superior officer?”

         Crebbs glared at him and snapped, “She outranks you, but she’s not in the line of duty. She can and should give advice. You are to give due consideration to that advice, but you’re the ranking line officer, even though you’re just enlisted. It may be TDY, but that still puts you in charge. Is that clear enough?”

         From his tone, it would have to be. Besides, it gave Raf the authority he needed. “Yes, sir. But if I’m just coordinating with the civil authorities, how can I be in charge?”

         Prince simpered.  “If that’s a problem, I can arrange for the Governor-General to issue a letter of authority that over-rides local jurisdiction. Will that satisfy you?”

         “Yes, sir.”  Raf paused for a moment, then didn’t bother to thank him.

         “Very good.  I’ll register the letter with the planetary AI.  Shall we say Thetis for the codeword?”

         Raf shrugged.  “Whatever.”

         Crebbs picked up a slim folder from his desk. “This has everything we know at this point. We’ve arranged for flitter transport for the two of you from Athos Base to Lansbury, departing at thirteen hundred. That’s two hours from now. When you get to Lansbury, you’re to meet with the local civil authority.” He flipped the folder open and glanced inside. “That’s Angus Wallace. He’s the Rector of the village.”

         “Rector, sir?”

         “Yeah. That’s what the locals call their mayor. It’s a religious settlement operating under a land grant from Cabot Industries.” He slipped the folder across the desk toward Raf.

         Raf eyed it without touching it. “Any connection to the new religious government in North America?”

         “Similar sect, I think, but no, not that I know of. Not relevant in any case.”

         Everything was relevant, but a clueless junior lieutenant was too stupid to know that. He picked up the folder. “Yes, sir. Anything else I should know, sir?"

         Prince squirmed in his chair and said, "The situation is delicate. The civil authorities in Lansbury are resisting the evacuation order. There's a remote chance this might be part of a conspiracy to remain on Cabot's Landing in defiance of the Governor-General's decree."

         "Is there any evidence of that, sir?"

         Prince nodded. “Axiopistiagraphic evidence." He must have caught Raf’s expression, for he added, “That’s the scientific measure of social trust.  It’s eroding everywhere at an alarming rate, from Earth to the outer worlds, to here.  I wrote about it my paper ‘Polymoeticism and Axiopistiagraphy’ in Annales de la Mesure Sociale.”

         Jibber jabber.  Apparently no real evidence, though. Raf kept his voice even. "We'll certainly keep that in mind, sir.“ He turned to Crebbs and asked, "The victim wore Marine fatigues.  Are any marines missing from the base?”

         “None that we know of. We don't have an ID on the victim. Other than wearing a uniform, he could have been anyone--a marine assigned to the Governor General, or even one of the troop transports. I'm having Taliaferro check and we'll let you know." He pronounced her name the way it was spelled. "Could be the victim just liked uniforms. So far, as I said, what little we know is in the file. You can review it on the flight to Lansbury. Once there, you’ll have phone contact back here if you need anything. I don’t expect that you will. You’re on your own. This should be a quick in-and-out operation.”

         “Yes, sir.” Quick in-and-out with a headless corpse. Right. What a doofus.

         Crebbs spoke with an air of finality. “Very well, then. You two should have time to pack before the flitter departs. Dismissed.”

         Raf stood, saluted, nodded to the Corpsman, and turned on his heel. Two hours to pack. Like any marine didn’t have his kit ready to go on a moment’s notice.

         He paused in the reception area to don his regulation winter parka when he noticed the Corpsman had followed him out of the CO’s office.

         Her face lit up with a sunny smile and she said, “I’m looking forward to working with you, Sergeant. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

         He tipped an eyebrow at her. “Thank you, ma’am. Have you worked a murder case before?”

         She dimpled. “Right to the point. I like that. Nope, this is my first one. And call me Toshi, please.”

         He grunted. “I’m Raf to my friends.” Not that he had any. Or wanted any, for that matter.

         “How about you, Raf? Murder must be pretty rare on Marine bases.”

         “I worked a few cases when I was stationed at Camp Bresnik on Aquarius. In all of them, the spouse or significant other did it.”

         “I’ve heard that’s always the way it turns out.”

         “That’s always the first premise.” He hesitated. “Best not to prejudge the case in the absence of evidence, though.”

         She held up a file folder that matched the one in his hand. “According to this and from what the Lieutenant said, they haven't taken the basic steps to ID the victim. They didn't even take fingerprints, let alone samples for genetic testing.”

         He frowned. When did she have time to read the case file? “You seem to be ahead of me.”

         “Doctor Lebedev gave me the file earlier today. On the positive side, if the victim is a marine then DNA tracking should give us an ID a few hours after I submit samples."

         Right. Assuming the databases were complete. And accurate. “Figures they didn't do any of the basic investigation steps. About what I'd expect from the likes of that putito Prince. Typical civilian screw-up.” Especially here, at the ass-end of nowhere, light-years from civilization.

         “I guess no one was around who knew how. According to the file, they just dumped the body in cold storage in the local infirmary. What they found of it, at least.”

         Yeah. The head was missing. “I wonder if they even searched the murder scene for the missing parts. Or evidence.”

         “The file doesn’t say, but somehow I doubt it.”

         He firmed his lips. “Well, at least now there’s a professional on the case.” He paused, then remembered to add “Two professionals.”

         That got him another set of dimples. “Thank you for that.”

         He had to admit she was cute, in her own perky way. Annoying, too. He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got less than two hours to secure our travel kits and board the flitter. Don’t be late, ma’am.” He caught her expression and added, “Sorry. Toshi.”

         She slipped on a pink, decidedly non-regulation parka, and said in an even voice, “My kit’s ready twenty-four/seven. You never know when or where a combat medic might be needed.”

         So she was a combat medic, not just a hospital jockey. That was something, at least. “Good to know you’ve got combat training, not that we’re likely to need it on this mission.”

         She narrowed her eyes. “As I said, Raf, you never know. A medic’s motto is to be always prepared.”

         He nodded and headed to the door. “See you in the shuttle, then.”

         She was right about one thing. You never knew what might turn up on a mission, especially where murder was involved.