One Of Our Own

One Of Our Own

A sample chapter from A Line In The Stars,
the upcoming final volume in The Stardock Trilogy

Sean Fenian

 

“Commander Kusanagi, Sir?”

Soichiro Kusanagi looked up.  He recognized the speaker as one of his bridge officers, Lieutenant Khun Satt Naing, a Burmese L3 assigned as damage control officer in Inazuma’s secondary CIC.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he said.  “What is it?”

“Sir,” Naing said, “I wish to request to move to family quarters, and to bring my family to the Stardock.  There is … unrest in Myanmar.  Again.  I miss my wife and son, and she misses me, and with the renewed unrest, she is afraid for her safety and the safety of our son.”

Commander Soichiro Kusanagi only needed a moment to consider the request.

“Your request is granted, of course,” Kusanagi said.  “I will see to the necessary arrangements and obtaining landing clearance.  When do you want to go and get your family?”

“Would tomorrow be too soon … Sir?”

“I don’t see a problem with that, Lieutenant.  We’re due out again tomorrow, but we can take an extra lander aboard, drop you off and loiter on-station until you have retrieved your family.  Then the lander can return you to the ship, and bring your family here while we head out for our patrol.”

“Understood, Sir,” Lieutenant Naing said.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“The Fleet takes care of its own, Lieutenant,” Kusanagi replied.  “Dismissed.”

The Lieutenant saluted, turned smartly on his heel, and left.

Four orbits later, Inazuma undocked, with an extra 22-meter shuttle in the starboard boat bay.  The destroyer made a gentle descent to low orbit, then braked to hold station a hundred and twenty kilometers above Naypyidaw, the capital of Myanmar.  After a few minutes, the shuttle undocked.  It carried one passenger.

The shuttle made a quiet, routine approach to Nay Pyi Taw International Airport, sixteen kilometers southeast of the city.  Lieutenant Khun Satt Naing disembarked without incident, showed his Fleet ID at customs check, walked outside to the taxi rank, and took a cab to the outskirts of eastern Naypyidaw.

It was a short ride, and it wasn’t long before the cab deposited Khun in front of the small bungalow that he rented with his wife.  There was a white van parked directly in front of the bungalow, but he thought nothing of it.

“Wait, please,” Khun said to the cabbie.  “I imagine we will not be very long.”  The cabbie nodded. As Khun turned to walk toward the house, the front door opened, and Khun’s wife Nandar stepped into the doorway with a happy smile.  Khun hurried past the white van to go to her.

As he passed the van and turned to go up the short path, Khun heard the van’s side door slide open behind him.  Standing at the open door, Nandar saw the first of three men jump out of the van, raise something, and point it at Khun.  Her eyes widened in sudden fear, and she began to shout a warning.

Before he could react, something hit Khun from behind.  Suddenly all of his nerves seemed to be on fire, and he fell uncontrollably to the ground, his muscles jerking and spasming.  Nandar screamed as the three men siezed Khun.  One of them clapped something over his mouth and nose as they dragged him into the van.  One of the men looked directly at Nandar, and shouted “Say nothing!  You saw nothing!”  She saw Khun start to struggle, then the side door slammed closed and the van pulled away.

Something terrible had just happened.  But Nandar had no idea who she could tell about it to get help.  There was certainly no point in calling for the police.  The waiting cabbie was looking back and forth between Nandar and where the van was speeding away, bewildered.

Nandar began to cry helplessly.

Three hours later, the pilot on the shuttle was getting impatient to return to space. Naing should have been back by now.

Hey, Khun, he sent.  Are you guys on the way back yet?

There was no reply.  That was odd.  With the shuttle as a relay and signal booster, he ought to be able to reach Naing within at least fifty kilometers, and he shouldn’t be more than about twenty away.  A few minutes later, he tried again.  And then a third time.

There was still no response.

“Pickup One to Inazuma,” he sent.

“This is Inazuma.  Go ahead, Pickup One.”

“Inazuma, Lieutenant Naing is late returning, and I cannot contact him.  I am starting to become … concerned.”

There was a short pause.

“Understood, Pickup One.  Advising the Captain.  Stand by.”

“Captain,” said the comms officer on Inazuma’s bridge, “Pickup One reports contact lost with Lieutenant Naing.  He expressed concern.”

Soichiro Kusanagi thought for a moment.

“Naing’s family is in eastern Naypyidaw, correct?” he said.  “There ought to be several scout drones in the area.  Relay through the shuttle to the drones and have them ping for Lieutenant Naing’s implant.  Let’s see if we can make sure he’s alright.”

The signal was sent.  There was no response.

The ping went out twice more.  There was still no response.  Now Kusanagi was becoming concerned as well.

“Widen the search area,” he ordered.  “Use the drone mesh.”

“We’ve got a signal,” said Lieutenant Ozaki, on sensors, a little later.  “It’s coming through a drone … east of the capital, the south—  SIR!  It’s a distress signal, sir!  Southern edge of Taunggyi!”

“Trace that signal,” Soichiro Kusanagi said, leaning forward intently.  “Now.  Get as much data as you can.”

“It’s a distress beacon signal direct from Lieutenant Naing’s implant,” Ozaki reported after a few minutes.  “Lieutenant Naing is not responding.”  He sent a map to the bridge tactical display, satellite maps combined with Inazuma’s sensor data and the data relayed from the scout drone.  “His signal is located inside this building, here.”

Commander Kusanagi looked at the map.

“That looks like an office or light industrial building,” he mused aloud.  “What do we know about it?”

“Nothing coming up on public record, Sir,” Ozaki replied.

“Suspicious,” Kusanagi said.  “What on earth would Lieutenant Naing be doing there?  And with a distress signal from his implant?”

Decision came to him quickly.

Sergeant Kharif.

Sir?

I’m deploying your platoon for a rescue.  It appears someone — someone probably government connected — has abducted Lieutenant Naing when he went to pick up his family.  I’m sending you all the information we have.  Go in soft-shoe as far as you can, but be prepared for possible resistance.  We have strong evidence of foul play.  Find Naing and bring him home, Sergeant.  And pick up his family as well, if he’s in any shape to tell you where they are. We don’t have an exact location for them.

Understood, Sir.  On it.

“Third platoon!” Sergeant Kharif shouted.  “We are deploying.  We’re going to go rescue Lieutenant Naing and bring him and his family home.  I want First and Second squads in battledress, Third squad in powered armor.  Just in case.”

In moments, Inazuma’s Marine barracks was a hive of activity.  Meanwhile, Kusanagi reported in.

“Stardock, Inazuma, Kusanagi requesting Fleet Actual.”

“Inazuma, Stardock Control, wait one.”

Alex was in a planning meeting, but took the call.

“Commander Kusanagi, Holder here.  What’s going on?”

“Sir, one of my officers, Lieutenant Naing, was supposed to be picking up his family today.  Wife and young son.  He went missing several hours ago.  We cannot get any response from him, but we picked up an automatic distress signal from his implant, in a city a hundred and fifty kilometers from where he is supposed to be.  We’ve localized his implant to an unmarked light-industrial or office building which has a suspicious lack of any tangible public information available.  I am proceeding on the assumption he was abducted and is in immediate danger.”

“Understood, Commander,” Alex replied.  “You’re senior officer on the spot.  What are you doing about it?”

“I’m deploying my Marine platoon to retrieve him, Sir,” Kusanagi said.  “And his family, if possible.”

“Very good, Commander.  We’ll back you up on it.  Do we know his family’s location?”

“Not closely enough to find them, unless Lieutenant Naing can tell us where to go,” said Kusanagi.

“Crap,” Alex muttered.  “That was an oversight.  Well … do what you can.  Let me know immediately if you need additional backup of any kind.  And keep me posted.”

“Understood, Sir.”

Only twenty minutes later, First and Second squads were boarding one of Inazuma’s two twenty-five meter Hornet-class dropships.  Third squad, in powered armor, had the other Hornet to themselves.  In the interim, Inazuma had shifted position and was now hovering thirty kilometers over Taunggyi.

The boat bay hatch opened, and the two troop carriers eased out, then dropped like rocks.

Three minutes later, Hornet Two passed over the building a hundred and fifty meters up, side doors open.  Marines in powered armor rained from it, landing on thrusters and forming a cordon around the building.  The building looked to be two stories, with few windows, a glazed main entrance in front, a loading dock at the rear, and three scattered side doors.  The sign next to the front doors, in Burmese script, said only “Import/Export Limited No Entry”.

Beyond the cordon, Hornet One settled to the ground and disgorged First and Second squads.

“Second squad, take over the cordon,” Sergeant Kharif ordered.  “Watch those side doors.  No-one leaves.  Third squad, first section, keep watch on the loading dock, second section stay on the cordon.  First squad and third section, up front with me.  Saiid, do we have Naing’s signal?”

Rifleman Saiid nodded.

“I have his implant signal, sir,” he confirmed.  “And vital signs.  They’re weak.  He is in bad shape.”

“We’re going in,” Kharif said.

It took less than a minute to complete the reorganization, then Kharif marched up to the front doors at the head of twenty Marines, five of them in powered battle armor.

The doors were locked.  At a reception desk visible inside, a man in civilian clothing was studiously — but visibly nervously — trying to ignore their presence.  Beyond him, two uniformed soldiers guarded the double doors leading back into the building.

Kharif banged on the doors where they met.  The man at the desk could no longer pretend he hadn’t noticed them.  He looked up, and waved his hands.

“Go away!” Kharif heard him shout, through the glass.  “No admittance!”

“Saif,” Khalid said.  He pointed to the doors.  “Open them.”

Rifleman Saif Hammad stepped forward in his powered armor, letting his M8 Heavy Rifle self-retract on its sling.  He reached out, punched through the glass, took hold of both crossbars, and casually ripped the doors off the building.  The man behind the desk flinched back, and the two guards began to unsling their rifles. Almost instantly, nineteen rifles were aimed at them.  Four of the rifles looked big enough to stop a truck.  They froze.

“I would not do that, if I were you,” Khalid said.  “And I would not trigger any alarms, either.”  He stepped inside and walked into the middle of the lobby, as the squad fanned out around him, their aim unwavering.  The guards slowly held out their hands well away from their rifles.

“One of our people is here.  We are here to take him home.”

“There is nobody here but our staff!” the man behind the desk protested.  “This intrusion is illegal!”

“Saiid?” Kharif asked.

Rifleman Saiid Khader pointed.  “That direction,” he said.  “Almost certainly second floor.  About fifty meters.”  The man behind the desk paled a little.

“We know you have him,” Kharif said.  “DON’T get in our way.  Suleiman, Saif, Abdul, stay here, keep an eye on these three.  Nobody comes in, nobody leaves.”

Kharif pushed through the double doors, the remaining seventeen Marines following behind him.  In the lobby, Saif Hammad stepped forward, raised one armored foot, placed it against the desk, and SHOVED.  The desk tore loose from the floor and slammed back against the wall, pinning the ‘receptionist’ behind it.

“The man you are holding here is our brother in arms,” Saif growled through his suit speakers.  “Pray he is not badly hurt.”

Inside the building, stairs to the right led up.

“Yousef, Ayesha, here,” Kharif said.  “Guard the stairs.”  Then he led the way upstairs.

“Vital signs are weakening, Sergeant,” Saiid said.  Kharif looked around.  They were in a corridor that appeared to circle around the upper floor of the building.  There wasn’t a door in sight that led the direction they wanted to go.

“Omar, Nasreen, watch this corridor,” Kharif said.  “Everyone else with me.”  He led the way to the next corner, double-time.  A door opened partway down, and a middle-aged woman started to come out, then froze in the doorway.

“Stay inside,” Kharif shouted.  “Everyone stay where you are.”  The woman prudently stepped back inside and closed the door.

They rounded the corner.  Ten meters ahead, the corridor veered left again.  Someone opened a door, glanced out, and hurriedly closed it again.  They needed to go right.  Still no visible door led that direction.

“Sergeant,” Saiid said urgently, “Naing’s vital signs are failing.”

Kharif looked at the corner of the corridor, and stepped aside.

“Hamid, Ismail,” he said.  “Make a door.”

Hamid Qasim and Ismail Al-hourani slung their rifles behind them, lowered their heads, and charged.  They went through the wall with an echoing CRASH, leaving a hole three meters wide.  Kharif followed them through, the rest of the Marines following behind, scanning for threats.

On the far side of the wall was a laboratory.  Equipment and shattered glassware was now strewn across the floor.  Over by the far wall, a technician stood in front of a desk, staring at them in shock, wisely not moving.

“Saiid?”

Saiid pointed at the next wall.

“About fifteen meters,” he said.  “Implant signal only.  I have no vital signs any longer.”

Kharif pointed at the wall.

“Door,” he said.  Qasim and Al-hourani made another doorway.  Kharif followed them through.

It was another laboratory.  Three men in surgical scrubs and masks stood backed up against the far wall.  There was an operating table in the middle of the room.  On the table lay Khun Satt Naing, face-down.  The top and back of his skull were missing, and open incisions ran down across his shoulders and arms.  There was a lot of blood.

Kharif took three steps closer, and looked at him.  It wasn’t pretty.  He noticed there was a sink nearby.  Water was running into it.  He took two more steps and looked into the sink.  In the sink lay Naing’s implant.  There were still traces of blood and gray matter.

Kharif looked at the three ‘doctors’ for a long, long moment.

“You murderous animals,” he said.

There was a long silence.

One of the three men opened his mouth to speak.  Kharif cut him off.

“If I were in your position,” he said, “I would not say ANYTHING right now that might further anger my Marines.  We are already very angry.”

The man took his advice.

“Kharif to Inazuma,” he called in.

“Inazuma.  Go ahead, Sergeant.”  The voice was Kusanagi’s.

“We’ve found him, Sir.  He’s dead.  These sons of whores dug his implant out while he was alive.”

On Inazuma’s bridge, Soichiro Kusanagi swore.

“What’s the building, Sergeant?”

“Looks like mostly laboratories, Sir.  All the parts we’ve seen.  Controlled access.  Guarded by uniformed Myanmar military.”

“Officially sanctioned, then.”

“Looks that way, Sir.”

Kusanagi thought for a moment.

“Stand by, Sergeant.

“Stardock, Inazuma actual.”

“Inazuma, Holder.  Please tell me you have good news.”

“Sir, the extraction team found Lieutenant Naing.  He’s dead.  It’s a government operated covert laboratory.  Sergeant Kharif says they cut Naing apart to get his implant.”

It was Alex’s turn to swear, loudly and volubly.

“You’re on the spot, Commander,” he said after a minute.  “What’s your suggested response?”

Kusanagi’s voice was flat as he replied.

“I propose to clear that building, Sir.  Then erase it.”

Alex pondered for a long moment, his fists clenched.

“Approved, Commander,” he said.  “Make certain there are no civilian casualties.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Kharif, Inazuma.”

“Sir?”

“Sergeant, I want you to recover Lieutenant Naing’s body and implant.  Then I want you to sweep the building and get everyone out.  Everyone.  No civilians to be left behind.  Get them all at least five hundred meters clear.  We are going to send a message to express our displeasure.”

“Understood, Sir.”

Kharif looked around.

“Ayman, Jamal, Iman, you are in charge of Lieutenant Naing’s body.  Find something to wrap him in.”  He reached out and shut off the water.

“His implant is in this sink.  Someone find something to put it in.  We’re taking it with us.

“Everyone else, sweep the building.  Get EVERYONE out.”  He fixed the three ‘doctors’ with a fierce glare.  “Even these three.  You do not know how lucky you are this day.”

There was a pack of body bags on a shelf in a corner of the lab.  About a third of the pack was missing.  The three Marines took one of the bags and carefully, respectfully, placed Lieutenant Naing’s body in it. Then they carried him back out through the wrecked path Hamid Qasim and Ismail Al-hourani had made, down the stairs, and out of the building.

Saif Hammad glared at the ‘receptionist’.

“‘Not here’, you told us,” he said.  “He looks very ‘here’ to me.  He had a wife and a son.  Now she is a widow.”

The receptionist swallowed nervously.

Eventually, the building was clear.  The platoon swept it three times, opening every closet, looking under every desk, to make absolutely certain that nobody was overlooked. They had to reassure several people that they would come to no harm as long as they exited the building.  They ended up with sixty-seven people, men and women.  They herded them away from the building, five hundred meters down the access road, then stopped.  Fortunately, no other buildings were nearby, aside from what looked like a backup generator shack, which they had also checked and found nobody there.  Kharif had the civilians kneel down.  For their safety, he told them.  They complied nervously.

«Are you going to shoot us?» one woman asked in Burmese, fear in her voice.  Kharif’s implant ran it through one of the circling dropships for translation.

“Of course not,” Kharif told her.  “We are Fleet Marines.  Not murderers.”  He glared again at the three men in their surgical scrubs.  “But you will be safer not being on your feet right now.”

The woman nodded uncertainly.

“Inazuma, Kharif.  All clear.  All civilians extracted five hundred meters.”

“Copy that, Sergeant.  Incoming, one round.”

“COVER YOUR EARS,” Kharif told the civilians.

The twenty-centimeter railgun round was an incandescent streak plunging down in an instant from the heavens.  It passed all the way through the building without encountering any noticeable resistance, releasing almost all of its massive payload of kinetic energy into the ground below, the equivalent of a hundred and twenty tons of TNT.

The entire building seemed to lift almost in slow motion as the ground rose under it.  Then as the SLAM of sudden thunder rolled across the Marines and the former occupants, a second and a half after the strike, it broke up into a cloud of debris which rose high above the site, before falling back mostly into its own crater.  Cars in the parking lot were tossed away like toys, and several of the civilians were still knocked over by the blast.  Dirt, small rocks and other debris rained down as echoes slapped back off buildings further away.  A huge cloud of dust hung in the air, beginning to slowly drift downwind.  Scattered sheets of paper fluttered in the breeze.

“I expect your authorities will be here very shortly,” Kharif said, after the rain of debris had stopped.  “You should probably wait for them here.  They should take care of any minor injuries.  You might choose to reconsider what to do for a living.”

He turned and walked away.

“Third platoon!  Form up for dust-off!” he called.  Then he sent to the dropships.

“Hornet One and Two, we’re ready for pickup.”

The two dropships moved in, and Third Platoon boarded, carrying the body of Lieutenant Naing with them.  A few moments later, they took off to rejoin Inazuma.  A few minutes after they ducked, Inazuma broke station and started on its way back to the Stardock.

Inazuma docked in the main docking bay, at gate fifteen, patrol cancelled.  Her crew filed off and formed up outside the gate in two blocs, leaving a gap in between.  Then the Marines disembarked, in column.  The first six Marines in the column carried the body of Lieutenant Naing on their shoulders.

They took their place in the center of the formation, then the entire formation of nearly two hundred men and women set off on a slow march up the concourse.  Others started to fall in behind the formation as it went.  There were over three hundred in the column by the time it reached MedBay One.  Not that there was anything MedBay could do for him, of course.  But there wasn’t really anywhere else to take him.

It was the Fleet’s first loss, and it hadn’t even happened in combat.

“You’re absolutely certain we can’t locate his family?” Alex asked, not for the first time.

“He never told us an exact address,” Soichiro Kusanagi said, again.  “We only have a general area somewhere on the eastern outskirts of Naypyidaw.  We can’t narrow it down closer than a kilometer or two, and Burmese naming practices being what they are, we can’t find his family by name.  I know his wife’s first name, Nandar, and no more than that.  I don’t even know his son’s name, only that he had — has — a young son.”

“Christ.”  Alex buried his face in his hands.  “I’d like to give his family the choice to still come … if we could find them.  We owe him at least that much.”  He shook his head. “This is so stupid.  If they wanted an implant to study, why the FUCK didn’t they just fucking ASK for one?”

“I have no idea,” Soichiro replied.  “Unless for some reason they didn’t want us to know they had one to study.”

“Did they think we WOULDN’T FIGURE IT OUT?” Alex exploded.  “It’s just all stupid.  All of it.  And we, we let him down.  We should have had an exact location.  We should have sent him directly there in an aircar, with a pilot and an escort.”

“You didn’t know there was any reason to,” Naomi pointed out.  “You couldn’t have known.”

Alex sighed.

“You’re right,” he said.  “Again.  But it’s just …”

“I know,” Naomi said gently.  “But you can’t blame yourself.  And it’s probably going to get a lot worse than this.”

Alex nodded somberly.

“I know,” he said.  “And I’m not looking forward to that at all.”

____

Alex, you will want to hear this, Dong-geun sent the next day, with a tag to the feed from the UN General Assembly.

Alex opened up the connection.  The delegate from Myanmar was delivering an accusation that the Fleet had attacked Myanmar without provocation, that the Fleet was out of control and should be placed under tighter UN supervision, that the senior command of the Fleet was unreliable and should be removed.  And there was more.

Alex listened through it all.

Finally the delegate wrapped up his evidently-prepared speech.  Kwaku Owusu, sitting President of the General Assembly, called order.

 

“The assembly has heard what you allege,” he said.  “Does the delegate from the Fleet wish to respond to these allegations at this time?”

Dong-geun, Alex sent, tell him I will respond personally.  Right now.

You are sure, Alex?

I’m sure.

“Mr. President,” Dong-geun said over the video link, “Mr. Holder will respond in person, if the Assembly will hear him.”

There was a pause, and a slight swell or murmuring.  It had been more than two years since Alex had last spoken to the Assembly in person.

“The Assembly recognizes Alex Holder,” President Owusu said.  Alex joined the channel.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Alex said.  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Assembly, honored delegates, thank you for hearing me and allowing the Fleet to respond immediately to the allegations just presented by the delegate for the Republic of the Union of Myanmar.

“I wish to begin by stating, for the record, that the events which the delegate from Myanmar has described are, indeed, true.”  There was a sudden murmur of widespread surprise.  Evidently a lot of people had been expecting a denial.

“A platoon of Fleet Marines and a Fleet destroyer did indeed assault, force entry into, and subsequently destroy a building on the edge of Taunggyi yesterday.  The orders were not mine, but I approved the operation, and I take full responsibility.”

Alex paused to let that sink in.

“Now, does the delegate from Myanmar wish to tell the Assembly the rest of the story of WHY we did that, or shall I?”

He paused.  The Myanmar delegate looked back at him open-mouthed, taken aback.  Apparently he had not expected, nor planned for, an immediate counter-challenge as a response.  He didn’t know what to say.

“All right then,” Alex said, after a long moment.  “I guess I’m telling the story.  This is the part of the story that the delegate from Myanmar did not tell you.

“Several days ago, one of our officers, Lieutenant Khun Satt Naing, Controller level three, a bridge officer on the destroyer DD-35 Inazuma, submitted a request to bring his family up to the Stardock.  His request was of course granted, and he traveled down to Myanmar to fetch them.  Naturally, we helped to pre-arrange travel clearance for him and his family with the appropriate Myanmar authorities.  So the Myanmar government knew that he was coming, and where he was going.  Remember that detail.  It’s important.

“Lieutenant Satt Naing was delivered by a Fleet shuttle to Nay Pyi Taw International Airport.  On his way to pick up his family, somewhere between the airport and his home, he was abducted and taken to a government facility, where they started digging his Cricket control implant out of his head while he was still alive.

“When he was several hours overdue, hadn’t checked in, and didn’t respond to communication attempts, his commander had scout drones in the area ping his implant.  When they were unable to locate the Lieutenant, Commander Kusanagi widened the search area.

“We eventually picked up an emergency distress beacon from his implant from the vicinity of Taunggyi.  Inazuma traced the signal, and tracked him to an isolated building on the edge of Taunggyi.  That’s a hundred and fifty kilometers from where he disappeared.

“Commander Soichiro Kusanagi, captain of Inazuma, with my approval, dropped a Marine extraction team there to rescue him.  The team were denied entry and told he was not there.  We knew with complete certainty that he WAS in there.  The Marine team had Lieutenant Naing’s vital signs — his failing vital signs — in the distress signal from his implant.  Our Marine team forced entry, finding the building to be a covert laboratory clearly sanctioned by the Myanmar government, guarded by uniformed Myanmar military personnel.  The extraction team located Lieutenant Naing, but could not get to him in time to save him.  He was dead by the time they reached him.  Your … scientists … were still washing blood off his implant.  They weren’t even working on him in sterile conditions.  The Marines found a partly-used stack of body bags in the corner of the laboratory.

“We recovered his body and implant.  We cleared everyone out of the building, the team swept the building three times to be certain it was clear, we got all of the civilians to a safe distance — INCLUDING the ones who personally murdered Lieutenant Naing — and then, yes, we leveled the building with an orbital kinetic strike.  And yes, I approved that action as well.  How many other people’s last moments of life have been in that building?”

He paused and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to take my word for any of this.  We have, and will provide on request, every byte of signal received from Lieutenant Naing’s implant, every moment of vital signs recorded, every second of Marine helmet video, every word of platoon comms and ship to-ground comms.  You can listen for yourselves to the increasing urgency in my Marines’ voices as Lieutenant Naing’s vital signs are failing while they’re trying to reach him.  My medical lab expert has examined his body and tells me it was already too late before our extraction team entered the building.  Your — scientists — had already inflicted fatal brain damage.  He was a dead man still breathing on autopilot.  If he’d somehow lived he would have been a vegetable.  Even Cricket medical technology can’t repair the damage your people did while digging out his implant.”

Alex took a deep breath, trying to hold his voice steady, but his anger was bleeding through.  He gave it free rein.

“If you wanted an implant to study, YOU COULD HAVE JUST ASKED FOR ONE.  We would have given you one, for free.  We’d have given you a dozen.  If you’d just asked.  You didn’t have to abduct a man who volunteered to serve Earth, and then dig it out of his head.

“This was a barbaric, illegal act on the part of your country.  Count yourselves fortunate that we only leveled the one building.  None of your people were harmed, which is better than I can say about MY OFFICER.

“You want an apology from the Fleet for firing on a ground target in Myanmar, you say.  Well, you can have it when the Fleet, and Lieutenant Satt Naing’s family, receive a formal apology from your government for abducting and murdering him for something you could have had freely for the asking, and his family receives compensation from your government for his murder.

“And if you want to show some semblance of good faith, you can inform our delegate where to find Lieutenant Naing’s family, so that we can give them the safe home on the Stardock that he wanted to bring them to.

“That is all I have to say at this time, Mr. President, honored delegates.  Thank you for hearing me.  I repeat my offer:  All evidence that was collected during our rescue attempt is available for examination upon request.  We’ll send it right now, if you want to designate an escrow location.”

There was a long silence as the delegates and their aides digested what they had just heard.

“Does the delegation from Myanmar have a counter-response at this time?” President Owusu asked.

The silence continued.  The Myanmar delegate slowly shook his head.

“Very well, then,” Owusu said.  “Mr. Holder, I hope that I speak for this entire Assembly when I express my sincere regrets for the untimely death of your officer.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Alex replied.  “Now, if you’ll all forgive me, I have a funeral to arrange.  My Chief of Staff can relay any needed communications to me.”

He disconnected.

____

Two days later, the Myanmar delegate sent a brief personal message to Dong-geun.

“I have investigated as far as I discreetly can on short notice the events surrounding the death of Lieutenant Naing,” the note said.  “To my great and lasting shame, I now believe what Mr. Holder said to be true.

“I am permitted to say nothing officially.  However, I can tell you this much.  The woman you seek is named Nandar Aung Myat.  I have attached her address and a telephone number which should be current.”

Dong-geun sent back a message of thanks and appreciation, then forwarded the note to Alex.  Alex sent Commander Kusanagi a heads-up, and sent Naomi a quick ping as well.  Then he enabled Burmese auto-translation, and called Nandar.

The phone rang four times before it was picked up.

«Hello...?» said a quiet female voice.  She sounded scared.

“Hello,” Alex said.  “Am I speaking to Nandar Aung Myat?”

«Yes,» she said.  «Please … who is this?»

“My name is Alex Holder,” Alex said.  The woman gasped.  “I am calling you from the United Fleet.”

«The Fleet?» she asked.  “Please!  You have to help me!  My husband!  He was coming to get me, but they took him!  Right outside the house!  Can you help to get him back?»

Alex swallowed hard.

“I … don’t know how to tell you this,” he said unsteadily.  “I am so very sorry.  I have to inform you that your husband is dead.”

«NOOOOOO!» Nandar shrieked.  Then she broke down into sobs.

Alex gave her a minute or two before he continued.

“I am so sorry,” he said.  “I wish I could give you better news.

“We started searching for him as soon as we realized that he was overdue.  We located him by the signal from his implant, at a covert government-run laboratory, but we were too late.  By the time we got a rescue team there, they had already killed him.  Our extraction team recovered his body, but that was all we could do.”

«Where is the laboratory?» Nandar said, still sobbing in grief and rage.  «I will burn it down myself.»

“We’re already ahead of you,” Alex said.  “Commander Kusanagi, Khun’s captain, leveled it with a kinetic strike.”

«GOOD,» she sobbed.  «Thank you.»

“Miss Myat,” Alex said.  “Your husband wanted to bring you and your son to the Stardock to be with him.  I can’t give him back to you.  I wish I could.  But that offer is still open, if you want it.  Do you want to come?”

There was silence.  A long silence.  Alex was almost starting to wonder if she had put the phone down and walked away, but he could still hear her sniffling and softly sobbing in the background.

Finally, she answered.

«Yes, please,» she said.  «I do not want to spend another day in this horrible country. They murdered my beloved Khun.  I will never forgive them for that.»

“Pack what you need to bring,” Alex said.  “The things that are most important to you. Don’t worry about common goods, we will provide everything.  This time we’ll send a drop-ship and a Marine escort directly to your door.  They’ll be there within the hour, and they’ll wait while you pack what you need.”

«Thank you, Mr. Holder,» Nandar said.  «Thank you so much.  They will not have my son.»

“I’d better let you go and start packing,” Alex said.  “Your ride will be on the way in a few minutes.”

«Thank you,» Nandar said.  «I have to tell Minh now, that his father is dead.  He will take it hard.  Goodbye, Mr. Holder.»

She disconnected the call.

Alex sent Kusanagi the location information.

Do you want to have one of your squads make the pickup? he asked.

Yes, Kusanagi replied, without hesitation.  It will give them closure.  And I’ll go myself.  It’s my responsibility, as his commanding officer.

Understood, Alex replied.  Thank you, Commander.  Bring them home.

Hornet One landed in the middle of the street in front of Nandar’s bungalow forty minutes later.  The side doors opened, and Commander Kusanagi, Sergeant Kharif, and the twenty Marines who had made up the entry team disembarked, all in dress uniform.  Kusanagi walked up to the door, Kharif two paces behind him, but it opened before he got there.  Nandar was a slight young woman.  Her son Minh stood just behind her. He looked about eight.

Kusanagi had his implant route through the lander’s substrate and auto-translate to Burmese through his collar speaker.

«Nandar Aung Myat?» he said, bowing slightly.  «I am Commander Soichiro Kusanagi, Lieutenant Khun Naing’s commanding officer.  This is the Marine team who … recovered your husband’s body.  I am very sorry that we did not reach him in time to save him.

«We are here to take you to the Stardock, whenever you are ready to leave.»

«Thank you,» Nandar replied.  «I will only need a few more minutes.  We are nearly ready.  There was not very much important to pack, and we had already packed most of it before—»

She broke off with a sniffle, her eyes wet, and turned to her son.

«Minh, these men are your father’s Captain, and the soldiers who tried to save him.  We are going to go with them in just a few minutes.  Why don’t you wait with them while I pack the last few things?»

Minh nodded solemnly, and then walked outside to look at the drop-ship.

«It is very big,» he said.

«Just wait until you see Inazuma,» Soichiro Kusanagi replied.  «Inazuma is much, much bigger.»

Nandar quickly handed out two bags, which Kharif took and carried to the dropship.  Then she disappeared back into the house, emerging about fifteen minutes later with a third and final bag.  She didn’t close the door behind her.

«Let us go now,» she said.  She did not look back.

Five minutes later, Hornet One was on its way to orbit.

____

Lieutenant Khun Satt Naing’s funeral was held the next day.  Dreamer fabricated a whisper-light aeroshell coffin that would burn up entirely during re-entry.

The entire funeral was streamed live.

The Fleet did not have a military band.  It did, by sheer chance, have a single piper, one Iain Colin Mackenzie by name, commander of DD-38 Highlander and Commodore of DesRon Four.  Before ‘un-retiring’ to join the Fleet, Mackenzie had been a retired Colonel of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.  It also transpired that one of 1st Company, 6th Platoon, Rifleman Tom Whitaker, played snare drum and had an interest in Scots pipe music.  He had already long since had Dreamer fabricate him a drum, and he kept up practice with it.

Lieutenant Naing’s coffin was carried by an honor guard of twelve Marines in Fleet dress uniform.  Behind them marched all of the remaining members of Inazuma’s bridge crews.  At the head of the procession were Commander Mackenzie and Rifleman Whitaker, with Commander Kusanagi three paces behind.  Almost everyone on the Stardock turned out to watch as the procession slow-marched down the concourse.  Mackenzie played The Dark Island, and he played Flowers of the Forest, and he played Highland Cathedral and Mist Covered Mountains and Cro Chinn t-Saile … and he played A Flame of Wrath, Whitaker’s snare drum punching the drumbeats out hard.

The funeral procession marched down the concourse to the docking bay, where the Marine honor guard carried the coffin onto a Hornet dropship.  The dropship undocked and burned hard toward the limb of Earth, aiming for the Indian Ocean.  The pilot took it up to thirty kilometers a second before he cut thrust.

On the dropship, as they approached the upper edge of atmosphere, Nandar Myat put her hands on her husband’s coffin, then laid her cheek on it, touching him by proxy one last time.  She whispered a few quiet words that nobody caught.  Then after a long moment, she straightened up and stepped back, tears running down her cheeks.

The Marines picked up and shouldered the coffin one last time, then the side doors on the dropship opened.  The edges of the atmosphere seal field glared red.  They eased the coffin out through the field and pushed it away.

«Farewell, my love,» Nandar said softly, one hand half-raised as though to wave.

The white coffin kept pace with the lander, drifting slowly away, as Commander Kusanagi spoke a brief but heartfelt eulogy; then the side doors closed.  The coffin remained visible on the door screens, of course.

The pilot lifted the drop-ship away, adjusting course enough to miss all but the most tenuous fringes of atmosphere, but kept tracking the coffin on sensors, rolling the dropship on its side to keep it in view.  On the Stardock concourse, Mackenzie played A Scottish Soldier and Lochanside.

Far below the dropship, still sharp and clear on the screens, the coffin began its terminal dive into Earth’s atmosphere.  At first there was just a pearly glow around the front of the coffin, then the glow grew brighter and spread backward over the white aeroshell.  In what seemed like moments, the glow grew and brightened into a brilliant streak, then a long ribbon of flame across Earth’s sky.

And then the fire faded, and the coffin was gone.  Hornet One turned around and counter-burned to return to the Stardock.  On board the Stardock, the procession turned around and slow-marched silently back up the concourse, just Whitaker’s snare-drum lightly tapping out the slow tempo.

Alex couldn’t sleep.  He lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Naomi, next to him, wasn’t asleep either.  It was in part because she knew Alex wasn’t sleeping.  She rolled over to face towards him, seeing and feeling the stress in him.

“Hey,” she said, softly, as she reached out to touch his cheek.  She found it wet.  “Alex, are you OK?”

Alex drew in a ragged breath.

“Not really,” he admitted.  “I knew the day would come, sooner or later, when we would start losing people.  Unless we can somehow avoid battle at all.  But I wasn’t ready for it to start happening this soon … or for such a stupid, senseless reason.”

Naomi didn’t think she had any words that would help.  So she just wrapped her arms around Alex and held him tightly.

____

This sample chapter is excerpted from A Line In The Stars, the upcoming conclusion of Sean Fenian’s Stardock Trilogy.  It is © 2024 by Sean Fenian and Fenian House Publishing.  It may not be reproduced or distributed in any form without permission from the author or publisher, except as permitted under Unites States copyright law.