Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [119]
Sitting with her companions, Tasia leaned back in the shuttle’s hard, cold passenger seat. The EDF always found ways to remind its personnel that comfort was not a priority.
“We’re just tokens, that’s all we are,” said Hector O’Barr, one of the other human commanders. “It’s a straightforward mission. The Soldier compies can do everything they need to do.”
Round-faced Tom Christensen chuckled. “General Lanyan just wants warm bodies in the hot seat. Otherwise, he and the grid admirals are afraid they’re going to be obsolete.”
“I heard that they’re calling us 'dunsels,' ” Tasia said. “An old nautical term for a component that serves no useful purpose.”
“Great,” Hector grumbled. “If they’re sending us on a suicide mission, they could at least be nice to us.”
“It’s not a suicide mission,” Christensen insisted, a little too stridently.
“It’s an uncertain situation.” Sabine Odenwald’s voice was quiet but serious. “Only humans have the flexibility to respond and change the parameters. Who knows what the drogues might do when they see us coming?”
“Besides, those rammers are expensive ships.” Tasia put her feet up on the edge of the hard seat. “They want us there for insurance, and they need someone to blame if it all goes wrong.” The remaining two “dunsel” commanders—Darby Vinh and Erin Eld—grumbled in agreement.
All six of them had something to gain from this desperate mission. Tasia had scanned their records, as she was sure they had scanned hers. Each of her uneasy comrades wanted black marks removed from their records, certain charges dropped, embarrassing demerits deleted. At the end of the first rammer mission, if she survived, Tasia would regain command of a Manta cruiser, perhaps even a Juggernaut. Unlike the other five volunteers, though, Tasia had committed no crimes, indiscretions, or breaches of military etiquette. Her offense was that she’d been born a Roamer.
Hansa rules had always been stacked against the clans. As a Roamer, Tasia had grown up learning how to face unfair situations and adverse environments. This was nothing new, and she refused to let it bother her now.
EA stood dutifully next to her seat in the personnel transport, staring out at the stars as if curious, reloading information into her nearly emptied compy brain. Oddly enough, the EDF bureaucracy had not complained when Tasia asked to bring the Listener compy along. Were they granting a last request for a soldier going on what might be a one-way mission? EA had been polished and tuned for this new assignment, and her blue-hued artificial skin gleamed. And after Tasia’s constant summarizing of memories, the little compy had begun to react more like her old friend. “What do you think about all this, EA?”
“I observe and follow your instructions, Master Tasia Tamblyn.”
“I remember a time when you would have seemed nervous—like when we left our home to join the EDF.” As always, Tasia was careful not to reveal any names or locations, assuming that military spies were eavesdropping on her every word.
“I do not remember such times, Tasia, but I would be happy if you gave me further details. I have found your other anecdotes very informative.”
“Later, when we have time to chat in private.”
Reaching the dedicated EDF shipyard, the transport pilot flew them in among the battering-ram ships, circling slowly so that the six volunteers could be impressed with the bulk and magnitude of these vessels. The rammers were not designed for finesse or maneuverability, but for mass, solidity, and speed. Though the design looked similar to that of standard Mantas, the hulls were triply reinforced, the engines built without redundant safety systems, making it easier to trigger critical overloads. The bow decks were filled with dense depleted uranium to provide a larger punch for the initial crash.
Unlike normal