Ballistic (The Palladium Wars), стр. 50
“Apologies for the wait,” he said. “I had a few things to sort out. Nukes tend to make the simple things complex.”
They looked at him with unconcealed anticipation. It seemed that the long stretch of uncertainty had even served to temper the attitude of the pilot a little because she had dropped the hostile glares.
“You’ve acted mostly by the book. I mean, after the part where you took on unregulated cargo. I’ve decided that it isn’t in the interests of the Rhodian Navy to add another complication to everyone’s day. And if we detain and prosecute you, it will just deter others from making a similar call of conscience. You are free to return to your ship and be on your way.”
Dunstan held up his hand to interrupt their audible expressions of relief.
“But. You will transmit all your data connected with the incident before you leave. And I can’t guarantee that the fleet won’t call on your testimony or even demand access to your ship. The Rhodian Navy will keep an eye on you for a while. I would suggest you become more selective regarding the contracts you accept.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Captain Decker said. She held out her hand, and he shook it. They all filed out of the room behind Bosca. The last one to step across the threshold was the Palladian first officer.
“Master Siboniso,” Dunstan said.
The first officer stopped at the door and turned his head. “Sir.”
“One last word to the wise,” Dunstan said. “You just turned over a nuke to the authorities. The kind of people who deal in nukes are the kind of people who won’t just accept a refund and an apology. Consider keeping a very low profile for a little while.”
Siboniso inclined his head in acknowledgment and stepped across the threshold to follow his shipmates.
You may yet wish we had detained you after all, Dunstan thought.
CHAPTER 14
IDINA
To the west, the skyline of Sandvik was glowing with the fading remnants of a dark-red sunset. From the company square at the JSP base, it looked like the city was on fire.
Is it a red sunset or a red sunrise that’s supposed to be a bad omen? Idina wondered as she walked across the square and toward the liaison building. The summer storms of the last few days had lifted, and the air was pleasantly cool tonight. The breeze had dried out the puddles the downpours had left in their wake. It was easily the nicest day she had experienced on this planet since she got here for her third tour of occupation duty, but it irritated her a little, as if the planet had been holding back its good weather on purpose until just before her departure. The emotion was irrational, of course—planets were spheres of rock and water, with no consciousness or capacity for intent. But having to fend off two dozen angry Gretian youths with her kukri just the night before had soured her attitude a bit, and she let her brain indulge in the act of bias confirmation.
Gods, even my grudges have diminished in this gravity. Maybe it is time to go back to Pallas.
The liaison building was busier than usual tonight. In addition to Idina’s Fifth Platoon and their usual Gretian police counterparts, a squad of the JSP’s Quick Reaction Force had arrived for the pre-shift briefing, adding a dozen troopers to tonight’s headcount. Idina had feared that Dahl would be absent tonight for some reason—rattled by the event last night or grounded by her superior—but the tall Gretian police captain was at the front of the room as always, helmet under her arm, hair in her customary tight braid. All things considered, everyone involved in the tussle had gotten off lightly. Idina and Dahl had collected a few bruises, and one of the belligerent youths had gotten his nose broken when Idina had smacked her helmet into his face. But nobody had died, and none had found out how terribly easily a Pallas Brigade kukri could amputate limbs.
Idina walked to the front of the room, right down the multicolored paint stripe that had segregated the JSP troopers and their Gretian patrol partners for the first few years of the occupation. The colored stripe had been crisp and glossy on Idina’s first JSP assignment. Now it was dull and faded, scuffed and worn down by the many boot soles that had crossed the demarcation, and nobody had seen a point in refreshing the paint.
The room was awash in the din of low conversation. The QRF troopers stood out in the crowd in their tactical outfits, which were flat black and considerably more aggressive looking than the standard blue JSP patrol suits with their police markings. The leader of the QRF squad was a hard-faced Rhodian lieutenant whose biceps strained the short sleeves of his ballistic undershirt. He was standing next to Dahl, talking to her in a low voice. Dahl looked up when she saw Idina striding up to them.
“Good evening, Sergeant,” she said.
“Good evening, Captain. Lieutenant,” she added with a nod in the Rhodian’s direction. The JSP had switched to police protocol when they were around their Gretian counterparts, which meant no salutes and no calling a room to attention when a superior walked in. It had taken weeks for her to stop feeling like she was committing insubordination.
“Good evening, Color Sergeant. Looks like you have some excitement scheduled tonight,” the lieutenant said.
“Let’s hope it won’t be exciting at all,” Idina replied. “I want to get this fellow off the street and into custody without anyone getting wind of it. We had plenty of excitement on our first try.”
She looked at Dahl and inclined her head toward the assembled troopers.
“Your room, Captain.”
Dahl nodded and turned to face the crowd.
“Attention, please,” she said. The din of conversation in the room stopped, and