Lee McPeak looked worried. She had every right to be, of course: she and the Damocles had received an NPR sheet—Notice of Priority Redeployment—a few days previously. They were going to White Rim, whether they liked it or not. She wasn’t sure whether it was because of the ship’s involvement with this super secret new commando unit, or because the corvette was currently docked at NS Coonawarra: the asteroid orbiting Australia was known as a major jumping-off point for units deploying to White Rim, thanks to an artificially-stabilised wormhole a few hours warp away that would deposit you neatly in the Confederate-controlled part of the White Rim area.
Two sets of footsteps came up the internal bridge stairwell from the main deck. Lt.Cmdr. McPeak turned from where she’d been leaning up close to the bridge windscreens. “A-ha. Sam Kelly. I thought you might have something to do with this.”
“With what?”
“I got an NPR order a few days ago. White Rim.”
Sam nodded. “You’ll be taking an advance party of Raiders out to Kolkata Station. Those orders should be with you in a few hours. Lee, have you met John Casey?”
Casey gave a polite nod. “Miss McPeak.”
“Mr Casey. You’re with this Raider unit as well?”
“Sure am.”
Sam took a seat at a radio console, turning it to face Lee. “You sent out the crash sail notice?”
“About an hour ago. Nobody went anywhere anyway, we’re all still on the rock. Where we headed today?”
“New Brit. We would have taken a shuttle or something, but SOCOM decided to kill two birds with one stone. They want you to swing past Blyth for a quick refit, should only take a few days.”
McPeak wasn’t about to argue. What Special Operations Command wanted, Special Operations Command got. “What’s being worked?”
“Cargo bay mod, gonna rig it up to carry about twenty men, weapons and kit, and an LM-2.”
“For the Rim?”
There’s nothing but dust, rocks and space stations out there: where would they need an LM-2?
“No, no, for later. They figure it might as well get done now. The trip to the Rim is just gonna be a party of seven observers and some light equipment. We want to put boots on the ground, so to speak, before anything flares up. You remember that MASINT report a few months ago?”
“Sure do. Okay, I’ll check with the Exec, see how we’re going with the crash sail.”
“No problem— oh, one more thing, a couple of your Bo’suns won’t let one of our guys on board because he’s a civilian. They need word from you before they can let him up the gangway.”
“Okay.”
She walked out through the fully-opened airlock on the port side of the bridge and onto the catwalk that ran around to the rear of the bridge superstructure. Below her, on the concrete and steel pier that jutted out from the side of the holding pen, two sailors in dark blue shore duty uniforms with pistols on their belts were standing at the bottom of the gangway. While they weren’t actively blocking the narrow ramp, it was clear that they weren’t allowing Danny to walk up.
McPeak cupped her hands to her mouth. “PO.”
All three of them looked up and the senior of the two sailors, a Petty Officer, turned to face his boss. “Yes, ma’am?” he called back, projecting his voice easily, as non-commissioned officers seem to do so well.
“He’s clear to board.”
He nodded. “Very good, ma’am.”
With that, Danny was ushered through as though nothing had happened. He came on deck and disappeared around the back of the superstructure, heading for the catwalk stairs. Within moments, he appeared on the catwalk and approached the bridge airlock. McPeak introduced herself and shook his hand, then headed back inside the bridge to find the Executive Officer. Casey and Sam stayed out on the rail, watching ground crews moving around the holding pen. Danny was unfazed by the little security hitch. “Nah, it’s Navy. I’m used to it.”
Within an hour, all crew were aboard and the Damocles was ready to set sail again. Three hours later, she was cleared to dock at HM Naval Station Blyth. The Yamaguchi-class corvette was soon lost among the flock of similarly blacked-out vessels crowding around the rock like a swarm of pirhana picking over a carcass. All of them had their running lights blazing to lessen the risk of collision, like surface ships operating at night.
A shuttle took the three of them down to the surface, and a taxi took them from the Naval Air Station to the Admiralty Building. Special Operations Command took up most of the west wing of the third floor, and as such the western-facing windows in most of the SOCOM offices had a commanding view of Trafalgar Square below. As they walked up the worn limestone steps, the taxi zoomed off in search of another fare. Sam’s mobile link buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out quickly. He realised suddenly that it wasn’t his work link at all; nobody had contacted his private line in months. A few taps and swipes of his thumb revealed a new message containing a picture. He paused in mid step, and his companions stopped a few steps above. He was staring at the photo as though pleasantly shocked.
“What is it?” asked Danny.
Without a word Sam turned the link around and showed him the screen.
Danny shrugged, did a double-take, and laughed. “Well, look who it is.”
Sam angled the screen toward Casey, who took a close look: an attractive young Syrr girl in a Marine blue dress uniform, complete with peaked cap, standing in what looked like a repurposed mess hall.
“I completely forgot,” laughed Sam. “I knew today’s date seemed important. It’s been bugging me all morning. My girlfriend marches out today.”
Life on the Fringes 