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  “Today, Lieutenant Fortis will lead two assault teams on a dynamic-entry training scenario. The rest of Third Platoon will report to the company clerk’s office for general duty assignments.”

  Great.

  Normally, Fortis would leap at the chance for more tactical training, but the weight of all the paperwork on his desk threatened to crush him. He began to plot how to slough off the training onto one of the two warrant officers when Brickell said something that got the attention of every Space Marine in the formation.

  “The general has approved a ten-day planetary liberty visit for the entire division.”

  The company held their collective breath.

  “In the Eros Cluster.”

  Military bearing in the formation crumbled, and the Space Marines laughed and whooped. Fortis fought to control his own reaction as the CO held up his hand for silence.

  “Company, atten-HUT!” Fortis ordered.

  The company popped to attention, and their smiles vanished.

  Captain Brickell nodded to Fortis. “Thank you, XO.” He turned back to the company. “In three days, the Fleet will arrive in the vicinity of the Eros Cluster. When I receive spaceport assignments from the staff I will pass them on to you.” Brickell passed in front of the formation and whirled to a stop facing the Space Marines. “Know this, ladies. Nobody is going anywhere unless Foxtrot Company gear is in tip-top shape, our spaces are pristine, and company business is squared away. Understood?”

  The company stood, silent.

  Brickell turned on his heel and strode toward the hatch that led to his quarters. “XO, take charge and dismiss the company.”

  Fortis waited until the CO closed the hatch behind him.

  “Platoon commanders take charge. Company, dismissed!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  After four hours of dynamic-entry training scenarios, Fortis and the two assault teams took a breather while they waited for the colonel in charge of Battalion training to arrive and observe their final training evolution.

  The training day had started out rough. The Space Marines were distracted by the news of impending liberty, and they made many basic errors during the first scenarios. Fortis was forced to call a timeout. He delivered a stern warning that they would repeat the scenarios all day if necessary, and the assault teams settled down.

  The scenarios had fallen into the familiar pattern of training conducted by the Battalion cadre. The cadre were all over the Space Marines to start. The tiniest mistakes were belabored, and the trainers attributed many of them to a failure of leadership, a polite way of indirectly blaming Fortis.

  By the midpoint, the cadre noted fewer mistakes, whether the Space Marines committed them or not. For the final scenario for the colonel, Warrant Tarkenton and his team declared that the assault teams were operating like a well-oiled machine because of the training the cadre had provided.

  Fortis wished Corporal Ystremski was there to deflect some of Warrant Tarkenton’s bullshit; Ystremski might only be a corporal, but he knew how the game was played.

  Maybe that’s why Brickell wanted him for admin duty today.

  “Lieutenant Fortis!”

  Fortis looked up and saw the Foxtrot Company Clerk, Staff Sergeant Cruz, standing by the hatch.

  “Captain Brickell wants all platoon commanders and sergeants up in the company room ASAP. The liberty assignments are out!”

  Cruz disappeared through the hatch before Fortis could respond. First and Second Squads whooped with excitement, and Fortis cut them off with a wave of his hand.

  “Third Platoon, lock it up.” He turned to Tarkenton. “What do you want us to do, Warrant?”

  “Go ahead and dismiss them, sir. I just got the call, the colonel’s not coming. We’ve been recalled to the training center ourselves.”

  * * *

  Ystremski caught up with Fortis at the company room hatch. “What’s the word, LT?”

  “Beats me. Cruz said the CO wanted us up here because the liberty assignments were out. What have you heard?”

  Ystremski shook his head. “Not a peep. I’ve been busy with Third Squad all morning.”

  The two men entered the company room and joined the warrant officers and their platoon NCOs as they waited for Captain Brickell. Finally, the CO arrived.

  “I just received the liberty assignments from Battalion admin for Foxtrot Company.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Foxtrot Company has been assigned Spaceport Zulu Five on Eros-69.”

  Everyone laughed and applauded. Ystremski nudged Fortis and smiled.

  “Eros-69 is paradise,” he muttered to the young officer out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I meant what I said at formation this morning, ladies. Spaces clean, equipment maintained, and company business completed.”

  After Brickell dismissed the group, Fortis held Ystremski back until they were alone in the company room.

  “What’s on Eros-69?”

  “You name it, LT. Booze, real women, everything. The last time I was there, they were building a biodome to hold a beach. Can you believe that?”

  “Actually, I can. I was supposed to go work for my father building biodomes after college, but I decided a career in the ISMC sounded like more fun.”

  Ystremski laughed. “Having fun yet?”

  “DINLI.”

  “You know what’s weird about this, LT? Normally we don’t stop there so early in a deployment. Usually, it’s on our way home.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Imagine what would happen on Terra Earth if five thousand sex-starved Space Marines returned straight home after a two-year deep-space deployment? It would be anarchy. Instead, we go to Eros-69 and blow off some steam. We have to quarantine anyway, so why not do it in a place that has excellent hotels and beautiful beaches, real women and cheap booze, and all of it under a biodome that feels just like home.”

  Fortis led Ystremski into the passageway to the Foxtrot Company XO’s office.

  “Huh. Sounds nice. Too bad I can’t drink.”

  “Oh shit, I forgot about your strength enhancement.”

  One of the restrictions while undergoing physical enhancements was that the recipient could not consume any drugs or alcohol until the doctors were certain the enhancement had “taken.” It wouldn’t have been a problem on a normal deployment, but the liberty call complicated things for Fortis.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. Remember what the CO said about ‘company business squared away’ at formation? I think I’ll be spending my liberty right here.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, sir.”

  Fortis opened the hatch and gaped at his empty desk.

  “What happened here? Where did all that paper go?”

  “Well, sir, you were busy in the trainer being a Space Marine this morning. And the lads of Third Squad know that you won’t get liberty if your desk isn’t clear.” He winked. “I know some people that know some people, the kind of people who make things work around here. I made a couple calls and got things moving.”

  “You didn’t break any regs, did you?”

  Ystremski feigned shock. “Me? Oh, no, sir, I would never break any regs. I’m a by-the-book Space Marine. I divided everything up by subject and got the piles into the right hands.”

  Fortis chuckled. “I wonder what Reese will say when he finds out?”

  “By the time he discovers it, we’ll be knee-deep in bacchanal.”

  * * *

  Freed from his administrative bondage, Fortis went to the troop weight room for his first workout of the day. As a commissioned officer, he was entitled to use the embarked staff gym, which was clean and bright, with shiny machines and electro-beats pulsating from overhead speakers. There was even a staff of orderlies who handed out towels and offered personal training services. Users had to remain rank-conscious at all times or risk interfering with a senior officer’s exercise time. It rivaled any boutique on Terra Earth, and Fortis hated
it.

  The troop weight room, by contrast, was a dank, dark space deep in the bowels of the flagship. It reeked of sweat and testosterone. There were no machines or ellipticals; it was all steel bars and free weights. The only music was the clank of weights and grunts of exertion as muscle and iron collided.

  Rank didn’t matter in the troop gym, only effort. It was a pocket of egalitarianism aboard the highly stratified flagship. Fortis wasn’t a lieutenant in the gym; he was a Space Marine building his body to accept the strength enhancements. His fellow weightlifters were eager to help him with a spot, and he endured their good-natured ribbing when they discovered he was an officer. They pushed him hard because someday they might have to follow him into battle. Fortis drove himself hard because he knew the Space Marines wouldn’t follow a weak leader.

  When Fortis was exhausted and could barely lift his arms, he slumped onto an empty bench. Someone threw a towel at him, and he waved his thanks with a trembling hand. Their laughter followed him as he forced his wobbly legs to carry him into the passageway to make the long climb up several decks to his stateroom.

  * * *

  Captain Reese was tapping on his keyboard when Captain Brickell entered the Battalion administrative space with an armload of paper and stopped at his desk. When Reese didn’t look up, Brickell dumped the pile on Reese’s deck without ceremony.

  “Hey, Tim, what’s all this crap?”

  Reese looked up, gave Brickell a look like he had just stepped in something unpleasant before turning his attention to the folders and documents.

  “Looks like periodic enlisted performance reports, some supply paperwork, and a few personnel action requests.”

  Brickell glared. “I know what it is. I signed some of this stuff a week ago. Why is it back on my desk for signature again?”

  Reese exaggerated scratching his chin. “Perhaps it was returned because it’s not satisfactory. Let me see…” He opened the top folder and scanned the first few pages. “Yep, that’s it. These performance reports aren’t properly formatted. Each paragraph is supposed to be indented with two spaces not five. I returned them to your XO to correct and resubmit.”

  “Are you kidding me? What difference does the formatting make? These reports don’t go into their personnel files. Hell, most of the guys post them on the walls in the shitter for a laugh.”

  “What the men choose to do with their paperwork is their business. My only concern is that it meets the standards set forth in the ISMC Correspondence Manual.”

  Brickell clenched and unclenched his fists and took a deep breath before he addressed Reese in a loud voice.

  “What’s your problem, Reese? Ever since I relieved you as Foxtrot Company CO you’ve had a hard-on for Fortis. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in favor of training and testing our cherries to make sure they’re up to the task, but this—” he gestured at the mound of paper, “—this is bullshit. Your vendetta against my XO is beginning to impact my company, and I won’t allow that to happen. From now on, if I sign it, it’s good enough. Understand?”

  Everyone in the space watched in shocked silence as the blood drained from Reese’s face, and his mouth opened and closed without a sound. After a long moment, Brickell turned on his heel and strode out.

  * * *

  Fortis showered, donned fresh fatigues, and went in search of Major Anders, the Battalion Intelligence Officer. The major was in his office with his feet up while an episode of a holographic Terran reality show floated above his desk. Anders swung his feet down and smiled when Fortis opened the hatch.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Fortis. What can I do for you today?”

  Major Anders had taken a liking to Abner when he had briefed the lieutenant prior to his deployment to Pada-Pada. Most of the ISMC infantry officers paid little attention to Anders and the intelligence he provided them, but Fortis was genuinely interested. When he returned from Pada-Pada, Fortis had provided the major with a wealth of information about the GRC precision crafted soldiers, or “test tubes,” he’d fought there.

  “Hello, Major. I guess you heard about our liberty on Eros-69?”

  Anders chuckled, and his smile widened. “Indeed, I have. What of it?”

  Fortis shrugged. “I’ve never been there, and the only stories I get from the men involve debauchery on a grand scale. I’m curious to know if there’s anything of interest about the place besides the obvious.”

  “To understand the Eros Cluster you have to know the history. Do you have time?”

  Fortis nodded, and Anders gestured at the seat across from him. He keyed his computer terminal, and a group of planets replaced the show on his holograph.

  “When humans first began manned deep-space exploration and resource exploitation there wasn’t a lot of thought given to the nasty things that might follow us back to Terra Earth. The assumption was that nothing harmful could survive the decontamination procedures we followed before getting back inside our space craft. Nor did we think anything could survive on the exterior of a spacecraft in the vacuum of space. If it did, the thinking was that heat of atmospheric re-entry would finish it. Then came the Long March incident.”

  “The Long March incident?”

  “Yes. Long March was a Chinese deep-space survey mission. This was back before the UNT formed and individual countries still sponsored their own missions. Anyway, Long March returned after a four-year deployment and went into quarantine orbit around Terra Earth.

  “Just before the crew boarded a shuttle to return to the surface, there was some kind of viral outbreak on Long March that killed everyone. They had brought something back with them and, fortunately, it woke up before they brought it to the surface. Some of the crew managed to escape on the shuttle and tried to enter Terra Earth’s atmosphere. The Chinese government destroyed it before they could land.”

  “Damn!”

  “The Chinese were determined not to release any more pandemics or plagues on the planet, so their reaction was understandable. Had that shuttle landed and unleashed whatever it was that had killed everyone on Long March, our species may not have survived.

  “Anyway, three hundred and nine people died as a result. At that point, the governments of every space-faring nation decided that a more rigorous quarantine protocol was necessary.”

  Fortis scratched his chin. “That’s an interesting story, sir, but what’s it got to do with Eros-69?”

  Anders held up a hand. “Patience, Abner. We’ll get to Eros-69, but first I have to tell you about Cuba Libre.

  “After Long March, they reactivated the International Space Station and used it to quarantine crews until they could be certified as safe to return to Terra Earth.

  “The first mission placed in quarantine on the ISS was the crew of Cuba Libre, a long-range mineral survey vessel. The ship returned from a six-year survey mission and docked with the ISS without incident. After two weeks in quarantine circling Terra Earth, mass psychosis swept through the Cuba Libre crew. They attempted to de-orbit the ISS, and it broke apart and burned up on re-entry.”

  “What drove them crazy, a bug?”

  “Nobody knows. It might have been a bug or it might have been the psychological torment of seeing Terra Earth every time they looked out the viewports after six years away. Whatever the reason was, it died with them when the ISS burned up. That’s when the Galactic Resource Conglomerate got involved.”

  “The GRC? As in the guys we fought on Pada-Pada?”

  Major Anders nodded. “One and the same. GRC had a resource extraction claim on a small cluster of plutoids at the far edge of the Milky Way known as the Eros Cluster. The claim was a bust, but as they say in the real estate business: location, location, location. The cluster is perfectly situated to serve missions departing and returning to the galaxy.

  “At first, they built a quarantine dome on Eros-69 for their own crews. It worked out so well for them that the UNT contracted with the GRC to expand the operation to include a series of pleasure domes for all deep-space m
issions. Now, crews returning from extended missions stop there to release pent-up energy and pass quarantine before they return to Terra Earth.”

  “Smart idea. Makes sense.”

  “And makes big money.”

  “So that’s where we’re headed, huh? Eros-69. Ystremski said they have beaches there.”

  Major Anders leaned back and laid his hands across his stomach. “They have every kind of diversion imaginable, Fortis. It’s paradise.”

  * * *

  For the next two days, Foxtrot Company cleaned and trained.

  Atlas, flagship of ISMC’s Ninth Division, was designed to be self-cleaning, but with Eros-69 liberty on the line, the Space Marines left nothing to chance.

  The company paperwork logjam finally broke, and Fortis mastered the art of only handling a piece of paper once. Captain Brickell made no comment about the sudden administrative efficiency of the company. Warrant Officers Takahashi and Taylor, the other Foxtrot Company platoon commanders, did their part to help the paperwork monster lurch along. Fortis began to relax. He intensified his physical training regimen, and it became obvious to him that the strength enhancement had been successful. He wouldn’t be able to fully participate in the drunken wildness Third Platoon had planned for liberty, but at least he wouldn’t be stuck on the flagship.

  He received a hologram from his mother the night before the Space Marines were scheduled to load up for Eros-69. He considered leaving it until he came back from liberty, but if he didn’t respond in a day or two, she would follow it up with another, and another, and then another, each more anxious than the last.

  It depressed Fortis that his life had been a complete cliché. He’d been a dutiful son who performed well in school and steered clear of trouble. Abner’s father had dreamed of him working his way up through the family biodome construction business and eventually taking over. His mother had no opinions of her own, content to parrot whatever his father said.