Persepolis Rising полностью

Four Laconian Marines in their power armor stood watch in the dock offices, mag boots locked to the deck, and kept a close eye on the line of people waiting to talk to the dockmaster. But while they appeared vigilant, they were not aggressive. They acted like their presence was sufficiently intimidating to keep the populace in line. With some sort of slug thrower built into the armor in each forearm, and a pair of what looked like grenade launchers on each shoulder, Bobbie decided they were right. There were probably thirty people on the float waiting for the dockmaster. The four Laconians looked like they could have handled ten times that number.

She’d been like them, once.

“I like your suit,” she said to the Laconian closest to her.

“Excuse me?” he said, not looking at her, continuing to scan the room.

“I like your suit. I wore an old Goliath back in the day.”

That got his attention. The Laconian looked her over once, feet on up. He was so much like the teams she’d trained with when she’d joined up, it felt like looking back through time. She wondered if he was as ignorant as she’d been back then. Probably. Hell, maybe more so.

“MMC Force Recon?” he said. There was something like respect in his voice.

“Once was,” she agreed. “You guys have made some improvements.”

“Studied the Recon operators at the academy,” the Laconian said. “You guys were the real deal. Heart breakers and life takers.”

“Less and less of both, as time goes on,” Bobbie said, and tried out a smile. The Laconian smiled back. He was half her age, at most, but it was nice to know she could still pull ’em when she wanted to. She could have imagined the kid on the tube station back at home. Shit, he probably had family back on Mars.

“I bet you do okay,” he replied, still smiling. “You see any action?”

She smiled back, and the kid realized what he’d said. A little blush touched his cheek.

“Some,” Bobbie said. “I was on Ganymede in the lead-up to the Io Campaign. And I was on Io.”

“No shit?”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way an old Marine could try one of those suits out, is there?” Bobbie said, ratcheting the smile up a notch. I don’t use sex as a weapon, she thought to herself. But I’d love to get my hands on your outfit.

The Laconian started to reply, then got a distant look on his face that Bobbie recognized. Someone on the group comm was talking in his ear.

“Move along, citizen,” he said to her, the smile gone.

“Thanks for the time,” she said, then pulled herself to the back of her line.

The wait was long and uncomfortably warm. The others there with her had flight-suit patches from a dozen other ships, and the same hangdog expression. It was like they were being treated this way because they’d done something to deserve it. Bobbie tried not to look like that.

The dockmaster’s office was small and harshly lit. She identified herself and her ship, and before she could give any context, the new dockmaster cut her off.

“As a military vessel, the Ceres-registered ship called Rocinante is now impounded by the Laconian Naval Command.” He was a small, dark man in a Laconian naval uniform, and the look on his face was the mix of boredom and irritation shared by all natural-born bureaucrats. A screen on the wall listed all the ships in the slow zone and their statuses: LOCKDOWN in red, over and over again like it was a mantra. The counter in front of him glowed with the name CHIEF PETTY OFFICER NARWA.

“Okay,” Bobbie said. She’d waited in line for nearly two hours to get up to the window, and she certainly hadn’t done it to be told things she already knew. Behind her, the press of bodies was enough to give the office a little extra warmth, the air a little too much closeness. “I understand that. But I have questions.”

“I feel like I’ve told you everything you need to know,” Narwa said.

“Look, Chief,” Bobbie said, “I just need to get a few clarifying details and I’m out of your hair.”

Narwa gave her a delicate shrug of his shoulders. If there had been any spin gravity, he’d have leaned on the counter. He looked like a guy who ran a noodle shop in Innis Shallows. She wondered if they were related.

“I own that ship,” Bobbie continued. “Is this a permanent impound? Are you commandeering it? Will I be paid any compensation for the loss of the ship? Will I or my crew be allowed on board to get our personal effects if the ship is being confiscated?”

“A few points?” Narwa said.

“Just those,” Bobbie agreed. “For now.”

Narwa pulled something up on the counter and flicked it over to her. She felt her hand terminal buzz in her pocket.

“This is the form you can fill out to file for return of property or compensation for the loss of the ship. We are not thieves. The navy will provide one or the other.”

“What about our stuff,” Bobbie asked. “While the naval wheels of justice slowly turn?”