Read Online In Every Clime and Place by Patrick LeClerc - Free Book Online

people to get ready to move. I didn’t know what the crisis was, but I would rather go out and meet it than have it come and get me. The breeze grew stronger as we got to our feet. The civilians looked to us for enlightenment which we had no power to give. I masked my confusion with activity.
    “Come on, people, let’s get it together. On your feet.”
    Sabatini started to ask me what the plan was, then saw the look in my eyes and closed her mouth. The civilians assumed I knew what the hell I was talking about.
    “Collins,” Taylor whispered over the mic.
    I turned away from the crowd. “Go ahead, Gunny.”
    “Some dumb fuck blew open an airlock. Must’ve got hold of a crew-served weapon or some serious explosives. We need to haul ass back to the assault shuttle. This place is gonna be real unhealthy real soon.”
    I choked down a stream of curses.
    “OK, we need to pick up the pace,” I ordered. “On the double, everybody.”
    I selected the four strongest looking social workers and had them grab the stretcher. If we were going to rush, I wanted more Marines bearing arms. We set a pace as fast as the kids could walk. The wind was increasing. At least it was in our faces. That had to mean that the damaged airlock was far from our destination. We could presumably leave the way we had come.
    As I walked along behind the kids, mentally willing them to speed it up, I wondered what kind of idiot would blow an airlock. That was suicide unless somebody got it sealed. Maybe it was a corporate exec with a ship waiting. Maybe he had just bought his depressurization insurance.
    Maybe that was a bit too cynical, but I was in a pretty cynical mood right then. I suppose some fanatic rebel with a martyr complex might’ve done it. It was stupid, but so was using Molotov cocktails in a sealed environment, or trashing their own neighborhoods.
    A few rebels and miners came into view, but they showed no desire to screw with us and veered away from our formation when we turned our rifles toward them.
    Amazing, that.
    We were three-quarters of the way to the airlock, and the wind was much stronger. One of the youngest refugees, a little girl of five or so, gave up. She sat down in the roadway and cried.
    I scooped her up in my left arm, carrying her on my hip. “It’s alright, sweetie,” I whispered, kissing her on top of the head. “We aren’t gonna let anything happen to you. Just hang on to Uncle Mick.”
    She clung to my neck with surprising strength. Her sobbing continued, but more quietly. Seeing her desperation made me really want to kill somebody. For Christ’s sake, water buffaloes guard their young. Why the fuck couldn’t human beings measure up?
    I could use my ACR one-handed if I had to, especially as pissed as I was and at ranges we were likely to encounter in the city. I was hoping somebody would try to mess with the people under my protection, just to give me an excuse.
    We made it to the airlock. Sergeant Hernandez and his team had the corporate security disarmed and under guard. Lieutenants Mitchell and Evers were discussing our options with the ambassador, roaring over the wind. Gunny Taylor trotted up to them.
    “How many?” I heard Mitchell demand.
    I looked around the airlock. It was a total clusterfuck. Everyone who could was trying to worm a place on one of the docked shuttles. They steered clear of our craft only after Sgt Pilsudski drew his machete and started to stalk menacingly toward the crowd, the mad light of slaughter in his eyes.
    I sincerely hope some of what he does is for show.
    The commanders’ pow-wow was heating up. I couldn’t make out the words, but Lt Mitchell’s harsh Chicago accent was clashing with Ambassador Merrill’s polished Ivy League. As usual, Lt Evers was acting as moderator, his Virginia drawl strained as he tried to smooth the conflict.
    I decided that since nobody was making any decisions, I would.
    “Get the children, the wounded and the social workers on the damn