Forty Thousand in Gehenna Read Free

such business. Conn had gotten uneasy, in times less certain, but he saw round the perimeters of this and knew its limits, that this was not a hot one. There were civs in this one, and civs had rights; and those civs gave him reassurance in the packet he carried, unheralded by security, in his inside pocket.
    He reached Venture ’s dock, number one white berth, and climbed the access ramp into the tube itself. That was where the first real security appeared, in the form of two armed and armored troopers who barred his way to the inner lock—but so would they on any warship.
    “REDEX,” he said, “Conn, Col. James A.”
    “Sir.” The troopers clattered rifles to their armored sides. “Board, sir, thank you.”
    They were Venture personnel. Spacer command, not of his own service. He walked through the hatch and into the receiving bay, to Venture ’s duty desk. The officer on duty stopped reading comp printout in a hurry when he looked up and saw brass. “Sir.”
    Conn took his id from his pocket and slid it into the receiver.
    “Id positive,” the duty officer said. And into the com: “Tyson: Col. James Conn to see the captain.”
    That was as arranged—no formalities, no fanfare. He was a passenger on this ship, separate, no cooperative command. Conn collected the aide and walked with him up to the lift, small-talked with him on the way, which was his manner…none of the spit and polish of the spacegoing Elite Guard. Special operations was his own branch of the service, and that of the highest officers in his immediate staff. And after thirty years service, with a little arthritis that got past the pills—rejuv delayed just a shade too long—he had less spit and polish about him than he had started with.
    A new start. They had persuaded him with that. Jean was gone; and the mission had fallen into his lap. A change seemed good, at this stage in life. Maybe it was that for Beaumont, for Gallin, for some of the others he knew were going. There might be a separate answer for the science people, who had their own curious ambitions, and some of whom were married to each other; or were sibs; or friends. But those of them who came out of the old service—those of them carrying some years—out of that number, only Ada Beaumont was taking advantage of the Dependents allowance and taking a husband along in a mission slot. The rest of them, the nine of them who had seen the war face-on, came solo like the freshfaced youths. The years had stripped them back to that. It was a new life out there, a new chance. So they went.
    The lift opened, let him and the aide out on the main level. He walked into the captain’s office and the captain rose from her desk and met him with an offered hand. A woman of his own years. He felt comfortable with her. He surprised himself in that; generally he was ill at ease with spacers, let alone the black-uniformed Elite like Mary Engles. But she offered a stout and calloused hand and used a slang out of the war, so that he knew she had dealt with the ground services before. She sent the aide out, poured them both stiff drinks and sat down again. He drew a much easier breath.
    “You saw service in the ’80, did you?” he asked.
    “Ran transport for a lot of you; but old Reliance saw her better days, and they stripped her down.”
    “ Reliance . She came in on Fargone.”
    “That she did.”
    “I left some good friends there.”
    She nodded slowly. “Lost a few too.”
    “Hang, it’s a better run this time, isn’t it?”
    “Has to be,” she said. “Your boarding’s set up. You have orders for me?”
    He opened his jacket and took out the envelope, passed it to her. “That’s the total list. I’ll keep out of your way during transit. I’ll instruct my command to do the same.”
    Another nod. “I always liked special op. Easy passengers. You just keep the science lads and the dependents out of the way of my crew and I’ll think kindly on you forever.”
    Conn grinned and