The Terran Mandate Read Online Free PDF

the story here, Doc?"
    The corpsman attending to an injured
Marine laying next to him glanced at Dekker's Marine and said, "He'll have
to wait." He slapped a pain kit on the man's arm and peered into Dekker's
eyes, not wanting to say anything more than that, not wanting to tell him that
his Marine was a low priority casualty because he probably couldn't be saved
and would have to wait until they recovered those that could.
    "Send him now," Dekker said.
"My authority."
    "Aye aye sir," the corpsman
said. He fished a recovery kit from his pack and slapped it on the man's chest.
He smacked the top of it and stepped back as an orange haze flowed out over the
Marine and transported him to the medical recovery chambers deep below the MEF
compound.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
    Price to Pay
     
    Sentinels of his nightmares, the
chambers stared back at him. Steel encasements choking the air inside them,
with convex plastic windows so he could see the dead space trapped within, they
whispered to him even as they sunk a dagger of futility into his heart. Stand
there. Witness what the soul of no man can endure. And I will show you who you
truly are.
    Dr. Sall had long given up trying to
determine which came from his nightmares and which were real - the difference
between them wasn't enough to make either a solace from the other. What
strength he had to endure came from knowing that the nightmare for the Marines
who would soon writhe within the clutches of the chambers was far worse. They
would need his help. If he didn't run, he could save them from their agony. If
he stayed, he could bring the comfort of unawareness and pull them from the
claws of suffering that was torture just to watch, but impossible for the man
inside the chamber to endure. Thirty seconds was all he needed. If he could
stay for that long, ease the victim to the gurney standing next to him so his
technicians could flood the victim's body with sedatives, he could save them
from what the chamber had done to them. After that, it would be a simple matter
of life or death.
    He clenched his fist, counting his own
pulse by habit as his heart rose up to his throat. One of the technicians
stared at the floor. Another quietly checked the portable monitoring equipment
fastened to the side of the gurney. The yellow housing was faded and scraped
from years of use. The small screen still worked, but many of the red LED
readouts flickered or displayed only partial segments as some had burned out
and there were no replacements. A faded white sheet, frayed along every edge,
was draped over the gurney's thin pad. A needle dangled at the end of the tube
from an I.V. bag hanging on a flimsy infusion pole. The rails, made from the
green resin common in so much of the equipment brought by the MEF, were sturdy
but scratches and deep grooves had been dug into it from the countless trips
where technicians had scraped the gurney against walls and doorways running it
frantically from the chambers to the recovery bays.
    A deep hum filled the room as the
chamber in front of them activated. Deep inside the concrete walls behind it,
coils surged with current and the hum rose until it became a steady vibration
he could feel crawl from his feet and through every bone in his body. Behind
the thick plastic windows covering the thick steel chamber door, cold steam
started to seep into the interior with a hiss. The green LED counter above the
chamber door flickered to life : 153. One of the technicians whispered,
"Oh my God." Sall clenched his teeth as an unseen mechanism squealed
and then filled the room with a loud clunk. A grating buzzer started to sound
at one second intervals.
    "Alright people," Sall said.
"Incoming casualty." A loud purge of steam jetted into the chamber,
filling it entirely with a thick white cloud. The hum rose in pitch as another
mechanism beneath the floor slammed into place with a clang. The chamber now
glowed with a pale green light as a form began to emerge inside the