Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY) (65 page)

That respect gave her the strength to stride forward, stop in front of him, and lift her cap. She made it almost to eye level
without grunting, but the last dozen centimeters
hurt
. Focusing her movements through the pain, Ia squared the black cap on her head, then reached for her jacket. Commodore St. Stephen moved first, unfolding it so she wouldn’t have to do it herself.

He started to hold it open for her. Instinct warned Ia that if she turned and shrugged her arms back to slip them into the sleeves, it would take too long, and she would scream. That would be bad for morale. Jaw clenched, nostrils rushing air to and from her lungs, she plucked the heavy jacket from his hands with crossed wrists and swirled the heavy black gabardine up around her head.

That hurt, too. It hurt to the point of tears in her eyes, as bad in some ways as that hole in her shoulder from her enlisted days. But the slick lining helped slide the sleeves down over her arms, allowing her to shrug forward—a less painful movement than shrugging back—to settle the coat in place. Her agony escaped as a faint grunt, but only a faint one. She had to pause a few seconds, just to be able to breathe, before lifting her fingers to the lapels to adjust the lie of it. Taking the time to button her coat in place was an act of masochistic hubris since it meant she would have to
un
button it later, but Ia did it.

Only when she was properly attired once again in her Dress Blacks did she lift her right hand to her brow, giving the commodore a salute through the ache dominating her senses.

“Commodore St. Stephen,” she growled, teeth clamped shut against the pain. “I respectfully request permission for the Damned to depart.”

He lifted his own arm in return, saluting her back. “Permission granted, Ship’s Captain. You and your Company are free to go.”

Again, she turned, this time a quarter turn to her left, to face the front of the assembly stage. “9th Cordon, Special Forces!” she snapped, her voice echoing off the walls. “Ten-hut!”

They snapped to their feet, this time with more speed and unity than they had displayed two hours ago in the
Hellfire
’s boardroom. Ia nodded and stepped forward to the edge of the stage, placed a meter above the main floor.

“You heard the Commodore. We need six hours to fix the
Hellfire
. I am giving you
five
! Doctor Mishka, Private Attevale, take charge of Private Sung’s gurney,” she ordered, pointing off to her right where the hoverbed waited. That hurt, too; ohhh,
that hurt, but she did it. “The Damned take care of their own, and we will
not
leave our crewmate behind. We have lives to save, meioas. Move out!”

Stepping off the dais and dropping to the floor…was a dumb, foolish, stupid move. She caught her balance when she landed, reflexes more than adequate for the Terran Standard gravity on board, but the jolt seared dragonfire from thighs to nape, reigniting every single lash wound. For a moment, the edges of her vision blurred, bringing back that strange glow as she forgot how to breathe. With a force of will, Ia dragged in a lungful of air, squared her frame, and strode for the steps.

From the wide-eyed stares of the members of 1st Platoon A and B Squads, seated in the first row, she probably looked as pale as her hair. Wisely—or maybe out of fear—they did not offer to help her as she marched up the shallow steps of the lowest tier. They just peeled out of the seats and joined her, forming themselves into tight ranks, three Squads wide, with just a bit of murmured direction from Sergeant Halostein, who took up second place at her back.

He was joined within a dozen meters by Lieutenant Commander Harper. No one spoke, not even her first officer, while Ia led them from the assembly hall to the banks of lifts which that lead to the level attached to their gantry spoke. But as they waited in silence for the first of the elevator cars to reach their level, Meyun drew in a breath and faced her.

“No,” Ia stated, cutting him off. Knowing what he was going to say.

He said it anyway. “They shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have to be punished for
our
mistakes, Captain.”

She turned, still using the straight-backed toe-and-heel moves from parade maneuvers, since those moved and thus hurt her back the least. Staring into his brown eyes, she repeated herself. “No, Lieutenant Commander. Do
not
try this argument with me.”

“He’s right, sir.” The agreement came from Corporal Bagha. The ex-Sharpshooter moved forward, her brow furrowed in a frown. “It isn’t right. You shouldn’t have to suffer, just because—”

“It doesn’t
matter
!” Ia snapped, unleashing some of her pain as rage. She checked herself, breathed through her nose, and gentled her tone as the last of the Damned’s stragglers caught
up with them. As did a few of the others dismissed from the assembly hall, drifting close enough for a look at the Damned’s CO in their wide-eyed, morbid curiosity. “It does not matter,” she continued more calmly. “The pain I have suffered today? Does. Not. Matter.

“I have
told
you what we need to do.
Shown
you what we need to do. A
hundred
lashes of the cane on my back could not hurt me more than the pain inflicted by
your
lack of faith. Did you join the military because you longed to follow someone’s orders? No. Most of you
did
join to try and make this galaxy a better place, didn’t you?” she asked. She kept it a rhetorical question, though she did let it hang in the air for a long moment. “Nothing I can do, nothing I can say, nothing I can
suffer
will change you.

“Only you yourselves can do that.
You
have the power to be the best Damned soldiers you can be.” Behind her, the first of the lifts arrived. Ia ignored it, shifting her hands. She tapped her inner wrist in emphasis, ignoring the pain from the pressure of her jacket on her back. “If I thought that bleeding myself dry could have a single scrap of effect, I’d slit my own veins and bleed away.

“But I
cannot
.” She hardened her tone, not so much to punish her listening crew as to make sure her words carried to as many as she could get to hear her. “If you want to know
why
the pain of my back does not matter, then look into your souls and ask yourselves, why did you become a soldier? Why?

“I am willing to place my weapons, skills, body, mind, and even my
life
if need be between all the innocent lives in the Alliance and all the horrors that threatens it. What are
you
willing to do? Until you
do
know what price you are willing to pay…?
No.
Do not speak of this to me. We have work to do.” Turning on her heel, she reached out with her mind, reopening the lift doors just as they started to slide shut.

Silenced by her words, Harper followed her inside. So did Halostein, and the first half of A Squad, 1st Platoon. Her last view of the others was of the front rows of her crew shuffling awkwardly toward the lift doors on either side, none of them willing to meet her gaze.

Harper did look at her. He looked away as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, but when he did it again, she sighed.

“…Will you be alright?” he finally dared to ask.

“I’ll make it back to the ship.” There was no room for compromise in her tone.

He hesitated a long moment, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Indeed, it took him only three floors in ascent before he muttered, “Well, I’m only asking because you look like you’re going to puke.”

The pair of enlisted men standing directly in front of the two officers glanced warily, furtively at each other.

“That’s because I
am
going to puke if I move the wrong way or the car stops too hard.”

Brown eyes and blue eyes and hazel all snuck quick, wary little looks at her. The two privates subtly shifted to the left, moving more in front of Harper than Ia, who stood in the corner of the lift.

She gritted her teeth. It was funny. It was painfully, grievously funny, watching them trying to be subtle about it, and she did not dare quiver even once, or the agony invoked
would
erupt as nausea. She did dare give them a warning, though.

“…The first one of you idiots to make me
laugh
will have to clean it up.”

They froze at her growl, not even daring to breathe until the lift drifted to a gentle stop. Quiet as mice, they slipped out of the lift, giving her room to disembark. Ia focused her will on the long walk back to the
Hellfire
, breathing as slowly and deeply as she could in the need to manage her pain.

When her assigned twenty-four hours were up, she would be free to stop suppressing her biokinetic urges. The welts and bruises and cuts would all vanish within an hour or so, leaving healthy flesh in their wake. Between then and now, she had twenty-three hours and several minutes to wait. Compared to the pain of losing everything permanently…it was a minor inconvenience at most.

FEBRUARY 23, 2497 T.S.

SIC TRANSIT

(
Sucked out an airlock?
) Ia demanded, eyeing her late-night visitor askance. Clad only in tank shirt and underwear, she padded over to the drink dispenser and poured herself a cup of water. (
I thought you were going to still be up in the car when it blew, attempting to rescue that little boy’s pet!…You want anything?
)

(
The drawback to having a matter-form is that it requires the distasteful presence, care, and feeding of a digestive tract, and so forth. I’ll have a glass of water,
) Belini ordered. She had manifested in a bright yellow halter top and matching tennis skirt. (
Besides, that little boy was clinging to his pet. Damn near throttling it. I had to improvise.
)

Ia watched the Meddler toss back half the water, then sigh and rub at the back of her neck. Lifting her own cup, she sipped at the chilled, hydroponically recycled liquid. She also snorted mentally. (
You just wanted a dramatic,
witnessed
death.
)

(
Hey, the guy saved the timelines for both of us. He deserved a hero’s death,
) Belini retorted. She lifted her mug in salute. (
I also flitted off and checked on him. He’s doing just fine; he’s mentally fit and on course for the path he’s supposed to take.
)

(
Thank you for checking and letting me know that the personality rewrite is holding,
) Ia told her guest. She had to smother a yawn as she did so, though. Her back no longer ached whenever she lifted her arms, but only because her biokinetics had worked hard to repair all that damaged flesh. Adding in the stresses of combat and her extralong days, trying to repair the breaks in the timelines, hadn’t left her with a lot of energy to spare. (
Excuse me…I’d love to chat, really, but I’m still fully matter-based, and I’m afraid I need at least five more hours of sleep.
)

(
Fully matter-based, yeah…You need to do something about that. The sooner, the better,
) Belini added, pointing with her cup in warning before draining it dry. (
Miklinn is casting aspirations on my faction-simmerings, since you’re technically Albelar’s get. I’m very much neutral to Albelar, not faction, and I have to remain that way for now since he’s now milking that “Third Human Empire” you’ve been touting, while I’m solidly established with the Second Empire set.
)

Ia chuckled softly. She stifled another yawn. (
Just you wait until the Third Empire hauls the First under its wings…’scuse me…Everything is going to change when that takes place. As for my manifestation, I’ve been working on it, and I will be able to manifest when I need it most. In the meantime, I’m waiting for my replacement for Hollick’s slot to catch up with us. And tomorrow, I have to show up at the Wake. Something involving Harper is going to make the crew a lot happier if I do…but because it’s Harper, I don’t know what.
)

(
A Wake for Hollick?
) Belini asked, brows lifting. (
Mind if I drop in? I’d like to pay my respects, as you matter-people put it.
)

(
I’d rather you didn’t,
) Ia told her, adding a tinge of regret to her sending. (
Whether or not you’d be tempted to let something slip, you’re one more anomaly I’d have to ask the crew to keep their mouths shut about. They’re already carrying a couple heavy burdens regarding Hollick, Sung, and N’Keth…and it’s not that kind of a Wake. That’s just the nickname my morbid little sense of humor came up with to call the parties we’ve been holding on board more or less every week—since the crew almost never gets real Leave.
)