Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY) (72 page)

“No,” Myang stated, picking up the chip and pocketing it. “
I
have one last thing. This meeting has also been called to review your performance as an officer. The DoI thinks you could handle a higher rank. They are also wondering, in the face of all the fantastical reports filed by your Company with us, why we haven’t seen fit to grant you any awards or commendations. Do you know why that is, Ship’s Captain?”

“I can make an educated guess, sir,” Ia said.

“Go on,” Myang ordered Ia, sitting back in her seat. “Enlighten me.”

“It’s because I don’t give a damn about medals, or ranks, or commendations, and you know it,” Ia said flatly. “I could finish out this war
and
the coming Grey War, remaining a mere Ship’s Captain for the whole of it, and not care, so long as my goal of saving lives would still be met, and I’d be more than happy with that. I have no ambitions for anything higher.”

“No. You don’t,” Myang stated dryly. Too dryly. Ia wanted to peek at the timestreams to see what that comment was about, but knew such a subtle thing would take more time—even accelerated on the timeplains—than she could spare right now.

Instead, she boldly stated, “Admiral-General, while we’re on the subject of elevations in rank, I’d like to personally commend Lieutenant Commander Harper, and recommend that he be granted the rank of Commander. He’s kept my ship and crew
alive, and kept it repaired with the absolute minimum of supplies.”

Admiral-General Myang rolled her eyes. Ia hadn’t
said
“one more thing” but the implication was still there.

“At the moment, he is currently doing a series of sweeps across the
Hellfire
to remove excess supplies that we do not need but which will be needed elsewhere,” Ia added. She did not mention, given Admiral Wroughtman-Mankiller’s compromised presence, that Myang already knew those supplies were being packed off to her next ship in advance of its deployment. Instead, she kept the focus on Harper’s readiness for promotion. “He has earned the complete confidence of my crew, and I feel he can handle the increase in rank to Commander.”

“Didn’t you tell the DoI you wanted him permanently assigned to you, the same as the rest of your crew?” General Phong asked, eyeing Ia. “What would be the point of elevating his rank if he’s still assigned to you? Or do you mean to have him reassigned?”

“I do still need his ability to organize the repair of my ships, sir, throughout both the Salik and the Grey Wars,” Ia admitted. “But at some point, those two wars will end, and he’ll be free to move on to other posts. I believe—not just foresee, but believe—he will be capable of achieving even higher rank as time moves on, if that is what he chooses to do with his life once he is released from my crew. His presence at my side doesn’t negate the fact that he has already worked hard enough to have earned it.”

“We will consider your recommendation, Ship’s Captain. But we will not make up our minds tonight,” Myang stated. “Since the discussion of anything else would be a waste of
your
time,” again, that odd, dry tone to the older woman’s voice, “we might as well let you go. I do expect you to continue to act with the high level of effort and ethics you have displayed so far, if not more. If we find any discrepancies, understand that we reserve the right to haul you before a tribunal for breaking the law. Now, seeing how we have only three days to prepare for the next wave of attacks, you are dismissed, Ship’s Captain.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Saluting her crisply, Ia turned on her heel as soon as Myang saluted back and left the room.

And that is that. Once Mercea has her and her lover’s minds purged and warded against further Meddling, Miklinn is going to be
very
upset with me. Which means everything is right on track…provided I can keep clearing the
Hellfire
of “unnecessary” supplies so they can be shipped over to await being loaded onto the
Damnation.

In the meantime, she had only so many hours left before her current ship had to leave dock. They had already been here for almost two days, giving her crew a rare chance at a full day’s worth of unrestricted Leave, with free boarding tickets to head down to the Red Planet and priority seating for coming back. It was a mild abuse of her
carte-blanche
powers, and one which could have been contested during this little interview, but her soldiers had definitely earned it.

The Solarican colony that was their next destination was just that, the next in a long line of engagements. As much as her crew needed this break, Ia herself couldn’t take any. Her crew could take a day off, but she couldn’t afford to slack off.

JANUARY 29, 2498 T.S.

SIC TRANSIT

The officers’ mess wasn’t always used because there weren’t more than a handful of officers on board, spread out over three duty watches. But rank had its privileges when it came to requesting special birthday dinners. With a meal of her favorite foods—pasta, salad, and pastries—prepared by the talented Private First Class Philadelphia Benjamin, one would have expected the doctor’s mood to be good.

Except the birthday girl, Jesselle Mishka, entered the cabin in the company of Glen Spyder, both of them arguing vehemently.

“—an’ I say y’ got yer ’ead on wrong!” Lieutenant Spyder snorted, glaring at her.

“Hiding heat signatures in bodies of water is a time-tested method. The squad should’ve ducked into the pond!” Jesselle argued, one hand on her hip, the other flipping at his face. “That’s what the scenario called for!”

“Yeah, but we ain’t dealin’ wit’ yer average alien, sweets,”
he retorted, leaning in closer rather than flinching away. His own hand lifted, all but poking her in the sternum. “We’re goin’ up against Salik, an’ th’ frogtopi have
sensitivities
f’r maneuvers in water,
includin’
current patterns. So yeah, th’ water’d cut the squad’s actual heat traces down, but the Salik’d still see th’ bloody convection plumes!”

“Oh, and you think hiding the squad in the
trees
is any better?” she scoffed. She snapped her hand up, pointing at the ceiling. “Salik eyeballs point
up
! You’d think, with all those boarding-party missions you’ve led, you would’ve
noticed
the Salik viewscreens being posted overhead?”

“Human limbs’r at least
shaped
like most tree limbs,” he countered, shifting even closer. “Which you’d know if you’d ever tried t’ wrap yer limbs around sommat!”

For a moment, Doctor Mishka stared at him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with anger, her lips slightly parted as she sought for something to say to that. Their faces—their noses—were mere centimeters apart, and there was barely enough room for a datapad between their bodies. Folding her arms across her chest, Ia bit back the urge to smile. Her plan to ensure that even their Company doctor was competent at thinking strategically, forcing the woman to attend Spyder’s weekly tactical discussions, had just borne some unexpected fruit.

Amusingly, Jesselle also folded her arms across her chest. The movement brushed her forearms against Spyder’s T-shirt-clad chest. “Are you offering me a target, Lieutenant?”

Even more amusing, Spyder blushed, tried to speak, swallowed, then tried again. “I…er…not in front ’f the troops, a’ course. I mean, y’ might be lousy at it. Wouldn’t want t’ shake their—”

“I might be
lousy
at it?” Jesselle demanded, glaring at him. “After all the training I’ve gone through on this ship, I can beat the pants off of you on
any
obstacle course—
and
make you
like
it!”

Ia decided she’d had enough entertainment for now. As interesting as this little drama was, they had bigger problems to focus upon. Her revelation to the Command Staff that Lieutenant General Wroughtman-Mankiller had been subtly compromised by a Feyori had drawn attention from the growing membership of Miklinn’s little counterfaction against Ia. That meant she had to work with equal subtlety for certain plans,
appearing to do one thing while in actuality aiming for something slightly but significantly different.

“Gentlemeioas,” she stated just loudly enough to catch both their attention before they could either argue some more or kiss. They jumped a little and twisted to face her, the tension quelled between them, though not completely broken. “I have zero objections to the two of you fraternizing, since neither of you are in each other’s immediate chain of command. I must, however, insist that the only thing thick enough to cut in this room be your birthday cake, Doctor. In short, Lock and Web the sexual tension between you two. At least until you can take it to one of your quarters.”

Spyder blushed even more. Jesselle paled, then flushed. Interestingly, neither of them denied her labeling it sexual tension.
At least they’re competent enough, I can foresee any relationship between the two of them not getting in the way of their duties.
Gesturing at the table, Ia changed the subject.

“Please sit down, both of you. Lieutenant Commander Harper and Lieutenant Rico will be joining us in less than two minutes, and Private Benjamin will be bringing out your birthday dinner in two more. Commander Benjamin will join us about ten minutes in. Her third-watch counseling session is running a little long. As for your argument, the obvious solution to your squadron dilemma lies in both planes.”

Spyder frowned at her as he toed one of the chairs back from the table by its lever. He held it steady for the doctor, then selected one for himself across from her. “What d’y’ mean, both planes?”

“The squad in question could just as easily submerge themselves in the pond for a minute or two to cool their infrared signature, then climb up the nearest trees along the waterline and hold themselves still,” Ia said. “The Salik will most likely see the churned-up mud at the edge of the pond first, along with the thermal plumes still roiling the water, and waste their time searching beneath the surface for their prey. The foliage flanking a pond is always going to be thicker than the kind found deeper in the woods…or whatever passes for woods…so hiding at the pond’s edge in the canopy is not as bad an idea as it sounds.

“You could even leave a couple brave souls down in the water with rebreather masks to lure the Salik down, and set up
a flanking ambush from both below and above. At least, that’s what I’d do,” she stated, as the door slid open again. “Run it by the troops, Spyder, and see if they can strengthen that scenario or poke some serious holes in it.”

The tall bulk of their intelligence officer filled the doorway. He was neatly dressed in grey shirt and slacks, his uniform crisp and clean, but his eyes were half-lidded, and a crease mark from his pillow could still be seen on his cheek.

“Good evening, Lieutenant…or technically, good morning,” Ia greeted him.

Rico grunted and nodded. “Captain, Doctor, Lieutenant. Ah—Lieutenant Commander Helstead says the current watch is quiet, and wants to know if she can come share the birthday girl’s supper—happy birthday, Jesselle,” he added in an aside. “I told her I’d eat quickly and relieve her, if that’s alright with you, sir. I know you don’t like leaving a duty watch unmanned.”

“You sound like you still need to wake up,” Ia countered, watching the way he tried to stifle a yawn and almost succeeded. “I’ll be the one to eat fast. That way, my three Platoon officers can have a nice, peaceful
discussion
with the good doctor, here, on various combat and reconnaissance scenarios for our upcoming trip to Dabin.” Carefully, shaping and pushing her thoughts outward to catch each of the three of them, she added telepathically, (
Do not forget that you need to throw in false suggestions among the true, regarding what we’ll be doing over the next few months. I’ll remind you that the Feyori are now watching not only me in the near timestreams but also you. Be grateful they can only watch and cannot read your minds temporally.
)

“Understood, Captain,” Rico muttered. Jesselle winced a little, none too happy at the unannounced telepathic projection, but she nodded.

Spyder shrugged and covered the birthday girl’s hand. “Sorry t’ argue on yer natal day,” he apologized. “We c’n table it ’til tomorrow, if y’ like.”

“Or take it to my quarters,” Jesselle muttered, glancing at the green-haired ex-Marine.

That earned her a sharp look from Rico, but he lost the opportunity to ask anything as the door to the corridor slid open once more, admitting their chief engineer.

MAY 31, 2498 T.S.

BATTLE PLATFORM
SARATOGA JONES
KUIPER BELT, CS 47 SYSTEM