The Heart of Matter: Odyssey One (10 page)

▸ERIC SWUNG EASILY into the parking deck just ahead of the elder and his two aides, angling his glide so that he connected with the floor about fifteen feet farther along, the boots clamping down instantly.

The
Odyssey
had just come to a smooth halt, relative to the planet, and the crews were now preparing both the planetary mission and the requisite combat space patrol that the NAC had instituted as standard procedure for a ship in orbit of an unsecured planet.

Eric wasn’t certain how the Colonials would take the implication that their world wasn’t secured, but having dealt with them before, he didn’t think that they would object to a two-fighter wing flying a simple patrol. Though, to be honest, that was another thing that Eric figured had to be amended. A two-fighter patrol could actually work in many situations on Earth, where you generally knew what direction the enemy would come from. In space, it was going to require at least a sixteen-fighter patrol just to handle a close radius patrol.

That was a problem for another time, however, Eric decided as the Terran Embassy staff approached unsteadily from another lift door.

The embassy’s Marine guards were in the lead and were the most composed of the group, marching almost at ease in their magnetic boots as the ambassador, his aides, and their secretaries followed.

Ambassador LaFontaine was an exceptionally tall woman in her mid- to late forties. She looked every bit as “aristocratic” as her name and position might indicate, though Eric’s perusal of her file said that she actually came from a lower-class family in New Brunswick. She’d risen to prominence negotiating the cease-fire that had ended the Block War eight years earlier, and had been a powerful player in NAC politics ever since.

Eric wondered if this assignment was a sign of that power waxing or waning. Certainly, being the first ambassador to an extraterrestrial civilization was a coup that would guarantee her name’s immortality; however, it would also effectively remove her from the workings of Confederation politics for several years at least.

At any rate, whichever of the two it was, Weston didn’t think he had to worry about it. Politics were, thankfully, outside his purview.

The ambassador’s two aides had similarly distinguished, though considerably thinner, files. Both of them had managed various negotiations quite capably over the past decade, so Eric was happy to leave that side of the affair in their capable hands.

“Madam Ambassador,” he said, stepping forward, “nice to see you again. I’m sorry that we didn’t have more time to talk during the trip.”

“Quite understandable, Captain,” LaFontaine told him easily with a casual smile. “It was a very…
interesting
voyage. I can’t say that I would have been much good at conversation over a dinner table, even if I had been hungry.”

Eric smiled slightly in return, nodding. “Believe me, I know the feeling. The transition drive isn’t the easiest way to travel, just the fastest.”

“Quite,” she replied.

Eric gestured to the shuttle that was prepping as they spoke. “That’s our ride down, Madam Ambassador. If you and your team want, you can board now and make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be leaving within twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She nodded, then gestured to her entourage.

The Marines began moving a hairbreadth ahead of her and her aides, and the secretaries had to hurry to catch up. Eric watched them go, then glanced toward Elder Corusc and his considerably smaller group.

“Elder”—Eric inclined his head slightly—“you may board as well, if you wish. I’m just going to check a couple last-minute details, and then I’ll be with you.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the elder replied. “I believe that we shall. Milla, Cora?”

The two young women nodded in unison and followed the elder as he walked, uncomfortable in the Magboots, onto the shuttle. Eric watched them step on and shook his head slightly, perhaps in amazement, perhaps in admiration, he wasn’t sure. The elder hadn’t even made a peep when the NAC had “requested” the “loan” of his orbiter.

Eric didn’t think that many Confederation politicos would have acceded to such a demand with anywhere near the grace
of Elder Corusc. Whether that was a good thing or not, however, Eric wasn’t entirely certain.

No matter, he had other things to accomplish.

He clomped over to where the military portion of the landing contingent was prepping and found the leader of the motley group.

“Colonel Reed.”

“Captain.” The small, wiry man nodded as he packed his gear and secured it to one of the automated tractors that would carry it all to wherever they needed it. “We’ll be ready to move out in five minutes.”

“That’ll be fine, Colonel. How did you and your men handle the trip?”

“We’ve had worse.” The wry grin belied the remark as the colonel used his thumb to clear a layer of perspiration from his forehead without dislodging the green beret perched on his head.

“I’d doubt that, except that I’ve seen some of the places you people work,” Eric replied with a matching smile, then turned serious. “You have everything you’re going to need?”

“I hope so, Captain,” Reed replied, shrugging. “The key to our work is to figure out what the locals have access to and give them the best training we can manage to incorporate it. Used to be that pretty much meant starting with bows and arrows and working up from there. I’m hoping it won’t be that bad this time.”

Eric shook his head. “I think that you’ll find that they probably have the base to create a lot of very advanced gear, just not the concepts to use it the way we would.”

“We can work with that,” Reed replied. “I was assigned to Russia during the ‘Mongrel Invasion.’ Most of our duties then were digging out the military equipment the old USSR had buried almost a century earlier.”

Eric snorted slightly, mostly at the soldier’s informal nickname of the Block’s push on Moscow. The remnants of the Soviet military at that time had been largely working counter-smuggling operations for the better part of three decades and didn’t have the training, let alone the equipment, to match themselves against a serious invading force.

The cached equipment from twentieth and early twenty-first century military caches weren’t the equal to the Block’s modern technology, but a 125mm howitzer was still a force to be reckoned with in modern warfare.

Especially when the US Airforce was busy airdropping FAE, EMP, and micro-nuke shells for the antique weapon.

The Block learned pretty quickly that the method of delivery wasn’t as important as the package arriving on your doorstep.

“All right”—Eric nodded—“get your team packed and gear stowed. We’ll be leaving in fifteen.”

“You got it, sir.”

Admiral Tanner stepped out onto the landing platform a little ahead of the estimated arrival time of the shuttle from the
Odyssey
. He’d taken time to change his uniform from the utilitarian one that they still used for most duties to the cleaner, more impressive black “dress” model he’d commissioned after his last meeting with Eric Weston several months earlier.

They’d discussed a great many things over the few days that they had had, and one of them was the drab utility coveralls that all members of the Colonial military wore. Weston had pointed out that, while utility was a primary concern for soldiers, there was a sense of morale and confidence that
came from wearing a distinctive uniform that separated one from, say, an apprentice service specialist.

Rael had decided to implement Captain Weston’s suggestion, and while it was still going into effect, he’d begun to actually see a certain difference among his own people.

The admiral was thinking about that when a rumbling roar from above him announced the arrival of his guests.

As last time, the Terran shuttle made an impressive sight as it came into sight, slowing to a sweeping glide that brought it to a halt about thirty feet above the platform. The immense lander swayed slightly from side to side on its thrusters as its pilot keyed down the counter-mass field that “hid” its weight from the normal universe, then settled into a slow descent as its landing braces extended.

There was a groan of metal on metal as its weight settled completely in, and the big shuttle came to a full stop, its engine whining as the pilot cut power to the thrusters, the cooling fans working at full force.

For a moment, it just sat there; then the belly of the beast opened up and dropped an extending plank down. Tanner watched for a moment, patiently waiting, until the first of the people stepped off.

“Elder”—he nodded to the first to disembark—“it is good to have you back. I’ve informed the Council of your return, they will assemble in two days to meet with you.”

“Thank you, Admiral Tanner.” Corusc nodded in return. “I have much to discuss. First, though, I must know…What of the Drasin?”

“They pressed their attacks for two months after you left, Elder. We lost eight ships and three more of the outlying colonies before the situation stabilized. In the past month, we have seen no sign of them.” Tanner’s face turned grim.
“The Council is of the opinion that they have retreated permanently.”

“I judge from the look on your face that you do not share their opinion?”

“No, Elder, I do not.” Tanner shook his head.

Corusc nodded. “I will discuss the situation with them. In either case, I do not believe that we can go wrong if we prepare on the assumption that they have not finished with us yet.”

Tanner nodded, smiling in turn. “My thoughts exactly, Elder.”

Elder Corusc nodded, then gestured slightly behind him, causing Tanner to look up and notice the group that had disembarked from the shuttle.

“This is Ambassador LaFontaine,” Corusc said, gesturing to a tall woman in elegant clothes. “They are representatives of the Terran government. They will need appropriate premises to live and conduct business. Admiral, if you could spare some of your people…?”

“Immediately, sir.” Tanner waved a young man forward. “Neril, please arrange for whatever the ambassador and her staff requires.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Excellent,” Corusc said, turning around. “Now, unless I miss my guess, Miss LaFontaine, you and your people are as weary as I and mine. We shall retire for the moment and meet again tomorrow?”

“An excellent idea, Elder.”

“Good,” Corusc said. “Then we go.”

The two groups moved off the platform, following the naval attaché Tanner had assigned them, while Tanner turned his attention to the striking figure in gleaming white who was approaching at the head of the next group.

“Captain Weston”—he grinned widely, clasping the man’s hand as he’d done after the Battle of Ranquil—“it is good to see you again.”

“And you, Admiral.” Eric inclined his head, as he’d become accustomed to doing when dealing with the Colonials. “I take it from your comments to the elder that the war has stabilized to a degree?”

Tanner nodded, but sighed slightly. “Yes. Perhaps too much. Many of my superiors believe that it may be over.”

Admiral though he was, Tanner was particularly pleased to have the
Odyssey
back in orbit for that very reason. It wasn’t the ship’s military prowess that he was pleased to have nearby—though, in the deep and dark part of his soul, he certainly didn’t mind that—but rather, just the reminder that it had taken outside intervention to save them the last time. Tanner would certainly drive that point home every chance he got, and the physical presence of the
Odyssey
would give him yet another chance to ensure that no one forgot.

They had to stand on their own, if they were to survive this crisis. He was grateful for help, but he would not abide his people being reduced to beggars.

Weston considered that, then shrugged. “Let’s hope that they’re right, Admiral. However, in the meantime, let’s assume that they’re not and prepare accordingly.”

Tanner smiled. “As I said to the elder, Captain, my thoughts precisely.”

“And on that note”—Eric half turned—“let me introduce you to some people who are here to help you do just that.”

Tanner switched his attention to the assembled people standing behind Captain Weston. Unlike the last time Eric Weston had set foot on his planet, Rael didn’t see any of the
heavily armored soldiers. Instead, it was a group of hard-looking men that he thought would fit in quite well with Nero Jehan and his people.

Or they would have, had Nero’s world not been one of the casualties in the opening rounds of the war.

“This is Colonel Reed,” Eric said, gesturing to a man who was scarcely any larger than Tanner’s own slight build.

As the man approached, however, Tanner had to revise any thought that the man might not be capable of personal violence. There was something about the set of his stance and the look of him in general.

“Colonel,” Tanner replied gravely.

“Admiral.” Reed nodded. “I understand that your people might have need of training in ground warfare.”

The words were not a question, they were a statement, and Tanner rather doubted that the man before him was in the habit of asking questions he had the answer to. Even so, however, Rael nodded in response. “Yes, Colonel. My…
colleague
, Commander Nero Jehan is in command of our ground forces here on Ranquil. I’m certain that he will be most receptive to any suggestions you might have.”