Authors: Bennett R. Coles
“Are these monitors expensive?”
“Hell, yes—and very prestigious for any lab to have.”
Chandler smiled, and reached for his comms panel. “It’s a good idea, Thomas. Let me make a call.” He gestured. “Coffee’s in the outer office.”
Thomas knew the sound of a dismissal. He rose with a polite nod and exited to the outer office. The pretty flag lieutenant was busy at her desk, barely glancing up as he emerged. A year ago he might have made the effort to strike up a conversation, but the still-new pressure of the ring on his left hand reminded him that those days were over. He was married to Soma now, and he knew what trouble a misplaced dalliance could create.
He spotted the coffee machine against the wall and focused his full attention on making himself a nice cappuccino. If the young hottie at the desk wanted to surreptitiously check out his butt while he did so, he was okay with that.
Just as the last froth of the hot drink poured into his cup he heard the sound of a door opening. He glanced toward Chandler’s office but realized that in fact it was the door from the hallway outside. A new visitor had arrived, and Thomas turned back to collect his coffee as his heart suddenly beat faster. The reaction irritated him, and he purposefully kept his back turned as he took a slow sip and listened.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
“Commander Brisebois, here to see the admiral.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll let him know you’re here.” A moment later she added, “He’s on the phone but you’re welcome to take a seat for a minute.”
Talk about misplaced dalliances.
In the reflection of the dark glass of the coffee maker, he could just make out Breeze’s uniformed figure. He’d really hoped their paths would have parted forever, but he realized now how in vain that hope had been. She’d discovered a powerful patron in Eric Chandler, just like he had, and she’d accomplished more in six months than Thomas had managed in fifteen years.
He wouldn’t have been so worried except for the fact that Breeze knew how close Chandler and Soma were. She also knew something else that had to stay forever hidden from both of them.
Still, if his current plan worked, he might just have the leverage he needed to keep her beautiful mouth shut.
“Thomas, is that you?”
He turned slowly, cup and saucer in hand. “Why, hello, ma’am. How nice to see you.”
She smirked. “Yes, how nice,” she responded. “What brings you to visit the admiral?”
“Oh, just minor housekeeping. Some of
Rapier
’s crew are only now being reassigned, and he and I were finalizing a few details.”
She processed his answer carefully. “Well, that’s good,” she said. “I’ve been so busy since we got back, it’s hard to remember that some of our shipmates are still sitting around idle.”
“Yes, I hear you’ve been busy,” he responded. “Young Jack Mallory said he saw you on one of the Research ships, just yesterday. Don’t tell me you’re going into space again.”
Her smile came quickly, but not with perfect ease. “Oh, no. I’m the project director here at headquarters. It’s quite an honor, actually. This project is considered vital to Astral interests.”
Apparently she hadn’t checked
Armstrong
’s officer list.
“How interesting,” he said. “And how’s the project going?”
“Fine.”
“Really? My understanding is that it’s behind schedule.”
The smile faded. “Don’t cause trouble, Thomas,” she said, lowering her voice. “I have an awful lot on my mind these days.” Her expression was light, but he’d learned to recognize when she was moving to the attack.
“What else is occupying your time?”
“Oh, just the little matter of a Fleet Marshall Investigation. Honestly, I’m flattered that Admiral Chandler feels he can trust me with so much. Then again, I was one of his
senior
staff officers during the campaign.” Her field promotion still made the bile rise in Thomas’s throat.
“You’re leading the investigation?”
Her eyes danced dangerously. “I’m the perfect candidate. So close to the cause of the trouble, but removed enough to be objective.” She shook her head in a great show of regret. “So many Terran lives lost, colonists attacking our own solar system… Parliament sees it as a great embarrassment. How could one little fast-attack craft cause so much suffering? The common people need to be reassured that those to blame will be held accountable.”
Thomas could hear the thrill behind her words. He began to feel very afraid.
“And who’s to blame?” he asked. “Why is
Rapier
being drawn into this?”
“Not the ship, nor her valiant crew,” Breeze said, “and
certainly
not her strike team.” She pouted slightly. “Just the commanders.”
Thomas felt the anger rise. “So Katja and me?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “Just one of you.”
“Which one of us?”
Breeze’s cruel smile finally showed through.
“I just can’t decide,” she said. “Maybe I’ll let you do it.”
“What?”
She leaned in close enough that he could smell her sweet perfume. “One of you is going down, Thomas. Either you or your precious little pet—I can spin the evidence either way.” She eyed him up and down. “So I’m curious to see what kind of man you really are. Do you protect yourself, or your loyal subordinate?”
Thomas bit down his anger, reminding himself that he still had a trump card.
“Bring it on, Breeze.”
“Good.”
Silence descended. Thomas stepped back and sipped at his cappuccino, and Breeze glanced casually at her tablet. The door to Chandler’s office snapped open. The admiral looked out, noting both officers who were standing before him.
“Oh, Breeze, good,” he said. “Perfect timing. I want to talk about your research report, especially after my last conversation. Thomas, I just got off the phone with Admiral Bush, and he agrees. You can start shipping up that extra equipment to
Armstrong
tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, sir.” Thomas took considerable satisfaction in watching Breeze’s shocked gaze snap over to him.
Chandler retreated into his office. “Let’s go, Breeze—that report.”
Thomas smiled at her. “Oh, yes, I didn’t have time to tell you. I’ve taken over as XO of
Armstrong
, to get the research back on track. Apparently it’s way behind, and Admiral Chandler wants a trusted man on the inside to ensure success.”
Breeze’s lips parted, but she couldn’t quite produce a response. Thomas gave her arm a squeeze and leaned in.
“Looks like your career is in my hands, Project Director. I hope your report didn’t say that things are going well. The admiral doesn’t like being lied to.”
Her cheeks flushed momentarily, but she regained her outward calm remarkably quickly.
“You think this will protect you?”
“Yes, unless you plan on learning five-dimensional warped geometry in your spare time. You’re the project director of this research, Breeze, and I’m the only person on that ship of fools who can deliver the results to you.”
“Then I guess it’s Katja for the chair.”
“Just try and hurt her, Breeze. I dare you.”
She gave him a look that was almost respect, before turning and walking into Chandler’s office.
Katja dropped the fork onto her half-eaten stew and sat back. The rain was still pelting against the window of her office, the heavy dampness of the air seeping through the thin fabric of her garrison uniform.
The beef stew had appealed at the time, a good, thick meal to ward off the chill, but now she couldn’t bear another bite. She sighed and rubbed a hand across her face as she tossed the remainder of her lunch into the trash.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer. The curt, mil-speak message was only two paragraphs long, but it was the first genuine direction she’d received in weeks. It summed up what her career had been reduced to. She’d been assigned to this tiny airlift station on the eastern edge of the Malayan archipelago, to take formal command of the three drop ships and their maintenance crews, and provide local lift services as requested by military forces.
Damn.
Why was the Corps making such a big deal about her psychological test results? Of
course
she was affected by her time in combat—who wouldn’t be? Hadn’t she proved her worth in combat several times over? It hardly seemed fair for a recipient of the Astral Star to be banished to some backwater, while young pups like Jack Mallory got sent right back into space.
Jack had already sent her a few messages, describing his new ship and the strange command structure of a Research vessel. Katja smiled slightly as she imagined the young man set loose like a happy bull in a china shop full of petrie dishes, and wondered how his bubbling enthusiasm would mesh with stringent experimental protocols.
Apparently Thomas Kane had joined him on the ship, and that was interesting news. She’d have bet Thomas would have aimed higher in his post-war career, but at least he’d be able to keep Jack on target. She didn’t envy either of them their new lives in lab coats, but at least they were still contributing to Terra’s well-being.
The three screens built into her desk stared up expectantly, their insatiable demand for administrative oversight crying out to her. She stared back at them, taking a moment to curse the doctors and their “compassion.”
She’d done all the usual post-traumatic training—it was part of the fourth-year curriculum at the Astral College—and she knew they’d done right by posting her here. A nice, slow-paced administrative posting kept her connected to operations, as the three drop ships under her command were theoretically available to reinforce local troops in case of invasion or insurrection. It also kept her out of stressful situations, a textbook example of where to post a struggling combat veteran.
It was hell.
Cradling her chin, she looked out again at the dark gray evening visible through her window. Northern Oceania had sounded so exotic, with its green mountains and glistening beaches. No one had mentioned the monsoon, and despite the State Terraform Department’s best efforts, the rains still lasted for nearly half the year. She’d been here over a month and had yet to see a day without a downpour.
She leaned back, closing her eyes.
The tears were suddenly close, much closer than they ever got during the day. Her vision blurred like the rain-pelted window. It was only a matter of time before her family found out where she was, laying out her shame for all to see. Decorated veteran Katja Emmes, cracked after her first combat tour and buried in a washed-out backwater.
Sadness turned to the anger that was becoming her friend these days, as it pushed aside more vulnerable feelings and she wrapped herself in it like an old blanket as she began typing up her weekly logistic requirements message. A gentle buzz in her ear distracted her. It was the military line. She accepted the call.
“Lieutenant Emmes.”
“
Good afternoon, Miss Katja
.” The voice was slightly garbled and the length of delay suggested a transmission from beyond orbit. “
This is Chuck Merriman, ANL
.”
Her hands clenched into fists, but she forced them to relax.
“Hello, Mr. Merriman.”
“
I’m sorry to disturb you on duty, but you haven’t been returning my calls to your civilian number
.”
She leaned back in her chair, vaguely remembering deleting all of her messages over the past few days.
“I’ve been very busy. How did you reach me on this military circuit?”
Even through the clutter she heard his wry amusement.
“
It’s a public number, Lieutenant. I just spoke to your base operator, and asked to be patched through
.”
She took a long, final deep breath, and made a note to speak to the idiot trooper who’d obligingly given access to the media.
“Well, you just caught me between meetings, so make it fast.”
“
I’m going to be in your region next week, and I was hoping to do a follow-up interview like we discussed back at Longreach. Would there be a good time for me to drop in for an hour or so?
”
There was no way her father was going to see her rotting in this backwater—not on the system-wide news.
“I’m afraid I’ll be very busy with operations for the next while,” she said, keeping her voice level. “Perhaps you’d have better luck catching up with my father—I think he’s still here on Earth.”
“
Mars, actually—low-g combat training. I’m definitely going to meet up with him, but since I was in the area I wanted to take advantage of my proximity to you
.”
Merriman knew with greater accuracy the whereabouts of her own family. That spoke volumes, and it wasn’t the only thing that didn’t sit right.
“What do you mean you’re in the area?” she asked pointedly. “What else is going on?”
A gentle laugh. “
Although it may surprise you, Miss Katja, you’re not the only important thing in my life. I’ve been covering the strikes in Papua New Guinea for the last two weeks.
”
Katja stood bolt upright. Strikes in Papua New Guinea? Where were her orders? Then she recalled watching the news—they were labor strikes, not combat strikes. It had to do with munitions workers trying to organize a union, or some nonsense like that. As if the State would ever let such a critical industry start calling the shots. Where the hell were Terran citizens getting these ideas?
Now she felt stupid. “Mr. Merriman, thanks for your call,” she said. “I have your contact information, so I’ll get back to you.” She broke the connection before he could respond, and sat down again, sighing. He was just a reporter doing his job, and she supposed it should be an honor, but she was going to decide how the worlds saw her.
This was not it.
She was a combat veteran of the most elite fighting force in Terra, and there was nothing her father, Chuck Merriman, or even those fucking doctors could do to take that away from her.
She heard a knock on the open door. Sergeant Huebner filled the door frame.
“Lieutenant Emmes, ma’am?”
“Yes, Sergeant?”
“Ma’am, the Army’s outside. They say they want our drop ships to lift them to Goa.”