Authors: Bennett R. Coles
“Of course.”
She held his eyes for an extra moment.
Merriman stepped slightly aside to give his cameraman the chance to adjust his optic visor. The fellow winked with slow deliberation to activate the visor’s camera, then gave Merriman the thumbs-up.
The reporter adopted an easy tone. “I’m collecting public opinions on the ongoing military case,” he said. “Are you familiar with it?”
“Who isn’t?”
“Do you think the officer is guilty as charged?”
“Hard to say without all the details,” she replied, “but the fact is, he disobeyed orders, which is inexcusable. The fact that he got his entire platoon killed just makes it worse.”
“Some reports have said that the rebels in the colonies were better trained and more extensively equipped than anyone expected. What do you think of the theory that he was improvising, because the rebels had compromised the Corps’ tactics?”
“Corps doctrine is designed to retain flexibility in a wide variety of situations.” She shrugged. “He had options—
and
he had explicit orders.”
Merriman’s eyebrows rose. “Strong opinion,” he noted. “Sounds like you know a thing or two about taking orders. Do you serve?”
Katja’s stomach tightened. This wasn’t a good place to be, an officer speaking unofficially to the press. Time for a half-truth.
“My fath—my daddy’s in the Army. He never shuts up about this sort of thing.” She opened her eyes a little wider, trying for a dumb-blonde look.
Merriman’s own eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone didn’t change.
“Do you support the death penalty against the Astral officer on trial?”
Yes
. “Well, umm, that’s pretty serious, but I think what he did was pretty serious, too.”
Merriman nodded. “I believe ‘inexcusable’ was the word you used a second ago.”
“Umm… yeah.”
There was a pause, as Merriman and his cameraman—who was staring at her in that unnervingly intent way unique to optically augmented people—waited for more. She glanced down at her shoes.
“Umm, can I go?”
Merriman eyed her with what she suspected was amused curiosity, but his smile never wavered.
“Of course, Miss…”
“Katja.” She extended her hand.
He shook it. “Miss Katja.”
She hurried away, keeping her eyes on the cave-like opening of the courts and away from the flurry of reporters. At least the State had the sense to keep the media out.
The security sensors were discreet but not invisible, and Katja slowed her pace as she passed through the building’s main doors. As a serving combat veteran there were few places out-of-bounds to her, she knew, but caution was prudent in a politically charged atmosphere. No alarms sounded and no guards emerged, which meant the tiny personal implant in her chest had been accepted.
Inside the air was cool and moist, the courts bustling with late-afternoon activity. She noted immediately the armed guards by the gates that led to the secure zone, sized up the group of youths milling about to her left, the scruffy-looking couple chatting by the fountain ahead, and a custodial robot beginning its rounds in the far right corner.
Then she saw Merje. Her sister wore a deep green pantsuit, the expensive cut accentuating the very subtle curves of her slim body. Long, straight, blonde hair hung halfway down her back, and her delicate features lit up as she spotted Katja. She rushed over and embraced her. Katja’s heart soared, suddenly realizing just how much she needed a hug. She wrapped her arms around Merje’s bird-like ribcage, so tightly she heard her gasp.
She released instantly, pulling back to rest her hands on Merje’s bony shoulders.
“Hey, nerd.”
“Hey, scary.” Merje cast her hand out to take in the vast lobby. “Welcome to my world. Sorry about the paparazzi.”
Katja glanced back. “Yeah, I had to run the gauntlet.”
“Nothing like a high-profile military case to bring them out in swarms.”
A sudden, unpleasant thought struck her. “You’re not defending this traitor, are you?”
“Not personally, no—thank goodness, but it’s taken up a lot of the firm’s resources. Your arrival actually got me out of some pretty dreary research.”
Her sister’s firm was defending that bastard?
“Did you have a good trip?” Merje took her arm and began walking toward a side exit.
She shook her arm loose. “It’s called a deployment—not a trip—and there was this little thing called a war.”
“Yeah, yeah,” her sister responded. “Welcome home. Are you staying long?”
“I don’t know.” They exited the courts, stepped onto a side street, and Merje flagged down an automated cab.
“I’m not sure whether to thank you or slap you for the invitation to the military gala,” Merje said as Katja climbed into the cab and stowed her case.
“I thought you’d like a fancy ball—isn’t that your thing?”
Merje flopped down across from her, not bothering to buckle up. “Oh, I enjoy getting drunk and being charmed out of my cocktail dress as much as the next girl, but another evening with the family? Come on, Katty.”
Katja shrugged in sympathy as she watched the once-familiar streets of Santa Fe rush past. The worst thing about spending the evening with their father was the knowledge that they’d have to do it again in just a week, at the gala military ball in Longreach. There the Emmes family members were to be touted as heroes of Terra, for their collective service to the State. The full eye of the worlds’ media would be on them.
What a joke.
The drive to the secure residential zone was quick. Katja had barely begun to form what she wanted to say to her father before the cab glided to a stop outside a beautiful, Federation-era house on a tree-lined street—the Emmes family home.
They paused on the sidewalk. Merje uplinked a request to have a cab available on short notice.
“Here we go,” Katja sighed. “You ready?”
Merje gave her a sidelong glance. “No. But that’s never stopped me before.”
The security system identified them immediately and opened the gate. It informed them that they were expected in the courtyard, and they passed under the arched walkway that gave access to the inner sanctum. Even before they were through a delicate figure appeared at the far end, watching expectantly.
Miriam Emmes looked paler than last time, but her smile was warm.
“Welcome home, Katja.” The hug was gentle, as everything with her had to be.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Darling, I love your hair like that. Why don’t you always keep it long?”
“Three reasons. It gets in the way, it’s no good in zero-g, and it doesn’t make me look mean.”
“You shouldn’t have to look mean.”
“When fifty troopers are expected to obey my every word, it helps.”
Her brother Michael appeared in the archway as their mother greeted Merje.
“Hi, Katty.” He gave her a hug. “Fifty troopers to boss around, eh? I bet when that hair’s gone, you’re pretty butch.”
Katja’s jaw clenched. Was he baiting her?
“Don’t fuck with me today.”
Michael raised his hands. “Whoa, whoa, Katty. Shift target left.” He glanced back toward the courtyard. “Save it for Father and Soren.”
“Sorry.” She took a deep breath. “Where are our comrades-in-arms, anyway?”
“Father’s out back with Rachel and the kids,” he said. “Soren and the Tart haven’t arrived yet.”
“Michael!” Their mother frowned disapprovingly. “She’ll be family soon.”
“She’ll be a perfect addition,” he replied.
Led by their mother, they emerged into the sprawling, lush courtyard. Sunshine beat down on well-groomed grass, and Katja’s eye was drawn immediately to the sudden movement of two little kids—her niece and nephew, she presumed—racing frantically across the lawn into the waiting arms of a crouched figure.
Storm Banner Leader Günther Freidrich Emmes didn’t look up as his wife and children emerged. Instead, he let his grandchildren tackle him, tipping backward onto the grass. His powerful words mixed with their excited shrieks, echoing across the yard.
Katja frowned. He’d lost none of his quickness or power. His thick, white hair was closely cropped, and stood in stark contrast to the tanned, weathered face that turned toward her. He rose and strolled across the grass, sizing her up with what seemed more curiosity than affection.
“Katja, you look healthy.” His words were flattened by the tones of their native Finnish, but carried with alarming ease. She forced herself to stand her ground, arms firmly at her side. Maybe this time he would give her a hug, but there was no way she was going to initiate it.
“Thank you, Father,” she replied, also in Finnish. “You’re looking well.”
He gave a sidelong glance to her sister. “Merje, you’re thin. Are you eating enough? Or spending it all on clothes?”
“Drugs, mostly,” came the acid reply.
He just nodded, then turned his attention back to Katja.
“What’s this I hear about you going Fleet?”
“Fast-attack,” she said quickly. “I was the strike officer aboard a small ship that did boardings and covert strikes planetside.” His expression didn’t convince Katja that he was impressed. “It’s considered elite.”
“Hm,” he grunted. “I just thought, what with the colonies rebelling and all, you might want to stay with your regiment and fight. This ‘fast-attack’ sounds pretty cushy during a war.”
Katja felt her cheeks flushing. His words were so damn unfair, but she refused to crow about her combat experiences like some juvenile braggart.
“You have no idea how much time I spent planetside.”
“Well, when we all get out there, I’ll be sure to look for you.” He turned away and with a childish bellow charged playfully at his grandchildren. They screamed and took off down the garden, laughing.
Katja pursed her lips and looked away.
* * *
Merje had hypothesized years ago that the reason the Emmes household was alcohol-free was to stop their mother from drinking herself to death. After all, she elaborated, what other possible outcome lay for a woman who had to spend her life with their father?
As she sat down to dinner, Katja looked across the table and wondered idly if the Tart had given any thought to this matter, considering her fiancé was the spitting image of his father. Stormtrooper Soren Emmes was Merje’s fraternal twin, but Katja couldn’t conceive of a human being more unlike her stylish, willowy sister. Soren was thick and powerful, his dark hair buzzed down in a typical high-and-tight.
The Tart herself—Hong, if Katja remembered correctly—was a plastic representation of what might have been a pretty girl once, with a pneumatic body squeezed into a colorful dress that, while reaching her neck, elbows, and knees, left little to the imagination. Katja had seen that color of pink in hair before, but never on a woman attending the birthday dinner of her future father-in-law.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice as she served up the main course to her guests. Soren and his fiancée sat across from the sisters at their mother’s end of the table, with Michael and his family occupying the places of honor near the patriarch. Hearty chatter about the Army and the teaching profession dominated the first course of dinner, in English for Hong’s sake, while precious little was mentioned of the Astral Force or the legal profession.
“So, Hong,” the Voice said from the other end of the table, “has my boy taken you to any formal events yet?”
“Oh yeah,” Soren responded. “We were at the Valentine’s Ball just a month ago. It was great! We had the newbies puking in their caps by the time the sun came up.”
“Soren!” Their mother fussed with the napkin in her lap. “You can save your drinking stories until after dinner, I think.”
“Oh come on, Mom,” he said. “I bet you were out there with the boys when you were young.”
She glanced sternly at her son. “No, darling, I wasn’t.” She smiled at everyone. “Please, it’ll get cold.”
Katja obediently dug into her meal.
“Katja,” a small voice said, “you were in the Army, weren’t you? What was it like as a woman?”
She glanced up, unsure at first who had spoken. Then she noticed Hong staring at her expectantly.
“No, she was never in the Army!” Soren said, mouth full of food. Katja would have happily let the subject drop at that, but Hong still stared at her, more confused than curious. So she put down her utensils.
“I’m not in the Army,” she explained. “I’m in the Astral Force. Basically, the Army fights on the surface of planets, and the Astral Force fights in space. We also help the Army by making a bridgehead for them.”
“You build bridges?”
It’s like talking to a child, she reminded herself.
“No,” she said aloud. “We attack the planet first, and create a safe place for the Army to land.”
Soren nudged his fiancée. “In other words, they get us there, and then we do all the fighting.”
“You’re welcome to join us on a drop sometime, Meathead,” Katja offered.
He sneered at her. “How much time have you actually spent on the ground?”
“How many theatres of operation have you seen?”
“Enough to bag me some jee-hads.”
“Do you even know what planet you were on?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “If I’m there, I’m there to fight.”
“Soren,” the Voice said from the end of the table, “that’s enough. Our colleagues in the Astral Force do good work for us.”
Silence fell at that. Soren shrugged and continued eating, while Katja exchanged a look with Merje. Had their father just complimented the Astral Force?
“Of course,” he continued, “that doesn’t mean we live in a perfect world. Hong, remind me, what do you do for a living?”
“Oh, well, I’m hoping to be an actress, but right now it’s mostly been modeling, and dancing.”
“So if you were starring in a movie, you know that the director is important?”
“Oh, yeah!” Her eyes widened. “He’s totally important.”
“So imagine you had the choice of two directors. One used to be an actor himself, has learned from the best directors before him, and has finally pulled together all his experience to start making his own films.” He let that sink in, then continued. “The other one went to directors’ school, made a couple of films in school, and has now just started working. Which one would you want?”