by P. R. Adams
“I’m sure there are.”
“Jaqqi did. They were a big article at school the year before I left. Her family came from Kedraal, flush with money, connected and influential. You’re from Kedraal, right?”
“Yes.”
“It made Jaqqi popular with everyone. That and, well, the rumors. You don’t always believe the rumors, but Jaqqi certainly had the looks. Caramel skin, amber eyes, this dark red hair. You know how schoolgirls can be jealous and say hateful things.”
“I remember what it was like, yes.”
“Well, everyone said she had Clive wrapped around her finger. Sure seemed like it. But if you thought about it, it sure seemed like Clive was the one who had the most to gain from the relationship. Jealous girls didn’t quite see that angle, though. They just saw the biggest stud dating a pretty girl from a wealthy family.”
“It sounds like school drama, doesn’t it?”
“That’s what it was. But I heard a few years after I went off to university that things had fallen apart. Poor Jaqqi had just…disappeared. And Clive was heartbroken.”
“Lots of heartbroken kids enter the military.”
“I know. The thing is, you remember how I mentioned having connections of my own?”
Benson’s guts twisted. “I do.”
“One of them happened to know someone in Muresi law enforcement. Turns out Jaqqi’s parents were convicted of a major smuggling scheme. They both ended up being sent off to prison for several years, and Jaqqi was sent back to live with family on Kedraal.”
“That’s…tragic.”
“It’s the kind of thing that could haunt someone. It could probably negatively impact a career if dots are connected.”
“Maybe you should talk with Sergeant Halliwell. I’m sure he’d like to reminisce.”
“I doubt it. But maybe you could tell this Corporal Grier to be careful that her career won’t be put at risk. Taint tends to spread pretty easily.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Commander.”
Scalise exited the compartment, leaving Benson to digest what had been said. Was it a threat? How had the other woman known so much about everyone from the Pandora? Did she know about Stiles?
There had to be something going on, someone feeding the husky woman data, because Benson was pretty sure she’d never said a thing about Grier being a woman.
And that meant someone was definitely feeding personal data to the XO. With all that was going on, who could want to undermine Benson’s command?
More importantly, why?
7
The Night Leopard limped down the ramp, engine gurgling uncertainly, the right front tire catching with a bit more confidence than any other. For the last few kilometers, the only light had come from the searchlight mounted above and behind the front cabin. The beam now flickered unsteadily along the gray ramp walls, leaving O’Bannon thinking once more of spirits and ghosts. Burning oil had somehow managed to insinuate itself into the heating, leaving a sharp, vile taste in the major’s mouth. His extremities were numb, and his jaw ached from clenching against the shivering. His heart, however, swelled with pride at the way Andressen handled his own obvious discomfort with the stoicism of a true soldier.
O’Bannon would never admit to his soldiers that there was no real pride in dying in some pointless endeavor, yet the false feeling brought warmth and a strangely gratifying sense of defiance.
Any satisfaction vanished at the sight of Captain Knoel standing in the garage, gloved hand stroking the side of one of the other Leopards. The Black Lightning Commando’s pasty face was as rigid as soft flesh would allow. His dead, silvery eyes turned automaton-like onto the wounded vehicle as Andressen brought it to a stop beside one of its twins. Talbot imagined the click-clack of gears at work beneath the dead-pale skin. There would be no heartbeat in the chest but cogs and sprockets and chains rumbling to the timing of a silicone chip beneath the lifeless, almost white hair.
O’Bannon shouldered his door open and did his best to climb out as if returning from a day at the hot springs he and Mia had enjoyed together so many years ago. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Is it?” Knoel marched around the Leopard much more stiffly than he should.
“Morning? Or do you mean good?”
Rather than reply, Knoel turned his attention to the battered vehicle, clomping around to the battered door. “An accident?”
“One of the perils of live combat is that the enemy actually returns fire.”
Knoel’s head came up from where he’d been closely inspecting the dent. “You were fired upon, then? Because this has none of the attributes one would associate with battlefield damage. Unless your enemy hurled rocks at you?” He rubbed a gloved finger along a gouge and held the grainy smudge up for O’Bannon to see.
“What a life it must be, trapped by the literal, unable to gather meaning beyond the explicit and apparent.”
The captain dusted his gloves together. “Where have you been?”
“A training mission.”
“I cannot say I recall seeing such a thing logged.”
“That’s good, because I cannot say I recall logging such a thing.”
Franke’s men climbed out of the side door, and the lieutenant straightened into something close to a position of attention at the sight of the Commando. “Captain Knoel.”
The captain didn’t acknowledge. “Perhaps we should review the results of your training exercise in my office, Major?”
O’Bannon chuckled. “How fortunate you arrived at the idea.”
“Fortunate?”
“I had been thinking of it myself for a while. Imagine my worry that I was alone in seeing the pleasure of sharing your company to discuss military matters.”
Knoel frowned.
O’Bannon sighed. “Yes. I do apologize. How foolish of me to ask you to imagine.”
The captain spun on a heel and headed toward the stairs that led up to the housing level several meters above. At the base of the stairs, he turned. “Major, that wasn’t a request. I expect to see you in my office.”
“Immediately, yes. Thank you.”
But O’Bannon didn’t move. He smiled indulgently and tried not to grind his teeth too obviously.
Once only the slightest echo remained of the Commando’s booted steps on the concrete stairs, the major turned to Franke. “Please see to it that the men are checked for injury, then have them get some food and rest.”
“But the Leopard—”
“Can be seen to on the next shift. It won’t be going anywhere soon, Lieutenant. Unless you think Captain Knoel and his brave Commandos intend to head out into the cold in one of our ancient vehicles instead of their freshly manufactured ones?”
The younger man bowed his head but not fast enough to hide a sneer. “Of course not, sir.”
O’Bannon dug around in his coat pocket for a few moments before he was sure that his numbed fingers had found what he was looking for: a small, rectangular device that could fit into his palm. He pulled the device out, activated it, then fumbled through the login credentials before finally getting to the point where he could connect to the robot-dog Lyonne and Gerard were helping out the back of the vehicle. Downloading the record of their trip to the crater took several seconds, which brought even more satisfaction to O’Bannon.
After a few tries, he had the device back in his coat pocket. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am afraid duty calls for me to spend some time describing the details of an operation performed with professionalism. Do carry on, thank you.”
Franke and his soldiers laughed, bringing some warmth to the major’s old body.
By the time he’d reached the top of the stairs, there was real warmth in his limbs from the exertion, and his knee throbbed where the door had been caved in by the impact against the boulder.
Bruising, he told himself. It would be no worse than a few weeks of tenderness.
“Give me the strength to soldier on,” he muttered to him
self.
It was the prayer spoken each day by every soldier and sailor on the Moskav front. It was a prayer spoken each day by fewer and with more desperation.
As he made his way up to the operations center, O’Bannon wondered whether or not it was truly a benefit to have been reassigned to Jotun. Life on the moon was harsher than most of the contested Moskav worlds, but it was life. The odds of seeing another promotion were long, but the odds of seeing Mia and the children were improved. What was another promotion but a change in the insignia on his uniform and a change in how he was addressed? But living to see his loved ones again? Perhaps having the opportunity to see grandchildren, should those still be allowed?
For the thousandth time, he wondered what his generation was fighting for. Killing “the enemy” seemed far too broad a concept. The leadership continually changed the definition. It had once been anyone who threatened the freedom of the Azoren way, then it had become anyone who tried to restrict the Azoren Manifest Destiny, then it had become anyone who disagreed with the Azoren leadership in any way whatsoever.
Which makes me the enemy. As well as anyone else with a sliver of sanity and reason.
Unless he was the one to have lost his mind and ability to think.
That seemed unlikely. No rational reason existed for seeking out conflict without end, yet that was exactly what the Supreme Leader and his architects of destruction had done. The Azoren Federation had gone from a group of like-minded states made up of rugged individuals seeking the freedom to live as they wished, to a monolithic tribe embracing the words of their glorious leader as the very religion they had scorned when rubbing against the Khanate and its people.
And now? O’Bannon wasn’t so sure he could ever truly belong to the place of his birth again. With the creation of people like Knoel, those like O’Bannon and his children had been socially engineered out.
He scuffed the soles of his boots against the little mat outside the office that had once been his, raised a hand to knock, then winced.
No. There would not be such inappropriate decorum. Not now.
O’Bannon turned the knob and let himself in, turning away when the young captain’s face flared bright red. The older man focused on pulling his outer thermals off and set them on a chair. “Captain, thank you so much for your time.”
“You will knock—”
O’Bannon pulled the command tablet out of his coat pocket and tossed it to the Commando officer. “Do put that into the terminal, won’t you?”
The other man instinctively fumbled for the thing and managed to keep it from falling to the floor; the device thudded against the desktop. His smooth cheeks shook with fury. “I am the command—”
“Did you wish to know what my men and I were doing or not, Captain Knoel? You must be explicit and consistent if you expect your lessers to understand you.”
Knoel snatched the device from the desktop and glared at the blank surface. “Your credentials.” It came out through gritted teeth.
“Ah. See? This is the penalty suffered by the old and inferior.”
The younger man held the device out with a shaking hand.
O’Bannon tapped and swiped. “You’ll want the latest video.”
Knoel sniffled in annoyance, synced the device with the desktop terminal, then smoothed his coat before sitting again. “You had someone record this?”
“Something. One of our robot-dogs.”
“Those old machines are long past retirement.”
“They are. In fact, one of them failed.”
The captain snorted. “All things old fail.”
“We should all be so fortunate to have the opportunity to see the day when we can gracefully shut down, Captain.”
“The true honor is in service to the Federation.”
“Yes, of course. As I warned you, my mind falters at times.”
The image of slick, black rock whipping past flashed on the display. It was jarring, especially when the dog jumped rather than ran. When it whipped its head around to scan, nausea tickled O’Bannon’s gut.
Knoel stopped the video playback. He looked paler then normal. “What is this?”
“You asked about our training activity, Captain Knoel. This was it.”
“The robot descending…?”
“Into the crater. You do recall your insistence that the lieutenant investigate an inexplicable signal from there, do you not?”
“Major O’Bannon, your failure to maintain respect is—”
“Your perception of a superior officer failing to maintain respect—”
“You. Are. Not. Superior. Major.” With each word, the Commando slapped the desktop.
“Excuse me, Captain. Perhaps clarity was lacking. Context does have value. That word was used in reference to rank.”
The younger man’s body shook, his doughy cheeks shuddered, then he straightened, turned back to the terminal, and resumed play. “This is the crater.”
“If you are asking for confirmation, it is.”
“The bottom here glistens like water.”
“Melted rock. Liquefied. It must have been a pool before cooling. You will note a lack of any transmission equipment anywhere the robotic eyes can see.”
“Yes. Unfortunate. What about the ruins to the east?”
“You said the signal originated from the crater.”
“The old equipment of this place and the troublesome satellite network makes exactness impossible.”
O’Bannon shrugged. “The warning is the same for both: Do not enter.”
“I am quite surprised you and your soldiers had the bravery to visit such a dangerous place.”
“And I am surprised you and your Commandos did not.”
Knoel pinched his bottom lip. “Perhaps we should.”
“The galaxy would not mourn your loss, although it might note the cries of the innocents you doom.”
“What innocents would be put at risk by entering a caldera?”
“This is no caldera, Captain.”
“Then what is it?”
“A weapon strike.”
“Nonsense. The crater is at least two hundred meters deep and easily twice as wide at the bottom. For a weapon to do that, it would cause damage all around.”
“Ah, for a weapon that we know of. This is something greater than in our arsenal.”
Knoel stopped the video and leaned back in his chair. “Those are the words of a conspirator or traitor, not a loyal soldier.”
O’Bannon stomped to the captain’s desk—a desk that had been the major’s own and was still by all rights—and tapped a finger against the top. “I have proven my loyalty with blood and shattered body, Captain. I’ve buried boys barely old enough to shave, boys who died fighting mechanical nightmares only made possible because of the blind ambition of people like you. So do not question my loyalty because I posit that some species had a superior weapon at some point.”
The younger man smiled, a slithering, lizard-like smug look. “You are a dinosaur, Major. You read poetry and worry about the perils of the human soul.”
“Only for those born with one.”
“I have seen your records. You want to know why you were relieved and assigned here, so far from the front?”
“We had earned our rotation out.”
“No, Major. You were reassigned because the war is changing, and someone like you lacks the requisite imagination necessary to fight in this new war. You lack the mental acuity and quickness to be effective. Better to let you waste away out here, far from the front.”
O’Bannon pulled his hand away from the desk and stepped back, struggling to drive from his thoughts the glorious image of choking the weak little fool to death. When the image wouldn’t go away, O’Bannon gathered his outer thermals and folded them, brushed off the melted ice, then turned back to the younger man.
“And why are you out here on Jotun, Captain? Hm? Why are the deadly and terrifying Black Lightning Commandos serving alongside a broken old d
inosaur and his ineffective soldiers, so far out from the front? Have you an answer to that enigma?”
Knoel turned the video off and tossed the command tablet back to O’Bannon, who caught it easily. The Commando’s smile was still there, but now it was evil, hateful. “Because, Major, younger minds are more agile.”
“Agile?”
“Yes. They do not accept that words have a set meaning. You see, I have the capacity to understand that what we call the front is about to change.”
“You are a fool.”
“I am the fool?”
“For the Moskav to make Jotun part of the front, to push us all the way against the Gulmar and Kedraalian borders, the war would have to slide into an utterly hopeless state. They would have to break through Army Group Moskav and two field corps, then they would have to break through the First Fleet. The Moskav haven’t the unified power to do such a thing.”
“You prove my point, Major.”
The way the younger man’s smile twisted even more, O’Bannon felt like a mouse caught in a trap. “And how is that?”
“I never said anything about the Moskav.”
Panic seized O’Bannon for a second. The fool was talking about the Gulmar or the Kedraalians, maybe even both. The absurdity of a second front was too great to even conceive of. “You play with words. Without accepting their meaning, you cannot conceive of their implications.”
“Oh, we accept what is to come, Major. We embrace it.”
“What about death, then? Does the meaning of that word change? Hm?”
Knoel’s reptile grin lessened slightly. “The word that matters is victory.”
“If you open the floodgates, you will not know victory. You will be swept away in the waters.”
“Is that a threat?”
O’Bannon opened the door wider. “Merely an observation. Perhaps your younger mind will appreciate the distinction before too long.”
8
The entire forward bulkhead of the Clarion bridge was covered by a display terminal partially blocked by the helm station and staff. Five meters across, and half as high, the display was crisp and vibrant, providing data overlays Benson wished she’d had with the Pandora. It wasn’t likely to have saved lives, but it would have made the job so much easier. Now, it merely amplified the stress. She struggled to keep up with everything flowing in. Sensor feeds painted distant objects that were too small for the human eye to detect with colors and labels. Comms updates scrolled up the left side of the display, allowing her at a glance to get a 3D image of the task force positioning. And along with that, there was the chatter—of the bridge crew and the radio feed being piped in through the receiver she had adhered to her earlobes.
