by P. R. Adams
“About you countermanding my orders?”
Benson reminded herself that everyone saw things from their own unique perspective. Three views of the same thing: my view, her view, and reality. “I think it’s important that we arrive at an understanding.”
“That I’m in command of the Clarion?”
“You are. But I’m in command of the task force, and if I see someone endangering—”
Scalise’s skin reddened. “Endangering? The mines—”
“I don’t want to analyze the situation.”
“You can’t say that I endangered the mission or ships or—”
“You did endanger the ships, Commander Scalise.”
“Your orders were very clear, and I was following them.”
Benson rubbed her forehead. “One of the greatest strengths you’ll need to show as you progress is the ability to quickly respond to changing situations.”
“It’s my mistake that your orders weren’t adequate to see us through a dynamic situation? Is that it?”
Is she always so difficult, or is this resentment? “You tell me.”
“I—” Scalise blinked again—three times, rapidly, then again but slowly.
“Maybe it is my problem.”
“I…I’ve been accused of being inflexible and argumentative.”
“But you don’t see it that way?”
“No. I believe in clear and consistent communications. When something breaks down, I believe in getting to the root of problems.”
It was a relief to know it wasn’t something personal and that Benson wasn’t the first to encounter the problems she’d seen during the stressful moment, but it was a serious problem to know Scalise couldn’t see the issues in herself. Projecting onto everyone else…that wasn’t the sort of material that was right for command.
Benson checked the command tablet. She had just enough time to clean up and get some sleep. “We’ll talk later.”
“I—”
“Get some rest. We all need it.”
The chunky woman looked ready to fight the point until she won, so Benson turned before anything more could be said. There was video from the bridge. The situation could be reviewed later to ensure Scalise didn’t have a point.
But there was no way she was right. When orders are obviously obsoleted by events, you change the orders. That was how command worked.
The hatch to Benson’s quarters slid open, and the lights came up.
And she froze.
Halliwell lay in her bunk, naked shoulders poking out of the sheets. His uniform hung in her modest closet; his boots were set flush against her desk. She wrestled with how to react, but hurried into the cabin and let the hatch seal behind her.
What should she have expected when she’d cleared him to enter her cabin? Wasn’t that a signal that everything was just as it had been before? And didn’t she still have feelings about him?
He shifted, and his head came up from the pillow, then he rubbed sleep from his eyes and threw off the covers. “You’re still dressed?”
She still had feelings for him all right. And him for her. Obviously. “This is dangerous.”
“I thought danger excited you.”
“I think I’m swimming in an ocean of danger right now.” She tugged her coat off, then her shirt. She would need a fresh one.
He slid off the bunk and helped her out of the rest of her clothes. “If you’re too stressed, we can just rest.”
It sounded wonderful, but he could never settle for “just rest.”
I should feel complimented, I guess. “It’s not a good idea. Not right now.”
He sighed, then began dressing. “Corporal Grier’s having issues with sleep, and that means I’m having issues with sleep.”
Benson blushed. Had he brought Grier up to create jealousy? The corporal obviously had her own feelings for him, and being stuffed into a compartment together was only going to complicate matters.
“I’m sorry, Clive. When this is behind us, I’ll make it up to you.”
“When this is over, I’ll be pushing my separation through.”
Benson ran fingers down his back, noting the fresh-forming scars that would one day blend in with the others. “You…could sleep here.”
“Nah. I need to work things out of my system.” He pulled his T-shirt on.
That was definitely meant to make her jealous. “Can’t we—?”
“It’s like you said, a bad time.”
The way he pulled his socks on, then his boots—rushed, angry—she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him. “Do you remember Patty Scalise?”
He stopped while securing his boots. “From Muresi? Wow. So that is her.”
“Then you remember her?”
“Who wouldn’t? Meet her once, you can’t forget her. That beard thing she’s got going? It was just wispy stuff in school, but she refused to do anything about it back then, too. I mean, they were poor, so…”
Benson’s fingers traced her own jawline. “You just remember her for her looks?”
“Nah. A lot of the guys said it was her personality that made her so bad.”
“Personality? In what way?”
“She wanted to argue about everything. She wouldn’t budge one bit about showing everyone who she was—body odor, those whiskers, being heavy. If you had a problem with that, it was you, not her.”
Hearing her own thoughts voiced by Halliwell left Benson unsure of her own thinking about Scalise. “Is there something wrong with being yourself?”
“No. But there’s nothing wrong with being normal, is there? Fitting in?”
“What if being yourself isn’t fitting in?”
“C’mon, Faith. Stinking the place up is part of her identity?”
“What about Jaqqi Gosset?”
Halliwell blushed. “I don’t know why I didn’t think she’d bring Jaqqi up.”
“She said you went into the military because of her.”
“Just one of the reasons. You live on Muresi, you aren’t looking for reasons to stay.”
“Her family were criminals.”
“Sure. A lot of people on Muresi were. Excuse me.”
She stepped away from the hatch and covered herself as he hurried out, trying to hold back tears and control her heartbeat.
Why did things have to be so complicated?
She let the hot water of the shower pound her skin until it was tender, then pulled on a T-shirt and panties and crawled under the covers. His scent was there, just enough to make the tears come easier and the sleep come harder. And when she did finally sleep, she dreamed of having him there and woke up regretting her decision to turn him away.
There was just enough time to freshen up and grab a bite in the galley and review updates on the command tablet. She had a meeting in half an hour.
Planning room. Lower deck.
She scanned the rest of the modest-sized galley. It was huge compared to the space aboard the Pandora but still felt small.
And, of course, Grier and Halliwell were there, off in a secluded section, out of sight unless you happened to look to your right immediately after you stepped in. He seemed sullen and completely caught up in his own misery, and the young woman seemed to be capitalizing on it—patting his shoulder, taking his wrist.
Touching. Intimate contact.
Could he fall for her? She wasn’t ugly, just…muscular.
The corporal saw Benson and waved.
Benson almost spilled her drink on the tablet. “Corporal Grier!” She returned the smile, pretending not to have recognized them until now. Tray in hand, she moved to their table, dreading each step. “How are you two adjusting?”
Grier punched Halliwell on the shoulder lightly, then rubbed the spot she’d hit. “I’m doing better than Clive, I think.”
He didn’t look up. Her plate was empty; his was barely touched.
“Well, maybe you two could join me on a call I’ll be taking in the planning room.” Benson
finished her coffee and spread a napkin over the small pastry she’d grabbed. At least it had looked small when she’d grabbed it. “I could use your expertise in the meeting I have in just a little bit.”
“Meeting, ma’am?” Grier finally took her hands off Halliwell.
“Colonel McLeod, Agent Patel, and Major Fero want to discuss the next step.”
Halliwell looked up a little, eyes shielded by his brows. “Why do they need Marines for this?”
Grier nodded. “Isn’t this a rescue mission, ma’am?”
“Well—” Benson finished her drink off. “—the particulars haven’t been released yet.”
The staff sergeant groaned. “These intelligence people. You can’t trust them. Mission data should have been fully available from the start.”
“We were talking about it earlier—” Grier rubbed Halliwell’s back. “Do you think those Marines from Tamos are ready for something like this, ma’am? They’re reservists. They spent most of their time doing civilian work at the facility and wear a uniform in rotation one week a month. It’s not ideal. Right? Clive?”
Halliwell nodded. “This whole thing smells just as bad as what happened with the Pandora.”
Benson turned as someone else entered the galley: Gadreau.
The captain saw the three of them, then turned away, heading for the counter to order his meal.
It seemed to Benson less like she was in command and more like she was babysitting. “Excuse me.”
When Gadreau finished his order, and the robot cook began preparing the meal, she tapped the captain on the shoulder. “Captain Gadreau.”
He turned, feigned surprise, then turned back to the robot. “Ma’am.”
“Will you be joining us in the planning room?”
He glanced at the two Marines. “Will I be needed, ma’am?”
He’s not even pretending he didn’t receive the invite. Like a spoiled teen. “Why would you think otherwise?”
“I’ve got training scheduled almost around the clock. Getting ready—”
“That’s what we need to discuss.”
“Training?”
“What you’re training for. Colonel McLeod wants to lay out the next step.”
Gadreau glared at the Marine couple. “Don’t your consultants have the experience you’re looking for?”
Benson barely stopped herself from telling the captain to get over his precious self. She swallowed. He really needed a swift kick in the ass, but that wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Yes, Captain. I need you to join me for this meeting. Please.”
He took his tray from the robot, showed her the food, and smiled. “I’ll be right there, ma’am.”
Grier caught the commander’s curled finger and tugged on Halliwell, and before Benson reached the planning room, the two caught up to her. They didn’t say anything, instead trailing just behind her once they were on the lower deck. The planning room was empty, a small space about the size of her own cabin.
She settled at the small table and used her command tablet to activate the display that covered the tabletop.
Grier craned her neck and stretched out to get a better look at the glow of video forming in the center of the screen. “Is this just Colonel McLeod, ma’am?”
“He’s the organizer.”
The corporal leaned back, then smiled mischievously and swatted Halliwell low in the gut. Really low. “You think they’re planning some sort of attack?”
He shrugged, apparently oblivious to how close her hand was to his crotch.
Sulking. He always sulked when he needed more attention than Benson could give him. And when he sulked, his thoughts turned to how much he hated what his career had become and all the incompetence that made serving so hard.
She felt overwhelmed and selfish. She couldn’t possibly be a good partner for him, not with everything demanding her attention. If Grier wanted—
The display started a countdown, then Colonel McLeod and Lieutenant Stiles’s faces appeared. They sat at a similar table that had seen more wear and tear. Agent Patel connected from the gunship he had commandeered. He was in a cabin. Alone.
“Commander Benson.” McLeod smiled. “Are you ready?”
For the meeting? For what they would find on this moon? “Yes. I have Staff Sergeant Halliwell and Corporal Grier from the Pandora with me.”
“Good. Their experience should be helpful.”
Patel cocked his head. “A staff sergeant running a Marine contingent? Is that normal?”
Benson almost snapped that it was perfectly normal for a ship the size of the Pandora, assuming they had Marines at all, then she realized he was talking about the Clarion. “Captain Gadreau will be joining us momentarily.”
That seemed to settle the SAID agent down.
McLeod turned to Stiles. “Commander, Lieutenant Stiles says you have an engineer who has a particular expertise with drones?”
“Chief Parkinson.” Benson wasn’t sure why Stiles would have brought him up. “Do we have a drone situation, sir?”
“We expect to. There’s a pretty advanced probe aboard the Clarion.”
“To be used for…?”
“Well, we don’t need the captain there to discuss this. We need to scout the planet out before we head down. We’ll use the probe to do that. While we decelerate, we’ll launch a missile with the probe aboard. We’ll need to know where to land the retrieval team.”
Patel nodded. “There’s a plain near the ruins, maybe five kilometers.”
Could it actually be so easy? Land a retrieval team, send them in, and go?
The hatch opened, and Gadreau stepped through. He cast a sour glance at the other two Marines, then saw the team on the display and straightened before settling into a seat. “Colonel McLeod.”
“Captain.” McLeod smiled, but it seemed stiff, as if he might be angry about the late arrival. “We were just discussing the need for a scout mission before we start the actual planning.”
Gadreau nodded. “That makes sense, Colonel.”
“Lieutenant Rao has the missile ready to launch, Commander.”
Benson blushed. She hadn’t even been consulted about that.
Are you going to pitch a fit now? Become a moody little mess like Gadreau and Clive and Scalise? You’re running the task force. Let Scalise and her people run the ship. “I’ll call Chief Parkinson in to brief him.”
She sent a message to Parkinson to come as soon as he could and to bring his drone control gear, then tagged her location.
The colonel leaned in close to Stiles, as if she were physically nearby, and they exchanged words over a private channel, then he straightened. “We’ll adjust once we have a look at the situation, Commander, but I wanted you to start considering your alternatives.”
Benson stiffened. “Alternatives, Colonel?”
“We don’t have a lot of intelligence on this moon. We know the Azoren call it Jotun. We know it has some strange atmospheric conditions. We know it’s cold. Very cold. We’ve already begun printing up high-efficiency thermals for whatever team finally heads down.”
Gadreau cleared his throat. “For mobile missions, Colonel, my team will be the most effective.”
“I…” McLeod smiled at Benson. “I think it’s best you work with your Marine assets to make any determinations, Commander. As the captain said, his team might be more effective if mobility is called upon. Major Fero’s team has the numbers, but it lacks the…recent training of the captain’s.”
That seemed to satisfy Gadreau, who crossed his arms and smiled smugly.
Benson caught the annoyed glare Halliwell shot her; he didn’t like Gadreau. She needed to make sure there wasn’t a scene. “Is there anything else you can share with us, Colonel?”
McLeod and Stiles exchanged a glance, then he frowned. “Unfortunately, no.”
Stiles closed her eyes. “Data on this listening post is highly classified.”
Of course. Why share information with a rescue operation? “Then
I guess I’ll begin my planning. I’ll inform you once Chief Parkinson has updates.”
McLeod clasped his hands in front of him. “Thank you.”
The connection closed, and Gadreau almost jumped to his feet. “I’ll inform my unit they’ve been selected as the rescue team.”
Benson brushed the cuffs of her coat. “Thank you, Captain.”
Halliwell stared at the Marine officer’s back until the hatch closed. “He’s an egotistical jerk.”
“If he manages to rescue anyone and retrieve or destroy the intelligence data, he can be as egotistical as he wants.”
“He’ll be sloppy and reckless like Martinez.”
“How can you say that? Have you worked with him before? Does he have a reputation?”
“I don’t know. No. But it feels that way.”
“That’s not enough to go on.”
Color darkened Halliwell’s cheeks. “I know. Guess I’m not really up for this consultant thing. Or anything, really.”
He pushed away from the table and hurried out, long arms swinging so that he brushed hard against Parkinson when the hatch opened.
The chief looked over his shoulder as he came to a stop at the table and set his drone control gear down with a clatter and a grunt. It was the same helmet he’d worn aboard the Pandora, but the gear now included a clear blue computing slab with matching sensor gloves. “What’s up with him?”
Grier frowned. “Permission to check on the staff sergeant, ma’am?”
“Please.” Benson hated the idea of Grier being there while Halliwell worked his way through his vulnerabilities, but someone needed to cool him down. The commander pointed to the chair Gadreau had been in. “Chief. You feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
“Cracked ribs. I don’t know how I got them, but they’ll heal. At least I’m alive. I guess.” Parkinson’s head twisted around to follow Grier out the hatch.
Benson examined the blue brick. “This is pretty. An upgrade?”
“What?” His eyes locked on the brick. “Oh. Yeah. I thought you approved it?”
“Not that I recall.” Scalise again? McLeod?
“Need me to run a drone?”
“I do, Chief.” Benson checked her command tablet. “You’ve got a few minutes to sync up with it.”
“That’s plenty of time. Do you have the connect data?”
