by CH Gideon
Styles’ wrist-link chimed, and after checking the inbound message, a look of confusion filled his features. “What the…” he muttered before his eyes went wide and he quickly forwarded the feed to the office’s main display. “Colonel, you have to see this.”
Jenkins couldn’t tell if it was hope or fear he heard in Styles’ voice, but after the image appeared on the screen, he realized it was probably a bit of both.
Standing there, against a backdrop of frozen tundra, was the image of Sarah Samuels with Elvira at her back.
“Too often,” the reporter said, apparently in the middle of an introduction, “we, the people of the Terran Republic, take our security for granted. Out here, far from the site of humanity’s deepest roots, the people who call the seven Terran colonies home are the bravest and most self-reliant in the history of our species. That’s not false bravado or self-important jingoism, but a simple matter of fact. Never before have humans had so little, yet done so much, as what we of the Terran Republic have achieved since our forebearers reached out for the stars and grasped them with both hands, refusing to let go even when the opportunity to do so seemed like the only sane thing to do. And maybe we’re not sane. Maybe our reach has in fact exceeded our grasp. But maybe, just maybe, it’s the resolve demonstrated by men and women like those in the Terran Armor Corps that keeps us moving forward against all odds. My name is Sarah Samuels, and I’d like to introduce you to a group known to itself as the Metal Legion.”
Images of human colony ships, flanked by relatively meager escorts, flitted across the screen as music swelled and screenshots of every original colony in what eventually became the Terran Republic flitted by one after another. Eventually, armor units of every shape and size appeared, most of which were presently represented in Jenkins’ battalion. Heroic figures from the TAC’s past were shown, along with its current brass and, eventually, even members of Jenkins’ battalion appeared in the stream of images.
“This isn’t what I expected,” Xi said in surprise.
“She never said anything about this being a patriotic puff piece.” Styles nodded in agreement. “All she talked about was winning journalism prizes by hitting as hard and as fast as possible.”
“Something changed…” Styles mused.
“Or she was lying all along,” Xi suggested.
“Let’s see how this goes,” Jenkins urged, and the trio sat in silence while the program unfolded over the next forty-two minutes.
“We’re being tested, Ms. Samuels,” the image of Colonel Jenkins said on the special report, which Xi was shocked to find was unflinchingly supportive of the Armor Corps. She swelled with pride at hearing his words as he continued. “The universe is asking if we’re ready to stand on our own two feet and deal with whatever it can throw at us. Some might be tempted to retreat to the safety of their homes and hope that someone, somewhere, can keep them safe. But the Terran Armed Forces doesn’t run from fights. We run to them. You don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to pull the trigger. And you don’t deploy armor unless you’re ready to use it. This isn’t about minerals, Ms. Samuels. This is about standing up for what’s right, and that’s exactly what the Terran Armor Corps does damn single day.”
“Even if it gets you all killed?” Samuels challenged, though the pickup never switched from the image of Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins as his lips curled in a confident smirk.
“Especially if it gets us all killed,” he replied confidently.
Jenkins’ face was replaced with that of Sarah Samuels, this time from within the Dietrich Bonhoeffer in orbit around Shiva’s Wrath. As she spoke, she slowly walked along the drop-deck where mechs were being unloaded from drop-cans during the last stages of their withdrawal from the world. “As I spent these last few weeks with the men and women of the Terran Armor Corps, I came to understand them, not only as servicemen and women, but as Terrans. These people carry a proud tradition on their shoulders which stretches back to the first mounted cavalry charges on Old Earth, and I think it’s clear to anyone watching this program that theirs is a tradition worth preserving,” she said with such conviction and gusto that it sent chills down Xi’s spine. “The culture of camaraderie I found in the Metal Legion is stronger, and more intensely human, than anything I could have imagined. And I’m proud to say that I learned more about myself, and about them, than I ever thought possible during my time inside this very mech.” She gestured to the battered Elvira as it was unloaded from a nearby drop-can. “And as I close this program, I would like to convey just a slice of the wisdom expressed by its pilot, Xi Bao, a former criminal convicted of data theft for which she was sentenced to thirty years in prison. She’s also the youngest woman ever to attain the rank of captain in Armor Corps history, and quite probably the wisest person of her age that any of us will ever meet.”
Xi felt herself squirm uncomfortably as an image of her shaking her head with overt disapproval filled the screen. “Do you know what Thomas Jefferson said about an informed populace?” she heard herself ask with more than a hint of contempt.
“Tell me what he said,” Samuels asked with clear professionalism.
“He said ‘a well-informed populace can be trusted with its own government,’” Xi heard herself reply, and she found herself mouthing the words as her recorded-self spoke them. “But those words weren’t what he was really saying. They were a negative image of his true message, which was this: an uninformed populace absolutely cannot be trusted with its own government. I was informing the public with my data release, whether they were going to like what I showed them or not. I’m not the enemy here. The real enemies in my criminal case are the institutions which think they get to decide what information is or isn’t fit for public consumption. I broke the law, and I knew I’d be punished for it, but I did it anyway because I thought that the information I was putting out there was important and needed to be understood.”
Xi felt her CO’s eyes swivel over to her, which only made her feel like she was about to turn to sludge and fall through the chair onto the deck beneath her in a puddle of self-conscious goo. But the recording continued on, heedless of how uncomfortable its author felt at hearing her words repeated on air.
“Not because I agreed with what it suggested or represented,” the recording continued with a surprising degree of passion that she didn’t remember feeling in that moment, “or because I thought it would lead to a particular outcome, but because I always, always, think that more information is better than less. My government threw me in jail because they disagreed, and I can’t blame them for dropping the hammer on me since I disrupted their plans.” Her image shrugged indifferently. “The real problem in my case, Ms. Samuels, is the media that failed—and continues to fail—the people who depend upon it to present all of the facts so that we, the people, can make up our minds.”
The image of Samuels returned, and this time, she stood atop the highest building on Terra Han, the Bronze Phoenix Tower. The commanding view behind her was truly breathtaking, and it was impossible to ignore the new watermark on the lower righthand corner of the screen that read “DIN.”
“Strong words. And they were spoken by a particularly strong, dedicated woman who I’m not ashamed to admit makes me proud to call myself a Terran,” Samuels continued. “And the more I thought about what she said, the more convinced I became that Captain Xi Bao is right. We, the people, cannot be trusted with our own government if we do not have all the facts at our disposal. As a lifelong journalist, it gives me no pleasure to say that we can do better to bring you the truth than we have done. No…” Her eyes hardened into icy pools that seemed to pierce Xi’s soul. “We must do better. Which is why I’m proud to announce—” She splayed her hands wide, gesturing to the interior of the Bronze Phoenix Tower, where dozens of technicians sat at data-feed workstations. “—that this report is the first of many we’ll be featuring here on the newly-founded Durgan Investigative Network. Our goal isn’t to tell you what to think. It’s
to investigate where others won’t, to dig up stories that others ignore, and to present you as many facts as we can gather. And then we’ll move on to the next story, leaving the conjecture and opinion to you, because that’s what we’re supposed to do. It’s what you deserve, it’s what humanity needs, and it’s what DIN will provide. This is Sarah Samuels, signing off.”
The screen went blank, leaving the trio in a stunned silence that lasted three full minutes before Styles snickered. “You’d better dust off your makeup kit, Captain.”
Xi shot him a bewildered look, but Colonel Jenkins nodded in total agreement. “He’s right,” Jenkins explained. “You’re about to be swamped with interview requests.”
“I’ll set up the feeds.” Styles stood and quickly made his way to the door.
“But…we’re on information quarantine!” Xi objected, more than a little dismayed at the thought of sitting in front of a camera to provide satellite interviews. “The Bonhoeffer’s transceivers are under complete blackout! You just said so!”
Jenkins grinned, showing greater determination and resolve than she’d seen in him for two full weeks. “I think our friend Mr. Durgan just lifted the blackout…the hard way.”
Xi groaned in despair, sinking as deep into her chair as it would let her go while her CO laughed.
“Look on the bright side,” he said, enjoying her discomfort as he schooled his features into a reasonably neutral expression. “You’ll probably have a few thousand marriage proposals by this time tomorrow.”
She glared at him in irritation before finally flashing a lopsided grin. “I guess there might be an interesting gift or two…”
“That’s the spirit,” Jenkins declared as she stood from the chair and sighed.
“I hate cameras,” she muttered, “but I hate makeup even more.”
Less than an hour after the DIN’s inaugural program was broadcast across the New American data net, the Bonhoeffer’s information quarantine was provisionally lifted. They were not permitted to discuss any details of their deployment, but they were able to receive a lengthy stream of communiques while Captain Xi was given the ability to conduct “character interviews” with the nearly two hundred media outlets that had lined up to speak to her as soon as Samuels’ report had ended.
A dozen or so requests had come in for Jenkins himself, but he had declined since he had more important business items to address.
Foremost among those items was a sit-down with Chief Podsednik, who soon appeared at Jenkins’ door sporting a poorly-coordinated but fully-functional pair of prosthetic legs.
“Enter,” the lieutenant colonel commanded, and the wily chief known to the Legion as “Podsy” entered the room.
He was thin and sported a nearly-healed bruise covering the left side of his face, but his posture was upright and worthy of an Armor Corps officer in spite of having just spent three solid weeks in the spaceship’s brig. To say nothing of this being the first time Jenkins had seen him with his new, prosthetic legs beneath him.
“Chief.” Jenkins gestured to the seat opposite his own, and Podsy assumed the chair. “First off, how’s the eye?” he asked, gesturing to Podsy’s still-red eye. Likely a gift from Li’s people from when they initially delivered Podsy to the brig.
“Doc says it’ll be good as new in another couple of weeks, Colonel,” Podsy replied confidently.
Jenkins knew he needed to deal with this carefully. It was possible, even likely, that Colonel Li had him under constant surveillance while aboard the Bonhoeffer. That made every word he was about to say to Podsy of significant importance.
After all, the Armor Corps had just the one combat-ready assault carrier, and Li wasn’t the type to give up his command willingly.
“All right, I’ll cut straight to it,” Jenkin said. “You violated the Bonhoeffer’s data system integrity without prior authorization, and in doing so, you broke two dozen regs. Do you dispute this?”
Podsy shook his head firmly. “No, sir, I do not.”
Jenkins nodded approvingly. “When you’re a Wrench on one of my mechs, you’re your Jock’s problem, which means there’s someone between you and me to save me the frustration of dealing with a hotheaded, loose cannon like you every minute of every day. I don’t enjoy taking blowback for things I didn’t do. Do you understand me, mister?” he demanded with steadily-increasing volume.
“Yes, Colonel, I do, sir.” Podsy nodded stiffly. Jenkins only hoped the other man could read the situation without external cues, and respond as he hoped he would.
“You’ve jammed me up here, Chief.” Jenkins grimaced. “Because on the one hand, I’d like to bust your ass back down to a deckhand and watch you spend the next six months scrubbing the deck with your tongue. But on the other—” His face twisted sourly. “—everyone under Colonel Li’s command during our latest deployment has been recommended for commendation for scrapping the first Jemmin ship in Terran history. I can’t in good conscience allow you to be commended for breaking regs, Chief, but Colonel Li has insisted it would be unfair to you not to receive some sort of recognition for the part you played in neutralizing the Jemmin at Shiva’s Wrath.”
Podsy’s eyes flickered with confusion before finally, he seemed to understand where Jenkins was going with this.
“On top of all that,” Jenkins continued blithely, producing a stack of requisition forms as thick as his forearm, “it seems that you’ve managed to call in more ordnance, perishables, and even derelict vehicles,” he said with legitimate surprise that Podsy had somehow succeeded in horse-trading for three mechs previously held in private collections, “in the last few weeks before we shipped out than I managed to put aboard the Bonhoeffer prior to deploying to Shiva’s Wrath.”
Jenkins took out a pair of silver lieutenant’s pips still in their decorative case and tossed them onto Podsy’s lap.
“I’m not putting those on you, Chief, because I don’t think you’ve earned them,” Jenkins snapped. “But there’s someone aboard this ship who might. My advice to you? Go to him right now, this instant, and demonstrate not only that you’re remorseful but that you can be an indispensable member of the team going forward. Make him believe,” he said with perhaps a bit more theatricality than he was going for, “that you’re a changed man, and I might be inclined to believe it myself.” Jenkins stood from the desk, looking down with as much measured disdain as he could summon. “I’ve got an inspection to make of the drop-deck, where the rest of the battalion is doing their duty.” He shook his head and hoped he conveyed ample disappointment. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Podsy said, bracing to attention and saluting before awkwardly turning on his prosthetic heels and leaving Jenkins’ berth aboard the Bonhoeffer.
A few minutes later, Jenkins arrived at a specially-prepared drop-can where Styles and Xi were putting the finishing touches on their latest project. Everyone was in place, and everything was prepared. Now the only thing left to them was to wait.
Minutes steadily ticked by until the faint footfalls of boots on the deck approached the drop-can. Andrew Podsednik soon emerged at the open mouth of the can, which erupted in cheers and a relatively meager but well-deserved shower of confetti as the newly-minted lieutenant was greeted by every member of the battalion that had been deployed on Shiva’s Wrath.
“Congratulations, Podsy.” Xi was the first to embrace him, and she was soon followed by every other member of the battalion. They knew he had been the key part of their lifeline during deployment, and they knew the risk he had taken by uploading the antivirus.
“Thank you, everyone,” Podsy said after a few minutes of celebration. “I’m just glad you’re all okay.”
“Lieutenant Podsednik.” Jenkins lifted a glass of what had to be the worst hooch ever distilled by servicemen in human history. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir,” Podsednik said with feeling as his eyes began to mist over.
“Enjoy yourselves,” Jenkins urged before disemb
arking the drop-can and leaving his people to enjoy the moment.
God knew they’d earned it.
21
Chairman of the Board
High above New America was the DSV Kirin, the most powerful non-government warship to fly the Terran Republic’s banner. The flagship of the Durgan Security Fleet, its armaments rivaled the Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s, and it served as the mobile headquarters for none other than Chairman Durgan himself.
Jenkins followed the private security officer through the ship’s snake-like corridors before arriving at a gilded wooden door carved with religious iconography from essentially every human society throughout history.
He took a moment to appreciate the carvings and their quality before passing through the door and seeing a breathtaking compartment beyond.
Fully thirty meters across, the semi-circular room’s curved, far wall was a transparent viewing portal beyond which the icy sphere of New America loomed.
“Colonel Jenkins,” Durgan greeted, standing beside the viewing portal and uncannily reminding Jenkins of General Akinouye’s similar stance near one of the Bonhoeffer’s viewing portals a few days earlier. “Come in.”
Surprisingly, this particular image was undeniably more impressive than even that struck by the Armor Corps’ top officer aboard his flagship.
Jenkins made his way to stand beside Director Durgan, who said, “I never tire of this view. When I look down there, I don’t see a planet in the middle stages of terraforming. I see the future of humanity, carried on the backs of a hundred million hardworking people who want nothing more than to sink their roots as deep as possible so they might secure our species’ future.”
