“If you’re not guaranteeing I get a fair challenge to a capital charge, I’m not telling you what it is.”
“I will have to consult on that. In the meantime, you will be confined to your billet for security. Food will be brought to you.”
He had the MPs waiting outside already.
They were totally professional. I walked ahead of them to my billet, coded in, and I heard the door lock cycle behind me.
At least I wasn’t interrogated with a transformer up my ass or my cooze. But sitting there was terrible.
Had they all died for nothing? Well, it was for something, but if I was the only witness, they’d never be remembered. That made their deaths even colder.
Then I realized I was facing a desertion charge. It was the only crime I knew of that actually carried a confirmed sentence. Death by firing squad.
I really hadn’t thought about it, but I was being dumped just as badly. My contract money, gone. My honor, gone. My life, gone. I’d risked my life and everything else, and I couldn’t prove I’d done anything.
I don’t know if I slept. I sat on the rack, head against the wall, chewing on the inside of my cheek until it was raw, banging my head. I didn’t bang it hard, but I guess a thousand of them was enough to cause a bruise.
After what felt like days I was brought breakfast. Morgan brought it personally.
“Okay, Ms. Kaneshiro, I decided to take this further.”
“What does that mean?” He was unreadable, but I thought I was about to be dragged in front of a court.
“You believably knew Ms. Garweil. I knew her slightly, I believe you met her. We had several clandestine teams out. A UN ship was captured, and they never admitted it. It actually never made the news, because we weren’t going to say anything. So I’m withholding any action until you produce the PARs, or don’t.”
“I said—”
“Yes, citizen’s office. We can do that after you eat.”
“And shower,” I said. “Turn the monitors off.” If I didn’t relieve some stress, I was going to be a wreck. I don’t mind a private show, but I didn’t want the guards eying me taking care of business.
“Our appointment is at three fifty. It’s two fifty-four now.”
“That will be fine. Thank you, sir.”
He nodded and left.
I used the shower. I couldn’t orgasm, but I needed some kind of contact, touch, focus to get my mind in order. I often wonder if I have a hormone imbalance for male hormones. I always get wired when stressed.
I got clean, put on shipsuit and pulled my hair up, and paced until they came and got me.
Morgan walked with me. The MPs stayed back.
I hadn’t been in a citizen’s office since I took the residency oath, and it wasn’t a spaceside one. This one was bigger than my billet, but not huge. Even citizens were limited in available cube.
There was a reception desk, but it was empty. We walked past that into an open rear office.
The citizen was there, standing and waiting. He extended hands and shook.
“Lady, I’m Citizen Drake.”
He was forty or so, gray, handsome, calm and not at all unfriendly. That helped.
“Aongheloice Kaneshiro,” I said. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“I hope I can help,” he said.
He took a seat, gestured for us to do so, and then referenced his screen.
“So, in summary, you report being a contract guide for one of our black operations elements, but all records have been destroyed, which is understandable, but puts you in a very delicate position.”
“Yes, sir, that’s the summary.” Oh, good. He was fair. I felt a huge wave of relief. This might not be the last day of my life. I’d had too many of those lately. And yes, it was a very black operation. That was the first time I’d heard that name, and about then was the first time their existence was made public. I leaned back in the chair and relaxed slightly.
“What length of service was your enlistment?”
“It was a standard four-year, from when I was twelve to sixteen.” I gave the dates.
He shook his head, “No, your new contract on Churchill.”
“I . . . didn’t sign one, sir.”
“You didn’t sign an enlistment contract?”
“I locked aboard right as they buttoned up, and they put me to work. I was assigned duties, but never actually put it on file, no.”
“We don’t have any records of that, either. That would tend to make any charges of desertion a problem, then, if you weren’t enlisted. You’d be possibly a distressed spacer, or possibly a veteran on Space Available transport. I’d have to research it, but I don’t think that’s relevant to the core problem.”
I had never even stopped to think about the legalities, and apparently no one on Mad Jack had, either. He was right. You can’t go AWOL if you’re not actually in the military. I never signed a contract and hadn’t been conscripted.
“So,” he continued, “you say you have post action reports that will help clarify your statements.”
“I hope so.”
“You don’t have them? Or they’re not available easily?”
“No, sir, I have them, but I haven’t looked at them. I told Juan, the element commander, I’d courier them home. I don’t know what he actually documented.”
“Understood. Well, assuming the documents check out, you are to be commended for your attention to duty.”
He waved at his phone, which beeped.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to invite another party into these proceedings.”
Morgan said, “I’m very uncomfortable with that, citizen, but I’ll of course go along with your guidance.”
I said, “I guess it depends on who it is.”
Drake brushed at his desk console, the door to the right opened, and a uniform came in.
It took me a moment to read her. General. Five battle stars. Citation for valor. Space, air and ground qual badges. Mobile Assault and Blazer tabs, and a command badge.
I was on my feet at attention.
“Ma’am,” I said, and almost saluted.
“Please, relax.”
She was young, too. I put her at twenty, maybe twenty five. She was my age, and a fucking general.
Then I realized that was probably because she’d survived the last two years.
Then I realized that was a pretty high qual all by itself.
“I’m co . . . General Sansing. Second Legion command.”
If things hadn’t changed much, she was probably the third ranking officer in the Forces. She might be fourth if there was someone older.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said. Hopefully this wasn’t all for nothing. I had as much attention as it was safe to have.
Morgan said, “If this suits your needs for witnesses, I’d like to see the PARs, please.”
“Yes,” I said.
I continued, “So, the chip is implanted, but I’m told the right kind of scanner will read it.”
Sansing reached down to her satchel, rummaged around and pulled out a monitor wand.
“Probably this one,” she said.
“That could be it.” I paused for a moment. “I will need to remove my shirt.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. “This can read through fabric.”
“My shirt is made of faramesh.” It wasn’t as if we hadn’t thought of things reading through fabric. I’d alternated the pair of these under my other clothes since . . . then.
“Oh. Then go ahead.”
I took off my jacket and hung it on the chair, then zipped down my shipsuit to my waist and peeled the shirt over my head. The men did look, but they were discreet.
“Right here,” I pointed at a spot two centimeters below my right nipple.
I’ll give Sansing this, she didn’t twitch. We’re pretty casual people, and spacing makes that even more so, but actually getting close and touching a stranger like that still takes effort.
/> She pointed her scanner, moved it around slightly and said, “I have signal. And I have files.”
Citizen Drake said, “I didn’t know they could secure information like that.” He was trying to smile politely without being informal. If I’d been an actual nudist, he could have ignored it. As it was, I was half dressed with tits jutting out.
I said, “They said no one would be looking for it there, and it would be easier to hide than hands or butt.”
He said, “Yes, faramesh shirts are easier than pants.”
But Sansing was reading the files and not paying attention to us. I took that as permission to cover back up. The men tried really hard not to watch.
Nothing happened for half a seg. Then she said, “Citizen, please release this detainee. Specialist . . . Ms. Kaneshiro, thank you officially and personally for bringing this information. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“So do I, ma’am. Uh, what do I do now?”
“Oh, by all means stay here for now. I’m sure we’ll have more questions. Agent Morgan, can you move her into accommodations of her choice? If the Hilton has space, book her in there.”
“At once. Ms. Kaneshiro, I’m very glad this worked out. I hope the intel is useful.”
“Thanks. Really, knowing their story is safe is the big thing.”
That was the first time I’d heard of black operations. I now know they’re their own element of special warfare. There are all kinds of rumors and war stories about what complete wizards and brutes they are. I can swear the stories don’t even come close.
I was moved into officer lodging, which was a bit roomier and more comfortable, and given a chip to access the exchange and contracts. I pigged out on chili tuna and rosemary salmon and garlic shrimp, and buzzed my brain with a violet zap and some beer. I finally felt the war was over.
But it wasn’t. The next day I was back in Morgan’s office. It was down the passage from Gestang’s.
“The files have been read and filed,” he said.
“Oh, good. Do you need elaboration? Holes to fill?”
“We will. That’s not the immediate issue.”
I realized he looked very uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The report details their operations, and them meeting up with you in Earth space before the final push. You were furnished the intel and given transit funds back here.”
“That’s . . .” What the hell?
Morgan said, “So you were only a courier.”
“I don’t know why I’m not there. I should be.” This just kept going.
“Lady, you’re free to go. I wouldn’t make any kind of fuss. You get veteran status for your very brief service, thanks for couriering the intel, and you’re as free as the rest of us. Don’t blow it out of proportion. And don’t take it personally.”
He paused for a moment, and I was still swimming. How did they manage to erase me from all that? How was that possible?
He said, “You’re probably aware there’s a lot of troops here who couldn’t get into the fight, or had to go underground. There’s one young man who managed to take a spaceside job and claims he sabotaged the UN astrogation on several ships. Hard to prove, but we know he took the job because he needed cover and funds, and it’s true none of those ships fought their best. We also know Scrommelfenk needed a major scrub and rebuild of astro software, and some sensor refits. He gets the benefit of the doubt, too.”
“Please understand I’m not calling you a liar. But we can’t credit anything we can’t prove, and we don’t need a lot of grandiose stories cluttering the actual investigation. Thank you for your service.”
That was it. He gestured at the door.
I left, wondering how much longer I had in lodging, if any time at all. I might have to start looking for cubbies and flops at once.
I’d trusted Juan. I wondered if he expected I’d get captured, and want to keep me out of it. If the UN got the intel, we might eventually steal it, or maybe already had plans in place. But if I was mentioned, there I was facing the death penalty again.
I knew whatever happened he’d had a good reason. I decided I’d keep quiet.
It wasn’t the money. Okay, part of it was. It was a lot of money. Mostly, it was my integrity. “We can’t prove you’re a cowardly, deserting turd, so we’re going to say you served acceptably.”
It wasn’t acceptable.
The code showed I had two more days of lodging. I figured I should use a fair amount from the chip to stock my ruck with work clothes, food and some accessories. I’d be back on my own funds later, which were the leftovers Juan had furnished me, then back to my own savings. I ordered for delivery, and left everything there to go walk about and get my head clear.
I was in the exchange passageway when my phone pinged.
“Report to Morgan at once,” it said.
Gods, wasn’t this ever going to end? I hoped it was just for some details to fill in. Though what details, I wasn’t sure, since they thought I wasn’t even involved.
When I got to Intel, a specialist was waiting and directed me right past the screen to his office.
I knocked, the door opened.
I stepped in, and stopped.
General Sansing was there with him.
“You were on contract,” she said without even a greeting.
“Yes.”
“A substantial one.”
“I didn’t say that, but yes.” What did it matter now?
She held up her phone. “Crypto found a secondary code that opened up a modified file. Warrant Leader Stephens actually wrote two complete and distinct logs. The second one includes you, confirms everything you said.
“Lady, I am very impressed by this report. There will be entire Military College studies done on this, all over space, not just us.”
“All I did was act as guide.”
“The black ops teams found guides to be essential. And you came to us, with a huge wealth of information. Then, you took active part in the missions. Really, you should be proud.”
“Well, thank you.”
Proud? Less than a day after I was supposed to be ashamed and keep my mouth shut?
She said, “I apologize for the complicated circumstances of war. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the Forces and myself. You will be credited with all the relevant service, and I’m sure we’ll consult further on the events.”
“Sure,” I agreed. I didn’t really have a choice anyway.
She had a wide-eyed expression as she said, “Which doesn’t mean it’s not going to be painful to authorize a draft for this amount. That is a lot of zeroes.”
CHAPTER 39
So I have an award called the Intelligence Cluster. I’d never heard of that. I have a POW medal. I have a Citation for Courage for volunteering aboard Mad Jack, and a star on it for volunteering for my mission.
Then two weeks after that I had to report to the UN consulate, which was three small offices guarded by a squad of Blazers, because people are still angry, and the UN can’t afford better.
I wasn’t sure they were “just” Blazers.
I stood to attention while I was awarded the UN Humanitarian Action Medal, for rescuing the crew of Scrommelfenk. We could have blown her, but they say we risked resources in combat to save their people. I received nine more, on behalf of the team, to deliver to their families.
The elderly colonel awarding it was very serious, even in a room with just himself, a lieutenant, and myself and one of our sergeants assigned as my escort.
He presented me with mine, shook my hand, handed me nine more for “The crew of the Henri Pieper,” and shook my hand again.
He concluded with, “I wish all our engagements could have been under such honorable circumstances.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I will make sure these reach their families.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for the loss of your comrades.”
I think he actually was.
Then my pay. It was a huge draft, based on time, number of actions, risks. The actual military pay I got for the handful of combat I was in looked sad and trivial in comparison, which wasn’t fair, because that was real money I’d earned.
I didn’t feel like a failure or traitor when accused of it. But now, I don’t feel like a hero. I did what I could and what I had to.
I know who the heroes are.
It took me a month to realize I could follow up with their families. I’d had the UN medals shipped, but I could visit in person, except it would take months at least.
But I verballed them all, and we shared tears. I’m not going to cover that here. That’s private and personal and not mine.
Recovering from a war takes longer than the war itself. All the existing routes and routines were a shambles. People were dead, missing, injured. Civilians had lost wealth and livelihoods. What had been the point of all this? Was it just jealousy on an interstellar scale? Is that what it all came down to?
They’d wrecked our system. We’d ruined theirs. At the end, neither of us owned any space we hadn’t owned before. It was a total waste of resources.
A week later I was called again, though it was unofficially official. I reported to the mildock and joined a formation in uniform, with me still in work clothes.
I stood to as we officially commissioned four ships, including the FMS NCA Henri Pieper, which sounds so odd. A chime sounded, and she was officially listed as “Ship, Cargo (I supplement), Acquired Asset.”
Then “All Hands” sounded, and another chime. Her status changed to “Destroyed in combat with the enemy,” and she was stricken from the active list. Mira had been right. She’d been born a freighter, but she died a warship, and deserved the mention. I cried.
Alongside her name were two and a half stars for engagements. One kill, one capture, one damage. She ranked higher than quite a few actual warships.
She’d been a grand old lady and I still missed her, too.
CHAPTER 40
Station Breakout, across from Earth, was useless until the destroyed Jump Point could be reconstructed. With phase drive to astrogate between the points, they said it could be up again within the year.
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