Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata

by Aaron Kennedy

  There are many ways of hiding. The easiest is to find a place of hunkering down and not be seen. We’d done that with Heart in Kermadec Trench while Em and I enjoyed room service on his credits. It’s a great method but doesn’t accomplish anything. The purloined letter method is almost as good. Take something at shove it in plain sight so folks ignore it. After passing a couple of times, it’s always been there so they don’t even question its presence anymore. The one I was most familiar with was to act like you’re supposed to be there. I don’t know if it’s only me or all humans are wired this way, but we generally don’t like confrontation. We don’t want to start arguments or fights. We’ll actually spend more effort avoiding one than one would take. Back in Auckland, I was able to pretend to be a delivery driver simply because no one questioned me. I looked the part, therefore, I must be one.

  I had used that same idea to acquire the repeaters from a store in Hong Kong as well as most of the other goods we were using. I was able to prey upon the subconscious of those around me. If we could do it with gear, why couldn’t we do it with people? I explained my idea to Heart who responded, “There is the matter of trust. Who can we trust on this endeavor?”

  Chapter 29

  If I were to map my life into a pie chart the bulk would be on ship, the wilderness, and in bars. Only a small sliver would show up anywhere else, and I’d bet good money it was on the way between those three places.

  I don’t want to imply I’m some kind of lush. I’m not. I like booze for the taste, but I got getting drunk out of my system long ago. Bars fill my social niche. I’m not big on crowds, but for whatever reason bars don’t trigger my issues in the same way so they allow me to stay engaged and keep from becoming a hermit. The nice part about them is they exist everywhere. Everywhere I’ve ever been at least. Not every establishment has alcohol, or whatever the local intoxicant is, but humans have a habit of making meeting places and I might as well call them bars. Call a duck a duck and all that. White Caps is a bar, Spacelanes is a bar, and the place I was heading to in Hong Kong was a bar.

  Although Legion wasn’t technically allowed on Terra, that restriction didn’t mean there weren’t any of us running about. An embargo is only as good as the customs agents. I shared my thought process with Heart that maybe we’d be able to find other folks like myself, but on the other side of the border. “Ari, you were correct, the conventions did not specify deportation of former Legionnaires but I am not sure how this new information will help us. There is no master database for me to access linking membership.” I asked him where he would find ships if he didn’t have a database. “I would start at the spaceport.” I could almost hear an audible gear click before “Oh. You believe there will be former comrades close to the installation.” Bingo.

  Everyone joins for his or her own reasons. There are as many reasons as there are Legionnaires or Imperials or Mariners or whatever flavor of spacer exists but there was always a constant from folks who got out. The thing veterans missed the most was the people. Some sort of cultural bit. After spending so long in, we were foreigners in our own land. We no longer belonged from where we came from, so we hovered along the outskirts of places close those to the ones we just left.

  Looking back, my transition had been good. Insanely complex, but good. If not for Lysha and Heart, it would have been rough. It’s hard to change gears without a support structure. Without family, and they were my new family. I was getting ready to dive back into my old world. To visit extended family.

  You can never really go home again, but you can visit. I was trying to explain all of this to Heart as the cab dropped me at the front gate of the Cadre Club. There’s not a lot of green in Hong Kong, but I’d guess ninety percent of the grass was on Cadre’s lawn. I could see it peeking out through the front gate as I approached. I wanted to stop and stare but I could hear the guard in the booth and I’d been that guy before so I walked up. He gave me a quick glance, seeing I obviously wasn’t a local, then rattled off in Standard, “How can I help you, Sir?”

  I wasn’t in a position to flash idents, so I told him Schmiddy sent me by way of the Rope and asked if there was any way I could get a day pass. His eyes flashed when I mentioned Schmiddy and again at the Europe. “Ah, I was on the Khan with the Freak. When’d you get back?” He started pulling down a lanyard and plugging in my info. Each of the big ships has nicknames because it’s way too easy to call them by their real names. The Europe, my old ship is the Rope. The Freak is the Africa. There’s also the Antarctica, Australia, North America, and South America which go by Ant, Ozzie, Merica, and the Ham. The only one without a nickname is the Asia because it’s hard to shorten that. We talked shop for a few minutes then he let me in through the small door.

  The Cadre Club is more of an estate than a bar. If White Caps had open space, I think it would probably look a lot like Cadre. It was an old school country club, catering to military types. I knew Schmiddy was a member, but he had never told me how he became one. Dropping his name at the front gate wasn’t strictly kosher, but as long as I didn’t make a fool of myself it shouldn’t be an issue. The nice part about of buddies is the ability to leverage help when needed. He’d have the same resource if he ever needed it.

  My walk up was leisurely. I couldn’t help it. The place had a natural calm that seeped into the bones as I made my way from the gate up the path towards the front entry. “We are going to find your associates here?” Heart sounded shocked, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like most military was upper class. This place screamed top one percent. Despite my recent forays into society with Lysha, I was not a member of the elite.

  I’m from the middle of nowhere and although my folks were far from rich, I had a comfortable childhood. I started working as soon as I was able. First with odd jobs, and then with more steady stuff while I was going through school. As soon as I was eighteen, all those savings disappeared with a one-way ticket to LC. I’ve never had debt, though. Never had a chance to get it. Moreover, because the Legion covered most of my bills, my accounts grew over time. If I was smart, I could live well. Not Cadre well, but I could choose my own path.

  It so happened I was woefully underdressed for the current path, even by the casual standards I saw around me. Had I given half a thought I would have dressed the part, but I had bolted out the hotel when inspiration hit. For the most part, spacer bars are like normal bars. Spacelanes is middle of the spectrum. White Caps is high end, but it’s old and well established. The Cadre Club was even higher end than White Caps, catering to the officer crowd more than the rank and file like me. Not as though I would be unwelcome. Exactly the opposite. The staff, like the guy at the front gate, would be extremely pleasant, but the club wasn’t an environment I was used to. I was more accustomed to the deeper end of the rainbow.

  If I could have chosen a different bar, I probably would have, but Hong Kong had the Cadre Club, so that’s where I went. I’m sure there are other spacer bars in the area, but none as big, and none as well known. Had I ended up in Tokyo, Edoten would have been my first choice, but Nero’s would have been a close second. That’s not to say there weren’t advantages, being handed an orange juice almost as soon as I entered was the first.

  I made my way to the concierge counter and waited for a gentlemen dressed for tennis to finish up with a tropical suited lady with the telltale golden keys and a maroon ascot. “Ari, who are we going to see?” Before I could sub-vocalize an answer, she waved me forward with a huge smile and asked how she could help. I let her know I was looking for the chapel.

  The directions she gave were simple to follow, but it still took a good ten minutes to reach the chapel. I got the impression it was for weddings more than actual services. I’ve never been big on attending church as my folks took an Einsteinian view on religion. All that life energy has to go somewhere, but they never exactly said where. Having studied physics and chemistry since then, I know the math a little better now, but I like the comfort of faith, and w
hen it boils down to it ideas are a kind of energy and life. Maybe spreading those is a bit of immortality.

  “But why are we here?” I hadn’t meant to ignore Heart’s question earlier, but I got caught up in the setting. If looking for someone to trust, go to family, bartender, or a priest. I let him know I was hoping to leverage all three by visiting a chaplain.

  Chapter 30

  Chaplains are sort of strange ducks. They fill a niche role in the profession of arms. Their history is probably as old as the profession itself. When man first stepped out into the big dark, we brought with us fear, but we also brought with us light. Chaplains help carry that.

  It doesn’t matter whether someone is a believer or not, space is a big and scary place. War is a terrifying concept. Chaplains are someone to talk to about scary things. Things that can’t be discussed with buddies. Things people don’t want to be judged about.

  The irony I was attempting to seek counsel from a priest about breaking the eighth commandant was not lost on me but the fact we took men of peace into battle wasn’t lost either. It took men with a special mindset to reconcile the latter, so I hoped my broaching the former wouldn’t be a problem.

  I had finished explaining my logic to Heart when an older man geared for golf approached. Like the rest of the people I had passed in the Cadre Club, he was dressed well but casually in khaki slacks, an aloha shirt, and a Panama hat. “You look like a man on a mission. What brings you to our little corner of paradise?” Big smile, firm handshake. “We don’t get many visitors until wedding season, but something tells me that’s not why you’re here.” I returned his smile and nodded. His mood was infectious, and I couldn’t help but be pulled in.

  I’m fairly good with people, but that’s mainly because I’ve spent a lot of time working on it. I’m not extroverted naturally and the close friends I have been hard won. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I’m fairly socially awkward unless I know the protocols in advance. The Legion was great about that. It wasn’t super rigid, but enough to help me overcome my normal anxious tendencies. Coming to see the chaplain triggered a lot of my nervousness, but his mood helped a lot.

  He sat us in a side pew, and we began chatting. Every chaplain I’d ever encountered had been from the Imperial side of the house. Legion and the Mariners borrow ours from them, usually after they retire. They do an abbreviated training so they know their way around, but for the most part, the chaplains are valued guests on the boats a lot like General Campbell was when I met him.

  Reverend Brandt had spent almost all of his time with the Mariners after playing cold cargo during one of the big expedition waves. That was decades before I joined, and the Northern Reaches, where I’m from isn’t exactly Empire friendly to begin with. We fall more under the wary but neutral side of things. I had met dozens of Imperials over the years because it’s impossible not to. They’re everywhere, but the only one I knew well were Robert who was an expat up in Luna. From what I gathered, there wasn’t a lot of love lost between the people and the government as it swapped political hands every century or so. They’d go from expansionist to isolationist, and usually involving a forced migration and conscription program until the next party took control again.

  Love of home is a strange thing, there’s a longing for it. Like myself, the Reverend had the call of Terra so he and few other pastors had worked out a deal where they rotated duties at the Cadre Club and a few of the outlying locations on a couple year basis. I told him their arrangement sounded like a sweet deal to me. “There’s a downside of course. Fieldhren 4 is fairly undeveloped.” His fingers went up for air quotes when he said the last, “but the people are happy to have someone to talk to. And it’s amazing what can be distilled with human ingenuity.” He shook his head at that. Visions of spiders made me shiver.

  I had taken off my dampers when I had come into the chapel and they were hanging on my collar, so I knew Heart was itching for answers and to ask questions, but I couldn’t justify leaving them on inside. I knew he could hear the conversation, giving me a bit of solace. I hadn’t rehearsed how I was going to bring this up, and I had only given Heart the barest outline of what my intent was adding even more to my nerves.

  We needed help. It was that simple. The job had gotten too big for just the two of us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t call on our normal support chain, so my goal was to find the next best thing. I wanted someone I could trust implicitly and Heart’s comments had keyed me in on the idea of spacers. Who better than a chaplain to point us in the right direction. They tend to know where folks are, and how to keep their mouths shut. Bartenders are a close second, but without personally knowing them, the latter isn’t always true.

  I wasn’t sure how much of our mission I could share with Reverend Brandt, not because of the trust factor, but because I didn’t want to impose on him. So I gave a rough outline leaving out a lot of details equating to needing local business help and being unfamiliar with the area after being gone so long. The sensitive nature of the job led me to the club and to him in particular. He nodded along with my story, which was true although incomplete.

  It’s always been my policy to be as honest as possible. I don’t like to lie if I can avoid it, even through omission. This was no different. I realized my mission fell into the realm of ethically gray but I was also actively avoiding hurting anyone where possible so my twinges of guilt didn’t ping too hard.

  The Reverend didn’t seem to pick up any of my misgivings and took my contact information with a smile and a parting handshake. “I’ll need to see who is about the area of course, but I’m sure there might be some of our brothers who are looking for employment.”

  Chapter 31

  Two days later my comm unit finally rang, and I about dove off the bed to break up the monotony, getting a hissing cat for my trouble. “It’s Talbot Brandt. We spoke over at the Cadre Club the other day. I hope I didn’t catch you too late in the evening?” I tried to mask my excitement with small talk and told him it was fine being a bit of a night owl. “Good, good. I think I may have found someone who can help you if you’re still looking.” I let him know indeed, I was. Well sort of, as the good Reverend was the only one I had contacted thus far, but not something he needed to know. “Great, I’ll pass along your information, and you two can meet up.” I thanked him profusely and after a couple more minutes of chatting ended the call.

  No sooner had the line gone silent than Heart chimed in. I think he was feeding off my excitement this time. “This is excellent news. But now we are back to waiting again.” I told him that was one hell of a way to kill the mood. “That was not my intent, but it is a good thing time is not one of our limited resources.” He had that right. But we knew that going in. This was a recon mission. It was all about hurry up and wait, in typical military fashion. Get in position and wait for something to happen. Find out what was going on. We were getting close, but waiting was an essential part of it. I wasn’t sure acquiring one of the comm units was the final hurdle, but I was pretty sure it was near the home stretch. We’d be able to see the finish line at least.

  The biggest thing no one ever mentions when joining up is the amount of downtime there is. The posters seem to imply constant adventure. Seeing far off places and doing things, and there is but traveling to those locations takes time. In addition, upon arrival, there is endless planning and preparation before actually getting to do any of the amazing things recruiters promised them.

  I was lucky; when I joined up, I just wanted to see the stars. The journey itself was my goal, and as I ranked up and started to see behind the curtain, I got to have even more fun. Planning for missions has its own excitement, its own stresses, and although it’s not the same type of fun as seeing the stars, it’s definitely more fun than being shot at, and hugely more fun than being shot. The latter being no fun at all, even with energy displacers which usually only take the brunt of the blow.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how Heart managed boredom on his own when he didn�
��t have his ship building projects but unless I was moving or actively planning, cabin fever would start to build up. It wasn’t boredom as I’ve never really had that problem, but the need to accomplish something. Even though it had only been a couple of days since I visited the Cadre Club, I knew it wasn’t some sort of magic wand, but one could hope. Even Em had been giving oddball looks like I was throwing off her peace and quiet.

  A short time after Reverend Brandt’s call, I received a message from a Max Hayes asking about the details. I asked Heart what he could find out regarding our potential recruit. “I am unable to provide much on Mr. Hayes background, unfortunately. I would hazard he is Imperial as I have fairly comprehensive data on the Legion up until our departure but that is conjecture. Based on your interaction with Colonel Brandt, however, I would assume he can be relied upon.” I tended to agree and arranged a meeting for the following day before lunch. We weren’t out anything at this point, and we could always come up with a cover story if things didn’t work out.

  I called down to the front desk and scheduled a private conference room. There was a certain amount of laziness in it, which I claimed as efficiency. Might as well make things simple for myself. I reasoned there was nothing wrong with taking the easy way every now and again, especially as the hotel would provide water, a fruit platter, and Heart could listen over the built-in audiovisual system without drawing too much attention.

  After winding down a bit, I decided to catch a bit of sleep as the chaplain actually had called later than I had expected.

  I woke from a dead sleep by a buzzing on the tip of my nose. Em had decided placing her wet nose on mine, and purring was the best way to inform me she was out of food. Had we been anywhere but in Terra gravity, I would have launched her a good ten meters when I came instantly awake. It is my firm belief she anticipated this by using her little pitons to grip into both my good shoulder and chest to lock on. After much yelping and carefully removing said claws I crawled out of bed and noted the time being right before dawn. Cats are crepuscular, a fancy way of saying active during twilight. The only reason I know that particular word is because I had an instructor who liked to point out humans were not. Our brains shut down during the time right before dawn. Best time to launch the snooze-alarm attack, which apparently our self-domesticated allies the cats discovered several thousand years ago.