Stark's Command

by John G. Hemry

  Stacey Yurivan stood alone in the hallway outside the meeting room, a half-mocking grin on her face. "How's life, Commander, sir?"

  "Just peachy. Anybody else here yet?"

  "As far as I can tell, the other groups are all inside already. Just waiting for us mil to show up."

  Stark felt his face getting warm with anger. "It's not scheduled to start for another half-hour. We're not late."

  She grinned wider. "Guess everybody else is eager for this meeting. And we're not."

  "I'd rather be leading a suicide raid," Stark admitted. "I take it everything's goin' great in your job?"

  The grin slid away, replaced by an expression of mild annoyance. "Oh, yeah. Everything's perfect."

  "Which bothers you for some reason."

  Yurivan shrugged. "Look, suppose you were my boss—"

  "I am your boss."

  "Yeah. Right. I forget. Anyway, suppose maybe two months had gone by and you hadn't caught me doing anything against regulations. How would you feel?"

  "Grateful?"

  Stacey grinned again. "Wrong. You'd be worried, 'cause I'm always doing something, right? And the fact you haven't caught me means you haven't figured out what the latest 'something' is."

  Stark frowned in response, his eyes straying to the conference room door. "Who you worried about?"

  "The big guys. You know, the national agencies."

  "I thought we hadn't detected any activity by them against us."

  Yurivan sighed heavily. "Okay, do I have to explain this again?"

  "No, no. I get it." Stark rubbed his chin, thinking of the sort of operations he'd known the national agencies to pull off in the past. "You figure they're up to somethin'."

  "I know they're up to something! Those people do not sit on their butts when a big problem is going down, and we're a pretty big problem. But I haven't detected any serious attempts to mess up our systems or to send in saboteurs or spies. So what have I missed?"

  "Maybe they've got orders to lay off. Maybe the politicians and the Pentagon are worried about making us mad, especially with these talks going down now."

  "Oh, sure. All that theory requires is that the politicians and Pentagon are actually thinking about all this instead of going off half-cocked or treating it like another game of king of the mountain! Heck, that happens all the time!"

  Vic Reynolds leaned into the conversation, glancing from side to side. "Hi, Ethan. Hey, Stace. How's the snark hunt going?"

  "As usual." Yurivan dipped a hand into one of her pockets, surfacing with a data coin. "But my people did find this stuff this morning."

  "Oh?" Reynolds took the proffered coin, turning it in her hand. "What stuff might this be?"

  "The stuff you asked me to look for."

  "That certainly narrows it down." Vic popped the coin into her palmtop, read briefly, then grinned. "Ah. I believe Mr. Trasies will no longer be a problem."

  Stark smiled in turn. "You found the dirt?"

  Stacey looked smug. "Those programs that keep data storage all neat and well-organized made it a lot easier. The dirt was hidden, but thanks to the clean-up programs that meant we had an apparently big empty space sitting in the middle of lots of nice, compacted, defragmented data. Stood out like a sore thumb once we went looking, then it was just a matter of cracking the access codes. Your little slimeball Trasies used to report regularly on people and events up here until we locked up his mil officer contacts. Looks like he was on the payroll of a couple national agencies and a few corporations as well."

  "Think Campbell'll be sufficiently ticked off over that?"

  "He will be when he reads Trasies's assessments of him. Not that Trasies spoke highly of anyone but his own bosses from what I could scan this morning. But he's been downright nasty about the Colony Manager."

  "Good work, Stacey."

  "Don't bend yourself out of shape thanking me," Yurivan noted sarcastically. "It might go to my head." She stepped closer, eyes intent. "Look, Stark, I might be able to do my job a little better in there," her head tilted to indicate the conference room, "if I knew the endgame."

  "Endgame?"

  "What's your plan? What exactly are you aiming for up here?"

  Stark smiled crookedly. "Soon's I figure it out, I'll let you know."

  "Sure." Yurivan made a face, shaking her head. "You trying to make me believe you started a major military revolt without any idea what you'd do next? Stark, nobody's that stupid."

  Stark glanced over at Reynolds, who was staring at the ceiling overhead while her cheeks twitched in a mostly successful effort not to break into laughter. "I can't tell you anything else, Stace."

  "Something really big, huh? You can trust me with it."

  "I swear, right now there's nothing else—"

  "Okay, okay. Don't tell me. But I'll find out, Stark. Just you try to keep it a secret." With a wide grin, Yurivan turned to greet the other members of Stark's staff as they strode up.

  Reynolds sidled close enough to Stark to whisper. "Hey, if Stacey finds out what your plan is, do you think she'll tell you and me?"

  "I sure hope so." Stark took a step toward the other soldiers, speaking loud enough for all to hear. "Okay, boys and girls. This is likely to be real tough, and it's sure to be unpleasant as hell. Keep your heads. Let Vic and I do the talking. We want to look sharp, disciplined, and tough. Any questions?" His staff exchanged glances but remained silent. "Okay. I got one, though. Where's the Navy?"

  "Here." Chief Wiseman hurried up, hastily smoothing the front of her uniform into inspection quality. "I was giving my armed shuttle crews instructions on what to do if those rust buckets the official delegation came in turn out to be Trojan Horses."

  "Good idea, as long as they don't start shooting if someone looks cross-eyed at 'em."

  "They won't shoot unless someone shoots them first. I made sure no nervous types are at the combat systems."

  "Thanks. Alright, let's go, people." Stark turned on one heel to face the door, took a deep breath, then pushed through to confront the official delegation and whatever demands they planned on making.

  It was a large room, not quite a duplicate of the luxurious conference room in the headquarters complex, but in the same spirit. Half of the pictures lining the wall seemed to be of real facilities on the lunar surface or in Earth orbit, while the others appeared to be very realistic conceptualizations of planned future projects. One, Stark noted, displayed a city somewhat like the Colony, but set in reddish terrain against a deep blue sky. Vic followed his gaze. "Mars," she murmured.

  "They plan big, don't they?" Stark replied softly.

  "Guess so. Don't forget it."

  Standing stiffly about the room were several distinct groups. One, consisting of Campbell, Sarafina, and a number of aides, nodded toward Stark's group. Several meters from Campbell, another group of civs in finer clothing, their faces generally young yet hard, pretended to be studying the outside views on the nearest monitors. A few feet from them stood the military representatives from Earth, uniforms bright and sharp, multicolored rafts of ribbons on their chests glistening under the overhead lighting. Farther on waited the next group, some older men and women, all their faces fixed in expressions of automatic yet meaningless bonhomie. Finally, hovering attentively near the older group, a gaggle of younger civs watching their elders like hawks.

  Stark stopped, eyeing the groups sourly.

  "Who are all these people?" Vic whispered.

  "You can't tell?" He glanced from her to the clusters of people. She should know, easy, because . . . hell. I know because I grew up civ, seeing these people all the time. To Vic, Yurivan, and the other mil, they probably look like identical civ unknowns. "You know the civs from the Colony. Try to remember they're on our side. That next group, the ones that look like they eat their young for breakfast? That's the corporate reps and their lawyers. Then comes the uniformed mil from the Pentagon."

  "Yeah. Them I knew, too. All officers. Funny, they don't have a b
unch of enlisted personnel in tow to do all the lifting and toting."

  "Guess they're worried about exposing any more enlisted to us. Now I know what a virus feels like." Stark inclined his head slightly toward the farthest groups. "They're the politicians and their assistants. Staff members, sort of, who try to keep their politicians from saying and doing dumb things."

  "Sounds like a thankless job."

  "Also a hopeless one. Campbell will probably handle the civs, and leave the mil to us."

  Chief Wiseman smiled slowly. "I know that Admiral with them. Had the misfortune to serve under her for a few months when she was doing her command tour on my ship."

  "You think she remembers you?"

  "Nah. I wasn't important enough. Bet she pays attention to me now, huh?"

  "Good bet," Vic agreed, "but the Admiral's only a three-star. Anybody recognize the four-star General leading that group?"

  Sergeant Manley nodded. "Wilkinson. Came through Lunar Command on his war-hero tour four or five years ago."

  There'd been so many Commanding Generals, coming and going like clockwork at six-month intervals, that it had been easy to forget most of them. "You remember what he's like?"

  She made a dismissive gesture. "Lots of bluster. Minor-league screamer." The rest of the soldiers nodded in understanding. Screamers were officers who "led" by erupting into tirades. All of the enlisted had encountered many of them. "Scared of screwing up," Manley added judiciously. "Spent most of his six months up here trying not to actually do anything so he wouldn't risk making a mistake."

  "I remember that," Yurivan chimed in. "We had a lot of pressure from the enemy in the sector my unit occupied then, and we kept getting beat on hard because Weak Willie wouldn't let us react. How'd he get this job?"

  "I'll bet it wasn't based on merit," Stark noted dryly, "but then, promotions in the mil haven't been based on merit for a long time, have they? I'm sure Willie sucked up the right way to the right bosses at the right time."

  "But that's not so good for us," Vic objected. "If Willie's afraid of doing anything, we might not get any results out of this conference."

  "Maybe. With the corporates and the political types here, I don't think the mil's gonna be running things. But I guess we'll find out real soon. Let's go give Campbell that little present Stacey dug up. He might want to change the membership of his team after he sees it." Stark led the way across the room, pretending to ignore the subtle and overt looks from the other groups as they followed the progress of the soldiers. Take a real good look, people. We can move here. We know this place. It's been home awhile. Don't even think about sending Earthworms to fight us.

  "Sergeant Stark." Campbell smiled briefly, only a tightness around his eyes revealing the tension he must feel. "This should be interesting."

  "Uh-huh." Stark held out the data coin. "So is this. You oughta read it."

  Campbell frowned down at the object. "The first chance I get after this meeting—"

  "No. I strongly suggest you need to see it right away. Before the meeting."

  Security Chief Trasies stepped closer, face belligerent. "We won't be bullied by you, Stark. Don't try to give orders to us."

  Stark returned Trasies's gaze calmly. "Wouldn't dream of it. Care to read that, Mr. Campbell?"

  "I fail to see what could be so important we need to address it now."

  "Then you oughta find out."

  Campbell stared back, then took the coin, his other hand forestalling Trasies's attempt to grab it. He popped it into his palmtop impatiently, quickly calling up text. As Campbell read, his face flushed, then grew darker and harder, until he finally looked up and around at his assistants. "I see."

  Trasies held out a hand, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "If I could review—"

  "That's perfectly all right." Campbell smiled tightly at his security chief. "You are, I assure you, totally aware of the contents of the files I have just reviewed, since you drafted all of them."

  Trasies stiffened. "Lies. Forgeries. Faking files is simple for—"

  "Ah, then you do know the contents of these files." Campbell's words froze Trasies in midsentence. "As for validity, the files I've already reviewed contained information on past meetings with my assistants which I know these soldiers could have had no knowledge of." His gaze switched to Yvonne Pevoni. "I'd also doubted your loyalty, Ms. Pevoni, but according to Security Chief Trasies, you are too indecisive and intellectually challenged to have been a partner to him."

  Pevoni's jaw dropped, then snapped shut. "You said that about me?" she hissed at Trasies. "I trusted you!"

  "So did I," Campbell stated icily. "Sergeant Stark, I do not believe it would be wise to place Mr. Trasies in the custody of Colony police. I would appreciate it if you could place him under military detention."

  "We can do that. Vic, get some MPs up here."

  She smiled mock-pleasantly at Trasies. "They should already be outside. I anticipated the need for MPs."

  "Thanks. You want to go quiet, Trasies?" The former Colony Security Chief glanced toward the other groups in the room as if gauging his chances of reaching them. "Just in case you're wondering," Stark continued, "I know all those sort of people, and none of them would help you unless they figured it'd help them. Right? And getting into a fight with us over you right now wouldn't help them at all." Trasies bit off whatever reply he had been considering, yielding to Stacey Yurivan's grip on his elbow to steer him to the door. Once again, Stark was aware of eyes following the small procession, until the door opened on a brace of military police.

  Yurivan handed the former Colony Security Chief over to them with brief, whispered instructions, turned, smiled merrily at the other groups, then rejoined the rest of Stark's group.

  "I'll bet that's given them something to talk about," she suggested gleefully.

  Campbell gestured to his assistants, then walked to the grand table, which dominated the center of the room, its highly polished lunar rock surface shining like a solid sheet of black gemstone. "If everyone else is ready, we should probably begin. I am Colony Manager Campbell. As you can no doubt tell," he added with a small flash of anger, "I am having no trouble with my mental balance. These," he added as he indicated Stark's group, "are the representatives of the Colony's military defenders." Cold expressions shifted from Campbell to Stark, weighing and evaluating. "Please, everyone be seated."

  General Wilkinson glared as Stark and Vic moved to take seats at the table. "I will not sit with traitors. Nor will any of my officers. Either those criminals leave or we do."

  Stark kept his face emotionless as he and his staff watched Campbell for his reaction. The Colony Manager paused halfway into his own chair, reversing motion to rise slowly until he was standing straight. "Then we have nothing to discuss," Campbell stated firmly. "These soldiers have earned a place at this table by their defense of this Colony. If they are not permitted to stay, I and my assistants will leave as well. I'm sorry you wasted your time on this journey," he added to the other civilians with apparent regret.

  "You are not in a position to dictate to us," one of the corporate representatives announced bitingly.

  "That's to be seen. If you wish to talk, everyone here must remain."

  Cold silence hung for several seconds, then some of the civilians in the official party turned to glower at General Wilkinson. "Sit down," one ordered.

  Wilkinson flushed slightly, his mouth working with silent rage. "I do not wish—"

  "Sit down!"

  The General choked off whatever further words he had been planning on speaking, shooting a brief death-ray look at Stark and Reynolds as he waved his officers to their seats, then seated himself with overstated dignity.

  Stark kept from smiling with an effort, noticing the ripple of unease among the more junior officers in Wilkinson's group. He's gonna give his staff holy hell after this is over, not because they screwed up but because he lost face, and they know it.

  Campbell spread his hands, looking aroun
d the table. "Thank you. I know there's a lot of issues to discuss. Who wants to begin?"

  A thirty-something woman who radiated an air of ruthless competence tapped her palm unit irritably, then looked straight at Campbell. "We're prepared to grant partial forgiveness of accumulated debts for corporate personnel on the Moon, assuming full control in accordance with ownership rights of every facility is returned immediately."