by C H Gideon
“At New Australia.” Jenkins nodded grimly. “The public didn’t learn the full truth of Terra Australiana’s fate for three full years following the massacre. In all honesty, I’d be surprised if Spider-Hole is ever fully revealed to the public.”
Durgan nodded slowly before handing the data slate back to Jenkins, who took it and clasped his hands behind his back while the other man paced. He moved across the deck two dozen times, from one end of the relatively large berth to the other, before finally stopping and facing Jenkins.
“I agreed to support your experimental project for a variety of reasons, and tax write-offs, while a somewhat quaint angle to employ during your initial approach, was not among them,” Durgan said pointedly.
“I understand, sir.”
“If you do, then tell me why I agreed to help you in the first place.” Durgan fixed his diamond-hard gaze on Jenkins. “Because right now, you’re asking me to throw good money after bad, a habit I have not formed in my eighty-three years.”
“The chief reason you agreed to support my project,” Jenkins said steadily, “was to clear your family’s name from EO-1162. You consider the past failure to colonize EO-1162, and its ensuing official designation, a stain upon your family name. It’s become an obstacle to your company’s continued expansion into adjacent industries, like exo-colonization, terraforming, and even biotech.”
Durgan quirked a brow. “My, my…you’re better informed than I suspected. Not many know of our burgeoning bio-tech department. I clearly have a leak that needs aggressive plugging.”
“No leak, sir.” Jenkins shook his head. “General Akinouye filled me in a few minutes ago.”
Durgan seemed genuinely surprised at that. “Ben must be more invested in your project than I thought.”
“He is, sir,” Jenkins agreed, “but I’d be lying if I said we could do it without your support.”
“I assume you mean to indicate that the support I have already provided is no longer sufficient.” Durgan smirked.
“An accurate assumption, Mr. Durgan.”
Durgan pursed his lips thoughtfully, and Jenkins decided to leap into the proverbial breach. “We rode substandard gear into this fight,” Jenkins said passionately, “much of which was generously donated by you, but some of those platforms were older than the Republic. Some even ran on diesel engines, sir, and they frankly didn’t fare well.”
“You want fusion generators and capacitor banks for your depowered mechs,” Durgan stated flatly. “But you and I both know that Fleet will never let those cores fall through their fingers and into your lap. They’ll divert them long before they ever make it into your battalion—a factor which, you’ll recall, played no small part in my reluctance to hand them over the first time we had this little chat.”
“I’ve addressed that obstacle, Mr. Durgan,” Jenkins said confidently, allowing a grin to spread across his lips. “All I need from you is a verbal agreement to supply those power cores, along with cores for the rest of the vehicles you’ve got in storage,” he added pointedly. “I intend to put them all to good use as soon as humanly possible.”
Durgan cocked his head skeptically before realization suddenly dawned. For the first time since Jenkins had met the man, the business tycoon actually cracked a smile. “I underestimated you, Commander Jenkins. I rarely do that. Are you sure you can weather the storm?”
“We wouldn’t be talking if I wasn’t,” Jenkins said with conviction before adding, “and I didn’t come to you until after getting the general’s support.”
“At least your threat assessment skills are on point,” Durgan grunted with mild approval. “Fine. You’ve got my verbal agreement that if you can sidestep Fleet’s involvement, you’ll get your mechs and the cores to power them. What about crews?”
“That’s high on the agenda, sir,” Jenkins assured him, “and I’ve already got a few moves lined up.”
“Specifics, Commander.”
“The extra-orbital population of Terra Australiana is my first stop,” Jenkins explained. “I expect I’ll pull thirty to fifty qualified, near-combat-ready personnel from there to help fill out my Wrench and Monkey rolls. But getting combat-ready Jocks is going to be hard. There are two more max-sec prisons, both civilian, that I can scour for link-equipped pilots. Combined with my current roster of holdovers, it should give me enough pilot-ready personnel to field the battalion.”
“Which puts you roughly back where you were when you started Spider-Hole,” Durgan said sourly.
“Barring additional personnel transfers, that is correct, sir.” Jenkins decided not to argue before observing, “Though our gear will be significantly upgraded following your pending generosity, and our support will be as well.”
“Well…even before arriving, I was aware that you and your people brought EO-1162 into compliance,” Durgan said, making a point, as always, not to refer to the planet as ‘Durgan’s Folly.’ “It was clear before I set foot on this ship that you had done outstanding work with the limited means provided you. With better support and gear, I expect you’ll do nothing but improve your record. I intend to leverage that improvement for the benefit of my shareholders.”
Jenkins felt his throat tighten at that, but he knew that added scrutiny was a small price to pay, so he nodded in agreement. “Of course, Mr. Durgan.”
Durgan also nodded. “Very well, Commander. You’ll have your gear. Now it’s time for you to go.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jenkins acknowledged before turning and exiting the room.
When he was outside, with the hatch sealed behind him, he could not help but enthusiastically pump his fist in victory.
This was finally going to happen!
The pieces were in place, and all relevant agreements had been made. He had successfully navigated the viper’s pit of military politics, secured private support for his project, and would soon be able to regain the field at the head of a column of combat-ready mechs.
Now the only thing left was to get his people, and their gear, the hell off this ship before Fleet wised up to his plan and threw them all in the brig.
Podsy’s eyes fluttered open, and immediately shut again when the bright lights stabbed into them.
“Hey,” the familiar voice of Xi greeted his ears, “you’re awake.”
He didn’t hurt much, but he was weak and unable to sit up for some reason. “Where…” he croaked, and soon a drinking straw was pressed to his lips. He took a meager gulp of the sweet water, licked his lips, and tried again. “Where are we?”
“We’re aboard the Paul Revere,” Xi replied, her voice taut with anxiety. “Doc Fellows said you couldn’t be moved until you regained consciousness, so I told the pervert to dose you up with enough stims to send an elephant through the roof.”
Podsy smiled, glad that she was putting on a brave front for his sake. “How bad…is it?” he asked, finally able to crack his eyes open enough to see the faint outline of the sickbay around him.
“You didn’t lose anything we can’t grow back,” she replied.
“That wasn’t…my question,” he said as his throat suddenly began to scratch with every word. He coughed, but fortunately another sip of water mostly quelled the would-be fit.
“You lost both legs, your kidneys, and your liver,” Xi replied tremulously, and it was the first time he had heard her sound anything but brash and over-the-top.
“Is that all?” He closed his eyes, having suspected his legs were a lost cause minutes after suffering his wounds on Elvira. A proper medical facility would have almost certainly saved them, but in a field hospital as poorly-outfitted as theirs, he was glad just to regain consciousness, even if only for a few minutes. “How long…do I have?”
“Doc says you’re going to make a full recovery,” Xi assured him, and he was surprised to hear nothing but confidence in her voice. “Fellows and Turney installed your new artificial kidneys yesterday, and it looks like with a little gene therapy, your liver transplant will be good lon
g-term as well.”
“Liver transplant?” he repeated warily. “What seventy-year-old drunk do I have to thank for that?”
He felt a sharp impact against his shoulder, and despite the sudden pain, he couldn’t help but laugh as he realized why she had punched him.
“Oh.” He nodded, his eyes finally adjusted well enough to focus on her. “I get it. You decided while I was asleep…that you’d slip a little piece of yourself into me. Is that it?”
“Asshole,” Xi snapped, but her eyes were filled with tears as she gripped his hand gently in her own.
“I may be mistaken,” Podsy continued blithely as Dr. Fellows came to stand at the foot of the bed, “but I doubt that’s the ideal point of entry for a liver transplant.”
“It isn’t?” Fellows asked with mock confusion. He rolled his eyes as Xi chuckled with nervous laughter. “Huh…learn something every day in this business.” He then turned serious. “Podsy, I hate to push this, but we’re under something of a time crunch here. Moving you is extremely risky, but it’s the only way we can guarantee your freedom.”
Podsy’s eyes widened at that. “What’d you guys do while I was out, assassinate the president?” Judging by their non-reactions, the joke clearly fell on deaf ears.
“I need your consent to transfer you to the Bonhoeffer,” Fellows said gravely. “I’m not going to lie, it’s a bad idea for a lot of reasons, so if you want…”
“Where do I sign?” Podsy interrupted. “I’d rather die with you guys than live without.”
Xi happily wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. “You mean you’re not going to discharge?”
He shook his head firmly, having arrived at that conclusion a few minutes before losing consciousness in Elvira II. “No. Though I have to admit…” He looked down at his missing legs, surprised to feel little, if anything, as he did so. “I doubt I’ll be much good in my current state.”
“I’ll make sure we fix you up, Podsy,” Fellows said solemnly as he handed him a medical release form. “You have my word.”
Podsy signed the form, and Fellows made his way to a nearby access panel to log the document.
Meanwhile, a commotion arose across sickbay as a woman doctor consulted with one of the patients there.
“As you requested, Captain Murdoch,” the woman doctor said with forced patience, “and per your rights under TAF regulations, I have brought in Doctor Xiahou for a second opinion. Doctor?” She gestured to a second doctor.
“I concur with Doctor Turney’s analysis,” the second doctor, of medium build and clearly from Terra Han. “You are fit to be discharged from sickbay, effective immediately.”
“I’m not sure either of you understands…” Captain Murdoch began to object, standing from the bedside to plead his case.
Xi and Podsy made brief, but knowing, eye contact regarding their least favorite captain. Podsy gave her an encouraging nod, and the younger woman set off with a determined look in her eye.
“My sickle-cell anemia is extremely volatile,” Murdoch explained, “and highly interactive with environmental factors. I remain unconvinced that I am stable enough to be transferred—”
Announcing her arrival in the most emphatic terms possible, Xi uncorked a sharp right hand into Murdoch’s face. Blood sprayed down his chest as he clutched his shattered nose, miserably failing to stem the flow. “That’s it, Xi,” Murdoch snapped as Dr. Fellows and a team of assistants began to roll Podsy’s bed out of sickbay. “You’re finished. Do you hear me?! Finished!”
“That’s for pulling my infantry detail and forcing me to send a strike on my own position, Captain Asshole,” Xi barked. “You want to press charges because you were clumsy and hit your face on the bedrail?” She raised her arms challengingly to either side. “I suggest you sue the bed’s manufacturer. Or better yet, the company that supplied the non-skid beneath your feet.”
“This isn’t over, Xi,” Murdoch fumed impotently while the medical personnel in sickbay gave Xi silent, thankful looks as she turned her back and took her place at Podsy’s side. “Do you hear me?! This isn’t over! Arrest her!”
“Now, Captain Murdoch,” the female doctor soothed, “you need to lie down. I don’t think you’re hemodynamically stable enough to continue standing in your current state. We need to immediately administer coagulants, but we can only administer them if you lie down for at least another fifteen minutes…”
The last look Podsy saw on Murdoch’s face was one of conflict as he visibly weighed the pros and cons of another day or two in the comfort of sickbay versus filing a likely-impotent complaint against Xi. Fifteen minutes would be more than enough time for them to disembark, and Murdoch knew it. Thankfully, he remained true to form and accepted the extra time in the comfort of sickbay in lieu of filing an immediate complaint.
“Good work, LT,” Podsy muttered after they had left sickbay behind.
Xi looked down at him and grinned, and even Doc Strange Bed seemed to enjoy the frantic rush to the airlock. They reached it without incident, and soon transferred to the Bonhoeffer, where Podsy was installed in sickbay under Fellows’ direct supervision.
23
New Home
“In recognition of meritorious service,” declared General Akinouye before the small crowd, “and in-keeping with the Jasper Act of 2156, it is my privilege, honor, and pleasure to formally recognize the induction of former Fleet Officer, Commander Lee Jenkins—and the men and women at his sides—into the Terran Armor Corps. Consistent with the Jasper Act,” he continued as a handful of hover-drones recorded the event for media dissemination, “all prior ranks are hereby normalized in accordance with standard transfer protocols between TAF branches. Mr. Jenkins,” the General intoned, his booming voice easily filling the cavernous chamber of the Bonhoeffer’s empty port drop-deck, which was large enough to fit two full companies of mechs, “step forward.”
Jenkins, sporting the deep brown dress uniform of the Armor Corps—a significant departure from the blues-and-whites of the Fleet he had served for his entire military career—snapped to crisp attention and parade-marched from the head of his people to stand before General Akinouye.
“After extensive consultation with branch leadership, and as the ranking member of the Armor Corps,” Akinouye proclaimed as he affixed the silver regalia befitting Jenkins’ new rank to his collar and lapels, “I am proud to confer upon you the rank of lieutenant colonel.”
The faint clicking of camera shutters could be heard from the drones, while their media-minders hung back and remotely-controlled the recording devices via virtual interfaces.
“I am also pleased to report,” the general continued officiously, “that, for service above and beyond the call of duty, you, Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins, are to be awarded the Medal of Honor, the highest honor which can be bestowed by the Terran Armed Forces upon one of its own.”
As he pinned the exceptionally rare medal to Jenkins’ chest, the newly-minted lieutenant colonel noted that the button, as it was affectionately known, was one of the few awards that Akinouye’s impressive board lacked.
“Also,” Akinouye continued, briefly eyeing Jenkins for apparently noticing the lacking medal, “for exceptional courage under fire and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, cut off from support and operating behind enemy lines, every member of your unit present is to be awarded the Eye of Jupiter.”
He pinned the blazing red eye-shaped medal on Jenkins’ chest, and by now, Jenkins was more than a little self-conscious as the drones subtly shifted their focus from the general to himself.
“And finally,” Akinouye announced, picking the third ornate medal from the podium and displaying it to the pickups, “the Silver Comet, awarded for engagements requiring conspicuous valor and cunning in the Arh’Kel Conflict. This is only the third time a unit has received this high honor, Lieutenant Colonel,” Akinouye said with a glint in his eye as he pinned the medal to his chest, “and, as you can see, the Armor Corps has been present for all three. You
’ve inherited a proud tradition, Colonel. See that you live up to it.”
Jenkins saw the pair of Silver Comets on Akinouye’s chest and nodded. “Thank you, General.”
Akinouye gestured to Jenkins’ people. “I defer further ceremonial privileges to you, Colonel.”
Jenkins snapped a picture-perfect salute, which the general returned, before the newly-made lieutenant colonel turned on his heel and barked, “Xi Bao, step forward.”
Xi, looking far more professional than ever in her dress browns, stepped forward and came to attention before him.
Jenkins met her eyes, giving her a barely perceptible nod of approval before raising his voice. “In accordance with the Jasper Act of 2156, and pursuant to Terran Armor Corps tradition of rewarding conspicuously meritorious displays of leadership and discipline under fire—” Her eyes went wide in nervous surprise at that last bit, but fortunately, she kept her cool as he continued. “—I am proud to confer upon you the rank of captain.” He pinned the silver bars to her collar, seeing her blush and struggle against the urge to squirm as he did so. After affixing the insignia to her uniform, he proffered his right hand. “Congratulations, Captain Xi.”
She clasped his hand, and even after two weeks of rest, her fingers were still pink and slightly raw from the abuse suffered on Durgan’s Folly. “Thank you, Colonel.”
Thirty minutes later, after pinning a bucket-load of medals on his people—which included the Broken Tread for the double amputee, Podsy, who had miraculously survived his harrowing wounds—the ceremony was concluded, and the battalion personnel were dismissed.
“Way to go, LT,” Podsy said from his wheelchair after clearing from the drop-deck and evading the watchful eye of the media drones hovering there. “Wait, make that, Captain, or ‘Skipper,’ if I’m allowed to use the Marine nickname,” he amended unabashedly.
“Way to go, yourself,” Xi retorted, ripping her cap off and splashing her hair over her shoulders. She needed to get out of those clothes ASAP. She hadn’t felt so self-conscious since her first teenaged tussle in the backseat of a car.
