We were dotted around the ridges of these remote mountains for nearly two hours, picking and worrying and herding the yellow-clad figures at the admin centre. As I glanced at my watch to check for the next move interval, I heard a hum begin behind us. It grew relentlessly. Screwing my eyes up in the pale but piercing sunlight, I saw what looked like a swarm of hornets. Below us, trucks were winding up the valley. I closed my eyes in relief. It was the 5th Cavalry.
Back at the airbase, my fingers were welded to a cup of hot malt and ginger. Every muscle in my body was exhausted. The buzz of mutual congratulation encircled me, but my numbness came from the feeling that I had murdered a man. Deliberately, without compunction. Sure, the official reason would be operational casualty. But when I’d seen Renschman through my telescopic sight, I’d shot to kill him. I shut my eyes to try blot it out. I couldn’t process it.
‘Bruna.’ Livius, arm in a sling but still grinning, interrupted my wild thoughts. I was surprised to see him. He hugged what would have been my waist under the thick parka with his right arm. ‘You star. Where did you learn to shoot like that? You’re on my marksman programme from now.’
I looked at him in complete bewilderment as Paula handed him a cup of steaming liquid.
‘You’re going to stay, aren’t you?’
His slim fingers grasped the base of the plascard mug he tipped toward me to emphasise his point. His light blue eyes travelled up and down, assessing me.
‘I don’t know. I may have upset a few people.’ I glanced at Daniel Stern, busy talking into his commset. ‘Depends if they want me.’ I shrugged, trying to appear uncaring one way or another.
‘They’d be stupid to let you go, and they’re not stupid, so I reckon it’s a done deal,’ Paula chipped in. ‘I’d hate to lose you as a comrade-in-arms.’ She gave me a knowing look.
I stared into my cup, now empty. They were tough, no doubt of that, and dedicated, which meant their response to threats was robust. I could see that now. But their confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was skill enhanced by continuous hard training. I saw in a sudden, clear moment how precious their comradeship was and what motivated Conrad; why it was so important to him.
The engine noise of a short wheelbase arriving echoed around the hangar. It braked abruptly and the noise cut. A tall figure jumped out. Conrad. Lieutenant Stern trotted over and talked with him for a few minutes before they both came over to us, now formed up in two ranks.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, stand easy.’ Conrad looked over us and paused briefly on each of our faces. ‘First of all, congratulations on an excellent job. The whole mine area, including the prison barracks and the administration centre, has now been secured. The administrator is alive although injured from rough treatment. Two other staff are dead. Inevitably, an internal enquiry will follow.’ Some shuffling of feet. ‘Thankfully, we are not involved. Transport will be here shortly to take you back to barracks and a well-deserved rest. Again, well done. Dismissed.’
They crowded around him, Flavius producing a coffee for him, Atria evidently on good terms with him, laughing and joking, sending him flashes with her eyes. So that’s how it was. But Conrad was interested in everything. Impressed by the new lightweight precision rifles, he listened intently to stories about individual actions. He wasn’t only their commander, he was their comrade. I hung back. I didn’t have this shared history.
Flavius came over and bent his head down toward me. ‘Come on, Bruna. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you.’
I shook his hand off. ‘No, really. I’m fine here.’
I knew I was a hanger-on, outside the circle again, like it had been with the Browns in Nebraska.
‘Tough,’ he said, and gripped my arm in a merciless hold.
Livius turned from Conrad and spotted Flavius forcing me forward.
‘Here she is, sir, my partner-in-crime. I want her in my marksman programme once she’s been transferred over.’
Conrad’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not sure Senior Justiciar Bruna is as enthusiastic about joining us as you are, Livius.’ He turned to me. ‘What do you have to say, Bruna?’
Crap squared. Conrad, the hint of a smirk on his face, Livius and Flav looking eager. I was trapped. What in Hades could I say?
‘It’s something I’ll have to give some thought to.’
Livius rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be such a wussy. You’re a natural. What’s the problem?’
‘Back off, Livius,’ came Paula’s voice. ‘Maybe Bruna has a few brains she’d like to consult first. Not something you’d know about.’
He made a face at her, shrugged, gave me a puzzled look and went to talk to Atria. I saw him minutes later, weary, conceding to sit at last. The transport arrived shortly afterward. I was bone tired. I wanted to crash out in the back.
As I lined up to climb in, Conrad tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Ride with me.’
As we drove back, he kept his face forward and concentrated his eyes on the unlit road. We soon left the heavier truck behind, the glare from their headlights and the noise of the diesel motor diminishing with every minute. He told me in an even voice that he’d been monitoring and grading at the far end of the exercise area, tens of kilometres away. He’d radioed Lucius to send up the first two teams he could find, jumped in the short wheelbase and barrelled through the exercise area and onto the airbase road.
On a long, straight piece of the road, he looked across at me. I braced myself for the usual over-protective speech.
‘Thank you for going with them. You didn’t have to, you know.’
‘That wasn’t the impression I had from Lieutenant Stern.’
‘Mm, yes, he’s a bit over-keen.’
‘So I remember.’ A minute later, I said, ‘You know, he doesn’t have a clue about me being Pulcheria.’
‘Let’s keep it that way.’ His voice was hard.
We made good time and were approaching the city.
‘You have to make a decision now. Either I turn right and take you home or you come back with me to the PGSF. I need to know by the time we get to the peripheral. I hope you’ll say yes.’ He glanced at me. ‘You’d be a tremendous asset.’
I caught my breath. Juno, he was serious.
I watched, fascinated, as he slipped into official mode, his face calm, but the underlying passion seeping through. He talked about how PGSF collected intelligence, carried out counter-intelligence and unconventional operations but, above all, they protected the imperatrix and the state.
‘We do what’s needed.’
‘Okay.’
‘So you understand?’
We reached the peripheral. ‘You need to take a left here,’ I said.
LXXII
I slept for a whole day. I was coming out of the waking fog when my commset peeped. Paula. She would collect me in thirty minutes for supper; then the debrief meeting. I did it in twenty-seven. A clean PGSF uniform pack had been left in my room: beige outers, black tee. I had nothing else to wear until I recovered my exercise bag from the transport room. I attached my DJ badges saved from yesterday’s muddy and grubby uniform wrecks; I had no others.
I had a few nods of recognition in the mess room, but most people were absorbed in their food after days on field rations. I was nearly finished when Lieutenant Stern materialised at our table.
‘Come with me, please, SJ Bruna.’
I exchanged a puzzled glance with Paula, scrambled up and followed him along the main corridor to Conrad’s office. The regulation cream was broken up with three rows of bookshelves, prints and maps, and a display cupboard. Not things I’d taken in on my previous visit. But right now it was full of serious faces.
Lucius, the adjutant and Major Sella were sitting at the table with Conrad, a file in front of each. Conrad nodded. ‘Thanks, Daniel. Go and get yourself some food.’
As the younger man shut the door, Conrad indicated a fourth chair. ‘Sit down, Carina.’
He’d used my real name. I shot a look at the other two. Not a tr
ace of surprise.
‘First, practical details,’ said Lucius, all businesslike. ‘These are voluntary transfer papers. If you’re sure, sign and date them. As Cara Bruna, please.’
I signed.
‘Now, the more delicate part.’ He glanced at Conrad, who nodded. ‘If you’re going to make your career in the PGSF, you need to revert to your real name. There’s no reason now for keeping your pseudonym, and it makes a clean break between the two service histories.’
My hand rested on the table. Almost detached, I watched my fingers play with the pen. He was right. Karen Brown, Pulcheria, Cara Bruna – assumed identities, the first unconscious, the others deliberate, but all false. I was done with not being myself.
‘Will I transfer in on a similar level?’ It would be good to be with Paula.
‘No,’ said Conrad.
I should have expected I’d have to start at the bottom, but I was disappointed.
‘You were outstanding during the exercise. But it was your willingness to take part in the live operation when you didn’t need to, and the quick way you took over when the team leader was wounded, that decided us to commission you. We all think you’ll be ideal for a senior leadership role in the future, so you need to get on that path straightaway.’
Juno. They were going to make me an officer.
Major Sella smiled at me. My eyes were drawn to the Band-Aid on her neck. I wouldn’t have smiled at me.
‘I’ll run through your training schedule with you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Stick with me for the rest of this evening.’
Conrad finished by saying, ‘There may be some social awkwardness but, with your ability and track record, you’ll get through it.’
I blinked. Again, no trace of anxious protection.
Surprisingly, Daniel Stern was the first one to congratulate me when the remaining officers filed in for the pre-meeting. Conrad said later that the others had hung back because of my social rank, but I didn’t buy that. Unfortunately, he was right. But Daniel didn’t realise or care about such things. He looked at me and shrugged. ‘You’ve earned it. As a fellow newbie, I think we should stick together. Pax?’
Who’d have thought?
We both laughed. Mine was mostly nervous, hoping he would never connect me to Pulcheria. If he ever did…
I fingered the gold eagle ID badge hanging from my shirt pocket.
‘It’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
‘You won’t need this any longer,’ said Daniel, and ripped the blue Velcro DJ badge off my sleeve. Lucius handed him a black-backed PGSF gold eagle badge to fix in its place. I rubbed my sleeve to firm it on. My latest Rubicon crossing.
I figured I survived the evening on the strength of the success of the live operation. Murmurs rose from the audience of nearly four hundred at the mop-up meeting, but it was in the bar afterward I had more direct reaction. Some tight smiles, nods, but a certain distancing.
‘Any more shock revelations, Lieutenant?’
Livius.
‘Not this week. No guarantee for next, though.’
He looked away.
‘I have to say it’s unexpected,’ I said, hoping to reach him. ‘I’ve been undercover so long, I don’t know who I am sometimes.’
‘I know what you can do, ma’am. Not sure it’ll be the same now.’
I laid my hand on his good arm. ‘I’m still Bruna. I’ve changed who I am, but not what I am.’
‘Of course, ma’am.’ His tone was so deferential it was almost an insult. Not you, Livius. Please.
‘For Juno’s sake, Livius, stop being such a poet,’ Paula said. ‘She’s still Bruna. The old man will let her be in your hunting pack. Sorry, ma’am, I mean the major.’
‘Paula, never, ever change how you say things like that. And thank you.’
Flavius didn’t say much at the time, but later told me he was so used to me changing who I was I would probably turn out to be the EUS president next.
On the fourth evening into my new life, I was in my room, puzzling over some strategy exercises I had to prepare for the next afternoon, when my door alarm beeped. Hades, my muscles were aching from the tactical practice that afternoon and I was only halfway through my assignment. All I wanted was to finish and go to bed. I closed the file, snapped the netbook lid down and stomped to the door. This had better be important.
‘Carina. May I come in?’
Conrad.
I caught my breath and ushered him in, gesturing him to sit in the one easy chair. I’d gone jogging with his group the previous two mornings, but hadn’t seen him alone since we’d driven back from the air base after the operation. I couldn’t recall anything he’d said that night as I’d plodded across from the garages to the mess half-dead with tiredness. I remembered him supporting my arm as I stumbled up the stairs to my room.
He shifted in his seat several times, hands clenching each other. He looked around my small room, but there was nothing to see beyond the standard furniture and cream walls. I hadn’t had time or even thought to personalise it.
‘I was a fool about you,’ he said at last. ‘I got it completely wrong after the Pulcheria operation. More than that, I lost any chance of you.’ His voice was low, gruff almost. ‘I don’t expect you to take me back.’ He looked away and I saw the deep lines of strain as the skin pulled over his cheekbones. When he turned back to me, I sensed he’d withdrawn into himself, back into his public persona.
‘I hope we can stay friends as well as colleagues.’
Staggering how stupid men could be, but he was in such misery I took pity on him. I walked over to him, put my arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Stay.’
I woke first, sometime between five or six. I huddled into the warm arms around me.
‘I am never, ever going to let you go again,’ he said into my ear, and gently nuzzled it.
‘Fine by me,’ I murmured in an attempt to sound offhand.
He laughed and I giggled back. We missed the morning run.
LXXIII
I attended the Land Forces Officers’ Training School, which was not without incident, but I graduated. The head of the school told me I was like almost all PGSF students: too maverick to aspire to the top of the class, however disappointed my unit commander might be.
The said unit commander did not impress the hierarchy when he arrived at the school the Friday afternoon of our one weekend leave on the back of a powerful and noisy Moto Guzzi. He sauntered into the reception area, his figure covered in leather from neck to foot and dark glasses over his eyes. Taking them off, he gave the assembled students one of his nuclear smiles and caused general havoc. I appeared, similarly clad, signed myself out, and gave him a beaming smile. We exited, his hand on my rear, obviously intent on mischief. The collective intake of breath was audible. We thought it was funny, though.
Back at the unit afterward, the ongoing training was arduous and I had little time to myself. Not only did I have responsibility for my thirty regular troops, but also for the formation of my own Active Response Team. An echo from the ancient times, this was a cross-disciplinary group, almost like a small personal staff, that each officer developed around them and took first into any emergency.
But in all this busyness, I had a frightening problem that was getting worse. I had pushed it away over Saturnalia. Last year, I was recovering from Renschman’s attempt to freeze me to death. This year had been entirely different: I was too tired from partying to do anything but fall into exhausted sleep, most nights with Conrad in my bed.
This January morning, I woke alone, haunted by the recurring vision of a rifle scope framing a yellow-clad figure with brown hair and glasses as he fell to the ground. So far, I’d been able to push it away as my mind concentrated on the day’s tasks. Now it started invading my head during the daytime. Images I hadn’t seen for real, of blood welling out of holes in his yellow prison uniform. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Like most people, I used the word ‘Furies’ casually, but didn’t believe
they existed. Until now.
I came back from close-quarter battle training in the small woods behind the barracks, Renschman’s image filling my head. I tried all my visualisation and mind-body techniques to bat it away, but without success. I had to settle this nightmare. I shied away from the idea of a shrink. Maybe if I saw the death record, I could find closure.
I started an intranet search, via the DJ site, but my old access had been cancelled. My clearance hadn’t been that high but I figured I could have reached the prisons’ database.
I emailed Sentius to meet for a drink but he was away on leave. Nothing on this earth would force me to ask Lurio.
I put in for a day’s leave, made up a persona as a university researcher, and took the high-speed train up to the district government office covering Truscium. In the curia files, they would have local death records, including the prison. But the bland-faced clerk told me access was restricted, and I would have to apply to the mine administrator. I stood in the public hallway and dithered. It was gone two. It would be dark in two and a half hours. Did I have time?
At the station, I hired a car and drove up to the front gate of the mine where I flashed my PGSF badge. I glanced up. An icy shaft of wind plunged down the neck of my jacket. Two gouges made by my rounds in the top of the main gate frame hadn’t been repaired. The guards bent and crouched over my car, scanning every centimetre. I had to hand over my keys and walk in.
I shivered as the massive steel door slid shut behind me. The grey sky reflected the gravel courtyard and granite buildings. Truscium was beyond grim: a place of efficiency, order and despair. Only the most hardened and dangerous criminals were sent here. As a deterrent word, Truscium was legendary. No one had ever escaped. I believed it.
After I walked through the tunnel scanner and the security guards had frisked me again and handed me an optical badge, I was admitted into the administrator’s office. His very polite assistant regretted he couldn’t release the information without a signed authorisation. I ground my teeth. Nor would he take me on a tour around. Security, he said.
INCEPTIO (Roma Nova) Page 29
