The True Measure (Terran Armor Corps Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “It was a battlefield, not a parade ground. Things tend to get damaged,” Roland said.

  “Hardly. Forensics says the data was erased through a nonlocal command. Your Ibarra friends didn’t want us to see what’s behind their curtains,” he said.

  “Nicodemus must have sent the command when he transferred the Kesaht data. You have looked that over, haven’t you?” Roland raised an eyebrow.

  “What I’m more interested in is what you told the Ibarras.” Kutcher shifted in his seat.

  “All they wanted from me was what I knew about the Ixio…Ibarra made the connection to the Toth from that. Killing their warriors on Balmaseda turned theory into known fact. And since you haven’t answered whether you’ve seen the data they gave me and since you’re not that interested in anything I learned from them about the Kesaht, I assume that you did indeed get that data…sir.”

  Kutcher’s lip twitched.

  “Tell me again about the cell where you and Marc Ibarra were held…”

  Chapter 32

  President Garret reached over his desk and touched a screen, clicking off the holo of Roland’s interrogation. Ambassador Ibanez, General Laran, and the Keeper sat across from him.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Garret said. “At least, that’s what the head of every intelligence agency assures me. They’ve had him interrogated by their best, monitored his biometric readings with every answer…everything checks out and that is pissing me off.”

  “We’re better off with uncomfortable truths than pleasing lies,” Keeper said, her metal shell shifting colors.

  “The Toth!” Garret stood and threw his hands in the air. “The one species with a vendetta against Earth is out for blood. There’s no common ground. No way we can make them see reason. Could you imagine someone suggesting we bury the hatchet with the Xaros? No!”

  “They’re a problem,” Ibanez said. “But the Toth overlords stayed in the background. Bastion thinks the Kesaht are a new aggressive species, not one with any particular agenda. Believe me, I’m not going to get in front of the galaxy and use ‘the Toth want revenge’ as a bargaining chip.” She looked down at the bottle of water in her hand and rolled her eyes.

  “And what of Bastion?” Keeper asked. “We took over eight thousand Ibarrans prisoner on Balmaseda. Have you seen the medical scans? Almost all of them are post–Hale Treaty procedurals. By the Omega Provision, they should all be…destroyed.”

  “Bastion knows,” Ibanez said. “The Ruhaald observers made sure to broadcast that we brought Ibarra’s people back with us. They don’t have the med-scan results, though. Damn sure they’ll want them after the Haesh come back and confirm that the bodies the Vish had are violations of the treaty.”

  “Will Bastion push for full enforcement?” Garret asked.

  “Tough to say.” Ibanez frowned. “With the Kesaht attack and our siding with the Ibarras, every last conspiracy theory you can imagine is floating around those domes. We’ve been in league with the Ibarras this whole time…The humans always do the right thing like on Takeni…The Kesaht are another tool of the Xaros come to finish us off. I’ve heard it all. The next conference is in five days.”

  “And nothing from the Ibarras after they vanished through their mobile gate?” Garret sat back down in his seat and laced his fingers behind his head.

  “Almost nothing.” Keeper held up a palm and her shell morphed into a black box with leather straps on the edges. “The quantum communicator we used to speak with Marc Ibarra has switched on and off a few times. There’s no answer when I use it, but I think they might want to talk.”

  “She’s waiting,” Garret said. “Stacey Ibarra’s waiting to see what we do about the prisoners. We bend to Bastion on the Omega Provision, she’ll be our enemy forever. We push back, she might become an ally.”

  “Then who do we want on our side?” General Laran finally spoke up. “Her or Bastion?”

  “Most every adult in the Union remembers when Bastion sent the Naroosha and Ruhaald to take the Crucible away from us,” Keeper said.

  “That was the old Bastion,” Garret said. “The new incarnation’s much more reasonable.”

  “It’s full of the same players,” Keeper said. “Let’s not forget that.”

  “If we choose Bastion over Ibarra, we’ve got a worse problem.” Laran stood up and walked to the back of the president’s office, light glinting off the plugs at the base of her skull. “There was a good deal of…fraternization between our forces and the Ibarrans on Balmaseda. Because their legionnaires keep to Saint Kallen and fought beside our Rangers, many now see them as much less of an enemy.” She pointed to the holo emitter where they’d watched Roland’s interrogation.

  “And video of his fight on the bridge has gone viral. His identity isn’t known beyond the Armor Corps, but the rank and file are calling him the Black Knight.” She rubbed a temple. “If we push against the Ibarras, the Templar could mutiny—not just the armor, but also the sailors and Rangers that keep to that creed.”

  “Are you just going to throw this problem in my lap and skip out of here, Laran?” Garret asked.

  “The problem could be the solution,” she said. “The investigation into Roland is ongoing.”

  “What is there to investigate?” Keeper asked. “He went to fight the Kesaht. We just had two fleets stand shoulder to shoulder with the Ibarras. Are all of them under suspicion too?”

  “Admiral Lettow made that decision after he arrived,” Laran said. “Roland put on their colors before he ever arrived in system. He could have done so knowing he’d fight his own. Treason. Cut and dried.”

  “But all the intel types say that he’s telling—” Ibanez stopped talking when the president raised a hand.

  “Continue,” Garret said.

  “The investigation isn’t final,” Laran said. “It can conclude whatever we need it to.”

  “Tossing one person into a deep dark prison hole on Charon doesn’t do much for us,” Garret said.

  “We release him,” Laran said. “The Templar’s Vigil is in a few days. The Templar will officially induct him into their ranks, and they’ll do so knowing full well what he did with the Ibarras.”

  “And then we charge Roland with treason,” Garret said.

  “Now wait just a damn minute—” Keeper stood up, her surface roiling with fractals.

  “It will stain the Templars,” Laran said. “If they try to protect him, their guilt will only be more obvious to everyone. Who would stand beside a traitor—especially after the thorough and above-board investigation?”

  “I haven’t trusted the Templar since so many of them left with Ibarra. Can you neutralize them without too much…trouble?” Garret asked.

  “I’ll need a few weeks to get everything ready,” Laran said.

  “You’re talking about framing the Templar,” Keeper said. “They’ve been nothing but loyal to us—to humanity—since they were founded. You can’t do this.”

  “If they embrace a traitor, then they aren’t loyal, Keeper,” Laran said. “Don’t let your history cloud your judgment. We need the Terran Union to be a union. Tolerating a splinter with its own agenda will only weaken us in the middle of this crisis.”

  “She’s right.” Garret let out a long breath. “We’ll let Roland back into the Corps. After that, we’ll let the Templar decide where their loyalties really lie.”

  Chapter 33

  The white tunic almost gleamed beneath the lights. Roland ran his hand over the stitched Templar cross and adjusted his sword belt again. The weight of the empty scabbard on his hip made him feel like he was forgetting something.

  He looked up at the clock in the small dressing room: almost sunset.

  Someone knocked on the door. Roland went over the ritual words in his head and put one hand on top of his empty scabbard. He opened the door, expecting to find his escort. Instead, there was Aignar in civilian clothes.

  “Well look at you,” Aignar said.

  Roland hug
ged his friend and got a pat on the shoulder from a metal hand.

  “Aignar! I heard you were on Balmaseda. They’ve kept me locked away until this morning and—and why aren’t you dressed? You should be ready for the Vigil,” Roland said.

  “The cross suits you, Roland. It doesn’t suit me, not anymore,” Aignar said. “My son’s in Phoenix. He wants to spend time with me. I’d rather be his father than a Templar. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Oh…I see,” Roland said.

  “Besides, all I could do at fellowship was sit around and read. You got to spar with swords and drink punch. I saw you on Balmaseda. Saw you with the Ibarra armor. That was us that speared the walker.”

  “I appreciate your aim.” Roland ran a hand down his tunic, suddenly self-conscious. “I didn’t know you’d be there. They told me about the Kesaht, and that’s why I—”

  “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. If I had to choose between sitting on my ass or cracking Kesaht skulls, I would’ve hitched a ride too. Cha’ril sees it the same way,” Aignar said.

  “Where is she? She doing better since she almost redlined?”

  “She’s with her husband—”

  “Husband?”

  “Well, not a husband husband, but it’s about the same thing.”

  “Husband? Cha’ril?”

  “Boy, they have kept you in the dark since Martel found you on that bridge. Look, I’m on a three-day pass. They let you loose after the Vigil, give me a call. My boy would love to meet the Black Knight—won’t shut up about you—and Armor Corps eat for free at every Standish-owned restaurant in the city. You know someone at Deco’s that can get us a table?”

  “Black Knight?”

  The squeak of an opening door carried down the hallway. Aignar looked to one side and went noticeably pale.

  “Glad you’re back with us,” Aignar said. “See you soon.” He left, the metal feet in his boots making his footfalls heavier than the person coming down the hallway.

  Gideon stopped once he saw Roland. He stared at the tunic and cross, his eyes alive with anger, and one side of his mouth curled with disgust.

  Roland clicked his heels together and ran his hands down the crease in his pants. He stood up straight and said, “Sir.”

  Gideon walked closer, his face fighting back whatever rage boiled in his heart.

  “You…” Gideon put a fist up next to Roland’s jaw. “You were with them. Nicodemus and Morrigan and—” He brought his hand back down.

  “Bassani, the fourth of your old lance, was killed in action,” Roland said quietly. “I don’t know when exactly. They never told me.”

  Gideon turned his face to one side and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “He died in his armor,” Roland said.

  “He would have…” Gideon took a quick breath and composed himself. “Colonel Martel holds you at no fault. Captain Sobieski holds you at no fault.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out the Iron Dragoons patch, and dropped it at Roland’s feet.

  “I am not Martel or Sobieski and it doesn’t take a felt cross to make one loyal.” Gideon turned on a heel and marched away. “I will see you on Mars.”

  Roland picked up the patch and ran his thumbs over the stitched symbol of a fleur-de-lis over a palm frond. He sat down in the dressing room, staring at the Iron Dragoons’ symbol, their heritage.

  “Some men need their hate,” Tongea said from the open door. He wore the same uniform as Roland.

  “Sir,” Roland said and bolted to his feet. “This initiate stands ready to—”

  Tongea raised a hand.

  “Not yet,” Tongea said. “You’ve got a splinter in your heart. I can see it. You know why you were selected to stand the Vigil?”

  Roland slid the Iron Dragoons patch under his tunic and put it into a breast pocket.

  “If an initiate has shown enough dedication and aptitude, then…that’s all I thought there was to it,” Roland said.

  “We don’t put everything in the primer.” Tongea smiled, the tribal tattoos on his face almost seeming to crack with the effort. “Two Templar must endorse you. They give you their names to carry to the Vigil.”

  “That’s why…that’s why Nicodemus and Morrigan said that before they got off planet.” Roland’s eyes darted from side to side. “But they’re not Templar. Not our Templar.”

  “What part of the oath says ‘Terran Union’ or ‘Ibarra Nation’?”

  “None of it.”

  “That’s right. The Templar are Templar. They deemed you worthy. We don’t question their word. Honor’s not here, son,” Tongea said as he touched Roland’s tunic over the pocket with the patch. He moved his finger to Roland’s heart, then put his hand to the side of Roland’s face.

  Roland thought back to the Ibarra ceremony, where the hologram of Saint Kallen touched the armor being inducted to their order.

  “You’re judged by your actions. Not your convictions or beliefs,” Tongea said. “You take the cross and the final oath, it means you’ve already been measured. Already found worthy. One sees you’re Templar, it means you’ll pay the ultimate price for humanity. That you live by an ideal that the future must be fought for, no matter what it costs you. That’s who you are.”

  Roland raised his chin.

  “The Vigil honors those that came before,” Roland said.

  “And through the Vigil, you are what is honored,” Tongea said. “If you’re ready, I’ll have your name.”

  “I am armor.”

  “Whose name do you carry?”

  “Alec Nicodemus. Sinéad Morrigan.”

  “I know their quality and their oaths. Come with me, armor.”

  ****

  Sunset gleamed off the armor. The metal was polished to a silver sheen, all the weapons stripped away but for a ceremonial sword almost as tall as Roland, the blade clutched in the armor’s hands and held tip down, the hilt locked just in front of the helm’s optics.

  Roland looked up at the armor, a factory-fresh unit assigned to him at the last second. His Ibarra armor had been taken away and sent to Intelligence. If he ever got it back, he was sure it would come in many small pieces.

  The Corps may learn something useful. At least they got the Mauser. If we can bring a better weapon to the fight against the Kesaht, then something good came out of that fight, he thought.

  Ranks of armor stood motionless to Roland’s sides and behind him. Every Templar in system and not on an active deployment was here, as was the tradition. Hundreds of suits and soldiers stood in silence around him. Across a parade field was Memorial Square and the statues of the Iron Hearts, Carius’ Templars, and Winged Hussars, who all died in the final battle with the Xaros.

  Most of the soldiers bore a sword in their scabbard—full Templars. Roland and the rest of the initiates filled the first rank.

  Tongea grabbed Roland’s elbow from behind, passed a small disk into his hand, then touched his own plugs. Roland pressed the disk home and felt a hum through his plugs. He’d used the mime relays at Fort Knox before earning his full plugs on Mars.

  A double pulse through the disk signaled that the new armor next to him was keyed in. Roland lifted his left foot slightly, and the armor mimicked him.

  Tongea cleared his throat loudly and Roland put his foot down quickly.

  Colonel Martel walked across the front of the formation, his battle-scarred armor keeping pace behind him. He stopped ahead of Roland and faced the Templar. The colonel made the sign of the cross, then did an about-face.

  “Forward,” Martel sounded, “march!”

  Roland stepped forward and his linked armor followed. In the distance, a drum sounded for the Templar to keep pace. Roland felt the world close in as he approached the Memorial. For years he’d walked past it to and from work, never giving the place much thought. Now...now he wished he could remember what it was to wander around the statues in ignorance again, feel what it was like to live without the burden of wars and the weight of his decision.
>
  Childhood is over, he thought.

  Dust and gravel creaked underfoot as they crossed the parade field. Martel looked over a shoulder and called a halt.

  The colonel raised a hand up and slowly moved it to grip his hilt. Roland reached through his armor and could almost feel the blade against his palms. Martel drew his sword and held it high, reflecting light from the ever-burning flame at the center of the memorial, then he flipped the sword down and gripped the hilt with both hands.

  Roland raised the sword in his armor’s hands, and, as one, the Templar drove their swords into the ground with a clash of metal on stone. Roland put his right hand on the sword and went to one knee, and his armor mirrored him.

  Armor and soldier knelt together.

  Roland lowered his head, and he heard the whine of servos from his armor as it did the same. A few minutes later, he smelled incense as Chaplain Krohe walked through the ranks with a censor.

  Martel’s armor pounded its sword into the ground twice. Roland held his hand against his blade as he made his armor raise the weapon and drove it back into the ground.

  “Sancti spiritus adsit nobis gratia,” the Templar intoned. “Kallen, ferrum corde, perducat nos ad portam salutis. Amen.”

  Roland took a deep breath, concentrating on the aroma. Now began the hard part. The Templar would recite the litany, the collected psalms and prayers of the order, all of which Roland had memorized from Bassani’s primer during his time in the Ibarra prison cell. Once the litany was complete, the Templar would chant the Da Pacem Domine until sunrise.

  Roland closed his eyes and joined in with the brother and sister Templar around him.

  “Domine, Jesu Christe, sancta pater, aeterne Deus…”

  ****

  Roland heard the sound of boots against the ground. He looked up, and Colonel Martel and Chaplain Krohe stood in front of him. Roland continued his chant, his throat sore from hours of recitation.