Major (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 5)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  This exercise was employing almost half of the battalion with Bravo’s three platoons going to Livingston. Each team of two or three, with Sams and Captain Yancy “Siomai” Lee being singletons, had been given different identities. Ryck and Çağlar were from Realtitude’s Sympatico station, a huge conglomeration of ships and habitats semi-permanently connected in the Sixth Sector. As with each of Realtude’s stations, the accepted reputation was that most of the business only bordered on the up-and-up, and many activities that were accepted on the station were outright illegal in much of the rest of human space.

  The four targeted planets, each with teams from the four companies in the battalion, were all in the Liberty Alliance. Each of the 21 planets and 12 stations in the Alliance were independent governments that pooled resources for defense, trade, and other activities so as to be able to better compete with the Federation, the Brotherhood, the Confederation of Free States, and other governments and cooperatives. But it was the fragmentation caused by their almost religiously-fervent independence from each other that made the four selected planets good targets. Their Intel and counter-surveillance could not be as good in the more established groups, or even the smaller Greater France, the Advocacy, or other multi-planet governments.

  Ryck and Çağlar waited by the luggage claim for more than 30 minutes before their billet chimed, indicating their bag had cleared customs. That was the longest Ryck had ever waited, and he guessed that the Livingston government bordered on the paranoid. Ryck loaded the two bags on the hoversled while Çağlar watched over him. Ryck would have thought that it should have been Çağlar’s job to fetch the luggage, given their roles, but the briefing had been adamant that the bodyguards had to remain unburdened as was custom on stations such as Realtude’s. Ryck had assumed that the bodyguard would function more as an assistant, but evidently, in the more Wild West atmosphere of many stations, bodyguards did just that—guard.

  Ryck had always been given to believe that the Alliance worlds were technologically behind the rest of humanity, but the waiting autobcabs looked pretty much the same as anywhere else. He loaded the bags as Çağlar kept watch, then slipped inside. The ID plate on the dash indicated that this cab was made by Peugeot, just like those on so many other worlds.

  “The Night’s Rest in Altura,” he said, naming the local hotel of the mid-level chain favored by businessmen. Ryck had never stayed in a Night’s Rest, but the advertisements proclaimed them “Your home away from home on more than 125 planets!”

  Both the capital and the planet went by the same name, and as capital cities went, Livingston was not overly impressive, Ryck thought. It seemed smaller and less frenetic than most capital cities. As the cab passed into the city’s Altura district, the mood shifted to one of casual nightlife with restaurants and pubs. Their hotel was right on the main thoroughfare.

  Checking in was simple. Ryck even had a Good Night Club rewards card, replete with records of previous stays at different Night’s Rests around human space. The auto-concierge spit out his key-swipe along with a printed list of “recommended” restaurants, all undoubtedly paying the chain for the recommendation. A simple pass-over with his PA, and each restaurant would be in his system with foot or autocab navigation instructions.

  Ha! I guess it is just like home, he thought to himself.

  Business is business, and it just keeps marching on.

  Ryck and Çağlar took the elevator to the fifth floor and went to their room. It was an “Accompanied” room, meaning it had a small anteroom where a bodyguard or secretary would sleep. Through another locked door was a well-appointed central work room, and a bedroom and master bath were off to the left.

  Ryck grunted his reluctant approval. The room was rather nice, and if the two of them were going to be on the planet for four days, this sure wouldn’t be a bad place to do it. Better than any other operation he’d ever been on, that was for sure. He was just glad that it was on the Federation’s tab, not his.

  He and Çağlar pulled their bags off the cart, then hit the return button. As the cart trundled out, the doors automatically closed.

  Leaving his bag on the floor, he wandered over to the pantry where he was greeted by a well-stocked minibar. He pulled out two Anton’s Hard Ciders, holding them up for Çağlar to see, who nodded his acceptance. He dropped them into the cooler, dialed up 5 degrees, and then pulled the chilled bottles out, tossing one to the corporal.

  Ryck plopped down on the Roman couch, kicking off his shoes and taking a swig of the cider.

  “Not too plastic,” he said, using one of the local station phrases given to him by his briefers, in case anyone happened to be monitoring two unimportant businessmen. “Not too plastic at all.”

  To top it off, they were getting per diem for all of this. Sometimes it just paid to be a Marine.

  Chapter 26

  Ryck and Çağlar sat on the park bench, a bánh mi in one hand, a bottle of sparkling panderfruit juice in the other. The sandwich was not like any bánh mi he’d ever had before. It was on a baguette, at least, but the processed meat was different, and the entire sandwich was much sweeter. Ryck didn’t know if this was just the local version or if the fabricator that made the ingredients was not up to the job.

  Across the street was one of their four objectives. Ryck had no idea what the nondescript three-story building was, only that it had been assigned to the two of them. They were to take it under observation for a minimum of 30 minutes. This was the second of their two objectives, and so far, nothing of note had been observed at either of them. Ryck suspected nothing of note would be at any of them. It wasn’t what they observed that would be important, only that they did observe them.

  A few people entered and exited while they watched, but the glass and plastosteel office building next to it had far more traffic. Their objective didn’t look very important, and maybe it wasn’t, but it made sense that certain types of important buildings did not look the part.

  Of course, that line of thinking was slanted as if the Alliance was a belligerent force, not an unwitting setting for a simple exercise. The building probably was just what it seemed: a run-down piece of real estate that would soon be torn down for a more modern and better rent-producing building to take its place.

  “You about done there, Sidorov?” he asked Çağlar. “We’ve dawdled long enough. We can’t make any money sitting on our asses.”

  He took Çağlar’s sandwich wrapper and along with his, dumped them in the round trashcan at the end of the bench. He wiped his hands on his trouser legs, the motioned for Çağlar to precede him. They were done for the day, so it was back to the hotel. The other two objectives would be hit tomorrow.

  The air was crisp, even in the city center, and pleasantly cool as they walked back. Despite this, and despite their slow pace, Ryck had worked up a slight sweat, and he looked forward to taking a shower back in the room. The shower had no less than five heads that shot the water out with surprising, but welcomed force. If Ryck weren’t renting their townhome back on Tarawa, he’d consider installing the same thing back there.

  Çağlar, still in character, pushed open the door to the hotel and made an effort to look around for any danger. Ryck wondered if this was overkill, but he wasn’t going to say anything. The two went to the elevator.

  “Uh, Mr. Stanislovski? Sorry to bother you, sir,” a voice said from behind Ryck.

  Both Marines turned to see one of the hotel staff walking up to them.

  “There is a problem with your payment. It just got declined. Can I see you back in the office to clear this up?”

  Grubbing hell! Leave it to the pogues to screw this up, Ryck thought sourly.

  He forced a smile on his face and said, “Sure, no problem. I’m sure this is just a mix-up.”

  The hotel had very few employees. There was no reception desk, for example, only the three electronic concierges to check in and check out guests. The three men walked past the concierges and through a small door that led into t
he hotel offices.

  As soon as Ryck stepped through, he knew something was wrong.

  He stopped dead as one of four men looking at him said, “Major Lysander, we’re going to need you and Lance Corporal Çağlar to come with us.”

  Ryck felt more than heard Çağlar start to move around him, and he shot out his arm to block the NCO.[14] This was a non-actionable exercise, and force was not authorized except to protect life and limb. This was not such a case.

  He started to protest, but with a sinking heart, he knew it was over. He’d failed his mission.

  What the grubbing hell did we do wrong? How did we screw up? he wondered.

  “May I ask you who you are and where we’re going?” he asked as calmly as he could.

  “I’m Sub-Major Hersheim Lindt, of Internal Security, and we’re going to the precinct jail. You are to be charged with illegal entry into Livingston. So, if you please, we’ll be going out the rear staff entry so as not to cause a scene and board the waiting police van. I shouldn’t have to add that I hope you two will come along peacefully. Any attempt to escape could result in an unfortunate turn of events.

  Ryck looked at the four men. All of them, including the sub-major, looked more than capable of handling themselves. And there were probably more of them outside. A part of warrior Ryck wanted to shout out a loud “Hell no!” and make a break of it, but the rational Ryck pushed that back down. This was not life-or-death, merely something for the diplomats to handle. If one of these men were hurt, that would only raise the ante of what groveling the Federation would have to perform. No, better to just go along meekly, no matter how much that grated on him.

  “No worry, Sub-Major, Lance Corporal Çağlar and I will cooperate,” he said, using Çağlar’s old rank, the one the sub-major had used. Çağlar had been a corporal for four months now, so however they’d been caught, the Livingston database was not up to date.

  “Your sidearm, Lance Corporal?” one of the other men asked.

  Ryck nodded, and Çağlar reluctantly handed over his Douglas. A Marine should never have to give up his weapon, but it was out of their hands.

  Trying to buck up himself up, Ryck took a deep breath as he marched out of the office and into captivity.

  Chapter 27

  Four days later, Ryck, Çağlar, and eight other of his Marines were sitting in the general holding cell along with from ten to twelve other prisoners who rotated in and out. By common understanding, none of the Marines spoke to each other outside their team. No one had the slightest belief that the other prisoners were all legit. In a way, the charade was just wasted time. Right after their arrest, each Marine had been arraigned before a judge, and by name, sentenced to 15 days in jail to be followed by an expulsion from Alliance space, so the Alliance knew who they all were. Still, they pretty much ignored each other, just waiting for their short time to be served.

  Ryck wanted to ask the others how they’d been picked up, and he wanted to ask his jailors who else had been arrested, but that would have to wait. For now, he’d just vegetate.

  The first evening, after their sentencing, a public representative, which was evidently something between a legal aid and a social worker, arrived to check on them and let them all know the Federation consulate had been informed of their arrest. Not surprisingly, no one at the consulate had come. The Federation had washed their hands of the Marines.

  They were treated well as could be expected, given the fact that they were prisoners and not free to go. They had decent enough food, and plenty of it. They had a battered 2D screen embedded in the wall and protected a by a ferrocrystal security guard, and sports and flicks ran non-stop. Ryck just wanted to end the political game and get sent on his way. He knew he’d have to explain getting picked up, but he was confident that the problem was not caused by operator mistake, but rather of a systemic problem. If only one or two of them had been picked up, that could be the team’s fault. But not everyone.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, a single guard came to the cell and called out, “All Federation prisoners, follow me.”

  He opened the cell door and waited. The others looked to Ryck, wondering what they should do. No one had admitted that he was a Federation Marine yet, even if they had been identified dead to rights.

  Ryck shrugged, then stood up and moved to the door. They might as well cooperate, and the guard had said “Federation prisoners,” not “Federation Marine prisoners.”

  The ten Marines followed the lone guard out of the cell and down a corridor. Ryck thought that it was somewhat dismissive that the Alliance thought that ten of the most highly-trained warriors in the Federation could be guarded by one portly Livingston jailer. But then again, Ryck guessed they could. No one was going to make some sort of bondian escape attempt.

  They followed their guard down two passages until he indicated a low bench along the bulkhead. Ryck obligingly sat down and waited. And waited. It was at least 45 minutes before a hatch opened up, and a clerk-type told the guard to bring in the prisoners.

  The ten Marines entered the courtroom and sat in what looked to be the spectators’ seats. Their guard stayed by the back hatch while another stood up in front by the judge’s bench. The clerk took his seat in front of the bench.

  After another five minutes or so, the front guard shouted out, “All rise!”

  The judge came in and sat down. He was all business as he looked at the forms in front of him, forms in which Ryck was positive the judge was already well-versed. He was a young man, possibly in his early 30’s, but he was looking grave as he looked over the forms and nodded.

  He slowly took a large metal seal out of a black pouch and set it down. Taking each form, he signed it, and then stamped the seal over his signature.

  When he was done, he neatly aligned the stack of forms, then said, “Clerk of the Court, you may begin.”

  The clerk picked up the stack of papers and brought them over to the podium where the lawyers and the accused addressed the court, at least as that was how Ryck understood the podium’s purpose from various flicks. He moved the stack to one side, then took the top piece of plastisheet and placed it beside the stack.

  “Major Ryck Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps,” he announced.

  Ryck stood up and approached the podium. He looked down at the paper on official Confederation letterhead and read the body of the text:

  Major Ryck Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps, Federation Citizen FP8785678, a native of the Federation World Prophesy, is as of the below marked date expelled from Livingston and all territory within the Liberty Alliance for a period of ten GMT Years. Failure to comply with this order will result in sentence of no less than ten GMT years at hard labor at a detention facility of the local magistrate’s choice.

  It was simple and to the point. It was signed and stamped by the judge, and there was a signature line with Ryck’s name and the date underneath it. The clerk handed Ryck a pen.

  “And if I don’t sign this?” Ryck asked.

  The clerked looked up at the judge, who nodded back.

  “Whether you sign it or not does not matter, Major,” he told Ryck. “As long as Section Judge Allison signed it, it is in full force. You are being expelled and blacklisted.”

  Ryck put the pen down and said, “In that case, it does not need my signature. I choose to decline to sign it.”

  The clerk nodded, handed Ryck a copy of the order, then motioned for Ryck to take his seat. He then proceeded to call each of the other nine Marines forward and had each one read his document. He offered each Marine a pen, and each Marine declined to sign.

  Ryck knew the clerk was right. This was Alliance space, and whether he and his Marines signed their docs or not didn’t matter. But by not signing, they were showing just a little defiance, that they may have been captured, but they were not defeated men.

  After Çağlar, the last Marine called forward, signed, the clerk took the forms and stood up, looking at the judge.

 
; “All rise!” the guard said as the judge got up and left out his private door without saying another word.

  Their jailer came forward and motioned for the Marines to follow him. Ryck led the way as they left the court section of the jail and were each handed a package. Ryck didn’t open his, but it felt like his PA and probably some personal effects. His was not an ordinary PA, and he was sure the Alliance techs had examined it pretty closely, but that was water under the bridge.

  Twenty minutes later, they were on a jail hover bus, complete with barred windows. They were driven right to the spaceport and held there for an hour in a secured lot. Finally, they were told to leave the bus and were led to a waiting shuttle.

  “I hope you enjoyed your stay on Livingston,” their jailer said, a smug smile on his face.

  Ryck looked around at the city outside the spaceport. He wondered if he could get his expulsion order changed. Twenty years being banned from Alliance space sounded much better than only ten years.

  TARAWA

  Chapter 28

  Sitting in the battalion briefing room with his officers and senior staff, Ryck felt wrung out. The last seven hours had been pure hell, and now they were cooling their heels waiting for the verdict. There wasn’t an armed guard on them, and that was one thing in their favor, Ryck guessed, but what were they going to do even without one? Stage a breakout?

  From the moment their shuttle touched down, the Marines had been isolated and driven directly to Camp Donahue and into the battalion briefing room where they met up with Siomai, the only member of the mission who had escaped being arrested. The more junior enlisted (no one on the teams was really junior in the Marine Corps sense) were taken somewhere else, and then each remaining individual, starting with Ryck, was taken aside and grilled. It may have been called a debrief, but it was more of an interrogation none-the-less.