by Smith, Glenn
“I guess I’ll go take a cold shower,” Karen said as she appeared at Liz’s shoulder.
Liz put her arm around Karen’s hips and kissed her just below her navel, then looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it.” She bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. “Besides,” she added with a smile, “we have the next eight days and nights to do whatever we want.” She kissed her again, then went into the bathroom.
Turning her attention back to the computer, Liz saw about fifteen messages from the station commander listed and sighed with relief. Good man. She’d have to remember to thank him. “Replay messages in reverse order,” she said.
“Hello, Commander,” the man’s image said a little too loudly a moment after it appeared on the screen. Startled, Royer gasped and threw her arms across her breasts. She looked at the time-date stamp in the lower right corner of the display and, much to her relief, saw that the message was in fact a recording and not a live transmission. It had just been received yesterday. She knew, of course, that if it had been a live transmission she would have had to tell the computer to open the channel before the commander could actually have seen her. Nevertheless, sitting in front of his image with nothing on still made her a little uncomfortable.
She turned down the volume, then crossed her legs and turned slightly away as the message continued.
“This is what, my fourteenth update? Fifteenth? I don’t even know. Hell, I lost count a long time ago. Anyway, I’m sorry to say that I don’t have much of anything new for you since the last one. Turns out the gunshot wound Sergeant Graves suffered during the kidnapping wasn’t that serious. They didn’t even admit him. However...”
Gunshot wound! Kidnapping! What the hell?
“...suffering from those nightmares of his. The DeGaetano girl’s wounds, on the other hand, were more serious. She’s in intensive care...”
The DeGaetano girl? Who the hell was that?
“...but has already shown some improvement. She should be out before too much longer. Perhaps as soon as a few days from now.”
“Hold,” Royer commanded. The commander’s image froze.
Just what the hell had happened back there? How had Graves gotten shot again? Who was the DeGaetano girl and who the hell had been kid... Suddenly it dawned on her, and the only thing she could manage to say was, “Uh oh.”
O’Donnell. “Shit.” The enemy had gotten to her first. “Resume.”
“Those special counseling sessions you arranged for have continued and will continue as scheduled, but so far there’s been no sign that they’re helping. As I said, he’s still having those nightmares. I wish I had better news for you, but I don’t.”
The commander paused briefly, then added with an exasperated shake of his head, “I just don’t understand it, Commander. I’ve never heard of anything like this to happen before. If he were a Tor’Kana or even a Cirran telepath, then maybe. But he’s not.” He shook his head again. “Beats me how this happened. I guess all we can do is keep trying.
“On a personal note, I hope you never actually have to go through with your contingency plan for him. He’s a proud Marine and he actually seems like a pretty nice guy. I’d hate to see him embarrassed like that.
“Anyway, you should be back on station for my next scheduled update tomorrow, so I guess I’ll talk to you live at that time. Hopefully I’ll actually have something significant and encouraging to tell you by then. Out.”
Royer leaned back, dropped her hands into her lap, and let go the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. She’d been kidnapped. It had to be her. She was sure of it. Stefani O’Donnell. Damn it!
Liz knew she should have stayed. What the hell had gone wrong? Obviously, a lot had happened out there since she left. She had a lot of reports to catch up on.
But she didn’t have time now. Admiral Hansen was waiting for her.
Hansen. She groaned. What the hell was she going to tell him now? Why was Graves still having those nightmares and how the hell was she going to explain them to the admiral? He’d been against it from the very beginning and had only reluctantly given the go-ahead after she’d spent literally hours arguing with him, trying to convince him that it was the right thing to do. The last thing he needed to hear now, and certainly the last thing she wanted to have to tell him, was that there were complications.
Now she knew how Ensign Pillinger must have felt.
He was waiting. She got up and went to her dresser, hurriedly brushed out her still damp hair and then pulled on a clean set of underclothes. Then she crossed to the closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and whatever tee shirt she happened to grab first. She quickly checked herself in the mirror, then pulled her tee shirt off again, tossed it aside, and went back to the closet to get a different one. Kansas City Chiefs—a better choice than the Romanov Vodka shirt she’d grabbed first. She pulled it on, then grabbed her sneakers out of her luggage and slipped them on as she headed out the door.
Nothing, she decided with determination as she headed toward the lift. She’d tell Hansen exactly nothing. Nothing about the sergeant’s nightmares. Nothing about the special counseling she’d set up for him to help put an end to them. Nothing about the disturbing news she’d just heard, either. At least, not until she had a chance to review the agent’s previous messages and get some more details. And most definitely nothing about how she planned ultimately to succeed in getting Graves to join the agency, one way or the other, whether he wanted to or not. After all, it was only a matter of time before all the obstacles would be gone and he’d be on his way to the academy. What would it really matter how she did it as long as she got it done? In this case, the ends would justify the means. No need to concern the admiral with the details.
She could only hope the Tarko City station commander hadn’t panicked when her ship went missing and blown the whistle.
Chapter 47
Dylan gently brushed a lock of hair out of Bethany’s eyes. He hadn’t left her bedside in hours, even after she’d finally fallen asleep some forty-five minutes ago. With luck she’d sleep through the night.
His wound hadn’t been a very serious one and he’d recovered quickly—more accurately, he’d been repaired quickly, having been hit in his biotronic arm—but Beth was another matter altogether. According to her surgeon, one of her neck vertebrae had been grazed, and although her spinal column hadn’t been hit the initial impact and close passage of the bullet had caused what he’d described in layman’s terms as an indirect trauma injury. She’d recover fully, but it was going to take time. She’d spend at least a week in intensive care and two more on the ward, then be sent home for two or three months of supervised convalescence.
His stomach rumbled. He checked the time. 23:36 hours. No wonder he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since dinner and he’d burned a lot of energy since then. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on her forehead, then left the room, pulling the door behind him but not closing it all the way. For reasons that hadn’t been clear to him even after the medical staff tried to explain, they didn’t want it closed.
Two more days, he reflected as he started down the hall toward the cafeteria. All he’d had to do was take it easy for two more days. Then he could have returned to his unit. He’d likely have been put on light duty for a while and he still would have had to go to those damn sessions, but at least he would have been back. Now he had to wait another whole week.
Regardless of when he went back, though, he knew things were never going to be quite the same again. He’d return to an almost completely different squad—a squad full of Marines who hadn’t faced combat together before. A squad that hadn’t meshed yet. A squad that hadn’t become a family the way most of his old one had. Not that they’d have to wait very long for the opportunity.
No. Their opportunity would very likely come sooner rather than later.
He thought about that as he walked into the cafeteria, picked up a tray, a
nd started filling it with whatever happened to be within easy reach, and to his surprise he found that the notion scared him. It scared him a lot. He’d seen combat several times over the years, but with the exception of that first mission as a member of the Blackhawk crew—one of his first real tastes of combat—he’d come through it all relatively unharmed. Until last month’s rescue mission. That one had almost cost him his life. And then there was last night. His wound had been a minor one this time, but it was a combat wound nonetheless. Twice in a row now he’d been a casualty. He was only twenty-eight years old, for God sake. Was he losing his edge already?
If he was losing his edge, then how could he continue to lead troops into combat?
The need to pay for his food only distracted him for a moment, but that was long enough. As he slipped his identicard back into his pocket, picked up his tray, and went looking for a table, he summed up his fears in one word.
Nonsense.
He’d go back to his unit, and as soon as he returned to full duty status he’d train his new troops. With Billy’s help he’d mold their new squad into a fighting unit every bit as good as their old one. Perhaps even better. All he needed were the right people.
He chose a table at random and set his tray down, but his sat-phone sang its tone before he even sat down. He pulled it from its belt pouch, flipped it open, and then sat down as he answered, “Hello.”
“Degger, it’s Billy,” Running Horse said. “Sorry to call you so late, but I’ve been trying you at home for hours. Had a little trouble finding your mobile code.”
“No problem, Billy,” Dylan told him. Then he asked, “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up. They’re planning on making you the detachment supply sergeant when you come back.”
“They’re what?” Dylan asked, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.
“Yeah. They say it’s only going to be temporary, but you know how that goes.”
Indeed he did. Temporary assignments had a way of sneaking up on those persons who’d been naïve enough to volunteer for them and becoming permanent when they weren’t looking. He’d seen it happen a hundred times before and he had no intention of letting it happen to him. “No way am I doing that,” he proclaimed.
“It’s done, Degger. The L-T has already made his decision and sent word up the chain. You’ve got no way out of it, my friend.”
The L-T. Damn. Dylan had liked him, too. He’d really thought he was different.
He drew a deep breath and let it out very slowly, then simply said, “Thanks for the heads-up, Billy. I’ll talk to you later.”
He closed the channel, dropped his phone onto the table, and sat back, suddenly not very hungry. He was a Marine. A combat soldier. A warrior. He was a squad sergeant, not a staff sergeant. He was a man who led others on classified and covert high-risk missions. He wasn’t some kind of warehouse worker or an inventory clerk. Not that he had a problem with those who did that kind of work. They had their part to play just like everyone else, and that part was just as important. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be one of them.
After all he’d done in his career, how could his leaders possibly expect him to adjust to something like that?
The answer was really quite simple, he realized. They couldn’t, and they probably didn’t.
The time had come for him to move on.
Chapter 48
By the time Royer finished briefing Admiral Hansen on the results of her trip, her tee shirt had begun sticking to her back and shoulders and she couldn’t be sure if that was due to her damp hair or to nervous perspiration. The admiral had asked her a lot of questions and she’d had to sidestep, skirt around, or just plain lie in response to several of them. She hadn’t liked lying to him any more than he’d liked lying to the president, but she knew that if she’d told him the truth about Sergeant Graves’ nightmares and the steps she’d taken to combat them he would have become one very displeased admiral. And the mere mention of having found Stefani O’Donnell there when she hadn’t brought her back to Earth in handcuffs would probably have enraged him more than she’d ever seen him enraged before. He was bound to find out everything sooner or later, of course, and when he did she’d have hell to pay, but she wasn’t ready to deal with any of that just yet.
She was most especially relieved that he hadn’t asked her about the kidnapping or about Graves being wounded again. Apparently the Tarko City station commander hadn’t betrayed her confidence, because if he had—if the admiral had known about those events—she might very well have found herself running for the nearest airlock without a spacesuit.
Hansen sat up in his chair. “So to summarize what you’ve told me, Commander, you do think there’s still an outside chance he might join us?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I do,” she answered positively.
“Despite the fact that the last time you talked to him he told you there was no way in hell he’d sign up?”
“Call it a feeling, Admiral. Gut instinct. I think he’s seen more than enough combat and he just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Hansen gazed at her in silence for a moment while he considered whether or not to tell her what he knew and lay into her for what she’d done. On the one hand he was angry at her for not at least consulting him before she acted. But on the other, he had to admire her initiative and her willingness to act alone, regardless of what he might think about the chances of her plan actually succeeding. Besides, as slim as those chances might be, a slim chance was always better than no chance at all.
“Okay,” he finally told her with a single nod of his head. “Good enough, Commander. I hope you’re right.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“I guess that’ll do for now. Enjoy your week off. Just make sure I know where to find you in case of emergency. I promise I’ll try to leave you alone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And again, my apologies to you and Karen for...”
“Forget it, sir,” she said, brushing his earlier faux pas aside as she stood up. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Commander.”
As Royer headed for the door, the buzzer on Hansen’s comm-panel sounded. He froze for an instant, hoping, praying that it wasn’t Combat Operations calling him with another casualty report from Mass Eviction. He’d already received four of them just since noon and the figures had been a lot higher than expected.
The buzzer sounded again. He opened the channel. “Yes?”
“This is Crewman Wilkerson in the comm-center,” the too-young-for-the-service-looking man on the screen said. “Is this Admiral Hansen?”
“Yes. What is it?” he asked less than patiently.
“Sir, there’s a Squad Sergeant Dylan Graves calling from Cirra, asking for the Chief of Intelligence.”
“Stand by, Crewman.” He switched off the audio. “Commander Royer!” he called as the door closed behind her. A second later the door slid open again and she stepped back inside.
“Yes, sir?”
Hansen raised a hand to silence her. “Put the sergeant through, Crewman,” he instructed while watching Royer to gauge her reaction. It was positive, but guarded. A lift of her eyebrows, a slight tilt of her head, and a not quite grinning purse of her lips. “Secure and encrypted.”
“Yes, sir.”
The face on the monitor changed from that of the young man, who was barely more than a boy, to that of the seasoned Marine whom Hansen had come to recognize all too easily from their time together in his nightmares.
“Admiral Hansen?” the sergeant asked.
“Yes, Sergeant Graves. I’m Admiral Hansen. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You’re Chief of the S-I-A, sir?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you owe it to that pain-in-the-ass deputy of yours. I’m in.” And with that the screen went dark.
“I guess he got to know you pretty well, Commander,” Hansen quipped.
Royer let out a sigh
of relief that could have started a hurricane. “Yes, sir. I guess he did,” she agreed without even realizing what the admiral had said. She’d been so afraid that Graves might say something about what she’d held back from the admiral that she hadn’t actually been listening.
Studying his underling’s expression and speaking in a more serious tone, the admiral said, “I wonder what made him change his mind.”
“Who cares, as long as he’s coming aboard?” Royer asked rhetorically.
“I care,” Hansen replied. He waited for her to look back at him, then added, “He didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about it.”
“Special Operations, Admiral,” she reminded him as though that explained everything. “You know how hard it is for them to break from their teams.”
Was she beginning to suspect that he knew more than he’d let on? Was she intentionally trying to allay his suspicions, rather than come clean? “True enough,” he said. And he’d intended to leave it at that...at first. But then he figured, what the hell? Why not put her on the spot. If he let what she’d done go this time, what would prevent her from doing something similar again the next time she thought it was warranted? Better to nip it in the bud right now.
He asked, “But that’s not all it is this time, is it, Commander?”
She gazed at him curiously—if she hadn’t suspected anything before, she surely must have now—then started, “I’m not sure I know...”
“I know what you did, Commander,” he interrupted, silencing her. Better that than give her the opportunity to lie right to his face. If she did that he’d never be able to trust her again. “I know you arrested Stefani O’Donnell, and I know what you did with her. You’re damn lucky it worked this time, but don’t you ever do anything like that again without consulting with me first. Understood?”
“Understood, sir,” she answered meekly.
“Good.” He stared at her for a moment, then softened his tone and said, “Enjoy your time off, Commander. You earned it. Dismissed.”
