Commandant (The United Federation Marine Corps Book 8)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  “Levée,” he said after momentarily forgetting the proper term to send the hand into mêlée.

  “Oh, feeling frisky, eh, General?” the chaplain asked. “What could you have, there?”

  “Well, Father, you’re going to have to play to find out.”

  “So says the man who’s lost about every hand so far this evening,” the chaplain said to the laughs of the other two.

  With the captain out, Ryck dealt two cards to Genghis and three to the chaplain before dropping one and dealing himself another.

  Damn! That’s what I’m talking about, he thought, trying to keep his face devoid of visible emotion. Time to get some of those credits back.

  Ryck was just about to double down again when there was a knock on his hatch, followed immediately by Lieutenant Feinstein sticking his head in the stateroom.

  “General, the station is requesting your presence. Yours, Captain Plummer’s, and Commander Kaawa’s.”

  Ryck dropped his game control, his bet forgotten.

  “How much time do I have?” he asked, jumping to his feet.

  “There will be a guide at Starboard 3C in 20 minutes—uh, 18 minutes now.”

  “Hell, they could have given us a little warning after having us sit here for two days. Brian, let’s get moving. Service dress, OK?”

  “Roger that, sir. I’m on my way,” Captain Plummer said, bolting for the hatch.

  Ryck had a private head, and he was tearing off his shorts and shirt as he told his AI, “Water, fine mist, 45 degrees.”

  By the time he slid into the shower, the water was already at temperature.

  “Genghis, can you get out my alphas?” he shouted out as he triggered the soap.

  Thank God some things never leave you, he thought as he jumped out of the shower a minute later, thinking back to his recruit training and the “Navy showers”

  [5] he’d had to take then.

  Genghis had laid out his alphas. It wasn’t a lieutenant colonel’s job to dress a general, but the ancient practice of having an orderly had disappeared ages ago, and time was a-wasting.

  It took another minute-and-a-half to slam on his uniform. Ryck opened his sea locker, and there on the top shelf, his two Federation Novas glinted in the LED lighting over his desk. The Novas were worn on ribbons around the neck. Ryck handed the medals to Genghis, and just as Ryck helped Hannah with her pearls, the lieutenant colonel played husband and fastened the clips. Ryck was facing the desk, and as Genghis finished up with the medals, Ryck’s attention was caught on the sea locker. Almost without thinking, he reached out and took the small PA that he’d had for close to 15 years, a PA he’d never used, and slid it into his trousers pocket. He turned around, and with Genghis running alongside and still adjusting the hang of Ryck’s Novas, the two Marines were out the hatch in just under five minutes.

  “Get your ass in gear, Captain!” Ryck shouted through the ship’s CO’s closed hatch as he hurried down the passage.

  The Kravitch was a huge ship, and while elevators plied the engineering and weapons spaces, there were none in officers’ country. Ryck checked his watch; he should make it in time, but it would be close.

  With two minutes to spare, Ryck reached the designated hatch. Genghis fussed over his uniform like a mother hen, which annoyed Ryck to no end, but he did want to make a good impression, so he stood there and endured it. With only 30 seconds to spare, Captain Plummer showed up, breathing heavily.

  “You ready?” Ryck asked.

  Plummer took a deep breath, then said, “Doesn’t matter if I am or not. I just want an answer.”

  Commander Bortello showed up huffing and puffing and immediately bent over to catch his breath. Captain Plummer leaned over to give the commander some last-second guidance.

  Ryck looked to Genghis. Ryck’s inclusion in the task force had been purely political, and he’d never had a real staff with him. Genghis was the next senior Marine. Both of them had enlisted at the same time, so they were the same age. But it was asking a lot of a lieutenant colonel to shoulder the burden of a mutiny should something go wrong out in the station.

  “Look, Naranbaatar,” he started, for once addressing Genghis by his real name. “If something, well, if things don’t go right out there, well, it’s your call. Do what you think is right for the men.”

  “Hell, General, we’re in this together. Whatever happens, it happens to all of us.”

  “I’m not holding you to that. Do what’s right, that’s all.”

  Genghis didn’t have a chance to respond as the bosun mate in charge of the hatch called out, “Opening S-C3. Stand by.”

  With a whoosh, the hatch swung back. Air rushed in, the breeze cooling the slight sweat that had formed on his face in the rush to the hatch. Exotic smells almost assaulted his nose after the sterile air of the Kravitch. Like all stations, Juliette Station 2 used overpressure to keep from being invaded by pathogens from visiting ships, but unlike most stations, open-air markets, replete with food stalls, kept the air full of aromas that were not scrubbed. The Juliette Group liked it that way, and it gave visitors a feel of how Ryck imagined an ancient casbah might strike people for the first time.

  Ryck didn’t have time to contemplate the sociological implications of how the Juliette Group ran their holdings, though. Waiting outside the hatch were four well-armed police, their faces hidden by helmets and dark visors. A lone young man in a silk suit stood one step in front of the muscle.

  “This way, please,” the man said.

  Ryck stepped through the hatch, followed by Captain Plummer. A technician punched something into a control box, and with an audible snap, the Mendoza Cage snapped shut around the opening that had allowed them to open the hatch.

  Ryck felt an emotional connection severed as the cage closed. He and Plummer were cut off. If something happened to them, no one on the Kravitch would ever know.

  Without a word, Ryck and Plummer stepped off on the heels of their young escort. With two of the police leading, the other two fell behind, effectively keeping the two mutineers surrounded.

  For a fleeting second, Ryck was tempted to spin and jump one of the two men behind them and then make a break for it. But to what end? Even if he could immobilize one of them, something that was not a sure thing given their air of deadly competence and Ryck’s aging body, there would be three others. And if he did get away, he was in a space station. Hollybolly flicks notwithstanding, people just cannot hide on a station where every living being is monitored 24/7.

  The sheer size of the Kravitch—which would normally keep it off-station, but with the need of a Mendoza Cage requiring station-provided power, it had to have a physical docking—kept the ship at the very end of the terminal arm, a huge ball stuck on the end of a tube. That made it about as far away from the main station as was physically possible. The walk down the terminal arm, however, was shorter than Ryck had expected; as was logical, a small cart was waiting for them at the security checkpoint for the gate, and all seven men clambered aboard. The shuttle took off smoothly, whisking them to the end of the terminal. After two right turns, the shuttle sped down the adjacent terminal arm, stopping at a security point outside Gate B6 and where Commander Kaawa, the Temperance’s CO, stood waiting, along with four more police guards. At least those guards did not get on the crowded shuttle as it turned around to take them into the heart of the station.

  At the end of the terminal arm, Juliette Station 2 boasted a large window, some 40 meters long. This was a favorite spot for locals and visitors alike as it offered a view of three of the station’s four terminal arms, and when the orientation was right, of the enormous hulk of the gas giant Gardenhaupt.

  Ryck was no different, and he looked out the window to try and spot the Kravitch, which was pretty hard to miss. Something else caught his eye, though, and it tickled a warning.

  “Is that—” he started to whisper to Captain Plummer.

  “Yes,” the captain whispered back quickly, cutting him off.
>
  Far off in the distance, probably 30 or 40 kilometers, a vast sphere caught the sun’s rays. The unique outline, even at that distance, left no doubt. Another Admiral Neung-class dreadnaught was out there. And where the Navy sent a dreadnaught, other ships would accompany it.

  The Navy only had five of the Admiral Neungs, the Kravitch being one. The Kravitch would be an even match for the ship out there, but the Kravitch was in the Mendoza Cage. Even if the cage were shut down, the Kravtich would be a sitting duck for the other dreadnaught even without considering the other ships that had to be accompanying it.

  Ryck turned to look back forward, his stomach in his throat. With the Federation Navy there, his options were limited. While he’d known their chances were minimal, to have that confirmed was heartbreaking. This wasn’t some flick where some improbable miracle and feats of derring-do could extract them. The jig was up. And now, he could only offer himself as a way to save the 6,000 men on the two ships.

  The Federation had him, no matter what. And they could eliminate him and execute the rest of the men as they chose. They’d been willing to murder 12 billion, so what was a mere 6,000? But the Federation was aware of the media and public opinion (although that hadn’t seemed to enter into the equation when deciding to interdict Ellison). If Ryck would publically admit to his sins, he might be able to negotiate at least exile to a prison planet for the enlisted. It was worth a try, at least.

  Ryck took a deep breath and sat up straighter. He knew they were being watched as the cart carried them along, and he was not going to look defeated, at least. What he’d done had been right, and he’d be damned if he’d look guilty—unless that is what it took to save some of his men.

  The shuttle bounced over a kill bar and entered a wide avenue, the landmark of each Juliette station. Trees lined the median as throngs of people walked to and fro. Only official vehicles were allowed on Center Boulevard; the kill bar would stop any other vehicle as it tried to pass. People stopped to stare as the shuttle made its way slowly to—and then past—the large gothic-looking building that Ryck assumed was the station headquarters.

  At the far end of the avenue, the shuttle pulled in front of a nondescript building that spanned the entire height of the main chamber. Where the other central buildings stressed appearances and architecture, this was a no-nonsense, utilitarian structure. A side-door opened, and the shuttle drove inside and up to what looked like a commercial loading dock as Ryck might find in the industrial sector of Tarawa. Four more guards awaited them; the only difference between them and the police in the shuttle was their well-tailored suits, complete with muted teal cravats. Teal might not instill fear, but the four could have been dressed in pink tutus and still no one would doubt their lethality. Their skin color ranged from almost black to a very light and pale pink, but still, they could have been clones in posture and movement.

  At least they aren’t FCDC, Ryck thought. Although that might be next.

  “This way, gentlemen,” a fifth man said, possibly physically larger than the four guards, but much smaller in presence.

  Ryck, Plummer, and Kaawa stepped out of the shuttle, and then hopped up to the platform. Their guide waited only a moment before stepping into the brightly lit corridor. Ryck didn’t need the muscles’ urging to follow. He kept his head high as if being there was at his request and not a summons.

  To Ryck’s surprise, the three were led to a small room not far from the service entrance. There were no windows, not even an eWindow. It wasn’t a jail cell, but with only a couch and a table with a pitcher of water and three glasses on it, the room was pretty Spartan.

  “If you will wait here, gentlemen?” their guide said, his voice rising in a question while still leaving no doubt that they really had no choice.

  To Ryck’s surprise, their guards left the room, too, leaving the three alone.

  “So, what do you make of this?” Captain Plummer asked, his voice a measured calm, but with an underlying note of apprehension still evident.

  “Until I see fuckdick security, I’m OK with anything,” Ryck said.

  Commander Kaawa laughed at that. “‘Fuckdicks?’”

  “Yeah, fuckdicks. As in FCDC. Fuckdicks,” Ryck said, looking at the commander.

  Where have you been all your career? Or is that only a Marine term? Ryck wondered. Can’t be.

  “Pretty funny, sir. And appropriate,” the commander said before all three fell into silence.

  Ryck looked around the room, trying to spot the surveillance devices that had to be there. He couldn’t see them, but then again, he was no countersurveillance expert.

  His hand brushed the hard lump in his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out the old PA, holding it at arm’s length, thinking back to when he’d received it. For the first time, he contemplated activating it.

  He doubted it would do any good. How could it? Things had changed since then, especially as all humans were supposedly bonded in the effort against the Klethos. He looked around the room again, once more trying to spot the surveillance.

  What the hell? I’ve got nothing to lose, he told himself.

  He half-expected the PA to remain dead, but when he hit the power button, it powered right up, green lights flashing.

  “What’s that, sir?” Captain Plummer asked.

  Ryck ignored him. Pushing the connect could be considered an act of treason, after all.

  And that made him laugh out loud.

  This would be treason? What the grubbing hell have I been doing up until now!

  He was still laughing when he hit the connect to the only saved number in the memory.

  After one ring, a familiar voice came on the line.

  “General Lysander, it’s good to hear from you,” Titus Pohlmeyer said as if this were a normal call between friends.

  Ryck was surprised that first, the call had even gone out. All comms from the ship had been blocked, but now he was free to call? And second, that Pohlmeyer had answered so quickly. He had no idea as to the time back on New Mumbai, and even then, interplanetary calls had to be queued and slotted.

  Suddenly, Ryck didn’t know what to say. He almost cut the connection.

  “Uh, is it Colonel now?” Ryck asked, stalling.

  “Just major, General. I’m glad you called. You’re in quite a predicament,” the Confederation major said matter-of-factly.

  “So you know about all of this?”

  “Now, I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t, now, would I?”

  “I guess not,” Ryck admitted.

  “So, what can I do for you?” the major asked.

  “I. . .uh, I really don’t know. I just, well, you said—”

  “I told you we had our eyes on you and to call me if there was anything we could do for you.”

  “Uh, right. That’s about it, I guess.”

  “And you want to know if we can do anything.”

  Ryck hesitated. He may have disobeyed orders, but he was still Federation. Asking for help from a foreign government was a huge step in a different direction.

  “Maybe,” he equivocated.

  “Well, the fact of the matter is I don’t know if there is anything I can do. You’ve got 42 capital ships orbiting the station right now, a good chunk of the Federation Third Fleet. We don’t know their intention, to be honest.”

  Ryck’s heart fell, and he wasn’t sure why. Forty-two was a lot, but in his situation, forty-two or five didn’t make much of a difference in the long run.

  Ryck used his hands to indicate 42 to both sailors who were watching him closely. Commander Kaawa slumped back in the couch, eyes closed and head up as he realized what Ryck meant.

  “You’ve got company arriving now. I imagine the meister will see you first, and then, well, we’ll see what happens after that. Call me again if you can, General,” Major Pohlmeyer said.

  If I can, Ryck thought. Not too much of an endorsement, is it?

  “How do you know all of this?” he asked.

&nbs
p; “As I said, I wouldn’t be very good at my job, now, would I, if I didn’t know. And you are my job. You have been since you were our guest on new Mumbai. But to answer you, I am sitting in a café about 120 meters from your position now. I have eyes on the building.”

  “You’re here? On Juliette Station 2? How?” Ryck asked, surprised.

  I guess that’s how my call got through immediately.

  The major said nothing, and Ryck added, “Oh, your job.”

  Still, it astounded him. They’d gone straight to Juliette Station 2 from Ellison, and they’d been docked here for not even three full days yet.

  How the grubbing hell had he made it here already?

  Ryck didn’t know what one Confederation major, albeit one whose abilities and pull undoubtedly surpassed that of most majors, could help. Still, it was a hope, and at this point, Ryck would grasp and claw at any life ring thrown his way.

  “Gentlemen, the meister will see you now,” their guide said after sticking his head in the door.

  “I’ve got to go,” Ryck said over the phone. “I’ll call you if I can when I find out what’s going on,” he said hurriedly.

  He cut off the responding “Go with—” and slid the PA back into his pocket. With the other two in tow, he followed their guide (and four guards) to discover their fate.

  Chapter 5

  “Shit does really follow you, General,” Meister Glenda Henricks-Pata said as Ryck and the two sailors were escorted into the room.

  Ryck held his face steady, fighting to keep from rolling his eyes. In The Warrior, the flick about his fight with the Klethos d’relle, or “queen” as the populace had started to refer to the Klethos champions, that accusation had been repeated several times to the point that it had almost become his motto, and then time and time after that, usually by people trying to be clever. Meister Henricks-Pata didn’t seem to be trying for clever at the moment, though.

  The meister waved a hand, more of a flick in the air, and the two muscles and their guide quickly left, closing the door behind them.