Duty, Honor, Planet: 02 - Honor Bound

by Rick Partlow

  Letting his gaze fall away from the Paris of the Pampas, Ari scanned across a series of numbered lots on the other side of the road from the terminal until he saw one with a flyer in the colors of the Colonial Guard, with a pilot leaning casually against the hull beside the open ramp. Nodding to himself, he took the foot bridge over the road, striding up to the ducted fan hovercraft as if he owned it. The pilot, a jowly, mid-ranking NCO, quickly came to attention, eyes straight ahead, and saluted.

  “I am Captain Mohammed Al-Masri,” Ari snapped, returning the salute perfunctorily. “Why wasn’t there someone inside to carry my bag?”

  “My apologies, sir,” the sergeant said, still at attention, his eyes darting to Ari’s scowling face. The NCO spoke English with the accent of a Pacific islander, though to Ari he looked Central American. “I was not informed what flight you were coming in on, sir, so I thought I should wait here for you.”

  “Where I come from, soldiers are not paid to think,” Ari sniffed, throwing his duffle bag at the man. The sergeant caught it, barely, his mouth an “O.” “Load this into the aircraft and get me to where I am going.”

  “Yes sir!” the sergeant stuttered, scrambling up the ramp into the aircraft. Ari followed him, concealing a smile. The best thing, he thought, about undercover work, was the ability to act like an asshole with no consequences…

  For all else, the sergeant was a competent pilot. Ari had flown in hundreds of the ubiquitous ducted-fan hovercraft that were the transport of choice for most military and government personnel in the Republic, and those flights were often the most dangerous part of his assignments, but this ride was fairly smooth and his rude treatment of the NCO had the benefit of keeping the man from attempting small talk.

  The little flyer passed over the Rio de la Plata and over the city proper, giving Ari a good look at the full size version of the Obelisk he’d seen in the Hub. The city was a hive of activity, bustling with people and vehicles, including tens of thousands of individual cars, something rarely seen in the more developed nations. Hundreds of thousands of pedestrians coursed through the arteries of the metropolis, looking from the air like a mass of insects swarming over a decaying animal.

  Their course took them straight through the heart of the city and past it, into the sprawling, untidy suburbs, another feature not seen in more developed lands. Those too thinned out in minutes and then, in the countryside beyond, in the middle of the rich, grass plains grew a huge complex of buildings, a hodge-podge of different designs, some styled for form, some for function. Kilometer-across domes sat next to the ugly square blocks of barracks, while across a broad grassy field was what could have been a mansion from 19 Century Spain. And in the center of it all was an inverted trapezoid of a building faced with gleaming white marble, surrounded by a huge parade field. At the center of that field was a marble disc set in the ground, thirty meters across and bearing the stylized planetary system and crossed swords of the Colonial Guard. Troops performing drill and ceremony marched through that field in lines of grey, cutting right angles with precision.

  The pilot set them down in a field behind the giant white trapezoid, the Headquarters building for the Colonial Guard, then hurried to get unstrapped and carry Captain Al-Masri’s bag out of the flyer before Ari could yell at him again. “Can I take this inside for you, Captain?” he asked. Ari suddenly felt guilty for acting like such a jerk to the man, despite the fact that it was part of his cover.

  “No, Sergeant Gutierrez,” Ari took the duffle bag from the NCO and shouldered it-he’d read the man’s name off the tab on the chest of his uniform tunic. “Your service has been satisfactory. It was a…long flight from Yemen.”

  “I understand sir,” Gutierrez nodded gratefully, then saluted. “I hope your journey here is a rewarding one.”

  “I hope so, too, Sergeant,” Ari said sincerely, returning the salute.

  Ari strode quickly into the main entrance to the headquarters building, pausing for a moment at the security checkpoint just inside until his implanted ID chip cleared the scanner and the armed and armored guard there nodded for him to proceed. The place wasn’t that busy in the mid-afternoon, with most of the enlisted and NCOs drilling or training outdoors and most of the officers firmly ensconced in the comfort of their air-conditioned offices.

  The interior of the building was just as richly decorated as the exterior, Ari noticed. White tiled walls were inlaid with gold and hung with what he hoped were copies of classic artwork, and doors were made from real wood, incredibly expensive here on Earth as it had to be imported from the interstellar colonies.

  At the far end of the entrance corridor was an elevator, almost out of place amongst the classical elegance of the decor, but he wasn’t about to show his disdain for the anachronism by taking the stairs to the top floor. The ambience there was even more ornate than that of the entrance hall, if that was possible. Classical style statuary lined the halls in well-lit alcoves, but Ari ignored it as he approached his destination, instead working on embedding himself deeply into his cover identity. This would not be a good time to screw up.

  The office was guarded by a clerk at a desk, who was working with a virtual desktop, dragging files from one inbox to another via a touch-sensitive holographic display. She came to her feet as she saw him approach, noticing the rank on his shoulder.

  “You would be Captain Mohammed Al-Masri?” she asked for form’s sake…she’d known who he was since he entered the building.

  “I am here to see General Kage,” he said, tossing his duffle bag to the side of her desk.

  “Yes, sir, he’ll be right with you. If you would just have a seat here for a moment…” She waved at a chair beside her desk. Ari fought back a sigh. He hated this game. The General was sitting at his desk, watching him via a video feed as he made him wait, sizing up his reaction to the ordeal.

  Nothing to be done about it. He sat, forced himself to wait a few minutes before he began checking the newsfeed on his ‘link. What would Mohammed Al-Masri be interested in? He brought up the financial reports, checking the investments into which his backstopped “family” had sunk their money and were swiftly losing it. After he gave them a cursory viewing, as one might that knew the figures and didn’t want to dwell on them, he switched to auditing the Senate hearings on the biomech legislation. He gave those more attention, not least because he wanted to actually be up on the latest in case General Kage brought up the topic.

  “Captain,” the clerk said finally, “the General will see you now.”

  Ari pocketed his ‘link and sprang to his feet, marching up to the thick, wooden double doors to General Kage’s office and knocking twice confidently but not sharply.

  “Come in,” Kage’s hard-edged voice invited him.

  Ari had never met the commanding general of the Colonial Guard before, but he knew everything that Fleet Intell knew about him, plus the personal observations of Colonel McKay and Major Stark. He knew that the man sitting before him in the neatly pressed grey CeeGee uniform was not your typical Guard officer, given his rank because his parents had high social or political position in their home country. Kage was the son of moderately successful Peruvian ranchers and had joined the Guard to see the stars. He’d demonstrated a ruthless competence that was rare among CeeGee officers in Ari’s experience…well, the competent part was, anyway. Ari did not intend to underestimate him.

  “Captain Mohammed Al-Masri reporting for duty, General, sir!” Ari said, saluting smartly as he entered the office, letting the door swing shut behind him.

  “At ease, Captain,” Kage returned the salute. He looked Ari over as the younger man stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. “So, Captain Al-Masri, you come highly recommended. Your record in the Fleet Marine Corps was exemplary…until you were court-martialed and discharged for abusing a captured insurgent. Care to share your side of the story?”

  Ari made his face appear to be fighting back a sneer of disdain. “There is no side to this story, Gener
al,” he replied. “My platoon had dropped on the city of Cape Verde on El Dorado. There was a city-wide riot going on, looting, burning…savages,” he spat the word. “It was the local arm of the Chaos Front…those damned anarchist bastards wanted nothing more than to bring down the colonial government. They had no thought of establishing their own; they just wanted to bring every bit of order and civilization crashing down. The violence overwhelmed the local police and Colonial Guard armory so when the Montgomery arrived insystem for the scheduled patrol, the two platoons she carried were called in to help put down the riots.

  “On the third day, we had managed to capture one of the group’s chief planners. We…myself and my platoon sergeant…were interrogating him, trying to find the location of their weapons stores, the other leaders…” He shook his head. “The man was a fanatic. He wouldn’t cooperate and things were getting worse. I did what I had to do. My actions saved lives.”

  The story was a good one, Ari thought. Probably because it was true: it just hadn’t happened to him.

  “The court-martial disagreed,” Kage said with a thin smile. “You were given the choice of a reduction in rank and a reprimand on your record or a discharge from the Corps. You chose discharge. Why?”

  “I have to admit, General,” Ari answered, feigning thoughtfulness, “I am not without ambition. A letter of reprimand and a demotion would have kept me from advancing past Captain. My career would have been frozen. But more, I did not want to stay with a military that was not willing to do what was necessary to defeat our enemies.”

  “So you believe the Colonial Guard is willing, then?”

  “General, I have worked with CeeGee…your pardon, sir, with Colonial Guard troops several times. I have always been impressed with their zeal for doing what was necessary to keep order in the colonies. Aggressiveness has never been the problem with the Guard units I have known.”

  “And what, in your estimation, is the problem, Captain?” Kage cocked an eyebrow and Ari debated retreating for the moment…but no. Better to risk it.

  “With all respect, sir, the problem has always been lack of tactical training and experience in the junior officers.”

  “And you believe this to be so because of the nature of our junior officer recruitment system,” Kage surmised.

  “Sir, it has been well known for many years that Guard commissions are handed out as political favors to the sons and daughters of well-connected families in the South and Eastblocs. Those that have the capacity to learn and grow eventually become good officers, but those that do not wind up getting their men killed unnecessarily…and giving us a bad name.”

  “I am the commandant of the Guard, Captain Al-Masri, but even I do not have the power to reform the system at that high a level,” Kage smiled. “So, how would you suggest this be changed?”

  “I have seen reports of the changes you have made to officer training, sir and they are excellent ones,” Ari nodded. “But if I were to make a suggestion, it would be that you do two things: one, create some sort of…ceremonial positions, an honor guard for dignitaries or some such thing, and staff it with those appointees who are simply not suited to combat command; and two, use the newly-open junior officer slots to promote more competent NCOs to officers’ training.”

  Kage regarded him for a long moment, before nodding with satisfaction. “Well, it is easy to see why you are so highly recommended, Captain. You are unafraid to speak your mind and you are one hundred percent right. In fact, I have already begun to expand recruitment of good NCOs to officers’ training. Your first suggestion though is a very good one, and one I had not thought of. I will sit down with my staff and give it serious consideration.”

  “Thank you sir…if I may, General Kage, my orders were not very specific. They said I was to report to you here, now, but they did not say where you intended for me to be stationed, or in what capacity.”

  “Captain, I considered that very carefully. There are several colonial garrisons that could use your leadership, but given your experience, I think you would best serve the Guard by training other officers. You will be stationed here; over at the Junior Officers’ Basic Course…you will be the new Executive Officer of the training cadre, under Colonel Ibrahim Gambari. He’s a very able commander and under my instructions to let you try whatever new training methods you think may be effective as long as you run them by me first. You report to him in the morning. In the meanwhile, sign out a groundcar and find yourself a room at the Officer’s Quarters.” He stood and offered a hand. “Welcome to the Colonial Guard, Captain Al Masri.”

  Ari shook it. “Thank you very much, General. I will not let you down.”

  It was perfect…he was in just the right place to carry out his assignment. But the funny thing was, Ari thought, part of him wished he really had the job.

  Chapter Five

  “Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!” The loudspeaker cut through the din of shouts and the stutter of blank rounds and the thirty men and women in dark-colored body armor scattered around the forest compound stopped in their tracks, looking around in confusion.

  “Recruit Manning!” Tom Crossman bellowed, stalking down from the top of the rise from which he’d been observing, hands on his hips. “Can you tell me exactly why you thought it would be a good idea to fire a grenade into a building you knew to hold a store of hyperexplosives? Particularly when you were standing in the open not ten meters from it?”

  One of the armored figures safed and slung a rifle, then paused to pull off a visored helmet. Beneath it was the face of a twenty-something female, her black hair cut short and spiky, her normally pale face red with embarrassment.

  “Sorry Sergeant Crossman,” she stuttered. “I just knew that one of my squads was taking fire from the building…”

  Crossman took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his temper, then ran a hand across his swept-back brown hair. He had a movie star’s face, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones and usually an easy smile, though not at the moment.

  “Noble sacrifices are very romantic, Recruit Manning,” he bit off, “but this skirmish is only part of your mission. If this were a real op, and you got yourself killed early in the action, your team would be a troop short and missing a leader. So next time you’re faced with this situation…” He pointed behind her, where fifty meters away the ground dropped off into a gulch. “Get to cover, then blow up the damned building.”

  He looked around at the rest of the recruits. “No matter how little time you have, there is always time to think.” He checked his watch, sniffed in irritation. “All right, we’re doing this again. Get formed up and move back to the LZ, get resupplied from the shuttles and we’re kicking off the raid at No Later Than 2000 hours. Which means it’s now a low-light attack, so take the opportunity to adjust your tactics, Manning.”

  “I’m still Team Leader, Sergeant Crossman?” she asked, surprised.

  “Till you get it right, Manning,” he nodded. “Get them moving and don’t get yourself killed this time. Unless you have to.”

  “Yes, Sergeant!”

  Crossman shook his head as he watched her yelling at the rest of the recruits to get them moving back down the game trail.

  “She remind you of anyone, Tom?” A voice came from behind him and that easy smile returned.

  “Just some reckless, ballsy LT I once knew,” he turned and saluted as Shannon Stark walked down the hill. She was dressed for the field in dark battle utilities, a sidearm holstered at her waist. Not that she’d need it in the Canadian wilderness, but it was regulation for Intelligence, thanks to Colonel McKay. “How’ve you been ma’am?”

  “Busy,” she sighed. “Always busy, especially now that Colonel McKay got the itch to be a field op again. How are Rosalita and the kids?”

  “Doing great ma’am…little Jimmy started preschool and Mira is walking now. So what brings you out this way? Don’t usually see the big brass until selection time gets closer.”

  “I needed to run
something by you. I know you’re busy, but Vinnie and Jock went off with Jason, so you got a minute?”

  He checked his watch, grinning. “I have exactly three hours and twenty four minutes, ma’am. Let’s go sit down.”

  Tom led her into the buildfoam dome they had been using as part of the “enemy compound,” shoo-ing out the Op-For personnel that had been firing simulators at the recruits. They sat at a table next to stacks of bricks of fake hyperexplosives and Tom poured her a cup of coffee.

  “So what’s eating you, Boss Lady?” he prodded, taking a sip from his own mug.

  “Tom, we have some chatter that there’s going to be trouble with the Colonial Guard. A lot of them don’t like the new emigration policies and the new rules in place limiting their authority in the colonies, and a lot of the parents of the officer corps don’t like the fact that they aren’t getting kickbacks from the Multicorps anymore for funneling them cheap labor. So the word is, there’s going to be a mutiny, that the CeeGee armories on all the colony worlds are going to seize power from the local governors.”

  “I can believe it,” Crossman nodded. “Things aren’t too great for anyone right now and it’s worse in the Developing Blocs.”

  “I have Ari working that angle already,” she went on, “but the other shoe is, the mutiny is supposed to coincide with an attempt on President O’Keefe’s life.”

  Crossman whistled in surprise, his face thoughtful. “That’s a pretty ambitious move for the CeeGee officer corps,” he mused. “And what’s the endgame here? Do they think that Vice President Dominguez is going to reverse the emigration policies just because he’s from Central America? Or maybe they have something on him that won’t work on O’Keefe…”