Runs In The Family

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Wondering what might have happened if I’d stayed on Earth.”

  “You know that train of thought is irrelevant, my dear.” McMasters touched her hand. “You wouldn’t be here now if you’d stayed on Earth. And in reality, you know it was most likely for the best anyway.”

  Tally nodded. “I know that, Darren. But I’m wondering what I’m supposed to do now.”

  McMasters smiled again and leaned back in the seat, refilling his glass. “All things in good time, my lady Tallenaara. I will ensure that you and Andrew cross paths in the very near future. Until then, you’re a professor now, correct? Then live the academic life. First to Cardiff, and then to the rest of your life.”

  * * * * *

  Eighteen

  “You’ve done what?” Munsen tried to contain his shock. “That was not our arrangement.”

  The subspace delay of five seconds gave him just enough time to start thinking of his contingency plans before a lilting Styrahi voice came back. “It cannot be helped. We were unable to generate the data we’d looked for and have moved on to a second subject.”

  “Have you not considered my end of this deal? Success in our experiment with Captain Shields is dependent upon a strong emotional connection! Now you’re cutting that off while we were having success! By removing Tallenaara from Mairin’s influence, you’ve destroyed our experiment and put our alliance at risk!”

  Munsen told himself to breathe, that he was becoming enraged. It didn’t matter. His work was being thrown out the window. The voice returned. “There is likely to be emotional contact for days and weeks to come. That cannot be helped. We have a more critical issue that requires Tallenaara elsewhere. You are aware of the requirements of your service, Colonel. The same holds for the Styrahi Council. When it speaks, it is obeyed.”

  Wishing for a cigarette for the first time in thirty years, Munsen drummed his fingers on the console. Think of the bigger picture. There’s more at stake than one girl’s heart. “There isn’t much time until we’re facing a full-scale invasion by the Greys.”

  “No, I expect we’ll see them on the perimeter of our system in the next three months. We are preparing the defense of Styrah. Your battlegroups from the Constellation, Indomitable, and Tsien are in orbit around our homeworld. The Greys will not be successful here.”

  Munsen nodded. He’d lay his money on the Styrah when it came to the defense of their world. He cleared his throat. “What if Styrah isn’t their target?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are at least three other planets I’d take a swing at before marching into your system to take you on. Ashland for one and a host of others. There are planets of strategic importance in a campaign like this. The shipyards at Rayu-Four for example, or Libretto, or Pluto-Charon if they chose to dive towards Sol. To assume they’re going to bring everything that they have at Styrah, or any other planet on the Rim, is short-sighted.”

  The voice chuckled. “This is how they’ve fought their wars for the last millennia. We will be ready for them, Colonel. Your assistance is appreciated. I am sorry your experiment is now in jeopardy, but this is a matter of our security and cannot be taken lightly.”

  Munsen nodded, thanked the nameless diplomat, and terminated the conversation. He hit the desktop in frustration. Of all the times for this to happen!

  “Sir, did you need something?” The speaker in his desk chimed. He’d toggled his assistant’s call button in his anger.

  “Get me Darren McMasters, Mary. Priority One.” Establishing the connection took milliseconds. Getting the familiar voice of the Prelate’s Chief of Staff on the line took considerably longer. Fidgeting in his seat, Munsen felt his anger rising. The Styrahi Council trashed his experiment on the first try. They’d known the chances of success were astronomically poor, so why cancel it now?

  “Colonel Munsen, what can I do for you?” The video link snapped to life. McMasters sat at his desk, tie undone and hair askew.

  Munsen took a breath, chastised himself into calming down, and began. “The Styrahi Council has ordered Tallenaara to a second subject, canceling our experiment.”

  There was a long pause. “I see. You realize I’m not in a position to sway the Styrahi Council on this matter. The Council has stated they want to explore genetic longevity with human cross-breeding. That Tallenaara has this particular genetic mutation makes her a valued commodity to the Styrahi. They will direct her accordingly.”

  “We’re risking a lot more than their desired longevity.”

  “And the Stryahi are notorious for taking care of their own, Colonel,” McMasters replied. “I’m afraid there is nothing we can do.”

  “What about Captain Shields? The outcome of this experiment is vital to our global security.”

  “She is one subject, Colonel. We’ve imprinted two hundred others to this point. What’s your point?”

  “Emotional involvement.” Munsen sighed. “If we’re able to effectively integrate an emotional connection, we can move beyond just imprinting. A true genetic clone, with full memories and experiences, is within our grasp.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel. There is simply nothing we can do at this point. From what you’ve told me, Captain Shields will be just fine.”

  Munsen nodded and rubbed his temples. “I suppose so. Thank you for your time.”

  “My pleasure.” As the connection faded, McMasters smiled. Munsen could not. There were simply too many variables in play. As much as he wanted to rest, there was more to do.

  The work of a staff officer never ended. Real issues already remained incomplete whenever a staff officer rotated to another assignment, and sometimes issues remained after several officers had given the old college try, thrown their hands up in despair, and rotated to another place with the promise of some degree of sanity. Munsen was no different, though he’d learned an important lesson from a good friend and former commander—there is virtually nothing different in the military between doing an outstanding job and doing a shitty one. The fact that there was almost always something left undone became a familiar burden, one shifted and adjusted but never fully released until that glorious new assignment came. The only things that kept successful officers going were often side projects, ideas or long-shot dreams that might actually one day help others make sense of military life. In this case, Munsen’s position gave him ample opportunity to let his thoughts play. And in some cases, come to life.

  The almost two hundred imprints serving on active duty might actually thank him someday for being given the chance to serve and use their unique talents and instincts. That some of them still had no idea they were imprinted bothered Munsen, but he understood the first rule of research—sometimes the experiment just doesn’t work. Sure there are hours to spend investigating and determining the point of failure, but sometimes shit just broke. Flipping through the daily imprint reports for each of the two hundred imprints, Munsen thumbed faster and faster until reading the last report for Captain Mairin Shields. Now en route to the Ticonderoga and her first assignment, she appeared to have met all of the criteria for a Class Five imprint. The first of its kind.

  A Class One imprint was barely aware that anything was different from their original thought processes and memories. At Class Three, the subject remembered key critical training elements, like how to perform maintenance on a weapon system, or how to navigate using a map and compass. But a Class Five imprint theoretically retained a significant chunk of memory from the original subject, as much relevant training as could be retained, and a connection in likes and dislikes, especially affecting the senses. Like most of the scientists at his command, Munsen had thought this impossible.

  The mousy little girl with glasses changed all of that, didn’t she? From the moment he’d met her face-to-face, he’d known she was special. The look in her eyes, wide and hurt but with a little core of fire in them, made her different. With an ancestor’s imprint, success would be defined as surviving the first assignment. Munsen shut of
f the neural connection in his retina and sighed. Shields would report to her unit within the hour. With the Ticonderoga in foldspace, there would be no report at all.

  He put the report tablet down when the chime on his stateroom door sounded. “Come in.”

  The door opened and a trim woman, standing about five and half feet tall, entered in a crisp Terran Defense Force uniform with the lion insignia of the Intelligence Corps on her epaulets next to the gold leaves of a Major. She wore light makeup, her nails clipped short and perfect, and blonde hair twisted into a bun at the base of her skull. The pretty young officer with the stone face saluted crisply. “Major Conyers reporting, sir.”

  Munsen returned the salute with a wave near his forehead and gestured to one of the overstuffed chairs in front of his desk. “Good morning. Have a seat, Laura. What do you have for me?”

  Conyers folded her hands and looked down for a split second as if she was nervous. “There isn’t much I have different from my final report. She’s sent two messages to Tallenaara, neither have been responded to. Tallenaara is currently off planet to Styrah and will return in a few days before departing for Earth.”

  “You have the messages?”

  “There is nothing of value, sir. Both messages are purely personal.”

  Munsen frowned. “And you cannot, or will not, share them with me?”

  “Personal messages are protected by the Terran Code of Military Justice, sir. To intercept them is legal under certain provisions, but sharing anything that is classified as personal to individuals without the need to know is strictly prohibited.”

  Munsen said nothing for ten seconds. “There was nothing of any substance to clarify our assertion that she has reached Class Five?”

  “No, sir. Without access to the sleep records from her transit vessel, I cannot say. I believe it is safe to say that nothing has changed. I maintain she has reached Class Five, however improbable it is.”

  “I agree with that, Major. I want to know if there is anything else I should know before finalizing her assignment?”

  Conyers paused. “No, sir.”

  “I’m inclined not to believe you, Major.”

  Conyers flushed. “Sir, my observations of Captain Shields were complete the moment she stepped into the Integration Center for transport. As soon as she was out of range, I disengaged without detection. From all that I have reported, she is clearly Class Four and exhibits all of the characteristics needed for a Class Five diagnosis. We will not know more until she is placed in a situation requiring those instincts and memory. Most likely that will come only from combat.”

  Munsen thought her voice broke for a second, but Conyers’ face remained impassive. The responsibility must be tough, Munsen thought. He couldn’t imagine doing what Conyers did. The emotional connection and toll must be hell. “You’ve seen my recommendation for her assignment?”

  “I have.” Conyers said. “And speaking frankly, sir, I do not agree with it.”

  Munsen snorted. To a point, he wasn’t a fan of the assignment. But, it was a means to an end. “She can handle it. I expect her to.”

  “Expect?” Conyers raised her eyebrows. “Just how do you expect her to handle it, sir?”

  Munsen looked past the young Major. Neural linkage intelligence occupied the top of a list Munsen kept of things to never do. Being linked into a subject’s neural network meant intense genetic mapping and emotional chaos. Despite Conyers’s emotional connections to Mairin Shields, she determined exactly the same things he had. First, that Mairin Shield’s imprint contained a vast amount of training and tactical knowledge that could change the present course of the war with the Greys. The little bastards were rolling over outer territories in a blitzkrieg of mechanized warfare. Their tanks and gun-platforms made quick work of two divisions of reinforcements on the Walker colony, and they obliterated the full Narrob regiment in the span of about eight minutes. Mairin’s imprint remembered being taught to act like a true armor officer, with a healthy dose of cavalry. Trained to fight the Soviets coming through the Fulda Gap. A skill-set long forgotten. And second, that she finally had something to fight for in the shitty life she’d been dealt. Now, she would reach her full potential because she had a reason to.

  Munsen looked at Conyers for a long moment. He didn’t want to know the depth of her connection to Shields. Intelligence operations were far outside his realm of comfort. Something gnawed at his gut, telling him that placing Mairin Shields in this first attempt at an armored division since Operation Iraqi Freedom almost three centuries ago was a huge mistake. That something would happen to her and they would lose the most complete imprint to date. Something also told him that she would be successful, or she would royally mess things up. He blinked away the indecision.

  “I expect her to handle it the way she was trained. Nothing more.” Or was there more?

  Conyers paused, pursing her lips, then spoke. “You’re afraid if we lose her, we lose any clue to how her imprint took so well. Losing her and anyone else like her was a possibility from the moment this program started, sir. You have to accept that risk.”

  “And what do you think she’s going to do?”

  “She will find any way to win the fight, but she will make some rash decisions and undoubtedly fail along the way. How significant that failure will be is anyone’s guess.”

  Munsen thumbed his chin for a moment. “Are you implying something?”

  “That it is a matter of time, or the situation, before she acts rashly. There will be consequences.”

  “You really think that? Almost no one has been closer than you.”

  Conyers almost smiled. “She’s young and in love. You tell me.”

  Munsen snorted. He’d been there once, too. He’d been in love enough, or stupid enough, to marry a woman he shouldn’t have a very long time ago. They’d loved each other, but they had no chance of staying together. Love turns geniuses into blithering idiots, he thought. “I’m willing to assume a modest degree of risk here, Laura. Whatever she does, whenever it happens, may have a consequence where we can’t even ask her about it.”

  Conyers looked away. “I understand that, sir.”

  He knew he shouldn’t have gone there. He bit the inside of his lower lip for a second and shook his head. “I’m not completely oblivious to your emotional connection, Major Conyers. I apologize.”

  “It’s not necessary, sir. In my line of work, being emotionally connected for a time to a subject is normal. It will pass.”

  Munsen looked at the trim young officer and doubted her. The trouble was, he was beginning to doubt himself as well. What if Mairin Shields could not handle her assignment? What then? Start all over? The chances that they could find a perfect genetic match combined with the type of imprint—commissioned officer, combat veteran, single, good family values—were impossible. This imprint, and Mairin Shields, had to work. It wasn’t as if the fate of the universe rode the project’s back. But with an imprint of this quality and ability, the tides could be turned in their favor despite the myriad of obstacles to overcome. Her first assignment being one of them.

  “When she reports to the Ticonderoga, you will have full access again?”

  Conyers nodded. “There will only be a five-day break in our data, sir. Real time transfer is not possible on Fleet vessels. I’ll get data every time she sleeps.”

  Five days in a transit vessel didn’t bother him. He checked the neural display again. Forty-six minutes to her arrival at the Ticonderoga. How soon after that would she report to Lieutenant Colonel Bob Coffey? The image made Munsen’s stomach turn. How long after that would Mairin throw in the towel, or do something stupid?

  “I suppose we’ll know soon enough.” The words didn’t make him feel any better. He hardly believed them himself.

  * * * * *

  Nineteen

  Mairin woke when the transport vessel’s bell chimed to life. The announcement to make ready to dock with the Ticonderoga came next, and by the time the cap
tain finished the sentence, Mairin was already tugging her coveralls on and flipping her hair into a ponytail as minimally required by regulation. She waited in her quarters for the ship to brake and dock with the Ticonderoga. The two vessels came together without so much as a whisper. Mairin expected something much louder and even a little more violent considering the size of the vessels involved. Her transport vessel was the size of a twenty-first century aircraft carrier, over three quarters of a mile in length and with a mass that Mairin would never have guessed. Compared to the Ticonderoga, her present vessel resembled a flea on a Great Dane.

  Moving with ease through the ship, Mairin found the quarterdeck and thanked the captain, a blue-skinned Tueg named Qaur, for his assistance during the trip. He wished her well, kissing her palms in the Tueg way. She blushed and made her way to the main docking port. Inside the tight passageway, the air was already different. The stale scent of lubricants and spaceflight gave way to something she could only call fresh air. There was a floral quality to the air that reminded Mairin of her first moments on Libretto. She smiled at the thought and fired up her neurals to search for the Ticonderoga’s mainframe and hopefully a message from Tally.

  She found one at the top of her six hundred messages and read it quickly. Missing you, cariad. Tally.

  That’s it? Mairin skimmed the messages while gawking at the inside of the Ticonderoga and promptly ran into an immaculately dressed lieutenant.

  “I’m sorry.” Mairin blushed and smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The lieutenant stared at her. His lips were a thin line, almost white. Blue eyes that were cold and distant sat under a short blond flat-top haircut that seemed oddly archaic. He looked enraged. “Are you Captain Mairin Shields?”

  Mairin raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

  “Follow me.” The lieutenant stomped away in long quick strides. Mairin struggled to keep up with her bag slung over her shoulders. The lieutenant’s demeanor set off warning bells and the faster he walked, the more Mairin found herself getting both amused and angry. Chickenshit. The word came up from nowhere and she looked it up in her neurals, and found herself almost laughing as she walked along. Behavior that makes military life worse doesn’t say much for the command climate. Her smile faded as they walked into what had to be the training and operational bays for the regiment. The bay was full of soldiers working diligently under the watchful eyes of non-commissioned officers, but what she didn’t see began to gnaw at Mairin. There was no bantering, no smiling. Nobody was standing at the center of a group telling stories that started with “there I was,” or “this is no shit.”