She blushed as red as a Styrahi could before looking down into her mentor’s eyes and smiling. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Doctor Mathers.”
He grinned. “You’re a faculty member, Tallenaara. And you hold a doctorate from our college. That means you call me Winston.”
She smiled, felt the heat in her cheeks, and then laughed. This was a moment every academician experienced. The realization that they are no longer the student. “Thank you, Winston. I am thrilled to be here.”
Now, she had an office that overlooked the quadrangle, and shelves filled with the collected works of Frank Lloyd Wright and her other idols. Tomorrow, she would give a lecture on Styrahi architecture to the freshmen of Cardiff, two of whom were Styrahi. Two of the four Styrahi at Cardiff were studying architecture. Things certainly came full circle. How things change but stay the same, Tally thought to herself and smiled.
Ahead on the path, a young man walked arm in arm with a tall redheaded Styrahi. The urge to hesitate and stare passed as quickly as it came along. Things were different now. Fresh young faces, the world still ahead of them and no challenge seeming too great. The pleasure of being young. Everything in front of them. The way they smiled at each other, the young Styrahi pulling tightly on the boy’s arm, her head drooping to rest on his shoulder. The picture of love. There wasn’t a care as to whether it would last or not, nor if it were right and proper for them to be in love. No one else on the quadrangle gave them a second glance.
They passed Tally and the young Styrahi nodded, “Echeerra, loonta dai.”
Tally smiled. “Mi trodanna.”
The boy looked perplexed at the exchange and then merely smiled.
Tally fought a chuckle. The title was unexpected and thrilling. Honored teacher, no less. Tally grinned to herself. Despite the pretense of her return to Earth, the joy and sense of accomplishment she felt in the opportunity she’d been given to teach her craft surprised her in its intensity. No matter the success of her “mission,” she relished the chance to teach and mold young students like Dr. Mathers...Winston...had mentored her ten years before.
Lucky girl, she’d said to the young Styrahi. For a moment, she could remember the feeling of hugging onto Andrew’s arm, the bright sunlight on her face and the feeling of complete and utter love for him. Knowing that he felt the same was intoxicating. What would it be like to see him again?
How long would she have to wait?
* * * * *
Twenty-Six
“Bullet Six, Bullet Two, possible counterattack in progress at Objective Seminary Ridge. Could be a flanking maneuver. Unknown number of vehicles heading southeast at high speed. Over.”
Trevayne looked out onto the battlefield. Sure enough. At least someone from the battalion staff had their game face on. The command net was much too quiet for a unit involved in a high-speed assault. Trevayne keyed his microphone. “Bullet Six, Bullet Nine, over.”
He waited five seconds and then tried again. No response.
“Blue Six, Bullet Nine, no contact with Six element. Echelon to the right and stagger out. Give yourself some space in case they come flanking in.”
“Belay that action!” Coffey screamed in Trevayne’s ears. “Blue Six, you will disregard that order immediately. Bullet Nine on private channel now!”
Trevayne shook his head and chinned over to their private channel to hear Coffey already deep into a screaming fit. “Now, see here, Sergeant Major! Last time I checked, I’m in command of this fucking regiment. That means I tell people where to go and what to do, not you! You could’ve given away our flank, Sergeant Major!”
Trevayne felt his face warming. “By what? Securing our movement forward?”
“Don’t argue with me! Stay off the command net unless you hear me calling for you. You got that?”
Trevayne tapped a few buttons on his panel. “Roger, Bullet Six, this is Bullet Nine. Understand your order to stay off the command net, but I cannot comply with it. This is an unlawful order.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Goddamnit Sergeant Major, I’m telling you to get off my net! Stay off of it! If you’re such a coward that you can’t see the enemy is feinting in the hopes we’ll turn broadside to them, then I don’t want you in my regiment!”
Turn broadside? A feint? “Six, are you saying you believe the enemy action to be a feint? We have units in the path of the enemy. Are we going to leave them behind?”
“They’re somebody else’s problem. Now stay off my net!”
The channel clicked dead and Trevayne resisted the urge to punch the command panel. Barely. He would need the recording.
“Stephens, send a copy of that conversation to the dump.” Like every tactical mission, all recordings from all vehicles were stored automatically in an audio dump file aboard the Ticonderoga. Since their earliest use during the Apollo missions of the 1960s, audio dumps were essential to operations, especially when determining where things went wrong. Maybe when this clusterfuck was over, Trevayne hoped, somebody would figure it out.
“Roger, Sergeant Major. File is uploaded.”
“Interface, dispatch emergency support request for air cover to the eastern sector. Do it now and without telling me it’s against regulation. Driver, make for the far right of the line. Get us up off the ground if you have to.”
Trevayne activated his display and saw the lone unit icon behind the ridgeline to the east flashing. Taking fire. “Interface, get those people air cover. And somebody get me a damned frequency to talk to air support.”
Who the hell fights a war without talking to the guys overhead? We’re right back to World War II!
<
Wonderful. Trevayne watched the swollen stream of Grey tanks bursting down the ridgeline and ever so briefly cresting the adjacent ridge before descending down the other side. Whoever the unit on the other side of the ridge was, they were going to get annihilated if nothing was done.
Coffey’s voice broke over the radio. “All units attack. I say again; all units full frontal attack! Gear five! Do it now!”
What in the name of God? Around him, magtanks lifted up onto their repulsors and began to charge up the hillside at maximum power. The swirling Grey vehicles stopped their assault and hesitated for a moment. With astonishing speed, the vehicles gathered into three lines and began to swing down the ridge, taking up the perfect position for a high-speed flanking maneuver.
Not on my watch.
“Blue Six, Black Nine. Give me two of your platoons. We’re gonna hold that flank.”
“Roger, Black Nine, you’ve got Red and White elements standing by.”
Trevayne chuckled. His commander wasn’t going to like it. Tough shit. “Interface, plot the fastest route to Red and White elements and get me their frequencies. We don’t have a lot of time.”
He looked at the tactical display one last time, seeing the flashing icon slowly moving backward into the hills on the other side of the ridge. Hopefully, they’d find some good terrain and could hold their own. He wished them luck, and then turned his mind to holding an impossible flank.
* * * * *
Twenty-Seven
Neither Buckingham Palace nor Number 10 Downing Street were the proper residence of the Prelate of Earth. There were compounds for the Prelate and his Council on every continent to conduct the business of the planet, but the actual residence of the Prelate away from the perils of his job was a remote retreat along the coast of Ireland near Shannon. The first Prelate, Andrew’s grandfather, constructed the retreat in the manner of Camp David, the retreat for the President of the United States from the Eisenhower administration to the reintroduction of the Continental Congress and the restructuring of the American government in 2076. Cozy, remote, but very closely guarded and protected, the six cabins and conference hall could easily hold the Prelate’s Council if necessary, but with its minimal support staff, the Prelate’s Retreat was simply that. No one relished it more than Andrew
Cartner. The retreat was the only place in the world he could call his own.
The setting sun barely warmed his chair as he propped his feet on the railing and lit a cigar. A glass of Narrobian red at his side, Andrew avoided looking at his tablet. The duty day, as his father would have said, was complete. For a moment in the waning twilight, the emerging war was far from his mind, as were the usual spate of domestic issues. Rescue teams were already in Bangladesh to save tsunami victims for the second time in five years, and it appeared that the Russian Federation’s elections were complete without customary rioting.
What would my father have thought? Andrew sipped the wine and let the thought go. Before his father succumbed to his horrifying sudden aortic aneurysm ten years ago, Andrew wouldn’t have cared what his father thought about anything. The lectures and constant teaching and tutelage that Andrew resented so often became the constant want in his life. His father’s advice would help him navigate the treacherous world of Earth’s political structure. Not that he was doing badly—quite the contrary—but he wanted the counsel of his father. Someone who loved him unconditionally, someone who believed in him, and most importantly, someone he loved.
The last outbound exocraft from Shannon carried his latest fling, an American movie star who clearly worked solely based on her looks, and was as “ignorant as a bag of hammers”, as Darren was fond of saying. Andrew smiled at the thought and checked his Omega wristwatch. Darren McMasters was due any time, and they could enjoy the evening together as only lifelong friends could. Nothing would matter, and they’d not talk of work in any manner. Maybe catch a holo, preferably something from America that they could make fun of and compare hopelessly to the golden days of cinema. He’d probably drink too much and smoke more than one cigar, which always gave him headaches, but he needed the diversion. There were times being the spokesman for nine billion human beings was simply impossible. Being a planet at war with a race no one knew much about made it worse.
Darren would bring news of the war, of the latest advancement of the Greys against the best forces stationed in the Outer Rim. Surely there would be some measure of success by now? How long could the Terran Defense Forces continue to have their collective asses handed to them and still keep wanting a fight?
“You look decidedly unhappy.”
Andrew smiled and looked over his shoulder. “Grab a glass.”
“Already ahead of you.” Darren McMasters smiled and poured a liberal glass of the exquisite red wine. “Slainté.”
“Prost,” Andrew replied as they clinked glasses. “I suppose you’re going to brief me on today’s war efforts?” The words came out with an almost loathing quality. The briefing would not be good news. Again.
McMasters shook his head and rustled into a chair. “We’ve dropped two divisions of armored forces on Wolc. They will likely make contact with the Greys in the next twelve hours. The Greys outnumber us two to one, but there is some optimism from the command. Atrocious weather across the planet right now, and given what we know about the Grey vehicles, there is the thought we will have better maneuverability for a change. The next transmission window is in two hours. We’ll know then.”
Andrew nodded. “We could use a bit of good news.”
McMasters grinned and leaned back. “And so could you, by the look of it.”
“You have something good to tell me today?” Andrew chuckled. “That would be a change.”
“Hardly,” McMasters snorted, then paused for a moment. “Tallenaara is back at Cardiff.”
A palpable shock ran through Andrew. “What did you say?”
“I said that Tallenaara has returned to Cardiff. She is a visiting professor of architecture now.”
The emotions crashed over Andrew. There was shock that she’d returned. Happiness that he might see her again. Anger she’d run away in the first place. Understanding why she did so. Loss. Hope. All of them were rapidly fading save for a sense of excitement. “When does my schedule take me to Wales?”
“Two weeks.”
Andrew shook his head. “That’s too long.”
“I don’t think you should rush into this. She’s quite busy getting settled.”
Andrew shot McMasters a glance. “How would you know, Darren?”
“I took my unstated position as your personal advisor and friend to investigate her presence.”
“You went to see her?” Andrew let his mouth drop open. “When?”
McMasters sipped his wine. The pregnant pause almost caused Andrew to impatiently ask again. “Day before yesterday. I was in London and the personal alert you gave me for her rang off at precisely thirteen hundred hours. I went immediately to the maglev station and was waiting for her. I gave her a lift to Cardiff.”
“How does...?”
“Amazing. She is as beautiful as ever.” McMasters smiled. “She hopes to see you soon.”
Andrew shook his head. “I’m half-tempted to make her wait ten years.”
They both chuckled and fell silent. McMasters picked up a cigar and deftly trimmed it. Lighting it, he looked at Andrew. “You know why she did what she did, Andy.”
My father. And this damned office. “I know,” Andrew said. “It was much different then.”
“Yes, it was,” McMasters smiled. “And yet you handled it with grace and dignity. If you chose to again, I have no doubt you would do the same thing.”
“Maybe I would.” Andrew looked at the setting sun wondering if his outlook on life was setting as well. Maybe that was why his father never remarried. There was simply not time for a Prelate to live. But what if there was?
“You look like you’re wondering about your future for a change.”
Andrew glanced at McMasters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You took office ten years ago, barely six months out of university! You’ve not had a chance to live at all, and you refuse to, except for the odd nights when you come here and relax, tell dirty jokes, and watch movies. I think you need to, pardon the phrase, ‘live a little.’ Prelate or not, you’re no good to anyone on the planet if you work like a zombie all the time.”
Andrew laughed. “I suppose not.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
Andrew smiled. “I think I’ll visit Cardiff very soon.”
“Tomorrow?”
Andrew laughed and looked at his watch. “Could we leave right now?”
“And miss my monthly time with my friend when he’s not busy being the Prelate?” McMasters chuckled. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Andrew chuckled. He thought of Tally’s long dark hair on his shoulder and the warmth of her hand in his, easy smiles, and his pain at the sight of her tears. The only thing that replaced her was his duty as Prelate. Now that she was back on Earth, what would it mean for him? For them? He brushed away the thought with practiced ease. The needs of the people of Earth outweighed his own needs. Except this time, it felt a little different, like there was a silver lining to his nebulous world. He’d maintained in all things that hope always existed.
For the first time in ten years, Andrew Cartner felt his heart leap at the hope that Tallenaara would see him again and smile. That he could tell her everything in his heart. That she would let him hold her close. That she would forgive him.
“My trip is in two weeks? To Cardiff?”
McMasters smiled. “Yes.”
“Move it up a week,” Andrew smiled. “And I trust you have a way to contact her?”
“Of course I do. Tell me why I should give it to you,” McMasters grinned.
Andrew smiled, really smiled, for the first time in ages. He gestured with his wine glass. “You can think of a million reasons not to, I’m sure.”
“You want it?”
Andrew nodded. “Of course I do.”
* * * * *
Twenty-Eight
Withdrawal by fire was a catchy way to say retreating while still shooting. Mairin stood in the hatch and guided Booker through the trees as t
he soft green meadows gave way to an increasingly dense pine forest. The small hill in front of them could be defended for a little while, but they wouldn’t have much time.
“The Styrahi pathfinder team has taken a position on top of this knoll,” the Slammer’s interface said in Mairin’s ears. “They are broadcasting via direct laser.”
“Button three,” Conner said with a grin.
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re compromising my team’s position.”
Mairin smirked. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got about a hundred Grey vehicles streaming down the valley. What’s so important that they’re attacking us? What are you observing?”
“Echessa, you need to get off this hill.”
Mairin bit her tongue for a moment and then spoke in perfect Stryahi. “Then come down here and make me.”
“This is the best firing position within five hundred meters. Five of six vehicles are prepared to fire,” the Interface chimed.
Mairin checked the tactical display in her helmet for the trailing vehicle. Two. Behind about three hundred meters. She swung around and looked over her shoulder. She keyed a private channel. “One, Six. You have eyes on Two?”
“Roger. They took a hit to the right rear repulsor. We’re covering them by fire.”
WHUMP!
Mairin looked back and saw a tremendous secondary explosion at the edge of the treeline. The beautiful green grass burned around the hulk of a Slammer. Her stomach knotted. Down four good troopers.
<
“Interface, disengage combat reporting protocols. You bring that shit up to me again and the vehicle goes under manual control. Understand?” She felt the ice on her words as she said them. Detached and serious.
<
“Guidons, this is Six. Take defensive positions and engage when the enemy gets close enough.” She chinned over to the aviation frequency. “SITREP follows. In defensive positions at vicinity Tango Hotel five six seven six five seven. I’ve got a hundred Grey tanks barreling down a valley at me. Need CAS immediately.”
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