General Thalassic raised her hands, motioning for silence. Immediately, quiet spread out from her like the rippling of waves in a still pond, disturbed by the impact of a skipping stone.
“The Scarth are still parsecs away, but we will deal with them when the time comes. I pledge my word we will do everything possible to change the odds to our favor before the enemy reaches our solar system. I don’t ask you to trust me without proof. We have a team of interrogators working with the incarcerated Scarth captured during the last hostilities. They will attempt to discover any information these Scarth might have. Any more questions…?” She scanned the room, met the eyes of each occupant.
When no one took advantage of the offered opportunity, the general’s mouth widened in a smile, her face softening into the tranquil, serene expression that used to calm Martini’s midnight fears.
She brought her hands together in a sharp clap. “Okay, people, listen up. We all have jobs to do and time is wasting. We’ll meet back here in two days when I’ve received the report from the team I mentioned earlier. I will keep you in the loop of information. Meanwhile, I do have some good news…”
Marti smothered a smile. That pregnant pause had all the attendees leaning forward in their seats. Mom certainly knows how to work a crowd.
She’d never heard the general raise her voice to address a crowd and now she knew why. Her mother commanded with a whisper. The power of her will out-shouted the loudest voice. People strained to hear her, would hush those around them, so as not to miss a single note from the great woman’s mouth.
“The High Priestess of Historical Sanctity and Cultural Holiness will arrive tomorrow morning at 0900 hours. She has consented to bless our troops and our current endeavors.”
The cheer that went up surpassed the one that had echoed earlier in the hall. The priestess was a universal favorite. Marti smiled, feeling as giddy as the other officers and diplomats.
Her mother had probably IM’d the priestess and set up this trip. She sure knew what would inspire her troops and take their minds off the impending invasion. Morale would soar when the rank and file met with the motherly embodiment of their worldwide religion.
“Let me remind you --” Thalassic held up a cautioning finger. “Our companies have a reputation to uphold. Squadron Leaders, I expect to see every soldier in your group in spic and span full dress uniform. Have them lined up in parade formation on the green outside the chapel at 0845 hours. You will make me proud. Until that time, may the Matrix of life weave true for us all. Dismissed.”
Chapter Three
“Faugh!”
Martini gathered saliva, spitting the last of the foul tasting residue from her mouth. Spent, she collapsed against the toilet bowl and rested her cheek against the rim. Wiping her mouth with a trembling hand, she groaned as she fought to keep what remained of her meager breakfast inside her rebellious stomach. She hated vomiting more than anything on or off Earth.
A minute later, her eyelids snapped up and her eyes widened in horror.
“How gross, I’m using the toilet as a pillow! Yuck, yuck, yuck…!”
Gagging, she scrambled backward. Just thinking about where her head had been had her stomach roiling again. Panting, sipping shallow breaths through open blue-tinged lips, she pressed a hand to her belly, forcibly restraining the urge to offer additional sacrifices to the porcelain goddess.
In her estimation, there was nothing worse than puking. She’d rather face a company of Scarth or an upbraiding from her mother -- both equally deadly. This was the eighteenth time in a row she’d started her day off on her knees, bowing to the bathroom deity.
Tired tears slipped down her face and she scrubbed at them angrily, disgusted at her spineless reaction. She wasn’t a crier. She never cried and this was just one more thing to add to the long list of out-of-whack things in her life.
Listlessly, she pulled her legs up and circled them with her arms. Sighing, she rested her forehead against the clammy skin of her knees. Something was seriously wrong with her.
The first time she’d vomited, she’d dosed herself with every broad-range viruscide and antimicrobicide in her med kit. Having to endure the same thing for the next four days hadn’t fazed her. After all, even the top-of-the-line drugs the Repulsion Force medics supplied to the troops took several days to infiltrate a compromised system. She’d only begun worrying when, five days past the usual effective date, she was still yarking on a daily basis, sometimes three and four times a day. She couldn’t keep anything down and was losing weight at a phenomenal rate.
She couldn’t go to the medics. They would report their findings to her mother and there was no way Brigadier General Thalassic Harmon would allow her to continue leading her troops. Marti rocked back and forth, the pain of contemplating giving up her command overriding the pain in her aching gut.
Every day, no matter what she did, regardless of the medicine she tried, the symptoms increased.
Nausea, light-headedness, gastric discomfort…
Marti licked dry lips and sucked in an unsteady breath. It was time she stopped ignoring the obvious and admitted the truth. She’d obviously picked up some exotic bug resistant to modern medicine during her time off-planet. Perhaps the Scarth had employed some virulent poison designed to take out their enemy over a long length of time, for it felt like she was dying by slow increments, daily.
* * *
The High Priestess couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful day to view the troops. The day had dawned clear and sunny, too warm to be outside while attired in heavy black. No matter, though. The Brigadier General had issued an order for full dress, and that was that. No one would dare complain about a little heat, not with the most revered religious dignitary on Earth deigning to visit. Every woman and man was determined to uphold the honor of his or her company. The general would not find them lacking.
Marti squinted in the bright sunlight, eyes bloodshot and blurry, head throbbing with the vicious headache brought on by her recent bout of vomiting.
Dressed in her stiff, braid-decorated uniform, all her medals and ribbons displayed in a starburst pattern over her chest, she stood at stoic attention. Sweat beaded at her forehead, plastered her wispy bangs to clammy skin. Chancing a quick puff, she blew air upward in a useless attempt at dislodging the itchy locks. The dripping hair clung to her forehead like a leech to blood-rich skin. A quick glance at the other ranking officers, awaiting the arrival of the High Priestess, showed her she didn’t suffer alone.
A sudden gust of wind brought momentary relief, cooling the damp skin of her forehead. Marti fought not to fidget. She was definitely suffering here. Her head hurt like a kraken-cub had gnawed on it. She spent precious energy fighting the constant heaving of her belly, which threatened to deliver up the meager dry tack bread she’d managed to gag down for breakfast.
Despite these new signs of having come down with some debilitating disease, she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. If the heat didn’t melt her into a greasy puddle of mush, she’d manage her queasy belly until after the Priestess’ review.
Marti tightened her lips and breathed out slow and easy. These bouts of nausea had her stumped. A fellow officer had suggested the attacks might be caused by stress or fear of the impending invasion. She’d invited the idiot to repeat his words on the martial arts practice mats, where she proceeded to whip the tar out of him.
Hell, she was no coward. While she would rather live, death held no terrors for her. She’d faced the Scarth once before, and was ready to face them again.
“I heard the priestess is attended by her son this morning.” The whisper ghosted from her right, from one of the officers.
That news almost took her mind off her discomfort. The priestess was the closest thing to royalty the earth had. That made her son the next best thing to a prince. Like most young girls, a teenaged Marti had entertained Cinderella fantasies of being the man’s true love-interest.
Without turning her head,
Marti addressed the speaker. “Her son is truly coming…? I’ve never seen him in person.”
“Yes. Denzel Wattana -- the greatest artificial intelligence programmer ever --”
“Denzel?” The same name as my A.I. unit…? The beloved name struck a blow to her solar plexus. She frowned, thinking back to all the information she’d ever heard about him, wondering how the fact she’d never heard his name had managed to slip past her. “Why didn’t I know that?”
But she realized the answer as soon as the question left her lips. She’d only been interested in his relationship to the priestess, not in the man as a man in his own right. Even suffering from a full-blown crush, she hadn’t thought to call him by name.
“Probably because the priestess is rabid about keeping her private life separate from her public office. The media only refer to him as the son of the priestess or Dr. Wattana. He’s been asked to work on the base’s computers, to update the programming. He’ll also install new security codes, throughout; because we have to figure the enemy has gained the old ones and could hack into our software and compromise Command Base Battle Comp.”
Marti’s brows twitched together. “That shouldn’t be necessary. There is no way the enemy can obtain the present codes.”
“We are not the only ones who took prisoners during the last hostilities. If the Scarth are half as intelligent as they seem, they are sure to have debriefed our officers of all the information they held.”
Marti’s frown increased, her forehead tightening as she scowled at the officer, considering the implications of her last statement. “Only high-ranking officers are privy to that type of information. You dare imply some of our captured officers would surrender the security codes? The only officer confirmed taken was my sister, General Daiquiri. Supposing she survived her injuries and capture, are you saying she would ever cooperate with our enemy?”
“No offense meant, Colonel.” The hissed apology came low and fast. “I simply meant some of our captured soldiers may have been tortured beyond their capacity to withhold the information. No fault to them if it turns out to be so.”
Those words had the reverse effect on Marti. As far as she was concerned, accusing one of her family members of disloyalty or cowardice under fire was tantamount to a declaration of war.
Marti broke ranks as anger exploded inside, boiling like a swarm of agitated bees in her chest. Maddened beyond reasoning, she swung about to face her sister’s accuser, fists balled at her side. Eyes narrowed with the burning intensity of her rage, she addressed the lieutenant through clenched teeth.
“Retract that statement, soldier, or face challenge. My sister, General Daiquiri Harmon, would never betray this planet. No amount of torture could break her. She would die before allowing such vital information to fall into the hands of the enemy!”
“I… I… don’t understand why you took offense, Colonel.” The hapless officer backed away from Marti, eyes gone white around the pupils, pulse beating fast and frantic in the hollow of her throat. “Be reasonable. Everyone has their breaking point. It’s been four long years. All I’m saying is, no one could have withstood torture this long.”
She didn’t feel like being reasonable. She wanted to rip the lieutenant apart with her bare hands. “Retract or die!”
“Colonel Harmon!”
The sharp call cut across the flustered officer’s stammered comments, jerking Martini out of her uncontrolled fury. She turned and snapped to attention. Stiff-faced, she saluted her frowning superior officer. “Sir!”
“The entire company is at attention and on parade and yet you break ranks. Then I hear you threatening a fellow officer, when you know the penalty for fighting among the officers. You, above all, know we can’t afford the loss of even one well-trained leader. The Scarth have done enough thinning of the ranks. Can you explain your actions, officer?”
Marti felt the heat of embarrassment flood her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the crowd of visitors and news reporters hovering about the Brigadier General and her important guests.
Her left eye twitched. Her mouth worked soundlessly, chin wobbled before she tightened her lips and firmed her jaw. Staring straight ahead, she barked, “Sir! An officer maligned the service honor of my family. Sir!”
Since Daiquiri’s disappearance, Thalassic and Martini were the only family members involved with the Repulsion Force. Tequila, the middle daughter, had taken the widow’s option and resigned from the force when her husband of two years had died during the first hostilities.
“Which one of us was accused? Me?” Thalassic pointed a slim finger at her chest, sounding amused and disbelieving.
Everyone knew the general was incorruptible, not tempted by graft or greed. Never in the history of the military had there been a more beloved commander. She inspired trust in her underlings by being completely trustworthy. Her loyalty to Earth and the High Priestess was absolute and unshakable, anchored in the bedrock of her character.
Marti shook her head.
Thalassic raised her eyebrows. “You?” She sounded surprised. She had instilled her sense of loyalty and honor in all three of her children.
“No, sir.”
“Besides you and myself, there are no other members of our family serving in the Repulsion Force.”
“I believe the officer alluded to General Daiquiri, sir.”
The general’s gray eyes went cold.
Thalassic did not wear her grief on her sleeve, yet Marti knew just how deeply she continued to grieve for her lost daughter. An insult to Daiquiri’s service was a bitter pill to swallow. Marti didn’t think she would. Like a wolverine guarding her cubs, Thalassic would show no mercy to any who maligned her child.
More than one person shivered as the day’s warm temperature seemed to become sub-arctic. “Elaborate, Colonel.”
“Sir, i-if I might sp-speak…?” The stammered question hung on the air.
The brigadier general turned her chill gaze on the officer who had stepped forward and addressed her without permission. Her gray eyes narrowed. “Is it germane to the subject under discussion, Lieutenant Langley?”
The lieutenant glanced at Marti and gulped audibly before nodding jerkily. “I… er… I’m the one who made the original comment, General, sir.”
Thalassic’s lips folded into a thin line. “Continue, soldier.”
“Yes, sir, well, sir, I only stated that gentlehom Wattana would be overhauling all our computers and installing new, secure passwords. I… uh… might have mentioned the Scarth probably obtained the passwords through torturing the captives.” The lieutenant’s dark eyes looked haunted, her facial expression drawn. “But I never called General Daiq Harmon’s name and I didn’t mean any insult. The colonel became so angry I couldn’t make her listen…”
Marti’s hands curled into fists as renewed rage built inside. “I didn’t hear you apologize. Nothing else was worth listening to.”
“Stand down, Colonel, you are out of line.”
“General! How can you expect me to swallow an insult like that?”
“I said, stand down, Martini.” General Harmon lowered her voice. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
That last whispered statement thundered like lightning. Recognizing the threat, Marti braced to attention, assailed by a confused flurry of emotions. Trained reflex insisted she obey, but righteous anger demanded she champion her sister’s memory. She couldn’t believe her mother was taking the lieutenant’s side.
As if she had read her mind, Thalassic turned to Marti. “I am not saying I credit the lieutenant’s views, however, the point is moot. Daiquiri has been missing for more than four years. Alive, she’d have found a way to escape, to return to us. I can only assume… hope… she is dead. For if she is not dead, I have to ask myself just how long a body can withstand unrelenting pain… how long even the strongest mind can remain intact under inhuman torture.”
Thalassic placed a hand on Marti’s stiff shoulder. “Your faith is co
mmendable. You always looked up to your elder sibling, as was right, and your belief that Daiquiri could never betray us is, in a sense, correct. But one can put forward the argument that once the essence of what comprised your sister’s soul was destroyed, what remained could be…”
“What are you saying?” Martini jerked her shoulder away, shrugging off the general’s hand, rejecting her touch as she had rejected belief in her eldest daughter. “Your double-talk does a poor job of masking your true sentiments, Mother. What kind of woman are you that you believe Daiq -- your own daughter -- to be a traitor!”
The silence, in the aftermath of her accusation, was loud with unspoken conjecture. Heart beating out of syncopation, Marti wondered if the noiseless cacophony deafened anyone else. Her mother’s voice, when it came, was so low she strained to hear it over the frantic pounding of her pulse.
“Colonel Harmon, you are obviously overwrought. I am ordering you to return to your quarters and compose yourself. You will report to medical for a thorough exam and physical at 1200 hours. Commander,” she turned to an accompanying officer, “I’ll want her results on my desk by 1500 hours.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll see to it personally.”
“Thank you, Commander.” She waited while the head medic tapped a reminder into her handheld. Thalassic turned back to face Martini, her face stern and unyielding.
“Colonel, up until this morning, your military record has been exemplary. Thankfully, your atrocious behavior this morning has been enough unlike your usual behavior for me to justify withholding any formal reprimands until after I’ve studied your medical report. Until that time, this is what you will do. First, you will apologize to Lieutenant Langley.”
“No, I won’t do that. I’d rather take the formal reprimand.” Marti waited a heartbeat before curling her lip and adding the sneering honorific, “Sir.”
Women of Steel 2: Martini on the Rocks Page 2
