by James Cox
Micah admired Roberts without reservation. The man knew his tactics and his forces and how to combine and concentrate for maximum effect. In the few weeks Micah had been active he saw a marked drop in the Consortium troops' morale. Drop School didn't teach guerrilla tactics, that was Special Operations, but he did see Corpse troopers looking around with hunched shoulders and uneasy expressions. They acted as though enemies waited behind each window; yet for all that they had no foe to strike.
At first the invaders patrolled in twos and threes. Now a patrol seldom numbered less than eight. After several nasty incidents involving harassment of civilians the Corpse equivalent of the Shore Patrol began restricting off-duty soldiers.
When Micah returned to the safe house he found Roberts there with a special surprise.
“Ferrel!” Micah pumped the man's hand furiously. “How the hades did you get here?”
“We didn't get far when the station went. The Corpsies traced us before you torqued their comm. We went to ground and stayed until they quit looking for us so flaming hard. We missed fallback so we did some recon. Idriall smelled something significant when the soy plant glitched down and stayed. He did some digging.”
“Is he with you?”
“Yes sir. He, Ralin and Morsey. We lost Gridwell.”
Micah nodded.
“Micah, old boot,” said Roberts, “your Ferrel is a genius. That League party's going to be a wild one!”
***
Micah sighted carefully down his needler. This was Roberts' chanciest operation yet and he assigned Micah and the rest of the Marines to it. For some reason the vehicles programmed to spray the city for insects malfunctioned. Ferrel swore he'd not left a trace and soon flying vermin plagued the city.
Roberts gave Micah an ancient compression needler. The weapon had no punch past fifty meters but would suit Micah's mission perfectly. Maria supplied Micah a clip of blood-soluble darts, each with a concentration of disease guaranteed to overcome Corpsie inoculations. The darts had a strong anesthetic coat and a hit would feel just like an insect bite.
Micah chose his target and squeezed the trigger. The Corpse soldier slapped the side of his neck, muttered to his comrades and kept walking.
A dozen groups later Micah broke down the needler, signaled the other Marines and began the trip back to the safe house.
Supersonic thunder threw Micah against the wall. He hit the ground and rolled for cover, well familiar with that sound. Overhead flew a tight formation of League TACs with Marines inside them hitting silk as fast as they could crowd in the locks. Another TAC squadron swarmed the spaceport and Micah also saw the contrails of high-stratosphere ships.
The League gunners took care in choosing targets. The Consortium forces didn't. Micah and the others ran now, careless of anyone seeing them. Too many others acted similarly, milling about the streets in search of shelter.
Six hours ended it. The League hit and hit hard. They routed the main Consortium forces on planet, captured quite a few and drove a hard wedge of capital ships through the thin Corpse forces. Faced with superior forces the Corpse ships withdrew and left their landed forces to fend for themselves. Some surrendered, others fought to the death.
After allowing some mop-up time Micah and his Marines headed for the League HQ. Roberts joined them.
Micah paced his small room. After confirming his identity he'd had a good meal and a hot shower. Then the interrogation started. He reported first to a Marine colonel. Then a light admiral. Then, with frequent requests for detail, to an unremarkable man with no uniform and an impressive identification. Then to the colonel and admiral together.
Over the course of the questioning Micah learned that apart from the Marines with him only three others from his assault force survived. Kerry and her element went down with the hydrogen dump; they stayed to make sure the Corpse troops pinning them died too. Nieman dealt with four guards at the prison camp when they tried to rob the League of its victory there. Jacy took a Corpse hit meant for a group of children. Micah counted the names and burned them into his memory. They all died well, taking the enemy with them. Protecting Ceto and her people!
***
Micah faced the review board without flinching. The summons came as no small surprise but Micah resolved himself to face it as a Marine should: eyes open and weapons forward.
The board officially detailed Micah's actions. By his reckoning he'd done the League proud. The board had different thoughts. After some deliberation the colonel spoke.
“Sergeant Stone your actions can, if viewed in one light, merit a Court Martial. While your actions were commendable you should have gone to ground and awaited orders. Was there at any time any doubt in your mind that the League would be back?”
“No sir.”
“Was there at any time, other than your assault, clear and imminent danger to you or the personnel under your command?”
“No sir.” Micah felt his heart sink.
“Why, then, did you choose to expose yourself and your men to needless risk? Eighteen Marines against an entire headquarters, Sergeant Stone?”
The silence gnawed into Micah.
“I have no good reason, sir.” Those few words cost Micah dearly.
“This board realizes, Sergeant Stone, that the brutality and atrocity you faced would make any sane man weep with fury. Even considering that can you give sufficient reason to lose as many League soldiers as you did?”
“No sir.”
“Very well, then. Will you face a Court Martial?”
Micah thought hard on this.
“I place myself at the Board's mercy, sir. At the time I believed my actions justified. I will, however, abide fully by your ruling.”
The colonel smiled and the others didn't.
“Sergeant Stone,” said the colonel, “Off the record, you did a fine job fighting the League's enemies. It is not, however, the kind of victory we like to have. While your actions were instrumental in securing League victory it is the opinion of this board that you were careless with League lives.” The man held up his hand. “I know, Sergeant Stone, that every Marine under you wanted to go. I also know the two sailors did as well. It is as much the commander's job, Sergeant Stone, to keep soldiers safe as it is to sacrifice them for an objective.”
Micah gave a brief nod.
“Now. Having said that I shall also make mention of testimony presented me by one Colonel Adam Roberts, Ceto Close Orbit Reserves. I'll not bore you with the whole of it. Suffice it to say he spoke very highly of all the League personnel who volunteered under him.”
Micah didn't smile but he wanted to! The colonel seemed to know this; he scowled hard.
“Sergeant Stone, it is the decision of this board that you be transferred to Naval Liaison, Protocol Division. Do you wish to appeal?”
“N-no sir.”
Micah barely managed to speak. Protocol! Him! He said he'd abide by their decision but he almost recanted that! Protocol! He saluted numbly and walked out of the room. Only by dint of the discipline ground into his bones did Micah hold himself upright.
Protocol! Of all the branches in all the military or civilian services of all the League governments they condemned him to Protocol! The stories bubbled and burned inside Micah's skull. Ostensibly responsible for high-level diplomatic functions, coordination between forces, arrangement of meetings and suchlike, Protocol was well-known as a dumping ground for people too incompetent to be allowed field assignments - any field assignments! - but too important to be booted out rudely. At first Micah discounted the rumors. Then he found himself assigned as temporary assistant to the Protocol captain in charge of silverware. That fell under the heading of 'Environmental Specialist' and the man bored Micah with more data concerning silverware than Micah knew existed! Then the man expected Micah to instantly assimilate and apply every bit of it. Protocol!
***
Micah made the hops to Aramis Minor in a dismal funk. Several others shared his transport but Micah ma
de no effort to acquaint himself with them. With one exception. Amazingly, Charlie Ferrel was aboard as well. Somehow he snagged a Protocol assignment too. Micah tried to talk cheerfully but they both knew their fate.
“At least we'll face it together,” said Ferrel.
Ferrel wore his meteor proudly, for what good it would do him now.
Micah shrugged and let the conversation die.
Micah watched Aramis Minor grow with what interest he could summon. At least, he thought, they'd have a pleasant world. Climate warm but not hot, no indigenous pests, mild weather and mild seasons; none of the officers and gentlemen stationed there wanted discomfort.
Most of the others aboard chatted eagerly about assignments. The two nearest Micah and Ferrel started a spirited discussion about the order and precedence between the parties of a League Senator and the planetary representative of a League Candidate world.
After a brief moment in Aramis' negligible heat Micah and Ferrel found themselves in a luxurious hover. Two others shared the vehicle but they showed no interest in mere enlisted personnel. Ferrel caught Micah's eye and shrugged. He tried the hover's built-in food unit but without success. One of the others snickered.
Micah likened the Protocol training facility to an upstatus highcarder hotel, complete with highcarders. He and Ferrel were the only non-officers present and the officers around them pointedly paid them no mind.
“This way, gentlemen,” said their guide, doing his duty with ill grace, “You've been assigned to Protocol Logistics and Support.” And the man smiled.
Micah's heart dropped to his shoes. He hoped he'd receive an assignment counting something more interesting than napkins. By Ferrel's look he had the same thought.
09:00. Micah steeled himself for the day to come. He woke at 05:30 as usual, only to have the OD dismiss him when he reported. Breakfast, said the OD, happened at 08:00. No exceptions. The mess hall itself bore out the highcarder motif with fancy tables, expensive linen and civilian waiters and waitresses. They rebuffed Micah's attempt at conversation or anything other than absolute propriety. All Micah's effort earned him was several dark looks from the officers present. Then they went back to their conversations. Micah tried with all his concentration not to picture himself in their place!
Micah, Ferrel and two others snapped to attention. The man walking into the room smacked of cold, solid competence. Hard eyes examined each of them. Micah stiffened to a more rigid attention. The man held them silent with presence alone as he inspected each of them minutely. Micah felt shabby and grubby and he'd spiffed his uniform as he never spiffed before. Protocol, he knew, was picky about that. The man stopped in front of Micah and examined him with even more precision.
“At ease, gentlemen,” said the man, “With the exception of any instances in which you interact with League military personnel that was your last attention. From this day forward you will learn a new discipline. You will work harder and longer than you have ever worked before. If you do your job properly no one will know it. Your rewards will be few and precious and mostly in the satisfaction of a job well done.
“I am Willem Stanley and I command half of Protocol Logistics and Support. You may meet the other commander or not. If you do not it is of no consequence whatsoever.”
Stanely turned his steely gaze on all of them.
“Each of you was carefully chosen for this duty. You have each shown uncommon initiative, talent, skill and an unswerving unwillingness to surrender. You have exhibited outstanding moral character and loyalty. In each of your individual ways you have served the League far past the requisites of any sane duty. Be aware, gentlemen, this is merely sufficient to hold a position here.
“From this day forward, gentlemen, you will be pressed beyond any possible breaking point as you never have before. You will know pleasure and pain, guilt and shame as you have never before known it. More will be expected of you than you currently believe is possible for anyone, human or otherwise.
“This, gentlemen, is the hardest training the League has to offer. You will succeed. Failure is not an option.
“Welcome, gentlemen, to League Intelligence.
Chapter 9. Navy Liaison, Protocol Division
“Dear Father and Mother:
“At first I thought this duty would be vaccuum city but I can't begin to tell you how wrong I was. Protocol is like a complex dance. One wrong move can wreck weeks or months of negotiations and this arena leaves no room for mistakes. I'm studying the customs and histories of more systems than you would believe existed. Economics, politics, philosophy, science... I thought I'd hate it but I've learned more than I ever did before!
“The lowest accommodations here are better than an S9 hotel and I'm saving almost all my pay now. We shouldn't have any problem at all getting Deke into college wherever I get my posting.
“I don't know where I'll be stationed but the League is wide open. Dr. Colwraith - he's one of my instructors - told me the one place I won't go is Caustik. With eight hundred thirty-six other systems and plenty of postings, that's a given. As soon as I graduate I'll find us a place to be.
“I think of you often. You and Deke and Jenn. Hug Deke for me and Jenn, too. All my love;
“Micah
***
Micah loped in an easy run as he covered the distance to his assigned target in long strides. Running usually relaxed him and cleared his mind but he could not afford that now. The player around his ears filled his skull with sound. One voice droned about the government of the Hermite system, another spoke poetry in an irregular free verse - early post-Interim stream of consciousness, to be precise - while beneath both an orchestra played a compelling march.
Micah knew the player would last exactly five kilometers. The length of his run was Micah's decision and he allowed himself an extra 5 klicks beyond his assigned target. He wanted to assimilate this material well. Dr. Colwraith set the music and the topics and expected his students to know it. Micah also had no control over the music's tempo, yet he had to pay careful attention. If he fell into step for more than a few seconds the player delivered a painful jolt. How the unit knew Micah couldn't fathom but it worked quite well. Micah could ignore the pain but the thing also recorded each jolt and receiving too many would earn him details.
Micah's instructors did not issue punishments. Punishment, they claimed, was for people who did something wrong. Details they assigned to correct a lack of rightness. The details themselves ranged from ludicrously easy to impossibly hard. Difficulty notwithstanding, Micah had no desire whatsoever to earn one! The only thing worse than receiving details, he found, was failing to complete them.
Micah wrenched his attention back to the player. The one thing he could control was the volume. That meant it didn't stay where he set it. It increased or decreased at random intervals. It fell upon Micah not to allow it to become too loud or too soft. That information also went into the machine's record.
Micah almost missed his marker. The volume dropped to nothing and he barely saw the slightly-wrong shade of green. The marker opened briefly and displayed a chemical formula, then it vanished. Micah muttered the formula to himself several times, carefully not falling into step with the march.
Back at Base Micah had a precious few minutes to shower and dress. All of their instructors insisted on cleanliness and attention to dress and deportment. Micah and the other recruits - or students - wore no uniforms unless assigned to the other Protocol instructor for the day. All of the instructors preached attention to detail and detail in dress was only one path toward it.
“Rough day,” asked Ferrel, his own shower complete.
“Only the best,” replied Micah, “07:52. Game of Imperium before brekkie?”
Ferrel chuckled and they headed for the mess hall. Or cafeteria.
Micah and Ferrel sat together, as usual, and conversed with the people who chose to join them. Micah recognized several people from his classes. He carefully didn't let anything slip, nor did they.
/> Micah knew for truth that there were other Intelligence students and operatives in the crowd, he just couldn't pick them out. Yet. His instructors assured him he'd develop that skill.
***
“Assassination,” croaked Colwraith, “A common tool for political expediency. My question for today: Is it a valid one? Stone. Direction.”
Micah considered his answer carefully. Colwraith didn't mind time taken to formulate an answer provided the quality of the response matched the time taken.
“Yes, Dr. Colwraith. It is not pleasant. It is, in fact, cold-blooded murder. It is foul, it is evil, it is wrong and it is necessary. There are times when the loss of one life can save thousands, millions, or even billions. That justifies it.”
“Well then, Mr. Stone. Who is qualified to judge? Are you? Am I?”
Colwraith smiled and Micah's heart sank. He chose the wrong answer.
“The soldier,” said Colwraith with an unambiguous glance to Micah, “who chooses to sacrifice himself to save his buddies, his unit, or civilians is making a choice. The life he ends, however, is his own. He pays the consequences for his decision. Right or wrong the responsibility and the result are his alone.
“Assassination, gentlemen and lady, affords no such noble choice. Mister Stone was correct in his assertion of murder but that is all. The League does not condone and does not pursue the expediency of assassination. There are some limits beyond which we do not go and this is by far the simplest.”
Colwraith handed each of them a datacube.
“This is documentation pertaining to twenty-eight of the most notorious and far-reaching assassinations on League record. Your assignment for next week is to find a way to achieve the results purported by the assassination without executing the assassination itself. You may leave.”
Micah dug into his research. This made up a large portion of his days now. He and the others spent their mornings or afternoons in academics, followed or preceded by more hands-on training. Micah struggled but he loved it.
