by Danny Loomis
Smith nodded vigorously. “Good idea. An’ take your time comin’ back, okay?”
A laugh escaped him while heading for the door. “You’re right. Not the best thing to do, showing impatience in front of my kids. Not after I’ve been drilling them about being patient.”
Brian was just finishing up when Irish walked in “How’re your snipers doing?” he asked.
Irish perched on the edge of a chair. “Eighteen officers and seven NCOs so far, and half the teams are returning.”
“You had any thoughts about what to do with your trainees, now that they’ve graduated?” Brian leaned both elbows on his desk, eyeing him steadily.
Irish felt his nerves start to twang again. “Um-probably go back to their units, train other snipers, I guess. Hadn’t been thinking that far ahead, I’m afraid.”
“I have. How’d you like to be Captain of the Snipers?”
Irish stood, then sat. “Damn, man. You sure know how to get me wound up. I’d love it, but…”
“Long as you’re on Eire, you are hereby ordered to help the cause by being responsible for all training of snipers, to include missions. That’s an official declaration that will be communicated to your superiors soon as you send out the next message capsule. Okay with you?”
Irish sat down with a thump. “You sure know how to tempt someone! I’d like to do it, but I also have a space ship I’m Captain of.”
“When you need to go to space, you can have a member of the sniper team that’s on its way from the Confederation take charge. But when you’re on the ground, you’re in command. In case you haven’t noticed, those snipers happen to think you’re the greatest thing to walk on two legs.”
His breath went out in a whoosh. “All right, I know when I’m licked. But right now, I need time to…”
“You need to get drunk,” Brian said, striding towards the door. “C’mon, I’ll buy.”
Once he’d gotten the first beer in him, Irish felt a lessening of stress. “Didn’t realize how tensed up I was,” He toasted Brian with his empty glass. “Thanks, Brian.”
He gave a chuckle, draining his beer. “No problem, I assure you.” He held up his empty glass towards the bartender, pointing at Irish. “The rest of ‘em we happen to drink are on him.” He glanced at Irish. “Are you up to taking an order from your Commander?”
“Yes, Sir!” Irish barked, sitting at attention.
“Ah, that’s what I like to see. Properly subservient subordinates. You are to get drunk as a whippet tonight, along with me.” He gave him a half-serious look. “We both need it, y’know.”
* * *
Five days passed before Irish got word Brian was ready to meet his uncle. He hurried towards Admin, stepping around a large bearded man as he entered. “Hi, Brian sent for me. Is he…”
“Right here.” The bearded man with white hair that he’d passed punched his shoulder. “I feel better already. If my friends don’t recognize me, no one else will, either.”
Irish shook his head, amazed at the change in his appearance. “That’s a pretty good disguise. Especially the white hair.” He looked him over closely. “But I’d suggest you walk stooped over or something.”
“Good idea.” He leaned forward, hobbling towards his office. “This better?”
“Perfect. I take it you’re ready to go?” Uncontrolled giggling from the receptionist had him chuckling. “Or would you rather start a comedy routine for the troops?”
It was another hour before he and Brian were on the road, the driver being one of Brian’s most trusted men. “In case you’re wondering, we’re headed for the town of Rosston. ‘Bout an hour’s drive from here. Uncle Rickard said he was only bringing two guards, like I was.”
Irish glanced out the window. “Seems strange to be driving down the road like normal people. I take it the Legs don’t restrict traffic?”
“Not yet. I think the Alliance commander would like them to, but no hint of it so far.”
“So the only thing you worry about when driving around is an occasional roadblock?”
“The Legs prefer to call them license checkpoints. But normally, that’s right. If they do stop us, I’ve got fake I.D. with my new face on it, and–oh, almost forgot. Here’s your I.D.”
Irish fingered the card. “Good thing you thought of this. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He patted the rucksack next to his leg. “What if they want to check out this? Or the trunk?”
Brian gave a smile that looked evil while wearing a beard. “We kill ‘em all, and move the meeting to another day.”
They entered Rosston, and soon pulled into the parking lot behind Sim’s Hotel and Restaurant. “We’re a half-hour early. Time for some tea, I think. We’ll also go by the room we’ll be meeting in.” Irish nodded, busily stuffing his ghillies in a smaller bag, big enough to also hold his staff which was slightly under a meter in length when fully collapsed.
Just inside the rear entrance, Brian turned left and strode down the hall. “Here, on the right.”
“I’ll slip on my ghillies and be in there when everyone arrives.” Irish continued to the men’s room next door down, while Brian and his guard continued on.
After donning his ghillies, Irish opened the bathroom door a crack and peered out. No one in the hallway. He scooted to the next room and cautiously entered. Except for a couple tables and a dozen chairs, it was empty. Moving a chair to the furthest corner of the room, he sat. Just as well be comfortable while he waited.
It was close to an hour before the door opened. Brian and his guard were among the five who entered. Good, they hadn’t changed locations at the last second. He kept himself immobile while Rickard’s guards surveyed the room. One stared at him longer than was comfortable, but his eyes moved on, no sign of recognition in them. Irish breathed out a quiet sigh. Always freaked him when that happened. They settled around a table in the middle of the room, guards standing behind their leaders. Rickard was a slimmer, darker version of Brian, grey hair at his temples.
“Let’s get to it,” Brian said. “I know you and Stuart, God rest him, didn’t see eye to eye on how to handle the government when we manage to kick the Legislaturists out. To be truthful, I didn’t totally agree with him either. Putting a king back in charge isn’t the answer.”
Rickard gave him a questioning look. “You really feel that way, don’t you?” At Brian’s nod, he shrugged. “Then what’s your druthers?”
“Elected officials from each district who then vote for a President, for one thing…”
An hour passed, with both of them engrossed in their discussion. They were animated, and disagreements were quickly settled. Irish was fascinated in spite of himself. Normally he kept out of politics. This time, he watched while a government was being created in front of his eyes. If the Legs were ever truly thrown out, what they discussed would likely be the founding of a new nation. He repressed a shiver.
Finally it was over. “I think we’ve reached an agreement Uncle Rick.” Brian stood, holding out his hand.
In reply, Rickard came around the table and hugged him. “Agreed, Brian. I-Damn, you so remind me of your father with that beard.”
Irish breathed a sigh of relief and stood, throwing his hood back.
Rickard had been facing his way when he did this, and gripped Brian tightly. “William-William Donahue. You’re dead!”
Irish stepped back in shock. “My father’s dead? You sure?” He finished stripping off his ghillies and moved forward.
“Yes, two years ago he found out about a raid the Legs were planning on my home. My family and I escaped, but he was caught and tortured.”
Irish gripped his forearms, face heating. “How about my mother? And Lenora?”
Rickard glanced at a shocked Brian and back. “Damn me, why do I have to be the one to tell you this?” He sank into a chair, hands trembling. “They raped and killed your mother, in front of William. Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” He reached for
Irish who’d collapsed into a chair.
“And my sister?” Waves of heat and cold washed through him. “Did they…”
Rickard shook his head. “No. She escaped, and is now one of our most ardent fighters.”
Irish stood, weaving slightly. “I’ll be in the bathroom next door.” Face stiff as a board, he moved towards the door, feeling everyone’s eyes on him.
When he’d disappeared, Brian stood. “I’d better go to him.”
“No, not yet,” Rickard said. “He’s had a double dose of shock. Give him time to absorb it.”
“I thought he looked like someone I knew when I first met him. Just didn’t click that William was his father.” He reluctantly sat. “I remember how I felt when Dad was assassinated. Wanted to kill all the Legs I could get my hands on. Luckily, Stuart kept a level head during that time.”
“And that’s what he needs now. A friend to keep him from doing something that’ll get him, and maybe others, killed.”
Irish stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to control the anger and grief. Had to remember his duty. He could cause others to die in his eagerness to destroy Legislaturist scum. He bent and washed his face, scrubbing his eyes. No time now. Later he’d grieve. Maybe after this was all over, he and Lenora would be able to properly grieve for their parents. Right now, had to find a way to control the white-hot rage that tried its best to spill throughout his soul.
One last swipe at his face, and he finished repacking his ghillies. The staff made its way into his hand and he held it up, staring at the glittering blade that slid free from its niche. “I’ll find them,” he whispered. “And they’ll die hard.” The blade snicked back and he packed it away.
RAGNAROK, NEAR SPACE, EIRE (Day +45)
Grand Admiral Haven curbed his impatience, waiting for the leader of the Legislaturist delegation, General Howell, to finish his long winded introductory talk. He found the straggly grey hair and thirty pounds of excess weight on the General to be an unpleasant distraction. He shifted in his chair. These monthly briefings with the Legislaturist General Command had recently become tedious. He glanced around the table, noting that his Logistics chief was beginning to show signs of unrest. His other three staff were keeping their normal blank faces intact, so far.
Finally Howell ran down, ending with his normal mouthings. “In closing, I’d like to underline how pleased President Kendall is with our mutual partnership. We hope to continue this relationship for a long time to come.”
Haven nodded, a serious expression on his face. “The First Speaker of the Alliance has asked me to pass on his satisfaction with how your government continues to welcome us with open arms. Also, I wish to add my personal thank you for your quick and positive response regarding your prison population. Being able to use them in the iron mines on the moon when we’re geared up for them will help our shortage of workers immensely.”
He nodded towards the General’s six staff members. “While our respective staffs carry on with the briefing, why don’t you and I step over to my quarters for a more private chat?”
Howell raised his eyebrows. “Of course, Admiral. A good idea.”
Haven led the way towards his office, impressed in spite of himself. Howell had handled the abrupt departure from the norm quite well. They’d never had a private talk before. Although he didn’t show it, his mind was probably busy looking for reasons this was happening. “Here we are, General. Please have a seat.” He indicated the small conference table, even while he sat. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“I’d love to have some coffee.” Howell took a seat in the chair opposite, looking around the office curiously. “A Spartan office, Admiral. No pictures or other personal items?”
He smiled, nodding his thanks when his aide unobtrusively placed two cups and a carafe filled with coffee on the table. “I look at them as distractions,” he said, pouring himself a cup. “Always felt I needed to focus on the mission–or who I was meeting with.”
Howell helped himself to the coffee. “Which brings up the purpose of this particular meeting, Sir. Why a private one?”
“Some sensitive issues have come to my attention. I thought it best to discuss them away from inquiring ears.”
“You probably want to know what we’re doing on the Burundan continent,” Howell said.
Haven leaned back, making himself comfortable. Have to watch this one. “Yes, that happens to be one of the topics.”
“Our Regimental Commander got pissed off, and started taking his anger out on the population.” He shook his head, frustration evident. “We spend years building up trust in our government, and it’s destroyed in one week by that shite-head!” He took a calming breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to flare up. Just wish I could’ve stuck him in prison, instead of merely relieving him.”
“What about this ‘Banshee’ we’ve been hearing about?”
“Unfortunately when a woman was killed near one of the villages, witnesses say her spirit returned and killed several of the militia. The survivors, of course, spread the story around. Now, it seems we’ve got several of these Banshees loose on that continent.” Howell shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like. Within two weeks, an entire continent has gone from being law-abiding to a hotbed of unrest.”
“My staff has reported that your information bureau has been working non-stop on that problem, plus your new Regimental Commander is trying his best to win back the population. If these efforts don’t work, you have but to ask and we’ll provide all the assistance you need for any other measures.”
Howell quickly raised a hand. “No, no. We’ll take care of our own mess. I hope we never have to go back to the repressive measures we had to take ten years ago.” He shuddered. “We’re still recovering from that.”
Haven shrugged. At least he’d made the opening salvo on what he felt was really needed. Alliance troops on the ground. “On another subject, we’re close to being done with the retooling of the iron mines on your second moon. You still on track to deliver the prisoners when we’re ready?”
“As a matter of fact, we are.” He leaned both elbows on the table. “It was decided to have your forces provide guards, but we’d still like to have some of our security forces there, too.”
“Agreed. We’ll set aside an underground barracks for two companies of your militia. Will that be enough?”
“I think that would suffice,” Howell said. “Mainly, it’s to reassure the President that we’re still responsible for them.” He swirled his coffee, finally taking a drink. “The main question I had coming to this briefing might be getting answered by your staff. But could you fill me in on the progress of the ships we’re building? Our new Admiral wants to get a chance to tour them. Soon, if possible.”
“Understood. I’d want the same in his shoes.” Haven thought a moment. “If memory serves me, he should be able to tour the first ship in three weeks. Double-check with your staff after the briefing to make sure.”
Howell smiled. “Good. He feels like a big fish in a small pond right now. Only has two light cruisers to play with.”
Several hours after the delegation had left, there was a knock on Haven’s door. “Come,” he said, looking up with a smile when Vogel entered. “How’s our side project going, Major?” He motioned him to a seat next to his desk.
“Fairly well, Sir.” Vogel handed him a data cube. “Seems the individuals I told you about, along with six others, aren’t merely here to keep an eye on you. They had voice-only orders from the First Secretariat to kill you if they received the signal to do so.”
Haven took a deep breath, and let it out. “Damn. I was hoping this little problem wouldn’t surface for another year.”
Vogel blinked rapidly a few times. “You expected this?”
“Of course.” He slotted the cube in his desk console, and scanned the names. “Hm. Mostly on the Ragnarok.” His eyebrows rose. “Two are even in Security.” He looked up. �
�Good job, Major.” He unplugged the cube and put in a drawer. “I can’t reward you-yet-like you deserve. However, know that I am very grateful. What did you do with the individuals you interrogated?”
“They met with serious accidents, Sir. Most unfortunate. Would you like these others to be…”
“No. I’ll quietly have them reassigned to positions on other ships, and watched by my people. I find it’s better to know who your enemies are, rather than destroy them and have a new set appear you don’t know about.”
Vogel’s eyes lighted. “Very good, Sir.”
Haven steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “In the meantime, I’d like you to keep an eye out for any more such arrivals. You do seem to have a knack for that.” At Vogel’s nod, he stood and offered his hand. “I’m deeply in your debt, Major. And remember: We never had this meeting.”
NEAR SPACE, ONBOARD EREBUS (Day +46)
“They’re on that big rock out there,” Irish said, pointing towards the asteroid where Erebus was located. “We’ll be docking in just a minute. Hold on.”
Nolan, who’d volunteered to ride as co-pilot, leaned forward eagerly. “You sure I can’t land it this time?” He’d been spending the prior week learning how to fly a shuttle, and had managed to solo takeoffs and landings before Irish let him ride along.
“Not yet. Maybe after another couple weeks practice, okay?” He coasted to the backside of the asteroid, in time to observe Erebus coming out of cloaking mode.
“God, that’s awesome,” enthused Nolan. “Just like we were in one of the fables our parents told us when we were kids.”
Minutes later Irish locked them down inside the ship. “Okay, open the ramp and let’s go visit.”
Before Irish could exit the shuttle, Staff Sergeant Johnny Two Eagles bounded up the ramp and grabbed him in a hug. “Man it’s good to see you, Irish. Been bored out of our minds back in the barracks.” He turned when two more entered. “As you can see, I wasn’t able to get rid of the fireplug twins.”
