by John Ringo
Several of the young men his age nodded vigorously, clearly ready to volunteer at a moment’s notice. At Simon’s elbow, Zak Camar was nodding, as well, but there was pain far back in his dark eyes. These kids were so young… They were the same age Simon had been, when he’d left his smouldering homeworld on a Concordiat naval cruiser, headed for the war college at Sector HQ.
Like the boy Simon had been, they, too, had seen war unleashed in their own backyards, so they weren’t rushing in blind or indulging a penchant for bravado, which so many other young men had indulged over the millennia humanity had been fighting wars. These kids knew exactly what it meant to pick up modern battlefield weaponry and go out onto the pointy end of combat to fry enemy soldiers — or die trying. Somehow, the fact that they knew made the pain of their going worse. Much worse. When Simon glanced at Balthazar Soteris, he realized the old man had seen and understood exactly what thoughts had just been rattling around in Simon’s head. The respect that came into Balthazar’s eyes was one of the biggest compliments Simon had ever been paid.
When Balthazar spoke, he changed the subject, asking yet another silent question. “Kafari going to finish that degree of hers?”
“Yes, sir, she is. I’ll be paying the rest of her expenses,” he added, in answer to the unspoken question, “so the Educational Surety Act funds she’s been using can go to someone else who needs them. She’s already qualified for work as a psychotronic technician, but we talked it over and she’s decided to go for a full engineering degree. Her professors on Vishnu have agreed to let her complete the degree work from here.” He grinned, then. “Part of the engineering program requirement is working on a live psychotronic system, class seven or higher. Sonny volunteered to serve as her practicum device. He thinks rather highly of her.”
“Wow!” Young Hylas, across the table, had gone wide-eyed with surprise and a healthy dollop of envy. Most of the men at the table mirrored the exact same expression. Zak Camar’s eyes glowed with justifiable pride. It wasn’t just everyone who earned a Bolo Mark XX’s respect, after all. Kafari’s father clearly understood that he had raised one truly remarkable daughter.
Talk shifted, then, as the younger men asked questions about the Bolo he commanded and Bolos in general and what it was like aboard a naval cruiser and what it took to get into the war college at Brigade headquarters. Evidently somebody had primed them not to mention Etaine, because nobody did, for which Simon was immensely grateful. Once he realized his new family intended to respect his need to keep those memories private, he relaxed and thoroughly enjoyed sharing stories from his admittedly interesting career.
Then some of the older men started discussing the rebuilding effort that was still underway and the talk revolved around what constituted the best designs for barns and equipment sheds, how to jury-rig machinery to do work it had never been designed to do, as a stop-gap until replacement equipment could be obtained, and which livestock bloodlines had survived and could be cross-bred to strengthen the herds and flocks on various farms, come the next spring breeding season.
It was comfortable talk, flowing around Simon in an easy flood as he plowed into his dessert, listening and learning what was important to these people and what problems they would need to solve before they could start operating profitably, again. Laughter from the women’s tables and shrieks from the children, most of whom had finished eating and were now romping in a variety of games and races, served to deepen Simon’s quiet enjoyment of the evening. Running beneath that enjoyment, down in the core of his being, was a fizzing anticipation of their wedding night. Simon could hardly wait to climb into their aircar and fly his wife someplace exceedingly private.
By the time Simon and Kafari finally escaped into their aircar, the night was well advanced. Simon grimaced at the decorations on the car, mostly in washable paint of some sort, but with several yards of fluttering ribbons attached at various points along the airframe, none of them in any position that would create a flight hazard. Kafari was giggling as she tumbled into the passenger seat. Simon ran through his preflight checklist, then sent them aloft, while a sea of upturned faces watched from the yard. People waved until they’d gained enough altitude, they couldn’t see anything but a shapeless blur against the lights blazing from the Soteris homestead.
Both moons were up, little Quincy a thin crescent near the horizon as they climbed vertically up out of the canyon, and the much larger Abigail at full-moon stage, shedding pearlescent light across the tops of the cliffs. Kafari sighed happily. “It sure is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Simon agreed. He wasn’t looking at the moonlight.
“Not yet, if you please, sir,” she said primly. “Where are we going, anyway?”
Simon just waggled his eyebrows. She’d been trying for days to pry out of him the destination he’d chosen for their honeymoon. He’d done a lot of legwork, researching Jefferson’s favorite vacation spots. Most of them were rustic cabin-in-the-woods sorts of places, taking advantage of Jefferson’s truly spectacular wild lands. There was an urban resort town in the southern hemisphere, with plenty of nightlife entertainment, but Kafari didn’t strike Simon as a cabaret-and-gambling type of girl. Besides, he hadn’t wanted to travel that far from Sonny, not with another invasion from the other side of the Void still a possibility.
So he steered them north, cruising near the aircar’s upper range for speed, and watched the moonlight fall across Kafari’s face. She reached across and rested one hand on his knee, a burning contact that interfered with his breath control, even as it whispered of domestic comfort and the small, exquisite pleasures that come with the intertwining of two lives lived together. He smiled and curled his fingers around hers, just holding her hand while they sped northward.
“Not much out this way,” Kafari said lazily, at length.
“Nope.”
“There’s some nice fishing, along the northern reaches of the Damisi.”
“Yep. Of course, I’m done with fishing. Already caught what I wanted.”
She smiled. “There is that.” Then she added, “Just a little hint?”
“Nope.”
“Wretch.”
“Bet you say that to all the guys you marry.”
She grinned. “You’ll pay for that one, loverboy…”
“Oh, goodie — can we start now?”
She swatted his thigh. “Just fly the aircar, if you please.”
He sighed. “Yes, dear.”
She reached forward with her other hand and switched on some music, hunting through the collection uploaded to the aircar’s computer system. “Oh, I like that one,” she said at last, programming in her selection.
“Oh, God…” Simon groaned aloud as the music she’d chosen turned his blood to steam. He was fond of the ancient Terran classical composers and Ravel was one of his personal favorites. He’d just never realized just how provocative Bolero really was. “Wife, you haven’t got so much as a shred of pity.”
“I know,” she murmured with a deep chuckle that made Simon consider very seriously landing the aircar on the nearest flat stretch of ground and showing her exactly what she’d wrought. A fragment of advice from his father floated into his mind, giving him the patience he needed: Take it slow, son, and it’ll be worth the wait — for everybody involved. So far, his father’s advice hadn’t steered him wrong, yet.
You’d have loved her, Dad, Simon whispered to the stars, and you’d have been so proud of her. You, too, Mom. He hadn’t talked to his parents like this in years, but it seemed right, somehow, flying through the star-dusted darkness with Kafari at his side.
Thirty minutes later, he swung the aircar around on a new heading, following the instrumentation as the Damisi Mountains swung sharply to the west. His flight computer picked up the signal from the landing field and radioed their approach automatically. Kafari leaned forward, eyes glowing as brightly as the stars above their canopy. “Oh…” It was a soft-voiced sound, reverent and surprised and ting
ed with overtones of deep amazement. “Oh, Simon, it’s perfect.”
“You’ve been here?” he asked, disappointed.
“Oh, no, never. We couldn’t ever afford to come here. This is where off-world tourists and business tycoons from Mali stay, when they come to Jefferson. And some of our own wealthiest families have cottages here. Senators, trade cartel executives, people like that.”
Simon smiled. “In that case, it just might be good enough for you.”
Kafari’s eyes widened. Then she chuckled. “You are going to spoil me rotten, you know.”
“That’s the general idea.” He squeezed her hand, then concentrated on final approach. He set them down gently and taxied over to the parking area, sliding into the space assigned by the resort’s air-control computer. A moment later, they were on the tarmac, pulling luggage out while a servo-bot came racing up to ferry their bags. A human-operated groundcar arrived to ferry them.
“Good evening.” The young driver smiled, jumping out to check the servo-bot and holding the passenger door of his groundcar open, “and welcome to Sea View. It’s a real privilege to welcome such distinguished guests.” When Simon glanced into the young man’s eyes, he realized the greeting wasn’t just standard patter. He’d meant every word. Deep emotion burned in his eyes, the kind founded in personal gratitude of life-altering dimensions. Simon wondered who’d survived, to put that look in his eyes. The young man’s crisp white uniform, trimmed in scarlet and gold, glowed in the light of the double moons, but not as brightly as that look in his eyes. Simon smiled.
“Thank you, very much. My wife and I are delighted to be here.”
A startled grin broke across the younger man’s face. “Wow! Congratulations!”
Kafari broke into a broad smile as she slid into the ground car, moving over to give Simon room to join her. The driver jogged around and a moment later they eased smoothly away, heading down a wooded lane that lay like a dappled ribbon in the moonlight. The snow-covered Damisi rose majestically to their right.
The driver spoke quietly from the front. “There are alpine lakes just above the lodges, where you can fish, swim, sail, ski, and hike. In the winter we have some of the best snow skiing anywhere on Jefferson, but in the summer, like this, there’s an abundance of thermals for gliders and ultralights. We have a wide beach at the bottom of the cliff, with a breakwater to ensure plenty of calm water for swimming and snorkeling, or you can sail or just soak up the sun. There are plenty of group activities, if you like that sort of thing, plenty of privacy and solitude, if you don’t.”
When the groundcar stopped at the entrance to their private cabin, they could hear the crash of the surf far below.
“There are beach cabanas for refreshments,” the driver added as he held their door, “and plenty of shuttles running up and down the cliff for your convenience. And here’s the servo-bot with your luggage.”
The driver opened the lodge, handing Simon the key as he pointed out the main amenities: datanet hookups with built-in terminals, kitchenette and dining nook, bedroom, sitting room, jacuzzi, all the comforts of home with a view of the ocean through a massive window that overlooked a rustic deck. The driver unloaded their luggage and Simon handed him the customary tip, then they were finally alone again.
“Wow,” Kafari breathed softly. “Being Mrs. Khrustinova is turning out to be a pretty good deal!”
“You betcha, it is.”
“That being the case,” she said, voice going abruptly husky, “let’s get started making some little Khrustinovs.”
She melted against him… and that was the last coherent thought Simon had for a long, long time.
Chapter Nine
I
Simon knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into President Lendan’s office. It was more than the shocking exhaustion in Abe Lendan’s long, lean frame, stooped under a burden too heavy for one man. It was more than the scent of illness lingering on the air, more than the ghastly tension that crackled like static electricity on a winter’s night.
“Come in, Major,” President Lendan said, in a voice that was alarmingly fragile. “And thanks for flying in early, to meet with me.”
The president’s secretary closed the door behind him as Simon crossed the room, feet and spirits sinking into the thick carpeting. “That’s what I’m here for, sir,” he said, conjuring up a smile.
Abe Lendan didn’t return it, which left Simon feeling even more distressed. So much so, in fact, he remained standing, almost unconsciously at parade rest.
“In about ten minutes,” the president said, glancing at a clock on his spacious desk, “my senior advisers will be walking through that door. There’s something you and I need to discuss, before they do. Sit down, Major, please.”
Simon sat down. He identified the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as raw fear, for the man on the opposite side of the desk, for the future of this lovely world Simon had made his own.
A ghostly smile flickered into being, for just an instant, lighting Lendan’s deep-set eyes. “I always did approve of a man who knows when to comment and when not to.” The crushing weariness came back, then, almost worse for its temporary absence. “I’m not sure how much constitutional law you’ve soaked up, Major, since your arrival, but my second term in office expires about six months from now. We have a two-party system, on Jefferson, not one of those multiparty messes that requires a coalition just to stay in office and comes crashing down to ruin every time some splinter group gets cold feet. Or, worse, decides to support some crazy issue the majority of people wouldn’t take seriously for anything in known space. That’s one of our strengths, at least. Term limits are another. No one can hold the presidency longer than two five-year terms. Even that can be too long if someone spends a whole decade doing damage.”
Simon nodded cautiously, having studied the constitution rather thoroughly during recent weeks while drawing up planetary defense plans and poring through Sonny’s surveillance reports. The president’s frailty worried Simon. He didn’t look strong enough to endure another six weeks, let alone six months, in the grueling hot seat of the presidency. “I’ve made a fairly detailed study of it, sir.”
“Good. I think you know just how critical this afternoon’s vote in the Joint Assembly will be.”
“I do, sir.” Simon knew only too well. It was his job to deliver an unpalatable ultimatum from Concordiat Sector Command to Jefferson’s elected representation.
“Nobody likes to be threatened, Major, particularly not in the way I suspect you’re about to threaten us. But I do know something about your job, your wider responsibilities. I have not seen the communique that came in for you via SWIFT, this morning. Not even I possess the clearance to decode that. But I can guess exactly what you’ve been ordered to do.”
Simon’s jaw muscles twitched. “You realize, sir, that from the Brigade’s perspective, something has to be done? And quickly?” Jefferson’s refusal to honor its treaty obligations in a timely fashion had created a hole in Concordiat security, one that had to be plugged. Simon wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the day. Judging by the look in Abe Lendan’s eyes, neither was the president. He confirmed it a moment later.
“Oh, yes,” he said softly, “I do understand what has to be done. And why. I may not have the clearance to read coded Brigade messages, but I do have the intelligence,” he smiled faintly, ironically, “to watch the starmaps on the far side of the Void.” The smile vanished. “Given what’s showing up on the open channels, I’m willing to bet your starmaps look even worse than what we’ve been allowed to see. Frankly, I’m a little surprised the Concordiat’s waited this long to threaten us with revocation of the treaty. The trouble I’m looking at, the most immediate trouble, is how that’s going to play, politically. Particularly with major elections only six months away and a serious anti-treaty movement gaining a groundswell of support. I won’t insult your intelligence by asking if you’ve been tracking it, Major.”
Si
mon smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll be frank,” Lendan said abruptly. “My doctor has advised me — strenuously — to step down immediately and retire from public service. A final gift from the Deng, I’m afraid.” Again, that ghostly, painful little smile flickered across his face.
Simon stared, horrified to the soles of his boots. The president’s blunt words had set up a tremor of shock like an aching sickness, that vibrated clear through him. He should have seen it coming and kicked himself silently for not putting the pieces together. Despite massive amounts of rest, Kafari still hadn’t recovered her full strength after her exposure to alien radiation. Abe Lendan didn’t look like he’d had a moment’s rest in the entire six months since the attack. Simon knew combat fatigue. Abraham Lendan’s reserves of strength were shot, depleted by the demands of rebuilding a world in financial ruins. He had the look of a man a few tottering steps from total collapse. Some head of defense you are, Major Khrustinov, he snarled at himself. Dear God, if Abe Lendan stepped down…
The president’s next words, harsh with strain, slashed through his distracted thoughts and left him stunned. “You know I’m commander in chief of Jefferson’s entire military structure. I’ve taken advantage of that. Now, while there’s still time to act. I’ve given you a promotion to Colonel in Jefferson’s Defense Forces. Sector Command has agreed to sanction it.”
Simon felt his eyes widen. Then he frowned as the import of that final sentence came home. “The Brigade sanctioned it? I don’t understand, sir. I’ve done my duty, here, nothing more. Certainly nothing the Brigade would consider meritorious enough to warrant that kind of promotion.”
Shadows lurked behind Abe Lendan’s eyes. “Let’s call it a precautionary measure and leave it at that.”
The chill gripping Simon deepened. What the hell did this man know that Simon didn’t, yet? Lendan spoke abruptly again, voice rasping with some violent emotion Simon couldn’t quite pin down. “If I could’ve, son, I’d have given you a generalship, but that’s a rank beyond my legal authority to grant. We took to heart lessons learned on old Terra. We chose carefully and wisely when we modeled our constitution and named this world for the man who drafted the original model. Military dictatorships are anathema to us.”
