Alien Salute

by Charles Ingrid

  Jack tapped a wavy line. “You’re going to establish another dig site.”

  “If finances and personnel allow.” The Walker prelate paused a moment. “And if I have the coverage I need.”

  “You’re expecting trouble again?”

  “You showed me the signs yourself. Look here, at this spectrograph. These hills here…”

  “Rich in norcite.”

  Colin nodded. “Probably. And that means…”

  “For whatever reasons, Thraks will probably be as interested in the site as you are. At least they were on Lasertown and Bythia.”

  “And it also means I’m not likely to find the archaeological evidence I’m looking for. We may find… once again… something else.”

  Jack looked at Colin. “But you’re willing to take the risks.”

  “I must. Those other sites may not be what we’re looking for, but I can no longer blindly ignore the evidence. There is a pattern here, there must be. And if there is another sentient, space-faring race, I can’t turn blind eyes to it. Can you?”

  “No,” Jack said. “Nor can I give you Dominion protection.”

  “Not overtly. But I think I can guarantee you that Denaro will go AWOL as soon as he feels he is proficient in a suit.”

  Jack scrubbed his armor gloved hands through his dark blond hair. “I don’t need that,” he said.

  Colin sighed and answered, “Neither of us do. But I can’t think of another way. With the Thraks about to declare war, we may be way out there all by ourselves.”

  Jack shook his head. “I won’t let you go all by yourself. All right. Denaro is in. Lassaday’s in charge of Unit 3, it’s just begun training. We’ll install him in there. But if he turns up missing, I don’t want to remember we had this conversation.”

  “Nor I,” returned the saint, with an unheavenly glint in his mild brown eyes. He left when Lassaday climbed to the bridge.

  The sergeant looked after the reverend as he left. “And wha’ did he want?”

  “He blessed the recruits.”

  “A practical man, that Walker.” Lassaday rubbed his callused palm over his tan, bald, and profusely sweating head. “I’d give my left nut to have a thousand more like them.”

  Jack did not let humor twitch the corner of his mouth as he looked at the training grounds. The sergeant was too right. They needed a thousand more like this. “Don’t let the senator hear you say that.”

  “A senator?” Lassaday’s lip curled. “Jesus, commander, that’s all you need. If I were you, I’d weld him to Baadluster and let the Minister of War take the heat.”

  “I would, but it seems Baadluster’s done just that to me. They’re getting restless down there. Better get back.”

  “In a minute. I heard some scuttle.”

  Jack took a moment to look closely at the veteran. He’d been through Lassaday’s none too gentle but capable hands for Basic. On the grounds, Lassaday wore a silver mylar jumpsuit to catch the eye, but his sun-darkened face wore a no nonsense look now. “What is it, sarge?”

  “I got the word there’s a lot of subspace chatter going on. My son is into it, posts to th’ bulletin board all the time. It looks like the Thraks are massing.”

  “Really?” Jack smiled tightly at that. Would fortune smile on him twice by tipping the Thraks’ hand? “It would be nice to anticipate an attack before they break out.”

  Lassaday beamed. “Thought you’d like that, commander. Be there waitin’ for ‘em, a little reception committee, like.”

  Jack nodded, and Lassaday left the podium, passing by a brilliantly coated gentleman who was approaching the bridge. The man could be none other than the senator, short and compact, with arms and shoulders that looked as powerful as a bulldozer, fair-haired and with the florid complexion of a short-tempered man. Well-muscled thighs drove the man across the bridge to Jack’s side where, though much shorter than a man in armor, he was not out-massed.

  “Commander Storm.”

  Jack offered a gauntlet. “Senator Washburn. Your aides?” He looked around, anticipating a brace of aides/bodyguards.

  “Sent them away. Told them you’d either be responsible for me or you weren’t worth the price of scrap for your armor.”

  Jack found himself with a genuine smile for the short, feisty gentleman. “So that’s the way of it,” he said. “Good. I have no more time for you than you have for me.”

  Washburn’s thick blond eyebrows wagged up and down. “Commander, I have all the time in the world for you, but I appreciate the frankness. What have you got for me?”

  “Team drills. This is Unit 1, the team I went through training with, and we’re all fairly seasoned now, but most of us had to be reequipped coming out of Bythia, and new suits take time to get used to.”

  “Any trouble getting the optimum out of your gear?”

  “No, sir. I think you’ll be pleased.” Jack waved his left gauntlet and the troops waiting below went into motion.

  At the end of an hour’s time, Senator Washburn turned to Jack. “I’m impressed. But what makes you think this type of land war is what we need?”

  “Senator, we all know maneuverability in space is greatly hampered. Basically, we have one pass and that’s it. We’ll be slugging it out on land because that’s what matters to both us and the Thraks. We don’t breed in vacuum. On the whole, we don’t nurture our young out there, nor grow our crops or mine for manufacturing. We’re still land-based and that’s where we’ll be fighting because it’s our land they covet. If we fight them from space, we’ll be polluting the very terrain we’re trying to save.”

  Washburn’s right eyebrow bristled up. “It’s the old Sand Wars mentality.”

  “Perhaps. Who says it was wrong?”

  He grumbled deep in his throat, and said, “My colleagues won’t be easy to convince. We were soundly beaten in the Sand Wars.”

  Jack could say nothing back to that. A familiar ache of having been betrayed and left without hope arced through him, but he did not let it show in his expression. He remembered Lassaday’s information.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “I can arrange a demonstration.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated, commander. And don’t be shy with the budget. Get yourself some new armor—that set looks a little worn to me.”

  Jack’s lips twitched a little. “It has its purposes.”

  “Don’t stint yourself, commander.” The senator gripped the railing, leaning forward until his nose pressed against the windshield. He took a deep breath. “God, I love a wartime economy.”

  Baadluster’s pasty complexion pinked. “You want to what?”

  “Follow the lead that the subspace call-board is giving us. I want to be entrenched on that planet when the Thraks hit. I want to be waiting for them.”

  “We’ve got no confirmation that Stralia is targeted. We’re still waiting for an official declaration.”

  “And that attitude gives them first strike capabilities.”

  “Perhaps.” Baadluster’s teeth nipped at his too thick lips. “Stralia is under our noses. Surely the Thraks would have better sense than to attack us there, scouting activity notwithstanding.”

  “I have a hunch otherwise.”

  The minister stood there, his slender hands twitching at his sides for a moment, before he pivoted to look at Pepys. He did not fling his hands into the air, but he might as well have.

  Pepys put a hand up to his chin, somewhat disguising the amused set to his expression. “Just what,” he mumbled out of his half-hidden mouth, “do you propose to do?”

  “If we go, we go now. Even though we’re closer, we’ll have no way to beat them out of subspace if we don’t. I’ll take Rawlins as my second and leave Lassaday here to keep taking the edges off Units 2 and 3. I’ll leave Travellini as my back-up officer.”

  “The Knights could be ruined almost before they’ve been reinstated.”

  “Never. And Washburn intimated that the Dominion Congress doesn’t want to hire in
effectual, outdated troops. He all but told me they wanted to see us in action.”

  Baadluster hissed in disgust. Pepys waved him quiet. “How soon can you be ready?”

  “By the time you have a transport ready for launch. The suits are already in the shop being stripped down and repowered—that’s customary after any training exercise. We can be on a shuttle before nightfall.”

  “Then,” and Pepys’ red hair crackled with the force of his words, “You had better say your goodbyes. You just be sure to give me Stralia and give them their victory.”

  Jack saluted. “I’ll do my best, your highness.” He turned to go, remembered something and turned back. “I swore in a new recruit this afternoon. He’ll stay behind with Lassaday.”

  “A single recruit?” Pepys’ eyebrow went up like a fuzzy red caterpillar. “Who is it?”

  “A former Walker by the name of Denaro, your highness. Colin brought him to me. Said you knew all about it. He shows a lot of potential.”

  Baadluster’s frustration seemed to boil over about then and Jack thought it wise to retreat.

  Jonathan lumbered into the middle of Colin’s afternoon meditations, a harbinger of reality. Colin looked up at him, saw the knifelike frown creasing his aide’s ursine face, and dispensed with scolding him for interrupting.

  “What is it, Jonathan?”

  “Commander Storm is here. He demands to see you.”

  “Ah.” Colin nodded. “Give me a few minutes, then send him in.” He stood up and stretched, then reseated himself. He had thought to himself more than once that the commander’s name was not so much a name as a prophecy and he thought it again now, knowing that Jack would be bristling with indignation—and rightly so.

  The room shuddered slightly when Jack entered, though he was dressed as a mere soldier and not in battle armor. Colin set his teeth. The resonance of the meditation room would bear the shock waves of the commander’s obvious anger for days.

  “Jack. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You’re damn right you have. How long did you think you had before I found out about Denaro?”

  “Not much longer than this. All I needed, actually, was long enough to get him sworn in,” Colin said mildly.

  Jack halted in the middle of the room, in front of the burled wood table and the chair where Colin sat. His light blue eyes had darkened and the wind had torn through his straight hair, tumbling it about. The man had few lines on his face… his shoulders broad, his frame erect, but Colin could never shake his feeling about Jack—the eyes were older than his mid-twenties body. He had a maturity about him that belied his youth. There was a mystery buried somewhere in that man that Colin was not privy to, and Colin wondered if he would live long enough to see it unfold.

  “I don’t like being used, especially by someone I consider a friend.”

  “And if I had told you, would you have accepted Denaro?”

  The commander hesitated. He frowned, the expression pressing lines into a face that did not yet have them permanently etched in. “I don’t know. But you didn’t give me a chance to make that decision, did you?”

  Colin stood up. “No,” he said, regretfully. “I’m afraid I didn’t. And you’re right, Jack. I should have. I should have known you well enough.”

  “What happened?”

  “Pepys wanted Denaro.”

  “Why?”

  The Walker prelate strode a few steps away, to look at a mood painting on the wall. Its swirl of blue colors formed and dissolved in a constant, if gradual, shifting. “I’m not sure why except that Denaro is a militant, and Pepys is afraid. He wanted him where he didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

  “Maybe Pepys is right.” Jack’s voice was calm now. “Denaro has and could cause the two of you a lot of trouble.”

  “Could. Just as you could cause him a lot of trouble. I’m sorry, but it’s not in me to condemn anyone for what they could do. But I couldn’t disobey, either. After all, Pepys is my emperor. So I gave him Denaro in the best way I could.” Colin tired of the blue painting and turned. His blue robes fluttered, giving Jack an eerie sensation that the older man was just an extension of the painting’s possibilities.

  “Denaro is safe from persecution as long as he’s a member of the Knights.”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “What about when he leaves us?”

  “We’ll have to face that when it happens. In the meantime, Pepys has a war to run. He should be sufficiently—distracted—I hope, to forget about Denaro.”

  “Never,” Jack told him. “The man never forgets an enemy.”

  Colin paused, then said, “I’m sorry, Jack. I did not mean to add this to your burdens. You’re right. If you wish, I’ll recall Denaro. We’ll let Pepys take whatever course he intends.”

  “No.” Jack made his way to the room’s entrance. He stopped at the door. “He’s one of mine now, and he’s going to be good. But next time, saint,” and Jack smiled crookedly. “Talk to me first. We might both be on the same side.”

  Colin returned the smile warmly as Jack gave a half-salute and left. The older man’s smile faded. Unlike Jack, Pepys did not know a good man when he had one. It might be the death of his friend.

  Chapter 11

  Amber stared around the immense compound, an uneasy feeling at the nape of her neck, which she couldn’t dispel. Since returning, the pace of their lives had been frantic. The entire barracks was on alert, packing for shipping out even as they trained. She chafed her bare arms as she waited, tracing the feathery blue patterns drawn there. As long as the alien dye permeated her skin, alien senses invaded her soul.

  She sensed the visitor before he reached the front portal, had it open, and was waiting as the street savvy urchin darted out of the courtyard shadows, beyond the view screens of the panning security cameras and within arm’s length of her.

  He skidded to a halt and tossed a palm-sized package at her. “Here’s your jammers,” he said. His upper lip curled in a sneer.

  Amber suppressed her smile, knowing that she’d surprised him, but he wasn’t about to reflect it. She flipped him a three credit disk. “Thank Smithers for me,” she said.

  “Don’t bother with it, lady. He’s sending you the bill.”

  “I’m sure he is,” she returned, but the boy had pivoted and dived back into the shadows, his grubby hand closed tightly about the money.

  She’d embarrassed him because he thought she’d seen him coming. What would he say if he’d known he’d set off every sense she owned: smell, touch, hearing and thought, as well as sight? Amber palmed the door shut and stood a moment, her eyes half-closed. These were extensions of the sensory perceptions Hussiah had given her. Would they wear off with the tattooing? Or would she be driven insane first?

  Amber forced her eyelids up and ripped open the package the street brat had delivered. Two jammers blinked in her palm. One discreetly placed to the fore of the suite and one to the rear… even though the apartment had been swept, she knew that the jammers would keep long-distance ears from hearing them. With a wry smile, she paced the double suite and installed the chips, knowing that Jack would never have thought of it.

  Paranoia can be good, she told herself, and returned to the front door, her silken caftan flowing about her as she paced tensely back and forth until she again sensed a visitor.

  His heat flowed out ahead of him like a swiftly moving fire. Amber hesitated as she went to the door, knowing it wasn’t Jack unless he was furious—and Jack did not have that temperament unless he was in armor and linked with Bogie. Then who—? She keyed on the viewscreen.

  A rawboned man halted in front of the door, brushing his limp brown hair to one side with an impatient hand. His thick lips pursed as he reached out. Amber instinctively disliked the look of the man, but she recognized the cut of his clothing. One of Pepys’ courtiers, probably. What would such a bureaucrat want here?

  She opened the door cautiously. The caftan sleeve slid along her slim arm as
she did so, revealing the blue tattooing. His black eyes drifted toward the sight, took in the phenomenon with a ferocity of interest that almost seared her as he looked back.

  “I’m looking for the young lady who accompanies Commander Storm.”

  “That would be me.” She blocked the door with her form even though the man hardly looked as though he would force his way past. Looked, but not sensed. No. She felt his heat wash over her. Heard the race of his pulse. Could pick out a stray thought even though he kept his mind locked down well. He would do whatever he had to to get what he wanted. She braced herself. “Jack is not here at the moment. He’s working with the troops.”

  “I know. If you would allow me… I’m Vandover Baadluster, the new minister.” She said nothing, but the man’s dark eyes glittered as though he knew what she’d been thinking.

  He waved a long-fingered hand. “May I come in?”

  He set her teeth on edge, but Amber inclined her head. “It’s your street,” she said, her words an echo from her past.

  “Street? Ah. Yes.” Baadluster eased himself in. “From that standpoint, I suppose it is, but the emperor would never want you to feel as though these apartments were other than yours.”

  Amber said nothing. Whoever he was, this man had not come here to make her feel at ease on the palatial grounds. Nor had he come to be silent.

  Baadluster rocked back on his heels. “Have you settled in?”

  “As well as can be expected.” She moved back uneasily, knowing that the man had not come to her to exchange pleasantries. “I… am busy, Minister Baadluster. If I can help you?”

  “Perhaps. I have been investigating the records of my predecessor, Commander Winton. I was distressed to see that you were implicated in several assassinations.”

  Amber felt her skin grow cold and pale. “I was not found guilty. Evidence suggests that the assassin who died on Bythia when he murdered the Ambassador was the same man who struck here.”

  “Unfortunately for you that evidence is never to be available to us again.”

  “I can’t be tried!”

  “No. And there is probably no chance you ever will be. But,” and Baadluster held the word in his teeth a moment. “But future transgressions will not be so easily dismissed.”