Patriots in Arms

by Ben Weaver

  “I’m going to contact her right after this debriefing.”

  “What’s the point? She’ll just lie again. The truth is, the conditioning facility on Exeter is tommyed. Beauregard’s father blew up the one on Aire Wu, so now we can’t be reconditioned. What, you think there’s a third facility no one’s talking about? It’s going to magically appear so our lives can be saved? Maybe you think the Racinians will come back from the dead and build us a new one? Ain’t going to happen. What’s going to happen is that our teeth will start falling out, and we’ll start pissing in our pants.”

  I had seen him rant that way before, back home when he had discovered that his parents had been killed. But then, there had been time for him to come down, to grieve, to get happy pills. I glanced to the door. At any moment Diablo and his cronies would walk in, and I panicked over what Halitov might say. Oh, he’d give them a piece of his warped mind, all right. A big, fat piece.

  4

  Lieutenant Colonel Jean Sheffield, our regimental executive officer, entered the debriefing room, quickly returned our salutes, then started for a chair. Sheffield was an excellent officer, even tempered, and despite her twenty plus years of service, she had a limitless well of energy. At that moment, though, she looked pale, a little grayer than usual, and definitely preoccupied.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but where is Lieutenant Colonel Diablo?” I asked.

  Sheffield blinked off her introspection. “Colonel Diablo? He’s been suspended from duty, pending an investigation into the attack on Columbia Colony.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I won’t mince words, Major. The only reason those Marines made planetfall was because they had our encryption codes. They monitored our communications and pinpointed our defenses. When a window opened, they struck. We’re still holding on to Rexicity, but Columbia is gone.”

  “And the other colonies?”

  “They didn’t touch Govina and Tru Cali like we thought they would, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. Lincoln and Indicity suffered limited aerial bombing, but no ground troops were deployed. This attack was not about gaining territory—”

  “They’re sending us a message,” I finished.

  “That’s right. You lost a lot of good people at LockMar Randall, didn’t you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Most of my battalion. I’m still trying to locate several more MIAs.”

  “Do you have any idea how many civilians died?”

  “I haven’t checked the news, I’ve been so—”

  “Over a hundred million.”

  I glanced to Halitov, whose expression mirrored mine. We just sat there, blankly, unable to comprehend the number.

  Sheffield went on. “The media’s calling it ‘The Columbia Massacre.’ We’re calling it the worst breach of security in the history of the Wardens and the Seventeen System Guard Corps.”

  Halitov snorted. “Why don’t you just call it the biggest screwup ever?”

  “It is,” she said, surprising me with her candor. “But we’re going to contain this breach. Because if we don’t, the war is lost.” She faced me, tensing even more. “Major, I’m not here to debrief you. There are two officers from intell waiting outside.”

  Halitov frowned. “They’re going to scan us?”

  “We have a traitor, Captain. Maybe a whole group. And even though truth is the first casualty of war, no one defies a scan. We’re going to find who did this—no matter what it takes.”

  “Oh, it’s not that you don’t trust us, it’s just that you…don’t trust us,” Halitov said. “Well nobody’s going to poke around my head. Nobody.”

  “This is a direct order. You don’t have a choice. And if you fail to obey it, we’ll use drugs, force, whatever it takes to get what we need.”

  Halitov widened his eyes at me. Yes, if they scanned him they would learn that he had lied to our troops and had kept Delta pad reserved for us. I just shook my head.

  Sheffield rose. “Gentlemen, as I said I didn’t come here to debrief you. Colonel Ishmar requested that I notify you in person that you are both being relieved of combat duty.”

  “Until your investigation is complete,” I added.

  “Negative. If your scans turn up clean, you’ll be reassigned as combat consultants to Colonel Beauregard.”

  I shot to my feet. “Ma’am—”

  “I didn’t make this decision,” she interjected. “But frankly, Major, I do endorse it. At this point, if you and Captain Halitov are not reconditioned, it’s in the best interests of the Wardens to remove you from the line.”

  Halitov punched the table. Hard. “We can’t be reconditioned because—”

  “I know all about it,” said Sheffield. “But the orders are official. They’re final. And they’ve been uploaded to your tablets. Now, let me say for the record that the two of you have sacrificed more than anyone could’ve asked, and its officers like you that make me proud to be part of this organization. Good luck to you both.”

  We snapped to, saluted, and watched her go, taking our careers with her.

  Once the hatch closed, Halitov swore, picked up his chair, ready to toss it across the room.

  “Don’t,” I said. “It’s not worth the effort.”

  He thought a moment. “You’re right.” Then he threw the chair anyway. “See, that’s what we are now. Fucking furniture.”

  We stood there another moment until the two dour-looking intell officers came inside and handed us the c-shaped cerebroes. They issued the perfunctory promise that they would search only for military-related activities. Halitov found another chair, sat, held the cerebro in his hands, but wouldn’t put it on. I implored him with my gaze.

  “Captain Halitov, we’re ready to begin,” said one officer.

  “You’re ready to begin?” Halitov shot to his feet and threw the cerebro. It struck the wall and broke into several pieces. “I’m ready to leave.”

  “Rooslin,” I shouted.

  But he was already past the hatch.

  Less than a minute later, two big corporals dragged a semiconscious Halitov back into the room and dropped him into a chair. He smiled drunkenly at me as one of the intell guys returned with a new cerebro and slid it onto the back of Halitov’s head. “They stuck a needle in my neck,” Halitov said, slurring his words. “It hurt.”

  “Always the hard way with you,” I sang through a sigh.

  He giggled. “Never go down without a fight!”

  The scan took nearly an hour and left me exhausted. Afterward, a midshipman directed me to my quarters while Halitov was carried down to the sickbay, where he’d receive more drugs to sober up. I sent off a priority communiqué to Ms. Brooks, who had established her mobile office aboard Vanguard One, but the ship had recently made a tawt and the computer was still calculating its location with the satnet computer. The message might not reach her for several days.

  Earlier, anxiety had stolen my common sense; I should’ve set my tablet to automatically alert me if the names Taris Markland or Katya Jing appeared on my battalion’s check-in roster instead of repeatedly checking for them manually. I had finally made that adjustment, and when the table beeped the alert, I frantically read the name Taris Markland and discovered that my brother’s ATC had just arrived. The ship had taken heavy fire, and after tawting into the system, it had been towed all the way home. I bolted for my hatch, keyed open the door, and nearly ran over Ms. Elise Rainey.

  “Whoa. Are you rushing off to see me?”

  “Oh, no. Sorry,” I said, already starting away from her. “Do you need something? Because I have to go.”

  “I was just coming to say thanks. And good-bye. After I make my report, they’re shipping me out to Kennedy-Centauri to cover the riots.”

  I turned back, went to her. “My father’s there. If I give you the information, would you mind checking on him for me? I’ve sent several messages, but I haven’t heard back.”

  “My ride doesn’t leave for a couple of hours. Bay twenty-seven.
I’ll be at the gate.”

  “You could just give me your satnet address, and I’ll send you the info.”

  She looked wounded. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You really are naïve…”

  I shrugged. “About what?”

  “I was thinking that since I kind of saved your life, you might like to buy me a drink.”

  My cheeks grew hot. “I owe you that, don’t I…”

  “Major, I’m not looking for a quick ride on your bunk, but I’m suddenly thinking that we can keep helping each other. I travel a lot. I might be able to do you a favor now and again, just like this one with your dad.”

  She had piqued my interest—and my skepticism. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing classified, unless you’re volunteering. Just give me a little data once in a while. A tip from you could put me in the right place at the right time.”

  “So I have a new satnet pal.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right, I’ll meet you down at twenty-seven before you go.” I took off running.

  “You’d better be there,” she hollered after me.

  Halitov was just leaving the sickbay when I arrived. “They’re going to court-martial me, I know it,” he said, rubbing the corners of his eyes.

  “They just brought Jarrett in,” I reported nervously. “Did you see him?”

  “See him? Have you seen the place? It’s huge. There are a couple hundred patients in there.”

  My former XO wasn’t kidding. We stepped into a white-walled warren of small exam rooms with curtains instead of hatches. Those rows of curtains stretched out for literally hundreds of meters. We eventually found the triage desk and checked with the nurse there, who, after some checking, found Jarrett’s bed number—but not before I mistakenly asked her to search for Jarrett St. Andrew instead of Taris Markland.

  “Sir, you can’t go in there,” said an exhausted young doctor, tapping data into some kind of modified medical tablet strapped to his forearm.

  Halitov shifted between me and the doctor. “His brother’s in there. And don’t you know who we are?”

  I glared at Halitov. “I’m sorry about him,” I told the doc. “If I could just take a peek. Is he conscious?”

  An alarm sounded from the doctor’s tablet. He scanned the screen. “Look, just stay here. I’ll be right back.” He sprinted away, turned a corner.

  Halitov reached for the curtain.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

  But it was too late. There was my brother, eyes closed, sitting up on the gurney. I couldn’t help but notice how very small he appeared. No legs from the hips down. One arm floating in a tube of bluish-gray solution meant to help his body accept the synthskin field medics had applied to his bicep.

  “I told the doctor no visitors,” Jarrett said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Halitov. “Your brother’s here because he loves you and cares about you.”

  Jarrett looked at me, but I could only meet his gaze for a moment. The tears were ready to fall, but I had to be strong for him. “They’ll get you on nanotech right away. Regrow those legs. Couple months, you’ll be back to your company.”

  “What company?” he groaned. “You mean the four people I have left?”

  “Aw, don’t worry about that,” said Halitov. “They’re standing in line to serve with you. You’ll have more cherries than you know what to do with. Me, on the other hand? I’m washed up. Just like your bother.”

  “Would you go?” Jarrett asked Halitov, his tone leaving little room for an answer.

  But, of course, Halitov supplied one. “No, I’m staying so you don’t turn this into a pity party. You’re a Colonial Warden. All right, you got your ass kicked. Lost your legs. But you’re not going to lie here and feel sorry for yourself. We don’t do that.”

  “Is that so?” I interjected. “You’ve been pissing and moaning since I met you at the academy.”

  “I’m not talking to you,” he shot back.

  “Look,” Jarrett shouted. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m just lying here, fantasizing about the fourteen different ways I can kill this asshole using only one arm.” He raised a fist at Halitov, who grinned broadly. An ugly grin.

  “Rooslin, outside,” I said, then dragged a stool to my brother’s bedside.

  Halitov rolled his eyes. “I’ll catch up with you.” Then he yanked open the curtain and strode away.

  “He’s telling me not to feel sorry for myself?” Jarrett asked incredulously.

  “Just ignore him.”

  “How did you two ever become buddies?”

  “Blame it on Sergeant Pope.”

  “Yeah, Pope. A good man…”

  “So, how’re you feeling? They got you on a lot of meds, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He pushed up on his elbows.

  “No, don’t do that. Just rest easy.”

  “Scott, I want to say something. It isn’t easy for me.”

  “Well, you did lose your legs…”

  “No, I mean we both have epi, but you’ve always had to wear yours on your cheek, where everyone can see it. I was the lucky one because my genes figured out a way to hide it. I mean, I really am a gennyboy, but no one knows. I should’ve been like you. Then I would’ve understood. It would’ve made me stronger. And it would’ve made all of this easier.”

  “Easier? I don’t think so.”

  He closed his eyes, took in a long, slow breath. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  “You want me to go?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “All right. I’ll check back in.” I rose tentatively from the stool, then glanced once more at him before leaving.

  Out in the hall, I met up with his doctor, who wasn’t thrilled I had seen Jarrett. I didn’t care and demanded a full report, but since Jarrett’s name and DNA signature had been altered, I could not prove that he and I were brothers, and the doctor would not release confidential information to me without official orders.

  In the months to come, Jarrett would explain why he wished he wore the mark of our defect. It seems the doctor had told him that nanotech regrowth would not work because of his epineuropathy. Our mutation had finally reared its ugly head in my brother’s life, and he had felt lost and utterly unprepared to deal with it. He would not return to the line in a few months, like Halitov had suggested. He would be fitted with prosthetics. He would become a cyborg. And that process could take over a year to complete, after which Jarrett would have to re-qualify for combat duty. My brother was in for a long, frustrating, and painful recovery.

  About a half hour later, Halitov and I got drunk in my quarters. It’s what you do when you’ve just been stripped of your command. Jing was still listed MIA, and I had forgotten all about my meeting with Elise Rainey.

  “No matter what ship we’re on, you always manage to score a bottle of Tau Ceti vodka,” I said, then took a long pull on my glass.

  “Well, shit, we’re in the Tau Ceti system. If I can’t score some here, then there’s none to be had.” He sat cross-legged on the deck, leaning against the bulkhead, shirt off, one hand stroking the bushy gray hair sprouting from his chest. “So tell me, Mr. Scott St. Andrew. What the hell is a combat consultant?”

  “Oh, we get to tell Colonel Beauregard that his planning and tactics are good. Because if we don’t act supportive, then he brings in other combat consultants who are.”

  “We’re going to be yes men. Furniture.” He groaned. “Hey, you hear anything about our scans? At this point I’m looking forward to my court-martial.”

  “I think intell’s still looking at the data. They’re supposed to contact Sheffield, then she’ll let us know what’s going on. All we do now is sit tight.”

  “And drink.”

  And we did. For another ten minutes. Then, after a long silence, Halitov asked, “You ever get afraid?”

  “You mean of dying?”

&
nbsp; “No, I mean about Jing. And hey, back when I said you let her rot—”

  “You didn’t mean it, I know. Rooslin, I can tell when you really mean something. Don’t worry about that. And yeah, I’m scared.”

  “But you don’t love her yet, do you? I mean, you and Dina…when you looked at her, man, I could see that whatever was there was a hell of lot stronger than the Guard Corps, the war, all of it. But Jing’s different. Maybe even better. She’s…she’s you, man. Like a perfect match. I thought me and Kristi could be like you guys, but deep down I knew the universe would fuck me over and take her away.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the universe hates me.”

  “Maybe that’s because you hate it back even more. Maybe you should try accepting what it throws at you instead of fighting all the time.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, you’re going to do it? Just like that?”

  “No, but I’ll say okay if it’ll get us talking about something else. So, do you compare Jing to Dina?”

  “You make it sound like Jing and I should have this intense relationship. I’m not sure where it’s going with her—if it’s going anywhere.”

  “You need to have sex. I mean everybody thought you guys were rocking the rack anyway.”

  “Thank you, doctor. I finally realize that sex is definitely the determining factor in a relationship. I’ll keep that in mind—if she comes back.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Halitov said, wiggling his brows. “She’s standing right behind you.”

  I craned my head and jolted. There she was, clad in dust-covered utilities, looking as though she had just come off the battlefield. “Oh my god. How long have you—”

  “Long enough,” she said, then wiped her soiled cheek on her sleeve. “I guess I should’ve knocked, but I couldn’t wait, so I cheated.”

  I slapped a palm on the bulkhead, stood, started toward her, tripped over one of my boots, and collapsed into her arms.

  “Oh, Scott, you are so drunk,” she said, pulling me back onto my feet.

  “And you’re so alive. Thank God.”

  She trembled, glanced away. “I should be dead. Like them.”