Patriots in Arms

by Ben Weaver

  Halitov chuckled. “Yeah, she’s all right.”

  I took her head in my hand, closed my eyes, and kissed her long and passionately.

  “I get the next kiss,” said Halitov.

  Jing broke the embrace, smirked at him, then softened her gaze on me. “We’ll have time later. Now,” she added teasingly, “where’s my ring?”

  “I don’t have the ring. All I have is me. Or at least most of me.”

  She touched my regeneration tube. “What happened?”

  “Paul.”

  “Did you get him?”

  “We tried. But it was the colonel. He did it.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “It’s terrible, all right,” said Halitov. “But the colonel did the right thing. He remembered Columbia.”

  On that grave note I stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m still drugged up,” Jing said. “You’ll have to carry me.”

  I lifted my stump and frowned.

  Halitov lifted his brows. “I’ll carry you.”

  “Sergeant?” I called, smirking at my sexually deprived friend. “Get two medics and a long backboard in here ASAP.”

  “Sir, yes, sir!”

  A week after leaving Nereid, Halitov, Jing, and I sat in Ms. Brooks’s office aboard Vanguard One, waiting for her to get out of a meeting. Halitov and I had just finished our most recent treatment with Dr. Vesbesky, and I couldn’t say for certain whether it was his efforts or our own, but according to the good doctor’s analysis, we were, at least for the moment, aging at a normal pace. Vesbesky said he and scientists on Exeter were developing a treatment to actually reverse the damage. We knew our aged bodies would revert to their prior condition if we spent an extended period of time inside the Minsalo Caves, but we also knew the effect would not last. The idea was to make it permanent. Halitov and I remained dubious of Vesbesky’s efforts; still, we were two soldiers who actually did want to live forever.

  Of course, that would never happen, winning the war was beginning to seem less improbable. Joint Colonial and Western Alliance forces had won back three more systems, and Ms. Elise Rainey’s news reports took on an almost jovial tone. Inter-system communications were improving, given our new victories, and I sent off a chip to my father and brother. Amazingly, I received a reply just two days afterward. Jarrett was recovering slowly but steadily and getting used to the idea that he would become a cyborg. I had told him about my arm, said we would commiserate the next time we got together. He told me to stop feeling sorry for myself, then tilted the camera toward my father. Dad looked good and said he was working with one of Inte-Micro’s subsidiaries. He said he liked the job and the people, but most of all he liked working under a real sky—even if you still couldn’t breathe the air. As a geologist, he had resigned to living his life in a hole, but life on Kennedy-Centauri had freed him. He didn’t miss our homeworld one bit and was getting ready to put a deposit on a small condominium located in one of Plymouth’s suburbs. He did, however, miss me and told me no less than three times during the brief message.

  A frazzled Ms. Brooks rushed into her office, apologized, told us to sit tight another moment, then called her assistant, saying, “Is she out there? Very good. I’ll let you know.” She pursed her lips and faced us. “Paul’s mother, Mrs. Julia Beauregard, would like to speak with you.”

  “Why?” Halitov asked, already shifting in his seat.

  “I’m not sure, and I’m not comfortable with asking. But this is up to you.”

  “Really? You don’t call this an ambush?” Halitov glanced to the door. “Talk about pressure…”

  “Actually, Mrs. Beauregard came by on her way out. She’s going home, but she wanted to see you first.”

  “I think it’s a bad idea,” said Jing. “And I’m not sure I can deal with this right now.”

  Halitov’s brows tightened. “She looking for closure or what?”

  “I don’t care what she’s looking for,” I said. “The colonel did something I doubt any of us could do. And now his wife wants to say something. We should listen. We owe it to the man.”

  Jing’s gaze fell to her lap. She sighed in disgust, then said, “All right. Bring on the guilt and stress.”

  I cocked a brow at Rooslin, who groaned. “Bring her in, but I can’t promise I won’t tell her what a rat fuck her son was.”

  “She doesn’t need to hear that,” I said sharply. “And you’ll behave like an officer.”

  “Yes, you will,” added Ms. Brooks.

  Halitov threw up his hands. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Ms. Brooks contacted her assistant, who escorted Mrs. Beauregard into the office. Regal-looking, with snow-white hair and sad, blue eyes, the colonel’s wife managed to smile briefly as Ms. Brooks made introductions. Then came an awkward silence as Mrs. Beauregard took a seat and clutched her purse tightly to her breast. “This won’t take long. I guess I’m here to say that I’m sorry for what my son did. Not many people know this, but everything that happened is my fault.”

  I glanced to Jing for her reaction, but she kept her head low and scratched nervously at her pant leg. Halitov set his jaw and nodded.

  Mrs. Beauregard went on: “It was my fault that I got kidnapped in the first place. I was tired of having no privacy, tired of having rude and insensitive security people around me every hour of every day. So I slipped away. Went on a shopping spree. And an Alliance recon team snatched me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she began losing her breath.

  “Mrs. Beauregard, if this is—”

  The colonel’s wife waved off Ms. Brooks. “I’m all right. It’s just that if I hadn’t gone fucking shopping, my son would still be alive.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jing said. “Anything could’ve happened. You didn’t ask Paul to betray the colonies—did you?”

  “Of course not. And I knew when they got me that my husband would do the right thing. He and I understand that we don’t live normal lives. There are responsibilities much greater than the two of us. He would not be blackmailed. He’s a good soldier. He always has been.”

  “And he expected the same from Paul, but that was never what Paul wanted,” I said. “What he wanted was to tell his father the truth, but he never could.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ve known that for years. And I tried to tell my husband, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Only to Paul.”

  I took in a deep breath, then tried to exhale away the uneasiness and the pain. “I’m sorry for what happened, ma’am. And I guess you could go on blaming yourself, but Paul bargained with the Alliances. That was his choice. Not yours.”

  She pondered that, blotting her eyes with a tissue. “I was a good mother. I tried to do everything I could for him. And I don’t care if you don’t forgive me. Please try to forgive him. Please…” Mrs. Beauregard stood, and Ms. Brooks rushed forward. They exchanged a few hushed words, then Ms. Brooks saw her to the door.

  Halitov sat there, shaking his head.

  Jing backhanded tears from her eyes, sniffled, then reached for my hand. As I took hers, I leaned toward Halitov and said, “Thanks.”

  “For what? Keeping my mouth shut? You know, she came here to explain it to us. She couldn’t leave it alone. And you know what? I don’t forgive her. And I don’t forgive her son. Think about it. Some rich bitch colonel’s wife can’t stand her bodyguards, goes shopping, and fucks up the entire war effort.” Halitov chuckled darkly. “That’s just great. Just great.”

  “What about you, Ms. Brooks?” Jing asked. “I’ve never heard you offer an opinion on any of this.”

  Ms. Brooks dropped hard into her chair, leaned back, and shut her eyes. “People like the colonel and me, we’ve convinced ourselves that our duty is more important than relationships and families. But for me at least, being a martyr is getting old. Very old.”

  Jing edged forward on her chair. “So do you think the colonel did the right thing by refusing to bargain for his wife?”

  �
�As horrible as it may sound, yes, I think he made the right call. But he could have never seen the consequences. And if I were him right now, I’d be thinking that the price of service is just way too high. First he had to come to terms with the loss of his wife. Then he was forced to kill his own son. I couldn’t go on after that. I don’t know how he does.”

  Halitov abruptly stood. “Ma’am? The captain requests permission to leave, go to the bar, and get seriously drunk.”

  Brooks smiled faintly. “I’m right behind you, Captain.”

  “Me, too,” said Jing.

  “I’ll catch up,” I said. “I’m not finished moving.”

  Ms. Brooks had secured larger and more comfortable quarters for us aboard Vanguard One, and I had transferred everything out of my old quarters, save for a few books, photographs, and that ridiculous tree Paul had given me as a get well present. He had said that I needed “a little greenery in my life.” I had not watered the thing, and its limbs sagged a bit, its heart-shaped leaves and pink flowers brittle and turning brown along the edges. I stood there, staring at the tree, trying to decide what I should do with it. Paul’s actions had already made an indelible mark. I didn’t need a tree to remind me of him.

  After asking around at the bar, Halitov’s sister said she wanted the redbud, and later that evening I carried it down to her quarters. Thanks to Ms. Brooks, Dobraska had been “interned” aboard Vanguard One until such time that she would be transferred to a camp on Rexi-Calhoon. Ms. Brooks assured Halitov that that transfer would never happen. It never did.

  The story of that tree does not end with Halitov’s sister. About ten years afterward, during a trip to a nursery on Rexi-Calhoon to buy plants for a home I had bought there, I came across another redbud. An attached label explained that the redbud is also called the Judas Tree, from the belief that Judas Iscariot in the Christian Bible hanged himself from such a tree. Was it just a coincidence that Paul, a traitor to the colonies, had chosen to give me a tree named after one of the most famous traitors in history? Or had he been trying to tell me something?

  19 February, 2322

  I awoke with a start in my hospital bed and immediately accessed my tablet. I remembered that President Vinnery had, several weeks prior, sent me a list of intelligence officers she had wanted upgraded to level A7. Funny thing was, she had asked why I hadn’t pried into the request. In truth, I hadn’t given it a second thought until she had queried. The memo had seemed in order, and there was nothing suspicious about upgrading security clearances to people working in volatile zones. The list of names appeared on my screen, all fourteen of them.

  “It can’t be this easy,” I muttered aloud.

  The computer showed me log-in dates and times, then cross-referenced them with election postings from representatives of Mars and Jupiter colonies. Was it a coincidence that all fourteen officers had been logged into the system during the election postings? I checked their individual duty logs, which unfortunately looked in order. Then I reviewed the supervisor’s log, and there was nothing suspicious there. A call came in from Holtzman’s operative aboard the Falls Morrow, and while he believed the fourteen officers were working with Vinnery, had no other leads to implicate them and no hard evidence. We had nothing.

  I called Holtzman with the news, then added, “I was thinking about a tree Paul Beauregard gave me a long time ago. Turned out to be a Judas Tree. I guess he couldn’t keep all of that guilt inside, and deep down, he needed to tell somebody. The same goes for Bren, who, in his own way, tried to warn me. So I was hoping Vinnery might do something unconsciously to tip us off, but she didn’t.”

  “I see. I guess we’ll have to bring her down and let the rest get away.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “I’m an old military man, sir. We always have a plan.”

  Holtzman thought a moment, nodded. “I think I know what you have in mind.” He consulted his watch. “Colonel, my breakfast meeting with Vinnery is in two hours. Will you be well enough to attend?”

  “Mr. President, if this were my deathbed, I’d make them wheel it over there.”

  He smiled tightly. “See you in a couple of hours.”

  17

  President Holtzman had loaned me four of his security officers, and their leader, a dark-faced lieutenant, raised an index finger before we left the hospital room. “Sir, just give us a moment to clear the route.” He barked a few more orders over his tactical frequency. “All right. We’re ready.”

  I gave myself the once over, smoothed a wrinkle from my dark uniform and straightened one of my medals before heading briskly into the empty corridor with two security officers in front, two behind. We reached the lift, rode it down to the first floor, then caught a heavily armored hover waiting for us outside a service entrance. Holtzman’s people were sneaking me out the back door, but across the street, journalists and paparazzi had expected such a ploy and jockeyed for positions behind force beam barriers. I glanced at those reporters and felt a sharp, hollow pain in my gut. Elise Rainey was dead. My entire security team was dead. And I was about to confront the woman responsible. As I plopped into the hover, I wished that I was just having a nightmare, that in a moment I would wake up and realize that I should have ordered something light for dinner.

  Twenty minutes later, we reached the capitol, and my borrowed team rushed me up to a small dining room adjacent to the presidential suite. Wong was already there, and he took my hand in his own, covered it with the other. All he said was, “Colonel.” But he needn’t say more. He gestured toward an ornate table, where expensive silverware and fine china glistened atop a lace cloth. A waiter was already pouring me a cup of coffee as I sat.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” said Holtzman. He reached the table and gripped the back of his chair. “President Vinnery is on her way up now.”

  “She’ll probably have six, maybe eight with her,” I said. “Are your people ready?”

  Holtzman glanced to the ceiling, then to the walls. “They’re ready.”

  “Mr. President, this could get messy. Very messy. Still, I just got off the line with Fleet Command, and Admiral Corithius assures me that his ships will not move against Terran targets without proper authentication.”

  “So I assume your call with the vice president went well?”

  “I wouldn’t say it went well. He was shocked. But he is standing by.”

  “And our fleet is preparing to tawt away from Rexi-Calhoon,” said Wong. “That may soften the blow, if only a little.”

  “Here she is now,” said Holtzman.

  I rose as President Vinnery crossed into the room, her blonde hair flawlessly styled, her dark green business attire revealing subtle but flattering curves. One look at her and you thought, strong woman. Professional. Words like cunning or corrupt didn’t come to mind. She brightened a little as she caught sight of Holtzman and Wong, shook hands with them, then turned up the false congeniality as she regarded me. “Colonel St. Andrew. I didn’t know you were joining us. My God, how are you? I just heard.”

  “I’m still alive, ma’am,” I said, locking my gaze on her until she flinched and looked away.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, turning to the presidents. “I need a moment with the colonel.”

  I looked to Holtzman, who tightened his lips, shook his head.

  “Madam President,” began Wong. “We have urgent business to discuss, and it cannot wait.”

  “I know that,” she said impatiently. “But Colonel St. Andrew won’t be joining us. I’ve ordered him back home, and it’s clear he needs some rest.” She squinted at the synthskin repair job on my head.

  “We want him to stay,” said Holtzman, who shifted around the table and withdrew a chair for Vinnery. His gaze said get in the chair. Now.

  She took a deep breath, glanced to her bodyguards who had taken up posts around the room, then tossed me a dirty look as she begrudgingly complied. “Before we begin, I’d like to remind you that my ta
c is linked directly to our admiral at Fleet Command. I am but one authentication away from ordering a strike on Terran targets.”

  “We know, Madam President,” said Wong. “And our fleet is awaiting a similar order. But we’re not here to discuss that. The people of Mars and Jupiter have not been properly heard. The votes of their representatives have been tampered with.”

  Vinnery laughed. “You actually believe those rumors?”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt that rumors equal ratings,” said Holtzman.

  Vinnery snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “But in this case, those journalists out there? They’re dead-on.”

  “Dead-on? Really? If this is a joke, it’s a bad one. Look at me. I’m not laughing anymore.”

  “There’s nothing to laugh about,” I said, just a few heartbeats away from throwing the table aside and strangling the woman myself.

  But it was time to implement my plan, an old-fashioned bluff that might get her to admit the truth:

  “Madam President, we have indisputable evidence indicating that you, along with fourteen colonial intelligence officers and nine more in the Eastern and Western Alliances, engaged in electronic vote tampering in the houses of the Jupiter and Mars colonies. We’ve already taken this evidence to a special prosecutor, who’s in the process of drawing up a formal indictment. When those papers are complete, we’re going to release everything we have to the press.”

  Vinnery, who had been adding cream to her coffee, didn’t miss a beat as she stirred, then lifted the cup to her lips. “I know all about your evidence and your special prosecutor.”

  That took us all aback. “So you admit to working with those officers?” I asked.

  She sipped her coffee, winced. “These Terran beans are always too strong.”

  “Madam President, would you like to see our evidence?” asked Holtzman, who traded an uneasy look with me.

  She glanced innocently at him. “No.”

  I banged a fist on the table, rattling silverware and nerves. “Bren told me what you said, that I’d never go along with it, that I’m all about duty and honor. You ordered him to kill me, didn’t you?”