Rev frowned. He wanted to say that he, as a “provincial Marine,” had pretty much done that not six months ago. As if reading his thoughts, she turned to him, her eyes cold. He wondered what she knew about him. Hopefully, not much.
Luckily, she shifted her attention to Lieutenant Macek. “You. You’ve got a you-ni-ver-si-tee ed-u-cay-shun,” she said, making it sound like an insult. “What do you think?”
The lieutenant cleared his throat, his social arm fingers tapping his thigh. “We’re there to learn to work with soldiers from other nations, so we can work together when we need to. Like fighting the tin-asses.”
“A little better, but not quite right. So, let me explain it to you. The directorate doesn’t give a flying fig if you ever lift a finger in combat or not. What you do as a Marine is immaterial. We’ve got lots of Marines to fight our battles.”
Rev glanced around at the others. Everyone looked confused, so at least it wasn’t just him.
“So, let me lay it out for you. First, you are there to remind the rest of humanity that we’re players in the grand game. If we didn’t have Marines with the ground troops and ships assigned to the home fleet, then we’d be signaling that we are not active participants, that we’re like the Denters, and you see how well that worked out for them.”
Rev grunted. The Denters were a two-planet alliance who had chosen to stay out of the Congress of Humanity, even as an associated nation. During the war, one planet had been scorched by the Centaurs, and the second had suffered tremendous casualties. No one had come right out and said that the fleets which arrived for their defense were late because of their stance, but it didn’t take much imagination to wonder if that was true.
“Second, you are there to make contacts, yes, as the lieutenant just said. But not just contacts. The Navy deploys to the Home Guard with their own ships, the crews all Union. You, however, will be intermixed with soldiers from throughout the galaxy. You are to keep your ears to the ground and pick up whatever you can glean from conversations. During your term of service, you will be debriefed every four months, so remember everything you can. You’ll be getting a class tomorrow with some techniques you can use.”
“Why not just download whatever we hear from our battle buddies?” Randigold asked, her tone showing that she still smarted from the woman’s put down.
To Rev’s surprise, the woman just laughed. “Smart question, girl. The short answer is that your AIs will be limited in their capabilities while in the home system and aboard any vessel under Council orders.”
“Limited?” Randigold asked, almost as if a challenge.
“Limited. Not by choice, but because we had to sign onto the treaty. Before you leave here, your AIs will be somewhat downgraded to meet the requirements.”
“Did you know this?” Rev subvocalized.
Another short answer. Rev didn’t like the idea of Punch being neutered. Things hadn’t been the same since he’d refused Rev’s order at the battle at Bluebonnet Meadow, but to have his capabilities limited suddenly had Rev feeling somewhat naked.
“So, that’s why you are going to have to learn to remember, to take notes. It isn’t a perfect solution, but some important observations have been uncovered by Marines serving in the Home Guard. Of particular interest, of course, are the karnans you’ll be serving with.”
“What’s a karnan?”
Rev frowned. He’d named his IBHU Pashu, short for the mythical Hindu sword Pashupatastra. Just a coincidence, he knew. But the connection to Hindu mythology was a little unsettling.
“And finally, if you are trying to gather information, you can bet that the soldiers from other nations are doing the same. So, you need to learn how to reveal nothing. We don’t need to get into a who can piss the farthest contest. We withhold our . . .” the deputy-director said before trailing off.
“But that’s my normal spiel I give. Looking out at the six of you, I guess that’s no longer the case. We’re showing all of you off. As is the Manifest Destiny with their karnans. So, maybe we are seeing who can piss farther, us or them.”
She seemed a little too pleased with herself over that analogy.
“Now, you six from New Hope and another six will be the center of attention. As will the karnans. Both of you will be under intense scrutiny by every nation of humanity. They’ll want to know if you’re just the modern version of the Genesians, and if you are, what they need to do to shut you down. Aside from that, like I said a moment ago, we do want to see how well you stack up against the karnans, but at the same time, we don’t want to reveal too much about the science of who you are. To them or to anyone else.”
She paused to see if that was sinking in. “You’ll be going through some intensive training on how to interact with the others tomorrow. We’ve got a skilled staff, so pay attention.
“And know this. I’ll be here with you through the entire process. And if I have my doubts, no matter how small, about any of you, I’ll pull you. No debate, no second chances. Nothing.”
She took a deep breath and seemed to relax just a bit. “But for today, we’re going to give you some basic lessons on daily life aboard Titan and Enceladus and the separate and often Byzantine social mores of that beast we call the Congress of Humanity.”
3
“How does it feel?” Rev asked Ten.
“Doesn’t hurt none. It’s just the damned itching that’s driving me batty. And they can’t give me anything ’cause it would interfere with the process.”
As if that reminded her, she started scratching at the edge of the regen chamber that stopped just short of her rib cage. Ten had lost both legs and part of her pelvis during the tanks’ first clash with the Centaurs on New Hope. Rev had been amazed—and happy, of course—that she’d survived, and now he was curious as to the process. Not just because he couldn’t imagine that she was regrowing a good portion of her lower abdomen and legs, but because regen could be in his future. Not for a while, but someday.
With just an arm, his wouldn’t be as drastic. He could wear a regen tube like a cast. Ten was . . . well, her entire lower body was stuck inside that cylinder, and she’d be inside the thing for two years at a minimum.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a bare whisper. “If I can ask, how do you, uh . . .”
“How do I take a crap?” Ten said with a laugh. “That’s what everyone wants to know. But enough about me and my medical woes. This is your hail and farewell, Rev. Drink up, man!”
Rev dutifully took a gulp of his beer, noting that she didn’t answer the question. But he’d probably overstepped his bounds, so he didn’t press the issue. Not really his business.
Hussein grabbed a pitcher and refilled his glass. “Where the hell’s Miko?” he asked. “She’s gonna miss the send-off.”
Rev shrugged his shoulders. He was hoping Tomiko would come, but there’d been a distinctive cooling-off between them over the last three months, and that hurt. Tomiko was his best friend. But he hadn’t handled telling her about his orders to the Home Guard well at all, and then, he’d compounded it by . . .
He looked across the table where Malaika was sitting, talking to Orpheus. He’d seen a lot of Malaika over the last three months. A lot. As if feeling his attention, she looked up and caught his eyes. A knowing smile came over her face, and she pursed her lips slightly as if kissing him, before turning back to whatever Orpheus was saying.
Rev managed not to grimace. Not that the time spent with Malaika hadn’t been good. It had been downright great on so many levels. And the night before, his last one on New Hope, had been . . .
Well, he didn’t need to get lost in those images now. In three hours, he’d be boarding the shuttle for his ride to the home system
. And if he was honest with himself, he was glad to be leaving. He and Malaika had promised that night, three months ago, that there was no commitment, that there was nothing serious. But since then, Malaika seemed to be forgetting that promise. She’d be getting out of the Marines in another month, and she’d been talking about renting an apartment where Rev could stay when he came back to visit, even asking his advice on furniture and other domestic questions.
Rev had proven himself to be pretty dense when it came to understanding relationships, but it sure seemed like she thought there was something serious going on between them.
Maybe I’ve been thinking that, too.
But even if she was getting out, Rev wasn’t. And if having a relationship while in uniform was hard enough, Rev was going to be half-way across the spiral arm. No, better just make a clean break now for the duration, at least.
He was going to miss everyone, though. He looked around the table. His posse: Bundy—soon to be Second Lieutenant Bundy—Ten, Orpheus, Fyr, the newlyweds Cricket and Udu, and Yancey. All they were missing was Tomiko. Ten, Yancey, and Rev were all a little worse for wear, but maybe St. Chesty had really been looking down on them because they’d all made it through the war in one piece—well, with Ten and him, a little less than one full piece.
Yancey ordered another round of Hausner. The pitcher rose over the bar, then started its journey along the rails hung from the ceiling. It arrived above the table and gently descended.
“Your buddy there sure likes to make the orders and watch them come,” Hussein said.
“Simple pleasures for simple minds,” Ten said with a laugh.
“Hey, not criticizing. It is pretty cool. And everyone seems to like this place,” Hussein said, gesturing at the crowded bar.
He had a point. Leteeka’s had never been the most popular bar, which is why Rev and the posse liked it. Probably in part because of the upgrades, but more likely because not all of the bars in the city had been rebuilt and reopened yet, the place was packed, even on a Wednesday night.
“Well, you and the teams can help keep it going while I’m gone,” Rev said, lifting his glass.
“Deal,” Hussein said, clinking his glass with Rev’s.
If the posse managed to survive the war, Rev’s Raider platoon hadn’t. So many had been lost. Staff Sergeant Montez, Nix, Tanu, Badem, Yazzie, Lieutenant Harisa, McAnt, Gizzy. Joining Rev’s hail and farewell were Hussein, Strap, Porter, Radić, and Doc Paul from Third Team, and Pierson and some newbie whose name Rev had already forgotten from Second Team. Captain Omestori, Top Thapa, and Master Guns Tuala had stopped by earlier to buy the table a round of drinks, give Rev a First Raider Platoon plaque, and wish him luck, but they’d long since left for wherever the SNCOs and officers liked to hang out.
And, of course, Malaika. All to send Rev off. And suddenly, it felt real. These were his friends, his comrades in arms. He was leaving them, and for what? He could have turned down the orders, even if it was the commandant himself who’d decided he should go. He could have refused and waited until he was discharged, then joined his dad with the BOCT, working through his apprenticeship.
Yeah, right, he thought, tapping his social arm on the table. And Pashu? It’s not like they’re going to let me waltz out of here with that kind of weapon.
Right now, his IBHU was crated up and at the spaceport, ready to accompany him to the home system. Whatever he was going to face over the next three years, he was going to be well-armed for it.
Well-armed. Ha! I should tell Punch that.
But he refrained. As was usual now, his battle buddy was quiet, not intruding unless asked a direct question. Things were a little different with him since the invasion. No more jokes, for one. It was as if Rev had dialed back down his Personality Quotient. And now, with him already “neutered” as per the Council’s orders, Rev didn’t know if they’d ever get back to the easy relationship they’d had.
Rev didn’t think it was just the neutering, though. Punch had already seemed more reticent, and the only time Rev had questioned him about it, Punch had assured him that nothing had changed and that he was operating at full capacity. And in tactical exercises, that was correct. But he didn’t seem like “him.” He seemed like a normal AI, programmed to run a household or a manufacturing line.
Add the adjustments to limit his capabilities, and Rev didn’t know what to make of Punch. He’d long ago decided that Punch was more than his helpful battle buddy, and that he probably kept track of Rev and reported that up the chain of command, so directly confronting him was out. He could ask someone else, but he also didn’t want to highlight a potential problem. If Punch was malfunctioning, he knew his orders to Titan would be canc’d.
All told, Rev was a little sad. That was a far cry from the recruit who hadn’t even wanted a battle buddy in the first place.
Bundy stood up and clanged a spoon against his glass before stepping around to stand behind Rev. “OK, folks, listen up. I guess everyone’s here who’s going to be coming.”
Rev’s musing about Punch was snapped, and he stole a glance at the door. No Tomiko.
Punch and Miko. I’m feeling a little abandoned.
“And time’s getting short. Our guest of honor here,” he said, clapping a hand on Rev’s shoulder, “has to be at the spaceport in an hour and a half. Why, you ask? Why would he be leaving our dear home, abandoning his bestest and fantasticalest friends?
“Well, the answer, as you all know, is that Reverent Pelletier, the one-armed wonder who single-handedly—see what I did there? Single handedly?”
There were groans, and several thrown wadded-up napkins bounced off his chest. “Our Rev, who took on the entire Centaur army and sent them packing, has outgrown us. He has a higher calling, in the service of all humankind as a member of the Home Guard.”
He turned off the overly dramatic carnival barker. “Seriously, though, I really wasn’t exaggerating that much when I said he single-handedly defeated the Centaurs. I don’t need to tell you what Rev’s done. In my most humble opinion, there isn’t anyone in the Union Marines, and probably throughout humanity, who contributed more to our victory. And so, while the Union Marine Corps isn’t going to be as capable while you’re gone, all humanity will be stronger.”
“Ooh-rah!” Strap and Radić shouted in unison.
Rev felt his face turning red, and suddenly, he was afraid he was going to have to speak, but Hussein stood up and rescued him with another set of praises. But Hussein being Hussein, he added an only slightly exaggerated story of when Rev, with his famously “delicate” stomach, had thrown up on the battalion sergeant major during null-G training, much to the enjoyment of the rest.
One by one, each of the Marines and Doc Paul stood up and related a small story about Rev, then wished him well.
Malaika was last, and all she said was “You make sure you come home to momma” before she gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
And then, with no one else coming to the rescue, it was time for him to speak. He drained his glass first and stood.
“You guys have pretty much said it all already. Not much I can add.” At that moment, Grover walked into the bar and looked around. Rev waved and motioned for him to join them. “For all of you who don’t know him, this is my brother, Grover. And him being here means my family is out there waiting to take me to the spaceport. So, before I go, I’ll just say I’m going to miss all of you, and I wish you were all coming, too. Every time I’ve been in combat, the thing that kept me going was knowing that I had my fellow Marines around me, covering my six.”
There were several loud ooh-rahs at that.
“That’s about it, I guess. And I’ll see you all in three years, sooner if I can get some leave. Right back here at Leteeka’s, I hope.”
As Rev finished speaking, two bottles of champagne and a tray of clean glasses came zipping over to the table, compliments of the bar. Yancey took over, popping the cork and filling the glasses.
As soon as everyone
had one, Bundy stood and said, “To Rev. Kick ass, take names, and by the Mother, show them what Union Marines are made of!”
His farewell party shouted another loud “ooh-rah,” belatedly joined by most of the people in the bar when they heard it. Rev downed his drink, then, with Grover urging him along, started to leave. But it wasn’t that easy. Everyone wanted a hug or a backslap, and Rev went down the line.
Malaika held back until last, and as she came in for a hug, she asked, “You sure you don’t want me to come send you off?”
“Nah. This is a family thing, you know?”
She gave a disappointed frown, then said, “OK, I understand. Well, no I don’t. But that’s OK. Let me know just before you take off. And I’ll get to the USO as often as I can to call you.”
She gave him another kiss, this one on the lips as she hugged him tight.
“Rev, we’ve got to go,” Grover reminded him.
Rev carefully extricated himself from her embrace, gave one last wave to the group, then turned and followed Grover out to the van his dad had rented. He jumped into the back where both Neesy and Kat were gesturing that he should sit between them. Grover joined his parents on the back-facing front seat.
The two girls possessively took an arm each and hugged them tight.
“Do you still need to go to the VGW?” his dad asked.
“No, I stopped by earlier and told Mr. Oliva and Maude goodbye.”
And drank with half of the other VGW members.
The Veterans of Galactic Wars, Post 747944’s meeting house/bar was still heavily damaged, with plastisheeting serving as one wall, but the surviving regulars had already returned to the roost, like the legendary swallows of San Juan Capistrano. Rev had drunk far more than he’d expected to with them, and before he realized it, he’d been signed up as the newest member of the post—three hundred credits for a lifetime membership already taken out of his account.
He’d always assumed that he’d join someday, just not at the moment. But all those old vets could be pretty persuasive when they wanted to be. Once they had their sights locked on him, there was no escape.
An Uneasy Alliance: Book 4 of the Sentenced to War Series Page 2
