Into the Green

by J. L. Curtis

  Colonel Zhang picked up a single silver bar and proceeded to remove Fargo’s sergeant emblem, replacing it with the bar. Stepping back he said, “Congratulations, Lieutenant. It is well deserved.” Sotto voice, he continued, “Sorry this is a bit late. Report to me at thirteen, my office.”

  Fargo, somewhat overwhelmed, saluted again, “Thank you, sir.”

  The colonel looked up, “That’s it folks, dismissed.”

  An impromptu receiving line formed as one of the support techs wheeled in a cake and a carafe of drinks. Everyone congratulated Fargo, then proceeded to the food and drink. His hand hurting from all the congratulatory handshakes, he finally got a chance to get one of the last pieces of cake, but nothing was left in the carafe. He hit the autochef for a bulb of coffee, and retreated to his room.

  ***

  The colonel waved Fargo, now dressed in Class A’s into his office, “Take a seat Lieutenant. Drink?”

  Fargo sat gingerly in front of the desk as Zhang walked around behind the desk, sat and brought up a holo, “No thank you, sir. I’m still recovering and alcohol isn’t a good idea right now.” He shifted his feet and blurted, “It feels strange to be called lieutenant!”

  The colonel nodded, as his hands moved in GalPat sign language, telling Fargo to play dumb. “You were actually promoted while you were in the field, and we didn’t have a way to communicate that to you. With your previous service, you should have been a lieutenant long before this. Having said that, we hate to lose you, but you understand the issue we’re facing with your condition, don’t you?” At the same time the colonel thought, Don’t show surprise. OneSvel told me your psi is now off the charts. Do you think you can carry on a conversation in link?

  Fargo sat back to cover his surprise and signed he would play dumb saying, “I guess I understand, sir. But I was hoping that I could be of some use here. I figure I’ve got at least another forty years of productivity. But I don’t ever want to lead men again. Lost my entire team.” Yes sir, I think I can.

  Ignoring the last statement, Zhang continued, “If we were back at Earth four or Earth prime, we certainly would use you. The problem is we’re out on the pointy end and space and billets are limited. You’re being medically retired with seventy-five percent of your salary and full medical benefits.” We have other things we would like for you to do. As a level five psi that no one knows about, and as a retired GalScout, you can move around freely, especially if you go out to the Rimworld Cluster, where your home is. The colonel passed Fargo a new data chip, “Here’s your retired chip. That and twenty credits will buy you a bulb of coffee at most places.” Rub your right thumb over the retired notation from right to left.

  Fargo took the chip saying, “That’s not even for good coffee, Colonel.” He surreptitiously moved his thumb as directed and saw the chip change from gray/retired to blue/active. What is this sir?

  The colonel reached back and punched the autochef, “Kona black, right?” As I said, we have other work for you. You were a damn good combat commander in the Marines, yes we do run background checks. I know you lost most of your command there, but it wasn’t your fault. It was bad intel and you got the shitty end of the stick on that. I also understand why you didn’t want any more command opportunities as it were. He passed Fargo his bulb of coffee as the colonel tweaked his to his particular taste.

  “Thank you, sir.” Fargo said. I can’t seem to keep people that I’m responsible for alive, that’s my problem. But what do you want me to do? My place on Hunter is remote, and the only people I know there are my sister and her husband. I chose it to get away from people and not deal with anyone except by choice.

  Zhang said, “I hear you’ve got a place on Hunter. You took your service credits and made that move a few years ago, didn’t you? If I remember correctly, you were second in on it when it was still Z43F5. What prompted you to jump on it if I may ask?” Your sister’s husband is the Tight Beam Tech rep for the entire planet, and is also on the steering group for the entire star cluster. It’s all about freedom of movement, especially if you’re providing ‘security’ for him.

  Fargo shifted in his chair as he took a sip of coffee, “It reminded me of home, sir. I grew up on the front range of the Rockies on Earth, and when I saw that bench among the trees, well, I just jumped at the chance. I don’t have any family other than my sister now.” What kind of freedom of movement? It’s not like I would have a reason to travel within the star cluster. And what would I be looking for?

  The colonel nodded, “One has to grab those moments when you get the chance. I’m from Earth four and I inherited the family home in Charles Town. It’s where I grew up, and my wife and children live there now. It’s where I’ll retire to in my dotage.” At a much higher level, there are some Traders and their Dragoon masters that are believed to be holed up or basing out of the Rimworld Cluster. Also, somewhere in that region there is hydrocarbon and ice mining going on. We will send you an encrypted data chip with the information once you are in place. GalPat Intel thinks the cluster may be a jumping off point for the next series of incursions into the DMZ.

  Zhang asked, “Are you ready to go through the ceremony? I think yours will be the second retirement I’ve ever done, so I hope I don’t screw it up!” We’re not asking you to charge around like a, what was the old saying, bull in a china shop? We need eyes and ears in that cluster. We and GalPat Intel believe you can help us by reporting what you see and hear. That potentially will save lives if we can stay step ahead of the Dragoons and Traders.

  Fargo nodded solemnly, “I guess so, sir. The sooner we get it over with, the sooner I can go home.” I’ll do what I can sir. But I can’t promise anything.

  The colonel finished his bulb and flipped it at the disposal unit, “Okay, let’s go do this.” Rising from behind the desk, he led Fargo out to the parade ground where the formation of GalScouts and a few civilians waited.

  As they cleared the entry, the band started playing the GalScout anthem as the colonel marched to the podium. Fargo waited at attention until the anthem had completed and Captain Zmicas acting as master of ceremonies said, “Lieutenant Ethan Fargo, front and center!”

  Fargo marched to his assigned position exactly two yards in front of the podium, saluted and said, “Lieutenant Fargo, reporting as ordered sir.”

  Colonel Zhang replied, “At ease, Lieutenant. Company, at ease!” Looking down at his notes, which Fargo realized were actually hand written, the colonel continued, “We are here today to retire one of our own. But before we do that, I want to say a few words. Contrary to what the scuttlebutt says, Lieutenant Fargo is not being retired because he lost his team. The first sumbitch I hear say that, I will courts martial them. Lieutenant Fargo has a previously undiagnosed medical condition that prevents him from being put in stasis. As you know, this is a medical disqualifier for service in the GalScouts. I have known Lieutenant Fargo for over fifteen years and never seen other than exemplary performance from him. Captain?”

  Zmicas cleared his throat and read, “Attention to orders.” The entire company popped to attention as Zmicas continued, “The Galactic Scouts present to Lieutenant Ethan NMN Fargo the Galactic Scout Battle Star with planet cluster for his exemplary actions on planet X423W in the face of overwhelming odds against a Trader incursion on twelve, twenty-one, Earth year twenty-eight twenty-three. His actions to attempt to save his men and subsequent actions during the hours-long running firefight reflect the highest traditions of the Galactic Scouts. While his entire team was lost, Lieutenant, then Sergeant, Fargo managed to recover the remains of each of his team mates, and return their remains to their respective planets. The Lieutenant was intent on going down fighting when he was rescued by a GalPat destroyer who responded to the team’s emergency beacon. Let us always remember the courage of Lieutenant Fargo, as evidenced by this suitcam footage of the last minutes of the fight.”

  As the colonel stepped forward to attach the GalScout Battle Star, Fargo stood frozen as the last
moments of the climb up the side of the wallow played holographically above his head. He was stunned to realize he’d been saying the words, not just thinking them, as he heard Dum Vivimus, Vivamus[1], over and over as he climbed the side of the wallow. Saluting the colonel, Fargo felt a tear run slowly down his cheek.

  Going Home

  Ethan Fargo, GalScout lieutenant (newly retired, kinda, sorta) walked slowly down the space station passageway to the gate assigned to the merchant ship Hyderabad. His trunks dutifully trailed him by two yards electronically tethered to the pinger he wore on his shipsuit.

  His thoughts veered wildly through time, space and a range of emotions; from childhood, through twenty years with the Terran Marines, the death of Cindy and Ike while he fought in the Cluster Skirmish, as they called the battle for Vega system and now thirty years of Galactic Scout service. All gone in one fell swoop, just because he’d had some kind of cryo/stasis nightmare and the problems coming back from X423W; or at least that’s what the docs had said at the medical board.

  Fargo was glad he was alone, or as alone as one ever could be on a space station, since the other issues he was dealing with were the nightmares and trying to learn how to shield his thoughts and psi talent. Shaking his head in frustration, he tried to damp down the circles his mind was running in.

  A trained level four empath for forty years he was now all of a sudden a level five psi. All because of Diez dying in his arms while they were linked. Something had broken in his head, and now the flood gates were open. It had been truly scary coming out of the Med-Comp to find those dreams really weren’t dreams… He’d been the thoughts of the medics and docs that had worked on him…

  Stopping at the boarding tube, he handed his data chip to the helmeted, armed and obviously bored watch at the head of the transfer tube saying, “Fargo, Ethan pax for Hyderabad. Terminal planet Hunter, Rim World cluster.”

  The watch took his data chip, plugged it into a hand reader and quickly scanned it replying, “Go on aboard, you’re in compartment three, looks like you’re the only pax for at least this leg. Captain Jace is already aboard and we’re just waiting on one more dip pouch. As soon as it’s aboard, we drop tubes and blast from here. Ship diagram is on the bulkhead directly across from the boarding tube.”

  Fargo nodded his thanks and asked, “Trunk storage?”

  The watch looked the trunks over, “Both in storage? Any personal? We’re programmed for about fifty two days enroute. Also, all personal weapons go to the armory.”

  Reaching up, Fargo grabbed the duffle pack off the top of the first trunk and set it to the side; opening the trunk, he picked out his personal electronics bag. Closing the trunk he cocked his head, finally saying, “This should be all I need. Tracking code for the trunks is three two five, if your extensionals handle standard mil-freq systems.” Unbuckling his pistol belt, he clipped his vibro knife to it and handed it to the watch.

  The watch took them, nodded, and stepped aside, allowing Fargo to enter the boarding tube. As he stepped across the zero-G threshold, he heard the watch speaking into his communicator, “Pax Fargo, Ethan coming aboard. Weapons collected and will be placed in armory. Still waiting on dip pouch.”

  Floating down the boarding tube, Fargo relaxed for the first time today. He was actually on his way to the green hills he’d wanted to call home since he’d first seen them on the planetary survey twenty years earlier. He wondered what this old freighter was carrying that was going to Hunter, and wondered if it was something his sister had ordered.

  As he swung across the threshold, he noted the hatch seemed to be extremely thick, but he was distracted by a blue tinged Kepleran from 62F with, as usual, a pinched expression who said, “Keldar, I am the purser. Your chits are in order. Compartment three forward. Standard meal schedule.”

  Fargo nodded, thinking, what is it with the Keplerans from F? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one smile. But then most money people don’t smile, come to think of it. And that seems to be the area they all end up in. Turning forward, he glanced at the ship diagram and snapped a picture with his wrist comp then selected his compartment on the diagram. Seconds later his comp pinged and gave him directions to the compartment. Up one ladder, down a cross passage, through an open lock and he finally found the compartment.

  He noticed while the passageway was clean, with nothing laying around, this was obviously a working freighter not a luxury liner. Dilating the entry, he stepped through into what turned out to be a two person compartment, with a small fresher stuffed in the back center of the compartment. Looking at the two bunks, he decided to take the one on the left, that way if he was sitting at the fold out desk he saw, he would have his strong side protected. Stop it! You’re frikken acting like everybody in the world is your enemy. Just because the purser… Keldar? Yeah, Keldar was being his normal frustrated self, it don’t mean shit.

  Unpacking his meager belongings, he plopped the electronics bag on the fold out desk, then thought better of that, and placed it in the cubby above the desk. Looking at his wrist comp, he decided to go find what passed for a lounge or mess before they got underway. It looked like there was both a lounge and a mess on board, but he didn’t know which he would be allowed to use. Following his wrist comp, he located the lounge and was surprised to find almost the exact autochef he’d had on the GalScout ships. Curious, he punched up his favorite coffee blend, and lo and behold, it spit out a bulb moments later. Jiggling it between his hands, he carried it to the table and sat down watching the external monitor showing on the wall screen. Taking a cautious sip, he smiled as he tasted his coffee.

  Suddenly the [2]IC blared, “All hands, last package aboard, secure all loose equipment, prep for space. Engineering, fifteen minute warning. Launch crew fifteen minute warning. Drop tube and disconnect three zero minutes. Mr. Fargo, please make your way to the lounge for safety brief and procedures.”

  Fargo mumbled, “I’m here already.”

  Seconds later, a bluff, bearded man in a shipsuit came into the lounge, radiating confidence and authority. He moved to the autochef and dialed a drink of some type, then came over to the table. “Mister Fargo, I’m Captain Jace. Welcome aboard, and I’d like to take a few minutes of your time for the safety brief, and emergency procedures if we may. Since you’re our only passenger for at least the next leg or two, this shouldn’t take long.”

  Fargo stood and shook the outstretched hand, “Thank you Captain, I’d appreciate it. Most of my experience is on GalScout ships so I’m sure there are differences.”

  Jace chuckled, “Less than you might think Mister Fargo. You’re familiar with Ganymede Corp escape pods, correct?”

  Fargo nodded, “Yep, and it’s Ethan or Fargo, no mister. We had Ganymedes on the GalScout ships, thankfully I never had to use one other than in sims.”

  “Trust me, we’re not planning on using any of them this trip either,” the captain said. Changing the wall display, he brought up a soft EVA suit. “These are available in every space, and they’re one size fits all. If you get an alarm, you’ve got about a minute depending on which space you’re in to don one.” Blowing up the display, he continued, “Standard step in model, auto-closure tabs, and attached soft helmet. Sixty minute standalone air supply,” rotating the display, he pointed to a plug set on the side of the suit. “O-two hookup, comms hookup, battery charger. Each compartment has a double hose connection in the overhead and one by the hatch.” Spinning the diagram around, he showed the pouch on the other side of the suit, “Sixty feet of collapsible hose. Run it around the front or back, hook up the length needed and leave the rest in the pouch. Any questions?”

  Fargo shook his head, “No, I’ve trained on these a time or two also. What about hard suits?”

  “Three in each suit locker port and starboard. Eng, myself and the cargomaster have our custom hard suits,” Jace said; noted the wrist comp and asked, “You wear it all the time?”

  Fargo replied, “All day every day. Sixty-ish years I’ve ha
d one, feel naked without one. I’ve already downloaded the schematic of the ship into it.”

  “Okay good. If you want, I can put you on the command push for updates too. This would allow you to keep up with where we are, and time enroute, other than when we’re in hyper.”

  Fargo said, “That’s fine. I’d appreciate it, not that it will help much. I’m not a spacer.”

  Jace spoke to the air, “AI, match Mister Fargo’s wrist comp and add him to command push if you would.”

  A pleasant female voice responded out of the speaker, “Done captain, Mister Fargo, please check your comp in three, two-”

  Fargo’s wrist comp beeped an alert and he glanced at it. It showed an alert in red that said ‘SHIP PUSH TEST’, it also started a count in the female voice: “One, two, three, four, five, four, three, two, one. Please confirm by voice and touch receipt of alert.”

  Looking at Captain Jace, Fargo cocked his head, Jace mimed pushing the alert acknowledgement, then talking. Fargo punched the acknowledgement saying out loud, “AI Ser… er… Fargo, copied all audio and visual alerts.”

  The AI responded, “Thank you.”

  “Okay, that does it Fargo. Since you’re the only pax, you’re welcome on the bridge when we depart, which is in about ten minutes,” Captain Jace said.

  Fargo thought for a second, then said, “Sure, why not. Usually I’m not in a position to get to watch, and GalScout bridges are real small.” Following the captain up ladders and through hatches, they finally arrived at the bridge, which, Fargo noted in amazement, actually had clear armorplast panels in front and to the sides of the pilot’s seat in addition to the normal piloting and navigation panels. Motioning to them he asked, “Isn’t that kinda unusual? I mean one doesn’t expect to see clear panels up here.”

  The pilot turned around and replied, “Not really sir. This old tub is capable of planeting, and to do that, one needs to be able to actually see the environment real time.”