by P P Corcoran
“Yes, I’m sure that can be arranged.” Said Vadis waving a hand indicating for Statham to continue. “The Tycho Brahe reports ready to sortie as soon as the testing of the DSDG is complete.”
“And what of Wilson?” Inquired Vadis. When Statham did not reply immediately Vadis fixed him with a quizzical look. “Problems?”
“Sir-,” Statham had changed his form of address and Vadis became wary, his old friend was about to broach a touchy subject.
“With Lieutenant Wilson’s aunt running a foreign intelligence service…” Statham paused as if awaiting permission to continue. Vadis didn’t particularly like the direction of the conversation, but he trusted Statham to have considered all the implications before going there.
“Go on.”
“There’s no doubt that Wilson is doing an extremely capable job within the boundaries of his current project, however…”
Here it comes thought Vadis.
“The Lieutenant’s familial connections may, in the future, prove to be a hindrance and, possibly, a security risk.”
There he had said it.
Although uncomfortable hearing, it was a fact. Vadis rubbed his chin with one hand as he considered Statham’s words. Unfortunately, for Terrance Wilson, Statham had a point and, in the intelligence game, any opportunity to mitigate a potential threat to security had to be dealt with.
“Wilson is married, isn’t he?”
“Yes. And they have a young child.”
“Very well. On completion of his current assignment Lieutenant Terrance Wilson will receive a promotion and a nice assignment earth-side. Logistics or training. Something which doesn’t require him to hold a security clearance above Secret.”
And with that the naval intelligence career of Terrance Wilson ended, without him ever knowing it.
CHAPTER NINE
COLONIZATION RUNS AMUCK
CHARON BASE | ORBIT OF PLUTO | SOL SYSTEM
From the screams and cussing coming from the inner office, Ensign Zak decided it prudent to cancel the admiral’s 1300 hours appointment. Hastily typing the required apologetic email, the Garundan tapped the send button with one claw while amending the admiral’s diary for today with the other hand. Task complete, Zak let out a silent thank you to his ancestors that he was not the point of his admiral’s wrath this particular day.
When he had applied for the Commonwealth Union of Planets’ Naval Officer’s Exchange Program Zak doubted whether he could pass the first hurdle; a comprehensive English language test. But, as a teen he had studied the dialects of his planet’s new allies, turns out these studies had stood him in good stead. Zak had become accomplished in English, the chosen language of the Terran Republican, though he was nowhere near as proficient in Mandarin, which was also spoken by a goodly number of humans. Something to do with the lack of flexibility in his non-human lips.
Progressing through the application process, Zak had been subjected to a varied battery of tests; from Terran history to eating etiquette. He still found it strange that humans preferred their food dead and reheated, rather than a Garundan’s reptilian preference for fresh food, though the necessities of space travel had gradually introduced a diverse catering regime at home.
The shouting from within the admiral’s office petered out and was shortly followed by the gentle, feminine tones of Yeoman Rota as she spoke over her desk-mounted comm, meaning only one thing.
The admiral was ready for his next victim.
Having cancelled the unfortunate, would-be victim’s appointment, it fell upon Zak to take their place.
He stood then paused at the floor to ceiling mirror, Zak was convinced had been installed for potential quarry to look themselves over and wish they hadn’t ventured into the heady heights of flag country (the lofty area where admirals deigned to meet the unwary), and ran an eye over his own uniform before straightening his shoulders and moving forward to knock twice on the doors of the inner sanctum.
Zak entered without permission, one of the few perks of being an admiral’s aide.
Walking purposefully to the no-nonsense desk, adorned by a single holo frame displaying a middle-aged human female smiling brightly while surrounded by several other, younger, human females, Zak looked the admiral in the eye, for he had learned quickly that Vice Admiral Christos Papadomas measured a man, or a Garundan, by looking into their eyes.
“Ensign Zak.” Began Papadomas in his low, steady voice that belied the screaming and cussing he was responsible for only a scant few minutes before. “It appears my appointment with the representatives of Yang and Schmidt Off-Planet Mining has been canceled. Can you shed some light on this change to my diary, by any chance?”
“Admiral, it occurred to me that the initial proposal for a mining license in the Q120 system needed some adjustment. I thought, an extra few days would be a sufficient delay for them to make the required changes before presenting their proposal to you in person.”
Papadomas tilted his head to one side and gave the ensign a faint tease of a smile. “And what led you to that conclusion?”
This time, Zak’s eyes briefly flicked away from the admiral’s unblinking stare. Probably the new Greek cuss words I’ve learned in the last five minutes, Zak stifled the thought and answered. “I am aware of the admiral’s penchant for grammar and spelling and I noted a few errors in need of correction.”
Papadomas’ shoulders shook as his bellowing laughter filled the room. Zak remained impassive while Papadomas struggled to curb his outburst and wagged a thick finger at the Garundan ensign. “You, Ensign Zak, are a skilled liar, so much so that I believe you have selected the wrong path. Perhaps you should have considered a career as a politician?”
“I shall consider that a compliment, sir.” Replied Zak poker faced.
“And what have you chosen to fill the sudden hole in my schedule with, Ensign?” Asked Papadomas, a smile now fixed on his face.
“Unfortunately, sir, you have yet to complete the review of the new legislation which Geneva is proposing to bring forward in the new year.” Zak winced as Papadomas let out a loud groan.
“The best thing Geneva could do is force the Bureau of Colonization to take a hiatus on the issuing of all licenses across the board!” Exclaimed Papadomas and Zak settled himself in for the usual admiral’s rant about politicians.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told the Joint Chiefs, that Survey Command doesn’t have enough ships to carry out our primary task of surveying potential systems, never mind this running around trying to police the odd nut job who thinks he can land on any old planet and claim it for himself, or some corporation, that decides to do a little exploratory mining in some back of beyond system, where they think we will not notice.” Papadomas flung his head back in exasperation and rubbed his hand across his brow.
Zak stood silently awaiting the admiral’s frustration to ebb. There was no doubt that everything the admiral had said was truth. Garunda was in the first throws of expansion and their government had discovered these same problems.
Seemingly anyone who owned, or could hire, a gravity drive vessel was rushing off into the dark night to claim their own chunk of the pie. Zak had lost count of the times he had overheard Papadomas remind the Bureau of Colonization that the ‘Selene Incident’ had been a narrow escape. The Turak, who claimed that system, could easily have blown the SS Charlotte Dundas and her crew into atoms before Analisa Chavez and First Fleet rode to their rescue.
The more we expand the more likely we are to meet a race even more belligerent than the Turak, argued Papadomas. It seemed no matter the amount of senate hearings, full of politicians nodding in sage agreement, that Zak accompanied the admiral to, nothing was done to halt the flow of granted licenses.
Papadomas’ opposite number at Colonial Support Command, Vice Admiral Zhan, was in full agreement with Papadomas and both admirals had pleaded their case for more funding and personnel before the Joint Chiefs. As usual the purse strings were loosened by a fraction
of their requirements, still, it was better than nothing.
Now, this new legislation, sent out by President Madkin for consultation, proposed a new body overseen by the Department of Justice rather than the Department of Defense should form and be given federal powers to enforce federal law on any corporation or citizen of the Terran Republic throughout space.
From what Zak read, this police force would be based roughly on the existing Federal Marshal Service who had the power to call on any federal or local police for assistance. The section which got under Papadomas’ skin, however, was that the FMS could request assistance from the Department of Defense in the execution of their duties. Papadomas was vociferously against Survey Command becoming a taxi service or removal service for illegal colonies or miners.
Pulling himself upright in his chair, Papadomas rested his eyes on the waiting ensign. “How about we give the paperwork a pass for the moment, eh?”
Papadomas’ gaze shifted to the holo frame on his desk. The smiling miniature image of Kayla and the girls beamed back at him. His eldest daughter, Philippa, was now a lieutenant in the Terran Marine Corps. Maia was now at college on Mars, studying pre-med with plans to be a doctor like Kayla, while Odysseia, his youngest, was a precocious teen who thought she was indestructible and every rule was there to be broken. The picture had been taken by Papadomas while the family had been on vacation in Crete. Those happier times seemed so far away now.
Pushing himself to his feet Papadomas walked around his desk and patted Zak on the shoulder as he strolled past, over his shoulder he called back. “Odysseia has a practice music recital this afternoon. How about we skip out of the office and go catch it?”
Zak knew the admiral’s suggestion was an order not a polite invitation and the Garundan grimaced as he reflected on the image of the youngest Papadomas girl dragging the bow across the strings of her violin. He could think of nothing worse.
Zak followed the admiral out of the office. Furiously tapping on his PAD, he alerted Mrs. Brown, the Papadomas’ nanny come housekeeper, that the admiral was en route to the school and would most likely head home afterward. Zak knew Mrs. Brown would insist that he stay for dinner, that a late evening of work would follow, as the admiral caught up on the tasks he had skipped out on and the day would conclude in the early hours when Zak crashed onto his bed before rising a scant few hours later to prepare the day’s briefing papers at 0600 hours.
Perhaps it was not too late for Zak to request a transfer back to Garunda?
✽✽✽
ZARMINDA - 20.3 LIGHT-YEARS FROM EARTH
“Papadomas huh?” Grunted the slightly balding colonel with a hint of a German accent as he eyed the woman standing to unyielding attention one pace in front of his desk, upon which were neat stacks of data chips and a row of PADs set in a perfect line like troops on a parade square.
“Sir, yes, sir! First Lieutenant Phillipa Papadomas, Terran Marine Corps, reporting as ordered.”
Colonel Andreas Kendale continued his visual inspection of the officer before him; a spotless dark green uniform with impeccable creases down the arms and legs and pinned to her chest a mix of ribbons, unusual for a junior officer.
Andreas’ raised an eyebrow when his eyes fell on the single ribbon with a silver rosette pinned to its center; a Marine Commandant’s Commendation upon combat award and above the band of color sat a pair of gold wings indicating the wearer’s completion of the Master Drop Course. The ability to deploy covertly via exothermic insertion was a basic requirement of most special force’s capable units of the Terran Defense Forces.
Below the golden wings hung the Combat Infantryman and Sniper designators. Then something caught Andreas eye. He raised his hand with index finger extended and pointed at a second set of wings, thinner and silvery than the first.
“Care to explain the pilot wings, Lieutenant?”
Phillipa kept her eyes front, locked on the office wall exactly one foot above the colonel’s head. “Sir, it seemed prudent to the Lieutenant that the ability to fly herself and those under her command out of a shit storm might be useful.”
A choked half laugh caused Andreas to lean sideways at the waist and give the man lounging in the shadows against the wall behind Papadomas a withering look. In response the man raised both hands, palm out wards, before drawing his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion before flipping away an imaginary key. His actions did nothing to placate Andreas.
“Luckily, Lieutenant, we have the best pilots that the TDF have to offer here so hopefully we will not have to test your own piloting skills.”
Phillipa decided the colonel’s statement required no response and remained silent, while the man called up some information which was now projected into the holo display above his desk. Andreas read the floating words slowly, the three occupants in the room remaining silent as he did. When he finished reading, Andreas once more met Phillipa’s eye.
“You come to us highly recommended, Lieutenant. In fact, the only reason that you are being given this opportunity is because Brigadier General Mills is a personal friend of mine and -” Andreas eyes hardened so Phillipa did not mistake his meaning, “the general is not a woman to make these recommendations on a whim. We set the bar high here, Lieutenant, let’s hope you reach it. Dismissed.”
Phillipa’s hand came up sharply as she saluted the colonel. Holding the position until Andreas returned the salute with a lazy motion. Spinning in place, Phillipa marched out of the office passing the room’s other occupant whose face remained obscured in shadow.
With the office door closed once more, Brigadier General Vladimir Egnorov pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and flopped into the only other chair in the room. “Well?”
Andreas pushed his chair back from his desk, stretched out his long legs and intertwined his fingers behind his head, his counter persona was complete. “She looks good on paper, however...”
“However, paper is one thing.” Agreed Egnorov. “Her saving grace is that she was a Mustang. Those ribbons on her chest are earned, not granted after a tick box course in training. She has paid her due as a grunt, down in the mud along with the rest of us. And you don’t get a Commandant’s Commendation for having shiny boots.” Egnorov pointed out.
“Scuttlebutt has it her platoon commander called her father personally, pleading with him to get her to apply for a commission when he couldn’t get her to do it herself.” Said Andreas.
Egnorov let out a low whistle. “Now that’s ballsy. Admiral Papadomas is not a man to suffer fools lightly.”
“So... we give her a team and see how she handles it?” Asked Andreas.
Egnorov gave a confirmatory nod. “Make sure she has a decent Senior Non Com to point her in the right direction.”
“Already assigned.”
“Who did you give her?” Asked Egnorov.
The wide grin that spread over Andreas’ face only served to pique the general’s interest. Gradually a name dawned on him.
“No, tell me you didn’t!” Exclaimed Egnorov.
Andreas allowed the grin to become a wide, cheesy smile.
Egnorov let out a short, barking laugh.
✽✽✽
As the door closed behind her, Phillipa Papadomas let out the breath she had been holding.
That Colonel Kendale sure was a tight-ass, she thought before a cheerfully smiling man blocked her progress and held out his hand to her. Reacting by instinct Phillipa shook it feeling the rough calluses on his hand.
This guy is no paper pusher.
“Welcome to Special Operations Unit Thunder, Boss.” The man with the smile affixed to his face said.
About to berate him for his lack of salute, Phillipa remembered in Thunder the only officer saluted was General Egnorov.
The general firmly believed this practice peculiar to special forces, had grown into a way of making them different from their regular spit and polish comrades-in-arms; despite the convention being born from the necessity
to hide an officer’s identity from the enemy, and avoid their demise on the battlefield. The same went for the designation ‘Boss’. Only the general was called ‘Sir’ while every other officer in Thunder was known simply as ‘Boss’.
Phillipa swiftly hunted the man’s uniform for a name or rank tag and came up empty. “Uh...” Noting the officer’s consternation at not knowing how to address him, the trooper put Phillipa out of her misery.
“Staff Sergeant Semple, Boss. I’ll be your Team Number Two.” Semple glanced down at the two kit bags resting off to one side. “Why don’t we get your kit squared away and give you a chance -” Semple gestured to her green uniform, “to get changed into something more suitable before you meet the rest of the team.”
Without another word, he set off in the direction of the Officers’ Quarters leaving Phillipa to hurriedly grab her bags and catch up with him.
“The team’s designation is Team Nine.” Semple said as soon as Phillipa drew level with him. “We have seven troopers, apart from you and I.” Semple produced a data chip from his breast pocket and held it out to Phillipa.
Shifting one of the heavy bags to join the already considerable load on her other hand, Phillipa took the data chip and slipped it into her own pocket before, mercifully, evenly distributing her load again.
“The troopers names are Tai, Browne, Leslie, Bishop, Gavin, Quinn and Rintoul. There service jackets and spec quals are on the data chip. For reasons unbeknown to me, Browne goes by the name Dunkerdink and Rintoul, God love us all, is better known as Sven the Magnificent.”
“I think we’ll stick to surnames, Staff Sergeant.” Phillipa said in a way she hoped Semple would take as the end of that particular conversation.
Semple gave a short chuckle. “Works for me, Boss.” Rounding a corner, they were confronted by a utilitarian building indistinct from most of the buildings Phillipa had seen so far on Thunder’s base.