Ignotus

by Kevin Hardman

  “Hold on,” Browing interjected. “I’ll admit the subject was touched on, but nobody embraced the idea or even suggested a plan of action in that regard. That part was almost a sidebar conversation.”

  “That’s what you’ve been saying about everything,” Maker interjected. “Breaking up our team, taking possession of Erlen… They’re all on the periphery of what was discussed, but you’ve yet to mention what the main topic was.”

  “That’s just it,” Browing shot back in exasperation. “They asked a lot of questions, but it wasn’t explicitly clear what their main focus was. I know it relates to Erlen, but beyond that I couldn’t glean much. It’s like they danced around the real issue but never turned the spotlight on it directly.”

  “Come on, man,” Maker said dubiously. “You’re as connected a guy as I’ve ever seen. Are you saying you can’t find out what those folks were after?”

  Browing shook his head. “I don’t think you understand the level of clout that was in that room. Sure, I’ve got connections, and I could probably reach out and get joint meetings with two, maybe three of the people I met with today. But a score of them, all together in one place, at one time? No way. I mean, they were all there in person – no aides, no assistants, no underlings. That means that whatever was being said was something they each had to hear and assess personally.”

  “So whatever’s going on, it’s big,” Adames surmised.

  “That’s a certainty,” Browing agreed. “But beyond that, I just don’t have any info to impart.”

  “Great,” Maker muttered. “Like most bureaucrats, you’re useless when your own interests aren’t at stake.”

  Ignoring the barb, Browing said, “Look, all I know is that – based on the questions asked and the level of interest shown – this issue the bigwigs are focused on involves you and your Niotan friend.”

  Casting a quick glance at Erlen, Maker asked, “And you’re sure they won’t try anything, like forcefully taking possession of him?”

  Browing shook his head. “No, the conversation honestly seemed to lean away from that type of action. They did, however, express concern over whether you were the best person to care for an asset like Erlen. Given your proclivity for dragging him into battle with you – as well as your affinity for adopting unconventional strategies and tactics – they seemed to feel that it might be in Erlen’s best interest to be in an environment that was more…stable, shall we say.”

  “You mean it would be better for him to be with someone more stable,” Maker corrected. “Well, you can tell them that I’m no less stable than when they reinstated me in the military.”

  “I did,” Browing insisted. “Oddly enough, it failed to reassure anybody.”

  Chapter 7

  Their impromptu meeting broke up shortly thereafter, with Browing promising to dig for more information, while Adames returned to his quarters to get into uniform and start reviewing the transfer requests. It was simply assumed that Chantrey, who had driven her own vehicle to the meeting, would give Maker and Erlen a ride back to the VOQ.

  Conversation during the drive was dominated primarily by small talk, most of which consisted of Maker and Chantrey generally discussing dinner plans. It wasn’t anything that had ever been officially declared, but they typically spent every evening together – a state of affairs that had come to include supper. Like Chantrey taking his hand while she drove (and which she did on this occasion), it was something that had come to give meaning to their relationship without defining it.

  Once at the VOQ, Chantrey accompanied Maker and Erlen to their room, ostensibly to tend to the former’s injuries (despite Maker insisting he was fine). Upon entering, Erlen immediately leaped upon a nearby sofa, while Chantrey dragged Maker to the bathroom.

  “Take off your shirt,” she practically commanded after they were inside.

  While Maker complied without question (revealing sculpted pecs and well-developed abs), Chantrey opened a cabinet under the bathroom sink and pulled out a first-aid kit. Although he didn’t comment on it, Maker found it somewhat telling that she knew where to find the kit without asking. However, he didn’t have time to put any more thought into the subject as Chantrey turned to him, holding an antiseptic swab.

  “Hmmm,” she droned, looking him over. “You don’t seem as bruised and battered as you did at first blush.”

  “What can I say?” Maker responded with a shrug. “I heal quickly.”

  Chantrey gave him a skeptical look but didn’t comment. Nevertheless, he knew what she was thinking: that in licking him back at Browing’s place, Erlen had applied some type of healing agent to Maker. It was one of numerous abilities the Niotan possessed, and one which Chantrey was well aware of.

  “Well, my skin is still a little irritated from some razor-wasp stings,” Maker announced suggestively.

  “Fine,” Chantrey said with a sigh. “Show me where.”

  Smiling, Maker held up his wrist, which was slightly discolored where he’d been stung.

  Chantrey dabbed it with the swab almost dismissively. “What else you got, soldier?” she demanded.

  “They got my back as well,” Maker stated, turning around.

  “What, these two little pinpricks?” Chantrey muttered dubiously, eyeing a couple of diminutive protrusions that might be generously described as bumps. Sighing almost disgustedly (which caused Maker to chuckle), she began swabbing one of the tiny lumps.

  There was silence for a few seconds as Chantrey tended to the injured area, then she blurted out, “So, are you going to ask me?”

  Maker frowned. “Ask you what?”

  “The question that’s been burning a hole in your brain since we left Browing’s place,” Chantrey replied. “What I think the bigwigs were after with their questions about your squad and Erlen.”

  Maker turned around to face her. “The only question I had for you was about dinner, which we discussed on the way here.”

  “No, that was idle chatter that you engaged me in so that we wouldn’t have to discuss what was really on your mind. It’s called avoidance.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding anything,” Maker shot back, although in truth he couldn’t recall who had actually started the conversation in the car. “Regardless, if you had an opinion on the subject, you should have spoken up back at Browing’s place. Now that I think about it, you barely said a word when we were there.”

  “That’s because I was listening and formulating an opinion.”

  “And I take it that you have one now?”

  “Of course,” Chantrey replied. “Would you like to know what it is?”

  Maker simply stared at her, not saying anything.

  She met his gaze without flinching, looking him directly in the eye.

  After a few seconds, Maker let out a long sigh. “You know I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Chantrey giggled, then gave him a sly look. “Considering all the things we’ve done to each other lately, I’d say propriety is rather low on the totem pole.”

  “You know what I mean,” he admonished. “I’m your assignment. You draft reports about me that the higher-ups use to give me orders. It wouldn’t be proper for me to basically start asking you for reports on them.”

  “Well, let me ask you a question,” Chantrey said. “If we weren’t in a relationship, would you ask my thoughts on the subject?”

  Maker barely hesitated before declaring, “Yes, probably.”

  “Then what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that your judgment can be construed as being warped by the fact that we’re together. It makes your work appear tainted – makes you appear tainted. It could ruin your career.”

  Chantrey put her arms around his neck. “As I’ve said before, why don’t you let me worry about my career.”

  Maker shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand how you can be so nonchalant about this. No career means no job. No job means no income. No income means…”

&nbs
p; He trailed off as an odd thought suddenly occurred to him. He then looked Chantrey up and down, as if seeing her for the very first time.

  Understanding immediately what this new scrutiny meant, Chantrey withdrew her hands from his neck and simply looked down.

  “Geez, I’m blind,” Maker muttered, almost to himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

  Looking down at her hands, Chantrey simply said, “I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later, although I was hoping it would be much further down the road.”

  “You’re like Browing,” Maker stated as if she hadn’t spoken. “A trust-fund baby.”

  Her head snapped up unexpectedly and there was a fierce look in her eye. “I don’t like that term.”

  “But it’s true,” he stressed. “That’s why you’re not concerned about money or your career. You’re rich.”

  “Yes, I am,” Chantrey admitted, crossing her arms defiantly. “I come from a wealthy family and I do have a trust fund – several, in fact. But that’s not why I’m not worried about my employment or income. I’m not worried because I’m the best at what I do, and no amount of money could buy the knowledge and skill set that I have. So if they want to replace me, they can, but they’ll be getting an also-ran.”

  “Great – you’re irreplaceable,” Maker conceded almost sardonically. “What about me?”

  Chantrey looked at him in befuddlement. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  “Am I replaceable?” he clarified. “Am I just a boy toy that you’ll play with until something new and shiny catches your eye?”

  She gave him a steely look. “That’s insulting, Gant. You’re saying my feelings are true-blue as long as I’m a pauper, but somehow being rich means my emotions are insincere.”

  “No… That’s not…” He let out a deep sigh and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I’m sorry, okay. That’s not what I was trying to say.”

  Chantrey reached out a hand, gently caressing his face while looking into his eyes. “Do you really think that’s all you are to me?” she asked. “A boy toy?”

  “No,” he admitted, shaking his head, “but it’s not like we’ve defined this thing.”

  “That’s because you walk around on tenterhooks about it all the time – constantly worrying about what people will say and how it will be perceived.”

  “It’s more a concern about how it will affect you,” Maker corrected. “But I see now I’ve been worrying for nothing.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she insisted, then leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I don’t need special handling.”

  “So I should just act as I did when our relationship was purely professional,” Maker surmised. “Treat you as I did before we became an item.”

  “Well, maybe not when the lights go out,” she muttered coyly with a wink. “But otherwise, yes.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ve got a question for you,” he said. “What’s your impression of that meeting Browing had?”

  Chapter 8

  The way Chantrey broke it down, there were essentially three takeaways from Browing’s discussion with the top brass.

  “First,” she began, leaning back against the bathroom counter, “I think they want to replicate what you did with your unit.”

  Maker frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Well, it’s just like Adames said: you took a bunch of soldiers the military no longer had a use for, and molded them into not just a functional fighting force, but a formidable one.”

  “And as I keep saying, I didn’t do anything special,” Maker insisted. “All I did was give them a second chance – present them with an opportunity to excel.”

  “If we’re being honest, it’s more than just that, because plenty of folks get second chances – or even a third – and still manage to botch things at every turn. I’d say the view from the top is that you’ve hit upon some kind of process or procedure that lends itself towards success in terms of getting troubled soldiers to straighten up and fly right. Now they want to take the Maker magic formula, add soldiers, rinse, and repeat on a widespread basis.”

  “Except there is no magic formula,” Maker insisted. “And even if there were, how do they even know lightning would strike twice?”

  “They don’t,” Chantrey conceded. “Not yet, anyway. But it sounds like they’re willing to prove up the theory, and it’s not like they have a shortage of test subjects. The military is full of screwed-up soldiers.”

  “As well as soldiers who are complete screw-ups,” Maker added, “and you can’t always tell one from the other. At least now, though, the allusion to breaking up our squad makes sense – especially in light of the transfer requests.”

  “You might want to make sure those are actually transfer requests and not orders,” Chantrey suggested. “Someone may be trying to shove a bunch of castoffs on you.”

  A distasteful look settled on Maker’s face. “They can’t do that. Part of the deal for me agreeing to reinstatement in the Marines was that I get to pick my own crew.”

  “That was for a specific mission – hunting down the Vacra,” Chantrey argued. “In case you forgot, Skullcap’s dead and the Vacra fleet is destroyed. Ergo, mission’s over.”

  “Correction: we destroyed an invading armada of Vacra ships,” Maker declared. “I doubt we took out every vessel that they have, just like their obliteration of the Hundred-and-Twelfth didn’t wipe out all of our spacecraft. As for hunting them down, we still haven’t located their homeworld. Finally, we were also tasked with retrieving the sub rosa tech the Vacra stole, and we’re nowhere near completing that part of our mission.”

  “Well, it’s been weeks since we faced off against the Vacra invasion force. Don’t you think you’d have gotten new orders by now if you were expected to pick up where you left off?”

  Maker simply stared at her, unsure of how to respond. It was true that his unit was currently confined to Baskin, but he attributed that to the fact that they had been extensively debriefed – on multiple occasions and an ongoing basis – following the destruction of the Vacra invaders. Compared to what he endured after the Orpheus Moon (which had included about six months of debriefing), the weeks they’d spent on Baskin had been a breeze. But to Chantrey’s point – outside of having to make themselves regularly available to discuss what had happened – they had no specific duties. Fortunately, Adames was an adept NCO and kept their team from being idle with a fair amount of training exercises, war games, and the like.

  “Anyway,” Chantrey droned, interrupting his thoughts, “moving on to the second nugget I gleaned from what Browing told us.”

  “Yes?” Maker intoned, his interest obviously piqued.

  “I think they were assessing Browing himself.”

  Maker’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “You’ll have to explain that.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll recall that – family wealth aside – Browing is a bureaucrat. He’s not on the lowest rung of the ladder by any means, but there are still individuals that he reports to – people he takes orders from.”

  “How could I forget?” Maker blurted out. “Those orders once required that he essentially betray us.”

  “And you almost killed us by detonating a banned weapon,” Chantrey chided, “so some would call that even. But I digress. Now, you’re probably aware that, much like me, Browing has occasionally had to file reports on you.”

  “It’s not a surprise,” Maker stated, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Great. Now, I can tell you without having seen it that his initial assessment probably described you as a basket case who pulled together a bunch of sideshow freaks and started calling them a military unit. Since then, however, I think he’s come to the realization that you’re a capable and competent officer, and on your part, you recognize that he brings a lot to the table.”

  “I’ll admit that I’m no longer actively looking for a reason to s
hoot him,” Maker acknowledged.

  “Fair enough,” Chantrey said, trying not to smile. “But my point is that his reports on you and your team have probably mellowed of late. In fact, I assume that the most recent ones are probably complimentary to some extent. That being the case, the powers that be want to assess where his loyalties lie.”

  “So they ask him a bunch of questions they already know the answer to,” Maker concluded. “And depending on how he responds, they know if his loyalty is still to them and the task they assigned him, or if he’s become aligned with me and my crew.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay,” Maker muttered, mentally digesting what he’d just heard. “I have to confess that it’s surprising to think of Browing as being at odds with the puppet masters over him, but I’ll give more thought to it later. In the meantime, what’s the third thing you picked up from what Browing told us?”

  “Exactly what he said when we were at his place,” Chantrey answered. “That something big and complex is in the works.”

  Maker nodded, although this wasn’t really news to him.

  “Anything else?” he asked almost casually.

  “Only that – whatever this thing is – it’s going to happen very soon.”

  Her last statement turned out to be more prophetic than either of them would have guessed, as seconds later, both of their p-comps began to beep and flash, indicating an incoming emergency message.

  Chapter 9

  Chantrey left immediately after glancing at the message on her p-comp. Maker didn’t ask, but assumed that the missive she’d received was similar to the communication he’d gotten, which was to report to a certain location in an hour.

  With time ticking, Maker took a quick shower and then hurriedly got dressed.

  ***

  Not knowing the exact nature of the summons, Maker decided to leave Erlen in their room and go alone. Upon his team’s arrival on Baskin, he had been granted the use of a military vehicle, which was what he used to get to the rendezvous point. Truth be told, however, he didn’t really do any hands-on driving on this occasion; he simply input the location (which consisted solely of latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates) into the car’s navigation system, and the vehicle did the rest.