Stark's Command

by John G. Hemry

  Even if I liked the stuff, it'd be too, uh, imperial or something."

  "We could let everyone visit the garden, now," Tanaka suggested.

  "I don't think so, Jill," Vic demurred. "Thousands of boots on that small patch of grass, even in low-G? It'd be a mud patch in no time." The Corporal nodded in vigorous agreement.

  "So, hold a lottery, maybe?" Stark wondered. Ought to get some use out of it. I can't imagine how much getting this garden set up and maintaining it have cost, while we couldn't always get the spares we needed because the damn budget supposedly couldn't support it. Did anyone buy a bullet because of this? "Hey, that's it."

  "What's it?" Vic demanded.

  "We've already got soldiers who've lost a lottery. The combat lottery. They're wounded. This would be good for them while they're recovering, right? And nobody can say they haven't earned the right to a few hours in the garden."

  Vic smiled approvingly. "Fair and appropriate. Nobody can complain about the wounded getting a special deal. I like it. I'll talk to medical about setting up a regular visit schedule." She pointed to the Corporal. "You need to tell us how many people we can run through this place every day without wrecking it."

  "I don't know," the Corporal protested. "It's never been used that way."

  "Then take a guess," Stark suggested. "We'll modify it if we have to after we see how everything is holding up." He scowled. "Guess we'll have to post guards, too, to keep everyone from picking souvenirs and leaving trash."

  Tanaka nodded. "That's prudent. We're not posting ceremonial guards outside senior officer quarters anymore, so we've got people free to assign to that job."

  "Ceremonial guards? No. I don't want to know." Stark took another look at the flower planters, his eyes calculating. "Hey, Jill, one more thing. I've noticed you palling around with Sergeant Yurivan a few times."

  She nodded again. "Sure. We've hung together. Stacey's a lot of fun."

  "That's one way to describe her, all right. I want these plants kept safe here. You tell Stacey Yurivan that if I hear one word about fresh flowers being sold on the black market, I'll post her on sentry duty at the lunar pole for so long she'll think she's a space penguin. Understand?"

  "Stacey wouldn't do anything like that," Tanaka protested.

  "Not unless there's a way to turn a buck in it. You just make sure she understands what I told you."

  Vic followed as Stark headed away. "Hey. You're human again."

  "No thanks to you."

  "Look, Ethan, you saw how Trasies and Pevoni acted. I don't trust them. Is that unreasonable?"

  "Them? Hell, no. That'd be like trusting Yurivan with that flower garden."

  She grinned. "Unlike Trasies, Stacey wouldn't hurt a soldier. Too bad we can't harness her for the forces of good."

  "Maybe we oughta."

  Reynolds's eyebrows shot up. "You serious? What kind of job would suit her special talents?"

  "Keeping an eye on rats like Trasies."

  "Tell me you're not suggesting her for our Security Officer."

  "That's exactly what I'm doing." Stark half-smiled. "I'm basically a squad leader at heart, Vic. And what's a squad leader do? They match the job to the individual. Pick the best guy for the assignment. Okay, so we gotta counter a bunch of sneaky, devious people who're gonna try to take us down. And who's the sneakiest, most devious mind we got to outguess them?"

  "Stacey Yurivan. But do you think she'd agree to work on your staff? She's not exactly a close friend."

  "I dunno. She did back me against Kalnick, but that might've been more about self-preservation than supporting me." Vic pulled out her comm unit. "Who you calling?"

  "Stacey. She'll take the job request better if I make the offer. Besides, it occurred to me that having someone who's definitely not one of your inner circle here in headquarters might benefit you. There's already been talk that you're surrounding yourself with too many friends who're loyal to you."

  "What?" Stark, exasperated, took a moment to slam his palm against the nearest wall, the sharp sound echoing down the corridor to shock anyone within hearing distance. "If you guys are totally loyal to me I'd hate to see how my enemies would act."

  "Thanks."

  "You know what I mean. Who's starting this talk? Why is it happening? Like Kalnick. We never had enlisted working against one another in the past."

  "In the past, Ethan, we had the officers as a common enemy. Working against another enlisted would've meant allying yourself with the officers. Know anybody who would've done that?"

  "No one who'd survive long on a battlefield."

  "Right. But now the officers aren't in charge. Now we can play nasty little games against one another. And some people are just out of their depth in their new jobs and looking for someone else to blame for their problems. Like Gabriel in Second Battalion, First Brigade."

  "Sergeant Gabriel? I haven't heard about any problems in her battalion."

  "That's because Sergeant Gabriel isn't telling you about any problems. She's letting her subordinates run amuck, either because she can't or won't control them."

  Stark absorbed the news, shaking his head. "If she's not telling, how'd you find out?"

  "I got sources, remember? We're going to have to replace her, Ethan."

  "No." Stark paused to enjoy the look of surprise and annoyance on Vic's face. "You and I ain't gonna do it. First Brigade's being run by Nageru. I'll tell him to either whip Gabriel into line or replace her with someone who can do the job."

  Reynolds smiled ruefully. "Right. I'm so used to watching officers micromanage things that it comes too naturally. Thanks for keeping me honest." She tapped her comm unit irritably.

  "Where the hell is she? Stacey? This is Vic Reynolds. I want to meet with you right away."

  "Why?" Yurivan questioned.

  "It's a surprise."

  "I'm not involved, Reynolds."

  "Involved in what?"

  "Whatever it is you're calling me about."

  "I'm disappointed, Stacey. Generic denials from you?"

  "They save time. So, should I pack a toothbrush for this meeting?"

  "I don't see why. Just come on over. I got something to ask you."

  "Roger. I've been wanting to scope out all that luxury where you friends of Ethan have been living. See you in a few."

  Vic glanced at Stark. "Want to wait in the rec office? We could grab some coffee."

  "I'd prefer a beer," Stark noted, "but I guess I oughta keep all my wits about me when we meet Stacey."

  "We'll still be outclassed, but that's a good idea." They waited, passing the time by using their spoons to nudge the congealed blocks of nondairy creamer floating in their cups. Thanks to the Moon's low gravity, the lumpy off-white rectangles danced over the surface of the coffee, not penetrating the dark liquid unless forced under by a well-aimed utensil. Like most of the other supplies, the creamer came from stocks whose "use by" dates had long expired. It was just one of the things you got used to in the military and perversely took a certain pride in. Competitions had been known to occur over which unit had the worst coffee and the oldest fixings.

  "Hey, Vic," Yurivan stood in the doorway, eyes wary as they shifted from Reynolds to Stark. "What's up?"

  "Relax, Stace, this isn't about the illegal gambling joint being run out of a storeroom in the Buford Barracks."

  "There was gambling going on in the Buford Barracks?" Yurivan asked, her face reflecting wonderment. "I'm . . . shocked."

  "Sure, Stace. Save it. How would you like to be Security Officer?"

  "Huh?" Yurivan's expression shifted to disbelief. "What's the joke?"

  "No joke. We need someone who can outthink our enemies. That's you."

  "Then no thanks. I'm not interested in running loyalty screens."

  "Wouldn't ask you to. Loyalty screens are dead. No, we need to worry about external security issues. Spies. Sabotage. Finding out what the enemy's planning, including any mischief any of the Colony civs might try.
Interested?"

  Yurivan made another sidelong look at Stark even as she answered Reynolds. "Why would I be interested?"

  "Because you'd be trying to outthink and out scheme the best minds our enemies can throw at us. C'mon, Stace. No more playing games with the military police and the local security officer. You'll get to see if you can beat the boys and girls from the national agencies."

  Yurivan kept a poker face. "That's a pretty big league to play in, Vic."

  Stark favored her with a taunting smile. "Hey, Stace. No guts, no glory."

  "Uh-huh, and no brain, no gain."

  Vic shrugged, fingers wandering idly over her palm unit. "Well, Stace, if you figure the job's too hard . . ."

  "Reynolds," Yurivan laughed, "you'll have to do better than that. I've been psyched by experts."

  "Any of 'em figure you out?"

  "Hell, no."

  Reynolds smiled politely. "Big surprise. So, do you want the job or not?"

  "Maybe. Gotta think about it."

  "Fine. You let me know." Stacey Yurivan flipped an elaborate salute, smiling at some hidden joke as she did so, pivoted precisely on one heel, and marched out. As her footsteps faded down the hallway outside, Vic began laughing softly.

  "What's so funny? She's not going to take it," Stark declared gloomily.

  "Sure she is," Vic assured him. "Stacey just wants time to shut down her other illegal scams before she becomes Security Officer. She's got her own code of ethics. You watch. In a couple of days she'll call and accept."

  Stark squinted at the empty doorway as if it held some answers. "How do you figure that? I couldn't read her."

  "That, Ethan, is because you're a man and because you're blessed with a wonderfully straightforward and uncomplicated mind."

  "I'll assume that's a compliment."

  "Sort of. It lets people take advantage of you, but earns you a lot of trust. Stacey's different."

  "That I knew. Trust' isn't a word that comes to mind with her."

  "But she's never hurt another soldier," Vic reminded him. "Except in the wallet. And she will take this job. The chance to stick it to the system in the biggest way possible will be irresistible for her—irresistible enough for her to become part of our system."

  Stark found himself smiling. "You know, this has been a really rotten coupla days, but right now I'm thinking about Stacey Yurivan being sic'd on people like Trasies and Pevoni, and that's making me real happy."

  "Good. While you're happy, start thinking about how we're going to find all the officer candidates we need from the enlisted ranks."

  "Thanks for the reality kick." Stark finished his coffee, glaring defiantly toward the dispenser. "I'm gonna have a beer. You should, too."

  "Way to be in charge," Vic applauded. "Keep making decisions that good and people'll be talking about Stark's Big Victory someday."

  "Sure. Right now this feels more like Custer's Last Stand."

  "You're not Custer, Ethan. If you ever start acting like him, I'll whap you upside the head." She stared upward, pensive. "Speaking of that battle, and officers, funny how you never hear much about Captain Benteen."

  "Who the hell was he?"

  "One of Custer's subordinates. I know about him because I grew up in Fort Riley, Kansas, where the old Cavalry Museum is located. In the histories, it's always Custer this, Custer that. Right before the battle, Custer split his regiment into three parts, taking one himself, giving one to Reno to charge straight in to attack, and telling Benteen with the rest to just wait around. But if Benteen hadn't chosen to disregard the last orders he'd received from Custer, if he hadn't guessed that things were going to hell, then picked out a strong defensive position and been already digging in when Reno's troops came running back with the Indigs at their heels, well, the whole Seventh Cavalry would have been wiped out instead of just the troops with Custer. Benteen saved them, but you never hear about him."

  "Vic, if you made a big deal about some officer who disobeyed orders and instead did what he thought was right and smart, you'd have other officers thinking that might be a good idea, too. Then where'd you be?"

  She smiled lopsidedly. "You're right. What was I thinking?"

  Stark's own smile shifted, his face growing thoughtful. "But you know what? You got something, there. Why does the mil have to work that way? Why can't we let people run their units smart instead of following orders blindly? And if they can't run their units smart, why have them in charge in the first place?"

  "If they don't follow orders, how can you run a battle?"

  "Maybe better. Look, I really gotta think about this, how to balance the need to keep people focused on the same objective and also let 'em use their brains. Maybe it can't be done."

  "I'm not sure it's ever been tried. Maybe the technology wouldn't permit it before now. I mean, signal flags or horns or walkie-talkies can't provide the information you need to run things any way but top-down." Vic sighed, smiled at the beer Stark placed before her, then downed it in one long drink. "While you're thinking up a new way to fight, I'll arrange a meeting with that Sarafina civ to talk about the exchange. Maybe she'll bring her little friend along."

  "What little friend?"

  "Your date, remember? What was her name?"

  "Robin?" Stark chuckled, reaching to take away Vic's empty. "It wasn't a date. It was an interrogation. A nice one, but all I did was answer questions. I haven't heard from her since."

  "Poor Ethan. No luck with the ladies."

  "Probably because you're scarin' 'em off, Sergeant Reynolds. Besides, I don't have time to date nowadays."

  She smiled and sighed simultaneously. "Yeah. Running an army is no fun. At least you still get to sleep."

  "Yeah. Sometimes."

  Another day. Another meeting. Stark's staff sat back in their chairs, rigidly proper, like sentries guarding their own welfare, while Campbell's assistants hesitated or flung insults. Minor points were raised, debated endlessly, each one dying out in a fog of tiny deviations of definitions. Stark checked the time, trying for the hundredth time to keep himself from exploding. I thought forcing this meeting to last until something got decided was a good idea. Wrong. Real wrong. While the arguments raged inside, outside the conference room the normal workday came to an end, dinner was eaten, evening leisure enjoyed, and late-night shifts came on duty.

  Stark fixed his eyes on Campbell, who stared back with exasperation dulled by exhaustion. "I'm not hearing anything that makes me think we're gonna decide anything."

  Campbell nodded, the weary gesture barely moving his head. "Everyone go home," he ordered his staff shortly. They stood with varying degrees of apparent fatigue, edging out with barely a glance at the military representatives. Only Sarafina remained, gazing bleakly at Campbell.

  "You apes go, too," Stark told his people, not watching as all but Reynolds left the room.

  Reynolds exhaled, a long and slow gesture. "If it means anything, I'm not happy."

  "Thanks much," Stark grumbled. "Campbell, you don't have to hang around. It's been a real long day."

  "I agree," Campbell replied, with a wave toward his remaining assistant. "But I needed to give you some good news."

  "I could use some."

  "Ms. Sarafina has made a great deal of progress on the negotiations for the exchange of officers for your family members," Campbell reported. "I'd meant to tell you about it in the morning," he continued dryly.

  "It's morning," Stark noted. Outside and overhead, the blue-white Earth hung as always, uncaring that her rotation from day to night still governed the lives of humans no longer directly affected by it. "How come you didn't bring this up before?"

  Campbell visibly hesitated. "I am no longer sure how my advisers will react to even apparently good news. I felt it best to keep this issue separate from any contentious ones."

  Stark managed to muster a smile. "Can't argue with that. Everything seems to be contentious. No big hang-ups, then?"

  "No. The authorities in Was
hington apparently want those officers back pretty badly. Are you sure you want to let them go? They must be very good if the Pentagon needs them . . ." Campbell halted as Stark and Reynolds started laughing. "Something is amusing?"

  "Just the idea that our officers are very good," Vic gasped. "The Pentagon wants them back for two reasons. First, to find out what's happened up here. They've probably got only the barest information, which must be driving them crazy. Ninety percent of the Pentagon is devoted to regurgitating information for senior officers who don't really need it, and those officers must be getting pretty tired of seeing variations on 'nothing new to report' for the umpteenth time."