“Seems harder than it needs to be.”
The counselor laughed. “Politics usually is.” He sat back down, and his expression grew serious. “You know, it wasn’t just the Council, though. People were tired of the war. It was everywhere and everything for sixteen years … part of their jobs, in their stores and schools, in the music they listened to and the vids they watched and articles they read. They sent their kids and in some cases their grandkid off to fight. For some of us, it was all we knew.”
The counselor jumped to his feet and began pacing in front of the couch. “Then it was over, and everyone was glad. They could just worry about themselves for a change, but I think they also felt guilty for being glad. So, they told us we were great, and brave, and our service was appreciated, and even after they disbanded Command the politicians always had some vets up on stage with them. But the less heard from us, the better.”
He suddenly stopped pacing and exhaled. After a moment he faced her, a wry smile on his face. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “No problem.”
“Look, I found what’s left of the family and they’re willing to meet you. The grandfather died right after the surrender, the brother said his heart gave out. They live in a farm commune about a day away by ground transport.”
She nodded. “I’ll leave right away.”
“What are you going to say to them about how he died?”
Siengha stared into the coffee for a moment before answering. “I’ll tell them the truth. That he died protecting his soldiers. I’ll tell them why, too.”
The counselor nodded. He reached out a hand. “Here, give me your chip and I’ll upload the address.”
He took the small square back to his desk and inserted it into the data terminal. After a few keystrokes he extracted it and turned back to her. “Tell me, was this lieutenant someone special to you?”
“Not really.”
The counselor handed her the chip. “I ask because I’m trying to understand why you’re doing this, going to see his family after all this time.”
“He asked me to.”
“I know, but … well, you served in a lot of units. Saw a lot of combat. He couldn’t have been the only one to ask.”
She paused, thinking back over the long years. “He wasn’t.”
“So. Why him?”
“He was the last one to ask.” Siengha finished the coffee in one long drink and handed him the paper cup. “Thank you. What you do here is good, important. Keep it up.”
* * * *
The man who answered the door was probably the same age as the Orange Society counselor, but Siengha thought he wore his years younger than the former flight officer. He ushered her into the small apartment with a nervous wave, directing her to a tidy room with a couch and several cushioned chairs.
A gray-haired woman sat on one of the chairs facing the door, and Siengha could almost feel the anticipation on her lined face. She took a seat across from the woman as the brother slipped into a chair to one side. The old woman introduced herself with a warm, soft voice and a smile, but Siengha saw tears forming in her eyes.
She took a breath and began, saying what she’d practiced over and over on the long trip back.
“My name is Sergeant Siengha, and I would like to tell you about your grandson’s last day. We were on Neptec-2 and I was his platoon sergeant. Our unit was part of a large force advancing toward …”
The End
About the author
Born and raised in the American Midwest, Scott Whitmore enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1982 and was later commissioned as an officer. After retiring from military service he joined the sports staff at The Herald, a daily newspaper located in Everett, Wash., with a circulation of 45,000. In 2009, his feature story about a young Everett sprint car racer was awarded third place in the annual writing contest held by the National Motorsports Press Association.
Scott left The Herald in 2009 to begin working as a freelance writer. In addition to his novels, he has written for various sports and motorsports magazines and blogs, and his profile of NASCAR driver Danica Patrick was included in the August 2011 New York Yankees Magazine as part of a special issue celebrating women in sports.
His previous novels are Carpathia and The Devil’s Harvest. Contact him by email at [email protected] or follow @ScottWhitmore on Twitter.
Green Zulu Five One: And Other Stories From the Vyptellian War Page 14