‘Not key, just a spoiler, a problem in the succession,’ said the Armourer. ‘You are the key, the one that must be removed. Who would end up commanding Base in your absence?’
Johnson thought it through. The position would pass to Visco of Command. But Visco would not hold it long. Although able, he was too distant, almost melancholy of late. Johnson ruled himself and Deacon, the Commander of Services out. They supported the cadres and marines but never ordered them about. Marine command wouldn’t take it on. That left the cadre commanders, one of them would have to step up. He ran through the possibilities.
‘Trahern, Colda or Coltrane,’ answered Quartermaine.
‘I doubt Trahern’s suitability,’ said Celene. ‘Whether he has been compromised or not, he is unlikely to return to full function. Then there is the matter of trust…’
‘He would come into consideration. Remember, the schemers will be working from his past records. I rated him only below Burnett back then and we’ve had none of that stature since. Colda is in because he commands near a third of the Guard already. If you eliminate Trahern, he becomes the most likely. A few promises to gain more support and he would succeed. After him, Coltrane of the Blues, an able commander of a large cadre. La Mar of the Amazons has the best potential, but her cadre is small and there would be resistance to a woman,’ concluded Quartermaine.
‘Colda already has his support lined up, not only in the cadres but in the services and specialties also,’ said Celene. ‘I know who is ready to be the next Senior Psych. I don’t believe I am meant to survive. Colda has issues with authoritative women.’
Johnson was shocked by this calm confirmation. To perceive the plotting and accept the circumstances, what an incredible woman. From their faces the others were as surprised, except for Quartermaine. He was smiling.
‘These tomatoes of Tracka-dan’s really are excellent,’ said the Base Commander. ‘How long have you known and what was your plan to survive?’ he asked Celene.
‘The push has been recent, accelerated since the Grey’s return, or perhaps because of some opportunity outside our sphere. It has become obvious in the past few weeks.’ Celene lifted her eyes to Quartermaine. ‘I did not read the full intent of the Houses though. I believed it to be simply a quest for the command of Base.’ With that, she went quiet, returning her attention to her tomato.
‘You have not answered my second question,’ said Quartermaine.
‘The antipathy has become personal. I see it in his eyes. Sooner or later he would call for my death, preferably by his own hand. I had planned to make it sooner, with him failing publicly, of course. The Houses are aware of his ‘weakness’. They would have had to save face, not the Guard.’
The cold-bloodedness of her response chilled Johnson. We are all here on Base for a reason, he reminded himself. After all this time you should not be surprised. Life service for a life taken.
‘And now?’ asked Quartermaine, apparently unperturbed.
‘Now I will depend on you,’ said Celene. ‘With this much at stake, the plan of the Houses will be complex. Removing Colda will not be a solution.’
Turning to the Armourer, Quartermaine asked, ‘Your assessment?’
‘I agree. Colda is too obvious. Nor would he be able to provide the leadership they will require. Coltrane is probably their real contender. They will have others, maybe another true blood or two, hidden in our numbers. This is a grand plan and would have been a long time in the making.’ He paused to put down the peppers and picked up a piece of bread. Then he resumed. ‘A defence will be difficult. If we isolate or remove enough of their principal personnel to halt the plan, it will likely give the Houses sufficient insult to move directly on Base. We will have to walk a very fine line there. They will also have other events in motion, whatever they require to remove you from command.’
‘If we play their game, we can not win. They have greater resources and fewer restraints,’ asserted Celene. ‘It may be necessary to strike hard and fast. Before they are ready.’
Johnson was saddened by this talk. The Guard is our second chance, we can’t make it like the other. He was startled when Quartermaine addressed him.
‘Commander Johnson, you have been quiet throughout this discussion. What are your thoughts.’
My thoughts? I am no strategist. These schemes dismay me. He shrugged and lifted his hands, palms spread to show Quartermaine he had nothing to offer. But the Commander held his eyes, waiting. Johnson bowed his head under that expectant stare. Okay, I will give you my thoughts. ‘This talk of ‘striking’ and ‘removing’ is wrong. These are members of the Guard. We can not harm them.’ He looked up expecting to see disgust at his naivety but Quartermaine nodded for him to continue. ‘We can’t use their methods. We can’t become like them. But we have to resist somehow. The Guard protects the Passages, not just from raiders or the threat of invasion, but from misuse which could plunge the Arm into turmoil. That is our charter and our redemption.’ Johnson was surprised at the heaviness of his words. May as well finish as I’ve started, he thought. ‘I will help you to preserve the Guard and the peace, but no other.’ Embarrassed now that he was done, he bent to the cloth and started gathering the foodstuffs.
Nata patted him on the shoulder and addressed the others. ‘The Scholar advises that if successful, the strike on him would have delayed Inner Belt investigation by several months. If this troublesome House faction is responsible, it suggests that their schemes would be completed in that time. Our reaction, of whatever sort, must be speedy, as the Specialist warns.’
Quartermaine stood and stretched. ‘Thank you for your advice. For now, we proceed as Johnson demands, within the constraints of the Guard. But in the same way, we will not tolerate behaviour from others that breaks those constraints. Nata, identify and apprehend those two that shadowed the Scholar. That plot will be laid bare and dealt with. Celene, hold your provocation of Colda. He will blunt their efficiency. Leave him in place as long as you dare. Armourer, find out if we are dealing with one House or more. Celene will help you on that.’ Quartermaine met each of their faces in turn. ‘Be careful. Do not show your suspicions. I don’t want to hasten their schemes. Let them believe we are unaware. I will find a credible reason for our meetings.’
Johnson handed the half empty jar of peppers to the Armourer who smiled his thanks. Celene took the last of the bread. He packed away the rest of the goods and rose to leave. He knew that Quartermaine would stay on the roof longer, maybe all night.
‘A few moments with you, Commander,’ said Quartermaine. The others waved their farewells and walked into the gloom.
No instructions for me, Johnson thought. A word on my ‘demands’ most likely.
‘You’ve set me a hard task but I do not plan to fail,’ said Quartermaine. ‘As you reminded us, expediency does not replace ethics. One-to-one loyalty is what binds the Guard.’ He seemed to be about to say more, but stopped and smiled. ‘Thank the quartermasters for me. The food tastes especially good up here on the roof, don’t you think.’ He patted Johnson on the arm and walked back to the low wall.
Johnson left the Commander to his contemplation. He had worries of his own. He knew that he did not hide feelings well. How to disguise mistrust and fear? Trying would only make it worse. Busy, that’s the thing, he decided. Fill the time with work. That was one good thing about Supply. There was always plenty to do.
CHAPTER 13: TRACKA-DAN’S FUNERAL
There was no need to invent an excuse for their next meeting. The members of Quartermaine’s group were not out of place at this gathering, the largest on the plain in Celene’s memory. All of the Far Rangers were here, as could be expected, but there were many others, a few from each of the eight cadres for respect, a dozen or so of marines and supplymen. Supply, she knew, had dealings with the old man, collecting and distributing his produce. She didn’t know of the marines’ connection. Maybe because they trained out here on the plain.
That thought reminded her o
f the other denizens. She turned to look for them. They were out also, though at a more than a respectful distance, just visible as black scarecrows scattered over the barren ground near the Box. Briodi, on Med duty, had voiced some concerns about the wellbeing of the caretakers. Celene approved her plan for additional reviews. That raggy black is not a good sign. They look more like undertakers than caretakers.
She turned back to the scene before her. Oulte and the Rangers manned the shovels today. They must have come out early to dig the hole in the rocky ground, hard work proofed by a white rime of dried sweat on their shirts. They would soon be moist again. It was time to put Tracka-dan in the ground.
The old man had died the night of the day that the Grey had come through the Box, or early the next morning. He was not found until the afternoon. Nowra, the old Ranger who planned to settle near Dan, had come to check his land and found him. The house had been shut up, strange for that time of day. Nowra had to break the door latch. Old Dan was on the floor. It seemed that most of his organs had given out. Maybe that was how you died of ‘old age’, mused Celene, all the parts of your body saying they’ve had enough at once.
This was a very old fashioned ceremony they were attempting and there was some confusion over whether words were said before or after the body went in the hole. The modern style, in use through most of the Arm, was for remains to be vaporised, a nice flash and everybody goes home. But the old man had specifically asked for this and Oulte and the Rangers would be damned before they would let him down. The handsome new Grey, Gati, joined them to offer advice. It seemed they still buried people on his home planet. Celene was too far away to hear the words but he pantomimed the whole process. Oulte nodded his agreement and the Grey waved everyone in.
Tracka-dan had chosen a spot in the south-west corner of his land. The crowd stayed on the inside of his fences and as they converged they formed a large wedge. Celene hung back until all the others were in place then moved up behind a group of marines close to the fence. Trahern stood with Tollen on the far edge of this group. She wanted to study these two together. The Armourer’s words on the roof had reinforced an earlier concern. Moves like the Ships, does he?
The packed marines were like a wall in front of her and she had to step up onto the fence to see. The first rung was too low so she climbed to the second, swaying as she straightened. A marine steadied her with a hand against her hip. She looked down to warn him off but he was so studiously looking away that she let it lie. She knew him. This was marine that had stopped Colda from entering the debrief room on Trahern’s arrival. Rightly so, as Colda was not part of the panel but it was a brave man who frustrated even the most minor of that commander’s wishes. Luckily, she had been there to distract Colda before he could note the marines identity. Talk of waiting on the will of others, implied passivity, no mention of his name or rank; Colda couldn’t get away fast enough. Spence, that is this marine’s name. Another tall one, she hadn’t had this view of him before.
Oulte’s words drew her attention away from the young man. ‘Today we send off a Ranger. His body goes in the ground here, as he wanted. His spirit goes with us.’
Oulte’s fair hair made him appear young; from this distance the scars and lines on his face didn’t show. Celene could see that the large gathering and unfamiliar ceremony had robbed him of his usual confidence. He struggled to find words suitable for the occasion.
‘He was the last of the old timers, the last of those that really knew how to fly, as he would say. Now he will go join them. As all of us will one day.’ Oulte looked to Gati who nodded. He then motioned to the Rangers standing by, who swung the box with Dan’s body over the hole and slowly lowered it using thick ropes. ‘We now bury Tracka-dan, Far Ranger. May he rest in peace.’ Oulte stepped to the side, his downcast head telling Celene he thought he hadn’t done enough.
Quartermaine spoke from where he stood, close to the side of the hole. ‘The Far Rangers farewell Tracka-dan today. It is a special time for them, for he was one of their own. We all know of bonds like that, if we are lucky. In times of conflict they allow us to face peril courageously, to gladly risk our lives for our comrades, and more importantly to trust our lives to them. In times of peace these bonds enrich our lives, engendering a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves.’ Quartermaine paused to survey the crowd.
Celene admired the oratory which seemed to come so easily to the old man.
He continued in a softer tone. ‘Many of us here were not that close to Tracka-dan. We knew him only in his later days, a farmer out here on the plain. An old man we’d nod to in passing, or share a bench with, maybe a quiet word about the weather or his crops. But he was not diminished in this role and even more belonged to all on Base. For he was a warrior returned and at peace for all of us to see.’ Quartermaine’s voice lifted, stronger, louder. ‘Tracka-dan flew in the Quadrant Conflict, the Sybeline Campaign, the Barbary Insurrection, and countless other actions. He was one of the best pilots the Guard has ever known. He outlived those he flew with, which I am sure he did not consider to be good fortune, but he faced the rest of his life with the same courage and conviction he had earlier carried into battle. His remains will rest here in the land he made his own, but as Oulte said, his spirit will always be with us. When you fall to the ground, exhausted and bleeding, on some remote part of the Rim; when you craft spins out of control on the edge of a blast near the Passages; or when you taste a tomato or simply look out here to the plain, he will be with you.’ With these last words, finished softly, Quartermaine walked over to Oulte. The fair-haired Ranger was smiling now, yet there were glints in his eyes, discernable even at this distance. Closer to Celene, tears were clear on many faces.
The spell of Quartermaine’s words had not caught Celene. She had been too busy observing others. Aesca had tears in her eyes before the speeches started. From anger and frustration as much as grief, Celene believed. The medic was known to become over-attached to her patients and to take any further harm to them personally. A death must be particularly frustrating and hard to accept. She would not consider counselling. Perhaps Mancine could console her. They seemed to be close of late. In fact, any closer now and Aesca would be in the big marine’s pocket.
Trahern and Tollen had been quiet through the ceremony. Both were men of few words and she hadn’t expected much of an exchange. Tollen was at ease with the Grey, nonetheless. She could see it in his posture and the easy flow of his motions, even now as he ran his hand through his grizzled hair, bowing his head slightly. The movement lent a cast of vulnerability to the rock solid marine. Trahern’s bearing, as usual, gave nothing away. Her check of records had shown this was not a new development. The Grey was known from his early days in the Guard for his stiff bearing and restrained manner. It had been an irritant to some of his superiors. There were no notes in records to say if any of their attempts to break through it had been successful. The only new perturbation she noted in this perfection was a tendency to make slight adjustments in his stance in response to movement around him. Somewhat similar to Nata.
Nata was the only one of Quartermaine’s group not present. He was accompanying the Scholar and the Scholar would not approach this close to the Box. It was not fear, more a matter of practical regard. Nata had told her of the Scholar’s strange request; to be rendered unconscious if he went into reverie unannounced or stayed in contemplation longer than twenty minutes. He warned them to expect patterns like those in the Box elsewhere on Base. The Scholar was also convinced that the Box would have had an effect on Trahern. In addition to his own regular meetings with the Grey, he had asked for new med and psych reviews.
Celene did not believe they would find any changes. Like Nata, she believed the Box would not challenge Trahern unduly, not because of some mystic ‘enlightenment’ but rather from the iron control he had developed to survive the Games. The same control he used to block memories of the deep. An extension of will into the sub-conscious, providing protection
at all times, asleep or awake. His time in the deep should have broken him. She could not see how any human could endure that isolation and emptiness without trauma.
Quartermaine’s scout was a case in point. The ruined man was a bare nerve. They had been forced to resort to medication, not only for his body but also for his tortured mind. The latter was an admission of defeat on Psychs’ part and Briodi was suffering along with him. Celene was amazed he had actually made it back to Base. Yet he had not been gone as long as Trahern nor as deep. At least his trauma was there for them to see.
Trahern had hidden his, selectively blocking the memories that threatened his well being. He survives, but will that be enough? She thought not, not for him or for the Guard. However, to try for more would expose him again to the void. There lay the peril. Unless he had not been alone. She had given little thought to that possibility. If the Ships had wanted captives there had been plenty of opportunity earlier in the Ship Wars. No, her reading of the Ships was that they wanted no contact with humanity. But she could not dismiss the possibility. It had been strong enough to bring an Inner Belt Scholar all the way across the galaxies after all. Lives on Base could be at risk.
Thoughts of survival reminded her to search for Commander Johnson. Colda’s faction would not have high esteem for this quiet man yet if they had seen his strength on the roof the other night he would soon top their lists. She would have to find some way of guarding his back as his worth surfaced. She located him in front of the marines, standing with other members of Supply, waiting their turn to approach Tracka-dan’s grave, for a grave it was now. The box and body were in the hole and Gati had those paying their respects each tossing in a handful of dirt as they passed. The process was quick and many people were already leaving.
Celene prepared to climb down off the fence. Spence hastily removed his supporting arm. She leaned over to put both hands on his shoulders and hopped off the fence, sliding down his chest. His surprise was matched by her own, although she didn’t show hers. Why did I do that? she asked herself as she walked away. Luckily, Commander Johnson approached before she had time for thought.
The Return of the Grey Page 9