All that was left now was a close-fitting brief.
His squad was all around him, chatting, laughing, as their armor and smartskins were removed from them. The tone of their voices was different this time. There was an edge to it. Soma had led these men through nine-hour long firefights, through battles where companions were killed, through tense hunts in dead ships with no gravity or air. None had elicited the kind of reaction they were having now. Losing a compatriot provoked anger. Long, exhausting battles produced silence. What they were doing now was covering up their unease.
“Listen up,” Soma said, and the chatting stopped instantly. Every eye was on him. Soma didn’t want to give his people the opportunity to brood over the mission. If he didn’t address their unspoken concerns now, they would fester. “Maybe it’s just me,” he said, panning his gaze across his squad, trying to meet every man’s eye. “But that mission struck me as...odd.”
“Scuff, yeah,” Private Innis said. His response was almost immediate which, to Soma, meant he was on the right track. “What the void is the Navy sending us to capture some jag for?”
There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room.
“And off the ship of a sawking Alliance governor,” added Axelin.
Several others added “Yeah!”
“Come on, Sarge,” Private Gora said, looking up at Soma from his seat on a nearby bench. “You got to admit that was some cloak and dagger business.”
Soma nodded.
“I know,” he said. “I know. I don’t have any answers for you now, but when I get them, you’ll get them. In the meantime, I want you to act like marines on this. We aren’t some pampered Navy boys who go spilling grease everywhere. You keep your mouths shut on this mission, understood?”
“Yes sir,” they said.
Soma nodded. They went back to what they were doing. Soma hoped it wasn’t wishful thinking that made him hear the more relaxed, natural tune to their conversations. Soma took off and dropped his brief into the laundry shoot, stepped into the shower and waited as the nanite swarm sprayed over him from the shower hoses, as it ran through his hair, down his arms, across his back and everywhere else, removing sweat, dead skin cells and other dirt on the molecular level. He stepped out, put a new brief on and then stood in the same arming chamber for a new, general-purpose smartskin. He put on a fresh uniform, checked his link, and grunted.
Seven messages, all from Lieutenant Garin.
“Ey, Sarge?” called Dakkin. “You coming?”
Soma looked up at the crowd of men filing out of the locker room.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got to make a few calls.”
Dakkin nodded. Soma watched Raven Squad depart the locker room. Then he sat down at a bench and sent a call to the lieutenant.
“Sergeant Major Cross,” Lieutenant Garin said upon accepting the connection. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I was about to send a runner.”
“Apologies, ma’am,” Soma said.
Garin narrowed her eyes at him. She was too pretty to be in the military. With her olive skin, her long, sleek black hair and perfect features, she looked like she belonged in a swimsuit, not an officer’s uniform. And, of course, the grease was she got her position through the leveraging of her looks. Soma knew this to be untrue. When he had come into Alpha Company she was still a non-com and his squad sergeant. She may not have been as strong as her male counterparts, but she was tough, quick and most of all smart.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“No, ma’am. Just got out of my armor.”
“Too bad for you,” she said, “Battalion wants you for debrief. Now.”
“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” Soma said. “I’ll be in Battalion HQ in—”
“No,” Garin said. “You’ll be debriefing upstairs. Conference Room 13.” She cut the connection. Soma let out a short whistle. He left the locker room and took the tram to the closest lift.
Conference Room 13 was deep in navy territory. Marines never entered that part of the ship accept for sentry duty. Even officers avoided that section of the ship when they could. Even though Soma and his fellow marines were part of the Navy, the regular crew tended to look at marines like animals with foam on their mouths. Soma wasn’t debriefing with just his Battalion there, which meant traditional Navy officers had an interest in his mission.
Soma didn’t see any dirty looks as he walked the corridors to the conference room, but he could feel them burning holes in the back of his head. Navy boys had much the same physical training and fighting regimen in bootcamp, but the difference in actual battlefield experience meant none of them would be dumb enough to start something. Least of all because fighting on an Alliance ship was likely to get you court marshalled.
He stopped around the corner from the conference room to make sure his cap and uniform were straight. He snapped his head to the left, then to the right and was rewarded with a pair of subtle pops. He turned the corner and stopped at the sign that said “CR-13.” He saluted to the marine private guarding the door.
“Sergeant Major Cross here for debriefing.”
The private saluted, looked away, and parroted back Soma’s words. The marine paused, his eyes glazing over, then he blinked and nodded.
“Go on in, sir.”
Soma entered the conference room. It was nothing like the debriefing rooms at Battalion. It was large and long, lit by pale strips of light recessed into the ceiling. A massive smart table dominated the room, shaped like a skinny hexagon. The table was huge and surrounded by leather chairs.
Every chair but one was filled. On one side of the table were Lieutenant Colonel Dau, Soma’s battalion CO and Major Fauks, Dau’s XO, plus a few others Soma didn’t know personally, predominantly generals of various ranks. On the other side Soma recognized Captain Koshlin, the Hamartiya’s commanding officer, surrounded by the captains of the other vessels in their battlegroup and a few admirals. Interspersed on both sides were a few men of low rank but doubly unexpected by the insignias on their shoulders. These were Elders of the Order of Benefaction. Their insignias named them as naval chaplains, but Soma recognized none of them. This wasn’t surprising. Soma didn’t have much to do with them except for his required monthly sessions.
At the head of the table sat a man Soma didn’t recognize. He wore a simple black suit unadorned by medals or insignia. The only thing identifying him, besides the general ominous gloom that seemed to surround him, was his ID badge lit with the letters “MOD.” Ministry of Defense. The name on the badge was Tanno Anatheret.
Was there a strip of lighting out on that end of the room, or did the MOD man secrete darkness? That was the kind of joke Innis or Mako would have made. Soma didn’t smile.
Soma stopped before the table and snapped a salute.
“At ease, Sergeant,” Major Fauks said. “Please take a seat.”
Soma sat. He couldn’t help but eye the MOD man who sat there in his own circle of shadows, steepling his fingers, his eyes dark under his slick, black hair and manicured eyebrows.
“We’ve been reviewing the feed,” said Lt. Colonel Dau, “from Raven Squad’s suit-cams and we must say we’re impressed. You did a fine job securing your target.”
“Thank you, sir.” Soma pushed himself back into the seat of the chair. What was it about these seats that made him feel like he was always slipping out?
“Captain Ordin-Sai tells me you were primary in devising your plan of attack,” Dau continued. His eyes looked bored as he spoke, like he was reciting lines from a technical manual.
“The Captain and I worked on it together, sir, but the real praise goes to the hacks who made the bypass program allowing us access to the Elpizio’s maintenance network.”
The MOD man kept silent as Dau asked Soma question after question. Occasionally one of the officers might whisper in another’s ear. Once or twice one of them lifted a link and tapped on it. The room was full of static electricity as every man and woman seemed to fidget in his or
her own way...all except the MOD man.
“That’s all the questions I have,” Dau said. “Again, well done, Cross.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Does anyone else have anything to add?”
No one moved. Total silence filled the room and the seconds dragged on. Finally, the MOD man spoke.
“Sergeant Cross,” he said at last. His voice was handsome and friendly the way Soma imagined a viper’s might be. “I have just one question, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“We came across a strange anomaly as we were watching the feed from your suit cams.” The MOD man tapped a virtual button on the table and a holoscreen opened in front of Soma. He saw Alpha team filing into the governor’s suite, their repeaters slung on their backs and their issued tranquilizer guns in hand. The view lacked any of the heads-up display info he saw when he was actually there. “Hold on, it’s coming.”
Soma kept watching. Alpha team checked every cranny and corner. He heard himself order Kornall, Keln and Doff into the door on the right, and Axelin to come with him to the left. He could see Axelin’s face through the faceplate as he told Soma the door was unlocked. Soma tried to remain motionless as he watched the door open, watched his weapon lift and zero in on the girl at the bureau. Then it all went haywire.
Random lines and shapes of noise fluttered about the screen and the sound turned into a cacophony of blips and chirps. Soma frowned at it. The screen stopped. Soma could almost see the target turning towards him, almost see her looking at him with those fearless eyes. The screen vanished. Soma looked up to the MOD man.
“I don’t understand,” Soma said. “That’s the clip I pulled feed from to send confirmation of the target to Lieutenant Garin.”
“Indeed. We have that image.” The screen popped up again and showed the image Soma had sent from the original feed. “But the feed is ruined.”
“What about Private Axelin’s feed?”
The MOD man nodded, tapped a few buttons and the screen showed the same events over again, but from a different perspective. This time Soma saw himself lead Axelin into the room. Axelin cleared it, then looked at the girl and static started all over again.
Soma felt his brow furrowing.
“So, what I’d like to ask is what exactly happened during the time of this anomaly?”
“Well, sir,” Soma said, then paused. That moment had haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes since stepping off the Elpizio he saw her, heard the total stranger use his name. But he also felt the timing of this corruption in his feed was suspect. Were they testing him? “As soon as I had eyes on the target, I kept her centered while Private Axelin cleared the room. She kept her back to us as he did. Then she spoke to us.”
The MOD man leaned in. “What exactly did she say?”
Soma blinked, swallowed, noticed his breathing felt shaky. “She said, ‘Hello.’”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, sir.” Soma felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Was it hot in the conference room? No one else seemed to show any discomfort. He glanced around the room. No links were visible. No one whispered or tapped their fingers. All eyes were on him.
“Go on, Sergeant Major.”
“She called us by name and rank.”
No one made any auditory response to Soma’s revelation. But there were many wide eyes and shared glances. For the first time the MOD man looked away from Soma and at the other men. Was he gauging their responses?
“Was her back turned to you at this point?”
“Yes,” Soma said. “There was a mirror, but if I understand what you’re getting at, she might have seen our rank insignias, but our names are not found anywhere on our-”
“I’m aware of the configuration of your armor, Sergeant Major.” The MOD man seemed angry for the first time. “I was part of the committee that designed it.”
“Apologies, sir.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No sir. She turned around and then Private Axelin tranquilized her.”
Anatheret nodded. “Do you have anything else you would like to add to your report, Sergeant?”
“No sir.” The MOD man leaned back, opened his mouth. Soma took his chance. “But I do have some questions I would like to ask.”
The MOD man gave Soma what he probably thought was a reassuring smile. He looked more like a snake that had happened upon a fat mouse.
“Of course you can ask,” he said. “But I can’t promise any answers.”
“Well, sir, my men are all loyal to the death, Alliance to the bone, but they’re all confused about our mission. Why we attacked the ship of a member system’s governor. Why we were sent to acquire a target with no apparent value. If you’d be willing to shed some light on this mission that I can share with my men, I know we would all appreciate it.”
The MOD man nodded.
“I can understand your concerns,” he said. His smile sent a drop of cold sweat down Soma’s spine. How that was possible underneath his smartskin, he didn’t know. “Unfortunately, the details of the mission are need to know. Thanks so much for your time, Sergeant.”
“Is the government of the Antarii System now an enemy faction?”
“Sergeant—” The MOD man’s voice carried a warning. Soma left it unheeded.
“Is the target still aboard the Hamartiya?”
“Sergeant.”
“Can I be present at her interrogation?”
“That will be all, Sergeant.” The MOD man’s smile didn’t change. In fact, his whole body was rigid, petrified. Soma ceased his questions.
“Yes sir.”
“You are dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Soma stood and saluted. No one saluted back. He turned and left the conference room. He turned to the marine at the door, but it wasn’t the same man. He eyed Soma curiously but said nothing. Soma turned away from him and headed to the mess hall. As he did he recorded a message to Major Fauks.
“Major. Please relay my apologies to the MOD man for my insubordination. I hope my spoken concerns will not be held against you, Colonel Dau or the three-sixteenth.”
Soma paused, shook his head and sighed.
“But if there is any way I can speak to the target, or to even be present at her interrogation, I would appreciate it. Thank you, sir.”
Soma reviewed the message, rolled his eyes, and converted it to text. Then he sent it off.
Two hours later he received a message from Lieutenant Garin. When he saw the subject line, Re: Debriefing with Ministry of Defense, he knew he’d screwed up.
Sergeant Cross,
Under no circumstances are you to come near the target of your previous mission. You will put it out of your mind and do your job. I think I make myself clear.
Garin
Chapter Eight:
Like a Bird
Gan wasn’t smart enough to do the math.
He let his suit do the heavy lifting there. He stood on the ceiling of the Alliance gunship he had stolen and looked down through the opening in the floor at the starscape below. The ship was flying dark, all systems down. His smartskin was sealed against the vacuum now permeating the cabin of the ship. His air came from the ship’s auxiliary oxygen cannisters. His feet stuck to the ceiling through the magnetic locks in the smartskin. All was silent.
The gunship was barreling along through deep space. Gan checked his numbers again and found he was 1000 kilometers from Lodebar Station. His timer ticked down and he watched as stars flitted in and out of the view through his little window to the void.
He had taken a criss-crossing series of N-space slips across half the Antarii system in hopes of evading the Alliance’s ability to track his movements. But to land the gunship at the station would have undone all that work. The second some dock chief recognized it he would alert the local authorities and the Alliance. So, Gan plotted a flyby, wherein the gunship could accelerate for a few seconds, and then pass over the
station close enough that Gan would have air enough to make the jump but far enough that the dead ship with its disengaged transponder wouldn’t be picked up by any of the station’s sensors. He hoped.
But, again, he wasn’t smart enough to do the math so he entrusted his smartskin to do all the calculations and then give him a tidy timer on his HUD so he could know when to jump. The ship had days of oxygen, especial with only one passenger using it. It was now starting to feel like he’d been stuck in the dark ship looking into the starry abyss for weeks. In truth, it was closer to twelve hours.
At first, Gan used the time to research the station using the gunship’s hard drives. Alliance procedure was to load the drives with info on the system they were working in, so the gunship had detailed files, most of which were tactical data he had little use for.
Lodebar Station was one of two primary ports into the system, located five AU above the sun, just outside the system’s primary magnetic field, which meant it could be visited via interstellar...
Gan had a difficult time focusing on the data. When his eyes kept losing focus, he told his suit to read it to him. Then he fell asleep. Sleep, though, was mercilessly short. Soon he was bored, and still had hours to go. He attempted to use the meditative practices he’d learned from the Shaumri but found it painful. Every time he tried, all he could do was think about the ways they had manipulated him, how they had toyed with his mind, made him a killer, a killer whose murders he could only remember in nightmares.
The Shaumri warriors were little more than a tribe of hired assassins. For all they spoke of honor, they were just expensive mercenaries. Gan wondered about the faces he saw in those nightmares. Who were they? Powerful men and women for sure. Ever since he had met Remnant he had begun to wonder if they were good men and women or bad. Such wouldn’t have troubled him before. Honor was his morality. Only after he met Remnant had he realized that his honor was a lie.
His timer chimed a five-minute warning. Gan disengaged his air supply from the gunship’s O2 tanks. His HUD told him he had three hours of air in the cannisters slung to his chest.
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