by Jean Johnson
Her gaze moved to his upper chest. The name patch said Colvers. A glance at the woman showed her wearing two silver bars, a Lieutenant Commander, just like Jackie. The woman, whose name tag was now visible, was Mbani. The woman lifted her chin at the newcomer, greeting him with some familiarity.
“Happy New Year, Brad. I was wondering if it’d be you,” the lieutenant commander said.
“Ayinda,” he greeted her, then glanced at Jackie, his gaze first going to her naturally tanned, round face, to her reddish-brown curls pulled ruthlessly into a coiled braid, then down to her insignia and scattering of medals from her years of service. “Lieutenant Comman . . .”
Colvers stopped midword, staring at the Psi Division flashpatch affixed to her jacket’s right shoulder. The Radiant Eye was a symbol of the Psi League, but the military’s psychic corps had commandeered a version of it. There was the horizontal ellipsis outlining an eye shape, and a circle-within-a-circle for the iris and the pupil, plus the eight rays emanating from the center of the pupil. But the curves that outlined the outer edge of the iris were actually made from the curves of a laurel wreath. Eyeing the black-on-silver design of her flashpatch, the lieutenant’s lip curled up, and he backed up a step.
Jackie wasn’t unfamiliar with that kind of reaction to that particular patch on her sleeve. Mbani, however, arched her brow at that. “You have a problem with courtesy, Lieutenant?”
The youngish man looked like he wanted to say, Yes, very much so, at least where it pertained to Jackie in her not-quite-perfect uniform. But after a moment, he swallowed it down, though he remained several meters back. “Sir, no, sir. Greetings, Lieutenant Commander . . . MacKenzie,” he stated, his eyes flicking to her nameplate before shifting away again. “I just don’t know what a psi is doing here, mingling with Navy personnel.”
Jackie frowned in puzzlement. It was one thing to be startled by the presence of a psi in the military; there weren’t many who were willing to serve, despite the military desperately needing them to help thwart Grey visits. It was another to actively display dislike for someone with psychic abilities.
The other lieutenant commander lowered her brows as well, but it was the tall, pale blond man seated behind the lieutenant who spoke up at his words. His accent hinted at some Scandinavian country, and the polyglot portion of Jackie’s mind tried to identify it by that alone, a mental game she liked to play whenever she thought she’d be working with a certain group.
“I thought the Navy carried the psis around the system to scare off the Greys,” the seated man stated, his hazel eyes flicking from person to person before returning to the newcomer. “Why would the two groups not mingle? I think it would be difficult to carry them around without all the mingling.”
Finnish, Jackie pinpointed. Focusing on discerning the correct language kept her from dwelling on just how offensive the lieutenant’s attitude was. At least, I’m pretty sure his native tongue is Finnish, given how he pronounced around each time with the full diphthong they use for words like sauna.
“Because they don’t put psis on my ship,” Lieutenant Colvers stated bluntly. His accent was North American, possibly Canadian.
“Lock-and-Web it, Lieutenant,” Mbani ordered. Her accent was still very faint, but lyrical. The taller woman squared her shoulders, staring down the newcomer. “We don’t know what the mission is, or why any of us are here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Colvers muttered under his breath. Turning away from the two on their feet, he eyed the pair in the lobby seats. “So who are you two?”
Before either could speak, the door that was a flat panel of wood, not two polished panes of metal, swung open. The man who stepped through was short, Asiatic, and stocky. He swung his body with the stride of a horseman and greeted them with a grin.
“Well, five warm bodies, six if you count mine. It’s nice to see y’all are all here. Extra nice to see you two again,” he added, nodding to Mbani and Colvers. The commander’s accent was discernibly Texan, as was the slight swagger and the friendly demeanor. “But we’ll get to the ‘old crew week’ stuff later. Gentlemen, ladies, if y’all will follow me?”
The civilian male hesitated, pointing at his chest with raised brows. The newcomer nodded, so the Finn unfolded himself from his seat, showing within seconds that he was easily the tallest in the group. The woman next to him rose as well; she was just a few centimeters taller than Jackie, who stood a few shorter than the other lieutenant commander. Gesturing for the others to go first, since she didn’t want to bump into anyone accidentally, Jackie followed at the rear while the blue-uniformed commander led them into the maze of hallways beyond the eighteenth-floor lobby.
Three, four turnings brought them through that maze to a conference room that overlooked the southwestern side of the island. The iridescent cubes of the Department of Departments were visible directly ahead, if only at the bottom edge of the windows. Lush green trees, wind-swayed palm fronds, and faux-thatched rooftops dotted the landscape beyond. Part of the great, glass-and-metal-faceted curve of the Lotus could be seen off to their left, too. But the view, while spectacular, was nothing compared to what was seen inside the room.
Most of the conference room was ordinary enough. The table was long and had the standard embedded display, though it was dark at the moment. A dozen or more padded chairs lined each side. A lieutenant in a black uniform with three stripes decorating the sides of it—gray, brown, and blue—was working the cabinets and cupboards at the far end, where the coffee dispenser sat. He was busy setting out mugs and glasses, should anyone want anything. All of that was to be expected.
What was not expected was the sight of the former Premiere of the United Planets Council, Rosa McCrary—former as of just three days ago when the new year had turned over and she had officially stepped down a year early, citing personal reasons—plus the new Premiere, Augustus Callan, who until three days ago had been the Secondaire. The Admiral-General sat with him, clad in a very formal dress uniform with no stripes of color whatsoever, just the five stars of his rank and the dozen or so medals that were his minimum required display.
The four-star officer seated next to them, sleeves striped in blue and gray, was almost an afterthought to Jackie’s bemused mind. Gathered in this one, modest-sized room, were the top leaders of the United Planets . . . and she, Jacaranda MacKenzie, had been summoned here in a military capacity, not a civil-service one. That was the odd thing. Last month, it would have been normal. She had served on many committees involving the military, thanks to her years of service as background experience. This month? Not normal.
Rosa rose first, smiling in welcome and offering her hand to most of the newcomers as the group entered. “Come in, come in; please be seated, Commander Graves, Lieutenant Colvers. Lieutenant Yarley will get you whatever you’d like to drink, Dr. de la Santoya, Mr. Thorsson . . . coffee, tea, juice. Good to meet you, Lieutenant Commander Mbani . . . ah! There you are, MacKenzie. We won’t be able to do this without you.”
The graying blonde didn’t offer her hand to Jackie at the end of the line as she had the others, but instead clasped her own together and bowed. Not deeply, but out of warm respect nonetheless. Jackie returned it because she had respected Rosa’s leadership . . . but this was the woman who had taken her aside two months ago, requesting that she step down for a term, citing the very minor number of anti-psi dissenters in her constituency as the reason why. It was easy to guess that Rosa didn’t want to clasp hands because she didn’t want to inflict any personal opinions on Jackie; the woman was thoughtful like that. Thoughtful, and more.
Now that her commission had been reactivated, Jackie wondered what Rosa and her former Secondaire were really up to, invoking her old her commission like this. Turning her attention to the others, she eyed the dark-haired man who now represented the highest level of government. His four-year term as Secondaire had impressed her and everyone else, though it remained to be seen if he would be as good a leader as McCrary had been.
> “Honorable McCrary. Premiere Callan,” she added, nodding politely to him. They had worked together during her stint as a Councilor. She had also served on committees with the foremost of the three officers in the room. The other two, she had to read their nameplates as she greeted them. “Admiral-General Kurtz, it’s good to see you again. Admiral Nayak. Lieutenant Yarley. Happy New Year to all of you.”
She received a smattering of Happy New Years in return. Her gaze strayed to the two high-ranked officers in their midst. Kurtz had iron-gray hair that stood straight up in a very short, very flat-topped cut, and skin that was almost as pale as the tall Finnish fellow’s. Nayak had jet-black hair, twisted and pinned up in a bun at the back of his head, with skin that was only a little darker than Jackie’s natural tan. Both senior officers rose briefly in return, politely murmuring their own seasonal greetings, then reseated themselves.
At a gesture from the Premiere, the six newcomers eyed the chairs and picked out positions; Colvers, Graves, and Mbani took the side of the table where the two Command Staff officers sat. The woman and the Finn picked the side McCrary and Callan occupied. Jackie considered the table, with the Premiere at one end . . . and picked a seat near the other end, on the civilian side, placing an empty chair between herself and the dark-haired doctor.
Not out of a lack of friendliness, just as an act of caution, since she hadn’t been fully introduced yet, though the Radiant Eye patch on her sleeve was silent testament as to why. Sitting down also gave her the chance to discreetly unbutton her jacket, easing the strain on the button holes. When the lieutenant stooped near her to get her order, she quietly requested an unsweetened iced tea, if he had it. She was already tense enough that she didn’t need coffee to stay alert.
“Let’s get this meeting under way,” Premiere Callan stated as soon as everyone had settled into place, some with mugs of coffee, the rest with iced tea or water. “First, the introductions. I’m sure you all know who I and my predecessor are. McCrary is included in this meeting as a civilian consultant. Of all of us, she is the one who was kept informed at each step of the way as events and information initially accumulated, and will continue to keep track of the psychic elements, though the burden of ultimate responsibility has now landed firmly in my lap. Admiral-General Vilhelm Kurtz will have final say over all military operations, save only what I myself or Secondaire Pong veto or approve. Admiral Daksha Nayak will be your immediate military liaison.”
“Lieutenant Commander Jacaranda MacKenzie is receiving a promotion as well as having her commission reactivated,” Admiral-General Kurtz told them next. “She is also being given a lateral transfer to the rank of Major instead of Commander. This is being done to differentiate between her and Commander Robert Graves. She will share joint leadership of this crew with Commander Graves, and full authority of it under special circumstances.
“Until those circumstances kick in, Commander Graves will be in nominal charge of each mission, and in charge of the ship itself,” the Admiral-General explained, without explaining much of anything. “That ship will be the Aloha 9, which should be quite familiar to at least three of you—before you ask, officers, your former crewmates have been reassigned to other vessels.”
Even as he spoke, Lieutenant Yarley came around to Jackie’s side again. This time, he set a smallish box in front of her instead of another iced tea. The style of the box was familiar; all newly designated ranks came in one of these boxes, which were filled with rank pins. One set was displayed uppermost on a black-velvet card, the rest were always tucked beneath it. Cracking open the lid, she eyed the silver oak leaf on display with a touch of wariness.
Not for the first time, Jackie wished she had been given a touch of precognition among her gifts, so that she could know what was going on. This “specific circumstances” clause—indeed, all of this, being asked to step down from the Council when she had done a good enough job to earn a second term, having her commission reinstated—was confusing. Kurtz continued, forcing her to pay attention.
“When those circumstances kick in, she will be in charge of all missions, and Commander Graves will be second-in-command. Lieutenant Commander Ayinda Mbani will be third, followed by Dr. Maria de la Santoya—you have something to say, Lieutenant Colvers?” the Admiral-General asked when the younger man shifted abruptly at his words, head raising in startlement.
“Admiral-General, yes, sir,” Colvers stated, brow furrowing in a confused frown. “If this is a military operation, I should be next. The doctor—no disrespect, ma’am—is a civilian, sir. I outrank her in every way as an officer in the Navy.”
Rosa McCrary gave him a smile that was half grimace. Her normally cultured Australian accent deepened for a moment. “Actually, we’re not completely sure which category this mission falls into, military or civilian. Dr. de la Santoya’s authority would only be activated if bad things were to happen to the others . . . and if bad things are happening, then it very well may not be a case of military jurisdiction.”
“I . . . don’t understand, sirs,” Colvers said, looking at the leadership at the table. He wasn’t the only one confused.
“As with Major MacKenzie,” Premiere Callan told him, “de la Santoya has some governing experience. Hers was at the regional level, which may not be at the Council level, but it is more civilian-leadership experience than you as a soldier have had. As for the particulars . . . we would like to get through the introductions first. You will be working together for an unspecified length of time, which could be quite long. Please let the Admiral-General continue.”
Chastised—however politely—Colvers sat back.
“You would be next in the chain of command after the doctor, Lieutenant,” Kurtz continued, tipping his head at Colvers. “Followed by Dr. Thorsson, there. Starting with him and working our way back up, these are your mission positions: Thorsson has a double doctorate in xenogeology and astrophysics. His rank will be considered Specialist, for all he is still very much a civilian consultant. Lieutenant Colvers will be acting as your group’s backup pilot, gunner, chief engineer, and so forth.
“Dr. de la Santoya is licensed to practice general medicine in both gravity and zero-gravity conditions. She has also studied what little we know so far of xenobiology, so she is your medical expert for this mission, as well as your backup civilian leader—I am not finished, Lieutenant,” the Admiral-General added as Colvers drew in a breath. “Lock-and-Web it.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Colvers muttered.
Lock-and-Web was a phrase that, before today, Jackie hadn’t heard in years, but its repeated use now brought back memories. Floating around on gravity-free spaceships that could take off and move at a bare moment’s notice, one had to constantly be clipping, webbing, or storing in drawers and cupboards anything that could possibly turn into a projectile weapon because of a vector change. Drawers and doors had to be latched, spare straps retracted or bundled up and knotted out of the way, and trash managed as much as possible. Even on the great rotating space stations—where the ever-ongoing argument of centripetal versus centrifugal forces provided a facsimile of gravity—everything had to be locked and webbed for safety’s sake.
It could also be used as a somewhat more polite alternative to shut up, in both the military and civilian spacefaring sectors.
“Lieutenant Commander Mbani is your chief astronavigator, backup engineer, and backup gunner. Commander Robert Graves is your chief pilot, backup gunner, backup engineer, and nominal head of all missions until the special circumstances take place. Your head of all missions after that point will be Major Jacaranda MacKenzie, who will also be your communications specialist as well as your government liaison.”
“Admiral-General, sir,” Mbani stated carefully when he paused to let that sink in. “I’m afraid I must side with Lieutenant Colvers in expressing my confusion. Why are civilians being inserted into our chain of command?”
“That would be my cue to speak,” Rosa stated bluntly. She tapped the table, and the
screens came to life. “Eight months ago, the Psi League started collating reports from registered precognitives. Dreams of certain people meeting with non-Human races.”
“The Greys?” Thorsson asked. He looked at Jackie. “You are in the Psi Division. You are strong enough to thwart them, yes?”
“I can,” Jackie admitted, glancing warily at the head of the Space Force to see if Kurtz objected to her admitting that much. When he didn’t even blink, she added, “Three times, already. I can do it again if needed.”
“Good,” Graves said. “I don’t like ’em, and I don’t want to deal with ’em. So long as you’re along . . .”
“These aliens are not the Greys,” Premiere Callan corrected them.
That snagged everyone’s attention. The Grey Ones—for lack of a better name—had proved to be disturbingly real a few hundred years back. They were advanced beyond anything humanity had ever seen, and the only thing that could keep them at bay was strong psychic energies being projected in their faces. Preferably into their minds, but even just levitating things around them was enough to harm the aliens.
The Space Force tried to recruit psis for protecting all the research domes and mining stations in the system. Psis were carried on board to be able to project kinetic inergy at Grey ships at a moment’s notice, preferably from a safe distance but not always. The Greys were behind far too many of the “kidnapped and experimented upon” stories that had plagued Earth for centuries.
Jackie herself had been requested as both a very strong telepath and a modestly strong xenopath—a particularly effective form of psi weaponry against them—to go into the military, specifically to serve on the Space Force’s patrols. Three of her medals, and the shoulder tattoo hidden by her uniform, were for three different instances where she had single-handedly chased off a Grey ship before it could capture any Humans for experimentation. Earth had too many psis for them to like approaching it these days, but they loved—if the alien race had any such emotional equivalent—to swoop in and pluck people out of research domes and orbital stations.