“It will be enough,” said Tristan; his eyes glowed like fiery rubies. He was in a state of rage, blood-thirst, or excitement, Raidan could not tell which, perhaps some of each.
“I recommend you begin deploying your people now,” said Tristan. “I will order my support ships to assist and to unload all of the Remorii they carry,” said Raidan. “As for the rest of the battlegroup, they will begin their sweep of the planet, then the system, to destroy any Enclave ships that might be here.”
“Won’t that leave my ship and the support ships vulnerable while we deploy?” asked Tristan, “that will take some time.”
“No, you’ll be perfectly safe,” said Raidan. “I’m going to personally protect that operation with the Harbinger. And, I promise you, they have nothing that is a match for this ship.”
“On that we can agree,” said Tristan. “Very well, I will begin deployment.”
“Good luck to you.”
***
Nimoux inspected the soldier. He stood tall, posture perfect, and carried himself with the exact sort of resolve that Nimoux expected of his men, especially the leaders.
“Sir, I am reporting for duty, ready and able,” said Ferreiro. “It has been two days, I have grieved, and now I am ready.”
“Surely it takes more than two days to grieve such a loss,” said Nimoux, testing him.
“Sir, yes, sir,” replied the soldier. “I will mourn the loss of Diego for the rest of my days. However, I will not allow my grief to interfere with my duties, sir.” Just the answer Nimoux was hoping for—or near enough to it.
“Very good, Lieutenant,” said Nimoux. “And you are certain you are able to shoulder the responsibilities and duties expected of you as a soldier in Her Majesty’s Special Forces?”
“Sir, yes, sir! If Diego were here, he would want me to serve nobly and dutifully, and that is what I wish to do, sir.”
Nimoux nodded. “Very good.”
“Sir, is that all, sir?”
“No, that is not all,” said Nimoux. “As I explained to you before, when last we spoke, I had intended to divide the Special Forces unit into two detachments, as is common for a garrison of this size. Therefore, I have made a detachment Alpha and a detachment Bravo.”
The soldier listened attentively, but since he had not been prompted to speak, remained respectfully quiet, as he should.
“I am retaining command of ODA and the garrison at large,” said Nimoux, “however, I need someone to take command of ODB. I need that person to organize them, to train them, to enforce discipline, and to make certain they are battle-ready when the time comes.”
“I believe that is wise, sir.”
“Mr. Ferreiro, I have selected you, as the highest ranking, most experienced soldier remaining to us to be that leader.”
“Sir?”
“That’s right, I am ordering you to take command of Operational Detachment Bravo, effective immediately.”
“Sir, it is an honor, sir.”
“I want your unit to have the cohesion of glue, Lieutenant,” said Nimoux sharply. “You will barracks together, you will take meals together, you will drill together, and you will build that cohesion together. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Very good,” said Nimoux. “Your duties begin immediately. You are dismissed.” They exchanged salutes and Lt. Ferreiro left. Nimoux was glad to see him so well composed, considering the tragedy he had personally endured on Aleator One, and the short amount of time between then and now.
A good soldier, that one, thought Nimoux, deciding to completely forgive Ferreiro for his involvement in Pellew’s unlawful coup of the Nighthawk. Nimoux did not entirely hold to the belief that the responsibility of an action fell entirely upon the head of the commander giving the order, leaving the subordinates blameless; there were just certain things that human decency required for which a subordinate soldier ought to be expected to resist, reject, and otherwise not cooperate. However, in Ferreiro’s case, along with Mr. Merrill—the other surviving Special Forces soldier—Nimoux had decided to pin the entire blame on Pellew. Especially since, once Pellew was gone, Ferreiro and Merrill had both surrendered to the crew, indicating their disdain for the coup in the first place. A court martial was probably called for for both men, but, given the limited circumstances, and lack of judge advocates, he decided all of that could be sorted out properly once they returned from the mission. If they returned…
The chime rang. Nimoux wondered if it was Lt. Ferreiro back again so soon, perhaps with questions regarding his new assignment.
“Enter,” Nimoux called out.
To his surprise, and unforeseen excitement, it was the very beautiful Commander Presley who entered his office and stood across from him on the other side of the desk. The door again shut.
“To what do I owe the honor, Commander?” asked Nimoux, instinctively rising.
“You don’t have to get up on my account,” said Summers.
To Nimoux it was just good manners, but considering the pain that shot through him when he stood, he decided that a lack of propriety was all right, and he sat back down. The pain in his chest dulled once he had.
“I’m here to discuss the crew,” said Summers.
“I realize the welfare and assignments of the crew is the XO’s job,” said Nimoux, “and that perhaps I should be assisting you in that, as the Acting 2O, however I’m afraid I must apologize, I have been so busy with our new soldiers, I don’t know much regarding the state of the crew.”
“That’s quite all right,” said Summers. “I came to discuss the Rosco soldiers. If you wouldn’t mind, please, Captain, I would like your honest assessment of them, now that they have been aboard for a couple of days.”
“Ah, I see,” said Nimoux. “Well, the truth is they are far more obedient and compliant than I had expected. I have not once had to repeat an order or deal with an unruly or insubordinate soldier. Their actual tactical training leaves something to be desired, and I am drilling them on the use of better weaponry, combined with the added weight of wearing actual body armor and helmets, and not just suits and hats, but they are adapting at a reasonable rate of speed. Does that satisfy your report, Commander?”
“Do you trust them?”
“That is an interesting question,” said Nimoux. “I think by virtue of the fact that we’re all on this starship together, on this mission together, we more or less are obligated to trust one another, whether or not that trust has been earned. Because, if we don’t trust each other, then we have no hope of success. You can’t get very far if you trust nobody.”
“Be that as it may,” said Summers, “I don’t actually consider that an answer to my question.”
Nimoux thought about it for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Yes, I trust them. I trust them to follow my commands. I trust them to do their duty. And, when the fighting begins, I trust them to follow orders, hold their lines, and fight exactly as they are supposed to. I do not trust them to fight with the same skill or tactical awareness as a Special Forces unit, but that comes with practice and training. Unfortunately, there is only so much of that we can do before we may be needed. Is that a sufficient answer for you, Commander?”
“Yes,” said Summers, giving him a probing, almost concerned look.
“I appreciate you taking an interest in the personnel,” said Nimoux. “And I know that is the XO’s job. However, I did not know that supervision applied to the soldier division.” He knew perfectly well that it did not and he suspected she had another reason for being here.
“No, it doesn’t,” admitted Summers. “But as 2O, it does apply to you,” her eyes met his. Her green irises were like emeralds; Nimoux could easily find himself lost in them. “How are you?” she seemed genuine.
“Oh, the gunshot,” said Nimoux, thinking of the hole in his body that had been sutured up, and the pain that still haunted his every movement. “I’m all right,” he said, “none the worse for wear any
way.” He preferred not to add to Summers’s worries by reminding her that he had been shot by Pellew and was still recovering from the gunshot wound.
“You look like you’re in pain,” she said.
“Some, perhaps,” he admitted. “But, honestly, it’s better and better all the time,” he lied.
Nimoux lost himself in Summers’s eyes, and in her beauty, and as she showed genuine concern for him and his injury, she found some way to slip past his armor and nearly get him to admit the truth, that the wound seemed not to be healing. At least, not as fast as the doctors had expected. Although they had emphatically reminded him that it was too early to be jumping to any sort of conclusions.
Nimoux wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but somehow Summers found her way onto his side of the desk, and he let her examine the wound for herself. Her slender, long, warm fingers on his body, touching him, but careful to avoid the wound, stirred feelings inside him. The way she smelled, like lavender, relaxed him, yet her close proximity, and sheer, undeniable beauty excited him. It was an overwhelming sense of emotions and feelings, and Nimoux found himself quite unprepared for it.
Before he knew what was happening, their faces were mere inches apart; they talked about the wound, about business, about whatever the hell came to mind, but somehow they just got closer and closer together. Her leg was touching his now, feeling warm, feeling pleasant. He did not pull away. Her eyes now mere inches away, more radiant and beautiful than ever. Nimoux struggled to know what to say. To know what to do. And then, in a fraction of a moment, when all he could think about was taking her into his arms and kissing her, she blushed with embarrassment and pulled away.
“I…I’m happy to see that you’re holding together, Captain,” she said, suddenly standing rigidly at attention, having retreated to a respectable difference.
Nimoux was confused by what had just happened. Had anything happened? Was it all in my head? he wondered. It had been so long since he had been with a woman that he did not really remember what was flirtation and what was not. Always, his missions had taken precedence, always work, and now he found himself confused, and wanting—fiercely wanting—yet knowing he could not have what he wanted.
After saluting and excusing herself, Summers left. Either embarrassed by what had just happened or believing it to have been inappropriate—or both. Nimoux watched her leave; he was a man of discipline, but somehow it was impossible to tear his eyes away from her long perfect legs as she slipped out the door and disappeared.
My God, that woman is beautiful, he thought, doubting he had ever lain eyes on a woman more attractive than her. With a smile he secretly wondered if Lt. Ferreiro would still be a gay man if he had the chance at a night with Summers Presley. Of course, Nimoux knew the answer was yes, but if any woman could turn a man heterosexual from looks alone, it had to be her.
CHAPTER 13
Alex watched the newsfeed. It was a live stream of the current session of the Republican Senate. These newsfeeds were a matter of public access, although the majority of people, ignorant masses that they were, rarely gave them any attention. The fate of the Republic might be up for debate at any given moment and most every Rotham everywhere would still be watching some banal entertainment channel instead. It was a weakness of the species, Alex knew. A weakness they shared with the humans. How lowly of us, he thought scornfully.
Senator Ze’lo had the floor. “By now you are all familiar with the proposed legislation, The Security of the State Act,” he said. Alex watched him on the screen; the view was too zoomed out to show whether or not Ze’lo’s face showed any of the telltale signs of fear—or betrayal. Come on, you coward, you know what you have to do, thought Alex.
“With adequate sponsorship from the honorable Senators Gor’dov, O’xikor, along with myself; Ro, our very capital, stands united in the proposition of this bill. Additionally, we have received the sponsorship from all three senators each of the systems Lialiv, Prodamia, Karth, Eocarro, and Scion, with two-thirds sponsorship from Utronoe and Xazunore, and one third sponsorship from over three-score Republican Systems,” he said, adding some force to his hissing voice as each name was read.
“Under the Expedition Articles, I hereby move now for an immediate vote on this bill!” It was probably the boldest thing Ze’lo had ever done in his life. It was the kind of move that the Senate Rules narrowly allowed, but a senator risked his career by making such a demand at this stage in the legislative process. He was essentially saying, this bill is too urgent for due process to occur; this is an emergency.
Ze’lo had already placed the bill in the hopper on the side of the clerk’s desk, the clerk had already assigned it a number, the bill had even been read, its next step was for it to go to committee and, more than likely, die there. At least that was how legislation worked, so well as Alex understood it; this time, however, this was different. This time the bill would live or die on the Senate floor today.
“You cannot be serious,” objected one of the senators. The camera shifted to show Senator Nefyr, the senior senator of Anzillia. Like all systems within the Republic, Anzillia was represented by three senators—regardless of disparity of population, they kept representation uniform across systems. Three in order to prevent any system from cancelling its own voice by having an even number of senators vote against one another.
“I am serious,” said Senator Ze’lo.
The chamber filled with noise as a hundred arguments sprouted throughout the Senate. To prevent such things, the political coalitions sat with their own members, apart from the other groups. That, obviously, didn’t stop them from shouting across the room.
“Order. Order!” boomed the voice of the Speaker into his microphone. “Silence!”
The room quieted to less than a whisper. Then the Speaker acknowledged Senator Nefyr. “And do you, sir, accept the position of primary opponent of this bill?”
“I do, sir.”
“Very well, let the record so indicate that Senator Ze’lo has moved to incite his bill on the grounds of emergency need and that Senator Nefyr speaks against him,” said the Speaker.
The Speaker continued. “Senator Ze’lo, as it is you who has made the claim of such an emergency, I therefore require you first to speak and explain why this body should abandon our conventional ways and enact sweeping security reforms.”
“We are in grave danger, my fellow senators,” said Senator Ze’lo. “Even now we have received word that one of our fleets engaged in an unauthorized attack against the humans in Thetican System—and that less than five percent of our forces survived that engagement. Do you know why that engagement happened at all?” he paused for effect. “Because we have allowed ourselves to become blinded and corrupted and, even now, there are members of this Senate who are agents of a clandestine organization that is responsible for sending, and losing, our fleet. We must grant the Advent the authority they need to root out the corruption and eliminate it, once and for all.”
Alex smiled as he watched, thinking, for someone who is just as corrupt and whose hands are just as dirty as anybody else’s, you, Senator, sure do give a rousing speech against your own cronies.
“Very interesting,” said the Speaker. “And you, Mr. Nefyr, what is the basis of your objection?”
“Mr. Speaker. Fellow Senators. Let us not forget that it was not some shadowy, secretive organization that took our fleet to the human system—it was us. This very body! Have you all forgotten the vote we took, to send forces to reinforce and protect our citizens on Renora?”
“If our fleet was sent to protect Renora, why did it engage in battle in the Thetican System?” asked Senator Ze’lo.
“Point of order, Mr. Speaker!” said Senator Nefyr. “I had not concluded my remarks.”
“Senator Nefyr is correct, Mr. Ze’lo should not have interrupted him, nor will you do so again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Speaker,” said Senator Ze’lo.
“I only wished to add that my fear is
that if we open this door, allowing the Advent to have so much power, will we ever be able to close that door again? However, since the good senator from Ro has raised the question, I shall answer it. It was because the humans had massed their own fleet there to intercept us. Had we not struck the first blow, they would have butchered us even worse than they did. It was a strategic defeat, I will not say otherwise, but let us leave the tactics to the tacticians and the strategies to our commanders. The military leadership asked us to commission them a fleet, and so we did. All of this was done to protect the systems of the Republic, including our newest member, Renora System. There is no conspiracy in any of this.”
“Hear, hear!” came the cry throughout the chamber.
“Order,” demanded the Speaker. He then signaled Senator Ze’lo that it was again his turn.
“We do not have to worry about closing the door, as you put it, because the Act itself contains language requiring it to expire and be renewed by this body every ten years. As for the fleet, it was led astray precisely because there are spies and insurgents within our own ranks, enemies who have infiltrated our government at the highest levels,” he said, to a shocked audience. The camera panned out to show the Senate chamber; Alex noted that some of the seats were vacant. While the Advent had been able to leverage many in the Senate, there were others that they knew would be obstacles; Alex doubted those senators would be returning to fill their vacant seats any time soon.
“I call for this body, the defenders of the Rotham people wherever they may be, to do justice by them and to give our protective services the power they need in order to protect us. Our enemies are not just far away, oh no, our enemies are upon our own soil, breaking bread with us in our own houses, and plotting among us as we sleep. This legislation will empower the Advent to root them out.”
The Speaker raised a hand and pointed to Senator Nefyr. “This legislation is about surrendering our freedoms, our liberties, our civil rights! This enlarges and empowers the Advent to become the very conspiratorial cabal our dear senator from Ro seems so worried about!”
The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6) Page 25