by B. V. Larson
Turning back to Halsey, I smiled and accepted his congratulations without reservation. After all, I knew I deserved them.
We spent an hour or so going over the damage to Defiant. It was extensive, but not irreparable. When we were done with this lengthy process, Halsey led me off the ship onto the station.
There, it seemed like everyone we met wanted to shake my hand and clap my back. I was beginning to feel pretty good about my ordeals—now that they were behind me.
When we reached his office, Halsey faced me and smiled.
“You did it,” he said. “You really did it. When you were in action, did you realize how long the odds were on the continuation of your career?”
“A single battle cruiser is no match for a dreadnought in close combat, sir,” I admitted. “But I thought I might win the struggle anyway.”
He waved my words away and chuckled. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about the Joint Chiefs. They wanted to crucify you every moment.”
“Even after I destroyed Nostromo?”
“Of course. You brought her here, remember? In the minds of many officials, you nearly caused the extinction of our entire race.”
This comment stumped me. My mouth opened, but no sound came forth.
“Yes,” he said in a low tone, “it was that close for you. But do you know who saved the situation? Your aunt, that’s who. I guess blood really is thicker than water. She’s been online talking to the brass ever since the battle ended. Convincing them that they’d be better off playing you up as a hero than as a fool. She explained the people wouldn’t stand for a court martial after a dramatic battle in space right over their heads. That they’d rather have a figurehead to attend their parades than a scape-goat to throw filth at.”
My mind finally caught up with his words. “Who will play that role then, sir?” I inquired.
“What?”
“Who’s your scape-goat? The man this world will blame for bringing us all so close to doom?”
We locked stares for a moment. His attitude undertook a sudden shift. He stood up and leaned forward with his fingers splayed on his desk. The computerized desk glowed around each of those fingers, uncertain what its master might want from it.
“Are you suggesting that I might be to blame, Sparhawk?”
“You sent me up there, sir. You authorized me to become Defiant’s captain. In fact, as I recall, you insisted upon it. Who’s the greater fool? The fool himself, or the man who promotes him?”
He glared at me for a moment longer before looking down and shaking his head. “Well-played. That was exactly what your aunt said—but you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t discuss it with her. But it only stands to reason.”
“A real chip off the old block, aren’t you? No wonder your family has held political power for decades—well, it doesn’t matter. The enemy has been defeated, and you’re a planet-wide hero. Go to a few parties and enjoy yourself, Captain,” he concluded—waving dismissively and looking mad enough to spit on me.
“I’ll do just that, Admiral,” I said calmly. “Would you mind joining me at a bar right now, in fact?”
He’d just begun toying with his desk again, but he halted. He looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“What’s this then? An attempt to bury the hatchet so soon?”
I spread my hands. “We don’t know how long it will be before the next colonist ship comes visiting. There’s no time for petty squabbles. Besides, many good Guard officers were spaced today. I’d like to tip a glass to their souls.”
He nodded slowly. “Me too... All right then, let’s go.”
We walked out and found the nearest bar. Naturally, a rowdy victory party was already in progress. Every spacer who recognized us bought us a drink, and we were soon blind drunk.
Eventually, I remembered to turn on my implants to process out the toxins. It was a wise choice, but one I made much too late. I ended up passing out and being carted back to my ship by a pack of singing yard-dogs from the station.
When I awoke the next morning, I was startled by the face of my Aunt. She was peering and frowning at me, tsking all the while.
“Captain Sparhawk,” she said. “I’m too old for changing diapers.”
I looked down in concern, but found my clothing was still on and unsoiled. She’d been speaking figuratively, to my great relief.
“You behaved abominably yesterday,” she said, taking a seat behind my own desk.
Stretching and groaning, I clawed myself into a sitting position.
“Every man gets drunk now and then,” I said, “especially after saving the world.”
“I’m not talking about getting drunk. I’m talking about threatening Halsey. That was foolish.”
I frowned at her thoughtfully. “Who let you in here, anyway?”
She rolled her eyes. “As if the commander of any mission in space wouldn’t insist on a full set of door codes for every cabin aboard.”
Thinking that over, I considered telling her that I didn’t possess such a set of codes, but I passed on the idea.
“How did you know that I talked to Halsey? Or rather, what I said?”
She made that tsking sound again. “William, be serious. I know almost everything that happens on this ship. How else could I have gotten you placed in command of her?”
“Halsey didn’t want to give me the command?”
“He wasn’t the main obstacle. There were members of the High Command who tried to stop me. But they failed to derail us and place lackeys of their own aboard Defiant.”
After a trip to the bathroom, during which I liberally threw handfuls of cold water into my face, I returned. She was still sitting there behind my desk like a patient spider.
My mind was finally operating. Why was she here? Just to scold me? Unlikely. She wanted to tell me something, or to get some kind of information from me. That’s what her kind was always interested in. Manipulation of events, deal-making... little else interested her.
“Okay Aunt Helen,” I said, “I’ll bite. What do you want from me today?”
“This isn’t over,” she said, “this war between the worlds. I’d hoped we could reach out to these childish colonists diplomatically. That Earth’s wealth and culture could control the barbarians that have been festering out there among the stars for so long. Unfortunately, that initial gambit has clearly failed.”
“What’s plan B?”
“War, of course,” she said smoothly.
“Does it have to go that way?”
“Yes, I absolutely think it does. You’ve met plenty of these Stroj, William. Is it your educated opinion that they can be reasoned with? Do you think we can get them to sign a treaty of some kind, perhaps?”
“They might be convinced to do that.”
She laughed. “They’d simply use it to slow us down before their next vicious attack.”
“Probably so,” I admitted.
“Sometimes, war is the only solution. Sometimes an enemy must be destroyed.”
“Of course, but that isn’t my call to make.”
Her eyes followed me as I changed uniforms. Smart-straps wrapped themselves over my body with a slithering motion that caught on the hairs of my legs and arms.
“I’m going to call a private council among the elite of several political parties,” she said quietly. “I want you to be there. I want you to help me convince them that they must act.”
“You mean to build a fleet? We’re doing that now.”
“No. I think we have to go further. The plans we have now are purely defensive in nature. We need larger ships. Vessels capable of exploration and hunting, as needed.”
“Starships? Like Defiant?”
She inclined her head. “Like Nostromo, possibly.”
That was a thought. What would it be like to have the deck of a massive killer like that under my feet? Despite my better judgment, I was intrigued.
“I won’t lie for you,�
� I told her. “I’ll report, and I’ll give my honest opinion. That’s it.”
“Of course. I’d never expect anything less from you. In fact, your reputation for painful honesty is an asset I’m depending on in this situation. All you have to do is tell me what your real opinion is, first.”
I was beginning to catch on. She wanted Earth to build an attack fleet. In order to get the blessing of the political “powers that be”, they had to be convinced. Many would be adverse to shouldering such a massive expense.
Who could better convince them than the hero who’d saved them all from destruction in the skies right over their heads?
A series of things began to click in my mind following this thought. Had she come along on this trip to bear witness? Had she chosen me to captain this ship, not because she believed in my capacities, but because she could get me to support her conclusions in front of the right people? The people behind the scenes who made the big decisions?
And lastly, had she worked hard to give me the status of a hero only in order to further her goals?
The only logical answer to all these questions was: yes.
“All right,” I said, looking her square in the eye. “I’ll go with you. I’ll make the case. But only because it’s the right choice. We can’t let Star Guard sit here and build fortifications forever. We can’t let the Stroj choose the time and the place of our next meeting. We must seize the initiative.”
She smiled and her artificially-regrown teeth gleamed. “I knew you’d come to the right decision. You’ve got a lot of your mother in you—much more than the thirty percent they give you credit for.”
With that, she bid me farewell, and left.
-55-
I showered, dressed, and headed toward the docking tubes. I was tired of being trapped aboard Defiant, as much as I loved her. Even Araminta Station seemed like a welcome respite in comparison.
It was at the docking tubes that I met up with Zye. She’d clearly been waiting for me. Without anything more than a nod from each of us, she fell into step at my side.
“You think there might be more Stroj assassins on Earth?” I asked her.
“There probably are.”
“Is that why you intend to follow me around planet-side?”
She glanced at me reproachfully. “I find your ingratitude distressing.”
Heaving a sigh, I nodded. “My apologies. Please accompany me, Zye. I’m sure we’ll both enjoy ourselves.”
Mollified, she followed me down the sky-lift to the ground station. We moved toward the public transport—but we never made it that far.
Apparently, someone had alerted the media to our presence. The drones showed up first—a dozen floating cameras no larger than eyeballs. They swarmed, and they deftly dodged my fingers when I sought to slap them away.
By the time we reached the streets, I realized we weren’t going to be allowed any peace whatsoever.
“Time for a change of plan,” I said, “I’m calling for estate transport.”
One of my father’s chauffeurs swooped down less than five minutes later to pick us up. We scrambled inside, and a few of the camera drones became trapped in the car with us. I swatted them from the air and tossed them out the windows, which then slid themselves back into place.
“Driver,” I said, “take me home, will you?”
“Can’t do that, sir.”
“Why not?”
“We’ve got a schedule. You’re wanted at the Treasury Citadel. There’s an event being held in your honor.”
Closing my eyes, I opened them again slowly. “All right,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself. Drive on.”
Zye looked at me with a strange expression.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“You’re not behaving as you normally do.”
I shrugged. “I’ve accepted my fate this time. It’s for the good of the planet, after all.”
“Master Sparhawk, sir?” asked the driver.
Glancing up with disapproval, I nodded to him reluctantly. A good driver didn’t listen in and bother his passengers.
He grinned at me. “Could I have your thumbprint? It’s for the wife—you understand.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling tiredly and pressing my thumb against the computer scroll he slid back to me. I really was beginning to understand my new existence.
* * *
Seven days and a dozen public events passed by in a blur. I’d reunited with my parents and been promptly paraded in front of every donor and VIP they could muster into my presence.
“That’s right, he’s my only son,” Dad said, his arm wrapped around my shoulders and his face beaming.
He’d recovered well from his injuries of a year ago. He could stand unaided now, but not for extended periods. It was enough to allow for appropriately staged pictures, at least.
Like all offspring, I’d long sought my father’s approval. The only thing that bothered me was that the change in his attitude was so clearly self-serving. Still, I knew I shouldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity for rekindling our relationship.
In short, I went along with the charade, but I never felt completely at ease. I couldn’t forget that his shift in attitude toward my naval career had come because it suited his purposes. My father had resisted my choices in life with every breath, manipulation and lengthy exhalation he made. Now, suddenly, he was all smiles, hugs and photo-ops.
I tried valiantly not to let this bother me. My parents were political animals, after all. They were like obsessed sports-fans, in a way, pursuing their passion viscerally. They had their habits and their personalities, and there was nothing I could do to change that.
Making peace with a difficult situation, I tried to love them for who they were and bask in the approval I’d sought for so long. If only they didn’t make such a drama out of every moment, it would’ve been easier to believe in their sincerity.
“Yes, he is the best,” my mother insisted, her hands pressing my chest and back simultaneously. “I raised him to be a warrior. That’s just what Earth needs today, don’t you think?”
I wanted to squirm, but I forced a tight smile instead. The journalist who was interviewing the two of us together seemed alight with personal interest. She was pretty, petite and her eyes moved quickly, like those of a bird.
“Captain Sparhawk,” she said, “it’s been said that you gained your command through political manipulation. Is that true?”
My mother’s gushing smile vanished. “Come, William. We’ll talk to a more serious person in the ballroom.”
I locked eyes with the reporter. She stared at me, ignoring my mother, who was attempting to guide me away.
Resisting my mother’s tug effortlessly, I took in a breath and nodded to the reporter. “Some have said that,” I admitted. “Given my family history, I can understand why such a worry might concern any citizen. But it’s simply not true. Check my record. I spent longer as a mere ensign than most Academy graduates typically do. The fact was that my officers hated me at first.”
Sensing her opportunity, the reporter stepped closer. Her short hair hung in two curving arcs down around her chin. I found this intriguing.
“I did check it. They did hate you—no one could make another conclusion fairly. And your parents—they didn’t want you to be a Star Guard officer either, did they?”
“No, quite the opposite. They resisted my service at every step.”
My mother’s hands turned into claws. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes and whispered hotly in my ear.
“Don’t let her beguile you,” she hissed. “You’re ruining this.”
Politely, I turned back to the reporter. “Perhaps at a later time,” I said.
“I’d like that.”
I was dragged away. I felt as if I was a child once more, and my mother had just caught me filling the bathtub with her e-docs all over again.
“I can’t believe you’re such a sucker for a pretty fac
e, William,” she scolded. “Why don’t you go and make up with Lady Astra? You made such a cute couple.”
At the mention of Lady Astra, I felt a pang. I’d seen her across the room since my return to Earth, but I’d yet to speak to her. Each time my eyes met hers by chance, she looked quickly away. Perhaps she’d heard about some of the affairs I’d had of late.
“Where are we going, mother?” I asked mildly. “Wherever it is, I’d like to stop off at the bar, first.”
“Oh no, that’s the last thing you need. You’re already losing it.”
“What do you mean?”
She took a breath and let it slowly out. “Listen, my son. You’re not used to this. Adulation, fame, playing the role of the hero. I don’t think it suits you. It seems to be grating on you.”
I considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “I like the praise—but I don’t like the scrutiny. The whole thing feels unnatural to me. I’ve always been a Sparhawk, but I’ve never been the man on Earth that everyone wants to meet.”
“Well, just try to keep your wits about you,” mother said. “That’s all I ask.”
I nodded, and she finally let me go.
Turning toward the bar in relief, I didn’t make it twenty steps before the petite reporter stepped in my way. One moment she’d been nowhere to be seen, and the next she was in my path. It would have been annoying, save for the fact that she had a martini in each hand.
“Here,” she said, offering me one. “You look like you could use this.”
“You’re very perceptive.”
I tasted the drink, and I almost gagged. Someone had put sugar and apple-flavoring into it. After the initial shock wore off, however, I found I was able to drink the sticky stuff anyway.
The reporter’s name was Sara. We shared several drinks, some personal conversations, and eventually her bed in a neighboring hotel.
Sometime after midnight, we were rudely awakened by a pounding at the door.
Groaning and heaving myself into a sitting position, I looked around blearily in the dark.