by Ward Wagher
Frank arrived in one of the trucklets and immediately stepped over to where Smith was standing next to Jones. “Smith, what happened?”
“I have no idea, Sir. When I got here the house was totally in flames. Gorsline ran into the burning house.”
“Who is Gorsline?”
“He is with the Regiment.”
“Where is he?”
“Sir… he never came out. Jones said he went in to rescue a child.”
Frank shook his head. “Good God! Anybody else in there?”
“We think Aaron Shover was in there too.”
“Is that his wife over there?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mrs. Shover was surrounded by five or six of the neighborhood women and her three other children. She was still wailing uncontrollably. Father Riggs was there also. He looked at Frank, and scowled.
Frank mouthed the words ‘call me’ to the clergyman and he nodded agreement.
Frank walked back over to Smith. “Cedric…” Frank stopped. No further words would come.
“That poor child,” was all Smith could say at the moment as he choked up.
“Jones, were you on the job?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“May I assume you were watching the house?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You did something to the communicator.”
“Yes, Sir. Gorsline did.”
“And it caused this?”
Jones opened his hands and shook his head. Frank looked at Smith who could say nothing either. It was the first time Frank had ever seen him speechless.
Which means they caused this. God have mercy on our souls, Frank thought.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It’s 3 A.M., Frank. You need to try to get some sleep.”
Frank looked out the window at the moon-lit keep. “I am not going to be able to sleep.”
“You are going to have to sleep sometime. Try to put this out of your mind.”
“A child has been killed, Wendy. It was murder and I am as guilty as anyone.”
“You didn’t kill that child, Frank. Aaron Shover did.”
Frank sighed, and placed his hands on his hips. “A curious role reversal, isn’t it, my Dear? I don’t understand why you haven’t completely come apart over this.”
“Come to bed, Frank. I need you to hold me. I am as unhappy as you are about this, but it is simply nuts for us to blame ourselves. The real tragedy is having someone like Aaron Shover putting his family at risk like that. In many societies, the police would have gone in shooting and asked questions later. We were trying our best to neutralize Shover without the use of extreme force. I helped make the decision, remember?”
“I know. It’s just that every time I turn around, some innocent soul is getting hurt. I have heartburn all the time now. I never had things like this happen to me in the Navy. I analyzed issues, made decisions and made things happen successfully. It’s like some force of nature is bent upon screwing up my life.”
“We are at war, Frank. People get killed in war.”
“This is not a war! We are trying to deal with a criminal in Cambridge and do so under some severe limitations. And then we have an incident like this. Things keep spinning out of control.”
Wendy chuckled mirthlessly. “Ah, my husband the control freak. You loved the Navy because you could place everything in its own little box. It was nice, neat, and tidy, not like this world here where everything keeps popping up and slapping you in the face.”
“But I should be able to stop it.”
“And you have done admirably well, under the circumstances. We are dealing with a monster and you have kept him bottled up on his side of the mountains.”
“I’m not worried about the monster tonight, Wen. I just keep thinking about that poor kid. I don’t even want to think about how Otto will react to the death of his electronics tech.”
“Remember, he said the Regiment’s incorporation into Montora would be paid for in blood.”
“Yes, but it’s a little different between talking theoretically and having it pop up and bite you on the rear.”
“Come to bed, Frank.”
Frank sighed and stepped away from the window. He slipped into bed next to his wife. She held him close and stroked his back for a long time.
Major Martin Boodles sat in his makeshift office staring at the after-action report submitted by Sergeant Cedric Smith. He looked at his other screen which displayed the beginnings of a report he would have to dispatch to Colonel Putin. If this is bad, the evening I just spent with Gorsline’s widow was worse, he thought. This is why I chose Logistics instead of infantry, to avoid these meetings and letters. And it still happens here in what should be a safe haven for our people.
Finally with a sigh, he locked his screens and stood up. Nothing more can be accomplished here tonight… this morning. He walked to the door and opened it. His staff sergeant was still at her desk.
“What are you doing here, Sarah? It’s three in the morning.”
Sarah Dancey stood up. “Sir, if you are in the office, I am in the office. It’s my job.”
“It is not your job to sit out here freezing. Land, it’s cold!”
“I’m perfectly comfortable, Sir.”
Boodles eyed the ample proportions of his sixty-ish aide with affection. “I don’t even know what to say to that, Sarah.”
“Very wise, Sir. Let’s just say that when I retired from active duty, PT was one of the first things I decided I could do without. I mean, you are the one who gets to go out and freeze your bones at 5 A.M. just to keep in shape.”
Boodles groaned. “It’s going to be a short night.”
“Sir, let me drop a note in the Regimental queue for the crew to start without you this morning. It was a long day and you could use the rest.”
“No, Sarah, I need to be there. I get enough teasing about this being a sinecure without my slacking off on the PT. Let’s get out of here. I just hope I can sleep.”
“Awful day, Sir.”
“That it was, Sergeant Dancey, that it was. What you saw today… yesterday, was the consequences of an evil government. A ruler’s first thought should always be for the well being of his people. The duke doesn’t care who gets in the way of his objectives and the Montorans are paying the price. Not to mention the price the Regiment pays. If we do not figure out a way to stop this, a lot of children are going to die.”
With that Boodles stepped out into the winter night. It was a quick walk across the street from his office to the Village Inn. Frank Nyman had insisted on reserving rooms on the top floor of the hotel for the regimental officers. While he appreciated the generosity of the margrave, Boodles felt a little guilty about staying in the comfort of the hotel while the rest of the regiment was in unfinished buildings, but Nyman wouldn’t budge.
As he walked into the hotel lobby, Smith stood up.
“How are things, Sergeant?”
“Francine is staying with Carolyn Gorsline tonight.”
“Thank you for taking care of that. How is Jones?”
“He’s not saying much, which is normal for him. He’s more philosophical about these things than I am. It’s gotten him through some tough situations in the past.”
“Please keep an eye on him, Sergeant. Perhaps the Padre here in the village could talk to him.”
“I don’t know if he would want that,” Smith said, “but I am definitely paying attention to him.”
“You knew Gorsline for how long?”
“Twenty years, Sir.”
“Were you close?”
“No, Sir. Not really. But it still hurts. The worst was Carolyn’s reaction when you and I showed up at her door. I mean there is the trauma from a young woman losing her mate, but I think it’s worse as you get older. I know the thought of losing Francine terrifies me.”
“Tell me about it, Sarge.”
“Oh… sorry, Sir. I had forgotten about your loss.”
“Tha
t’s not what I meant, but thank-you anyway. I know this goes with the job, but I never get used to it. I’m sorry it had to happen to us here, and to Gorsline.”
“I know, Sir. And thanks. And Sir, I know they make jokes about you being a Rear Echelon Chair Warmer and all, but you done good yesterday and last night.”
Boodles looked at Smith for a few moments. “I guess you do whatever you have to do. And what are you doing here, by the way?”
“Just reporting in, Sir.”
“Off the record, Cedric, it was our device which caused the fire, right?”
He nodded. “Off the record, yes, Sir. It was designed to sense the voltage to the antenna and send a spike back through the system and cook the circuitry. Specialist Gorsline assured us it would do the job. I guess it did.”
Boodles shook his head, but said nothing.
“What kind of damage control should I think about?” Smith said.
“I will talk to the margrave about it,” Boodles said. “I know he is pretty upset about this and I want to keep you and Jones out of the line of fire.”
“Thank you Sir, but unnecessary. I ran the op. It’s my responsibility.”
“No, Sergeant. The margrave requested the operation and I approved it. Even the best of us can have one go bad on us and you two are the best. There was no negligence on your part and I suspect we will discover none on the part of Specialist Gorsline. I refuse to pass blame around. It is simply my responsibility. It’s pretty easy to criticize somebody else’s op when it comes apart, until it happens to you. This type of thing happens, no matter how good you are.”
“But I do not feel any better about it,” Smith said.
“I understand and we all have to live with that. We simply have to do better next time. Given the benefit of hindsight, we should have simply gone in and seized the comm unit. But that was a decision made above your paygrade.”
“Yes, Sir,” Smith said. “I will make sure we do better in the future.”
“Very good, Sergeant. Get to bed.”
“Yes sir, and so should you.” I am coming to the conclusion the major was completely wasted in Logistics He is a superb leader..
“Right. PT will be awfully early.”
“You are not going, are you, Major?”
“Are you going, Smith?”
“Of course, Sir.”
“I’ll see you there.” Boodles smiled as he walked to the elevator. At various times he had been called a martinet and a tin god. But the people in the regiment who counted respected him, and the way Boodles did his accounting, that was all that mattered.
“So, Mister Know-it-all Prime Minister, suppose you tell me what went wrong this time?”
Glenn Foxworth made the major effort not to recoil from the alcohol fumes on the duke’s breath. When he was being honest with himself, Foxworth admitted that Guilietto Roma had a few good points, one of which was that the duke never touched the booze before 5 P.M. However, the duke is half in the bag and it is only 10 A.M. That is not a good sign, he thought.
“What are we talking about, Milord?” Foxworth put on his most inoffensive demeanor.
“What I am talking about is my contact in Montora who has missed three scheduled comm sessions. You seem to know everything that happens on this God-forsaken rock, tell me what happened to Aaron Shover.”
If I tell him what happened, he will figure out I have my own little bird singing to me from Montora, and that would not be good. “I consider it my business to know everything going on in this place, Milord. However, not much comes through from the margraviate.” Foxworth raised his voice slightly. There. I managed not to lie to him. I don’t know why it is important, but my honesty is about the only thing I have left.
“That is not acceptable!” Now there were flecks of spittle in the air.
The duke is losing it. Now what am I going to do. “You didn’t tell me until yesterday you had someone in the village. There has not been a lot of time for me to find things out, and you have not given me a lot to work with.”
“I expect more than that, Prime Minister. That is why you are paid the big Centaurans.”
“How much have you had to drink, Milord?”
“That is none of your concern.”
Foxworth resisted the temptation to pull out his handkerchief and wipe the spittle from where it landed on his hand. “I worry because after three or four drinks nobody’s judgment is very good.” And your judgment is already negligible.
The duke glared at him for a few moments, then whirled around and marched out of the office. He is unsteady on his feet. Another couple of drinks and he’ll pass out. Probably a blessing for everybody.
Foxworth drummed his fingers on his desk for a few moments and punched a button on his comm. A few moments later he saw Monica’s face on the screen. “Hello, my dear. I wonder if you might find out something for me?”
“Sure thing, Bunny. What’s on your mind?”
“Our duke has lost his source in Montora Village and has been hoping I could find something out.”
“Ahhh. What source are you thinking I could find?”
“The source has a name, Aaron Shover. The duke only recently deigned to inform me. It occurred to me you could ask Louie to do some checking around. That Woogie seems to be plugged in everywhere. It would be… instructive to the duke if he asks where the information came from.”
Monica gave him an evil grin. “That is wicked, Bunny. I like it. Let me go drop a hook into the water.”
Foxworth leaned back in his chair after she disconnected. Getting Monica involved in this is dangerous. I hope my own judgment is not impaired. I suppose I cannot be too critical of the duke’s drinking considering the way I have been hitting the bottle lately.
He scanned through his in-box and made some desultory efforts at work. About fifteen minutes later his secretary chimed his comm.
“There is a Woogie on the comm,” she said.
“A what?”
“A Woogie. Why would a Woogie be calling?”
“I do not know. However, I have never spoken with a Woogie here in Cambridge before. This might be interesting.” He pressed the key to accept the call.
“I greet the Prime Minister,” was sound from the vocalizer belted around the Woogie’s middle. It was accompanied by the odd flooping and rumbling pipe sounds which was their way of speaking. “You may call me Louie.”
“I greet you, Louie,” Foxworth responded formally. “You may address me as Glenn.”
“I desire to speak to the Montora situation,” the Woogie said. “News was not good for some.”
“Oh? How is that, Louie?”
“Aaron Shover died. His house burned.”
“Is that so? An accident then?”
“It would appear. A friend told me this. Also a child died.”
“In the fire?”
“It seems.”
“I thank you for the information. And how is your business?”
“My business is in hotels.”
There was a lot of computing power wrapped up in the Vocalizer, but it was challenged by the alien speech patterns of the Woogies. It was not like translating between German and Anglo, or even Chinese and Anglo. The Woogies were built differently than humans and had thought patterns which could only be described as bizarre.
Humans and Woogies had interacted now for five hundred years and probably understood one another about as much as they ever would, which wasn’t much. The human-Woogie relationship was always ripe for misunderstanding and was the source of humor, frustration and occasionally tragedy. It was a staple for comedic sketches, which the Woogies, fortunately, found as hysterically funny as the humans.
Foxworth spent a couple of seconds debating internally whether to clarify the question or not. He decided to just let it go. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“Clearly not,” the Woogie said. “A lot of thanks for your time.”
“Thank you once again.”
&n
bsp; The Woogie blinked his single large blue eye and disconnected.
Foxworth leaned back in his chair and tried to summon the fortitude to visit the duke in his office. He hit the button on his comm for Roma’s secretary.
“Yes, Prime Minister?”