by Adams, P R
Rimes pulled a plastic pack from his pants. He held it out for Tymoshenko. “They’re all in there. Data sticks and encryption key. Barlowe put it all together just before Weatherford had him arrested.”
Tymoshenko took the pack. “I feel I am robbing you if I give you nothing but a dead colonel, my friend. Those are so easy to come by.”
“I have my reasons,” Rimes said. “Six months. Then the Special Security Council gets a copy. No sooner, no later.”
Tymoshenko tucked the pack into his jacket and headed toward the woods. “I hope to see you again, Jack. We work well together,” he called back over his shoulder. “A man with integrity is rare in this world.”
Rimes gave Weatherford’s corpse a last look.
So that’s integrity.
He wended his way through the woods for a couple of kilometers before spotting Ferris Avenue, then jogged parallel to the road under cover of trees for several minutes. He finally broke into the open at Fourth Street.
He was shaking, dizzy, nauseated. No one paid him any mind.
49
29 March 2164. Fort Sill, Oklahoma.
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The UH-121 descended from the dark sky, its rotors shaking the treetops. Rimes dropped his line and fast-roped between two swaying sawtooth oak trees. He looked up and saw Barlowe descending next to him. Martinez and Wolford dropped to the ground across from him. They hefted their CAWS-5s and nodded toward the shadows to the north.
Rimes jogged forward, assuming his position at the point. Gunfire broke out, kicking up dirt in front of him. He tucked into a roll and came up behind a tree.
Wolford fell to gunfire. Then Martinez. Barlowe crossed in front of a tree and was dragged into darkness.
Rimes was alone, surrounded. The gunfire was intensifying, coming from all around him now. Rimes pressed flat against the tree, but the bullets came closer still.
Shadows dropped from the trees around him. He was surrounded with nowhere to go, hundreds of figures, all in masks.
They raised their masks: Kwon, Lee, Perditori, more. Genies. They fired—
But not at him.
At 0828, he entered the Trial Defense Service office, stopping at the paralegal clerk’s desk. She was an elderly civilian, silver-haired and wrinkled. She nodded at him and smiled pleasantly, then rang Captain Kibaki, his lawyer. She waved him on and returned to her work.
Kibaki’s office was small, not quite two meters deep and four meters long, but it had two windows that looked down on the parade grounds. Rimes watched the parade ground flag flutter in the wind for a moment before extending a hand to Kibaki and taking a seat across from her.
Kibaki spent several seconds on her terminal looking over his file, nodding as she read the latest updates. She was big-boned, wore awkward black glasses, and fit poorly in her uniform, although the uniform itself was sharp.
Rimes was developing a strange appreciation for Kibaki’s plain but friendly features. He decided it must be the feeling someone develops for a savior.
Finally, Kibaki looked up from her terminal and smiled. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The courtroom was empty when they arrived. It had recently been remodeled, fitted with real oak paneling, gold carpeting, matching chairs, and the latest terminals and networking. They settled into their seats and waited.
The court reporter, a young, sleepy-eyed corporal in dress uniform, stepped in from a side door, followed by Major Pileggi, the investigating officer.
Pileggi had bushy, black eyebrows and scowling, pockmarked cheeks. He slammed into his chair, connected to the terminal at his table, and glared at Rimes and Kibaki.
Rimes looked to Kibaki. She frowned, then shrugged.
“We’re ready to begin,” Pileggi said.
The court reporter began recording the proceedings.
“Let the record show that the Article 32 hearing for Sergeant Jackson C. Rimes has begun. It is 0900, 29 March 2164. Present are Major Karl Pileggi, investigating officer appointed by Major General Owen McNabb, Post Commander, Fort Sill, Oklahoma; Captain Michelle Kibaki, counsel for the defense; and Sergeant Rimes, the defendant.
“The case being considered against Sergeant Rimes includes two charges of reckless endangerment under Article 134 and six charges of Destruction of Government Property under Article 108.”
Pileggi’s nostrils flared; he kept his eyes away from Rimes as he continued. “Following review of Criminal Investigative Command, Oklahoma State Police reports, and interviews with witnesses present at the event referenced in said charges, the case being considered against Sergeant Rimes is dismissed without prejudice.”
Dismissed?
“Absent any input from defense counsel—” Pileggi looked at Kibaki, gripping the side of his desk and drawing his thick eyebrows together, as if daring her to say something.
Kibaki blinked rapidly. “I … have nothing to add.”
Pileggi cleared his throat with a bark. “Then this concludes the Article 32 hearing.”
Pileggi looked sharply at the court reporter. She quickly shut down her station and departed. Pileggi began shutting his terminal down as well.
Kibaki stepped around her table. “Major?”
Pileggi looked up angrily from his terminal, then sighed and rubbed his head with his hand. He looked up again, more composed. “Yes?”
“Sergeant Rimes has been under the cloud of very serious charges for the last two days. Based off your presentation and questioning yesterday, it seemed as if you were prepared to proceed with what—to be gracious—felt like an extremely flimsy case. If I may ask, what has changed between yesterday afternoon and this morning?”
Pileggi shook his head. “Michelle—”
The side door opened; General McNabb entered the courtroom, nodding at Pileggi.
Rimes stood.
“General McNabb,” Pileggi said. “We were just leaving.”
“What is the disposition of the case, Major Pileggi?” McNabb asked.
“Dismissed without prejudice, sir.”
McNabb tilted his head. “That would seem surprising given the severity of the charges under consideration.”
Pileggi glanced at Kibaki for a moment. “I had a very enlightening … interview with the director of the Intelligence Bureau last night, sir.”
McNabb nodded. “I look forward to the full report.”
“Of course, sir.” Pileggi sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, General, I’d like to get to work on that immediately.”
“Thank you, Major,” McNabb said.
He watched Pileggi depart the courtroom, then turned to Kibaki. “It would seem you’ve done an admirable job, Captain Kibaki. Sergeant Rimes and the United States Army will be forever in your debt.”
Kibaki smiled at Rimes. “There wasn’t much of a case against him, sir. I can’t take much credit for it.”
McNabb frowned and removed his glasses. He crossed his arms over his chest and began tapping the glasses on a forearm. “Three soldiers are dead, Captain, and only Sergeant Rimes knows the particulars of two of the deaths. Obviously, we want to see justice done. I’m happy for all involved that Sergeant Rimes has been cleared. Thank you. I’d like to speak to Sergeant Rimes for a moment.”
Kibaki adjusted her glasses and stared at McNabb for a moment. “You’re welcome. Sir.” She departed the courtroom, her back as straight as a rod.
McNabb waited until the last echo of her footsteps disappeared before he spoke. “You’re a fortunate man, Sergeant Rimes.”
“I appreciate that, sir.” Rimes felt his hands shaking. He balled them into fists and held them tight at his sides.
“Actually, I’m not sure if you’re fortunate or not,” McNabb said as he casually strode forward. “As the captain said, you have a cloud lingering over you that only an exceptional officer could ever hope to overcome. Captain Moltke stained the Commandos’ reputation. I believe the outcome of the investigation into Colonel Weatherford’s involvement and hi
s … murder will stain it even more. You’re walking away with a commission. There will always be those who view you with great suspicion.”
“Like you, sir?” Rimes asked.
McNabb shook his head. “Weatherford always spoke highly of you. He was a good judge of character.”
Was he? Or was he a good judge of who he could corrupt?
“You have a good career ahead of you, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me.” McNabb leaned against the desk Pileggi had just departed. “I’m the one who appointed Major Pileggi and pushed him to go forward with the hearing despite the lack of evidence.”
Rimes struggled with the contradiction. “If you thought I was innocent, sir, why bother with an Article 32 in the first place?”
McNabb walked to the court reporter’s station, examining it as if he thought it might still be recording. “To satisfy those who would only see that cloud over your head,” he said finally. “People have accused me of being a political games-player, as though it were a bad thing. But it’s necessary. Imagine what would have happened if no investigation and no hearing had taken place. Now look at you—cleared by CID, the Oklahoma State Police, the Intelligence Bureau, and an impartial Article 32 hearing approved by me. Playing politics won’t clear that cloud away completely, but it can help defend you from worse.
“And you have a medal in the works. Colonel Weatherford’s last act, you might say.”
“You were close to the colonel, sir?”
McNabb turned and stared at Rimes for a moment. “Goodness, no. We came up around the same time. I was Infantry straight out of West Point, he was in Intelligence after graduating OCS. I played the game, but he got his hands dirty—dirty enough that it looks like someone eliminated him. There’s a fine line, Rimes. But, warts and all, Weatherford was effective. He got things done. The Army needs officers who can get things done.”
McNabb walked up to Rimes and extended a hand. “Just keep that line in mind, Sergeant Rimes. I will watch your career with interest.”
Rimes shook McNabb’s hand and watched in disbelief as he left. Rimes wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the exchange. Had McNabb just acknowledged awareness of Weatherford’s illicit activities and admitted that he’d let the situation play out until Weatherford was no longer useful?
Weatherford had always said McNabb was a crafty politician.
Molly was sitting at the kitchen table, still wearing her housecoat. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“How’d it go?”
“They dismissed the charges,” Rimes said, unbuttoning his jacket. He suddenly realized he was famished. He stripped off his shirt and walked to the bedroom, returning a moment later in his jogging shorts. He took the vegetable and mealworm paste from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “I’m starving. Do you want anything?”
Molly shook her head. “Nothing will stay down.” She leaned her head in her hand and mumbled, “She called while you were out. Dana. She left a message.”
Rimes froze, then looked at Molly’s face. She looked upset, but he couldn’t tell more than that. “Did you play it?”
Rather than answer, Molly walked over to the console and turned it on. She selected the message and stepped back, chewing on her thumbnail as she watched.
Kleigshoen’s face materialized on the display. She seemed tired but cheerful. She wore a similar outfit to the one she’d worn the day she’d slept with him, the day Metcalfe died. Sophisticated. Elegant. Professional.
Her demeanor was serious, somber, not provocative.
“Hi, Jack. I hope you don’t mind me calling, but I just got word they’ve dropped that court martial nonsense. Congratulations on that, and it sounds like your OCS package is moving forward, so congratulations there as well.” She smiled sardonically, looking down at her hands. “While I’m congratulating, I guess I should say congratulations on figuring out how Brent saw me when I couldn’t. I had a very uncomfortable moment with his family today. He left me … something.” She looked upward, blinking quickly. “It was nice, but something more than a mentor should leave for his protégé.
“I can’t tell if it was just convenient for me not to see it, or if it was just a guy thing you picked up on.” Kleigshoen wiped at her eyes and laughed. “But you couldn’t see me hunting you down like so much dinner. I guess that’s really what I wanted to call about.”
She pulled her shoulders in for a second, then lifted her chin and sat up straighter. “I owe you and Molly an apology, Jack. I’ve always said it was career first. I’ve always imagined that made me stronger, maybe even better. But I tried to take something that wasn’t mine. So you tell Molly I’m sorry and that I wish I had half her strength and resolve. I thought I had a lot of strength. But some of the things I’ve been through lately have made me think I need … well. I have a lot to learn. And one day, maybe you’ll forgive us—me—for what I did to you.
“I guess that’s it. Give me a call when you graduate. I’d like to send you both a present. Goodbye, Jack.”
The image faded, and Molly turned the display off.
She looked Rimes in the eye. “If you ever fool around on me again, Jack, it will be the last time. Do you understand me?”
Rimes nodded.
Molly stepped toward him and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.
Rimes pulled her close and kissed her again. She was warm and soft in his arms; the lingering kiss seemed to suspend time until she pulled away. She smiled at him.
“We’re going to get through this. You and me and the boys.” She giggled quietly. “Now you’ve got me doing it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Rimes said, his hands slowly rubbing up and down her back. “It’s our life, it’s what we make it.”
He kissed her again, and this time she didn’t pull away.
THE END
Author’s Notes
Thank you for reading Momentary Stasis. I hope you enjoyed it. Jack Rimes's story continues in Transition of Order and concludes in Awakening to Judgment. The Rimes Trilogy is followed by the Elite Response Force series, which begins with Turning Point.
If you enjoyed Momentary Stasis, I hope you'll consider posting a review and letting friends know about the book. Reviews can be one of those things that really help people decide whether or not to give something a try.
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About the Author
I was born and raised in Tampa, Florida. I joined the Air Force, and my career took me from coast to coast before depositing me in the St. Louis, Missouri area for several years. After a tour in Korea and a short return to the St. Louis area, I retired and moved to the greater Denver, Colorado metropolitan area.
I write speculative fiction, mostly science fiction and fantasy. My favorite writers over the years have been Robert E. Howard, Philip K. Dick, Roger Zelazny, and Michael Crichton.
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