Local governments often encouraged their young men and women to serve. After their sons and daughters returned home, they brought with them a wealth of military experience and knowledge that they couldn’t have acquired at home.
Esther had fought the Legion on Nouvelle Bretagne, her first combat as a platoon commander. As with many Marines, though, she had respect for the Legion. Sometimes the Marines and Legions were opposed to each other, sometimes they were on the same side, and while each would swear they had the toughest warriors, they both were wedded to the concept of brothers in arms. They tended to feel a kinship with each other.
“You just get out of La Ferme,” Esther asked, using the Legion nickname for their boot camp.
“Yes, ma’am. Two weeks home leave. Now I’m going back to Ahaggar.”
“The hard part’s over, son. Just stick with it,” she told him.
“Were you in the Legion?” the young man asked, sitting back down.
What was Rey Alamosa? What would she know about the military? Esther wondered. Screw it. If they’re monitoring this and it sets up an alarm, let them come get me.
“No, but I served with them. Good soldiers.”
With . . . against . . . who’s being particular?
The young man, who looked barely more than a boy, beamed with pride. As he should. He’d made it through the Farm, and not everyone accepted managed that. He was just starting out on his journey, his military career ahead of him. Esther hoped it would make him a better man.
“Just remember, mon Legionnaire, always serve with honor.”
“I will, ma’am, I will.”
You, too, Esther Lysander. Serve with honor, she told herself.
MARS
Chapter 3
“Come on, Major. One more? Get back at me?”
“Right, like I have a chance at that,” Major Stephen Lent said, half collapsing against the wall of the court. “And I’ve still got to get the monthlies done. So, no, I’m done.”
“Already finished mine,” Esther said. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
“Logging in all the field shitters in the Corps hardly takes much time there, Captain. But I have to say, the job fits you.”
Esther was tempted to give the good major the finger, but despite their low-key relationship, that might be a bit too far, even in jest.
“No job’s too small, sir, and it all comes out in the end,” she said, going light with her response. “And if that gives me time here on the squash courts, so be it.”
“It all comes out in the end? Come on, Captain, you can do better than that,” he said with a dramatic groan. “But yeah, there’s that. Our work load’s not the worst. But I got behind last week, and I’m waiting for the division reports, so, back to the salt mines,” he said, pushing himself off the wall, then turning to leave the court. “If you’re up for it, give me a shout on Thursday.”
“Roger that, sir.”
The major was behind the curve because he’d been “BTG,” as in “Broke the Glass,” the term they used when referring to the missions that were their raison d'être. Like fire extinguishers, they waited behind glass windows until needed. Esther didn’t know what the mission statement was for any of the other 18 Marines with a “special status.” For all she knew, they could be APOC just like her, or she could be the only one. No one asked questions, and no one took notice when another one of them disappeared for any length of time.
All 19 of their select group were ostensibly assigned to the Marine Corps Logistics Command, which was a tenant command of the Navy’s Station 1, although they were physically at the Leinart Annex on Mars’ surface. The nineteen Marines, ranging from two staff sergeants up to a full colonel, were assigned actual billets. Esther’s was as the Field Hygiene Deployment Officer, which meant she really did keep an inventory of the 4,332 field heads owned by the Corps, but also the water units, trash immolators, and about a hundred other SKUs. The work mostly consisted of gathering the various flag command reports and compiling them into a single Corps-wide report.
That very demanding job took her less than five hours each month, which gave her plenty of time for working on her off-campus Tac 1 course, PT, or anything else she wanted, such as playing squash. She’d never even heard of the game before; it was an ancient racquet sport played on an indoor and enclosed court. Before Mars was terraformed and the colony was still domed, squash had been rediscovered, and it was now a planetary tradition. Esther tried to play daily, and she was becoming quite good at the game, probably better than everyone other than Top Forrester.
But she could only PT so much while she waited for her glass to be broken for a real mission. A few of the others seemed to be constantly gone, but over the course of three months following her mission on Winsted, Esther had gone out on only two more assignments, each one as nothing more than window decorations on government missions. One of those was with the second minister and one was with the chairman himself. This was what she’d feared. The new chairman, probably anxious to cement his bona fides, understood that having a Lysander in his party would be to his benefit with the powerful Evolutionist faction, so Esther had dutifully stood by in her dress blues while the chairman had given a speech to the UAM and then spent two days bird-dogging him on the diplomatic social circuit. Esther hadn’t liked her mission on Winsted, but at least she’d been doing something, not standing around like a wind-up doll on display.
Esther did not excel at quietly sitting on her ass. She needed to go out and do something, anything. She watched the days slide past, fully aware that while her peers were gaining the experience and schooling needed to keep climbing the career ladder, she was marking time, and Marines did not advance by merely marking time.
The stress was getting to her. She was able to sweat out some of the stress on the court, in the gym, and out on the track. She tried to bury herself in her course, resenting that she wasn’t at the brick and mortar school on Tarawa, but knowing she at least had to finish the off-campus course. But other coping methods had her concerned. One was that she was shopping again. Esther had been a clothes horse before enlisting, a slave to the latest fashion. The Marine Corps boot camp had been cold turkey for her, breaking her of that particular addiction. Now, with so much time on her hands, she’d been finding herself at the Ruby Run, Harris Dome’s universally famous shopping district. Originally a single street between G and H girders, when the physical dome had been removed after terraforming, “RR” had spread out to cover ten blocks of every high-end brand name known to man.
Shopping was bad enough, but she had a governor on her actions based on her salary. She simply could not pay for the latest Jin Hai bag, so there was a limit on what she could buy. The other habit she’d picked up was far more concerning. Esther had always enjoyed the occasional drink, almost always in social occasions. Over the last two weeks, however, she’d found herself walking alone into bars several times for a few drinks. She hadn’t gotten plastered yet, but drinking alone worried her. Alcohol had ruined more than a few careers, and with her current clearance, she was positive that her purchases were being monitored. She knew she should lay off, but the fact that she hadn’t stopped gave her pause.
Even now, as she stood in the squash court, covered in sweat, the thought of slipping into some quiet bar and sipping on a Blue Moon was very alluring.
Not today, Esther, she thought, shaking her shoulders as if to shrug off the thought.
She retreated to the locker room, put her racquet into her locker, and flicked the shoe selector from “court” to “run.” Her footwear loosened around the ankles while the sole thickened. Pushing all other temptations out of her mind, she opened the back door and broke out into a slow run to the track.
If she could run herself into oblivion, she could go back to her apartment, get something to eat, and collapse in bed, another day down and one day closer to when she was back in a real infantry billet.
ARRIVAL
Chapter 4
; “You ready to strut the catwalk, Captain?” Lieutenant Commander Spence Eitel asked, sticking his head around the corner.
“Yes, sir, primed and pampered,” Esther replied, giving the bottom of her dress blues blouse on more tug. She turned around, held her hand out to her side, and asked, “Do I pass the inspection.”
“You sure do. How about me?”
He stepped into full view. Esther gave him the once over, then reached forward and straightened the Federation Nova hanging at his neck.
“Probably not the first time you’ve done that,” he said.
“No, sir. My dad hated wearing his. Said they stuck him in the throat.”
“One is bad enough,” the commander said with a laugh. “I can’t imagine having two. But if we’re all gussied up, we’d better get going. Mz. Allison’s probably about to have a heart attack.”
Mz. Juliette Allison was the first minister’s protocol officer, and she’d been riding herd on the delegation. The night before, she found the two of them at the hotel bar, enjoying a drink, and Esther thought the woman was going into a conniption, reminding the two officers that they were representing the Federation and that they had to be on their best behavior.
Esther didn’t understand her concern. It was true that a good portion of the Brotherhood population didn’t consume alcohol, but some did, and this was an international hotel with a very well-stocked bar. And it wasn’t as if either one of them were drunk. Feeling good, perhaps, but not drunk. Both of them were on per diem for the trip, and technically, they were supposed to return any of their daily allowance that they didn’t use. At least, that was the excuse the commander had used when he invited her to meet him in the bar.
Not that Esther needed much of an excuse. Lieutenant Commander Eitel was one of three Navy officers on active duty who wore the Nova. Esther was not particularly in awe of the Nova as a medal. She’d been around them enough growing up, but the fact that the commander was awarded his for saving Marines bumped him up a notch or two in her estimation. The fact that, as with her father, Hollybolly chose to make a flick about him, might have edged him up another half-a-notch. Beyond that, though, the man was simply gorgeous, which was a major reason why he was probably the most recognizable face in the Federation military. He’d had some well-known affairs with more than a few celebs, and he’d been voted as the Federation’s most eligible bachelor for two years running. For him to ask her out for a drink had been an ego boost she couldn’t turn down, and he’d proven to be as charming as he was good looking. The evening had been enjoyable until Allison had cut it short.
Esther didn’t read too much into the evening, though. The two of them were the only junior officers in the delegation, so it made sense that they’d socialized with each other instead of with the higher-ups.
Esther followed the commander out of the Federation suite, which was acting as a green room for the delegation.
Mz Allison was coming down the hallway, evidently to round them up, saying, “There you two are. Can you please join us? We’re about ready to enter the ballroom.”
Esther gave the commander a light punch in the back, hidden from their minder by his body. He’d been the one who said they had more time and suggested they sit and relax as the rest of the delegation started to filter out.
The suite was on the top floor of the Mövenpick, as might befit a Federation minister, but that meant a long elevator ride to the ground floor and the ballroom. The commander, looking nonchalantly to the ceiling, gave Esther a quick hip check. Esther got in a quick finger-poke to his side as the door opened.
Like high school kids, she thought as she struggled not to smile. Real professional, Lysander!
Allison turned and told them to hurry up, and a few moments later, the delegation gathered in front of a table of finger food. Esther looked at the spread with interest. If she’d known they had food, she’d have come down earlier.
“That’s everyone, sir, and I think it’s time to take our table. If you’ll lead us in?” Allison asked the first minister.
The great man nodded, and accompanied by the Second Vice-Minister for Political Affairs, led the 15-person party into the grand ballroom and to their tables. The ten highest-ranking members took the main Federation table, one table to the left of the middle and in front of the head table. Esther, the commander, and the five hangers-on split off to the left, up against the far wall and three rows back.
“Welcome to the children’s table,” Sandra Oh said as they took their seats.
“Just as well, Sandra,” the commander said. “The First Brother won’t see me if I pick my nose during the speeches.”
Sandra, who was 80 years old if she was a day, laughed out loud, a deep, robust laugh that belied her small frame. Esther hadn’t had much time to talk with the career bureaucrat, but her initial impression of the woman was quite positive. She made a mental note to get to know her on the return back to the home system.
Two more people joined them, a Brotherhood husband and wife who didn’t seem overjoyed to be sitting with Federation peons. Esther couldn’t help but wonder if they were just the business couple they professed to be or if they were there to watch over the five of them.
Not everything is super-spy, Lysander. Don’t be so paranoid!
Except that it was, at least as far as she was concerned. Yes, she was there as window dressing, one of two Marine in the delegation. She was there to flash her two Navy Crosses, reminding everyone who her father was. Yes, she was there, along with LCDR Eitel, Captain Peterson, Brigadier General Hoker, and Admiral des Plaines, representing the military and lending substance to the First Minister, who’d never served. But she also had two “spy” missions.
The first was as a simple observer. Esther had thought that was a little ridiculous, to be honest. The Brotherhood knew who she was, and she couldn’t very well go wandering off around Brotherhood bases. But as she’d been briefed, it was part of hiding in plain sight. The Brotherhood had an improved Saul, their main combat suit. The two governments were on friendly terms. Between them, they provided over 60% of the gladiators fighting the Klethos, and they’d crippled the Seventh Revelationists through a joint command. However, the universe was not static, and life had a habit of changing. The Federation wanted to know more of the new Saul’s capabilities.
Earlier in the day, the general and Esther had been taken to one of the Brotherhood Host bases and given the expected dog-and-pony show. Esther had been briefed on what to look for, and while the host team went through their demonstration, she’d looked for the telltale signs. She saw nothing. Either her briefer had been wrong, or the deployment of the new suits was not yet widespread.
Or the Brotherhood knew she’d be watching, and so used the older combat suits.
Esther knew that not seeing anything was still intel, but it had been a bit deflating. It would have been far more rewarding to discover some deep secret—not that she’d actually expected to while standing there with a posse of Brotherhood hosts around her.
Her second mission was the one that had her a bit more nervous. Once again, it relied on hiding in plain sight. But for this one, she had to actively seek out the intel. She wasn’t personally at risk—she was on Arrival under diplomatic immunity. If she was caught, she’d simply be deported, blacklisted, and the Federation would suffer a degree of embarrassment. Her service to the chairman would be over, and while that might sound like a relief, chances are that she’d stay on Mars with her inventory cover billet becoming her actual job.
She glanced at her PA. She had 52 more minutes, which should still be during the dinner. Water had already been served, so she picked up her glass, draining it. While the entire ball/banquet room would be under surveillance, she highly doubted that a real person would be watching her. More likely, everyone’s actions were noted by an AI, and by drinking her water, that should give her surveillance cover for what she had to do.
She turned back to the other six, trying to look interested and enga
ged. LCDR Eitel was in the middle of telling a story to the Brotherhood couple and both looked enthralled—the woman especially. Esther understood it. The commander had “it,” no question. Esther had been contemplating her response, should he have initiated anything last night—or his response had she done the initiating—before things were taken out of their hands by the ever-present Mz. Allison. She had no illusions that the two of them had some sort of long-term potential, but a night with the commander would have been memorable, if undernet rumors had any truth to them.
“Ladies and gentleman, the First Brother,” was announced, and all the guests rose to their feet.
Esther had seen the First Brother on holos, of course, but this was the first time she’d seen him. He hadn’t been at the UAM assembly Esther had attended with the chairman. With surprisingly few people in tow, he almost glided through the general tables to the head table. As he stepped up on the dais, he motioned everyone to sit down.
“I guess no one else wants to sit with us,” the commander said, pointing to the three empty seats. “That’s OK with me. More food for the rest of us.”
Seizing her cue, Esther grabbed the water at one of the empty place settings and drained it.
“Thirsty there, Captain?”
For a moment, she wondered if he knew what she was up to, but then she dismissed the idea. That was just more of his flippant, if endearing, personality.
“Yes, sir. Space-lag, I guess.”
He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as the serving staff rushed in with a well-choreographed performance. Each table’s server reached his or her table at the exact same moment, as far as Esther could tell, no matter that table’s placement. With a flourish, their server set down what looked like shrimp on a small piece of toast topped with a yellow sauce and what looked like tiny eggs.
Is that caviar? Esther wondered, both curious and repelled at the same time.
The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5 Page 78