by John Bowers
Peter Miller was ushered into Henry's office, an historic room shaped like an oval. Tall windows behind the desk provided enough glare that Henry's face was somewhat obscured, giving him the advantage as the other man had trouble reading his expressions. Miller had come alone.
"Sit down, Mr. Director," Henry said politely. The thin man smiled and sat. He didn't seem nervous. "I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Henry added.
"Well, Mr. President, when the President calls … I serve the Federation."
"Yes, of course you do."
Henry sat back slightly, studying the thin man a moment.
"Is there any word about my daughter?" he asked.
Miller smiled benignly. "She's fine, Mr. President."
"Have you talked to her?"
"No, sir. She communicates with us via an intermediary."
"Can the intermediary be trusted?"
"Completely."
"You're certain? Beyond a doubt?"
Miller spread his hands.
"In this business, sir, nothing is certain. But she's as safe as we can make her."
Henry bit his lip and stared at his desk for a moment.
"Where is she, Miller? Sirius?"
Miller blinked. For a brief moment he seemed disconcerted.
"Sir, I really am not at liber …"
"Yes you are!" Henry bellowed, his face turning ugly. "For three and a half goddamned years you've pulled that shit on me! Well, not any more! I am your superior now! You answer directly to me! I want to know where she is!"
Miller maintained eye contact as he unconsciously licked his lips. Henry sat breathing hard, his eyes threatening. The FIA man rubbed his mouth with a hand, then took a shaky breath.
"Mr. President, if you want my resignation, then you have it. But I will not jeopardize your daughter's life. I've lost too many good people already, and she has become one of our most valuable sources. I'm sorry."
"You don't trust me with information about my own daughter?"
"Mr. President, you are surrounded by people I don't know, people I haven't cleared. It's hardly a matter of not trusting you. We still haven't discovered the leak."
Henry's face flushed and for a moment he trembled. Then he slumped a little, buried his face in his hands, and shook his head.
"Miller … I don't know what to say." He looked up. "I've been worried sick. For three and a half years. She's missed Christmas with the family four times."
Miller only nodded.
"You're taking good care of her?"
"Every precaution I can think of, Mr. President. And then some."
Henry sucked a deep, worried breath into his lungs and let it out with a rush.
"I'm sorry. My outburst was hardly presidential, was it?"
Miller smiled. "But quite fatherly," he replied gently.
Henry sighed.
"What about this leak?" he asked. "Where are we on that?"
Miller opened a folder he'd brought with him. Sliding up to the desk, he spread out several sheets of paper.
"Our investigative efforts have been exhaustive," he said, "but unfortunately, fruitless. There are at least a hundred places where the leak could originate. At each of those places are hundreds or thousands of people who could be responsible. There is virtually no way to identify a single individual at this time."
Henry nodded.
"So we have to narrow the field. We need to identify the locality, so to speak, where the leak originates. So here's what I would like to do."
He showed Henry a list of agencies and organizations that were privy to top-level data.
"Disinformation," he said. "Each of these agencies will receive a memo containing false data. Each memo will be unique, and each will contain data the enemy would find useful. Then we wait to see which bit of data finds its way back to us. When it does, we'll know which piece of turf leaked the memo. That should reduce our number of suspects to a manageable level."
"Then you can bring your entire resources to bear in that area."
"Exactly. We have the manpower, the machine power, and the data. We just have too much ground to cover. This should narrow the pie to a very thin slice."
"And how long is all this going to take?"
Miller winced and shook his head.
"Getting the memo out can be done very quickly. Waiting for it to come back to us is the uncertain part. But when it does, we'll know where to concentrate our efforts."
"It could take some time, is what you're saying."
"Possibly. Or it might come back within a few days. There simply isn't any way to know."
Henry stared at the papers for a moment, his mind drifting. Finally he looked up and nodded.
"Then you'd better get on it," he said. "I'd like to see my daughter again before I die."
The Confederate Palace, New Birmingham, Missibama, Sirius 1
The Confederate Palace was twice the size of the White House. Located on a hill at the intersection of three rivers that flowed through New Birmingham, surrounded by an elegance unsurpassed anywhere on Sirius, it commanded a magnificent view of the city. Tall trees flanked the grounds like sentinels; between them sprawled acres of lawns, fountains, pools, and cobbled walks with arches. The air was perfumed by the most exotic flowering plants on the planet, many imported from other regions for their opulence. The queen of the perfumes, of course, was Mongalia.
Scarlett Wallace-Vaughn sat with her SE bodyguard at the vanguard of the other guests, all of them military except for the ubiquitous reporters, for the ceremony. It was a gala event such as hadn't occurred for half a century, worthy of all the fanfare attending it.
Guests were seated fifty rows deep on either side of a long walkway. In the center of the area sat a temporary platform, above which waved the Binary Zero flag of the Confederacy. Beneath the flag, attired in majestic uniform, sat the President of the Confederacy, W.C. Adolph, now in his early sixties. Fifty yards away, three uniformed men walked toward him with a steady stride. The walkway was lined with young girls, two hundred Vegan virgins imported especially for the occasion — all white, all blonde, all sixteen years of age. The girls were the most beautiful such children in the galaxy, and would later be auctioned off to the guests. For now they stood almost at attention, their faces solemn as the three men passed between them. They were dressed in pure white silk.
Walking at a quick march, the three men arrived at the foot of the platform and stopped. The man in the center climbed the steps quickly, standing at attention before the President. He was resplendent in his light grey dress uniform trimmed in red. Adolph stood up and faced him. Major General Martin Vaughn saluted smartly; President Adolph returned the salute.
As the President began to speak, his voice was amplified across the grounds, was picked up by microwave feeds, and beamed around the planet. Holocams sent holos to accompany his words.
"General Vaughn," Adolph said in his leisurely Sirian accent, "today is a very special day for the citizens of the Confederacy. It is a day in which we recognize a great Confederate hero, a day in which we honor that heroism by providing even greater opportunity for service.
"You have performed brilliantly throughout your career, from your first days in battle on Vega, to the most recent events in the conflict which now absorbs our great civilization. You have dedicated your life to the service of your country, and we do not esteem that dedication lightly."
Adolph held up a sword in both hands. Although strictly ceremonial, it was sharp as a razor. The scabbard was encrusted with gold and silver leaf.
"It is, therefore, with great personal pride that I confer upon you the rank of General Field Marshal of all Confederate forces. May the boldness of Robert E. Lee and the courage of Andrew Jackson descend upon you, for in the days ahead you will need all the wit and wisdom at your command."
He presented the sword to Vaughn; the new Field Marshal accepted it, then saluted again. The President returned the salute, and the two men shook hands.
The spectators exploded with joy. A military band began to play.
Scarlett couldn't stop the tears of pride that flowed down her cheeks. As her heroic husband stood beside the President of Sirius to face the crowd and absorb their adulation, Capt. Davenport took her by the elbow and escorted her toward the platform. Holocams followed as they crossed the intervening space; Davenport stopped at the foot of the steps as Scarlett mounted them to join her husband in his moment of ultimate glory.
General Field Marshal Vaughn bent to kiss his lovely wife on the cheek, then turned to present her to the President.
"Mr. President, my wife, Scarlett."
Up close, Adolph didn't look like a monster. His face was a sketch artist's dream — weathered and deeply lined, well tanned, ruggedly handsome. His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure at the sight of the petite redhead, and he bent to kiss her white-gloved hand.
"What a pleasure to see you again, my dear," Adolph said in his deep baritone. "I believe you were just a child when we last met."
"Yes, Mr. President," Scarlett breathed, her heart swelling. "I remember. I was eleven."
"And you were beautiful even then. Today you are breathtaking." He smiled.
Scarlett flushed. "Why, thank you, sir!"
"This is a wonderful day for the Confederacy," he told her.
"Yes, indeed. I know I shall never forget it."
"I was deeply distressed to hear about your father. I trust you are fully recovered from your terrible ordeal?"
"Yes, Mr. President. Thank you for askin'."
"Not at all. If ever I can be of service to you, no matter how trivial, promise me you will call."
"Yes, thank you. I shall."
Chapter 45
Wednesday, 11 April, 0232 (PCC) - Denver, CO, North America, Terra
"Did you kill any Sirians?"
Johnny Lincoln II waited for the answer with wide eyes as his uncle tossed the solarball to him. Rico stared at his nephew with fond eyes. The boy was almost eleven now, and growing tall. He already looked like his famous father, only darker. His Spanic blood dramatically deepened his color, yet he didn't really look Spanic.
"You don't wanna hear about that," Rico said.
"Yes, I do! I want to hear everything about it!"
"Juanito, you're too young to be thinking about the war."
Johnny threw the ball back, then shook his head.
"I think about it all the time. I can't wait 'til I'm old enough to fight."
"Bite your tongue, kid! Believe me, the last thing you want is to fight the Sirians."
Johnny stared at him as if he were crazy.
"They killed my father," he said. "I want to be a fighter pilot, too."
Rico stared at him briefly, his heart melting. Johnny had never even met his father, had been a baby when he was killed.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I already got even for you."
"Then you killed some Sirians?"
"Yeah."
"How many?"
"I dunno. Some."
"Did they die in pain?"
"Hey, what kinda question is that, huh? They're dead, all right? That's bad enough, they didn't need to suffer."
"I'd like to kill 'em all."
"¡Jesu cristo! That's enough talk like that! You better go see the priest tomorrow. You need a confession."
"Why? I didn't sin!"
It was cool in the backyard. The freshly cut grass smelled sweet, reminding Rico of schoolyards. The sun had dipped behind the mountains and the heat of the day was dissipating. The air was turning chill. As if on cue, Angela shoved her head out the back door.
"Hey, you two! Dinner's ready." She smiled as Rico wrapped an arm around her son and they headed toward the house. "Go wash up, m'ijo," she said to Johnny.
Dinner was traditional and wonderful, the finest Mexican food in the world, Rico thought. Hot and spicy, with handmade tortillas and homemade salsa — his mother's recipe. Angela had gone overboard to prepare it for him, and he deeply appreciated it. Military food was adequate, but nothing to get excited about. The three of them sat down, said grace, then ate with a heartiness that approached devotion. The only blemish on the evening was his mother's absence. She had died while he was fighting on Alpha Centauri.
After dinner Rico helped Angie with the dishes and they talked. Johnny watched the holonews for any update on the war.
"You going to get out now, 'manito?" his sister asked. "You've been in long enough."
He shook his head, avoiding her eyes.
"Naw, I think I'll re-up one more time."
She stopped what she was doing and stared at him.
"Why? Haven't you had enough? Two major campaigns, you been wounded twice — why do you want to go back?"
He shrugged. "I'm just not ready to get out yet. What would I do, huh? The Star Marines is all I know."
"Do anything you want. You could go to college. The Marines'll pay your tuition."
"I'm gonna re-up."
"Rico, if you go back out and get killed, what about me? You're the only family I got left. Except for Johnny. Mama's gone, Papa's gone, and Johnny's father is dead, too. I don't want to be alone in the galaxy."
Rico felt guilty when she put it like that, but he defused her as he always had, by putting his arms around her and giving her a hug. He kissed her on the cheek.
"Hey, don't worry, 'mana! Didn't you know? I'm charmed!"
"Yeah, so was Johnny Lincoln. And he's dead." She turned back to wiping down the counter.
"You need to git married, Angie. Ain't no reason for you to stay single. You're young, you're bellisima … "
"Stop it, Rico. There was never but one man for me."
"Hey, bullshit! You got to live your life. And that kid in there needs a father."
Angela turned to face him, her face set. "We're not talking about me, okay? This conversation is about you."
Rico studied her lovely face a moment, slightly intimidated by her expression. He knew he was right about her situation, but they'd had the conversation before, and she'd never budged. He had a feeling she never would.
He shrugged.
"Okay, I'll make you a deal. One more re-up, and that's it. Okay? I swear on Mama's grave I won't re-up when that one runs out."
"If you're still alive, you mean."
"I will be. The war's gonna last another ten years at least. I ain't gonna hang around that long. I'll be over thirty then, and I'll be too old to fight. I'll come back and go to school, git a good job and settle down, and I'll always be close. You won't have to worry no more."
He glanced into the front room, where the holovid was talking.
"And I'll be here to talk that kid out of joining up. Ever since I been home, all he wants to talk about is the war."
"I know. He's completely obsessed by it. That scares me."
"Don't worry, I won't let him enlist. If I have to break both his legs."
The doorbell rang, and Johnny shouted that he would get it. Rico pulled a beer out of the nitro-cooler and sat down at the table. Angela went to see who was at the door.
A minute later she was back, a strange look in her eyes.
"Rico, were you expecting someone?"
He frowned, shook his head. "Who is it?"
"It's a woman. I think she's an officer."
His eyes widened and he stood up. "Is she Space Force?"
Angela just nodded.
Rico set down his beer and walked into the living room. The woman stood uncertainly in the doorway talking to Johnny, smiling at him with delight in her dark eyes. Her hair was brushed out and gleamed in the lamplight. Her uniform was immaculate, a full-dress style with a knee-length skirt and high heels. She saw Rico and looked up. Her lips parted slightly.
"Carla!"
Rico stopped a few feet away, staring at her awkwardly. Her expression relaxed into a tentative smile, and he took a step toward her.
"Come in," he said.
"I wasn't sure this was the right a
ddress," she said. "I have to pay the cabbie."
"I'll get it. Come in, sit down."
He trotted out the door and paid off the hovercab, then hurried back inside with Carla's luggage, his heart thumping. Angela and Carla were smiling uneasily at each other.
"Angie — this is Carla. I mean, Captain Ferracci. This is my sister, Angela."
The women shook hands.
"Carla's a doctor," Rico explained. "She saved my life on Alpha 2."
Several minutes of awkwardness followed. Angela offered Carla a drink, some food, anything. She asked for a cup of coffee. She perched on the edge of a hoversofa, as if anxious to leave. Rico took a chair facing her, at a loss for words.
"I didn't know you were coming," he said. "After we shipped home from Alpha, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
The beautiful doctor smiled nervously.
"I should have called. But I wasn't even sure you'd be here."
"How did you find out where I live?"
"I contacted your company clerk. She gave me the address."
"So you knew I was on leave?"
"Not until I called her. I wanted to talk to you — you know, post treatment follow-up, for my records." She laughed. "She said you had a thirty-day, so I got the address. My CO gave me the time off."
"Your CO? Does he know about … ?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Jesus! Why'd you tell him?"
"Relax. He's my best friend. I tell him all sorts of stuff. He's the pilot that picked you up in the snow that night."
"Oh. And he won't turn us in?"
"No. He thinks the service policy is stupid."
"I do, too."
"Yes, I know."
Angela arrived with a cup of coffee, offered cream and sugar, but Carla shook her head.
"Just black, thanks." She smiled. "You are even more beautiful than Rico told me."