Markov's Prize

by Mark Barber

  The politics of the whole affair were now of no interest to Owenne. At this very moment, on the other side of Markov’s Prize, delegates from the Concord and the MAA would be sitting down to discuss terms for the future of the planet. The meeting was pointless, of course; it was purely there to smooth the transition and give the MAA fighters a feeling of ownership and worth. Once they were part of the Concord, whatever demands they had made could be slowly eroded and ignored.

  Owenne reached the end of the tunnel and smiled broadly. The engineering drones had dug down to an ancient double door, its advanced synthetic construction speaking of a lost civilization, more advanced than the recently defeated people of Markov’s Prize. This was something from a bygone age, buried and long forgotten. This was it. This was Embryo. Owenne sent an order to the drone, and the small machine hovered forward to pry open the door. Owenne closed his eyes and smiled again as a cloud of ancient, stale air wafted through the door and into the tunnel. He stepped through, his eyes following the beam of the drone’s lights as it illuminated the interior. The research laboratory – for that was all it could logically be – consisted of a large, open plan main room with several smaller adjoining areas. Tables, chairs, computers, machines of a dozen different functions, all lay where they had been abandoned for whatever reason thousands of years before, covered in dust and earth from where the walls and ceiling of the subterranean facilitiy had parted after centuries of neglect.

  Owenne let out a long, deep laugh.

  ***

  Passenger Liner, Star Julienn

  Low Atmosphere, Planet Gethsem

  Concord Core

  Lines of soldiers filled the upper deck of the passenger liner, each company of the two assault forces turned out resplendently in dress uniform, motionless as they stood three ranks deep. It was early evening as the liner ploughed slowly through the clouds, the ship’s invisible deep space shielding protecting the soldiers from the cold of the atmosphere and the damp from the clouds. As the passenger ship continued its slow descent toward the docking bay, the clouds thinned to reveal glimpses of the two Concord Navy frigates which escorted her, one on each side.

  Standing at ease front and center before the survivors of Beta Company, Tahl looked up through the gaps in the clouds at the stars which dotted the purple sky. He gripped his hands tighter together at the small of his back to stop them from trembling, hoping that his troopers would not notice the show of emotion. His collar felt tight against his throat, the green, single-breasted jacket of his dress uniform felt similarly constrictive over his chest. Over a year on campaign, when the regulations stated that a third of that was the maximum a soldier should spend on frontline service, unless operational reasons demanded an extension in extremis. He doubted that a series of planetary invasions to expand the borders of the Concord could be considered ‘in extremis’, yet here he was.

  Here he was, back in the Concord and light years away from hostile forces, only minutes away from a docking bay which would be packed with the families of the homecoming soldiers. Every time he came home, he wondered if this would be the one, the homecoming when he would finally step off the gangway and see his parents waiting for him. Perhaps, given how long he had been away, this time would be different. Perhaps they would be there, for the first time since he joined the Concord Combined Command.

  “44th Strike Formation… attention!” Primary Strike Leader Jayne bellowed, the command taken up along the decks by all of the assembled Formation Primaries. Tahl raised his left knee to waist height and slammed it down on the faux wooden deck, bringing his arms to his sides with his fists clenched to attention as the men and women of his company carried out the same, well drilled action simultaneously. The first skyscrapers of the city were visible below now as the passenger liner drifted down in its docking pattern, the thrum of its reactor growing a little louder as the engines worked harder to support the deceleration of the ship and decaying lift from its stubby wings.

  “I still can’t believe you buggered off and left me.”

  “Seriously?” Tahl answered mentally through the company command shard. “This? Again? Now, of all times?”

  “I was literally dying,” Van Noor replied mentally from where he stood a few paces to Tahl’s right, “having bravely sacrificed myself for you, C3, and the 44th; and you dumped me on top of a staircase to bleed out all by myself.”

  “As I recall, you were looking for a posthumous medal, you idiot!” Tahl replied as the ship turned lazily to the right. “‘Leave me, sir! You go on ahead! Tell them how bravely I died! The mission always comes first, sir! Don’t you worry about old Senior Strike Leader Van Noor, the hero! Just make sure they tell tales of my bravery and build a statue or two! Don’t tell anybody that I got gunned down by a midget with a gun from the First Age!’”

  Tahl sensed Van Noor’s mirth at his response and struggled to keep a straight face as he stood rigidly to attention. He heard the older man snigger from where he stood to the right. Mandarin Owenne, his staff tucked under one arm and clad in his signature coat and cap, walked along the deck and came to a stop by Tahl.

  “Fall yourself out, Strike Captain, and come with me,” he said curtly.

  Tahl pivoted to face to the right and took one pace forward before pausing to signify he was leaving the parade. He followed the NuHu as he walked along the edge of the deck, past another three companies of men and women who stood to attention in file before he reached the ship’s fo’c’s’le’, the open area of the upper deck at the fore end of the ship which led to the bow. Owenne stood at the very prow of the ship, well away from the assembled soldiers, and looked down at the city below as dozens of lights began to flicker on in the darkened sky.

  “This is all very romantic,” Tahl said, “but if you’re going to try to kiss me, then clearly I’ve been sending out the wrong signals to you.”

  “Funny,” Owenne grimanced, “I think I preferred you when you were panicking about getting your head blown off.”

  “So what’s up?”

  Owenne turned away for a few moments before looking up. Tahl found himself surprised that Owenne was actually making eye contact.

  “That folder you nabbed for me,” he said, “it meant a lot. Not just the information, but the gesture. I know that you know this was all a gamble. I gambled the lives of a lot of men and women for what could have turned out to be nothing. You didn’t complain, you didn’t whine at me for following my own whims, you just did your job. I wanted to say thank you.”

  “Quite alright, it was a whole bunch of us, not just…”

  Owenne held a hand up to stop him.

  “That information you found. If Embryo is a puzzle made up of a thousand pieces, the folder you gave to me had about twenty of them and leads to find perhaps another hundred.”

  “How many pieces of the puzzle did you have before this?” Tahl asked.

  “Four or five. The analogy doesn’t translate perfectly, but suffice to say, this is the biggest jump forward I’ve been able to make, and it’s down to you. Now, both you and I know that I’m bloody hopeless with… people. I don’t understand any of you and don’t feel the need to. But I do feel the need to express my gratitude when necessary. So I’ve had a think and I’ve come up with three ways to say thank you. Here’s the first.”

  Owenne reached a pale hand into the pocket of his coat and produced a small, red, rectangular box. He threw it over to Tahl, who caught it and opened it. The contents of the box came as a genuine shock.

  “It’s the Concord Gold Star,” Owenne said. “I know I’ve stopped you from getting a medal for all of the Ghar you beat to death, and I stand by that decision because I’d expect nothing less from one of the most dangerous men in the known universe. But whilst C3 expects you to kill, it never expected much of you in terms of leadership. You’ve led the men and women under your command for over a year across half a dozen planets and in the face of high casualties, exhaustion, and some of the most dangerous enemies and en
vironments in the universe. You exceeded everything C3 expected of you as a combat leader, so that medal is for your enduring leadership, not your battlefield prowess. I don’t really know what makes your mind tick, but I know you well enough to figure out that a ceremony and fuss would just embarrass you, so just pin the bloody thing on your uniform and we’re done.”

  Tahl removed the gold cross from the box and held it up by its green and white ribbon. He looked at Owenne.

  “I genuinely don’t know what to say. I know we all pretend that we’re too cool to want medals, but… well… thank you.”

  “Just pin it on,” Owenne waved a hand, “besides, it wouldn’t do for your junior ranking girlfriend to have a better medal than you, would it?”

  Tahl froze.

  “Don’t look so shocked. I may be clueless in the ways of normal people, but I’m still a bloody mandarin. I know what’s going on right in front of my own eyes, particularly when I see and feel all through the IMTel. I know about you and Rhona.”

  “Right,” Tahl exhaled, the gesture of the medal now seeming pointless when he considered how much trouble he was in, “so what now?”

  “Now I reveal my second gift to you,” Owenne smiled slightly, “which is that I keep my mouth shut. That information you risked your life to get for me, not knowing even half the picture of what I wanted and why, well, if your vice is a pretty girl under your command then so be it. There’s worse vices. If you ever do get found out, and you need that problem to go away, get in touch with me and I’ll do what I can to help you both.”

  “Again, thank you,” Tahl stammered. “If I’m being honest, I really am surprised by this sudden show of heart.”

  “If you knew what was in that folder and the significance it holds, you probably wouldn’t be surprised. It’s worth a lot more to me that a bit of dress uniform jewelry and pretending I haven’t noticed a minor indiscretion. We shouldn’t expect anything less, really. We put men and women together in high pressure situations and remove the inhibitions and control which the IMTel has placed on them all their lives. Then we act surprised when relationships occur in frontline units, again and again and again. It’s panhuman nature, or so I’m told. Fortunately I’m one rung up on the evolutionary ladder so it doesn’t concern me.”

  “And the third gift?” Tahl asked.

  Owenne smiled broadly.

  “Glad you asked.”

  The remainder of the mandarin’s response was cut short as the passenger liner’s manoeuvring horn sounded – a long, deep tone which resonated along the ship and up through the deck. It was answered by the frigate to the left with a series of shrill, high pitched blasts from its own horn before the escort to the right joined in, filling the evening sky with sound. A ripple of sparks erupted along the rear decks of both frigates simultaneously as they fired a series of countermeasure devices up to arc through the sky, leaving colorful trails. Seconds later, a collosal sequence of fireworks fired up from the docking station ahead, painting the sky with reds, blues, greens, and yellows as stars and spirals banged and fizzled above the three starships.

  “I couldn’t have you all come back to just a normal homecoming,” Owenne explained as the deck of the liner flashed through a sequence of colors, reflected from the vibrant skies above. “Not after how long you’ve all been away. I sent a message back and demanded something special. I don’t know what’s been organized, but it had better be bloody good.”

  Tahl turned around to see that the ranks of troopers had been dismissed and now crammed themselves against the guardrails, shouting, screaming, and waving to the crowds of people who had gathered on the rooftops below to greet the homecoming soldiers. Owenne walked around to stand in front of Tahl and offered his hand. Tahl shook it.

  “Until next time, old chap,” Owenne said before turning and walking away.

  ***

  His eyes frantically scanning face after face in the bustling crowd on the platform below, Van Noor impatiently nudged his way along the forward gangway from the docked passenger liner. All along the platform, families were reunited with troopers in emotional displays as fireworks continued to bang and burst in the skies above. Van Noor reached the platform and threaded his way through gaps as they opened in the crowd, standing up on his tiptoes periodically to peer above the heads of the clustered groups around him. He saw Rechter, one of the new troopers from the last wave of replacements, tightly embracing his wife. But still no sign of his own family.

  “Senior,” a voice shouted. “Senior! Over here!”

  Van Noor turned and saw Sessetti and Clythe standing in the center of a line of people, a familiar young woman stood between them with one arm around each soldier.

  “It’s Rae,” the young woman announced. “Ila Rae. I was in your company until a month or so ago.”

  “I remember who you are, Ila!” Van Noor smiled, initially holding out a hand to her, but then thinking better of it, putting one arm around her to pull her into a slightly awkward embrace. “Glad to see you in one piece. You’ve come all this way out here to see these two losers?”

  “Yeah!” Rae nodded proudly. “Yeah, I have! I kept an eye on the news and saw when you were all coming home and thought it would be nice to catch up.”

  “They’re good lads, the pair of them,” Van Noor said, turning to the other four in the semi-circle who he assumed were Sessetti and Clythe’s parents. “They’ve done the 44th proud, and they’ve done me proud.”

  His words seemed to have a positive response, but Van Noor still found himself eagerly looking around for his own family.

  “Can I have a word, Senior?” One of the parents asked, a tall man with grey eyes and a thin face.

  Van Noor flashed an encouraging smile to the others as he walked away with the tall man, bustling his way back toward the gangway to find a small space by the passenger liner’s hull.

  “Hayne Sessetti, Senior,” the man nodded respectfully, “formerly of the 461st Strike Formation. My son doesn’t know I served; I’ve never told him. I only did five years, which wasn’t much back then. I…I don’t remember much, hardly any of it, really.”

  “It’s good to meet you, sir…” Van Noor started.

  “I was never promoted,” the older man stammered, “I’m certainly not ‘sir’, not to you, Senior. I’m not what you’d call academic, not very bright at all, really. But I am bright enough to know that C3 took away nearly all of my memories from five years of service because I must have seen and been involved in some truly terrible things. I know my son owes his life to those who command him in the field, and from what I do remember, I know the job of a senior strike leader is relentless and nearly always goes without the recognition it deserves. For those two things, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for keeping my son alive.”

  Van Noor stared at the man wordlessly, at a complete loss as to what to say to what was one of the biggest compliments he had ever received in his life. He nodded slowly.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you for taking the time to say that, it means more to me than you can know. Lian is a good guy, he really is. He got himself through this, not me. But for what it’s worth, that last planet was tough. Really tough. As and when we go back out again, if Lian can survive what we just saw, well, he can…”

  Sessetti’s father held one hand up.

  “Thank you, but let’s not tempt fate,” he forced an uncomfortable smile. “Besides, I think there’s somebody more important you need to see.”

  The tall man nodded and looked over Van Noor’s shoulder. Van Noor turned and saw his son and daughter sprinting toward him from the edge of the crowd, screaming gleefully as they did so.

  “Daddy!”

  Van Noor dropped to one knee and was nearly knocked to the ground as his children ploughed into him, one into each shoulder. He wrapped his arms around them both, kissed them, and shut his eyes tightly. He remembered the feeling of bleeding out in the archive building, of revisiting some of the perfect moments of his life when he
thought it would soon all be over, and realized that there, at that very moment with the fireworks above and his children in his arms, he was living through a perfect moment there and then. After what seemed like an age, he looked up over Jabe and Alora’s heads and saw Becca, his estranged wife, looking down on them with her arms folded.

  “You can see them whenever you want to,” she said cooly. “You’re their father and they need you. But as for us… let’s just see how things go. I’m not promising you anything. But we’ll see.”

  Van Noor nodded, smiled, mouthed a ‘thank you’ and returned to holding his children.

  ***

  Now that the crowds had all dispersed from the platform at the docking station, Tahl could see the funfair at the bottom of the hill which had been set up for the families of the homecoming soldiers. The fireworks had stopped but the illuminated rides lit up the night sky in their absence. Tahl sat alone on a bench at the platform, watching as the very last soldiers and their families headed down to the funfair or toward the city center. A few of the passenger liner’s ship’s company were now walking down the gangway, their working clothing exchanged for civilian attire for a night on the town.

  Tahl loosened his stiff collar and looked down at the long kitbag which lay at his feet. His parents had not come. Every last man and woman he had seen who had walked down that gangway, even including the senior officers, had been met by somebody. Everybody except Tahl. It was another laugh or cry moment, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination for either. He stared silently down at his polished toecaps and wondered what to do with his life now that he had some time to himself. But that was the problem; he had too much time to himself. There was nobody else. He wondered if it was fate, or sins of the past coming around to repay him for his attitude earlier in life.

  He thought of his father’s words and Master Janshea’s words when he had finally come back to the Concord after years of competition fighting. He did not remember the exact words, but paraphrasing was enough to make him feel bad about himself. The words of Zhen Davi and Abbi Mosse were still fresh in mind; he remembered those very clearly. The words ran around his head again and again as he ruminated over what his responses could and should have been, until he realized that another phrase had actually been spoken to him in the here and now, and that he was no longer alone.