Runs In The Family

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “I don’t know.” Mairin shrugged. “He caught me in a passageway the day before Eden fell and told me he was an imprint too, and that I should keep doing exactly what I’m doing.”

  “That’s good advice,” Garrett nodded.

  “The trouble, sir, is that I don’t know what I’m doing!” Mairin flushed and wiped a stray hair away from her forehead. “We’re fighting against an enemy using three-hundred-year-old Soviet tactics and getting our asses handed to us. It’s all I can do to keep my troopers from being killed by my own command, much less try to fight the little Grey bastards.”

  “You seem to be doing all right with that.”

  Mairin blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Garrett nodded. “Now why are you sitting here trying not to sleep?”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Try me,” Garrett smiled.

  “Not what I’m being all insomniac about. The attack on Eden. It makes no sense other than to breed fear and discontent. It’s pure terrorism.”

  Garrett replied. “Maybe that’s their intent?”

  “Maybe, but I can’t help but think they’re chumming the waters. Like they’re trying to pick a fight.”

  “But they’ve blackened the whole planet. There’s nothing really left for us to fight for.” Garrett licked his lips. What was she getting at? “If they’re chumming the waters, they’re attracting their prey, right? We have no need for Eden beyond vengeance really.”

  Mairin shook her head. “They’re chumming because they don’t want us out there. They’re expecting that we’re going to defend Tueg, but that’s not their next target at all. They’re trying to get us to move in the wrong direction. It’s misdirection, sir. I just can’t figure out where they’d want to go. There are sixty-seven human colonies in the Outer Rim. Either the Greys want something out there, or they’re about to bring this war closer to home.”

  He hadn’t thought of that before. What if she was right? What if the emergency Fleet response to the Eden sector was a move they’d calculated for? The Fleet would arrive with guns blazing and either find the Greys ready to fight, or they’d be looking down on a still burning planet wondering where the Greys were. And the Greys could be anywhere, especially behind them. “You think they’re going deeper? Sol-ward?”

  “Maybe,” Mairin shrugged. “Their targets to this point have all been tactical. The LPOPs, Wolc, even Ashland were designed to take out either resources or intelligence gathering operations. Leave us hurting and blind, if you will. Then they attack Eden. Most likely, they were just trying to scare us and make the Tuegs fully leave the Legion. But I can’t help thinking they’re chumming us away because they are looking for something specific. Something they didn’t find on Eden.”

  Impressed, Garrett sipped his coffee. This young Captain and her imprint had a clear vision of the big picture, while her immediate commanders complained of fuzzy details and incoherent intelligence. She’d proven fairly decent at tactics as well. Why not go looking for wisdom from the mouth of babes? Garrett replied slowly. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but that’s exactly why I can’t sleep either. Trying to find a way we can fight them and, more importantly, beat them at their own game. They’re really good at copying our tactics. Their use of airpower is growing, but not with quite the precision we have, and they aren’t directly working their air and ground assets together. I cannot help thinking that’s where to beat them.” Garrett thought she wasn’t going to reply and take the bait. He watched her take a long sip of coffee and look up at him.

  Mairin leaned forward over her carefully folded hands on the table. “Sir, we can’t beat them like we’re fighting now. You already know that. Stop fishing.”

  Garrett laughed. “So, in a more direct fashion, how would you beat them?”

  “You’re the one that already has an idea, sir. Why don’t you tell me about it first?” Mairin smiled. Her confident smile built up his own confidence in the scribbled notes and drawings he’d worked on for months.

  “About six months after I received the imprint of a distant cousin who retired as a chief petty officer in the American Navy, I started wondering about how we, the Fleet I mean, were arraying our forces in an attempt to win this war. I didn’t get very far. I simply didn’t have the knowledge, so I started reading about the time I went through Officer Candidate School. I spent a lot of time on Alfred Thayer Mahan. Heard of him?”

  “Should I have, sir?”

  “Not as an Army puke,” Garrett grinned. “I’ll give you the short version. Mahan believed naval conflict would essentially be driven by who had the largest fleet of the largest ships. He believed a lot of other things too, but the whole reason we built battleships was Mahan. When they figured out how to launch and land aircraft from ships we went even bigger with aircraft carriers. Now we have eight thousand crewmembers and four thousand combat troops on a Fleet Battle Platform. We have sixty platforms now. All we are doing is trying to meet a numerically superior force with bigger, more fortified technology. The numbers don’t add up, and while we’re busy building and building, the Greys are using their simple, massive force to conquer world after world after world. Something has to give.”

  Mairin nodded. “What are you suggesting?”

  “The Greys don’t value their own, that’s why they simply slag vehicles when a battle doesn’t go the way they want it to. I agree with your point that the Greys may be looking for something, but whatever it is, they discard it quickly. They don’t value key terrain. They’ve selected some of the dumbest attack points and defensive positions in recorded history, and the only reason they are successful is their sheer numbers. To make matters worse, they telegraph the punch so badly that we typically have hours of response time when they land an attack.”

  “Eden didn’t have that warning, sir.”

  Garrett shook his head. “We don’t know that. Eden doesn’t have a defense grid in orbit. The Greys could have landed an advance party weeks before the attack to gather intelligence, or look for something like you suggested. When we can catch them, like Wolc or Ashland, we’ve mounted a decent response. What if there was a unit created for the sole purpose of defeating those early Grey elements and holding the terrain until reinforcements arrived?”

  “What, like special operations forces?” Mairin laughed. “That was the biggest waste of time and effort during every war from Vietnam forward. Our special forces performed missions that small units could have performed with the same intelligence and a lot less resources.”

  “That’s my point, Mairin. I don’t think we need special forces. Maybe some Styrahi pathfinders, but not special forces. We need a quick reaction force that’s more than ten guys with machine guns in a jeep. A squadron of exocraft and a battalion or so of Slammers would do the trick pretty nicely.”

  Mairin nodded. “Go back to resources, sir. You’re going to need heavy lift to get the vehicles up from the surface and to deliver them in some cases. You’re going to need supply, command and control, intelligence. This is going to be a bigger unit structure than a squadron and a battalion when all is said and done.”

  “Point taken.” Garrett withdrew a small notebook from a pocket in his coveralls and scribbled a few notes. “So we’re looking at two to three hundred folks on the personnel side at a minimum.”

  “I guess,” Mairin said. “Unless you had personnel that could train for two jobs. Say a combat job and an operational job.”

  “‘Everyone fights, no one quits,’ right?” Garrett laughed until he saw Mairin squinting at him. “An old movie. Actually, an even older book that every young officer should read. I’ll send you a copy.” He paused and consulted his notes. “This is my pet project. If push came to shove, I could write the full proposal for a battle group and see what the brass thought of it. Right now, I’m as concerned as you at keeping my folks alive.” He fidgeted with the notebook for a moment, then closed the cover and began to put it away.

>   “You’re giving up that easily?”

  Garrett met the young woman’s eyes. “It’s a pipe dream.”

  “Only if you don’t flesh it out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Garrett snapped. “It is fleshed out.”

  “No, it’s not,” Mairin frowned at him. “I’m going to refill my coffee cup and then tell you why you’ve got the ground forces all wrong. Then, you’ll see that it’s fleshed out. That it has potential, sir.” She gestured to his cup. “You take it black or with cream?”

  “A little cream and some sugar, since I can’t have whiskey.”

  Mairin smiled and collected his cup. “We’ve got about an hour before I have to be on duty. I think we can make a pretty good stab at your notional unit in that amount of time, don’t you?”

  * * * * *

  Fifty

  Andrew Cartner knew the truth of being a politician at the age of fifteen. He’d walked into his father’s office one night to find his polished, professional father sitting alone in a darkened room with soft music playing. The ice tinkling in his father’s whiskey echoed as Andrew poked his head in and asked if his father was okay. Without turning to his son, George Cartner chuckled and said softly, “Andy, when the time comes for you to sit as the prelate, understand your duty is not a mantle you can don and doff at will. Your duty is a set of shackles. It is unforgiving and relentless, and will break you if you do not understand one single thing—political service is little better than indentured servitude.”

  Shortly after his father’s death, Andrew Cartner became the prelate and learned all too well what his father meant. Now in the ornate meeting room of Consulate of Earth on Libretto, he stood watching the Tueg delegation slowly file past. He smiled automatically for the vids and shook the appendages offered to him with earnest smiles and nods, never letting anyone know that all he wanted was to walk away. As the doors closed and his delegation took stock of the first meeting and the Tueg position, several of his advisors began to speak at the same time. Andrew wasn’t listening. There were about three hours before he’d be standing with the Tuegs at a state dinner in his honor, and he didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to have all those eyes staring at him like he was a savior. He looked out the window of the meeting room at the artificial sunlight of Libretto City’s dome and immediately thought of Tallenaara. In so many ways, this was her city. He could feel her nuances in the architecture when he’d been able to go outside for the press conferences. The calming influence it had was good for him, but here in this gaudy room with its burgundy and gold and hideous carpeting, he felt the shackles around his ankles binding him to the task at hand. There would be no escaping it.

  Who says? Andy thought. He turned to the discussion behind him and simply raised a hand. “Please send Darren to see me. I will be taking a private walk in the Promenade Gardens.”

  There was a rustle of protest that died as soon as his eyebrows rose. He’d have to say something to quell them. “We have worked very hard today and made significant progress. There is much work left to do. Tonight is a State dinner and ball in our honor. My expectations of all of you remain the same—enjoy yourselves, but be ready for work tomorrow. Fun is something not typically included in our work, so take this opportunity. I will see you all this evening.”

  He left the suite of rooms without another word and walked out of the hotel, pausing only to nod politely at some tourists who recognized him outside. He gestured to the guards to keep their distance as he entered the Promenade Gardens. The efficiency of his people amazed him; they’d been able to essentially clear the entire botanical gardens in a few scant minutes. The afternoon monsoonal storms were past as the seasons began to change. Autumn would be coming soon. He smiled at the thought of seeing the leaves change colors, though nothing would change his idea that the forests of France or the Appalachians were undoubtedly the most gorgeous he’d ever seen. Hopefully they wouldn’t be here to see the forests of Libretto turn from green to gold.

  “You called for me, sir?”

  Andrew shook his head and smiled at his friend. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  “One can never be too careful.” Darren McMasters grinned and leaned against the railing beside him. “I heard it went well in there today.”

  Andrew snorted. “Which you’ve interpreted as?”

  “That you’re really pissed off the Tuegs are even considering leaving the Coalition, and you feel they are hiding something from us. From what I can see, it’s just barely staying below the surface. Not a good way to start negotiations, Andy.”

  Andrew nodded. Leave it to Darren to always hit the nail on the head. “The Tuegs are going to pull out of the Coalition and execute a home world defense. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Agreed. But why go through the whole production of negotiations here?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that for weeks. Why here? And for that matter, why me?”

  “You are the Prelate, Andy.” McMasters grinned. “As for the location and the production? Even a state dinner? You’ve got me without an answer.”

  Andrew nodded and leaned down on his elbows. They were a long way from Cardiff, and the irony made him sigh. “Am I doing what I need to be doing?”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Darren.” Andrew sighed. “I feel like I’m missing something, whether it’s something here, something at home, or something in this damned war that I don’t know. But it’s slowly driving me insane not knowing.”

  “This war is much bigger than you or any man can understand, Andy. We’ve got good people around us trying to make sense of this, and we will. It’s just going to take time. And I do think you could do one thing better.”

  “What’s that?” Andrew asked.

  “Exactly that. Ask more questions. The Tueg are so polite and practiced that even their non-answers can tell us volumes. Have you asked them directly why they wanted you here on Libretto for this? I’d love to see how they don’t answer that question.”

  Of course Darren was right. If they answered the question, there wouldn’t be much doubt. If they didn’t answer it, then they could speculate and develop a particular line of questioning that could steer the Tueg to a definitive answer. He’d done similar things before, so why not again?

  “Any new intelligence?” They’d brought a full diplomatic complement with them, complete with the advance party of “tourists” scouring the planet for information of any significance.

  “Nothing yet. We’re expecting a full briefing from them tomorrow, but all of the advance materials they’ve forwarded have been inconclusive. They center a lot of discussion on the Tueg / Styrahi relationship. If the lack of trust and history of deceit is as long and detailed as our intel community says, there are certainly implications we’ll have to address.”

  “Like who to trust.” Andrew looked at the hibiscus plant just beyond the railing with its trumpeting flowers of pink and orange. Another example of Earth brought here for a specific reason. Why would the Styrahi go through so much trouble? It brought you Tally, he thought with a defeated smile. “Damnit, Darren. What are we going to do now?”

  McMasters chuckled. “Same thing we always do.”

  “Drinking heavily is not an option anymore.”

  They laughed for a moment, the burdens a little lighter. McMasters spoke softly, “We’re going to go to the dinner, and we’ll ask some questions. I think I can get a little more information through informal channels.”

  “You really do have a girl in every port, you sonuvabitch.” Andrew chuckled and rested his hand on McMaster’s shoulder. “I almost admire you.”

  “Almost?” McMasters laughed. “We’ll see what Lady Tallenaara says about that. Have you asked her about this whole thing?”

  Andrew nodded. “She can’t shed any light on why we’re here on Libretto either, except this planet is designed for all species and is as neutral as Switzerland was.”

&nbs
p; “Then that’s where we start. Switzerland.”

  “I’m not following you, Darren.” Andrew squinted. “What does this have to do with Switzerland?”

  “Switzerland was neutral in all things, right? Who’s the neutral party here? The Tueg or the Styrahi? We don’t know, do we? But now that we’re here, we have to assume that everything is on the table, and we have to ask questions. The more questions we ask, the more information we have to make a decision about how to proceed. God forbid there’s some piece of information we’ve been missing all these years. I’d hate to think we’d been dragged into an unwinnable war for all the wrong reasons.”

  “You think this is an unwinnable war? We seem to be making progress.”

  McMasters shrugged. “Unless we figure out what we’re really fighting for, this could go badly. The Greys exploit any weakness in our tactics no matter what we seem to throw at them. Yes, our forces are having an impact, but the most impacts are with the Fleet assets and not the ground forces the Styrahi convinced us we needed. That concerns me almost as much as not knowing what the Greys want.”

  Andrew looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet Tally for a drink down by the river. Would you care to join us?”

  “Absolutely, though I will have to catch up to you. I have the daily staff briefing to attend, and I’m already late for it, though there’s something about making underlings wait I find oddly satisfying.” McMasters chuckled. “Where will you be down there?”

  Andrew checked his neurals. “Little place called ‘Terrace.’ Apparently you can’t miss it. It’s on a terrace.”