“If anyone can show just cause why this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister proclaimed, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
This was the final opportunity for Gallant to intervene in an event that he thought was misguided. He should declare his objection to a union that could lead to a lifetime of regret.
“Do you take this man to be your husband? To love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?” asked the minister.
“I do,” said the bride.
Gallant stood like a statue in his service dress blue uniform.
Only a short distance away, dressed in her flowing white bridal gown, Kelsey seemed happy—or was she merely resigned?
“Do you take this woman to be your wife? To . . .”
Gallant had stopped listening. He couldn’t bring himself to shatter her day.
“. . . forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?” concluded the minister.
“I do,” said Anton Neumann.
As Kelsey and Anton completed their marriage vows, Gallant continued to watch silently from a few pews away. The ornate cathedral was packed with stylishly dressed people, all eager to bear witness to the finale of the ceremony. The stained glass windows filtered multicolored streams of light into the traditional wedding ceremony, accentuating the variety of the participants. The people leaned forward in their seats and focused on the couple at the head of the chapel.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Having borne witness to the ceremony, Gallant thought, There, that’s done. There’s no going back.
He wondered if, in time, he would come to regret his decision to remain silent. He sought comfort in the thought that despite his reservations, the couple might yet find their way together. How could he know?
He watched Kelsey and Anton embrace and kiss and then wave to the spectators. The couple then strolled along the pews to the front of the church.
As the congregation slowly followed to offer their good wishes, Gallant trailed in their wake. When he was a few people back in the receiving line, he saw Kelsey recognize him. Emotions passed over her face, but he couldn’t ascertain their meaning.
“Congratulations,” said Gallant while shaking the groom’s hand. Neumann’s deadpan blue eyes stared at Gallant for a second before he responded with a matter-of-fact “Thank you,” and nothing more.
Gallant stepped toward Kelsey and was instantly beset by a confused stampede of emotions—jealousy, obsession, passion—each reigned briefly and then absconded. He struggled to shake off his internal chaos. Finally, he leaned forward and kissed Kelsey on the cheek.
“Congratulations.”
“Is that all? Are we strangers?”
He thought, What can I say to someone I loved and lost?
But what escaped his lips was, “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has. In any case, I’m glad to see you once more. Random images of you keep popping into my head,” she said in barely a whisper.
Gallant hesitated, searching for the right words: “I’m sorry if I’ve intruded.” He paused again. “I wish you a long and wonderful life.”
Kelsey gave him a weak smile and said softly, “And I, you.”
He thought he saw something in her eyes . . . sorrow . . . pity . . . regret? He couldn’t be sure.
As he took a step to leave, he heard her whisper, “Goodbye, Henry.”
The finality of those words stung his heart.
***
Outside the church, a bright and sunny day greeted the crowd, offering a rare tranquility for so late in the season. The verdant plants and trees added to the abiding peace and grace of the people as they leisurely formed a grand procession. Gallant watched as they began leaving for the banquet at the Hilton Hotel. It was a stellar turnout—celebrities, statesmen, and military men of all ranks and positions. No doubt that, as president of NNR, Gerome Neumann’s status and money had attracted much attention to the young officer and his bride. From the variety of the crowd’s comportment—good-natured laughter, congratulatory handshakes, affectionate hugging—they could have been any group of family and friends gathering for a joyous event, yet Gallant could detect a subtle distinction, suggesting they were concealing a segregated trait. Noting the separation of wedding participants into one group that was invited to the reception and another that wasn’t, Gallant assessed the invitees as the elite members of society—the so-called genetically superior. They included popular politicians, industrial giants, powerful lawyers, and social mavens, all supplicants of Gerome Neumann. Such was Gallant’s intuition, harvested from his relations with his former shipmate, Anton Neumann.
A limousine pulled up near Gallant. The senior member of the family, Gerome Neumann, paraded down the steps toward the car. When he noticed Gallant, he scowled and stopped near him.
“Good day, sir,” said Gallant.
“A good day, indeed,” said Gerome Neumann as if to emphasize his personal triumph. “I am delighted with this match. Did you know my son was also promoted to command the Achilles? It’s right that someone like him should enjoy success in all his endeavors. Don’t you agree?” he asked in his dominating and demanding way.
“You mean someone with the right genetic qualifications?” asked Gallant, defiantly challenging the powerbroker.
“Yes. Someone with the physical improvements garnered through genetics that ensure he possesses the best hereditary traits.”
“As opposed to a Natural like me,” said Gallant, coaxing the senior Neumann to expose his personal convictions.
Gerome flashed a malevolent grin at the provocation: “Genetic engineering removes all the imperfections, thereby leaving—well—perfection! My son is blessed with all the gifts of an emerging superhuman race.”
Gallant pushed aside his unruly hair as Gerome continued: “Finally, the right kind of men will go to the stars.”
Gallant dared to look straight into Gerome’s eyes and said, “Do you exclude someone like me—a less-than-perfect man—from the ‘right’ kind?”
Gerome’s frown returned as he replied, “I’ve seen your genetic profile. You’re a freak—a rare, random mutation. If you had taken my offer several years ago, things could have been different. You could have been useful. Now your erratic behavior has nullified any advantages. I’ve spoken to many others about you. Your genetic make-up leaves you as one of the underclass; merely a curiosity.”
Gallant registered the insult. How far he had come in the last few years, and yet he was still light years away from being accepted. “I can only do my best.”
“And what’s that like?” asked Gerome.
“A work in progress.”
“I don’t recognize you as someone I want my son associated with. I want you to make every effort to steer clear of him.” Gerome raised his voice for emphasis as he added, “And I will do what I can to help make that happen.”
“Is the only way for your son to succeed—is for me to fail?”
“Ha,” he scoffed. “You will fail regardless.”
Gerome Neumann’s words cut him, but Gallant regained his composure. “I will succeed—if only to prove you wrong.”
“It’s only fair to warn you that you’re being watched.” Gerome Neumann glared. “Do we understand each other?”
“Yes. I think we understand each other all too well.”
Gerome shrugged before striking a pose for the crowd that had gathered around them. Raising his arms he said, “Thank you all for wishing my son well on his wedding day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the reception.”
Gallant watched him climb into his limousine as more than a door was slammed in his face.
CHAPTER 6
Admiral
The potent winter storms of Mars had not yet arrived, allowing the terraformed planet to enjoy a few more days of temperate weather and clear skies as Gallant strolled the cobblestone str
eets of New Annapolis, home of Fleet Command. Entering Fleet headquarters, Gallant was passed through security and turned over to Admiral Collingsworth’s aide.
“Excuse me, Mr. Gallant?” asked the flag lieutenant.
“Yes.”
“Follow me to the Admiral’s suite.”
Within a few minutes, Gallant was standing at attention in the vestibule of the admiral’s office. The room was sparsely furnished, but it did display several historic artifacts that drew Gallant’s attention. The walls were decorated with paintings of historic figures at moments of cataclysmic conflict.
Ever since he had read his orders placing him in command of the Warrior, Gallant had anticipated an interview with the admiral. Nevertheless, he felt ill-prepared, and he wondered if his uniform might not be pressed sharp enough, or his shoes might not be polished shiny enough, or his demeanor might not be proper enough to meet with the admiral’s satisfaction.
A moment later the flag lieutenant’s comm pin beeped and he said, “The admiral will see you now,” and he pointed toward the door of the adjacent room.
Gallant strode purposefully through the archway and found the admiral seated at his desk. He marched into the center of the room, looked straight ahead, and saluted. “Lieutenant Gallant reporting as ordered, sir.”
“Well?” said Collingsworth, as if expecting a more forthcoming salutation. He had a reputation as a fearless commander, a direct result of his personal combat experience. Never a man to be trifled with, his wrath had been felt by more than one dilettante—or fool.
Uncertain of the admiral’s mood, Gallant couldn’t think of how to respond to the abrupt question.
After a prolonged moment, Collingsworth finally intervened, releasing Gallant from twisting in the wind.
“Come closer. Come closer,” he said pleasantly, sitting back in his well-cushioned chair. The wizened old man was immaculately dressed in a tailored uniform that enhanced his stature.
Gallant took three paces and stopped in front of the admiral’s desk. He remained at attention.
“At ease,” said the admiral. “It’s been several years since I’ve seen you, Mr. Gallant.”
Gallant relaxed his stance.
Collingsworth continued: “You’ve always been a source of wonderment for me, young man. You're aware, of course, that I've read the reports of your Tau Ceti exploits. Fascinating reading! Absolutely riveting! I couldn’t put it down. Well done, by the way, though you wouldn’t hear that through official channels, you understand.”
“Yes, sir. I assume that mission played a role in getting my new command.”
“Yes, you’ve proven to be an aggressive warrior—worthy of the Warrior,” Collingsworth chuckled, pleased with his attempt at humor.
“I’ve merely done my duty, sir.”
“Yes. Yes. I know. It’s your duty to shoot the enemy,” said the senior officer. “Of course, your unique talents have played an important role in our defense over the years. And your latest exploits highlighted your considerable ability to deal with artificial intelligence. Your talents will be especially needed for what I have in mind for you and the Warrior.”
“Yes, sir.”
The admiral’s demeanor changed abruptly. His face became serious, and any hint of humor departed. “Your record on Tau Ceti has, unfortunately, been hidden behind a veil of secrecy, and most of the credit for the success of that mission has gone to Anton Neumann. While he was promoted, you retained the rank of lieutenant and were named as commander pro tem of the Warrior. That’s the best I could do for you, given the high command’s attitude.”
“I am not aware of any professional failure on my part that would prevent my advancement,” said Gallant warily.
“I’ll come to the point: You should know that appointing you to command the first FTL stealth ship was my decision and my decision alone. There was a great deal of opposition to you, as I assume you can understand. You’re a Natural—a talented one—but nevertheless, your lack of genetic engineering makes you suspect in the eyes of many in the service. They feel you will come up short at a critical moment.”
Gallant shifted uneasily on his feet, frustrated by what was an unfair assessment of his abilities.
“They don’t believe in you as I do, but the best way to give pause to their slander is to perform so that no one will believe the slurs,” said the admiral with a furrowed brow. “Regardless, I’m assigning you this mission because I know you are the only person who can perform it. It is seriously dangerous, so I am allowing you wide discretion. That can be a two-edged sword. You must choose options that help you succeed; likewise, you will come to rely most upon those shipmates who can help you survive. And yet, in the end, you will put your closest comrades into the greatest danger for the sake of the mission.”
The admiral seemed to shiver at his own words, as if he remembered only too well those he had likewise condemned.
“Gallant, part of being a leader is making tough choices—choices that sometimes decide the fate of others. A leader lives with those decisions by using the rationale that what he does is for the greater good, that many more lives will be spared because of the sacrifice of the few.”
Gallant gave a slight nod.
“Choose wisely; you’ll have to live with the outcome, whatever happens.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The admiral stood and turned away from Gallant. “Time! I need time, Gallant. We have three technology breakthroughs that can change this war in our favor—a Faster-Than-Light drive, a powerful FASER canon, and a stealth cloaking device. You already tested the FTL capability on the Intrepid. You also observed the FASER cannon when it was first fired from Ganymede. It can now be deployed on ships and has several times the firepower of a nuclear warhead on a small target area. Finally, I’m giving you our first stealth ship, the Warrior. We need time to put these technologies into full production. And you’re going to buy me that time.”
“Yes, sir,” said Gallant, wondering how he was going to accomplish that.
“You may be wondering why SIA spent so much time with you interfacing with the Titan prisoners and their AI device.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need someone to gather real-time intelligence of the enemy’s intentions, someone who can understand their communications well enough to steal their most vital secrets. That someone is you. You’re going to use what you have learned about their communications to conduct espionage and sabotage operations.”
Gallant listened thoughtfully.
“You must be aware that this war is not going well. The fall of Jupiter Station has placed us in a precarious position. The Titan fleet is now closing its ring ever tighter toward Mars. The military losses in the last battle were huge. We threw everything we had into saving those colonists. The Titans slaughtered them anyway. If we fail, the people of Mars and Earth can expect no less. I have great hopes for your mission, Gallant—great hopes.”
“I understand, sir.”
“We’ve been driven from the Jupiter frontier; our colonies and mining operation in the asteroids have been devastated. NNR is our main shipping operator, and it took devastating losses, though the losses were highly insured and resulted in a nice government bonus for them. But the crews and other people were not so well compensated. In addition, the fleet collected no bonuses for fighting. We fight because we must.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We don’t know the enemy’s intentions. We can only react to their movements once they are observed. What we need is intelligence about what they’re planning before they execute those plans. Give me that intelligence and I can fight more effectively.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can achieve that with the spy equipment of the Warrior,” said Collingsworth, returning to his chair. “My orders are for you to infiltrate the Titan bases around Jupiter and Saturn and bug their communications. Your ability to understand their autistic savant communications will aid you in gathering real-time intelli
gence so you can warn us of any impending attack. You will provide us with where and when they will strike so we can meet them on our terms. With that knowledge, we may survive long enough to produce the ships necessary to win this war. But that will rest, in large part, on your success.”
Gallant was conscious of the admiral’s eyes fixed on him, appraising his reaction.
“I will do my best, sir.”
“The Warrior will be under my overall command, and I have written the orders for your mission. It will involve a great deal of independence on your part, and a great deal of responsibility as well. But I’ve found you up to the task before; I don't think you'll fail me now.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“How long do you need to get the Warrior ready for departure?”
“Six days, sir. Less if I can get assistance expediting final deployment requirements.”
Collingsworth glared at him: “She’s completed shakedown?”
There was a shift in the atmosphere. Gallant could sense it. It was then he recognized there was some concern about his performance that needed to be accounted for. Perhaps some latent concern about his being a Natural remained after all.
“Yes, sir.”
“What is the state of upgrades for your ship?” asked the admiral.
“She is in the shipyard now completing upgrade calibration tests and final repairs. I can get the final supplies and personnel on board, make any necessary adjustments, and be prepared to leave in six days.”
Henry Gallant and the Warrior (The Henry Gallant Saga Book 3) Page 4