by Rick Partlow
"...repeat, this is Captain Joyce Minishimi of the RSS Bradley," the earphones hissed. "Do you read me?"
Jason twisted the headset's microphone around and hit the transmit key.
"Bradley," he shouted into the mike, "this is Lieutenant Jason McKay, Fleet Intelligence, do you copy?"
There was a heart-stopping pause, and McKay had a nightmare vision of the ship not picking up his signal, abandoning the planet and heading back to Earth.
"I read you, McKay," Captain Minishimi's voice finally came back, a note of caution evident in her tone. "Tell me, is Gunnery Sergeant Constantine with you?"
"Afraid not." Jason had to admire her precautions. "But we do have a Gunny Lambert somewhere around here. Will he do?"
"That's a roger, McKay." Relief was evident in her reply. "It's good to hear from you. Is Ms. O'Keefe all right?"
"She's just fine, Captain," he assured her, eyes darting up at Val and Glen, part of the crowd gathered around the radio. "We've even got the Governor with us here---but we could sure use a ride if you're headed our way."
"Oh, I think we can manage something, McKay. We'll have a shuttle down to you as soon as we reach orbit."
"Captain, how did you get here so quickly?" Jason asked. "I didn't think anybody'd realize what had happened for months. Did the MacArthur get away and send for help?"
"Negative, Lieutenant." Minishimi's voice was grim. "The Mac was destroyed. But a cargo ship was refueling at the solar antimatter factory when she was attacked, and they managed to get away before anyone detected them. You folks just got lucky."
"Damn," Jason mumbled to himself, realizing just how close they'd been to being stuck on Aphrodite for at least another year, until the arrival of the next scheduled patrol.
"Anything else you folks need?" the captain asked him.
"Well," he said, "we've been out of the loop for a while, ma'am. You wouldn't happen to know who won the Superbowl, would you?"
Minishimi laughed. "Let me put it this way, Lieutenant," she told him, "I hope you didn't have any money on the Cowboys or you're shit out of luck."
Chapter Thirteen
"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on."---Robert Frost.
Jason swallowed hard and led Shannon into Colonel Mellanby's office, the door hissing ominously shut behind them. Of all the things he'd looked forward to in the jubilation and relief of returning to Earth, this was not one of them. He'd had waking nightmares of The Snake pinning him to the wall like a bug in a child's collection, ticking off a list of Jason's various indiscretions and bad decisions like an archangel at the Last Judgement, and immediately putting Shannon in charge of the team.
And maybe she should be in charge, he'd reflected. After all, she'd led them in the successful attack on the spaceport while he'd been off playing cave-man. So he stepped into the office fully prepared to face the wrath of the Snake and give up his command.
But the smile that played over Kenneth Mellanby's face as they stepped inside was decidedly un-Snake-like. It seemed almost friendly. For a moment, Jason thought they'd mistakenly stepped into the wrong office, but then the expression was gone as if it had never been, and the Snake-mask fell back into place.
"Lieutenants McKay and Stark report, sir," Jason announced, he and Shannon stiffening into a salute.
"At ease," Mellanby snapped, waving off the salute. "Have a seat, both of you."
The Colonel watched them feel their way into their chairs, then paced around his desk, one hand behind his back, the other filled with a sheaf of hardcopy. "I've read the reports of your debriefing," he told them, slapping the file against his thigh. "I've heard the facts, I've seen the pictures." He fixed them with a stare. "Now I want your impressions."
Jason saw the man's eyes on him and squirmed uncomfortably. He shrugged.
"Lieutenant Stark had more contact with the enemy than I did. But from what I could see, I would say that the things that attacked us---the troopers themselves---are more like some kind of robot or mind-controlled slave than truly sentient intelligences. Once the Invaders pulled out, the troops they left behind didn't even try to find food or water. They just shot at anything in sight until their ammo ran out, then wandered around till they died."
"But when they were being controlled," Shannon put in, "they were highly organized. They were capable of operating those 'Hopper' things, which must be pretty complex."
"I've heard all this in the transcripts." Mellanby shook his head impatiently. "I don't want to hear the how---I want the why."
"These things are obviously considered expendable," Jason reasoned. "That means they must have plenty of them---either they breed them somewhere or they have some way of manufacturing them quickly."
"Their technology doesn't appear to be that advanced," Shannon said. "Maybe they have to use the troops that way because their ships aren't powerful enough to take on ours head-on."
"Or they're short on ships and can't risk having one damaged in battle," Jason suggested. "Either way, having these...drones or whatever sneak in and do their dirty work must be the easiest way for them to do things."
"So what's their motivation?" Mellanby prompted, sitting on the edge of his desk. "Why hit Aphrodite?"
"They were looting the place," Jason offered. "Maybe they're short on processed goods, like computers and power production equipment."
"The real question," Shannon said, "is where they'll hit next."
"That's what I want you to find out," Mellanby told them. "The Patton is being readied for departure to Aphrodite in a week. I want your team on it. You'll have a Marine Reaction Force at your disposal---the same one that was with you during the occupation, with reinforcements of course. There will also be a scientific team on board with a full complement of forensic researchers, also at your disposal."
"Great," McKay said with a chuckle. "Back to beautiful scenic Aphrodite."
"I know it's not much of a break," Mellanby agreed. "But we don't know how long we have or if they'll strike again at another colony. I suggest you make the most of your week. Go ahead and take leave for a couple days---after you take Senator O'Keefe up on his invitation."
"What invitation?" Jason asked, a bad feeling deep in his gut.
"The Senator has invited your team to a dinner in your honor at 1900 hours Zulu time tonight at his house---all the biggest VIP's and the press will attend." Colonel Mellanby chuckled. "I wouldn't force such a fate on the enlisted, but as officers it is your duty to take advantage of this golden opportunity to afford the military a bit of positive publicity."
"Where do I go to desert?" Jason rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.
"Cheer up," Shannon said, nudging him. "With our recent luck, maybe his house will burn down."
"Oh, there's one other thing." Mellanby raised a finger as he circled back behind his desk. Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a pair of small, sealed plastic bags and tossed them up and down in his hand. "Your team has been given official recognition by the Department of Defense. Once you return from Aphrodite, you'll be recruiting new members of the First Special Operations Detachment." He tossed one of the plastic bags at McKay. "Captain Jason McKay commanding."
Jason's mouth dropped open as he saw that the bag contained the twin silver bars of a captain's insignia.
"But sir..." he began to protest, coming to his feet.
"Don't worry, McKay." Mellanby shook his head, underhanding the other bag to Shannon. "There'll be enough promotions and medals to go around."
Shannon's eyebrow shot up at the first lieutenant's bar in the bag.
"Well, that's more back pay I won't have time to spend," she mused.
"The medals will be awarded upon your return," the Colonel explained, sitting on the edge of his desk. "There'll be a big, public ceremony, which should make it easier to recruit troops to your new command---they'll be volunteering in droves."
"Colonel Mellanby." Jason swallowed hard, glancing uncomfortably at Sh
annon. "Could I speak to you in private for a second?"
"Of course, Captain," the man said. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant Stark."
"Yes, sir." She saluted, casting a curious look at Jason.
"Wait for me," he mouthed as she went out. She gave him a nod as the door closed. He took a deep breath and turned back to Colonel Mellanby.
"Out with it, son," the Snake prompted, that almost benign look passing almost imperceptibly across his face once more.
"Sir," Jason blurted out, "I would like to recommend that Lieutenant Stark be given command of the team."
"And why is that?" Mellanby inquired, the set of his eyes giving a hint that he had anticipated this turn of events.
"Sir, I didn't do shit out there," Jason said. "I was out running around the desert with my head up my ass while she was leading those troops in an attack on the Invaders. She drove them off the planet and all I accomplished was nearly getting myself and Ms. O'Keefe killed. She's demonstrated that she's more qualified to hold this position than I am."
"Is that so?" Mellanby folded his arms, regarding Jason with an amused expression. "Tell me, son, what was your stated mission on Aphrodite?"
"Well, to keep Valerie O'Keefe safe, but..."
"And is Ms. O'Keefe alive and well at this point?" Mellanby asked pointedly.
"Yes, but..."
The Colonel held up a hand. "I agree that Lieutenant Stark is a fine officer and a good leader. That's why I recruited her. And what she accomplished on Aphrodite was admirable, as her medals will attest in the near future. But you were the commanding officer, and your duty was to keep Ms. Valerie O'Keefe safe no matter what. You did that duty against heavy odds and that's what's important."
"I made mistakes," Jason protested, shaking his head, looking away at a vision of Valerie with Huerta and his thugs assaulting her. "I made misjudgments that could have gotten people killed." He faced the Colonel once again. "I was just lucky."
"The Vikings had a saying, McKay," Mellanby told him. "Better a lucky captain than a good one. Look," he pushed off of his desk and stepped up nose-to-nose with Jason, "whatever mistakes you made back there, you overcame them and accomplished the mission. That's part of becoming a leader---it's part of growing up." He clapped Jason on the shoulder, and McKay had a heartbeat's vision of his father congratulating him after a high-school football game. "I'm counting on you to keep on accomplishing the mission...Captain McKay."
"Yes, sir." Jason nodded slowly. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't, son." The Snake showed his teeth. "Because if you do, I'll rip out your liver with my bare hands and eat it raw."
"What was that all about?" Shannon asked him as he emerged from the office. He smiled and slipped an arm around her shoulder.
"I'll tell you later," he promised. "Want to go catch some lunch? Somehow, I don't think I'm going to have much of an appetite tonight."
* * *
"A toast." Senator Daniel O'Keefe raised his glass with a flourish, wearing his best Campaign Smile. "To Captain McKay and his brave and resourceful band for safeguarding my Valerie's life at great risk to their own."
"Hear, hear!" A rumble of approval rose from the herd of VIP's gathered around the banquet table as they came to their feet with an annoying scrape of chair legs on wooden floor.
"I've never been called a 'band' before," Shannon muttered to Jason, seated beside her at the center of the table, their dress whites standing out like a neon sign among the collection of tuxedos and evening gowns.
"We get combat pay for this, right?" McKay wondered quietly, glancing around with growing discomfort at the famous faces surrounding him in the vast hall. These were people he'd seen only on Tri-V dramas or the news, a cosmetic surgeon's wish-list that made him feel distinctly out of place. Hell, O'Keefe's house was bigger than some museums he'd visited.
"I'm only sorry," O'Keefe addressed them after the dignitaries had tipped their glasses, "that the rest of your command couldn't be here."
"Yes, sir," McKay explained. "They send their regrets, but after such a long and arduous experience, they needed some time with their families before we head back to Aphrodite."
"You're going back?" Valerie spoke for the first time since they'd arrived at the Senator's Calgary home. She looked, Jason thought, uncharacteristically frumpy in a loose, ankle-length gown, and her eyes seemed somehow sunken and hollow.
Jason nodded. "We're going to be part of an investigation team to try and find out where the Invaders came from and where they'll strike next."
"I never want to see that damned place again," Glen muttered, taking a long drink of champagne. He didn't seem to be in the best of moods himself, and Jason was sure he hadn't seen Glen and Valerie so much as look at one another since they'd arrived.
"So, Captain McKay," Daniel O'Keefe said, leaning across the table, "what are your plans for the future? Or do you see yourself as a career military man?"
"I don't know, sir," Jason admitted. "I really haven't given much thought to it yet."
"Well, perhaps you should, young man," the Senator suggested. In person, he was an impressive man, with a force of personality that reminded Jason of Kenneth Mellanby---it would, he thought, be interesting to put the two men in a room together. "Many successful political careers have been built on the foundation of high-profile military service."
"I'm not sure I'd be a good politician, sir," McKay chuckled, taking a sip of champagne. "I've got a very low tolerance for bullshit, pardon my French."
"I can appreciate that, I truly can," O'Keefe assured him. "But I can't believe that politics has a monopoly on bullshit. Surely the military has politics all its own."
"So maybe I'm already a politician, is that what you're saying?" Jason cocked an eyebrow curiously.
"We're all politicians, Captain. All of the interaction between human beings, from sex to government to commerce, has its own kind of politics, its own special social rituals. Over millions of years of evolution, we've developed rituals for dealing with other human beings without violence---imperfect, to be sure, but improving. One day, however long it may be, we'll evolve beyond the need for violence to deal with our fellow man."
"That's assuming," Shannon pointed out, "that we're dealing with 'our fellow man,' Senator."
"There you've got me, Lieutenant Stark." He tipped his glass toward her. "Dealing with your Invaders, assuming they are aliens, will require an entirely new set of rituals and politics."
"What do you mean, 'assuming they are aliens,' Daddy?" Valerie asked him. "I saw one of those things, and whatever it was, it wasn't human."
"You saw it," he agreed, "as did the others, but did you perform an autopsy on it? Who's to say it couldn't have been a human who'd undergone extensive restruct surgery and some kind of sophisticated brainwashing technique?"
"But who would do that?" Valerie wondered. "Who could?"
"Perhaps a faction of the Belt Pirates," Daniel O'Keefe suggested. "They might have bribed Corporate employees and gotten their hands on an interstellar cargo ship of some kind. Or, who knows." He paused, taking a dramatic sip from his glass. "There are those in high places whose fates are inexorably tied to the level of military funding. What better way to ensure the continued increase of military spending than to create a mysterious enemy for them to fight."
"Those are dangerous words, Senator," Shannon warned him, her mouth set in a hard line.
"The only dangerous words, my dear," he countered, "are the ones we're afraid to speak."
"That doesn't seem to be a problem for you, sir," Jason commented, his smile taking the edge off of the words.
"Touche', Captain." O'Keefe laughed. "Ah! And here's dinner!"
McKay looked up and saw the servants bringing in their first course on motorized, wheeled carts.
"Funny," he heard Shannon whisper in his ear, "I thought we were dinner."
"...and so I told my producer, 'Bill, I can't fire the guy, he's a fucking computer construct!'"
>
McKay tried to laugh politely at the joke, but the Tri-V drama director who'd told it seemed to be doing enough laughing for both of them, so he searched desperately around the room for Shannon. Dinner had gone surprisingly fast, considering the amount of food they'd been served, and afterward they'd moved into another chamber of the labyrinthine house for cocktails. He'd kept on the move, trying desperately to avoid being cornered by Valerie or worse, Glen, but in the process had discovered just what incredible bores famous people could be.
Finally, he spotted Shannon in a corner nursing a Tom Collins and struck out across the room toward her, but was cut off midway by Valerie O'Keefe.
"Jason," she said, the same hollow expression on her face, "I need to talk to you. It's important."
"Uh...all right," he acquiesced, realizing he was trapped. "What is it?"
"Somewhere a bit more private," Valerie insisted, then headed off for the room's nearest exit, an open archway that led into a library.
Senator O'Keefe, Jason observed as he scanned shelf after shelf of antique books, had a collection to rival Governor Sigurdsen's---just from where he stood he could see five first-editions that were each worth more than his annual salary.
"Okay," he said, turning his attention back to Val, "I'm here. What's wrong?"
"I'm pregnant," she told him without warning, "and I'm almost certain the baby's yours."
Shannon downed the last of her drink in a single swallow, savoring the bite of the liquor as it burned down her throat. This whole affair had been a fiasco. She had stood in corners, either literally or figuratively, since she'd arrived. Hell, the only reason any of these snobs had talked to Jason was because his face had been in the news---when they'd each made their obligatory pass by him, he'd been ignored almost as much as she.
"So much for positive press for the military," she muttered to herself, setting the empty glass down on a lampstand.
The worst part was, Nathan hadn't as much as shown his face. The fact that she wanted to see him again troubled her. She was a person who was used to certainty in her life. She'd decided on a military career at age fifteen, much to the chagrin of her parents, and that had been that. First Cambridge University, then straight into Spacefleet Officer's Candidate School, no doubts, no hesitations. It had been the same story with men. There'd been a special boy in high school, but when she'd left Ireland for college, she'd left that relationship behind along with that phase of her life. At Cambridge, she'd played the field, concentrating on studies, never letting any one man get in the way of her goal, never letting any one of them farther than a few centimeters inside her.