by Bill Roberts
Today has been rough enough that I am not going to put up with this old argument tonight. I clear my throat loudly and say: “I beg your pardon ladies, but as vitally important as I’m sure this debate is, if you could deign to discuss something us mere mortals could understand I would greatly appreciate it.” They both break off in mid semi-tirade and glare at me. I hold up my beer and point to it and say: “Seriously. There is beer that needs drinking and all of this talk of strings and dimensions is really getting in the way.”
Mbiraru piles on: “Here, Here! Silly women and their endless arguments.” Mbiraru is not really a sexist. But he loves to play the part with his friends.
With utmost dignity Gloria states: “Very well. We shall continue this intellectual pursuit at another time, a time when we are not surrounded by Neanderthal barbarians who apparently only recently mastered speech.”
“Sadly, I hold little hope that we will find that around here,” the XO adds.
“Good God, I hope not,” Mbiraru replies. “If everyone starts carrying on as you two just were, I’m going to need to find a new ship.”
“Take me with you, mate,” Bennie whispers loudly.
The three of us menfolk break out in laughter. Gloria and the XO try to maintain withering expressions, but their hearts are not really in it and soon they join us in laughter. As I watch the XO laugh I feel a sudden pang of loss and desire. My laughter chokes to a halt. I squelch the pang ruthlessly. That time has passed. No use thinking about the hopelessness of the situation any more. I force a smile on my face. I am a CO and she is my XO and that is an end to it.
Thankfully nobody seems to notice. I empty my beer and get up as Mbiraru starts spinning a tale about his time with the Massai before our deployment. I say: “Getting another drink,” and start making my way to the bar.
Gloria gets up and says: “I need one too. I’ll go with you.”
We make our way to the bar and I order a beer. Gloria orders a whiskey on ice. The steward moves with swift competence. As he places the drinks in front of us Gloria grabs my arm and says: “Could you come with me?” Nonplussed I simply nod my head and she leads me over to the pool table in the corner. She starts to rack the pool balls and says: “Care for a friendly wager?”
She will probably cream me but why not: “Sure, what’s the stakes?”
“Simple,” she replies. “You win and we head back to the table and continue to pretend nothing weird is going on. I win and you tell me what the hell is going on between you and Svetlana.”
I freeze. Great. Just great. I start to form a denial in my mind, but as I do so I realize I really do need to talk about it. I notice that we are quite alone. The rest of the officers are busy getting drunk and telling stories in the other parts of the bar. Fuck it. “Fine. You’re on.”
The game takes all of five minutes. Gloria lets me break and I sink a couple stripes before I miss. Once it is her turn the game is for all intents over. She quietly and efficiently runs the table. She places her cue in the rack and turns to me expectantly. “Well, I’m waiting,” she says pointedly and crosses her arms.
I do not know really where to begin. I slowly put my cue away and take a long pull from my beer. I decide to start with a question: “What do you know?”
She plays with her long braid and contemplates my question for a moment. Soon enough her face sets and she says: “You and Svetlana started dating many years ago,” crap she knew more than Bennie. Not that that revelation is particularly surprising. Gloria is much more astute at these sorts of things than Bennie is. “You and her were always cautious and professional, but to me it was pretty obvious. I never said anything because I figured if you guys wanted me to know you would have said something.” She pauses for a moment then pushes her braid behind her and continues: “But, that doesn’t explain how you two have been acting over the last month. Right before this deployment something happened. You have tried hard to hide it, and I don’t think anybody but Mbiraru, Bennie, and I have noticed. My guess is you have split up.” She stops and raises an eyebrow at me questioningly.
“Why don’t you ask,” I almost say her name but stop myself at the last instant, “the XO?”
Gloria gets visibly angry. She retorts: “There. That is exactly what I’m talking about. You haven’t used her name once. What is going on?”
“Answer my question first,” I respond defiantly. I really should not be taking my frustration out on Gloria. It is petty and small. But the hurt buried deep inside me is bubbling to the surface and I cannot help it.
The ever patient Gloria softens a bit and says: “She is a good friend. But she has never been as good a friend to me as you have. I had to ask you. It’s just …” She looks at me compassionately. “It’s just the right way to do this. Please, Shawn. Just tell me.”
I take a quick look around. We are still alone. I unload on her. I tell her everything. I tell her about how our feelings grew where they had no business growing. I tell her about how we finally gave in. I tell her about the years of hiding it from everyone. I fight back sadness as I tell her how Bennie confronted us after the disaster on Awful and how his confrontation and my near death had led to a softening and growing in our relationship. And then I tell her about the terrible morning before we loaded on the Stern. Somewhere along the way the hurt breaks free and I pour that in to my story as well. The good friend that she is, Gloria simply listens. She does not interject, she does not judge, she just listens quietly with a serene and patient look on her face. When I finish my tale I quaff my beer in one long pull and say: “That is what’s going on. I know I should be handling it better, but you know my history. I’m just doing the best I can. I’m sorry you had to get involved in this.”
Gloria shoots down her whiskey and places her hand gently on my arm. She looks me in the eye and says: “I love you like a brother Shawn. So understand that I am telling you this for your own good: You are an idiot. Well, to be fair, you both are idiots, but you definitely take the prize.”
I reply with some asperity: “Look, I know I broke a lot of rules, but I am not going to defend my relationship. Not to anybody.”
Gloria rolls her eyes at me and says: “I’m not talking about that you moron. If I cared about that I would have confronted you years ago. I kept a careful eye on you two. You never let it get in the way of doing your jobs the right way. What I am talking about is how easily you let her go.”
That catches me off guard. “What?” I ask.
With patient chiding Gloria replies: “Look, I know Svetlana has a will of iron, but she didn’t do this because she isn’t interested in you anymore. She still loves you, you dummy. So for God’s sake, quit feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it.”
Deep down I know she is right. But, the hurt reasserts itself. The XO left me. I still cannot let that go. I wish I could find hope in Gloria’s words. I wish I could find some determination to try and convince the XO to forget the looming war and live with me in the now. But, sadly I do not have it in me. She hurt me too much. I am not ready to forgive her.
Gloria watches my thoughts play across my face. She sighs sadly and says: “Please Shawn. If you don’t do something, you will regret it.”
“Jambo!” Thankfully Mbiraru interrupts our conversation. “Most beautiful and brilliant Captain of the Ship you have a call at the bar. Apparently the Commodore has something more important than drinking beer on her mind. I am of the opinion that nothing could possibly be that important, but as I am not a Commodore perhaps I am wrong.”
Without a word Gloria hurries off toward the communicator at the bar. Mbiraru hands me a beer accompanied by his brilliant smile. “I won’t ask what you two were up to. I will just say that whatever Gloria was telling you I would listen,” he says. I decide silence is the better part of valor and take a long pull from my beer. Mbiraru grows serious and continues: “Ahh, so much lives in that silence
. My friend I think you carry too many burdens. I would help you with them, but I know you. Even if the heavens were to fall you would not ask for help. You are a proud man Shawn Morris. In many ways it gives you very great strength. But, no man can face everything alone. You need to remember what your friends are for.”
I think about it for a moment. My friends had helped me many times over the years. But Mbiraru has a fair point. I never ask. I hide my problems and do my best to face them on my own. When my friends do help it always comes without my request or permission. They just do it and force me to accept it. I am always appreciative. I am not a complete fool. That being said, I have no intention of letting Mbiraru help me with this problem. I reply: “I’ve got this Mbiraru. Don’t worry about it.”
Before he can respond Gloria comes rushing back from the bar. With crisp precision she says: “The Commodore needs you and Bennie aboard the flagship. Yesterday. I already have the aerospace detachment firing up a Colt to take you to the Quincy.”
I almost ask Gloria why the Commodore needs to see us. But, she would have told me if she knew. I gulp down my beer, no need to waste good beer just because some Commodore wants to see me, and say: “On my way. I’ll grab Bennie on the way out.” Matching word to deed I quickly head for our table where Bennie and the XO are laughing happily. I interrupt: “Bennie, the Commodore wants to see you and me aboard the flagship right now. So hop to.”
“Bloody Hell,” he replies. He too does not waste time with stupid questions. He also does not waste good beer as he polishes his off and slams it on the table before getting up.
We head for the hatch leading out of the pub. Gloria meets us there. She is talking rapidly in her communicator as we join her. I hear her final comments: “… good to go. You will wait at the Quincy until they are done and bring them back, and no I don’t care how long that might take.” She looks at us. “The Colt is all set. It will take you over and wait until it is time to come back.” She opens the hatch and ushers us out. “Hurry up, Commodore Duquesne is a good woman, but she is not known for her patience.”
Bennie and I hurry down the passageway towards the Stern’s landing bay. As we walk Bennie says: “I simply cannot come up with a good reason why the Commodore would need to see us so urgently.”
“Neither can I,” I reply. “But, you can bet your ass that, whatever it is, it’s going to be interesting.” Bennie grunts and we cover the rest of the walk in silence. We open the hatch to the landing bay and head for the Colt idling off to our right. The crew chief is waiting for us at the personnel entrance ramp. He waves us on board and before we have time to buckle our seatbelts the pilot takes off and passes through the energy field into outer space. The entrance to the pilot’s compartment is open and I can see the pilot hammer the throttle all the way forward as the G-forces press me back in my seat.
The Quincy is not far away. It is a cruiser of the Exeter class. It masses almost three hundred thousand tons. It carries a broad array of heavy electromagnetic guns that make the main gun on a Kodiak look like a popgun, missiles that can reach point nine light speed and a squadron of Vespines. It is the flagship for our little task group and along with a pair of destroyers provides the naval firepower and protection the three amphibious ships need.
The Colt goes straight from acceleration to deceleration. Gloria must have told the pilots to set some sort of record for ship to ship flight. In a matter of minutes we cross the energy field into the Quincy’s landing bay and set down. Wasting no time Bennie and I unbuckle our seat belts and head for the exit. The crew chief waves us through and as we leave the ship we come face to face with the Commodore herself.
Commodore Brigitte Duquesne stands all of five feet one inch tall. She has dark brown hair cut chin length and dark intense brown eyes. Stern but fair, decisive but open to suggestion, brilliant but grounded, she is everything the unlamented Commodore Smith was not. I quickly overcome my shock at seeing the Commodore at the bottom of the landing ramp, pop a salute, and say: “Good Evening Commodore, how may Major Jones-Fairly and I be of service?” Behind me Bennie stops just short of running me over and pops his own salute.
The Commodore returns our salutes with crisp panache. I notice she smells of Jean Patou’s Joy. Of course she does. “I will explain later. For now, please follow me,” she replies with precision and just the barest hint of her French accent. Without waiting for a response she spins on the heel of her barely regulation, certainly Italian, and probably more expensive than my last paycheck boot and heads off at a rapid walk.
I goggle for a moment. Commodores do not simply meet mere lieutenant colonels at the landing bay. And they certainly do not escort them without explanation to god knows where. What the hell is going on? I take off after her. I have to stretch out my stride just to keep up. Next to me Bennie is practically jogging.
We pass through the hatch leading out of the Quincy’s landing bay. Once out of the bay the Commodore winds her way rapidly through the ship. We pass through several hatches and passageways. I have been on an Exeter class ship maybe three times in my whole life. I am essentially lost after about thirty seconds. However, I know enough of naval markings and protocol to get the general impression we are heading towards the bridge. Probably.
Suddenly the Commodore comes to a halt next to a hatch on the right of the passageway. She opens it and ushers us in. Once inside I realize I am in some sort of large, ornate stateroom. What in the name of all the Saints is going on? A woman wearing unmarked Navy coveralls sits on a couch at the far end of the room. Behind us the Commodore secures the hatch walks in front of us turns and says: “You two are the only people…”
The woman on the couch bolts to her feet and says: “My God, Benedict is that you?”
I turn to Bennie and see that all the blood has drained from his face. Like I said earlier, guaranteed to be interesting.
CHAPTER 16
The Forge
“Gentlemen,” I begin. “Today we will leave off the pilot training and do something a little different.” I am sitting at the head of the table in one of the myriad of conference rooms at Heavy Combat Systems. My ten students fill out the rest of the table. We have been training steadily on the Kodiak for weeks now. However, there is more to Wonderland than training. This place is the home of the Watcher technology. If Five Eyes is to be of any real value when the Synti invade they will need to fully understand that technology.
That has been part of the program from the beginning. When America had invited Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and Britain in on the secret, it had not just asked for military members to train. That had been only a portion of the request. America had also asked the other nations to send doctors, scientists, engineers, mathematicians, et cetera. We asked for them so we could show them the amazing information the Watchers had given us, as well as what we had already accomplished with it. In my opinion this is the more important part of the request. The other nations have to be full-fledged partners, not just surrogates for us to foist weapons on that only we understood. Not only that, but we have only begun to scratch the surface of the Watcher technology. We need every mind on it that we can find.
I continue: “We have a little field trip scheduled. It may not be as fun as fumbling around in a simulator all day, but it should be quite interesting.” I hit the remote and the 3D display projects a map of the Wonderland complex above the middle of the table. It rotates slowly so everyone can see it in detail. I hit a button and in the rear of the massive cavern a large area glows red. I point to it and say: “This is The Forge. It is where we build the things we develop with Watcher technology. I am going to take you out there and show you around.” I arch my eyebrow inviting questions. Nobody seems to have a question, so I stand up and say: “If you gentlemen will follow me,” and head for the door.
The hallway has little activity in it as I lead my charges towards the door. Behind me I hear the murmur of several quiet discus
sions. As a whole my students generally got along fairly well with each other, but like any collection of people the students have settled down into various groups of friends. I had half expected this to break down along service, and country lines. This has essentially not happened. The Marines have known each other for years, so they form the obvious exception. Otherwise, the groups have broken down based on the complex intricacies of male bonding. This is an excellent development. It bodes quite well for the future.
As we travel along I hear U.S. Army Major Samuel Breckenridge, formerly of the First Cavalry Division, say: “Seriously, the place has got to be full of engineers and workers. You know civilians. That means a much higher probability of women. Which also means I might get a date.”
The New Zealander, Major Lucas Stanton formerly of Queen Alexandra’s Mounted Rifles replies: “Sam, you couldn’t bloody well buy a date in Bangkok. Besides, every engineer I know is fat and balding, and most of them are men.” Breckenridge and Stanton have become the most interesting pair in my group. They banter, bicker, barter, and bluff their way through everything. I love it. I probably would have died from boredom a week ago if it not for them.
Undeterred Breckenridge shoots back: “That’s because you live on a cold, miserable, and dinky little island that has way too many Kiwis in it. This is America, land of the free and home of the hottie. I am telling you this is gonna be great.”
I fight down a smile as I open the door leading outside. The students file out and I follow. Once outdoors the cavern opens up impossibly high over our heads. A few dozen yards away a 7-ton military truck waits in the artificial light. The driver, a Marine sergeant, jumps down from the cab and walks over to me. He salutes and I return it. “Sir, I’m all ready to go,” he says.