by L D Inman
And then Douglas was on the floor out cold.
“Amis, did you get that?” Inslee saw Speir move forward to kneel painfully beside him, saw her bend over him and hold his head still while she spoke to him, saw his hand flash in a feeble salute; a cheer rose from his men as they watched.
“Yes, sir,” Amis said.
“Good. Help them to the infirmary if they need it. And then get me an open line to General Barklay while I’m speaking to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inslee went back to his office. Ignoring the cold lunch on his desk, he pulled up the recording on his com-deck and reviewed it from the beginning. The recording began with Speir alone in the training room, throwing punches at the bag-bar, clearly working out some aggression. Then Douglas appeared and spoke to her, and within a few seconds they had exchanged blows, and the altercation was fully established. This hadn’t begun in the training room. Inslee would trace their earlier movements, but not before he’d spoken with them. He watched for a few minutes as their fight progressed, marveling afresh at their fury and skill, and then got up and left his office again, moving in long, heavy strides.
~*~
In the infirmary he found the medic fastening a neck brace on Douglas, who looked pale and ill. Speir sat on the bed next to his, helping herself to the tray of antiseptic swabs and cleaning her torn knuckles. Their amity now was as untroubled as their rage had been implacable. When they saw him, they both attempted to rise to attention, which he forestalled with an impatient wave; they settled for waiting alertly for him to speak. Neither looked surprised to see him, or shocked at his lowering glare.
Inslee had two theories about this incident, neither of which he liked. He started with the least likely.
“Right,” he said. “Is all of this because I wouldn’t let you screw?”
They looked at one another blankly, then back at him. “No, sir,” Speir said. Douglas shook his head, and then looked like he regretted the movement.
That left his other theory. Inslee sighed deeply.
“Then,” he said, “maybe it has something to do with General Barklay’s recent visit to this base.”
Douglas’s face closed over, and Speir primmed her mouth grimly. Neither of them answered.
“That’s what I thought,” Inslee said. “I will be speaking to General Barklay shortly about this incident. Perhaps he will be able to shed some light on it that will convince me not to court-martial the pair of you.”
This did not take them by surprise either, though Speir looked worried. Inslee was angry afresh.
“Not that I expect him to be much help with this problem,” he said. “After all, he created it.” Inslee took a breath to quell his temper. “Until I decide what to do with you, you’re both confined to your quarters after you’ve been released from the infirmary.”
Medic Neale didn’t look up from his work fastening monitor nodes to Douglas’s skin. “That probably won’t be till morning, sir. They both need to be on the monitor tonight.”
There was a silence while Inslee fixed them both with a long stare. “Will it be necessary for me to partition you while you’re in here?”
“No, sir,” they both said; and Inslee believed them.
“I’m glad to hear it. It will save me at least one headache for the next twelve hours. I suggest you spend your recovery time getting over your apparent illusion that you’re the only two people of any consequence on this base.” They both looked chastened at this; it only made Inslee angrier. “We’ll speak more of this later.”
He went back to his office, to find that the comm tower had succeeded in fetching Barklay to an open line.
“General Inslee,” Barklay began, but Inslee had no patience for niceties now.
“Right,” he said, holding his voice quiet. “Barklay, you are now going to tell me what the hell’s going on. No more fencing.”
“What’s happened?” Barklay already looked grim; not a good sign.
“What’s happened is that your beloved senior officers just tried to kill each other barehanded in my training room. In broad view of an entire off-duty rotation. And I want an explanation.”
Barklay’s gaze grew intent. “Who won?”
“This wasn’t a bloody sparring match, Barklay! Did you think I was telling fancies? It’s a wonder they both surv—”
“Who won the match?” Barklay insisted.
“Barklay—”
“It’s important, Inslee. Please. Who won?”
Inslee drew a tight breath; let it out. “Douglas had the best of it up until the end. Then they traded one blow each and Speir knocked him out cold.”
Barklay closed his eyes and breathed relief, as if a knife’s point had just been turned from him.
“Barklay,” Inslee said. “What is this about?”
“It’s about the future of Ryswyck Academy,” Barklay said, and as Inslee opened his mouth to brush that aside, went on. “I asked Speir to tell Douglas that I want him on my council.” He sighed. “I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it well.”
“I could have told you that,” Inslee said. “In fact, I did tell you that, when you were here in my office two days ago. I’m searching my memory but I can’t seem to recall you giving me a straight answer when I asked you why.”
Barklay sighed again, but did not argue.
“In fact, now that I remember, you asked to see Speir, but not Douglas, and you left it to me to broach the proposal to them when the permits go through. It’s you Douglas has a problem with. Not Ryswyck.”
Barklay winced. “I fear that is no longer the case.”
“Yet you’re still hoping he’ll agree to sit on a council to decide Ryswyck’s fate.”
“Yes,” Barklay said, simply.
“I can see why you think Speir would prosecute a better argument than yourself.” Inslee sniffed. “But the fact remains you’re acting out your self-punishment on my base. I took your officers to strengthen Cardumel’s morale, not tear it to bits!”
“Oh, I doubt they’ve done that,” Barklay said. “I bet anything you can turn this to your account. Weren’t they lovely to watch?”
“That’s not the point!” retorted Inslee, but he knew he’d already lost ground on that count.
“Well, you’ll have to punish them, certainly,” Barklay said, waving a hand. He didn’t go on, but his drift was apparent. Inslee scowled.
“By rusticating them down on the southern march, is that it?” he said, sarcastically.
“You think they’d view coming here as an opportunity for penitence?”
“Penitence, hell, Thaddeys. And don’t give me that innocent look. I’m not your rebec and Cardumel is not your drum. And it’s not even you calling the tune at this point, is it?”
“I’m sorry,” Barklay said, his mouth twisting wryly.
“Sorry’s nothing but a word. I don’t understand what you’re doing. You sent them here—I thought—because you wanted them both out of the way of some nasty politics. And that might have worked if you’d left well alone; but you didn’t. And now you’re dragging them right into whatever’s going on between you and Central Command. And Cardumel with it. That’s no service to them, it’s no service to me, and it’s no service to the army. What are you going to do about it?” Inslee’s caution of two days ago now seemed utterly irrelevant.
“I’m going to resolve this,” Barklay said.
“And I think you can’t put the problem under quarantine and resolve it at the same time. I think you know that. I think you’ve decided which course to take. And so now you’re beyond apology for this. Isn’t it so?”
“Advise me,” Barklay said, with a sigh.
Inslee’s anger had passed, and now he was only weary. “I can advise you as effectively as you can apologize to me, Barklay. You’re doing Captain Douglas and Field-Commander Speir a great disservice. They are driving me to distraction, and I wish I had ten of them both.”
“You could have, if I can get Rysw
yck clear of all this.”
Inslee shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t have ten of them either. That’s why you want them back. You’re thinking of them as ambassadors for courtesy that you can recall at will.” The shot told; Barklay flinched briefly. “They’re soldiers, Barklay. There’s a whole world out here.”
“Yes,” Barklay said. He looked as though he were bordering on saying something else, but in the end he left it at that.
Inslee was seriously regretting that he had ever agreed to let Barklay take them. But backing up blind on an island was always a bad idea. “I’m going to have to think about this,” he said. “We’ll talk again.”
“All right,” Barklay said. “For what it’s worth—I know it’s not much—I am sorry, Eamon.”
“Save that for Central Command,” said Inslee. “For me, I request you simply stop thinking of me and my responsibilities as an apparatus to your mission. Just do that much. It’ll limit the damage starting from today at least.” He waited only to see Barklay receive this with another wince before adding, “Inslee out,” and cutting the connection.
The projection disappeared; Inslee threw himself back in his chair, which creaked in protest. “Ach, be damned to it,” he groaned.
Amis must have been listening for him to close the line, because he knocked briefly and then came in. “Sir,” he said, “I’ve rearranged the duty schedule to cover Captain Douglas and Field-Commander Speir for the next two cycles.”
“Thank you, Amis,” Inslee sighed.
“It was made somewhat easier in Speir’s case because she had already split her shift with Lieutenant Darnel. He said she’d told him she wanted to get an early lunch today. Do you know what that was about, sir?”
“At a guess—” Inslee’s eyes were closed and he was massaging the bridge of his nose between two fingers— “she wanted to get into Captain Douglas’s lunch rotation so she could speak to him. But I don’t care just now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Inslee dropped his hand but left his eyes closed. “Dare I ask what’s being said out there?”
“There’s a fair amount of lively discussion, sir.” Amis was much calmer now than he had been earlier. “The general consensus seems to be that they’re mad like all Ryswyckians, and that you’re going to eat them alive.”
“I’ll have to make an example of them,” Inslee agreed with another sigh. “Somehow.”
“It’s a pity. That’d have been a clinic in sparring if only it’d been sanctioned.”
Inslee opened his eyes and frowned through the window at the tower in the distance. The darkness was gathering early, with this system moving through. “Aye,” he murmured. “…Do you think it’s madness, yourself, Amis?”
“Not madness, exactly, sir,” Amis said, pensively. “Douglas and Speir are both sensible enough at their work. It’s…I’d have said Douglas is as cautious as any man I’ve commanded, but even he completely abandoned any sense of self-preservation today.”
“Mm.” That, or they feared to lose nothing. Except Barklay obviously did fear to lose something. Penitence. Make an example…. “—Thank you, Amis, I won’t keep you.”
“Could be a useful trick,” Amis said, going. “If you don’t waste it.”
~*~
Night fell early outside the infirmary windows, and the tower lights under their blackout shield glowed in the clinging mist. Neale finished treating Douglas, helped Speir with the adhesive for her torn hands, chased off two more junior officers who had come to the infirmary with flimsy excuses so as to get a look at them, and after admonishing Speir and Douglas to stay out of trouble if it was humanly possible, went back down the corridor to his office and quarters. Speir’s “Yes, sir” was very quiet, her spine straight as at attention, or at prayer.
Douglas didn’t feel much like causing trouble, either. He mostly felt like throwing up. The spells came and went; he waited through them with an odd, disconnected feeling. He had so dreaded Speir’s compassion, as if it might coincide with some total breakdown in the situation and his ability to meet it. And so it had; but then she’d proceeded to beat the shit out of him, so something had gone right. He just wasn’t sure what. If only he could think.
Darkness closed in, outside and within the room. He glanced over at Speir, who was still sitting silent and upright on her bed, her monitor lights pulsing tranquilly; but as he did so another wave of vertigo rolled over him, and he let his head fall back, swallowing against nausea.
“Oh, Speir,” he groaned, when he could breathe normally again. “You really got me good.”
She looked at him. Then leaned forward and tilted her head to check his monitor.
“I’m not hemorrhaging. It’s just the concussion.”
“Should we call Captain Neale?” she said. Even in the dim light he could see the concern on her face. He started to shake his head, thought better of it, and made the gesture with his hand instead.
“No. It’ll pass.”
“All right.” Speir returned to her quiet thoughts; but he sensed that she was still attuned to his presence. After a short silence, he drew breath to speak.
“You know…we’re probably not going to get a better opportunity to mend our faults.”
She didn’t answer right away, and he wondered whether he’d thrown away his chance to speak to her in the language they both knew. “No,” Speir said finally: a neutral word. “So, then. What faults have I to mend?”
Douglas considered. “Well…that depends on your answer to one question.”
“All right.”
“Did Barklay want you to take this commission?”
She puffed out a small breath. “I asked him that, the other day. He evaded me—again. Just like he did when he laid the offer before me in the first place. I think—” and the note of bitterness in her voice was a new thing— “he wanted me to take it and yet to believe it was my own idea.”
“Then why did you take it?” Douglas pressed.
“It was a commission, Douglas. It was an opportunity to serve.”
“And you didn’t get a better offer? Or did you wait?”
“I was ready to leave Ryswyck.” So no, she hadn’t waited. Speir added: “You’re not the only one Barklay put in an untenable position. Keep your head down, you said. Well, that’s what I came here to do. Dig in and do some quiet work.”
“And the fact that I was here had nothing to do with it,” Douglas said dryly, and Speir snapped.
“I had three people in my soul’s household,” she said, her voice gone raw. “And one is dead and one is tangled up in his wrongs. That leaves you. Yes, it was a consideration.”
As he watched, she trembled and breathed down her desperation, to resume a semblance of her former tranquil poise. Douglas was visited suddenly with a tactile memory, of Speir nestling close to him in his bed, as if to imbibe a slip of warmth before returning to that upright, perfect needlessness. A pose at which he had then swung a vengeful fist. His throat ached hard.
Low and shamed, he said, “I could have shown you better courtesy.”
Speir could always read his mind. “If you’re talking about the night we spent together, your apology is misplaced,” she said tartly. “I got exactly what I wanted out of that, just as you did.”
“I don’t mean in bed,” Douglas said. “I meant out of it.”
A hard shudder went through her; the monitor lights reflected brightly from her eyes. They flared to stars in his own vision, and his head ached with the pressure.
“So much for your fault, then,” he said, quietly. “What faults have I to mend?”
She was still shaking. “Just the one, I think.”
“Tell me.”
“You falsified my good will to you.” They were both shedding tears now. “You didn’t tell me the truth, and you imputed the lie to me instead.”
Succinctly put. “Yes,” he said. “What can I do?”
She caught her breath on a deep inhale. “You can
stop putting me between yourself and Barklay. I told him, and I’m telling you. I’ll carry no more messages, and I’ll channel no more water. You’ll solve what’s between you. Yourselves.”
For three breaths she broke down, shoulders bowed. Then she forced herself up again. He wanted to beg her to stop doing that, but he couldn’t speak.
When she spoke again her voice was calmer. “I know I offered to take your burden. I did the same for Barklay too. I thought it could do nothing but good. I was wrong.”
Douglas cleared his throat. “The sustainer needs sustenance, my mother always said. —She always said it in context of the last piece of chicken on the plate—but it’s true enough.”
“Well, the sustainer has resigned her commission,” Speir said.
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s about time.”
Having made this declaration, Speir went quiet and her gaze fell into the middle distance, as if contemplating a mist-swirled depth before her feet. “And what will I be, if no one needs me?” she said, almost inaudibly.
Free, Douglas thought. But he did not want to disturb her insight, so he held his peace.
They were silent together; Douglas wiped his bruised face gingerly with the corner of his sheet, and equilibrium returned.
After a while Speir said: “What are you going to do?”
He knew what she meant. “Well…supposing we have a choice any longer…I think I had better go down to Ryswyck.”
“Good,” she said briefly.
He sighed. “I may have to stand against him.”
“Yes,” Speir said.
He looked at her. “Is that going to put us on opposite sides?”
“All’s well.” The humor had returned to her voice, and his heart lifted. “I trust you.”
“That is more than I deserve,” he said. Of its own, his hand half-closed toward the familiar gesture, and his split knuckles stung protestingly. “And more than Barklay deserves, too,” he added, pressing the old sore spot. “Do you still support him, after all this?”