The Cadre Files (Vorcian Imperial Chronicles Book 1)
Page 7
Corda had no vision, no business plan, no strategy, just a tentative movement in the chosen direction of the flashing neon sign saying “civilian occupation here.” If the BattleMage was honest with herself, she realized what a risk she was taking.
Twinges of guilt ran up and down her spine as she accepted the fact that her loyal friends had come with her, just to be available when she needed them. This core group, her cadre, had lived through the battle that had changed her life. They also had their own dark dreams and invasive flashbacks. None of them had escaped from Rabican unscathed.
All of the members of this core group had spent more than two decades in the military. Retirement and civilian life had never been something for which they had planned or thought about. No one had an idea of what they were supposed to do for a living, when to start that occupation, or how to make a living from performing the tasks associated with that role.
The one thing the military never taught was how to live away from it, George thought to himself. Instead of shielded interactions with people that might be dead in the next hour or day, civilian life was all about building long-term relationships. I’m not sure I know how to do that, the former JAG thought to himself.
The office was starting to take shape. The desks were arranged in the reception area and the individual offices. All security equipment was set up and operational. Their chairs, computers, coffee machines, and all the other accouterments that one would typically see in an office were distributed and arranged.
Corda thought that it looked pretty good. Especially if one’s concept of an office was taken from entertainment videos, which hers had been. In many ways, her new environment looked like a cross between a warrant officer’s area and an actor’s set. Only trying to function within it would allow them to figure out what needed to be adjusted. Then they could tailor their environment to better fit their needs.
Corda wondered to herself, Now what do I do? Before there was any chance of answering that question, the door to their office opened, and two people came barreling in.
Shoving his way through the door was an aggressive-looking man in his early 30s. Dressed in expensive-looking but gaudy-colored business clothing, he reminded Corda of nothing less than a peacock. One with a shrill voice and poor eyesight, and an attitude to match the garish costume.
The BattleMage concealed a smile and allowed Sgt. Dreyer to handle the assertive little man. She found herself far more interested in the person following him. This man, Corda thought to herself, is very intriguing.
It was quite evident that the two men were not together. Where one was notable for his lack of taste, the other was a well set up man in his early 60s. His suit was impeccable and his jewelry understated. With a face that concealed his emotions, he was watching the interaction of all the people in the room intently. Corda thought she could see the faint traces of amusement on his face but vowed to herself never to play poker with him.
“I bet he knew where each of us was before he came into the room. I’ve seen that look before, and I would say special forces or something like that. What do you think Corda?” murmured George in an undertone, standing close to the BattleMage. Her short nod of agreement was all they had time for.
As Dreyer was dealing with the gesticulating man in the burnt orange suit, the taller man had made his way directly to Corda. He offered a short bow to the Mage and a nod of acknowledgment to her companion while keeping his hands in plain sight.
This was a surprise to both George and Corda. Such a greeting was standard for Mages but not for those outside the small group of those that used magic in a technology world. George’s grip on his cane relax a bit in relief, but his face lost all expression as he slipped into combat strategy mode. Corda could feel the tension in his body as he waited for an attack.
The stiffening of George’s figure was caught by Dorothy, who moved unobtrusively to flank the stranger that had approached Corda. The BattleMage could tell that the man was immediately aware of her team’s positioning by the glint in his eye, and she wondered if he would say anything. As quickly as she recognized the question, Mage had her answer.
Dropping an amused look her way, the tall man offered the enormous woman a respectful nod of his head and acknowledgment, “Master Armorer, I trust you are finding our city enjoyable.” Dorothy’s mouth moved into a small smile while her eyes remained wary.
A speedy but unforced turn of his head brought his eyes back to Corda and George, as the man continued, “Greetings to you both BattleMage Devlin and JAG Havelock. I am Mark White, an industrialist here in Brecksville. I understand that you are opening a business for a specialized type of investigation and I’m hoping to discuss a possible engagement with you.”
Alana had raised her eyebrows when the man identified himself to Corda. The BattleMage couldn’t interpret precisely what her friend was trying to tell her, but it didn’t look like a warn-off. With only that scanty clue to appropriate action, the BattleMage responded, “I am sorry that you find us in such a state of disarray. This is our first morning in the office, and we are still trying to find all of the power plugs and things like that. However, if you would like to discuss something, I believe that we can find a couple of chairs and move into my very empty office.”
“That would be most appreciated. I’m afraid that my business cannot wait until you’re more settled and I would be most thankful if we could talk immediately.”
The aggressive little man interrupted at this point, saying, “Now you wait a minute here! I was the first one in, and I should have the first right to talk to her. My business is far more urgent than yours. I need to know a bunch of things, and she’s the best person to tell me about them.”
Dreyer attempted to head the man off, but the agitated little man shrugged off Ted’s attempts at control and charged forward toward the BattleMage. Almost spitting in his agitation, he insisted in a louder voice, “I was first. Therefore I get to talk to you first. I won’t tolerate this sort of behavior and treatment.”
Corda’s face had frozen into a mask. It was her expression that Dorothy called the “somebody’s going to die” look. But the little man was so upset, so emotional, that he didn’t recognize any of the clues. He simply pushed forward.
With a deep sigh, the tall, muscled woman reached out a sizeable ham-shaped hand and grabbed the shirt of the man she had mentally dubbed the “Bantam.” Holding him up off the ground, she watched as his legs continued to pump as if he were still walking. He is not going anywhere, she thought to herself.
For the first time in the last two weeks, Dorothy felt a natural smile spring to her face but knew that she could not let the poor man see her amusement. With a massive effort, the Armorer concealed her mirth and made her face an expressionless mask. Her coverup was almost destroyed when she heard a muffled snort of commentary from Alana. Leave me some control, my friend. He is upset enough as it is, the large woman thought to herself.
Corda also heard Alana’s auditory comment. The BattleMage felt like she had been dumped with a bucket of tension-relieving amusement and was forced to stifle a totally inappropriate giggle. I sound thirteen years old when I giggle. Not at all the best thing for a grown woman, she thought to herself.
With his legs still going as if he were going to charge toward Corda even though he was several feet off the ground, the man looked ridiculous. What worried the BattleMage was that his aggression was not from anger but from fear. She could tell between the two emotions, and the stink of the acrid odor of his sweat flashed her back to dusty plains and the sound of incoming ordinance. Firmly, the woman pulled herself back to the here and now, noticing the man’s pale face, and the trembling of his hands.
The man was as terrified as if he were in combat. The smell of dense adrenaline and someone fighting a flee response was something that she had embedded in her brain. This was not totally the action of someone pushy by nature. Even though he may be typically aggressive, he was now driven by terror. This was the res
ponse of someone afraid of something horrific.
Looking at George, Corda asked quietly, “I would prefer to talk with Mark first. He just feels easier to talk to, and I am not up to the emotional upheaval that other man presents. What do you think we should do?”
George usually kept his opinions to himself, even when discretely asked. Realizing that the BattleMage needed his thoughts, her friend gave her an opaque look and a small smile, saying, “Talk to the one that is easier for you. There was no way that we would have predicted such a rapid demand for our services. So let us take Mark first and let Alana and Dorothy deal with the louder one.”
When Corda nodded, George passed on directions to Dryer in an undertone, before disappearing into Corda’s office with Alaric. By the time that the logistics had sorted out, there were guest chairs in her office, along with a pitcher of water and some glasses. Even though they had been in the office less than a day, at least the framework of their organization showed.
In the meantime, the bantam rooster of a man continued his agitated speech, practically spitting in his agitation. He had finally divulged his identity and background. His name was Peter Chisholm, and he had a significant problem with criminals coming after his businesses. Since some of his issues were technology-related, Corda asked Alana and Dorothy to initially talk with him. They would be building her briefing notes, and once her business with Mark was done, she would speak with Peter.
The little man wasn’t terribly happy with that plan, but Alana made it apparent that his problem was being taken seriously. With that, he seemed content, at least for the moment. That didn’t, however, stop his arm-waving, raised voice, or agitated speech. The two women focused on his problem, ignoring the theatrics and his fear.
It had taken a while to get everything sorted out. The BattleMage and George retired with Mark to Corda’s new office. Although part of the justification for taking him first was that Mark was calmer and more coherent, Corda consoled herself with the thought that the man was obviously more organized in what his needs were and would be easier to interview.
In a short time, the three of them found themselves sitting around Corda’s massive desk. Mark looked at the very empty surface and laughed, saying, “I can see that you literally just moved in. That first hour after opening my office was the only time my desk was this clean!”
Corda smiled in response, saying, “I am sure that it will get cluttered up quickly. There is a lot for us to do.”
Chapter 3 – First Clients
Corda looked at the man sitting across from her. The well-worn grooves of her mind gave her the comfort of a familiar procedure as she observed his behavior, attitude, and other characteristics. The repetition of a habitual process was soothing, and Corda thought to herself, This is not so different from a strategy session. Maybe we could really do this civilian life thing.
After a look at Corda to see who she wanted to take the lead, the former JAG realized that he was tagged point on this one. George started the discussion out, “Okay, Mark. Please tell us what’s going on and how you believe that we can help.”
“Someone or something is destroying my spaceships. I know that sounds terribly bizarre, but my business operations are high risk and involve priority courier delivery. As a former naval officer and special-team member, I’m used to dangerous situations and risky challenges. Civilian life wasn’t very interesting for me without the spice of adrenaline. A former teammate and I decided to invest our retirement funds into a business, and we have leveraged that into a fairly profitable endeavor.”
George asked about many of the aspects of the business, including profitability, customers, etc. Corda listened with half her mind, using the rest of her attention to gather the nuances that always form around a situation.
The BattleMage was focused on those subtle points that were outside of a general discussion, but lend perspective and framework. Her experience had taught her painfully that these factors are frequently the difference between success and failure.
It was a habitual role shared between her and George. He would ask the piercing questions that a litigator was trained to do, pulling out important details and logical flow. She was the intuitive one, the one who could understand what wasn’t being said and how vital that omission might be.
It should have been business as usual, but Corda found herself having a bit of difficulty in focusing her attention. Something was interfering with her ability to lock onto the information, and she wasn’t quite sure about the source of that disruption. Perhaps it was a sense of dislocation, maybe it was something else.
Either way, the BattleMage really didn’t want to think about it. She just continued to take in the nuances of the discussion between the two men, adding very little in the way of speech. Trying to relax, Corda kept her eyes on their new client and attempted to settle into the changing cadence of her life.
Mark laid out a concise and coherent explanation of what was happening. He supplied specifics on when and where events happened. He even had the data on storage that he was prepared to leave them.
The short summary was that his small courier ships were disappearing without a trace. No matter what the safety features and procedures that they could come up with, their ships were vanishing far more frequently now than they did a year ago. At the current point, they were losing one in twenty. An inexcusable amount, especially when he realized that no trace of any ship or its crew was ever found again.
Mark’s partner was ready to quit. He had offered to sell his portion of the business to Mark, wanting to get out of it before it took them both down. Mark knew that something active, something inimical was involved. All of his wartime experience told him this, but he couldn’t get a handle on it.
He wanted Corda and her team to investigate.
Corda was watching his face. He was a very contained man, and his expressions reflected that. He didn’t portray much of what he was thinking externally, not letting his face betray what he was doing, thinking, or feeling.
Something in his face drew her though. The BattleMage wasn’t exactly sure what caused her to keep looking at him, but she knew that the drive was compelling. Somehow she found the minute expression changes of his face very absorbing. Each time she looked away, it was if an elastic cord pulled her eyes back to him.
It may be that I am just disoriented or tired, Corda thought to herself, but he is quite intriguing. It’s too bad that my intuition doesn’t give me more explicit messages. Definitely, it was something that she needed to track and understand.
Mark told them that he did not care how much it cost. He wanted it fixed, first of all, but then he thought it was essential that he understood what was going on and how to avoid it in the future. If it were something the man could fight, then a battle it would be. If it were something he could pay off, he would pay it off.
The former Special Forces officer wanted to stop losing his pilots, his friends. George and Corda could see it in the careful control that he exerted over his emotions. They could hear it in the intensity of his voice. Mark wanted to know if Corda and her team could help him.
George got all the information down, while Corda made mental notes of her observations. The former JAG told him that they would make a decision and get back to him before the end of the day. With that Martin had to be content, thanking them for the consideration, and saying that he hoped to hear from them with acceptance by day’s end.
Mark carefully bowed to Corda, while giving her a softer look and a small smile that warmed his eyes. The man thanked George for his attention before turning and walking from the room. He left without a backward glance, and Corda felt a slight sense of disappointment as he walked away. That is strange. I wonder why I feel disappointment? She thought to herself. I will think about it later, right now I have a lot of other things that need attention.
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After Mark had left, it was Peter’s turn to talk with them. His situation was somewhat different than Mark’s, in
that he was having a significant problem at one of his manufacturing plants. He had employees that were disappearing, key employees. They were gone without a trace, and his business was suffering.
The gaudily dressed man explained that he had also been experiencing a series of warehouse fires. This had caused problems in his ability to deliver his manufactured goods and was tied to other destruction of property and possible sabotage that he had reported to the police. The attacks were escalating in speed and intensity, and the pressure was mounting on him and his business.
Sitting next to the agitated man, Corda was very aware of how frightened he was. The fine tremors in his hand, the widened eyes, and short breath, all of these were the signs of someone truly terrified for their life.
Once again, George asked thorough and meaningful questions, while Dorothy and Alana provided their input. Peter calmed down considerably when he saw that the team was taking him seriously, but Corda couldn’t seem to get past her initial mental impression of the man.
Every time she looked at him, the BattleMage saw a scrawny tomcat from her youth strutting around and swiping at the chickens. It was not a mental image that was conducive to taking someone seriously, although she could tell that the man was honestly concerned and frightened.
At the end of the discussion, Dorothy and Sgt. Dreyer escorted the man out the door. Peter hadn’t wanted to go, but George explained to him that he would hear from their team by the end of the day.
“But I need you to take this case! This is going to put me out of business!” Peter almost yelled. Capturing one of his flailing hands, Dorothy put her huge right hand on his shoulder and began to move him toward the door. Dreyer stood on his other side, speaking calmly to him.