by TR Cameron
Jax chuckled darkly and shook his head. “What you’re saying is, I’m special. Be sure you put it that way to Dr. Siwah.”
Foley laughed. “Special you are, that’s for certain. Listen, we’re going to figure this thing out. In the meantime, live your life. It’s not enough of a burden to require a career change or anything.”
“As long as I don’t get any more parts shot off, anyway.”
The doctor stood with a nod and a grin. “I would definitely avoid that. Your clothes are in the locker over there. By the way, we’ve put an additional sensor module into your comm to record what’s going on at the interfaces with your arm and leg. If it causes you any trouble, let us know. Oh, and maybe hold breakable things with your right hand. Just in case.”
Jax rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Doc. See you soon.”
The station had an enlisted bar that he frequented from time to time without his rank insignia and when in the company of non-officer friends. But after the session with the doctors, he, like Foley’s words, was less than celebratory. The officer’s club was all shadows and dark wood. High booths were the order of the day, no exposed tables to be seen. It was a place for privacy, something he craved at the moment.
The long bar, backed by the etched glass of bottles of every kind of alcohol known to humankind, was thankfully uncrowded. He found a spot at the far corner and slipped into the tall chair. The bartender was solidly in shape, his muscles straining the tailored white shirt he wore as he moved. The man was bald, probably in his late twenties, and radiated quiet competence. His voice was gravelly as he asked, “What can I get for you, Captain?”
“Irish whiskey if you’ve got it, on the rocks.”
“Tullamore or Knappogue?”
“The last one.” He reached for the dish of cashews the man had almost invisibly deployed before him and chewed thoughtfully as the bartender went to fill his order. All in all, he was in pretty good shape. His team would be recovering from the loss of their comrade for a while, but by the time they were ready to cycle into active duty, Kyle Drent would have been replaced, and his people would be building rapport with the new addition. The same was true of his prosthetics. After some time, they’d be as natural as the stuff he was born with.
A coaster and a glass were delivered without a word, and the man drifted away to take care of another newcomer. Jax sipped and imagined the fire of the whiskey incinerating his stress and tension. His mind wandered freely until a soft hand landed on his shoulder, and Major Anika Stephenson sat down beside him. The bartender moved toward them, and she stopped him with a raised palm. “I’ll have what he’s having, and he’ll have another.” She tossed a fifty on the bar to pay for it.
Jax whistled. “So it’s true what they say. The top ranks do make the big bucks.”
She snorted softly. “I haven’t been off ship for more than a weekend in a year, Reese. What am I going to spend my money on?”
“I hear drugs are cool.”
“Drugs are not cool. Do I need to get you the pamphlets again?” They had spent many evenings in places like this discussing life in the Special Forces, and several common jokes were recurring, most of them involving illegal activities.
He snorted. “Hell, no, I’m good. I’ve got it under control.”
Stephenson shook her head. “I’ll know I have to start worrying about you the day you stop joking about stuff like that.” Her whiskey arrived, and she drank half of it off with a sigh. “Damn. Needed that. So, do we need to talk about your man?”
Jax shook his head and looked down at the surface of the bar. “No. I’m level. Sucks, but there was nothing we could have done better to avoid it. Just a dick move by the universe.”
His superior nodded in his peripheral vision. “That it was. Wasn’t the first, won’t be the last. You did manage to save one of the captives, which means you and your team did your jobs right.” She turned the conversation on a dime, her voice going from distant to personal and her hand reaching out to brush his shoulder. “How’s your arm, Jackson?”
She’s the only one who ever uses my full name. He swiveled his chair to face her and shrugged. “Not bad. Docs are happy with it.”
“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
He laughed. “I said the same thing to the doc. But, there’s something weird in the integration that will occasionally make commands go awry.”
“Like with your leg on Rathen.”
“You do read the reports carefully, don’t you? Yes, just like that.”
She took another drink and said softly, “Bad enough to kick you out?”
He sipped at his own glass and shook his head. “Nope. You’re stuck with me, boss.”
Stephenson chuckled. “Damn it, and here I thought I was finally going to be rid of you.” She sobered and asked, “How do you feel about it?”
That’s the question, isn’t it? He hadn’t fully come to terms with the idea yet. “It’s fine,” he replied automatically. She glared at him, and he amended, “Okay, it’s not fine. No one wants to know they might suddenly be unable to do things they should be able to do, especially in a crisis situation. But the docs are on it. I’m sure they’ll find something.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“Well, they will or they won’t. There’s nothing I can do at this point, so not much use in worrying, right?”
She grabbed some cashews and popped them into her mouth, chewing slowly. He felt like she planned to say more and waited calmly for her to do so. Finally, she sipped her drink and asked, “But what if you could do something?”
Jax frowned. “Like what?”
She shook her head. “All I can say is this. High flyers inevitably run into some roadblock, something we can’t get past on our own. We’re driven to succeed, but a barrier appears out of nowhere to block us.” She slid a flat metal rectangle across the bar to him, a memory card that would slot into his wristcomm. “If you’re willing to pay the price, there’s help out there.”
Nothing like being clear and concise, Anika. Thanks for that. “What’s the price?”
She stood and stretched, then grabbed her glass and tossed back the rest of the liquid it held. “That, my friend, is different for everyone. You’ll have to ante up to find out. But I do have one piece of unqualified good news for you. The commanding officer of the guy you rescued reached out and told me to inform you that you’re owed a favor. So if you choose to pursue it, I’ll provide the time you need, and he can give you a ride.”
“To where?”
She grinned. “Read the card. Let me know what you decide.” She wandered toward the exit while he looked down at the unblemished black rectangle he held, which was no longer than his pinky.
Jax shrugged. “Can’t hurt to look.” He slipped an earpiece into his ear, put his glasses back on, and pushed the card into his comm.
Jax took his loaded tray from the chow line and headed for the dining table that held the rest of his team. This cafeteria was the same as what he’d seen on countless bases and many ships, an unadorned expanse of tables with enlisted troops dishing out food at either end. No effort was spared on creature comforts. It was a place to get stuff done fast—in this case, refueling.
As he sat, the other three nodded in welcome. He said, “Not bad selections today. Chicken parmesan and pasta are always a good choice.”
Kyra Venn laughed. “Well, if the chicken was actually chicken and not some strangely textured protein that I do not need to know the source of, I might agree with you.”
Darius Lyton nodded. “And don’t try the pudding. I’m not sure why they chose butterscotch, but it, uh, isn’t.”
Beatrice O’Leary shook her head. “Whiners. It’s food. Eat it and get on with your lives.” She was tall and thin, and despite her name, her family had come from the Spanish peninsula on Earth. She could have been a model with her dark eyes, lush brown hair, and elegant features, but instead, she’d opted to tour the universe.
Jax carved off a pie
ce of the chicken and popped it into his mouth. The morsel required significant chewing, both in force and duration, and once he’d finally swallowed the thing, he coughed and said, “I’m with Kyra.” He took a drink from the coffee, which was always top-notch, and cleared his throat. “Okay, speaking of getting on, time to talk about the future. Kyr, what do you know?”
Venn blotted pasta sauce from her lips and set the paper napkin down. “The Cronus is heading out in five days. No change in our assignment. We’ll be on rest for the first part of the trip.”
O’Leary observed, “More like twenty-four/seven training, am I right?”
He replied, “You are indeed. Major Stephenson tells me our new team member will join you by the time you ship out, so you’ll need to work with them to get ‘em up to speed.”
Lyton frowned. “Can’t help but notice you said ‘you’ and not ‘we,’ boss.”
Jax sighed. “Yeah, about that. I have something I need to tell you, but you have to swear to secrecy. Don’t worry, it’s nothing that will get you in trouble, just not information that can be spread around. I got the heads-up on this from Stephenson, if that helps.”
The trio nodded, and Venn answered, “We’ve always got your back, Axe. You know that.”
“Well, I’ve found a place that might be able to help me get my prosthetics working right, only it’s going to take some time to travel there, do whatever I need to do, and return to the ship. I’m expecting a couple weeks, three at the top, but that means you’ll have to handle the early training without me. The other two captains and the major will be available to assist.”
Lyton snorted and shook his head. “You mean, they’ll be watching us constantly to see if we screw it up.”
“Well, yeah.” They shared a laugh. “But since we’re on rest and then on B team rotation, it shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll be with you before we have to go into action.”
O’Leary shrugged. “See you when you’re done, then, boss. We’ll handle what needs handling.” The others nodded. “Can you tell us where you’re going?”
He chuckled. “That’s the weirdest part. I’m headed back to Earth.”
Chapter Eight
“Of course there couldn’t be anything simple like coordinates to find the place. Oh, no, that would be too easy.” Jax grumbled under his breath as he exited through the huge sliding door that separated the comfortable inside of the Isles Space Center from the rainy city of Edinburgh, Scotland. The landing port was only big enough to permit shuttles, so the ride he’d borrowed had delivered him to Earth’s moon, then he’d taken a smaller vessel down.
He pulled up the collar of his civilian leather jacket as he followed the beacon on his wristcomm. Only the barest details on his destination had been provided by the memory stick; he had made the conscious decision to put his trust in Stephenson, and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him. If nothing else, it’s a vacation in the gloom-covered Highlands. What could be better?
The card had held a letter from the major telling him that she had sought help for a thing in the past—she didn’t clarify what that thing was—and that the place he was looking for had set her straight. More, it had allowed her to break through barriers in several areas of her life. She’d concluded by recommending he take the jump and find out if the Academy was right for him. When he clicked “Yes” at the conclusion, directions had been provided—first the moon, then Edinburgh.
The Academy. Could mean all sorts of things. The secrecy was annoying but also appealing in a way. His experience had taught him that nothing good ever came without a lot of hard work. It made sense that he’d have to shed metaphorical blood to earn whatever benefit lay at the end of the path he’d chosen to follow. He looked up as he neared a large building and noted the elevated tracks emanating from it. High-speed rail. Wonder where to next? When he entered the transport hub, he found out. Inverness, here I come.
The trip took an hour and a half, the first part northeast to Aberdeen, then northwest to Inverness. A meal and a beer in the dining car made everything better, and Jax stepped out of the rail station with a surfeit of energy. His wristcomm, which up until now had only provided names of his destination, told him he had fifty-one miles to go and showed a map. A highway to the northeast led to his destination.
He considered for a moment hiring a car, but he’d grown tired of relying on others for his transportation. A quick search revealed a rental agency a block away, and twenty minutes later, he steered a motorcycle toward the highway. His nondescript uniform trousers would repel the rain, and his jacket and heavy black boots were waterproof. The loaner helmet didn’t have anything like the heads-up display he was used to, and he found he missed it.
It had been a long time since he’d ridden, during his last visit to the planet that had birthed humanity. That trip had been for a woman. Now that he thought about it, so had the one before that. He shook his head, stomped on the clutch, and gunned the bike up the ramp to the highway. Next stop, the Academy. Hopefully.
Jax stopped halfway for coffee, adding twenty minutes to the trip as he lingered over it and checked out a local newsfeed. Not much seemed to be going on in this part of Scotland at the moment, and what little was seemed centered around herding livestock and fighting while drunk. Maybe I should retire here. He snorted inwardly. Like I’ll ever retire. His career plan wasn’t complicated: stay in the field for as long as possible, then work on a base somewhere when he was no longer adequate to the missions he loved. He was confident the UCCA would find things for him to do until he tired of doing them. He’d passed a couple of nice golf courses, though, so maybe getting back to Earth now and again to play could be part of the plan.
Beeping in his earpiece alerted him to a turnoff, and he slowed and took the offramp, then turned onto a road leading toward the water. Ahead of him was a large structure that dominated the surrounding landscape. As during the approach to Pallas station, the castle was revealed to be much larger than expected as he drew closer. The stone structure was bright white, as if it had just been sandblasted, and rose three tall stories. Windows were arranged symmetrically, with narrow stone between them. His angle of approach gave him a perfect view of four towers with spiked roofs.
He passed sculpted lawns to either side, including a hedgerow maze that was easily ten feet high. The grounds were immaculately kept, and he spotted both human and robotic gardeners working on them as he went by. He’d left the rain behind in Inverness, and the green land around him looked like an artist’s vision of paradise. But with livestock and fight clubs.
He parked his motorcycle to the side of the circular drive at the entrance to the castle and hung his helmet on the handlebars. The limited range scanning available from the wristcomm told him nothing, which was notable in and of itself. The walls are shielded. Interesting. He noticed a plaque on the wall near the enormous peaked wooden double doors in the center of the building. It read Dunrobin Castle, built in the thirteenth century, was the ancestral home of the Dukes and Earls of Sutherland. Eleven hundred years old or something like that. Looks great for its age.
He checked his wristcomm and saw a dotted path leading to the right. He followed it, treading a sidewalk adorned with an etched coat of arms on the outer third of each slab. It obviously wasn’t from the thirteenth century, but he guessed it was the Sutherland crest. On another day, he might have paused to take in the sights but discovering that the building repelled his attempt to scan it had kindled excitement inside him.
He turned the corner and found himself at a normal-sized door, probably for servants to use way back when. It was constructed of the same dark wood as the main entrance and looked quite solid like someone had envisioned the need to defend against a siege when it was built. It had neither handle nor discernable signaling device, just two bands of dark metal running horizontally across it to reinforce the planks. His comm beeped, and he found a prompt on it. “Enter?” it asked, and gave him the expected pair of options. He poked the “Yes” bu
tton, and the door swung soundlessly inward, revealing another door across from it.
Jax stuck his head in and discovered the room was like an airlock approximately six feet square, with no feature other than the two doors. He stepped inside and was unsurprised when the portal he’d just entered through closed behind him. The sound of the lock’s mechanisms sliding into place echoed in the tight confines. He checked his wrist, but the device had apparently run out of ways to help him. The signal bar had vanished, revealing that the building’s shielding must be more intensive than he’d thought.
He said out loud, “Seems like I’m in the right place. Hello?”
A computerized voice replied, seemingly from mid-air next to his ear, “What is your name? What is your quest?”
Jax rolled his eyes. “Would you also like to know my favorite color?”
A human male voice answered with a laugh. “Can’t go wrong with the classics. Do come in, Captain Reese.” The door before him swung open to reveal a large space that contained cabinets on all the walls. All the furniture was made of wood and looked remarkably well-preserved. Probably not original, but certainly a few generations old.
The man standing with perfect posture in the center of the room wore a smile, a dark suit with a white shirt, and no tie. He had longish hair, which was tucked behind his ears except for bangs swept to the side. His sideburns continued down into a thin mustache and a rough beard. The hair on his face and that on his head was darkish-brown, shot through with gray. Jax would have put his age at late-forties until he met the green eyes, which caused him to reconsider. The weight or wisdom in them spoke of longer experience.