McCollum - GIBRALTAR STARS (15 page)

Captain Borsman had one of those
I Told You So!
looks in his eyes as he read the order. His only comment was, “That didn’t take long, Commander. They must be in a hurry.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well good luck. I’ll forward my evaluation on to Fleet HQ once I arrange for
Amy’s
re-supply. You have nothing to fear from it.”

“Thank you, sir. It was good serving under you.”

“It’s been good having you aboard. Better get moving. You’ve less than two hours before that shuttle docks.”

The shuttle was crowded. In addition to Mark and Lisa, half the Project Stargate scientists were aboard. The party split up at Sandia Spaceport, with the scientists hustled off to God knows where, while he and Lisa made their way to the suborbital rocket terminal to catch their flight to Zurich.

As usual, returning to Earth and breathing real air, even the air of the spaceport concourse, was exhilarating. The feeling didn’t last long. As they passed through the transfer tube gate, they found an Ensign waiting for them. He carried supplementary orders and two garment bags. Mark accepted the data transfer and read the orders while Lisa unsealed the bags, first one and then the other.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Mark said, closing the cover of his communicator and tucking it back into his uniform coveralls. “They’re holding the suborbital for us.”

“These are dress uniforms,” Lisa said, checking size labels. “And they’re our sizes.”

“We’ve orders to arrive in Meersburg by 20:00 Local, and be in them.”

Unlike his previous two visits, this time they arrived at Zurich Space Terminus just as the sun was setting. For once the weather was clear enough to see the surrounding Alps, their snowcapped peaks aflame with a red-orange hue.

By the time they boarded the bullet car, evening had descended on the world beyond the curved glass of the observation blister. A half moon low in the west wanly illuminated fields of skeletal vines topped by white blankets of newly fallen snow. In the distance, the lights of sturdy farmhouses marched into view and then disappeared astern with a familiar alacrity. Each passing second brought with it an electric-blue flash, accompanied by a gentle shove, the visual and physical cues that the car had traversed another accelerator ring.

“There’s the lake,” Lisa said, pointing to a wide, flat blackness in front of them. Dots of colored lights marked the location of various watercraft out for a nighttime sail, while the blinking strobes of a vehicle ferry could be seen near the southern shore. The scene was only visible for a few seconds.

Mark patted her hand and ordered her to take a breath. “If you don’t, you are going to pass out.”

To his surprise, Lisa’s mood had changed at Sandia Spaceport. She was excited on the trip down from orbit, despite the sheath of superheated plasma that danced a few centimeters from her nose. She literally squirmed against the restraining straps. Her joy seemed to peak when the first breath of real air washed over them as the airlock opened after landing.

That joy persisted until they encountered the ensign in the concourse. Their supplemental orders had changed her mood. Her excitement morphed into a slowly increasing tension that grew the closer they got to Meersburg.

He’d asked her what was wrong, and received the standard answer known to husbands down through the ages: “Nothing.”

In the intervening hours, nothing had grown into something, but she still refused to say what. She answered his comment with a non sequitur.

“I really don’t see why we have to…” she said, her voice petering out as she gazed pensively beyond the car. Each time they passed through the focus of a ring, her features were put in stark relief by the accompanying flash. It should have hurt their eyes, but didn’t. The plastic of the observation dome absorbed the spark’s ultraviolet wavelengths.

“Because the Admiral said so,” he replied, attempting to cajole her out of her mood. “The orders read, ‘Report to Fleet Headquarters – Meersburg in full dress uniform.’ When you raise your hand and take the oath, that means you have to do what the admiral says. If we don’t, they’re liable to ship us back to Brinks.”

“At the moment, I wish we’d never left,” his wife said, looking at him with a scowl.

Soon, the outer darkness became a lighted tunnel. At the same time, their ears popped. The Count Otto Von Zeppelin Tunnel was the last stage of their journey. Beyond lay the glass and steel pyramid that had once been Stellar Survey Headquarters and was now Space Fleet HQ – Europe.

#

Save for the different holographic sign in the terminal, Fleet Headquarters might have still belonged to the Stellar Survey. No, that wasn’t right, Mark thought. There were a lot more uniforms in evidence than there had been. In fact, the ratio of uniforms to civilian attire was essentially reversed from his first visit.

“Where do you suppose we go?” Lisa asked. Mark had both kit bags containing their effects in one hand and the other looped around his wife’s waist.

“I suspect this clean-cut young man is about to tell us.”

In front of them, making his way through the crowd, a youngish man in the uniform of a Space Marine Lieutenant strode with the air of someone who knows where he is going. His uniform bore the insignia of a Dog Robber, an Admiral’s Aide. And if that weren’t enough, he was looking right at them.

“Commander Rykand? Lieutenant Rykand?”

“Yes,” Mark answered for both of them.

“Lieutenant Renaldi. I’m here to escort you upstairs. Do the uniforms fit?”

“They do,” Lisa answered. “How did you know our measurements?”

“Fleetcom got them from your ship about the time you were embarking. I had them whipped up before you hit atmosphere.”

“What’s this about, Renaldi?” Mark asked.

“The admiral’s planning a small ceremony and a dinner afterward. You two are the guests of honor.”

Their guide scurried off and they had to move briskly to keep up. He led them up the escalator, across the cavernous foyer with its polished marble floor, to the V.I.P. lift. The first time Mark visited this building, he’d been whisked all the way to the top. This time, they stopped on the sixth floor. Renaldi ushered them to a three-meter tall door that seemed to have been cast out of single block of black crystal.

“Toes on the balk line, backs straight, stand at attention, Commander, Lieutenant. When the door opens, march straight forward until you reach the steps. Stand at attention until your names are called. Do you understand the instructions?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Lisa said, “but we don’t understand…” Soft music began to emanate from all around them.

“Good luck. I’ll see you afterward.”

Feeling foolish, Mark stood at attention with Lisa beside him for nearly a minute. The music quickly increased in volume and resolved itself as the prelude to
Ad Astra
, the anthem of the Space Navy. As the final trumpet flourish of the prelude ended and a full orchestra blasted into the melody, the door began to swing open. Beyond lay another vast space with a polished marble floor, except it wasn’t empty.

Standing on either side of a gleaming center aisle was a double rank of Space Marines, resplendent in their crimson dress uniforms, laser rifles held at ‘present arms’ with millimetric precision, the black stocks contrasting with the white gloved hands that held them. Behind the Marines, drawn up in small phalanxes, were at least one hundred other military personnel of all services and ranks. Standing in the gaps between formations were two gaggles of civilians.

At the first drum beat, Mark and Lisa stepped off and marched forward toward the gleaming white dais with three marble steps leading to a raised platform. On the platform stood several officers, including half a dozen admirals.

Somewhere deep within Mark, a small voice chuckled at the anachronism of a starship navy requiring its officers to learn to march. That had been his attitude when he and Lisa attended a three-day military orientation following their induction into the Navy just before departing for Brinks the second time. They learned such things as the hierarchy of command, how to wear the uniform, and most bizarrely, they’d spent a full afternoon on a dusty hop-ball field, learning to march in formation.

The reason behind the ancient tradition, once used to maneuver masses of men in battle, now became apparent. With each step, Mark felt a new jolt of adrenaline flowing through his veins. The music, the surroundings, the formal nature of the occasion, all combined to generate a surge of pride. Unconsciously, he pulled his shoulders further back and straightened his spine as he concentrated on keeping time to the beat of the music. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted his wife doing likewise.

As they approached the dais, Mark blinked. The central figure was a black man in the uniform of a full Fleet Admiral with four glittery pips on his shoulders. Although he had never met the man, the rank indicated this was Admiral N’Gomo, Chief of Fleet Operations.

They reached the foot of the white polished steps and came to a halt just as the music died, stamping the heels of their black boots on the floor as they had been taught to do. Ideally, they should have done it so precisely that a single echo would have sounded through the hall. In truth, there were two closely spaced, but distinct cracks of synleather against marble.

For long seconds, they just stood there at attention with the assembled brass gazing down on them from on high. Then, Admiral N’Gomo descended the steps with military precision. He pivoted on his right heel, took one step, pivoted again, and stood facing Mark. His expression was grave as he seemed to inspect his subordinate like one looks at a bug under the microviewer.

After a precise five second pause, Admiral N’Gomo produced a sheet of heavy paper… in fact, it looked like parchment… that he’d had concealed in one hand. It crinkled loudly as he opened it. He held it up and began to read:

“Attention to Orders!

“Mark David Rykand, Lieutenant-Commander, Terrestrial Space Navy, Serial Number 27103847. You are hereby commended for gallantry and service to our planet; whereas, you have penetrated enemy space on two occasions. During the first such incursion, made prior to your joining the service, you prevented the escape of an important enemy prisoner, a prisoner who would most certainly have endangered our planet and our species.

“During the second incursion, you risked life and limb to retrieve data vital to the prosecution of the war effort. Both of these actions are in the highest traditions of the service. They cast glory on you and your ship. You are hereby awarded the Order of Goddard, with Gold Cluster.”

N’Gomo took one step forward and pinned the medal to Mark’s chest, saying in a softer voice, “Congratulations, Commander. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mark replied, hoping his voice was audible over the pounding of his heart in his temples.

The admiral then stepped backward, pivoted left, took two steps, and then pivoted to face Lisa. He again raised the paper and after the requisite pause, began to read.

“Lisabeth Arden Rykand, Lieutenant, Terrestrial Space Navy, Serial Number 27103848. You are hereby commended for gallantry and service to our planet. Your efforts have been exemplary and in the highest traditions of the service.

“Specifically, your exploits prior to joining the Navy in learning the enemy’s tongue have been critical to our war effort. On two separate occasions, you penetrated enemy space, risking life and limb to retrieve data vital to the prosecution of the war effort.

“Your actions cast glory on you and your ship. You are awarded the Order of Goddard, with Diamond Cluster, and hereby promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-Commander.”

Admiral N’Gomo stepped forward and pinned the medal on Lisa’s uniform. His stern face suddenly cracked into a smile as he leaned forward and said, “You no longer have to take orders from your husband.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Lisa said, trying to suppress a smile. In so doing, she nearly choked up and didn’t get the words out.

The Admiral took one step backward, pivoted, returned to a position that brought him midway between them. He pivoted on his heel, snapped to attention, and delivered a slow, perfect military salute.

Lisa and Mark returned the salute.

When the trio’s hands snapped down to hang at their sides, N’Gomo raised his voice and said, “You may withdraw!”

The order echoed through the hall. The two of them pivoted in unison, and began marching back the way they had come. They had gone only two steps when the music again swelled around them.

The door opened at their approach, and they marched through. They had barely cleared the portal when it closed again.

Renaldi was quickly beside them.

“Congratulations, and especially you Ma’am, on the promotion. Now that the formalities are over, let’s get you to the party.”

#

Chapter Fifteen

To Mark’s surprise, the lieutenant did not lead them to wherever “the party” was to be held. Instead, he ushered them into a small, well-furnished guest room and suggested that they sit down and relax for a few minutes.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked.

“Logistics, Ma’am. We’ve got to get all of those people from the reception hall to the banquet hall and seated so that you can make your grand entrance. It wouldn’t do to have the guests of honor just standing around while the herd sorts itself out, now would it?”

“I don’t know why you are going to all of this trouble for us, Lieutenant. We were just doing our jobs…”

“We’re all doing our jobs, Commander,” Renaldi responded. “Some of us are doing more important jobs than others. Wait here, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With that, he was gone at the fast clip that seemed to be the only pace at which he moved.

Mark looked around and noticed the wet bar against one wall. “Drink, Love?”

“Do you think we ought to?” Lisa asked, hesitantly.

He shrugged. “We’re the guests of honor. I don’t suppose they would have put us here if they didn’t want us drinking their liquor.”

“White wine, then, to settle my nerves.”

“White wine it is.”