Mercenary (16 page)

But the word love remained forbidden.

Emerald assumed the management of my career, and as my success as a leader led to promotion, her career profited, too. She was doing what she lived for, strategic planning. In three years I was a lieutenant commander, O4, and she was a lieutenant, O3, and my company was achieving a reputation as a fortunate unit.

Emerald, however, did not get along perfectly with the others. She had a certain acerbic way of expressing herself that came across more in tone and look than in content, and in this way she distanced herself from male and female alike. That seemed to be the way she wanted it. My sister Spirit, when she returned to the unit, resented this especially, yet she was the first to recognize what Emerald was doing for my career and the reputation of our unit, and she was also aware that Emerald and I were using each other, quite consciously and amicably. Spirit remained my closest friend and associate; she was the one I loved.

I should clarify an aspect of the military system and how it related to us. Some navies were organized on strictly impersonal lines, with officers rotated every six months and enlisted personnel having absolutely no certainty of assignment. The Jupiter Navy, however, favored the so-called Regimental system popularized by the Uranian moon of Titania, in which both officers and enlisted personnel tended to remain for prolonged periods in the same units, changing assignments only if dissatisfied with present ones. Promotions were generally within the unit, so that the commander had years-long association with the unit he took over. This led to much greater esprit de corps and satisfaction. Fewer people retired early, and performance tended to be better. I endorsed this system wholeheartedly, as it enabled me to gather in those people I knew to be good, and to retain them. For example, I got my old roommate Juana to be my secretary. She was now a sergeant, E5, and I promoted her at the earliest opportunity.

She was a bright woman, good at her task, but our association was more than that. She knew my ways and would never betray my interests. Emerald was not entirely pleased, knowing our prior connection, but in this case I put my foot down. I wanted a secretary I really understood and trusted. There was, of course, no further sexual contact; Juana was enlisted, and officers did not mix that way with enlisted. But Juana and I remembered our first encounter in the Tail with a certain fondness; we had been good for each other and remained so, and that was what Emerald distrusted. I could talk candidly to Juana; she would understand, and she was never abrasive. I think it is possible for a man to be closer to a woman after the flame of sexual appetite has burned out; at this time true friendship becomes feasible, and that is as rewarding in its fashion as sex.

I also gathered in a considerable number of the Hispanics I had commanded during the Chiron mission—and some of the Saxons, too. They had never forgotten how we worked together to befriend the Greeks and how many lives had been saved when the violence erupted. They also remembered how I had scrubbed the barracks floor. Some called me, privately, el cepillo , the brush. But only those who had been there at the time; they were a select group. And I also picked up a few Chironiotes, young folk who had emigrated and been inducted as resident aliens. They had petitioned to be assigned to my unit, and I was flattered.

Of course, I got Sergeant Smith. Mine was not a training battalion, so my company had no recruits, but we did have need of instruction and discipline, and there was a better future for Sergeant Smith with us.

We were an action unit, similar to the one on the Chiron mission; we could be sent out to fight at any time. I wanted my men ready, and Sergeant Smith was the one to get them ready. When he transferred in, there was some muted protest by my regulars because he was a Saxon outsider, but I put out the word: He was also the one who had put me on the track to officer's training. Without Sergeant Smith, I would not have become an officer, and this unit would not exist. Sergeant Smith was amazed at the welcome he received then, and the cooperation he received from a class of personnel who had always given him trouble before.

But mainly I was assembling my elite administrative officer corps. As commander of a company I did not warrant a special staff, so this remained largely in the imagination of Lieutenant Repro, but we had designated the positions and placements that would occur at such time as I commanded the battalion. In that fantasy, I was the commander, and Emerald was my executive officer. She was planning my promotion and acquisition strategies, devising ploys to gain key personnel, and doing comprehensive research on battle tactics, anticipating the time when we would put them into practice against the pirates.

Spirit was to be my S-l, or adjutant, the chief administrative officer. She would be responsible for all paperwork, finance, mail, personnel records, promotions, legal problems, and my official correspondence. Juana was really her secretary as much as mine, and the two got along well together, perhaps because Juana never opposed her will to Spirit's. Spirit was, in fact, running my company now, and all others knew that when she issued a directive, I backed it even if it hadn't originated with me.

Because she was also Hispanic and spoke fluent Spanish, my Hispanic enlistees accepted her on her own merits.

Gerald Phist was to be my S-4, Logistics. He was not presently connected to my unit, but thanks to Spirit he was ready to join when this became feasible. He would be responsible for keeping the unit supplied with whatever it needed to accomplish whatever mission it had: ammunition, food, fuel, repair, spaceships, and so on.

Lieutenant Repro was to be our S-5: Public Relations, or propaganda. He remained ravaged by his addiction, his Achilles' heel; we had to help him mask it, but his mind remained sharp. I was increasingly curious about the nature of the drug he took but still hesitated to inquire, knowing I could do nothing about it.

Still our roster was not complete, even theoretically. I needed more rank, and promotions did not come readily to brash Hispanics. Emerald brooded on it, seeking a suitable avenue for rapid progress, and in this we were all with her.

Things broke one morning, abruptly. Spirit came striding into my bedroom, trailed diffidently by Juana.

“Rise and shine, Hope!” she cried, waving a news printout. “Our mission is on the horizon.”

I blinked sleepily. It was 0500. “What?”

“Get up, brother!” she said, catching my top sheet and whipping it off the bed. I slept naked, as she knew, so this was a rather forceful inducement to wake and dress.

Of course, Emerald also slept nude, and she was not entirely pleased to be exposed before my sister and Juana, both of whom were somewhat more generously endowed than she was, physically. “Get out of here, you canine!” she snapped, sitting up.

“This concerns you, too, Exec.” Spirit said, unfazed. “The news just broke—” She paused, staring at Emerald's torso. “Of course, if you're too tired after mauling my brother all night, perhaps it should wait.”

Juana stood near the door, repressing half a smile. I winked at her, keeping my own mouth shut. Spirit and Emerald were the two most forceful personalities in our group, and sparks often flew when they collided.

“Speak your piece and clear out, Adjutant!” Emerald snapped. She managed to pronounce the word speak with a short vowel sound, hinting at that cultural slur again.

“Or if you prefer to take thirty seconds to work your black magic again, before he gets away—” Spirit continued.

Thirty seconds! Slur and counterslur! They might as well have been fighting with knives.

Lieutenant Repro arrived at that point, forestalling Emerald's response. “Got here as soon as I could—”

He broke off, taking in the situation. “Just what kind of a mission is this?”

“You summoned him, too?” Emerald demanded of Spirit.

Commander Phist arrived. “Have I missed anything?”

Emerald, sitting on the bed, threw back her shoulders and spread wide her legs. “You tell me, sir,” she said. “See anything here your busy wife hasn't shown you recently?”

Phist actually blushed. He turned away and almost collided with Sergeant Smith, who was just arriving.

“Sit down, all,” Spirit said. “I called this staff meeting because time may be of the essence. We all know our futures are tied to Hope, and he needs a promotion. I think we have a chance at that now, if we act quickly.”

They sat down around the bed, except for Sergeant Smith and Juana, who felt that enlisted personnel should not presume. If Sergeant Smith was perplexed at the manner of Emerald's dress and mine, he was too diplomatic to show it.

“Well, spit it out, woman,” Emerald said, realizing that Spirit had pretty much skunked her on this encounter.

“Hope, you have had experience in the agricultural sector,” Spirit said to me.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Eight years ago, before I joined the Navy.”

“So you should have an understanding of the issues; that gives you an advantage.”

Phist lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I am slow, Spirit. I don't perceive the relevance.”

Spirit waved her newsclip. “The Aggies are rioting. The Navy has been asked to intervene.”

“Let me see that!” Emerald said, snatching the news-clip. “Why didn't I know about this before? It's a golden opportunity!”

“Well, if you'd been on your job instead of—”

“Because we lack an S-2,” Lieutenant Repro said quickly, though even he ran an appreciative eye over Emerald's torso. It seemed he did have other interests beside the drug and his dream. “A top Intelligence man would have alerted us to this long before the public news broke.”

“And what S-2 man do you have in mind?” I inquired.

“That's awkward,” Repro said. “Which is why I haven't brought this up before. Your ideal hidden S-2 is acquirable only by one means, and your sister isn't his type.”

“I should hope not,” Phist said. His eyes were wide open about Spirit's reason for marrying him, but he loved her. He was thirty-nine, she twenty-one, but they made a splendid couple. “Who is his type?”

Repro coughed apologetically. “Emerald.”

Emerald straightened again, frowning, then quickly shifted gears. “Is he young and handsome?”

“Middle-aged and sickly, like me,” Repro said. “With a potbelly and severe emotional disturbance. But he's the Intelligence man we need.”

“Well, we can live without him,” Emerald said. “I'm not going out whoring for discredited personnel.”

Phist flinched, and Spirit's eyes flashed. Emerald had scored that time!

I changed the subject. “First, there is the matter of this prospective mission. I don't want to strong-arm migrant laborers. I still identify with them.”

“Precisely,” Spirit said.

“Damn, we need to organize for this,” Emerald said. “We need our S-3, too, Operations. I can't plan strategy without knowing what we've got and how it's organized.”

“Sergeant Smith knows,” Spirit said. “He can handle S-3.”

“With all due respect,” Lieutenant Repro said, "I believe the psychological thrust is most important here.

We can certainly volunteer for the mission and get it, because no commander in his right mind wants to tangle with rioting migrants who have little to lose and are very likely to destroy vital crops and make a messy scene regardless of what the Navy does. They aren't pirates or Saturnians; they're underprivileged Jupiter nationals and resident aliens, and there's a formidable bleeding-heart contingent on Jupiter that will raise one hell of a stink if any migrants are abused."

“They are abused!” I said angrily. “Sometimes a riot is the only way to make their case!” I had never looked in on the migrant scene after joining the Navy, knowing my friends there were dead or imprisoned; now I felt guilt for my neglect.

The members of my staff exchanged significant glances. “Let's go for it,” Emerald said. “A bloodless settlement, by a minority-culture Navy officer who knows the migrants. Excellent press! That'll bump Hope up to O5 right there, with luck.”

“My thought exactly,” Spirit said. “But we do need that Intelligence officer, or we risk flubbing it.”

Emerald bit her lip. "Yes, we do. I've got to target every migrant leader, his background and nature.

Precise dirt. Must have that S-2."

The others slowly nodded. “But he needs a competent and understanding woman, of a certain physical type. You realize what that means,” Repro said.

Emerald slammed her fist into the pillow. “Whoring for personnel. Damn it!” she swore, angry tears in her eyes. “I liked it better with a man who understood me! I'll get you back for this, Spirit!”

“She didn't suggest this,” Repro said. “I did. Sometimes we just have to make sacrifices.” But I knew he was being gallant; Spirit had known.

“You damned junkie!” Emerald snapped at him. “Get out of my life!”

Repro hastily exited, and the others got off the bed. Emerald turned to me. “But I'm not through with you yet, Commander. If I've got to go whoring, I'll whore for you one more time.” And she took hold of me, commencing a furious act of passion even before the others were clear of the room. Even as I enjoyed the experience, as I always did with her, I wondered what kind of man could only be won by such an aggressive display. Emerald really wasn't much on understanding, but she was supremely competent. I hoped that S-2 would be worth the sacrifice that I, too, was making, in giving up this Class A sexual experience.

And so it was that my marriage to Emerald was dissolved by mutual consent before our third year together was finished, and I volunteered my company for participation in the Navy action relating to the migrant riots, and Emerald, as she insisted on putting it, went whoring for personnel. Spirit had indeed torpedoed her rival for my attention, and I had to go along with it, though I had been well satisfied with Emerald as wife. The organization of my unit, orthodox on paper, was not nearly as regular and disciplined in practice; it was a hodgepodge of luck and sex and connivance and obscure understandings, guided by the mad dream of a drug addict. But we had purpose, and an extraordinarily fine cadre—and now we would put it to the proof.