Orphan Brigade (4 page)

Surprised by the words and unsure of where his father was going, Mortas decided to head him off. “Gorman was actually the easiest one to work with. He was a pacifist, Holy Whisper, and as long as we didn't violate his principles, he pretty much went along with whatever we were doing. He also figured out what planet we were on without being asked, and with no instruments.”

“That's different from my experience. The representatives of the Holy Whisper that I've met seldom go along with anything. For some reason they don't seem to trust me much.” He flashed the winning smile, and Mortas returned it in reflex. “But they sure like you.”

“What?”

“I showed them the footage of when you had just reached Glory Main, as you emerged from that hijacked Wren. You looked like you'd been fed through a meat grinder, but when you asked that Banshee commander if there was a special rite for Gorman's remains, it really struck a chord with his ­people.”

For an instant, Mortas was somewhere else. Listening to Ayliss, who had taught him early on to distrust their father completely. She'd been arguing against his decision to go to the war zone, and had warned him that whatever happened—­whether he lived or died—­Olech would use it to his advantage.

“I wasn't performing for an audience, Father. Gorman saved my life more than once. His religion was everything to him—­”

“Exactly.” The words came out almost as a hiss, and Mortas saw the fire in the blue eyes that usually meant his father was about to propose something. “That's what the Holy Whisper elders saw in that footage. I granted them access to a redacted copy of your report, and when they read how you'd accommodated Gorman's beliefs, I sensed this could be a turning point.

“I can't tell you how proud I am of what you did there, Jan. And that's why you're going to be my new ambassador to Pacifica.”

Even coming so close on the heels of his recent experiences, this was a bombshell. Mortas looked at the office carpet in order to digest what his father had just proposed, noticing the seal of the Emergency Senate woven into the gold fabric. The university ring on his finger regained its weight, and he recognized the genuine urge to accept the appointment. Raised a child of privilege, he'd always been afforded a certain deference from ­people who feared his father or hoped to get something from him. The assumption that he would regain that status after serving in the war was not new to him.

Fresh memories of starvation, blisters, and far too many close brushes with death added weight to the argument to simply say yes. He'd come to like Gorman very much, and had cried unabashedly when the pacifist had died, so there would be nothing fraudulent about representing his father to Gorman's ­people. Mortas had gone to the war zone with every intention of leading an infantry platoon in combat, and it was hardly his fault that he'd been captured by the enemy while in transit.

Those thoughts brought up a different memory, Mortas's earlier expectations of what it would be like when he returned from the war. Hopefully not badly wounded, but not having emerged unscathed. Tempered by the experience, but also having gained true knowledge of who he was at his very core.

Mortas found his eyes on the red ribbon that adorned his father's chest, and not by accident. A question came to mind.

“You showed these Holy Whisper elders footage of me coming out of the Wren? With the alien right behind me?”

“Of course not. I applied a little judicious editing, in keeping with security protocol. The Force in the war zone has been informed of the new threat, but for the time being, news of the alien and its capabilities has been restricted to those units and the highest levels of Command.”

“The word's going to get back, no matter what you do.”

“I've got my ­people circulating a rumor to that effect already, but one so absurd that nobody's going to know what to make of the real story when it eventually comes out. You'll learn how to take proactive steps like that, once you've been a diplomat for a while.”

“And what are ­people going to say when they find out that the son of the Chairman of the Emergency Senate brought this alien to a Corps headquarters in the war zone?”

“The same thing that the rest of the Force thinks: you identified the alien when you reached safety, and it was destroyed because of you.”

Mortas shook his head, allowing a wry smile onto his lips. As usual in matters involving their father, Ayliss had been spot-­on. No matter what happened to Mortas in the war, Olech would make a hero out of him.

“I imagine you think you don't like that story, Jan, but it beats the hell out of the truth. Maybe you don't know this, but the Twelfth Corps commander moved Glory Main from that rock within days of having it compromised. You have any idea how long it took to create that base, and how much it cost?”

“Yeah, Cranther said that the higher-­ups go to crazy lengths to protect themselves in the zone.” Remembering what happened when he and the alien had approached the dead space rock where Glory Main was concealed. “Did you know they had a secret weapon there, one that took control of our Wren and was going to crash it into the ground just so they could stay hidden?”

“Of course. They even played me the transmission when you were about to crash, the one where you told them you're my son and that I'd do terrible things to them if they killed you.”

A knowing smirk tickled the corners of Olech's mouth, and Mortas pretended not to notice. “They would have done it if I hadn't used your name. I hadn't mentioned it before. To anyone.”

“Here's my point: the rest of the Force thinks you're a hero, but the Twelfth Corps leadership is mad as hell. They don't want you back . . . although technically you never reported to them in the first place.”

“There are other units out there. Plenty of platoons that need a lieutenant.”

“Too many, I'm thinking.” The smirk was gone, and Mortas thought that he'd actually detected a look of fatherly concern. He couldn't be certain, however, having never seen it before. He was about to speak when Olech's face hardened.

“If you insist on going back out there, I'm not going to stand in your way. You should know that one of the most difficult parts of my job is keeping the coalition together, and that the Holy Whisper is never far away from banning their young ­people from ser­vice.”

The words sounded genuine enough, but Mortas had grown up with the other man's excuses for his absences and couldn't help wondering if this wasn't more of the same. He was of use to his father at the moment, and so had temporarily gained his attention.

“Gorman said they didn't have a problem with serving as long as they didn't participate in acts of violence. Seems like there'd be enough jobs they could hold without having grounds to quit the war.”

“There are, but the elders are always looking for an excuse to sit out the whole conflict. Funny thing about the Whisper; in a lot of ways they're just like any other coalition member. Sometimes they need to have their hands held, or to get some kind of special recognition. You know that Hab planet where you were marooned? We're going to name it after Gorman. Calling it Roanum. That was his first name, right? Roan?”

“Yes.”

“That would be a nice message for the new ambassador to carry to Gorman's ­people. Especially coming from the man who got him out of there.”

Mortas's eyes blinked quickly, as if trying to remove the mental image of Gorman's bloody flight suit, punctured by shrapnel from the explosion that Mortas had set off. The picture disappeared, only to be replaced by the same man lying on the deck of the Wren after it had broken free of the hated planet's orbit. Mortas holding Gorman's hand, the alien holding the other one, both of them reciting the Holy Whisper prayer that the dying man had taught them much earlier.

Imagining himself emerging from a different shuttle, an ambassador's conveyance, to announce that the Chairman of the Emergency Senate had named the horrible planet of pain and loss after one of the men who had been killed there, in order to keep the dead man's ­people in the war. The obscenity of it almost made him gag.

“I'm sure your ambassador will do a good job delivering that message. Whoever he or she is.”

Olech stared at him for a long moment, perhaps giving him the chance to reverse the decision, perhaps already calculating his next move. The blue eyes shifted away finally, and his father punched two or three buttons on the console with a look of weariness.

“All right. Looks like Command will have to find you a new assignment.” Olech rose, but when Mortas started to do the same his father waved him back down. Coming around the desk, he took hold of a chair identical to Mortas's and brought it close.

“Jan, I've watched the video of you and the alien in the decontamination tubes. I've studied your reactions when the alien was identified, when it transposed into all those flying specks, all the way through to when it was incinerated.

“I know you've kept this from the interrogators, but I'm your father, and I know something more happened there. I think you'd agree that it is vitally important for me to understand the nature of this new opponent. Completely.”

The face was grave until Olech replaced it with the winning smile. “Now. Tell me everything about the alien that impersonated Captain Trent. Especially what happened to you in that tube.”

“T
urned me down flat, Hugh.” Olech turned his son's university ring over and over in his hands. “Why are my kids so fucking stubborn?”

Seated in front of the desk, Leeger answered him with raised eyebrows.

“All right, I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised.” With the slightest of sighs he put the ring down. “So. This is where you get to remind me that I shouldn't have sent him to the Glory Corps in the first place.”

“It wasn't such a bad decision. They don't call them the Senate's Own for nothing.”

“That's not why I sent him there—­or tried to, anyway. Sure they're political as all get out, and they can't fight worth a damn, but at least they know it. One of the quietest sectors of the war . . . and look what was waiting.”

“You had no way of knowing that was going to happen.”

“I suppose it was a bizarre kind of blessing, that Jan was involved. I doubt I would have gotten the straight story from Command, no matter how much of a threat that thing was. Turns out it was telepathic, in addition to its other tricks. It spoke right into Jan's head even though it was sealed in a decon tube.”

“You probably don't want that becoming common knowledge.”

Olech raised his own eyebrows while sliding back into his seat. “Thanks for the tip. Good thing I thought of it in time to warn him to keep his mouth shut.”

“You think he's all right? To go to a new unit, I mean?”

“It's what he wants. He's just like Ayliss; once he gets an idea in his head there's no getting it out.” From his slumped position, the chairman exhaled loudly. “So you still think we should send him to the Orphans?”

“It's an excellent combat outfit, almost one hundred percent blooded veterans, with strong leadership and seasoned NCOs. You can't give him a better chance than that.”

“A better chance . . . they're a fire brigade, for God's sake. One of these times they're gonna get thrown into something that's way too big for them, and that'll be the end of the Orphans.”

“I believe the term is ‘independent' brigade. And they've been tossed into a few scrapes they shouldn't have walked out of, but they survived anyway.”

Olech's lower lip disappeared under his front teeth, but then he brightened somewhat. “Sounds like what happened to Jan out there. Talk about an impossible situation, and he came back from that.”

“He's always been very tough.”

“All right, then. Lieutenant Jander Mortas is now the newest Orphan.” Olech kept the smile, but it was forced. “Fitting in a way, isn't it?”

Leeger's face darkened. “Don't do that to yourself. You made a very difficult decision when they were young, and the fact that they're still alive shows it paid off. And someday you'll be able to explain it to them.”

“I don't know about that.” Olech pointed to one of the largest screens on the office walls before hitting another button. Leeger turned to watch, yet again, the final moments for the alien that had accompanied Jander to Glory Main.

Lights strobed around the transparent tube, and a voice was broadcasting an emergency warning that the alien was transposing into something else. One instant it resembled Captain Amelia Trent, the human being it had impersonated, and the next it burst into thousands of dots with wings, storming around the tube in a cloud of chemical poisons. Fire exploded inside the cylinder, destroying the alien, the light so intense that it blinded the camera for an instant.

Although they'd watched it many times before, the two men sat in silence when it was over. Leeger sensed that his boss needed him to say something.

“We always knew there were things out there that we wouldn't be able to explain. Now we've seen one of them.”

“Still not sure what we've seen.” The chairman's voice was contemplative, and his eyes were distant. “Or why there was only one of them.”

“Maybe it was a test, to see if they could get by our technology.”

“Maybe.” Olech changed the image on the screen. A kind-­looking man with gray hair was waving at them now, an old picture of Interplanetary President Daniel Larkin. Olech and a small circle of senators had come to power literally over his dead body. “You know, the longer I hold this job, the more I wonder if Dan Larkin wasn't right after all. Probably looking down on us all these years, laughing his ass off.”

M
ortas was back in the circular room, but no longer considered it a cell. He sat on the bed, reading a long string of messages that had accumulated during his ordeal. The screen of his handheld was loaded with outdated notes from classmates and other friends, wishing him safe travel and an even safer time in the war zone. Although it had been only a few weeks, Mortas felt a great deal of time had passed and that an enormous gulf separated him from those ­people.