Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata (17 page)

Chaplains are sort of strange ducks. They fill a niche role in the profession of arms. Their history is probably as old as the profession itself. When man first stepped out into the big dark, we brought with us fear, but we also brought with us light. Chaplains help carry that.

It doesn’t matter whether someone is a believer or not, space is a big and scary place. War is a terrifying concept. Chaplains are someone to talk to about scary things. Things that can’t be discussed with buddies. Things people don’t want to be judged about.

The irony I was attempting to seek counsel from a priest about breaking the eighth commandant was not lost on me but the fact we took men of peace into battle wasn’t lost either. It took men with a special mindset to reconcile the latter, so I hoped my broaching the former wouldn’t be a problem.

I had finished explaining my logic to
Heart
when an older man geared for golf approached. Like the rest of the people I had passed in the Cadre Club, he was dressed well but casually in khaki slacks, an aloha shirt, and a Panama hat. “You look like a man on a mission. What brings you to our little corner of paradise?” Big smile, firm handshake. “We don’t get many visitors until wedding season, but something tells me that’s not why you’re here.” I returned his smile and nodded. His mood was infectious, and I couldn’t help but be pulled in.

I’m fairly good with people, but that’s mainly because I’ve spent a lot of time working on it. I’m not extroverted naturally and the close friends I have been hard won. As much as I hate to admit it to myself, I’m fairly socially awkward unless I know the protocols in advance. The Legion was great about that. It wasn’t super rigid, but enough to help me overcome my normal anxious tendencies. Coming to see the chaplain triggered a lot of my nervousness, but his mood helped a lot.

He sat us in a side pew, and we began chatting. Every chaplain I’d ever encountered had been from the Imperial side of the house. Legion and the Mariners borrow ours from them, usually after they retire. They do an abbreviated training so they know their way around, but for the most part, the chaplains are valued guests on the boats a lot like General Campbell was when I met him.

Reverend Brandt had spent almost all of his time with the Mariners after playing cold cargo during one of the big expedition waves. That was decades before I joined, and the Northern Reaches, where I’m from isn’t exactly Empire friendly to begin with. We fall more under the wary but neutral side of things. I had met dozens of Imperials over the years because it’s impossible not to. They’re everywhere, but the only one I knew well were Robert who was an expat up in Luna. From what I gathered, there wasn’t a lot of love lost between the people and the government as it swapped political hands every century or so. They’d go from expansionist to isolationist, and usually involving a forced migration and conscription program until the next party took control again.

Love of home is a strange thing, there’s a longing for it. Like myself, the Reverend had the call of Terra so he and few other pastors had worked out a deal where they rotated duties at the Cadre Club and a few of the outlying locations on a couple year basis. I told him their arrangement sounded like a sweet deal to me. “There’s a downside of course. Fieldhren 4 is fairly undeveloped.” His fingers went up for air quotes when he said the last, “but the people are happy to have someone to talk to. And it’s amazing what can be distilled with human ingenuity.” He shook his head at that. Visions of spiders made me shiver.

I had taken off my dampers when I had come into the chapel and they were hanging on my collar, so I knew
Heart
was itching for answers and to ask questions, but I couldn’t justify leaving them on inside. I knew he could hear the conversation, giving me a bit of solace. I hadn’t rehearsed how I was going to bring this up, and I had only given
Heart
the barest outline of what my intent was adding even more to my nerves.

We needed help. It was that simple. The job had gotten too big for just the two of us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t call on our normal support chain, so my goal was to find the next best thing.  I wanted someone I could trust implicitly and
Heart’s
comments had keyed me in on the idea of spacers. Who better than a chaplain to point us in the right direction. They tend to know where folks are, and how to keep their mouths shut. Bartenders are a close second, but without personally knowing them, the latter isn’t always true.

I wasn’t sure how much of our mission I could share with Reverend Brandt, not because of the trust factor, but because I didn’t want to impose on him. So I gave a rough outline leaving out a lot of details equating to needing local business help and being unfamiliar with the area after being gone so long. The sensitive nature of the job led me to the club and to him in particular. He nodded along with my story, which was true although incomplete.

It’s always been my policy to be as honest as possible. I don’t like to lie if I can avoid it, even through omission. This was no different. I realized my mission fell into the realm of ethically gray but I was also actively avoiding hurting anyone where possible so my twinges of guilt didn’t ping too hard.

The Reverend didn’t seem to pick up any of my misgivings and took my contact information with a smile and a parting handshake. “I’ll need to see who is about the area of course, but I’m sure there might be some of our brothers who are looking for employment.”

Two days later my comm unit finally rang, and I about dove off the bed to break up the monotony, getting a hissing cat for my trouble. “It’s Talbot Brandt. We spoke over at the Cadre Club the other day. I hope I didn’t catch you too late in the evening?” I tried to mask my excitement with small talk and told him it was fine being a bit of a night owl. “Good, good. I think I may have found someone who can help you if you’re still looking.” I let him know indeed, I was. Well sort of, as the good Reverend was the only one I had contacted thus far, but not something he needed to know. “Great, I’ll pass along your information, and you two can meet up.” I thanked him profusely and after a couple more minutes of chatting ended the call.

No sooner had the line gone silent than
Heart
chimed in. I think he was feeding off my excitement this time. “This is excellent news.  But now we are back to waiting again.” I told him that was one hell of a way to kill the mood. “That was not my intent, but it is a good thing time is not one of our limited resources.” He had that right. But we knew that going in. This was a recon mission. It was all about hurry up and wait, in typical military fashion. Get in position and wait for something to happen. Find out what was going on. We were getting close, but waiting was an essential part of it. I wasn’t sure acquiring one of the comm units was the final hurdle, but I was pretty sure it was near the home stretch. We’d be able to see the finish line at least.

The biggest thing no one ever mentions when joining up is the amount of downtime there is. The posters seem to imply constant adventure. Seeing far off places and doing things, and there is but traveling to those locations takes time. In addition, upon arrival, there is endless planning and preparation before actually getting to do any of the amazing things recruiters promised them.

I was lucky; when I joined up, I just wanted to see the stars. The journey itself was my goal, and as I ranked up and started to see behind the curtain, I got to have even more fun. Planning for missions has its own excitement, its own stresses, and although it’s not the same type of fun as seeing the stars, it’s definitely more fun than being shot at, and hugely more fun than being shot. The latter being no fun at all, even with energy displacers which usually only take the brunt of the blow.

I wasn’t exactly sure how
Heart
managed boredom on his own when he didn’t have his ship building projects but unless I was moving or actively planning, cabin fever would start to build up. It wasn’t boredom as I’ve never really had that problem, but the need to accomplish something. Even though it had only been a couple of days since I visited the Cadre Club, I knew it wasn’t some sort of magic wand, but one could hope. Even Em had been giving oddball looks like I was throwing off her peace and quiet.

A short time after Reverend Brandt’s call, I received a message from a Max Hayes asking about the details. I asked
Heart
what he could find out regarding our potential recruit. “I am unable to provide much on Mr. Hayes background, unfortunately. I would hazard he is Imperial as I have fairly comprehensive data on the Legion up until our departure but that is conjecture. Based on your interaction with Colonel Brandt, however, I would assume he can be relied upon.” I tended to agree and arranged a meeting for the following day before lunch. We weren’t out anything at this point, and we could always come up with a cover story if things didn’t work out.

I called down to the front desk and scheduled a private conference room. There was a certain amount of laziness in it, which I claimed as efficiency. Might as well make things simple for myself. I reasoned there was nothing wrong with taking the easy way every now and again, especially as the hotel would provide water, a fruit platter, and
Heart
could listen over the built-in audiovisual system without drawing too much attention.

After winding down a bit, I decided to catch a bit of sleep as the chaplain actually had called later than I had expected.

I woke from a dead sleep by a buzzing on the tip of my nose. Em had decided placing her wet nose on mine, and purring was the best way to inform me she was out of food. Had we been anywhere but in Terra gravity, I would have launched her a good ten meters when I came instantly awake. It is my firm belief she anticipated this by using her little pitons to grip into both my good shoulder and chest to lock on. After much yelping and carefully removing said claws I crawled out of bed and noted the time being right before dawn. Cats are crepuscular, a fancy way of saying active during twilight. The only reason I know that particular word is because I had an instructor who liked to point out humans were not. Our brains shut down during the time right before dawn. Best time to launch the snooze-alarm attack, which apparently our self-domesticated allies the cats discovered several thousand years ago.

I managed to get the tin of sea fish vittles almost half way open before my leg was constantly bombarded with little kitty paws demanding her tribute. This time without the claws, as she knew who was feeding her. As soon as the plate was on the floor and the ritual complete, I exited the temple before I became her next sacrifice.

I could have ducked back into bed, but the smell of salmon was enough to kill my mood for sleep at least for the foreseeable future so I decided to order bagels and lox and jump in the refresher. By the time I finished up my breakfast was waiting at the door and the goddess appeared appeased on the couch.

I puttered around until I couldn’t take the waiting anymore and headed down to the conference room. It wasn’t I was bored or anxious, or even had pre-drop jitters. It was the hurry up and wait mentality. If I was going to wait, I might as well wait where my meeting was. Once I got downstairs and worked with
Heart
to get the room setup and the fruit got delivered I was fine again until the door chimed Max Hayes’ arrival.

Not thinking anything of it, I keyed the entrance and came face to face with the same blonde who had taken control of
Heart’s
lifeboat back on Fiji.

I don’t know which one of us recovered first, but Hayes definitely moved faster. Her eyes showed recognition a nanosecond after mine, but she had not been expecting me. There was no doubt my appearance had surprised her, and she thought this was an ambush because she was fighting inward, escalating hard and fast. She was quick as a viper, and far more accustomed to Terra gravity than I was even after all my time goofing off. These flashes of insight crossed my conscious mind as my subconscious struggled for survival. I wanted to scream for her to stop, the fight was all a misunderstanding, but I wasn’t sure it was. Had I been in her place it would not have done any good.

Training with Robert back on Luna paid off in a big way as my right arm instinctively blocked something hard and thin. It stung something fierce and I was glad my jacket caught the brunt but knew was going to be bruised to hell. Another strike and the flash of steel and I realized she had a wicked knife pulled from her own sleeve in a single upward motion. She moved as if it were an extension of herself.

My first block had set the tone, with me going defensive trying not to take a knife to the leg as soon as I knew it was there. The first rule of knife fighting is someone is going to get cut. My jacket had saved me so far, but she was fast. My major advantage beyond the coat was a head of height and the fifteen kilos of mass I had on her. I was able to block most of the blows, but she was no amateur and getting the knife out of her possession was not going to happen. One of us would have to screw up. I really hoped it wasn’t me.

I was limited to using my arms, keeping them tucked close, lest she duck inside for a shot at my exposed ribs. This killed my better reach while she had full access to her legs and feet, presenting other difficulties. She would feint with the knife or her off hand and then follow up with a knee or hard kick. My other issue was I didn’t want her dead, but I doubted she cared as much about me. She thought this was a fight for survival, and I was in no position to change her impression. I had to figure out how to win and win clean.

Despite my larger size, she was able to use brute force to keep up the offensive. I don’t know if it was a smart play or intuitive but it was extremely effective. Within seconds she had me backed near the conference table, keeping my left side effectively blocked while I had to use my right to cover what I assumed was her strong hand with the knife in it. If I could only reach a hand into my jacket, I could even the fight up. I was able to flick a chair with a foot, buying me half a second to knock the next one down in sequence. Did me no good as she moved like a Kabrin over the table itself coming at me and gave me a hard kick aimed for my left shoulder, barely managing to block with my wrist. I felt it reverberate all the way up, but I know she did as well, her shin hitting a full kilo of the alloy that makes up most of my arm.

To her credit, she didn’t slow down, as she reversed direction and hit me with her full weight and knocked us both to the wall. She was on top of me. This was not good. I burned what I assumed were my last second seconds on Terra fumbling with the snap on my holster. Hayes was about to deliver a killing swipe when I managed to pull the trigger three times from less than ten centimeters away at rib level. The knife dropped and she fell to her side.

The reason I wear dampers is I value my hearing. After shooting this monster in close quarters, I wished I had had them on during the fight instead of hanging from my collar. My ears were buzzing something fierce until I finally caught some background noise I recognized as my partner “Ari, put your dampers on her. She is still alive.” Bloody hell. I rolled her over and saw she had armor on. Good lightweight stuff, which had done all of jack and squat against my beast of a handgun, but was keeping the blood in her at least. “Dampers, Ari. Get them on her so I can see her vitals.”
Heart
practically shouted over the rooms speakers. Urgency. Commands. He was in doctor mode and my instant obedience to orders training kicked in hard. I was fumbling with my cracked to hell dampers muttering about them being broken. “It does not matter; the sensors are fine. Go down the hall and retrieve the first aid kit. Hurry!”

I bolted around the corner and grabbed the autodoc box as directed and sprinted back. As soon as I got back to the room,
Heart
started giving me instructions. My instincts told me to strip off the armor for better access but he stopped me as soon as I reached for the straps. “No, the compression gear is likely the only thing keeping her alive currently. You will have to work around it.” I did as instructed and started pulling items out, being careful not to trip the emergency call button inside the kit in my haste. I knew most of the contents of the box from my basic combat medic course back in initial training and the Legion forces a refresher every couple of years so I was able to keep up. Luckily, most of
Heart’s
instructions involved either stabbing with a syringe full of trauma nanites or applying self-adhering sensors and letting the box do the heavy lifting. After about ten minutes,
Heart
declared, “I think she is stable. I have extended your conference room reservation, and will get the janitorial bots to clean up. We will need to move her, though.” Huh? Fight or flight instinct had addled my brain. I was not tracking and asked him to explain.

“Ari, our goal was to acquire information. I believe we have found our best possible source if we can keep her alive until she recovers.” I argued when she recovered, she was going to try to kill me again. That was entirely too close and I had almost not worn the slug-thrower to the meeting. “It is a good thing you did choose to come adequately equipped then.” I wasn’t even sure where to look in the room to give him the stink-eye for that particular comment.

“What else are we going to do with her?” He had me beat there. He continued. “We do not know what she knows. We do not know who knows she is missing. We do know if she turns up dead, there is a retired Imperial Colonel who can link you and her together. If we keep her alive or at least missing, she is an asset, as you would say. If she is found dead in this hotel room, she becomes a problem.” I was ninety percent certain I heard a pause before the word problem. If I didn’t know better, I would have bet he was censoring his own swears across the comm lines.

I asked him how in the hell he planned to keep her alive as I had put three very large holes in her very small body at very close range. “Between the first aid kit, the injections you gave her, and the coagulant package you applied, she has quite a few nanites repairing the major damage. She will need care, but she will probably survive. I anticipate moving her to your room without being seen will be the larger of your problems.”