Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata (3 page)

Messages themselves are not very strange. A lot of time what happens is we check in and admin sort of catches up over the next few days. People expect our arrival and they send messages in advance but mail can't be delivered until we get there. I figured mine was one of those. More than likely someone back home, like family or a buddy, reiterating what I had discovered the previous day, rubbing salt in the wound.

It wasn't one of those types of messages. This message was from Luna Corp. I waved the comm chip at the screen expecting a recording to begin playing the message. Instead, I got a connecting call prompt followed by "Kellinger, here. Oh hi, Ari! You got my message. Thanks for ringing me back." She was in workout clothes in what looked like a higrav gym. I had obviously caught her mid training. I upgraded my assessment from striking to very attractive, at least as displayed on the screen in my room.

"The reason I called. I had a dinner companion bail on me last second for a State event. I could use a friendly face who doesn't work for me. Those are hard to come by around these parts, and I was hoping you'd be willing to help me out?" I could hear the disdain in her voice when she said State event, but something else when she said friendly face.

I’m not terribly fond of groups but there wasn’t really a polite way to address my social anxiety issues with someone I just met, let alone a person who had tried to do me a favor and was asking me for an exceptionally minor one not costing cost me anything. I told her I didn't have anything for formal wear, and she said that wouldn't be a problem, as long as I didn't mind someone delivering a suit. As that was the only reasonable objection I could come up with, I agreed and she said she would have her driver stop by this evening to pick me up.

A few minutes later, a new incoming call rang up. The assistant I met the previous day, Terry, I recalled. She wanted to know if I wanted suits delivered for fitting or the driver, Robert, to pick me up a couple hours early and run me by the tailor. I'd like to believe I'm hard to catch off guard, but a tailored suit was completely unexpected so I responded with whatever is easier and found myself being picked up earlier than originally anticipated.

Robert was waiting for me when I stepped outside. He was everything I'm not. Or everything I was when I was much younger. Clean cut, dark hair, bright eyes. I found it hard not to hate him just for spite. I’m sure my mood was feeding into the first impression. Then I saw him move. He moved like a cat. I would have guessed Legion, but not the right kind of movement. Some other kind of training and lots of it. But he didn't size me up. He didn't need to.

I'd like to believe I’m fairly alpha and can roll with the best of them mainly because I’ve managed to survive a lot of scraps, but Robert would have torn me apart. I’m relatively tough because of lots of seasoning and years of mistakes and learning from them. Robert, on the other hand, was good because he trained not to make mistakes in advance. Approaching the same end goal from different directions. The major contrast was he wouldn’t end up losing an arm through his own fault. Probably wouldn’t be stuck staring at home from the moon either. There's a reason he drove for Lysha.

Shortly after he had me in the back of the runabout, we were moving fast through the dome. Based on his driving I could tell he’d done this hundreds of times. The level of mastery had passed outside conscious thought into the intuitive level. That’s not the flavor of patience I was blessed with.

It had been years since I’d driven myself, but giving up control is a hard habit to develop. For whatever reason there’s an urge to second guess the person next to you and assume a higher level of proficiency. None of those issues were present with Robert though. He was able to be social without me worrying about his driving. Unlike the assistant, he didn’t go for small talk. When he spoke, it seemed like genuine interest.

It wasn't long before we were on the other side of the Old Dome, in what could best be described as the merchants' district. Robert parked us on a side street and escorted us to what was possibly the most nondescript building I had seen since leaving Terra. The only thing separating the spot from any of the surrounding buildings was the cornerstone, reading Mason & Redback Est. 2076. No windows, no signage, only a simple stone front from actual lunar rock, with what appeared to be a real wooden door.

Robert knocked briskly, and we were ushered into the building by one of the most distinguished-looking people I have ever seen. Something about his bearing. He exuded it, like a fog. Not only dressed better than I had ever been, but absolutely comfortable in his skin, something I have never been able to accomplish in public. If pressed for details though the only thing I could actually describe after the encounter would be the mauve necktie he wore and his intense brown eyes. Robert gave a quick introduction, “Master Redback, this is Ari Gadsden. The gentlemen we spoke of earlier.” After a few seconds of shock, he had me at ease, and we were discussing what I needed for the evening. Luckily, Robert was there and knew the particulars.

Including what I had on, I owned perhaps five sets of clothes. The Legion gives, and by gives I mean sells, everything needed for daily wear. I hadn't worn civilian attire in over half my life. Excluding my jacket, boots, and a few jumpsuits, arguably military themed, the only clothing I owned was underwear. All the kit I had stayed with my old unit. Who needs two dozen drab ship-suits?

After I changed, Robert helped collect my gear and told me he would have it delivered back to White Caps. I thanked him and headed over to the triple mirror to look at myself. The last time I had been in a suit was before I left Terra. I had forgotten the feeling. I had opted to keep my boots, as Master Redback assured me they wouldn't clash. We went with a midnight blue dinner jacket, peak collar, and a vest the same color as my Legion jacket instead of a cummerbund. Simple studs and a gorgeous pair of cufflinks showing the opposite sides of Terra's hemispheres. The final addition was a Legion lapel pin showing a simple shield with the moon and the galactic arms. I'm not sure where he got it, as we're not big on swag. Sure, we have things like the club patch on my jacket, but it's never been necessary to advertise when showing up with ten thousand very well armed folks. The residents tend to get the idea.

I looked good, I don't mind saying, especially as I had trimmed my hair to a respectable level, and even managed to shave without cutting an artery. I looked more like a real soldier than my usual shaggy Legionnaire self.

I should probably explain the last bit. The Legion isn’t really a military in the traditional sense. We're more akin to a para-military organization with a charter allowing military operations. Goes back to our founding and who could be trusted to employ us.

Militaries are armed services belonging to governments. Governments are political entities, and politics change over time. When the human race made it to space, a few very smart people realized time and distance could create disastrous effects when added to politics. So these smart people found rich people. Stupidly rich people and got them on board with a concept of an apolitical watchdog organization. Somebody beholden to no government, no corporation, and no man. Idealistic, I know.

That was the seed of the idea becoming the Legion. The question that followed was where to place an organization like the Legion? We were formed early in space travel, before the hyperspace era, back when we still called it the Sun and the Solar System, instead of Sol. This was when we still called Terra, Earth. We were still only in the early stages of colonizing Mars and Ganymede. Titan and Venus weren't viable yet. So, the moon became the natural choice. Since the moon can't be owned by anyone, no one can use the location to exercise control over the Legion. We became partners in a sense. Legion HQ is located off the south pole of the moon, training command is off the northern pole, and we recruit from Luna City proper.

Since we don’t have the underlying bureaucratic structure accompanying a government, we never developed the mindset of a real military requiring all of the regulations that come with them. Instead, we promoted a philosophy. That doesn’t explain the lack of uniforms, shaving, or grooming standards. A lot of those boiled down to saving creds and keeping only the things that worked.

So, yes, we have things like ranks, because they make sense, and allow us to communicate better with governments who understand hierarchies, but we don't have dress uniforms because they're not necessary for what we do. Instead, we focused on kit that’s used during actual operations,

Our charter was very simple, and a few things set us apart were we weren’t as regimented as normal military and had no real intention of becoming so. The only uniforms we had were combat gear as opposed to dress uniforms. We don’t do medals. We don’t believe in unnecessarily stringent levels of hygiene, like shaving every day or haircuts once a week, unless the mentality served some real purpose like keeping us from killing each other aboard ship. We weren't trying to become something we weren't. We were trying to be our own thing and we succeeded. We took the best aspects of organizations available and left the worst ones.

So there I was, cleaned up nice, looking somewhat respectable, and on my way to a state dinner as the guest to the head of Luna Corp. A situation I was wholly unprepared for. After getting back in the runabout it finally dawned on me to ask Robert what the dinner was about.

“They happen about twice a month. Most of them are social events. It's been my experience real business takes place at the dinners as opposed to during the scheduled business meetings.” This jived with my experiences as well. The meetings are for show. They're great for azimuth checks and getting people together, but things don't get done during them.

As an example, we had weekly commander's call. The Old Man passed word, and so would everyone else with half an ounce of silver. But nothing really happened. Where things really happened was over beers at night or at chow when the teams got together. This was no different. We were heading to what was comparable to a bunch of Legionnaires sitting around beers trying to figure out how to get a bunch of jump jets ready by system-fall.

The dinner was taking place outside the main dome at the old observatory. Replaced long ago, a convention center with a restaurant occupied the old observatory grounds. One of the few places to see Terra with the naked eye. As the old saying goes, go big or go home.

The observatory was one of the first things built on Luna, actually predating the Old Dome in many ways, as it was finished first. Since most things on the moon are under the protective canopy of the domes, light pollution isn't an issue. It's actually a heck of a lot easier to see into space than back on Terra. Or at least it was back when the first observatories were built.

We started getting smart. Since the moon doesn't really have an atmosphere to speak of, it made sense to put solar panels on the outside of every available constructed surface whenever a dome went up. May as well take advantage of free power. Not like Sol is burning out anytime soon. The vast majority of our power is nuclear, in the form of thorium generators, but solar helps offset things quite a bit, at least during Lunar day, which is half the month, and makes a great industrial level job for those with the knack.

When we left the domes through a secondary tunnel, I was greeted with a view of Mankind's largest solar farm. Built atop the main dome hundreds of thousands of panels shared my anxiety. They waited for the sun while I anticipated a dinner with a woman I hardly knew. The tunnel’s transparent walls acting as a poor surrogate jacket, as we crested the horizon and approached the old observatory.

It's not exactly a big building compared to some of the structures under the dome, but it's the tallest single structure outside the dome. Coming in at over 120 meters above average surface level. And that's not including the telescope proper. Surrounding the main telescope were three old school receiver arrays. The old parabolic types, designed to listen for any signs of intelligent life out there in the cosmos. Of course, we made them before we stumbled into the other races but that's a story for another day.

Robert pulled the runabout into the parking bay occupying the entire bottom floor. It had originally been more a hangar than anything, back before the building had its tunnel leading to it. Needed for rovers and even to park shuttles to protect them from meteors on the surface. A large open area, little more than a flat piece of concrete, with open blast doors on one end, and airlocks leading to elevators on the side. After parking the vehicle, Robert waved us through the security at the lock, and we headed up to main levels.

When this place was originally constructed, the observatory needed a lot of computing power. And back then the computers were a lot bigger, so entire floors were dedicated not only to computing but to communication as well. Hence the monster antenna outside. Well, technology gets better over the centuries, so what used to take floors, eventually takes broom closets. And the fact this place wasn't active allowed them to strip out the old gear.

When the engineers retrofitted the main floor, they decided to have a little fun. They added high res screens to the floors and ceilings. The floor was currently displaying the Sol system, with the Sun as the centerpiece. The ceiling was displaying our section of the Milky Way.

There were perhaps a hundred people in the room. Tables arranged around the outside in what was arguably a school circle so everyone could see everybody else. On the one side without tables, was a bar. Robert drew my attention, with a slight nudge to the ribs, to a particular fetching woman at the bar, and it took me a moment to realize she was my date for the evening. I thanked him and headed to the bar.