Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY) (61 page)

“And that reason is?” Jesselle asked, arching one blonde brow in skepticism.

“Contemplate it,” Ia told her bluntly, not willing to give the other woman a free ride. “Can you keep him sedated?”

“I can. And I have agreed, having voiced my objections, to uphold this little charade,” the doctor added. “You’re lucky Private Hollick was willing to undergo a telepathic scan from me so I could make sure he was fully informed and truly willing.”

“I had my own objections as well, Doctor,” Ia told her, “but they got blown to pieces by Sung’s willful little act of disobedience. Helstead, stay here and stand watch over our guest. I’m going to go order the ship into dock, and call a shipwide boardroom meeting. The two of you are exempt from attending, since I need you to keep an eye on our ‘guest’ here—Belini, charge back up and get changed into your new body,” she added. “You’ll need to show up as Private Hollick.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” she quipped, flipping Ia a fluttery mock-salute.

Rolling her eyes, Ia retreated from the Infirmary. She was exhausted and would not be able to rest for many more hours to come, but the timestreams were back under her control. Bruised and banged about, duct-taped together with a snapped wrist much like Private Sung’s, but once more hers to command.

She prayed all the way to the bridge that she would never have to do that again.

It was still third watch, but Togama wasn’t on duty at the moment; he had been replaced by Private James Kirkman. Nabouleh was back on duty, having swapped places with Sangwan twice over the last three hours. Spyder wasn’t on the bridge. Technically he was supposed to be asleep by now, and Ia had granted him leave to go, since all they were doing was floating in space several hundred thousand kilometers away from the remains of the Salik base.

Altering Hollick had consumed a lot of their spare time, shattered and duct-taped back together as it was, a lot more than a Feyori needed to just change themselves, or to heal someone else. His mind and his memories had taken longer to create than his revised body.

“Private Kirkman,” Ia stated as she entered the bridge, “contact the TUPSF
Hum-Vee
and inform them that most of our situation has now been contained. Tell them we are coming in to dock, and ask them for a gantry position and refueling priority. Once you have done that, contact the
Hardberger
and let them know we are on our way in to coordinate with them for the arraignment and war tribunal of Private Goré Sung regarding the Fatality Thirteen: Friendly Fire incident.”

“Aye, Captain. Ah, sir,” he added, twisting to look back at her, “the Admiral-General left standing orders to be contacted the moment you broke communication silence. Shall I put you through?”

Pulling her headset out of her pocket, Ia nodded. “Ping the Admiral-General and connect us the moment the call goes through.”

Dropping into the command seat, she hooked the headset in place, then started to pull the restraint straps in place. They were still broken, snapped physically and telekinetically in her earlier rage. Sighing, Ia gave up trying to secure herself. None of their maneuvering needs would require it in the next several hours; it was just habit for her to buckle up in this chair.

“Private Rammstein,” she ordered the man seated at the operations console, “put in a work order to engineering to get up here and replace the command-seat safety harness, plus the straps in L-pod 20. I want fresh sets ready to go before we leave the zone.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Captain, we have pingback. Conversational lag is four and a half seconds,” Kirkman warned her. “Admiral-General Myang on the line in three…two…”

Christine Myang appeared on the screen. Her face was creased, her eyes bleary, and her chin-length, grey-salted black locks were mussed. She was also clad in a loose-necked tunic in a faded heather grey, and her face hovered unnaturally close to the pickups, looming too large on Ia’s main screen. Blinking twice, she focused on the screen at her end and narrowed her eyes in a silent, furious glare.

It took effort, but Ia did not flinch. “Admiral-General, sir. I apologize for the lengthy delay, but the Ultra-Classified security protocols had to be maintained. We sustained minor damage to the main cannon, which had to be fixed immediately,”
she lied smoothly, “and…have had to contain an unexpected addition.”

“Contain?” Myang asked, voice rough from sleep. “Unexpected addition? Explain.”

“We are inbound to Battle Platform
Hum-Vee
, where I will be personally escorting Private Sung to his tribunal session as soon as it can be arranged,” Ia stated blandly. “The charges are twofold, Fatality Five: Disobeying a Direct Order, and Fatality Thirteen: Friendly Fire. I am fully aware and prepared to carry out the double-indemnity sentence of corporal punishment his actions will accrue, and will do so without restraint or hesitation.

“I do, however, need…beg…a suspension of our standing orders to permit no other personnel aboard the
Hellfire
,” she continued. That earned her another narrow-eyed stare. Drawing a deep breath, Ia explained. “We initially thought—as does the TUPSF
Hardberger
—that their gunner was killed when Private Sung fired through the Salik shipyard debris and struck a missile emerging from the old Kellick-class projectile-pod turret, number 29, on board the
Hardberger
. This was not the case.

“Lieutenant Commander Delia Helstead, reacting on instincts triggered by my telepathically broadcasted precognitive distress, blind-teleported him instead to the safety of our ship. He was knocked unconscious by the transport, and Helstead and I abandoned the bridge as soon as we realized he was on board. We have kept him sedated this entire time, firmly secured under observation in the Infirmary,” Ia told the head of the Space Force, breaking Fatality Forty-Three: Perjury, by lying to her superior officer without hesitation. “By the letter of our orders, his presence aboard is a violation of our Ultra-Classified status. By the
spirit
of our orders…he hasn’t seen a damned thing.

“So I request…I
beg
,” she added, meeting Myang’s soft frown through the vidlink, “that you forgive his trespass and dismiss the charge of Grand High Treason that would otherwise be incurred, as there is no possible way he could learn any of this ship’s secrets, sedated as he has been all this time.”

Several seconds ticked by. More than enough to send Ia’s words all the way to the Admiral-General’s quarters back on Earth and send back a response, thrice. Finally, Myang grunted, “Why should I? What’s so goddamn special about this one
soldier that you panicked so hard, it caused your junior officer to risk both of you being hanged for daring to bring him on board?”

“I don’t think Helstead was actually thinking at that moment, sir,” Ia pointed out carefully. “Her reaction speed to
my
distress was faster than conscious thought. She has been recovering from a backlash headache all this time. As for why…this gunner is one Private First Grade Joseph N’Keth. He was and is destined to be the great-plus-grandfather of one of the key figures who will prevent the Zida”ya from successfully invading and destroying our galaxy three hundred years from now.”

“You mean two hundred and ninety-nine,” Myang corrected her. “It was three hundred years into the future
last
year.”

Ia shook her head, then wobbled it. “No, I mean three centuries, sir, as in a vague figure of inexactitude. It wouldn’t do to give everyone in this day and age an exact date of their arrival because the moment the invaders are actually noticed will depend on
who
does the noticing, and how much of that information gets back to my prophesied agents. It’s enough for people in this era to know that it will happen at a rough date in the future because there is nothing we can do to stop something that’ll take place long after we’re all dead. We have other problems on our hands right now.”

“Charming. And so very cheerful. So. This gunner, Private N’Keth…Wait, is that N’Keth, as in that holy lineage from V’Dan? The one with the special blue
jungen
marks?” Myang asked her, frowning.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Ia confirmed. “He doesn’t have any himself, but he is of that bloodline. He’s from Eiaven, which is a jointly settled heavyworld, and chose to go into the Terran service rather than the V’Dan. Just as Helstead, who is also from Eiaven, chose to go into the Terran Space Force, and just as I chose that way as well, coming from Sanctuary.”

Again, Myang mulled over her words for longer than the hyperrelay’s turnaround time would allow.

“…He’s really that important?” she finally asked Ia.

“I wouldn’t have panicked so badly that Helstead reacted to my psychic broadcast without a thought for the rules and regs if he wasn’t, sir,” Ia pointed out dryly. That much was the truth, if one counted the way the shorter woman had given chase, trying to prevent Ia from killing Private Sung. “If I
could’ve saved him myself, I would’ve, regardless of the consequences…and I
would
accept the punishment for Grand High Treason during wartime as part of our agreement, but you still need me to be very much alive, sir.”

This time, her reply came back within the allotted turnaround time. “Alive and uncaned?” Myang asked her dryly, sitting back from the screen a little. “Is that what you’re going to ask for next?”

“Sir, no, sir,” Ia denied crisply. “I accepted my double-indemnity with the willingness of full foresight of all possible consequences. However many strokes the tribunal assigns to Private Sung, I will endure them, blow for blow, without restraint or hesitation. It is only being hung, drawn, and quartered that I object to, sir. It’d be a little too difficult to continue saving the galaxy this week if I’m not alive to do it. You still need me at the helm of this ship, and its replacement…but there’s nothing in there that says I have to be comfortable while I’m in the pilot’s seat, sir.”

Myang studied Ia for several seconds, then nodded. “Very well. Dispensation granted, so long as this Private N’Keth is kept sedated the entire time he remains on board the
Hellfire
…
and
in the understanding that you will disembark and revive him the moment you are safely docked at…uh, Battle Platform
Hum-Vee
. Since that is the nearest source of the Judge Advocate General’s branch of the Special Forces, assuming you haven’t left the Helix Nebula?”

“Sir, no sir. We are still within the same cometary knot as the rest of the local fleet and are inbound to the
Hum-Vee
as I speak,” Ia reassured her. “Private Sung has been a valuable member of my crew. I’m not quite sure what possessed him to keep shooting despite my clearly issued orders to cease fire. But the timestreams suggest he will recover from his punishment and serve on this ship with a greater level of obedience and devotion, so I shall suggest to the tribunal judges that he be given a caning only, with no incarceration.”

Myang lifted her brows. “No time in the brig? You don’t have to be afraid of incarceration yourself, you know. Your double-indemnity clause only covers corporal punishments, so you wouldn’t have to be stuffed into a cell alongside him.”

“I know I don’t have to, Admiral-General,” Ia admitted. “But I need good gunners on board, ones who aren’t needed
on other ships. Despite his extreme lapse in good judgment, Private Sung is still a good gunner, and I can still use him as I continue to fight for you.”

That made Myang grunt. She looked tired again, tired and sleepy. “Unfortunately, you have a point. Preliminary intelligence culled from the wreckage of that shipyard base suggests there are several others out there. We
will
need every good gunner we can get. I’ll pass along a recommendation of my own to keep him out of the brig. I trust that, stroke for stroke, you will be even
more
careful in the future not to abuse your
carte blanche
.”

“I am
very
determined to avoid anything like this in the future, sir,” Ia vowed fervently. “One more thing. Please remind Admiral Genibes to pass along the design corrections I sent you last week to the crews working on the
Hellfire
’s replacement. If they’re applied now, that should speed up the construction process.”

“I am
not
your personal messenger service, Captain…and I’m getting tired of your little ‘one more thing’ quips. Myang out.” Shifting her arm, she thumped what had to be the controls for a bedside screen, and vanished from view.

The monitor replaced her oversized face with its default display of their dead-ahead view. Ia wasn’t offended by Myang’s retort. She knew the woman would remember to tell Genibes within twenty-four hours.

Sitting back, she contemplated the field of stars and the slowly increasing, green-highlighted dot that would eventually resolve itself into the prickle-burr shape of Battle Platform
Hum-Vee
. Ia had once used it as a base of operations for the two years she served on the now-broken Salik Blockade. A glance at the chrono showed Ia the time—near midnight. If Myang had been asleep, either she had been forced to work off-shift for Aloha City and the Tower, or she had gone halfway around the world for some reason, perhaps to the Space Force Intelligence Division headquartered in Paris. Ia didn’t know, and right now, she was too tired to care.

Regardless, the interview had taken place, successfully navigated. Sighing in relief, Ia slumped back in her seat. “Well. That’s one obstacle down. Nabouleh, finish docking us at the
Hum-Vee
. Kirkman, coordinate with the JAG office on board the Battle Platform to arrange a quick tribunal for Private Sung.
I’m going to advise him not to contest the charges since we have him dead to rights with all the onboard surveillance equipment. This isn’t some dirtside battlefield where it’s a case of he said, she said.”

“Yes, sir,” Kirkman agreed, moving to comply.

“While you’re waiting for them to get back to you, inform the entire crew that the moment we dock, the ship is to be sealed and secured at dock, and all personnel—
all
personnel, from bridge crew through to engineering and lifesupport, asleep or awake, are to report to the boardroom, excepting only Doctor Mishka, Lieutenant Commander Helstead, and the patient in the Infirmary.”