Opening Moves (48 page)

“
Look at me,” Corr'tane said. “Look, this isn't a competition, this is about our people. They've made me a First Tier Strategos for what I've done, and now it's your turn to be raised into a fleet command rank.” He took her head in his hands and gently put a kiss on her nose. “Come on, don't worry about what I've done. Look proudly at what you've achieved where others have failed.”

Pyshana sat down in a cushioned chair nearby and sighed. “Easier said than done, brother. I've always been in your shadow, you know: at school, at university, even now. I'll always be measured against you and not known in my own right.”

“Don't talk like that,” Corr'tane said sternly and took a seat next to her. They looked out of the viewport and down onto the dust-covered atmosphere of Toklamakun.

“
You know, I don't really mind. It's not a bad thing, being in your shadow. It's safe. It's a place I can observe you at work and see how things should be, see how a role model acts. Habit of a lifetime,” she smiled lopsidedly.

“
Not any more,” he smiled. “Now you make your own path and don't need to follow mine. You've proven yourself, little sister, and the whole galaxy saw it. Time to step into the light.”

She hesitated. “What if I don't want to? What if I'm not ready for this new responsibility?”

“You're ready, believe me, you are,” he encouraged. “You stepped up at Senfina. You showed there what you're made of, what
I
have always known about you. You're exceptional, you've got courage like no one else I know, and you will make a great and competent leader. Something we dearly need.”

“
Will you help me?” she looked up at him.

“
Haven't I always?” he replied warmly and took her hand. “I'm always here if you need me. You're all I have left in this life, the last of our family and the only thing which truly matters to me. I'll make sure you receive all your just rewards, I promise.”

Pyshana nodded, taking strength once more from her brother as she squeezed his hand, his long fingers entangling themselves with hers.

Since the day their parents had died Corr'tane had taken a strong lead, by instinct and the desire to protect his sibling as much as by necessity. Ashani society didn't foster much of a concept of supporting the weak or disadvantaged, at least not by means of government intervention. That's what extended family ties, patronage and charitable organizations were for. And even then the tacit understanding was that if you were put back on your feet by such an organization, you were to pay them back later by donations and by spreading their influence. Nobody really held your hand if you fell. If you weren't strong and resourceful enough to cope with a crisis you had no place calling yourself Ashani.

Pyshana was certain she would have failed and become a wretched beggar, doomed to die a young death, if Corr'tane had gone on by himself. Her brother had always been a hard man, and the past decade had made him even harder, but back then he had stayed with her – even at great cost and trouble to himself – and made sure they both had food and shelter. With help from their school's teachers who recognized their potential, they had been placed into a scholarship program and given a place to stay and food to eat in return for their work. But for those early years it had been Corr'tane who had kept her alive, and she still felt like it was he who was the one keeping her going now that they were adults with vast responsibilities of their own.

“It's always easier to hide away,” he whispered, “to duck down and let others ride out the storm. But this is your destiny, sister. Do not turn your back on it.”

Slowly she nodded. “All right, I'm feeling ready.”

“You mean you're terrified?” he raised an eyebrow and grinned wryly.

“
Yes,” she admitted.

“
Good.” He nodded. “You'd be a fool not to be. You're about to be elevated to the second highest field rank our military knows, with all the power, but also all the responsibilities, attached to it. People give decades of service and never come within sight of such a title, but in your first battle you earned the right. What does that tell you?”

“
That somebody really screwed up?” she offered laconically.

“
Well, in a way they did, but the point is that you smoothed that out. You grabbed victory from the jaws of defeat, and the part of the battle you commanded actually cost us fewer ships than when that thrice damned fool led the fleet.” He stood a bit taller. “If
he
was a fleet commander, sister, then you have more than earned the right to be called a Strategos of the Ashani Dominion. High Strategos Kalla'shan is no fool, Pyshana. He wouldn't have given you the rank if he thought you weren't worthy.”

A chime sounded in the lobby, drawing both their attentions.

“All right, that's it. Nearly time,” Corr'tane said. “It'll be a short ceremony. War leaves little time for festive acts. Soon I'll have to get back to overseeing the progress on my fleet. We're about to be sent back to the front in a few days and there is still much to be done.”

“
I don't know if I can do this,” Pyshana shook her head, long black hair loosening and falling into her face. “Am I ready?”

“
What have we just said?” He reminded her. “This is your time, sister, your moment. Seize it, relish it. Remember all those who belittled you and held you down? Now is when you show them your true power. They are nothing now, but you are a Strategos. Embrace it.”

“
Will you be there beside me?”

“
As always,” he nodded. “I am always watching out for you.” He reached out and straightened her collar, then brushed some dust off her uniform. “Although by now I'd have thought you'd learn to dress yourself properly.”

“
Shut up!” she joked.

“
There,” he finished. “Father would be proud.”

“
Do you think so?” she asked doubtfully.

“
Of course! To see his two children both made strategoi? The youngest in our history? Of course he would,” he smiled knowingly. “Can you imagine his face if he walked through that door right now?” They both faced the entrance. “Can you guess his words? See his approval?”

“
If he did he'd probably tell us to stop dressing up and go tidy our rooms,” Pyshana chuckled. “Even as strategoi he would always be telling us what to do.”

“
And we would do it,” he nodded solemnly. “He was a stern man, a good man. He's always guarding us, as we must now guard our people. Think of him and think of mum. We're here because of them, and it is in their memory that we live.”

“
I understand,” she replied hoarsely.

Corr'tane squeezed her hand a last time, then let go and rose to lead the way. Pyshana followed her twin brother.

The doors unlocked and slowly retracted, revealing a hall lined with officers. High Strategos Kalla'shan at the far end of the room looked splendid in his ceremonial uniform, all crimson and gold.

“
Go on,” Corr'tane urged. “I'm right behind you, and when has anything bad happened while I was watching your back?”

Heartened by the support, Pyshana at last buried her doubts. Without further hesitation she marched into the hall and didn't look back.

U.V.S. JOHNSTON, North American Union Navy Cruiser

Foldspace, near the Coalsack Nebula.

Normalcy had returned to duty aboard the cruiser, which, for the most part meant boredom for Alpha Platoon. Captain Beaufort apparently was taking the ship on an anti-raider sweep through local systems, but unless JOHNSTON's sensitive tachyon suites detected a base in a star system where there shouldn't be one all Sammy and her comrades could do was sit around and check their gear for the umpteenth time. Known space held tens of thousands of star systems, and while not all of them were accessible through foldspace it was still like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

The bulkhead to the platoon's shared quarters slid open.

“
Hey, dirt humpers!” a gruff male called out.

Lee looked up from her partially disassembled carbine, recognizing a crewman from the earlier poker games. She furrowed her brows. “Petty Officer Carmachio, isn't it?” she asked. “No hard feelings about that Steenberg douche. We were going to get the game going again. How about you try and win back some cash?”

The noncom snorted. “Don't mind if I do. And no worries about the 'Big S', we've got that under wraps.”

Sammy raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the petty officer simply shrugged.

“He's good at his job, but he had it coming. He's also usually smart enough to figure out who better not to make his enemy. Don't lose any sleep about him. He'll be in sickbay for the rest of the week to cool his heels.”

“
So, about his injuries...?”

Carmachio grinned. “Oh, he told everybody who wasn't a witness that he was just way too clumsy and got himself clobbered in the alarm's commotion. Doc didn't look like she bought the story, but she's kept it at that.”

Alpha Platoon breathed a combined sigh of relief.

“
So... up for a game of poker?”

“
Hell yeah, and I've got a replacement for Steenberg, too. But my duty's calling first.”

Sammy nodded. “Later then?”

“Count on it. But the actual reason for my visit here is the guys had a proposition for you.” Carmachio stepped through the opening and let the bulkhead close behind him. “We've got a routine spacewalk ahead of us, checking the outer hull. It's a four man job, but most of the work's actually done by the repair bots. We meat bags are just there as the final arbiters of what needs fixing and what not. So taking one or two of you guys out for a ride's a possibility.”

“
What, really?” Lee's jaw dropped open. This had been one of her lifelong dreams but had always been too expensive to try on the few days leave she had while in space.

“
Yeah, really,” Carmachio leaned back against the wall. “You'll have to follow all of my commands, but according to your CO you guys aren't morons – ”

“
First thing I heard,” Grunt muttered.

“
That's because
you
are a moron!” Kowalski snorted.

“ –
and five or six pairs of eyes will get the job done quicker than just four, right? So, ditch that gear and head for airlock seven. We'll have suits ready for two of ya.”

* * * * * * *

Airlocks in the entertainment feeds and those found in real life had little in common. Those found in the vids often had elaborate opening mechanisms and small windows to see through for dramatic effect. JOHNSTON's – and every other ship Private Samantha Lee had ever traveled on – airlocks were plain, solid slabs of metal a foot and a half thick operated either by simple touch pads or old fashioned levers. They had no windows. Windows on a starship throwing around megaton range weapons were a structural weakness nobody could afford.

“
You two are good to go,” Carmachio's voice echoed hollowly through Sammy's helmet as Grunt Kayser stumbled into the airlock with her, being his usual clingy self. Despite Samantha's open homosexuality and her being in a solid marriage, Grunt somehow had gotten it in his mind that he had to 'conquer' her. Granted, that had been years ago, and despite the originally rather creepy vibe, they had become good buddies, but sometimes he just had some problems with the concept of 'personal space'. “Keep your hands on the handrails all the time, and do what I do!” the petty officer warned the two of them and stepped out of the airlock, swinging left.

With a start Sammy realized there was no gravity inside the airlock and awkwardly tried to emulate the technician's moves. She felt as clumsy as a fat child, stumbling outside. A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her aside.

“Take it easy,” Carmachio said gruffly. “I don't want to be the one to have to go after you if you float out of here. You can't see or feel it, but we're doing five and a half thousand times the speed of light right now. If you fly off and out of the warp field it's the final curtain call for you, Lee. That counts for you, too, longshanks!” he called out to Kayser and pulled a cord as thin as razor wire from a sunken small hatch next to him and fastened it to his belt. “There's one of these nodes every fifty meters. You're
always
connected to one, understood? Never notch one before you haven't connected to the next one!”

“
Copy that,” Sammy breathed, relieved to feel a solid surface beneath her feet again.

“
Good. Control, send out the bots.”

The
Silverstone-Cray Mk. 25 Semi-Autonomous Repair Robots
were the good folk of the navy. Resembling stout-legged dogs the size of a mastiff they labored in environments where even humans in protective suits reached their limits. They were the ever-present helping hands of the ship's technicians and damage control crews: welding, diagnosing, repairing, replacing parts, networking for more complex tasks –- the Mk. 25 did it. Erupting from a two hatches a dozen of the thigh-high machines spread out across the JOHNSTON's hull and began looking for irregularities.