Stone Blade (18 page)

Micah gave a brief nod.

“Now. Having said that I shall also make mention of testimony presented me by one Colonel Adam Roberts, Ceto Close Orbit Reserves. I'll not bore you with the whole of it. Suffice it to say he spoke very highly of all the League personnel who volunteered under him.”

Micah didn't smile but he wanted to! The colonel seemed to know this; he scowled hard.

“Sergeant Stone, it is the decision of this board that you be transferred to Naval Liaison, Protocol Division. Do you wish to appeal?”

“N-no sir.”

Micah barely managed to speak. Protocol! Him! He said he'd abide by their decision but he almost recanted that! Protocol! He saluted numbly and walked out of the room. Only by dint of the discipline ground into his bones did Micah hold himself upright.

Protocol! Of all the branches in all the military or civilian services of all the League governments they condemned him to Protocol! The stories bubbled and burned inside Micah's skull. Ostensibly responsible for high-level diplomatic functions, coordination between forces, arrangement of meetings and suchlike, Protocol was well-known as a dumping ground for people too incompetent to be allowed field assignments - any field assignments! - but too important to be booted out rudely. At first Micah discounted the rumors. Then he found himself assigned as temporary assistant to the Protocol captain in charge of silverware. That fell under the heading of 'Environmental Specialist' and the man bored Micah with more data concerning silverware than Micah knew existed! Then the man expected Micah to instantly assimilate and apply every bit of it. Protocol!

***

Micah made the hops to Aramis Minor in a dismal funk. Several others shared his transport but Micah made no effort to acquaint himself with them. With one exception. Amazingly, Charlie Ferrel was aboard as well. Somehow he snagged a Protocol assignment too. Micah tried to talk cheerfully but they both knew their fate.

“At least we'll face it together,” said Ferrel.

Ferrel wore his meteor proudly, for what good it would do him now.

Micah shrugged and let the conversation die.

Micah watched Aramis Minor grow with what interest he could summon. At least, he thought, they'd have a pleasant world. Climate warm but not hot, no indigenous pests, mild weather and mild seasons; none of the officers and gentlemen stationed there wanted discomfort.

Most of the others aboard chatted eagerly about assignments. The two nearest Micah and Ferrel started a spirited discussion about the order and precedence between the parties of a League Senator and the planetary representative of a League Candidate world.

After a brief moment in Aramis' negligible heat Micah and Ferrel found themselves in a luxurious hover. Two others shared the vehicle but they showed no interest in mere enlisted personnel. Ferrel caught Micah's eye and shrugged. He tried the hover's built-in food unit but without success. One of the others snickered.

Micah likened the Protocol training facility to an upstatus highcarder hotel, complete with highcarders. He and Ferrel were the only non-officers present and the officers around them pointedly paid them no mind.

“This way, gentlemen,” said their guide, doing his duty with ill grace, “You've been assigned to Protocol Logistics and Support.” And the man smiled.

Micah's heart dropped to his shoes. He hoped he'd receive an assignment counting something more interesting than napkins. By Ferrel's look he had the same thought.

09:00. Micah steeled himself for the day to come. He woke at 05:30 as usual, only to have the OD dismiss him when he reported. Breakfast, said the OD, happened at 08:00. No exceptions. The mess hall itself bore out the highcarder motif with fancy tables, expensive linen and civilian waiters and waitresses. They rebuffed Micah's attempt at conversation or anything other than absolute propriety. All Micah's effort earned him was several dark looks from the officers present. Then they went back to their conversations. Micah tried with all his concentration not to picture himself in their place!

Micah, Ferrel and two others snapped to attention. The man walking into the room smacked of cold, solid competence. Hard eyes examined each of them. Micah stiffened to a more rigid attention. The man held them silent with presence alone as he inspected each of them minutely. Micah felt shabby and grubby and he'd spiffed his uniform as he never spiffed before. Protocol, he knew, was picky about that. The man stopped in front of Micah and examined him with even more precision.

“At ease, gentlemen,” said the man, “With the exception of any instances in which you interact with League military personnel that was your last attention. From this day forward you will learn a new discipline. You will work harder and longer than you have ever worked before. If you do your job properly no one will know it. Your rewards will be few and precious and mostly in the satisfaction of a job well done.

“I am Willem Stanley and I command half of Protocol Logistics and Support. You may meet the other commander or not. If you do not it is of no consequence whatsoever.”

Stanely turned his steely gaze on all of them.

“Each of you was carefully chosen for this duty. You have each shown uncommon initiative, talent, skill and an unswerving unwillingness to surrender. You have exhibited outstanding moral character and loyalty. In each of your individual ways you have served the League far past the requisites of any sane duty. Be aware, gentlemen, this is merely sufficient to hold a position here.

“From this day forward, gentlemen, you will be pressed beyond any possible breaking point as you never have before. You will know pleasure and pain, guilt and shame as you have never before known it. More will be expected of you than you currently believe is possible for anyone, human or otherwise.

“This, gentlemen, is the hardest training the League has to offer. You will succeed. Failure is not an option.

“Welcome, gentlemen, to League Intelligence.

Chapter 9. Navy Liaison, Protocol Division

“Dear Father and Mother:

“At first I thought this duty would be vaccuum city but I can't begin to tell you how wrong I was. Protocol is like a complex dance. One wrong move can wreck weeks or months of negotiations and this arena leaves no room for mistakes. I'm studying the customs and histories of more systems than you would believe existed. Economics, politics, philosophy, science... I thought I'd hate it but I've learned more than I ever did before!

“The lowest accommodations here are better than an S9 hotel and I'm saving almost all my pay now. We shouldn't have any problem at all getting Deke into college wherever I get my posting.

“I don't know where I'll be stationed but the League is wide open. Dr. Colwraith - he's one of my instructors - told me the one place I won't go is Caustik. With eight hundred thirty-six other systems and plenty of postings, that's a given. As soon as I graduate I'll find us a place to be.

“I think of you often. You and Deke and Jenn. Hug Deke for me and Jenn, too. All my love;

“Micah

***

Micah loped in an easy run as he covered the distance to his assigned target in long strides. Running usually relaxed him and cleared his mind but he could not afford that now. The player around his ears filled his skull with sound. One voice droned about the government of the Hermite system, another spoke poetry in an irregular free verse - early post-Interim stream of consciousness, to be precise - while beneath both an orchestra played a compelling march.

Micah knew the player would last exactly five kilometers. The length of his run was Micah's decision and he allowed himself an extra 5 klicks beyond his assigned target. He wanted to assimilate this material well. Dr. Colwraith set the music and the topics and expected his students to know it. Micah also had no control over the music's tempo, yet he had to pay careful attention. If he fell into step for more than a few seconds the player delivered a painful jolt. How the unit knew Micah couldn't fathom but it worked quite well. Micah could ignore the pain but the thing also recorded each jolt and receiving too many would earn him details.

Micah's instructors did not issue punishments. Punishment, they claimed, was for people who did something wrong. Details they assigned to correct a lack of rightness. The details themselves ranged from ludicrously easy to impossibly hard. Difficulty notwithstanding, Micah had no desire whatsoever to earn one! The only thing worse than receiving details, he found, was failing to complete them.

Micah wrenched his attention back to the player. The one thing he could control was the volume. That meant it didn't stay where he set it. It increased or decreased at random intervals. It fell upon Micah not to allow it to become too loud or too soft. That information also went into the machine's record.

Micah almost missed his marker. The volume dropped to nothing and he barely saw the slightly-wrong shade of green. The marker opened briefly and displayed a chemical formula, then it vanished. Micah muttered the formula to himself several times, carefully not falling into step with the march.

Back at Base Micah had a precious few minutes to shower and dress. All of their instructors insisted on cleanliness and attention to dress and deportment. Micah and the other recruits - or
students
- wore no uniforms unless assigned to the other Protocol instructor for the day. All of the instructors preached attention to detail and detail in dress was only one path toward it.

“Rough day,” asked Ferrel, his own shower complete.

“Only the best,” replied Micah, “07:52. Game of Imperium before brekkie?”

Ferrel chuckled and they headed for the mess hall. Or
cafeteria
.

Micah and Ferrel sat together, as usual, and conversed with the people who chose to join them. Micah recognized several people from his classes. He carefully didn't let anything slip, nor did they.

Micah knew for truth that there were other Intelligence students and operatives in the crowd, he just couldn't pick them out. Yet. His instructors assured him he'd develop that skill.

***

“Assassination,” croaked Colwraith, “A common tool for political expediency. My question for today: Is it a valid one? Stone. Direction.”

Micah considered his answer carefully. Colwraith didn't mind time taken to formulate an answer provided the quality of the response matched the time taken.

“Yes, Dr. Colwraith. It is not pleasant. It is, in fact, cold-blooded murder. It is foul, it is evil, it is wrong and it is necessary. There are times when the loss of one life can save thousands,  millions, or even billions. That justifies it.”

“Well then, Mr. Stone. Who is qualified to judge? Are you? Am I?”

Colwraith smiled and Micah's heart sank. He chose the wrong answer.

“The soldier,” said Colwraith with an unambiguous glance to Micah, “who chooses to sacrifice himself to save his buddies, his unit, or civilians is making a choice. The life he ends, however, is his own. He pays the consequences for his decision. Right or wrong the responsibility and the result are his alone.

“Assassination, gentlemen and lady, affords no such noble choice. Mister Stone was correct in his assertion of murder but that is all. The League does not condone and does not pursue the expediency of assassination. There are some limits beyond which we do not go and this is by far the simplest.”

Colwraith handed each of them a datacube.

“This is documentation pertaining to twenty-eight of the most notorious and far-reaching assassinations on League record. Your assignment for next week is to find a way to achieve the results purported by the assassination without executing the assassination itself. You may leave.”

Micah dug into his research. This made up a large portion of his days now. He and the others spent their mornings or afternoons in academics, followed or preceded by more hands-on training. Micah struggled but he loved it.

The subjects themselves covered everything from combat armed and unarmed to manners and society of any planet inside or outside the League. No topic was too obscure and no amount of detail was wasted. Field exercises, or
labs
, gave them the chance to show what they'd learned or failed to learn.

***

Micah twiddled the dex and his terminal glowed. It flashed green for a bare second but before he could take advantage it turned red and died.

“Problems?” Ferrel looked up from his own terminal at Micah's foul words.

“One or two,” said Micah, “thousand. I used to think I knew something about computers.”

Ferrel hooked his machine into Micah's.

“Show me what you're trying.”

Micah called up the module again. He wormed his way past the first few watchdogs but when he paused to try and defeat the wall the dogs caught him. Again.

“Hrm,” grunted Ferrel, “Micah, my friend, you know I have nothing but respect for you but that was almost as subtle as a punch in the gut.”

Micah stared evenly at Ferrel.

“Charlie, we both know you're a lot better at this. I'd appreciate any pointers. I just want to pass the flaming tests!”

Ferrel grinned equal parts mischief and mischief.

“I'll make you a deal. Help me through unarmed and I'll get you through this.”

Micah grinned pure relief.

“Deal!”

***

“Dear Micah:

“I'm sorry I didn't write sooner. I tried. I really did but I just couldn't. Please understand.

“I went to the port last night. Sometimes I do, especially when I start missing you too much. It's never like the time we went there. Micah, please don't laugh. Sometimes when I go there I can almost feel you. The ships came for you, Micah, and took you somewhere wonderful. Sometimes I still wish they'd come for me too.

“Micah, I think of you too. Please don't forget me.

“Jenn

***

Micah ghosted his way through the semi-crowded streets. It took a lot of touch to sneak with appearing to sneak but Micah had practiced it many times. His target wandered hither and thither with an occasional look backward. Micah strove to be elsewhere when that happened and mostly succeeded. Then the figure darted into an alleyway.