Theirs Not to Reason Why 4: Hardship (25 page)

“The other period . . . I was negotiating with the Feyori to mitigate their interference on Dabin, part of which includes the direct mental Meddling with Brigadier General José Mattox’s mind, a fact of which he has been apprised and which he has chosen to dismiss as not an ongoing concern. As a consequence, my arm unit was unable to record anything for approximately seven hours of the earlier stages of those negotiations. It also could not record some of the telepathically conducted conversations that took place.

“I was able to transcribe most of the missing information, and have sent that on to your data caches as well, but there is no other record than my own written report, sir,” Ia confessed. “I mention it not only for the Meddling with Mattox’s mind, but because the involvement of the Feyori on Dabin contains Ultra Classified material of a potentially disruptive nature for those who do not know the particulars of
why
that meeting had to take place. I therefore respectfully suggest that the inquest into my actions be a closed investigation made by those members of the Command Staff with a Class A rating.”

“We will take that under advisement, Ship’s Captain,” the Admiral replied neutrally. “Anything else?”

“Sir, yes, sir. My Company and I cannot be dismissed from our assigned duties by Brigadier General Mattox, nor can any of my orders from you or your superior be countermanded by a non–Command Staff officer from another Branch,” Ia reminded him, speaking quickly to cover the two and a half seconds of lag from her to him. From the way he opened his mouth to say more, then subsided, she had spoken in time. “Under the discretionary powers I was given by the Admiral-General herself, the majority of A Company, 9th Cordon has been placed under the command of Commander Meyun Harper, which is why I specifically mentioned my command having been split into A and B Companies.

“They are currently undertaking the task of breaking up the Salik invasion forces in preparation for pushing them off this planet, which is the task we were ordered to undertake by yourself and the Admiral-General. As a result, I have less than a Squadron of soldiers under my direct command in B Company here at Army Headquarters. What are your orders for my full Company, now that I have made these accusations, sir?”

He frowned, thinking about it. “You said everyone but you and a handful are in the field under Commander Harper?”

“Yes, sir. They are currently undertaking covert operations deep within enemy territory, Admiral. I have no means of contacting them for the next two days without a high probability of alerting the enemy to their presence. I would rather not lose them to an unexpected and utterly unnecessary lunch date, sir,” she stated flatly. “But I will attempt to pull them out of combat if you request it. That is what the brigadier general tried to order me to do . . . but I obviously cannot follow
his
orders, sir.”

John Genibes twisted his mouth, as if tasting something sour. He tapped his screen for several seconds, reading something, then addressed her question.

“. . . Pull them out
after
they have completed their current mission, Captain, when it is appropriately safe to do so. Take up residence in the capital near Army Headquarters. Your Company will be placed on Modified Leave under your command once they have been extracted as per Section 119, paragraphs b and c, and you yourself shall be placed on Restricted Leave, Section 119, paragraphs f, g, and j, from this moment until further notice,” he instructed her. “Continue to record everything you do, and expect to hear from me at approximately this time tomorrow, Terran Standard . . . whatever that translates as in Dabin time.”

“Sir, yes, sir. For the record, I am sorry I had to do this,” she offered, softening her tone for a moment. “I would far rather have had Mattox’s cooperation in salvaging this whole mess. One last thing, Admiral. As a duly registered and acknowledged precognitive, I warn you that this matter
must
be resolved by the start of this July, Terran Standard. If it is not, this planet will fall, and we will
all
bear the burden of all the lives that will be lost. Furthermore, my Company and I must be on board our next ship by the end of July, or many more worlds will be lost. You are of course free to accept my warnings or not, as is your prerogative. All I can do is give them to you, with the same accuracy with which I have always given them.”

“Again, we will take all of that under advisement, Ship’s Captain. You have your new orders. Genibes out,” he instructed her. Leaning forward, he tapped the link off.

Mindful of the eyes watching her, Ia sighed slowly, quietly. She tried to release the tension in her back muscles subtly; this was not the moment to show weakness in front of her own troops even if there were only a handful of them. Predictably, it was Private Sunrise who broke the silence.

“Well, as far as
shova
-storms go, sir, that wasn’t too bad,” Mara offered mildly. “And Modified Leave
is
still Leave. I’m sorry yours is Restricted, but that’s still better than what that one certain sergeant we both know of went through.”

Sighing more deeply, Ia shrugged, loosening up her back. “True. And it’s not like I got stuck with paragraphs h or i,” she agreed, turning to face the others. “But I am still under surveillance from here on out, with
everything
I do destined to be poked, prodded, and questioned.

“Private Sunrise, start looking for a suitably large hotel or university dormitory which we can rent, and drum up the paperwork to do it. Mk’nonn, start looking up restaurants and cafeterias. Cross-reference to each other; I’d prefer something conjoined in some manner even if we have to rent a convention-center kitchen and staff it ourselves. Jjones . . . contact vehicle-rental companies, and try to find something with enough seats for everyone in this little group, minus one driver and one guard for the van. Since it’ll be kept to the city, you can go ahead and pick a ground car to keep it cheap, but keep in mind that we might need to rent larger vehicles.

“Private Theam, contact Roghetti’s crew to see if they can spare transport for the Company in two days’ time, or if we’ll need to go pick up everything ourselves. Yarrin, Rayne, hit the restrooms; when you get back, you’ll be on first watch over this van, and yes, you have permission to draw your guns. Sunrise, issue them that pair of trank clips I know you’ve got hidden on you.”

“Guns, sir?” Theam asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Tranks, sir?” Sunrise asked, lifting one brow warily. She fished the requested cartridge clips out of her uniform, double-checking for the blue feathers stamped into the sides of the factory-loaded cases, but she did give Ia a questioning look.

“The last thing we need is Mattox trying to commandeer my privately purchased hyperrelay, especially once he gets official word back from Earth on what I’ve just done,” Ia told her crew. “If he’s truly gone over the deep end to the point where he’s acting deliberately in ways that will sabotage the Space Force’s best interests in favor of his own agenda, whatever that may be, then he may want to silence me. Or at least breach the relays and falsify my reports.

“I don’t want to have to fight the Army, but the codes being used in this hyperrelay are beyond Mattox’s clearance level. You are therefore instructed to keep it out of all hands but this Company’s,” she told Yarrin and Rayne. “Given our limited supplies at the moment, tranquilizer cartridges are the best option we have since none of us have any stunners on hand.”

Rayne wrinkled her nose. “You don’t
really
think he’d sabotage a claim like this, do you, sir? That’d only get him into even worse trouble.”

“It’s just under a two percent probability, Private,” Ia told her. “I don’t think it’ll happen . . . but I didn’t think I’d get shot in the shoulder on a mere three percent. He doesn’t
know
that I’ve already sent on a record of everything that has happened up to this point, and he doesn’t know that we have this hyperrelay on hand to send even more incriminating files on a near-direct link to the Tower back on Earth. But I’m taking no more chances. Neither should you.” She gave them a sober, unhappy look. “We’ve lost far too many people and far too much of the timestreams as it is.”

JUNE 19, 2498 T.S.

LOXANA HOTEL AND CONVENTION CENTER

LANDING CITY, DABIN

The transport trucks looked like they shouldn’t fit under the modest hotel portico. They did, of course; each private manning the controls brought their ground truck to a halt with deft accuracy, neither brushing the columns nor the bushes. Single file, they disgorged soldiers and gear, all of which were off-loaded with swift efficiency while the men and women employed by the hotel’s valet corps watched in bemusement. No doubt they wondered if
they
would have to be responsible for parking the vehicles.

Ia didn’t give them the time to worry. She emerged from the lobby with Yarrin, Theam, Jjones, and Sunrise in tow the moment the first vehicle in the convoy appeared. The hotel staff watched with some apprehension as a motley collection of men and women emerged from the backs of the trucks. Some were soldiers clad in the local camouflage colors, many of them covered in dried streaks of reddish beige Dabin mud and a few in brownish dried blood. Some sported bandages holding regen gel packs in place. Others were clad in dark silver mechsuits, donned solely to be used as stevedore suits.

Activating her arm unit, Ia linked to the Company as a whole.

“This is Captain Ia to all members of the Damned. Welcome to the Loxana Hotel and Convention Center,”
she announced over her headset.
“At least one member of each team will report to Private Sunrise at the main entrance before 1500 for housing assignments and room codes. All personnel in charge of mechsuits, report to Private Yarrin for mechsuit-storage arrangements in conference halls Whiteflower and Greenwater.
Walk lightly.
Only the ground floor of this facility is solid plexcrete; no mechsuits will be allowed on any other floors, and do not go into close-quarters situations. Stick strictly to the broadest paths. Private Yarrin will direct you along the sidewalks to the proper exterior entrances.

“All personnel in charge of all other nonpersonal or nonmechsuit supplies, report to Private Theam; storage facilities will be in Redleaf Halls 1–4. Coordinate with the mechsuit teams and Private Yarrin for carrying heavy cargo around the exterior perimeter,”
she continued briskly.
“All wounded and infirmary personnel, report to Private Jjones. An infirmary station has been set up in the west wing conference halls Waterfall, Fountain, and Lakeshore. Company Command and the Company boardroom will be located in the Olympic Ballroom.

“All personnel will remain on the premises until further notice . . . and do remember that you will be moving among civilians. Be on your best behavior at all times; that includes this afternoon when some of you are in the pool, and this evening when some of you are in the hotel bar. All meals have been prepaid through the Crystal Gardens restaurant; if you want something different, you’ll have to pay at one of the other restaurants, and that includes the bar.

“The Company has bartered for the use of
one
laundry facility, located on the eighth floor, to be used by Company personnel. Otherwise, all extraneous room services will come out of
your own
pocket,”
she warned dryly.
“Your hotel rooms will still be subject to Inspection by Squad leaders and Platoon Sergeants every morning at 0700 Dabinian Standard local. There will be a cadre meeting in the ballroom at 1500 hours; otherwise, your orders are to settle in and enjoy your Modified Leave. Captain Ia out.”

The first pair of trucks, now emptied, rolled out; most were being driven by Roghetti’s soldiers and had to be returned to the front. Barely missing a beat, the third one—which was still being unloaded—pulled forward after a warning shout from the driver to the men and women unloading the back; the next two pulled in behind it. Commander Harper jumped out of the cab of the fifth ground truck as soon as that one stopped.

Striding up to Ia, he saluted, his tanned face pale and grim, scratches on the left side of his forehead and cheek, his uniform as muddied as the rest. “Commander Harper, reporting in with . . . with most of the Company, sir.”

“I know,” Ia murmured, then repeated herself out loud, knowing the others were covertly watching their two seniormost officers. “I know. At least the Feyori are no longer a problem. The timestreams are finally free and clear to me. If our battle plans for the Army as well as ourselves had been implemented, then there would have been only a third of the casualties we’ve suffered, and none of the lost lives. But we weren’t given that option, and I
know
you did your best with what we were given, Commander.”

He shook his head, eyes gleaming with tears he would not shed. “I tried. I planned for everything, tried to think of every . . . I’m sorry, Ia.”

There were many things she could have said to him. That no plan ever survives intact after actually engaging the enemy. That she could
see
in the streams that he had done far better than could be expected, with roughly half the losses and injuries most other plans would have sustained. That it wasn’t his fault that the Feyori had robbed them of her precognitive advantages. That he had truly done the best he could.

But that would not bring back Corporal Svarson, who had died while acting as a paramedic, pulling out wounded comrades from crossfire before being shot himself. It would not bring back Yeoman Nabouleh, third-watch pilot and another favorite crew member of Ia’s. Nabouleh had been smashed under a toppled enemy tower when the munitions depot ignited and exploded, thanks to a poorly aimed shot from a Salik weapon.

Ia could see each of their deaths, knew each one as an unforeseen, unavoidable tragedy, but words would not change any of that.

Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around her second-in-command, hugging him. It was public, it was not part of protocol, everyone was watching their two seniormost officers . . . but he needed it. Wrapping his own around her waist, he dropped his head to her shoulder and shook silently with the grief and pain bottled up inside, corked beneath the ever-present duty of an officer and pressurized by the knowledge he had failed in that duty.