Virtues of War (11 page)

“You were on the Centauri homeworld?”

He nodded. “You must have friends who served in one of the colonial strike forces. I’ll bet they have stories to tell.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’d be too modest to brag.”

Kete adopted his most earnest expression. “I don’t think it’s bragging. It was what had to be done after that sneak attack by colonial forces. Taking the fight to the enemy was the right thing to do.”

She watched him, the intensity of her stare hinting at her internal debate. Kete helped her along.

“I’d love the chance to meet one of them,” he said. “Not as a journalist, just as a grateful citizen.”

Her gaze softened into a coy smile, and she leaned forward to speak quietly.

“Well, Kit, today is your lucky day.”

He feigned a blank expression for a moment, watched her raise her eyebrows suggestively, then let the realization dawn across his features. He leaned in as well, lowering his voice.

“You’re kidding.”

“A woman can be full of surprises.”

“What was your role?”

“Classified, good sir.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Now, Breeze, we’re off the record this evening.”

She considered for a second. “I had a few roles, but I think the most interesting was being aboard one of our fast-attack craft.”

He made sure he looked impressed. “That’s pretty hard core,” he said. “You’ve certainly surprised me.”

She leaned back and took another sip of wine. “I’m sure you have a few surprises as well, Mr. Moro.” He ignored the bait, and pressed forward as if he’d just thought of something.

“You know, Chuck Merriman and I did a piece a few weeks ago on a military family. I think the daughter was fast-attack—what was her name? Katja Emmes. Do you know her?”

Breeze’s face hardened behind a smile that momentarily turned to ice.

Interesting
, he thought.

“Yes,” she said. “As a matter of fact I do. She’s very brave, but a little crazy I think, too.”

“So you worked together?”

“On occasion.” She took another, longer sip of wine. “The State doesn’t always pick the most deserving veterans for media attention. I think your assignment would have been more for her father’s sake than hers.”

The naked animosity burning through her carefully controlled features wasn’t what Kete had expected. Yet another strand of the story he needed to incorporate into his plan.

“So you don’t think she deserves to be singled out?”

“Oh she was singled out all right. Singled right out of her regiment and buried in a dead-end job.” Her expression turned dangerous for just a moment. “I have connections.”

He backed off. “You don’t have to say anything more to impress me, Breeze. I don’t even compare my time in the field to what soldiers like you went through. I really mean it—from a grateful citizen, thanks.”

With effort she relaxed in her seat and glanced casually around the restaurant.

“There are some things I can’t talk about,” she said, striving to regain her composure, “but you know what was really interesting about my time in the colonies?”

“What?”

Her seductive smile returned. “I’m sure you’ve heard about how invasion forces always send in a reconnaissance team beforehand, to scope out the enemy defenses?”

“Sure. I understand it’s one of the most elite roles in the Corps.”

“Is it?” She gave him a studiously casual expression. “Hmm.”

He doubted very much that she was being completely accurate with him, but the mission required him to see the war on her terms. So he sat back in impressed silence. Breeze delicately dabbed her lips with her napkin, eyes on him the entire time. Suddenly she was enjoying the conversation again, now that it was all about her, but she offered no further embellishment, and he didn’t probe further.

Still, he’d scored another success. She’d revealed details about her recent past, and the door was now open for him to explore further. If things continued this well, it was only a matter of time before she became an active asset.

The hot, bitter liquid was a welcome antidote to the heavy fatigue Thomas felt as he settled into his favorite chair, holding a cup of coffee. There was a lot of vacation time to use up after a deployment, but some mornings he honestly wished he was in space so that he could have a break.

He took another long sip and rested his head against the high, cushioned chair back. Enjoying the warm, filtered sunlight streaming over him through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he stretched and felt his muscles protest at even so slight a movement.

Soma was still asleep, of course. He wished he could stay in bed as long as his younger wife, but two decades of military life had trained his mind to reach full alertness after a maximum of eight hours down, no matter what his body said. He’d left her in their imperial-sized bed, sprawled among the scattered sheets as she’d been some time before dawn.

Judging from the angle of the sun, Thomas guessed it was almost noon.

Another sip of the coffee and he activated his Baryon. Soma usually preferred the passive input of the video wall this early in the morning, but he preferred the control—and, most of all, the silence—of his personal device. It was the latest gadget, he knew, and a must-have for anyone who wanted to stay connected.

He scanned his messages, noting with satisfaction that his efforts to get into Soma’s elite circle were paying off. There was a funny photo from Tiffany, a golf invitation from Quinton, and a promising message from Chuck Merriman.

The reporter had made some subtle inquiries, and there was definitely media interest in an exclusive on the Dark Bomb, but it had to be something substantial.

Thomas frowned. His involvement with the project had been announced three weeks ago, and wasn’t news anymore, so he needed to conjure up an angle to give the story some
oomph
. He took a thoughtful sip of coffee as he considered how he might link his high-profile marriage to his professional success, but realized that bringing in Soma was getting off message.

This story had to be about
him
.

What he really needed was to get media exposure out of his role in
Neil Armstrong
’s research, but as neither the science officer nor the commanding officer, his role would be pretty peripheral.

He skimmed his messages again as the caffeine started to dull the throbbing in his skull. Jack Mallory had called during the night, he noticed with surprise. Nice kid, Jack. Dumb as a post, but at the same time smart as hell. He’d been instrumental in creating the proto-bomb in the first place, although he was certainly wreaking havoc aboard the
Armstrong
these days. He’d been a good source of information concerning activities aboard the
Armstrong
, though, more so even than what Thomas had been able to observe first-hand.

On an impulse he hit the reply button.

The Baryon screen indicated that the call was going through, and eventually lit up with Jack’s youthful features. Thomas was still surprised to see him without a broken, deformed face, but he was getting used to it.

“Good morning, Jack.”

The newly crafted face beamed in recognition. “Hi, sir. Thanks for calling me back.”

“Your first call was at three in the morning.”

A typically stunned expression replaced the smile. “What? But I…ohh. Time zones. Umm, well, thanks for calling me back first thing.”

Suddenly Thomas realized he was still in his bathrobe, and that his hair was probably a mess, so he didn’t bother correcting Jack’s assumption.

“Well, I figured you wouldn’t disturb me unless it was important.”

“Oh, I thought you’d want to know this, sir,” Jack replied. “Guess who came by the ship for a visit yesterday?”

“Who?”

“Breeze!” the young man said quickly. “She just swooped in with a couple of goons, and had a long meeting with the captain. She didn’t look too pleased when she left, and neither did he. What’s she got to do with Research, anyway?”

Nothing, Thomas mused, but she knew how to place herself at the center of the action even faster than he did.

“Thanks for letting me know, Jack,” he said. “I’ll look into it.” Disconnecting, he drained the rest of his coffee.

So Charity Brisebois was getting in the way again. Chandler said that he had one of his own staff appointed as project director. With a sinking heart, Thomas guessed who that might be.

Vacation be damned, he needed to act.

Leaving Soma to her restless slumber, Thomas scrubbed himself, donned an expertly pressed garrison uniform, and caught the first skycraft to Longreach. Then he boarded a cab to Astral Headquarters. He marched swiftly down the corridors he knew well enough, and into the receiving room of the Fleet’s newest flag officer.

The admiral’s flag lieutenant sat industriously at her desk in that outer room, turning curious eyes up to greet Thomas as he entered.

“Good afternoon,” he declared. “I need to see the admiral.”

Her cool expression indicated that she wasn’t going to be easily intimidated. No doubt a dozen people stormed into the office each day with the same demand, and no doubt Thomas was far from the most senior of them.

“The admiral’s very busy,” she replied. “May I take your name?”

“Lieutenant Commander Thomas Kane.”

“Please take a seat,” she said. “I’ll see what his schedule looks like.”

Thomas remained standing, watching as she manipulated her console in what was no doubt a discreet message to her boss. He enjoyed a satisfied smile when her narrow eyebrows arched slightly. She consciously eased her severe expression and actually smiled at him as she rose to her feet.

“Admiral Chandler will see you, sir.”

“Thank you.” He moved toward the door and strode through into Chandler’s inner office.

The room was easily the size of an average family home, half of it centered around the desk and its court of chairs, the other around a receiving area for high-ranking guests. Three-dimensional star maps mounted on modern pedestals mixed with more ancient trophies from centuries of space flight.

The admiral was seated behind his desk, silhouetted against a floor-to-ceiling window that was tinted against the afternoon heat. Thomas moved immediately toward one of the chairs nearest the desk, if nothing else to get the sun out of his eyes and better assess his old mentor’s mood. Chandler didn’t rise, but his expression was relaxed as he leaned his elbows on the desk and watched Thomas approach.

“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Thomas said, “but I felt I had to make an unusual report to you.”

Chandler indicated for him to sit. “The last time you popped in unannounced you’d just single-handedly saved your ship, but not before you’d saved mine. I wouldn’t expect you to waste my time with bullshit.”

That was a warning…

“The research aboard
Armstrong
isn’t going well, sir. The science officer appears to have been promoted past her level of competence, the captain is a fool, and for some strange reason Admiral Bush keeps directly interfering with our program. However, I think I have a solution.”

The admiral’s face hardened. “I hadn’t heard of any problems,” he said. “Do tell.”

“From what I can figure out, Bush is way more interested in his ships winning civilian science awards than in conducting Astral Force core research. Over the past two months the
Armstrong
has been focusing seventy-five percent of its field time on power generation.” He paused, then continued. “I’ve checked the journals, and power generation is the hot topic for all the leading institutes and prize committees.

“Captain Lincoln, our CO, has only been in command for three months, having been promoted out of one of the smaller Research ships, where he managed to win nearly a dozen awards over the past decade. It turns out that Bush himself used to command
Armstrong
, and now that he’s an admiral, I think he wants to turn some of Lincoln’s magic into fame for his old ship. The dutiful captain is only too happy to comply.”

Chandler shook his head. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he responded. “The Fleet should take back that entire squadron and make it military again.”

“Until then, sir, I have a quick solution. The way
Armstrong
’s been doing her power generation experiments is very time-intensive, and I’ve come up with a way to automate most of it.” Actually, it had been Sublieutenant Amanda Smith who’d been bitching to Jack about easier ways to do the experiments, but Thomas didn’t mind taking credit for things he’d overheard. He’d fact-checked it on his own, after all.

“That would keep the admiral and our CO happy,” he continued, “but it would free up resources to get back onto the Dark Bomb research program.”

“So why don’t you just do it?”

It was Thomas’s turn to shake his head. “The science officer, Helena Grey, is a wily old witch who guards her department jealously. She’s not smart enough to see the best processes, and she doesn’t take criticism well.”

Chandler began to show impatience. “You’re the XO—make it happen!”

Thomas dared to laugh slightly. “I would, sir, except Lieutenant Grey seems to have a… special relationship with Admiral Bush. I’ve seen it a couple of times, where she’ll complain about something—or someone—and if it doesn’t get fixed to her satisfaction, two or three days later a rocket will come down from the admiral, ordering us to do exactly what Grey would have wanted.” He paused to let that sink in. “Sir, this is petty, shipboard stuff no admiral would ever bother himself with—unless he had a special relationship with one of the crew.”

Chandler sighed in disgust. “And your captain?”

“Spineless, sir. He’s basically admitted to me that he knows exactly what’s going on, but he’s too concerned with his own career to risk defying Admiral Bush.”

“If you’re asking me to try to tell another admiral how to run his squadron…”

“No, sir,” Thomas insisted. “But if you can casually mention to Admiral Bush about these self-directed power monitors—the best are made by a company called Piccolo—I’m sure he’ll jump at getting them on board
Armstrong
. He can win his prizes, and we can get back to doing our job.”