"All engines stop."
"All engines stop, sir. Hard dock to station secured"
Docking a ship the size of an escort carrier was always a bit of a
tricky job, and with the maneuver finished Jason sat back in his chair and
took a sip of coffee.
He looked around at his bridge crew who stood silent. The speeches had
already been made earlier when the rest of the crew, except for the few
hands necessary for this final run out from Earth orbit, had transferred
off.
There was simply nothing more to be said.
"Secure reactor to cold shut down," he said softly.
He paused for a moment.
"I guess that's it."
The crew was unable to reply.
"Dock yard officer coming aboard," a petty officer announced and Jason
nodded.
A minute later he heard the footsteps in the corridor and tried to
force a smile. A lone officer came on to the bridge, faced Jason, and
saluted.
"Lieutenant Commander Westerlin, commander fleet yard five, requesting
permission to come aboard, sir."
He tried to be formal in reply but his voice still caught slightly.
"Permission granted," and returned the salute.
The officer pulled out a small piece of paper and unfolded it.
"By order of C-in-C ConFleet, to Captain Jason Bondarevsky, CVE
Tarawa," the officer began, and Jason could see he had been through the
ritual so many times that he barely needed to read the orders.
"As of the this date, CVE 8 Confederation Fleet Ship Tarawa is hereby
officially stricken from active list and placed in inactive reserve. Unless
otherwise noted in attached form below, all officers and crew are hereby
discharged from active fleet service upon completion of all proper discharge
procedures and placed on inactive reserves. Signed C-in-C ConFleet."
The officer folded the paper and hesitated for a moment.
"Sir, its a bit out of form but I also received a note from the
Commander of Third Fleet, Admiral Banbridge, which he asked me to read."
Jason nodded, and the officer unfolded the piece of paper.
"Never in the annals of the fleet has so much been accomplished by a
ship such as yours. I am proud to have served with all of you. The name
Tarawa will not be forgotten, God bless you all."
The officer handed the paper to Jason, who smiled.
"Sir, for what's it's worth I hate this job," the officer said quietly.
"A lot of the other ships I don t really care about, but your ship, sir,"
and he hesitated. "Sir, I'm sorry I have to take over this old girl. She's a
proud ship."
"So am I," Jason sighed "Just take good care of her."
"We'll do our best."
He turned and looked back at his crew.
"Time you folks shipped off. I'll be along shortly."
One by one they filed off the bridge, Jason standing by the door and
shaking the hand of each until finally he was alone except for Westerlin.
"I'll leave you alone if you want, sir," the officer said, as if he
were a mortician withdrawing from the side of a grieving widower, and he
silently stepped off the bridge.
Jason walked around the bridge one last time. It had been his bridge
for really only a very short time. After the raid on Kilrah the ship had
been laid up for a year. It would in fact have been far cheaper to simply
scrap her and build a new one from scratch, but public opinion was dead set
against it. During that year he'd been stuck Earthside, assigned to the
fleet war college for advanced training, finishing up with a brief stint at
the Academy to run their latest holo combat simulator training program. But
the ship had sailed at last, only to serve in one final brief action before
the armistice. Yet, it was his ship, it was in fact, since Kilrah, the only
thing he really loved.
He could have stayed longer, but then farewells should never be drawn
out. Leaving the bridge without a backward glance he went into his cabin and
hoisted the duffel bag off his bed. The room looked sterile now, just
another standard ship's room, painted the usual light green, with one
closet, a bed, a desk, and a computer terminal and holo projection box. The
few pictures on his desk, his brother and himself taken before Joshua had
gone off to the Marines, and died on Khorsan, a faded two dimensional image
of his mother and father taken on the day they were married, and a shot of
Svetlana that one of her friends in the Marines had sent along after her
death Ч they were in his duffel.
He closed the door behind him and walked down the now dimmed corridors.
He passed the flight ready room and had a flash memory of his first day
aboard, chewing out his new pilots, and passed on into the hangar deck. The
Rapiers, Ferrets, and Sabres lined the deck and it felt strange to hear the
silence. No engines humming, no shouted commands blaring over the
loudspeakers, the hissing roar of the catapult or the thunderclap of engines
kicking in afterburners on a hot launch. It was a silence that was as
complete and deeply disturbing as if he were walking through a tomb.
He turned to face the bulkhead and the roll of honor listing all those
who had died while serving aboard the ship. Coming to attention he saluted
the honor roll and then noticed that the commissioning flag which should be
to the right of the honor roll was missing. He felt a flicker of anger over
that, wondering who had taken it down, and turning started for the airlock
door which was secured to the shipyard docking station. Turning the corner,
he saw a small line of men and women waiting for him: Doomsday, Sparks (his
head of fighter maintenance), Kevin Tolwyn, and last of all Ian Hunter
looking strange indeed dressed in civilian mufti, having been already
retired from the fleet the day before. The group came to attention, saluted,
and Kevin stepped forward to hand Jason a folded flag, the commissioning
pennant of Tarawa.
"Thought you'd want this, sir," Kevin said with a grin. "Someday you
might want to hang it back up again."
"Thanks, Kevin."
To one side he saw a group of technicians, the mothballing crew, who
would finish the shut down of the ship for cold storage. Though the
government had agreed to the armistice and with it an immediate cut back of
fifty percent of the active fleet, at least they were not taking the ships
out and simply cutting them up as the Kilrathi had first suggested; the
military had managed to stop that mad idea. It had become a major fly in the
ointment in the four weeks since the armistice, with the Kilrathi
threatening to pull out of the peace talks but so far the civilian
government had not budged, though Jamison was screaming for even deeper
cutbacks. The inactive fleet was therefore, at least for the moment,
secured, the ships hooked to orbital bases for power and maintenance.
Rodham, however, had agreed to the ship's crews being paid off and assigned
to inactive reserves as a cost cutting measure, a fact which meant that
hundreds of thousands of highly trained personnel were being pulled from
their ships and demobilized as quickly as ships were pulled from the front
and sent to the main bases either above Earth, Sirius, or out at Carnovean
Station.
He turned to face back down the corridor and bowed his head for a
moment.
"Good-bye, my friends," he whispered, remembering all those who in a
way would be forever young, and forever bound to his ship. Fighting back the
tears he turned without another word and went through the airlock, his
friends following in silence.
* * * * *
"Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, approach the court."
Walking stiffly, Geoff came up before the court martial officers and
saluted.
Admiral Banbridge, as the presiding officer, stood up, his hands
shaking as he unfolded a single sheet of paper.
"Rear Admiral Geoffrey Tolwyn, it is the decision of this court that
you have been found guilty of disobedience of fleet orders, in that you
knowingly attacked a vessel of the Kilrathi Empire after being made fully
aware of General Order number 2312A, ordering the suspension of all
hostilities.
"It is the decision of this court that you hereby be stripped of your
rank and suffer a dishonorable discharge with the loss of all privileges and
honors due your rank."
Banbridge lowered his head and nodded. A Marine captain came forward
and took Tolwyn's ceremonial sword, which had rested on the desk of the
court martial officers since the opening of the trial. He placed the tip of
the sword on the ground and held it at an angle. Raising his foot he slammed
his heel down on the side of the blade, snapping it in half. The crack of
the sword breaking echoed through the chamber and Geoff winced at the sound.
The Marine tossed the hilt of the sword on the floor by Geoff's feet and
then stepped up to Geoff.
The Marine looked him straight in the eyes and Geoff could see that the
man hated what he was about to do.
Grabbing hold of the insignias of rank on Geoff's shoulders the Marine
tore them off with a violent jerking motion so that Geoff swayed and
struggled to keep at attention. The Marine again looked him in the eyes.
"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered and Geoff nodded a reply.
The Marine turned back to face the court and placed the torn bits of
fabric and brass on the desk.
Geoff looked squarely at Banbridge and snapped off a salute, trying not
to notice the tears in his old mentor's eyes. Breaking with tradition he
leaned over and picked up the broken hilt and blade of his sword, turned,
and marched out of the room. After he left a side door opened and a lone
figure came through it, bending low and then standing up to his full height.
"Ambassador Vak'ga," Banbridge said coldly, "the fleet wishes to extend
its apologies over this incident and as you were informed this morning,
restitution will be paid to the families of those killed in the incident.
Admiral Tolwyn has been dishonorably discharged from the service in
punishment."
"Does that mean that he will now commit Zu'kara?"
"Zu'kara?"
"How do you say it?" Vak'ga rumbled. "Yes, ritual suicide in atonement
for an act of shame to ones hrai, I mean family."
"That's not our way, Banbridge replied coldly. "And besides, the
carrier he was attacking had also launched a strike after the armistice and
Tolwyn could be justified in his action by acting in self-defense. Good God,
Ambassador, we've logged more than a hundred such incidents during the first
day, and hundreds more since. Shutting off thirty years of war is not easy."
"So that is it?" Vak'ga snapped. "He is simply told to go away with no
further punishment? With us, for such a crime, he would not even be allowed
the glory of Zu'kara, his throat would be slit and his body hung by its
heels like a prey animal."
Banbridge bristled.
"I'm sure that would be the case for you," he finally replied, the
sarcasm in his voice evident. "As for Geoff Tolwyn, losing the fleet and his
rank is the worst punishment imaginable. After all it was the only family
he'd had for the last twenty years."
He knew that the Ambassador was most likely aware that Tolwyn's wife
and boys had been killed in a raid; most of the holo news reports had played
on that theme as a motivation for his spectacular career and his final
downfall.
"I lost my family too," Vak'ga snarled, "or didn't you know that?"
Banbridge nodded but said nothing.
The Ambassador turned as if to leave.
"Mr. Ambassador, one question before you go."
"Yes?"
"The issue of POW exchange. A full accounting within twenty four
standard days was promised on the day the armistice was signed. We have
fully complied and you have not."
"For us it is no issue," the Ambassador replied. "Anyone who allowed
himself to be captured has lost all honor, he is sa'guk, one who is already
dead to his hrai. We do not care. I do not see why it is of such great
concern to you."
"Because it is, damn it," Banbridge snapped. "We've lived by the
agreement on every point. You are already dragging your feet. I demand a
full reporting of all POWs immediately."
"Demand? We demanded the head of Tolwyn and you slap his wrist and send
him away. We demanded the suppression of your raiders based on your frontier
worlds and an apology from the Firekka for their belligerent statements. I
will not listen to demands from you in turn on such trivial things."
He turned and strode from the room.
War was a hell of a lot easier," Banbridge said darkly.
Jason looked up from his drink as Hunter came into the Vacuum Breathers
Bar.
The "Vacuum Breather" was one of the favorite watering holes just off
the main military base on the moon. It had an old tradition that any patron
who had breathed vacuum, that is experienced the hulling of his ship, and
survived, received an honorary beer mug with his name on it. The far well of
the bar was lined with hundreds of mugs. The first beer of the day was
always free for such an honoree when he came in and his mug was pulled down
from the rack.
Gallagher, the owner of the bar, was legendary for his love of the
service. He was an old fleet lifer with over thirty years service before
retiring, thus his "boys and girls" as he called them, were almost like his
own family and he was always ready to loan an extra twenty, or stand a free
round.
"Any luck?" Ian asked, pulling his mug down from the back of the room
and coming back to settle in by Jason and Doomsday. The barkeep came up,
took the mug, filled it and slid it back to Ian who nodded his thanks.
Sighing, Jason shook his head. Jobs, at the moment, were scarcer then a
good bottle of Firekka Firewater. There'd been a lead that an old
Victory-class transport, a ship that was already out of date when it was
mass produced in the first years of the war, needed a co-pilot and flight
engineer. When he showed up at the office he already knew it was hopeless.
At least a hundred others were there to apply, a few of them old comrades
that he hadn't seen since his days on Gettysburg. It was a great reunion but
no job, the slots filled by the former captain of a frigate and her first
officer who were willing to take pay fifty percent below standard. If it
wasn't for forty/one hundred benefits Ч one hundred a week for forty weeks Ч
and free housing in former barracks and training centers, nearly everyone in
the fleet would be starving to death.
"How about you?"
"Same story," Ian said with a sigh as he settled down to the bar beside
him.
"I always knew it'd come to this end," Doomsday said quietly, and Jason
groaned
"Damn it, man, for years all I've heard you prophesy is that the war
was going to kill you. You've got eight campaign ribbons, a medal of honor,
two silver stars, the Vegan victory Award with diamonds, half a dozen
fighters shot out from under you and how many kills was it?"
"I lost count after sixty."
"And never a damn scratch," Jason said. "Besides that you cleaned us
all out in that poker game last night. You're the luckiest damn pilot in the
fleet and the most depressing."
Doomsday sighed, mumbled softly in Maori, and motioned for another beer
for himself and for Ian who nodded a thanks.
"And I lose all my hard won earnings buying you guys drinks."
"Well, at least we're here to drink," Jason replied, raising his voice.
"Yeah, great, brother, beer money for us all from a grateful
Confederation," someone announced from the other side of the bar.
A chorus of sarcastic laughter echoed in the room and then fell silent
as first one, and then the rest of the patrons of the Vacuum Breathers Club
turned and looked at the door.
A heavily built Kilrathi filled the entryway and though his frame was
imposing he somehow looked a bit lost and nervous.
"Sire!"
"Oh god, it's Kirha," Ian sighed, coming to his feet and approaching
the Kilrathi as he leaped down the steps. He started to drop to one knee and
Ian grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Not here," he hissed, Сand besides, remember I released you from your
oath of fealty."
"But such an oath can never be truly broken, sire," Kirha said
"Just what the hell are you doing here? It's been years since I've seen
you, I thought you were exchanged or something. Why aren't you going back
home?"
"I was with the first batch of prisoners to be released last week. It
was a sad sight, my lord. Many did not know where to go, what to do, not
sure if their hrai will still recognize them. I heard I could find you here
and thought you might know what to do."
Ian slowly grinned.
"You saved my butt once, my friend, and I must say it's a pleasure to
see you again. Come on, let's have a drink.
Kirha came up to the bar, looked at the chairs which had no place for
his tail to stick through, and simply leaned against the railing, towering
over all the others in the room.
"Hey, we don't serve his kind in here," the bartender growled.
"Listen, buddy, the war's over, or haven't you heard, Doomsday said
quietly.
"I don't care, we don't serve him."
"Say, brother, how long you been working in this bar?"
"A week."
"If Gallagher, the owner of this dive, heard you talking like that in
his joint he'd throw you out on your butt. This Kilrathi's a friend of ours
and that buys him a drink anywhere we are."
"I don t care, I'm not serving him."
Kirha looked around nervously.
"If this will cause trouble, sire, I can withdraw."
"Hey, Hunter, who the hell's your buddy?" a pilot wearing the insignia
of a fighter squadron leader on his lapel shouted from the other side of the
bar.
"You blokes heard how Paladin and me rescued that Firekka princess?"
Ian replied.
Most of the men and women in the dimly lit room nodded their heads,
laughed, and groaned. Ian's ability at telling stories of his heroics was
legendary in the Vacuum.
"Well, this is the furball that saved my butt. I'd have been dead along
with Paladin and that Firekka princess if it hadn't been for him."
The crowd nodded their approval and several came up to shake Kirha's
paw, a human ritual which he still obviously found to be disconcerting.
Ian turned back to the bartender.
"So serve him his damn drink."
The man looked around nervously, and mumbled to himself.
"What was that you said about my Cat friend?" a pilot at the edge of
the group snarled.
The bartender looked at Kirha
"Whatya have?" he said quietly.
"Scotch, single malt, make it a triple.
A chorus of laughter echoed around the room, breaking the tension and
even the bartender forced a weak grin as he filled the glass and pushed it
over. Ian started to slide a bill across.
"Sorry about the mistake, Captain. Keep it, it's on the house," the
bartender replied and turned away.
Kirha took the drink up, and bowed to Ian.
"To peace between the hrai of the Kilrathi and of Humans."
He downed the drink in a single gulp and a flash of sharp canines
signaled his delight. The bartender shook his head
"I guess you're all right."
"I've waited a long time for this drink," Kirha sighed, and Ian ordered
up another round.
"So what do you think of all of this?" Ian asked.
"You mean the peace agreements?" Kirha asked
"Yeah."
"It is, how do you humans say it, warmed leavings of a male cow."
A ripple of laughter echoed around the room and even the bartender
smiled
"Why?"
"I know of this Baron Jukaga of the hrai of the Ki'ra. They are the
most ancient of the families, their blood even thicker than that of the
Imperial line. Their hatred of the Imperial family is well known."
"How's that?" the bartender asked, coming over, obviously curious.
"Before we gained space, in the Seventh Dynastic War, the family of the
Emperor gained dominance over Kilrah, defeating the Ki'ra who were forced to
swear allegiance. It surely would have become an Eighth Dynastic war, except
for the arrival of the foolish Utara."
"The who?" the barkeep asked, leaning against the side of the bar and
pouring Kirha another drink.
Kirha laughed, nodded his thanks and downed the drink in a single gulp.
"The Utara came to Kilrah offering friendship, trade, and peace. They
showed us how to make spacecraft, and the secret of the jump points."
Kirha shook his head.
"As soon as we gained space we slaughtered them. They were a weak and
foolish people."
Kirha laughed and pounded the bar as if he had just told an hysterical
joke. His audience looked at him in silence.
"Some thanks," Ian mumbled.
"It's considered quite funny by us," Kirha said, looking around the
room, still chuckling though finally realizing that his audience wasn't all
that amused.
"I guess you don't see the humor."
"Maybe something got lost in the translation, mate," Ian interjected.
Kirha nodded, looking at the bar patrons.
"I see here, yet again a difference between us," he finally said. "To
us, such weakness was stupidity so pathetic that it becomes funny. I take it
you don't see it that way."
"Something like that," a voice from the back of the room said.
"It is why I, and those still prisoners, roared with laughter when we
heard you agreed to this thing you call an armistice. It was an act of
weakness. It will cause a loss of face for you, a loss of respect that you
have in some way earned by your valiant resistance against the might of the
Empire. There is an old Kilrah saying Сsteel against iron is not a testing.'
Though we hated you, and wished to overthrow you, still we came to see that
our own courage could be honorably tested by matching it against your own.
That is the way of finding honor and glory.
"Your leaders have thrown that away. When we come again, it will be
with contempt and the slaughter will be brutal beyond your darkest
nightmares."
There was a stirring in the room.
"And will you help them out, buddy?" the barkeep asked quietly.
"I am without hrai, without country," Kirha said in reply. "I have
sworn allegiance to Hunter; it is now impossible for me to ever go back."
He looked almost mournful and there were even a couple of nods of
sympathy from the others in the room.
"You were telling us about this Jukaga," Jason asked.
"Ah yes, Jukaga. With the freeing from our planet and the outward rush
to wars with races we had never dreamed existed, our own civil wars became a
thing of the past, for at last we had found others to test our steel
against. But the clan of Ki'ra never reconciled itself to the fact that it
was not upon the Imperial throne, seeing this as the fluke of but one battle
lost ages ago. In Jukaga this disdain became more openly voiced with the
reversals of our war against you. That is something I suspect your leaders
have not given full weight to."
"How so?" Jason pressed.
"The fact that it was Jukaga who made the first overture of peace I
find to be surprising. It was not someone of the Imperial line. It means
that he has gained enough power to actually allow the Emperor to permit him
to be the voice of the throne.
"It is an interesting point of balance. The Emperor must have agreed to
this peace because there was some pressure, either from your fleets, or from
the other clans, perhaps both. Yet if he allows the peace to continue,
without a clear cut victory, he and his grandson the Crown Prince will fall
and Jukaga will rise to seize the throne their hrai has coveted for so long.
Jukaga must know as well that if he seizes the throne, but the war is not
then immediately started, he will fall as well, for the drive to killing is
so strong in our blood that we will quickly turn upon each other."
"Did anyone from Intelligence ever talk to you Cats about this?" Jason
asked.
"Oh many times. They were quite nice, some could even speak Kilrah, a
wondrous and strange thing coming from the mouth of a human. We laughed and
told them what we thought."
"And the reports were ignored," Ian said coldly.
"There is a game here," Kirha said, "and you humans are, how do you say
it, paki, pawns, for the power play of Jukaga. I think his wish is to use
the peace to somehow then blame the Emperor, eliminate him, and then
successfully finish the war himself."
"You sound like you don't like Jukaga."
Kirha growled, his fur bristling.
"He and his hrai think my coat not red enough, my blood not thick
enough; my own hrai is descendent from the Ragitagha," and as he pronounced
his clan name his teeth flashed, his mane standing out so that he appeared
to nearly double in size and the crowd backed up a bit, looking at him wide
eyed.
"The Ki'ra," and he hissed, spitting on the floor, "if they think they
can take the throne under the Baron, they must bring a great Victory. By the
blood of my clan I promise you there will be war again and your leaders are
fools not to see it."
"Just like Tolwyn figured it," Jason said coldly, and he heard a lot of
angry mutters of agreement.
"Tolwyn, that traitor," a voice announced from the back corner of the
room, "they should have shot the bastard"
The room went silent, everyone turning to look at the speaker, who sat
at a dimly lit table, surrounded by half a dozen men and women who looked
around nervously. Jason could tell instantly that they were outsiders and
that reaction he found to be curious. He'd been around military types for so
long a group of obvious civilians in a military bar seemed strange.
Nearly everyone who frequented the place now were either the few still
serving with the fleet or ex-service, easily identified by the gold star of
the army, fleet pin, or fouled anchor pin of a Marine on his collar. There
was also an unexplainable something else that so easily set the veteran
aside, a bit of a distant far away look, from having seen the far reaches of
known space, from having fought, and far too often having seen friends die.
The six in the corner were not of the club.
The room went quiet for a moment and Jason finally broke the ice.
"It's a free Confederation, go ahead and speak up if you want to," he
announced.
A short portly man stood up and came over to the bar, followed a bit
nervously by the rest of his group.
"Doctor Torg's the name, he said, "I didn't get yours."
"I didn't give it, but it's Bondarevsky."
"Oh yes," one of the women behind Torg gasped. "I saw the holo about
you. Oh, the girl you loved was just so beautiful."
"The actress didn't look anything like her," Jason said quietly.
"But still it was so sad," and she came up to Jason's side and actually
touched him on the shoulder and then looked back excitedly at her friends.
Another woman in the group looked at the excited girl and shook her
head.
"Say, Lisa, just back off a bit, OK."
"But he's famous, Elaine."
"I don't think he really wants the attention," Elaine replied.
Jason nodded her a thanks and then looked back at Torg.
"You don t like the Admiral, is that it?" Doomsday growled.
Torg looked over at Doomsday and then turned away, ignoring him.
"Do you know how much this war's been costing us?" Torg asked.
"I think so," Jason said quietly.
"Just under eight trillion a year."
"That wasn't the cost I was thinking of," Jason replied slowly, his
voice barely a whisper.
"The Baron is right. Didn't you see his interview on the holo
yesterday?"
"We kind of missed it, Doomsday interjected, so please enlighten us."
"Why, he said that this war was nothing but a conspiracy on the part of
the military to get power and make money. The longer the war dragged on, the
more power your admirals, generals, and military suppliers got."
"Oh, Baron Jukaga said this," a pilot from the other side of the bar
said, "how interesting, and what about their fleet? I guess they're
innocent."
"Why, he admitted that their fleet and military had done the same thing
too."
"Was this holo shown in the Empire as well?" Kirha asked.
Torg looked up at him nervously.
"I don't know, I guess so. He said that a full report would soon be
issued by the Kilrathi-Human Friendship Committee."
"The what?" several patrons of the bar asked in unison.
"Why, it's just a wonderful idea," the excited girl announced as she
walked to the far wall to look at the rows of silver mugs. "Doctor Torg is a
member of the committee, he's even met the Baron."
"The Baron is organizing a friendship committee that will provide for
peaceful exchanges between our peoples," Torg said. "I think he's really
quite sensitive to our culture, to a tolerance for multicultural diversity
in the universe, and the rights of indigenous peoples of all races to live
in peace. I've even arranged for him to speak at my university on Earth
about his understanding of our literature and how to strengthen our ties of
peace."
"Just wonderful. I can't wait to attend," Doomsday said, the sarcasm
dripping in his voice.
"I think you're being too narrow minded in all of this," Torg
announced, looking at Doomsday and at the rest of the patrons who were
shaking their heads.
"Narrow minded. I hung my hide out on the line for over fifteen years
with the fleet and you're saying I'm narrow minded?" Doomsday snapped.
"That's the problem with military types like you," Torg replied with a
superior disdain. "You forget to look at the broader issues. This war was a
lot more complicated than kill or be killed. You military types just don't
see the big picture, that's always been a problem throughout history. I have
my doctorate in sociology, I've made a study of this war and the conspiracy
of a number of people to keep it going."
"Say, I like these mugs up here," the woman who had been talking to
Jason announced, going up to the wall and taking one down. The bar went
silent.
"Especially the ones with the gold handle. How can I get one?"
"You get killed in action, that's how. Gallagher gilds the handle of
the mug when he hears that the owner bought a permanent piece of space,"
Jason said quietly, and the woman looked at him wide eyed and then turned
pale.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know."
"That's all right," Jason replied softly.
She came back to Torg's side.
"Dave, maybe we should go."
"Just a minute, Lisa."
Come on, I think we've interfered enough here." Torg ignored her.
"Listen, pilot, I think I know a bit more about the complexity of this
than you do. As a professor it's been my job to study and interpret these
types of issues," Torg said. "Just because you got a service pin doesn't
mean you own the Confederation. Remember the war's over, friend, so get off
the taxpayers back, get a real job, and get a life."
Several chairs were kicked over and Jason held up his hand as if
signaling his friends not to do anything.
"Listen, buddy," Jason replied. "You heard what Kirha said. This whole
thing is a sham. The Baron's talking us into laying our necks on the
chopping block and he'll be back with the axe. In fact I think some people
in this government are so stupid they're even helping him sharpen the blade
and drawing the line on our necks for us, and you'll be there to help them.
"Are you saying that President Rodham and I are traitors?"
"No, just stupid."
"If there's a traitor around it's you and people like you," Torg
snapped. "It's time to shut the hell up and get behind the government. Those
who disagree now with Rodham are traitors.
"I was never behind our government," Jason replied. "I was out in front
of it, laying my hide on the line. Maybe you people back here on Earth have
forgotten what a real gut-busting war is all about. Yeah, you've paid your
taxes for it, bought your war bonds, and lord knows sent enough of your sons
and daughters off to die in it.
"You're damn straight," Torg replied, "my wife's brother got killed in
it, and more than one of my students, and for what?"
"For what? Listen, buddy, out on the frontier, on the colonial worlds
we damn well knew for what. We saw it up front and up close. We knew that if
the Kilrathi ever got through the thin line of fighters and carriers our
worlds could be scorched to a cinder. I saw enough worlds like that. You
folks back here on Earth maybe have forgotten that."
"Not all of us," Elaine interjected. "I want peace, and I'd like to
believe the Baron, but I can understand what you're saying, Captain."
"It's Jason."
She smiled and Jason could sense Torg bristling that someone in his
entourage was siding with the enemy.
"Then if you want war so damn much, why are you drinking with this
Kilrathi?"
Jason started to laugh.
"You just don't get it, do you?"
"Listen, doc," a pilot said, coming up to join the argument. "If I had
met this Kilrathi in a fight, him and me out there in the middle of it, I'd
have killed him without a second thought and I bet he'd have done the same
to me."
Kirha grinned and nodded.
"But that's my duty and it was his duty. I can hate his Empire, I can
hate what it does, but I can tell you this, at least the Cats serving in the
fleet, the pilots the crews of the ships usually fought honorably. Imperial
legion assault troops, now they're a different breed, but not him, at least
I hope not."
"I was with the fleet," Kirha announced proudly.
The pilot nodded.
"And I respect him. At least he shared the same things I did, the fear,
the months of waiting, the moments of sheer terror. I have more in common
with him than I do with armchair philosophers like you who think you know
about war. You professor types kill me. You think just because you get that
Ph.D. you're God almighty and everyone is supposed to kneel and call you
doctor. Some of the biggest fools I ever met when it came to war and
politics I usually found back in the classrooms. You fill your students'
minds with a bunch of crap about a world you don't even understand. You
don't have a clue as to just how nasty the real universe is, and then you
attack those who are protecting you from the darkness that would rip your
guts out if it had the chance."
"You're just another ignorant military brute," Torg sneered.
The pilot snapped.
"I spent four years at the Fleet Academy and six years in advanced
training. I have the equal of a doctorate in aerospace engineering and nine
years of combat tours," the pilot snapped. "As for this Kirha, I'll buy him
a drink anytime. As for you, the damn thing is I'll die defending you when
this war starts again, and that kind of makes me want to puke right now."
Torg hesitated for a second, unable to reply.
"Let's get out of here," Torg finally announced, looking back to his
friends. "There's just no sense in arguing with people like this."
"What do you mean people like this?" Ian interjected.
"You know what I mean."
"No, enlighten me."
"War mongers, that's what you are. You get your kicks out of it, and
then live high on the hog, taking your hundred a week pension out of the
taxpayers like me. If I had my way, we'd have ended this war years ago and
then spent the money for things that really count and not waste it on your
high tech war toys that are good for nothing but killing."
"I thought freedom was worth something," Doomsday interjected "Enough
of my friends died for it. Enough of my friends died so you could come here
and play tourist and speak your piece. That's the problem with people like
you. You forget all too quickly just how expensive freedom really is and
then curse at the very people who gave it to you. No wonder I'm always
depressed," and he turned away.
"Now I know where I've heard your name," Torg snapped, ignoring
Doomsday and looking back at Jason. "It wasn't that holo movie, it's that
you're one of Admiral Tolwyn's hangers-on. He's just the type I'm talking
about and he got exactly what he deserved. In fact I agree with the Baron,
he should have been executed."
Even as he finished speaking he realized he had overstepped his bounds.
Jason stood up and Ian put out his hand to restrain him. The bar went as
silent as a tomb.
Torg backed away a step.
"Come on, let's get out of here," he snapped, trying to exit with a
display of bravado and contempt and failing miserably.
"He turned and headed for the door and then looked back nervously over
his shoulder.
"Elaine."
"Go on, Torg, just get out of here. Haven't you done enough already?"
Torg quickly went out the door and then started talking loudly again,
denouncing Tolwyn and the military to his followers.
Jason turned back to the bar as Elaine came up to his side.
"I'm sorry, Jason."
"Why don't you just go, he whispered, trying to control the anger in
his voice.
"Jason," and she touched him on the shoulder.
He looked over at her, shrugging his shoulder so that she drew her hand
away.
"He's a jerk," she said
"I'd call him something else," Kirha said, and she smiled.
"Listen, Jason. There's always some people like him around."
"Well, he sure seemed like one of your friends."
She laughed softly.
"Like hell. He's a professor on some stupid committee that's supposed
to look at turning over some of the bases here on the moon to civilian use.
I'm up here on assignment to cover it."
"A reporter?"
"Yeah, a writer of sorts, my magazine wants me to do a story on the
project. That's how I wound up with him this afternoon."
"Oh great, another member of the press," Doomsday mumbled.
She laughed
"We're not all idiots," she replied, "and what you heard from Torg
isn't what most people think. Sure, we want peace, but most of us, myself
included, are still suspicious of this whole thing. And I'll tell you this,
you might have your idiots like Torg ranting and raving on some campus and
boring the hell out of his students but he's a joke to anyone with real
sense. Nine out of ten people are damn proud of you. My older brother put in
two tours with the Marines till he got invalided out and I'm proud of him.
Ordinary folks aren't big on talking about it, but they feel it inside," and
as she spoke tears came to her eyes.
"Well, the way the papers and holo stations report it, it doesn't seem
that way," Jason said
"You know and I know the full story never really gets told, and didn't
your mother ever tell you don't believe everything you read?"
He laughed softly.
"As a matter of fact, she did."
Elaine smiled.
"Look, I've got to go," she said and then fumbled in the bag over her
shoulder. She pulled out a card, scribbled a number on the back of it and
handed it to him.
"That's my phone number while I'm out on assignment, and the card's my
business office. I'll be up here for a couple of more days, maybe we can get
together for a drink."
"I'd make a great story, is that it? Ex-hero, what is he doing now?"
"Don't be so defensive," she said quietly. "It's not that at all."
"A pick up then, is that it?"
"You wish," she laughed. "No, just being a friend. That jerk really
embarrassed me. Most all of us are damned grateful for what all of you did
in the war. A lot of us lost people we know. If we're buying the peace thing
its because we just want the damn thing to stop. The offer's just being a
friend, nothing more."
She looked at him and smiled.
"Honestly."
"You know we want it to end too," Jason replied, "but we want it to
stop after we know it's really over, and that we or our kids after us don't
have to go back out and fight it all over again.'
She nodded in reply.
"Just a friendly gesture on my part, no strings attached. OK?" She
extended her hand.
"OK," and he smiled softly.
She shook his hand and turned to leave and then hesitated, looking up
at Kirha.
"So you really think its a trap?"
Kirha nodded.
She sighed and left the bar.
Shaking his head Jason watched as she headed out into the main corridor
and disappeared around the corner. He had to admit she certainly was
attractive, he always did have a thing for very slender brunettes. But then
the flash memory of Svetlana hit him and all the old pain came back again.
He folded her card up and pushed it under the coaster for his beer. The
whole thing with Svetlana was still too close for him to want to even make a
try at getting involved again.
"Think what that professor guy said is for real?" the bartender asked
"If so you'd better learn how to serve Vak'qu, because many of my
former comrades will be drinking in this place once the next war is over,"
Kirha growled.
"What the hell is that?"
"It makes what you call single malt scotch look like bak."
"Bak?"
Kirha and Ian laughed
"It has something to do with old diapers, Ian cut in. "Let's just say
Vak'qu will burn a hole right through durasteel."
"Hey, look what just dragged in," Doomsday announced and to the shock
of everyone he leaped from his seat and went up to greet a short, almost
baby-faced pilot coming through the door.
"Lone Wolf Tolwyn," Jason shouted and went up to join Doomsday in a
round of backslapping.
At the name Tolwyn the other pilots and ex-service crowd in the bar got
up and gathered around him.
"How's the old man taking it?" and the question was shouted a dozen or
more times as Kevin made his way up to the bar and allowed Doomsday to buy
his "old life saving buddy," a drink.
"It's been tough on him," Kevin announced quietly. "He's retired to the
family estate out on the Shetland Islands. At least out there the press
can't get at him."
Kevin chatted with the crowd for several minutes and then caught
Jason's eye and motioned for him to break away from the group.
As they moved away Kevin nodded for Doomsday and Ian to join them in a
corner of the bar. Settling down around a table which was covered from one
end to the other with carved initials and squadron insignia Kevin looked
around at his old comrades and smiled.
"My uncle sent me up here on a little, how shall I say, recruiting
expedition."
"For what?" Jason asked.
"I can't tell you, because I don't even really know myself, but he's
been calling in a lot of his old comrades and personnel to stop by his
estate for a visit. He sent me out to round up some of you hanging around
out here at the old base. Would you three be willing to drop down to Earth
for a day or two?"
"Anything the old man wants," Ian said.
Kevin smiled.
"There's a shuttle leaving in three hours and I took the liberty of
booking some seats on it for you and a couple other people I'm looking for.
Transfer over to the London shuttle once you get to Earth orbit. Touch down
and head to gate 443, there'll be a ground hop waiting for you there. I
don't think I need to tell you that this little trip is very private, so
lets keep a secure lid on it."
Ian suddenly frowned and looked back to the bar where Kirha was looking
over expectantly at him.
"Got a problem," Ian said quietly and motioned to where his Kilrathi
friend was sitting.
"What about him?"
Kevin looked over at Kirha and smiled sadly.
"My uncle said that poor Cat might try and look you up. I'm sorry, Ian,
security is just too tight on this."
Ian nodded sadly.
"Look, let's do it this way," Jason interjected. "Your family still has
that farm back in Australia. Send him there until we finish up whatever it
is the Admiral wants."
Ian smiled and then reached into his wallet and pulled it out.
Doomsday, Kevin, and Jason, seeing the dilapidated condition of Ian's
wallet and overall financial condition pulled out what money they had.
"That ought to be enough to buy him a ticket. Thanks, lads."
"Look, he can take one of my seats down to London, and then you can fly
him to Australia from there. I'll get in contact with my uncle and make sure
someone meets us at the shuttle port to take him out."
Ian nodded his thanks.
Kevin smiled and shook hands around the table.
"I'll see you at Windward."
As the London shuttle turned on final Jason found that he had to nearly
fight with Kirha for a look out the window. Though he had spent a year
Earthside while Tarawa was going through refit, he had never had a chance to
get to London. He was seeing precious little of it now as Kirha kept leaning
over him to look out the window.
"Ah boys, it'll be good to hear real kings English spoken as it should