Lost heir, p.20
Lost Heir, page 20
Taking another bite of his toast he chewed slowly, seeming to be really eating up the attention, especially now that Pam, Karen, and Sally had turned toward him, obviously listening intently. Maeve turned her back to them, so none of them could observe how all of this affected her.
She heard someone, Dunn probably, slap Peterson, growling in exasperation. “Get on with it!” Dunn ordered.
Peterson continued, “So, I looked up and couldn’t see a problem with the other medic.” He paused again, chewing.
As Maeve glanced back, she saw Fleisch lean over the table, as she said, “I’ll ask Jebet to tell the rest, if you don’t.”
Peterson just continued, smiling, “There’s nothing much to tell. His Highness had the medic face down on the deck with his knee in the middle of the guy’s back. Big brute, too. His Highness had the medic’s wrist twisted back so tightly I thought it must be broken.”
Sergeant Vincent Klostermann, a big man who looked almost like a door, broke in, authoritatively. “So did the kid throw up? Of course not. I trained him; he’s strong inside. If you don’t freeze up the first time, you’ll be okay. End of story.” Maeve was confused by the look of obvious relief on Hugh’s face when he heard this.
Maeve looked down at her plate, unseeing, lost in her own thoughts, as the Marines started laughing, before going over the entire thing again, bit by bit, this time with Hugh adding some details. Pam and Karen joined them as Sally walked out of the mess.
Maeve began fuming inwardly. They had hardly mentioned her part in it. Without her, where would they be? Still there, or dead!
Grudgingly, she had to concede, at least if she wanted to be honest with herself, that his reflexes were great. He took down Paul Bhat and Hamilton Pogue just like some gunfighter, and then Zane Weston, as easily as if Weston had been a raw recruit. But what else does His Majesty have? He had brutally threatened Weston, but would he have tortured him? Weston had believed it, and he should know, the pig! But the Marines, talking among themselves, said Hugh would never have tortured and killed him in cold blood. She just didn’t know. She didn’t notice Gail slide in next to her with a tray.
“So, Ensign, how are you feeling this morning?” Gail asked lightly. “Sleep okay?”
Grateful to Gail for dragging her attention away from the Marines she’d been working so studiously to ignore, she smiled brightly. “Not bad. Anywhere away from Hamilton Pogue is wonderful.”
Gail nodded, Maeve noticing how Gail’s hooded eyes examined her. “I meant to ask you yesterday, but between arranging new quarters, allowing everyone some much-needed rest, and getting things settled after our hasty exit, we had no time. Who led your team? I might have known her.”
Maeve’s eyes clouded, reflecting the sadness filling her soul. “Priscilla Jenks. She had been assigned to help my father after mother died. She just kind of took over caring for me after Morgain killed him, too.” Tears began to prickle at the edges of her eyes, threatening to burst out at any minute, however a sudden huge burst of laughter by Hugh quelled them.
Looking up into Gail’s eyes, she saw compassion and understanding.
“It’s okay, I understand what you’re feeling, really I do,” Gail murmured so no one else could hear. “Just don’t be too hard on the Marines, either. They need to blow off steam like this or they’ll explode. Remember, they lost a friend yesterday, so they need to handle the loss, and this is how they do it. I’ve known them a long time and they’re all good men, especially Hugh.” Pausing, she went on, “A long time ago, I knew Priscilla well. I am sure she loved you as deeply as if you were her own daughter. She couldn’t have children, you know.”
“I didn’t know.” Suddenly, Maeve couldn’t speak, a lump forming in her throat as she fought emotions she’d never acknowledged. “She never shared anything about that.”
Sadness filled Gail’s eyes, too. “She suffered a lot of pain because of that. I think that might be part of the reason she went to work for your father. She saw a little girl with no mother and, as a woman who could never have a daughter, well . . .”
“Dad told me she did more than just assist him, and I could tell she liked me. He said he couldn’t tell me anything else until I grew a little older, though.”
Gail half nodded, as if in partial confirmation. “Maybe so. Did Priscilla ever show you a strange bag?” Maeve’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Gail just smiled, in response. “It appears that you and I need to have a little talk. Privately. Come along to my cabin.”
After finishing breakfast quickly, they dropped their trays in the kitchen and left the mess. Down the corridor, Gail opened her quarters, ushering Maeve in before her. A red icon, warning of a gravity change coming in the common areas, flashed on Gail’s com. With a corner of her attention, Maeve saw Gail tap it in acknowledgment that changed it to a steady orange. Gail then sat on the desk chair while pointing Maeve to the other. After a pregnant pause, Gail asked neutrally, “Are you descended from any of the emperors?”
Maeve paused to think. Why did she ask that? After considering it for a moment more, she said, “Dad always said we were directly descended from Constantine Jackson.”
“Then are you one of Dave’s descendants or Joseph’s?” Gail asked.
“No, Dad said he came from another line, a granddaughter.”
“I never heard of that line before,” Gail answered pensively.
“Dad used to smile about it, but didn’t go into more detail. He said he’d explain when I grew up a little more.”
Maeve carefully watched Gail as she said this. Gail seemed to be struggling with a decision. Maeve tensed as she saw Gail apparently decide. “You don’t have a bag with you. Did you ever have one?”
“No,” Maeve answered truthfully. She ordered her face to be innocent and sincere.
Gail smiled sadly. “You really can’t fool me. Your face agrees with what you just said, but your eyes tell me you’re hiding something.”
As Maeve began to protest, Gail held up a hand, stopping her. “I know you don’t have it, since you came aboard without it. I’m also sure you know exactly what I’m asking about. Priscilla received training to be proctor, just like Ward and me. We all were trained to test the heirs of the empire. Ward is here with Hugh. My last heir assignment focused on a sweet girl named Anna Beth Fitzgerald. She died off Yak Peak, where my ship got shot to ribbons rescuing Ward. A long time ago.”
Maeve saw that Gail’s eyes glistened with tears. She felt tears welling in her eyes, in empathy for Gail’s loss and in what she could only think of as a delayed reaction to all of her own. Nevertheless, it had been so long since she had let her true emotions show, it seemed wrong somehow, and dangerous. With an effort, Maeve composed herself so she could focus on Gail once more.
Gail gave her an off-kilter smile as she patted her hand. “We’ll talk about this some more, but you must be an heir if Priscilla stayed with you.”
Maeve’s thoughts froze. Deep inside, it suddenly all clicked: discussions with her father, her sister trying to kill her, the assignment of Priscilla and her team to a young orphan girl. Maeve’s heart pounded as her emotions cascaded from fear and dread to elation and back. But a shadow of guilt hovered over everything else in the background of her thoughts. The price to keep her alive had been so terrible. Did she deserve—had her life been worth—the deaths of her father, Priscilla, and the others? She forced herself to appear attentive, trying not to reveal her inner turmoil. “So, what does this all mean?”
“I have no idea why you ended up on Pogue’s ship, but we can sort that all out later. I feel certain Admiral Davies didn’t intend for this to happen, though.” She shook her head, apparently trying to chase the question away like an annoying fly. “Anyway, report to Sheila, as I’m sure there are electronics to work on. There always are. Did Sally go through the clothing locker we use when running ops, the extra uniform storage, and the supplies yesterday? She told me you didn’t bring any clothes and only a few personal items. You undoubtedly could use a few things.”
Smiling wanly, Maeve said, as she stood, “She did, thank you. I really just needed a few basic items and pieces of clothing.”
Standing, she headed for the door. As she opened it, Gail shouted at her, “Stop!” Twisting her head to look back at Gail, Maeve felt a sudden tug from the corridor. A huge gravitic hand grabbed her. Clutching the door jamb as she spun, she couldn’t quite stop herself, but continued the turn she had begun, which brought her down painfully with a thump on her behind. What the heck?
“What idiot cranked up the gees?” she demanded in outrage. Through the open hatch, she saw Gail stabbing a button violently and felt the gravity return immediately to normal.
Gail answered as relief hit, “The Marines train in two gees.”
At the same moment, the Marines in high-pressure suits, Hugh in the lead, rounded the near corner at a slow trot to find her plopped in the middle of the hall.
Stopping beside her, Hugh asked, “Can I help you, Ensign?” He bent over carefully, as if still under two gees, extending a hand toward her. Although jogging in two gees, he obviously hadn’t even started sweating hard, while she had barely been able to move.
“No, thanks.” Maeve muttered, “I can take care of myself.” Rolling over, she got to her knees before slowly standing up. Using her palms, she steadied herself against the wall, aware of Hugh watching her silently with a puzzled look on his face.
Face flaming with embarrassment, Maeve headed gingerly down-ship toward Engineering. Unconsciously, she rubbed her aching posterior, bringing a gust of laughter from Peterson and a couple of the others. Snatching back her hand, she turned her head to give Hugh a dirty look. As she continued away, she heard Hugh mutter, “Stow it, Peterson.” Glancing back a second time, she saw Hugh stab an amused Peterson with a dirty look. Peterson smirked.
Klostermann spoke up, “Okay, gentlemen. Fun’s over. Back to work. We’ll let her get to her cabin before cranking it back up. So, in the meantime, pick up the pace!” Turning away from the direction Maeve had taken down the corridor, they jogged off.
Maeve saw Hugh twice that day, once in the mess/gym, the other time as he came from the bridge after a lesson. Both times she ducked from sight. She hoped he hadn’t noticed but feared he had seen her both times.
By the next day, Maeve’s pride, as well as backside, felt much better. Pam and Karen had teased her so unmercifully the night before about her pratfall that she had come to the conclusion that she had only two choices: either kill Pam and Karen or get over it. She decided to let it go. Besides, Maeve had begun to discover that Pam and Karen teased and pulled practical jokes pretty regularly. It helped everyone blow off steam. They were beginning to make her feel like part of the crew, and as if she had friends again, something she’d been without for a long time.
By the time she reported for a simulation with the Marines later that day, she actually felt cheery, almost bubbly, which definitely didn’t feel like the person she had pretended to be over the last five years.
In the scenario, they had to rescue hostages. Seeing Hugh walk in, she gave him a welcoming smile. He didn’t smile back, didn’t say hello. Nothing. He seemed to look right through her, which oddly disappointed her and deflated her bubble, as he headed over to Ward sitting in an armchair. Hugh asked, “You up to this, Top?”
Top? Marines don’t usually call a sergeant major that. How involved is Sergeant Major Ward with everything going on? Like a first sergeant? How else were they different? This group could only be called interesting.
Ward just smiled, “I’m fine. Brief the troops and get going, cadet.”
Cadet! Hugh began to formally address the team. Stuffed shirt.
“Today we are going to rescue hostages on a hostile vessel. These are the teams. Dunn, you’re with me . . .” He ran through the standard mission brief. Occasionally, she felt his eyes rest on her, perhaps longer than might have been expected.
Two hours later, the entire team dripped with sweat but had rescued the hostages. Wrapping up the post-op evaluation, Hugh complimented her, “Ensign, you particularly impressed me by your rewiring of environmental without orders. It’s what needed to be done, but I couldn’t figure out what to ask for. You just did it.” He said it in his perfectly proper standard military manner, back straight, face impassive. Finishing, he said, “Good job, Ensign. Good job, team.”
Waiting for the laughing and joking Marines to clear the corridor, she ducked back into the mess to use the showers on the far side. Two minutes later found her luxuriating in the hot water. The delicious feeling seemed to melt away her bad mood. She really had done a good job. And Hugh had noticed and said something about it. Over the last few years, most of the times when she had done good work, her superiors had taken credit while she received the blame for their mistakes.
She heard the door from the gym open. Did I put up the “Women Only” sign? Alarmed, she couldn’t remember. Then, she heard a man humming. “Get out of here!” she screamed.
The humming broke off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see a sign on the door.”
Hugh? Oh, my gosh! “Get out! Right now!” she yelled.
“I’m going. I just need to pull on my clothes.”
Hiding behind the shower curtain, she hoped Pam and Karen didn’t find out or she’d never hear the end of this. The door slammed. Quickly, she dried and dressed. As she stepped out into the mess, she saw Pam sitting with a cup of coffee smirking at her. Maeve colored all the way to her roots. Again!
Gail and Ward sat sharing a snack at a small movable table in the mess, alone except for Dunn. Gail let the peace of this quiet moment together seep into her bones, one of too few they had been able to enjoy the last five years. Leaning forward to examine Ward’s wound carefully, and his look, she asked, “You really think you should put yourself back on full training duty tomorrow?”
“He only shot me in the head, and it has been four days. You think I’m malingering, Captain?”
Ward’s bland expression truly impressed her. Only somebody like her knew him well enough to get his humor. She didn’t find him funny, not today, anyway. “No, I don’t, but you do, Sean Ward. If you want to know what I think, which you don’t because you haven’t asked, is that you should take another week at least.”
Ward just shook his head, “If I did, what would happen to my reputation?”
She just stared at him, grinding her teeth. He could be so exasperating!
Ward gave her a sidelong look. Uh-oh. Here it comes.
“What did you decide about Maeve?” he asked bluntly, but quietly enough that Dunn couldn’t hear.
“Ran her through some unobtrusive psych evals. She’s pretty solid.”
Ward frowned. “You know the old saying about too many cooks?”
Gail’s face hardened. “As I said, she is qualified as far as we know. I seem to recall we were bemoaning the lack of heirs when we started on this little jaunt, so quit whining.” Although said in a whisper, she managed to pack her statement with impressive intensity.
Ward sat back and gave her a rueful smile. “Okay, okay, you’re right. An heir and a spare makes this quest more likely to succeed.” He chuckled at his play on words.
Gail didn’t find that comment even a little amusing. “She’s not a spare, she’s an heir. If I decide she should take the test, then she will.”
Ward’s face became just as hard. “You think that’s a good idea? You know what could happen.” He said this loud enough that Dunn turned in their direction.
Gail gave a sharp nod, making an effort to answer as quietly as possible. “Yes, and I think this could end better than anyone could have foreseen.”
“Or become a total disaster,” Ward insisted.
Gail nodded again, “Or become a total disaster. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t turn out that way.”
“Amen,” Ward answer fervently.
They both ignored Dunn’s questioning look as they changed the subject.
Commander’s Belle, Treadle System
2010 Local, 1610 BBMT 28 October 3473
Captain Argus Steed knocked on Austin Carhart’s open hatch. His boss had been deep in reviewing something on his screen, which he closed at the interruption. Something’s off kilter. “Boss, we have nearly finished supplying, though why we need to have 50 percent extra for the simple run to pick up a load just five days away seems unnecessary.”
Carhart leaned back in his seat. “We’re not taking the load at Francine. We’re headed to Pirate’s Shoal.”
Steed felt his eyebrows rise; he couldn’t hide his surprise. “It’s the best paying load we’ve seen in a while, and no strings. Take three people to Beacon from Fifth Sector who have no other way of getting there. Plus, Pirate’s Shoal can be very bad for your health. Especially after what happened last time.”
Carhart tapped his desk, an obvious signal of displeasure, but Steed simply maintained eye contact. After all these years, Carhart should know better than to try these games with him.
Carhart smiled. “Good points, but we’re going. I need some information and it is one of the two places I can get it.” Pausing, he added, “Maybe.”
Steed nodded. “And the other is more dangerous,” he guessed.
“And the other is much more dangerous.”
“We’ll be loaded and out of here in an hour. But we are flying careful all the way.”
“Whatever makes you happy.” Forestalling Steed from saying, then we’ll head to Francine, he added, “As long as we go to the Shoal.”
Manual for Courts-Martial (MCM)
Revised 3277 by Order of the Emperor, Charles Roland
Good Order and Discipline
Following the breakdown of military obedience to the lawful representatives of the empire in 3271, upon the death of Emperor Burt, the importance of emphasizing not only the role of “Good Order and Discipline” but the necessity of strict enforcement by commanders has become glaringly apparent.
Good Order and Discipline includes all behaviors of each and every service man or women, on or off duty, which supports the mission of the military.
