years, only half of them ever got through. Looking at the date, he saw that this message had been posted three months ago.
“Well, now that I’ve got you depressed, I can at least say that there’s some good news. Tony and Nicole are doing great. Big surprise, huh? Nicole’s in charge of one of the training squadrons at the Red Flag range now (I’m her exec), and it seems that Tony’s been making quite a splash as a member of the Council. Seems like he hasn’t forgotten to be a Marine, anyway, the way he gives some of those candy-ass senators a good tongue-lashing.
“Anyway,” Jodi went on, her recorded image taking on a smile that was radiant despite her evident sadness at the changes time had brought, “all three of us will be going to Father’s funeral, along with some of the others in your old welcoming committee. Even that stupid Rabat bitch loosened up enough to say she was going. Probably some kind of publicity stunt, I suppose.
“So, I guess that’s it for now.” Her piercing blue eyes turned serious. “Please, Reza, take good care of yourself. Tony says he’s going to write you soon, too. And Nicole… well, Nicole seems to know when to write, so she’ll do it when it’s time. Tell Eustus I said hello, and Nicole promises to send him some more chocolate from Paris next month. I miss you, Reza. All my love to you.” She blew a kiss at him. “Bye until next time.”
The transmission ended.
Reza sat in the dark, alone with his thoughts. He wondered what would happen to him when all his friends were gone. Because he was so different from the others of his chosen kind, it was very difficult to make even friendly acquaintances, let alone meet someone with whom he could share a deeper relationship. Most of those in his graduating class at Quantico toward whom he had felt any kinship had either died or received medical discharges. Those to whom he was closest – except for Nicole and Jodi – were here with him, and had miraculously survived the perils they had faced over the years. But that could not last forever; they were stunning aberrations beside the Red Legion’s massive casualty statistics.
A sudden surge in the activity beyond the canvas drew him away from his melancholy reverie.
“Captain,” Hawthorne, his executive officer said, pulling the makeshift door aside with one tree-trunk sized arm. “Sir, you’d better come check this out. We’ve got a visitor at the perimeter.”
“Show her in.” Reza had sensed the young woman approaching the encampment some time ago.
Hawthorne only nodded, registering no shock or curiosity that Reza knew it was a woman who had come to visit them. He had long ago learned that his commander’s seeming lack of curiosity about elaborating information did not mean he was not interested; it was just that somehow he already knew. “Yes, sir.”
As Hawthorne relayed the orders, Reza put his uniform on over the silken black Kreelan garb he had worn every day of his adult life, the collar of his heritage and standing among humanity’s enemy prominent above the neckline of his battle dress uniform. Carefully positioning the ancient dagger at his side, he went out into the pale yellow light of the command post.
“You don’t understand, senator,” Belisle said urgently, desperately restraining his growing fury as he spoke to the life-size holographic image of Senator Borge. “This man destroyed one of the capital city’s landmarks, and threatened the entire colony with destruction if we didn’t deal with him.”
Borge’s face took on a fatherly look that Belisle found maddeningly patronizing. “Karl, Karl, please, calm down. It is not that I doubt you, old friend. It is just that I find it difficult to believe that the people I dispatched to Erlang would do such a thing. The orders I laid down were very specific, and the command personnel chosen were, shall we say, of the highest reliability. I can only assume that there was a breakdown somewhere in the military chain. Please, rest assured that your interests are my interests, and I’ll do everything in my power to rectify the situation.”
Belisle nodded. Borge was a man of his word, as well he should be. He had profited enough from Erlang’s riches. “What do you intend to do, then?”
“Well, first I need to know the unit that’s causing you all the trouble, so I can track down where things went wrong and fix the problem.” He smiled like a wolf, except wolves did not smile with malevolence. “And if you could provide me the name of the officer in charge, I can… effect a change in his career development profile, as it were.”
“A summary court-martial and execution would be nice,” Belisle muttered.
“That could be arranged, I suppose. Now, who are these people?” Borge’s effigy motioned for someone to take a note.
“I don’t know what unit it is. They never bothered to tell me.” His mouth puckered momentarily in a sudden fit of anger, then he went on, “But the officer in charge is a Marine captain by the name of Gard. I don’t know his first name.”
For a moment, Borge did not speak, but his eyes widened perceptibly. “You said ‘Gard?’ Did he have long, braided hair and a Kreelan collar around his neck?”
Belisle thought about that a minute. “Yes,” he said, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He had been so angry when Gard arrived that he had not noticed any obvious oddities. Perhaps because of the helmet he had been wearing? “Yes, by the Lord of All, he does. How in the devil did you know?”
“Never mind,” Borge said grimly. “Karl, this man is extremely dangerous to our plans, and it is only the worst of luck that put him in charge of the Marine contingent I ordered to help you. I’ll be sending help immediately. In the meantime, do whatever you have to do to cooperate with him. Make whatever concessions are necessary.”
“But that would mean–”
“Just do it, Karl. Remember that it is only for as long as it takes for me to repair this misfortune. Any compromises you make can be undone easily enough. Am I right?”
Belisle thought about it a moment. Giving in to the Mallorys would not be an easy thing, even for a short time. On the other hand, if he agreed to a “compromise,” he just might be able to lure their leaders out into the open and finish them off for good, an opportunity he had missed only by a hair five years ago. His mouth curled into a satisfied smile.
“Yes, of course, Senator,” he said. “And this may give me the opportunity to finish some other long overdue… housecleaning.”
“Good. I’ll have someone on this right away, and they will be in touch with you regarding the plans as soon as they are in motion.” Borge’s projected face nodded once in farewell, then the image faded into random sparks and disappeared.
His spirits lifted, Belisle went to bed and his waiting mistress.
“Please, sit down,” Reza told the young woman standing between a pair of his Marines who, while no taller than she, appeared enormous beside her in their combat gear. He nodded to them, and they quickly and silently left the command post.
“Thank you, captain,” Enya said, having difficulty taking her eyes off him. He was so different from what she had expected. A tall man, lithe and strong, his body was well-muscled, yet sinewy like a cat’s. He would not have seemed that much different from many in his company were it not for an alienness that clung to him. She saw the collar around his neck and his long braided black hair, but was taken most with the jade green eyes that seemed to swirl with color in the dim lamplight. Groping for the chair that was poised across the table from where Reza stood, she nearly tripped and fell as she sat down.
“You have nothing to fear here,” he told her, as he sat down on another of the simple folding field chairs. “You have come representing the Mallorys.” It was not a question.
Enya could only nod. Having seen the arsenal that lay in this camp, and now the quiet power in this man’s
