In Her Name

down the crew ladder, saluted her, then headed off to the next waiting fighter.

Nicole waved one final time to Braddock, then her Corsair lifted off, soaring skyward. It grew smaller, dwindling with distance. Then it was gone.

“Merde,” he whispered after her. Good luck.

Forty-Seven

“Gunnery Sergeant Camden reporting as ordered, ma’am.”

Commodore Marchand acknowledged his crisp salute with a nod. “Please, gunny, sit down and be at ease.”

Eustus glanced uncomfortably at the single empty chair at the end of the conference table. The other chairs were filled with the squadron’s senior officers and the commander of Furious’s Marine detachment.

“Uh… yes, ma’am.” Stiffly, he took his seat, sitting bolt upright as he faced Marchand at the opposite end of the table. He had never been in the flag conference room before, and, under the circumstances, this was not a good time for a first visit. Some hours before, he had been a brevet captain. He had subsequently been reduced to his real rank in the aftermath of the day’s news.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Eustus watched the officers mentally adjust themselves to his presence in the room. After the report of President Nathan’s murder at the hands of Reza Gard, Eustus – guilty by association as a friend of the renegade – had quickly found himself ostracized from the ship’s company. Since then, he had spent nearly all his time with the two Kreelans, for – ironically – they were the only ones aboard who didn’t seem openly hostile to him.

“Gunny,” Marchand began, “no doubt you’ve heard the rumors running through the ship regarding a possible fleet assault into Kreelan space.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eustus replied uncertainly. There had been a lot of rumors through the ship since the Kreelan prisoners had been brought aboard, rumors that had become more fanciful and fierce with every turn of the watch since the news of the president’s death.

Marchand nodded. “Well, as it turns out,” she went on, “such an operation is in progress, and it’s codenamed Operation Millennium. Even as we speak, ships are assembling throughout the Confederation for a sortie into the Empire for what Fleet HQ hopes will be the decisive blow against the enemy’s fleet and their homeworld.” She paused. “We have been given the opportunity to play a leading role in that operation, and that is where I need your help.”

Eustus fought to suppress the trepidation he felt at what he knew must be coming. His fellow Marines, not to mention the squids, had branded him a traitor because he refused to believe the reports of Reza’s involvement with the president’s death and the other murders that had been committed in its wake. The morale on the ship had taken a nosedive after Marchand announced the news. Nathan had been a very popular president, and his death was not taken lightly. And now, Eustus knew with an instinctive certainty, he was going to be offered some way of “redeeming” himself before God, Corps, and Country. “Uh… sure, ma’am,” he said. “What can I do?”

“The plans for Millennium have been underway since shortly before President Nathan’s death,” she told him gravely. “And Reza Gard’s actions and his escape have endangered that operation. If he reaches Kreelan space to warn them, everything we have been preparing for could be lost. We have received orders to stop Reza Gard, by, as quoted in the orders, ‘any and all means necessary, without limitation or exception.’” Marchand fixed Eustus with a calculated glare. “A plan was devised at Fleet HQ for getting the information we need, gunnery sergeant, but the success of this plan depends entirely upon your loyalty and devotion to the Confederation cause, regardless of the consequences to you personally.”

Marchand’s words were more than shocking. Eustus felt violated, raped. The very foundation of his existence had been loyalty to the Confederation, to humanity, and not least of all to the Corps whose uniform he wore. They were asking – no, telling – him that to be considered worthy, risking death for all these years was not enough. His mere association with Reza and his alleged crimes were enough to strip Eustus of all dignity, reducing his past sufferings and accomplishments to nothing. Offering his life to his nation was not enough. No, he had to do something more.

Ignoring the hot sting of tears that he felt boiling in his eyes, he said through clenched teeth, “What are my orders, ma’am?”

Marchand nodded. “High Command allowed extracts of your initial report on the prisoners, specifically that the boy appears to be Reza Gard’s offspring,” Marchand’s mouth wrapped itself around the word with difficulty, as if it were an enormous, rotten apple, “to be released to the press after President Nathan’s murder. Internal Security apparently was unable to capture Gard and Commander Jodi Mackenzie, who as you know is believed to have aided him. Security believes they escaped together off-world, and the information was broadcast in hopes of luring them to a chosen location: Erlang.”

Enya, Eustus thought instantly. Lord of All, he thought helplessly, what is happening? And what do they want me to do, kill Reza and Jodi? He waited, dreading her next words.

Marchand understood what he was thinking. “You’re the only one who can get close to him, Camden, close enough to either stun him or kill him. Either result will satisfy your orders. The same applies to Commander Mackenzie.”

Eustus blinked. “But they haven’t even been tried,” he whispered hoarsely. “How can I be ordered to kill – assassinate – someone who hasn’t even had a trial to determine their guilt or innocence?”

“Their guilt or innocence is not your concern, gunnery sergeant,” Marchand warned stonily. “The president and the Council decided his fate and that of Mackenzie based on overwhelming evidence that no court could ignore. Now, I don’t particularly care for your opinion on the matter. You have received your orders. The only question is, will you carry them out?”

Eustus sat quietly for a moment. What if I’m wrong? he thought. What if Reza had killed the president? Didn’t they used to say that the best spies were the ones you never suspected?

No, he decided, at least not in this case. But even that did not matter. Reza was a Marine, trained to fight and kill his nation’s enemies. But he was not a murderer, an assassin. Reza was a brother to him, and had offered his own life to protect Eustus countless times, and Eustus had returned the honor. On top of that, Reza was his best friend. Reza had never betrayed him. And Eustus simply couldn’t accept that either he or Jodi had betrayed the Confederation.

The people around this table, he thought, throughout this ship, had belittled his sacrifices, his honor as a Marine and as a human being. Considering Marchand’s offer, it was easy to make up his mind. Reza, even more than the Corps, had taught him the meaning of honor, and of being true to one’s self regardless of the consequences. Eustus had offered his blood over the years to show his loyalty to the Confederation; he would not offer up his soul.

Straightening up in his chair, his eyes boring into Marchand’s, he said, “Commodore Marchand, I respectfully submit that I cannot obey the orders you have given me. Ma’am.”

The faces in the room turned to chilled stone.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she said in the hush of the room.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Marchand leaned back in her chair, eyeing Eustus like some kind of offending insect. “You’ve got one chance