They fell in line behind him. The animated conversation about outhouses continued while he focused on Nishimura’s words. I wonder how long it will be before someone raises a toast to me. Or someone in Alpha. One thing that rang true with him was he needed to make every day count. No regrets.
18
After the Zvika Greengold returned to the CDF station that marked their halfway point on the convoy escort mission, Tehrani had expected to see Agent Grant standing at the airlock door when they extended the transfer tube. Numerous CIS SIGINT—Signals Intelligence—technicians had been waiting for them but no Grant. After the past week, she couldn’t have cared less. Overseeing the removal of the captured data and transfer of remains for transport back to Canaan had left Tehrani drained. If I let myself stop for a minute and think about what’s happened, I’m not sure what the emotional toll would look like. Perhaps, she mused, that was why there was always something else to do.
Later that afternoon, Tehrani was back in her day cabin, crunching away on paperwork, when her door buzzer went off. “Come in.”
The hatch swung open, and Agent Grant’s smiling face was before her. He wore a CDF khaki service uniform, though it lacked rank insignia. “Good day, Colonel. May I have a few minutes of your time?” Grant asked in a perfectly reasonable tone, like he had no other care in the galaxy.
Tehrani’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. “How did you get in here?”
Grant walked in and sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Well, it’s quite simple to blend in. For a spy, anyway. Especially when I’m in the right uniform.” He steepled his fingers. “I must confess… we were blown away by how your ship pulled off the mission. I had less than thirty percent odds on the Zvika Greengold making it back.”
The spook’s nonchalant manner when talking about her ship and, more importantly, its crew, infuriated Tehrani. She stared directly into the man’s eyes. “Do you need something, Agent? Otherwise, I have no interest in listening to your predictions.”
“I see I hit a nerve. Forgive me. That was my way of giving you and your crew my compliments. I thought you might want to know we recovered some extremely actionable intelligence out of the caper. The station you took out wasn’t the only one out there.”
Tehrani shifted. “I figured as much.”
Grant grinned. “What you did will change the face of the war.” He paused. “I really do hope we work together again.”
Something about his tone bothered Tehrani. His entire demeanor was off. “And why is that?”
“It’s nice dealing with fellow professionals,” Grant replied. “Allow me to answer the question you want to ask but are just too polite to.” His mouth grew into a large smile. “I’m not like you or the rest of your crew or the Marines, for that matter. I’m a high-functioning sociopath.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s well-known and in my file. There’s a code of ethics I follow rigorously. It keeps me on the straight and narrow, if you will. Still, I enjoy fieldwork far more than I ought to.”
Tehrani just stared, dumbfounded. How is this guy working for us?
“It has certain benefits. Specifically, I’m able to get over setbacks and losses… quickly.” He glanced around the day cabin. “You, I suspect, not so much. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it.” Grant stood. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Colonel, and I can see myself out.” He grinned again. “As I said, I look forward to the next time.”
“Good day, Mr. Grant,” Tehrani replied, staring at him as he walked through the opening and the hatch clanged shut behind him.
For a long time after he left, she pondered the conversation and had the feeling a bath was in order. A stark reminder that while I’m firmly convinced we’re the good guys, it doesn’t mean everyone in the Terran Coalition has pure motivations. Though she tried to focus on her work, the unpleasant emotions wouldn’t go away.
Another day in the books, another mug of spiced tea—such was the nature of the small rewards Banu Tehrani allowed herself. She’d stayed in her day office, working on the after-action report for their battle at the League station, until almost 2100 hours CMT, stopping only to have dinner brought in. Utter exhaustion had set in. Curled up on the couch in her quarters belowdecks, she took another sip of the hot tea.
The tablet resting on the coffee table repeatedly buzzed, the vibration causing it to rattle on the transparent alloy—warships had very little actual glass because of safety concerns in battle. Tehrani picked it up, to find the vidlink application open with an incoming call from her husband, Ibrahim. She excitedly pressed the button to answer.
A few moments later, his smiling face appeared on the device. “Banu, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she replied. “How did you manage to get through? The commlink lines are jammed.”
Ibrahim’s eyes twinkled. “You’re not the only person with friends in high places. Consider it a gift from a friend.” He beamed. “How are you?”
“Alive.” Tehrani forced a smile, but it morphed into a frown. A tear slid down her face. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.”
“More death?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes. Even in victory, we lose good people.” More tears came along with a choking cough. “So many conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to be glad, even happy that the enemy was vanquished.” Tehrani furrowed her brow. “And that we killed enough of them to make a difference.”
Ibrahim raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’d better read your Quran some more, dear. If you’re still tending more toward being devout.”
“Are you mocking me?” Tehrani demanded.
“No… no. Not at all.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve been attending the mosque near our home every few days.”
Tehrani stared at the tablet in amazement, the
