An Officer’s Duty (49 page)

“Wait a second,” Nguyen muttered, swiveling in his seat. He frowned at Ia. “Lieutenant, aren’t
you
from Sanctuary? Heaviest heavyworld in the known galaxy?”

Ah,
damn. I lost that gamble.
The odds hadn’t been more than 20 percent that one of them would’ve remembered that much of her background. Opening the compartment that held her dessert, a whipped pudding, Ia picked up her spoon. “That would be correct.”

“Oh, c’mon, Mike,” Kipple admonished Nguyen. “There’s bound to be a million people on her homeworld.”

“There’s barely even a couple hundred thousand, yet,” Ia corrected mildly, dipping her spoon slowly, carefully into her dessert. “It was settled less than sixty years ago, and even though the wombpods have been popping babies like mad, we don’t have that many people there, yet. We’re only just now starting on our third native-born generation—I don’t know the population numbers anymore. I didn’t exactly stop to count heads, the last time I was there.”

“But, with only a couple hundred thousand, that means there’s a chance you actually
know
the guy!” Knorssen crowed. “Or at least know someone who knows him!”

The hard look Ia shot Knorssen silenced the other woman. “If I say I know him, you will press and press and press in the hopes that I’ll somehow connect you to the lucky meioa, and get you a handout, Private. If I say I do
not
know him, you will think me a liar, and
still
you will press, and press, and press. Telling the truth, or telling a lie, it
does not matter
. My answer will be the same: silence. This subject is closed, because it has
nothing
to do with our mission, here on Blockade Patrol…not to mention, it could be considered a potential violation of Fatality Forty-Nine.

“The
only
gambling I am interested in is the gamble that I can lead the lot of you effectively enough that all of us get back home alive. But in order to
do
that,” Ia warned the men and women seated around her at the table, “I need you to put your minds back onto our job. Is that clear? Because if it isn’t, you need to get your heads out of your daydream-stuffed asteroids.”
Her crude statement made them blink, but Ia figured it was more from the tone of her delivery than its actually content. “You cannot spend money you will not have, if you get shipped back home in a coffin.”

She swept her gaze around the table, pinning each soldier with a stern look. Half of them looked down or away just before she got to them, and the rest lowered their gazes within a second or two. Lifting her spoonful of pudding, Ia mock-saluted them with it.

“Now that we have that settled, I suggest you remind your crewmates on both sides of the
Audie-Murphy
that this is not only a closed subject, it is also not one I’d care to have discussed outside of our ships. I’ll remind you that the Salik get some of the same news Nets that we do, and they’ll be looking for
any
signs of distraction among the crews serving on the Blockade. Eyes to the boards, thoughts on your tasks, and diligence in your vigilance…though I’ll grant you that since our duty shift is over, the
Audie
half doesn’t have to look at the boards for the next…eleven hours, unless and until we get called to action. But the moment we do, Commander Salish and I need you to be at your best.

“In the meantime,” Ia finished briskly, “I have pudding to eat, Kipple has a hockey game to watch, and
all
of you will need your rest.”

Popping the spoon into her mouth, she took her time savoring the treat, deliberately showing by actions as well as lack of words that the subject was indeed firmly closed. Sighing, the others turned away, either murmuring among themselves their mutual condolences, wistfully suggesting what they would’ve done with all that money, or speculating idly on the outcome of the now closely matched hockey game.

A couple of her crew snuck glances Ia’s way, but she pointedly ignored them, calmly scraping up every last scrap of her dessert. No one was going to weasel one scrap of information out of her, particularly not regarding one Meioa-o Fyfer Quentin-Jones.

FEBRUARY 13, 2494 T.S.
BATTLE PLATFORM
MAD JACK
SS’NUK LULK 46 SYSTEM

“SO HOW
DO
you feel about your brother winning the Power Pick?”

Ia groaned and dropped into one of the two easy chairs in Bennie’s office. “Not you,
too
…”

The chaplain worked on pouring the caf’. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in a handout. And the only reason why I asked is that it’s pretty easy to figure out ‘Fyfer’ your brother back on Sanctuary is ‘Fyfer Quentin-Jones’ from the news Nets. Fyfer isn’t a common name.”

“I’m glad you’re not interested, Bennie, because I’ve figured out that
asking
me for a handout is a potential violation of Fatality Forty-Nine, Fraternization. On the business side of things, not the intimate version,” Ia added in clarification. “Thou shalt not mix personal business and any situation in the military wherein a superior/inferior situation exists—actually, if you could do me a
huge
favor?”

“What’s that?” Bennie asked, coming over to the chairs with the usual two mugs. She handed one to Ia before settling into her own chair.

“Flag my file,” Ia said. “Flag it so that if anyone probes deep enough to discover Fyfer’s my brother,
also
make sure the warning pops up that anyone who asks me about him and the Power Pick winnings automatically risks Fatality Forty-Nine…because if anyone
does
, I’m going to ram that down their throats until they choke on it and shut up.”

“Jealous of his good luck?” Bennie asked, lifting her auburn brows.

Ia chuckled and flicked the fingers not holding her caf’ mug. “Oh, hell, no. Actually, I’m extremely proud of him. Pleased for him. Whatever you want to call it. Of course, when I finally do make it back home, I shall have to do my best to pop his ego, since it’ll undoubtedly get rather overinflated over this. But no, I’m honestly happy for him. And
no
, I don’t want the money for myself. I don’t need it.”

“Is that so?” Bennie challenged lightly.

Sipping from her mug, Ia shrugged. “Okay, so I
will
insist that he
pay for my next ticket home. But otherwise, most of my personal needs are covered by the stipend I get as an officer. And I didn’t grow up in a materialistic family, so I’ve never
needed
possessions. Not that I
could
haul around all that much these days, living the itinerant military life.”

“So why don’t you want anyone to know that Fyfer’s your brother?” Bennie asked.

“Because Blockade Patrol is too serious and too dangerous to permit even moderate distractions,” Ia said, shrugging. “Being pestered to death by requests for handouts and introductions would severely weaken our defenses. I need my attention on the task at hand, and I need the attention of everyone around me on the task at hand.”

“Okay…different question,” Bennie allowed. “Why did you declare emancipation from your family at the age of sixteen?”

That was an uncomfortable question. Mindful of Fatality Forty-Three, Perjury, Ia glossed over the subject with the mildest version of the truth she could give. “Because I came to realize that the direction my family wanted and expected my life to go in was not the direction
I
wanted it to go in.”

“Oh?”

The single word held a wealth of interrogation. Sighing, Ia slouched in her chair, trying to figure out something to get the chaplain’s curiosity satisfied. “I…differ from my parents on the standpoint of children. Very strongly. I don’t want any. Yet as a second-gen first-worlder, and living on a world with a high mortality rate, it’s almost obligatory to have multiple progeny.” She circled one hand vaguely. “The wombpods can produce children, yes, and Population Expansion can provide crèche-mothers and crèche-fathers…but children need real parents. And I do
not
want to raise any kids. Even knowing that, my mothers still made the ‘so when are we getting grandkids’ speech, last year. It’s a classic case of
I love them, but
…”

“Fair enough,” Bennie agreed. “Not everyone wants children. Not everyone
should
have children. Domestic abuse, bad parenting skills, neglect…”

“I wouldn’t neglect, abuse, or whatever a child,” Ia dismissed. “I just don’t want that kind of responsibility in my life.”

“What about the responsibility of a relationship?” Bennie asked, slanting a look at Ia over her mug.

Ia wrinkled her nose. “Don’t get started, Bennie. We agreed to part company. We’re stationed nowhere near each other. Yadda yadda—how about I ask
you
a few questions this time?”

Bennie chuckled. “That’s what I’m here for. Though I’m more skilled in philosophical debates than in questions about, oh…say, particle physics.”

Smirking, Ia asked, “So, how ’bout them strange quarks?”

The redhead mock-frowned and shook her head. “I don’t think they have a chance at the gold. It’ll be the charmed quarks at the top of the podium, this Olympics.”

Ia chuckled. Then sat up. “Oh—I wanted to watch the Biathlon Mass Open. We have two soldiers competing on the Terran team…uhh…Jana Bagha, and I forget the other fellow’s name. They’re both Sharpshooters in the Special Forces. I think it’s supposed to be starting soon…
ah
, slag,” Ia muttered, checking her chrono. “It’s
already
started. I didn’t realize it was so late. You want to watch it with me? Catch the end of it, at least?”

“Sure.” Twisting, Bennie tapped the wall monitor, turning it on. “It doesn’t help that the host-world, Brown-Valley-Green, has a day-cycle that’s rather difficult to convert into Terran Standard.” She consulted the programming list and changed channels to the right one. “Yep, already in action. Six klicks into the race, too. Care to wager who buys dinner on the outcome?”

“Sure,” Ia agreed, stretching out her legs as the screen started blaring the noise of the crowd as they watched the racers alternating between skiing and shooting at targets. “And just because I like rooting for the underdog, I’ll pick the Terrans to place at least one medal on the platform.”

Bennie snorted, curling up with one ankle under the other knee. “Terrans haven’t placed in any medals on the platform for the last five Olympics—not in the Biathlon, at least. It’ll be Solaricans all the way. Fast, furry, and native heavyworlders. Triple sweep.”

Ia hid her smirk behind the rim of her cup, already knowing the outcome. “You’re on. And since the bet is a lobster dinner, I’ll raise the dessert stakes to one of those medalists on the podium being a soldier—Terran, Solarican, or whatever, we’ll have a soldier on the stands.”

“Oh, you are
so
on. I heard Samdie’s Restaurant up on Deck 14 just got a shipment of live lobsters and Belgian chocolates. Prepare to lose
two
weeks’ salary, meioa,” Bennie quipped. She paused and eyed Ia. “You
do
have enough money to cover the bet, right?”

“I do, if you do,” Ia shot back, draining her mug.

FEBRUARY 16, 2494 T.S.
SS’NUK NEH 1334 SYSTEM

Ia was alone in the gym cabin, watching the last event of the Olympics as she exercised in extra gravity, when Commander Salish apparently decided to switch the main channel feeds to the Nebula News network. The
Audie-Murphy
was sitting on the system’s edge, doing nothing more strenuous than monitoring lightwave readings. They were permitted only six hyperrelay channels when out on patrol, one for the news Nets, another for communication with their Battle Platform base, one for communicating with any ships they encountered, and the remaining three reserved for coordinating lightwave data with insystem buoys and any scanner probes they might launch.

Instead of catching the end of the icefalls speed climbing event—one of the few winter sports events the K’katta could participate in, since their legs weren’t built for skating or skiing—Ia found herself being given a hovercamera’s-eye view of the main docking promenade on the space station orbiting her homeworld, Gateway Station.