An Officer’s Duty (64 page)

Clicking and whistling, the K’kattan envoy chittered, letting his translator box explain the honors bestowed. “And this is the Sash of Sentientarian Aid, specifically bestowed upon those aliens who go out of their way to render assistance to our kind. Thank you, meioa. May there always be such acts of compassion, valor, and honor exchanged between our kinds.”

“Thank you, Ambassador.” Dipping her head, she carefully rose back to her feet. Though she had regained much of her illness-sapped strength, the weight of the medals now pinned to her jacket—all of her medals, pinned in place for this very formal occasion—made it feel like she was wearing the upper half of her weight suit instead of her Navy Dress Blacks,
her most formal uniform with the blue stripes down the black sleeves and matching pant legs. A uniform she would have to remember to take with her.

“Go forth onto the plains of war,” the alien chitter-translated, giving Ia one last benediction, “but may you one day retire in peace and long life in the trees, Guardian of the Terrans.”

“Thank you, Ambassadorrr Ch’chullwik,” the master of ceremonies stated. Sent all the way from the Solarican homeworld, Prince of the Blood Nazrrin gestured for the last set of presenters to step onto the stage. “War Prrincess Ia, I prrresent to you the Secondaire of your own goverrnment, Meioa Justinn Mandella.”

The tall Human strode onto the stage with the same confidence as the last Secondaire Ia had faced. Prince and Secondaire exchanged murmurs in greeting, touching palms and pursing their lips in Solarican-style smiles, then Secondaire Mandella faced Ia, his lips still closed but now stretched wide, Human-style. “Lieutenant Ia.”

She saluted him. “Secondaire, sir.”

He returned the salute, then clasped his hands in front of his waist. She knew it had to be a calculated gesture; no protocol cabinet member would have allowed him to board an alien station without informing him of the various possible interpretations for common body gestures. It was the Solarican version of crossing his arms over his chest, one which could be interpreted as either stern or playful…and among the Gatsugi could have meant anything from mere hunger to the symptoms of cardiac arrest. “Lieutenant First Grade Ia. You have a bad habit of doing heroic things, don’t you?”

“Sir, no, sir,” Ia denied. “I simply did what anyone else would do, sir.”

“What anyone
would
do, were they in your shoes,” Secondaire Mandella agreed, emphasizing her choice of words, “but not necessarily what anyone else
could
do.”

A gesture from the Secondaire brought a black-uniformed lieutenant up to his side, a silver tray in the other man’s gloved hands. He was a match for the uniformed sergeant standing behind Ia’s shoulder, carrying the tray burdened with the paraphernalia of her honorifics from the other governments.

“For your acts of extraordinary psychic service…simply
extraordinary…it is my privilege to bestow upon you the Blue Heart,” he informed her, opening and displaying the distinctively shaped medallion. Eyeing her jacket, Mandella snapped the box shut. “Normally, I would pin this on your jacket, since our records show this is your first official Blue Heart, Lieutenant. But it seems you lack the room to display it on your chest.”

“Sorry, sir,” she apologized.

“Are those all of your medals?” he asked, lifting one brow.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Ia replied, straight-faced.

Curious, he arched a brow, looking her over from head to toe. She turned around crisply, toe tucked behind heel, and displayed the ones carpeting the back of her jacket. Another about-face allowed her to face him again. The only spots not covered in medals were an inch or so from the bottom of the jacket hem, her collar points and shoulder boards—reserved solely for the silver bar of her rank—and the actual lapels of her jacket, save that the left one held her Star of Service from two years before. The only medal that ever went on the right lapel face was either the Red Heart of an honorably retired soldier, or the Black Heart, for service unto death, which was only ever pinned in place postmortem.

Facing him again, Ia spoke. “I won’t stop saving lives, sir…but I may have to ask that my superiors stop recognizing me for it. As you can see, I’m sort of running out of room, sir.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’ll just pass a note to the Command Staff to look into designing a floor-length Dress Coat. In the meantime, consider this duly pinned.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Ia agreed, accepting the box from him.

“And this one, the White Cross, for rescuing a fellow sentient being.
Six
White Crosses, one for each member nation of the Alliance whose people you rescued, the Solaricans, the V’Dan, the Tlassians, the K’katta, the Gatsugi, and your fellow Terrans…”

Accepting each box, she stacked them on the tray carried by the sergeant standing stoically at her side. Other awards passed through her hands, Ten Skulls, for known, confirmed kills of high-ranked Salik generals. Crossbones for the lesser ranks slaughtered when the base was destroyed. A Rearguard Star, for being the last of the two ships to flee, holding off the
enemy’s counterattacks with her abilities, and another Screaming Eagle for successfully tailgating Viega’s vessel through that hyperrift without destroying either ship. A White Heart for rescuing herself, and a Purple Heart for the injuries she had suffered.

“And finally, most importantly,” Secondaire Mandella presented, “the highest peacetime honor the Terran government can bestow. As much as we have made it a standing practice of honoring the honorable and extraordinary efforts of the meioas in our Space Force and its Branches, it is a very rare individual who goes so far above and beyond the call of duty that they risk not only life and limb for their fellow soldiers, but risk life and limb for the civilians and soldiers of all our allies.

“Like its wartime counterpart, the Medal of Honor, the Star of Service is not bestowed lightly, Lieutenant. You have earned this—
again
—literally through the efforts of your blood, sweat, and tears. May all who see you and hear of your deeds draw courage and inspiration from your shining example of what it means to be a true and honorable soldier of the Terran Space Force. Lieutenant First Grade Ia,” Secondaire Mandella told her solemnly, “I salute
you
.”

Lifting his hand to his brow, he matched actions to words. It was a breach of protocol, and Ia knew precognitively that he would catch quite a bit of flak from the Command Staff for it, as well as some political repercussions from the more conservative factions in the Terran United Planets. The Secondaire and the Premier
never
saluted anyone in the military first. They were the Commanders in Chief during times of peace and war, respectively; others saluted
them
first. But he saluted her now, in a broadcast that was being streamed not just to the Terran worlds, but to every other world in the Alliance.

Blinking hard, Ia saluted him back. When she lowered her hand to accept the last commendation box, she found herself pulled into an embrace. Under the cover of patting her back, the Secondaire murmured into her ear, “You
do
realize you’ll have to face a Board of Inquiry regarding your gifts, right?”

“Sir, yes, sir. I’ve already prepared my defense, sir,” she murmured back, strengthening her mental walls to keep from foreseeing his future. She couldn’t block out the sincere
admiration lurking behind his words, though, forcing her to blink rapidly a second time.

“If I can arrange it, I’ll be there to speak on your behalf. You may not have followed the letter of the regs, but
no one
will be allowed to deny or set aside the
results
of your efforts.” Releasing her, he handed her the Star of Service box, speaking aloud for the broadcast pickups once more. “Remember this day, Lieutenant. Let it be an inspiration to you and to those around you. May the soldiers of
all
nations look to you as their role model in the years to come.”

That’s the idea, sir,
Ia thought, though she kept it carefully under shield, mindful of the other psychics on board. She saluted him one last time, shoulders back and chin level.
The salvation of the Future is counting on it.

SEPTEMBER 10, 2495 T.S.

The aching, nauseating pain ceased abruptly as the mind-blind technician manning the sucker hands on the machine carefully tugged and pushed, shutting it off. Everyone else let out a sigh of relief, or the species-equivalent. From her perch on the table serving as her podium—since the knee-joints of most K’katta barely reached one meter high, rendering them rather short in the presence of the other sentient races in the room—Meioa Nik’ikk addressed the others, her translator box projecting her words in Terranglo over the chittering of her native tongue.

“Thank you, that should be enough for now. We now have enough information to calculate a baseline formula for the rate of interference. Meioa P’hrrn, have you calculated the numbers?”

The Solarican psi in question nodded and stood, writing pad in her hands. “Based on the technician’s calculllations, compared to PsiLeague rrratings, this machine blocks our abilities at a rratio of nearly four-to-one. At full strength, anyone of lless than eighth rrank is completely blocked…but that is due morrre to the painn of this machine, since at Rrrank 2, they could still technnicallly use their gifts to a tiny poinnt.”

“We know that prolonnged exsssposure overwhelms the pssssi,” one of the crested Tlassian priest-castes in the room
hissed, his crest-spikes dipping in displeasure. “Even our ssstrongest priestesss among the captivess could not concentrate passt the first half hour, and ssshe iss Rank 16. In short durationss, I can usse my Rank 15 sskill at almost a Rank 4 rating in spite of this machinne, but not for very llonnng.”

One of the grey-clad Humans snorted. “Smack anyone with a headache that strong for that long, and see how well
you’d
function. We need to figure out how to counter these damned machines. It doesn’t matter if it’s a Kinetic, a Pathy, or a Clairancy, or one of the wild gifts, these devices interfere with
all
of it. Our psychic abilities are the one thing the Salik
don’t
have, the one weapon in our arsenal we can still hold over their slimy heads. But this machine changes all of that.”

Nik’ikk lifted one leg, claw-tips snapping against each other to catch everyone’s attention. “We will discuss that later. Meioa Ia had requested that, once we have ascertained the dampening field’s strength and effects on a KI meter, we test
her
for an official ranking.”

“Can’t we do that later?” another Human complained. This one was clad in the dark red uniform of the V’Dan military. “The problems posed by this machine are far more important than someone’s mental
ego
-stroking.”

Rising from her seat, Ia moved toward the center of the room, where both the KI machine and the anti-psi generator sat on a pair of carts. Still a bit weak, she moved slowly, but she moved. “As much as I’d agree with you, Meioa Jin-Palu, this machine will be necessary to help successfully gauge my rankings.”

“What I/myself want/need to know/grasp/understand,” one of the Gatsugi psis spoke up, “is who/what authority made/gave you/you/you the right/privilege of ownership/control of/over this/this thing/machine.”

“I will answer that question, meioa,
after
I have been tested. First, I need my gifts officially ranked,” Ia told them. “I know
what
they are, and I have an idea of their strengths, but I have not been officially, formally tested. For reasons you will soon see.”

Reaching the bench seat the other volunteers had used, Ia settled onto it. Each wave of headache-inducing interference had weakened her temporarily, but with her reserves slowly regaining strength, she had managed to bounce back a fair bit.
This, however, would leave her weak and sweating once it was done. Nodding at the technician, she gave him silent permission to wire her forehead and hands to the KI monitor, a necessary precaution to prevent her testing from picking up too much interference from the others.

“We’ll do this in reverse order, from weakest to strongest gift,” Ia stated as he applied the sticky patches to her skin. “I need a volunteer from one of the other species to test my Xenopathic abilities.”

One of the Gatsugi volunteered. Of all the other species gathered in the room, their thoughts were least like a Human’s. Only a Choya or a Salik would have been more different among the oxygen-breathing, carbon-based sentiencies, but neither race had psychic abilities. When the four-armed alien settled onto the bench across from her and had composed himself into a light shade of calm-blue, the Solarican technician instructed Ia to begin.

“First test. Conntact the meioa-o’s mind from a distance.”

“I’m not very good at the non-touch-based Pathies,” Ia muttered in warning. Breathing deeply to center herself and settle her thoughts, she reached out, sensing the Gatsugi’s whirling cascade of thoughts. The alien obligingly kept his mental walls lowered, but did not reach out to her in any way. Politely, she kept to his surface thoughts. Not that she could have read much of anything at a greater depth; Ia simply wasn’t that strong.

“Rrrank 4,” the technician stated. “Now, trrry it via touch.”

Shifting forward, Ia held out her hand. The Gatsugi extended one of his lower arms, four digits meeting five. His flesh was cool-calm, his walls still down, his thoughts a swirl of polite welcome. (
Greetings/Salutations/Hello…
)

(
Hello/Hello, thank you/my gratitude,
) she returned, shaping the thought along his alien patterns. She had practiced a little bit by reading Salik minds during her various boarding sorties, increasing her original rank, but hadn’t been able to practice a lot, nor all that much on the meioa’s own species.

“Rrrank 6,” the tech concluded as Ia and the alien released each other’s hand. “Next?”

“Biokinesis, others. Xeno or otherwise, it’s the exact same,” Ia stated. “My ability to affect others is several ranks below my ability to affect myself.”