Indomitable (32 page)

“Theirs, sir?” Another bold question.
Their radar? Whose radar?
Dangerous, dangerous waters he found himself swimming in. But he was already in well over his head and the commandant could have drowned him by now if he'd wanted to. Halvorsen swallowed hard and refused to break eye contact as his brow broke out into a cold sweat.

“The … powers that be … didn't appreciate the lieutenant's actions on Montana, or that she used the stand-down codes to try and take the island. You understand? These … um …
reputed pillars
of our great republic believe some of the senior brass in the Marine Corps and the Navy and their distinguished colleagues in the pro-defense parties are courting a war with the Lusitanians. Headstrong soldiers like Paen feed into their misconceptions. Frankly, I'm inclined to agree with them, at least up to a certain point. I've never been mistaken for a hawk.”

That's an understatement,
Halvorsen thought. Raghavan believed in a strong military to keep the peace, and on that point he and the commandant couldn't agree more. As to the scope of the matter, each man saw it differently, and those differences were a yawning and impassable chasm. Raghavan wanted a fleet force well shy of an arms race with the Lusies. Small, lean, and mean, in other words. A one-major-conflict fleet force capable of handling numerous small wars too. The commandant hadn't been quiet on the matter either, and powerful winds were blowing in his favor. He'd published several articles in
Military Times
and
Defensive Fire,
semischolarly essays that sourced as much history as they did antiwar histrionics. The newsies loved him for it. He was the de facto leading voice among the RAW-MC's “protectionist” generals, after all. Take care of the core worlds—that was the military's chief mandate. Provide for the common defense of the RAW,
not
the whole 'verse. “It's not our job to police every habitable planet out there. We can't afford to do it and no one realistically expects us to.” Guarding the trade routes and expanding commerce, of course. But annexing the verge systems was not in the RAW's best interests. The Republic didn't need to keep expanding. Strategic basing rights on select worlds would do.

Hawks like General Granby,
and Promise I suppose,
the colonel thought, believed in a strong military, so strong that no potential enemy would dare consider threatening it. Granby believed in projecting that force as far as the RAW's budget would take her. Her “interventionist” camp wanted more basing rights, and more planets brought into the fold, and a fleet force capable of fighting two major wars simultaneously. “Contain the Lusies,” went the mantra. Crush them in time, because in her estimation it was going to come to that. Be willing to drop through atmo and go to the deck if and when the time came, and Granby believed the time was at hand. The more allies the better, which was why Felicia Granby had vocally pushed hard for an additional million mechanized Marines in the last defense authorization bill.

“Look,” Raghavan said after carefully sifting his words. “Lieutenant Paen angered the wrong people at the wrong time. Then General Granby went and pulled her little stunt and … she was smart to send the lieutenant on liberty while matters blew over.”

Halvorsen's face gave him away.

“That's right, Colonel. The order came from Granby.” Raghavan abruptly stood. “Gentlemen, now you know and I bet you wish you didn't. You're dismissed. Please walk out of here and forget we ever had this conversation.”

 

Thirty-eight

MAY 20
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0842 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

MARINE CORPS CENTRAL MOBILIZATION COMMAND, OFFICER BASE HOUSING

As Promise entered her
quarters she banged into the door before it slid out of her way. She grabbed the door and forced it the rest of the way open, and then shoved it into its recess in the wall. The door groaned and she heard something snap.
Great. Now I'll have to call base maintenance.

“Welcome home, roomie.”

Sephora was sitting on the bed in a lotus position with a pillow and datapad in her lap and her back to the wall, frowing in concentration. She was on Promise's bed instead of on the cot Promise had requisitioned for her, which was on the other side of the room. Sephora wasn't wearing makeup, and her baggy overshirt made her look incredibly young.

I just want to lie down. Please … move.
Promise leaned back against the door, which had screeched into place but not completely closed.
Careful, P, or you're going to bite her head off. She doesn't deserve it.

“That bad, huh?” Sephora raised her head but didn't look up from her screen.

“Is it just me or did someone dial up the gravity? My feet feel like mechboots. And what is that smell?”

“You're in a lovely mood,” Sephora said. “It's called a candle. The scent is Jasmine Mint Refresh. It's my good-mood candle. At least it was before you walked in.” Sephora glared at her. “It calms me. Maybe you should try it.”

“Maybe
you
should—” Promise cleared her throat. “—give me a moment.”
She doesn't need to carry my burden. She might just put two and two together and blame herself for what happened if I say any more. I could have been busted down or booted out of the Corps altogether. But I wasn't and that's something to be thankful for.
Promise raised her heel and tried to pull off a boot but it didn't want to budge.
Come on.
The lights were too bright and she wanted to be alone and she'd never been fond of the smell of mint. Now she had a headache this big.

“Want to talk about it?” Sephora asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Promise unbuttoned her regular-dress jacket and threw it on the foot of her bed, hoping Sephora would take the hint. Something under the bed wiggled and caught her attention. A string of auburn yarn was poking out of her craft box, sliding down the side. Then it dropped to the floor, slithered over, and coiled at her feet. Promise blinked hard but to no avail. When she tried to squash it with her heel it vanished into thin air.
I've gone mental.
It was one thing to see and talk with her dearly departed mother once in a while. Inanimate objects coming to life took her issues to a whole new level. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and succeeded only in amplifying the pounding in her skull.

“See a bug?”

No, I was trying to squash a yarn-snake thingy.
Promise shook her head and winced.

“Okay, I understand,” Sephora said with disappointment. “But if you ever want to…”

“No—it's not like that,” Promise said. Wearing her problems like a badly tailored uniform wouldn't work with Sephora, and it wasn't fair to the girl. Oh how she wanted to lie down and sleep the rest of the day away, and hopefully wake with some clarity. Be alone. Sephora had her own cot, over there against the wall. Her eyes motioned toward it but the girl was clueless. Empathy and reading minds clearly weren't skills Sephora had had to exercise before.
You're not being fair, P. She's trying. You're shutting her out.

Sephora moved over but didn't invite Promise to sit, which irritated her even more.

“I have this idea.” Sephora turned the pad around.

Promise had half a mind to yank the girl off her bed and toss her across the room. The bold-script banner at the top of the datapad brought her up short.

“Stop Human Trafficking One Life at a Time.” Sephora pulled her knees up and hugged the datapad to them. “While you were out I took your advice about my education. You know, about what I want to do with my life.” She hesitated. “I want to make those bastards pay, so they can't hurt other girls like they hurt me. But I can't.” Sephora slid the pad down her knees. “I shot that man and”—Sephora's voice wavered—“I can't do that again, not like you. No offense?”

“None taken.” A two-word brush-off.
P, what is wrong with you?

“It was just a dumb idea.” Sephora shrugged and looked down at the datapad before tossing it aside.

Tango down, Lieutenant. Well done. Way to crush the girl's spirits.

“Sephora, wait. Look at me.” It came out like an order to one of her Marines. Promise might as well have said “about-face.”

“Sephora … please.” She had no idea how to mother the girl, or even how to be a big sister. A friend? Maybe she could do that.
Sir, if you're there, a little help, please.
It was the sort of prayer with no faith to make it fly. One of desperation, and like usual it felt like it bounced back. She sank to the bed next to Sephora and stretched out her legs until her feet dangled over the side. The achiness in her quads told her it was long past time for a run. She really wanted to sleep and was not up for being the girl's sounding board. “I'm sorry. I'm being selfish, and insensitive, and a complete idiot.”

“And?”

“And don't push your luck. Okay?
And …
I want to hear about your idea. My meeting went badly and I guess I'm still processing what happened.”

“It was nothing.”

Promise leaned over and risked a hug, one of those from-the-side jobs that gave little and expected even less in return. Sephora's flinch told her she should let go. “I'm proud of you. Big. Time. Proud.”

“Whatever.”

“Don't whatever me. I am proud.” Promise squeezed her shoulder and didn't let go. “You've gone through … well, you're a survivor. Not only that, you're an overcomer too. You want to help other girls in harm's way, and give back. That's amazing. It takes courage and strength and guts to want to do that. You make me want to be a better Marine, and if you can do that for me you can do that for other girls too.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Try a thank-you.”

“Okay, that.” Sephora leaned in a bit. Nearly cracked Promise's shell. Then Sephora stood up and walked over to her cot.

It's a start,
Promise thought as her throat felt thick.
A great one. Even if she has a long way to go. I guess I do too. Here I am acting like a victim when the real victim is sitting over there. You are
not
damaged,
Promise wanted to say, but she didn't dare. Not yet. The girl had been traumatized and scared, no question about it. PTSD, for sure.
Join the club, kiddo.
That didn't make her damaged goods, not in that way.

“I'd like to hear more.” Promise nodded at the datapad.

“Well, okay. I want to graduate.” The words came out in a rush as Sephora began to pace about the room, hands circling the air. “Get my certificate and maybe go to college after I save some money.” She swiveled to look at Promise, hands going to her hips. “Intro to Spatial Geometry is going to be a problem.” Sephora crossed her eyes and mock-offed herself. “Oh, I guess I shouldn't do that, right?”

“As long as it's not your trigger finger it's okay.”

“Smartass.”

“You said it.”

Sephora crossed her arms. “I've got a lead on a tutor. Maybe I'll do some volunteering too. I think I could be a good listener, you know, for girls like me. Maybe if I speak out someone else won't have to go through what I did. I can hurt the bastards that way … without the guns, right?”

“Leave that job to me, okay?” Promise's hands were starting to sweat. “I don't like to kill. Sometimes the job requires me to and I'm okay with that, particularly if it means keeping others safe. Like you.”

Sephora nodded and looked out the window. Early-afternoon clouds had rolled in and light rains were expected through the evening.

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it, kid.” Now her hand had a tremor, which made her angry, because it had been a while and she didn't like others seeing her that way.

“Promise, are you okay?”

If we're going to do this she might as well see what she's in for.
“I'm going to let you in on one of my secrets.” Promise reached under the bed and pulled out four silver styluses.

“Are those weapons?”

“No. They're knitting needles. I knit when I'm angry, or upset, or when
this
happens.” She held up her hand and couldn't keep it still. It hadn't been this bad for months. “Knitting helps the tremors. It's like therapy. Want a hat?”

“Sure. Got any green?”

“You're in luck.” Promise pulled her craft box all of the way out from underneath her bed and fished through the spun balls of yarn until she found a bright green speckled orb highlighted with flecks of ocher and sand. Held it up and got Sephora's nod.

“So … want to give me a try?”

“Huh?” Promise furrowed her brow as she cast on her stitches to each of the four needles, and then joined them together to knit in the round.

“You know, do you want to talk?” Sephora said. “I need the practice if I'm going to do this for a living. Pretend I'm your counselor.” She grabbed a chair and pulled up to Promise's bed. “I'll listen while you do
that,
and take some notes, okay? You just need to let it all out, so don't go telling me what you think I want to hear.”

You have no idea.
Promise rolled her eyes.

“What was that?”

“You just reminded me of someone, that's all.”

“I wonder who?” Sandra Paen said from the corner of the room. She was leaning against the windowsill. The blinds were raised and either Sandra's body was shimmering or the light outside was playing tricks on Promise's mind. She never knew when her mother would appear. Morning or night. Or what her mother would be wearing. At the moment it was Marine Corps regular dress and the rank of four stars, just like Commandant Raghavan of the RAW-MC had worn when he'd taken Victor Company away from her earlier that day.