Special Forces 01 (3 page)

He turned to look at the Admiral, trying to think of a way to voice his concerns in a tactful way. The Admiral was a military man through and through, with a tall and imposing figure. He looked every bit the middle-aged officer with his dark hair touched with grey at the temples and the laugh lines around his eyes, but Rys had sparred with the man personally and knew that the years hadn’t softened him up any. Strangely, even though the man was still in the dark green and gold uniform of Bijordan, he didn’t look out of place in this blatantly civilian environment. Perhaps because he was comfortable here?

Rys wished he could feel the same.

“Sir,” Rys began as a last-ditch effort to relieve the Admiral of his spontaneous and ill thought-out offer, “Are you sure about this? While this is a very large structure, with sufficient room for additional personnel, you still have seven very diverse people living inside of it. I might prove to be an imposition and an impediment to your normal routine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” The Adm — Jeremy negated with a cheery, dismissive wave of his hand. “Sara has a bedroom ready and waiting for you. She is used to spur of the moment changes in plans, being a military wife. We have enough room, and a force ten storm wouldn’t be able to disrupt the normal ‘routine’ of our mob.”

When caught on an exposed, hemmed-in ground, just give up and retreat gracefully.
Rys gave up and reached back into the car to retrieve his gear. He slung one duffle bag over his shoulder and carried the other in his left hand. Admiral —
Jeremy
led the way through the back door, calling as he entered, “We’re home!”

Did he normally announce his presence in that manner, or had he done it for Rys’s benefit?

“Welcome home!” A pleasingly plump woman with curly blond hair and amazing blue eyes appeared from a side door— perhaps the kitchen?—with her arms outstretched. She rose up on her tip toes and greeted Admiral Bloch with a kiss on his cheek, and a lingering hug. “You made good time, honey. And you,” she dropped back to her heels and turned those smiling blue eyes to Rys, “must be Captain Arystair Savar.”

Adm — Jeremy, JE-RE-MY, made the formal introductions. “Arystair this is my wife, and the love of my life, Sara.”

Rys immediately extended his right hand. “It is a pleasure, ma’am. And thanks for taking me in like this.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” she scolded warmly. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she brushed it aside and grabbed him up in a firm bear hug.

Rys blinked, his body tensing with momentary shock, not expecting to have an armful of female, and just stood there for a moment. But as unexpected as this was — did all civilians hug strangers like this? — It was still decidedly pleasant. Very pleasant! He relaxed his stance and gave into the embrace, returning Sara’s hug with his free arm.

“I’m not about to just shake the hand of the young man that saved my husband’s life,” she murmured into his hair. “Especially not when that same young man is practically my son now!”

He had absolutely no idea on how to respond to that. Admiral Bloch had told her that this was simply a cover for a mission, right? Well, perhaps not. The man seemed convinced that all of SF01 needed to be given a taste of what ‘home life’ was like. As much as he enjoyed this hugging business, he was still relieved when she drew back a little, giving him room to catch his breath.

“And I don’t want to hear any ‘ma’am’s,’ do you understand?” she added firmly. “You will call me Sara.”

Rys hoped that would be easier than trying to call her husband by his first name. “As you wish, Sara.” Her name rolled easily off of his tongue, like he had been saying it all his life.

“Good. Dinner is in the oven, but it’s not quite done yet. You just drop those duffle bags here; we’ll deal with them later. Right now, you need to meet the rest of the family.”

Rys swallowed, forcing a squad of space monkeys to settle in his stomach. He dropped both duffle bags to the side by the wall, well out of the way, and trailed after her down a hallway, to a large room at the end.

The room turned out to be some sort of communal living space — it had an abundance of couches, overstuffed chairs, and even a couple of bean bags lurking in one corner. A giant vid screen covered one entire wall. In every available seat there seemed to be children of various ages. They all looked up, a little startled at his entrance, but immediately curious.

Sara beamed at them in a way that eerily reminded him of a drill sergeant with a detachment of new recruits to terrorize. “Children, this is Captain Arystair Savar. He will be Arystair to you, like another big brother. Arystair, this is our oldest son, Brandon.”

Brandon had a stocky, muscular build to him with the same height and dark features as his father. At the moment, he slouched against the end of a couch with a sullen set to his face, and he only nodded once in acknowledgement. Rys had an uneasy feeling that for some unknown reason he was already on this boy’s unwelcome list. Hoping he was wrong, he nodded back, and resolved to look into that situation soon.

“This is our daughter Cynthia, and her twin sister Cecilia.”

The two twins, thankfully, were not identical. Cynthia had light brown hair, and Cecilia was a blonde. Neither of them had any sort of size to them — Rys could pick one up in each arm without strain. With that kind of petite build to them, surely they weren’t done growing yet. They were also obviously delighted to see him, unlike their older brother. Each girl bounced off of the couch in perfect sync, and rose to bracket him in a twin pincher movement, grinning at him like an unexpected prize.

“We are so glad —” Cynthia emphatically declared.

“— to meet you!” Cecilia finished her sentence, like she was accustomed to doing it all of the time.

Rys blinked at this, unable to process the phenomenon. He’d heard of twins being able to finish each other’s sentences, but he always thought of that as a myth. Apparently, like most myths, this one had a healthy dose of truth to it. “I’m very glad to meet you, too,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never had sisters before.” He wasn’t entirely sure with what to do with them, either.

“This is Ashley, she is our resident bookworm,” Sara continued, “and sitting next to her is our youngest child, Dylan.”

Rys managed a nod to Ashley, who was currently holding a book in her hands, and appeared to be very shy. She looked remarkably like her mother with those big blue eyes only with her father’s dark hair. Dylan bounced forward, out of a bean bag chair, and wedged the twins aside to have Rys’s undivided attention.

“Why are you in uniform?" asked Dylan, with curiosity plainly displayed on his face. The question was not meant as a challenge, but an honest inquiry, from a boy who had no patience for preamble when he wanted to know something. Direct and to the point, Rys liked that. He could see that he and Dylan would get along just fine.

Rys smiled back at Dylan. He was still in the Fourth Colony black and white uniform (that being all he currently possessed in the clothing department). “Am I not supposed to be?”

“Generally,” Admiral Bloch hastily interjected, “we don’t wear our uniforms unless we’re on base or on duty. Wasn’t that true on Fourth Colony as well?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I was never off-duty.” Rys paused, re-thinking that statement. “Well, I suppose I was off-duty when I was in the hospital recuperating, but they only allowed you to wear those ridiculous hospital gowns.”

Even Jeremy Bloch, the lifelong military man that he was, looked dumbfounded at this revelation. “Don’t you
own
any civilian clothing?”

“No.” Rys spread his hands helplessly, unable to understand the question. “Sir, exactly when would I have had any opportunity to use such clothing? It was pointless for me to buy any.”

“You will have the opportunity now! We’re going shopping tomorrow,” Sara said firmly. “You look very dashing in that uniform, Arystair, but you are definitely off-duty in our home. Are we clear?”

Rys gave her a rueful smile.
Actually, technically, I’m still on duty…no, I don’t think the Admiral told her my true purpose here.
To keep his cover intact, he responded, “No complaints from me, ma’am.”

Sara waved a scolding finger at him. “What did I say earlier?”

It took Rys a second to understand her reference. “Excuse me, Sara. I meant to say Sara. I am used to addressing superiors with deference and deportment.”

Admiral Bloch (Rys mentally gave up that battle, at least for now) chuckled at his wife. “Don’t feel bad, dear. He hasn’t been able to address me by my first name yet and he’s been trying for three full days.”

Rys tried not to glower at him. “It would help if you were out of uniform, sir.”

Bloch laughed outright at that. “Is that the problem? Fair enough. I’ll go change into my civvies to make it easier for you.”

“It would definitely give me a fighting chance,” Rys grumbled under his breath. Apparently not quietly enough, as the twins heard him and giggled in stereo.

A quiet chime sounded from the opposite side of the house. Sara immediately turned in that direction, as if she were tracking an incoming missile. “Oh, that’s dinner. Children, wash your hands and go set the table. Arystair, you just come with me.”

Watching Sara’s troops converge on the table reminded Rys of a drop and re-supply mission. The children rapidly assembled from the various corners of the house, bringing along dishes and table implements as instructed. How Sara managed to coordinate it all without losing track of something for even a moment, Rys had no idea. The woman would have made a wonderful deployment officer, and a better supply officer.

In surprisingly little time, they were all settled around the huge wooden table in the dining room, eating absolutely first rate food. The smell alone would insure he had seconds.

Once Sara was satisfied that everyone had enough food, and was eating, she turned her attention back to him. “Now, Arystair, Jeremy wasn’t able to tell me much about what foods you like or don’t like. Perhaps you could fill me in.”

“Anything that I don’t have to cook myself meets with my full approval,” he answered, barely able to clip off the automatic “ma’am.”

Sara smiled, and a line of tension eased out of her shoulders. “I could only wish the rest of my children were as easy to please! Have you ever had Shepard’s Pie before?”

“Once,” Rys replied. He scooped a spoonful into his mouth, and smiled at her when his taste buds sent up signals that could have been seen for miles. “Yours is
much
better than Erksome’s,” he added with confidence in his voice.

“Erksome?” Dylan repeated, rolling the name slowly around in his mouth. With his nose scrunched up, that particular expression on his face made him look very much like a young Jeremy Bloch. “Who’s that?”

“My logistics and supply officer,” Rys answered after hastily swallowing a bite to keep from choking. “Lieutenant Jason Ericsson.”

Sara’s lips were twitching, as if she were fighting a smile. “And why do you call him Erksome?”

“Jason possesses the uncanny ability to know exactly which buttons to push, and when, to drive me straight through a wall. He strokes those buttons every chance he gets.”
That reminds me, I have a score to settle for that latest little prank.
Rys was coming up short on diabolical inspiration at that moment, but he was confident he would conjure up an appropriate response by tomorrow.

The Admiral started laughing out loud.

“Don’t you dare,” Rys growled at him. “It was not funny.”

That only made him laugh all the harder. “A-actually it was h-h-hilarious,” he finally managed to choke out.

“Now we will all need to hear the full story,” Brandon demanded. He gave Rys a smug smile, one that would have earned him a swift slap on the back of the head if he were a member of Rys’s team.

Why do I get the distinct vibration that he would enjoy anything that would embarrass me? Rys sighed, and figured he might as well fess up; at least this way he could put his own spin on it. Besides, if he didn’t tell them, the Admiral surely would. “Erksome—and probably Gremlin too—rigged my computer to laugh like someone having a manic break down every time I opened or closed a program. It sounded like some villain, twirling his handlebar mustache, right out of a class B horror flick. And if I hit a certain combination of keyboard commands, it would hurtle insults at me, to boot.”

“What made it worse,” Bloch added with true merriment in his voice, warming to his subject, “is that he
had
to use that computer. We didn’t even have a spare he could borrow. Our assigned work area was right in the middle of Command Central, where all of the top brass and bureaucrats could hear it.”

“Oh, and they could hear it all right,” Rys affirmed darkly. “He tampered with the volume control, too.”

Everyone’s eyes widened as the full implications of this “techno prank” hit them. Then they all started breaking up, everyone with their own signature brand of laughter.

“I will kill him when I get my hands on him,” Rys promised himself aloud. “No, a quick death would be too honorable for Erksome; he will suffer slowly for his lack of foresight and self-preservation. I’ll hijack
his
computer! That computer is closer to him than his own Mother. I’ll have him pulled into the fetal position, sucking his thumb before the close of business tomorrow.” Cheered by those happy thoughts, Rys went back to eating his dinner with true enthusiasm.

“Have you figured out how to fix it yet?” Dylan wanted to know.

Rys eyed him. What an extremely inquisitive and focused child; he was always asking questions. Could he be treated like any other green recruit?
Possibly.
“Not all of it. I figured out the volume control problem first, so I can at least mute it now.” That all by itself was a blessing.

“Who was the other person you mentioned?” Sara asked, now that a line of inquiry was open into his team. Her eyes were twinkling merrily with repressed laughter. “Gremlin, I think you said.”

“Lieutenant Bran Gremillion,” Rys responded almost absently. “He would be my team’s computer expert.”