Stark's Command (14 page)

He gradually became aware that the Corporal and his assistants were standing watching him, their own expressions guarded. "This was just for the Commanding General?" Stark finally wondered.

"This one," the Corporal nodded. "The other one's for the Chief of Staff."

"The other one. Is it just like this?"

"Pretty much, except it's exactly two square meters smaller and has one less planter. The painting's not quite as good, either."

" 'Cause the Commanding General had to have the biggest and best garden, huh?" The Corporal nodded again. "And this is what you guys do up here?"

"That's right."

The absurdity of it all drained away Stark's anger like a lightning rod.
What a waste of good soldiers. Ain't their fault, though.
"Looks like you've been doing a fine job here, but what the hell do we do with it now?"

"Uh, excuse me?" The Corporal looked baffled as his accompanying Privates exchanged worried glances. "It's . . . for the Commanding General."

"Right now, that's me," Stark stated patiently. "And I don't want and don't need a garden." The other soldiers' faces tightened with an odd mix of sorrow and outrage. "I'm not saying you haven't done one helluva good job. But we gotta justify this, right? What would I do with a garden?"

"Generals would usually entertain VIPs here," one of the gardeners suggested. "You know, little parties and stuff."

"Little parties."

"Yeah. You know. Drinks and finger food. Swedish meatballs and those little weenies you stick with toothpicks and lumpia."

"Lumpia?" The little Philippine egg rolls were nearly mythical treats, especially for soldiers whose snack food usually consisted of chips made from Moon-grown potatoes, cut very thin, baked, then salted so lightly that they tasted like stale paper. "They had lumpia up here?"

"For the Generals. Yeah."

Stark sagged against the doorway, rubbing his eyes this time.
Why does this stuff keep surprising me?
He palmed his comm unit. "Vic."

"Here," she responded warily.

"Need you where I am."

"Gosh, Ethan, I'd love to, but I've got all this work just piling up—"

"Vic, I'm not still mad!"

"Uh-huh. You sound really calm."

"Vic, you're gonna have to see this to believe it."

"See what? The last time a guy said that to me I wasn't nearly as impressed as he thought I'd be."

"I'd rather not hear about it. Look, Vic, come here and see this."

"Okay, okay. Be there in a minute." She actually showed in about forty-five seconds, walking with the brisk glide lunar veterans used to cover ground fast. Stark stepped aside from the door, waving her forward to look into the garden. Reynolds stared for a long moment, then, instead of frowning, began laughing so hard she had trouble standing. "Hey, Ethan. You got grass."

Stark favored her with a level glare. "I hate grass."

"That's what makes it so funny. Oh, God. The only grass on the Moon, and it ends up in the hands of the one guy who'd want to trample it all." She went into another laughing fit, trying to catch her breath.

"Glad you like it," Stark muttered, then triggered his comm unit again. "Tanaka. I need to see you at the General's garden."

Sergeant Tanaka arrived in even less time than Vic had. "You found it, huh?"

"You knew about this?"

"Sort of. Not that any of the enlisted at headquarters, except the gardeners, ever saw it. But we'd all heard about the garden." She craned her neck to look inside. "Nice. What're you gonna do with it?"

"Tearing it up and dumping the remains on the surface come to mind."

"You can't do that!" Vic and Jill Tanaka protested simultaneously while the Corporal and his two assistants paled with shock.

"Why not?" Stark waved his hand toward the flowers. "I can't have something like this that nobody else gets to use.

Even if I liked the stuff, it'd be too, uh, imperial or something."

"We could let everyone visit the garden, now," Tanaka suggested.

"I don't think so, Jill," Vic demurred. "Thousands of boots on that small patch of grass, even in low-G? It'd be a mud patch in no time." The Corporal nodded in vigorous agreement.

"So, hold a lottery, maybe?" Stark wondered.
Ought to get some use out of it. I can't imagine how much getting this garden set up and maintaining it have cost, while we couldn't always get the spares we needed because the damn budget supposedly couldn't support it. Did anyone buy a bullet because of this?
"Hey, that's it."

"What's it?" Vic demanded.

"We've already got soldiers who've lost a lottery. The combat lottery. They're wounded. This would be good for them while they're recovering, right? And nobody can say they haven't earned the right to a few hours in the garden."

Vic smiled approvingly. "Fair and appropriate. Nobody can complain about the wounded getting a special deal. I like it. I'll talk to medical about setting up a regular visit schedule." She pointed to the Corporal. "You need to tell us how many people we can run through this place every day without wrecking it."

"I don't know," the Corporal protested. "It's never been used that way."

"Then take a guess," Stark suggested. "We'll modify it if we have to after we see how everything is holding up." He scowled. "Guess we'll have to post guards, too, to keep everyone from picking souvenirs and leaving trash."

Tanaka nodded. "That's prudent. We're not posting ceremonial guards outside senior officer quarters anymore, so we've got people free to assign to that job."

"Ceremonial guards? No. I don't want to know." Stark took another look at the flower planters, his eyes calculating. "Hey, Jill, one more thing. I've noticed you palling around with Sergeant Yurivan a few times."

She nodded again. "Sure. We've hung together. Stacey's a lot of fun."

"That's one way to describe her, all right. I want these plants kept safe here. You tell Stacey Yurivan that if I hear one word about fresh flowers being sold on the black market, I'll post her on sentry duty at the lunar pole for so long she'll think she's a space penguin. Understand?"

"Stacey wouldn't do anything like that," Tanaka protested.

"Not unless there's a way to turn a buck in it. You just make sure she understands what I told you."

Vic followed as Stark headed away. "Hey. You're human again."

"No thanks to you."

"Look, Ethan, you saw how Trasies and Pevoni acted. I don't trust them. Is that unreasonable?"

"Them? Hell, no. That'd be like trusting Yurivan with that flower garden."

She grinned. "Unlike Trasies, Stacey wouldn't hurt a soldier. Too bad we can't harness her for the forces of good."

"Maybe we oughta."

Reynolds's eyebrows shot up. "You serious? What kind of job would suit her special talents?"

"Keeping an eye on rats like Trasies."

"Tell me you're not suggesting her for our Security Officer."

"That's exactly what I'm doing." Stark half-smiled. "I'm basically a squad leader at heart, Vic. And what's a squad leader do? They match the job to the individual. Pick the best guy for the assignment. Okay, so we gotta counter a bunch of sneaky, devious people who're gonna try to take us down. And who's the sneakiest, most devious mind we got to outguess them?"

"Stacey Yurivan. But do you think she'd agree to work on your staff? She's not exactly a close friend."

"I dunno. She did back me against Kalnick, but that might've been more about self-preservation than supporting me." Vic pulled out her comm unit. "Who you calling?"

"Stacey. She'll take the job request better if I make the offer. Besides, it occurred to me that having someone who's definitely not one of your inner circle here in headquarters might benefit you. There's already been talk that you're surrounding yourself with too many friends who're loyal to you."

"What?" Stark, exasperated, took a moment to slam his palm against the nearest wall, the sharp sound echoing down the corridor to shock anyone within hearing distance. "If you guys are totally loyal to me I'd hate to see how my enemies would act."

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean. Who's starting this talk? Why is it happening? Like Kalnick. We never had enlisted working against one another in the past."

"In the past, Ethan, we had the officers as a common enemy. Working against another enlisted would've meant allying yourself with the officers. Know anybody who would've done that?"

"No one who'd survive long on a battlefield."

"Right. But now the officers aren't in charge. Now we can play nasty little games against one another. And some people are just out of their depth in their new jobs and looking for someone else to blame for their problems. Like Gabriel in Second Battalion, First Brigade."

"Sergeant Gabriel? I haven't heard about any problems in her battalion."

"That's because Sergeant Gabriel isn't telling you about any problems. She's letting her subordinates run amuck, either because she can't or won't control them."

Stark absorbed the news, shaking his head. "If she's not telling, how'd you find out?"

"I got sources, remember? We're going to have to replace her, Ethan."

"No." Stark paused to enjoy the look of surprise and annoyance on Vic's face. "You and I ain't gonna do it. First Brigade's being run by Nageru. I'll tell him to either whip Gabriel into line or replace her with someone who can do the job."

Reynolds smiled ruefully. "Right. I'm so used to watching officers micromanage things that it comes too naturally. Thanks for keeping me honest." She tapped her comm unit irritably.

"Where the hell is she? Stacey? This is Vic Reynolds. I want to meet with you right away."

"Why?" Yurivan questioned.

"It's a surprise."

"I'm not involved, Reynolds."

"Involved in what?"

"Whatever it is you're calling me about."

"I'm disappointed, Stacey. Generic denials from you?"

"They save time. So, should I pack a toothbrush for this meeting?"

"I don't see why. Just come on over. I got something to ask you."

"Roger. I've been wanting to scope out all that luxury where you friends of Ethan have been living. See you in a few."

Vic glanced at Stark. "Want to wait in the rec office? We could grab some coffee."

"I'd prefer a beer," Stark noted, "but I guess I oughta keep all my wits about me when we meet Stacey."

"We'll still be outclassed, but that's a good idea." They waited, passing the time by using their spoons to nudge the congealed blocks of nondairy creamer floating in their cups. Thanks to the Moon's low gravity, the lumpy off-white rectangles danced over the surface of the coffee, not penetrating the dark liquid unless forced under by a well-aimed utensil. Like most of the other supplies, the creamer came from stocks whose "use by" dates had long expired. It was just one of the things you got used to in the military and perversely took a certain pride in. Competitions had been known to occur over which unit had the worst coffee and the oldest fixings.

"Hey, Vic," Yurivan stood in the doorway, eyes wary as they shifted from Reynolds to Stark. "What's up?"

"Relax, Stace, this isn't about the illegal gambling joint being run out of a storeroom in the Buford Barracks."

"There was gambling going on in the Buford Barracks?" Yurivan asked, her face reflecting wonderment. "I'm . . . shocked."

"Sure, Stace. Save it. How would you like to be Security Officer?"

"Huh?" Yurivan's expression shifted to disbelief. "What's the joke?"

"No joke. We need someone who can outthink our enemies. That's you."

"Then no thanks. I'm not interested in running loyalty screens."

"Wouldn't ask you to. Loyalty screens are dead. No, we need to worry about external security issues. Spies. Sabotage. Finding out what the enemy's planning, including any mischief any of the Colony civs might try. Interested?"

Yurivan made another sidelong look at Stark even as she answered Reynolds. "Why would I be interested?"

"Because you'd be trying to outthink and out scheme the best minds our enemies can throw at us. C'mon, Stace. No more playing games with the military police and the local security officer. You'll get to see if you can beat the boys and girls from the national agencies."

Yurivan kept a poker face. "That's a pretty big league to play in, Vic."

Stark favored her with a taunting smile. "Hey, Stace. No guts, no glory."

"Uh-huh, and no brain, no gain."

Vic shrugged, fingers wandering idly over her palm unit. "Well, Stace, if you figure the job's too hard . . ."

"Reynolds," Yurivan laughed, "you'll have to do better than that. I've been psyched by experts."

"Any of 'em figure you out?"

"Hell, no."

Reynolds smiled politely. "Big surprise. So, do you want the job or not?"

"Maybe. Gotta think about it."

"Fine. You let me know." Stacey Yurivan flipped an elaborate salute, smiling at some hidden joke as she did so, pivoted precisely on one heel, and marched out. As her footsteps faded down the hallway outside, Vic began laughing softly.

"What's so funny? She's not going to take it," Stark declared gloomily.

"Sure she is," Vic assured him. "Stacey just wants time to shut down her other illegal scams before she becomes Security Officer. She's got her own code of ethics. You watch. In a couple of days she'll call and accept."

Stark squinted at the empty doorway as if it held some answers. "How do you figure that? I couldn't read her."

"That, Ethan, is because you're a man and because you're blessed with a wonderfully straightforward and uncomplicated mind."

"I'll assume that's a compliment."

"Sort of. It lets people take advantage of you, but earns you a lot of trust. Stacey's different."

"That I knew. Trust' isn't a word that comes to mind with her."

"But she's never hurt another soldier," Vic reminded him. "Except in the wallet. And she will take this job. The chance to stick it to the system in the biggest way possible will be irresistible for her—irresistible enough for her to become part of our system."

Stark found himself smiling. "You know, this has been a really rotten coupla days, but right now I'm thinking about Stacey Yurivan being sic'd on people like Trasies and Pevoni, and that's making me real happy."