Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (48 page)

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Authors: Jean Johnson

BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
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Not that she could see much. The fog had descended in full, obscuring everything around her. Heart in her throat, she watched him lift the writing pad. If it hadn’t been for the fog clouding this moment, she would have seen him snatch her pad in advance, and switched the display to something far more innocent, such as her homework for her correspondence degree. But it was too late for that. Ferrar waggled the pad at her in admonition.
“You know, your teammate has told me this is your one quirk. That you’re constantly writing something, but that you haven’t said what it is. And, like clockwork for the last three plus months . . . you have been shipping locked storage boxes stuffed full of your writings. Some back to your homeworld . . . but others to the Afaso Order. I can only conclude you’re sending them reports of some kind.” He pried open the lid, balancing the device on his palm, shifting his gaze from hers to the screen. “I don’t know what sort of spying you’re doing for either of them, particularly since the Afaso have never shown interest in the military, but . . .”
In the dark of the night, any electrokinetic changes she might have made would have been seen, opening up the risk of this exact same problem: the revelation of her psychic abilities. In the faint green glow of the chemlights, she could see the puzzled frown furrowing his dark brow. He stared at the screen, looked up at her, then looked back at the screen, tabbing through her most recent efforts with a few flicks of his thumbs. Realizing she was holding her breath, Ia forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. Being uncovered at this point in her career was a very, very bad thing.
She couldn’t even take him onto the timeplains with her and show him what his actions were jeopardizing; that would screw things up even further. Some people could be converted to her personal religion. Most, however, couldn’t handle it. Not discreetly enough. Ferrar would be one of the ones wanting to do too much, to help too much.
Ia wouldn’t be able to stop him. Right now, she had no reputation, no power, and no control . . . except for one saving grace. Maybe. If she could get him to listen.
“Bloody Mary.”
The shaken whisper was not meant to be her nickname. It was an exclamation, for all there was hardly any sound behind it. Ferrar looked up at her again. “These are . . . Unless this is a story you’re writing, this is . . .” Before she could seize on that option, he shook his head. “This is no story. Either you’re delusional or . . . But the detail! The accuracy—what the
hell
is going on here, Corporal?”
“Keep your voice down,
soldier
,” Ia murmured, shifting closer. Her cold words, as if she were
his
superior, shocked him. Using that shock, she plucked the writing station from his hand. “I see I’ll need to figure out how to encrypt all of this.” Snapping it shut, she gestured at the chair she had used for resting her boots, shadowed silence between them. “I suggest you sit and
listen
, instead of standing there and shouting at me.”
“You don’t give me
orders
, Corporal. You don’t have the authority!” Ferrar growled, grabbing for her workstation again.
This time, she was prepared. This time, Ia was faster, catching his hand in her empty palm with a
slap
. The move strained her tender side painfully, but she didn’t flinch. “
Two words
, Lieutenant. They give me all the authority I need in this matter. Just
two
words.” Hefting the closed device, she tipped her head at it. “Given what you just read on this, I’m surprised you didn’t remember that little legality.”
He frowned at her, tugging his hand free. “
What
two words? Not even a ‘Sorry, sir’ could get you out of the deep
shakk
you just dove yourself into. I have
every
right to bust you—”
“Vladistad,” Ia warned him, lifting her forefinger. Then her middle as well. “
Salut.
Now, sit. Sir.”
He glared at her, and didn’t move. Didn’t speak, but didn’t move. Ia backed up a step, feeling the edge of her own chair brushing against the backs of her knees.
“In case you don’t remember, sir, I am referencing
Johns and Mishka versus the United Nations
. It was the single most important ruling regarding the legal rights of verifiable precognitives,” she reminded him quietly. The plexi tarps sheltering them rattled with a renewed spate of rain and wind. “Giorgi Mishka was a crucial testimonial witness in an international effort to bring down a certain Russian cultist-cum-mafioso named Mikulo ‘The Impaler’ Vladinski, the Terror of Vladistad. A city which had been founded by his family line, and ruled with a cruel fist.
“Mishka refused to testify,” Ia continued. “He did so citing that, as a precog, he could foresee something terrible happening if he did. Everyone laughed him off. Nobody believed in real psychic abilities back then. His government put pressure on him to testify anyway, even though he steadfastly refused.”
“I remember that case from my history classes. He testified anyway,” Ferrar pointed out. “Just as he was
ordered
to.”
“Not until he cut a deal that would get himself and his family
out
of town on a certain night, three weeks later,” Ia countered. “Not until
after
he put his sealed prophecies into a time-locked vault. Only then did he testify, stating for the record that he was being coerced to tell what he knew . . . and stating to the prosecution, on the record, ‘
You
force me to do this.
You
are demanding that I do this, against my will. This blood is on
your
hands. Not mine.
You
will have to make amends for what you are about to do.’
“The prosecution thought that he meant the blood of Vladinski’s execution,” Ia reminded her commander, holding his gaze. “Three weeks later, not more than fifteen minutes after Mishka and his family flew out of the region in secrecy . . . and just five minutes after Vladinski died at midnight in the maximum detention facilities just outside the city where his trial and execution were held . . . Vladinski’s followers broadcast a message to the world.
Two words
, Lieutenant.
“With those two words, they detonated a nuclear bomb that slaughtered over one
million
six hundred thousand people, both from the initial blast and from the firestorms and radioactive fallout. Hundreds of thousands more burned, irradiated, injured. An entire region laid to waste, with radiation that lingers even to this day . . . all because of just two words.
“‘Vladistad.
Salut.
’ ”
A trickle of rain ran off the sagging edge of the awning over their heads, splattering onto the soggy ground. Ia held Ferrar’s gaze, mindful of the passing of time.
“When the time lock ended on the sealed vault, they opened it up and read what Giorgi Mishka had written. That prophecy said, ‘I would have kept my secrets to the end of time, knowing that the words you forced out of my mouth would lead to so many dead. But you would not stop. This is what you have done to the world, because you would not believe that my testimony would be far worse than what The Impaler had done. Now. You have about five seconds from the end of this note before the doors to this bank open and a lawyer arrives. He and I are suing all of you for my right to keep silent, in the future. Mr. Johns and I have almost two million clients to represent, because you wouldn’t let me stay silent. Their blood is on your hands because of what you demanded, in your ignorance and disbelief, and it cries out for amends.’
“As I said, Lieutenant, I have just two words. Vladistad,” Ia repeated quietly, easing herself down into the folding chair behind her. She tucked the writing station into the inner pocket of her slicker. “I suggest you sit down, and listen, before you
salut
.”
He studied her a long, long second, then sat. And waited.
Ia glanced at the chrono on her wrist unit. “I have . . . just over five minutes before I have to move and go do something important. I will tell you this only once, Lieutenant. I am not here for fame, glory, medals, or honor. If anyone else thinks I have earned them, that’s fine. They can hand me whatever they want tomorrow, I don’t care. I am not a glory-hog, and I am not a real-estater. Medals and coffins do not interest me. I am here to do one thing, and one thing only. Save lives.”
“Is that what today’s showboating was all about? Saving lives?” Ferrar asked her quietly. “
Surfing
the crest of a flood wave? The infrared sensors on the weather satellites we dropped into orbit picked up what you were doing down in that valley, you know.”
“No, actually, I didn’t know,” Ia retorted lightly. “It wasn’t important, so I didn’t bother to look it up.” Even in the gloom, she could see the dubious look he gave her. “Never mind. Everything I know is on a need-to-know basis only . . . and you don’t need to know. Vladistad.”
Ferrar leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “That’s not good enough, soldier. You are a wild card in my Company, and I—”
“—Have no need to know what I know. You interfere, you blow up a
hell
of a lot more than one old Russian town. Do you know what future Giorgi Mishka saw after serving those papers, sir?” Ia asked her superior. “He saw the whole damn planet so
outraged
at what Vladinski’s followers did to ‘avenge’ their leader’s death . . . they
united
to track down the monsters responsible.” She pointed out at the darkness beyond them, at the sleeping colonists and soldiers, the patrolling bodies, the force field keeping them safe. “
Johns and Mishka vs. the United Nations
, the single most powerful legal case dealing with the rights for precogs to keep their mouths shut. If a precognitive decides it is best to say silent, they have that right.
“That single decision, to allow the disaster to happen, was a drop in the
flood
of events that followed. Those events led to the unification of Earth’s multiple governments under one leadership. Which led to the old United Earth government becoming the United Terran Planets when we colonized the other planets in our own star system, which led to our being a single voice and a single power when we first met up with the
rest
of the sentient races out there . . . which led to us being
strong
enough to enter the first Salik War, and win it. Which led to the Blockade, which led to the mess of the
Clearly-Standing
, which led to this moment in time. All of which were events that unfolded, not over days or weeks, or even decades, but
centuries
.
“Mishka certainly could not have foreseen all of that. In fact, what little he did see was too little, too late. He just saw that the fractured governments of Old Earth would unite to go after the monsters responsible for the mess caused by what he was being
forced
to do . . . and which he himself said he would rather have died than reveal if not forced to do so. I’ll remind you,
he
didn’t know before the fact that the world would be a slightly better place . . . and he died with the deaths and sufferings of two million people on his conscience.”
A glance at her chrono showed her time was up. Pushing herself upright with a grunt, Ia gestured at the force field fence several meters away.
“You can come with me, or you can stay . . . but if you say one word to your superiors about me, one word to the Special Forces, or worse, the PsiLeague . . . the damage you do will make Vladistad look like a drop in the floodwaters I faced today. The flood that
I
faced, and survived.
You
would not survive, if you tried to interfere. Out of respect for you, I tell you these things, so that you
will
live. The rest . . . you don’t need to know.”
“
Not
good enough, Corporal!” Rising, Ferrar followed her out into the drizzling rain.
Ia walked only a few yards before squatting and digging through the branching, reddish, local version of grass. Cupping the rock she needed in her fist, she straightened with another grunt and a press of her free arms to her ribs. Without a word of explanation, Ia strode on, letting him catch up to her. Only when they reached one of the makeshift lanes between the rows of tents did she stop. Stop, and point at the ground.
“Wait here. Right here. Don’t move.”
“Corporal—”
Ia held up her empty hand, silencing him. “Right. Here. Don’t interfere.”
He subsided. It was enough. Moving back several meters, she reached into the timeplains. The fog was still there, still cloaking the way out, but this one vision she had pre-explored, and knew exactly where to find again. As before, she tapped into the waters. Prepared herself with two deep breaths. Rock in hand, she drew in a third and sprinted back toward the Lieutenant. Back toward the force field
zapping
and
fritzing
between the rows of pylons standing twelve meters high. Pain didn’t matter, only the rock in her hand and the timing of her cast.
Arm circling hard and fast, she whipped her weapon back around and up. The fast-flung, underhand cast soared up high, clearing the half-seen, static-sparked top of the fence. Those static sparks illuminated the muddy, pale stone briefly, still rising as it vanished from view.
Ferrar opened his mouth to speak. Ia held up her palm, keeping him silent. Waiting, and listening. Mere seconds later, something
gronked
in the distance. It squealed and broke into a gallop that shook the ground, even from this far away. Several others honked and hooted in reply, and the gallop became a rumble of not-weather thunder.

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