Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (67 page)

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Authors: Jean Johnson

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This medal, the Secondaire did not hand over in its box. She pulled it out, snapped the empty box shut, and tucked the black velvet container into Ia’s right sleeve with a small, mischievous grin. Sobering in concentration, Multalla carefully pinned the blue and silver Star of Service to Ia’s left lapel below her temporary Lieutenant’s bar, which had been pinned above her 1st Sergeant’s stripes and rockers, indicating she was still merely an Acting Lieutenant at the moment.
Nodding, Multalla stepped back and finally returned the salute, allowing Ia to drop her left arm. “Lastly . . . it is the firm belief of the Oversight Committee and myself that the temporary promotion from First Sergeant to Acting Lieutenant Second Class was not only necessary at the time, but has since been thoroughly earned by your ongoing display of inherent leadership skills throughout your military career.
“It is my final pleasure to officially confirm your Field Commission Honor to the rank of a Lieutenant Second Class of the Terran United Planets Space Force, Branch Marine Corps. Attendant with this elevation in rank come all of the rights, responsibilities, pay upgrades, and headaches thereunto pertaining. Congratulations, Lieutenant Ia. You have earned this rank. Do not let down the confidence and faith your superiors have entrusted in you.”
“Sir, no, sir. I will do my absolute best, sir,” Ia promised, helping stuff the last box with her official brass bar into her sling. There were now so many, the velvet-wrapped containers were threatening to slide back out.
Multalla smiled wryly, if warmly. “From the look of things so far, I have no fear you’ll do anything less.”
Ia smiled and saluted—and hastily fumbled at the shifting boxes as they tried to escape her sling. Multalla chuckled and helped her stuff them back in, then gave her another credible salute.
“Dismissed, Lieutenant.” Turning back to the podium as Ia hurried off the stage, left hand holding everything in place, the Secondaire addressed the waiting crowd. “I give this message to the rest of you as your commander, and as one of you, having served in the Space Force Navy for four years in my youth. The military runs on efficiency, discipline, regulation, and praise. We try our best to be efficient, so we do not waste our valuable resources. We drive ourselves with discipline, so that we are the saviors of the innocent, and bring no harm to the harmless. We enact various codes and laws to regulate our actions and efforts into uniformity, which in turn promotes the efficiency and the discipline we need. But it is the praise that is most important.
“To my fellow citizens, I ask that you take the time to thank any military personnel you may meet. Thank them for being willing to place themselves between you and whatever may harm you. To the soldiers of the Space Force, I ask that you take the time to thank each other, as well as watch out for each other . . . and to make sure you fill out a little bit more on your reports than just ‘veni, vidi, vici.’
“Not
too
much more, because there are literally billions of these reports circulating around, and somebody has to read them,” she joked lightly, earning a few, final chuckles. “But if you see someone beside you exhibiting great acts of courage, honor, skill, and compassion . . . please, report it to your superiors. These acts need to be brought into the light, so that we may all draw the strength and inspiration needed for our own moments of valor.
“Aloha, meioas, and goodnight,” she finished. “Thank you for coming.”
Every story has a beginning. Even Time itself. This story was how I began my military career.
Why the military? Couldn’t I accomplish my goals any other way? Not really. Not and stay sane. It was just like I told Chaplain Bennie: I could not stand aside and watch others drown in the icy waters of the swirling flood of events I knew were about to descend upon us all. Not when I could wade in and help lift them out.
Someone else might’ve been able to stand aside. Others might’ve looked for a rope to throw to the victims. But not me. I knew a rope would never be enough. I knew it would take risking my skills, my weapons, my knowledge, and even my life if need be, to stand between the innocents of the galaxy and everything rising to threaten them.
Would I do it all over again? Go through all of that trouble and pain? In a heartbeat. Now, as for why . . .
I am a soldier. That duty is mine.
~Ia
 
 
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF
THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY: AN OFFICER’S DUTY
 
BY JEAN JOHNSON
 
AVAILABLE IN TK FROM ACE BOOKS!
 
 
JULY 18, 2492 T.S.
OURBLESSED MOTHER
INDEPENDENT COLONYWORLD SANCTUARY
 
“This is so exciting!”
Ia glanced over at the woman settling into the next seat. The orbital shuttle was nearly full, and the crew were urging passengers to take their places. The woman who was Ia’s seatmate fished for her restraint straps. Her efforts at pulling the three-point belt into place was somewhat hampered by the added bulk of her gravity weave. Nudged a few times by the woman’s elbow, Ia rolled her eyes and held out her hand, silently offering to latch it.
“Oh, thank you! Wait—where’s
your
gravity weave?” the woman asked as Ia slotted the tab into its latch. “You’re taller than me!”
Ia’s rare sense of humor surfaced. Since she was clad in camouflage Browns, the speckled, mottled uniform of the Space Force Branch Marine Corps, she flashed a brief smile and stated, “I’m a Marine. We don’t
need
gravity weaves.”
The woman blinked, her brown eyes widening in shock.
Ia rolled her eyes.
Really, some people will believe
anything
about the SF-Marines.
“I’m also a native. Born and bred on Sanctuary. I’m coming home on Leave.”
“Ah. Um . . . thank you for serving,” the weave-wrapped woman finally offered.
“It’s an honor to serve, meioa,” Ia murmured in reply. Now that her seatmate had settled in, her mind was elsewhere, busy going over her schedule for the next three weeks. Some things would have to take place at exactly the right moment in time, while others would be more fluid. Like the problem of her tainteds sword-turned-anklet.
The crew finished checking and securing the cabin. The woman at Ia’s side said nothing for a long while, paying dutiful attention to the safety procedures lecture. Then, as they detached from the space station with a slight bump, the woman muttered once again, “This is so exciting!”
Sensing the woman was one of those sorts who just had to talk or burst, Ia sighed and asked the most obvious question, rather than dipping into the timestreams. “Is this your first trip to Sanctuary?”
The woman nodded quickly and smiled. She also held out her hand. “Amanda Sutrepya. And yes, it’s my first time to your homeworld. I’m here on a missionary trip. And you are . . . ?”
“Lieutenant Ia.” Ia shook the other woman’s hand as briefly as possible. The closer she got to her homeworld, the more she feared her precognitive gift would turn unpredictable again. Plus there was the fact that physical contact always enhanced her ability to read another sentient being’s plethora of potential futures. The combination held too much danger to risk it, though there wasn’t much else she could do to avoid brushing up against someone in such crowded conditions. At least the other woman was wearing a purple, long-sleeved shirt under the lumpy web wrapping her limbs.
“Missionary trip?” The question came from the short, balding man on the other side of the aisle. He gave the woman, Amanda, a derogatory look, snorting, “Great. Another godless heathen,” before returning his attention to the book pad in his hands.
“Excuse me?” Amanda asked, her tone and her expression both taken aback. “I am
not
a godless heathen, I am a Christian!”
The man gave her a look somewhere between disdain and pity. “Even worse, then. A deluded
polytheist
.”
The woman started to protest. Ia quickly reached over and touched her sleeve. “Don’t.”
“But he—”
“Just don’t,” Ia murmured again, cutting her off. “See the corona pin on his jacket lapel? He’s a member of the Church of the One True God.”
“I . . . don’t understand,” Amanda muttered. She glanced back and forth between Ia and the man, finally settling on Ia. “Aren’t they Christians, too? I thought their worship was based on the same general beliefs. One loving God, Abrahamic teachings . . .”
“So are Muslims and Jews, if you measure it by that method . . . but no, they are not Christians, they are not Muslims, they are not Jews,” Ia told her, flicking up one finger per listing. “In fact, if you must get technical, their dogma actually began as an offshoot of
The Witan: The Book of the Wise
.”
“We are
not
an ‘offshoot’ of anything.
We
are on the
true
path,” the man across the aisle corrected tartly. His eyes were on the text of his book pad, but his ears were clearly listening to his neighbors. “Not my fault if the rest of you have been misled by the sweet-sounding poison of the Devil’s books. The Bible, the Koran, the Torah . . .”
“Well, I never!” Amanda gasped, visibly upset.
“Meioas.”
Ia’s tone, more sharp than actually loud, cut across the missionary’s sputterings, and caused the Church man to look up at her once more. A few others in the nearby seats glanced her way as well, but they didn’t protest. Ia kept her eyes on the Church man. When she was sure she had his attention, she had her own say, leaning forward slightly while she held his gaze.
“I am on Leave from two years’ worth of fighting on the far side of the known galaxy.” That was a slight exaggeration, but she wasn’t going to bother with the full truth. “It has taken me three weeks of travel to get this far. I have exactly three weeks, one day, and four hours from the moment we land, precious, precious days and hours to spend with my family, before I have to go back. I would therefore like to finish this last, tedious leg of my journey in peace and quiet.”
“
You’d
be better off spending those three weeks on your knees in Our Blessed Cathedral, confessing the sins of spilling blood on some godless heathen’s orders,” the balding believer retorted.
Ia gave him a not-smile. “And I say unto you in reply, from Book Nine, The Righteous War, Chapter Three, verses four and five: ‘Succor the weary and wounded soldiers who claim Sanctuary and take shelter among you. Give them rest and peace, and honor them for the sacrifices they make for the betterment of all.’ ”
He reddened a bit, having his own holy words flung in his face.
“
I
am a weary soldier of Sanctuary,” Ia reminded him, speaking softly, but with enough point to cut to the bone, “and I am here to take shelter among my people. Give me my rest and peace, and honor me for the sacrifices I make . . . or spend your weeks on
your
knees, for failing to follow through on God’s Own True Words.”
Holding his gaze, she stared at him until he backed down, subsiding into his seat. He refocused his attention on his book pad. Only then did Ia settle back in hers. Just in time, too; they hit the atmosphere with a jolt and a rattle that made her grateful for the cushioning supporting and sheltering her body. A few jolts later, the cabin speakers came to life.
“This is Captain D’Sall. We are currently traversing the edges of the local early evening thunderstorm, so some mild in-flight turbulence is to be expected. Please remain in your seats with your restraint belts firmly fastened. However, our flight will be short, as we will be landing at Our Blessed Mother Inter-Orbital Spaceport in approximately fifteen minutes.
“As a reminder, all passengers wearing gravity weaves should have their weaves set to Adaptive Gravimetrics on the Low Strength setting so as not to interfere with the integrity of the shuttle. Do not adjust them back to Full Strength until we are fully on the ground and the Gravity Weave permission sign has been turned on. If you need help fighting the gravity to do so, please remain calm, press the button on your armrest or alert your seatmates, and the cabin crew will be by to check on you shortly. Once we land, only the flight crew are allowed to move about the cabin until we have reached the terminal, so please remain seated.
“If at any time you experience difficulty in moving, breathing, or even thinking, or feel like you are going to black out during your visit to Sanctuary, these are the primary symptoms of the onset of adjustment sickness, which can lead to more serious complications. If you suspect you are about to be ill at any point during your visit to Sanctuary, contact the emergency nets immediately, and go straight to the nearest medical facility to be checked out for the possibility of gravity sickness.
“The government of Independent Colonyworld Sanctuary wishes to remind all visitors and returning natives that it assumes no liabilities, fiscally or legally, for the complications of gravity sickness or any related injuries. Neither does Gateway Inter-Orbital Transit, of which you were advised before boarding this flight. However, we thank you very much for flying with us. We hope you’ll have a safe time while on Sanctuary, and wish you a good day.”

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