5
Deradier and his colleagues decided to run night tests both Wednesday and Thursday, adding the second night after seeing the preliminary results of the first. Lon managed only a couple of short complink conversations with Sara, and found it difficult to conceal his disappointment at not having another chance to see her before he took his men back to Dirigent City.
“I’ll get everything there taken care of as quickly as I can,” he promised. “Then I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Sara said. “Call whenever you can.”
Lon sat quietly on the transport carrying him back to the Corps’ main base. He felt more depressed than he had on the shuttle that had taken him away from Earth on his exile. No one was wearing helmets, so Lon did not have the mask of a faceplate to hide behind. But he was withdrawn, and there wasn’t a man in the lander who did not know why. Lon had heard some of the talk, and could guess at how much more there must have been behind his back. Now he was too glum even to feel the touch of paranoia that had initially inspired in him. His platoon sergeants, Girana and Jorgen, had provided as much of a buffer as possible, and neither had complained at their lieutenant going into town every evening they were not running tests while they had to alternate. Lon promised himself that he would find a way to make that up—that and everything else he owed them.
Lon had spoken to Captain Orlis by complink several times. Lon had alluded to his new situation without coming right out and saying that he wanted to get married as soon as possible. The captain had clearly seen that something had changed. “I’d rather wait until we can talk face to face, Captain,” Lon had said when Orlis probed for the cause. “I need to get a few things sorted out in my own head first.”
As far as Lon was concerned, the flight from Nassau to Dirigent City might have been instantaneous. He was oblivious to virtually everything. The pilot’s announcement that the transport was on its final approach came as a shock. Lon’s mind was still in Bascombe East, under The Winking Eye with Sara.
Lon was surprised to find Captain Orlis waiting at the landing strip. Lon turned the platoons over to their sergeants, to get the men onto the buses that would carry them and their gear back to barracks, then went to the captain and saluted.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, sir,” Lon said after Orlis returned the salute.
“I just had to see for myself,” Orlis said.
“See what, sir?” Lon asked. “That we made it back safely?”
“That one of my lieutenants hadn’t suddenly turned into a babbling idiot.”
“Sir?” There was no hint of censure to Orlis’s face or voice, which made his words all the more difficult to comprehend.
“If you had been as incoherent in your work this week as you’ve been talking with me, I would have heard about it from Major Pitt, or the regimental commander. But I’ve had nothing but commendation for the whole lot of you, so it has to be something else.”
Gradually Lon realized what the captain was talking about, and that started him blushing. “I did say I wanted to talk about it in person rather than by complink, sir,” Lon said. “It’s personal,” he added.
Orlis shook his head but could not hide a smile. “I did gather that much. Get in the car. Tell me on the way in.”
Even in person, Lon’s tale verged on incoherency. Orlis mainly kept his eyes on the road, following the buses. A couple of times he did glance to his side, to look at Lon.
After Lon finished, Orlis remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t suppose there’s any creature in the galaxy quite as pathetic as a lovesick lieutenant.”
Lon was unable to reply to that.
“I should have suspected,” Orlis said. “Just about anyone else, I suppose I would have. You met a girl and fell so madly in love that you can’t wait ten seconds longer than absolutely necessary before you marry her. Have I got that part of it more or less right?”
“Yes, sir,” Lon said—with difficulty.
“And you’d like me to rush through the red tape for permission and so forth, help you secure quarters, that sort of thing, maybe even choose drapes?”
The words stung, even though Lon thought the captain was teasing, having fun at his expense. He sucked in an involuntarily deep breath. “I don’t know about the drapes, sir,” he said, which occasioned another of Orlis’s glances.
“Well, at least you’ve got a little starch left in your breeches,” he said. “Tell me about her, without the breathless moans of passion.”
So Lon tried again, from the start, how they met, how that meeting had affected him. It took time as he tried to compose each sentence fully in his mind before he spoke it. They arrived at their destination before Lon had finished. Orlis parked the car behind the barracks and sat without moving, fully watching Lon now, patiently listening through the entire recital.
“I guess I got hit pretty hard,” Lon said after there had been an extended silence at the conclusion of his story.
“There was a time when an officer with less than ten years’ service who came to his commander with a request like yours would have been closely examined to see if he were still fit to be an officer in the Corps,” Orlis said. “Before my time, but recently enough that some of the captains and majors I served under when I was a new lieutenant remembered, had been affected by the … well, it was never officially taboo, but discouraged in the strongest ways possible short of prohibition. A lot of officers still have reservations about married men serving at any rank, for reasons I’m sure you’re aware of.”
Lon nodded. “A married man can’t be so totally committed to the Corps. He has other responsibilities. And so forth.”
“At great length. On the other side of the ledger there are studies that indicate that married officers and noncoms make more stable leaders, that what they might lose in reckless bravery is more than offset by increased maturity of judgment. I tend to side with that group myself, but, of course, I’m also married. I had been in the Corps just a few months short of ten years when that happened, by the way.”
“Yes, sir, I know,” Lon said.
Orlis looked at him for a moment before he spoke again. “It’s clear you’re not going to be a hell of a lot of use to me the way you are, so I guess the fastest way to get back a fully functional lieutenant is to marry you off as fast as possible.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Lon said.
“Okay, you’ve had the good news. Now I’ve got to take the air out of your balloon. It doesn’t look as if it’s going to be possible right away. This isn’t official yet, but I’ve had warning that we’re probably going out on contract … very soon.”
“How soon? It wouldn’t take Sara and me long once we get the official approval.”
Orlis shook his head. “Sorry, Lon. Remember, this is unofficial, you didn’t hear it from me, and I better not hear any rumors coming back. It doesn’t go beyond the two of us, not even to your Sara.” He waited for Lon to nod before he continued. “There is an offer on the table, I understand from very good sources, that would involve at least one and possibly two full regiments. And of the regiments that aren’t short a battalion or more just now, we’re number one on the duty list. If the Council of Regiments accepts the contract, we might have no more than twenty-four hours’ warning before shipping out.”
Lon could almost feel his heart plummeting out of his chest to roll on the floor of the car. “Yes, sir,” he said, sounding as glum as he felt. “Will the men be under any restrictions while we wait, sir?” he asked after perhaps a minute.
“How could there be restrictions when there’s nothing going on?” Orlis asked, feigning innocence.
Lon nodded. “I see what you mean.”
“Now, if it will ease your mind, a little, anyway, I’ll start the ball rolling for you. Make the request official, marked to my attention, and I’ll get it forwarded to battalion right away. Now, go on, get inside, see to your men, then sit down at your complink and type out that request.”
Sara answered the complink call at The Winking Eye. Seeing her made Lon both happy and sad at once—happy to see her, sad to be so far away and not know how long it might be before they could be together.
“I hoped it was you,” Sara said, almost breathless with excitement. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. We got back safely and I’ve already put in the request for permission to get married.”
“Do you know how long it will take?”
Lon shook his head. “Processing marriage requests from junior officers isn’t near the top of anyone’s list of priorities, but my captain said he’d push it through as quickly as he can.” He didn’t like not being able to tell her it might be considerably delayed, that he might go on a contract before they could get married, but he took Matt Orlis’s warning seriously. “The request went to battalion an hour ago, but I doubt that anyone there will even look at it before Monday. And after that, hard telling how long it will be. It could never be soon enough for me.”
“Or for me,” Sara said.
They talked for a few minutes, idle talk, content more to look at and listen to each other. Then Sara said, “I’ve really got to go and help.” She paused for an instant, then giggled. “You know, when I go to Dirigent City, Papa may actually have to break down and hire someone to help in the pub. He’s going to hate that part of it.”
After ending the connection to Bascombe East, Lon stared listlessly at the complink monitor. It was suppertime. He knew he should go to the mess hall. It was either that or go to the canteen, or into Camo Town, and buy supper. He did not want to spend money needlessly, not when he was facing the added expense of a wife, but he also felt no urge to go to the mess hall. He had just about convinced himself to go anyway when there was a knock on his door.
“Come in,” Lon said, using the arrival as a spur to get him to his feet. Phip Steesen and Dean Ericks came in together. They had changed into civilian clothes and were obviously ready for Camo Town and a night of gentle debauchery.
“Like to come into town with us?” Phip asked after Dean shut the door behind them.
Lon smiled but shook his head. “You’ll have to do the town up without me tonight, guys. I’m not up to it.”
“You’re not going to pull a Janno on us, are you?” Phip asked with a seriousness that surprised Lon. “Get married and run to civie street?”
“I am getting married, but I’m not planning on leaving the Corps. You saw Sara, everyone in both platoons did.” The ones who might have passed up the chance to go into town for a few drinks had all gone in once rumors started to circulate that their lieutenant had gone madly, head over heels in love. Lon had not been so totally oblivious as to miss that.
“Janno didn’t plan to leave either, when he got himself hitched,” Dean said.
“I’m not Janno, and Sara isn’t Mary,” Lon said. “Look, I know we haven’t had much chance to talk the past few weeks. Maybe over the weekend we can get off for a couple of hours and talk over a few beers someplace quiet. But not yet. I’ve still got some work to do getting my head straight. And right now I’ve got to put some food in my stomach. Get yourselves off to Camo Town, and don’t water your beer crying over me.”
Supper seemed tasteless, suffering through Lon’s memories of The Winking Eye and Sara. After the meal he went to the officers’ club and had a drink, but he found no pleasure in that either, so he went back to his room. He set a program of music on his entertainment unit and lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling … thinking of Sara.
Near ten o’clock, she called. The last customer had left The Winking Eye. The nightly clean-up ritual was almost finished. They talked for nearly two hours, until it was clear they were both so tired they were having difficulty keeping their eyes open.
“Tomorrow,” Lon said. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
And tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Monday morning, Lon nearly slept through his alarm. He stumbled through his morning ritual and went to breakfast in something of a personal fog, his mind not completely alert.
I hardly know who I am anymore. It’s as if I turned into somebody completely different the second I saw Sara. Thinking of her brought a smile to his face and helped perk him up. It made the food taste better as well. He had nearly finished eating when Lead Sergeant Jim Ziegler came to his table.
“Captain would like to see you, sir, as soon as you finish breakfast,” Ziegler said.
“Two seconds, Sergeant.” Lon took a last sip of coffee, then pushed his chair back. His first thought was that it must be something about his request for permission to marry. That was quickly overtaken by the far more likely possibility that it had to do with the contract Orlis had alluded to on Friday.
“Any idea what the captain wants?” Lon asked as he left the mess hall with Ziegler.
“He didn’t say, Lieutenant, and it’s too early of a Monday for me to try guessing.”
Lon chuckled. “I heard all of that.”
Ziegler smiled. “Yes, sir.” Alpha’s lead sergeant was one of only a handful of enlisted men in the unit who were married. He also had twenty-five years of service in the Corps, and was as important to the functioning of the company as its commander or either of its lieutenants. He was one of the men Lon had sought advice from in the confusing first days at Bascombe East.
Matt Orlis was eating a doughnut at his desk. He waved Lon into a chair. “Back to the usual schedule, Lon,” the captain said after taking a sip of coffee. “Your platoons have fatigue details today and it’s back to the contract office for you.”
Lon nodded. “Any news, sir?” he asked, his voice cautious.
Orlis smiled. “Not about anything. You keep your ears open, you might hear something before I do, but you’ll be totally surprised if you do, right?”
“Totally,” Lon agreed with a grin.
“I had a short chat with Joe Pitt yesterday,” Orlis said then, leaning back. Lon needed a second to connect the name: Major Joseph Pitt, Nassau Proving Range. “They only have the most preliminary workups yet on the tests, but Joe says it looks extremely promising. He was already talking about the possibility of doing more extensive field tests during the winter war games.”
“It did look good,” Lon said. “Men need more than three or four tries to get the hang of it, even after the simulators, but it’s something I’d sure like to have when we really need it.”
“You and everyone else who’s ever been there,” Orlis said quietly, seriously. “Maybe this time it’ll be a go.”
Maybe I’ll get a chance to nose around and find out where this world is that we might get a contract for, Lon thought as he walked to Corps Headquarters. He chuckled at the fanciful image, knowing he would do nothing of the kind. I’ll find out soon enough if it turns up. No need to go looking for grief
The Contracts section occupied much of the north wing of Corps Headquarters, on the ground floor and the first basement level. The largest part of Contracts was OSI, the Office of Strategic Intelligence. Its job was to collect information on all of the settled worlds possible: political, social, and economic conditions; enemies and allies; possibilities for employment. OSI maintained one of the most extensive databases in the galaxy. Most of the information was available to any officer in the Corps. OSI conducted investigations, when possible, before contracts were accepted and troops committed. With minimum round-trip transit times between worlds approaching a month, it was not always possible.
During his weekly tours with Contracts, Lon had been shuffled from office to office with seeming abandon, working in two different OSI departments as well as in the contracts assessment department, which was Contracts’ other primary division. He never knew until he reported in where he would be working any Monday. This time he was told to report to the audit office of OSI. That had nothing to do with finances. It was responsible for checking the accuracy of recent database entries. It was, in Lon’s opinion, the most boring assignment in Contracts.
It was almost a relief when Captain Zim, the officer in charge of the audit office, came to the complink Lon was working a little after nine o’clock and told him to report to the commanding officer of Contracts.
“Yes, sir,” Lon replied, logging off of the database while he spoke. “Any idea what it’s about?”
“Something the colonel wants you to look at,” Zim said.
Lieutenant Colonel Jorge Ruiz had his office on the first floor, with two windows facing the courtyard that held specimens of cannon spanning the previous thirteen centuries.
“Come on in, Nolan.” Ruiz was extremely informal inside the section’s office space, standing on little ceremony except when it might be necessary to impress off-world visitors. “Have a seat.” He waited until Lon was seated on one of the leather and bonewood chairs that faced his desk before he continued.
“This might seem like some type of pop quiz to test how well you’ve learned your lessons here, but it’s not,” Ruiz said. Lon lifted an eyebrow. “I want you to examine a file and suggest a course of action. Unfortunately, I can’t give you as much time as I’d like. Take until eleven-thirty hours. Reach your conclusions and have your reasons ready. We’ll discuss it over lunch in the senior officers’ mess.”
“Yes, sir,” Lon said.
Colonel Ruiz gave him the file name. “I’ll tell Captain Zim that you’re not to be disturbed, that you’re working a special project for me.”
The interview took less than five minutes. Lon returned to the audit office and keyed his password and the file name into his complink. After less than a minute of scanning the preamble to the file, he knew this was the contract Captain Orlis had hinted at.