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they got going on, right? Then I can think up something with style.”

Michael’s eyes watered. He’s losing it, Jamie thought.

    “This is it, Coop. Last chance.”

He turned from Jamie, cocked his pistol, and aimed at the door.

“Let’s go, J. You ready, GI Jane? Time to check out the new digs.”

Jamie stepped up, joined Michael and Sammie with weapons extended. He nodded to Ophelia. She did the rest.

Every instinct told Jamie he should have forced Michael to return home. This was not going to end well.

 

4

U.G. Admiralty Scramjet Ericsson

 

T WENTY MINUTES AFTER HE JOINED the attachment to one of the Collectorate’s most powerful military commanders, Valentin Bouchet – two weeks shy of his fifteenth birthday – stood alone, a neglected piece of furniture onboard a mobile command-and-control vessel en route to destination unknown.

Admiral Perrone offered no information after his obtuse greeting but ordered Valentin in silentium after re-uniforming for combat.

Valentin did as told, though dressing for combat on Earth was unheard of. He entered a ReCon tube, which took sixty seconds to disintegrate his Dacha clothing, laser-pulse his 295-pound, battle-hearty mass for proper measurement, and weave the crimson combat bodysuit of the peacekeepers upon him – foot to neck, an immaculate fit for every ripple and contortion. Lighter and smoother than silk, stronger than steel, adaptable to all environments. The tube also synthesized his helmet, which he retrieved before exiting.

Valentin stood at full attention near the forward hull, helmet cupped under one arm, his breaths undetectable as he held the pose meant for peacekeepers facing sharp disciplinary consequences.

As the minutes passed, his anxiety rose. In the center of the compartment, the officers studied a holocube battlefield projection for a site somewhere on Earth. They walked around the floating bubble which had been discharged from an officer’s amp and tapped inside the projection, where data rose and fell. They nodded, their lips shut while speaking instream. The admiral vanished behind a cloaked sound field to his own workstation at the rear.

Is this how you test me? Valentin wondered whether his failure at the battle on Zwahili Kingdom caught up with him. He never expected to receive a pass for his fatal lapse and couldn’t believe he’d gone without a reprimand.

In his impatience, Valentin suspected his own father might be to blame for this reversal of fortune. You never believed in me, Valentin thought. You never understood my thirst for service. His father never stated his opposition directly – at least not in the Tier-3 runup to induction – but Valentin knew. He saw the sideways glances, heard the hushed tones, the occasional commentary about “hard-liners who could not let go of the past.”

Although Valentin steered clear of politics, he wondered whether his father lost faith in Elevation Philosophy, which stated the Chancellors’ birthright to reign over humanity’s other ethnicities and tribes.

His paranoia assembled the pieces. His father knew the admiral and orchestrated a back-channel deal to increase the admiral’s influence with Earth’s most powerful presidium. In exchange, the admiral agreed to accept Valentin’s reassignment to a cushy position as attaché, with the inevitable promotion to a political position in a regional Sanctum. No more battlefield glory, no command postings, only the minefield of the Chancellory’s corporate bureaucracy.

You will not get away with this, Father.

The admiral brought down his cloak and emerged into the compartment. He spoke to his officers and redirected a new schematic from his own holocube. Even at twenty feet, Valentin recognized the geography: The Ukrainian Expanse.

“The reports are conflicting,” the admiral told them. “Three fools went across to make an extraction. The prototype emerged despite their efforts. But there is fighting on both sides of the IDF. If they do not resolve this matter inside the hour, we will engage Scorch protocol. Understood?” The officers side-nodded. “Alert Commander Narmette to place his ADB cannons on standby.”

The admiral turned his attention to Valentin.

“First Specialist, at ease. Join me at my station.”

“Yes, sir.”

The admiral take a seat behind a simple desk and poured himself a cup of café from a built-in dispensary on the rear bulkhead. He nodded in satisfaction after the first sip.

“Simple pleasures manage difficult chores.” He smiled. “My brother used to say that. Worked well for him until he died onboard the Nephesian. He and twenty-four thousand others. Thirty years ago tomorrow. We have never recovered. Have we, First Specialist?”

“No, sir.”

The admiral laughed. “And what would you know of it? For you, it was two lifetimes ago.” He sipped café. “But I wallow in pointless sentiment. Time to focus on more urgent concerns. Yes?”

“Sir, if I may inquire, why did you reassign me?”

“You may not inquire, Mr. Bouchet. All you need to recognize is that your skillset will be valuable for the operation in front of us.”

“Yes, sir. And that operation?”

“A combat rescue, and an opportunity to add Chancellor insurgents to your kill record. Far more impressive than knifing an indigo in the Mongolian Desolation, yes?”

“Chancellor insurgents? You mean, the Green?”

“If that’s what they still call themselves.” The admiral enjoyed his café. “Civil war is bad for business, Mr. Bouchet. For the moment, let us focus on the rescue component.” He tapped his temple. “Spin up your amp. Bring down your CF Wall, allow incursion for Admiralty A-6 mods.” As Valentin tapped his stream amp and produced his holocube, the admiral added, “And prepare to be entertained.”

Valentin twisted his fingers through the holographic corridors of his highest security filters and grabbed the visual feed just arriving.

“Before you watch this, Mr. Bouchet, I want you to understand that we are both vested in what happens on this operation. As I promised, you will meet a brother you never had, all of which might make for fascinating dinner conversation the next time you see your parents. For me, this is far

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