Stark's Command (23 page)

Wonder why I haven't thought of that since it happened, but remembered it now? But that's what it's all about. And the mil kids never saw that, 'cause growing up they could pretend being isolated was actually being in some special club.
He slapped the light on, then keyed his comm unit, waiting impatiently while it buzzed several times before being acknowledged. "Campbell?"

"Yes." Unlike Stark, the civilian Colony leader obviously hadn't been having trouble sleeping. "Who is . . . Sergeant Stark?"

"Yeah. I need to see you and talk about some things."

"We can schedule something in the morning—"

"No. Now. How soon can you be over here?"

"It'll take a lot of time to assemble my assistants at this hour."

"No assistants. Just you and me." Stark paused, reconsidering. "On second thought, there oughta be a larger audience. Bring Sarafina. I'll bring Reynolds."

"What is this about?" Campbell demanded. "Getting along. I'll have an escort meet you at the main entrance to the military area and bring you to my room. Just a nice, low-key, informal get-together."
Where I'm gonna rant and rave at everyone present.

"Very well, Sergeant. I'll be there as soon as I can." Less than an hour later, two rumpled civilians sat irritably confronting two rumpled military personnel. Vic appeared torn between annoyance at Stark and disdain for the civilians, though she did greet Sarafina with a thin smile. Stark paced restlessly for a moment longer after the door sealed, then glared at his companions. "Let me say this right off. Neither the civs, the civilians, or the military are angels. Both are screwed up in their own ways." He pointed a finger at Vic as she started to speak. "Wait'll I've had my say. Now, you, Campbell, and you, Sarafina. Deep down, you don't trust us because you don't trust anybody with any power over you. You're looking for our angle. You figure we've got to be planning to screw you, because that's all that's ever happened to you. You know people with power in the civilian world, politicians and corporate types, can be bribed if all else fails, but you don't have the money to do that with us anymore than you did with them. And anyway, military like us don't play by those rules, which is something you don't understand either. And you're scared. You're scared because you don't think you can really manage to do this right because all your lives everybody and everything has told you that you don't matter, that the game's always rigged so you lose. That's been life for little guys in the U.S. of A. for a long time. You got something to say, Campbell?"

The Colony Manager glowered back for a moment. "This is a very difficult, very dangerous situation. It's prudent to be cautious. I might add that in the last several years we've devoted a tremendous amount of effort to gaining better treatment for the Colony."

"Uh-huh. And how much better treatment have you managed to get for the Colony in all that time? Don't get madder, for Christ's sake. You're smart. You're sharp. You just didn't have leverage. Now, you got leverage. Us. The best damn military force on or off Earth. And we can't be bought, unlike just about everything else these days, because if money really mattered to us we wouldn't be doing this job in the first place. But if you keep us at arm's length because you don't think you can really win, then you
will
lose."

Sarafina's face was a carefully composed mask, but her words carried some acid. "You are saying we suffer from some sort of inferiority complex?"

"Whatever you want to call it. If you don't think you matter, then you don't. I've been there. I remember being a civ, seeing all these great things I could supposedly do, and knowing I was really in a big glass box so I could see all that stuff but never reach it. I knew that, but maybe what I knew was way wrong. Think about it."

Stark turned to Reynolds. "The mil's a little different, but basically we're also sure we're gonna get screwed. We live inside walls and everyone outside the walls is against us. Especially the civs, right? But you know what? We've got something they don't understand. Everybody in the mil figures they make a difference. We figure we're doing something important. It doesn't make any sense because most of the time we're just being used and we know it, but even when we're being used we're still proud of who we are and what we do. We take an oath! Civs don't take oaths, except the politicians and everybody knows how much they believe in their oaths."

Vic eyed him, face as guarded as Sarafina's. "What's your point?"

"The point is that they," Stark pointed at Campbell and his aide, "don't understand that. Don't understand people who believe they make a difference. It scares them to see people devoted to a cause they don't understand, so they're always a little scared of us. Sure, they're scared of our guns, too, but guns are just tools. It's the people who use them that don't make sense to civs. And civs are all stepped on every day by people with big money, or people working for people with big money, so there's nobody else for them to look down on but us. So we get used, for a lot of reasons. But these civs won't use us, Vic, because they need us too bad. We're the only thing that'll ever let them break out of that glass box I talked about. We can blow it into little tiny fragments for them."

"So they need us. Why do we need them?"

"To give us a reason! What's the cause, Vic? Who're we protecting? What's the oath? The mil needs a reason for being, something more than just killing people who want to kill us and trying to stay alive in the process. Otherwise, we're like priests without a religion. We can go through the motions all we want, but none of it means anything and none of it makes sense. The only way we do make sense, the only way we're complete, is if we're part of a whole. Part of them. Maybe it's different in some other countries, but we're American soldiers." He pointed to the civilians. "Unless we're working for them, we got no reason for being."

Reynolds sat silent for a long moment, then quirked a small smile. "I've been trying to figure out our endgame. Our objective. Can't just hold the perimeter for the rest of our lives. We can't set an objective on our own, can we, Ethan? We're not trained for it, we're not supposed to do it, so even when we could do it something holds us back. And I sure miss fighting for 'we the people.' " She looked over Campbell and Sarafina. "It's our job to do what we're told. So, what do you need us to do?"

The civilians stared back, momentarily thrown off-balance.

"You're asking us for instructions?" Campbell finally wondered.

"Not instructions. Orders."

"But . . .
you're
the ones with all the power. Sergeant Stark is absolutely right about that. You should be giving
us
orders, just like he did yesterday when that naval battle was going on over the Colony."

"We're mil," Vic explained patiently. "American military. Push us hard enough, and even we'll break eventually, but we won't be happy or proud about it. Ethan Stark is right, something that happens more often than I can account for. We don't give orders to civilians. We don't run the country. We take orders, even orders that don't make much sense. It's not that I trust you, because I don't. I fully expect you to use us for your own purposes. But that's your right. What is it you want us to do?"

Campbell looked baffled. "We don't know what we want, yet."

"We're used to that." Vic looked up and over at Stark. "You got everything mapped out for the civs?"

"No." Stark finally sat, enjoying the sensation. "That's their call. I'm here to give advice."

Sarafina stared at him. "And what is your advice to us?"

"You got a lot of power, now. Use it. Use it smart. There's nothing wrong with the American system. There's a helluva lot right. We just let the wrong people take over running it." Stark canted his head toward Reynolds. "Like voting. Nobody in the mil votes. We figure we're hopelessly outnumbered."

Vic uttered an exaggerated sigh. "Ethan, we are. There aren't very many mil. There's a whole lot of civs. We can't outvote them."

"You don't have to." Stark switched his gaze to Campbell. "How many people vote in elections? Back home?"

"You mean what percentage of eligible voters actually vote?" Campbell questioned. "The average runs between twenty and thirty percent these days."

"Like when I was a kid," Stark confirmed. "Vic, we're not competing with every civ, just those who vote. And it only takes one vote to win."

"That does improve the odds," she admitted. "But, right now, voting is no help. We're felons. If the civs join us, they're felons."

Campbell glared back defiantly. "We have rights, rights which have been trampled for too long. Sergeant Stark, you're a much shrewder man than I had estimated. I promise you, I'll get my advisers in line soon and arrange a vote within the Colony which will hopefully give me a mandate to officially join with you."

"I'll take your word for it," Stark stated, "but I'll be blunt. I don't trust Trasies."

"I know he's been very difficult during our meetings—"

"That's not what this is about. I don't like him, but I can work with people I don't like. Trasies feels wrong to me."

Campbell glanced at Sarafina, who shook her head tiredly. "Sergeant Stark, we have checked repeatedly for any evidence that Chief of Security Trasies has acted against us or against you. We've found nothing."

Vic chuckled. "Did you really expect to find evidence in your files? If Trasies was working against you, the files wouldn't have been kept in the civ systems where anybody could trip over them. They'd have been protected in—" She stopped speaking abruptly, then swore. "They'd be in the military systems someplace."

"Wouldn't we have found them already?" Stark demanded.

"No, no, no. We've got a gazillion files in long-term memory, Ethan. And security documents would be protected by passwords, fake file names, firewalls, and special security compartments. Just finding the damn things would take a special effort, and if you didn't know they were there you'd never think to try looking for them."

"If
there's anything there, I'd certainly like to see it," Campbell advised softly. "You realize, of course, any derogatory information would be questioned. Files can be faked."

"We don't have anybody who can—" Vic bridled, then broke off. "Maybe we do," she conceded. "Hell, probably we do. But we won't fake anything."

"You understand people will suggest that anyway."

"Yes, but if we just wanted to fake files to implicate Trasies why wouldn't we have done that right off the bat? Why wait until now?"

"That's true," Sarafina agreed. "And your Sergeant Stark couldn't pull off such a deception, I believe," she added with a smile. "He is not a good liar."

Vic grinned. "Well, we agree on one thing, at least. That and getting our officers sent home."

Private Murphy lay strapped onto a wide bed, well-cushioned despite the low gravity, his right shoulder and side rigidly locked into a gray box with gently blinking lights and bundles of tubes snaking into outlets in the wall. His face, drawn and pale, lit with surprise and happiness as he caught sight of Stark. "Hey, Sarge! I mean, uh, Commander." His words came rapidly, as if from a recording played back too fast, reflecting a metabolism sped up to accelerate healing.

"Knock it off." Stark sat next to Murphy's left side, forcing a smile. "To you I'm still Sarge."

"Thanks, Sarge. How come you're here? You oughta be real busy."

"I'm never too busy for you apes. How you doin', Murph?"

Murphy grinned, swinging his left arm up to indicate the gray box. "Lost my arm, Sarge. Part of the shoulder, too. Guess I earned another Purple Heart, huh?"

"I guess. There's easier ways to do that, Murph." Stark squinted at the readouts, vainly trying to interpret their data. "Everything goin' okay? They growin' it all back? No problems?"

"None they told me about." Murphy's smile grew a little strained. "But, man, I hate the itching."

"Itching?"

"Yeah, Sarge. The stuff they're growing back itches like crazy. Especially the stuff that ain't grown back yet! I told them my thumb was giving me hell and the docs said that thumb still hasn't, uh, regenerated. That's weird, huh?"

"Yeah." Stark took another look at the box. "But you can't scratch. Jeez."

"Nah. They have to dope me up so I can sleep at night.

But I'll be okay, Sarge," Murphy vowed. "I'll be back in the Squad before you know it, good as new."

"That's the idea, Murph. But try not to catch heavy rounds bare-handed next time. I'd hate to lose you."

"Really? Hell, Sarge, I ain't goin' nowhere, not with you and Corporal Gomez looking out for me."

Stark forced another smile. "Neither one of us can work miracles. You just think about getting back in one piece right now. Anything I can do for you?"

"No, I . . . uh, Sarge, okay if I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure, Murph. What's up?"

Murphy fidgeted as much as his restraints would allow, his eyes wandering to the far corners of the room. "Well, Sarge, it's, uh, we've had some women come and visit."

"That's nice."

"Civ women, I mean." Private Murphy, veteran of a hundred battles, blushed. "Sarge, is it okay to, you know, get to know civ women?"

Stark hastily moved to rub his mouth with one hand, hiding his smile. "You want to date a civ, Murph?"

"Yeah. She's really nice, Sarge."

"Nice, huh? What kinda nice? Ginger or Mary Ann?"

"Mary Ann, Sarge."

"Really? A nice, wholesome farm girl type? You always seemed interested in the glamorous movie star Gingers before, Murph."

Murphy grinned. "I guess I was, but this one's really special, you know?"

I know.
"Yeah."

"And she really seems interested in me."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Right." Murphy nodded briskly, missing the irony. "But is it okay?"

"Sure it's okay."

Murphy grinned again, this time with relief. "That's great." The smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "Man, how do you treat a civ woman?"

"Come on, Murphy, I know you've had a lot of dates."