Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) (7 page)

Chapter 6

Maker’s quarters were nice, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was basically a one-bedroom suite with a kitchenette, a bathroom, a living room, and a small closet.

As anticipated, the rest of his luggage had already arrived and was sitting in the living room. Although ample in size, it really didn’t comprise very much. The bulk of the items consisted of a large, heavy-duty trunk with a high-tech lock that housed his body armor. Other than that, there was a piece of locked, hard shell luggage that actually served as a weapons case, and a large garment bag containing what was essentially the rest of Maker’s wardrobe.

Maker removed his service coat, tossing it and his cap onto a nearby recliner. Erlen yawned, then hopped onto the living room sofa and curled up. Maker, giving the Niotan a look of disgust, grabbed the weapons case.

“No, no,” he said sarcastically, staring at Erlen. “I’ve got this. You take a break.”

Erlen let out a playful growl but didn’t even bother opening his eyes as Maker went into the bedroom. Once there, he shoved the weapons case into a corner on the floor of the closet and was just starting to put away his clothes when a soft chime sounded, indicating that someone was at his door.

Maker exited the bedroom and headed towards the door, noting as he passed through the living room that Erlen had come silently to attention and was now wide awake.

Affixed to the wall next to the door was a large, flat monitor that was currently dark. Maker tapped the screen once and it immediately came to life, showing him the face of his visitor.

It was a man, dark-haired but with a military buzz cut. He also had shaggy black eyebrows, an olive complexion, and brown eyes.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” the man uttered in a singsong voice.

“Open,” Maker said, grinning.

There was an audible click as the door unlocked before sliding into a recessed portion of the wall. Maker’s visitor, dressed in military fatigues, took three stiff strides into the room. He turned to face Maker as the door slid shut again, and then gave a snappy salute.

“Master Sergeant Hector Adames reporting for duty, sir,” the man announced in a stentorian voice.

Maker returned the salute. “At ease,” he said.

He and Adames locked eyes, staring, as if each were sizing the other up. Almost simultaneously, they both let out a hearty laugh, and then hugged briefly, clapping each other on the shoulder.

“Gant Maker, an officer?” Adames said, feigning incredulity. “Did they have an extra set of lieutenant bars left over that they didn’t know what to do with?”

“What about you, you scamp?” Maker retorted. “The brass hasn’t managed to kick you out of the Corps yet?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Adames said, only half joking. He suddenly noticed Erlen. “I see you’ve still got your pet monster. Funny, I would have thought that thing had killed and eaten you by now.”

Adames reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small red ball. He tossed it in Erlen’s direction; the Niotan caught it in his mouth in mid-air, and then began to gnaw eagerly on it.

“I see Erlen still has a fondness for rock candy,” Adames said. “Now tell me, how in blazes did you get reinstated in the Corps – and as an officer no less?”

Maker told him the story, which took almost no time at all.

“Hey, you know that I never doubted you,” Adames assured him when he’d finished, “so I’m glad you were finally proven right. Still, I don’t understand my role in all this.”

“I need an acquisitions specialist.”

“I see,” Adames said, frowning in thought. Maker obviously wanted him to get something – or some
things
– that couldn’t be obtained through normal channels. “And what exactly are you looking to acquire?”

Rather than respond, Maker handed his p-comp to Adames, who stared at the device’s screen. He then flicked a finger across the machine’s monitor, scrolling down what was obviously an inventory list.

Adames’ eyebrows went up and he let out a long, low whistle as he scanned the items noted. “I’ll say this for you, Gant: you dream big. More than half this stuff is verboten.”

“So you can’t get it?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I can get it. It may take a little time–”

“You’ve got three days,” Maker stated matter-of-factly. “That’s when we move out.”

“In that case, I’d better get started,” Adames said, returning the p-comp.

Maker tried handing the device back. “You can keep this – in case you need to refer to the list again.”

“No need,” Adames said, tapping his temple with a forefinger. “Besides, for a guy in my line of work, a list like that is practically a trail of breadcrumbs if the wrong people start asking questions.”

“Got it,” Maker acknowledged with a nod. “Now, about our team – did you get their files?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t had a chance to look at them. I do know that everyone’s here, though. The last one arrived yesterday.”

“Well, try to review them before tomorrow. We’re briefing them in the morning.”

“Sounds like we’re going to be moving fast on this thing. Like I said, I should get started.”

“Excellent,” Maker said. “I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re on the job – although first I really need to get something to eat.”

The two men shook hands again and exchanged pleasantries, clearly happy to be working together. Adames headed for the door with Maker seeing him out, but paused unexpectedly before exiting. He turned back towards Maker, looking particularly serious.

“Look, Gant,” he said. “The word is out that you’re here. I’ve only been planet-side for two days, and I’ve already been hearing all kinds of chatter.”

“Like what?” Maker asked.

“There are a lot of individuals out there who still think you killed a ship full of people, including a bunch of good Marines. People who think you should have been charged, gone to prison…or worse. I know that you can handle yourself, but you may want to be extra careful.”

“I will, thanks,” Maker said, but Adames really didn’t sense a lot of sincerity in his friend’s words. Still, he simply nodded and left.

After Adames departed, Maker spent a few seconds thinking about what the man had said. It had only been a couple of years since the incident that had ruined his prior career, but still, it
had
been years. And, while Maker couldn’t escape being infamous, he had never been charged with any kind of crime. Surely that meant something.

He would soon learn that he was completely wrong in that regard.

Chapter 7

Maker went back to unpacking his clothes after Adames left. Knowing that he’d only be on Stinger III a short time, he left most of his apparel in their respective bags. Satisfied that he had enough attire hanging in the closet to last a few days (but not so much that it would take him more than a few minutes to pack), he went back into the living room.

“Dinner,” he announced to Erlen, who was stretched out lazily on the sofa again. The Niotan raised his head a few inches as if thinking it over, then waved a dismissive paw at Maker as he plopped his head back down again.

“Fine,” Maker said, heading towards the door. “I’ll bring you something back.”

Maker stepped out, and then headed down to the VOQ lobby. There he found the same perky receptionist still on duty. He waited patiently while she helped a Space Navy commander, then stepped forward.

“Excuse me, but can you tell me how to get to the N– I mean, the Officer’s Mess from here?” he asked. He had almost said “NCO Mess” but caught himself in time.

“There’s a complimentary bus that comes by the front door every fifteen minutes,” she said. “In addition to the mess, which is located in the Officer’s Club, it also goes by a couple of other facilities, like the base gym…”

Maker politely let her rattle on for a few seconds, naming various places that he could get to on the bus if he were so inclined. When she paused to take a breath, he thanked her and headed out of the main door of the lobby to wait. Not long thereafter the bus pulled up, and a short time later Maker found himself stepping off the vehicle in front of the O Club.

The club consisted of a large, two-story building painted a drab gray. Close to the door were a number of parking spots reserved for generals, admirals, and the like – a few of which were occupied.

Maker stared at the door for a moment. This was as close as he could ever remember getting to the Officer’s Club of any base he had ever been on. It hadn’t occurred to him before how odd it would feel to be on this side of the fence, to not just be an officer but being committed to their institutions and traditions.

Oh well, too late for second thoughts now…

And with that he walked up to the door and went inside.

The interior of the club was a minor disappointment. Of course, he hadn’t expected to find water fountains dispensing champagne, paintings by Old Earth masters on the walls, or any of the other drivel they tell you when you’re new to the Corps about how special the O Club is. But what he hadn’t expected to see when he walked down the various hallways were things he was already well-acquainted with: familiar busts of famous war heroes, framed copies of well-known military documents, etc.

In short, in terms of aesthetics, the O Club wasn’t particularly different than any NCO Club that he’d been to. Apparently the only thing exceptionally appealing about the O Club was its exclusivity, and now that he was – nominally – a member, it wasn’t that impressive.

Maker let out a dissatisfied, almost disgusted sigh. A moment later, he stopped a passing captain and asked where the mess hall was located. Five minutes later, he was sitting down at a table with a plate full of food and a glass of water.

The dining area was spacious, with cafeteria-style seating. While not completely packed, there were enough diners present that Maker actually had to share his table with other people – a party of three other lieutenants seated at the opposite end of the table.

Against one of the walls, Maker noticed three tables that constituted more traditional dining room furniture – not the picnic-table crap that he and his fellows were currently seated at. In fact, those tables (and the heavy, cushioned chairs that went with them) were positively ornate, and each was emblazoned with a star on top.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the area he was looking at was reserved for general officers. In fact, there were a half-dozen of them presently sitting at one of those tables now – including a Navy rear admiral who was staring at Maker with a particular degree of intensity.

Maker tried to ignore the man and focused on his food. His meal consisted of some kind of indigenous fowl, a local strain of wild rice that was as long as his finger and had to be cut with a knife, and a couple of rolls.

After a few minutes, Maker picked up movement out of the corner of his eye. The admiral he’d noticed before was beckoning a young officer over – a Navy lieutenant. The young man bent down and the admiral began whispering vehemently in his ear. Suddenly, the lieutenant’s head snapped in Maker’s direction; at the same time, his fist curled up into a white-knuckled ball. This in no way looked like a positive development.

The lieutenant – a tall, well-muscled fellow – gave Maker an angry look as he returned to his seat. Once there, he began speaking in an urgent manner with the other officers seated with him, occasionally pointing in Maker’s direction.

Maker knew what was coming next; it was something he had started experiencing shortly before he was run out of the service. The whispering began spreading across the room like a plague of locusts, always accompanied by a glance or a nod in his direction. Eventually, it reached the young officers seated at the other end of Maker’s table. One of them gave him a dumbfounded look, but at the urging of his companions picked up what was left of his dinner and moved to another table.

All the while, Maker kept eating, acting as if nothing was wrong. If this was the worst that they did, he could handle it. If they were planning to take things a step further…

As if reading Maker’s mind, the lieutenant who the admiral had spoken to suddenly stood up. Accompanied by three companions, he approached Maker’s table with a stride that said he meant business. When they got close, Maker glanced at the lieutenant’s nametag: it read “Kepler.”

Kepler and one of his cronies – a big, burly fellow who looked like he wrestled bears in his spare time – sat down on the bench across from Maker. Their other two friends sat down on either side of him (even though the one near the end really didn’t have enough room, and must have had half of his posterior hanging off the bench seating). The room essentially went silent; Maker, knife and fork in hand, kept eating.

“You’re Arrogant Maker,” Kepler said. It wasn’t a question.

“Every day,” Maker retorted.

“
Madman
Maker,” Kepler said. “
Maniac
Maker.”

Maker didn’t reply; he simply cut another piece of fowl and ate it.

“You know, some of us had friends serving on the
Orpheus Moon
,” Kepler went on.

“What a coincidence,” Maker said. “So did I.”

“Well, one was Admiral Greeley’s son.” Kepler nodded in the direction of the admiral, who looked like he wanted to shove a grenade down Maker’s throat. “My cousin.”

Maker took a moment to reflect. He remembered Lieutenant Greeley. He’d been a little green, but with some seasoning he had been likely to become a fine officer.

Maker spared another glance for the admiral, who still looked as though he believed Maker would make excellent lawn fertilizer. A general officer was a powerful foe to have working against you. For the first time, it occurred to Maker that a number of people on Captain Wendren’s ship had come from families with long military traditions and were related to high-ranking officers. In fact, Wendren himself had come from a politically well-connected family.

Maker frowned slightly. How many enemies had he made that day when the
Orpheus Moon
took its fateful jump? How many people had called in favors to see that he got the boot? And now that he was back, how many would be gunning for him again?

All of this flitted through his mind over the course of a few seconds. Maker decided to see if there was a diplomatic way to end things.

“Look,” he began, “what happened aboard the
Orpheus Moon
was tragic, but wasn’t my doing. I’m sorry for how things turned out, but it wa–”

Kepler pounded the table with his fist hard enough to rattle Maker’s plate, the sound seemingly magnified by the hushed tone pervading the room.

“Nobody cares how sorry you are!” Kepler hissed. “The fact of the matter is you’re somehow alive when everyone else is dead, and it’s your fault!”

Maker gripped the knife and fork in his hands so tightly that it was a wonder that he didn’t hurt himself.

“Alright,” he said flatly, sizing up his opponents and trying to imagine how this scuffle was going to unfold. “Let’s do this.”

His tone and willingness to fight seemed to catch them off-guard, but Kepler recovered soon enough. Maker could see the man’s muscles tensing underneath his shirt as he prepared to go into action.

An unexpected cough, clearly intended to get their attention, sounded from the general officers’ table. Kepler and his friends all turned in that direction – towards Admiral Greeley. Maker warily cast a glance in that direction and caught the admiral fiercely shake his head. Kepler clearly got the message:
Not here
.

Kepler stood up, and his friends followed his lead.

“You got lucky this time,” he angrily told Maker. “But you can bet that we’ll see you before you leave.”

With that, they exited the mess hall. The threat of an imminent fight now gone, Maker focused on trying to finish his dinner; afterwards, he hung around the O Club for an extra half hour – just in case his new friends were waiting on him outside – during which time he was able to talk the kitchen staff into giving him a bag in which to carry some food back for Erlen.

He made it back to his room without encountering any more vengeful individuals. He found a plate in the kitchenette and dumped the food he’d brought back onto it, then set the entire thing on the floor for Erlen.

Satisfied that he’d done enough for one day, Maker took a quick shower and then flung himself into bed. He was sound asleep within minutes.