Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (34 page)

Wallace
ignored the man ignoring reality.  His fleet had been decimated to a single, undersized
section.  While
Deft’s
fortuitous position inside the rearguard had
permitted her two combat passes without a direct adversary, she was but a
snow.  The other three remaining snows in his fleet were damaged to such a
degree that had this been a skirmish against a corporation other than Seshafi’s,
they would have retired long ago.  What had begun with an advantage in not only
numbers but mass had been subverted into yet another bloody battle of attrition
through AmyraCorp’s mixture of unorthodox tactics and superior resolve.  He
focused his gaze upon
Ajax’s
hologram so harshly that it might vaporize under
his eyes.  He had been bested.  He knew that much. 
No amount of finesse can
stave off a single-minded bear determined to maul you,
he thought. 
Moreover,
none of my remaining vessels can match up against that line ship.

“We
have been beaten, Damien,” Wallace announced gruffly.  “Let us accept it like
the gentlemen we are.”  He cast a surreptitious glance toward Archduke
Dunmore.  The man appeared to be in shock at the ferocity of the final pass. 
Perhaps
the ‘Vics have done me at least one favor.

“Record,”
he ordered and prepared to, once again, swallow his pride.  “Commander Vernay,
Sade hereby withdraws the entirety of her
casus bellum
.  My remaining
fleet will combine into a caravan and exit the system at once.  The ships
unable to dive will make way toward Seshafi Major for repairs.  As is
customary, Sade will pay twice the repair fees as standard ransom.”

The
ransom would be exorbitant.  Five ships, including the fourth-rate,
Courageux
,
had been incapacitated and while
Sultan’s
propulsion was intact, the
ship was so severely damaged that it would never make the two-day voyage
through tunnel space without critical repairs.  Wallace counted the seconds go
by.  He had maneuvered his command ship close to the battlespace, far closer
than any C-3 ship had ever dared before.  The wait for a reply was a short one.

The portrait
of the Brevic turned Seshafian appeared on the main screen.  The woman had
removed her helmet.  Her sweat-saturated blonde hair had darkened considerably
but the intensity of her blue eyes had not diminished at all.  “Negative,
Admiral,” she responded with an impertinent smile.  “By corporate rules we have
not forfeited our rights to those ships.  I mean to take them.  You can prepare
for the next pass or surrender unconditionally.  As far as those disabled ships
go, they need to power down their weapons and propulsion systems completely or
prepare themselves to repel boarders.”  Her irreverent smile grew dark.  “After
witnessing the butchery you’ve brought to our people, I’m sure our marines would
love to get involved in the action.”

“You
fool!” cried out Dunmore.  “You’ve lost everything!  Do you have any idea of
the number of lives and credits this adventurism will cost IaCom?  Your
invasion has been nothing but a net negative for the entire corporation!”

“You
commanded me to take AmyraCorp,
in toto,
my Lord.” Wallace argued.

“Ten
months ago!” countered Dunmore.  “Had you not resorted to your chicanery with
Cooke and brought a proper force the first time, we’d have never encountered
these people!  And now you’ve set this corporation back decades with your… your
incompetence!”

“My
Lord—”

“ENOUGH!”
Dunmore roared and stomped toward Wallace.  “Stand aside, Oliver, while I clean
up the mess you’ve made.”  Dunmore savagely gestured toward the bridge’s
communications officer.

“Attention,
Seshafian commander, this is Archduke Riston Dunmore, CEO of IaCom.  There is
always room for negotiation, Commander, and I need those ships returned to Sade
for my system’s self-defense.  Tell me what it is you would accept in lieu of the
five starships you’ve blasted into scrap.  Surely, I can offer you rewards more
appealing than burnt-out circuitry and cored alloy.”

The
CEO tapped his foot impatiently and glared at Wallace.  After thirty seconds,
the Seshafian fleet commander made her terms clear.  “I want four times the usual
ransom and assurances that AmyraCorp will not be attacked once your ships are
repaired, Archduke.  Fifteen years of peace.”

Dunmore
winced at the offer but his dreams of a speedy hostile takeover had long since shattered. 
“Twice the ransom and five years,” he countered instinctively.

Another
interminable silence prevailed until the reply came.  “Ten years… and you will
surrender Admiral Wallace to Seshafian custody.”

Wallace
gasped.  “Your Grace, certainly you would never consider caving to such absurd
demands!”

Dunmore
glowered at the Red Admiral as he answered Vernay.  “Done, Commander.  These
negotiations have concluded.”  He motioned abruptly to cut off the channel.

Wallace
pounded at the holo-tank’s command console in disbelief.  “Archduke, what
you’ve agreed to is unprecedented!  It’s an outrage!  Never before has an
admiral been forced to be subjugated like a common prisoner during post-battle
negotiations.  You can’t possibly give me up… think of the standard you’ll
set.”

Dunmore
put a reassuring hand upon the Red Admiral’s shoulder.  He patted the man to
calm him as he smiled callously.  “But, Oliver, I have given up no one.  You
promised IaCom that you would do anything to protect her.  You provided us those
assurances but proved unequal to the task we gave you.  Now our needs have
changed.  This is what you must do to protect us.  Do your duty, Oliver,
nothing more.”

Wallace’s
jaw dropped, and hung there.

“IaCom
will remember your noble sacrifice, Oliver,” Dunmore assured.  “And your name
will be written into the annals of our corporate history.”  He gestured toward
the exit.  “You had best collect any belongings, Viscount.  Your shuttle
departs in twenty minutes.”

The synthetic
soles of her boots mitigated Denise Gables’ heavy footsteps.  Although it had
taken over half a year to adjust to her prosthetics, her walk now looked
completely natural.  Shortening the length of the cybernetic feet by six
millimeters had made all the difference.  Only the weight of her steps betrayed
the seeming casualness to her pace.  She wore a blue flight suit with lightning
bolts wrapping around its legs.  Running down the shoulders was not the rank
insignia she had grown accustomed to but the words “Dunnings Racing.”

The
experimental fighter program conceived by AmyraCorp and Unadex had flamed out. 
There were too many technical hurdles that required far too many credits to
clear, and cost was not the only barrier.  The carnage her fighter wing had
endured while defending Seshafi served as the ultimate deterrent.  The
executives of each corporation had weighed the costs and benefits and promptly shelved
the concept of fighters on the corporate battlefield.  Gables was facing the
dissolution of her piloting career and her inevitable return to Operations with
a lagging enthusiasm when a Dunnings representative approached her a week after
the battle of “Second Seshafi” with an unexpected proposition.  She declined
Dunnings’ initial invitation, a role as a test pilot in their research and
design division.  The explanation she offered: it was too dangerous.  Dunnings’
second proposal guaranteed her not only the lead pilot’s position on its racing
team but a job as spokeswoman as well.  She had accepted the offer immediately
on the condition that she could maintain her Seshafian citizenship.  Dunnings
had approved the simple request and sent her an interview schedule within ten
minutes of the agreement.  Her first interview would be, naturally, with
IaCom’s Chase Fuller.

The
resignation of her commission had been met with a mixture of excitement and
sorrow from her friends.  Ultimately, they were happy she was following her passion
and remaining a pilot.  When she had informed Chief Brown, the gruff man had
hugged her like a father and told her how proud he was of what she had become. 
The encounter had left her teary-eyed.

Gables
spied her destination and she approached the faux-wooden door at the end of the
hall.  She knocked rapidly on the door but entered a moment later.  “Jack, you
in here?”

Truesworth,
garbed in civilian clothes, was packing items from his desk into a box.  “You
just caught me, Denise.”  He lifted the base of a small holographic projector
and added it to his collection.  After a quick look around the office, he began
to close the container.

“You
sure I can’t talk you out of this?” Gables asked.  “It’s not too late.”

“Yes
it is,” he said matter-of-factly.  “You weren’t in the room when I resigned my
commission.”

Gables
paled slightly.  “What did you do?”

Truesworth
shrugged lightly and lifted the box to test its weight.  “The admiral gave me
permission to speak freely, so I did.”

“Uh-oh. 
What did you say?”

He
cast her a sideways look and answered stiffly, “Just the truth, that his
decision to put Ravana in the rearguard killed the woman I loved.  He may as
well have fired those lasers himself.”  Truesworth might have wanted to say
more but he paused.  His head dipped down and he brought a trembling hand to
his face.

Gables’
voice became tender.  “She died to save you, Jack.  She loved you so much that
your life was more important to her than her own.”

“Not
just me,” Truesworth said, squeezing the corners of his eyes with his fingers. 
“She saved Tyler Pruette too.  He was Dash’s WEPS.”  His voice grew distant.  “She
saved everyone.”

Gables
stepped around the desk to stand by her friend.  She reached out and took his
hand.  “She was wonderful, wasn’t she?  Are you sure you want to leave the star
system she died protecting?”

Truesworth
sniffed lightly before answering.  “I have to.  There’s nothing left for me
here.  I’ve already bought my way into Catalina’s Iron Brigade and I’m hitching
a ride on Uhlan when it ships out tomorrow.”

“To
more war?” Gables asked dubiously.  “Is that what you want?”

Truesworth
dropped his hand and cleared his throat.  He answered staunchly, “It’s what I
need.  I have to get away from here.  Everyone here reminds me of her.”

“I understand,”
Gables accepted with gloomy resignation.  She wrapped her arms around her
friend in a tight embrace.  “Be safe, Jack.  I know Diane will be watching over
you.”

*  *  *

Stacy
Vernay looked over her shoulder at her empty office.  She had never really personalized
it after turning over command of battered
Ajax
two weeks ago.  The
windowless room seemed foreign to her as she scanned it a final time not with
nostalgia but merely to ensure she had removed all her belongings.  Her hand
swiped over the panel near the door and the lights winked out, casting a gloom
over the space alleviated by the dim light spilling in from the door.

After
her final check, she stepped out of the office and into the hulking form of
Andrew Brown.  The collision knocked her backward a half step but strong hands
caught her shoulders.

“Pardon
me, ma’am,” Brown apologized.  “Didn’t expect you to be goin’ out when I was
comin’ in.”  The grey-haired man smiled as he took in Vernay.  “What you all
gussied up fer?”

Vernay
looked self-consciously down at her service dress.  She had spent the last
minutes inside her office changing into the formal uniform.  She groped for an
explanation but Brown granted her a reprieve.

“Nevermind,
Commander,” he said.  “Guess it’s true then.”

“What,
Chief?”

“I
was comin’ here to see if it was fact that they offered you promotion to capt’n
an’ you told them you’d have to think about it.”  The chief’s eyes danced over
her uniform again and up to her face.  “Guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Why’s
that?”

Brown
smiled knowingly.  “I’ve seen that look before, ma’am.”

Vernay
shook her head but knew there was no denying it.  Instead, she smiled faintly and
asked, “When do they teach enlisted how to read minds?”

“Senior
NCO Academy,” he said as he turned away.  Brown took two steps but stopped. 
“You wouldn’t leave without sayin’ goodbye to me, would you, ma’am?”

The
simple expression of friendship drove a spike through Vernay’s heart.  “I hope
I’m not going anywhere, Chief.”

Brown
resumed his walk away from Vernay.  “Good luck, Commander.”

“To
you as well, Master Chief.”

Brown held up three
fingers in triumph.  There was real glee in his voice.  “Just three more months
an’ a wake up.”

*  *  *

The
back brace constricted his breathing and made him sweat.  Even with the
temperature of his office turned down to arctic levels, the skin pushing
against the rigid material felt like a swamp. 
It’s more like a tourniquet,
Heskan
groused.  Making matters worse, his surgically repaired left shoulder had been
frozen into place by neural inhibiters that would not wear off for another
week. 
At least I’ve got legitimate excuses for cancelling my afternoon interviews,
he thought with a smile. 
Technically, I should be going home.
  Naval
doctors had limited his duty day to a maximum of four hours.

He knew
he had been lucky.  Clayton Covington was still in a hospital recovering from
the horrific injuries his lungs had received when
Hawk’s
bridge
decompressed and his shocksuit had failed to pressurize.  Still, the young
Seshafian would survive and, after several months of recuperation, be certified
fit for duty.  His father had made it his mission to convince the young man to
medically retire.  His mother was busy desperately trying to prevent his younger
sister’s enlistment into Seshafi’s marines.

Heskan
smiled wistfully, remembering the praise lavished upon him by the CEO and his
wife.  The elder Covington insisted that his admiral had saved the entire
corporation and ensured it would have more than adequate time to prevent a
third takeover attempt by IaCom.  The navy had succeeded and protected every
Seshafian’s home, even at such a terrible price.

The memory
brought Heskan’s thoughts to his own home by the sea, filling him with mixed
emotions.  It was finally completed and fully furnished.  The house was
incredible.  Incredibly spacious, incredibly panoramic, incredibly empty.

A
distinct knock jolted him from morose contemplation.  He glanced at his datapad
to check his schedule.  It was also empty.  “Enter,” he said loudly. 
Whoever
you are
, he added to himself.

The
portal opened to reveal an immaculately dressed Commander Vernay at the
threshold.  Her service dress immediately captured Heskan’s attention and he
felt a dread riding just underneath his pleasure at seeing her.

Vernay
moved past the closing door and took precise steps to come to rest one meter
from Heskan’s desk before rendering an impeccable, Brevic salute.  Her motion
was measured and deliberate, as if she was savoring something she would never
do again.  “Commander Stacy Vernay reports to make a statement, Admiral.”

Heskan
felt his heart rate increase at the peculiar greeting.  He returned her
salute.  “Be at ease, Stacy.”

Vernay
remained at attention.  “Thank you, sir, but it’s easier this way.”  She took a
deep breath as if steadying herself.  “Admiral, it is my duty to report my
knowledge of an unprofessional relationship.”

At
first, Heskan refused to believe his ears.  As he parsed through her unexpected
words, his stomach churned at the mention of the dreaded “UPR.”  He leaned
forward and sighed.  “Who is it, Commander?”

Cerulean
eyes dropped fractionally to meet Heskan’s.  Her face struggled for control. 
“It’s me, Garrett, and I’m resigning my commission.”

Heskan
was shocked into incomprehension.  “Wait.  What?”  He shook his head.  “Wait. 
Stacy, start over.  I’m not hearing you right.”

A
single, large tear rolled down Vernay’s face.  Her entire body trembled
slightly.  “I’m trapped, Garrett.  My feelings for you cloud my professional
judgment, and since I can’t change them, I’m changing my profession.”

The
impact of her confession floored him into silence.  He stared stupidly at the
woman in front of him before opening his mouth to speak.

Vernay
cut him off.  “You don’t have to say anything.  I don’t want you to say
anything.  It’s not fair coming to you like this.”  She sniffed and broke her
position of attention to swipe angrily at her cheek.  “It’s not fair to either
of us but I can’t go on like this, Garrett.  I can’t be your dutiful, dispassionate
lieutenant any longer.  I’m not an automaton.  I’m a woman and I’m in love with
you.”

“Stacy,”
Heskan started but stopped short when she waved her hand.

“Stop. 
I’ve ambushed you and anything you say you might regret later.”  She took a
step away.  “I told you that I was finished after this battle, Garrett.  I
promised myself that and I’m keeping that promise.  I’m quitting but I’m quitting
with my head held high.”  She managed a smile.  “It’s been the greatest honor
of my life to have you standing next to me.  There’s not a corner in this
universe I wouldn’t willingly follow you to.”  Her voice choked again and she
took another raspy, deep breath.  “That’s why I can’t stay in Seshafi.  I can’t
be here, with you but not with you.”  She looked into Heskan’s eyes a final
time and paused.  Blue eyes drank in every detail of him.  “My shuttle’s
scheduled to leave in an hour and I’ve booked a transport to Syntyche… I really
treasured our time there.  Goodbye, Garrett Heskan.”

Before
Heskan could speak, the petite woman who had been a constant at his side
offered her final salute and escaped from his office.

Heskan
was left alone.  The hum of the air conditioning replaced the sound of Vernay’s
melodic voice.  He thought back to the first time he met her on
Anelace
and how their relationship blossomed while on
Kite
.  She had saved his
life on that ship in Perdita and saved his soul when they reached Anthe.  She
had grown too, grown from a junior officer who doubted her own, astounding
abilities to the woman who had just taken complete charge of her life.  His
memories turned to Vernay’s devastating smile and the tantalizing femininity the
woman could exude when the mood struck her.  Each of these memories filled his
heart with a warm glow.  When his vision turned away from those memories and
onto his datapad, he remembered that he was just about to leave the office for
his home.  His quiet, empty home.

A sense
of urgency forced him to rise from his chair, not like a man recently released
from a hospital but a man desperately chasing his future.  He reached the door
and impatiently squeezed through before the portal could fully open.  In the
hall, he burst into a dead run, ignoring the protests shooting through his
back.  He ran toward a possibility he had never realized yet felt so obvious,
and a happiness he knew could fill an entire lifetime.

The
door slid closed behind Garrett Heskan, with a smooth, quiet efficiency one
would expect from a rear admiral’s office.