Peace Army (5 page)

His second thought was that his son needed attention as much as his troops did, and he had been lax in giving it. Grant’s arms snaked out, snatched the boy from his feet, and pulled him into the bed. He wrapped him in a tight embrace and Eli giggled at the rough treatment.

“Why, I oughta…” Grant teased. He tickled his son’s ribs, eliciting squeals of laughter and a sudden staccato of reflexive kicks, one of which caught him squarely in the family jewels.

He immediately stopped tickling.

“You oughta… get up, you… you big sleepyhead,” Eli sputtered as he recovered from the tickles. Grant groaned and waited for the pain to subside.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Give me just a minute.”

Eli extricated himself from his dad’s arms and tumbled from the bed.

“I’ll give ya two,” the boy quipped. He leaned his elbows on the bed. He rested his chin on his hands. “Mom says it’s time for breakfast.”

Grant closed his eyes and nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept long enough to be woken for breakfast. Usually he was out the door before either his wife or son woke up. It was a reminder that he was late and had some ground to make up. So much to do.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.”

“’Kay. I’ll tell her,” Eli said as he pushed himself off the bed.

Grant took a deep breath and opened his eyes just in time to see the finger snap against his nose again.

His halfhearted attempt to grab the boy failed and Eli ran from the room, laughing.

“Mom! Guess what I did!”

* * *

Tane and his R&D teams had taken over the Third Square in the weeks following the liberation of the inmates at Violent’s Prison. After a year, their work had grown to a point that they also took over much of the Fourth Square. Occupying nearly a fourth of the space inside the prison, the size of their work area reflected the importance of the duties they performed and the equipment they produced.

In addition to the inner Fifth Square that held the headquarters offices, the former prison had been turned into living space for the scientists and soldiers who worked at the facility. The Second Square was used to house workers with families, and was where Grant lived with Avery and Eli. The outer First Square housed the remaining soldiers of the N’mercan forces, as well as the non-fighting civilian support personnel assigned to the facility.

As he knew he would, Grant found Tane in his lab. The scientist spent the majority of his waking hours there. To Grant’s surprise, the scientist was involved what looked to be a heated conversation with the N’mercan Culture Leader. Tane stood rigidly behind his desk, hands balled into fists. Randalyn Trevino stood to one side. Her posture reflected equally distressed emotions. The five or six other scientists in the lab were all at the far end of the large space, either oblivious to, or blatantly ignoring, the exchange. Grant supposed the latter. Body language like these two were displaying was uncommon in the new world order.

The conversation ceased as Grant approached. Both the scientist and Randalyn pasted on smiles and turned them toward Grant.

“General, how are you this fine morning?” Randalyn asked, tilting her head in acknowledgment of his arrival.

“I’m just peachy this morning, Randalyn. How are you?”

Randalyn’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the informal greeting, but a twinkle in her eyes hinted at amusement. Grant knew that few, if any, ever addressed a Culture Leader in anything other than the most formal Standard Language.

Tane shook his head and massaged his temples. Grant did not miss the silent reproach. He ignored it, as always.

“I am… peachy as well. Thank you for inquiring,” Randalyn replied, obviously content to play along.

“And you, Tane? How’s our number one scientist?”

“Fine, Grant, fine.” It was apparent to Grant that all was
not
fine with his friend. He wondered if it had anything to do with the Culture Leader’s presence or if he was just tense over the coming threat. Or perhaps both.

“That’s good, doc.” Grant felt awkward. It was obvious he had interrupted their conversation. He wondered again what they had been discussing.

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment, Tane? Alone. Randalyn, would you mind giving us a few moments?”

Again, she tilted her head to him. “Of course. Our conversation has concluded.”

Randalyn looked at Tane and nodded slightly. Tane returned the look for a moment longer that Grant thought usual and returned the nod. Hidden meanings were being passed in those looks.

“Culture Leader Trevino, I am sure we will speak again soon.”

“Of course, Senior Scientist Rolan. Until then, good day.”

Randalyn gave Grant a weak smile as she brushed by him. He turned to watch her leave. When she passed through the door, he turned back to Tane.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” Tane was suddenly interested in some papers on his desk.

“It looked like you two were about to hit each other. That’s what I’m talking about.” That got the scientist’s attention. He looked up from the papers, a frightened look in his eyes.

“No! We would never—”

“Calm down, Tane.” Grant’s voice lowered to just above a whisper. “I wasn’t serious. I know you’d never hit anyone, unless they deserved it—and I can’t see any reason why Randalyn would deserve that.”

“Certainly not! She is my Culture Leader. She deserves our respect.” Tane took a deep breath, calming himself. “She deserves your respect. Is it too difficult for you to address her by her title, at least in public?”

Obviously Tane felt Grant’s initial greeting had been out of line and was upset by it.

“Fine, Tane. Whatever you say.”

“Good. Now what did you want to talk about? More weapons ideas? Not sure how much more we can accomplish in the few days left.”

“No. Not a weapon.” Grant smiled. The tension between Tane and Randalyn was forgotten as he thought about what he was about to request.

“But I would like for your team to build something. Something special.”

It took less than five minutes for Grant to describe what he wanted and why. Tane asked a few clarifying questions and made some notes.

At the end of the discussion, both men were smiling. The problem of the Minith ship was temporarily placed on the back burner as Grant and Tane discussed the implications of the project before them.

Chapter 5

Grant sprinted the last hundred meters, pushing his legs to the max. They were as fast and powerful as ever—much more powerful than the ones that had been taken from him by the European soldier’s explosive bullet six hundred years earlier. The fact that science could replace lost limbs, repair damaged eyes, and re-grow defective organs was one of the good things about modern-day Earth.

Unfortunately, though, age was age. And science couldn’t slow the march of time, even for a warrior like Grant. His final push across the finish line was accompanied by the now-familiar indications of his increasing years: ragged gasps for breath and a furiously pounding heart.

Damn
, he thought as he slowed to a walk.
A five-mile run just ain’t the fun it used to be.

He checked his time against the modern timepiece he wore.
Twenty-four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
Not his best time, but not his slowest, either. He continued to walk off the effort as he waited for the next finisher.

As was required of all members of his army, Grant worked out at least five times a week to improve and maintain his physical conditioning. He usually joined one of the company-sized teams that were stationed at Violent’s Prison. Exercising with the hundred-person units gave him an opportunity to interact with the soldiers on a regular basis. Seeing him train alongside them was good for their morale and instilled a “lead by example” mentality in his subordinate officers and non-comms. It also provided him with the motivation to give everything he had in his own training.
Nothing like a hundred sets of eyes following your every move to keep you on your toes
, he thought.

In light of a Minith ship only four days from Earth, some might have questioned his decision to keep up the physical routine. But Grant knew that a busy body kept the mind from wondering too much about the unknown. The last thing he wanted was for his forces to have too much time on their hands, so he kept them busier than they had ever been. He ordered his unit commanders to maintain the physical training for all forces and
increase
training in tactical and strategic aspects of their forces.

Today, he was training with a company doing a timed five-mile run. It was a requirement of every company to perform the task at least twice a year. Times were kept for all soldiers and tracked against previous runs. It was a good way for everyone to track individual and unit performance over time and Grant reviewed the results regularly. When overall unit performance dropped, he was quick to question why and demanded corrective action plans from the appropriate leaders.

He was used to finishing first in the runs, and today was no exception. He had always been a good runner, but he contributed his continued success at his current age to the new legs he had been given by Tane and his team. Even with the additional edge, he was beginning to notice a gradual slip in his performance, just as others were improving theirs. He looked back along the running path to see the next soldier headed his way, just over a minute behind his own pace. Another was just behind and closing the gap, racing for a good finish. Two years ago, the gap between Grant and the next closest man would have been at least three minutes. His soldiers were getting better and better, and he felt a sense of pride in how far they had come in just a few years.

Grant greeted each man and woman as they crossed the finish line, congratulating them on a good run.

Twelve minutes after his sprint ended, Grant noticed Mouse running for the finish. At a few inches over six feet, Mouse was larger than most of those around him, including Grant. As such, he was fairly easy to spot as he huffed his way toward the end of the run. Grant had asked him to join the group on this run and was pleased to see that the large pilot was not too far behind the main pack. Although he hated running, Mouse had to complete the event like everyone else.

Grant laughed as his friend crossed the finish line and collapsed to the ground. He rolled onto his back and gasped for air.

“Colonel Mouse,” Grant bellowed, careful to use the pilot’s rank in front of the other men and women. “You need to walk it off. The air’s not down there on the ground. You’ll catch your breath quicker if you keep your head up and walk around.”

“Yeah… you… you always say that,” Mouse replied between breaths. “But… I do just fine lying here. Not everyone… has those legs you have.”

“Suit yourself. I’m just glad none of your pilots are here to see you. I don’t think they’d be too impressed with their commanding officer.”

That got Mouse’s attention, as Grant knew it would. If there was one thing Mouse strove for, it was to set a good example for those around him and for those who reported to him. It was one of the traits that made him a good leader. His ability to push through pain and work tirelessly also made him a role model for his subordinates. The gold teeth, on the other hand… well, Grant knew that no one was perfect. And it wasn’t difficult to overlook Mouse’s minor bow to vanity when the results had proven to be so great. The smile was unique on Earth and Grant suspected it was a major factor in Mouse’s growing popularity.

Since helping defeat the Minith forces, Mouse had become something of a celebrity—not only with the pilots he commanded, but with just about everyone who came into contact with him. A sense of awe and mystery surrounded the tall black man. He had an easy way with people and a good-willed sense of humor that Grant often lacked. When issues arose with the Leadership Council that required a more tactful, political response, Grant often relied on Mouse to represent the armed forces. The fact that he was the best pilot on the planet and an excellent commander of Earth’s newly formed air force contributed to his notoriety. All of these things combined to make him an excellent choice for Grant’s number two in command.

“Aah!” Mouse rolled over and pushed himself up. His face squeezed with pain. Grant knew what the pilot was feeling.

A good run plants a sharp throbbing pain in your legs, chest, and back. For those who run often, the throb can signify accomplishment, and often leaves the runner with a sense of pleasant contentment. For those who don’t run regularly, the insistent throb of a long run can be nothing more than a nerve-wrenching pain—one to be avoided at all costs. Grant knew Mouse fell into the latter category.

The pilot stood, but remained slightly bent. He took slow, tender steps with his hands planted firmly on his hips.

“Happy now?”

“Only if you are, Colonel,” Grant teased his friend.

The stragglers continued to cross the finish line and Grant welcomed each with a pat on the back, a nod, or an encouraging comment. He checked his watch and saw that this unit had improved their overall group time since the last timed run. He was pleased and made a mental note to formally commend the company leader in front of his unit and his peers the next time they assembled.

“General Justice, sir!”

Grant saw one of the civilian support staffers give a wave from across the field. The man, who was slightly overweight, jogged tiredly toward the general. His gray jumpsuit showed sweat stains spreading from under his arms. Sucking in ragged breaths as he gasped for air, the man looked about to collapse. Grant wondered briefly if he should require the support forces to begin some type of physical training as well.

Mouse joined Grant as he moved to meet the man.

“That’s what you looked like five minutes ago, Mouse,” Grant jibed smartly. He tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Except you were lying on the ground.”

Mouse had no time to offer a reply. The look on the staffer’s face as they reached him indicated something serious was up.