Virtues of War (34 page)

“Yes, unless breaking the rules accomplishes what’s right.”

“The Astral Corps trains its officers to know much more than just the rules. We’re trained to know the difference between right and wrong, to think independently and keep our troops guarded against all threats. We’re entrusted with information and perspective our troopers don’t have, and we’re expected to act accordingly.

“Parliament is made up of the best citizens of Terra, many of them former Corps officers themselves, and they have access to information we as citizens will never see. The people empower Parliament to act in the best interest of the State, and sometimes that means breaking the rules that rightly apply to the people.”

Katja nodded. “I understand, sir.” She could still feel the beating of her heart, and feared where this conversation was going, even as it fascinated her.

He stood in a smooth movement, rounding his chair and taking a few paces to the far wall of the cell.

“We’ve been reviewing your record, Lieutenant. You’ve shown a consistent pattern of breaking with doctrine in both exercises and combat operations, and while your unorthodox decisions have often baffled your superiors—and, as in the incidents we just discussed, caused half of your troopers to die—there’s no question that your actions have been to the benefit of the State.

“Not necessarily to the benefit of those under your command, nor to the benefit of you personally, but always to the benefit of the greater mission. You’ve always done what’s right—even when you couldn’t articulate or explain it.”

She recalled her father’s words, spoken with scorn after her fight with Soren at the dinner table.

“Sometimes there’s no time to think, so I act on instinct, sir.”

His gaze went vacant, as if he was completely lost in thought. She waited for him to speak, growing uncomfortable in the lengthening silence. Looking down at her own ragged appearance, she brushed some damn hair out of her face and pulled the hem of her shirt straight.

“What do you know about the Astral Special Forces, Emmes?” His sudden words surprised her.

“Not much, sir. They do the most hard-core recce drops, and sometimes work with Astral Intelligence. I’ve never met any personally.”

“Don’t be so sure. Do you know how the members are selected?”

The fact that she didn’t had always been a curiosity. There were no regulations published that spoke of standards or requirements that prospective candidates had to meet, or even who to contact if one was interested in applying. No one even knew where they were based. The ASF just seemed to exist.

“No, sir. I’ve never heard of anyone applying.”

“No one applies,” he said. “They’re selected.”

A sudden thought occurred to her: she was alone in a room with a senior Corps officer, wearing nothing but party clothes, and sitting on a cot—and she’d been unconscious and lying on it earlier. She pressed her knees together and gripped the cot’s metal frame tightly.

“How, sir?”

He started a little, then gave her a withering gaze in the most expressive show of sentiment since this bizarre interview had begun.

“This isn’t the Research Squadron, Emmes,” he growled. “Promotions aren’t based on blow jobs.”

She relaxed slightly. “How are they selected, sir?”

“You have an uncanny ability to think laterally, to see all aspects of a complex scenario, to consider multiple solutions even with multiple variables in play. And you always—to date, at least—make the correct decision. This goes far beyond instinct, or even luck, and represents untapped power of the mind. While it would be very dangerous to reveal this fact to the People, we understand that certain individuals can be augmented, and trained to operate in secret. We feel that you’re one of those people.”

That came entirely out of left field.

“I’m interested to hear more, sir,” she responded.

He crossed his arms. “Any trooper would be, so let me burst whatever bubble you might have. The work isn’t glamorous. It’s rarely pleasant, and it’s always dangerous. No one outside the ASF will ever know what you do, so there will be no medals, no promotions.” He gave her a raised eyebrow. “No network interviews with Chuck Merriman.”

She considered how important any of that had ever been to her. Aside from trying to impress her father, did she even care about her medals?

“I understand, sir.”

“You won’t be part of a regular unit, and you’ll have to sever all ties you currently have. You will, Katja Andreia Emmes, cease to exist in regular society.”

She thought back over the past few months, and the personal hell that trying to live in society had become for her.

“I think I’d like that, sir.”

He moved forward and took his seat across from her again. His gaze pinned her where she sat.

“You will have to inflict pain,” he said. “You will have to terrorize. You will have to kill.”

She couldn’t tear her eyes from his, but her mind flooded with images of those she’d killed. Bodies disintegrating with the impact of her explosive rounds. Faces smashed by the butt of her rifle. Lives ruined with the destruction of homes, factories, and farms. Civilians burning alive in the fire of orbital bombardment that she’d ordered.

Charred flesh, metallic air, screams. Flowing smoke, her troopers dead, spinning stars. The blast of impact, honeysuckle, hands on her throat.

She dropped her face into her hands, trying in vain to stem the flood of tears. Moisture poured through her fingers and great, heaving sobs burst forth from her constricted chest.
Where were the drugs?

Where were the goddamn drugs?

There was nothing to stop it. She grabbed her own hair and bore down as it came. The scream. The scream that had haunted her, mocked her, been barely held at bay by drugs, alcohol, and sheer will. A single, soul-emptying scream. All the grief, the horror, the shame, the fear.

She screamed with the full power of a trained opera singer. She screamed with the frustration of a little girl who was never good enough. She screamed with the agony of a human being who knew she’d made choices of her own free will, and caused others to suffer and die.

Katja screamed until there was nothing left inside her.

When she opened her eyes, she could see Korolev’s boots. Wiping away tears she looked up. He sat before her, one leg crossed over the other, regarding her with a not unkind expression.

“Katja, you’re too dangerous to send back to regular Astral duty,” he said. “People like you are brilliant, but unorthodox, and to let that kind of behavior seep into the Astral Force would tear down our entire system of discipline. So you have a choice to make. You can either be discharged honorably and live a civilian life, or you can join the ASF and become an instrument of the State.”

Her heart felt like it was in a vice. “If I was an instrument of the State, how would I be judged?”

“By how well you accomplished your mission.”

“No matter what that mission was?”

He nodded. “You will live with the certainty that the will of Parliament—not the law—is supreme. Sometimes Parliament has to break the rules, and you will be the instrument with which they do so.” He leaned in very close, almost whispering to her. “But that’s all you have to be. Whatever rule Parliament needs to break is their responsibility. Not yours.”

She pondered that for a very long moment. As she did, the dawn of understanding blossomed into the full, glorious light of revelation. No ties to society, no moral quandaries, just a cadre of like-minded ASF operatives who would support her always. This was what she’d been born to do. Relief washed over her like a flood. All the emotional baggage had been unlocked by the scream, and was washed away.

She rose easily to her feet. “Sir, I belong to the State.”

Korolev rose as well. “This won’t be easy. Your loyalty and resolve will be tested from the very start.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

He held out a hand, and she grasped it. Then he gestured toward the door.

“Your training will start tomorrow, but first I need to introduce you to the ASF medical corps. They’ve developed some valuable devices that will help focus your natural, intuitive abilities in a new dimension.”

Her curiosity was aroused. “Another dimension, like the Bulk?”

As he opened the door he shook his head.

“Let me tell you about the Cloud.”

A person could go insane in the Cloud.

Eyes squeezed shut behind hands pressed against her face, Katja tried desperately to stem the waves of virtual noise that washed over her like a storm. There was so much information, so much raw data just swirling around out there, and nobody realized it. The first time she’d activated her implants in a public place, she’d nearly drowned in the noise. Then she’d learned to swim, at least in a rudimentary way.

In the physical world, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She retreated from the cacophony and straightened in her seat, then blinked her eyes clear and looked around the mostly empty deck of the space elevator. A few passengers sat within view, none appearing to be interested in her at all. The sky had turned black outside, and the shining curvature of the Earth was clear beneath her.

“You did better that time.” The hand dropped away, back into Korolev’s lap.

“I hope so. She scoffed. “There’s hardly anybody here.”

There were seven active devices among her fellow passengers, two live news feeds being transmitted from satellites above. Routine chatter between the elevator operators, the surface, and Astral Base One, and the incessant reporting of the elevator’s engineering systems.

“That’s why I suggested you activate in a relatively quiet place.”

She nodded. “I feel like I’m starting to get it, but I can’t explain how. I guess it’s like learning to walk.”

“Very much so. The Cloud uses a part of the brain dormant in most humans. The implants can help to stimulate it, but you as the user still have to bend it to your will.”

“It’s exhausting.” She rubbed her temples, sitting back in her seat.

“Well, your mission today isn’t going to require you to access the Cloud, but I still need you mentally alert,” he noted. “So don’t push yourself too much.”

She looked out the windows again, at the black sky of low orbit. Their destination was Astral Base One, but from there they might travel to anywhere.

“What is the mission, sir?”

His eyes flicked around. “Don’t call me sir.”

“Sorry.” She noted once again the standard dark-blue Fleet coveralls they both wore. He sported the unremarkable rank of ship’s petty officer, and she was a squad leader. A tool bag sat on the seat next to her.

“So what’s the mission?”

His expression was light, but the gravity of his gaze was unmistakable.

“Let’s just say I need to see what you are really capable of accomplishing.”

That sounded ominous, yet Katja was surprised by her own lack of concern. She’d killed before, and there wasn’t a tactical situation she’d yet faced that had defeated her.

“You’ve had your implants for a few days now, and the surgery has all but healed,” Korolev said quietly. “So there’s something I want you to try.”

She looked up at him. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

He peered back, his expression utterly calm.

She jumped. It was a voice in her head—but not her own.

It was his voice, inside her head. Even though she’d known this was going to be possible, it was still startling. She looked at him and nodded.

Her own internal monologue was already in overdrive, and she was embarrassed that Korolev might detect all of her own uncertainties. She rapidly focused her thoughts into a consensus that yes, she could hear him.

She frowned. “I did. Or maybe you just got hit with a jumble of thoughts.”

He smiled slightly.

She focused on how she was hearing him, and tried to push back mentally in a way that somehow felt the same. It didn’t make any sense, but it seemed the right thing to do.

His smile became one of satisfaction.

She nodded, feeling her head begin to hurt.

“I understand,” she said, “but I think I’m going to stick with regular talking for the moment. It’s a little soon for me to be good at it.”

“Good idea,” he replied. “Keep your mind sharp, and stay focused.”

* * *

They arrived at Astral Base One without incident, and blended in with the hundreds of pedestrians moving through the base. Brigadier Korolev was a thoroughly unremarkable-looking man, but Katja knew that the blonde bob she’d been sporting for months was an easy attention-getter. She wanted to shave it all off.

Korolev had overruled her, saying that a woman with a close-crop would be just as quick to catch the eye here in the comfortable rear echelon of Earth orbit. In the end, she’d slicked her hair back into a practical and relatively unattractive style that still left collar-length hair. She’d happily discarded any make-up, and with a fresh face and regulation blue coveralls, she felt almost normal.

It was the first time in months.

They proceeded up several decks, eventually emerging onto one of the spars that extended outward from the Base’s central body. This was where vessels tied up. Through the polyglass walls she saw several warships berthed in the distance, and immediately spotted the distinct hull form of one of the Research Squadron vessels, floating alongside the spar in the nearest berth.

“Is that where we’re going?” she asked, indicating the arrowhead shape.

“It is,” he answered. “The
Neil Armstrong
—the ship at the center of a particularly urgent Fleet Marshall Investigation. We’re here today to ensure that investigation concludes successfully.”