Shattered Lives, page 20
part #2 of Rymellan Series
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe she’s read this morning’s announcements.”
Flaming Argamon! The Chosen Council’s announcements had gone out at 09:00. And Admiral Jensen was already asking to see her? Usually Rymellans didn’t read the announcements as soon as they were released; after all, they had an entire week before the next batch. But if just one person connected to the admiral had read them early . . . news of a triad would spread like wildfire. “Where’s the meeting?”
“B5 headquarters. Why don’t you meet me in the lobby at 12:45?”
“Okay.”
“It’s a rather interesting, uh, announcement,” Baker said.
“Which part, the triad part or the Adams part?” Mo asked, deciding on the spur of the moment that pretending she didn’t understand why the announcement was a shocker would be stupid. If she was honest about it, maybe others would be too. They could clear the air and move on.
Silence, then Baker chuckled. “All of it.”
“We were shocked too.” Still are.
“I can imagine. Congratulations are certainly in order in regards to Lesley. As for the rest . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Whatever Jensen wants, we’ll deal with it together, okay?”
“Yep,” she said, trying not to worry.
“See you at 12:45. Baker out.”
As soon as he disconnected, Mo punched in Les’s code. “I’ve just been told I have to see a flaming admiral this afternoon,” she blurted before Les could say a word.
“The triad went public at 09:00.”
“Yeah, I’ve already connected the dots,” Mo snapped, then took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“Do you know what he wants?”
“She. Jensen. No, I don’t. Baker beeped me and told me to meet him at 12:45. At least he’ll be there too.”
“Do you want me to go with you? I can read in the craft while you’re in the meeting.”
“Would you fly us there? It’s at B5 headquarters.” She hated flying over B5.
“Sure. Too bad it isn’t at B2 headquarters. I could show you my office.” Les paused. “And get a feel for how people are reacting without having to stay long. I haven’t heard from anyone. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.”
Mo quickly checked her messages. “Neither have I, apart from Baker.”
“Well, for me, Laura was the big one, and she’ll definitely be there for us.”
Yeah, Flaming Finney had turned out to be a descendant of a triad. And now she wanted to have supper with all of them. How wonderful! Though it couldn’t be any tenser than last night’s supper. And though it grated, Mo had to admit that Finney’s support was important.
“Part of me is glad I’m on leave,” Les said. “The other part wishes I wasn’t. I’m in the dark.”
“At least Hall hasn’t asked to see you.”
“True. Look, why don’t you come over? We can have an early lunch and then go.”
“I just got up,” Mo protested.
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Not really. You?”
“Same.”
“Let me shower, then I’ll head over.”
“See you in a bit, then.”
They said good-bye and disconnected. Mo sat on the end of her bed with a sigh. She had no idea what Jensen wanted, but her gut told her that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
*****
Jayne spread raspberry jam on a piece of bread and covered it with another piece, completing her sandwich. She took a bite as she walked to the kitchen table, then swallowed quickly and set the plate on the table when her comm unit beeped. “Hi,” she said, sitting down.
“You still at our place?” Carol asked.
“Uh-huh. I’m just having lunch, then I’m heading home.”
“Why don’t you stay another few days? Let the initial shock blow over.”
“Carol, I won’t face anything I haven’t faced before.”
“I don’t know, Jayne,” Carol said quietly. “The triad is the topic of conversation today. Everyone’s talking about it—about you. And I’m only getting the polite version. Who knows what they’re saying when I’m not around?”
“So everyone’s talking, what else is new?”
“This feels different. I’d feel better if you stayed with us a little longer.”
“They won’t be saying anything I haven’t heard before.”
“Will you at least stay until I get home? Please?” Carol sounded worried.
“Okay,” Jayne said, despite knowing that Carol would come home and try to persuade her to stay another night. She didn’t want Carol fretting all afternoon.
“Good,” Carol said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
Jayne lifted her sandwich and took another bite. So everyone was talking. She could guess what they were saying—the triad was her fault; the triad was doomed to failure; poor Thompson and Middleton. Those who’d petitioned for her execution after the Incident would be crowing that the overseers had made a mistake, and those who knew about Article CT134 would be discussing the odds that Thompson and Middleton would prepare a case.
Let them talk; they couldn’t make her feel any worse than she had last night, when Adelaide had swiftly cut her down to size. Jayne knew who to watch out for in that family—in addition to Lesley. Rymellans could talk all they wanted; only what Lesley and Mo thought would count in the end.
So Carol needn’t be concerned about her. How the talk would affect Jayne was irrelevant. How it would affect Lesley and Mo was the important question, and Jayne’s life depended on the answer. What were they hearing today? Unlike Jayne, they’d be unprepared for the onslaught, unaccustomed to having whispers and suspicions swirl around them and their dedication to the Way questioned.
Once again, Jayne felt a pang of sympathy and wondered how she could support them. For a split second, she considered beeping one of them—probably Mo—to ask how they were, but then she decided against the idea. She doubted they’d want to hear from her today, and they might interpret her concern as an attempt to save her own skin. In time, if the triad survived, perhaps they’d trust her enough to accept that any support she offered was genuine, not a ploy. For now, they’d have to rely on their own strength, and she’d have to hope they were strong enough to resist the temptation to exercise CT134. Would they honour the spirit of the article when their reputations were under fire and everyone was urging them to execute, or would they buckle under the pressure and throw a sham case together?
Jayne savoured the next bite of her sandwich. From this point forward, any meal could be her last.
*****
Mo pushed open one of the double doors at the entrance to B5 headquarters, hoping she appeared calmer and more confident than she felt. Nobody stared and pointed at her, but she was just one of the many anonymous Defence members striding through the crowded lobby. She’d probably face gawkers if she were at the Military Academy, on 72, or anywhere else pilots hung out, but not here.
Baker stood chatting with one of the officers behind the reception counter. “Commander,” Mo said with a nod when she reached him.
He nodded in return. “Let’s go to Admiral Jensen’s reception area. This way.”
Mo walked next to him, fighting the urge to ask if he’d gleaned any information concerning the reason for the meeting. “Almost there,” he said as they turned a corner and approached a glass door at the corridor’s end. The gold lettering on the door read Admiral S. Jensen, Reception.
The woman behind the desk smiled warmly. “Yes?”
“Commander Baker and Lieutenant Commander Middleton. We have an appointment at 13:00,” Baker said.
The woman, one Lieutenant Boyd, according to the nameplate sitting on the desk, peered at her comm station. “Oh, yes. The admiral will be with you shortly. Please, hang your cloaks and have a seat.”
As they settled in two of the chairs waiting against one paneled wall, Mo glanced around and caught Boyd staring at her. Boyd coloured slightly and looked away. Apparently she’d read the Chosen Council’s announcements too, or heard about one in particular.
“Let me do the talking,” Baker murmured.
“Okay,” Mo said, relieved.
“We’ll miss you, this tour. I suppose it’s too early to know when you’ll be back on the Falcon, especially with . . . with what’s happened.”
The triad wasn’t the only factor that could delay her next tour on a ship. Mo still didn’t know how she and Les would resolve their diverging career paths. “Yeah, everything’s sort of on hold right now.”
“I can imagine.”
No, he couldn’t.
“When you do return, I hope we gain Lesley as well.”
If she returned. Mo hoped she would, but she wasn’t sure how she could without Les having to sacrifice her career goals. “She’d definitely be with me, so yeah, she’d be flying full-time again.”
“If she comes with you as a pilot. She could come aboard as part of Interior.”
Mo hadn’t thought of that. Every ship had a handful of Interior officers on board, but commanders were rarely among them, if ever. If they promoted Les to commander, Mo couldn’t see them assigning her to a Defence ship, though how many commanders had pilots as Chosens?
The mahogany door near Boyd’s desk swung open. A commodore emerged from Jensen’s office, nodded to Boyd, and left the reception area. Mo’s heart pounded; she clenched her hands in her lap and thought about Les, who was probably lounging comfortably in the aviacraft with her nose in a book.
Boyd’s station beeped. She glanced at its display, then looked in Baker’s direction. “You and the lieutenant commander can go in now, Commander.”
“Thank you,” Baker said, rising. Mo followed him into Jensen’s office. She and Baker stood at attention behind the two empty chairs in front of Jensen’s desk.
Jensen leaned back in her chair and touched her fingertips together. “If you would close the door, Lieutenant Commander,” she said.
Mo did so, then resumed her stance at Baker’s side. She stared at a point on the wall behind Jensen’s left shoulder as Jensen studied them in silence. “At ease,” Jensen finally said. Mo expected an invitation to sit, but none came.
Jensen straightened and rolled her chair closer to the desk. She rested her elbows on the desktop and touched her fingertips together again. “Like many Rymellans, I started my day by reading the Chosen Council’s weekly announcements. And like many Rymellans, I was shocked when I read about the triad, and not just a triad, a triad with an Adams.” She grimaced. “Not something people want to read with their morning tziva.”
Mo kept her eyes focused on that point on the wall.
“I already know who Thompson is,” Jensen said, her gaze taking in both Mo and Baker. “When I read that another lieutenant commander is involved, I naturally requested that lieutenant commander’s file. I was quite dismayed when I discovered that not only is a Defence member involved, but a Defence member under my purview.”
She leaned forward. “We have a problem. Your Chosen—or in this case, Chosens—must accompany you on tours. I’m concerned about how a crew will react to having an Adams on board. Morale is important for any military operation, whether it be a routine patrol or a key operation that has the potential to turn a campaign. Everyone has to work together on tour. There can be no dissension, no whispers.” She focused her attention on Mo. “Given that, I have no choice but to remove you from the Falcon’s roster. Permanently.”
Mo stifled a shocked retort. Beside her, Baker shifted his weight. “With respect, Admiral, Adams isn’t military,” he said.
“Of course she isn’t,” Jensen said with a snort. “We’d never let her in.”
“No, we wouldn’t. So while I understand your point, I’m not sure everyone has to like everyone else’s Chosen in order for morale to be healthy and for our military members to work as a team.”
Mo silently agreed. There were certainly a few non-military Chosens on the Falcon that she’d happily see sucked out of an airlock.
“Under other circumstances, I’d agree with you, but these are extraordinary circumstances.” Jensen leaned back in her chair again. “This goes beyond not liking someone. Having an Adams on board a ship could be disruptive. Most see her as a threat to the Way. Does it make sense to have a Defence ship carrying a threat to the Way?”
“Of course not,” Baker said, “but—”
“There are no buts, Commander.”
Baker fell silent.
“And it’s not only Adams, is it? I read your file, Lieutenant Commander.” Jensen spun toward her station screen. “And what did I come across? You had problems on your very first tour of duty. What was it again?” She scanned whatever was on her screen. “Oh, yes. Not mentally fit for duty.” Jensen swivelled to face Mo. “Not . . . mentally fit . . . for duty.”
Mo’s cheeks burned. She met Jensen’s eyes and refused to look away.
“Admiral, did you read the entire file, especially the circumstances surrounding Lieutenant Commander Middleton’s medical leave?” Baker asked. “She received the Medal of Service to the Way for saving the entire B5-1 Learning Academy.”
“And had a breakdown!”
“She was willing to sacrifice herself to save others. As it was, she lost her mama in the crash.”
“A terrible tragedy, but does everyone have a breakdown when they lose a parent? And what will happen if she sees real action and we experience casualties? Another breakdown?” Jensen shook her head. “I’ll grant you that, viewed in isolation, the lieutenant commander’s medical leave wouldn’t raise any alarm bells. But now we have new information, information suggesting that the lieutenant commander’s state of mind after the crash could have been indicative of a weakness in character and perhaps a weakness in the Way.”
“Lieutenant Commander Middleton is one of our best pilots!” Baker said, clearly exasperated. “And her dedication to the Way has never been in question!”
Jensen glared at Baker. “Yet she has an Adams for a Chosen, and a second Chosen, too. So until further notice, she’s grounded. No tours.”
Mo resisted the urge to wave at them. Had they forgotten she was there? She was short, not invisible. “Admiral, does this mean I’ll never fly again?” she asked, her voice sounding even because her legs were doing all the shaking.
“No, I said no tours,” Jensen said, still looking at Baker. “I think the supply list is the right place for you at the moment. When the triad has some time behind it and Rymellans see that it’s stable and that Adams is observing the Tradition, I might be willing to let you back onto one of my ships.” Jensen’s gaze settled on Mo. “Of course, if for some reason the triad ceases to exist, you’d be welcome on any tour immediately. In fact, I may have an open spot on the Hawk for a senior pilot, one that will lead to commander rank. If not for the triad, I’d have no problem recommending you for the position. But given your current circumstances, I can’t put your name forward. You do understand.”
Yes, she flaming-well understood! Maybe Les was right and the triad wasn’t real. “Yes, Admiral.” Despite the rage coursing through her, she sounded calm.
“Good. You’re still a pilot in the Defence Division. I want you ready to fly a tour at any time, and I’ll be monitoring your simulator scores and your performance while flying domestic. Commander Baker, consider yourself informed that the lieutenant commander will not be returning to the Falcon in six months. Dismissed.”
As they collected their cloaks, Mo could tell from the set of Baker’s shoulders that he wasn’t pleased, nor in the mood to talk. He didn’t turn to her until they’d almost reached the lobby. “I’m sorry, Mo, especially about her dragging up your medical leave.” He scowled. “You’re not the first pilot to require intensive counselling, and you certainly won’t be the last, especially if we go to war. Experienced counsellors like Willis are on board for a reason, and she knows it.”
“It’s all right,” Mo said. Actually, it wasn’t, but Jensen should be the one to apologize, not Baker. “It’s not your fault. You did the right thing back then.”
Her assurances didn’t mollify him. “We’ll sort this out, I promise. I can’t believe she’s grounded you!”
“At least I’d already removed myself from the next tour,” Mo said, trying not to get caught up in his indignation. If she gave in to her anger, she’d likely say a few things she’d later regret. “Maybe in six months, she’ll have changed her mind.” Yeah, and maybe Mo would be admiral by then, too. “And to be honest, given the triad and Les’s career, I’m not sure when I’ll be in a position to go on tour again.”
“Mo, you’re a born pilot. You’ll be wasted on domestic. Maybe you will have to miss a few tours because of the triad, but once everything’s settled, you’ll want to be out there again.”
Maybe, but wanting and having were two different things. The longer Les was tied to Rymel, the more she’d become entrenched in her Interior career. Mo had already considered the possibility that she’d never go back on tour, but she’d thought it would be by choice, not because an airhead admiral was trying to manipulate her. “I guess we’ll see what happens.”
Baker grunted.
“I was planning to pick up my things just before the Falcon undocked, so I could say good-bye to everyone. But if it’s all right with you, I think I’ll pick them up in a few days.”
His forehead creased. “I haven’t assigned anyone your quarters. I hoped you’d only be off for one tour.”
“I think you better go ahead and assign them,” Mo said quietly, then looked down at her feet to hide her face.
“I’m sorry,” Baker said again. “I’ll do whatever I can to change Jensen’s mind.”
“Thank you,” Mo said. “I’ll send you a dispatch if my status changes.” Though he could find out before she did. “Permission to leave.”
Baker pressed his lips together, then said, “Permission granted. It’s been a privilege to serve with you, Lieutenant Commander.” He nodded to her.
