An Officer’s Duty (51 page)

“That is correct,” the V’Dan representative of the ALC stated, shifting a meter or so closer to Fyfer. “In exchange, all Alliance Lottery winnings are to be considered tax-free for the first one hundred years of a new colony’s settlement. After that, the winnings drop to fifteen percent for local use, five percent for interstellar use, and the remainder—under the current cap—goes into the jackpot. Any violation of your planet’s Charter agreement by a particular planetary government will force a rollover of that government.”

Thorne, who had turned to watch the tableau, grinned. His voice rumbled through the monitor’s speakers. “That means the
minority
government, the Free World Colony party, will take over. The Truth Party will then be banned from holding a majority of offices for…what is it, eight years?”

“Ten years Alliance Standard, or eight years, four months, three weeks, Terran Standard,” the V’Dan commissioner confirmed. “You will forgive me if I cannot convert that into Sanctuarian Standard just yet. Not off the top of my head.”

Fyfer gave her a little bow in acknowledgment and thanks before turning back to the flush-cheeked Moller. “As opposite as we may be in political views, Meioa President…I find that I cannot in good conscience allow you to torpedo your party’s access to your full political and citizenship rights. That would
also
go against the Sanctuarian Charter.

“Unfortunately, this means that the
only
money you can tax off of me are my wages for the year. Given that I quit my job as a waiter at my parents’ restaurant the moment I found out I won, you will be able to collect on just over six weeks’ worth of wages, Terran Standard. That’s seven weeks, local,” Fyfer added, smiling briefly at the V’Dan Lottery agent. “By
any
measure, seven weeks’ worth of taxes on wages at the minimum pay a waiter gets is hardly enough to buy a case of medicine, never mind an entire hospital.”

“But that stilll begs the questionnn, what arre you going to
do
with alll that monney?” the Solarican reporter asked him.

Fyfer smiled softly. “I am a good son, meioa. My family has never had much, but my parents gave their children, my brother, sister, and myself, as much love and care as they could.
They raised us to know what is right, and to do what is right. My first task, therefore, will be to build my parents a home they can be proud of. One where they can retire in great comfort.”

Ohhh, Fyfer, why’d you have to mention you have a sister?
Ia mentally groaned. Sighing heavily, she moved to the next machine position as her brother continued.

“After that…well, for all that President Moller and I have numerous
political
differences, we are both men of faith, and men who are capable of planning for the future. I shall attend to the long-term needs of my people.” He flicked a glance at Moller, or maybe at Thorne behind him; the camera angle made it difficult to tell. “Specifically, I shall attend to them in the order of priorities which
I
feel must be addressed, and in the manners I and my closest advisors choose. Yes, I
do
have plans for all that money. But those plans are my own business, not yours.

“Now, back to my list. Fifth, and final, I
am
single at the moment,” Fyfer confessed, looking into the hovercameras once more. “But I am also in love, and the person whom I love returns my affections. This being has returned them from
before
the time when I first purchased that winning ticket, so I know these feelings are not being faked simply because I am now wealthy. As a result, any and all offers of marriage, sex, procreation, and so forth are futile. I am not interested, and I never will be…and I will not reveal the identity of the person I care about.

“I will not have the meioa’s life put in danger by the stupid and the forgetful—please review my previous comment on how I will
not
negotiate with kidnappers, terrorists, or tormentors of any kind,” Fyfer repeated, “and in fact will react in a most unpleasant and polar-opposite manner to the one such tactics would try to demand. This interview is now over, meioas,” Fyfer finished politely. “I have nothing more to say, beyond that I am going to go back to my li—”

A woman screamed in the distance. Cameras jiggled and swooped, focusing in that direction. One of the real dockworkers, wearing stained beige coveralls, collapsed to her knees. Her yells echoed badly off the hard angles of the promenade’s bulkheads, distorting her words, but the words
fire
and
birds
and
arise
could be heard. The Nebula News camera operator
recovered quickly, switching views back to one of the cameras still pointed at Fyfer.

Except Fyfer wasn’t there anymore. The entire group with him had taken advantage of the distraction to hustle away. Two youths had hoisted the giant novelty chit between them, painted opalescent and inlaid in gold numbers with the exact amount Fyfer had won. They carried it with great ease despite its obvious bulk, moving quickly across the docking ring.

In fact, the group moved so quickly, the camera had barely focused for more than a few seconds when they vanished through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. Proof that their presence was indeed sanctioned by the station’s governor.

A bit over the top at points,
Ia decided, pausing in her exercises to check the timestreams.
But otherwise more or less on target. You shouldn’t have mentioned that you have a sister, Little Brother…but good job all the same.

The cameras for Nebula News swerved back to the reporter. Finally, the show had a view of the crowd of sentients behind him, almost two dozen bodies who had won the chance to travel with the Lottery members directly. Others no doubt were arriving on the station elsewhere, hoping to get an interview, but it was too late.

The correspondent for Nebula News was willing to acknowledge that much. “…Well. There you have it. One of the richest, and quite possibly one of the most headstrong, meioas in the known galaxy. Given the speed of our arrival via OTL, we have a mandatory two-day waiting period before we can safely turn around and head back home. I shall be bringing updates on Meioa Quentin-Jones’s background, education, and other news from interviews with those locals who may know him in the meantime…since the meioa-o does not seem inclined to grant further interviews at this time.

“Hopefully in the future, that will change. But for now, that seems to be all. I’m Mark Optermitter, reporting live for Nebula News, currently in orbit around Independent Colonyworld Sanctuary,” he concluded.

A brief holding message covered up the handful of seconds it took for the main anchors at Nebula News to come back on screen. Just as they reappeared, the channel switched back
to the Olympics. Ia smiled wryly and switched positions again on the hydraulics machine, this time working her abdominal muscles.

Apparently Commander Salish doesn’t want to hear the “post aftermath wrap-up” speeches. As far as I’m concerned, that’s great, because neither do I—
ah,
even better!
she thought, peering at the mid-race scores posted in the corner of the screen.
L’k’tikkitt is in second place in freestyle ice climbing. There’s a 58 to 42 percent chance he’ll win. I bet Bennie another lobster dinner on this one. The probabilities were stronger on the biathlon, but this one is a much more honest wager, since ice climbing is so difficult to master. Or so I’ve heard, offworld. Anything to do with moving on ice or snow is far too potentially deadly, back home…

Back home. But it wasn’t home, anymore.

With all that money, my brothers are going to change, well, not the
face
of Sanctuary, but they’ll definitely change its future…and what a relief to know they’ve pulled it off. One less worry on my mind.

Resting back on the bench, Ia stared up at the pale grey ceiling and smiled. She even closed her eyes for a moment. The deep pleasure of having surmounted this major hurdle—funding the survival of her homeworld—unfortunately didn’t last very long. Once again, she was running out of time. She would have to finish exercising soon, prepare for hyperjump, and then try to get at least three hours of sleep before the
Audie-Murphy
would run up against a trio of pirates.

They would be caught skimming rare isotope vapors from one of the gas giants in the next system, and do their best to outflank and outfight the
Audie
and the
Murphy
. Which meant it would take all of Ia’s concentration to make sure she navigated the fight to a Navy-favorable outcome, but still allow one particular pirate vessel to escape.
Which goes against my orders, and will count as a black mark on my record. A very black mark, if I don’t position things just right and they figure out it was deliberately let go, on my part.

Unfortunately, I
need
that particular ship to still be out there, and to have a very good, repeated reason to hate Bloody Mary in the coming year, in preparation for three years down
the road. Which means at least three more black marks on my record in the near future. Then again, having perfect records would start making the DoI suspicious of my success rate.

APRIL 28, 2494 T.S.
BATTLE PLATFORM
MAD JACK
SIC TRANSIT

Arms tucked behind her back in Parade Rest, Dress Blues cap squarely leveled on her brow, Ia tried to flex her knees subtly. Light gravity or not, standing in one position for a long time was tiresome. Her efforts to shake the numbness from her muscles did not pass unnoticed, however. Commodore Deng looked up from the desk-level screens and printouts he was reviewing.

“Feet getting sore, Lieutenant?” the commanding officer of Battle Platform
Mad Jack
asked.

“Sir, no, sir. Just making sure the blood is still flowing, sir,” she explained.

“Bored, Lieutenant?” Captain Yacob asked next. He was seated next to the commodore, reviewing the same files with his superior. On Deng’s far side was one of the other officers in charge of Delta-VX patrols, Captain Harrison.

That question was low on the list of probabilities. Ia consulted the timestreams briefly, lightly. She shook her head slowly to stall for time. “No, Captain. Just…concerned about time, that’s all.”

“Oh? What sort of time, Lieutenant?” Commodore Deng asked, glancing up at her.

“Well, sirs, if you deem me still psychologically adjusted and fit for continued duty on Blockade Patrol, I should be returned to duty. The
Audie-Murphy
is scheduled to drop and depart for her next patrol as soon as we hit the Annabelle 27 System, which is in about one hour. If I’m fit to continue, I should be on board and ready to go when that happens,” Ia stated. “And if you judge me
not
fit for continued Blockade duty, sirs, I need to be dismissed equally soon so I can go pack up and remove my things from the
Audie-Murphy
.”

Commodore Deng shook his head. “We already knew the
answer to that particular question before you even came in here, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?” Ia questioned. She wasn’t questioning the outcome; she knew—all three of them knew—that she was as stable as anyone could hope to be in a high-stress zone like the Blockade. More stable than most, really. Instead, she was questioning why she had been kept here.

Captain Yacob answered her one-word query. “We’re debating whether or not to promote you.”

“Do you have an opinion on the matter, Lieutenant?” Captain Harrison asked Ia. She lifted her chin as she did so, no doubt waiting for Ia to eagerly promote herself. Ia wasn’t about to play that game. That was the wrong way to advance. But neither would false modesty help her cause.

“It would depend on what a promotion meant, sirs,” she said instead. “I feel I’ve managed to strike up the right level of camaraderie and leadership within the rotating crews of the
Audie-Murphy
. They’ve come to trust my judgment. I also feel there is still much I could learn under Commander Salish. Her battle instincts are more finely tuned to the needs of Blockade work than most. I’ve missed some calls that she’s made, much to the detriment of our work.

“If you feel I’m ready for a promotion, then I would do my best to live up to your expectations of me. Perhaps I simply am in need of cross-training under another commanding officer, to get more seasoning under my cap—if the lattermost is the case, and you’re moving me from the
Audie-Murphy
to another Delta-VX, then I’ll still need time to pack and board the next ship, depending upon its own patrol schedule.”

“And if we feel you have peaked in your promotable career track?” Commodore Deng asked her. “If we choose to mark your file as unpromotable?”

“If my superiors and the Department of Innovations feel, in your best judgment, that I have peaked in my capacity for leadership, then that would be your prerogative, sirs,” Ia admitted. “I will continue as I have done, trying my best to lead by good example, and doing my best to figure out what a good example actually is.” She smiled slightly, wryly. “After that, the only objection I could possibly have is if I served for several more years but never got another pay raise, sirs.”

Captain Harrison leaned her forearms on the edge of the table, her face twisting with sarcasm. “Wow, Lieutenant. You have
every
possible answer oh so neatly covered in your reply. Did you practice that little speech in your cabin before coming to this performance review?”

“No, sir.” She couldn’t dip into the timestreams deeply enough to read the other woman’s motivations, since Ia needed to be
here
, aware of what was happening in the real world. But she could sense the possibilities branching out immediately before her.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you, Lieutenant.” Sitting back, Captain Harrison spread her hands. “In fact, I think you’re grandstanding. Manipulating the system, so we’ll be
convinced
… or rather,
conned
…into giving you greater responsibility.”

“Commodore Deng, permission to speak freely?” Ia asked, shifting her gaze to the older of the two men.