Stone Blade (10 page)

Chapter 5. Old Journey, New Friends

Micah prowled his rooms. Two days passed since his talk with Glade and he'd not seen the man. Now he had a skin full of energy with no place to divert it. Glade assigned him a luxurious suite but on Micah it was wasted. The building outside him bustled with personnel busy at their tasks yet Micah couldn't manage to converse with them. The Marines were friendly enough but made it clear they weren't interested in talking.

Micah tried his terminal again. For all of its claims to be a small branch it had an amazingly thorough collection of military titles. Micah tried losing himself in them but to no avail. When he started reading he found himself remembering missions. That reminded him, pointedly, that he didn't belong to the 113th any longer.

Micah walked nonchalantly to a comm. He had to leave the wing containing his rooms and he still felt uncomfortable doing it. Still, nothing ventured... He dialed his parents' combo. Then Jennifer's. Nothing on either. Links still down. Unlikely, he thought. More likely that Glade simply didn't want him 'comming out. That hurt! Micah wandered to one of the large windows to observe the League plaza. Again.

“Mister Stone.”

Micah started guiltily then turned. A nice young lady in League attire smiled at him.

“Will you come to the east lounge, please? Mr. Glade sent me for you.”

Micah nodded and followed the lady. Gladly! It gave him time to calm himself and regain his composure. He spiffed hastily but to little effect. He wore a dull League coverall now; some Commonwealth clerk came for his uniform and armor the previous day. That was more a slap in the face than anything else, but effective.

What Micah found in the conference room quashed his bleak thoughts.

“Father!” Micah embraced his father, an indescribable happiness welling up inside him.

“Micah! Son... It's wonderful to see you!”

Micah looked away quickly, biting down on his unruly emotions. He noticed Glade beside the door.

“Father, Mister Glade...”

“We've met,” said Glade, “The Commonwealth didn't want to authorize this visit but you deserve it and they can't really prevent it.” That said, Glade took his leave.

“Son, Mr. Glade didn't tell me much. What happened?”

The question brought pain but none Micah couldn't handle. Micah told his father about the mission. That led to some of the previous missions, and others, then finally back to training and boot camp.

“Oh, son. We wrote you! Your mother, Derek and I. Even young Jennifer. We never got anything. We thought... We never got your letters, son.”

Micah opened his mouth and closed it again. They had written! They'd written and he didn't get their letters either. Somehow that hurt more than anything. Micah looked away quickly, biting down as hard as he could on the bitter, rebellious tears welling up...

Gentle arms around him. His father close... Micah finally let his feelings go.

After a time, a gentle time, a silence, Micah's father spoke.

“I want you to know, Micah,” said Lawrence, “we're doing well. Adamson - that's both of 'em - caused some stir after you, er, left. But nothing bad. He let it be known he'd triumphed.” Lawrence shrugged. “Not a lot he could do, though. We're just not important. Your mother had to work this shift or she'd be here, too. Well, if they let her. They don't seem to want all of us here at once.”

Saying that troubled Lawrence so Micah tried to divert him.

“How's Deke?”

“He's fine, son. He's thinking about trying out for the Technology Team. His grades are there and we should have enough for the dues.” Micah's father grinned suddenly. “He tore apart your old dex and had it together better than new. He's a natural! Just like you.”

“I'm glad!” Micah steeled himself for his next question. “How's Jenn?”

“She's fine. Better! Adamson outfoxed himself putting her in the labor pool. He's not directly over her and my boss doesn't particularly like him. Jennifer's off stipe now. Her evals were so good Mr. Robbins hired her without an interview! And hasn't regretted it!”

Micah smiled. Good news indeed!

“She comes over on weekends, sometimes,” continued Lawrence, “She usually brings a couple of her younger friends and kidnaps Deke. We've had her over for lunch a couple times, too.”

“Will you tell her I think about her?”

“Of course, son.”

The door opened and Glade walked in. Lawrence nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Glade.” He turned to Micah. “I'll try to come back, son, or send your mother and Deke.”

Micah nodded. Not, he thought, if Caustik had its way.

“I love you, Father. And Mother and Deke.”

Glade motioned Micah to stay as he escorted Lawrence out.

***

After a time Glade returned, mien serious now.

“I have good news and bad news. The Commonwealth has officially declared you a serious and hardened criminal and escaped fugitive. Since you arrived, or at least since Sanders arrived they've added several charges. Pretty serious for locals. In addition to your current sentence, which an ombudsman kindly commuted to maximum for all counts, you're charged with numerous acts of subversion. They don't say why.”

Micah nodded grimly. He pictured Sanders cowering behind cover while his command was slaughtered.

“That was the bad news,” said Glade, “The good news is this. I've obtained full documentation on your original alleged crimes. They're basically sewage and won't hold anywhere but here. Assault is not a light accusation, mind you, but none of the official records show any indication of proof sufficient for a League magistrate. Adamson and his friends should be the ones in jail. There was no record of turbo - illegal as hades here, by the way - and the statements against you smell like abuse of position.” Glade sighed. “They'll hold up here, of course, but since they stem from the basic structure of the local government you won't be tagged with them. You can't be extradited and nothing will carry past Caustik.”

Micah looked at Glade and shrugged.

“That means you're free to go. As far as the League is concerned you're no criminal.” Still seeing no comprehension in Micah's face, Glade continued. “That means you can leave Caustik, Micah. You can go wherever and do whatever. You could even go back but I wouldn't suggest it.”

“What can I do, sir?” Glade's words left Micah hollow.

Glade smiled genuinely at this.

“That, my boy, we are well-equipped to find out. I'll schedule a general aptitude battery for you tomorrow morning. We'll do specifics after lunch. What's more, I'll see to it you have a ticket away from here. There are several good systems within not too many jumps. Systems that reward hard work instead of punishing it.”

Micah understood. Mostly. Not coughing away his life on Caustik's equator felt good but Micah still felt apprehensive at leaving the only home he knew. Glade read him carefully and nodded.

“Just relax tonight, Micah. Aptitudes aren't hard and you don't need to stress up for 'em. I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

Micah sat in front of the terminal uncomfortably. The League dex was just different enough from the ones he'd used to throw him and slow him. He didn't own it so he didn't reconfigure it. Then the questions started.

Micah knew failure within five minutes. The questions started slowly but then came faster and faster. He had little to no time to answer the questions and certainly no time to think about them! Still, stopping made no sense at all. Micah did his best, even though he didn't feel good about it.

By lunchtime Micah's fingers cramped so badly he could barely eat. He hadn't used a dex this intensively since before his arrest. Micah smiled at the lady who brought him lunch and words of encouragement. The kindness was better than the food and the food was excellent.

By the end of the test Micah knew he'd failed completely. He had academic questions mixed with logic puzzles mixed with technical questions mixed with virtual-holographic models and projects. Micah's fingers were solid rods of pain and his brain was numb. He shunted aside the pain, of course, but that it took conscious effort told him just how tired he was.

“Not bad,” said Glade, “I've seen better but I've seen a lot worse, too.”

Micah nodded absently. He appreciated Glade's kindness but he knew the truth.

“I won't have full correlates 'till tomorrow, Micah, but your raw scores are well above average.”

For a backworlder, added Micah silently.

“Now have a good meal and rest a bit. I'll see you early tomorrow.”

***

Micah took a breath and left the consulate. A Marine guard stood just outside the building. He smiled at Micah and turned his attention back to the plaza. Micah walked down the few steps and looked around. Off to one side stood the border to Caustik proper. Commonwealth constables patrolled it, making themselves even more visible when one spotted Micah. He turned his back on them and walked to the plaza proper.

Micah spent half an hour just walking about and watching the crowds. Almost every person he saw smiled and met his eyes. The ones who didn't obviously had urgent business. Micah saw several constable-like figures, League version, but they showed no interest in harassing any person, including himself!

And the shops! Micah didn't try to count the sheer variety of stores he saw. Half or more bore the Merchant's Guild crest he vaguely recalled from history classes but the ones that didn't seemed just as busy.

“Mister Stone.”

Startled, Micah turned to face two Marines. He recognized them from the consulate.

“Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to startle you. I'm Jack Collins and this is Pete Reyhie. We were  wondering if you'd join us for some slosh.”

Micah shook their hands and thought quickly.

“No thanks,” said Micah, “I really need to go back.”

“Blather,” said Reyhie, “Don't be doof, it's on us.
And
we won't take no for an answer.”

Collins and Reyhie sat after a toast to the Corps and another to the League. Micah joined on the second and received their nods of approval.

“Now I'm not speaking facts,” said Collins, looking at Micah squarely, “but rumor says you saved a lot of asses. Did you?”

“Not really,” said Micah, “I reported an enemy flanking. That's all. We tried to hold them back but they broke us.”

Collins and Reyhie swapped glances and Micah felt sure they'd shared a joke. Then they turned their smiles on him.

“Stone, the more a soldier does the less he talks about it! I think you just confirmed it.”

That embarrassed Micah. He looked away.

“Rumor also says,” continued Collins, “the soggies here gave you the boot for it.”

Micah nodded.

“Slaggers,” grunted Reyhie, “Stone, I'll say this once. You oughta have a slosh from every rat jock whose ass you saved. We can't afford that but we can sure as hades spot you a few! Slammit down!”

“Slammit down!” seconded Collins. And they did!

Micah managed to leave before things blurred too badly. He and Reyhie swapped a few stories. Before he transferred to soft duty, explained Reyhie, he'd been a Drop Marine, a 'rat jockey.' After they discussed the finer points of HRAT deployment Collins stated his preference, plain and simple, for having a solid ship around him when he landed.

That led the two League Marines to discuss some of their missions. Micah recounted a couple of his. Talking to Pete and Jack, he found, lessened the sting.

Back in his room Micah stepped into the shower and turned up the heat. His head ached and he didn't remember it starting. After a few minutes under the scalding water the ache subsided enough for Micah to get some sleep.

***

Strange datafractals haunted Micah's dreams. He tried to shape them, to make them go away but they remained, silent and full of menace. He knew he dreamt but Sanders and Hile turned away again. And again, and again. His missions haunted him, each one a failure. All this and more wove itself into the cruel datafractals. They mocked Micah and cursed him!

Panic! Micah rounded the corner to face a squad of armored meat! They could take him! They would! Panic flooded Micah as his saviorband failed to trigger. The meat set their weapons. Time slowed but now Micah slowed with it! He felt no Flame rushing through him. He was powerless to stop the blasters firing. Firing. SCREAMING...

Micah's alarm jarred him awake. It beeped in time with the blasters!

No. That was a dream. Micah lay soaked in cold sweat. He could almost feel the Flame from the dream but the Flame deserted him. It left him to die! It left him to die, haunted by the crunchies he couldn't stop and the datafractals that wouldn't go away.

Micah showered and shaved quickly. A rough visage stared from the mirror.

“Polarize,” he told it, “Just get cryo!”

Glade smiled on finding Micah waiting outside his office. He printed several pages, examined them and handed them to Micah. Though he hastened to say the scores weren't bad Micah saw the truth for himself. He'd done every bit as badly as he feared. No kind word could change that. Failure still hurt.

“... so that's it,” finished Glade, “Any questions?”

Micah considered this. He'd not heard much of what Glade said. Something about options and what Micah might consider doing. Micah half-wished he'd listened instead of focusing totally on his results but he didn't quite dare ask Glade to repeat himself.

“So, sir, what do you suggest I do?” That should be safe to ask.

Glade shrugged.

“That depends, Micah. What would you like to do? You have adequate technical aptitude if you want something like your old job.”

Micah shook his head. He'd had enough highcarders!

“You're weak on some of your academics,” said Glade, “understandable, but there it is. You could probably find a job aboard a starship. There's a training academy two hops away.”

Minus the tuition, thought Micah, which he couldn't afford.

“Or...”

“Sir?”

“The League always needs good soldiers, Micah. Your military aptitudes were phenomenal.”

Micah thought a moment and nodded.