13
“Prisoner Pelletier, report to the Interview Room Three.”
The door to his cell swished open, and Rev sat up and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. After two months, he’d been sleeping up to fourteen hours a day, which he knew wasn’t healthy. But what else was he supposed to do in a bare cell?
The “prisoner” was something new their captors started about a week ago. It was petty but annoying. Their life had devolved into a series of petty, annoying things, and Rev was really over it all. The worst thing was that he didn’t know when, if ever, it would end.
He stepped out of his cell. Tomiko shouted out, “Give ‘em hell,” as he walked across the common area and stood in front of the door . . . and waited for a full two minutes until it opened. More petty BS. The interrogations were done in any of six “interview rooms,” three on each side of the short, dead-end corridor. Rev went to number three, entered, and took a seat.
The interrogations had become fewer, and they seemed to just repeat what was asked before. It was more harassment, and even the interrogators didn’t seem too thrilled to be going through the pantomime. He expected to wait thirty minutes or more, but within a minute, the outside door opened, and Major Yarborough stepped in for the first time in a week.
“Sergeant,” the major said as he took a seat opposite Rev. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m alive, so there’s that.”
“I know this has dragged on longer than we’d expected, but the D-4’s been playing hardball.”
“And we’re pawns, I know, sir.”
“Unfortunately, yes. But we might have a breakthrough.”
Rev gave the major a measured stare. The major thought they had a breakthrough five weeks ago, and yet, here he still was, “Prisoner Pelletier.”
“The Director Prime, with pressure from the Council, has agreed to pool resources with the Frisian Mantle to investigate what was recovered. This has already started, and it looks like it has paid dividends.”
Now that did surprise Rev. It was the logical thing to do, given that humanity was still at war with the Centaurs, but the varying human factions had never been accused of being too logical. The initial spirit of cooperation inside the asteroid had been dashed by the government, ignoring the military and the Torinth Accords, but evidently, they must have known it was too late to close the barn door. The horses had already escaped.
“So, all’s forgiven? We’re going to be released?” He was being sarcastic, but hope kept trying to break free of the cynic he’d become.
“I wish I could say that. But D-4 still contends that treason was committed and that whatever benefits the cooperation will provide is outweighed by letting the Frisians stay on par with us in an after-Centaur galaxy.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me, sir. We’re not even winning this damn war, and they’re worried about jockeying for position after the Centaurs?”
The major shook his head in agreement. “But given the new developments, the Commandant has authorized us to make an offer.”
“We have to make an offer? We can’t just go with what is right and what is wrong.”
The major gave Rev a how-naive look. “You know better than that, Sergeant. That’s not how things work.”
“Yes, sir, but that’s how they should work. But what is this offer?”
“Most of the Marines and the corpsman will get a Page 11 and be put back on full duty.”
A Page 11 was an administrative entry into a Marine’s record that really didn’t mean much unless too many of them piled up. But Rev didn’t need to be a genius to know that he wasn’t included in the “most” category.
“Sergeant Nix’s selection for promotion to staff sergeant is being rescinded.”
“Nix? But he didn’t have anything to do with this.”
The major shrugged and said, “He was senior to you. Staff Sergeant Delacrie will be reduced a rank and removed from the Raiders, back to an admin billet.”
Rev just shook his head. He wasn’t a huge fan of the team leader when he took over, but the man had grown into the position.
“Second Lieutenant Harisa is losing her commission and will become a MilDes Ninety-nine.”
Rev looked at the major in shock at that one. He opened his mouth to say something, to object, but his mind was blank. Finally, he managed to say, “Sir, I’ve already taken the blame. Just put in on me. But this? For something they didn’t do?”
“I think you know why, Sergeant. You’re, shall we say, in a particular position, and for the Marines to keep you in that position, well, heads have to roll, and it’s hitting those senior to you.”
“Just because I have a damned—”
“Sergeant! Yes, you’ve shown a damned fine skill in killing tin-asses.”
“Others have that, uh . . . skill.”
“The commandant has determined that you are needed in your present billet.”
“And how will I be allowed to stay with my team?”
“You’ll lose a rank.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Rev knew the decision on the asteroid had been his, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He knew it had been the right thing to do. But if someone had to take the fall, it should be him. Not Nix, not Delacrie, and certainly not the lieutenant, at least not to what they were going to do to them.
Rev was angry. The OD and the rest of D-4 had to know about his IBHU. It wasn’t something that could be hidden from the rest of the decision-makers. Maybe some of the agents—and even keeping it from them was ridiculous—but not those on top. The commandant just had to confront the D-4 director, lay down the law, and not play these games.
On a personal level, getting busted to corporal was nothing. Once he realized he was in trouble, he’d expected much worse. And in his mind, the guilt for what was happening to the other three was worse.
“So, why are you telling me this? I don’t have a say in what you do.”
“Because the D-4 are going to want assurances that you, and the others, accept this.”
“You’re asking me to accept my punishment? I didn’t know you gave criminals that choice,” he said with a snort of disdain.
“There’s been a . . . small development. Somehow, in conjunction with the announcements that the Union and the Frisians are toning down the animosity and suspicion and are back to being best buddies, there has been a story making the rounds in the undernet of a small group of Marines and another of Frisians who refused to let war break out. A feel-good story, if you will. And there is some concern that some of you might decide to go public and confirm the events.”
“I’m assuming that whatever was recovered is still classified? So, no one could talk about it.”
The major said nothing.
“And how did this rumor get started?”
“Don’t know. Probably some non-combat Marine, like a public affairs officer, inadvertently said something before realizing it wasn’t for public release.”
“Or a lawyer.”
“Possibly, sure. Could be,” the staff judge advocate major said.
Rev stared into the major’s eyes, but they weren’t revealing anything. It was pretty convenient, though, that this happened when the Corps needed leverage.
“I can say from my part, I would never go to the public. I can’t speak for the others.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, when would this take place?”
“Not today. Not tomorrow. It depends on how things go between the two agencies. Officially, this is now D-3 to D-4, and not the Marine Corps. D-6 is also involved, but they are not taking sides that we can tell.”
D-3, Defense, and D-4, Internal Security, had also had something of a competitive relationship, and with the war, D-3 had moved into a position of more importance and priority in budgets. Rev understood how the D-4 might have thought working with Centaur tech might raise their priority higher, only to have that knocked down again when the Frisians joined the effort. D-6 was Science, which incorporated research and development. They probably just wanted to have as little fuss as possible so they could do their thing.
“Lieutenant Harisa is a done deal, however. The paperwork is already in process.”
“And if D-4 doesn’t agree with this?”
“For Harisa? Won’t make any difference. The commandant decided that before all this came up. He holds officers to a different standard. But for you? Then it’s back to the drawing board. But I have a feeling we’re going to get this accepted. So, a week, maybe two, and you could be back with your platoon.”
Rev was numb. His anger still smoldered, waiting for that trickle of oxygen that would burst it into flames again, but all of this was a lot to take in. He shouldn’t be in any trouble in the first place, but he was going to get off easier than expected. Nix, Delacrie, and Lieutenant Harisa were going to get hit harder. All for inter-directorate politics.
He was a Marine, one who’d been augmented to be able to kill Centaurs. They all were Marines, all with that same job. That’s what they should be doing, not sitting on their asses in a D-4 prison.