He looked up, causing the room's only other occupant to pull himself to full attention. With a slight wave of his right hand, the older man allowed the other to relax. "This is most interesting, Star Commander. Most of the intelligence our people have gathered from the Periphery's inhabitants has been exaggerated nonsense based on centuries-old rumors, wishful thinking, and nightmares. This Phelan Kell, on the other hand, has knowledge and is intelligent enough to conceal it."
The Star Commander nodded in agreement. In the room's muted light, his dark gray uniform appeared black and the small red stars on his collar remained hidden until light flashed scarlet from them. "I agree, my Khan. The physicians who repaired the damage done to him estimate his age to be between eighteen and twenty-three years old, confirming his statement that he is eighteen. As we saw in the battle tapes of the engagement where we captured him, he handles a 'Mech with some skill."
The older man nodded sagely, his left hand again rising to toy with his goatee. "What do you make of his name being the same as that of the mercenary unit? Is he an orphan they adopted?"
The Star Commander shrugged. "Neg, my Khan. It would be impossible for an adoptee to earn a name so quickly, quineg? It would seem to me that he is related to the family that owns the unit. I could further suppose that he is in some disfavor because he was given service in the Periphery. Perhaps, as we have done, the Kell Hounds placed a training cadre out hunting vermin."
"Possible, Star Commander. Very possible." The older man smiled. "Do not reprimand either Vlad or Carew for their performances in the interrogation. Vlad's outbursts were unfortunate, but he has given this Phelan a focus for his own anger. Vlad will continue to be part of the inquiry team for this subject. Carew's surprise concerning the mercenaries caused Kell to be cautious, which tells us he has information he thinks is important. That, too, is valuable."
"Do they continue to question him as is?"
The old man paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Aff. Let them work unaided for the next month. By the time the DropShip Orionreturns here, the interrogators will have collected enough data to alert us to areas where he has information he does not want to give up. At that time, with more experienced people, we will do what we must to learn all that Phelan Kell can tell us."
11
Twelfth Donegal Guards Headquarters, Trell I
Tamar March, Lyran Commonwealth
19 October 3049
Kommandant Victor Steiner-Davion adjusted the picture of his family on the corner of his desk. Taken about a year and a half before he left the New Avalon Military Academy to return to the Nagelring, it represented the last time the whole family had been together. Victor, his father, and his hulking brother Peter stood in the back row. His mother sat in front of Hanse, with Katherine on her right, Arthur on her left, and little Yvonne sitting at her feet. Victor centered the portrait between his data monitor and the lamp clamped onto the right side of the desk, then leaned back in his chair to study its effect.
With a frown, he leaned forward to shift the picture back to the other side of the walnut desk. Is having this picture going to rub it in that I've got a battalion command because of who I am? Renny and the others in my class graduated Leftenants and have lance commands. I'm a Kommandant and get to oversee a whole battalion. The damnable thing is I know I can handle this responsibility, provided I get the chance. I want to be treated like everyone else in the Federated Commonwealth's Armed Forces, but it just ain't going to happen that way.
A light knock sounded on his door, pulling Victor back to reality. He quickly twisted the picture so its back was to the door, then straightened his uniform. "Enter."
A slender, sandy-haired man stepped into the room and snapped Victor a quick salute. "Hauptmann Galen Cox reporting, sir."
Victor quickly stood, cursing himself for not having done so before Cox entered the room, and returned the salute crisply. He noticed the Hauptmann's restless blue eyes taking in everything, but Cox's face gave no clue to his thoughts. Extending his hand, Victor greeted his visitor warmly. "I am pleased to meet you, Hauptmann Cox. I am Victor Steiner-Davion."
Cox met Victor's firm grip and pumped his arm strongly. It was not a contest of strength, but a comradely welcome that pleased Victor. No need to prove himself stronger than me, yet no desire to toady up, either. Good. I like that.
Victor waved Cox to one of the two yellow leather chairs across from his desk, but the Hauptmann demurred. "Is there something I can do for you, Hauptmann?" Victor asked.
"I'm reporting for duty, Kommandant. I am your aide."
Victor pressed his lips together into a thin line. "Hauptmann, don't take this as an insult or any reflection upon you or the impression you've created, but I already told Leftenant-General Hawksworth I don't want an aide." Victor pointed through the open door toward the other Kommandant offices further down the hall. "Just like the others, I'll make due with a clerk."
Cox nodded easily, but Victor knew the man had not surrendered. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the Kommandant is not like the others."
"An accident of birth does not make me different, Hauptmann. I will not have an aide just because I am the Archon's son. Do you understand that?"
The Hauptmann dipped his blond head again and turned from Victor. For a moment, Victor thought he had won— which surprised him—but then he saw Cox close the office door. Victor smiled to himself. Now we're into the trenches.
Cox again appraised Victor openly. "Permission to speak frankly, Kommandant."
Victor extended his hands palms-up. "Have at it, Mr. Cox."
"When I said you were not like the others, I was not referring to your lineage. If we assigned an officer to every blue-blood in the AFFC, we'd double the size of the officer corps and drop its efficiency by an order of magnitude. And, just for your information, Leftenant-General Hawksworth had nothing to do with my being here. He respected your wishes and made them known to the rest of the officers here."
Victor leaned forward on his desk. "If the General has not assigned you to me, and if you're not here because of my bloodlines, what the hell is going on?"
Cox's grin grew wider. "I was selected by the regiment's officers to be your aide."
"What!" Victor sank backdown in his chair. "Since when did the army become a democracy?"
"Since officers fresh from the Academy are given a battalion command." Cox's grin faded as his look became stern. "Being out here on the Periphery is a joke to people back on Tharkad. Hell, you probably didn't want to be assigned here—which makes you exactlylike most of the other officers in this outfit. Most of our lance commanders are fresh from school, just like you, and they're full of that graduation glow. For them, this assignment is a chance to show their potential so they can win a more glamorous assignment like guarding the Draconis border or kicking around some Free Worlders."
Victor felt his face flush as he recalled how he'd protested his assignment.
Cox moved toward the chair Victor had indicated earlier, but stepped behind it and rested his hands on its back. "Most Leftenants are easy to straighten out. We get into an engagement with pirates or bandits or a Rasalhague raiding party and step them through the fight. If they don't freeze up or faint at the first exchange, we give them orders and they execute them. That first fight is always rough on them, and generally rougher on the men and women they command, but they survive it if they listen and do what they are told. It's sort of military Darwinism in action."