Yes, sir, I have. We were jamming radio all the way in, as per protocol, but we didnt detect that little tightbeam relay theyd left?
Fred, Jasira interjected with a laugh. This isnt an inquisition. You arent here to apologize. You did good, Colonel.
Fred frowned, picked his glass up, then put it back down without taking a drink.
Then to be frank, sir, I wonder what I am here for.
Jasira leaned back in his chair.
A couple of little things. I saw your request for an investigation into the negotiation teams work. The declassification of the negotiation transcripts. That surprised me.
As he spoke, Jasira rolled his shoulders, though in the moons fractional gravity they could hardly be tense. He must have spent a lot of time dirtside, and the habits died slow.
Sir, Fred said, speaking slowly and picking his words carefully, because of the relay, the public has already seen the battle footage. We cant put that genie back in the bottle. But no one seems to want to talk about the tightbeam they sent to us at the end there. We?
And how will this information change anything? You did your job, soldier. The negotiation team did theirs. End of story.
As it stands, sir, the people who took Anderson look like theyre insane, and we look like executioners, Fred said, then stopped when he realized his voice was getting loud. Quieting down, he said, There was some kind of mistake. That second message makes it clear that they thought theyd surrendered. A lot of people died over that miscommunication.
Jasira smiled, but there was no humor in it.
Dont be so hard on yourself. You barely lost anybody, the general said. Anyway, the requests denied. We have no reason to do any investigation on this matter. The battle footage is out, and as it stands that works in our favor. The simpler the message is, the more people will understand it: Take one of our stations, and we take it back. Hard. We can only confuse the issue by turning it political.
Sir, Fred said, all warmth gone from his voice. I killed 173 armed insurgents and over a thousand civilians in this action. You owe it to those people?you owe it to me?to show we did the right thing. What if we can avoid this happening next time?
There isnt going to be a next time, the general said. Youre the one who saw to that.
Sir, youre making it seem very much like this wasnt a mistake at all. Who gave the order to ignore their surrender and send me in? Was it you?
Jasira shrugged. It doesnt matter. You did what we needed you to do. We wont forget that.
Fred looked at his hands. He rose to his feet, a little too quickly, bouncing in the low g, and snapped a sharp salute. Jasira poured himself another glass of scotch and drank it off, leaving Fred standing as he did.
Will there be anything else, sir?
Jasira gave him a long, resigned look.
Theyre giving you the Medal of Freedom.
Freds arm turned limp, and his salute collapsed under its own weight.
What? was all he could manage to say.
Im going back down the well. Im too old to suck vacuum anymore. Theyll pin you with the UN Marines highest honor, then shortly thereafter give you your first star. Youll have a seat here at OPCOM before the year is out. Try to look happy about it.
The silence stretched. Fred focused hard on nothing about ten feet in front of him. Dawes watched him for almost a full minute, then gave up.
All right. Why dont I start, then? Dawes said. Heres what happened. You were sleeping with one of the marines. Keeping it quiet because you were the commander, and thats a no-no, right? So youre very careful taking the station. You keep your casualties low, but you dont get lucky and your lover dies.
Fred kept his face stony and still. Dawes leaned back, resting on one long, thin arm like he was lounging under a tree in some sunlit park.
You cant get the usual psychological support, Dawes went on, because that would mean exposing the relationship, and youre still ashamed of it. You have a little breakdown. You end up knocking around OPA bars hoping someonell kill you.
Fred didnt respond. His legs were past numb now and starting to hurt. Dawes grinned. He seemed to be enjoying this.
No? the OPA man said. Dont like that one? All right. How about this? Before you joined up with the Marines, you were a troubled kid. Did all kinds of bad things. Wild. Joining up is what straightened you out. Made you into the staunch, upright, legal, and appropriate guy you are today. But then the Anderson Station broadcast comes out. A bunch of people from your past see the feed and someone recognizes you. You come back a hero, but theres a sting in it. Youre being blackmailed formmm. How about rape? Or, no. Drug trafficking. You used to cook tabs of grace in your dorm room, sell it at the clubs. Now its come back to haunt you, and you have a little breakdown. And you end up knocking around OPA bars hoping someonell kill you.
Dawes waved a hand in front of Freds eyes.
Still with me, Colonel? Dont like that one either? All right. Maybe youve got a sister who came up the well, and you lost track of her?
Why dont you save your fucking air, Fred growled. Whatever youre here for, do it and be done.
Because why matters, Colonel. Why always matters. Whatever your story is, I know how it ends. It ends with you, here, talking to me. Thats the easy part, and I think youre here looking for easy.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
The woman with the rifle said something. Either her Belter patois was too accented and fast or it was some OPA verbal code because Fred couldnt even cut the flow of syllables into individual words. Dawes nodded, took his hand terminal out of a pocket and keyed something in. Fred leaned forward, trying to get the blood flow back into his legs. Dawes put the hand terminal away.
You changed, Colonel. The way you behave changed after Anderson Station. Before that, you were just another inner planets asshole who didnt give a shit whether the Belt lived or died. You stuck to your bases and your stage-managed outreach programs and the station levels where the security gets paid by Earth taxes. And now, youre not.
Ive lived in the Belt my whole life. Ive known a lot of men who wanted to die. They act just like you. Women dont. I havent figured that out yet, but the men? Even if they do take a walk outside or swallow a gun, theres always this part before. Taking risks. Hoping the universe will do it for them. Make it easy. And the Belts an unforgiving environment. You want to die, getting sloppys usually enough.
I dont give a shit what you think, Fred said. I dont give a shit what you want, or who you know. And your popular psychology horseshit? Yeah, you can drink it with milk. I have nothing to justify to you. I did my job, and Im not ashamed of any decision I made. With the same information, Id do the same thing again.
With the same information, Dawes said, latching on to the phrase hard. You found something out, then?
Fuck off, Dawes.
What was it, Colonel? What kind of information turns the Butcher of Anderson Station into a suicide? What makes him into a coward?
The hundred and seventy Belters occupying Anderson Station hadnt taken offensive action yet. Fred watched the station in false-color IR.
Priority flash traffic from OPCOM, sir, cross-checked and verified, the intel officer on his monitor said. Eyes only. Sending it to you now.
There was only one line of text.
AUTHORIZATION TO RETAKE STATION GRANTED.
And that was that. Thirty-seven hours of negotiation was over. Outer Planets Command was tired of waiting, and they were unleashing the dogs.
Fred called up the company major and said, Put them in their racks. Were go for assault. Set the countdown timer to one hour.
Roger that, sir, the major said with more glee than Fred was comfortable seeing.