Chapter Six
“A moment if I may, sir,” Makarov called from over his shoulder. Murphy had forgotten his multiple sclerosis and his long, rapid strides had left the shorter Russian behind.
Murphy took the angry speed out of his walk. “What is it, Mack?”
The Muscovite had jogged to catch up with the American. “Sir, I apologize for making this request after such a…an unforeseen conclusion to the meeting, but if I do not bring it before you now, I fear—”
“Mack, it’s okay. Just spit it out.” Not the patient, hopefully avuncular tone for which he’d been aiming, but a lot better than biting poor Pyotr’s head off.
“Yes, sir. To be brief—”
Please, oh please, be brief.
“—I wish to volunteer. For what is coming, that is.”
Murphy almost missed a step when he glanced over at the Russian. “‘For what is coming?’ And just what would that be?”
Makarov somehow managed to fidget and keep walking at the same time. “Sir, just because you have not informed me of all your plans does not mean I cannot infer some of them. Particularly the final phase. And for what it is worth, I have been working on my movement in weightless environments. Of all kinds. Assiduously.”
Well, well, “Pistol Pete” Makarov wants to come out from behind his desk. Which was, truth be told, not welcome news. “Behind his desk” was just where Murphy wanted to keep the Russian’s skill set. Not because it was convenient—well, not just because of that—but because Makarov’s aptitudes made him what the strategy and tactics manuals dubbed a “force-multiplier.”
Still, his request was reasonable, and the least Murphy could do was take it seriously. “I see you’ve given this some thought, Mack. I will keep you in mind when and if we have to staff the kind of team you’re referring to.” Murphy did not mention that he not only knew about Pete’s zero-gee practice regimen—including combat movement—but that the linguistics professor–turned Red Army translator had been making respectable progress.
But, still… “C’mon, Pete. Level with me—why the sudden itch to jump into operations?” He smiled. “I mean, I know the same four walls get dull and that I can be a bastard of a boss, but…”
As Murphy had suspected, that self-deprecating jibe opened a conversational spigot that the voluble Russian usually kept sealed: the one pertaining to personal matters. “No, no, sir!” he insisted hastily. “You are actually one of the most fair and even-tempered officers under which I have ever served!”
Ignoring Makarov’s awkward insistence not to end a sentence with a preposition, Murphy reflected that his adjutant’s praise might be genuine. It was equally likely that, assuming the scuttlebutt about Soviet officers was true, that hadn’t set his bar too high—
“But,” Pete continued in a rush, “I am, to my knowledge, the only Lost Soldier with combat training who has not been called upon to use it.” He hunched slightly as he muttered, “The men—and the women—are beginning to make…well, unflattering conjectures about my bravery.”
Murphy smiled. “You mean, the same ones they make about me?”
“Sir! I was not suggesting—” He straightened. “Colonel Murphy, nothing makes me as impatient with your countrymen as those absurd smears! This is not a game. We cannot afford to lose you.”
But you will, soon enough. Murphy controlled a tremor in the hand with which he waved away Makarov’s loyal indignation; random motions like that were gaps through which the multiple sclerosis tried to slip through and betray him. “No one is irreplaceable,” Murphy asserted with conviction. He had been repeating that mantra to everyone, every chance he got. That way, when his time was up, whoever replaced him would be buttressed against the superstitious fears that often followed the loss of a long-term CO, no matter how much grousing there’d been when he was alive. Death had the power to transmogrify the nastiest, hard-ass CO into the unit’s lost lucky penny, without whom the whole sodding bunch might fall apart. Pure bullshit, but that didn’t stop it from becoming belief in the barracks.
“I understand and share your feelings, Pete,” Murphy added. “Sitting around while everyone else is risking life and limb dirtside?” He shook his head. “There’s no way that can ever feel right.” Not even when you know that you’d be a danger to anyone who had to physically depend on you.
He spotted a familiar figure with a familiar gait approaching. “Healer Naliryiz, is this a chance meeting or were you heading my way?”
“That depends. Where are you headed?”
“Where else? Lost Soldier country.” Which was one of the many monikers—not all flattering—by which they referred to their tiny, tightly compartmentalized section of Spin One.
Her answer came along with a crooked smile. “I suppose I could be persuaded to make my journey a bit longer by going that way.”
As they closed the last few yards between them, Makarov performed a quick bow in the direction of the First Healer of Family Otlethes. Before she could even utter a word of greeting, he turned to Murphy. “I must run ahead, Colonel. There is much to do.”
Murphy nodded. “And here are two more things to put on the top of your list when you get back. First, have the cadre come see me before mess.”
“An emergency, sir?”
“No, but I’ve got to get them up to speed on this afternoon’s news. And second, please send word to Major Tapper. He’ll need every minute, now.”
Makarov did not move off with the alacrity he’d been poised to exhibit. “The major…he would want to hear it from you, sir.”
Murphy felt like he’d swallowed a rock and said, “I know.” But I’ve got to stay here. Naliryiz might be able to explain why the Dogs are pulling this bullshit on Harry. “Tell him I’m going to find out if there’s any wiggle room. If the comms window is still open when I get back, I’ll give him a shout.”
“Very good, sir.” And with another bow to Naliryiz, Makarov was off.
Naliryiz stared after him. “He is a strange person,” she observed. “In some ways, he is more like a SpinDog than any of the rest of you. And yet, in other ways, he could not be more different.” She turned back to Murphy, and, as they started strolling side by side, she asked, “Is Major Tapper in some kind of trouble?”
“I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that very topic.”
Her eyes widened slightly before shuttering as his meaning became clear. “I am sorry at the decision regarding allowing indigenous peoples to remain here during the Searing, Colonel—and I hope you will express that to Major Tapper for me. For many of us, in fact—but I cannot speak on this matter.”
“You cannot or must not?”
She smiled. “The latter. However, Mara will no doubt have heard almost as much as I have.”
Murphy smiled back. “Hmmm…and I wonder who the source of her information might be?”
“I suppose it could be anyone.” Naliryiz smiled innocently.
“Present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” Naliryiz purred. Her eyes stayed on his, and she seemed to drift closer to him—but then hastily looked up at the overhead lighting. Some were lume panels, some were skylights that showed the hydroponic farms and other greenery that lined the inner walls of the asteroid, the slow spin holding it all in place. “Did you once again enjoy your time on R’Bak?” she wondered, her words suddenly clipped.
Murphy started at the change. “I can’t remember ever saying whether I ever did or didn’t. But it sounds like you certainly don’t!”
She looked surprised. “Why do you say so?”
“Well, judging from your tone, it sounds like you must hate going!” Which made less than no sense: Naliryiz was one of the most frequent visitors to the pole-dwelling Skydreamers who were the SpinDogs’ only dirtside contacts.
Naliryiz sighed. “What you hear is envy, Colonel. I had hoped to go down one more time.”
He was about to warn her about spending too many hours in full gee, then remembered she was the doctor. He was just a concerned…friend. Which was the moment he noticed further subtle changes in her silhouette and wondered aloud, “Have you…have you been spending time in the spin gym? I mean, a lot of time?”
“Yes,” she replied, but her tone said, So you finally noticed? Harumph! Her eyes sought the skylights that admitted the soft glow of the “sun beam,” which was the bright spine that marked the long axis of Spin One’s hollow center.
“I wish I could have brought you down.” The words were out of Murphy’s mouth before he had any idea he was going to utter them. Completely impulsive, yes, but true. And maybe, just maybe, she’d…
Naliryiz looked sideways at him, her eyes intense but also regretful. “That would not have been a…wise choice.”
Well, damn: what the—? “I don’t understand. You just said that you wanted to go there one more time, and that you were, well, jealous that I did.”
Her voice became clipped again, and she no longer met his eyes except for brief glances. “Jealous is too strong a word. But even if I was jealous, it would not do for us to go there together.”
Murphy felt as though whatever internal compass guided his understanding of Naliryiz had just spun one hundred eighty degrees in the course of two sentences. “Together? You mean, as in ‘with each other’?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were wary, careful…just before she looked away.
“Look, I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“I must be clear, Colonel Murphy. For us to be seen together in any fashion that would promote…speculation…could have serious repercussions.”
Christ, is there anything that doesn’t have “serious repercussions” around here? Aloud, he said, “What kind of repercussions?”
She looked at him, surprised. “You have not considered this yourself?”
Murphy suddenly felt very stupid. “Uh…no.”
She looked both annoyed and hurt. “Consider what others might conjecture if they saw us together. Frequently.”
“Others? You mean…your Family?”
“Well, yes, them, too—although they might be…But the other Families would be concerned. Likely alarmed. Possibly panicked.”
“But Mara Lee’s relationship with Ozendi…” And as those words came out of his mouth, he realized it wasn’t about his being an outsider, or his still-secret affliction, or anything as negotiable as those issues. It was about a power that trumped and transcended any such personal issues.
Politics. It was all about politics.
A faint, sardonic smile wrinkled Naliryiz’s lips. “Now you see.”
“Of course. One of the leading Lost Soldiers is already…er, closely associated with the Otlethes Family. Has blood ties to them through her child. But if yet another high-ranking Lost Soldier became ‘associated’ with the Family, other SpinDogs might start wondering if those relationships arose spontaneously or were…well, calculated moves in a larger power play.”
She frowned at the unfamiliar vernacular but nodded. “Exactly. And it would validate the misgivings of those who remain uncomfortable with how we, er, restructured the Kormak Family.”
“Restructured.” That sounds so much nicer than “gutted.” Murphy nodded—and felt gutted himself. A measure of relief arose also; even the most loving and compassionate partner wasn’t going to react to multiple sclerosis as if it were an aphrodisiac—and particularly not among the dominance-driven SpinDog culture. But acknowledging that didn’t make the sudden emotional hollowness go away. Although totally irrational and unreasonable, Murphy had harbored a hopeless hope that somehow, despite his prognosis and the cultural and political impediments, maybe he and Naliryiz might somehow…
No. Admit it, Murphy: it’s better this way. Smarter, at the very least. “Thank you, Naliryiz. You are right; I completely overlooked this complication. But I assure you, I shall be cooperative and conscientious in helping you ensure that no politically dangerous misconceptions arise.” He turned to take the shorter route back to his office, paused, risked looking in her eyes. “I am sorry you were not able to go to R’Bak one last time.” He heard the edge of increased formality in his tone and instantly regretted the distance it reestablished. But it was the best way to remind himself not to fall back into his far-too-frequent daydreams about the woman before him.
Who was staring at Murphy as if suddenly dumbfounded, her lips slightly parted in surprise.
Okay: now what have I done? But he arrested that confused thought: Best not to ask. Because it was all too likely her answer would restart the conversation, which might then veer in an even more emotionally intimate direction…
Murphy, uncertain how best to take his leave, did so with a bow. It was a common parting gesture among SpinDogs, but still… A goddamned bow? Christ, now she’ll think you’re as strange as Makarov.
Way to go, loser.
Mara “Bruce” Lee breezed past Murphy’s new orderly/bodyguard—Polish submariner Janusz Lasko, who was almost as big as Max Messina—and fell rather than sat in a chair flanked by the two already occupied by Cutter and Bowden. Fifteen feet behind them, Makarov was head down and hard at work, but most definitely within earshot.
Lee’s tone was as sardonic as it was droll. “I can hardly guess what this is about.”
Murphy shrugged and sighed. “No reason not to give it a try; the guesses are free. Besides, just might hit on the right answer. By pure luck.”
“How many guesses do I get?”
“Three.” Murphy’s smile was a bitter match for her own. “But I’m disallowing the first two.” It was a near-certainty that Makarov’s supposedly confidential relay of Tapper’s decision was already known to the ranking members of the Otlethes Family. And therefore, to Mara as well.
She didn’t disappoint. “Tapper is only being allowed to bring up one family member. Which is going to be his brother-in-law Grevorg.”
Bowden started. “Didn’t see that coming. Why the hell are they doing this to him?”
Murphy shrugged and uttered the hateful, one-word explanation: “Politics.”
“What?”
“Welllll,” Mara said, extending the syllable as she glanced toward Murphy, “it’s like this…” Her eyes told him, “No worries; I’ve got this.” He waved her on, glad to let someone else do the explaining for a change.
“So,” Mara continued, “because I’m the momma of the first Terran-SpinDog child, I get to hear all of the dirt that flies around in my adoptive family. And this is what hit the fan today.
“When the Otlethes Family became the top dogs after taking our side against the Hardliners, a lot of other families went from being typically competitive to jealous. And wary.”
“Wary about what?”
“Primus Anseker’s potential to use his increased power to grab even more power. SpinDog culture may be a watered-down version of the Ktoran original, but its stability still depends upon having a lot of near-equals contending for ‘dominion.’ If any one family gets too powerful, the others go through a pretty predictable progression: resentful, then angry, and then—possibly—homicidal.”
Bowden nodded. “And the one-sided outcome of a one-day war between the Expansionist and Hardliner factions probably makes it even worse. After the Otlethes and their pals broke apart the Kormaks, the families that refused to take a side don’t have any ready allies if Anseker leans on them. That could make them worried enough to make common cause with those Hardliners who survived the purge.”
“Yes,” Mara said with a nod, “but only if Anseker gives them reason to fear him. So, right now, he’s not going to do anything that could be perceived as aggressive or—worse still—autocratic.”
“Got it,” Cutter said, frowning as he fit the pieces together. He hadn’t been part of the cadre when the multigenerational power struggle between the Expansionists and Hardliners had come to its brutal conclusion. “But what’s all this have to do with Tapper and his Sarmatchani wife and relatives?”
Mara sighed. “Well, they became a lot more important since becoming our allies. Theirs was the first tribe in the Hamain to meet us, help us, and then join our fight against the satraps.”
Bowden nodded. “Bo told me that when he captured Imsurmik, almost forty percent of the manpower in his indig battalions—er, ‘war bands’—was Sarmatchani.”
Cutter started nodding. “Okay, I’m starting to get the picture. One Lost Soldier”—he nodded at Mara—“is now a blood-connected member of the leading family up here. Another Lost Soldier is the war hero and favorite son-in-law of the biggest Sarmatchani chief down there. And through their connection to both groups, the Otlethes family has been the sole beneficiary of both of those Lost Soldier, er, bondings.” He leaned back. “They’re looking at this the same way old-time monarchs did on Earth: they built their power through marriages that not only linked their kids, but linked their lands, titles, and wealth. And, as they do, the already-little guys get comparatively smaller and smaller.”
Bowden nodded, reading the last of the tea leaves that Mara had brought before them. “So now, seeing all the power that the Otlethes have through those two new connections, Anseker has to make sure that the smaller families out there don’t start grumbling and gathering. So he throws them a bone: Harry can bring only one family member with him.” He glanced from Murphy to Mara. “But why did he pick his brother-in-law rather than Stella?”
Mara took up the tale again. “First, Anseker didn’t throw anyone a bone. The other families took the initiative by coming to him with a far more harsh resolution: that no dirtsiders be allowed on the spins. So the most pushback that Anseker could risk was to insist that at least one family member was allowed to accompany Harry.”
“From there, it really wasn’t much of a choice.” She shrugged. “The Sarmatchani chief—Yannis—was out of the question; he’s needed dirtside as both leader and figurehead. Bringing Stella would mean bringing their toddler, and that was a medical nonstarter: if that child is to return dirtside, he has to spend his developmental years in a full-gee environment.
“So that left Grevorg. Who, by being ‘exclusively sequestered’ on a single RockHound station at the ass-end of nowhere, assures the continuation of Yannis’s line of succession. At least that’s the fig leaf that Anseker put on it.”
“All of which pretty much sucks for everyone in every conceivable way,” Bowden spat.
Murphy nodded. “And there’s probably worse in store, if the SpinDogs can’t stop their endless jockeying for position and dominion.”
“Like what?” Cutter asked with a frown.
As he did, Mara’s glance slipped sideways toward Murphy. Although it had been only an hour ago, she’d probably already heard about his latest exchange with Naliryiz.
Murphy kept his eyes on Cutter’s. “Every time we have to push the Dogs or Hounds to do something they feel is at odds with their social or political norms, they flex back at us.”
Bowden nodded sharply, eyes bright. “Yeah, but Colonel, that’s who they are. Whatever we want, they have to resist. Particularly because we’ve been right so often.”
Murphy nodded back at him. “Yes, but look at how they’ve started pushing back.”
Mara nodded, brow furrowed in frustration. “Social restrictions. Who can see who; who can go where; who’s allowed to live on their spins.”
Bowden leaned back with a muted sigh. “I had hoped that Anseker would be above that, given how we’ve helped them.” He sighed. “Of course, it’s exactly because we have helped them that they had to cave about Harry’s family coming up.”
Murphy was careful to limit his reaction to a somber nod. He didn’t want any of them to suspect that he himself was now caught in another situation caused by the endless political maneuvering.
But Mara’s eyes confirmed she already knew he was. She asked the room, “I’m heading to the galley. Who’s coming?” Cutter and Bowden rose. When Murphy didn’t, she asked, “Colonel, what about dinner? You have plans?”
“Yes, Bruce; I plan to skip it. I seem to have lost my appetite. Dismissed.”