CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a warm day for a Crann Bethadh winter.
Cormag Dewar stood on the Tara City sidewalk, outside the row of concrete bollards that surrounded the New Dublin System’s capitol building. The top of the capitol’s dome was lost to the surrounding fog. Even the blinking beacon at its top to ward off aircraft in the bad weather was little more than a dim, pulsing glow from ground level.
He brushed beads of moisture off his uniform’s long coat. Its pale green melded into the surrounding fog, but the golden stars of his rank marked him out from the bodyguards around him.
The tap of a cane sounded behind him, and he turned around as a slightly stooped elderly man emerged from the gray and raised the tip of the cane in his right hand in greeting. Alan Tolmach’s long, thin hair hung limply down past his chin, and the monocle of an inexpensive, external prosthesis over one eye was attached to the side of his head by a wire.
“So, are the rumors true?” Dewar asked, joining Tolmach as the older man started down the sidewalk, away from the capitol. The uniformed bodyguards formed a loose perimeter around them, while more of Dewar’s security in civilian garb walked ahead, invisible in the fog.
“You know damn well they are,” Tolmach replied. “Why even ask?”
“Because I want to know if Governor Babikov finally admitted it to you.”
“He did, I’ll have you know.”
The older man stopped and shook moisture from his monocle, and Dewar suppressed a familiar surge of affectionate exasperation. Tolmach was the System President, for God’s sake, and the New Dublin System would have replaced the crappy prosthesis in a heartbeat…if he’d let it. But he wouldn’t. Not until every war vet could have equally good medical care, anyway, and that wasn’t going to—
“We have a new federally appointed leader on the way,” Tolmach resumed, interrupting the general’s well-worn thought as he plugged the monocle back in. “Babikov’s tenure ends as soon as the new guy arrives. Should be just a few weeks.”
“The standard is at least three months’ notice,” Dewar pointed out. “And they’re supposed to bring in a new military commander with local consent, not by federal decree.”
“And since when has the Federation cared about the finer points of its own laws, eh?” Tolmach reset the monocle and shuffled forward. “We protest the replacement, and Old Terra and the Oval will just tell us that the state of emergency supersedes the finer points of the Constitution, etc., etc. Why are you being so salty on such a fine morning as this?”
“Who is it? What Heart World ninny do Olympia and the Oval plan to install to lord over us this time?” Dewar asked.
“Spoiled.” Tolmach gave the other man’s shin a gentle whack with his cane. “You’re spoiled. You’re worried the new boss won’t give you the same freedom Babikov did as chief of the Civil Defense Force.”
“No. Well…maybe a little. I’m more irked that I don’t know who the fop is. None of my people in Babikov’s staff could get me a name.”
“Spying on the governor?” The older man said shook his head. “Tsk, tsk.”
“Hypocrite.”
“The name is Murphy,” Tolmach said. “Terrence Murphy.”
Dewar came to a sudden stop. Tolmach kept walking.
“Wait. What? Who’s Terrence Murphy?” Dewar touched an ear and repeated the name to an agent at the other end of the line.
“Just because I’m old enough to actually remember Henrik Murphy and you’re not doesn’t give you an excuse to not know the Father of the Federation Navy’s last name,” Tolmach said over his shoulder. “That line of Murphys. This one was in Survey, though.”
“Oh, no.” Dewar caught up with him, rubbing a temple with his fingers.
“And fought with distinction at a somewhat noticeable fight at Steelman’s Star,” Tolmach continued. “No, he wasn’t in command when the shooting started, but he did take over when his CO was killed, and he managed to win a fight the League had in the bag. So it’s not all bad. And…he’s bringing a task force with him.”
“What? The fighting’s in Beta Cygni. What do we need with a task—” Dewar broke off, his mind racing, and his eyes narrowed. “Is this an occupation force?”
“Settle down, boy.” Tolmach shook his head. “Regular redistribution of force. We get into a good scrum with the butchers, and they’re liable to try to find a soft underbelly to kick. And,” he conceded, “the upgrades to the yards might make us a mite more attractive as the belly in question. I doubt it’s any more than that. The Oval’s changed up where we keep the reserves before, you know, and they’ll keep doing it. Don’t you remember when you caught them at Far Star?”
“I’d forget that day if I could.” Dewar grimaced. “This means more ships in orbit. Spacers on shore leave. There’s a pain in the ass I don’t want. They’ll be after our girls and—”
He broke off and touched his unobtrusive earbud again.
“Got the file on Murphy,” he announced. “Married into the Thakores…but they’ve got a son to take over that business. Murphy’s just out here to punch his ticket, isn’t he?”
“That was Babikov’s MO, wasn’t it? Although our current governor did extend his stay for many more years than usual.” Tolmach gripped his right forearm with his left hand.
“He stayed on because of his pool of secretaries, not because he loved Crann Bethadh,” Dewar said, eyeing the other man’s hand. “You all right? Moira will tan my hide if I let you stay out in the draich too long.”
“You tell my daughter I’m just fine,” Tolmach said, pressing his left thumb into his sleeve. “It’s just the nerve shunt acting up again. Have to reset it a couple of times a day or—Ah, shit.”
His right hand popped off his arm and splatted into a puddle, the cane twisting in its grip.
“I’ll get it.” Dewar thrust a foot under the wood and flicked it up to catch. Then he pressed the jack on the hand’s wrist into the housing on Tolmach’s arm and locked it in with a twist.
“Showing off your unearned youth, are ye?” Tolmach rapped the cane tip against the ground.
“Age happens to the best of us and to the rest of us,” Dewar said. “And leaving parts of yourself on Isonzo wasn’t your idea, is my guess.”
Of course, refusing to use your position to replace them with parts that actually work just because none of the other wounded vets can do the same is your idea, isn’t it? The general’s expression gave no sign of his thoughts. He knew exactly how Tolmach would have reacted if he’d said it out loud.
“Now you’re bragging about three tours and not a scratch, you bastard.” Tolmach crossed the street to a rock-and-iron fence. A few rows of gravestones were visible in the morning fog beyond it.
“Murphy’s a fop.” Dewar joined Tolmach as they watched the graveyard grow more and more visible as the fog burned away. “Another Heart Worlder here to make sure we pay the blood tithe and our taxes. He’ll leave with a chest full of medals he didn’t earn and go home to play the game with the Five Hundred and pretend he’s some sort of conquering hero. Same as it ever was.”
“Same as it ever was,” Tolmach agreed. “But you keep your eye on him. He’ll be an empty suit to leave us to our own devices or I, as New Dublin’s President, and you, as her system militia commander, will make his time as unpleasant as possible. And if that doesn’t work…accidents do happen.”
“They do, indeed.”
Dewar crossed himself as golden sunlight broke through and spilled across the graves.