The room had fallen silent. Clarke looked up and realized that Navathe had finished her story, and everyone looked at him. Their expressions were unreadable. Or maybe he didn’t dare to look hard enough.
I need to say something, he thought, before Rehman regains his momentum.
But what could he say after Navathe’s tale? Anything he said would’ve sounded fake in comparison. The woman had spoken out of gratitude for her husband’s life. Clarke’s decade of regrets paled in comparison.
He decided to tell the truth. “I don’t doubt everyone here has a history with Tal-Kader. I can’t presume to know how much you’ve given up—how much you’ve sacrificed—in order to take the Edge away from people who would use our families and loved ones as machinery to enrich themselves. I only know that, if we manage to achieve Antonov’s mission, if we get Isabella Reiner away from Tal-Kader’s hands, it’ll be the closest the Edge has ever been to freedom since Isaac Reiner’s times.”
He looked everyone in the eyes while trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll do it alone, if I have to.”
IN THE END, it wasn’t Navathe’s heartfelt speech, Alicante’s pleads, or Clarke’s promises that convinced the officers. Pascari set his feet down and announced that, the next officer to complain about his decision would go straight to a cell and have his ranks stripped. He even called the marines himself and had them on standby outside the door, rifles drawn, black visors masking their expressions and turning them into perfectly still machines of war.
There had been no further complaints.
Well, I’ll be damned…It worked, Clarke thought. He had been sure Task Force Sierra would’ve rather thrown him and Pascari out of an airlock than give command to them. He had been wrong. Those men had spent a comfortable career in a safe, boring assignment…Perhaps they’d grown so complacent they wouldn’t even fight for their own self-benefit.
Clarke hoped that idea was wrong. If Task Force Sierra refused to fight when it counted, it’d be a disaster in Dione.
They’re EIF, he told himself, even these men have spent a lifetime of fighting. It’ll come back to them.
As well as to him, he hoped.
The trip to Elus Star System would take three months. Sierra—and he—would need every minute of that time to get back into shape.
There was only one thing he needed to do first.
He found Pascari in the man’s provisional quarters, the ones he’d use until Alicante (who was still the Hawk’s commander) figured out where to put him as a Committee representative.
“Clarke,” Pascari grunted, upon seeing Clarke standing by the door frame. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk,” Clarke told the man.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Pascari said. “Congratulations on your new assignment, Captain. You can go do whatever captains do.”
“Captain?”
Pascari shrugged. “That’s the highest rank I can bestow on you. Don’t think I did it for you. Task Force Sierra will fight better if led by an EIF captain instead of a civilian, so you’re a captain. As far as I’m concerned, get us Isabella and I’ll make you an admiral. Just don’t expect a ceremony to go along with it, asshole.”
Clarke sighed. Any other time, he’d have found the situation hilarious. The EIF recruitment center could’ve made posters about how cheaply Pascari threw promotions around.
“Trust me. I know you don’t do it for me. That’s why I’m here. To make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Good,” said Pascari, “then let’s make things clear. I made you commander because those cowards—Alicante and Rehman and the others—were too scared of the prospect of fighting Tal-Kader. You saw that, didn’t you? They spent their careers hiding away from combat while the rest of the EIF, the rest of the Independent, fought and died. They’d break the instant their ships came under fire.”
Clarke doubted that was exactly true. A ship’s backbone wasn’t its officers, but its sailors. And Clarke had yet to meet them. He wouldn’t dare make that judgment without knowing them. Hell, he wouldn’t think the officers were cowards until he had seen them in combat. Sometimes, people surprised you.
“Sierra will be ready when we reach Elus,” Clarke said.
“That’s your job,” Pascari said. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“To do my job best, I need to know why my new direct superior hates my guts,” Clarke said.
The two men glared at each other.
“That sob story Navathe told in the conference room,” said Pascari, “I have a different version of it.”
“The official one?”
“No, I’m not an idiot. My version comes from someone very close to me, someone I cared about deeply, who was stationed in Opal, fighting and dying while you and Applegate pranced away doing feel-good bullshit instead of your duty.”
Opal. One of the three battleships that faced Mississippi at Jagal’s outer orbit. Clarke winced.
So, that’s what Pascari has against me. Clarke couldn’t hold it against the man. Julia had been the second person close to Pascari that had died while being close to Clarke.
Hell, I’m surprised he hasn’t shot me yet.
“I’m sorry, Pascari. I did what I could. Applegate’s engines were dead. The weapons systems—”
“I don’t care what your reasons are, Clarke, God-fucking-damn-me,” Pascari said through clenched teeth. He made a visible effort to control himself. “Get us to Dione. Win the day. But I’ll be looking very closely at you. If at any time I see a hint of cowardice—fuck it, if you even make a single mistake—I’m putting a bullet in you, and damn the consequences. Do you understand?”
Clarke gave the man a savage grin. “Crystal clear. See? We’re on the same page now. Nice talking to you—”
The door to Pascari’s quarters closed an inch away from Clarke’s nose.
23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DELAGARZA
The outdoor heaters rose like pillars marking the domain of Derbies’ Taco Empire. Farther out, the occasional patrol of security officers strolled past the otherwise deserted avenue, throwing shady looks at the few businesses that dared remain open in the middle of the light cycle.
“Assholes are having a field day,” Cooke pointed out, giving a patrol an acidic look once the officers had their backs turned. “They’re playing make-believe of being agents or some shit.”
Delagarza shrugged and ate a mouthful of taco. The synthetic spicy salsa burned in his mouth like he had eaten a molten rock. It warmed him better than the reg-suit and the heaters combined.
“Let them play,” said Derbies, who sat next to Cooke and Delagarza. “At least they’re not bothering anyone right now.”
“That’s because the blizzard sent all of Alwinter into hiding,” Cooke said. He tried to take a bite out of his burrito, but his hand shook so badly it spewed meat everywhere.
Since he had found out about Delagarza’s involvement with the enforcers, Cooke’s nerves had been on edge. Delagarza would’ve told the man to get off the planet, but that option left the table with Vortex cutting out all traffic in-and-out of the planet.
“The machines are fixed now,” Derbies pointed out. “It’s not the blizzard people are hiding from, it’s them. Damn disaster for business, but what can we do?”
“Something,” Cooke said, frustration seeping through his voice. “There has to be something. It’s bullshit, man, there’s no way this siege is legal. Dione is a port city, we’ll starve if shit keeps going.”