An announcement over the PA system cut short his reverie before he could say anything further. “Attention, attention, Landreich Shuttlecraft Themistocles Alpha now docking at Shuttle Port Three.”
“That’s us,” he said quietly. “Got your gear?”
Sparks nodded as Bondarevsky hitched his kitbag over his shoulder and turned toward the lift that would take him into the reception area below. She followed him along the empty catwalk, and somehow the fact that she was there made it easier for Bondarevsky to make the short but monumental trek.
He’d put one era behind him. Today it was time to start a new one.
The security doors leading into the shuttle bay still hadn’t been opened when the two officers reached them. Bondarevsky couldn’t tell if that was because the work crews were short-handed, or because of some perverse desire on the part of those in authority to make the new arrivals wait before they could gain admission. Landreich was still regarded as a haven for outlaws and criminals, even though the frontiersmen there had made the difference between victory and defeat when the Kilrathi attacked Earth itself and a Landreich squadron had turned the tide when everything seemed to be coming apart.
The news was full of continuing problems between the Confederation and Landreich these days. The colonials refused to accept Terran authority; the Confederation accused Landreich of deliberately provoking trouble with their neighbors on the frontier, including the newly peace-loving Kilrathi. Knowing President Kruger as Bondarevsky did, it was a sure bet that Landreich would never back down, right or wrong.
Maybe that was why he’d accepted Landreich’s offer of employment. They could be an exasperating bunch, but one and all they were the kind of people he could relate to, fighters who never backed down from a challenge, and threw out the rule book and winged it when they were in a furball.
A marine sergeant behind the desk at the security door cocked his head and raised one white-gloved hand to his earpiece receiver. Then he touched a stud on the console in front of him and stood up, drawing himself to attention. With his crisp dress uniform and his precise motions, he might have been an android respqnding to a carefully-composed protocol program.
The officer who stepped through the opening doors was a contrast to the wooden-featured sergeant in every possible way. He was young-probably not yet twenty standard years-and he was anything but stiff and solemn as he stared around the shuttle port with wide eyes and a broad, easygoing grin on his open but weather-beaten features. His shock of ginger hair was longer than Confederation regulations would have permitted, and there was a cheerful spark in his eyes. As for his uniform…well, the less said about that the better, Bondarevsky decided. Landreich had never had the money, time, or inclination to organize their military forces into anything as rigid as the Confederation’s, and they generally relied on what they could steal, scavenge, salvage, or buy on the cheap when it came to uniforms and equipment. Bondarevsky recognized elements of the young officer’s uniform as coming from Confed supplies, probably salvaged from Bannockburn or one of the other Terran ships that had operated in Landreich space back in the old days. But the man’s jacket was decidedly nonregulation, looking like something out of a holo-vid Western-leather, with plenty of pockets and old-fashioned buttons running down the front. The youngster wore a pistol on one hip, and the holster and the protruding butt of the weapon itself had the look of frequent use. Had they been like that when they’d come to this young man? Bondarevsky had a feeling that was something he shouldn’t take for granted. Young he might be, but growing up in the Landreich with the constant threat of Kilrathi attack only one of many dangers a colonial faced had a way of making a kid grow up fast…and dangerous.
The Marine saluted him stiffly, and the newcomer returned it with a casual, offhand flourish. “At ease, man, at ease,” he said, the bit in his voice fitting his appearance. “They tell me there’s a pile of forms I’m to be seeing to, so the sooner you turn me loose on ‘em the sooner me and my mates can start putting in some shore leave.”
“Excuse me, er…” Bondarevsky knew from his shoulder patch that the youngster was an officer, but he couldn’t spot anything that looked like rank insignia.
“Harper,” the young man replied, turning his easy smile on Bondarevsky. “Aengus Harper, Lieutenant in the Navy of the Free Republic of Landreich, at your service, sir.”
“Jason Bondarevsky, Lieutenant. I’m-”
“The Bear himself!” Harper exclaimed. “Should have recognized you from your pictures! After Old Max, you’re one of the biggest names back home, you know. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir, right pleased!”
Bondarevsky was a little taken aback. He wasn’t used to the younger man’s tone, which hovered somewhere between mocking respect and outright hero worship. “I was supposed to meet one of your passengers, Lieutenant,” he said slowly. “Admiral…”
“Richards, of course. Never you fear, sir, he’ll be along in a minute or two. Is it true what they’re telling me about you joining up with us, sir?”
That earned Bondarevsky a look from the sergeant. Evidently that was what it took to break through their famous iron reserve-the word that one of Terra’s naval heroes was thinking of joining the renegades of Landreich.
“Nothing’s been signed yet, Mr. Harper,” Bondarevsky told him. “But Admiral Richards seemed to think it was something I should look into…and I have to admit the offer is tempting.” He gestured toward Sparks. “This is Lieutenant McCullough. She’s also interested in a new career.”
“Is that young Bondarevsky?” The voice was as strong and well-modulated as Bondarevsky remembered it, and he turned to see the thin form of Admiral Vance Richards striding towards him from the open security door. Unlike Harper, he wore a full-dress uniform that was everything a senior officer of an interstellar power deserved, dazzling silver trim against midnight black with a rack of decorations, from both Terra and the Landreich covering his breast. But the man inside the uniform hadn’t changed much in the last four years, since he’d served as Bondarevsky’s CO in the campaign that culminated at the Battle of Earth. If the last wisps of hair on his nearly bald head were a little bit thinner, and his gait was a little slower, he still had the fire in his eyes that had always marked him out from those around him. “It’s good to see you again. From the reply you sent last month, I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Back then I wasn’t sure myself, Admiral,” Bondarevsky told him. “But I’ve had time to think about your offer, sir. And it’s a hell of a lot better than signing on a merchant ship or piloting shuttles for PanSystem Passenger Service.”
Vance extended a long, slender hand. For a moment Bondarevsky hesitated to take it. He was embarrassed by his bionic arm, which didn’t quite look or feel as natural as advertised, and he still had to concentrate hard to use it for fine manipulation. But after a moment he took the Admiral’s hand in his plastilimb fingers and carefully shook it. The sensors in his palm and fingertips told him that Vance had lost none of his unexpected strong grip since the last time they’d seen one another.
The Admiral met his eyes with a serious look. “I heard about what happened on Coventry. It must have been hell when they told you about the arm.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, dropping into a formal military tone to hide the emotion those words triggered inside him. “Yes, sir, it was.”