"You do look fit, Alley," he acknowledged. "And much though I would have resisted telling you this a few years back, the uniform looks good on you. Of course, I thought you looked good as a Marine, too."
"I know it isn't what you wanted me to do," she began, but he interrupted her.
"No," he said. "That's not really accurate."
She stopped, looking at him in surprise, and he snorted.
"Well, maybe it is, but usually when someone says 'it's not what you wanted' what they really mean is 'I went out and did something that pissed you off' or 'what I did must've been a disappointment to you.' Or something along those lines. And I was never angry with you, and I've never been 'disappointed' by the choices you've made."
"Really?" It was her turn to lean back, and she watched his expression carefully. "I never really felt you were angry with me, but I have to admit that there've been times I felt that you were … if not disappointed, at least unhappy that I chose the military."
"Alicia, you're my daughter. I love you very much, just as I love your sister and your brother. And because I do, I'd obviously be happier in a lot of ways if you were in a nice, sedentary occupation. One where the worst I'd have to worry about would be the occasional paper cut or spilled cup of coffee."
The last sentence came out along with a smile so droll that Alicia chuckled. Then his expression grew serious once more.
"Your grandfather and I had a lot of conversations about the same general topic. I'm not sure he ever fully understood my feelings on the matter, either, though he certainly tried. But the bottom line is that I've never had any patience at all with the attitude of a certain segment of the Core Worlds' so-called 'intellectual elite' where the military is concerned. I wish we didn't need a military. I wish there were no people out there willing to resort to violence to achieve their ends, and that there was no need for other people to use violence to stop them. I wish no one ever had to be killed, no cities ever needed to be turned into battlefields.
"But however much I might wish all of those things, I'm not going to get them. And that means we do need people to stand between civilization and the barbarians. We need people like your grandfather. And we need people like you.
"I may be monumentally unsuited to undertake that sort of job myself. Frankly, I'd be terrible at it, for a lot of reasons. And, to be completely honest, I'm not at all confident that I have the intestinal and moral fortitude to do the things that sort of job would require me to do. But that doesn't keep me from being monumentally grateful to the people who can-and do-undertake the task I never could. I would have vastly preferred for the daughter I love to have avoided paying the sort of price I know you've already paid. But it was a price you chose to pay, and however much I may worry about you, I'm also very, very proud of you."
"You are?" Alicia felt her smile tremble ever so slightly. "I never doubted that you loved me, and that you accepted my decision. But I was always afraid that -"
"That deep down inside somewhere, I still felt you'd 'thrown your life and your talents away' on a merely military career," he finished for her. Protest flickered in her eyes, and he shook his head. "I realize that's probably putting it a lot more strongly than you ever would have, but it's also probably reaching in the right direction. And I'm sure someone with your inherent ability could have earned a great deal more money in a civilian career. And, for that matter, that you would have excelled at any occupation you might have chosen. But the truth is, Alley, that you truly are your grandfather's granddaughter. The uniform you're wearing right this minute tells me just how well your superiors feel you've done in the career you've actually chosen. More importantly, I can see that you made the right choice. And God knows how badly the Empire needs people for whom it is the right choice."
She looked deeply into his eyes and realized he meant every word of it. Her father had never lied to her, but she'd always been secretly afraid that he'd … tailored his comments where her desire for a military career was concerned. Now she knew she'd done him a disservice.
"I'll be honest," she said quietly, "there are times I understand exactly why anyone would be worried by the thought of someone paying the 'price' of a military career. But the truth is, Daddy, this is what I was born to do. Sometimes it's … pretty horrible, but it's still what I was born to do."
"I know," he said, equally quietly, and shadows fluttered behind his gray eyes. "I used my Ministry access to review the internal reports about what happened on Gyangtse, Alley. I know why they gave you the Silver Star. I know exactly what you did to earn it."
"And that doesn't … bother you?"
"Of course it does. I saw the way it had changed you when you came home on leave between tours. I hadn't seen the reports, then, but I figured-accurately, as it turned out-that I had a pretty shrewd notion of what you'd done. It was a pretty damned brutal way for a seventeen-year-old to grow up, Alley. In fact, it was a lot rougher than anything I'd envisioned, even in my nightmares. But you survived it, and you were still you. And that-that was the proof that you'd been right. Or, at least, that you hadn't been wrong when you made your decision."
"And this?" She touched the harp and starship on the collar of her green uniform. "The Cadre?"
"It scares me," he said frankly. "What the Marine get dropped into is bad enough; what the Cadre sometimes has to deal with can make Gyangtse look like a pillow fight. Trust me, I know. And, to be honest, the Cadre's casualty rates are more than a little frightening. They're probably fantastically low, given the sorts of jobs the Cadre gets handed, but cadremen get sent out again and again. The price for being the Empire's elite is getting handed the hardest, most dangerous, costliest assignments, and I don't want to get what your grandfather calls 'The Letter,' even if now it's going to be coming from the Emperor himself, and not the Minister of War.
"But I honestly believe that it's the right challenge for you. As you say, this is what you were born to do. I'd have been much happier, in a lot of ways, if you'd been born to be a concert violinist, but you weren't. So if you're going to run around risking your life for the Empire, you might as well do it with the very best. After all, you're one of that 'very best' yourself, aren't you?"
"I'd like to think so," she said, her tone deliberately lighter, and he chuckled obediently.
"But that's probably enough deep and serious stuff," he said. "So let's talk about something a bit less weighty. For example, have you had a letter from your grandfather lately?"
"I got one about three weeks ago."
"Did he mention his retirement plans to you?"
"Retirement? Grandpa? I don't know if they'd even let him! He's practically an institution in the Corps, you know."
"He's also getting a bit long in the tooth," her father pointed out. "They're beginning to make quiet noises to him about how he's done his share, and how it's time to let someone else carry the load."
"Oh, I bet he just loved hearing that!"
"I believe I did overhear the occasional sulfurous comment," Collum allowed with a grin. "On the other hand, they do have a point. Oh, not that he's getting too old for it, but he has done his share, and a bit more. I think it's time he got the opportunity to settle down and enjoy some of the peace he's given up for so long."
"He won't last six months playing mahjongg or shuffleboard!"
"The mind boggles at the very thought of your grandfather shuffling mahjongg tiles." Collum shuddered. "And it wouldn't be him that didn't last six months; it would be everyone else in his vicinity. So that isn't what he's going to do."