Nonetheless, she wished she could have been more active—could have walked past that barrier, talked to her people, found out what had really happened and how bad it was for them now. Her imagination insisted on suggesting how bad it could be for her if she didn’t convince the right people that she was no threat, just a person who cared about her people, which was both true and normal.
Like the others, she was to co-sign a report to be delivered to the department back in Port Major. She was on the same flight with the rest of the committee. Colonel Nedari invited her to come up to officers’ country, where they could work on the report together and sign it. But—fortunately, she thought—six other officers boarded, and if she accepted, one of them would have to be bumped back to NCO seating. She smiled and shook her head. “Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate when officers are waiting. Just take it that I’ll sign whatever you have ready for me—send someone back for me, and I’ll come up but not disturb the others.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, frowning slightly. “You were unhappy with the clinic staff, it seemed to me. I don’t want you to feel that your concerns were not heard, or that you can’t share them.”
She thought he probably meant that; he had been—barring that one outbreak of annoyance today, which might have been his own discomfort with the entire situation or fatigue from the long journey out here and the early start—what her experience told her was a good officer. Still, she dared not trust too much. She shook her head.
“Colonel, I had not realized how disabled they were; it shocked me, I’ll admit. You know my background: my cousin’s in care, from a head injury. But what is, is. They’re not fit for duty; the service has to do something. We can’t keep them on the rolls as active when they can’t be. I wish they could be allowed contact with their families, but—” She shrugged. “I agree, we can’t risk this thing, whatever it is, getting loose in the population.” He would assume she meant the pathogen.
“Thank you, Sergeant Major,” he said. “I appreciate that. Word in your ear: I happen to know some of the officers here pushed their way onto the list for this flight, and none of them would be happy to be displaced. You’re saving me an awkward conversation; I won’t forget it. I’d wanted a dedicated flight back, just the five of us and crew, but—” He spread his hands. “Budget.”
“Yes, sir. That’s fine, sir; I don’t mind at all. The important thing is to see that our veterans get the care they need for the rest of their lives, and hope nobody else gets whatever it is.”
The senior NCO compartment on this aircraft included eighteen seats, three abreast either side of the aisle, closed off from the officers in front by a door just past the midship loo, and from lower enlisted behind by a sound-baffling curtain. It was half full, and a long flight to come. Morrison chose a seat and put her duffel on the seat beside her. With luck others would respect her seniority and let her have both seats; then she could stretch out a bit and ease her legs.
At first she thought her ploy had worked. But once they were airborne, the master sergeant across the aisle greeted her by name, and began probing to find out why the sergeant major had been “out here in the sticks.” His name tag read UNGOLIT.
“I am like the Ghost of Bailorn,” Morrison said, quoting from the intro to a well-known vid-thriller series. “I wander here and there, day and night, on hill and in hollow, all folk to affright.” The Ghost, according to the script, was a descendant of Count Dracula who had inherited a vast fortune and a taste for adventure.
Master Sergeant Ungolit laughed, perhaps a little louder than necessary. “But had you ever been to our remote corner before?”
“Oh, yes. Last year I spent half a day at your base, in fact, speaking to the master sergeants—that was just before you were promoted, I think.”
“And four tendays before my transfer. I remember wishing I’d been there. So—if you don’t mind my asking—does being sergeant major involve a lot of travel?”
“Thinking ahead, are you?” she asked with a smile that had razor wire on its edge. Before he could answer, she relaxed the razor wire just a little. “As a matter of fact, yes. At headquarters probably only half the time; the rest of it is out in the field, visiting as many installations as I can. Certainly I’m on every continent every year, and usually get to all the main bases, and as many smaller ones as we can fit in.”
“I’ll bet that’s tiring.”
“That’s what fitness work is for,” Morrison said, ratcheting the razor wire back into view. Ungolit looked, to her, like someone on the slide. Not flabby yet, but not as fit as he had been. “Sergeant majors must be examples, you know. In case you’re thinking in that direction. Hours a day, even during travel.”
“How do you—?”
“Creativity,” she said. She did not want to talk all the way back to Port Major; she needed to think. “Besides, every base has gyms, and many have terrain that fills the need, just by walking instead of riding.”
“That’s what I always say.” Staff Sergeant Gomes, in the row ahead, had turned around to join the conversation. He was lean and looked well muscled. “If you have the desire, there’s always an opportunity.”
Ungolit looked unconvinced. He opened his mouth to answer Gomes, then glanced at Morrison and shut it again. Gomes said, “Nice to see you, Sergeant Major; I really enjoyed that talk you gave at the NCO conference on security upgrades.”
Morrison nodded at him, not saying what she was thinking—her implant had provided his record, too, and she knew his specialty. “Glad you enjoyed it. I do have some work to do on the flight, though, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” Gomes said. Ungolit looked as if he wanted to say more, but Morrison turned slightly away and dug into her duffel for her tablet, where paperwork always waited.
After that the trip went as she’d hoped. Two hours before arrival at Port Major, a steward from the officers’ cabin came and said she was wanted forward. She checked her shoes—no scuffs—and went forward to the table the chairman shared with the rest of the committee, where the report was laid out. She signed on the designated line, initialing each page below the others.
“Anything else, sir?” she asked.
“No, Sergeant Major, thank you,” he said.
And that was it. She returned to her seat, and once more opened her tablet. Her thoughts were far away from the pages she scrolled past. Who might help? Where could she go?
Grace Vatta woke slowly, confused in the aftermath of the procedures that had saved her life. She heard the voices around her but not yet the sense of their words. She could not remember why she was wherever she was, slipping easily back into sleep and rousing again. When she did finally wake completely, to find MacRobert asleep in a chair beside her bed, she recognized the room as a hospital room, and remembered why she might be in one. Her implant had been reinstalled; it informed her what the date was, the time, and how many calls were waiting to be answered. She had slept through until the next day, as she’d been told she would.
“Mac?” she said. Her voice was weak and scratchy.
“Mmph?” He stirred, opened one eye, and pushed himself up in the chair. “You’re awake again. They said you might wake fully in a few hours.”
“The implant’s in. Or an implant’s in.”
“Yes. It’s yours. I had custody of it the whole time and it was definitely yours. I watched.” He stood up slowly, listing to one side, and fetched water from the bedside table. “Here. You’re supposed to drink some, and I’m supposed to call the nurse now you’re awake.”