“The general would like you to come to the situation room.”
“Thank you,” Ky said, pushing herself upright. She wished she’d managed to get clean and into her own clothes; she felt ridiculous in the stripes and ruffles and fringed shawl. Her hair, once released from the neat braid she usually wore, had reacted to freedom and the weather by forming a shapeless mass that she had to keep pushing back from her face. She followed the lieutenant down a passage.
“—and we still don’t know how many units are affected, sir.” A commander in Spaceforce blue looked out of the viewscreen; General Molosay waved Ky over to a seat near him.
“Have you found the lost evidence from Miksland yet?”
“No, sir. They could have destroyed it—”
“Or not. They will want to have something from there to substantiate their claim that a dangerous disease or toxin existed. Keep looking.”
“Yes, sir.”
The screen blanked. Molosay turned to Ky. “How much of Greyhaus’s log did you read?”
“Not enough,” Ky said. “I found the part that seemed to pertain directly to our situation and read that, but we were busy and I didn’t read the rest. I expected someone here would, when I turned it in.”
“Pity. Here’s the situation as we know it now. Kvannis left the Academy after midnight last night, checked out through the gate, told the guard he was going to his family home in the city, which isn’t unusual. He didn’t show up there, and he never came back to the Academy. When he didn’t come down to breakfast this morning, residence staff checked on him and found his quarters empty, with signs that someone—presumably Kvannis—had taken clothes, his portable comp, and all his IDs. He left no explanation with anyone at the Academy that we’ve been able to find. The safes in his quarters and his office have been drilled out and they’re empty. Since he had access to official secrets, including personnel records and strategic planning papers affecting force organization, we have to assume he has them now, and that unauthorized persons have access to them.”
“The former Commandant couldn’t have known—”
“No. I never knew Kvannis well, but we’ve bumped into each other often enough, and I never saw that coming. But I have a question for you, Admiral Vatta.” Ky waited. She’d never met Kvannis; she couldn’t imagine why Molosay thought she might answer any questions about him. Molosay swallowed, looked away, looked back at her. “Will you accept the post of Academy Commandant in this crisis? We have cadets who need someone they can recognize and trust, and someone who is familiar with the Academy’s routine.”
Ky stared at him, unable to answer at first. He waited. Finally she managed a raspy “Why?”
“Why you? Several reasons. You would have been the top graduate in your year. The situation that resulted in your resignation was an error of youth and inexperience, as the then-Commandant recognized. Your performance since then has shown that you learned everything we had to teach, and more from others; you have experience no one else on this planet has. And the fact that you’ve been away for so many years means that you, alone of all the officer corps here, cannot have been part of the conspiracy. The fact that your great-aunt is Rector of Defense is the only point against you, but it’s a small one in comparison with your overall qualifications. This is not a permanent post—I can’t imagine that you’d want to take on the job forever—but it would ensure competent, loyal leadership for our young cadets until we sort this mess out and can appoint someone else. So—will you take it?”
“Doesn’t the Commandant’s appointment also require the approval of the President and legislature?”
“Yes, but you have them, I’ve been assured.”
“Then yes. But only if I can shower, change clothes, and contact a military tailor for a uniform. This—” She spread her arms, shook her head to move the mass of hair, and looked down at her flamboyantly striped outfit. “—is not what I call command presence.”
Molosay grinned at her. “That’s not a problem. The best officers’ outfitter in the city has sent their senior tailor and a dress white uniform they were making for an officer near your size. There’s a small suite in this building where you can clean up and he can work. We can arrange for someone to retrieve civilian clothes from the Vatta house, and the base stores have everything you’d need for a couple of days. I know you must be short of sleep, but the situation at the Academy is not entirely stable. MacRobert is over there, but he’s not an officer.”
Two hours later, Ky was wearing Commandant’s whites with the Commandant’s insignia in shiny gold on her shoulders, and its attendant layers of braid on sleeves and cap. It fit well, though the tailor promised better for the rest, and delivery of another uniform the next day. Today she had better not spill anything on it.
Her hair was back in its snug braid, and she had seen the last, she hoped, of the dance costume. She wrote its owner a thank-you note and pinned it to the blouse. She had a good black briefcase, borrowed from General Molosay, and data cubes full of information she hadn’t yet loaded into her implant.
As the official car took her to the Academy, she reviewed the scant data known about the other officers serving there. Second to Kvannis was a Colonel Stornaki in the ground forces. That alone created suspicion, since Greyhaus and the troops stationed seasonally in Miksland had to be part of whatever conspiracy this was. Stornaki’s official photo showed a narrow face, gray eyes, beige skin, the usual left-sided ridge from an implant under his light-brown hair. His background had been unremarkable; the only flag at all was his distant relationship to one of the rebel leaders during the Unification War.
The car moved smoothly through the streets; Ky could see out, but the mirrored windows meant others could not see in. Did not mean no one else knew who the new Commandant was, of course. She knew the streets around the Academy and the amount of traffic was suspiciously low. There was the gray wall she remembered, with the Hall—the largest building in the complex—looming above it. The car turned left, then right as a gate in the wall opened and sentries came to attention. Her stomach clenched; she took a long breath and relaxed consciously. She had left by the public entrance, those years ago; she was coming back by the Commandant’s private entrance. If she had ever dreamed of a triumphal return, this was it… but she hadn’t, and this didn’t feel triumphal at all. Despite the uniform and the official car and security detail, it felt rushed and not entirely organized. She would rather have been paying a call on the Commandant who had died in the same act of sabotage she barely survived.
A man in a master sergeant’s uniform came down the steps of the Commandant’s Residence and stood waiting. Her driver opened the door for her. As she stepped out she recognized MacRobert. She returned his salute and walked up the steps into the residence.
“Cadets are assembled in the Hall, Commandant,” MacRobert said. “The general called ahead. The inside route is to your right, just there. You’ll meet the residence staff afterward, then an hour break and then Academy staff meeting in your residence, with refreshments.”
“Good,” Ky said. It was beyond strange to be addressed as Commandant by MacRobert. “Cadet mood?”
“Fourth-years confused, wary, trying to look professional, fairly successfully. Third-years confused and alarmed, also trying to look professional, with less success. Second-years openly worried and tense. First-years probably wish they’d never applied and look like it.”
“What have they been told?”
“That Kvannis resigned without notice and is gone. That a new interim Commandant would be appointed at once, and would speak to them. Rumors are flying, but I don’t know if there’s a definite leak, even though you’ve been mentioned.”