(Eight)
09 January 2065
Center House
Washington DC,
USA
2150
"You look wonderful, Kylen. That color suits you," Major Howard remarked. "Your toast struck just the right note. You impressed a lot of people."
"I wasn't trying to impress anyone," she thought rather viciously, but after all those months in the dirt and grime it did feel nice to be complimented on her appearance. Amy had been right. In Washington even nice parties had agendas. Kylen surveyed the room. "If there are people here gunning for Six - people who would love to see him fail - then there are probably people here that wouldn't mind watching me go down in flames as well," she thought to herself. "But I can't be that important, can I? Not important enough for people to waste that kind of energy on me."
"Thank you, Major. Well, since I'm here at your behest, who haven't I met yet that you want me to get to know?" she asked, smiling warmly, but Major Howard did note a touch of irritation in her voice.
"Now just what has Becca Boyington been telling you, I wonder?" he thought. General Green was known to stir the pot, and Howard really had hoped to add Kylen into the mix without too much agitation. It was often best to keep the small fish out of the same waters as the big predators - and Kylen was a small fish. Howard had been against inviting Kylen to the dinner, but Radford had liked the idea. "Introduce her around when people will be focused on something else." It had made a certain amount of sense, so here she was. McQueen had kicked things up a notch with his toast, and now Kylen was an afterthought rather than the center of attention. Radford had been right. It had been a good idea.
"Let me introduce you to General J.G. Ramirez. He's the C.O. at Quantico, and you will be spending time down there. And over there is Colonel Charlotte Westin: She's the ranking Marine up at DamNeck. You'll need to know her as well," Howard explained.
"DamNeck?" Kylen asked.
"South of here - Naval Intelligence. You'll get up close and personal."
"Well, the best defense is a good offense," Kylen thought. "Let's go," she said. Howard offered his arm and they moved out.
The bar was actually an alcove off of the main reception area. General Green led McQueen to a corner table. They were seated out of the way, but could still view most of the reception room. An aide appeared with a glass of wine for the General and a healthy dram of scotch for the Colonel. Green's staff had done their homework.
Leaning back in her chair, Green gave her charge the once-over. "Well, Colonel McQueen, what do you think we should do with the 5-8 now?"
McQueen paused to consider before answering her. "Just yesterday the squadron was given a Presidential Unit Citation. It's been all over the press. Papers are running the bios of all of the kids - even Hawkes. If the Top Brass was still gunning for them after the events on Anvil - the misguided act of compassion - they have kind of lost the edge. No, there is now too much evidence that the Alien Intelligence Unit has withheld vital information from Combat Command. The kids should have some breathing room - but only some."
"Leave them where they are, Ma'am," he answered.
"Your squadron has had spectacular success, but they have also taken some pretty heavy hits. The 5-8 is at the critical level. We have to decide whether to send in replacements - to reinforce - or to disband the unit and parcel them all out. Spread around that experience and success."
"Reinforce. Get the Squadron fully operational and then .... Then start to rotate the most senior team out. One or two at a time."
"Why not just do it now?"
The discussion was becoming uncomfortable - if not downright painful - for McQueen, but it was one of those things that as an officer he had come to expect. "I just hadn't ... Hadn't what? ... Hadn't expected them to get transferred? It's not like I didn't know it would happen. All I can do is try to get them ready. Marines get rotated out."
"Ma'am, there are pros and cons either way," he admitted.
"Yes, that is always the issue. Do we always leave our most experienced men and women out in the field? Or do we bring them in and let them start to train the next wave? There is precedent for both schools of thought. The Germans lost the airwar over Europe not because they didn't have planes. Hell, they were up to their armpits in aircraft. They didn't have enough trained pilots. We have to balance our actions as long as we can." General Green could not tell if McQueen was getting the message. "The man's face gives nothing away. He couldn't possibly need a bigger hint."
She spoke again. "And the fact that they will hate being split up ... well, they have to learn to expect it. Besides, you've been around long enough to know that billets are frequently not what you expected. Are they? Look at you - X.O. of the Angry Angels. Next in line for command. And you got a command, didn't you? You got thrown a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears new kids straight out of Loxley. Not what you had in mind, was it?
McQueen gave a small smile. "The General knows her stuff. I had wanted my own command. I had wanted - had earned - the 127th."
The General interrupted his thoughts. "You could have inherited the Angels - an enviable position. But people would have said just that: 'He inherited the best squadron in the Corps.' But today the 5-8 is one of our most prized - and you built it. No matter where you are or what you do - it will always be yours."
McQueen had thought about that. He had been dissatisfied when the Brass had given him the Fifty-eighth. He had thought it was a form of punishment after the 127 had been wiped out. Of all the assignments he had received since becoming an officer, the Fifty-eighth the one he had wanted the least. It had turned out to be probably the best gig he had ever had.
"Your key people, Colonel. Where would you counsel them to go next? What should they put in for?" She was able to keep a conversational tone to her voice - but only with real effort. "Your executive officer, for example."
"Vansen. She needs a few more months as an X.O," he said.
"What's her problem? Still having trouble taking the larger view?"
McQueen shook his head 'no.' "Paperwork," he said. "She will be ready soon. Sooner if she can get a good X.O. of her own."
"You've been grooming her?"
"It's an officer's job to groom his replacement," he responded. No more information was forthcoming.
"Come on, man. Work with me here," the General thought.
The orchestra struck up a tango. It was unusual enough to attract the General's attention. She needed a break anyway - a moment to collect her thoughts. She needed to come up with a different tack. The man was giving her precious little to work with.
The Colonel also turned to look out into the reception area. Kylen was dancing. Shortly after their arrival McQueen had slotted her into a niche at the outer edges of his mind. She had offered her toast and Green had called them over together, but McQueen had decided to let her ride it out on her own. Now there she was being taught how to tango by no less than the Finnish Ambassador. The C.O. of the Finnish squadron on the Saratoga had told McQueen that the tango was a passion for many Finns - a national pastime. McQueen had thought the guy was joking. "Great. Now I'll be expected to ask the man's wife to dance. Thanks a lot, Small Change. Make my night."
"Sweet little metaphor," thought Green. "We could dance around like this all night. It's time for the 'resolucion' - time to start the second part of the dance." Green refocused on McQueen.
"I'll cut to the chase, Colonel. What would you like to do now?
"I serve at the pleasure of the Corps and the President of the United States, Ma'am. I'll go where ordered."
"That's what is called 'answering-by-the-book,' my friend. I can look that one up all by myself, but then again, I have aides to look it up for me. We can do this the long way or the short way. I don't know about you, Colonel McQueen, but I don't have lots of time here"
Taking a deep breath to center himself, McQueen answered: "General Green, I seem to have nothing but time lately."
"Well, I hope that you have managed to enjoy some of it, Colonel, because it ain't gonna' last. Now, once again - What would you like to do now? Bearing in mind that I may, in fact, be the very goddess of Marine Corps aviation, and even I don't get everything I ask for. "
Never in his entire career had anyone asked McQueen what he wanted. It was a bit disorienting. He knew that he wanted to be back on the Saratoga. He also knew that more than likely it was out of the question. Truth be told, as much as he would like to, McQueen would have to think long and hard before he would reassign himself back to the Wildcards now. "Damn, Green makes sense," he thought.
The General was growing impatient, and she didn't wait for him to speak. "OK, so by the book, Colonel, tell me what is your weakest area," she said, adopting the tried and true interviewer's format.
McQueen always hated these questions. As far as he could tell they did nothing but tell you how much the interviewee squirmed when asked discomforting questions. He did not answer her - a least not in words. Instead he gestured to the room at large.
"Ah, interpersonal skills," the General remarked. "Luckily the Corps not only builds character - it loves characters. You will never be 'Hail-fellow-well-met McQueen,' but your leadership skills are just fine. We can work of the social skills. You know my next question."
The General wanted McQueen's self-assessment of his own strong points.
"I'm a good tactician," was all he could bring himself to say.
"Finally," Green said, throwing her hands into the air. "Finally an honest answer. That damn lamp gets heavy after a while.
"Lamp?" he asked
"I was beginning to feel like that eccentric old man - the one with the lamp? The one looking for an honest man."
"Diogenes." McQueen filled in the blank. "I know the feeling. I've been looking for most of my life," he muttered under his breath.
Green had heard him, however. "Then you have been looking in the wrong places," Green thought. "Ever tried a mirror? T.C. McQueen, I do believe you are my honest man."
She spoke. "Compared to Diogenes, you are a master of social graces. He was allegedly an incredibly unpleasant individual. You don't sleep in a bathtub, do you? Or have any other strange habits I should know about?" Green asked.
"Ma'am?"
Becca Green looked him over again, and then chuckled. "Did you know that this unpleasant little old philosopher with the strange habits and a penchant for lighting fixtures was sold into slavery?" she asked rhetorically. "Let that be a lesson to all truth seekers, I guess. And do you know what Diogenes said in the slave market when the auctioneer asked him what it was that he did - what his skill was? He said: 'I can govern men, therefore sell me to someone who needs a master.' " "McQueen would never say it out loud in a million years, but I'd love to hear those words come out of his mouth."
She looked him straight in the eyes, and said softly: "They wanted to build warriors, but I don't think the IVA counted on anyone like you." Green gave him an almost motherly smile. Rather than feeling an insult, McQueen felt himself beginning to blush. He turned his face toward the reception area - toward the dance. Green followed his gaze, and watched Kylen for a while.
"She is an interesting young woman," Green repeated almost casually. Almost, but not quite.
"That's one way to put it," McQueen replied, almost, but not quite, as casually. "Did she tell you a story?"
Green was momentarily stunned. "How did he know? How well does he know her?" Kylen had told her a story. It hadn't been the words themselves, but the way Kylen said them. Clear and striking pictures had appeared in the General's imagination. A sense of time and place. A feeling.
"Kylen tells stories?" General Green asked. The tenor of the question was not so subtly veiled. She was asking if Kylen lied.
Kylen had told McQueen that she had learned how to lie during her imprisonment. But she had never lied to him. She had in fact extracted from McQueen a promise: He would never lie to her. He was unshakable and correct in his belief - Kylen had made the same, if unspoken, promise to him. McQueen doubted that at this stage of the game Kylen would lie to General Green. Not at this stage. He gave the General a bland 'don't-kid-a-kidder' type of look. She was forced to smile.
"So ... she has told you a story," he stated. "She must like you."
"So, he knows her very well. Her talents, and how she reacts to people. Even, perhaps, who she will like and who she won't."
They watched Kylen move around the floor, the Ambassador teaching her the dance. She was a quick study and was moving fairly well. She was smiling and enjoying herself, occasionally giving a little laugh at her own expense. The Ambassador's wife was attempting to teach Major Howard with less success. In his case, it was the teacher who occasionally laughed. It was all basically good-natured and fun. They were all concentrating, but not with the total seriousness - and certainly not with the passion usually equated with the tango.
"The tango is a good metaphor, don't you think?" Green asked.
"For Kylen's situation? Yes, I suppose it is." McQueen gave a little hurrumph of amusement. "She will do well," he asserted.
"Yes, I think that she just may," Green responded, chuckling as well. "After all, Kylen has just been able to get information out of me against my better judgment." "An interesting young woman. You know, I didn't think that I would like her."
"Neither did I," McQueen admitted.
Green let his remark float in the air for a few seconds before she filed it away for further analysis. "She could be an asset to an officer." Green spoke with a quiet consideration. "Today there are only four 4-star generals in The Corps, and three of them call her by her first name. Look, they've changed partners. Did you ever think you would see our Commandant learning to dance the tango? And with a twenty-three year old in a long blue dress? And apparently enjoying himself in the process?"
The Commandant was indeed dancing with Kylen. The Ambassador moved along beside them, coaching them in the posture and attitude of the dance.
"Yes, she would be a help to almost any career officer," Becca mused out loud.
"It doesn't matter," McQueen said.
Becca gave him a questioning look of such intensity that is almost burned.
"It doesn't matter," he reiterated. "Her fiancé is in for the duration, but I don't see West as a thirty-year Marine." McQueen paused momentarily, thinking of Nathan West. "No, I think that he'll be on the first bus off the base."
"Oh. But where should West go now if we split up your Squadron?"
"West? ... West will bloom wherever he is planted. He is almost ready to be someone's 'Exec.' He'll be better at the paperwork.
"And how does he feel about this?" Green asked as she gestured vaguely to the room, but it was clear to McQueen that she was referring to Kylen working for the Corps.
"No one is thrilled, but we accept her decision." McQueen was immediately conscious of the fact that he had used the inclusive term 'we' - that he had included himself in the circle of family and friends. Green was a skilled interrogator.
"You know her family?" Green asked the question to which she already had the answer.
Green was a good interrogator, but not as good as McQueen ... or she was out of practice ... or she was playing with him. He caught her drift like a bugle call, and was on the alert. She had caught him once. She wouldn't catch him again.
McQueen now looked Green straight in the eyes. "I'm acquainted with her family. All of her brothers and sisters. Her father has invited me to their farm." He emphasized the word 'father' ever so slightly.
"Ah well, there you have it," she said. Green turned back to watch the dance.
Colonel McQueen could not afford - And General Green did not want to see - any scandal surrounding his career. There had been rumors. The Colonel - who was not known to have any personal attachments - seemed very close to this rather attractive and certainly charming young woman. An involvement with a subordinate's significant other would be not only a scandal: It would be a real career burner. It was obvious that the two people were close. And Green could, in all honesty, give a list of reasons why they had probably become friends. Yet and still it was a strange relationship with no easy definition. Green considered what he had just told her. McQueen was her one honest man. He had told her what she needed to know. Those who wished to discredit him could dig all they wanted - but while the friendship was perhaps a bit unseemly, the detractors would come up empty-handed. It would be almost worth it to let the buggers try to find something. It would tie them up for weeks - if not months. "It could serve my purposes nicely if played well, but I don't have that luxury. No, best to get him out of town and let him do what he does best. You win, Brad, but you knew that you would. You just let me run the exercise for practice, didn't you? Well, the old broad still has a few moves. Tomorrow we get down to the horse trading."
General Green had been looking forward to her retirement. She had hoped for several good years of spoiling her grandchildren and indulging in her hobbies. Until this evening she had thought that her last duty to Corps and Country had been to postpone her retirement - to see the War through to the end. Now Becca felt that she had found a little something extra to throw in. Icing on the cake. It would be her very last gift to Corps and Country. "He will probably give me some real headaches over this. He is not going to like a few of my maneuvers, and I'll have to hear his particular brand of bitching and moaning. He will try me and test me, I'm sure. And I'll do more than that to him. But no good thing comes without some work. A good officer grooms her replacement. I can get the wheels in motion." Green laughed to herself. "It looks as if I've just acquired a new hobby. Before I leave The Corps I will see at least one star on T.C. McQueen's shoulders."
The tango ended, and there was more than polite applause. Kylen spoke briefly with the Commandant and the Ambassador, who asked after Colonel McQueen. After a few moments Kylen excused herself to fetch McQueen. She was feeling in fine fettle. If there had been an underlying purpose in inviting her this evening - she would forgive it. Kylen felt great. She had been complimented, petted and praised. She had been treated graciously. She had been treated like a lady.
She spotted McQueen and the General seated at a table in the bar, and began to cross the reception area toward them. Kylen was momentarily absorbed in self-awareness. If she turned her head she could catch the slightest scent of the perfume she had purchased that morning. She could feel the weight of the necklace around her throat, and feel the sweep of her dress against her legs. The hint of friction as the silk of her sleeves brushed against the silk of the dress. The whisper of sound that it made. She could hear the little tap of her new shoes against the floor, and could feel the way her hips moved forward as she walked, accepting her weight with each step. Even the air against her face as she moved forward through it: It all belonged to her. She felt at that moment as if she could walk through walls - that the waves would part before her. For the first time since the attack of the Tellus vessel - even in this room and city filled with people who had agendas - Kylen felt in control.
General Green assessed the young woman as she crossed the room. Of all the things that Green might or might not be - she was still a woman - and she now saw Kylen with an older, more experienced woman's eye. There was an unconscious sense of power radiating from the young woman who was moving toward them - an aura that Green had not sensed before. "A few good men in Evening Dress can do a girl wonders, can't they, Kylen?" she thought. "Two months ago she was a POW, and tonight ...? 'I danced with the man, who danced with the girl, who danced with the King of Spain.' How delightful for her." She smiled warmly. "Ah, here she is," Green said.
Without turning around, McQueen stood. He had learned the social graces well. It was after all, what an officer did on such formal occasions. Stand when a woman came to the table. He turned toward Kylen.
McQueen did not consciously recognize a change in his friend, but he did react instinctively to her demeanor. When he saw her he checked his posture. He stood taller and gave his jacket a tug - squaring himself away. It was an unconscious action on his part.
Kylen was acutely aware that he had stood for her - that he had paid her the courtesy - that he was treating her differently. She enjoyed the moment, and did not wave him back into his seat. It had been ages since anyone had stood for her. "Just a few seconds - besides, the Ambassador wants him," she thought.
"So you liked the tango?" General Green asked.
"Yes. Yes, I did." Kylen gave the General a smile, but her voice and phrasing made it seem as if she was talking to herself.
"Earth to Cinderella. Enjoy the feeling, Child, but not too much," thought Green. Kylen seemed to snap out of it a bit and focused on the General.
"It is precise ... very precise. The Ambassador says that it is really a dance about stillness, not movement." She paused and looked at McQueen. "You might like this dance," she said with consideration. Kylen abruptly remembered the reason she had been looking for the Colonel. "The Ambassador wants to speak with you, by the way."
"It's either talk to Virtanen or dance the tango with his wife," Green wisecracked. "We are done for now. I'll expect you in my office at 1300 tomorrow. Bring my cigar. Go."
McQueen inclined his head to the General, and started to leave. He had taken only a few steps when he overheard Kylen ask Becca Green: "General, what is the High-Risk Personnel Program?" It stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Major Howard told me that the first thing I needed to do was go through the High-Risk Personnel Program," Kylen continued. Her attention was on the General, and she did not see McQueen's reaction.
Doing an about-face, McQueen made to return to the conversation. This he did not like. Not at all. Green, however, saw his maneuver and waved him away with an 'off-you-go' gesture. When she was sure he was well on his way to the Ambassador, Green turned her attention back to Kylen.
"It is a school down at Quantico. Primarily for diplomatic personnel, but for anyone whose job might put them at risk. Defensive techniques mostly."
Kylen felt that she should feel some alarm - but strangely, she did not. She was supposed to analyze information. She would learn how to take care of herself, something she wanted desperately to learn.
"Do you know the tango, General?" she asked.
McQueen scouted the room. The Finnish Ambassador was at the back of his mind - on hold for the moment. There was something he had to take care of first. McQueen had just found Kylen to be a little more confusing than usual. He felt again like he had missed something. But she had handled herself well so far. And Green was correct: Kylen walked in the full favor of the biggest of the big boys. This was probably the one place in the universe that Kylen was completely safe. And now - "NOW, when I'm just beginning to read General Green - NOW Kylen shows up, interrupts and is acting just a bit strange. The High-Risk Personnel Program? An analyst sits in an office somewhere just outside the Beltway - Quantico, Langley, DamNeck - maybe the Pentagon. Why does an analyst need the skills taught down at HRPP? No, they have something in mind for Kylen. Something she knows nothing about." He spied Major Howard taking the stairway up to the second floor. McQueen followed him.
Howard was looking for an out-of-the-way place to make a call. There was no ulterior motive - no juicy bit of intelligence to pass along. Howard wanted to call his wife in New Jersey just to say goodnight. He entered a small anteroom. A waiting room - with two armchairs - lit by a small lamp on a table. McQueen followed Howard into the room, sat in one of the chairs, and gestured for the Major to do the same.
"Colonel," Howard greeted McQueen cautiously. There was no answer for several seconds.
"Tell me - just what is your plan for Miss Celina, Major Howard?" McQueen asked quietly - on the edge.
Barton Howard did not immediately respond to the Colonel's question. He had never really totally understood the bond between these two survivors, and was a bit surprised that McQueen would track him down. Especially in this setting. Howard was surprised by the Colonel's insistence.
"Colonel McQueen, I have no plans for Ms. Celina. She will be on General Radford's staff - his aide, technically."
"And technically, Major Howard, you and I are just two Marine officers discussing personnel assignments," McQueen said, leaning forward in his chair. "Cut the crap. What is going on here?"
"With all due respect, Colonel McQueen, it is 'Need-to-Know,'" Howard replied carefully.
"And how well do you know Ms. Celina, Major?"
"I admire her, Sir. Her resilience and strength of character. Her intelligence. But you are correct, Sir. I don't know her well personally." Howard said. He was becoming uncomfortable. He, Howard, was a member of Marine Corps Intelligence, and McQueen was starting to rattle his cage.
McQueen stood and crossed to the Major. "Let's talk 'Need-to-Know' for a moment." He placed his hands on the arms of Howard's chair and leaned down until he was eye to eye. Getting into the man's face - effectively pinning the man to the chair. McQueen's expression was impassive; his voice quiet, but tense.
"I'll tell you what you need to know about Ms. Celina, Major. If - when - she finds out that you have been manipulating her - using her - you're liable to wake up one night with her fangs in your throat. And I will not do anything to stop her. Hell, I'll hand her the knife so she can finish the job without breaking a sweat."
McQueen left the room without waiting for a response from the stunned Major. Downstairs the orchestra had started to play the tango again. "Damn," he thought. There was no way now that he could get out of asking the Ambassador's wife to dance. It had been almost worth it to put it to Major Howard. McQueen did not trust the man, and had wanted to do that for months.