Soldier of Fortune

Back in the Day

Nasa Territory

Treicember 21, 1442 After Landing

“Why is it so smogging hot in Treicember?”

The complaint, voiced by Corpsman Walsingham, filtered to where Gideon Quinn walked at the head of his Twelfth Company. To his left, Sergeant Nbo Mulowa shot a look Gideon’s way, but neither chose to respond.

Instead, they continued to push through the whispering grasses of the savanna, which had that odd baked-grass smell going as the suns blazed overhead.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but to Walsie’s point, it was smogging hot. Hot enough that the entire company had stripped down to shirt sleeves, their iconic Infantry long coats rolled up and strapped under their packs.

Gideon adjusted the strap of his crysto-plas rifle while, from behind, Lieutenant Eitan Fehr responded to Walsie’s question with one of his own. “How could it not be hot, when we are so near the equator?”

Nbo snorted and Gideon grinned.

Eitan had only been with the twelfth for a few months and while he had set more than a few soldiers’ hearts to pounding, he hadn’t yet mastered Walsie wrangling.

“Yeah, sir, I get that. But it’s Treicember. That’s winter,” Walsie pointed out in case the ristocratic lieutenant was unaware of the season.

“Near the equator,” Eitan replied in case the corpsman was unclear of their location.

“And?” Walsingham asked.

“Do they not offer geography in Avonian schools?” the Fujian lieutenant asked in his turn.

“They might offer it, sir, but I sure didn’t take it.”

“And so much is made clear,” Eitan said.

“Sir?”

“Nothing, Corpsman. Carry on.”

Gideon smiled, then suppressed a curse as he almost walked into a pile of mammoth dung. Nbo snorted again as Gideon sidestepped the mess, then almost tripped over a clump of sage from which a flurry of butterflies erupted.

A trumpeting rose from a herd of mammoths—possibly responsible for the mountain of dung he’d just bypassed—moving ponderously across the horizon.

Gideon looked over as Eitan came up on his right.

“Walsingham was joking, was he not?” the lieutenant asked, resetting the sword he wore over one shoulder.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Gideon said.

“Walsie’s a basic soul,” Nbo added.

“Is he at least aware Fortune revolves around the suns?”

Gideon, Nbo, and Eitan all glanced back to where Walsie had fallen back to walk alongside Anya Duvagne, once again trying to convince Anya that his rifle was superior to her crossbow for distance accuracy.

“I’ve never bothered to ask,” Gideon said to Eitan before adding, “I wouldn’t worry, Lieutenant. Walsie may not be much for the big picture, but he can read a compass, field strip his rifle blindfolded, and smell a hostile two hundred meters off. He’s basic,” he repeated his earlier estimation, “but solid.”

“He may be solid,” Nbo commented as the voices from behind began to rise, “but if he doesn’t stop needling Anya, she’s going to punch him in the throat. Sirs.” She nodded to both officers and fell back to put a stop to the bickering.

Gideon kept half an ear on the discussion, but he had zero doubts Nbo would restore order. He wondered if her skills as a sergeant came into play with her daughter though, given how seldom they got home, Nbo probably left matters of discipline to her partners.

Thinking of Nbo’s family reminded Gideon the company was overdue for a furlough; they hadn’t had a decent leave since before Eitan joined the twelfth. Plus, if he timed it right, Dani’s airship might also be back in Epsilon.

He glanced up at a talon of dracos soaring overhead and wondered where the Phalanx was now.

“Do you not find it odd that General Rand seconded us to Spec Ops for this mission?” Eitan asked.

Gideon shelved thoughts of time off with Dani and focused on his lieutenant. “You’ve been with the company long enough to know odd is the twelfth’s stock in trade.”

“True,” Eitan said before dropping his voice to add, “But how often have your mission specs been delivered by a covert agent? Or included orders to burn after reading? And to be transported to a drop zone by a civilian ’ship?”

Gideon glanced at his second-in-command. “Did you get anything from the crew?”

“No, but they kept mostly to themselves,” Eitan pointed out. “Which was also—odd,” he echoed himself.

“I’d agree,” Gideon said, “but this is Special Operations we’re talking about. The airship was probably one of theirs. Plus, the cypher on the orders was up to date, and given those orders involve meeting one of Spec Ops’ exploring officers, I’d say some caution is warranted.”

“But why would Special Operations not use one of their own teams?”

“My guess is they’re worried about that dispatch we recovered in Fort Molina.” Now Gideon lowered his voice as well. “Orders to a spy embedded in the Corps likely set off a few swarms in Command.”

“Yes, the mysterious Odile.” Eitan murmured the code name of the dispatch’s intended recipient. He let out a soft huff of breath, then angled his gaze toward Gideon. “Speaking of Fort Molina, have you heard from Msr Rand?”

Gideon’s step faltered as the warm grass and sage odors surrounding him were subsumed by the subtle, spicy scent of Celia Rand’s perfume.

For a moment, he could again feel how she’d trembled against him, see her pulse jumping beneath the garnet and silver Rand crest she wore at her throat.

He swallowed as he again saw her lips parting slightly and her eyes, so wide and dark . . .

“No,” he said. “Why would I?”

Eitan’s left brow arched. “You were injured on her behalf. That would typically merit at least a note of gratitude.”

Gideon let out a huff of annoyance. “I was injured on her behalf because she grabbed my arm in a panic. Anyway,” He shrugged. “Msr Rand is yesterday’s problem.”

But even remembering that mission, and Celia, had him again thinking about Dani, and leave, and—

“And how is Lieutenant Solis?”

Gideon shot the younger man a look. “Are you reading me, Lieutenant?”

The dark eyes shot to Gideon, then away. “No, sir,” he said shortly. “That would be unethical, even if I could read another without physical contact.”

“Sorry,” Gideon held up a hand for peace. The last thing he needed to do was offend his 2IC. Especially since Eitan’s being a sensitive had come in handy from time to time. “It could be I’m a little more stressed about this mission than I want to admit.”

“So you do think it odd,” Eitan said.

“Yeah,” Gideon agreed with a sigh. “I do.”

Eitan’s lips quirked in an almost smile. “At least on this mission we have little chance of crashing an airship.”

“It wasn’t a crash. It was an aggressive landing.”

“As you say.”

Gideon caught the hint of humor but decided to let sleeping airships lie, and they continued in companionable silence until they reached the bordering forest of the Nasa Escarpment, where they were to meet the exploring officer.

“Keepers,” Fehr breathed as he looked over the edge of the cliff to the river valley far below.

“Smogging Earth on a stick.” Walsie swallowed and eased away from the drop.

“Nbo,” Gideon called back to his sergeant, “set up camp. No fires. Radio.” He turned to find Estelle Carver, the radio operator, her face shining with perspiration, sharing a canteen with Corpsman Siska. “Set up your kit and listen for chatter. If there’s enemy movement anywhere near this little slice of heaven, I want to know about it. Lieutenant,” he turned to Eitan, “set the watch and make sure everyone knows the EO’s password. Our man could be here at any time.”