Jack had a strong feeling where this was going. “Sir, I have to tell you, I’ve sworn to take a bullet for that young woman. But damn it, does she have to enjoy running back and forth in the shooting gallery? I don’t want to be the one holding her after I tell her to zig and she insists on zagging and I can’t get in front of her fast enough. It’s one thing to say you’ll take that shot. Another thing entirely to have to chase after her to get it.”

  There, the card was faceup on the table. Let’s see how the old fellow reacts to that.

  Said old fellow put his head back and laughed, then, a long moment later, he picked up his glass and took a long pull.

  “I have no idea how many gray hairs I caused my old man, my grampa. I wasn’t around home all that much after I joined the Marines. Maybe it was just as well for all of us that they didn’t know what I was up to. Maybe I shouldn’t be reading the deep-background reports Ray and I are paying a pretty penny for, but I don’t see us swearing off them. Ignorance is not bliss, only a way to get you and a whole lot of good troops butchered. So what can we do?”

  “Drafting me into the Marines is not going to do any good. I can’t help but notice that Kris is a Navy lieutenant, and I’m to be a Marine first lieutenant. As I understand ranks, that puts me a very significant one below her. It looks to me like I’ll still be stuck running around after her, trying to knock her legs out from under her a second or two before the shot cuts the air where her lack of brains was.”

  “I see your problem,” the old general agreed. “However, it may not be as bad as you think.”

  Jack raised a questioning eyebrow at that.

  “The same military appropriations bill that my lovely great-granddaughter used to draft you has other surprises in it. Call up the revised Title 10, 356.911. Pay particular attention to subparagraphs paren. d and f.”

  Jack had his computer do that and watched as it projected paragraph after paragraph of legal mumbo jumbo, covering the table with “Whereases” and “Therefores” and worse.

  “Sir, I’m good at keeping someone in one piece. I’m not a lawyer or worse, a lawmaker.”

  “The takeaway from all that is right about there,” the general said, making a stab at the mass of gobbledygook, upside down from where he sat, and put his finger right on “a security chief of a Serving Member of the Blood shall take all necessary precautions to preserve that individual from harm.”

  Why did Jack strongly suspect that “individual” had been hastily added after “her” had been scratched out.

  “What’s that mean?” Jack asked.

  “Well,” General Trouble said, leaning back in the booth, “I understand that when two different groups have two different interpretations of what a new law means, they usually go to court. Now, it seems to me that you and Kris can either spend all your time cooling your heels in court, or you can figure that out yourselves.”

  “Yeah. Right,” Jack said.

  Jack’s computer woke him early and informed him that he had an 0730 appointment with Gunnery Sergeant Brown at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot just outside of Wardhaven on Harbor Drive Road.

  He was halted at the gate of MCRD by a corporal of the guard, who studied his Secret Service credentials and his Marine orders while a team did a thorough search of his car. The corporal made a call, then waved him through, after giving him directions to Officer Intake.

  Officer Intake was a wooden temporary left over from the Iteeche War, which told Jack what the Corps must think of its incoming officers.

  A busy lance corporal didn’t run Jack down when he got in his way but did allow a second to direct the interloping civilian to Gunny Brown, with a smile on his face that gave Jack all the warning he would get.

  Gunny Brown was a bear of a man and as black as his spit-shined shoes. When he unwound himself from his desk, Jack found himself looking up. “You’re five minutes late, Lieutenant Montoya. We’re behind schedule. Please come with me.”

  Jack followed where he was led. In ten minutes, he was fingerprinted, signed away his life, and was sworn in. “Hold off taking his picture until he’s in uniform,” the Gunny ordered the personnel type, and led Jack next door. There, a stack of uniforms awaited him, ranging from formal dinner wear to battle dress and several different colors in between.

  “The uniform of the day today is greens, sir,” Gunny said, pulling a pair of green pants, a green coat, and tan shirt and tie from the collection. “Please get into uniform.”

  Jack changed in a curtained-off area, switching his service automatic and its underarm holster to his tan shirt before putting on the green coat.

  Gunny surveyed him and did not look happy at what he saw. “The pocket flaps on your blouse, sir, are always worn on the outside of the pocket. We try to keep the pockets empty. Your field scarf is improperly tied,” Gunny said, and proceeded to retie it.

  Jack tried to memorize the new vocabulary. Not coat, blouse. Not tie, field scarf. This can’t be too hard, can it?

  Done with the tie, Gunny adjusted the fall of Jack’s blouse. “I see you’re carrying a sidearm, sir.”

  “Yes,” Jack said, wondering if he’d have to defend his weapon.

  “I was advised you would be. We tailored your uniforms to Embassy Marine Officer’s standards to allow for that.”

  Apparently satisfied with Jack’s appearance, Gunny stood to attention and saluted. After a moment, he added, “An officer always returns a salute, sir.”

  Jack did his best to return the honor.

  Gunny frowned. “You need to get the elbow a bit lower, sir. You aren’t trying to fly like some squid type. And the hand needs to turn in a bit more, sir. Those blokes on Lorna Do salute with their palm out. We do it palm in. Squids can’t seem to make up their mind and go kind of limp-wristed.”

  Jack made a note to keep Gunny’s opinion to himself around Kris and other squids.

  “Oh, sir, you owe me a dollar.”

  “Dollar, Gunny?”

  “New officers always reward the first enlisted swine to salute them with a dollar.”

  Jack suspected his credit chit would not do, but he kept coins in his pocket in case his primary wandered off the grid so far that vending machines didn’t take credit.

  He produced four quarters.

  “Thank you, sir. Now, I have a book for you, The Marine Officer’s Guide. Yes, it’s an old-fashioned book. You can buy yourself an e-copy, but most Marine officers keep this hard copy in their footlocker until they’ve memorized it. You’ll also find a reading list. I suggest you read it, sir. Will you sign the bill, sir?”

  And Jack was presented with a surprisingly large bill for his uniforms.

  “I thought uniforms were provided?”

  “For us folks that work for a living, sir, but you officers have to pay for your own.”

  Jack decided that discretion was the better part of valor and chose not to notice the “work for a living” remark. He signed the bill.

  “We’ll fold these into a footlocker, sir, and ship them to your first duty station.”

  “And where is my duty station?” Jack asked.

  Gunny looked at his paperwork. “Says here Nuu House, sir.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Jack turned to leave.

  “Sir, you forgot your cover,” Gunny said, handing Jack a hat.

  “I don’t wear hats,” Jack said.

  “Sir, no Marine ever goes outside without being under cover.”

  Cover, not hat. Blouse, not coat. Field scarf, not tie. The list is growing.

  “Now, sir, if you’ll just come with me to have a picture taken, your retina scanned, and a drop of your blood processed, we can get you a proper Marine IDent.”

  Jack didn’t get away until almost eight thirty. Or was it 0830 now? Right.

  He arrived at Nuu House to find the familiar Marine guards grinning as they saluted him. And waited expectantly as he returned the salute. “Are we your first, sir?”

  “No,” Jack growled, dropping his salute. “Where is she?”

  “Waiting for you in the library. She’s pissed, sir. We had orders not to let her out of the house until you got here. And she says you’re late.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but late isn’t one of them.”

  Jack did his untrained best to march in the door, across the foyer, and into the library.

  Kris looked up . . . and smiled.

  Kris had spent an hour going though mail that Nelly could have handled herself. Where was Jack? Why wouldn’t the Marines let her leave on her own?

  Kris did not enjoy cooling her heels.

  Then Jack marched in, resplendent in undress greens.

  Greens with one single silver bar on his epaulets. Kris had two silver bars on the collar of her undress whites. Railroad bars, someone had called them. Nelly had had to look up the term.

  Obsolete term or not, Kris was an O-3, and Jack was an O-2. That should settle a whole lot of things.

  Kris knew she was failing to suppress a smile as she stood. “Good, you’re here, let’s go. You’re late.”

  “Where are we going?” Jack asked.

  “I want to talk to several of the people I intend to have on my Training Command team. Penny is still in the hospital, though she’s coming home today. Chief Beni would be good. We can chase him down at the barracks that the survivors of the Halsey are sharing.”

  “Or not,” Jack said, stepping in front of her to block her way.

  Kris sidestepped him.

  He sidestepped to stay in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “It would be safer for you to stay in Nuu House, where we control admission, and have Penny and Chief Beni come to you. I expect they could be here for lunch. Your cook would make it worth their while.”

  That was a good suggestion, but Kris did not like the sound of it, coming from Jack.

  “I’d rather go see them. Step aside, Lieutenant, we have places to be.”

  “No, Lieutenant, you are not going out. They will come in.”

  “Marine, you need to study your ranks. You are a Marine first lieutenant. I am a Navy lieutenant. I outrank you. I say jump, you say how high on the way up.”

  Jack stood to attention. “Yes, ma’am. I understand this whole rank situation you’ve drafted me into. In most events, you say jump, and I will say how high on the way up. Although, if I may point out, once I’m off the ground, I’ve lost my leverage to determine the altitude I will achieve, Lieutenant.”

  “Lieutenant, you are showing an attitude,” Kris growled.

  “However, as the security chief of a Serving Member of the Blood, I am required to take all necessary precautions to preserve you from harm. Preserving you from harm means keeping you out of the shooting gallery as often as possible. Ergo, your future team comes to you, not you to them. I can have my computer contact those two if you don’t want to have your Nelly do the job.”

  “I can do it,” Nelly piped in.

  “Not now, Nelly. ‘Serving Member of the Blood’? What kind of tomfoolery is that?”

  “Not my choice of words. Check the recent modification to Title 10, 356.911. Specifically subparagraph paren d and paren f.

  Kris took on that faraway look that she got when she and Nelly were talking.

  Suddenly, Kris snapped, “When was that added?”

  “You might have Nelly check when that draft language was added, too,” Jack suggested, trying, but failing to suppress a grin.

  “They were passed at the same time,” Nelly reported.

  “Check the legislative history,” Jack said. “I’ll bet you money they were inserted into the bill the very same day.”

  “Within two minutes of each other,” Nelly answered.

  “We’ve been had,” Kris and Jack said in the same breath.

  “Grampa Trouble,” Kris half shouted.

  “And you said that he was your grampa and wouldn’t be any trouble,” Nelly said with a clear “I told you so” inflection. Rather surprising in a computer.

  Jack gave up trying to suppress his grin. The puppet strings were clearly visible.

  “Let me guess; your grampa Trouble suggested you draft me when we were at that burger joint a couple of days ago.”

  “Kind of,” Kris admitted.

  “And your grampa Trouble invited me out for a beer and a burger last night not five minutes after I got the word I’d been drafted.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He’s got the receipt. He paid for the chow. He also showed me the precise section of the new law. Pointed at it upside down on the table when my computer found it and projected it there. Upside down!”

  “I’ve been played,” Kris growled.

  “I’ve been drafted. Shall we debate which of us got screwed over the most?”

  “I will never trust Grampa Trouble ever again,” Kris muttered.

  “So,” Jack said, “how do I get undrafted?”

  “Let’s think about that,” Kris said. “Nelly, could you ask Lotty to send up some coffee? Do you want tea, Jack?”

  “Coffee will be fine.”

  Kris settled into an overstuffed chair in an alcove created by space between bookshelves. Jack took the other chair and leaned back, doing his best to look like he had not a care in the world and was in total control of his situation.

  Kris put on the same face. Of course, she did have control of the situation. Right up to the moment when she would make another break for the door.

  Then he’d stop her, and who controlled what would be an open question. Or one requiring a judge.

  Interesting, Kris thought. Should I take this bit of vagary to court?

  Would she have to sit safe in the library until she got a decision? And would any decision from a judge do any good when she and Jack were a hundred light-years from there and up to their noses in the kind of messes Kris was wont to stumble into?

  No, this one would have to be settled between them. And settled between them, and settled between them. Kris had not solved her problems as she thought she had. Instead, with some help from her grampa Trouble, she’d gotten a whole new set of problems.

  “Maybe I should undraft you. That way I’d only have to put up with you when I was on Wardhaven,” Kris said.

  “Did you intend to say that out loud, and do you mean it?” Jack asked.

  “It’s a thought,” Kris admitted.

  “But all the potshots that have been taken at you in the last couple of years happened when you were off planet, as your grampa Trouble pointed out. You do need some kind of protection off planet.”

  “And you intend to give it to me by keeping me locked up.”

  “No, I’d provide it to you by keeping you from taking unnecessary risks.”

  “And what’s an unnecessary risk?” Kris shot back.

  “One that you don’t need to take.”

  “Like visiting my friend in the hospital!”

  “I didn’t interfere when the troops were in bed, Kris, but Penny’s getting out today, and she might as well come here as any other place for lunch.”

  “Says you.”

  Jack’s biting reply, likely in the tenor of a six-year-old, was swallowed unsaid when the guard corporal arrived with a tray of tidbits and a coffee carafe.

  “I was getting some coffee for the crew, and the cook asked me to deliver these to you two,” he said in a shameless lie.

  “Thank you,” Jack said, using an officer’s voice that sounded to Kris remarkably like one she’d heard in the movies. “That will be all. Thank you.”

  The corporal’s eyes widened a smidgen, and he made a quick withdrawal.

  “You’re getting that down fast,” Kris remarked as she poured herself some coffee. She put the carafe back and left him to pour for himself.

  Jack had seen two cats walk stiff-legged around each other while taking each other’s measurements. Clearly, he and Kris were in that stage of, what should they call it, their relationship?

  Agents did not have relationships. They had primaries. What did Marine lieutenants have? More particularly, what did Marine lieutenants who were chief of security for a Serving Member of the Blood have?

  Jack remembered that crack Kris had made about not being able to draft a husband. He squelched a scowl and promised not to let that cat out of the bag.

  He took a deep breath and began again.

  “Keeping you from getting your pretty head blown off is not as easy as you seem to think. Here on Wardhaven, I can call on all the resources of the Service. During your little sojourn on Turantic, we were behind the curve most of the time and making everything up as we went along. People get dead very quickly doing that. Even people with as much luck as you seem to have.”

  “I’m not a hothouse plant. I do what I have to do,” Kris said. “I thought it was your job to see that I did what I had to do.”

  “Have to do or want to do?” Jack shot right back without need for a second of thought.

  “Maybe I should just undraft you. Let things go back to the way they were.”

  Jack gave that a moment’s thought. “If I took away from my conversation last night with your grampa Trouble what I think I heard, I suspect that you will find it a lot harder to undraft me than it was to draft me.”

  Kris frowned at him. “Nelly, produce the paperwork on Jack’s draft, or whatever they’re calling it.”

  Jack had his own computer project his paperwork onto the low table between them. “It looks to me like you originated it,” Jack said, stabbing a finger at the first signature among a long line of signatures.

  “But look at all the other people who signed off on it,” Nelly said.

  “And how quickly they did,” Jack said, actually surprised by both the long list and how many had signed in one day. “How much you want to bet me that it would take a year or more to get all these folks to chop on a revocation?”

  “I don’t have enough money to cover your one-dollar bet,” Kris growled. The bottom two signatures were the Chief, Bureau of Personnel and the Chief, Bureau of Doctrine and Training. “It would be easier to get a divorce than get those two to agree on anything.”

 

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