Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg Read Free Book Online Page B

Blankie” and his favorite, “Blowtorch Blankie.” The longer he missed the promotion lists and the longer he had been kept on Thorsfinni’s World without a real command, the more of a curmudgeon he’d become, although he had been born that way to begin with. He’d never made the connection between his natural irascibility, which tended to rub everyone the wrong way, and his exile at the remote naval depot. It had been his heroism at the great naval battle in orbit around Stormont during the Third Silvasian War that had saved him from early retirement.
    Sonia was fascinated by the admiral’s office. The walls were covered with plaques, certificates, holograms of the admiral in all stages of his career. Every flat surface in the room boasted a model or a naval knickknack of some sort, mostly starships, all of which she assumed Blankenboort had served on or commanded at some time in the past. In fact, there was so much of this personal material cluttering the office that she wondered where he had room to do his work.
    “Ma’am,” Blankenboort growled after they were seated, “will you be staying with us? I notice you don’t have any bags.”
    “No, Admiral. I plan to catch the twenty-hours shuttle back to New Oslo. It will not take me that long to conclude my business.”
    What a relief, Blankenboort thought. Then, “Well, it’s getting on toward lunchtime. Let’s go to the mess. We can talk easier there.” Sonia agreed. Sitting in Admiral Blankenboort’s office was too much like sitting in a pawn shop.

    “So why are you here, Ms. Motlaw?” Admiral Blankenboort asked around his peach cobbler.
    Since the admiral was addressing her with his mouth full, Sonia glanced inquiringly at Captain Reems before trying an answer. “My hearing is perfect, Admiral,” she answered, thinking he was making a comment about her ear.
    “Here! Here! I asked why you’re here —goddammit!” He slapped a hand to his jaw, “Oh, Jesus freaking Christ, goddamned peach pit! I think I broke a frigging tooth!” He spit a pit onto the table. It bounced off his plate with a ping and dropped to the floor. “Eh, ma’am, excuse me, but gawdam, ma’am, that hurt. Ohweee!” He held the hand to his jaw and muttered.
    “I’m not at liberty to say, Admiral,” Sonia answered, trying hard to suppress a laugh. Her eyes sparkled with good humor as she glanced again at Captain Reems and in that instant the officer’s heart was enlisted. “It’s entirely confidential, sir, and for the Marines only.”
    “Ah, hum, tell it to the Marines, eh?” Blankenboort muttered.
    “Yes, sir, that is it. Now I must be on my way, Admiral. Thank you for the excellent luncheon. Very sorry about that tooth.” She rose from her chair.
    “I’ll take her, sir,” Reems volunteered, jumping to his feet and rushing to help Sonia up. “Just a short drive, ma’am. And Brigadier Sturgeon has been notified you’re coming. Uh, that all right with you, Admiral?” Reems was suddenly terrified the admiral would assign someone else to drive Sonia to Camp Ellis.
    “Eh? Okay, okay,” Blankenboort muttered, still clasping his jaw with one hand. When a steward came to offer the admiral more coffee he said, “I’d have gotten it out of her if that goddamned peach pit hadn’t screwed me up! Steward! Take me to the freaking kitchen. I’m going to have somebody’s ass over this.”

    “Well, what do you suppose she wants with us ?” Israel Ramadan, Thirty-fourth FIST’s executive officer, asked as he read Blankenboort’s message over Sturgeon’s shoulder.
    “Belated thank-you note from the government of Wanderjahr?” Sturgeon suggested.
    “Very belated, Ted. Guess we’ll find out when the lady gets here, which”—he checked his chronometer—“should be just about now.”
    “Come on, then, let’s get outside and welcome her aboard.”
    When the landcar drew up to the headquarters building Sonia opened her own door, jumped lightly to the ground,