Chapter Text
Galaxy Security’s Chief Medical Officer studied the readouts in front of her. Her countenance grave, she tapped one end of her stylus against the desk blotter and leaned back in her chair, considering the data.
Kate Halloran’s patient frowned at her from the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Are you planning on sharing the results or are you just going to lecture me about my workload again?” Security Chief Anderson asked.
“You seem to have made a good recovery,” Kate said. “Your blood work and your stress test results are all within normal parameters for a man your age.”
Anderson blinked. “A man my age…” he echoed.
“Well whose age do you think we’re looking at?” Kate retorted. “Dave, you’re pushing fifty. Hell, Bob and I already got there. You can’t expect to your body to function the way it did when you were thirty. None of us can,” she added. She put the tablet on her desk and offered up a wry smile. “Look on the bright side: at least you don’t have to cope with the long-term after-effects of childbirth.”
“You know, Kate, I’ve noticed that you always say things like that when you want me to stop asking questions,” Anderson pointed out.
“I say things like that when I want you to put your expectations into perspective,” Kate corrected. “This is middle age, population: a whole bunch of formerly young people like you and me. It happens. You’re healthy. A lot of people aren’t so lucky. Learn to live with it.”
“I’ve still got my health? Seriously?”
“Seriously. Now get back to work or the boss is going to think you’re slacking.”
“Everyone’s a comedian,” the Chief of Staff grumbled, but he got out of his chair and left.
When the door had closed behind Anderson, Kate waited a few seconds then tapped a control on the desk. “Mark? He’s leaving now.”
Several minutes later, Commander Mark Hawking of G-Force sidled furtively into the CMO’s office. “How is he?” Mark asked.
“Amazing,” Kate said. “He’s as fit and strong as a thirty-five-year-old.”
Mark suppressed a groan. “You told him that?”
“I did nothing of the kind,” Kate said. “I told him his state of health is within normal parameters for someone his age. And it is.”
Mark smiled. “Thanks, Doctor Kate. I owe you one.”
“I’ll put it on your tab,” Kate said. “But seriously, Mark, you don’t have to worry about him as much as you do. He’s made a remarkable recovery from his heart attack and he’s always kept himself fit and active. You don’t have to wrap him up in cotton wool.”
“I know,” Mark said. “I just… I guess Doctor McCall would say I’m afraid of losing another father. Heck, she did say that at my last session.”
“Addie McCall is extremely good at her job,” Kate said. “You should listen to her now and again.”
“I try,” Mark said. “So… bottom line is that the Chief has a clean bill of health.”
“So clean, it’s squeaky. Now why do I get the feeling you’re about to ask me about something I might not approve of?”
“What makes you think that?” Mark hedged.
“Mark,” Kate said, “I’ve known you since you were four years old. Give me credit for being able to tell when you’re up to something.”
“You what?” Anderson asked. His liaison and protocol officer and his security coordinator were occupying the visitors’ chairs in front of the Security Chief’s desk and being more than usually cryptic.
“Give up,” Lieutenant Colonel Jones said. “I give up. You win. I despair of you ever using that whacking great intellect of yours to keep your head down and behave like a proper executive.”
Anderson considered Jones’ statement and factored in the context of Major Alban’s poorly-concealed smirk before replying. “I think I’m going to take that as a compliment. Behaving like a proper executive has never been on my ‘to do’ list.”
Jones folded her arms and directed a stern look at her Chief of Staff. “As you wish, sir.”
“So tell me,” Anderson said, “what exactly does you giving up entail? And if the word ‘transfer’ is in there anywhere, I’m telling you right now I’m not going to approve it.”
“There’s a saying,” Major Alban said. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Or in this case, let ‘em join you.”
“More information, please?” Anderson asked.
Shay Alban gave her smirk free rein and leaned forward in her seat. “For the last two and a half years we’ve been effectively hitting our heads against a wall trying to get you to stay out of the line of fire. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome is one definition of insanity, so to prove that I’m not crazy, you’re hereby invited to train with my squad.”
“What?” Anderson frowned.
“I talked it over with Mark. He discussed it with the CMO and it’s agreed that when we go through our drills and our training scenarios, you should join in. If you’re going to insist on joining the party when we come under fire, I want to know which way you’re going to jump.”
“Are you serious?” Anderson asked.
“Deadly. You’ve got a medical clearance and everything. Next drill’s on Friday at fifteen hundred hours. Gunny’s put it in your schedule, sir.”
Over the past week, Anderson had noticed members of his security detail moving slightly gingerly and wincing every now and again. “Is there something going around?” he asked Gunnery Sergeant McAllister as his administrative officer brought in a cup of coffee.
“Getting your ass handed to you by G-Force, sir,” McAllister said, a slightly wistful note creeping into his voice. “It isn’t contagious. Not unless you put in a request, anyway.”
Anderson paused with the coffee cup half way to his mouth. He put it down on his desk. “My staff are getting their asses handed to them by G-Force?”
“It’s the natural order of things, Chief,” McAllister pointed out. “I’m booked for Thursday.”
“Why would you want to do a thing like that?” Anderson asked.
“Commander Hawking and Major Alban arranged it, sir. Advanced hand-to-hand combat training. Seems certain senior officers got a little ticked off about their lack of combat readiness after the Gaia mission and now Major Alban wants her squad trained by the best. The best being G-Force, naturally.”
Anderson took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is all my fault,” he groaned.
“How’s that, sir?”
“On Gaia, there was… some ordnance exchanged. The details are classified, but… well… you know how I’ve always wondered what would happen if Colonel Jones actually lost her temper?”
McAllister’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, sir, I think Friday afternoon’s going to be interesting,” McAllister said. “If that’ll be all, sir?”
“It was an accident,” Lieutenant Colonel Jones said (again). It was Monday morning, and the Chief of Galaxy Security was grumpy. Jones wasn’t exactly surprised, and privately, she had to admit that Anderson did have a case for a certain amount of grumpiness, although she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“My own security coordinator elbowed me in the face!” Anderson said (again).
“Your helmet saved you from the worst of it,” Jones reasoned. “You can hardly see the bruise now.”
Gunnery Sergeant McAllister, Anderson mused, had been correct about Friday’s training session being interesting – for a given definition and context of ‘interesting,’ the most likely one being that used in the Chinese curse. [1]
“When we engage,” Jones had reminded Anderson before they left for the Academy to use the advanced training facilities, “we’re both under Shay’s orders. It’s her squad. You can change objectives if it’s appropriate to do so but the tactical decisions are hers and there can be absolutely no doubt whose directions are the ones being followed. If you countermand an order that she gives under fire you’d better have a bloody good reason for it.”
Anderson, who privately felt that being the Chief of Galaxy Security was a pretty good reason, if not a bloody good one, had quashed the rebellious inner voice and paid attention to Jones’ instructions, aware that this session would be something new for him. In his career with Galaxy Security he had undergone combat training designed for individual agents. He had learned a lot in the field but had never fought as part of a unit. It made sense that there needed to be one person in charge and it also made sense – although it did rankle somewhat – that the one person in charge would be Shay Alban.
Alberta Jones wasn’t the type to say, ‘Suck it up, buttercup,’ but she didn’t have to. The look she gave him told Anderson everything he needed to know about her views on vacuum pressure and flora.
When Spectra’s combat androids were captured, Galaxy Security adopted a waste-not, want-not policy. Technicians wiped their programming, took out the motherboards and all the programmable electronics leaving the empty shell which was refurbished then fitted with a new brainbox and control unit. The android shell was now fully programmable, equipped with non-lethal weaponry and handed over to any one of the various ISO academies which used them as training devices.
Shay had taken her squad with its two extra members into the training area to go up against a group of twenty androids.
Anderson had done his best to try and follow orders until Jones had been set upon by three androids at once. He’d instinctively moved to assist along with Lieutenants Rossi and Thorne while Shay Alban swore and tried to extract him from the melee. The fight had lasted seconds but during the confusion he’d caught Shay’s elbow to the left eye. Afterward, he’d also caught a scathing lecture from a furious Major Alban. He’d expected one from Jones as well but she’d apparently decided to maintain her ‘I give up’ stance come hell or high water.
It was disconcerting.
Come Monday morning, Jones had offered tea, but little in the way of sympathy.
This at least was normal Jones behaviour.
Roland Galbraith, the Deputy Chief of Galaxy Security tapped at the doorframe with one hand. The other was holding a cup of coffee. “Morning, Dave; Al,” he said. “How did your training session go Friday?”
Anderson began to draw breath but Jones got there first.
“We’ve identified several key learning objectives, sir,” she said brightly. “All-in-all, it was quite positive.”
Anderson simply glared at Jones.
“Right,” Galbraith said, correctly interpreting the non-verbal cues for what they were. “Anyway, Executive meeting in five.”
“Right,” Anderson said. He picked up his palm unit and put it in his pocket as he got up out of his chair. “And I have to go in there with a black eye!”
Jones didn’t comment but one corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “I’ll be in my office,” she said primly, and headed for the door.
“Hold up a second,” Anderson said. “I just had an idea.”
Anderson was prepared for the smirks and the questions about his weekend. He brushed them off and opened the Galaxy Security executive group’s regular Monday morning meeting. He heard reports from each of the Executive Directors and discussed the Sector reports which had come in from the previous week.
As usual, the meeting took about an hour and a half before it was time to wrap up.
“Is there any other business?” Anderson asked.
Nobody raised any salient points. Jack Lewindowsky muttered something to Deirdre Kelly and sniggered. Anderson didn’t hear what it was but he could guess.
“You know,” Anderson said, “there was one other thing. You all know that I accompanied my protection detail on a training session last Friday. It was a learning experience and I think we could all benefit from it. By now, Lieutenant Colonel Jones and Major Alban will have briefed your security details and your coordinators will be working with your administrative officers to book all of you in for similar exercises. Previous experience has shown that Zoltar has a history of targeting officials such as ourselves and the ability to hold your own in a fire fight could make a difference to the outcome in the event that you find yourselves having to deal with hostiles.”
The expressions on the faces of the Galaxy Security executive team could best be described as Deer in Headlights, multiples of. Idly, Anderson wished he could take a photograph.
“It’ll be table-top, right?” Shane Cheng said hopefully.
“Oh, no,” Anderson told the Director Corporate Services. “No, you’re all familiar enough with procedure that you don’t need to participate in table-top scenarios. I’m talking combat training. I want to make sure you all have a realistic idea of what to expect if you come under fire. All of you. Dust off the battle dress, people. We’ve… identified some key learning objectives.”
At 1715 hours David Anderson shut down his desktop console and removed his palm unit from the slot. The sniggers about his black eye had ceased very quickly at the conclusion of the Executive meeting and been replaced with nervous glances and frantic discussions with security staff. Anderson noticed most of the security officers looking decidedly smug and even detected a few approving nods cast in his direction. He’d won some points with the uniforms, at least.
There were several gymnasium facilities in the ISO Tower. Anderson had checked the room booking system earlier and noticed that the executive gym had been booked out straight after the morning meeting. The firing range had been utilised that afternoon by Deputy Chief Galbraith no less. The martial arts room was also booked out, but that was a block booking made by Shay Alban for advanced hand-to-hand training some time ago. This was Anderson’s destination. If he had to walk around his office sporting a black eye, he was at least going to see how it looked for his security staff to deal with the combat boot when it was on the other foot.
Flanked by Lieutenants Greene and Richards, Anderson made as unobtrusive an entrance as he could. Nobody paid much attention as they were focussed on G-Force. Princess was working with Shay Alban and Nathan Thorne, going over strikes and blocks while Mark was sparring with Nino Rossi and clearly holding back. Tiny was blocking a flurry of blows from Ray Bairstow and Terry Falcone, seemingly without effort, while Keyop was speaking earnestly with Josh Maxwell and illustrating his point with rapid hand movements.
Jason was closest to Anderson and acknowledged his superior with a nod. G-2 was opening a case and explaining the contents to Francine Patrick and Alberta Jones.
“Good grief,” Anderson said as he approached. “I’d forgotten about those.”
“I had the Center Neptune quartermaster dig ‘em out for me,” Jason said. He removed one of a pair of slim candy-pink batons with moulded hand grips from its resting place inside the case. “Back when we were still figuring out the G-Force arsenal,” Jason explained, “we experimented with a bunch of stuff. Everything we carry into the field these days is ranged, but we fooled around with a few melee weapons in the days before we went operational.”
“Let me guess,” Jones said wryly. “You turned out to be deadly enough on your own that you didn’t need to carry the extra weight.”
“Yeah,” Fran said. “I’ve sparred with Princess and she is a melee weapon.”
“Pretty much,” Jason said with a quick flash of a grin. “But these might be helpful for you. I’ve noticed that when you two spar with larger opponents, you usually hold your own, but when you do come off second-best, it’s usually down to your relative lack of upper body strength, height and reach. These should help cancel out any advantage a taller, stronger opponent might otherwise have. If you can overlook the fact that they’re pink, they’re basically your standard stun batons upgraded to G‑Force standard. I know you’ve been trained in the use of one baton, but today I’m going to show you how to use two for both offence and defence.”
Jones took the second baton from the case and hefted it, testing its weight, then tried a couple of experimental swings. “Nicely balanced,” she said.
“And deceptively lightweight,” Jason added, “until you’re being smacked upside the head with ‘em. There’s no aluminium in here. They’re titanium ceramalloy, which makes them a lot deadlier than a standard baton. Tiny can deliver enough force with one of these to smash a Kevlar helmet – and the head inside it – like an egg, but you don’t need to aim for that kind of power. You should be able to hit hard enough to break a rib or fracture a forearm without wearing yourself out. Make an accurate strike to an opponent’s throat and it’s potentially fatal. These are a hit-and-run kind of a weapon.”
“So it follows that we’re hit-and-run kind of fighters?” Fran inferred.
“Your goal is to get your protection assignment to safety, right?” Jason reasoned. “Hit and run seems to fit the bill. And if you can’t run, you can deliver over two hundred charges with the taser in the end before the battery goes flat. That’s another one of the non-standard features. It also makes disarming you really tricky. If an opponent tries to grab the baton, you just press the button and they’ll regret it straight away. It’s also pretty effective against those androids Spectra likes to use. They mass-produce ‘em on the cheap so the insulation’s nothing like what you’d find on a Quanto Tobor model. The taser’s your weapon of choice against those things. The happiness boys aren’t usually trained in melee combat, and Spectra’s gravity’s lighter than ours, so your regular conscript just doesn’t have the muscle mass or the bone density that we have. Come up against one of Zoltar’s elites, a cyborg or a fighter from Sigma Minor, however, your best course of action is to tase and run like hell.” Jason glanced over at Anderson. “Don’t let him play with these,” Jason said. “He gives everyone enough trouble as it is.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Anderson said.
“It’s just one of the many services I provide,” Jason quipped. “Okay, today you’re going to use practice batons. If you like ‘em, we’ll have the armoury fix you up with the real thing.”
The pink batons went back in their case and the women picked up pairs of bamboo practice weapons.
“Basically,” Jason said, “your baton is just an extension of your arm. It works on the principle of moments.”[2] Without warning, he swung at Jones, who barely managed to block the blow with one baton and staggered backwards. Jason allowed the officer to regain her balance and moved in again.
Anderson found a comfortable spot against the wall and settled in for an entertaining afternoon.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jason asked for the third time.
“It’s just a bruise,” Jones said.
“Yeah, but…” Jason’s expression betrayed his discomfort.
“Jason,” Jones said, “it’s not like you hit me, and even if you had, it’s combat training. It sort of goes with the territory.”
“I’m still responsible for your safety,” Jason grumbled.
“Jason, the bloody baton bounced off the training dummy! Let’s get over it,” Jones said.
“I think it’s sweet that you’re so concerned,” Fran said with a smile.
“Well, there goes my reputation!” Jason complained. “Seriously, though, you both show promise. If you can get the hang of these, you could be hard to beat in a fight.”
“And I like the idea of the taser,” Fran said.
“There’s just one thing,” Jones said.
“Yeah?” Jason prompted.
“The originals are pink,” Jones said. “There’s no way I’m going into combat clutching a pair of pink batons. The Freudian connotations alone are just appalling.”
Fran burst out laughing while Jason smothered a cough.
“You had to go there, didn’t you, Al?” Jason complained.
“We need them in black,” Jones said.
“To match your eye?” Jason teased.
“That’s a new look for you, Al,” Anderson said as the little group approached him. He tossed an ice pack to his liaison and protocol officer. “Never let it be said that I don’t sympathise,” he said.
Jones pressed the ice pack to her left eye. “Thank you, sir,” she said.
“So how’s it coming along?” Anderson asked.
“I’m discovering new and interesting ways to get knocked on my arse,” Jones said without rancour, “but it’s all educational.”
“Al,” Anderson said, “I know that Gaia was… a little tense in places, but don’t you think you and Shay are taking this a little far?”
“Not really, no,” Jones said. “We aren’t trained to go up against an army but we found ourselves facing one on Gaia. Who’s to say we won’t face them again? Then there was the Viper before that. We lucked out with her, pure and simple. If Zoltar’s going to keep trying to kill you, we have to be better than whoever he sends, every single time. He only has to be lucky or better once. So we have to make damned sure we’re as good as we can be. Collecting a few bruises and a bit of embarrassment seems to me to be a small price to pay.”
Mark glanced up from his seat as the waiter brought a tray laden with food. Mark’s “Thanks,” was lost in the ambient music but the waiter – who was undoubtedly used to it – nodded an acknowledgement and walked away.
Disco Doc’s was generally not crowded on a Monday night but the management seemed to be trying to make up for it by turning the volume up on the sound system.
The Federation’s deadliest elite strike team rearranged their drinks and selected slices of pizza, ensuring that the Italiano with anchovies was shoved over closest to Mark and Tiny while Princess and Jason appropriated the Capricosa (no seafood) and Keyop simply took a slice of everything. For a few minutes, there was no discussion as G-Force focussed on their calorie intake.
“Did I see you giving Fran my old batons?” Princess asked eventually.
“You weren’t using ‘em,” Jason said with a shrug, and reached for a slice of garlic bread. “Shay’s gone and ordered like, two dozen sets of the things. I may have created a monster.”
“Hey, I think it’s a great idea,” Princess said. “There was some cool stuff developed for us before the war and a lot of it got mothballed. It makes sense to use it.”
“I dunno about the ‘energy ribbon,’ though,” Jason said. “That just seemed…”
“Yeah, that was straight out of gym class,” Princess agreed. “The energy ribbon should probably stay in mothballs.”
“Unless you updated it to an energy whip,” Jason speculated. “And if Al got her way and had it produced in black, it could be quite the look…”
“Please don’t go there,” Mark said, after hastily swallowing a bite of pizza. “That’s a mental image I don’t need.”
Tiny chuckled and washed down a mouthful of garlic bread with a swig of cola. “She’s not that old,” he pointed out. “A lot of guys like older women.”
Mark shook his head. “It’s not that. She’s a senior officer and a member of the Chief’s staff. We shouldn’t be disrespectful.”
“Impressive,” Jason said.
“What do you mean?” Mark asked.
“You said that without laughing at all, not even a little bit – hey! What was that for?” Jason turned to Princess, who had delivered a light kick to his ankle.
“Even if you don’t respect your elders,” Princess said, “you can respect my friends.”
“Okay.” Jason held up his hands in the time-honoured gesture of surrender, which was only partially spoiled by the fact that he still had a half-eaten piece of garlic bread in one of them. “How d’you think they’re doing with this new training regime, anyway? You think they’ve got any chance at improving?”
“I don’t see why not,” Princess said. “The training they’ve already got gives them a solid foundation to start from. The Academy instructors are pretty tough and you have to be good to get a spot on the Chief’s detail.”
“They still wouldn’t stand much of a chance against a Galaxy Girl or a Blackbird,” Jason maintained, “although with the contact taser, they might have the element of surprise the first time out.”
“Maybe not now,” Princess said. “Give them time.”
“Any Galaxy Security officer should be able to take out a garden variety goon without much trouble,” Mark said, “but one on one against Zoltar’s elites, even with the advanced training we’re providing, they’d only be able to slow ‘em down. Still, that might be all that was needed.”
“As in cannon fodder?” Princess inferred.
“It isn’t a pleasant idea,” Jason admitted, “but I was with those guys on Gaia. Each one of ‘em was prepared to die if necessary.”
“I hope it never comes to that,” Princess said.
- The one that goes, “May you live in interesting times.” Katblu42 was kind enough to suggest the one from Firefly that goes: “Oh God, oh, God, we’re all going to die.”
- A turning moment is expressed in Newton Metres and is the product of force multiplied by the radius from a fulcrum, so if you belt someone with a baton, you hit them harder than if you used the same amount of force and the same action to hit them with your hand. Basically, it’s levers.