February 3, 2511, Morning

  The next day, Jack showed up at the staff office on time. His current formal posting was as an operations staff officer, so of course, he had to check in at the Sixth Research Office.

  As soon as he pushed open the door to Room Six, the previously lively staff suddenly fell silent for a moment.

  Leo went pale the instant he saw Jack’s huge frame blocking the doorway and instinctively turned to crawl under a table—but Jack was faster. He grabbed him in a bear hug; that thick arm wrapped around Leo’s skinny neck like a steel hoop.

  “Sir… Jack…” Leo looked utterly defeated, his voice trembling with tears. “My e-wallet is really empty. I overdrew! I even overdrew next month’s nutrient-gel allotment!”

  Leo felt foolish about last night. He’d thought that by agreeing to buy rounds he could avoid trouble, but instead he’d been yanked from a warm bed by this fat man in the middle of the night and hauled off to the “Red Moon Club,” partying until after two a.m.

  That place was a sink of money. The synth-sisters and beauties of many species were enthusiastic, sure—but it was all built on credit points flowing away like water.

  Jack patted Leo on the shoulder and said in a fatherly tone, “Don’t worry, brother. You were a generous host last night; I’m not ungrateful. Next time… hmm, we halve the time—only the first half.”

  Leo’s body went limp, and he slumped completely into Jack’s embrace, eyes rolling white.

  “LEO, LEO? This kid—still too fragile.” Jack lifted the noodle-thin Leo and set him down on a nearby chair.

  At that moment, Colonel Parker entered from outside, face grave, his tablet flashing red.

  “Quiet!” Parker’s voice wasn’t loud but carried a chill. Orders from the forward command. Everyone to your positions. All leave is canceled. Full Level-One alert across the forces.”

  The staff broke apart with a clatter; the previously relaxed atmosphere evaporated. Level-One readiness meant they could be in combat within 48 hours. The operations engine had to switch to full speed immediately to provide strategic guidance and coordination to frontline units.

  Parker turned to Jack. “Lieutenant Harlan, report to the forward command immediately. Generals Carrick and Cyril are waiting.”

  Jack felt his heart drop. He glanced at Leo, still pallid in the chair, and nervously headed to the command center.

  All the way, he muttered to himself: I just took care of the Butcher and didn’t even get a few days of peace. I don’t understand this whole readiness situation. Why is Cyril calling me? He isn’t going to use me as a mascot or bait and throw me to the front, is he?

  …

  Frontline Supreme Command

  He arrived at the forward command like a man with his skin crawling; Yuna escorted him through layer after layer of security.

  The massive command hall was already packed. The air hummed with tense electricity and low commands. Under the command platform, communications, electronic warfare, logistics, army, land-based aviation, and the space fleet—all the departments meshed like precision gears. Over a dozen generals stood at their stations, sending targeted directives that would reach battlefields light-years away.

  In the center of the hall, suspended on a second-level platform, sat the brain of the forward command—the supreme command center.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  There were only two people there: General Carrick and Chief Military Adviser General Cyril.

  The movement of millions of federation troops hinged on their decisions.

  Jack lingered at the entrance, staring at the two figures with their backs to him, afraid to speak. Cyril seemed to sense him and gestured. Jack climbed the stairs along the wall up to the central command stand. From there, he could look down over the whole command room, and directly ahead was an enormous living holographic star chart that filled almost the entire wall.

  Standing there, anyone would feel a rush of power: the intoxicating sense of mastering the whole situation, commanding battles across light-years.

  Cyril looked at the 300-pound figure approaching and softened. He smiled. “Jack, I’ve been meaning to properly thank you. You didn’t just save my life—you helped me solve a huge problem.”

  Jack looked at his teacher. Though the Butcher incident had been days ago and Cyril had regained his composure, Jack could still see a slight awkwardness in Cyril’s right shoulder.

  After that episode, Cyril hadn’t changed his name (for political PR reasons), but his security level had been raised to presidential detail.

  Jack relaxed a little and dropped his usual goofy grin. Looking Cyril in the eye, he said earnestly, “Sir, my parents died early. I don’t want… to lose another family member.”

  Cyril froze. He looked into Jack’s honest little eyes; his own lids glistened.

  In this world of scheming and betrayal, in this command filled with transactional interests, that clumsy word—“family”—carried more weight than any medal.

  Cyril reached out and thumped Jack’s shoulder a few times; his voice was hoarse. “Don’t worry, you little stinker. I’m not going that easily. At least until the Empire falls, I’ll still be breathing.”

  “Ahem.”

  A cough broke the tender moment. General Carrick walked over, wearing that politician’s inscrutable smile.

  “What a touching teacher-student scene,” Carrick said, looking at Jack. “But this is a rare learning opportunity, Lieutenant. Two generals are about to demonstrate how to wage war right here for you—if you can’t learn…,” Carrick paused, his smile growing more ‘kind,’ “then I’ll recommend you be sent back to the job that suits you best—frontline mech maintenance. I’m sure they’ll welcome your… specialized skills.”

  Jack’s fat frame twitched. Politicians really were pieces of work. One sentence and they’d send a man to his death. I’ve earned my stripes—how can they forget so fast?

  He looked to Cyril, hoping for shelter.

  But Cyril turned and nodded to Carrick. “General Carrick is right. Jack, you’ll stay here until the campaign plan is complete. If, after the deployment is finalized, you’re still bewildered… then yes, we’ll send you to the front. Threat of death sharpens your mind faster than any brain can.”

  Jack sighed inwardly. Fine—none of them are decent. They spoke like family and then teamed up to screw me. Two old foxes, cheerful about sending a lieutenant to die as if crushing an ant.

  The command room grew serious again.

  Streams of data and intelligence flowed like a waterfall above the central stand. The battle map was mottled with red and blue markers, teeth-gnashing lines intersecting.

  This was Jack’s first close view of Carrick and Cyril’s operational command. Carrick’s organizational skill was astonishing—his fingers flew over the holographic interface, shifting tons of military resources with a touch. Jack thought his brain must be some military supercomputer—cold, utterly inhuman. Cyril was different: like an artist sculpting, each cautious touch subtly altered the balance of the front.

  Their coordination left Jack both awed and uneasy. Awed by that godlike command art, uneasy because he realized what he was watching.

  When Cyril said casually, “Third Armored Division moves in to draw enemy fire,” Jack felt his heart thud. The Third Armored Division—over ten thousand living men. They have names, families, dreams, the hope of returning home… but here they were only a blue icon, a number to be maneuvered and sacrificed.

  Carrick said calmly, “Janus’s quantum mainframe projects 15% casualties; that’s acceptable.”

  Jack squinted and put a hand to his chest—there was a dull ache. Can I do it?

  After a while, the pressure got to him. Jack edged up to Cyril and asked quietly, “Sir, we’re still in readiness—no active fighting yet. Do I really need to waste my time here? I want to go back to the lab and fix mechs…”

  Cyril didn’t turn. He waved dismissively. “Your task is to start from the army’s operations. When the army fires the first shot, you start modeling the battle plan. Until then… you’re free. But if I find you snooping in the operations office or bothering the female staff—”

  “Humph.”

  Cyril’s cold hum made Jack’s back shiver. Damn—he’d been seen through.

  Jack was about to slink away when a sharp report echoing from the lower command room sucked the air out of the hall.

  Admiral Feowen, the fleet coordination officer, stood up, voice taut. “Report, General! A frontline dispatch!”

  “The Fourth Combined Fleet has just exited from a public system jump point into the Vega Sector. During the bypass toward the Orion-Belt jump point, Vance swallowed hard. They encountered the enemy main fleet!”

  (CH103 end)