Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

“I’d prefer to let her wake up naturally,” the medic said, firmly. “These sort of injuries need to be watched, carefully. I understand how you feel, sir, but her safety should come first.”

“Understood,” Steve said, irked.

It was nearly forty minutes before Mariko opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Steve was at her side instantly, unsure of how best to proceed. Should he take her in his arms or would that produce a panic attack? Or… what should he do?

“Steve,” she said. “What happened?”

Steve hesitated, reminded himself that she was a grown woman and briefly outlined everything that had happened. “We tracked you down and recovered you,” he concluded, after detailing the desperate search. “And here you are, safe and sound.”

“Thank you,” Mariko whispered. She gave him a long look. “Is it always going to be like this now?”

“I plan to make sure it never happens again,” Steve said, firmly. “If you go back to the clinic, you’ll have a small army protecting you.”

Mariko nodded. Steve eyed her, worriedly. He’d never liked the idea of submissive girls, no matter how attractive it seemed. Mariko was certainly not submissive… or, rather, she hadn’t been submissive. But now, she was accepting his suggestions without argument, even though she’d refused them earlier. It didn’t strike him as a very encouraging sign. What would she do, he wondered, if he ordered her to stay on the ship? Or the moon?

“You should take a few days to rest,” he said, instead. “That should give us plenty of time to rebuild the clinic.”

She nodded, again. Steve felt suddenly helpless. She hadn’t demanded that she go right back to New York to help deal with the bombing aftermath or even that he stop treating her as an invalid. Had her spirit been broken by the kidnappers?

He ground his teeth together in silent fury. Whatever else happened, he was damned if he was letting the bastards get away with it. And heaven help anyone who tried to stand in his way.

Shadow Warrior, Earth Orbit

“Going by the latest reports, Steve, New York suffered fifty-seven dead, ninety-five wounded, some critically,” Mongo said. “All that for a fucking diversion.”

Steve nodded, unsurprised, as he stared at the terrorists through the one-way force field. “I think we can arrange for the wounded to be treated in one of our clinics,” he said. “They were injured in an attack on us, after all.”

Mongo nodded back. “We scanned them all pretty thoroughly,” he continued. “They all had suicide capsules in their teeth, ready for immediate use. We removed them before we woke the bastards up, Steve, and they all tried to go for the capsules. These guys are pretty damn hardcore.”

“I know,” Steve said. “And the ship’s crew?”

“All innocent, according to DHS,” Mongo said. “They used the lie detectors we provided — as far as everyone knew, apart from the Captain, the terrorists were just a hired security team. The Captain was the only one who knew the truth…”

Steve looked over at him for a long moment. “And the truth is?”

“They’re Revolutionary Guards, Steve,” Mongo said. “The attack came from Iran.”

Steve gritted his teeth, remembering briefings on the Revolutionary Guard during his military service. They were partly a Praetorian Guard, charged with keeping the Mullahs in power, partly a terrorist group and partly a business in their own right. Like the KGB and other security organisations with a complete absence of public accountability, they had acquired land, businesses and countless other interests in their name. By now, they were probably — directly or indirectly — one of Iran’s major employers.

They’d done worse than just hold ‘death to America’ marches too, he knew. Iran’s fingerprints had been found on weapons and explosives in both Iraq and Afghanistan, with the country trying to ensure their chosen tools gained control in both regions. And, for that matter, to bleed the Americans white. Steve recalled one Marine wondering out loud if the Mullahs hoped their more fanatical followers would go to Iraq and get killed by the Americans. It was so hard to balance a theocratic regime with the compromises that had to be made, just to keep the country on an even kneel.

But there was something about the whole affair that puzzled him. The Mullahs were careful poker players, never overplaying their hands. So why had they risked losing everything in this manner? Iran would suffer, badly, as fusion tech became more widespread, but they were in a far better position than Saudi Arabia or the tiny oil kingdoms dotted around the Middle East. Or were they convinced that Steve would one day turn his attention to them?

Or maybe they were afraid of losing power , he thought. They wouldn’t want their own people to start questioning their values .

“Start the interrogation,” he ordered, wishing — again — that Kevin was with them. He could have handled the whole affair without fuss. “I want to know everything they know.”

It was nearly an hour before they had some clear answers. The guards on the ship were there to serve as a security team, but they were also there to provide support to terrorist groups and sleeper agents at the ship’s ports of call. Steve made careful notes of the details they provided, intending to pass them on to the various security forces. If nothing else, the whole affair would lead to the uncovering of a number of sleeper cells.

The kidnappers themselves were long-term sleeper agents, intended to remain in reserve until the United States finally attacked Iran. Steve listened to their conversation carefully; one of them seemed genuinely repentant, the others seemed more sorry they’d been caught than anything else. But the repentant one had had the wife and children in the United States.

Steve shrugged. Even if he were freed, it was unlikely he would ever see his wife and children again. They’d be interrogated once more, than probably put into a witness protection program. They hadn’t known about what was coming, but it wouldn’t stop people blaming them for it.

He turned and strode out of the room, back to the CIC. After a moment, Mongo followed him.

“Iran is going to be destroyed,” he said, flatly. He activated the interface, bringing the ship’s weapons online. It wouldn’t be too difficult to destroy Iran. A handful of large kinetic warheads would smash most of the cities, while smaller missiles would take out the military bases and oil installations. “They’re all going to die.”

“No,” Mongo said.

Steve blinked in surprise. It was Kevin who would have argued for mercy — no, not mercy, a more subtle revenge than mass destruction. But Kevin was light years away.

He leaned forward. “Why not?”

Mongo met his eyes evenly. “Do you remember Jock Hazelton?”

Steve nodded, puzzled. Jock Hazelton had been a young lad living near the ranch, only a year or two younger than Mongo. He’d been a quiet, withdrawn child, so no one had suspected him of being responsible for a series of thefts and pieces of vandalism all over the countryside. Steve still recalled the angry interrogation from his father when he, as one of the rowdier children, fell under suspicion. It hadn’t been until he’d been caught in the act that everyone had realised that Jock Hazelton had been to blame for all of it. His embarrassed family had left the region soon afterwards.

“Do you remember,” Mongo demanded, “how we were all blamed for it?”

“Yes,” Steve said. It had rankled; the threats, the sharp eyes following them wherever they went, the awareness that their father had come far too close to thrashing all three of his sons on suspicion. By the time the truth had come out, distrust had seriously damaged the community. “I remember.”