I paused. “Drago’s slowly starting to realize that it’s ridiculous he doesn’t have the rank to match his position. Give him another Commander’s post, let him settle in there for a while, and suffer the embarrassment of a whole new set of officers gossiping about his situation. After that, he should accept being promoted to Commander without too many problems. Once he’s made it safely to Commander, he should progress naturally after that. I’m not asking what you have in mind for him in the end, but whatever it is he’s at least had time to adjust to the idea.”
General May nodded.
“It would be ideal if you could send Drago’s team along with Commander Stone to her next posting, because she knows exactly how to handle him.”
General May nodded again.
“Of course, it would also help if you could get his father to stop lecturing him,” I added, “but I doubt that’s humanly possible.”
General May laughed. “Thank you, Colonel. It’s unfortunate you’re retiring. I don’t suppose you’d like to …”
“No, sir,” I said hastily. “Thank you, but I’ve considered this very thoroughly. I’m fortunate that I’ve been able to clear up the final few things that have been worrying me, like Drago’s situation, so I can retire in the happy knowledge I’m not leaving any jobs undone.”
“Very well,” said General May. “I hope you enjoy your retirement.”
The call ended, and I turned and went back into the dome. The vid clips were still running. I joined in the laughter at a dozen moments ranging from tense to comical, then the vid sequence ended and the floating suns went to full brightness again.
I had a speech to give, and Drago had thoughtfully put a podium at one end of the dome, so I went to stand on it. This time I’d remembered to wear a microphone. The crowd quietened down and looked expectantly at me.
“As you know, I’m retiring. I don’t want to make a tediously long speech that drones on about six decades in the Military, and I’ve forbidden Commander Stone to make one for me. It’s not necessary, because today says it all. Handing over a new world to its first colonists sums up everything that Planet First missions are about. It’s been a pleasure serving with so many fine officers. Thank you for helping me to finish my years of service on the highest possible note by adding Maia to the worlds of humanity.”
I let them clap for a bit, and then waved at them to quieten down. “And now I have to give you the standard information and warnings before the real party starts. Firstly, this planet is now officially under civilian law. Since the whole of Kappa sector is still using the rules of the Colony Ten charter, you can register Twoing or Threeing contracts yourselves by contacting Kappa Sector Central Registry directly.”
I paused. “You can also enter into either a duo or triad marriage without prior notice or previous relationship contracts, but that marriage must be authorized and registered by an appropriate official. As your commanding officer, I qualify as an appropriate official, but Colony Ten rules say I can’t authorize marriages for anyone who is even slightly drunk or powered. If you’re going to propose to anyone, make sure you do it while all the parties concerned can still pass a blood test!”
Everyone cheered.
“Secondly, the Military must always show respect for variations in cultural attitudes. This dome is the main party zone, and standards of behaviour and dress may not be acceptable to certain officers, particularly those from Delta sector. There is a side dome marked Quiet Zone, with a secondary party area where Delta sector standards will apply. There is a further side dome marked Rest Zone, where those officers without quarters here can go to sleep, and I emphasize the word ‘sleep’ in that sentence. Other activities should be limited to an officer’s private quarters or to the dome marked …”
I broke off and looked round for Drago. “What are you calling that dome this time?”
“It’s marked ‘The Colonel doesn’t want to know,’” yelled Drago.
There was more cheering.
“Right, that’s it,” I said. “You now have twenty-four hours before the cleanup squad start trying to sober people up and reunite them with their luggage. Have an excellent party, and that’s an order!”
I stepped down from the podium, feeling oddly shaky, and went back across to stand with Stone and Leveque. As I reached them, the singing started. Drago’s magnified voice alone for the first line, and then the whole mob joining in. Old Lang Zine. A song so old that a lot of the words didn’t make sense any longer, but the mere sound of it hit me like an emotional punch in the stomach. Everyone sang it at Year End, as midnight interstellar standard Green Time marked the end of the old year and the start of the new one. The Military sang it at every handover party, as they said goodbye to a world and friends they’d worked with for years and prepared to move on to new challenges.
This time I wasn’t moving on. This time there was no new beginning, just old memories. The people around me were hugging each other as they sang, even the enigmatic Leveque had his arm round his wife and was smiling, but I stood alone. People don’t randomly hug their commanding officer, but I felt the touch of ghostly arms round my shoulders, and heard the laughter from decades ago.
The last line of the song ended, and there was a moment of silence before a drum beat sounded. Colourful banners started unfurling among the crowd.
“Here we go again,” said Nia Stone. “I never know how the Betans can produce their clan banners and drums out of thin air.”
I fought off the memories of the past and smiled. It was a standard Military joke that you didn’t have to encourage Betans to maintain their cultural heritage, your problem was stopping them!
“Everyone says that Betans have their clan banners surgically implanted at birth,” I said.
“I could almost believe that,” said Nia Stone.
“The probability of that rumour being true is significantly less than 1 per cent,” said Leveque with a perfectly straight face. “Military doctors have consistently failed to find any confirming evidence.”
Nia and I laughed.
The array of different clan banners were forming up in the centre of the dome now, surrounded by a mob wearing either Military uniforms or togas. Everyone else moved out of the way and stood watching them.
“I can see the whole of Drago’s team out there,” said Nia, “though only five of them are Betan.”
Leveque shrugged. “Betans have a way of dragging people into things, and Drago’s especially good at it.”
The clan banners were lined up now, with the banner of Beta sector at the front. Most of the banners were the familiar ones of the Betan Military clans, but there were a few Betans who’d been born into civilian clans, joined the Military as sector recruits, and carried less well-known banners. I saw the flash of a sword among the banners, frowned, and prepared to intervene. Drago should know better than this. The Betans were allowed all the drums and banners they liked at parties, but the use of ceremonial swords was strictly limited to …
The people standing in front of me moved aside, giving me a clearer view of who was holding the sword. I saw it was Captain Marlise Weldon and relaxed. Three years ago, just after graduating the Military Academy, she’d represented the Military in the Olympics at Tai Chi sword form. Her decision to accept Planet First assignments had ended her competitive career, since it meant spending long periods on worlds under strict quarantine, but she still did some training and I knew all her swords had safely blunt blades.
More drums were sounding now, and the beats were faster. I watched Marlise take up the first position of the Tai Chi form, with her sword held vertically behind her. I’d seen her display several times before, but it was always impressive to watch, so I was annoyed when someone came to stand in front of me. I gave them an irritated look and was startled to see it was Drago. He held out a toga towards me.
“Today, you run with us.”
I was still emotionally overloaded from the singing, but I clung to sanity. I couldn’t go
back in time. I couldn’t bring the dead to life, and nothing could be the same without them. I shook my head. “I left the clan nearly twenty years ago.”
“With respect, you joined the clan on the day of your marriage, and you have never left it. You’ve just been absent for a while.”
I pulled a face. “Drago, I appreciate the gesture, but no.”
“Today, you run with us,” he repeated.
Drago had obviously planned this carefully, getting Captain Weldon to create a distraction, but the people nearby had started noticing something was going on. Nia Stone was looking puzzled, but Mason Leveque had an unreadable expression on his face. I had a feeling he knew exactly what was happening here. Normal people wouldn’t research their commanding officer’s personal history from two decades ago, but Leveque was a Threat team leader. It was his job to spot potential dangers, and calculate the best way to deal with them, and the strengths and weaknesses of his commanding officer were an important factor in those calculations. Leveque probably knew the exact date I had my first haircut.
“I said no, Major Tell Dramis.” My tone of voice was a sharp order, and now people were openly staring at us.
“This is nothing to do with the Military,” said Drago. “This is family. Today, you run with us, Riak.” He added something incomprehensible in strong Betan dialect rather than standard Language.
“You’re wasting your time talking Betan at me, Drago. I never really got the hang of the dialect.”
“What I said was that you’re retiring, Riak, and that’s a time for returning home. Are you really planning to spend your retirement on a random Military base, sitting listening to other retired officers endlessly repeat the same anecdotes, when you could come home to play a full and active part in the life of your family?”
I couldn’t help picturing the clan hall on Zeus, with its constant chaos of serving officers home on leave, civilians, and retired officers. The children too, of course. There was always a crowd of children, left at the clan hall to attend the Military school on Zeus while their parents were on hazardous Planet First assignments. As a retired officer, I’d be expected to help run the clan hall, keep an eye on the children, and offer advice to the teenagers nearing Military recruitment age.
“It could never be the same,” I said.
“It could never be the same,” said Drago. “But it could be different.”
He smiled. It’s strange the way a family resemblance can suddenly leap out at you. There was something about Drago’s smile …
“Run with us, Riak,” said Drago. “If I have to, I’ll stand here for hours.”
Part IV
Drago thrust the toga at me again, and I found myself taking it. “I’ll run with you, Drago, but don’t get ideas.” I stripped off my jacket, and shrugged the toga on over the top of the rest of my uniform. “I can’t just rejoin the clan and move into the clan hall. Not with so many memories of …”
“I understand that,” he said. “You could start with a very short visit, and then make some longer ones. Give yourself plenty of time to gradually adjust before moving home permanently.”
I tugged my toga roughly into place. There was no point in my trying to adjust the folds properly. However much care I took with it, I knew I’d still look a mess, because I had nearly as much trouble wearing togas as I did wearing Military dress uniforms.
The drum beats had stopped now. I glanced round, saw Marlise Weldon had ended her display, and that everyone in the dome was staring at me and Drago with shocked faces. All except Mason Leveque, who had an odd smile on his face as if he’d expected this to happen.
I turned back to Drago. We hugged each other in the traditional embrace of clan kindred, before taking a step back and solemnly facing each other.
“Fidelis, Riak.” Drago saluted me, not with the Military salute, but the right hand on heart salute of Beta sector.
I copied his gesture. I hadn’t given a Betan salute for almost two decades, but it seemed oddly natural.
The drums started again, in a staccato rhythm that echoed through my bones and set my pulse beating faster. Drago lifted both arms and turned to face the banners.
“Be-ta!” He separated the two syllables, emphasizing them as if they were different words, and pronouncing the second syllable with the distinctive Betan inflection.
“Be-ta!” The crowd in the centre of the dome answered him.
“Be-ta!” I joined in the chanting.
The Betans started circling the dome at a slow run, parading their banners. Sometimes just one person was with a clan banner, sometimes there were a cluster of people from the same clan. I saw a whole lot of extra people who definitely weren’t Betan, including Captain Weldon. She was carrying a heartbreakingly familiar banner.
As the parade reached us, the leader passed the Beta sector banner to Drago, and Captain Weldon held out her banner to me.
I shook my head. “Drago should …”
I looked for Drago, saw he’d already run off leading the parade, and groaned. There wasn’t anyone else from our clan here, so I accepted the banner and joined the parade. I was a bit old to be running round a dome waving my clan banner, but Betans have a way of dragging people into things.
By the time we’d circled the dome twice, those of us in the lead had almost caught the ones at the back. One final lap, then the sound of drums reached a climax. There was a burst of wild cheering, the parade stopped, and broke up into groups of laughing people.
The sound of drums was replaced by music now. I gave myself a moment to catch my breath, and then turned to look at the vid display on the far wall. It was blank for a moment, then the names started scrolling up. Mostly in pairs, but occasionally three together. Beside the names were abbreviations to show if it was a standard Twoing or Threeing contract that had been registered, or a request sent to Betan clans to arrange formal betrothal or marriage ceremonies.
Each set of names was greeted by applause and a burst of cheering from somewhere in the dome. This happened at every handover ceremony. Some relationships would have been agreed months ago, but the people involved had deliberately waited for this moment to register a contract with their friends around them. Others would have made a spur of the moment decision, hit by emotion during the singing of Old Lang Zine, and the knowledge that this was their last chance.
Tomorrow, all the thousands of people here would head off on leave, scattering across hundreds of different worlds. After that statutory leave, they’d move on to random new assignments. Any sort of formal commitment, even the minimum three month Twoing contract, guaranteed your next assignment would be together. Without one, you’d probably spend the next few years apart.
So some of the relationships scrolling up the wall were serious commitments. Others were just to give a casual attraction a chance to turn into something more. They all got their cheers though. The list finally reached the end, only to suddenly jerk on again as a couple of extremely last minute decisions were made.
I retrieved my jacket, turned on my microphone and called out. “Attention everyone. Marriage time! Anyone wanting to get married should see the Medical team leader for their blood tests, and then come down to join me in the Quiet Zone.”
I headed off down the corridor that linked this dome to the next one, went past a large notice that said “You are entering the Quiet Zone! Betans Put Your Clothes On!”, and followed an arrow marked “Marriages” down a side corridor to a small meeting room.
I dumped my jacket on the back of a chair, sat down at the circular table, and buried my face in my hands. What had come over me back there? Wearing a toga again! Embracing Drago as my clan kindred! Carrying the clan banner! What the chaos did the people watching think?
And a female voice in my head spoke. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. We are Betan, and we are proud of it!”
There was male laughter. “You’re back with us at last, farm boy. What took you so long?”
“Don’t sound so sick
eningly smug about it!” I said aloud. “You’ve no idea how bad it was to be the one left alive and struggling with survivor guilt. I still think I’m making a huge mistake. I’ve more or less committed myself to visit the clan hall, and going there could never be the same.”
The female voice in my head spoke. “But it could be different.”
I sighed. “That’s what Drago said. He’s got your smile, you know. That’s what made me …”
There was a chime from the door. I hastily stopped talking to myself, and tapped the control on the table. The door opened and a man and woman entered. Their faces were familiar, but I’d forgotten their names. Thousands of officers had worked on Maia, so it wasn’t surprising I couldn’t remember them all.
I checked the messages on my lookup and found their marriage request. They were two of the Military scientists, which meant I’d had less contact with them than the combat Military officers. Both in their early twenties, both born in Delta sector, and the medical check showed they were perfectly sober. I had absolutely nothing to worry about here.
I smiled at them. “I see you’ve got five prior Twoing contracts, which means you could register your marriage conventionally as soon as you’re on leave back in Delta sector.”
“We felt it was more appropriate now,” said the man. “This is an emotional day.”
I nodded, took their handprints, registered the marriage, and gave them my congratulations. The next couple were two women who I definitely recognized. I frowned at them.
“I married you two last year! Is this some sort of anniversary re-enactment?”
They exchanged embarrassed looks. “Our divorce was finalized an hour ago,” said one of them.
“We decided it was a mistake,” said the other.
I remembered the conversation between Stone and Leveque just before the handover ceremony. Presumably they’d been talking about these two. “You’re quite sure you want to get married again? I’ve got several more marriage requests, so you could go to the back of the queue and take a few more minutes to think about it.”