A Major under duress.

4604::08 Universal Space Calendar

::We don’t belong here.::

Jet’s mental admonishment didn’t help Jesse’s travel-strained temper. She ached from sitting, her eyes burned with fatigue, and escaping a premonition of impending doom became increasingly impossible. Besides, even Jet understood there was no other choice. ::We’ve gone over this before:: Jesse admonished silently to her other. ::According to the law, even someone with a dishonorable discharge can be reactivated. Our discharge status has already been upgraded to general discharge just for putting on the uniform. They had Commandant Roberre ready to back up their demand.::

::We could’ve run.::

::Do you want to be exiled from Alliance Space? That’s how far we would have to run, nowhere else would be safe. Do you want our friends harassed, investigated or hunted, too?:: Jesse looked around the shuttle interior. At least arguing within your own mind was quiet.

::But getting called-up? And to the wrong service branch? That’s crazy. Dress whites, sheesh.:: Indignity laced Jet’s voice.

Jesse laughed. Aloud. She controlled herself as she drew the notice of the other uniformed passengers. Living with five alternate selves had its public perils, at least recently, since she had lost her own strict emotional control. Mentally, she admonished, ::You know the come back for that comment. Go away, Jet. Relax and let me be.::

Jet retired.

::This is lunacy, unavoidable lunacy, admittedly, but still lunacy. You made a rather unilateral decision,:: Alyss said.

::You heard Jet?::

::Heard you; and the situation is bizarre.::

::Bizarre, not crazy? Besides, did you think of any alternative?:: Jesse sighed with another mental disruption.

::Yes, but none with as many positive aspects if we succeed,:: Alyss answered. ::You are anxious. Take your own advice and relax while you can.::

Jesse huffed softly as she felt Alyss leave. Anxious my ass, tired ass more like; besides, the circumstances might cause anyone distress. A reputed mutineer and former pirate doesn’t readily resume a failed Corps career except under extreme duress. Especially since she was not the individual Alliance Under Secretary Corrao thought, but six individuals, who lately seemed too independent. Six individuals who needed to avoid a criminal rehab facility at any cost.

Corrao had applied duress, leaving her little choice. Her others knew it, so why keep harping on it? What documentation existed in the Corps’ file remained the dilemma, too little or too much? And if not her, perhaps on one of her confederates?

A few years ago she had eluded one of the Corps’ most dedicated officers, Captain Lucian Krayne. He warned her someone might untie the knotted strings hiding her transgressions. But if Corrao knew enough to convict, why trust her with this assignment? Then, to top everything off, Wakeman assigned her to this ship. A petty pay back for the grief she had caused him?

“We’re starting docking procedures!” The exclamation of one of her fellow passengers drew her attention.

Jesse looked out the view port. She knew Jet’s attitude. Docking a ship in open space, her pilot other would say, is more complicated than docking in a spaceport, more of an art than a skill. Unfortunately this shuttle’s pilot lacked artistry. Even Jesse felt his myriad compensating moves to align ship and shuttle correctly.

“Maybe he’s on fizz.”

Her sotto voce comment was heard. Heads turned, and grinned in her direction, disappeared when they saw who spoke. Disappointed at the view, she turned away from the port, finding the interior view of the other passengers more interesting. Fresh-faced ensigns in spanking formal white uniforms conspicuously empty of service tokens filled the seats. She felt the corner of her mouth quirk before she could stop it.

They treated her with the deference students used around a cranky professor they depended on for a passing grade. Although the Corps drilled circumspection around a superior officer, she frequently caught their gazes on her. In their early twenties, she knew they were surprised at her own youthful looks, which appeared close to their own age, a side effect of her fizz usage. Their eyes covertly inspected first her face, then her insignia.

Jesse’s uniform was just as spanking, but far surpassed theirs in quality and tailoring. The Service Crops provided computer-tailored fit for its officers, but that did not provide the subtle flare of superior design or the quality of fabric her human tailor used.

Displayed below the Space Service Corps insignia, an unusual Ranger Forces signet decorated her uniform. Few knew it indicated rank transferred from the Rangers. After her long-ago discharge from Space Service Corps, she still needed to work off her education obligation. A forced transferal to the allied service branch, the Ranger Forces, accomplished that. Now she was the only major in the Corps. The thought challenged her imagination.

Four short weeks ago she had walked into a trap, set up by her freelance employer, Alex Carson. A roomful of Service Corps elite, government bureaucrats and the Ranger Commandant himself awaited her. Ranger Commandant Roberre had taken full advantage of the Service Corps’ dilemma, and put up a strong argument against the Corps’ request. Jesse had felt humor despite the situation. She had been well aware of Ranger attitude toward anything Corps. To anyone wearing Ranger black and red it seemed like the Corps eclipsed the other military branch in recruit draw, public respect and admiration, and in government appropriations. The Commandant had settled for concession of rank title, and that she wear Ranger Force insignia above her Service Corps insignia. After all, he had said, her first obligation was to the Rangers, not the Space Service Corps.

The Commandant got his way, and Jesse felt like an over decorated cake. Above her ribbons, above her Corps’ engineering insignia and Ranger pilot’s wings, rested a gold star. It indicated wartime service. That alone put her at least twelve years senior to the ensigns. War service was unknown to most officers serving on her new ship.

The ensigns’ excited babble indicated their excitement at witnessing their first non-simulated space docking, and Jesse wondered if their enthusiasm blinded them to the pilot-s mediocre talents. Overhearing one or two boastful exchanges, and a few crude remarks followed by laughter, answered her. Thinking back, she tried to remember young Lieutenant Chambers’ first reaction upon viewing this spectacle, but couldn’t. She was glad Jet hadn’t viewed the docking.

::Did. Ought’a eject him. A disrespectful pup, too. You harry him?::

::No. I believe our reputation has preceded us.:: She ignored the irritation of Jet sneaking up on her, a new occurrence. But the comment brought her back to her unhappy speculation of her own tour of duty. Her expectations were not as high as the ensigns. Jesse looked out the viewing port.