Soldier of Fortune
Chapter 3

By 2100 hours, Gideon had packed, completed his farewells, and staked out a spot in the prison’s gate yard where three other parolees also waited.

The suns had long since set, taking the life-draining heat with them and leaving in its place a soul-sapping cold.

Above the chill desert, the sky glimmered with optimistic stars, and a glow over the eastern wall presaged the imminent appearance of Ma’at, the first of Fortune’s three moons to rise that night.

The other soon-to-be-ex-cons stood scattered about the holding area, overtly or covertly adjusting clothing not worn since the day of their arrival in the Barrens—

clothing which now hung loosely on bodies pared down by labor in the crystal veins, giving the impression of a company of scarecrows awaiting field assignments.

Of the other scarecrows present, Gideon was only friendly with a grifter by the name of Horatio Alva. The two had met when Gideon stepped between the grifter and an inmate named Pavel Escamilla when the latter thought the former was “looking at him funny.”

Horatio caught Gideon’s roving gaze and gave him a nod and a quirk of a smile. Gideon returned the nod but couldn’t quite muster the smile.

He didn’t know what it said that he felt more reassured by Horatio’s impending freedom than his own.

“Is this all your kit?”

He glanced to his left, unsurprised to see General Satsuke at his side, apparently engrossed in the small pack on the ground.

“Didn’t have much coming in.”

Her eyes shifted from the pack at his feet to where Elvis crouched on Gideon’s scarred pauldron, his tail twined around the twin suns of the Colonial Infantry tooled into the leather. “I don’t imagine you had him coming in.”

“I found Elvis a couple years ago,” Gideon said, giving the draco a habitual tickle under the chin. “Elvis . . .” he gestured toward Satsuke, “say hello to the general.”

Elvis tilted his head up and bobbed it down long enough to make it seem a genuine bow before raising it up again with a low trilling sound.

Satsuke’s brow rose slightly, then she nodded back to the draco before returning her attention to the draco’s human. “You kept the coat,” she observed.

“It’s a good coat.” Gideon shrugged, but gently because of Elvis. And since they were pretty much alone, he decided to ask, “Is it you I have to thank for my parole?”

“Not me,” she said. “But it was my division that started the ball rolling.”

“And since when does Special Operations give a comb about Infantry colonels convicted of treason?”

“Normally we wouldn’t,” she agreed. “Especially when said colonel confessed.” She shot him a pointed look. “But one of my officers was chasing a ghost . . .”

“Ghost?” he prompted, when she hesitated.

“Odile,” she clarified.

Cold fingers ran up Gideon’s spine at the name, but he said nothing.

“Exactly.” Satsuke sounded almost pleased as she responded to his silence. “A fool’s errand, and one I refused to authorize.”

At which point Gideon couldn’t even pretend to hide his confusion. “Then why are you here?”

“I refused to authorize an investigation into Odile at the time of your conviction,” Satsuke clarified. “But as the months passed, it became clear there was still a hostile presence within the Corps—mission objectives leaked, research facilities sabotaged, mobile units attacked with enough precision to tell us the enemy knew where they could be found. A steady stream of intelligence was being broadcast to the enemy up to the moment the Peace Accords were signed last Quaitember.”

“I can’t take credit for any of that,” Gideon said, indicating the surrounding walls. “Obviously.”

“And I can see why your records include a disciplinary packet the size of a mammoth’s leg.”

“Misunderstandings, most of them.” He shrugged again, this time causing Elvis to hiss. “Sorry,” he said to the draco.

“Do you think we can at least attempt to stay on problem?” Satsuke asked.

“To be honest, I’m not sure what the problem is,” Gideon countered. “The war is over. The good guys won despite whatever ghosts you people think you have, so . . . why are you here? Why are we even having this conversation?”

“Perhaps I am here because, despite serving a brutal sentence for treason against the United Colonies, you still consider us the good guys,” Satsuke told him and while Gideon’s breath caught continued. “And not a little because, as my investigating officer pointed out, a man whose childhood home was destroyed by the Coalition, a man with over twelve years of service—a man who uncovered the existence of Odile in the first place—is unlikely to be guilty of treason, no matter what he confessed six years ago.”

“Maybe that man was a lie,” Gideon suggested, his voice oddly hollow.

“He might have been. In which case I’ve just made a terrible mistake by arranging this parole. Were you aware,” she added, “that General Rand has a been given a position in the Corps Tactical Division in Nike?”

Gideon wondered how she didn’t get whiplash from the sudden change in topic. “They don’t keep us apprised of Corps Command assignments down here,” he managed.

“No,” Satsuke murmured before turning to the scrape of metal on stone, “but unfortunately for you, Corps Command knows everything about your release, which means Rand will likely hear of it.” A chime sounded, and Satsuke looked toward the main gate. “It seems your transport is ready.”

“All aboard!” the guard on the gate called out, and the other three parolees wasted no time lining up.

Gideon watched as the first stepped up to the guard to present the back of her right hand, on which her ident number had been tattooed.

Once the guard matched her ident number to the one on his list, she was allowed to pass through to the other side where, by law, she once again became a free citizen of the Colonies.

A free citizen with a permanent prison tattoo but, whatever.

“It’s good you kept the coat,” Satsuke said. He turned to see her watching him as she added, “This time of year can be quite cold in Nike.”

And Nike, Gideon recalled, was where General Rand was stationed.

“66897!” Gideon’s number echoed through the gate yard. “Quinn, you’re up!”

“Here!” Gideon called out, but he was still looking at Satsuke. “Don’t suppose you’d care to tell me the name of your investigating officer? The one who pushed for my release?”

“I don’t suppose I would,” she agreed, then nodded toward the gate. “Better get a move on.”

Gideon held her gaze for another beat, then he got a move on.

Once he cleared the gate, he bypassed the military cutter that Satsuke must have used to climb the gangplank of the Ramushku, the prison’s supply freighter.

But as he reached the top of the Ramushku’s hatch, he shot one last look at the huddled shadows of the prison to see General Satsuke standing in front of the gate, watching him.

He couldn’t make out her features, but he could see her fist rising to thump her heart in the Corps salute, which he returned, more out of instinct than intent.

But it was in that moment, as his tattooed fist struck his heart, that Gideon understood the truth; Satsuke might have released him from the Barrens, but until he uncovered the truth about Nasa, he would never be free.