018 -- Isaac Holliday

"Rahm's sake, are they interviewing Reynolds again?"

Zeke slid into the squeaky leather armchair facing Isaac's desk before continuing. "I mean, he's a decent enough pilot, but I didn't know we were hiring a press officer."

"Someone's got to do it, right?" replied Isaac after a short pause, without removing his eyes from the report he was halfway through reading.

"It looks like they brought a sketch artist, too. Are they really going to put his face in paper?"

"Mmm. Probably. What's that new column?"

" 'Faces of Our Heroes' or something like that. What bullshit. Total propagandist bullshit. You'd think we were at war, with the rate they've been putting pretty-boy faces on posters lately." Zeke leaned forward to see through the office window. "Although you should take a look at the artist. She's cute. Maybe I can convince her to come draw me for the paper instead. How's this for a profile?" Zeke turned sideways, straightening up and splashing an outrageous smile on his face.

"That's lovely, Zeke." replied Isaac without looking up. "How will she ever resist you?"

"Spoil sport. You're not even trying."

"I'm not trying to seduce a young artist?"

"What, you don't think she's cute?"

"What I think is that the more time they spend talking to Lieutenant Reynolds, the less of my time gets wasted. And HE actually enjoys the attention -- sounds like a win-win situation."

"Ha. Since when did you become such a grumpy old man?"

Isaac looked up from the report he had been working on to direct a mock glare at his executive officer. "I'm the grumpy old man? Aren't you two weeks older than me?"

"Bah, two weeks is nothing compared to a certain . . . youthfulness of heart. Isn't that right, Corporal?"

A blank-faced young soldier had just entered Isaac's office carrying a large stack of brown envelopes. Unlike the two older officers, he was actually wearing his uniform jacket and was pressed and polished with impeccable precision from head to toe. "I wouldn't know anything about that, sir." he replied, looking carefully at the floor. "Your dispatches, Major Holliday."

"Thank you, Corporal Attley. Dismissed."

The young corporal turned and left quickly, orders safely deposited on Isaac's desk. Zeke watched him leave. "Break another one, eh, Holliday?"

"Actually, no, as a matter of fact." Isaac spoke slowly as he sorted through the day's dispatches. "I haven't done a thing to him. He's been that way ever since he was transferred. His old CO said that the -- "

"Slate? Wasn't Slate his CO?"

"Yeah . . . he asked to be transferred here after receiving a field commendation. Passed up command school to come do clerical work. He hasn't said a word to me in three months. Ah, here's the intelligence brief, let's see who's stirring up trouble this month." Isaac tore open a fat envelope that was marked SECRET in blue ink.

"More trouble in Thyrene . . . some unrest in the occupied territories . . . strife in the Escobar confederation . . . nothing much new here . . ."

Zeke was sorting through the rest of the mail. "Hey now, what's this?" He pulled out a white envelope, sealed with red wax. Printed on the front was CONFIDENTIAL: MAJ. ISAAC HOLLIDAY.

"Huh. I don't know." Isaac accepted the envelope from Zeke. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the envelope and tore open the waxed paper that encased the packet inside. "This is how they usually send official orders, but I don't know what they'd have for us right now . . . I haven't heard of any projects in the works . . ."

"Maybe they found something? Another piece of crap cavalry mount captured in the peninsula campaign for us to test?"

Isaac started reading, his eyes widening after the first couple sentences.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm . . . I've been transferred!"

"What? Where? Why? I don't believe it!"

"Look for yourself!" Isaac handed the thick official paper to Zeke.

". . . are instructed to proceed to the island of St. Marcos -- that's occupied, right? What's in St. Marcos?"

"Keep reading." Isaac stood and walked over to a small cambric hot plate to pour himself another cup of coffee.

". . . rendezvous with someone named Dr. Lukas and his team . . . Reynolds, Smith, and Albans are going with you . . . there's a company of infantry, too -- their CO is Captain Grassland, looks like you'll be running the show . . . Holliday, I don't get it. Who is this Dr. Lukas? And why does he suddenly need a company of infantry and four cavalry jockeys to protect him?"

"Doctor Lukas is a scientist, Zeke -- a very well-known, well-respected scientist. We could be chasing nearly anything. She's an archeologist, a physicist, an expert in cambric metal --"

"Dr. Lukas is a she?"

Isaac took another sip of coffee. "Yep."

Signs of recognition began to spread slowly across Zeke's face. "Waaaaitttt . . . Aderyn Lukas? Didn't you once . . . years ago . . . ?"

"We've worked together before." Isaac sat back down heavily behind his desk. "You were there, remember? The Shropshire assignment . . . I had just made lieutenant."

Zeke's face broke out into a grin. "Now I do. She's beautiful, isn't she?" Isaac didn't reply. "But . . . difficult to work with . . ."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Difficult."

"I wonder if that's how you got transferred . . . do you think she requested you?"

"I very much doubt that. But keep reading, Zeke, there's more." Isaac turned his attention back to his coffee.

Zeke continued scanning the page. "You're leaving today?!?"

Isaac nodded. "I have a train to catch in --" he glanced at the clock hanging from the wall "-- three hours. Reynolds, Smith and Albans leave tomorrow, along with our equipment and maintenance teams. You've been appointed acting CO in my place, so I guess I'm coming back eventually."

Zeke, flabbergasted, finished reading the page and handed it back to Isaac. "They're even sending someone to your place to grab your clothes."

"The squadron should be fine without me for a couple weeks, Zeke. I know you won't have any trouble keeping the 303rd in line."

"I'll go tell the other three right now. Where are you off to?"

"I have a couple things to do before I catch the train. Take care of yourself, Zeke." Isaac had donned his uniform jacket and was buttoning it down the front. "I'm going to go see Colonel Agincourt."

---

"Did you find something unclear in your orders, Major Holliday?"

It had been a short walk from the 303rd's hangar to Defense Headquarters. A quick nod to the sentry and he had passed unmolested under the stone eagles guarding the gate. Luckily Colonel Agincourt had been in, and after only a few minutes he'd been ushered into a spacious, wood-paneled office.

"No, sir, nothing was unclear."

Colonel Agincourt was a fit, active man in his mid fifties. He was clean-shaven, which was odd for a senior military officer, and was mostly bald with neatly trimmed gray hair at his temples. When working at his desk, he usually wore thin wire-frame glasses; they were folded neatly and sitting next to a small vase at the moment.

"Everything has been provided for? You will have no trouble making the train, I trust?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you here, Major?"

"Sir, it's just that . . . these orders are highly irregular. Normally my team and I have a pretty good idea of what is coming down through the system to us. This assignment is totally out of nowhere."

The Colonel returned his gaze steadily without replying. Isaac continued after a short pause.

"And I don't understand why my unit has been given this assignment. We're test pilots in the 303rd, and my men are some of the best, but if this is a combat situation I don't see how one squad of steam cavalry are going to make much of a difference. If this isn't a combat situation, then I'm sure that there are engineering units that have equipment and training better suited to assisting Dr. Lukas."

"Major Holliday, surely you understand the need for operational security. Your orders contain only the information that command has deemed necessary for the completion of your mission."

Isaac pursed his lips before replying. "Yes, sir, I do. But should the situation change, I am not confident that I have enough information to act appropriately. I'm working in the dark here, Colonel, at least give me something."

The colonel took another long look at Holliday before standing up from his desk. Isaac watched him absentmindedly gaze at the bookshelves lining the office; he knew from long association with Colonel Agincourt that they contained mostly translations of classics, discussions of military theory, and the odd book of poetry. Isaac himself, while able to acknowledge that someone might actually enjoy reading, found the desire to actually spend money on books puzzling.

"Dr. Aderyn Lukas. You've worked with her before?" began the Colonel finally, still facing the bookshelves.

"Yes, briefly. It was several years ago."

"How long were you assigned to her project?"

"A few months."

The Colonel nodded to himself, and then turned back to Isaac. "We believe that Dr. Lukas may be a threat to the security of this nation."

"Lukas? Impossible!"

"Why do you say that, Major?"

"She's . . . well, from working with her . . . she has no reason to--"

"Surely you're aware of her background, Major Holliday?"

"Of course . . . but her family has been here for generations, right?"

"It is the actions of her family that have put her under suspicion -- more than that I cannot say. I assigned you to this mission because I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on her."

"But -- the idea of Lukas as a spy is ludicrous! It's silly, there's --"

"Major Holliday," Colonel Agincourt cut in sharply. "Do you have personal feelings that will interfere with your successful completion of this mission?"

"No, of course not. No, sir."

"Good." He paused again. "Holliday, I need you to keep close to the doctor. Above all else, keep her safe. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"You have a train to catch, Major. Dismissed."

---

"All aboard!"

Isaac caught the footplate of the carriage right as the train began to move. It had been a near thing -- only with a cross-platform sprint had he managed to make the train. Isaac presented his ticket to the exasperated conductor and was pointed back several cars to the coach seating.

He had just squeezed his way past a mother shepherding two small children down the narrow aisle when Isaac heard a familiar voice. It was coming from a nearby compartment with it's door slightly ajar; Isaac stopped to listen. The woman's voice, low yet crystal-clear, was speaking in quick, carefully measured tones.

". . . while in reality, the scientific basis for racial superiority has very little basis in fact. Almost all of the experiments you just cited are significantly flawed in terms of objectivity. They were all conducted by Cimbrian scientists, and in most cases the attributes measured were acquired, not inherent. Thus, even if the experiments had been scientifically valid, the only point they would have proven would have been the superiority of the Cimbrian educational system in producing pupils knowledgeable in the various fields valued by Cimbrian culture as a whole, which is of course a foregone conclusion."

"Why, you . . . are you calling the whole of the Cimbrian scientific community biased?!?"

"All scientific inquiry undertaken by humans has the potential for bias. Perfect rationality is the only defense we have, and humans are not perfect. The Cimbrian scientific community is especially vulnerable to bias, due to the widespread involvement of governmental and military agencies funding this community. When it is in the state's best interest to acquire a certain result, there will always be scientists willing to produce that result for a reasonable price."

A short, angry bearded man stormed out of the compartment. "I will not sit here and be lectured to by some silly housewife -- out of my way!" he added as he pushed past Isaac. Isaac graciously stepped aside before entering the compartment himself.

Sitting alone was a tall woman with long brown hair. She certainly could be called beautiful, but she could also easily be called harsh or severe with her narrow lips and sharp, thin eyebrows. Large blue eyes blazed against her fair skin, and a scientist's notepad lay open on the seat next to her.

"Ironically, even his last assumption is incorrect, a fact that he could have easily have verified if he had taken the time to check my hands for a wedding band. They were both plainly visible through more than half the conversation. What are you doing here, Major Holliday?"

"It's good to see you too, Dr. Lukas. How did you know about my promotion?"

Lukas gave him a puzzled stare. "You're wearing your uniform. Military uniforms exist to inform others of the wearer's status . . . your insignia is clearly that of a Major. There is the remote possibility that you are wearing the incorrect insignia, but given the severity of the penalties--"

"No, you're right. It's Major Holliday now."

"Oh. My congratulations. You haven't answered my question yet." Lukas leaned over to reach her handbag and began rummaging around inside of it for something.

"I received a transfer order just this morning from headquarters . . . they're sending me to Moorehead to catch a ship. I've been assigned to a certain scientist's project on St. Marcos."

"Assigned to --" Lukas looked up from her handbag, right arm still inside of it up to the elbow. "You're my military liaison?!?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" Isaac sat, sinking into the deeply upholstered cushions.

"No, no . . . no problem, I'm just surprised." Lukas' arm emerged, holding a worn and chipped wooden pipe, along with a small leather bag and a pack of matches.

"I'll take it that means you didn't request me personally."

"I saw no reason to. Should I have? Your file doesn't list any special expertise in the area I'm headed to." Dr. Lukas was packing the pipe quickly and delicately with tobacco from the bag.

"No, I was just curious."

"Is the rest of your squad with you? How many pilots have been assigned?"

"They leave tomorrow -- three more pilots and our support staff. Zeke's staying with the 303rd as acting CO, while I've been sent ahead to work with the ship's captain. Transporting steam cavalry can be tricky business."

"We'll need to secure my equipment first; it is extremely delicate and is vital to the success of my project. I will need to make sure it is in the most protected portion of the ship."

"Of course, doctor." He leaned back into the thick upholstery. "So, how have you been, Lukas?"

The tall woman paused with the pipe in her teeth and a match ready to strike against the matchbook. "Why are you engaging me in small talk, Major Holliday?"

"I worked with you for six months, Lukas. You're my friend, I want to know how you've been. This is what friends do, remember?"

Lukas extinguished her match and took a few experimental puffs before replying to Isaac. "You always found it boring when I talked about my work."

"Consider it professional development, then. Establishing a personal relationship is one of the keys to a frictionless work environment."

Lukas smiled. "Your grasp of psychology is . . . suspect at best. And I remember several instances where you actually told me to shut up."

Isaac adopted a comically wounded expression. "What? Me? No, I couldn't have--"

"Does 'Lukas, a bar is really not the place to discuss thermal transfer coefficients!' ring a bell? Or perhaps 'Lukas, I don't care what the acceleration curves look like!' Or--"

"Alright, alright, let's not talk about work. Have you done any traveling lately?"

"Well, I spent a few years doing field work for the academy -- after awarding my PhD, the anthropology department hired for an expedition. We studied several developing cultures on the East side of the Greyspikes. Two years wasn't enough time to finish the project, so I spent my sabbatical continuing my studies of the Daki, a hunter-gather tribe that lives--"

"One thing's for sure -- you still work too hard, Lukas."

Lukas frowned, caught in mid sentence. "That's an opinion, Holliday, not an observation."

"Lukas, look . . . you spend two years in the jungle, working, and you finally get some time off. How do you spend it? Doing more work!"

"I fail to see your point."

"Most people try to relax when they get some time off. Have you ever tried that? Relaxing?"

"I found the study of living beings quite refreshing after a decade of work in geology and archaeology. Anthropology was a welcome change."

"When I think about relaxing, I think about spending a few weeks on the beach, with a little cabin all to myself. Take a quick dip in the morning, sit out in the sun during the day, maybe head down to the bar in the evening . . . most people would find that more relaxing than spending three years in a grass hut eating roots and berries."

"I am not 'most people,' Isaac. I thought you knew that." Lukas blew a perfect blue smoke ring as if to accentuate her point.

"Mmm." Isaac looked out the window for a moment as the train began to gather speed. "So how did you get hired by the military? I thought you just said that one of the biggest threats to impartiality in science was government funding."

"It is. But . . . I made an exception in this case. Their proposal was particularly compelling."

"Why?"

Lukas hesitated. "Subject matter. We're studying cambric."

"And you couldn't resist?"

"It is a complicated project. We could learn an enormous amount, and I'm the only one qualified to lead it . . . if anyone else tried, they would most likely fail."

"But you won't?"

Lukas looked up, surprised at the question. "Of course not. I'm the best."

Isaac laughed again. "You know, Lukas, if anyone else said that, it would sound egotistical."

"Why not me?"

"Because when you say it, it's a statement of fact." Isaac stood. "I should probably be heading to my seat, Doctor Lukas. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow." She had already resumed studying her notes, a haze of blue smoke beginning to fill the compartment. Isaac slipped out, and the door slid shut. He stood for a moment, thinking about the Colonel's warning, before continuing to his seat.