his computer, but Thomas’s file hadn’t arrived yet. He cursed beneath his breath. Wasn’t technology supposed to speed things up? Half the damn day was gone and her personnel record had yet to be transmitted from J Nine headquarters to his office. Hell, it would be faster to walk over to HQ and find it himself.
Alex drew in a slow breath and then released it. Earth gadgets didn’t always function inside the Old City. For weeks, everything would go along fine, then, without warning, something would stop working. The techs never found any reason for the breakdowns. They’d still be scratching their heads when whatever had gone down resumed operating. Maybe there’d been a glitch somewhere and that’s why he didn’t have his info. Their communication systems always seemed to be questionable.
Of course, it was just as likely someone at HQ was sitting with his thumb up his ass. Jarved Nine might be light years away from Earth, but much to Alex’s displeasure, the Western Alliance bureaucracy had survived the trip intact.
It was this same bullheaded bureaucracy that had led to the erection of prefab buildings inside the Old City. There were plenty of alien structures capable of housing the troops and providing office space, but McNamara had refused to consider it. The army had sent the prefab materials and they were using them, period. Alex frowned. The gray metal buildings were a blight on the beauty of the city. He looked around his office. Despite its awfulness, he hadn’t bothered to pretty up the room. He had his desk, a few chairs and a computer. That was all he needed.
Leaning back in his seat, Alex closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of quiet. Until he had that file, there was nothing he could do that wasn’t already being done. His best personnel were investigating Hunter’s death and he had MPs out looking for Captains Montgomery and Thomas.
Two hours of sleep on the cot in the small room behind his office hadn’t been enough, especially after being grilled for half the night by Colonel McNamara. Alex rotated his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension. This was the first moment he’d had to simply be still since word of the murder had reached him yesterday evening, and he needed the respite badly. It didn’t last long.
At the sound of a commotion in his outer office, Alex scowled and opened his eyes. A lone voice was raised—his aide’s—and that meant only one thing. Spec Ops had arrived.
His aide became louder, more frantic, and with a sigh, Alex pushed to his feet. Time to rescue his desk jockey.
“Atten-shun!” the aide called, relief written all over his face.
“Colonel—”
“Not one word, Chief,” Alex said quietly. Montgomery’s team stood straighter. Good. They knew he was angry. “Sergeant Foster,” he addressed his aide, “take your seat. I’ll deal with these men.”
“Yes, sir.” The noncom headed back behind his desk as if it were a fortress that would protect him.
Alex circled the commandos, silently inspecting them until he felt their level of discomfort skyrocket. “I let my officers run their commands the way they see fit,” he said at last. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Clearly, your captain doesn’t enforce any standard.” He moved closer, crowded the warrant officer. “Chief Cantore, your team is a disgrace.”
“No, sir.”
“No? Each one of you needs a shave. Only two have haircuts that meet regulations, and that’s a near thing.” Alex moved to the next soldier in line. He knew all his subordinates, not only his direct reports. “Most teams call their medic Doc . Maybe you acquired the handle Gravedigger because your appearance doesn’t inspire confidence in your skills.” He glared coldly at Digger and the man became more rigid. “Sergeant, you’re wearing a ponytail. I want that hair cut and that’s an order.” He didn’t wait for a response. “This team is going to pass my inspection, and I promise you, I run a
Alex drew in a slow breath and then released it. Earth gadgets didn’t always function inside the Old City. For weeks, everything would go along fine, then, without warning, something would stop working. The techs never found any reason for the breakdowns. They’d still be scratching their heads when whatever had gone down resumed operating. Maybe there’d been a glitch somewhere and that’s why he didn’t have his info. Their communication systems always seemed to be questionable.
Of course, it was just as likely someone at HQ was sitting with his thumb up his ass. Jarved Nine might be light years away from Earth, but much to Alex’s displeasure, the Western Alliance bureaucracy had survived the trip intact.
It was this same bullheaded bureaucracy that had led to the erection of prefab buildings inside the Old City. There were plenty of alien structures capable of housing the troops and providing office space, but McNamara had refused to consider it. The army had sent the prefab materials and they were using them, period. Alex frowned. The gray metal buildings were a blight on the beauty of the city. He looked around his office. Despite its awfulness, he hadn’t bothered to pretty up the room. He had his desk, a few chairs and a computer. That was all he needed.
Leaning back in his seat, Alex closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of quiet. Until he had that file, there was nothing he could do that wasn’t already being done. His best personnel were investigating Hunter’s death and he had MPs out looking for Captains Montgomery and Thomas.
Two hours of sleep on the cot in the small room behind his office hadn’t been enough, especially after being grilled for half the night by Colonel McNamara. Alex rotated his shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension. This was the first moment he’d had to simply be still since word of the murder had reached him yesterday evening, and he needed the respite badly. It didn’t last long.
At the sound of a commotion in his outer office, Alex scowled and opened his eyes. A lone voice was raised—his aide’s—and that meant only one thing. Spec Ops had arrived.
His aide became louder, more frantic, and with a sigh, Alex pushed to his feet. Time to rescue his desk jockey.
“Atten-shun!” the aide called, relief written all over his face.
“Colonel—”
“Not one word, Chief,” Alex said quietly. Montgomery’s team stood straighter. Good. They knew he was angry. “Sergeant Foster,” he addressed his aide, “take your seat. I’ll deal with these men.”
“Yes, sir.” The noncom headed back behind his desk as if it were a fortress that would protect him.
Alex circled the commandos, silently inspecting them until he felt their level of discomfort skyrocket. “I let my officers run their commands the way they see fit,” he said at last. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Clearly, your captain doesn’t enforce any standard.” He moved closer, crowded the warrant officer. “Chief Cantore, your team is a disgrace.”
“No, sir.”
“No? Each one of you needs a shave. Only two have haircuts that meet regulations, and that’s a near thing.” Alex moved to the next soldier in line. He knew all his subordinates, not only his direct reports. “Most teams call their medic Doc . Maybe you acquired the handle Gravedigger because your appearance doesn’t inspire confidence in your skills.” He glared coldly at Digger and the man became more rigid. “Sergeant, you’re wearing a ponytail. I want that hair cut and that’s an order.” He didn’t wait for a response. “This team is going to pass my inspection, and I promise you, I run a
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