Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kathleen McClure
my investigating officer pointed out, a man whose childhood home was destroyed by the Coalition, a colonel with over twelve years of service — a man who, in fact, uncovered the existence of the spy designated Odile in the first place — is unlikely to commit treason, regardless of what he confessed."
"Maybe that man was a lie," Gideon suggested, oddly diverted by the conversation. "Maybe his life was a fiction. Maybe he didn't uncover anything because he was laying a false trail that would lead anywhere but towards himself?"
"He might have been," she agreed. "In which case I've just made a terrible mistake by arranging this parole. Were you aware," she added, "General Rand has taken command of the Corps Tactical Division in Nike? A sinecure, you might think, since the war's end, but Tac is still the hub from whence all military dispositions are determined."
Non-plussed by the non-sequitur, Gideon took a mental step back. “They don't keep us apprised of Corps Command assignments down here."
“I shouldn’t think. Of course, given your history, I wouldn't recommend looking him up," she continued. "In fact, the reason I'm speaking to you at all is because I wished to confirm your understanding of the conditions of your parole."
"Conditions?" He frowned, going over the lengthy list he'd signed on exiting the warden's chambers.
Do not bear arms.
Do not cross colonial borders without first being cleared by Colonial Security.
Do not attempt to cross into foreign territories... a slew of do nots he eventually mentally compressed into 'be nice and don't rock any boats'.
"Can you be more specific?" he asked.
"I am referring to the condition that, should you be seen so much as within spitting distance of General Jessup Rand, your parole will be immediately and permanently revoked."
His expression shifted, minutely.
In response, her mouth quirked, also minutely.
"If I were you," she said, "I'd avoid any contact at all with General Rand, ah," she nodded as the scrape of metal on stone drew her attention to the main gate, "your transport is ready."
" All aboard ," the guard on the gate called out, and the other parolees began to line up. One by one they stepped up to the guard, each presenting the back of their right hand for ident check. Once the guard matched their ident number to those on his list, they were allowed to pass through to the other side where, theoretically, they became free men and women of Fortune.
In reality, there were still over sixteen thousand kilometers of desert and ocean between them and any tangible freedom but even so, Gideon could see a change as each parolee passed under the gateway arch.
On one side, they were cons, crooks, humanity's dregs and fodder for the crystal fields in which they labored, day in and day out.
Two steps later they stood straighter, their shoulders settled and broadened — as if the Morton Barrens possessed a higher gravity, one that crushed them down to less than their given size and strength and, once Outside, they could again expand and take up their requisite amount of space.
"It's good you kept the coat," he heard Satsuke say. "You'll need it when the Ramushku drops you in Nike," she answered the unasked question in his eyes.
Nike, Gideon thought, where General Rand was stationed. "I can't help but feel I'm getting some mixed messages."
Satsuke's expression was as bland as Morton's rations. "I doubt that."
"66897!" Gideon's number echoed through the yard. "Quinn, Gideon!"
"Here!" Gideon called out, but he was still looking at Satsuke, and now he asked the question he'd been wanting to ask, all along. "Don't suppose you'd care to share the name of your investigating officer?"
"I don't suppose I would," she agreed, then nodded toward the gate. "Better get a move on."
He stared at her another moment, then he got a move on.
"This is your second chance, Mr. Quinn," he heard her call as he strode towards the open gate and the CAS Ramushku, which would take
"Maybe that man was a lie," Gideon suggested, oddly diverted by the conversation. "Maybe his life was a fiction. Maybe he didn't uncover anything because he was laying a false trail that would lead anywhere but towards himself?"
"He might have been," she agreed. "In which case I've just made a terrible mistake by arranging this parole. Were you aware," she added, "General Rand has taken command of the Corps Tactical Division in Nike? A sinecure, you might think, since the war's end, but Tac is still the hub from whence all military dispositions are determined."
Non-plussed by the non-sequitur, Gideon took a mental step back. “They don't keep us apprised of Corps Command assignments down here."
“I shouldn’t think. Of course, given your history, I wouldn't recommend looking him up," she continued. "In fact, the reason I'm speaking to you at all is because I wished to confirm your understanding of the conditions of your parole."
"Conditions?" He frowned, going over the lengthy list he'd signed on exiting the warden's chambers.
Do not bear arms.
Do not cross colonial borders without first being cleared by Colonial Security.
Do not attempt to cross into foreign territories... a slew of do nots he eventually mentally compressed into 'be nice and don't rock any boats'.
"Can you be more specific?" he asked.
"I am referring to the condition that, should you be seen so much as within spitting distance of General Jessup Rand, your parole will be immediately and permanently revoked."
His expression shifted, minutely.
In response, her mouth quirked, also minutely.
"If I were you," she said, "I'd avoid any contact at all with General Rand, ah," she nodded as the scrape of metal on stone drew her attention to the main gate, "your transport is ready."
" All aboard ," the guard on the gate called out, and the other parolees began to line up. One by one they stepped up to the guard, each presenting the back of their right hand for ident check. Once the guard matched their ident number to those on his list, they were allowed to pass through to the other side where, theoretically, they became free men and women of Fortune.
In reality, there were still over sixteen thousand kilometers of desert and ocean between them and any tangible freedom but even so, Gideon could see a change as each parolee passed under the gateway arch.
On one side, they were cons, crooks, humanity's dregs and fodder for the crystal fields in which they labored, day in and day out.
Two steps later they stood straighter, their shoulders settled and broadened — as if the Morton Barrens possessed a higher gravity, one that crushed them down to less than their given size and strength and, once Outside, they could again expand and take up their requisite amount of space.
"It's good you kept the coat," he heard Satsuke say. "You'll need it when the Ramushku drops you in Nike," she answered the unasked question in his eyes.
Nike, Gideon thought, where General Rand was stationed. "I can't help but feel I'm getting some mixed messages."
Satsuke's expression was as bland as Morton's rations. "I doubt that."
"66897!" Gideon's number echoed through the yard. "Quinn, Gideon!"
"Here!" Gideon called out, but he was still looking at Satsuke, and now he asked the question he'd been wanting to ask, all along. "Don't suppose you'd care to share the name of your investigating officer?"
"I don't suppose I would," she agreed, then nodded toward the gate. "Better get a move on."
He stared at her another moment, then he got a move on.
"This is your second chance, Mr. Quinn," he heard her call as he strode towards the open gate and the CAS Ramushku, which would take
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