Epilogue

It is thanks to you, gentlemen, that we are here at all. If I ever have the honor to command another expedition, I shall ask for at least a battalion of the Foreign Legion.

—General Charles Duchesne, commander, Madagascar expedition,
French Foreign Legion, 1895

Colin Fraser leaned on the rampart and looked out at the Navy lighter grounded outside the Sandcastle, his feelings a mixture of relief, pride … and not a little sadness. With the arrival of Commandant Miloradovich and his battalion, Demi-Battalion Elaine would be leaving Polypheme. But they would be leaving behind many comrades and many memories. That was a part of being a legionnaire.

The Commandant had escorted a new contingent of Seafarms executives, who were already busy trying to put the Cyclops Project back together. The carrier ship that had brought the legionnaires to the Polypheme system had also carried a contingent of government people, who would soon be putting together everything necessary to turn Polypheme into a full-fledged Commonwealth protectorate.

They’d have little trouble getting the natives to cooperate. The Elders in Ourgh had been more than just eager to resume their close ties with the Terrans in the wake of the battle at the enemy headquarters, and several of Choor!’s erstwhile confederates had approached Fraser asking for assistance in recovering now that the fighting was over. Choor!, they said, had been responsible for the conflict. Without him, and without the warriors lost in those desperate attacks, the individual tribes were almost helpless.

Down on the mud flats, he saw a guard detail escorting a gaggle of Toel prisoners aboard the ship. Sergeant Michael Johnson was in command. Getting him that extra stripe for the way he’d held together the garrison after DuValier was wounded had been one of the small rewards that almost made the other side of the coin, the butcher’s bill, tolerable. The Toels would be returned to their own people, but not before the Autarchy heard just how dim a view the Commonwealth took of interference in the affairs of worlds within the Terran sphere of influence. The Toeljuk Autarchy wasn’t prepared for a full-scale war. Fraser was sure those Toels would be labeled “outlaws” by an embarrassed Autarch, regardless of what the real facts of the plot might have been.

“Captain?” The familiar voice sounded a little less cool and controlled than it usually did. Lieutenant Antoine DuValier had recovered from his physical wounds. Whether he had healed the scars in his mind was another question.

Fraser turned and examined him. The uniform was spotless as ever, and it was hard to tell the stiffness of his wounds from his usual straight-backed stance. “What is it, Mr. DuValier?”

“I … thought you might not have heard. Senator Warwick’s cut his tour short and headed back to Terra.”

He nodded. “The Commandant told me.” Miloradovich had also told him, in strictest confidence, the reason for Warwick’s abrupt cancellation of his witch-hunt on the Frontiers. Evidently Reynier Industries had been applying quite a bit of pressure on the commission to recognize a certain Captain Colin Fraser for his heroism in defending Commonwealth interests on Polypheme. Warwick wouldn’t be a party to a medal for the captain, but he was in no position to block it. One of the other members of the Commission would be left to deal with an embarrassing situation.

The medal didn’t matter that much, but it was good to know that Warwick wouldn’t be hovering over his shoulder, at least for a while. He only hoped that Reynier Industries wouldn’t lose sight of the other heroes of Polypheme. Like David Hawley.

DuValier seemed unwilling to go on, but finally spoke again. “Sir … Captain … I was wondering if you’d heard anything about … what happens now?”

“Alpha Company’s being dissolved,” he told him. “Most of them will wind up as Bravos. The Commandant says we’re being posted back to Devereaux for a few months. After that …” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

They’d be taking some other recruits with them as well, including the nomad scout, Oomour, and Katrina Voskovich, who had resigned from Seafarms to look for adventure in the Legion.

DuValier looked away. “I … was hoping.…” He trailed off. “You’ve done so much just by dropping the mutiny charges.…”

“You earned that,” Fraser said harshly. “Several times over.”

“I was hoping you’d reconsider keeping me on as Exec,” DuValier blurted out. “I was wrong about you. And I’d be honored to keep on serving with you.”

Fraser shook his head firmly. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. That’s out of the question. I need to know that my Executive Officer is someone I can rely on, no matter what. Someone who knows my mind better than I know it myself. Even though you’ve … changed a lot, I still could never give you the kind of loyalty you deserve. That’s a two-way street that can’t be put right by a few kind words and a little soul-searching.”

DuValier looked unhappy. “I’m … sorry, sir. I hope you can find someone else who’ll meet your standards.”

“I already have, Lieutenant. The Commandant has already let me know that my recommendation for promoting Toru Watanabe’s been approved. He’ll be my new Exec.”

“He’s a good man,” DuValier said, turning away.

Fraser followed the French lieutenant with his eyes. So are you, my friend, he thought. With a fresh start in a new outfit, without this hatred gnawing away at his guts, Antoine DuValier would find his feet again. He had the makings of a first-rate Legion officer. Someone Fraser would be proud to serve with again someday.

Someone even David Hawley would approve of.