Free Postal Marine 1: Bellicose by Ben Wilson Page B

tailoring the uniform. Litovio decided that meant he could not have a custom-made uniform. Instead he had this rack-bought uniform appropriately sized for his slender, wiry frame.
    He patiently walked down the stairs to the reception room. Nobody told him he had guests, or where the guests were. But any Sabanoi host knew the protocol. Whomever disturbed his serenity with that infernal shuttle was waiting in the reception room. Just off the entry foyer and sequestered by double doors, the room gave the host ample time to set the right mood.
It must be a messenger of some sort. Have to act with the appropriate military crispness. No refreshments for the messenger?
    As he approached the door, he looked at the butler. “Should we pour him a drink?”
    “Her, Sir.”
    “
Her?
” He paused. “That's highly irregular. Do we even have women in the Postal Marines?”
    The butler shook his head.
    “Not a Marine then, but a Marine ship. Certainly irregular.” He paced briefly, then wheeled back to the butler. “Well she must have a refreshment of some sort. If she's here on business she's not a native—let's make her some ziemann. Salted.”
    The butler bowed slightly and motioned with an open-upturned hand toward the door. Litovio sighed and walked toward the door.
    It opened, timed to his entry. Sabanoi protocol allowed for a somewhat grand entry.
    Litovio walked in to see an elegantly dressed young woman, although a little plumper than he would have thought. “Good morning, Miss.”
    “ Khaooldro Gojoneddus.”
    Litovio halted. The hard guttural start of her name and the rattle of vowels was hard to hear.
There's no way I can pronounce that.
He resumed, undaunted. “You certainly have a way of the dramatic entry.”
    She blushed. “I suppose it was. Sorry about that. I was sent by the regional Postmaster. You are Captain Ambrose Litovio, right?”
    “Lieutenant, but yes.”
    “Right. You've been promoted.”
    Marsileno Litovio burst in at that moment. He wore his morning greeting robe, embroidered with gold and platinum thread. “What is the meaning of this.”
    “Father, this is—a Postal messenger.”
    “What do you want with us?”
    Khaooldro seemed unimpressed. “Captain Litovio is immediately recalled to active duty. You have one cycle to join me on the shuttle, or be considered a deserter.”
    “Why?”
    “Sorry, Sir. The orders are confidential.”
    Litovio knew Marsileno hated secrets in his household. Before he had a chance to intervene, his father spoke up. “Girl, you had better explain all of this. Immediately.”
    Rather than speak, Khaooldro touched her headset at the temple. Her hand then dropped back comfortably to her side.
    Marsileno said, “Miss, you have one beat to explain. This is Sabanoi. You're not from around here so I'll indulge your naïvete.”
    A bit of a smirk emerged from Khaooldro 's otherwise calm face. The entry door opened without announcement. A stick of Marine Infantry calmly walked through the door, weapons casually slung over their shoulders. A pair of them stationed themselves at the entry. The other three walked into the reception room, failing any attempt they might have tried to look casual. Full body armor stripped away any casual or peaceful pretenses.
    “Captain, time is of the essence. You are on duty.”
    Litovio turned and hurried up the stairs. He was followed closely by a Marine.
Bodyguard?
He looked back at the reception room to see that the other two Marines were “guarding” his father, rather than protecting Khaooldro . By the time he returned to his room his servant had nearly finished packing his bag. He stood for another two beats as the servant finished. The bag zipped shut, the servant looked at Litovio plaintively.
    He shrugged. “I suspect it is better that I pack light.” He looked at the Marine. The visor concealed the face beyond enough that the Marine was essentially anonymous. Regardless, Litovio spoke to him. “Any hint what I'm about to