Free Battleground by Terry A. Adams Page A

about Metra from official and unofficial sources.
First major command. Strict disciplinarian.
No combat experience. Old Heartworld family, not top-tier but connected by marriage to Edward Vickery’s.
He hadn’t liked the appointment but had no power to veto it.
    Hanna walked into Metra’s private office in Command and stopped dead at the sight of her.
    The captain was huge. She was the tallest woman Hanna had ever seen, her frame was heavy, and Hanna thought everything under that green uniform might be muscle. Metra was standing and Hanna did not think the reason was politeness. She widened her perception: yes. Metra meant to have exactly this impact. She was used to intimidating people—with rank, with ultimate power aboard ship, with sheer size. Her skin was very dark; it was like standing in front of a granite mountain.
    Corcoran moved up on Hanna’s right. Cochran stood behind Metra. All three of them looked first at her right hand, and only then at her face.
    Telling her what they thought she was.
    Hanna wore a ring. The setting was simple, the stone at first glance unremarkable except for being the same deep blue as her eyes. Appearances lied. The gem was a scarce commodity from Zeig-Daru. It was incredibly rare, wildly valuable, and possibly, in some sense, alive. At infrequent and unpredictable intervals it pulsed with blue light generated, apparently, from within, but by no discernible mechanism. Not even the People of Zeig-Daru knew how that light was made. The jewels were too precious for one to be taken apart to find out. Jameson had given the ring to her; his reasons seemed as confused and ambiguous as her reasons for accepting it. They knew it acknowledged a bond, but could not describe the bond and could not find the words to discuss it. Others had been less economical with comments about the costly gift. It was evident that Metra had heard some of them.
    The ring chose this moment to emit a flash of extraordinary light, as if flaunting itself. It was there and gone so quickly that Hanna might have imagined it. But Metra blinked.
    No courtesies were exchanged. Metra said, “It has come to my attention that you have not responded to Officer Cochran’s directive to assign members of your team to regular watches.”
    â€œI apologize for not responding,” Hanna said slowly—but she thought fast. Arguments that favored flexibility would not find an audience here.
Draw the line now,
she thought (and almost heard Jameson saying it). “We are not Interworld Fleet personnel. We are civilians and the Contact team is an independent unit.”
    Metra said, “There are detailed protocols addressing the respective roles of crew and civilian scientists under transport on Fleet vessels. If you haven’t bothered to develop rotas, you probably haven’t read the protocols either.”
    â€œNo,” Hanna said. “I am relying on personal assurances from members of the Coordinating Commission.” She wasn’t—yet; but she would talk to Jameson and he would get them before the day was out.
    Metra said, “Your department reports to Commissioner Vickery. I think you’ll find that in this regard he is a strict constructionist. You won’t find him as—flexible—as his predecessor.” Her eyes slid to Hanna’s hand and away again. Her expression did not change, but what Hanna felt in her was contempt:
Sex buys you nothing here.
    It was not the time to mention Vickery’s well-founded fear that Jameson would get that Commission seat back again, and how close the change might be.
    Hanna said pleasantly, “I believe you’ll find the Commission as a whole will support Director Jameson in this. But I’ll read the protocols at my earliest opportunity.”
    â€œRead them now,” Metra suggested.
    â€œI’ll read them now,” Hanna lied.
    She was not escorted back to the auditorium, she was quite alone in the