Free Heart of Steel: Book II of the Jonathan Pavel Series by J.S. Hawn Page A

pop one of his Oxitanie tablets. What did he have to be upset about really? He had been given what he wanted, a ship. Sure it would be far from the front lines in an on coming war, but that meant it would be safe. Jonathan didn’t fear combat. In fact, as a religious man he didn’t fear death, but if he led his ship into fire young men and woman like that Marine would be killed or crippled for life, and Jonathan would get a medal pinned to his chest to remind him. No this wasn’t so bad because he’d be back in space at least.
    “Excuse me Lieutenant Captain Pavel?” Jonathan looked up to see a young warrant officer standing in front of him.
    “Sir, I looked for you in Operations, but I was told I could find you in Admiral Hopper’s office and a Provost told me you were here. I’ve been tasked to deliver you your orders,” the warrant officer said with a salute.
    Jonathan took the gaudy package, which was heavily embossed with antique wax seals.
    “Thank you Warrant, my orders are received.”
    The Warrant saluted and turned without another word, probably pissed that he’d been called out to deliver orders. Well the wheels of bureaucracy ground to a halt for no man.
    Jonathan took the envelope and meandered toward the Milestone and the Government Center metro station beneath. It was a thirty minute commute home to his small room above the Blue Moon and then to bed. He had his orders, and he knew what he was to do. Disappointment still rankled him, but it was slowly being smothered by a happy resignation. Walking down the marble steps, Jonathan paused in front of the statue of Ishan Whitaker. Perhaps Jonathan thought, looking at that stern marble visage, he’d won after all. He had accomplished the goal he had set out to achieve. He was going back to space. Old Ishan was said to have often remarked ‘if you can’t get what you want, take what you can get.’ Jonathan paused for a moment then resumed his stride. No need to go home, Bethany said she had the room at the Grand Horton for the rest of the week so...  Jonathan's quirked lip became a smile at the thought, and by the time his train reached First Street and he was walking back to the hotel, that smile had become a grin. Many of the passers by, no doubt having heard the news of LP-115, wondered what he had to be happy about.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter IV
     
    Singking, Solaria Prime, Solarian Republic
    Premier’s Residence, The Situation Room
    September 21st 8:00am 844 AE
     
    So long as there had been modern nation states, there had been rooms like this, Admiral Douglas Whitaker 1st Admiral of the Solarian Navy,  reflected as he pretended to pursue the notes he’d already memorized. The situation room often referred to as ‘The Bunker’ was located one hundred feet underneath the east wing of the Premier's residence. It was meant to be a secure place to house the leader of the Solarian state in an emergency, and a nerve center in a time of crisis. The room itself wasn't very big, but able to fit a conference table which sat twenty, a full size five foot by ten foot video wall, as well as several smaller monitors, and half a dozen communication consoles manned by technicians, who had been so thoroughly vetted Douglas didn’t doubt their was a detailed file on their shoe preferences. ‘The Bunker’ was currently  a who’s who of the Solarian Military, Security Services, and Civilian leadership. In addition to Douglas, there was his boss Admiral of the Fleet Ho, who represented the Navy. There was the Army Contingent led by Marshal of the Armies, Bernard Chung and his deputy General Lorilie Khan, Army Chief of Staff. Chung cut an impressive figure. He was a Landed of the oldest and bluest blood one could find on Solaria. He stood nearly six foot five, was rail thin, and at sixty-seven he was balding with black hair and crystal blue eyes.  No one was quite sure why he insisted on wearing a ridiculous walrus mustache, or constantly having a