It felt oddly like entering hostile territory when Rob Geary walked off the shuttle, through the short boarding tube, and onto the closet-sized quarterdeck of the Saber, the flagship and only remaining ship in the Space Defense Forces of Glenlyon Star System.
Or perhaps not so odd, Rob thought as he watched a startled ensign snap to attention.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we weren’t notified of your visit,” the ensign stammered.
“My visit?” Rob wasn’t happy to be here. Leaving Ninja this morning had been tough, even though she’d tried to hide her worries. The brand-new commander insignia he wore on a brand-new uniform felt uncomfortable. And the lack of notice to the quarterdeck that he was coming went beyond disrespect into a whole new problem area. “I want Commander Welk here. He has two minutes.”
“Sir, the acting commanding officer is—”
“He now has one minute, fifty-five seconds.”
Welk came out the hatch with ten seconds to spare, glaring at Rob. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Rob held up his comm unit, his orders displayed on it. “I hereby officially take command of this warship in the name of the government of Glenlyon. You were notified that I was on my way. Why wasn’t the quarterdeck informed?” he asked Welk as the ensign tried to fade into the nearest bulkhead so he wouldn’t be between Rob and Commander Welk.
Welk glowered at Rob. “We’re in the process of renegotiating our contracts—”
“Wrong. You’re in the process of trying to get out of your contracts. They remain fully in effect, and you are in violation of your obligations.” Rob pointed back the way he’d come. “You’re relieved of all duties and detached from this ship. The shuttle is still there. Get on it. Your personal effects will be packed up and sent down to the planet.”
“I will not—!” Welk stopped speaking as Mele Darcy stepped onto the quarterdeck from the shuttle. Wearing a tough, black skin suit designed for use under battle armor, she didn’t need to be physically large to instantly dominate the small compartment.
“Do you need me?” she asked Rob, eyeing Welk.
“Commander Welk needs an escort onto the shuttle,” Rob said, glad that he had asked Mele to be along just in case things got difficult. “Commander Welk, I assume you’ve met Captain Darcy, the senior officer for Glenlyon’s new Marine force.”
Mele smiled at Welk, but it wasn’t the sort of smile that anyone would want aimed at them. “Mind your step, Commander,” she said, gesturing toward the shuttle.
Welk turned a furious gaze on Rob. “Good luck operating this ship without a crew!” Turning, he stalked off the ship and down the loading tube to the shuttle.
Composing his voice and his expression, Rob looked at the ensign, who gazed back, terrified. “You’ re . . . ?”
“Ensign Justin Torres, sir!”
“Thank you, Ensign Torres.” Rob wondered briefly if he was any relation to the Corbin Torres who had offered as little support as possible to him three years before but decided that was unlikely. From his accent, Ensign Torres had come here directly from Earth. “Announce my arrival and call all officers to an immediate meeting in the wardroom.”
“Yes, sir!” Torres tapped the ship’s general announcing system panel, then rapped a small pad quickly two times, producing the “bong bong” sound of a bell ringing twice, then repeated it for two more bongs. “Saber, arriving,” he announced. “All officers, your immediate presence is requested in the wardroom.”
“Thank you. Can you monitor the wardroom from here, seeing and hearing what’s going on?”
“Yes, sir. But I’m not supposed to do things like that which distract from my duties on the quarterdeck.”
“You’re authorized to do it this time. I want you to hear what I say to the other officers. Oh, and seal the outer hatch here to make sure Commander Welk does not come back on this ship before that shuttle departs.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rob went through the internal hatch leading aft into a narrow passageway that led to the wardroom, Mele following. As they entered the officers’ wardroom, Mele stayed by the door while Rob went to stand at the front, fighting down nerves.
The small compartment with a rectangular dining table dominating it was large enough to hold all the officers with little room to spare. Rob waited as they came, casting wary eyes at him and especially wary looks at Mele Darcy. Five lieutenants, five ensigns, one warrant officer. They formed two lines facing him, lieutenants in front and ensigns and the warrant in the back.
“Good morning,” Rob said. “I’m Commander Geary, your new commanding officer.” He noticed most of the officers reacting with surprise, surreptitiously looking around for Commander Welk as if just realizing his absence. “Commander Welk has been relieved and has left the ship.”
The surprise changed to shock. Rob watched the junior officers, knowing his next words would set the tone for his relationship with them. “I need to make a few things clear. The first, and most important to me, is that I had the honor and privilege of serving with a former Earth Fleet officer on the Squall three years ago. Before she died helping to lead a boarding operation of an enemy ship, Ensign Martell told me that any Earth Fleet officers I met would be the best at whatever they did. I consider it an honor and a privilege to serve with all of you.”
Rob paused to let that sink in, knowing his next statement wouldn’t be as well received. “You may or may not know that Commander Welk was attempting to break his contract with the government of Glenlyon, saying he was acting on behalf of the entire crew. Your contracts remain in effect. You are obligated to serve Glenlyon to the best of your ability and to follow lawful orders. Some of you, I know, have begun putting down roots here, becoming part of Glenlyon. You’ll be defending the place you think of as home. Others of you have clung to your former identities in Earth Fleet. You may not think of Glenlyon as home, but some of those you stand with do. Your shipmates. They’re counting on you. If you hesitate to give your all for the people on the world we’re orbiting, give your all for your shipmates.”
Another pause. “Over there by the hatch is Captain Mele Darcy, who will be in charge of Glenlyon’s new Marine force. She’s equivalent in rank to you lieutenants, but she works directly for me.”
Rob ran his gaze over the officers before him, who looked back with a mixture of wariness and concern, as well as at least a little defiance aimed at him as an outsider among them. “And here’s the last thing. I am the commanding officer of this ship, as well as the senior officer in Glenlyon’s Space Defense Forces. I don’t want any doubt regarding that. You’ll be expected to follow orders. From this moment on, we’re going to be focused on defending our home and avenging those who died on Claymore. The last time Scatha messed with Glenlyon, we kicked their butts out of this star system. We’re going to do that again. We’re going to make them pay for what they did to Claymore.”
That seemed to go over well.
“I know some of you from working with you on shipyard issues in the past,” Rob said. “I’m going to get on the general announcing system to tell the rest of the crew what I just told you, then I’m going to have meetings with each of you officers individually. Are there any questions?”
One lieutenant raised a hand. “Sir, has Earth been contacted about what’s going on out here?”
Rob shook his head. “We can’t contact them now, not until we figure out a way to get a message through the blockade of the star systems around us. We have to hope one of our friends like Kosatka hears and gets the word to the Old Colonies and Old Earth. If you’re thinking that Earth will help us, though, you know better than I do that Earth has decided to get out of the business of rescuing worlds in distress. Any help is going to come from the new colonies out here.”
He didn’t say that such hope was not a given.
“Dismissed,” Rob said, feeling relieved that things had gone much better than he had feared. The officers were still stunned, though, and hadn’t had time to think about how to react to his assuming command. He’d have to stay on them, impress on them that he was in charge, before they had a chance to consider challenging his authority.
But for now, he was the boss. Rob nodded to Mele to let her know she could take off. She returned a quick salute and headed back to the shuttle for her own trip into a lion’s den.
* * *
The flight down to the planet in the shuttle felt oddly routine to Mele Darcy, except for the outraged presence of Commander Welk in a seat at the front of the passenger compartment. Once the shuttle had set down, Welk bolted out. Her last sight of him showed Welk getting a ride toward the government buildings, where he doubtless planned to protest his sudden removal. Mele had a feeling that Welk would probably find that everyone he wanted to talk to was either in a meeting or out of the office for as long as he hung around.
For her part, Mele hopped on a bus toward the ground forces base that had grown up in the fields west of the city. She hadn’t been back to the area for three years and couldn’t help noticing the size of the new headquarters building.
Since the world of Glenlyon hadn’t had a Marine force until this morning, Mele Darcy didn’t have a Marine uniform. Figuring that showing up at Colonel Menziwa’s office in a ground forces uniform would be a mistake, Mele wore the black skin suit.
It proved suspiciously easy to get in to see the colonel. Having spent years as an enlisted Marine on Franklin, Mele wasn’t foolish enough to think her easy passage through layers of headquarters gatekeepers was for her convenience. Colonel Menziwa must want to see her. That very likely wasn’t so the ground forces commander could congratulate her and offer her a drink.
She stood at attention before Menziwa’s desk while the colonel leaned back in her chair and glowered at her. Menziwa had her black hair pulled back into a severely tight bun in which not a single hair dared to be out of place, her uniform showing the same strict and unforgiving approach to perfection. She studied Mele with a clear intention of finding some flaw in appearance to pounce on, but Mele had been careful not to leave any such openings for a dressing-down.
“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Menziwa finally demanded.
Mele kept her voice professionally neutral. “This is an authorized working uniform, Colonel.”
“Authorized by whom?”
Having been chewed on by sergeants as a private, Mele had the answer ready. “Glenlyon Defense Forces Uniform Regulations, Colonel. Section Two, paragraph five, subparagraph alpha.”
That only fazed Menziwa for a moment. “And why do you think it is appropriate to report to me wearing a working uniform?”
“Marine service uniforms are in the process of being—”
“I didn’t ask for excuses!”
Having confirmed that her expectations regarding Menziwa were true, and realizing that any further attempt to apologize or explain would result in more tongue-lashing, Mele stood silently, knowing that would force Menziwa to take the initiative in the conversation.
After waiting unsuccessfully for close to a minute for Mele to offer her another opening, Menziwa started in. “Let me make two things clear, Darcy. The first is that I consider the creation of a Marine force to be a mistake. I’ve advised against it from the beginning. Any fighting that needs to be done can be handled by my ground forces. There won’t be any Marine uniforms. You will show up for duty tomorrow in a regulation ground forces service uniform.”
Colonel Menziwa leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Darcy as if she were a target to be destroyed. “The second thing is that the only two words I ever want to hear from you are yes and colonel. Is that understood? Now, you will write up your proposal for standing up and training a small force for the purpose of being dedicated to fleet support. You will send that proposal up the chain of command to me, where it will be evaluated, and returned to you for further work as many times as necessary. Are there any questions?”
Mele managed to keep a straight face as she replied. “Yes, Colonel.”
Menziwa had already been turning toward another task, but recentered her attention on Mele, her eyes narrowed with annoyance. “What is it?”
“Is the colonel under the impression that I am part of her forces and under her command?”
“You’re skating close to insubordination, Darcy.”
“I merely wish to ensure that the colonel understands that my chain of command runs through Commander Geary,” Mele said. “I’m not part of the ground forces. The Marines, including me, are space fleet assets. Any requests from you regarding my tasking must be sent to Commander Geary, who will also approve the design for the Marine working and dress uniforms.”
Menziwa gave Mele a cold stare, then moved her fingers rapidly over her desk display, looking up documents, her expression growing unhappier with each search. Eventually, she returned her gaze to Mele. “That is your current status,” the colonel said. “I’ll be working to correct that. I want it clearly understood that Commander Geary’s rank is lower than mine. You, and he, would be well advised to keep that in mind.”
“With all due respect,” Mele said, knowing that phrase would itself further annoy Menziwa. Everyone who had ever served knew that “with all due respect” was an outwardly respectful way for a junior to say “you’re being an idiot” to a superior. “Commander Geary’s status as Commodore in command of all of Glenlyon’s space fleet assets is coequal with the colonel’s.” While Menziwa was trying to come up with a response, Mele pressed her advantage. “I was told the ground forces have already been tasked to provide volunteers for the Marines. When I requested the list of volunteers I was informed that I’d have to ask you personally.”
The colonel glared at her, reaching to tap a command on her display. “The list of volunteers has been sent to Commander Geary. Now get out.”
“Yes, Colonel.” Mele brought her arm up in a rigorously regulation salute, holding it until Menziwa was forced to rise and return it.
Her walk out of the ground forces headquarters building felt like a withdrawal through hostile territory. Looking about her, Mele was surprised to see how large and elaborate the headquarters were given that Glenlyon only had a single regiment of ground troops. The headquarters alone seemed to employ almost a regiment’s worth of men and women.
Menziwa and most of her soldiers had come from the Old Colony of Amaterasu, not Earth. Mele remembered bloated headquarters staffs on Franklin and wondered if that problem had spread like a plague virus from Old Earth to the Old Colonies and now was starting to infect the new colonies.
Glenlyon’s main spaceport had expanded in the last three years, but there still wasn’t anything like a military base there, just a small section of the main terminal building given over to supporting military personnel passing through. With an hour before the next shuttle lifted, Mele checked in at the automated support desk and took a seat in the waiting room, which was large enough to make her feel small but too small to handle large numbers of personnel. She was the only one using the room. The chairs were cheap, the sort of stackable metal and plastic contraptions that had been used for centuries where seating was needed but no one wanted to spend any unnecessary sums on making the seating comfortable. The walls were bare of anything except a single posted notice, neatly framed, warning that consumption of food and beverages in the room was Strictly Prohibited. Set directly beneath it, the room’s trash receptacle held several used carry-out food containers and empty drink bulbs.
In its own way, that waiting room summed up many of Glenlyon’s defense problems. Not enough resources and money given to the task, not enough people, spending just enough to get by, and settling for strong words without the means or will to back them up.
As she waited, a ground forces corporal came dashing in. “Excuse me, ma’am. You’re Captain Darcy?”
“That’s right,” Mele said. “What’s the problem?” Still wound up from the encounter with Menziwa, she took a moment to look over the corporal and size him up. Medium height, stocky, he had a reassuring stolidity about him.
“I’m one of your volunteers, Captain. Derek Moon.”
“Are you?” Mele evaluated him again, wondering what was wrong with him. She fully expected Menziwa to try to off-load every problem child in her unit as “volunteers” for the Marines. “When are you being transferred?”
Moon held up his comm pad. “Transfer orders were completed this afternoon so I tried to catch up with you. I’m yours, Captain.”
“How long until you’re ready to move up to the orbital station?”
“I’m ready now, Captain. My gear is already packed and tagged for pickup.”
There had to be something wrong with him. “You seem to be really enthusiastic about volunteering,” Mele said.
Corporal Moon grinned. “You’ll have to forgive me, Captain. I never thought I’d have a chance to be a Marine again.”
“Again?” Mele asked, her hopes rising. “What’s your history, Corporal? How long have you been with Menziwa’s unit?”
“About two years,” Moon said. “They were at about half strength when they got hired from Amaterasu after the unit was downsized there.”
“You’re from Amaterasu?”
“No, Captain. I was only there a couple of months. Before that, Earth. Earth Fleet. Third Marines.”
Mele felt her eyebrows go up as she looked at him. “Earth Fleet Marines? Service record,” she ordered, holding her comm pad up.
Moon tapped his pad and Mele saw his service record appear on hers. As she quickly scanned the information, her eyes fixed on two words. “Gunnery Sergeant?”
“For about six hours,” Corporal Moon said. “The promotion authorization came through in the morning, and that afternoon the latest downsizing orders canceling the promotions and identifying personnel and units considered surplus came in. I went from Gunnery Sergeant to surplus before the day was out.”
“You’re a gunny?” Mele wanted to pinch herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“I . . . yes, Captain. If you need one.”
“I don’t think there’s ever been any officer in the history of Marines who didn’t need a good Gunnery Sergeant. Why’d Colonel Menziwa let you go?”
Moon shrugged. “Two reasons, I guess. One is that my company commander is more than decent. I told him I wanted to volunteer so he made it happen. The other is that a background as a Marine doesn’t always impress ground forces.”
“Tell me about it.” Mele checked her comm pad, seeing that Rob Geary had already forwarded to her Menziwa’s list of volunteers. One problem was immediately obvious. There were only sixteen names, not the promised twenty. One was indeed Corporal Moon. She wondered about the other fifteen. “Look at these names for me.”
Moon read, a frown forming. “You’ve got . . . seven . . . no, eight dirtballs here.”
“That’s all?”
A knowing smile replaced Moon’s frown. “The captain was thinking the colonel would unload every dirtball she had on you? This isn’t all of them, but those eight are the worst.”
“Are any of them salvageable?”
“No, ma’am. Not in my opinion. Of the remaining eight, one is me, and the other seven are decent. Not top grade, but you should be able to make Marines out of them.”
“If you’re a gunny,” Mele said, “you’re going to be the one making Marines out of them.”
“I’m a corporal,” Moon pointed out.
“You were. I need a gunny, and it looks like you’ll do. Congratulations. Try to hang on to it for more than six hours this time.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Moon said, grinning like a kid who had just discovered that Santa was real.
“Here’s your first job, Gunny,” Mele said. “I need names. Good ground forces soldiers as replacements for the bad eight and four more capable, warm bodies to make up the twenty.”
Moon nodded, his expression gone serious and professional. “I can get you those names. I talked to people yesterday when the word went around. I know easily a dozen good performers who said they were going to volunteer and aren’t on this list. I’m guessing they were left off because Colonel Menziwa didn’t want to part with them. I can call each of them and find out for sure.”
“You do that, Gunny.”
“But I have to warn you that Colonel Menziwa is not going to want to let any of them go.”
“You let me worry about that,” Mele said. “Just get me those names.”
* * *
The captain’s cabin on a destroyer was relatively spacious compared to those of the other officers, but that didn’t mean there was much room to spare. Fortunately, Rob Geary didn’t have much in the way of uniforms and other personal items to move into it. The most important thing, a holo of Ninja and Little Ninja, took up only a small corner of the pull-down desk.
“How bad is it?” she’d asked during a brief call.
“It’s . . . different,” Rob said. “On Squall, I had a bunch of people who were trying to learn their jobs as they did them but because of that were willing to try anything. On Saber, I’ve got a crew of extremely experienced people who are afraid to try anything.”
Ninja shook her head. “You’d better tell your system security people to try something. Their firewalls have a few holes in them, and someone’s been poking around trying to find their way in.”
“Someone besides you, you mean.”
“Yeah. I’ll send you a file with some fixes that you can pass on to your extremely experienced people.”
“Ninja—”
She’d smiled. “I know. Be careful. Talk to you later.”
Rob had sent the firewall fixes on to Warrant Officer Kamaka, who like anyone else working IT at Glenlyon knew Ninja’s reputation and didn’t need to be told to take her fixes seriously. He needed to interview more officers, and he needed to talk to the senior enlisted leadership aboard Saber. He needed to do about a hundred more things. And Mele Darcy had just dropped another need-to-do on him.
Since that last was the need-to-do he wanted to do least, Rob figured he ought to get it over with.
With Saber in near orbit, there wasn’t any noticeable delay in communications. His call went through swiftly, but then had to be shunted through several layers of headquarters staff before Rob was finally connected to the ground forces commander.
He nodded toward the image of Colonel Menziwa. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”
“What do you need?” Menziwa asked brusquely.
All right, then. “You were tasked by the government to provide twenty volunteers for a new Marine force. Only sixteen were provided.”
“Only sixteen volunteered.”
Three years of handling customers of the shipyard had taught Rob a little more about dealing with the difficult ones. He didn’t reply to Menziwa’s assertion, continuing his own statement. “I’m told that eight of the supposed volunteers are unsuitable and did not, in fact, put their own names forward. Fortunately, I have the names of twelve ground forces soldiers who did volunteer but through some oversight didn’t get added to the list. That would bring the total up to the twenty required. You can see the list of names as an attachment to this call.”
Menziwa’s eyes shifted to one side, reading the names, then regarded Geary closely for a moment before replying. “Where did you get these names?”
“I know people. Can I assume you’ll release those twelve to Captain Darcy?”
“The government asked for volunteers. That’s not a blank check for you to cherry-pick men and women from my unit.”
Rob shook his head, keeping his voice and expression calm but unyielding. “The government ordered the volunteers to be provided. And I’m informed that all twelve names on that list are indeed willing to volunteer.”
“Are you accusing me of not following orders?”
That was an old trick, one to which Geary knew the right response. “Why would I do that, Colonel?”
Menziwa glared back at him, displaying no sign of giving in. “I don’t like people accusing me and my officers of not correctly obeying orders, and I like even less people who try to raid my forces for their own needs.”
There had been a time when someone like Colonel Menziwa would have caused Rob to second-guess himself. But he had seen some serious combat, had seen people die, and no longer saw any reason to give in to attempts to intimidate him. Especially since in this case he knew the government would support him. Menziwa must know that as well despite her attempt to bluff him into backing down. This might be how she always did business, or it might be a test to see if Rob would yield when pushed. “I don’t like having to make this an issue, Colonel. We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. I can play as hard as I have to. Which way do you want it?”
Menziwa held her stare awhile longer before easing back. “Geary, I’ve looked into what actually happened three years ago, into what was left out of the official accounts. I know what you did, and you have my respect for that. But I’m commander of the ground forces for this star system.”
“And you never liked having to provide soldiers to the space forces,” Rob pointed out. “This is a win for you.”
“Ground forces responsibilities should not be divided among multiple forces.”
“Marine missions have not traditionally duplicated those of ground forces.”
Menziwa tried another tack. “I’ve met people like Darcy before. She’s a loose cannon. Loose cannons kill people.”
“If you know what really happened three years ago, then you know what Mele Darcy accomplished.”
“I know that you’re friends with her. And that until yesterday the highest rank you’d ever held was lieutenant. If you think—”
“I was commanding officer of the Squall,” Rob broke in, letting his tone grow noticeably colder. “I won my battles when it counted, Colonel. So did Mele Darcy.”
Menziwa eyed Geary again before shrugging. “In the interest of establishing a working relationship, I will release those twelve individuals to you. Is that all?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
After the call ended, Rob squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember when he’d taken aspirin last. Maybe he should up that to a migraine dose.
He tapped his comm. “I’ll see you now, Lieutenant Shen.”
In Rob’s admittedly limited experience, chief engineers on warships tended to fall into two types. Some resembled victims of trauma, like highly strung veterans of a battlefield littered with land mines who expected each step to bring another ordeal. They gulped coffee and yelled a lot, always struggling against the punishment that fate had assigned them. Others were almost the opposite, having adopted a Zen-like philosophy that the universe tended toward chaos, that the wheel of calamity would spin to bring new trials every day, but getting too upset would just feed the flames. They drank coffee slowly, smiling with the serenity of those who know that even the worst of things will someday pass.
Vicki Shen appeared to be mostly the second type, resigned to her fate.
Rob waved her to the other seat the captain’s cabin boasted. “You’ve been chief engineer on Saber for four years.”
“Yes, sir,” Shen replied, “though Saber was the Kamehameha for the first year before Earth Fleet sold her to Glenlyon.”
“Chief Engineer for four years,” Rob repeated. “Did you commit some horrible crime in a past life that you’re trying to make up for?”
His attempt at a joke apparently fell flat as Shen replied in an equally flat voice. “Commander Teosig didn’t believe in rotating officers through jobs, sir. He wanted someone who knew the job to stay there.”
Rob rubbed his chin as he studied her. “Just about every rank and position on this ship has been frozen because there isn’t any other place for anyone to go. The ensigns have been ensigns for at least four years.”
“We knew what we were getting into, Captain,” Shen said, her attitude still guarded.
“It’s going to be changing. I’m going to be direct with you, Lieutenant. The evaluations on file for you and every other officer on this ship tell me almost nothing. They say you’re all very top-one-percent performers who deserve early promotion. The write-ups on those evaluations have obviously gone through customization apps to reuse the same words in slightly different ways. But I know you. I worked with you during periods this ship was docked at the shipyard. I noticed that while you paid close attention to checklists and operating rules for equipment and safety and maintenance, when it came to administrative and operational issues you were more concerned with getting the right outcome than you were with following the former Earth Fleet checklists.”
Shen nodded as if she’d heard similar statements many times in the past, and not for the purpose of praise. “I am aware of my shortcomings in that regard, sir, and am attempting to place proper emphasis on all established guidelines and requirements in all areas.”
Rob blinked at her, momentarily surprised by her apparently rote response until he remembered Earth Fleet’s culture. “That wasn’t a criticism, Lieutenant. I’m actually impressed by your ability to distinguish between those checklists that need to be followed and those checklists that are more of a hindrance to reaching a desired outcome.”
“Sir, I . . .” Shen frowned in confusion. “Sir?”
“You impressed me,” Rob repeated. “Both in your professional skills and your ability to get things done. How would you like to be executive officer for Saber? I need a good second-in-command. I think that’s you.”
Whatever Shen had been expecting from this meeting, it wasn’t that. She stared at Rob, openly baffled. “Sir?”
“A promotion. To lieutenant commander. And assignment as XO of this ship,” Rob said. “Can you handle it?”
That question produced an immediate and definite answer. “I can handle anything the universe throws at me, sir,” Shen replied. She took a deep breath. “And I can handle being executive officer, Captain. Thank you for this . . . opportunity, and for your confidence in me.”
“Good. Who should take your place as Chief Engineer?”
“I never thought I’d have to worry about that. Uh, Ensign Delgado, the Main Propulsion Assistant. He’s got a feel for things, runs his division well, and he knows everything about the engineering systems on this ship.”
“Have Ensign Delgado come up here so I can give him the bad news,” Rob said. “You can tell him he’s a lieutenant effectively immediately.”
“Good news, bad news?” Shen said, finally smiling. “How quickly do you want me to turn over engineering to him?”
“As fast as you’re comfortable with. I need a good exec backing me up, and I need her yesterday. I also need a recommendation for who to replace Delgado with when he moves up.”
“Will do, Captain.” Shen stood up to go, but paused. “Sir? Commander Welk wasn’t . . . highly regarded. But he was one of us.”
“I understand,” Rob said. “But who is us? Is the crew of this ship going to gradually become part of this star system, or are you going to remain tied to Old Earth in your loyalties and your mind-sets?”
Shen pondered the question. “You’ve got it right that a lot of us have been thinking more and more of Glenlyon as home. But it’s hard, Captain. Giving up what we were. We stayed with this ship because we wanted to remain what we were.”
“You may be giving up something,” Rob said, “but you’ll be gaining a lot. You’ll be building a real, long-term space force for this star system. We don’t have much of a past, yet. But that gives us the freedom to focus on the future.”
She nodded. “How much of a future have we got, sir? I come from a long line of people who kept fighting, no matter the odds, but this looks bad.”
“It is,” Rob said. “I won’t lie to anyone about that. But it also looked bad three years ago.”
He didn’t add that he regarded his victory three years ago as something of a miracle and that depending on more miracles was a really bad way to plan. But at the moment it was all he had.
Rob waited until Shen had left before bringing up the star display, a three-dimensional projection in which names glowed next to stars and spiderweb-like lines leapt from star to star to show the jump points each star had and where those jump points led.
Either Commander Welk or Commander Teosig had tagged star systems claimed or controlled by Apulu, Scatha, and Turan. The resulting lopsided sphere of red-tinted stars didn’t inspire confidence that Glenlyon, buried inside, would be able to hold out. Couldn’t other star systems, farther off and still safe, see what was happening?
Glenlyon wasn’t alone in its peril. The sphere of aggression was pushing up against Kosatka and had already apparently engulfed Catalan. He knew how badly Kosatka and Glenlyon were being pushed. What about Catalan? Did that star system have some breathing room while Glenlyon and Kosatka fought for their freedom?
And would Catalan’s people have the foresight to do something before they, too, were forced into action?
* * *
“I heard from a friend back on Earth,” Commander Dana Fuentes said as she sat down in the office of Catalan’s Defense Minister. “The message was months old, of course, but it said Earth Fleet was preparing to dispose of their decommissioned light cruisers. You could get one for about what you paid for the Bolivar. Maybe less.”
“And then we’d have to worry about paying to operate it,” Minister Ross Chen replied. He had noticed that Fuentes didn’t always take long-term expenses into account, which had created some short-term problems as the ministers balanced the many costs of settling a new world and creating the industry and farming it required for local needs. “Everything from fuel and food to pay for the crew, which is larger than that on the Bolivar, right?”
“You could get by with about the same size crew,” Fuentes suggested. “But, a little larger, yes.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Ross said, smiling politely.
Dana cocked her head at Ross. “Look, I know a lot of people in Catalan think the Bolivar is a waste of money that could be better spent on other things. And they’re right that the money could be spent elsewhere. But you’ve seen the reports we’re getting. My crew doesn’t have happy feelings about things out here. I don’t think I’m being alarmist. I just want to be sure you know that if the Bolivar faces an equal fight, we’ll win. But if we’re outnumbered two or three to one, I can’t make any promises.”
“No one has threatened Catalan,” Ross said.
“Not directly,” Dana agreed. “Did you see my report about those solicitations my crew has been receiving from Scatha? Scatha is trying to recruit my own crew out from under me. That’s not exactly a sign of good intentions.”
“No,” Ross said. “But we should have plenty of warning if any other star system is planning to attack us.” He didn’t bother adding that the idea seemed ridiculous.
Dana Fuentes took on a questioning look. “How’s the warning going to get here? We only know what reaches us.”
“But . . .” Ross paused, thinking, and not liking where his thoughts were going. “We have a couple of trade delegations due to leave soon. I’ll make sure they’re told to also find out everything they can about what’s going on in other star systems right now.”
“That’s a good idea.” Commander Fuentes stood up, giving a casual salute. “Don’t forget about the light cruiser idea, though. By the time you know you need one, it might be too late to get one.”
“If it comes down to spending money on another ship of war or spending it for expanding agricultural resources on the planet,” Ross said, “I’m going to need a lot stronger argument than maybe we’ll need it someday.”
Dana Fuentes nodded to acknowledge his words without either agreeing or disagreeing and left.
Ross Chen sighed and leaned back, gesturing so his display switched to show a low orbital view of the planet relayed from one of the satellites orbiting it.
Catalan. A world close enough to Old Earth’s gravity and air and temperature to be welcoming to humans. Like all the other Earth-like worlds found so far, it had native life in a wide assortment of forms of animal and plant but nothing approaching the level of intelligence and self-awareness that marked humanity. It seemed insanely prideful to believe that humanity was unique in the galaxy, but no companions (or rivals) had yet been found.
There were those who argued that Others were indeed out there, though intelligence might be a far rarer occurrence than once thought. Others who were hiding their presence and deliberately avoiding humanity. In his darker thoughts, Ross had been able to understand why those Others might not want to reveal themselves to the trouble-prone and trouble-causing species of humanity.
Ross took a moment to relax, watching the slow movement of clouds above the planet, some of those clouds blocking the view from orbit of the city and building where he now sat. He could see portions of the two other cities, linked by a loose chain of farms, ranches, and heavy industrial areas. It was just a beginning, but anyone looking over it could see a wealth of promises for the future.
Anyone. He didn’t want to believe that Dana Fuentes was right, that Catalan might in the future face threats serious enough that a single warship couldn’t handle them. But Ross Chen knew his history. The promise of wealth here could attract not only those seeking a new start but also the predators who had always plagued humanity.
Ross wondered how hard, or even whether, he should push Fuentes’s suggestion to acquire another warship. Events a few years ago in other star systems had worried Catalan sufficiently that the government had scraped together enough extra funds to purchase a surplus warship from the rapidly dwindling Earth Fleet. Since the leaders of the new government had been unable to agree on another name, the destroyer had remained the Simon Bolivar. And so far, the Bolivar had kept trouble outside the bounds of Catalan’s star system.
So far.
What was happening in other star systems at this moment? Ships could jump from star to star much faster than light, but it still took time to reach the jump points and to transit through jump space. News from even the closest star systems took weeks to reach Catalan.
Maybe he should—
An urgent tone sounded, warning of a high priority call. Ross tapped the receive command, seeing the image of the port director appear in place of the peaceful globe of Catalan.
“Have you heard?” the port director demanded.
That sort of opening usually meant bad news. “No. What is it?”
“Rates for shipping to and from Catalan are doubling. Effective immediately.”
Ross stared at the port director. “Doubling?”
“Yes! And passenger fares will be going up at least as much. Supposedly because of increased costs, but that’s nonsense. I warned the government about this! With the transit fees imposed by some star systems and the continuing problems with ships being waylaid, it’s become more and more expensive to run shipping to new colonies like us. A lot of lines have stopped coming out this far. We’re dependent now on two shipping lines, one that is owned by a state-corporation on Apulu and the other a supposedly private company from Hesta that was taken over by Scatha after they took control. I’ve told everyone what was likely to happen, and now it has!”
“Doubling,” Ross repeated. “And we have no choice but to pay such a rate?”
“Not unless we can convince other companies to start coming out this way again or make it safe to operate our own lines.”
“What about Vestral Shipping? They were still running ships here.”
“They were, until that ‘accident’ happened to the Morning Star. Vestral got the message. They’re cutting their losses.”
“Can’t we buy our own ships?” Ross asked.
The port director spread his hands in the age-old gesture of helplessness. “We could. But right now if we tried running freighters and passenger ships, they’d be either snapped up by piracy or charged huge transit fees to get through star systems controlled by people like Apulu. We’d lose ships and money faster than we could make up the losses. That’s not a guess. It’s a firm prediction.”
“I’ll call an emergency meeting of the ministers.” Ross paused. Shipping costs like that would amount to a massive tax on everything, and everyone, coming into and leaving Catalan. And what would prevent those costs from being doubled again in a little while? It seemed all too likely that acquiring a light cruiser had suddenly become the less expensive option. “Commander Fuentes should be on her way to the port for a lift back to the Bolivar. Ask her to return here. I want the full council of ministers to hear her proposal.”
He couldn’t help wondering, though, whether it would stop with one light cruiser or if more warships would be required. Could Catalan afford that?
Why hadn’t he heard of similar problems in other star systems?
Ross stared at his door as he remembered what Dana Fuentes had said. “We only know what reaches us.”
And right now everything coming to Catalan had to come through ships controlled by two companies that in turn were controlled by Scatha and Apulu.
How bad was it out there?
Maybe whatever needed to be done would require someone with a different set of skills than the typical diplomatic or trade representative. Ross Chen tapped the link to his assistant. “Where’s Freya Morgan?”
“She’s handling the investigation of that incident on the orbital station.”
“I need to talk to her. A much higher priority mission just came up.”
Freya Morgan called in fewer than ten minutes, the background revealing she was in the high security office on the orbital facility. If she was concerned about the summons, nothing about her revealed that. But then, Freya Morgan never revealed anything she didn’t want to let others see. “I assume a call in immediately meant you wanted a secure line.”
“I do,” Ross agreed. He explained the situation, trying to be as concise as possible without leaving out important details.
“You want me to find out what’s going on?”
“And arrange help for Catalan if it’s needed,” Ross said.
“That’s a pretty damned big and,” Freya said.
“We’re already in trouble,” Ross said, “but we don’t know how bad it is. You know people on Eire. They’ll listen to you, and you’ll know if you can trust what they tell you.”
“This needs to be done yesterday?” she asked. “My only way out of this star system right now is a freighter due to leave in a few hours. They’ve only got room left for one passenger and . . . I just reserved that spot. But, if you’re right, that freighter is controlled by people who don’t want Catalan to know what’s going on elsewhere.”
Ross gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Freya, Catalan spent good money to hire you away from Eire because you’ve got some hidden talents and because you don’t look dangerous. You can get past any obstacles if anyone can.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated. But I still don’t like going solo on this. There are times when backup can literally be a matter of life or death.”
“I know,” Ross said. “Catalan may be facing just such a time. I just had an epiphany hit me with a rock whose costs doubled overnight. See what kind of backup you can find for us. At the least, you’re going to be empowered to acquire another warship. I’ll get that authorization through on an emergency basis within the next hour and get it to you. Long term, we need to figure out how to make it safe for ships to go to and from Catalan at a cost we’re able to live with.”
“What about Kosatka?” Freya Morgan asked. “The freighter I’m hopping a ride on is stopping there on the way to Eire.”
“Catalan’s official position has been that we don’t want any part of Kosatka’s problems,” Ross said. “But it looks like those problems may also be our problems whether we like it or not. See what you can find out.”
“Does that mean Catalan might consider offering some of the aid that Kosatka’s been asking for? I’m trying to find out the boundaries of my mission. How far am I supposed to go in terms of seeking assistance, knowing that whoever offers aid is going to want something in return?”
“I don’t have an answer to that,” Ross said. “Technically, you’ll be labeled a trade negotiator. But the trades you’ll be negotiating will be about protecting the people in this star system. If you see what you think is a good deal for Catalan, you’ll have authority to explore that deal. But I can’t guarantee that the government of Catalan will approve the deal. And ensure that anything that you do doesn’t reflect badly on Catalan . . . or at least can’t be traced back to the government.”
Freya gave a short and sharp burst of laughter. “I think I need to renegotiate my salary and job expectations. Just how much risk do you think is involved here?”
“I don’t have an answer for that, either.” Ross Chen gestured helplessly. “But if I thought it was safe, I wouldn’t be asking you to do it.”
“I won’t be able to trust anyone else on that freighter,” she told him. “That will complicate things if I run into trouble.”
“You said they’re stopping at Kosatka. Maybe there’ll be someone at Kosatka.”
“Maybe,” Freya Morgan said. “I know someone there I can ask, anyway.”