As he made his way aft through the ship, Jack kept clear of the damage control teams and their cleanup. It looked as if nearly every piece of emergency equipment had been pulled for use. As he passed through each frame Jack had to weave around crew members stuffing halon hoses back into racks, replacing emergency breathing kits, securing fire extinguishers and carrying unused breach panels back to storage.
At least the hangar was in good shape. As he entered the wide space Jack realized that he’d really begun to think of this part of the ship as his own domain—not one which he owned so much as one for which he was responsible. There were four fully kitted Hawks and their crews who put their lives in his hands, and a team of twenty maintenance crew who took direction from him without question. As Spinner-Two was shunted into its parking bay and technicians climbed over the damaged Spinner-One, he thought of all the sensors and weapons his department commanded, all the resources of war entrusted to his hands.
Yet he was just Jack Mallory, barely six months in rank and not even two years out of flight school.
“Hey, Wings!” He heard a familiar voice behind him. “You can take your suit off any time.” Looking over his shoulder was fairly pointless with his big helmet blocking the peripheral, so Jack turned fully around. Thomas Kane was regarding him with a wry smile, out of his armored suit and coveralls matted with sweat.
“I’ve been busy,” Jack said simply.
Thomas moved forward and reached for his right glove.
“Let me help you get out of this. Your team will want to air it out.”
With Thomas’s help he struggled out of his suit, by which time his maintenance chief had floated over and was ready to take possession of it. The chief gave him a sad smile.
“We’re all glad you made it back, sir.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “Singh wasn’t your fault. Just bullshit bad luck, sir.”
His flight crews trusted him with their lives, none more so than those who flew with him.
“Thanks,” he whispered. The chief retreated, spacesuit bundled in his arms.
“First time losing someone?” Thomas asked.
“No,” he said, “but first time losing someone to bullshit bad luck.”
“Yeah, those hurt for a long time.”
Jack glanced over at his companion. Once upon a time Thomas had been his XO, and briefly before that his captain. He was the rare kind of line officer who led with grace and courage, and now he’d been dumped in the garbage by the Astral Force and banished to lowly security detail.
“War sucks, Thomas.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you still keep a bottle of scotch in Club Sub?”
“Not after the kids found it. You think Hayley’s rude now, you should see when she’s loaded. Chen just giggles, and Alex likes to dance.”
Jack smiled at the image. “So it’s all gone?”
“Yup.” Thomas motioned for him to follow. “But I think I might have some in the strike storage locker.”
Strike storage was across the flats from damage control. Jack quickly followed Thomas in through the reinforced door. The space was crowded with racks of weapons and gear, not least of which were the ten armored spacesuits floating in their netting like massive dark corpses. There was a single trooper in the process of counting items on a shelf.
“Hey, Collins,” Thomas said. “How much more do you have to check?”
“I’m about halfway, sir.”
“It can wait. Go get some chow and finish up after. I’ll guard it for you.”
A surprised smile lit up the trooper’s features. He locked down the open shelves, stowed his tablet, and slipped past, slamming the door shut as he went.
Thomas floated behind a desk stuffed into the forward end of the space and unlocked one of the drawers. He pulled out a bottle of dark amber liquid and a pair of bulbs, filling them skillfully despite the handicap of zero-g. Jack accepted one of the bulbs and hefted it ceremoniously.
“To Master Crewman Daisy Singh.”
“A good woman,” Thomas toasted in return, “taken too early.”
Jack sipped at the plastic straw, coughing as the liquid burned his throat.
“It takes practice,” Thomas laughed. “Sip easy.”
Jack took a deep breath, only to cough again as the fire in his throat crawled up his nose. Through the hacking he compared himself to his composed, serene companion, and his coughs gave way to laughter.
“Honestly, Thomas, this is the story of my life. I don’t know how to do anything well, because everything’s always new. I’m such a kid…” He flicked at his lieutenant’s rank insignia in disdain. “…but they seem to think I’m this boy genius who can handle anything.”
“Most officers in the Fleet—and the Corps for that matter— wish for their entire career to have your problem.”
“You didn’t,” Jack said. When they’d first met, Thomas had been a rising star.
“No.” He took a sip of his scotch. “And look where I am now.”
“With all respect, that’s hardly an inspirational speech.”
Thomas stared up at him, his face a hard mixture of amusement and thought.
“Is that what you want right now? Inspiration?”
“You’ve been in command, Thomas. You’ve led troops and ships into battle. I’m just a junior department head, and I’m struggling. I’d appreciate something.”
Thomas sipped again, paused, then nodded.
“You’re not struggling because you’re incompetent in your job, Jack. You’re struggling because you care.”
“What?”
“The chief was right. Singh died because of bullshit bad luck. It had nothing to do with your skill or your decisions at that moment. You didn’t do anything wrong, but Singh was a nice lady who didn’t deserve to die, and it’s eating at you because you care.”
“Who says I didn’t do anything wrong? Were you there?”
“A single slug happened to hit a weak spot in your hull, and who knows where those develop, with the kind of pounding your birds take. Unfortunately there was a living person in its flight path. How many hits have your Hawks taken over time, Jack? Hundreds? And every other hit has been absorbed by the hull or impacted against non-living matter.”
“Yeah, but we were in pretty close…”
“Your Hawk is designed for close combat—it has those armor plates the Fleet slapped on six months ago. You were doing your job, which was to go into harm’s way.”
“I was actually bailing at the time.”
“Because”—Thomas gestured at him to emphasize his words—“you knew it was a bad idea to proceed, and there was no value in risking yourself, your crew, or your bird. You did the right thing, but bullshit bad luck finally struck.”
Jack nodded, dropping his gaze and taking another sip. It didn’t burn so much this time.
“It’s just… I got a whole department of people who are relying on me, now, and I’m one of the youngest in that entire hangar.”
“I haven’t heard a single complaint.”
“Like they’d tell you. Everyone on board is scared shitless of you.”
“It’s useful.”
“Do you ever doubt yourself?”
“Sometimes, but never in the moment. That’d be the quickest way to get people killed. You?”
“Never in the cockpit. On the ship, hell, all the time. But never when I’m flying.”
“Good.” Thomas sucked more scotch into his bulb. “You’re a great pilot and a smart kid. All this leadership stuff will come to you in time.”
“So I’ll grow out of my incompetence, then?”
Thomas laughed. “You care, Jack, and that’s the most important part of leadership. It means you’ll watch out for your people and you’ll find the smartest way to accomplish your missions.” He reached for Jack’s bulb and refilled it.
Jack took another pull. The scotch was going down smooth, now. He glanced around at the racks of trooper gear. It was a world he’d never wanted to see again, after his obligatory summer of strike training at the Astral College, but his career as a pilot never seemed to take him far away from it.
“Do you think Katja cared?” he asked suddenly.
Thomas looked up at him in silence.
“As a strike commander,” Jack persisted. “Do you think she cared about her troops?”
Thomas stared at his bulb for a long moment, then blinked a couple of times.
“Yeah, I think she cared. Way deep down.”
“I miss her. She was kind of crazy, so I guess I’m not surprised she died in combat, but I still miss her. Terra could use a few more like her.”
“You guys were good friends, after all that, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, we were.” He looked down at Thomas. “How come you two never got together?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Jack laughed out loud. “I’m pretty sure that’s what she always thought I was. I guess she didn’t understand my boyish charms.”
Laughter rumbled from Thomas’s chest. Jack took another sip, enjoying the warm peace and quiet. Through the bulkhead he could faintly hear the last of the damage control equipment being stowed.
Thomas must have heard it too. He gestured toward the distant sounds.
“Now the XO, he’s struggling because of incompetence. He’s overwhelmed, but he won’t accept any help.”
“I didn’t think XOs were allowed to ask for help.”
“Anyone can, Jack. Even captains. It’s just a matter of knowing how and when to do so.”
“When I was in DCC earlier, I saw the XO ask Chief Ranson about the impact on the ship of my Hawk being grounded.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“That’s proof right there that he’s overwhelmed. Even Chen would have known that a Hawk parked safely in the hangar is completely irrelevant to damage control.”
“Well, at least he asked, and the chief gave him a good answer.”
“Ranson’s smart, even though he’s an asshole, but he chews officers up for breakfast. I bet he’s telling all the chiefs and POs right now what an idiot the XO is.”
Jack never thought much about the politics aboard a ship. The flight department mostly kept to itself and as a pilot he’d never had to worry about anything beyond his own job. He considered the incessant mockery that took place between the line officers on the bridge.
“I think the XO’s making it hard on himself,” he suggested, “by sticking to all this peacetime routine stuff.”
Thomas shrugged. “It can have its place… sir… but Perry just clings to it because he understands it and feels like he’s in control. He doesn’t seem to get that the rebels don’t give a shit if it’s time for our evening briefing.”
“You heard, then?”
“Oh, yeah. Chen came all the way down here just to gossip. There were troopers around so I shut him up and sent him packing, but he wasn’t wrong.” Thomas closed his eyes. “The XO’s over his head and he doesn’t know how to swim.”
“How did he even get the job?”
“Because we’re taking losses and people are getting promoted quickly.” He opened his eyes and stared at Jack’s rank insignia. “Wouldn’t you say, Wings?”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You’re right, sorry—and besides, the Astral Force also has a counter-plan to tactically bury senior officers in junior positions, waiting to pounce.” Thomas lifted his bulb in salute again. “And here I wait.”
“You’re our ace in the hole, Thomas.”
“Way, way, waaaaay down in that hole. Yup.”