“All moorings secure, sir.”
Thomas nodded his acknowledgement of Chief Ranson’s report. Tugs had met the crippled cruiser as soon as it emerged through the jump gate and taken positive control, guiding her carefully alongside one of the battle-blackened docks of Terra’s jump gate fortress.
The broken DC display had been converted to show a visual of the port side of the ship, and Thomas had been able to watch as Bowen was brought alongside the spar at Astral Base Five, but he’d had nothing to do with the maneuver himself.
“Secure from docking stations,” he said quietly.
As Chen began rattling off the routine list of orders that occurred whenever the ship came alongside, Thomas turned to John Micah.
“I don’t have any special requirements for the crew, XO. Unless you have anything planned for them, I suggest you contact Fleet personnel and start arranging transports home. Admiral Bowen isn’t going anywhere for a long time.”
“Yes, sir,” John replied, making a brave effort at a smile. “I’m just gathering the crew for a final debrief and then I’m going to get them ashore. I’ve already arranged quarters for each of them in the base until we’re told where everyone’s being reassigned.”
“I’d like to see everyone sent home for leave.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, but from my discussions with Fleet, that may not be happening.”
Thomas sighed. The pace of the war was unrelenting, it seemed. He could just imagine the conversation at Fleet Personnel regarding the news of Bowen’s return.
We have a cruiser that was terribly damaged in battle, but they limped it home.
Casualties?
Half the crew.
The other half—they’re still serviceable?
Absolutely.
Well, get them onto new ships ASAP. We have a war to fight.
With pleasure.
Thomas shook his head, looking around again at his exhausted team. They had managed to return home, through a jump gate, with a vessel that was little more than a blind shell surrounding troublesome engines. Technicians had practically rebuilt the sensor control systems to turn DCC into a rough-and-ready bridge, but everything was still controlled from primary units. There was a team of operators around him whose sole job was to relay his orders along various circuits to engineering, the weapons and sensors, the hangar, and—he shuddered at the memories—all the thruster controls.
Aside from the programmable visual on the main DCC display and a single 3D projection stolen from Spinner-One, Thomas had no way of knowing what occurred beyond DCC except for listening to the voice reports of his operators. He felt like the captain of an old water-based ship from centuries ago—all he needed was a hand telescope and a sword on his belt.
DCC suddenly filled up, and within moments he found himself surrounded by a weary but bright-eyed crew. Chen and Hayley moved to flank him, and Chief Ranson loomed behind, arms crossed and his habitual scowl firmly in place. John ensured that a decent space remained clear around them and, noting the last of the arrivals squeezing in the door, motioned for silence.
“I realize,” John said to the room’s occupants, “that my tenure as the executive officer of this fine vessel is coming to an end, and before Fleet bureaucracy strips me of my authority, I wanted to make sure one last critical task has been completed.” He nodded to the subbies, each of whom reached into their pockets.
“It is unseemly,” John continued, “for a vessel as mighty as Admiral Bowen to remain under the command of a mere sublieutenant, and while it is not in my power to grant field promotions, as XO I have the authority to grant field appointments. And so, with that authority, I bestow upon you, sir… the appointment to sublieutenant commander.”
Thomas’s eyes darted down to where Chen and Hayley unfastened his epaulettes and replaced his rank with something he’d never seen before—the single bar of sublieutenant, augmented by a star. A roar of laughter went up, and he joined in. Then he forcibly composed himself, making a show of solemnly shaking John’s hand as the laughter gave way to thunderous applause.
John stepped back and offered him the floor.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, turning slowly to take in everyone crowded around him. “I’ll be sure to sign the log with my new appointment—if only to confound future historians. In all seriousness, though, I’m just one person in a team of elite professionals who did the impossible. The honors are due to all of you. I’m proud to have served with each and every one of you. Well done, and welcome home.
“And now,” he continued, “if the XO truly has nothing else to say…?” John shook his head. “Everyone get ashore and get some down time. Don’t hurt yourselves, don’t hurt anyone else, get rested up. We might not have a lot of time before the State calls upon us again.”
“Three cheers for Sublieutenant Commander Kane,” Chief Ranson bellowed.
The cheers were loud and sincere, and Thomas had to drop his gaze to hide the sudden grin that threatened his stoic countenance.
“Now you heard him,” Ranson roared. “Get your shit and get ashore! If I see anybody on board in twenty minutes, they’ll be getting my size thirteen boot up their ass.” Amid new laughter and a rumble of chattering voices, the crew began to file out of DCC.
Thomas glanced around at his “command team”—a pair of young subbies, a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant, and a curmudgeonly old engineering chief. He could have done a lot worse.
“Don’t wander far, any of you,” he said. “And Hayley, you hold Chen’s hair back when he needs to puke.”
She laughed, but before she could reply her eyes suddenly widened as she looked past Thomas toward the door. She snapped to attention.
“Admiral on deck!”
Thomas instinctively stiffened, and turned to look toward the door. Admiral Eric Chandler gazed back at him, his stern features taking in the entire scene.
“Carry on,” Chandler said, stepping forward and letting the last of the crew exit, until only John, Haley, and Chen remained. He approached Thomas, eyes lingering on the unique rank insignia.
“Sir,” Thomas said, “I present to you the cruiser Admiral Bowen—or as much of her as we could save.”
“You’ve done excellent work,” Chandler replied, nodding at the epaulettes, “Sublieutenant Commander.”
“A gesture from the crew,” Thomas offered. “All in good fun, sir.”
“And appreciated. It almost makes the Fleet’s gesture seem unnecessary.” Thomas searched his memory for any recent gesture from Fleet to Bowen. Other than the squad of tugs sent to bring her alongside, nothing sprang to mind. But he could see the glint in Chandler’s eye, and he guessed something was up.
“What gesture is that, sir?”
“This new appointment your crew created for you… It’s not officially sanctioned and, in my opinion, it’s too cumbersome.” He nodded to Hayley and Chen. “Remove those epaulettes, please.” The subbies silently obeyed, and Thomas saw John frowning in resignation behind the admiral.
“Your crew, in their gesture, took two ranks and pushed them together,” Chandler continued. “I say—and Fleet agrees—that it should be one rank or the other. Since you’ve proven yourself multiple times as a sublieutenant, I think it’s time we test you as a commander.” He produced a new pair of epaulettes—each bearing three bars—and handed them to the subbies. They took them and fastened them to Thomas’s shoulders.
“This is an official promotion, effective immediately and so noted in Fleet records.” He extended his hand. “Richly deserved, and far too long in coming, Commander Kane.”
Thomas shook hands with his old mentor. Then he took the sublieutenant commander epaulettes and held them tight.
“Keep those,” Chandler said. “They’re from your crew, and a greater honor than I could bestow.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Chandler reached over and patted him on the shoulder, then began leading him toward the door.
“Let’s you and I adjourn to somewhere a bit tidier. We have a lot to discuss.”
* * *
It didn’t take long for Thomas to learn what Chandler meant by “somewhere a bit tidier.” Departing Bowen, they walked directly across the spar and boarded another cruiser, Admiral Moore, which itself showed the black scars of battle across its hull.
Inside, however, the passageways were bright and clean, and the only crew they passed were technicians completing their work and a caravan of storesmen directing pallets toward the ship’s holds. In just a few minutes, Chandler stopped in front of the door to the captain’s cabin. He gestured to Thomas.
Puzzled, Thomas pressed the call button. A moment later the door slid open to reveal a middle-aged crewman who glanced efficiently between the two senior officers, and then stepped back to invite entry.
“Commander Kane, welcome, sir.”
Thomas entered the cabin and scanned for its occupant—whoever Admiral Moore’s commanding officer might be. The large room was empty. He stepped forward to the sitting area, following Chandler’s lead as the admiral sat down in one of the armchairs. The crewman, who was obviously the captain’s steward, poured coffees and retreated to the pantry.
Thomas looked around the room, then back to Chandler, who was sipping at the coffee and looking back with a spark of humor. There was silence for a long moment, then Thomas remembered the new rank on his shoulders. He took a guess.
“Is this my new cabin, sir?”
Chandler set his cup down and sat back in the chair with a satisfied nod.
“I present to you the cruiser Admiral Moore, fresh out of refit. Try to bring this one back in one piece.”
A startled laugh escaped Thomas’s lips. Promotion, and now command?
“Is this how we do things in the Fleet now, sir? Seems kind of low-key.”
“We don’t have time for pomp and circumstance these days, Thomas. Fleet has a cruiser coming out of refit that needs an operational crew, and you and your battle-hardened gaggle need a ship. You’ll be augmented by most of the technicians already on board, and a few more officers I’ve pulled together from the manning pool.” He leaned forward, all humor suddenly gone. “But more importantly, Thomas, Fleet needs this ship to quietly disappear without any fanfare or notice. I have a special mission for you.”
Thomas felt the old rush of excitement that came before an operation. Not just a promotion and a command—he was going to do something vital. He’d asked Breeze for his career back, but he’d never expected this. If he ever saw that conniving bitch again, he’d kiss her full on the lips.
Or maybe not.
“When do we leave, sir?”
“In four days. Give your crew tonight and tomorrow to blow off steam, then get them on board for drills. I’ll have your new XO and other senior staff assembled by then.”
“Has this ship been through post-refit trials?”
“That’s what your two days alongside with the crew are for.”
Two days. Two days to test a cruiser and all its systems. Two days to gel a new crew before deploying to a war zone. In peacetime it would have been absurd. But in these times of war…
“What’s the mission?”
“You remember how much damage we did to the rebels, back when we did our little sneak attack on Abeona?”
Thomas remembered well. It had been a suicidal plan, in his opinion, and most of Expeditionary Force 15 had never come home from it. He nodded silently.
“We’ve learned from that,” Chandler continued. “A frontal assault is too costly, especially with the Fleet scattered and weakened as it is. Yet our strike on the rebel homeworld stopped the war in its tracks for a full six months. We have a new plan, this time to end the war altogether, and I need you and your ship to conduct the reconnaissance.”
“So a covert mission to Centauria. Am I going alone, or will there be other Fleet assets with me?”
“Yours is the only ship going, but you’ll be delivering Special Forces assets to the system and maintaining a link with them. A second ship—which I’ll be aboard—will join you later for the mission conclusion.”
Thomas took his cup of coffee and drained it.
“I’ll do my duty, sir, gladly,” he said, “but my crew will be better prepared if we can have some more time to work up the ship. Even just a week. Are the timings critical, sir?”
“Militarily, no, but something I’ve discovered since I joined the admiralty is that military considerations don’t always take precedence. This mission commences in four days, whether we like it or not.”
“Yes, sir.” Thomas had always been able to read his mentor’s moods, and he could tell that Chandler was in anything but a political mood right now. He decided to test the waters. “Is there a lot of pressure from Parliament?”
“More every week.” Chandler refilled his cup. “The loss of our permanent positions in Valhalla doesn’t matter one bit, not militarily—in my opinion we’re stretched too thin just dealing with the major colonies—but it was seen as a humiliation politically. Parliament feels that Terra should be able to hold all the colonies at once, and isolate each rebel faction in order to prevent another consolidated attack.”
“I’m not sure I follow their logic, sir.”
“Because there isn’t any! They see any territorial loss as a defeat, and they don’t listen when we tell them that we’re over-extended. They want us to win everywhere, all at once.”
“But isn’t Parliament mostly filled with veterans? Don’t they understand tactical realities?”
“Veterans,” Chandler snorted, “who served their minimum obligatory time in uniform before getting out and running for public office. Our government is comprised mostly of spoiled civilians who served in the military just long enough to think they don’t need to listen.”
“And my mission?”
“Ah,” the admiral brightened considerably. “Now that’s something I’m proud to be a part of. It’s a plan I developed with my old friend Sasha Korolev, based on some good work that’s been done over the past two years. Yes, it’s driven by Parliament’s need for a major territorial gain—and it will accomplish that—but even more so it will send a clear message to the rebels that continuing the war is foolish… for everyone.”
“An end to the war?”
“And not a moment too soon.”
Thomas sat back in his chair, looking around the large cabin. Habit told him that it belonged to Commander Hu, but then he reminded himself that he was aboard a different—if identical—ship. His ship, and with it he had the chance to execute what might be the pivotal mission of the entire conflict. He no longer cared about fame, but to make a difference as a soldier—that still meant something.
“How is the war going, sir?”
Chandler fixed him with a stern look that quickly melted into fatigue.
“Not well. We’re hurting the rebels, but they’re still doing too much damage to both the Army and the Astral Force. They outnumber us, and in some cases they have the technological advantage. We can probably keep fighting for another year or two, but eventually both sides will be exhausted, and neither will be able to control the other.”
“Then they win, because they’re free of Terra.”
“Exactly. If we keep on this path, the war will end in military stalemate—a political defeat for Terra.”
“And millions will have died to get us there.”
Chandler sat forward, staring down at his hands.
“It’s too late to avoid that,” he said quietly. Then he looked up with a new intensity. “This mission is going to be challenging, Thomas. I need loyal officers who will stand firm with me as we act for the good of all humanity.”
“You can count on me, sir.”