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Admiral Absen nodded to Master Helmsman Okuda as he came in to the conference room. “Admiral on deck,” called the stocky dark astronaut, and everyone in the room stood up until Absen said, “Carry on. At ease. Take your seats.”
Eight pair of eyes fastened on the Admiral: Okuda, Lieutenant Commanders Johnstone, Ford and Scoggins, Lieutenant Colonel Stallers, Lieutenant Mirza – and Rae Denham. Another woman with a short blonde bob cut, unknown to any except Absen, sat against the wall behind her, in the khaki uniform of Navy captain, outranking everyone but the admiral.
They all knew how unusual it was for a flag officer, even one many worked for directly, to call a meeting like this, with no staffers, no aides, just the ever-present Steward Tobias in his starched whites, guarding against treachery and assassination.
“Good morning, Red Team.” Absen cocked an eyebrow at the group, gauging reactions, but saying no more.
Finally Ford spoke up, clearing his throat. “Ah, sir, I presume that means we are going to work on anticipating the enemy?”
“No, Ford. You are going to work on being the enemy. You will get inside his head and come up with everything you can think of that he might do, based on his capabilities and psychology.”
“Psychology?” This from Scoggins. “What do we know about Meme psychology, or psychology at all?”
“Glad you asked, Ms. Scoggins. You all know who Ms. Raphaela Denham is, I presume, and this,” he indicated the unknown woman, “is Captain Christine Forman.”
“A chaplain?” Ford asked, as if in disbelief.
“Yes, I am,” Forman responded in the clipped, clenched-teeth accent of a Boston Brahmin, “and I hold a doctorate in psychology as well as several other degrees in related fields.” She stood to her full five-two and glided over in Orion’s low gravity to take a seat at the end of the table, opposite Absen. “Is there a problem?”
Stallers said in his Aussie twang, “Perhaps what we wonder is how you feel about killing Meme.”
“Just the same as killing wolves circling round the flock. You need have no fear on that score. ‘Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me’ refers to a shepherd’s weapons, after all. Now I suggest we get to business. The admiral’s time is valuable and I am sure we will have plenty of opportunity to explore personalities.”
“Thank you, Christine,” Absen headed off any further clashes. “Captain Forman is your psychology subject matter expert.” He turned to Rae. “And Ms. Denham will not be a full-time member of your team, but is your SME on the Meme, and will be available to you, I am told, at any time via secure comm.”
Rae nodded in confirmation. “I will give you the communication codes for the Denham, and I have programmed the ship to patch you through to me at any time.”
“The rest of you,” Absen went on, “are now assigned the primary mission of figuring out what the Destroyer can, might, and will do. You will maintain your currency in your specialties, but more than half your duty time will be taken up with this.”
“For how long, sir?” Scoggins asked, pushing a lock of her brown hair back behind her ear.
“As long as it takes. Maybe all the years until it arrives. Your collective job is to analyze every possibility and come up with the most likely enemy courses of action. You have to imagine yourselves in his position, with his capabilities. How would you attack Earth if you were Meme? What would be the most effective and efficient means to kill us off?”
“Kill us?” Okuda asked. “You think they’ve given up on conquering us and taking our bodies?”
“You tell me, Chief. What would you do in their place?”
Okuda grunted and sat back, thinking.
“Who’s in charge?” Ford glanced at Forman.
Absen replied, “Yes, I know what you’re wondering, and you’re right, Ford. Captain Forman is not a line officer, so she’s disqualified. Scoggins is senior of the line, so she’s it.”
Ford scowled sideways at her, and Scoggins smirked faintly back at him. “I guess it could be worse,” he grumbled.
“Ford, you better belay that attitude. I can always arrange a nice dirtside assignment. Fleet liaison to the Antarctic territories, perhaps.”
“Sorry, sir. Happy to be here, sir.” Ford straightened, and shut up.
“So Scoggins, you will take charge of this mob. Your orders are in the system, along with a very high priority to requisition resources. Don’t abuse it. You will have spaces on Orion for now, and computers, comms...move your quarters to be close. Put in for whatever other specialist assistants you need, up to a dozen or so – researchers, admin, intel ratings, technicians.”
“Yes, sir,” Scoggins responded with a wolfish grin.
“So,” Absen said, standing up, “I’ll leave you to it. You have four weeks until your first report, where you will brief me and the staff on everything you have come up with.”
