by Jake Elwood
God help us.
The bridge hatch slid open and Tom walked through. O'Reilly was at the helm station. Harris was at Tactical, and a young woman named Kuzyk was at Communications. All of them looked up as Tom came in.
He hesitated, wanting to choose one of the unoccupied stations. But that wasn't what the crew needed. They needed the same thing that he so desperately needed. Someone to take charge, someone to step up and say, it's okay. I've got this. Things will be all right.
He walked to the center of the bridge, hesitated a moment in front of the captain's chair, then sat down.
O'Reilly said, "Orders, Sir?"
Plot a course for Garnet. The words were on the tip of Tom's tongue, but somehow he couldn't quite utter them. Instead he said, "Status?"
"We've got basic navigational thrusters. We're fifteen hundred kilometers from the closest storm front. It doesn't seem to be moving, so I've got us floating stationary relative to it."
"Good," said Tom. It felt strange to be in the big chair. Uncomfortable. Definitely unsettling. He fought the urge to get up and move to a different seat.
We need to get back to Garnet. That's obvious. The only sensible thing to do is to start immediate preparations. We have to get back there as soon as possible.
But.
It's too late to help the injured. Every single patient in the surgery is going to die. Rushing back to Garnet will do them no good at all.
On the other hand, there are hundreds of people at Argo who might not even know the war has started. The Dawn Alliance will target them. They're in terrible danger, if they haven't already been destroyed. They'll get no mercy from the DA. Their only hope is to flee.
But first, someone has to tell them they're in danger.
"I want you to plot a course," he said to O'Reilly.
"Right, Sir. To Garnet?"
"No." It was one of the most difficult words Tom had ever uttered. "To Argo. We'll continue our mission."
He examined the controls on the captain's console, then examined the chair itself. He found what he was looking for on the underside of the chair's left arm – a microphone on a long flexible arm. He lifted the microphone so it pointed at his face, and heard a click from the bridge speakers. Every word he spoke would be broadcast throughout the ship.
He took a deep breath, listened to a voice in the back of his head yammer at him frantically to shut up, and finally spoke. "All hands. This is Lieutenant Thrush. I'm currently Acting Captain."
The bridge speakers amplified every word, making it impossible to ignore the significance. He touched a dry tongue to his lips and continued.
"We've been through a rough time. We've faced disaster. We've lost friends and colleagues." His heart thumped in his chest so urgently that it distracted him. He closed his eyes for a moment, marshaling his concentration, then opened them again.
"I'm sure all of you want to return to Garnet as soon as possible. I share that desire. However, this ship has a mission. The United Worlds are at war with the Dawn Alliance, and every United Worlds outpost is in danger. No one has told the people at Sunshine Base in Argo that war has broken out. The base will have to be evacuated. We will bring them news of the war, and aid in the evacuation. To continue, to fly farther from Garnet, will not be easy. However, our duty is clear. Civilians are in danger. They must be warned, and they must be protected. I know that all of you will do what must be done." He hesitated, not sure how to ring off. At last he said, "That is all," and pushed the microphone down, stowing it again beneath the arm of his chair.
All three members of the bridge crew gaped at him. Then O'Reilly nodded and turned to his console.
Harris said, "We have to go back to Garnet!"
"And we will," said Tom. "Just as soon as the base at Argo is evacuated."
For a moment the two men stared at each other. Then Harris nodded and turned back to his console.
Tom's bracer chimed. He tapped it, and Dr. Vinduly's voice spoke. "Lieutenant Thrush? I guess I should say, Captain Thrush."
Tom, his mouth dry, said, "What is it, Doctor?"
"Commander Boudreau has died."
Chapter 22
The ship was back in normal space and crew members were swarming all over the hull when the hatch to the bridge slid open and Hanson came in. He bristled with indignation as he planted himself in front of Tom's chair and put his hands on his hips. "What the hell are you doing, Thrush?"
"That's Lieutenant Thrush to you," Tom said. He couldn't quite bring himself to insist on being addressed as Captain.
Hanson ignored the admonition. "We need to go back to Garnet!"
"We need to go to Argo," Tom said. "And we will."
"We don't have enough crew!" Hanson's arms rose, and his hands chopped at the air. "Everyone's working indefinite shifts. No one's taking more than a ten minute break here and there, and there's no end in sight. We can't keep going like this!"
"We'll manage," Tom said.
"You don't know what you're doing!" Hanson took another step toward Tom. "Quit playing big shot!" He jabbed the air with a pointing finger. "I'm not letting you sacrifice the rest of us because you feel like playing Captain."
"Your concerns are noted," Tom said, trying to keep his voice even. "Now get the hell off my bridge."
Hanson took a deep breath and lowered his arms. When he spoke again it was with the air of an exasperated parent speaking to a stubborn toddler. "We lost half the crew. And we took damage. We are desperately short-handed. We need to get back to civilization." His hands started to rise, and he forced them down. "Garnet is closer than Argo. And it's a major base, not a dinky outpost. So that's the way we should go."
"Duly noted," Tom said.
Hansen's veneer of calm vanished. "You're not listening to me!"
Tom stared at him, weighing the pros and cons of tackling the man, physically subduing him, and chucking him off the bridge. Then he found the microphone in the arm of his chair and lifted it toward his mouth. "Lieutenant Harper to the bridge, please."
Hanson, oblivious, started repeating his arguments about personnel shortages. His voice rose, and when Tom failed to react, it rose some more. "We need to get back to Garnet as quickly as possible! Why can't you understand that? If you think we're going to-"
He didn't turn when the hatch to the bridge slid open behind him. Only when Harper's hand landed on his shoulder did he stop in mid-sentence.
"Get him off my bridge," Tom said.
"Right," said Harper, and hauled Hanson unceremoniously toward the hatch. Hanson was foolish enough to try to throw the marine's hand off his shoulder. Hanson responded by shifting his grip, taking Hanson by wrist and elbow and bending him over so his head was at waist height.
"You can't do this! You're not a real captain."
Tom, suddenly fed right up, said, "Take him to the brig."
Harper said, "The brig is pretty full, Sir."
There was something in that statement that Tom needed to think about. The voice in the back of his head was quite insistent, without giving him any hints as to what he actually needed to do. "Then confine him to quarters," Tom snapped. "You've got plenty of idle marines."
"Yes, Sir," Harper said, and hauled Hanson out of the bridge.
There was a long, awkward moment of silence. No one met Tom's gaze. Finally he said, "The problem is, he's right."
O'Reilly glanced at him. "Sir?"
"We're desperately undermanned," Tom said.
O'Reilly shrugged. "But what can we do?"
"That," said Tom, "is the million-credit question." He stood. "Take us toward Argo as soon as Lieutenant Sawyer gives the okay. Don't wait for me to return."
O'Reilly nodded, and Tom left the bridge.
Harper walked into the boardroom, the expression on his face carefully neutral. He sat when Tom gestured to a seat, then waited, patient and unreadable.
"We're undermanned," Tom said.
Harper nodded.
"Your marines will have to do more. I need th
em to help out where they can with a lot of duties that are normally assigned to Navy personnel." He kept his voice even, as if he fully expected Harper to agree, but inwardly he braced himself for an explosion.
"Of course," said Harper. "I'll start sending people to see Lieutenant Sawyer."
Well, that part was easy. "Excellent," Tom said, then hesitated. "There's another thing."
Harper raised an eyebrow.
"Come with me. I need you to strengthen my position as I do some negotiating."
Half a dozen marines loitered outside the brig, straightening up as Tom and Harper approached. Harper sent four of them to see Sawyer, telling them to make themselves useful and not to give Sawyer any lip. Then, at Tom's instruction, he opened the hatch to the brig.
The brig held four cells, and each cell held four pirates. They lined the bars, staring out with hostility, boredom, or anxious wariness, depending on each prisoner's mindset.
"How are you being treated?" Tom said.
"Well enough, for prison," a man said.
"Are you getting fed?"
"We missed a meal yesterday," the man said. His face went glum. "I understand the kitchen staff were dying."
Tom nodded.
"Are we really at war, Lieutenant?"
"We are. The Dawn Alliance has attacked the United Worlds base at Garnet. Not only have they launched an unprovoked attack, they've used nuclear missiles in war."
There was a long moment of silence.
"I was told you were all pirates," Tom said, and watched annoyance flash across several faces. "I've learned that you don't see yourselves that way. You've got grievances against the United Worlds, and while I don't entirely agree with your position, I understand where you're coming from."
The prisoners stared at him, sixteen expressionless, guarded faces.
"We were enemies when the Kestrel captured your ship," Tom said. "However, the situation has changed. It has changed drastically."
A pirate in the middle cell nodded.
"The Free Planets have a new enemy. The Dawn Alliance is going to roll through the Green Zone like a cloud of locusts. They will conquer your home worlds if they can. And make no mistake, it will be conquest. I think you all know how they treated the people of New Sheffield."
A few pirates exchanged glances.
"The Free Planets have a choice to make," Tom went on. "Each of you has a choice to make. You can continue your vendetta against the United Worlds. Or you can join with us against a common enemy."
Several heads turned, looking toward a burly man in the second cell with "Fagan" stenciled on his breast. He'd be the pirate captain, Tom thought.
"Let me think about that," Fagan said He pushed forward until he was against the bars. "You know," he said, his face expressionless, "I think I've reached a decision." He made a quick gesture with his head. "Come here."
Tom moved closer, staying out of arm's reach.
"Closer," said Fagan.
Tom didn't move.
Fagan smirked. "Here's what I think of your proposal." And he spat a gob of saliva at Tom's feet.
Tom jerked back, watching the saliva splatter across the deck plates and the toe of his left boot. Fury boiled up inside of him, and his mind filled with visions of mayhem. I could order the cell opened. I could go in there and beat the hell out of him. I could have the marines shoot him in front of his crew. I could kill all of them. I could-
I could take a bad situation and make it much, much worse.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened his eyes again. "The Free Planets are at war with the Dawn Alliance. If they aren't at war now, they will be in a matter of days. If you can call it a war when someone bombs your cities from orbit and then invades with overwhelming force. You can join in and fight back. Or you can stay in these cages. It's up to you."
For a long, tense moment nothing happened. Then, in the right-hand cage, a young woman pushed her way to the front. Tom recognized the woman who had told him about the gas leak. "I know we don't like these guys," she said. "They claim ownerships of our homes. They're a bunch of dicks."
Tom, who had been hoping she might be an ally, felt his stomach sink.
"But he's right," she went on. "The Dawn Alliance is worse. Much, much worse." She gestured at Tom and the marines around him. "These jerks locked us up. The Dawn Alliance would be shoving us out an airlock one at a time until we agreed to cooperate."
"They're the enemy," someone protested.
"They're one enemy," she replied. "We have another enemy. An enemy that butchers civilians to keep the rest of the population in line." She glared at the other prisoners in her cell. "What do you think is happening at home right now?"
No one spoke.
She turned to face Tom. "I don't like you. But you're the enemy of my real enemy, so I guess that makes you … my ally. As long as you're at war with the Dawn Alliance, I'll do everything in my power to help you." She stuck a hand through the bars. "Deal?"
"Deal," Tom said, and shook her hand.
"You're a bloody traitor," Fagan snarled.
"And you're a useless idiot who's going to sit in a cage while the rest of us fight the bastards who are invading Novograd right now." She rattled the door of the cell. "Well? Are you letting me out, or aren't you?"
In the end, everyone but Fagan agreed to help. Harper unlocked the cell doors, doubt written all over his face, then retreated to a corner with a hand on the butt of his sidearm.
"The first order of business is to find out what your skills are," Tom said. "Then we'll put you to work. Come with me." He led them into the corridor, then called Sawyer on his bracer. "Lieutenant, can you join me in the boardroom? We need to talk about some personnel issues."
No fewer than six marines accompanied the fifteen former prisoners as they walked up the spine. Harper brought up the rear, looking alert and worried. We can't treat them all like enemies, Tom thought. Still, trust will take time. This is progress. I guess that's good enough for now.
"I'm Alice Rose. I was in charge of the engines on the Free Bird. I guess you Navy boys would call me the chief engineer."
Sawyer, slumped at the head of the boardroom table, looked up at the woman who had become the de facto leader of the former pirates. "Why don't you sit down, Alice? Don't make me crane my neck."
All the pirates were standing, crowding the room so thoroughly that only two marines had managed to squeeze in. Tom, who was almost as tired as Sawyer, sat at the opposite end of the table. Alice looked from him to Sawyer, then shrugged and dropped into a chair. Under gentle prodding from Sawyer she described her training at the Novograd Institute for Technology, and her experience in the engine rooms of half a dozen small ships.
One after another the other pirates described their skills and qualifications. Some were almost eager, some were guarded, and some were openly hostile.
A woman named Naomi Silver had actually served in the United Worlds Navy. Her father was a citizen, and she'd spent half her childhood on Korus. She was a navigator with experience using Navy technology, and Tom assigned her to the bridge crew.
Alice and a couple others joined Sawyer's engineering crews. The rest went into a general labor pool.
I need someone to handle duty rosters, Tom thought. And we have to sort out accommodations. There must be unoccupied cabins and bunks.
Where do I even begin?
He left Sawyer to deal with the rest of the pirates and walked to the bridge with Naomi Silver. They didn't speak. Tom was lost in a fog of thought. I need to do a thousand things at once. I need to be everywhere. How did Captain Nishida cope?
By relying on her officers. She delegated. But I don't have any officers. I'm the only one.
"Captain?"
For a confused, wonderful moment Tom imagined Nishida had somehow returned. Then reality crashed in. O'Reilly is talking to me.
O'Reilly, eyebrows raised, was looking from Tom to Silver. Tom blinked, realizing he'd been
standing in the middle of the bridge, staring blindly into space. "This is Silver," he said. "I need you to train her to handle the helm." O'Reilly nodded dubiously, and Tom blurted, "I need her to replace you. You're going to be busy. You're my new First Officer."
O'Reilly opened his mouth, then slowly closed it.
"The First Officer deals with the crew," Tom said. "I need you to sort out duty assignments and accommodations." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't even know where to start."
O'Reilly nodded. "All right, Captain. I can do that."
Relief flooded through Tom. Thank God.
O'Reilly said, "Actually, Sir …"
"Yes? What is it?"
O'Reilly hesitated, then said, "We need to do something about the bodies."
"What?"
"I know we want to treat them with respect. Normally if someone dies during the voyage, they finish the tour in the morgue. We hold a funeral when the ship is back in port." He lifted his hands in a shrug. "That's the way we always did it in the New Haven Navy."
Tom nodded, realizing he didn't actually know how the UW Navy handled fatalities.
"There's just too many, though. There's rooms people won't go into because there's corpses inside. Do you realize we've got the dead stored in three different places, plus the ones who died in their cabins?"
Tom said, "But-"
"If we were heading back to Garnet I would say, just leave it. We can deal with it for a day or two. But all the way to Argo and back?" O'Reilly shook his head. "It's too macabre. It's bad for morale. In fact, it's devastating for morale."
Tom looked at him, trying to figure out how to phrase his objections. Getting rid of the bodies was out of the question. It was unthinkable.
But why?
Because I don't want to deal with the dead. He didn't like admitting it to himself, but as soon as the thought occurred to him he knew it was true. He could feel the presence of his fallen shipmates behind those bulkheads. As long as they were sealed away, he could ignore them. The thought of going into the storage bay or the morgue and facing the dead filled him with horror.
"We can't even refrigerate them properly," O'Reilly said gently. "You want me to deal with the crew? Well, those are the crew I'm dealing with first."
