Hellfire (THEIRS NOT TO REASON WHY)

by Jean Johnson

  “Of course, sir,” he murmured, hitting the release for his straps. Sitting forward, he scooped the pet robots off the dash and deactivated each one. “They never left my cabin, sir—in fact, they never even existed at all!”

  “Good meioa.” Satisfied he would comply, Ia left the gunnery pod. Again, her actions earned her a curious look from Chaplain Benjamin, but her friend said nothing. “…You and I know those toys of his are harmless. I could even prove it to the Admiral-General in the timestreams…but I don’t want to overplay the precognition-protects-my-choices card. Johns and Mishka versus the United Nations covers a lot of what I’m going to do, yes, but I don’t need to use it up on the little stuff.”

  “A wise choice,” Bennie agreed. “Pick your battles when and where you can.”

  “Speaking of which,” Ia said, reaching for the lift buttons as they approached the door, “it’s time for you to show me you can handle battle.”

  “You really want me to fire a gun?” Bennie scoffed. “Please. I’m a preacher, not a fighter.”

  “I’ll spot you five points on the targeting range,” Ia promised.

  “Ten,” she retorted.

  Ia grinned. “Seven, and not a point more.”

  Bennie gave her a dubious look. “Are you going to bother to win the shoot-off, or throw the game my way?”

  “Considering the scores from your last visit to the targeting range back on the Hum-Vee are openly listed in your personnel file, you’ll probably beat me even without the points,” Ia quipped dryly. “I could dip into the timestreams to guide my aim, but I won’t bother to do that for mere practice. You can’t learn how to be really good by cheating all the time, and we’re going up against machines that counteract some of my gifts. Without their edge, I am not the best shot on this ship, which means I need the practice.”

  “Not with two Olympic-class Sharpshooters on board, you aren’t,” the redhead snorted, following her into the lift. She waited until the doors sealed, then looked at her friend. “Ia, about you and Harper…”

  That rolled her eyes. Ia craned her head, looking at the other woman. “Nothing is going to happen, Commander. We’ve both decided that, and we’re both fine with it. Now that he’s had a chance to look over this ship, I’m confident he won’t want to do anything to rock his assignment.”

  “You think this ship is better-looking than you?” Bennie scoffed.

  Ia smiled, amused by the joke. “The love for a beautiful ship has cured many a captain of a broken heart.”

  “He’s not the captain of this ship,” the other woman pointed out, swaying as the curved elevator shaft swung them the other way.

  “No, but I’d think chief engineer also counts.” At Bennie’s chiding look, Ia dropped her mirth. She sighed. “You worry too much about a trivial matter, Chaplain. Worry more about making sure these men and women are comfortable about following my commands, however strange.”

  “I’m just looking out for your best interests, Captain,” Bennie returned. “Besides, he’s one of those ‘men and women’ you need to follow your commands.”

  “I have no doubt he will,” Ia muttered, grateful the lift was slowing for their destination.

  NOVEMBER 29, 2495 T.S.

  The chime interrupted her concentration. Sighing, Ia rubbed at her brow with one hand and touched the comm button on her workstation with the other. “Come in.”

  The door slid back to reveal the other redheaded officer in her crew. Delia Helstead sauntered inside, looked around at the sparsely decorated walls, and dropped into one of the two seats opposite Ia’s. “So. Captain.”

  “So. Commander,” Ia quipped back, focusing her thoughts again. Text started scrolling up the screens of her workstation, until Helstead shifted in her seat, thumping her bootheels on the edge of Ia’s desk. A glance at the shorter woman earned her a bright smile. Sighing, Ia didn’t pretend ignorance. “…Can I at least finish my thought?”

  “It’s your office,” Helstead pointed out, fishing out one of her thin stilettos from her upswept hair.

  “You don’t want to play that game with me,” Ia warned her lightly. “I’m immune to your mind tricks.”

  The petite redhead snorted, twirling the sheathed blade between her deft fingers like it was a pen. “It’d be illegal for me to use my psychic abilities on a superior officer without an emergency of some sort.”

  “Then sit still, be quiet, and give me a few minutes to finish this,” Ia told her.

  To her relief, Helstead did sit still. Well, quietly, at any rate. She fiddled with her sheathed blades, flipping them over and through her fingers multiple times.

  Refocusing her thoughts, Ia resumed electrokinetically composing her correspondence. The last five years’ worth of practice made short work of her current round of prophecies. She then pulled up and added her thumbprints to two requisition forms, ones that Grizzle had flagged as urgent, then shipped them off with a tap of the controls.

  A second tap lowered the screens back into the scrollbar edging her desk. Lifting her brows, Ia gave Helstead her attention. Helstead continued to twirl her blade until Ia sighed and gestured at her.

  Thankfully, the smaller woman got straight to the point. “Your crew is getting restless. Bored, even. They’re overworked, and in need of a break,” Helstead stated bluntly. She slanted a look at the taller woman, her hazel green eyes sober. “I thought you should know. You’ve pushed them very hard with these tailored daily schedules. Unless you change something, you’ll probably push them too hard.”

  “They won’t break. What do you think of having a party?” Ia asked her.

  Helstead took the question in stride. “Better sooner than later. They’re learning to work together. If you really want as cohesive a workforce as you keep claiming, they’ll need to learn how to party together, too.” She grinned. “Though I don’t think these shipyards have a pub big enough to contain the resulting mess once they do.”

  “We won’t be able to make a habit of stopping at whatever tavern we run across,” Ia stated, her gaze focused more on the future than on the present. “I’ve already made plans for weekly or monthly ‘parties’ depending on our schedules. Most of them will take place while we’re running between points A and B. We also don’t have enough time to hold a decent-sized party before we’re scheduled to leave dry dock.”

  “That might cause some problems,” Helstead cautioned. She pulled a second sheathed pin-blade from her hair and started twirling it between her fingers as well, looking like a demented drummer with tiny, gilded drumsticks. Completing the illusion, her toes started tapping a syncopated beat, heels still propped on the edge of Ia’s desk. “Right now, they’re still exhausted enough each night to get along, more or less. Once they finish adapting to the high pace you’ve set, they’re going to have enough energy to be irritable instead of amiable.

  “Now, you made me your chief discipline officer. As far as I see it, that includes heading off disciplinary problems before they become actual problems. Wouldn’t you agree?” Helstead asked. The sheathed blades came to a brief rest as she gave Ia a pointed look, though her toes continued to tap the air.

  “Yes, I would,” Ia said. “But we honestly don’t have enough time on the schedule for a party before we leave dry dock. There is a compromise, though. How do you like the idea of dangling the carrot on the end of the stick?”

  “Sir?” Helstead asked her, tilting her head a little in curiosity.

  “Promise them a party after we leave dry dock. After we leave the Sol System. That should spur them on a bit longer in the cooperation and enthusiasm department. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ia asked, parroting her.

  The shorter woman studied her for a moment, then started twirling her stilettos again. “I think that could work. I don’t suppose you’re going to make that announcement yourself?”

  “I’d think it’d be a task more suited to an officer with experience in balancing exhaustive expediency versus encouraging underlings toward the
ir goals,” Ia countered wryly, eyeing Helstead’s wiggling boots for a moment. “That makes it your job. Give them vague assurances at first, then increase the specifics over the next two weeks. I’ll make the formal announcement at that time, but I figure you can lay the groundwork for it.”

  The bejeweled blades fell still with a sigh, and her boots swung back down to the floor. “I suppose planning this party is also up to me, once you’ve waved your magic official-announcement hand?”

  “Not the first one,” Ia said.

  Opening a drawer in her desk, she fished out a datachip and tossed it at the other woman. Helstead caught it with her heavyworlder reflexes, one brow quirking. Her toes finally stopped tapping. Ia lifted her chin at the chip.

  “You’ll find all the details you’ll need on that, along with the release codes for unlocking the rules and regulations for parties on board the Hellfire. They’re already loaded into each crew member’s Company Bible; they just haven’t been made available, yet. I didn’t want them distracted from their lessons by reading the, ah, unusual circumstances for such things.”

  “They’re already in there, are they?” the lieutenant commander asked, glancing up from the datachip. She slotted the chip into her arm unit, though she didn’t open up the screen just yet. “Official Company rules for these onboard parties doesn’t make them sound very enjoyable.”

  “We’ll be calling them Wakes, to go with the overall ‘Damned’ theme, but they’ll be as cheerful as we can make them. They’ll also run in twenty-four-hour segments,” Ia added, “to ensure each watch gets some time to relax and enjoy the party when they’re not sleeping or on duty—come Hellfire or Damnation, our ship will be manned at all times with rare exception—but we’ll squeeze in onboard Leave wherever possible and try to make it as relaxing as we can.”

  “And by ‘we’ you, of course, mean ‘me,’” Helstead quipped dryly, toes resuming their silent rhythm.

  “Oh, I fully expect the other officers to pitch in. Including myself. This first one has been preplanned, and there’s a list of themes and such,” Ia pointed out. “Things we can pull out of the onboard supplies. But I’m always open to ideas.”

  “Even if they conflict with your precognition?” her 3rd Platoon officer asked, lifting a brow.

  “Like all superiors, I may not always follow up on an idea for a particular instance, but I’m willing to listen whenever I have the time,” Ia conceded dryly. Mention of the T-word made her dip her head. “Of course, I’m not always going to have that time, which is why I think this is something you might enjoy handling. Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  Helstead frowned softly. “Yeah. Something Harper said. Something about a…a trip to Antarctica coming up soon?”

  Oh, stars…Lifting her hand to her brow, Ia pinched the bridge of her nose, then massaged the muscles just above it. “He would mention that,” she muttered. Mindful of the surveillance pickups in her office, she sighed and dredged up a half lie. “Snow and ice are dangerous on my homeworld—you’re from Eiaven, which has double Standard gravity, so you know why it’s dangerous. Sanctuary has more than triple gravity, so everyone lives in the tropical to subtropical climates. Still, while we avoid it back home wherever possible, the concept of frozen water fascinates my brothers.

  “They made me promise, if I was ever in Earth’s vicinity, I’d bring them some actual snow from Earth. Even now, Antarctica is still virtually uninhabited. That means it’s the one kind least likely to contain the sort of bacterial contaminants requiring quarantine measures—and I’d know precognitively which patches to avoid.

  “So, long story short, I promised them I’d get them some snow from somewhere near the South Pole, this trip,” she explained. “I told Harper all about this back in the Academy, but we never had Leave long enough from the fast-track program to get down there. He probably figures since I have full control over our patrol routes, I’ll be wanting to make a stop on Earth, then a shakedown run out to Sanctuary,” she related.

  “Sanctuary’s on the backside of Terran space. I thought we were going to be hunting Salik as soon as we leave dock,” Helstead said, fiddling with one of her stilettos again. The rhythm of her toes changed, as if whatever song playing inside her head had been replaced by a new one.

  “We still get a shakedown cruise first. Training on the various ship systems while in dry dock isn’t the same as when you’re out there in space,” Ia admitted. “We’re also being hired by one of Sanctuary’s defense contractors to transport goods to Sanctuary for storage against the coming war…which again, Harper knows about as my first officer and which will make it that much more convenient for me to pick up some genuine Terran snow for my family.”

  “Genuine Terran snow,” Helstead repeated dubiously, fingers, toes, and sheathed blades going still for a moment.

  “Yeah, genuine Terran snow,” Ia confirmed, keeping her tone even for the sake of the surveillance pickups. “If you think this is some excuse to fraternize with my second-in-command, think again. I haven’t the time for extraneous relationships. Harper knows this, and we both know I won’t shakk away my chance to save the maximum number of lives.”

  “Wait, let me check something,” Helstead muttered. She reached for the command unit cuffed over her left forearm and tapped on a few of its keys once the lid was open. “Aren’t we scheduled to leave here…December 19? If we take a couple days to get to Earth, a day to load cargo, and we’re being given a day for Leave…that would have us leaving Earth right before Christmas. We’re not staying near the Motherworld for Christmas?”

  “The schedule is correct; we’re not staying for Christmas,” Ia agreed. “But if you look at it another way, we’re also missing Chanukah, because we’ll still be working hard. And we’re missing Bodhi Day, which is at the start of December, and several other celebrations, too. As much as I’d wish otherwise for the crew’s sake, I cannot stop this ship or its mission for religious reasons,” Ia said. It was an irony to put it that way, considering her plans for her own homeworld, but she didn’t hesitate. “Everything has to happen at the right moment in time. Wars do not take a holiday, and we’re headed straight into a really big one.”

  “Unfortunately, most religions have been known to start a few wars, but they rarely stop them,” Helstead agreed dryly. She eyed Ia, toes still wiggling, but fingers still. “Mind if I come along on this snow-gathering trip of yours?” the petite lieutenant asked, her expression as skeptical as an arched brow and a dry tone could make it. “Or would I be a third wheel between you and Harper?”

  Ia paused for a moment, skimming the near timestreams. She blinked, then shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s just a gathering mission, followed by a trip to Afaso Headquarters afterward. I was planning on three days’ transit from here to Earth to test out the insystem thrusters, then a day of Leave on Earth for each duty shift of the troops after we’ve loaded that cargo for Sanctuary.

  “Anyone can go anywhere, so long as they arrange for transport and are back on board the ship when their time is up. But it’ll be a small group headed to the South Pole, just you, me, and Harper. We can take one of the shuttles down, pack a lunch, and have a little picnic in one of the most remote corners on Earth,” she finished lightly.

  “So you don’t mind my coming along to play the third wheel?” Helstead asked, pausing her stiletto-twirling.

  “If you keep referring to your otherwise freely welcome presence as a ‘third wheel,’ Lieutenant Commander, I’ll make you carry the picnic basket,” Ia retorted. “I’ll set it up on the schedule for download to our arm units when we get closer to our departure week. And we’ll have that onboard party after we set course for Sanctuary since we’ll have time for it then.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have inspection reports to wade through, a progress update for Admiral Genibes, followed by a reminder call at 7:34 to warn Privates MacArroc and Redrock that they’re not allowed to blast music in their quarters, and 263 m
ore prophecies to write before I can go to bed tonight.”

  Tucking her stilettos into the braid wrapped around her head, Helstead rose. She didn’t head for the door immediately, though. Bracing her palms on the edge of Ia’s desk, she leaned forward just as Ia reached for the button that would raise her workstation screens. “…Can I have a peek?”

  “You haven’t earned that level of trust from me, yet.” She knew the words sounded a little cold when put that way, but Ia didn’t retract them. She did meet the other woman’s gaze, keeping her tone soft. “Take comfort in the fact that one day you will. If you don’t do anything to break my faith in you between then and now.”

  Helstead wrinkled her nose. She pushed away from Ia’s desk. “I can see that working for a precog is going to be a pain in the asteroid.”

  That made Ia chuckle. She was still smiling when the shorter woman left her office, though it faded quickly enough. The missives she had to write, most of which were destined for her family and friends back on Sanctuary, were a little too sober for mirth.

  DECEMBER 3, 2495 T.S.

  Seated in her office on board the Hellfire, Ia waited for her call to go through. When it finally did, the face that filled the screen was sleepy, puzzled, and familiar to Ia. Blinking his brown eyes a couple times, former Private Tom “Happy” Harkins frowned a moment, then widened those eyes in recognition.

  “Bloody Mary!” he rasped, staring at her. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he gave her one of his trademark half smiles, one warm enough that it actually curved the other side of his mouth after a second or so. Since they were both in the same star system at the moment, there was zero lag in communications. “How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in—whoa, is that a brass eagle?” he asked, blinking and rearing back from the vid pickup in his quarters. “Lieutenant Colonel, sir! Congratulations on the promotion, sir. And you’re in Greys; somehow I figured you’d end up in the Special Forces.”