by Doug Hoffman
Crew from the corvettes reenacted the battle with their hands in the tradition of fighter pilots since the Great War. In the midst of them was the irrepressible Frenchy Bouchard, his hands above his head at convergent angles.
“And then we swept in on the enemy for the kill” he told his audience of rapt listeners while sweeping one handful of extended fingers past the other accompanied by a whooshing sound. “Bam, Bam, Bam! We blew them out of the sky!”
From another table, where mostly crew from the Peggy Sue were gathered, someone called out: “So why did we have to take out three of the bogies ourselves after you made your devastating attack on the alien formation?”
“Hey, we took out our target and so did our wing man,” Frenchy protested. “But we didn't want to keep all the fun for ourselves, tu sais?”
“Right, Frenchy,” another crew member scoffed, “you PT boat jockeys only took out half of the enemy as you streaked past them.”
“Mais oui, but we were in a hurry to blow the mother ship's head off.”
“Yeah, and left it to us to kill the rest of them and then disable the enemy ship by blowing its engines off. Now that was some real shooting!”
“Yeah, all done from the safety of your nice comfy spaceships,” added a new voice. “In the end it was the Marines that settled the matter.” This brought a chorus of agreement from a table dressed mostly in Marine green.
“Damn straight!” boomed a loud, low voice from one corner. One of the polar bears, making a rare appearance in public. It had been hinted from above that the bears should mingle with their human comrades in a show of inter-species solidarity.
The argument over who had performed the most essential part in defeating the alien invaders had been going on for hours and showed no signs of letting up. Not as long as the main bar was filled with a mixture of crew from the corvette squadron, the Peggy Sue and the Marine boarding party. Add in a mixture of civilian admirers and other base personnel and the good natured verbal abuse would probably go on all night.
Here and there among the green and blue military jumpsuits the occasional black of an officer could be seen. They had come by to congratulate their men and quietly reinforce the desire by the command staff that everyone have a good, non-violent time. Word had been passed prior to arrival at Farside that anyone engaging in a brawl would find themselves back out on patrol so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. So far the inter-service sparring had remained verbal only.
One of the officers in attendance was a tall, lean figure, casually propped against the bar with a bottle of Samuel Adams Boston Lager in one hand. Probably one of the last bottles of Sam Adams beer left in the universe. He was reconnoitering the bar much like he would have in Austin or San Antonio just a few years ago.
Walking unhurriedly across the crowded room was another tall figure in black—Lt. Melaku, exchanging a word of commendation here and accepting congratulations there. Approaching the bar, she became aware of the other officer's presence. They made an interesting couple, both of a similar height and dressed in matching jumpsuits. Trim and attractive, the main contrast between them being that her skin was the color of buffed ebony and his a pale ivory.
“Good evening, Lt. Vincent,” she began and then corrected herself when she noticed the small gold oak leaf on his collar, “I'm sorry, Lieutenant Commander Vincent. Congratulations, Sir.”
“Why thank you,” Billy Ray replied, straightening up and turning to face the female officer. He noticed that her collar insignia was now the two silver bars of a full lieutenant. “And congratulations yourself, Lieutenant Melaku.”
Though Beth had been acting squadron commander during the mission she had been a Lieutenant JG, junior grade. Her leadership during the engagement had been recognized with a promotion to Lieutenant and assignment as commander of the base's growing corvette squadron.
Similarly, Billy Ray's performance as XO—executive officer—of the Peggy Sue had earned him promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Around the base, the scuttlebutt said he would soon be getting a ship of his own to command.
“How are your crew enjoying their reception?”
“They have quite taken to it, Sir. It will be hard to get them back out on patrol when the time comes, I'm afraid.”
“Well they all deserve a bit of partyin' given what they did. Lord knows what the future might hold.”
“You sound like you are expecting more trouble, Commander.”
“One thing you can depend on, Lieutenant, is trouble—the Universe produces an endless supply of it.” Billy Ray was dropping into his friendly cowboy persona in-spite of himself, the one that used to work so well picking up women in bars back home. He looked at the officer standing next to him, for the first time evaluating her charms as a member of the opposite sex.
She was tall enough that they could look each other levelly in the eyes. Her classic Ethiopian features looked quite exotic to a man from Texas—high forehead and cheekbones, narrow aristocratic nose and dark flashing eyes. She could have easily passed for a fashion model in Paris or New York.
On a low stage in one corner of the bar the band, which had been on break, was getting ready to start back up. Playing a mixture of Stevie Ray Vaughn, George Strait and Los Lonely Boys covers, with an occasional Tejano number thrown in for good measure, the best that could be said for the music was that it was loud and enthusiastic. As the band played an intro to “Texas Flood,” Billy Ray made a decision, not realizing its significance at the time.
“Would you like to go someplace where we can hold a normal conversation?” he asked with more than a hint of his Texas accent in evidence.
“And where would that be, Commander?” Beth replied cautiously, her British accent sounding more formal to the cowboy than intended.
“I know a quiet bar just across the Atrium,” he replied earnestly, sensing hesitation in the woman's reply. “Right now it's servin' as sort of an Officer's Club—most of the higher-ups are there.”
“Higher-ups?”
“Yeah, like Col. Tropsha and her staff, and Capt. Curtis. I came here to make the rounds among the crew, but now I'm feelin' like my presence may be dampening the party mood.”
Beth surveyed the room and noticed that most of the other officers had already departed. Though there was no written directive against fraternization between officers and enlisted personnel, old traditions died hard. “Yes, I see what you mean. You say it's just across the Atrium?”
“Sure enough, down on the main level over by the waterfall,” Billy Ray said, trying to close the deal. “I'm Billy Ray, by the way.”
“Call me Beth,” she answered with a dazzling smile. Billy Ray had some notoriety as a pickup artist, a lady's man not interested in anything beyond a one night stand, but Beth had no demure reputation herself. Together they walked toward the exit, oblivious to the knowing grins among their respective crews.
Captain's Sea Cabin, M'tak Ka'fek
One of the first changes Jack ordered after settling in on board was the addition of an office just off the bridge area, what would be called a sea cabin on a traditional naval vessel. There he could perform administrative duties or take a quick nap while remaining close to the bridge. Currently he was meeting with several of the crew regarding some of their concerns.
Normally such matters would be forwarded up through channels, meaning the senior Chief or the ship's XO. With fewer than twenty on board including officers a strict chain of command was not really necessary, at least for personal matters. Standing in front of the Captain's desk were two Marines and an able spacer: Rosey Acuna, Jon Feldman and Matt Jacobs.
“At ease,” Jack ordered, “so what brings you to my door today?”
The group had agreed to let Jon Feldman do most of the talking, since he was the first one to notice the changes. “Sir, we've noticed that things have been happening to us since we came on board—changes to our bodies and stuff, and we're a bit concerned.”
“Really? What kind of changes
?” Jack asked, his interest piqued.
“Like being able to run farther without being winded, and lifting heavier weights than we could back on Earth. Stuff like that, Sir.”
“And old injuries that seem to have healed, or at least don't hurt anymore,” Rosey chimed in. Since her conversation with Jon she had been noticing other things.
“And you, Jacobs. You've noticed inexplicable changes as well?”
“Yes, Captain,” Matt looked sheepishly down at the deck, “you're going to think I'm making this up but...” The sailor blushed bright red.
“Come on man, out with it,” Jack chided gently.
“Well, Sir, I used to have an appendix scar and it isn't there anymore.”
“I see, and do you have a theory as to how or why this is happening?”
“Sir, we think the ship is doing it,” Jon blurted, “I mean the ship's computer.”
Jack sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin—a favorite pose during cogitation. Now that I think of it, I misplaced my reading glasses several weeks ago but haven't needed them. Perhaps something is going on. I wonder if M'tak is at the root of this?
Jack sat up and spoke to the trio in front of him, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will consult with the ship's AI and see what might be causing these... changes. I will get to the bottom of this and let everyone know what is going on. Dismissed.”
The crewmembers mumbled thank-you-sirs and exited the sea cabin. After the door slid shut Jack addressed the omnipresent ship's computer. “M'tak, have you been causing changes to the crews' bodies without informing them?”
“Yes, Captain,” answered the AI's disembodied voice.
Why is it that computer intelligences can be so aggravatingly literal when they want to be? “Would you care to explain why you are doing this and how?”
“Captain, part of my normal operation is to ensure all of the ship's systems are kept fully functional and performing to their maximum potential. That extends to the ship's biological systems as well.”
“Meaning the crew?”
“Yes, Captain. I have optimized the crew's nutritional intake and included a number of nanites in their foodstuffs. Those nanites are programmed to seek out damaged tissues and body parts and correct the damage—as long as the damage is not too severe.”
“Like Rosey's old injury and Matt's appendix scar ... and my eyesight?”
“Yes.”
“What do you define as 'too severe' for such repairs?”
“Regeneration of missing organs and body parts, or major trauma. For example, spacer Jacobs' appendix scar was replaced with normal skin tissue, but his appendix was not regrown.”
“What about other scar tissue?” Jack suddenly had a disturbing thought. “Will my men, those who are circumcised, find their foreskins growing back?” Won't that be fun to explain to the crew!
“No Captain, I have specifically programed the nanites to not repair intentional alterations—earring holes, tattoos and other results of ritual self-mutilation will be left intact.”
“That's reassuring,” the Captain replied sarcastically, at least I don't have to dread another tonsillectomy. “And part of this performance optimization includes increasing the crew's strength and endurance?”
“Yes, Captain. I have also made adjustments to certain neural pathways to improve compatibility with the ship's systems.”
“Which is why they no longer throw up when trying to use the weapons systems.” Yes, Jack thought, careful to not send his thoughts over his direct neural link with the AI, this all makes perfect sense.
“Precisely, Captain,” the AI replied. “This is all a normal part of ship operation, but I sense that you are upset.”
“Just taken a bit by surprise is all. I will need some time to review the pertinent documentation and then figure out how to explain this to the crew.”
“Why would they object to normal health maintenance and minor repair work? Several of them had the beginnings of potentially disabling or even fatal diseases.”
“Our species is quite protective of personal privacy, our bodies in particular. We are ill at ease when it comes to outside parties doing things to our persons without our knowledge. I am sure that you only executed your duties as you saw fit, M'tak, but I will need to break this to the crew gently.”
“As you wish, Captain. You certainly know your species better than I do.”
Jesse's Place, Farside
Beth and Billy Ray made small talk on their stroll across the Atrium, until they approached the palm tree framed entrance to Jesse's bar. To either side of the entrance were Marines, standing at parade rest with holstered stunners plainly displayed.
“Evening gentlemen,” Billy Ray drawled.
“Good evening Sir, Ma'am,” the Marine on the right replied, nodding to the officers while unobtrusively checking their identities through the data glasses he wore. The guards were there to keep out roaming party goers and the overly inquisitive. Officers and the civilian heads of various departments were all on the approved list.
As the pair of officers passed through the entranceway, Billy Ray moved to one side, allowing Beth to enter the bar ahead of him. As she passed he ushered her in by lightly placing his hand on the small of her back.
The touch of Billy Ray's hand sent a shock through Beth's body, the sudden almost electric sensation caused by unexpected physical contact. On other occasions, Beth had decked men for taking such liberties uninvited. But for some reason, she did not pull away from Billy Ray's fleeting embrace, nor did she turn and confront him. Instead she simply strode forward into the bar as Billy Ray withdrew his hand as lightly as he had touched her.
Why did his touch excite me? Beth thought furiously. Then the pair were greeted by others and the moment was lost.
“Beth! Billy Ray! So glad you could come,” called out Gretchen Curtis. On her suit collar was the unmistakable shape of an eagle, signifying the rank of Captain—she too had been promoted for her part in the great alien hunt.
“Good evening Captain, Ma'am,” Billy Ray responded to his CO and the attractive woman standing next to her.
“Yes, good evening Captain Curtis,” Beth added, “and to you, Col. Tropsha.” There was no mistaking who the blond beauty standing next to the Captain was.
“Good evening, I do not believe we have met before,” replied Ludmilla, smiling and extending her hand. “I find I have too many titles these days—Administrator, Colonel, Doctor—please call me Ludmilla.”
“Both of these young officers took active part in the attack on the alien vessel,” Gretchen said approvingly as the Lieutenant shook hands with the Chief Administrator. Gretchen had finished her first Fantasy and, on Ludmilla's advice, was nursing her second. Having been once bitten, Ludmilla was drinking vodka.
Silently, a black nose followed by a long white muzzle appeared to Beth's left. Catching motion out of the corner of her eye Beth turned and discovered a large polar bear next to her. Beth's eyes went wide, showing a significant amount of white against her dark complexion.
It was Isbjørn, one of the senior polar bears. Beth had only worked with the bears briefly on a few refugee runs and never met one of the ursines up close, at least not without being encased in space armor. “Good evening, everyone,” the bear said.
“Howdy, Isbjørn,” Billy Ray replied, grinning at Beth's unexpected discomfort. “It's OK, Beth, she don't bite.”
“No, but I might nibble a little, as Bear would say,” Isbjørn responded with a bearish smile.
“It is good to see you Isbjørn. I was just saying that we who had to stay behind are all thankful for the fleet's victory and safe return.” Ludmilla was trying to redirect Beth's attention away from the she-bear's toothy grin. She then looked directly at Billy Ray. “And I am particularly happy for the safe return of my old friends and shipmates.”
Slightly embarrassed, Billy Ray turned to Beth and offered an explanation for the remark. “You see
, Beth, Ludmilla was Peggy Sue's doctor on both earlier voyages. She's healed our wounds, made first contact with the Triads and fought hand-to-hand with the hairy crickets of Pzzst.”
“That's all true,” said Isbjørn, “I met Ludmilla when the first shuttle full of bears arrived on the Peggy Sue. She was racing to save the life of Tornassuk, a male who had been shot by a hunter.”
“It is, indeed, an honor to meet you,” Beth said, turning her gaze from the polar bear to the ash blond doctor. “You are a legend among the members of the fleet, you and Captain Jack.”
At the mention of Capt. Jack, Billy Ray's breath caught in his throat and Gretchen glanced sideways at her friend, but Ludmilla was unfazed. “I am not ready to be a legend yet, Beth, though some days I feel old enough to be.”
Billy Ray quickly guided the conversation away from the touchy subject of Ludmilla's missing paramour by asking, “Where's TK? It's not like a Texan to miss a party.”
“TK had some business to attend to dirtside,” answered Gretchen, glad to be back on less sensitive ground. “Seems that there is an enclave of survivors back on Earth that have pronounced themselves the Republic of Texas. TK figured he should be the one to establish diplomatic relations.”
Texas Hill Country, Earth
The nearest impact to the state of Texas was in the Gulf of Mexico, 300 km off the coast of Mississippi. That event sent a tremendous wave of water and debris in all directions, racing across the flatlands of the American South. Florida was obliterated, every gulf coastal city from Tampa to Corpus Christi was destroyed completely, a tsunami swept inland across the coastal plains and up the Mississippi River valley inundating cities as far north as Memphis and St. Louis.
