Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  It only took four seconds for the image to react. His ship had to be inside the orbit of Matsu.

  “Ma’am, did the Committee of Public Safety order an exercise? Most of the squadrons we’ve been supporting have received new orders. I haven’t been able to get an explanation from anyone. If they’re not going to let us participate I’d like to give my crews some shore leave.”

  “I haven’t heard of one. I’ll ask around. Go ahead and take shore leave. I think you’re overdue.”

  “Thank you. Sheu out.”

  Mitchie sat at the comm console to write a terse but polite query to the chairman of the Naval Subcommittee. As she sent it a white streak crossed the sky.

  When it touched the horizon a white flash dazzled them. Mthembu shouted a prayer.

  Mitchie blinked to clear her eyes. It didn’t help. As her vision cleared she looked out to the source of the flash. A mushroom cloud rose on the horizon.

  “Crap. Missile attack. What’s the target? That’s the wrong direction for the city center.”

  “Dunno.” Mthembu tried to pull up a map on the navigation box but it wasn’t responding. He started a power cycle.

  Mitchie tried to get a map on her datasheet but it only displayed snow.

  Spacer Ye came up the bridge ladder. “Ma’am, there’s been a major explosion in Stony Brook Wilderness Zone.”

  “How many casualties?”

  “Nobody knows yet. Lots of network disruptions. Hundreds dead at least. Some refugees from the city were camping out there.”

  A Fusion “wilderness zone” was more controlled than some Disconnect gardens. It would have been a safe place to hide from the chaos.

  “You still have net connection?”

  “The wireless is down but we’re still getting full capability on the spaceport wire.”

  “Look at that!” Mthembu pointed out the top of the bridge dome. Torchship plumes hung in the sky over Capitol City.

  Mitchie cursed. “Whose ships are those?”

  Neither man had a guess.

  “Right. Mthembu, get the boxes back on line. Ye, let’s see what we can find out about them.”

  Her guess was a squadron incited to mutiny by the Harmony. By the time they reached Ye’s workstation the ships had revealed themselves. Their announcement was broadcast on a loop.

  “Citizens of Pintoy! This is the Restoration Executive, Admiral Parata. The Committee of Public Safety is now disbanded. The Restoration Executive will oversee the election of a new Council of Stakeholders. Once the Council has assumed control the Restoration Executive will resign all power. The so-called Committee of Public Safety must declare their surrender in no less than six hours or further demonstrations of force will be made.” It began again.

  The workstation presented quick reports from the analysis group. They’d identified several of the ships overhead and listed the resources available to respond.

  The crew of every planetary defense battery had been granted five-day passes yesterday.

  Most of the fleet was headed to dispersed points in deep space.

  Civilian ships started fleeing when the missile struck.

  The Marine units around Capitol City were only equipped for riot suppression.

  When Mitchie’s datasheet recovered she gave the workstation back to Ye. She checked the froth of the net to see what the reactions were. The middle-class, now subordinate to ex-stipend kid thugs, wanted the old order back. Those pissed at the Stakeholders’ lies vowed to fight. Everyone who’d come out ahead in the big reshuffle was panicking. The stipend kids stuck on the bottom just wanted their easy money and games back.

  The opening chord of the Magic Princess Journey theme sounded. Mitchie muttered, “Thank God,” and answered it before the second bar.

  “Are you following this?” demanded Guen.

  “Yeah. What’s your response?”

  A bitter laugh. “I ordered the Committee to disperse. Half of them were running already. Annie made me relocate.” The background of her image was a moving vehicle.

  “What about a counter-attack?”

  “The only force I can find is your squadron of Disconnect ships.”

  “Um. Let me get Sheu into this.” It took a couple of minutes to arrange. They asked the squadron commander if he could attack Admiral Parata’s force.

  The reply took longer than four seconds.

  “Yes, ma’am, we can attack them. But that’s two destroyers and a light cruiser against a battleship and eight heavy cruisers. We might have surprise, but I bet they’re tracking us. Plus every shot that misses will be hundreds of dead civilians. Hell, if we hit one the wreck will land on this city, kill thousands.”

  Mitchie gave a confirming nod.

  “Dammit.” Guen pulled on the hair behind her ears. “I don’t want to destroy the city. I don’t want to wreck the ships, we need them. Most of the crews are there because I asked them to volunteer. If they knew what the admiral was up to they’d stop him.” She hissed in frustration.

  “What if we launched a high-intensity EMP attack?” asked Mitchie. “We could overwhelm—”

  Sheu had started talking as soon as Guen finished. “If you want to talk to the crews we might be able to put you on their speakers.”

  “You can hack into a warship’s PA?” said Mitchie.

  Guen let go of her hair.

  “Not exactly hack, ma’am.” Sheu was grinning. “We’ve done a lot of tech support for these green Fuzies. Sometimes it’s easier to remote in and fix it ourselves than explain it. They’ve been using common passwords across squadrons because of personnel turnover—”

  Mitchie blurted, “Holy shit.”

  “—so we have access to most of their fleet. I’ll have to check with my other ships to get the passwords they’ve—” He heard the curse. “Yes, ma’am. That is on my list of issues to complain about before we go on the offensive. But it’s a big timesaver in a training environment. We can pull together the how-to up here but you’ll want to execute on the ground. I’ll need the techs from Walking Rollo at the spaceport phased array control center. They’ll need security. Should only take two three hours.”

  “Good. Let’s do it. Mitchie, I’ll need your help making a speech customized for spacers.” Guen started another call. “Hey, Lorraine, I have an escort quest for you.”

  ***

  The converter room of FNS Dread could hold a missile frigate, if there weren’t so many pipes in the way. Five separate converters were humming as they powered the battleship’s torch to keep it hovering over Pintoy. A full fifty spacers were monitoring the systems and plumbing.

  Ensign Vicario was the only officer present. He didn’t know why the Chief Engineer hadn’t shown up, the bridge just said he was “indisposed.” He didn’t mind being in charge. It was what being an officer was all about. He strolled along the rim of the room listening to his spacers work.

  “Sir? I have an overheat reading.”

  Vicario leaned over the spacer's shoulder to look at the display. “Where?”

  “The outer regenerative loop is hotter than it should be.”

  The schematic displayed the pipes in yellow to indicate the temperature variation. The ensign pulled up a reference chart. “That’s in the safe range. The nominal is calibrated for vacuum. Sitting in atmosphere like this is warming everything up. We’re getting plume heat conducted back through the air.”

  He traced the limit of the safe zone with a finger. “That’s where you need to worry.” The torn stitches on his cuffs caught his eye. He dropped his arm before the spacer could notice it. I need to replace my midshipman jacket next time I get planetside.

  “Oh.”

  He clapped the spacer on the shoulder. “Good eye, Pucharty. We’ll be fine as long as we’re not here for days.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ensign Vicario returned to his wander. The PA speaker crackled with an incoming message. He looked up in concern. The ship was at Condition Red. This wouldn't be
anything routine.

  “Spacers of the Fusion!”

  The ensign tried to place the voice. It wasn’t a Pintoy accent, or Sukhoi. Didn’t sound like any of the bridge officers.

  A rating exclaimed, “That's the Chairwoman of the CPS! What's she talking to us for?”

  “You have put your lives on the line to protect our people from the monstrous Betrayers and the tyrants of the Harmony. The whole people honor you for your sacrifices and will welcome you with open arms when you return victorious.”

  Vicario scurried over to his control console. A command to shut down the PA resulted in an “AUTHORIZATION DENIED” error.

  “But your officers are not attacking the enemies of the people. They’ve launched a coup to restore the old order. Admiral Parata wants to put the complacent Stakeholders back in power.”

  The converter room crewmen had stopped working and were listening to the PA. Some were shouting in alarm at the message. The ensign took a deep breath and shouted, “Ignore that! Everyone get back to work! This is a performance critical situation.”

  “He wants the lies back. He wants to punish those who found out the truth. He wants you to live a false life again.”

  The nearest spacers glanced at him and then back to the PA speaker. No one turned back to their console.

  Ensign Vicario reached into his pocket. The XO had ordered him to carry his pistol on shift today without giving an explanation. He hadn’t wanted to alarm the crew by carrying it in a holster. Now he pulled it out and shot the nearest speaker.

  Guen’s speech continued from three more speakers spread around the room. “Admiral Parata has already killed hundreds by ordering a missile attack on Pintoy. He has struck at the people of his own homeworld.”

  “Get back to work, dammit!” Vicario pointed the pistol at a cluster of spacers.

  At the second converter station Fireman’s Mate 3/c Ryan realized the officer was about to shoot. He decided not to wait. He yelled, “No more lies!” and flung a wrench at the ensign.

  “Spacers, rise up! Stop this attack on the people. Stop this attempt to bring back the lies. Fight for your freedom! Fight for the freedom of all the people!”

  The wrench hit Vicario’s ribs, making the first shot miss. The ensign fired twice more as the spacers rushed him. By the time Ryan reached the fight there was just a pile of bodies wrestling with the officer.

  “Okay, we got him,” ordered Ryan. “Get up so we can finish it.”

  All the spacers but one stood. Ensign Vicario had made a headshot before the crew broke his neck.

  “What’re we gonna do with the bodies?” asked someone.

  “Airlock. You and you—” Ryan pointed “—carry them to the lower lock. You two, swab this mess up.”

  The PA was silent. The babble among the crew grew louder. “What do we do now?” “Let’s march up to the bridge!” “No, tell the Admiral to come down here.” “He won’t come. Let’s boost the drive and take the ship up to orbit.” “We can’t steer from here, you ninny.” “Shut down the drive, we can wreck the ship so he can’t attack the planet.” “You fucking idiot.”

  Ryan raised his voice. “Shut the torch for one second. That’ll tell them we’re in charge now.”

  Given a plan neither futile nor suicidal the crew moved back to their duty stations. Ryan counted down to the synchronized shutdown of the five converters.

  The ship dropped five meters then began thrusting again.

  “That’s rougher on the tummy than plain free fall,” muttered Ryan.

  The command console intercom flared with the red light of a priority call. The spacers near it stepped back.

  Ryan realized people were staring at him. He walked to the console and accepted the call. “Converter room.”

  “This is Captain Fechner. What the hell was that?”

  Killing the ensign already made them mutineers. He couldn't be in any more trouble. Still, it was hard to tell the captain, “We're taking over the ship, captain. We’re stopping the coup.”

  “Who the fuck are you? Put Vicario on the line!”

  “Vicario’s dead, sir. And you will be too if you don’t give in to our demands.”

  The ship's commander hissed. “I’ll give you sons of bitches one chance to be brigged instead of shot. Surrender to the Marines I’m sending in there or you’re all dead.”

  “We fought the Stakeholders. We’ll fight you to keep you from bringing them back. Converter room out.” Ryan pressed the off switch. He looked up to see spacers staring at him with looks ranging from admiration to horror. “What are you standing there for? Let’s get the hatches blocked and scrounge up some weapons.”

  The converter room hatches were designed to lock securely against battle damage. Spanners and pipes were hammered into the wheels to keep them from opening.

  Other spacers tried to reconfigure some of the back-up systems for defense. The task would be much easier if they didn’t have to keep the torch running while they worked on it.

  Ryan discovered even the higher-ranking petty officers deferred to him. Witnesses spread the story of the thrown wrench. He approved every idea brought to him, only intervening when two groups squabbled over using the same power line.

  A hatch blew off its hinges. It landed seven meters away, crushing a spacer against his console.

  “Wait for them to come in!” ordered Ryan.

  A dozen unarmored Marines ran through the hatch, spraying frangible rounds at the spacers who hadn’t taken cover.

  “Now!”

  A fireman second class activated a valve on his console. A pipe aimed at the hatch blew thousand degree steam at it. Marines screamed as they tried to roll out of the blast. The next squad died in the hatchway.

  Ryan had entrusted the ensign’s pistol to a machinist’s mate who claimed expertise with firearms. The MM quickly finished off the surviving Marines. When the steam jet was stopped they could hear scalded troops crying in the corridor.

  “Can we use their weapons, Branson?” Ryan asked.

  “A few,” answered the machinist’s mate. “The heat ruined most of them. Cooked off the ammo too.”

  “All right. Get some volunteers.” Ryan went off to check on the wounded. Most of the injuries were superficial. The Marines had used light bullets to not risk destroying the converters. Two spacers were dead, seven more out of action.

  Branson called, “Test shots,” as his three gunmen fired bullets into the pile of dead Marines. When they’d each tested their new weapons he dispersed them around the converter room.

  Ryan whispered to Branson, “I’m trying to come up with a plan for if they try sleep gas. Any ideas?”

  “I doubt they have any. This ship is configured to fight Betrayers. Gas doesn’t work on robots.”

  “I hope so. Let me know if you think of something, just in case.”

  “Did you come up with a plan?”

  “Shut down all the converters before I pass out.”

  “I’ll try to come up with something better than that.”

  Ryan took a turn around the room, boosting morale with encouraging speeches. At least, he hoped they were boosting morale.

  Another hatch blew open. A few objects bounced after it.

  Ryan yelled, “Take cover!”

  The grenades exploded, killing spacers and ripping consoles free from the deck. Smoke obscured the open hatchway.

  Two Marines ran into the converter room, moving opposite directions from the hatch.

  “Wait for the group,” ordered Ryan.

  Branson’s gunners sprayed bullets around the Marines. The Marines ignored them, firing armor-piercing bullets at the pipes over the hatch.

  “Shit!” The spacer handling the valves for that hatch cut pressure to the line as superheated steam sprayed out over the defenders.

  “Wet the floor,” ordered Ryan. A firefighting hose sprayed cold water toward the opening.

  The gunners finally took down their targets. Two more came out to rep
lace them.

  “Zap ‘em.” A spacer energized the cables lying in the puddle with direct current from a converter. The Marines fell down and twitched.

  More grenades came out of the hatch. One landed on Converter Number Four. Its detonation breached the reaction vessel, spraying molten radioactive metal into the air.

  FNS Dread tilted as one fifth of her torch went out. The puddle sloshed against the wall. Some went through the hatch, electrocuting Marines waiting out of sight. Some spacers slid down the deck into the puddle and joined them in death.

  Ryan held onto a console to steady himself and pulled up the cross-connection interface.

  The ship came back to level. The helmsman must have adjusted thrust to compensate.

  As Ryan diverted power from converters Three and Five to Four’s torch plumbing a status update from the bridge came across his screen. ‘SECTOR ONE AND TWO THRUST REDUCED. LOSING ALTITUDE.’ He marked it acknowledged and kept switching valves.

  More Marines stormed through the hatchway, met with gunfire, water sprays, and catapulted bolts.

  When he had the new configuration set up and water heating the pipes Ryan typed, ‘SECTOR FOUR FULL THRUST ETR TWO MINUTES.’

  The helmsman acknowledged it then typed, ‘CAPT PROMISES PRISON ONLY IF YOU SURRENDER.’

  Ryan replied, ‘WILL LET OFFICERS LIVE IF SURRENDER TO CPS.’

  Half the Marines went down as another steam pipe blasted them. The spacers tried to shift it to spray the rest but were shot down.

  ‘YOU CAN’T WIN.’

  ‘WE CAN SMASH ALL THE CONVERTERS.’ Ryan walked away from the console. He picked up a weapon from a dead gunner, aimed at the Marines, and found it was empty.

  A blast of automatic fire from the hatchway killed the remaining Marines. A hand waved in the opening. “Don’t shoot! Friends!”

  Ryan ordered the steam and electricity traps secured. “Who’s there?”

  A stranger in a Damage Control uniform leaned into view. “Fighting for the People, Jock O’Grady, at your service. Got these bastards from behind.”

  Jock came through the hatch and looked around. “Good Lord they made a mess of y’all.”