Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  “That they did.” Ryan shook his hand.

  “I’ll leave a few men here to help with your wounded. The rest of us want to get in on the fight for the bridge before it’s over.”

  A trio of sick berth attendants began triaging the converter room survivors. None were unwounded. Ryan had a bullet hole on his thigh he hadn’t noticed until the antiseptic spray hit. Twenty two were alive, though half would need a hospital visit to stay that way.

  Damage control shoved everyone to the starboard half of the room so they could decontaminate the spillage from Converter Number Four.

  Ryan fell asleep.

  He woke to Jock shaking his shoulder. He promptly leapt to attention. Seeing an admiral had that effect. Even when Admiral Parata had his hands tied together and was guarded by grinning one-stripers.

  “We thought you should have the honor,” said Jock, “seeing as you struck the first blow.”

  “Thanks. Uh, honor of doing what?”

  Jock shrugged. “The honor of deciding what to do. There’s a lot of argument over that. So we’re leaving it to you.”

  “Oh.” Ryan thought a moment. He was still tired from the battle. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He led the parade out of the converter room. A public affairs rating steered a floating camera ahead of him. Jock, the admiral, and the guards followed. More spacers crowded after.

  This low on the ship the airlock was nearly horizontal. Ryan opened the inner door. The guards shoved the admiral in.

  “Any last words, sir?” asked Ryan.

  “I’d rather die than live under that collection of thugs,” snarled Parata.

  “Wish granted.” Ryan closed the inner door. With full atmospheric pressure on the outside there was no delay in opening the outer door.

  ***

  There were five empty seats at the Committee of Public Safety’s table. Some of Corday’s supporters had endorsed Admiral Parata’s coup. Mitchie skimmed her analyst report. Two of them were already dead. The other three had been taken away by Action Groups. The analysts expected them all to be dead within forty-eight hours.

  Mitchie wondered if some more committee members might be dead sooner. She’d been listening to accusations and counter-accusations of treason for an hour now. Some of the screamers looked ready to get physical.

  Guen had sat out the arguments. Now she looked out of patience. She tapped her gavel three times. The two members screaming accusations didn’t notice. She dropped the gavel and fiddled with her datasheet.

  A horrid feedback squeal came from the room’s speakers. Mitchie jammed fingers in her ears. Most of the people cringed. When it cut off the room was silent.

  “I hope you’ve gotten that out of your systems,” snarled Guen. “We will not consider any charges based on having the wrong friends or wrong opinion. Only hard evidence, recordings, or neutral witnesses. Now. Does anyone have any evidence that a committee member has committed treason?”

  Guen let the silence last two full minutes.

  “Then let’s get to work. First item. Establishing control of the Navy.”

  Chaos broke out again. A cry of “Abolish the Navy!” shouted down by “Betrayers!” and “Harmony!” In a bit the shouting died down and people actually took turns speaking in calm voices.

  The suggestions were still terrible. Civilian loyalty monitors in crews, continuous surveillance of officers, banning warships from a million klicks around Pintoy, and worse. There was always someone who could explain why they were stupid so Mitchie felt no need to speak up.

  Then Kimmie Z suggested appointing a civilian to replace Admiral Parata as Fleet Commander. That received only token objections and many approving comments. Someone asked what qualities they should look for in candidates for the position.

  Mitchie had picked the seat at the left end of the spectator section because it let her make eye contact with Guen. Now she raised her hand.

  Guen tapped the gavel. “The Liaison from the Disconnected Worlds has advice for us.”

  Mitchie stepped forward. Not to the focus of the semi-circular table, as a witness or pleader, but at the end of it as if she was another member.

  “My friends. Fleet Commander is not an entry level position. It requires years of experience and formal training to do well. There needs to be civilian oversight, yes, but the Fleet Commander must be a naval officer.”

  Annie said, “I nominate Commander Michigan Long as Fleet Commander.”

  Kimmie Z seconded.

  A chorus of ayes made it unanimous.

  Guen said, “Congratulations, Commander.”

  Mitchie kept her face calm. You bitch. You set me up for this. You didn’t even ask. She decided she’d have to share that thought with Guo so he could laugh at her for being upset over not-asking.

  ***

  She’d called ahead to order Hiroshi, Setta, and Mthembu to wait for her on the bridge. She jumped straight into the news. “The CPS decided to put me in charge of their fleet. I expect this to be temporary. For now Centurion Hiroshi will be acting captain.”

  None of them looked surprised.

  “I haven’t had a chance to check the legality of this. It might technically be treason. If any of you has been wanting to shoot me now’s your chance.”

  Hiroshi broke the silence. “I think it’d count as an exchange officer. Are you wanting to be shot?”

  “No, no. It’s just the only way I can think of to get out of this.”

  The pilot grinned. “Look on the bright side, ma’am. How are all those admirals feeling?”

  Don John Station, Pintoy System, centrifugal acceleration 10 m/s2

  The admirals came to their feet as Mitchie walked into the room. She said, “As you were,” carefully modulating it to sound calm and in control.

  The front of the conference room was devoid of lectern, chairs, tables, or any other useful cover. The admirals all had desks to sit behind. She stood front and center, hands on hips.

  “For anyone who hasn’t been paying attention, I’m Michigan Long, your new Fleet Commander. Some of you may be wondering if the reports on my career are accurate. I’ll give you the summary.

  “Akiak Guard Academy grad. Intelligence operative. Many years of covert operations. Cover identity as a freighter pilot. When war broke out I was needed more as a pilot than spy. Still flew the same freighter.”

  Admirals nodded as she confirmed what they’d read.

  “I’ve never commanded a warship. Never been to Fleet Tactics School. Never taken offensive action in a space battle.” The last wasn’t true, but the infoweapon attack was still classified, and it wasn’t useful experience for her new job. “And I’m not even a Fusion citizen.

  “So why am I in charge?”

  No admiral volunteered an answer.

  “Apparently I’m the highest-ranking officer trusted by the Committee of Public Safety. Which is a tremendous insult to every one of you. You should feel insulted.” Beat. “Unless you feel you’re to blame for this mess and the Committee is right to not trust you.”

  “What if we think the Committee is to blame for the mess?” came from the back.

  Mitchie spotted the speaker. He was one of the half-dozen commodores who’d squeezed against the back wall.

  “I don’t think that’s a productive topic,” she said. “Why don’t we blame the politicians who built Fusion society into a time bomb? They’re dead, they can’t complain.”

  No one laughed, but she saw some lips twitch.

  “We don’t have time to argue about blame. There’s a war on. More than one. The Harmony intends to impose its order on all the worlds they can reach.” She switched from English to Mandarin. “Can you define the most important virtues in descending order?”

  That forced smiles from the Sinophones in the room. One was bold enough to answer, “Not well enough.”

  She returned to English. “We can expect conflict with them soon. The Combined Fleet is fighting the Betrayers and desperately
needs reinforcements. Getting them that is my official mission here. And let’s hope the war with the Disconnect doesn’t resume.”

  A Vice Admiral in the front row—Sunil, if she remembered her briefing sheets right—said, “You think there’s a chance we’d attack the Disconnected Worlds in this condition?”

  Mitchie stepped forward to look Admiral Sunil in the eye. “You think only the Fusion can start wars? Let me tell you a story about what it’s like in the Disconnect right now.”

  She’d heard this from the late Ensign Jones. It happened only weeks before her squadron left.

  “Some people on Bonaventure decided to put on a play. Central character was a man who’d lost his wife and children in the invasion. So he stole a torchship. Planned to boost it up to one-tenth lightspeed and smack it into Pintoy.”

  That sent a shudder through her audience. Planetary defenses trained for out of control ships more than they did enemy attacks. The impact would equal a million megaton bomb. No humans would survive.

  “The hero stole a courier and chased him. Most of the play was them arguing over the radio about revenge and innocents and consequences. At the end the hero snuck aboard the other ship, sabotaged the engine, and made it miss the planet.”

  She’d wandered back to the front wall while telling the story but could still see relief on some faces.

  “The crowd booed. Some rushed the stage. The stagehands and ushers had to use force to get the actors out the back door. Police came with riot gear. The play was never performed again.”

  Dead silence and poker faces.

  “That’s how much the Bonnies hate y’all.”

  She let the silence stretch out.

  Finally Mitchie shrugged. “Now me, I’m from Akiak, and I have work that needs to be done. So let’s get this over with.”

  She pulled her pistol from her pocket as she walked back to Vice Admiral Sunil’s desk. They were too disciplined to flinch from it, but the tension made it clear they thought she might shoot. She placed it on the corner of the desk, not aimed at him, but with the muzzle pointing through the middle of the audience in a very unsafe manner.

  “If anyone thinks the next person the Committee of Public Safety will appoint will be an improvement over me, go ahead and shoot me now.”

  No admiral or commodore moved. Sunil leaned over in his chair to avoid the weapon.

  “Anyone?”

  Mitchie looked from one admiral to the next, making each one drop his eyes. She hated playing this kind of dominance game but if she was going to run this outfit she needed gut-level respect, not just a symbolic title. Especially with the men.

  She stared down the two female admirals just to be safe.

  By the time she worked her way back to the commodores they wouldn’t even meet her eyes. She pocketed the pistol.

  “All right. We have a lot of work in front of us. The recent unpleasantness left holes in the command structure. We need to fill those, assess fleet readiness, and make plans for taking the offensive.”

  Tiantan, gravity 8.7 m/s2

  As the elevator cage descended along the side of the destroyer, Guo saw a groundcar approaching. The passengers emerged just before he reached the ground. The first was Stakeholder—no, Daifu—Ping. A woman he didn’t recognize exited through the door on the other side.

  He mentally rehearsed his greetings to Ping. Establishing the proper tone as a neutral messenger was crucial to the success of his mission. Then the third person exited the groundcar.

  “Master Su!” Guo flew past Ping, then stopped, unsure if he should bow. The old man spread his arms to demand an embrace.

  When they released the hug the old man said, “It’s good to see you again, boy. I wasn’t sure I’d live long enough.”

  “It’s been too long. And I don’t know if you ever received my last letter.”

  “I have the one you sent after returning to the Disconnect from Earth. Congratulations on your wedding. I sent the reply to Akiak.”

  “It must have been lost in the war.” The invasion of Bonaventure had disrupted much more than mail service.

  “I’ll resend it. But we must remember our manners.”

  Ignoring Ping had been rude of them. Guo turned to face him.

  “Welcome to Tiantan, Ambassador Kwan.” Ping accompanied the greeting with a firm Disconnect-style handshake. “Is this your fourth visit here, then?”

  “Yes, the Fives Full let me take shore leave when we traded here.”

  “I hope this visit won’t be as abbreviated as the others,” said Su.

  “I’m to help clarify the Committee of Public Safety’s proposal to give the Elders a full understanding. I will stay until they’ve formed a reply for me to carry back.”

  “And I promise you, Master Su, we will consider our words carefully,” Ping said with a smile. “Now let me introduce the Ambassador’s guide and liaison to the Elders. This is Chang Lian, a staffer in the External Affairs Advisory.”

  The woman stepped into full view. She made a demure bow.

  Guo strove for self-control. Her face was perfection. He’d only seen such beauty in advertising holos or on stage. To see it in person, up close, without warning—he made himself take a breath. “Miss Chang. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Please call me Lian, Ambassador. I’ll be handling all your needs for your visit.”

  “Of course.”

  Ping announced plans for dinner. Guo found himself in the back seat with Lian. She filled his silence with tour guide chatter, leaning into his personal space when pointing out landmarks on his side.

  As the shock wore off Guo analyzed her appearance. It was too perfect. Only holodrama stars and professional models would invest in the precision surgery to achieve that look. She looked to have pure Han ancestry, which made her height only a little below average for her stock. But her torso curved more than the Han average.

  She could wear Mitchie’s clothes without a wrinkle. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  He interrupted Lian’s praise of an irrigation canal. “Were you born on Tiantan?”

  She welcomed the question with a smile that made his wedding ring feel tight. “Yes, in Weihai. My parents came here from Franklin to join one of the Revivalist villages being founded. They’re scholars at the Zengxi Academy now.”

  “My family had no interest in Confucian theory. But their behavior has always been close to it in practice.”

  Master Su interjected, “While you are brilliant at theory and terrible at practicing it.”

  ***

  The groundcar delivered them to an elegant building with no sign. After a few words from Lian the hostess took them to a private room. Four cushions ringed a low table.

  The meal was family-style in presentation, platters brought out for them all to take portions from. The food was not family cooking. It was exquisite. Salmon with no sauce, cooked to bring out the full flavor of the meat. Pork with a sauce deliciously scented as he brought it to his mouth, another flavor on his tongue, and an aftertaste different yet equally fine. The tea would have been the highlight of any other meal. Dishes kept coming with varied delights.

  In peacetime Guo had splurged on gourmet meals on a dozen worlds. Few equaled even a part of this one. The totality was such perfection—the only superlative he could compare it to was Lian’s beauty.

  “You never lift with your chopsticks,” said Lian. She balanced a piece of chicken on hers to demonstrate.

  Guo looked down at his next bite, clamped firmly between two pieces of bamboo. “I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I developed the habit eating in free fall. You have to keep everything under control or it can fly off.”

  “Cooking must be impossible under those conditions.”

  “Some kinds. Boiling and frying are out. But you can broil and bake. I used to put dough on skewers, shish kabob style, and make perfectly spherical muffins.”

  “We’ll have to encourage someone to open a restaurant on the highport,” said
Ping. “Who knows what pleasures we’re missing by only eating in gravity.”

  “I’d visit it,” said Guo. “But don’t ask me to run it. I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of freefall time already.”

  “It would keep you out of the mines,” said Master Su.

  “There’s lots of ways to stay out.”

  “Are you claustrophobic?” asked Lian.

  Guo chuckled. “The converter room of a spaceship is just as cramped and windowless as a mine tunnel. It’s worse when your ship is in combat. But when you come out of the mine you’re always in the same place. Walk off the ship and you’re someplace different. Bonaventure, or Demeter, or here.”

  He waved at the window of the room. It overlooked a small lake. An island in the center held a shrine.

  Master Su said, “In your traveling, have you found a way to obey your family’s will?”

  That provoked a burst of laughter. “If I had I wouldn’t be here,” said Guo.

  “Yet you’ve gotten married, as they wished.”

  Ping and Lian busied themselves with their food.

  “I’m married, yes. But it didn’t happen as they wished. I followed my wishes. And hers.”

  “Have they met her yet?”

  Guo nodded.

  “How did they like her?”

  Guo looked at the other two. If he was talking privately with Master Su he’d want to answer honestly. But—he was an ambassador now. All his conversations would be monitored unless he went back to the secure room on the warship which brought him here.

  “Their feelings were . . . mixed,” he answered.

  “Daughters in law often receive a wary welcome. That changes with the first grandchild.”

  “She’s a naval officer in the middle of a war.”

  “And when peace comes?”

  “We’ve talked about it.” And he shouldn’t be talking about it here, in front of the target of his mission. Guo was a messenger, dammit. They shouldn’t be talking about him at all.

  Master Su turned back to his plate, lifting a spike of broccoli on his chopsticks.

  Lian filled the silence. “We have a tai chi session in the morning. Would you like to join us?”