Mike took this all in on a single glance and then ignored it as he focused on the task at hand. Marching into the room, he stopped at the edge of the desk and came to attention. There he snapped off a crisp hand salute holding it at the edge of his eye.
“Lt. Michael Collins, reporting with urgent dispatches, sir,” he announced before anyone could speak or say a word to stop him. He was sure that he crossed the room so quickly that the two officers present were a little stunned at his speed and sudden appearance by the desk.
Commodore Essex looked at him hard. He had a kind of expression like that of someone who had taken a bite of something sour and who desperately wanted to spit it out but couldn’t. He stared at him for a moment making him hold his salute and then returned his salute with a simple wave of his hand. It was one of the worst and most nonchalant salutes that Mike had ever seen.
“Sir, I have dispatches from Admiral Sir Egbert Norton-Underhill and Captain Sir Randolph Hope,” he said holding out his hand that held the cry-crystal memory chips.
Essex looked at the computer crystals and frowned deeply and made no move to touch them.
“I’ll take those, Lieutenant,” his dog robber said reaching for the crystals.
Mike quickly moved them away from her outstretched hand.
“No, my orders are to deliver them to the commander of the 34th Attack Fleet or to the starbase’s admiral,” he said.
Lt. Friar quickly looked to the Commodore for guidance.
“Very well, Mister Collins,” he said and slowly reached out and took the crystals from his hand. He then casually passed them to his aide.
Mike understood this part of the game. If he didn’t receive the orders directly then he could always deny that he ever received them and therefore didn’t have to follow anything that they ordered him to do or recommended him to do.
“Sir, the orders state …” Collins started but was cut off by an upraised palm.
“Mister Collins, that will be all,” Essex’s said.
“Commodore, my orders state to verbally review the dispatches and intelligence with you.”
“Why would you need to do that?” the aide interjected.
“To answer any of your questions and clarify the Admiral’s orders if need be,” Mike quickly said before he could be interrupted.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Lt. Friar remarked.
“Those are my orders,” he replied glancing hard at her before he looked back.
“Mister Collins, you are dismissed,” Commodore Essex ordered sternly and pointed to the door.
Mike nodded once and then saluted which was returned with another halfhearted salute from the flag officer. Turning about-face, he marched to the door. As he reached the door it slid open and he heard one more thing before he left.
“Oh Lieutenant, do wait outside just in case we do need you,” Lt. Friar added sounding pleased with herself to order him about.
Stepping out of the doorway, the door slid closed with a swoosh leaving him once more in the waiting area of the yeoman’s office.
Collins was mad but held it in as there was nothing he could do about it. One thing four years of Academy training did was to teach you to suck it up and drive on. Returning to his seat in the waiting area, he wondered how long he would have to wait this time. So, stuck here in the limbo of a flag officer’s office he had just a few choices. He could read, sleep or sit here and fidget. He had been reading about the star system and it’s one M-class planet, Nova Orbis, on his ride over from the Star Tiger. Right now, that didn’t interest him. His latest book was one about the Spanish American War and the Battle of Santiago which had proven to be a rather slow and dry read. Thus, left with no other choices he settled down, closed his eyes and slept.
It was a light sleep and one that was not as restful as he had hoped. Thoughts of Essex and his aide kept creeping into his semi-conscious mind keeping him from any real rest. An entire fleet had been kept out of battle for more than twelve months. They had failed to support the 12th Defense Fleet and even sat here as an enemy squadron built up its forces not one bend away. Commodore Essex’s only defense was that he was following orders to hold and protect the starbase. It troubled Mike’s thought as he remembered his friends and their own desperate fight to strike at the enemy by any means possible.
Waking from his catnap, he felt no better but smelled something wonderful in the air. Opening his eyes, he saw that several orderlies dress in white mess hall severing coats had entered the room pushing a floating hover cart. On top of the cart were several silver dinner-covers which he was sure were covering platters of food from the aromas coming from them. Before he could say anything to them they walked right by him and went to the Commodore’s office. The door slid open and the orderlies disappeared with the food.
“So much for lunch,” he commented to himself as he was now all alone in the outer office. Sometime during his catnap, the yeoman secretary had left the room, and probably went to lunch.
Reaching into his space bag he pulled out a ration bar and opened it up. Taking a bite, he wondered what they were serving in the mess hall.
“I wonder if this ship even has an officer mess?” he joked saying it aloud beings he was now all alone.
A moment later a voice almost made him choke on his ration bar.
“There are four enlisted mess halls, three officer’s messes as well as captain’s mess on board the Pallas,” a disembodied male voice said from somewhere above him.
Mike looked up and quickly realized that it was the ship’s A.I. answering his question.
“Pallas, is that you,” he asked unable to think of anything else to say.
“Yes, I’m the ship’s A.I. computer and you are Lt. Michael Collins of the Star Wolf,” it responded.
“Well, I was the captain of the …” he started but was quickly cut off.
“You were the captain of the Q-ship Randori that was lost in battle and then you were the captain of the freed escort carrier Nathanael Greene as well as acting first officer of the Star Tiger but your records indicate that you are still permanently assigned to the Star Wolf under Fleet Captain Sir Randolph Hope’s command.”
“I didn’t know my records were so accurate or even available?” Mike remarked amazed at the A.I.’s knowledge of him and wondering how he knew all of this information.
“They weren’t, that is until a few minutes ago when Commodore Essex downloaded your personal files along with the orders from Admiral Sir Egbert Norton-Underhill,” the computer answered.
Mike nodded, “So, the Commodore has read the orders.”
“Yes, and he is still reviewing the intelligence and information your squadron has gathered.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking to me. I get the feeling that Commodore Essex wasn’t very happy to get these orders or receive them from me or Commander Hunter,” Collins informed while wondering if the A.I. could get in trouble for talking to him.
“My contact protocols are limited to authorized ship officers of 0-3 rank or higher or any crew personnel in the event of an emergency. Though, I have no contact limits to officers or crewmen that are not assigned to this ship,” the computer replied sounding like it found a loophole in its code of contact perimeters.
“It’s odd that you even have limits to crew access?” Mike questioned thinking that it would be easier if the entire crew could rely on the A.I. for help on a daily basis.
“Commodore Essex, had these restrictions added to my programming when he took command of the fleet,” Pallas answered.
“My ship’s A.I. was un-operational when we liberated her. So, I have limited experience with self-aware computers but it sounds like you have very few people to talk to.”
“Mostly, it is all ship’s business with very little conversation on any other matters,” the A.I. responded.
“Sounds boring,” Mike commented.
There was a moment of silence before the computer replied.
�
��It is.”
Just then the outer door to the office opened and the yeoman came in returning from lunch. She smiled at Mike and then returned to her desk. Once there she put her V.R. glasses back on and returned to work. In another moment, she was once more oblivious to the young officer sitting in the room with her.
He sat there for several minutes wondering if he should say anything else to the computer. He didn’t want to make trouble for the A.I. or let Essex know that it had found a way around his restrictions.
Sitting there thinking over this, he was surprised when his subdermal comm. unit alerted that someone was trying to contact him. Reaching up, he touched the sensor behind his ear opening the comm. channel.
“I hope you don’t mind but I accessed your files and looked up the carrier code to your subdermal comm. unit,” the computer’s voice echoed in his head.
“No, that is alright,” he said in a whisper.
“By using your implant no one will be able to monitor us,” the supercomputer said sounding almost concerned.
“Why so many restrictions and why hasn’t the Commodore launched any attacks or even combat patrols?” he asked anxious for some kind of reasonable answer.
“From what I have observed, processed and have overheard, he is intent on not risking his fleet or his reputation unless he is forced to do so,” Pallas answered.
“He thinks that If he loses a battle he won’t make admiral,” Mike quickly concluded shaking his head in disgust. He remembered reading about generals like that from the American Civil War. They were great planners even great trainers but when it came to risking everything in a decisive battle many of them dragged their feet. They were so overcautious and scared of what the media would say if they had lost that it paralyzed them from any type of action at all.
“I believe that assessment is accurate,” the A.I. commented.
“What about the Starbase’s admiral?” he inquired.
Before Pallas could answer his question the door to the Commodore’s office slid open. The kitchen orderlies emerged from the office with their hover cart in tow. Neither of them looked happy but didn’t say a word to him as they rushed by.
Lt. Linda Friar then stepped out of the doorway and looked towards him.
“The Commodore will see you now,” she announced.
Mike looked at her for a moment and gave her a big smile before he got up and crossed the room to where she was standing. As he reached her she gave him a cat-like smile and tilted her head a little towards the inner office.
Straightening his uniform, he quickly entered and marched over to the Commodore’s massive desk. Here, he once more snapped to attention and waited for his salute to be returned.
The Commodore was still finishing his cobb salad from his lunch. Taking his fork, he speared the last piece of egg on his plate, brought his fork up and placed in his mouth. Dropping his fork onto his plate, he pulled off the napkin from around the collar of his shirt that he had placed over his chest to protect his uniform from any stains from his lunch. Wiping his mouth, he then tossed his napkin onto his plate. While slowly chewing the last bite of his meal, he leaned back and looked up at the saluting junior officer. Bringing his hand up to his eye the flag officer once more sort of wave a saluted in return.
“Stand at ease, Mister Collins,” he said.
Mike lowered his salute and went from attention to a more relaxed at ease with his feet apart and his hands behind his back.
Before the Commodore could say anything he quickly asked a question.
“Sir, I assume you have read the orders and reports. Do you need any clarifications or have any questions for me?”
Essex looked at him for moment before he spoke.
“You assume quite a great deal for such a junior officer,” he replied his face turning into a sour frown.
“I’m sorry sir, I’m just trying to carry out my orders and help in any way that I can,” Mike stated as respectfully as he could.
“If you must know, I have read these orders from Admiral Norton-Underhill and these supposed battle plans from Captain Hope. I must say that I find them all to be highly questionable, to say the least,” the flag officer stated in a huff.
“Could you be more specific, sir? What part of the orders do you find questionable?” Lt. Collins inquired while trying to hold it together and not lose his temper.
“Frankly, I find all of this very problematic,” he exclaimed and continued, “Orders from an admiral who was reported lost with his pathetic fleet. Strategic battle plans from another elderly officer, whose last official posting was as a headmaster of a boys’ school on some backwater planet.”
“It does all seem improbable,” Lt. Friar chimed in.
“Sir, I assure you that both the Admiral and Fleet Captain Hope are alive and well, and are counting on you and the 34th Attack Fleet to support their plans to strike at the enemy.”
“To support what? A fleet of captured enemy ships that have been crewed by former prisoners, young boys and old men well past their prime. It all sounds like some madman’s dream and a fool’s errand!” Essex exclaimed sounding as if he too was having trouble controlling his temper.
“Commodore, I have been with them for more than a year, fighting and hiding, waiting and biding our time. Now we have gathered enough ships between the restored 12th Defense Fleet, the Wolf Squadron, and the Templar Squadron to mount a serious offensive,” he tried to explain.
“To do what, get yourselves killed trying to push deeper into enemy space?” he countered and then added, “Young man, the enemy squadrons, and fleets guarding their borders would easily destroy you in a matter of a few days.”
“Sir, we have already destroyed at least four full squadrons as well as capturing one of their forward repair bases,” he informed knowing that all this was in the brief.
“So, you say but where is your proof?” the Commodore’s Dog Robber interjected.
Mike looked at her for a moment in a bit of bewilderment.
“What do you mean? You have the strategic brief, our intelligent reports and data files which included dozens of official records as well a crystal data chip with the recordings of our battles.”
“So, you say but all of that could have been doctored and faked to fool us and pull us away from our posting,” Lt. Friar theorized as she slowly walked around and behind him.
“This is crazy! Are you trying to say that everything that has been reported is false and that the enemy has not only concocted all of these reports and recordings but has managed to get the Star Tiger and her crew to cooperate and deliver it to you to trick you?” Mike declared finding himself quickly losing his composure in the face of these absurd accusations.
“I couldn’t have said that better myself, so where is the Star Tiger? That ship that brought you here and her captain didn’t stick around very long. In fact, other than you, we didn’t have the chance to meet any of her crew or her captain,” she said continuing her attack on their credibility.
“He did leave in a rather of big hurry and against my standing orders,” Commodore Essex added having sat back and watched as his flag lieutenant attacked for him.
“Commander Hunter had orders to take our information to the Admiralty. He was to deliver the same reports and intelligence files that I’ve given to you,” Mike replied.
“Leaving us with you as our liaison to this mysterious fleet of dead men and lost ships,” she taunted standing just off to his right side.
“If that was all true then I’d have to be part of it, wouldn’t I?” he countered turning and looking at her.
“Perhaps, or perhaps you are under some kind of new Karduan mind control and you don’t even know that you are their puppet?” she persisted staring him right in his blue eyes.
Mike held that stare for moment and then laughed right in her face.
“I guess you really didn’t read all of those reports or you would’ve known that I’m a Psi-Void and that Karduan telepathy and even
their deepest mind probes are useless against me,” he said again parrying her attack.
She looked lost for a moment but then smiled.
“What about you? You are very young to be a full lieutenant?” She stated and pointed just above his heart to the service insignias on his chest. “You wear both pilot wings and a commando’s badge? How did you earn both of those in the single year since your graduated from Harpers Academy?”
“My rank was awarded to me by Captain Hope after our first major battle as a field promotion. My flight school and commando training were given to me in the field by Commander Hutton. He was our tactics instructor and Master of Sword at Harpers Academy. He is also a Navy Special Operations Commando and a highly skilled fighter pilot. Later, I confirmed my training and qualifications by leading both fighter and commando operations in several different battles,” he explained looking down at her chest and the lack of any service badges. In fact, except for her adjutant’s cord she had nothing that made her remarkable in the least.
“Again, all very incredible and totally unbelievable,” she replied with a huff crossing her arms.
Before Mike could say another word or call her something that rhymed with witch, the Commodore interrupted their spirited argument.
“Enough! I have heard and read more than enough to make my decision,” he announced cutting them both off.
“Yes, sir,” said the dog robber.
Mike didn’t say anything and just turned back to face the Commodore as he announced his verdict.
“The 34th Attack Fleet will continue its standing orders from the Admiralty to protect the Ryu-Six Starbase and the Nova Orbis colony. As for these questionable orders that are maybe from Norton-Underhill, well they are just to un-verifiable and reckless to follow,” he declared.
“Sir …” Mike started but never finished.
“Mister Collins, this is not a debate!’ he said glaring at the junior officer.
“Aye sir but what about the enemy squadron that’s massing not one bend away from this base?” he asked.
Wolves at the Gate Page 5
