Cut to the Bone: Chains of Command Book 3

by Zen DiPietro

  Rubbing her hands over her face, she checked the time. She had four hours until the dinner hour. She didn’t know if anyone would show up, given that they were all racing to finish their tasks too, but she’d have dinner at the appointed hour, just in case.

  That gave her four hours of time to herself.

  She decided to celebrate.

  In her kitchenette, she’d stowed a single-serving can of champagne that Katheryn had given her. Fallon didn’t know if canned champagne could possibly be any good, but she decided that now was the time to find out.

  She cracked the can open and took a sip.

  Ugh.

  Pulling a cup out of the cabinet, she poured in a finger’s worth of tango fruit juice, then layered the champagne over it.

  Much better.

  She drained the cup, then refilled it the same way.

  The second time, she sipped slowly. Sinking into the couch cushions, she considered what to do next.

  She felt like doing something indulgent.

  Options were, of course, limited. She didn’t have to think about it for very long.

  After more than a week of being mostly sedentary, some intensely physical activity sounded wonderful.

  Tilting her head back, she drained her cup.

  After changing into workout wear, she headed for the gym.

  Once there, she paused, taking in a deep breath. A gym usually had a certain scent, even with the most aggressive air scrubbers. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means, and she kind of missed it. Asimov’s gym was too new to have the faint aroma of thousands of workouts pounded into it.

  No matter. She’d give it a head start.

  Starting up on the track, she ran three kilometers, then attacked the climbing wall.

  There was nothing like a good climb for a full-body workout. There was a mental component to it as well, searching for the right combination of grips and footholds. She liked climbing. She hadn’t done a great deal of it previously, but she enjoyed the feeling of solving the puzzle of getting to the top.

  Once she arrived, she sat on a ledge, looking out at the gym. Soon, it would be full of people. She looked forward to that.

  Of course, when there were others around, she’d have to wear the proper safety equipment, which she’d ignored just for today, during her little celebration.

  Climbing wouldn’t be as fun without the risk of falling.

  She smiled, remembering Raptor teasing her about her adrenaline issues. She couldn’t help it that she felt most alive when she was fighting or flying. That was why she did those things—to escape the thrum of mediocrity.

  Being with her team felt that way, too.

  There was a reason she’d chosen this life.

  She chose a challenging path down, often relying solely on her upper body strength as she shifted from hold to hold. She sent a mental thank-you to Ross Whelkin for forcing her to increase her muscle mass during the academy. Her slight frame made adding bulk extremely difficult, and she guarded every ounce of muscle zealously.

  Once on the ground, she took three running steps, then went into a tumbling run. Handspring, twisting handspring, and a back handspring, ending with a layout back tuck.

  She wasn’t a gymnast. She wouldn’t have scored any points with any judges of the sport. Her movements were to gain distance and put her in a position to strike as soon as she landed, rather than for ideal form.

  She loved flips, though. She launched into a cartwheel that gave her plenty of momentum to do her favorite side flip. It was a tricky maneuver. Showy, and not actually very useful in a combat situation, but fun. By throwing her momentum over her shoulder, she could quickly tuck her knees up, almost under her armpits, but successively, allowing her to execute a lateral flip that was not only fun, but tended to impress people.

  It had sure impressed Raptor, when she’d first met him. Back then, she’d known him as Drew.

  The memory made her smile.

  Knowing that she’d accomplished half her assignment, and was that much closer to reuniting with him, Peregrine, and Hawk, made her smile even more.

  She was feeling pretty good, and it wasn’t the champagne.

  Well, it wasn’t just the champagne. Having grown up drinking sake and makgeolli at the ever-present social occasions of her homeland, she’d never been a lightweight in the drinking department.

  A shame she didn’t have a sparring partner. She felt remarkably in the mood for a good fight. Minho undoubtedly had better things to do, though, so she did several more tumbling passes, spent some time punching and kicking a training dummy, and ran a few more kilometers.

  Finally, when her muscles felt fully released from her recent stint of inactivity, and her entire body felt alive and sweaty, she hit the locker room to shower and dress in a fresh uniform.

  Minho had decreed that while the delivery crew was on board, all officers must be in uniform, per standard protocol, whenever they were in view of others. Whether or not he was her friend and partner, he was still the ranking officer on this station, and she accepted the order as she would from any other superior officer.

  “Ahhhh!” She stretched her arms with satisfaction as she left, her bag with her other clothes over her shoulder.

  Her body felt good. Her mind felt more relaxed. What now? She checked the time. She still had an hour and a half before dinner.

  A nap? That sure sounded indulgent. But, having cut some corners on her sleep lately, she did feel tired. Some sleep would not only be pleasant, but also prepare her to jump back into work tomorrow.

  Right. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder. A nap it was, then.

  6

  “Ready?” Minho asked in a low voice.

  Fallon nodded, her eyes on the airlock. “Ready.”

  This was it. Her first official transfer of command. Being that it was the official beginning of Asimov Station’s service, it felt like a major event.

  The airlock opened.

  Captain Phillip Lydecker stepped onto Asimov, looking serious and dignified. A Zerellian of forty-six years, standardized to the Terran year, as per PAC tradition, Lydecker looked every bit the senior officer.

  Minho stepped up and bowed low, as befitting their difference in rank and the official nature of this meeting. “Lieutenant Commander Minho Park, Captain. Does this command meet your satisfaction?”

  It was an age-old question, steeped in ceremony and tradition. It wasn’t actually a question, but an acknowledgement of the commanding officer’s arrival and an invitation to take his rightful command.

  Fallon looked forward to the day when she would be the senior officer being asked that question.

  Someday.

  “It does,” Lydecker confirmed. “Lieutenant Commander Park, you are relieved of this command.”

  Minho bowed again, but shallowly this time, and took a small step backward.

  Heedless of the crew members arriving behind him via the airlock, Captain Lydecker focused his attention on the skeleton crew.

  Fallon looked at them, too, all assembled together, solemn but proud of the work they’d done. Even Jess had a certain set in her shoulders that indicated pride and satisfaction.

  This might be the last time all of them were together, since everyone but Priestley and Katheryn had already scheduled various transports off the station, and would be departing over the next couple of weeks as those transports arrived to carry them off to their next assignments.

  It felt surprisingly bittersweet.

  “I am Captain Phillip Lydecker. I formally take command of this station. Asimov Station is, as of this moment, officially registered as a commissioned station of the Planetary Alliance Cooperative.”

  Discretely, Fallon touched her comport, resetting the station’s internal chronometers to mark that precise moment as zero hours, zero minutes, and one second, on day one of its service.

  Wow. By her hand, a space station was born. She felt a thrilling rush not unlike the sensation of winning a g
ood fight.

  Maybe even a little better.

  Actually, she felt a little giddy.

  “As your captain,” Lydecker continued, “I consider each and every one of you my personal responsibility. I thank you for your diligent attention in preparing Asimov Station for service.”

  He bowed then, just deeply enough to show respect.

  Light applause filled the docking bay and everyone loosened up, with the formalities now out of the way.

  “Park Minho.” Lydecker approached and bowed to Minho. “I’ve heard many good things about you. I’m fortunate to have had you overseeing operations here.”

  Fallon was impressed. Few people, even among PAC officers, would think to put Minho’s family name first, as was tradition where he and Fallon were from.

  “It was my honor, sir.” Minho returned the bow, more deeply.

  Lydecker turned to Fallon. “And you must be Arashi Emiko. Thank you for your service. I’m certain we will work well together over the coming weeks.”

  She bowed. “Thank you, sir. I promise to do my best.”

  He moved on, greeting those who had served Asimov in order of rank. Priestley, of course, would come last.

  Meanwhile, other officers arrived to introduce themselves. First, a few lieutenant commanders, then several lieutenants, then a plethora of ensigns followed by an onslaught of contractors.

  Each step down in rank abbreviated the introductions, until the contractors simply walked by, making eye contact and perhaps nodding respectfully.

  After Lydecker had made his rounds, Minho and Katheryn went with him to give him the official tour of the station. Fallon remained behind to greet the entirety of the incoming crew.

  Two hours later, she was exhausted. Such formal manners in a heightened atmosphere, as it turned out, got tiring quickly. By the end, the others of the skeleton crew had long since disappeared.

  It was the benefit of not being an officer, she supposed. She, on the other hand, would be spending her day finding crew members and making personal introductions.

  Jess’s words came back to her. Jess had been right. The chains of command did pull tight sometimes.

  After the first day, a reception breakfast was arranged by the new crew.

  A reception breakfast? Was that even a thing?

  Apparently so, because they’d clearly had this pre-planned.

  Fallon attended, re-greeted the new crew, ate eggs and toast, and engaged in polite small talk.

  It wasn’t as dreary as the crew’s initial arrival on the station, but it required a great deal of vigilance to interact with these officers, maintain her cover identity, and covertly observe the interactions of the people at the gathering.

  She’d already made the mental switch to the second part of her assignment, and wanted to see who appeared to be familiar with whom, or if any crew members had tension between them.

  Anything could prove to be useful.

  Since Minho had primarily dealt with Lydecker up until that point, Fallon hadn’t had much direct interaction with him. She observed him, exuding professionalism and authority, saying the right things at the right times, and behaving in all the ways a captain should.

  So far, she’d found nothing to criticize him for, but she’d hardly expected this to be easy.

  Fallon and Minho had both worked way more than double time since the crew’s arrival. Captain Lydecker and his crew had immediately sprung into pre-coordinated shift schedules. Even the reception breakfast had been neatly organized around those schedules.

  She wasn’t sorry to see a legitimate mess hall spring to life, fully stocked and staffed. Rather than doctored packets and limited supplies, Asimov now had a full stock of fresh ingredients, and a regular delivery schedule to make sure it stayed that way.

  Everything was falling into line.

  That evening, Minho dropped by her quarters—her new, smaller quarters. She was no longer a ranking officer on the station, as a mere lieutenant, and had been assigned more modest accommodations accordingly.

  “Hey,” he said after entering, his eyes roaming the surroundings.

  She didn’t mind the smaller quarters. She still had plenty of room and comfort. More than she needed. Minho’s quarters were further away though, now. Her next-door neighbor was now a pale-skinned Sarkavian who always regarded Fallon with poorly-veiled suspicion.

  Why that was, Fallon didn’t know. Mostly likely, it was simply that Fallon had been on the station when they arrived, but wasn’t a member of the actual crew. That made her a bit of an outsider, and a possible rival, though it seemed ridiculous to her that anyone might look at it that way.

  “Hey,” she returned. “How’s it going with the captain?”

  He shrugged and sank onto her newly-assigned couch. It was smaller and less plush than her previous one, but it was good enough for her.

  “By the book,” he said.

  “You sound tired.”

  “A little,” he admitted. “There’s been a lot going on. But good news—we’re both getting the day off tomorrow. The day after, we’ll start security drills.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “You’ll get a chance to rest up. And three of the skeleton crew are leaving tomorrow on a transport. We’ll get to say a proper goodbye.”

  “Should we?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t we?” she countered. Regardless of the fact that he and she were there under false pretenses, the preparation crew had worked hard together to get the work done. It seemed right to say goodbye personally.

  “We should,” he said. “I just wanted to see if you’d change your mind if I challenged you.”

  “Never,” she promised. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Do you have any tea?” he asked.

  “Am I Japanese?” she retorted, moving toward her small kitchenette without waiting for a reply.

  “How would I know?” he asked. “Maybe it’s just your cover identity.”

  “You got me.” She put two mugs of water into the heat-ex. “I’m secretly a Briveen spy, here to make sure the PAC stays out of Briveen business.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re good. I can’t even tell that your arms are cybernetic.”

  “That was nothing.” She retrieved the tea packets. “Hiding my scales is the real killer.”

  When the tea was ready, she took it over and joined him on the couch. “So what are we doing tomorrow?”

  “What do you mean?” He cautiously sipped his tea.

  “I assume we won’t be sleeping in and hitting the mess hall for fancy omelettes.”

  “Do they have those?” he asked, eyes wide. “Dang, I’m missing out. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well, I’ve barely seen you the last couple days. That could have something to do with it.”

  “Well, get ready to be sick of me. We’ll be in lockstep for the rest of this assignment.”

  She scrunched up her face into a terrible expression but said nothing.

  He ignored her. “You’re right. We won’t be resting and relaxing tomorrow. I’ve already begun researching Lydecker’s crew, and we need to organize some specialized surveillance.”

  Her heart sped up a little. “I am definitely on board with that. Everything’s already in place. I just need to know where we want to pay particular attention. Then I can flag the security footage for specific scenarios that we want to view.”

  “We’ll have to figure that out. At the moment, I have no particular suspects, outside of the captain himself. That means that for now, everyone’s suspect.”

  “Right. And we have surveillance on the captain’s correspondence?”

  He nodded. “Yes. We’ll need to review that carefully every day, as well. And that of any other key figures, should we identify any. Officially, as security experts, we’re here to run two months’ worth of drills, tests, and maintenance. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find what we need to either prove or disprove the smuggling theory in that time.”

/>   “If not, then command will have to come up with a reason for us to stay longer.”

  “Exactly.” He sipped his tea. “And if that’s necessary, then it’s what we’ll have to do, but it’s not ideal. It would be abnormal in this situation, since the new crew should be ready to take over all functions by then.”

  She held her teacup up. “To success in two months, then,” she said.

  He gently touched his cup to the side of hers in a toast. “To success,” he agreed. “One way or another.”

  Fallon kept watching Captain Lydecker, trying to glean something about his personality that might suggest untrustworthiness. A willingness to overlook protocols that were superfluous to the situation, maybe, or a propensity to be too much of a stickler to compensate for secret dealings.

  She saw none of that, though, only a middle-aged captain with an above-average understanding of advanced physics and a fondness for casserole-style dishes. The mess hall served those types of meals far too frequently for it to be a coincidence.

  She sat in a conference room, watching him interact with his senior staff and department heads, ensuring that all portions of the crew were being administered to, managed, and guided into a routine of expected daily operations.

  “Commander Stoyers, I’ve noticed that two junior officers who report to you have been late reporting to duty on two different occasions.” Frowning, the captain looked up from the infoboard he held.

  Stoyers nodded. “I believe they’re in a relationship, sir. I’ve warned them that any further infractions will result in disciplinary action.”

  The captain held his gaze. “I consider personal relationships between crew members to be none of my business, unless it affects their work. I’m glad you gave them a warning, to allow them some leeway to ease into the new routine here, but we’ve been here two weeks and that’s more than enough time. Anyone showing up late to their duty shifts or otherwise not performing as expected will not be indulged.”

  Those gathered either nodded or murmured their understanding.