Diego looked around, and Mio realized everyone was staring at them again.
“Whatever,” Diego said under his breath, as he turned to walk away. “Good luck training yourself, but then again, you’re so tough you probably don’t need it.”
He stalked off without another word.
“Fine!” Mio yelled at his back. “Like I need you to tell me what to do, anyway. How many Terrans did you say you’ve killed?”
Mio watched him leave, too angry to care that she had driven him away, and she glared at everyone who continued to stare at her until they turned away.
“Give him time,” the large man who had carried her to the camp said as he came up behind her. He took two of the meal packets and a water, and he sat down in Diego’s place on the log. “Everyone deals with loss and stress differently.”
“I don’t know,” Mio replied, the anger draining from her. She sighed. “He seemed pretty mad.” Why had she said that to Diego, she wondered, cursing her temper. Everything would have been okay if he hadn’t called her a helpless little girl. She wasn’t! Why didn’t anyone understand that?
“Mmpf,” the man mumbled around a mouthful of food. He had eaten the first meal even faster than she had and was already opening his second box.
“Is it good to eat it that fast?” Mio asked.
“I was in the ALS Marines for a few years,” the man replied. “They’re better if you don’t keep them in your mouth long enough to taste them.” He chuckled and held out a hand. “Name’s Dan by the way.”
“Hi Dan,” she said, shaking his hand. Although Dan’s enormous hand swallowed Mio’s, his grip was firm but not bone-shattering. “I’m Mio.”
“Interesting name,” he said, his voice friendly as he dove into the second meal. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named that before.”
“My mother was Japanese. She ran away with my father because her parents wouldn’t let him marry her.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead. She got the colony plague when I was younger.”
“Sorry,” Dan said as he popped the last bite of the second meal into his mouth.
“Me too,” Mio said. She sighed. “I miss her all the time… especially now.” She turned away, so Dan wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said, standing up. He reached into a pocket and pulled out two batteries. “These are for your memory cube.” He handed them to Mio.
“Thank you!” Mio cried. “How did you know what I needed?”
“I had one myself…some time ago.” He started to leave but turned back around. “I’d use it sparingly; batteries are in short supply.”
He turned to go, and Mio’s eyebrows knitted. That wasn’t a tear in his eye, was it? A big man like him cried?
“Just a second,” Mio said, not wanting to be left alone. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said, turning around. “What’s up?”
“Can you tell me what’s happened while I was walking around in the cave?”
“Sure. The Terrans invaded five days ago. When they did, they burned almost all of the nearby farms.”
“Why would they do that? Don’t they want to eat? The farms produce most of First Landing’s food.”
“I reckon they want everyone in the city where they can watch and control them. If they allow people to live in the countryside, they might start some sort of resistance movement.” Dan turned and winked at her.
“Did it work?”
“Sort of. Most people moved into town, although some of us,” he indicated the people in the camp, “stayed to fight.”
“Are we winning?”
“Not yet,” he replied with a crooked smile. “But there’s always hope.”
“Why aren’t we winning?”
“The problem is the destroyer in orbit. That’s what fired the bombardment rounds that wiped out the military bases. They’d kill us too, if they ever found us. Until we get help from off planet, all we can really do is be a nuisance. If we do anything more than that, we risk having them drop things on our heads.”
“When are we going to get help?”
The crooked smile returned. “We probably won’t. Not for some time, anyway. First, I doubt anyone knows the Terrans are here. Somehow, they got behind our lines; no one probably knows we need help. Also, in addition to the destroyer in orbit, the Terrans landed a missile system in First Landing. Even if a ship somehow came to our aid and defeated the destroyer, it would be destroyed by the missile system when it tried to land, and there isn’t much we can do to stop it.”
“So why doesn’t everyone give up and move into town if the Turds can’t be beat? Wouldn’t it be better to live in town than in a tent? More comfortable and less of a chance of dying?”
“Probably,” the man allowed.
“So why do you stay here?”
Dan shrugged. “My wife always said I was hard-headed. This is my planet, not theirs, and I’m a former marine. How could I not fight?”
* * * * *
Chapter Seven: Benno
“You’ve had three days, LCDR Forrestal, yet my combat systems still rely on the system that plebeian traitor jury-rigged with no adherence to standards whatsoever. My reports to our immediate superior-in-command continue to show our offensive and defensive capabilities as marginal at best, alongside an estimated time to repair that seems to stretch further and further into the future with every passing hour. You are aware you’re aboard a warship performing combat operations, are you not?” asked Captain Palmer.
The XO, Command Master Chief, and each of the department heads surrounded the long wardroom table, but only the captain sat, strapped into place in his usual spot at the head of the table. The others “stood” behind their seats, oriented as they would be in thrust gravity, but floating stationary, their feet anchored by stiction pads to the deck. They all had looks of discomfort and shame on their faces, while the CO looked both superior and profoundly disappointed.
WEPS cleared his throat and answered. “Captain, all my materials are in place, ready for installation, but we can’t proceed until the Damage Control crews finish the girder replacements.”
His answer perversely seemed to delight LCDR Johnson, the Puller’s OPS officer and the CO’s lickspittle lackey and valued right hand. “Nice stab in the back there, Peter!” OPS turned and looked at the Chief Engineer. “And what do you have to say to that, CHENG?”
While the CHENG, LCDR Aaron Garvey, fumed and turned red, the XO interrupted. She glared at Johnson. “OPS, I’ll thank you kindly to stay in your own lane and stop making trouble. Or, perhaps next, you could share the reasons for your lack of progress setting up an interim cryptologic processing space, or explain why I’m missing so many of your operations specialists and boatswains from our all-hands repair parties?”
OPS opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he looked over at the CO, saw his patron’s annoyed expression, and closed his trap with an audible click of his teeth. He looked down at his feet, chagrined.
All eyes turned to LCDR Garvey. The CHENG shrugged. “We’re working as fast as materials come in, but it takes time to repair a hull gash that big. Remember, my folks are patching up a cut from a goddamned anti-capital ship xaser-head. A couple of degrees over and that son of a bitch woulda’ cored us like an apple, and we wouldn’t be able to bitch about how long it’s taking. I gotta say, though, we’re doing better than I originally figured. Sanchez may have gone nuts over his home world’s situation, but he was right on target with that advice about farming large-scale work to the tender’s fab-pods. If my Maintenance Officer had to work with just our own makers, forges, and on-hand materials, we wouldn’t even be half as far along. As it is, yes, we’re behind what I originally told you, Captain, but we’re in sight of being a full-up round, and a damn sight sooner than other units in the same situation. I won’t be able to hit the 72 hours in free-fall mark, but the hull will be
buttoned up and ready for full combat maneuvers in another six hours, okay? Then we can separate the hull sections, bring up some spin, and at least get some weight on our feet again. That should make each of your repair lists go quicker, right? That work for everybody?”
There were nods all around, even from the CO. Reports continued around the table from the supply officer and OPS, while the CMC and the XO finished up with how the crew was doing. When Command Master Chief Kapoor mentioned Ortiz’s and Sanchez’s upcoming Mast cases, however, Palmer held up a hand, pausing her.
“Thank you all,” the captain said, “that will be it. Department heads are dismissed. XO, you and Master Chief remain behind, please. Keep me updated on your status. And CHENG, advise me immediately when we’re ready to spin the ship.”
WEPS looked as if he wanted to stay, knowing they would be talking about his people, but a sharp look from the CO sent him packing. Palmer waited for the four officers to depart, leaving just his command triad in the wardroom. He motioned for them to sit in the seats to either side of him. They each pulled their feet up from the deck, slid the chairs out, and pulled their bodies into them. The XO and CMC strapped in and turned back toward Palmer.
The CO spoke in a low voice, even though they were alone in the wardroom. “I have concerns about Ortiz and Sanchez. About the crew as well. XO, have you finished your legal review? Can I indeed execute them after Mast?”
CDR Ashton looked uncomfortable, but she answered. “It is…seldom used, but during combat ops, you have expanded powers at CO’s Non-Judicial Punishment. The last time anyone did this, though, was 25 years ago, aboard a ship operating independently. We’re part of a fleet, and the argument could be made that charges of treason should at least go up to the admiral or the task force commander on the carrier. I really would like to consult with the strike group’s Judge Advocate General on this.”
“No!” Palmer yelled. “This is an internal matter until it either becomes too big for us to resolve, or it’s finished. There’s no need to give task force command any reason to doubt my command climate or the discipline on this ship. If I’m allowed to execute these traitors at Mast, then I want to do it. Only when that task is complete shall I report it to the commodore and the admiral. This legal kerfuffle would have been far easier if you’d just allowed me to space the pair of them out an airlock.”
The CMC glowered. “Sir, as I said before, spacing is considered a war-crime. The crew would react…negatively to that, especially with one of their own, and an officer who was one of their own. There’s already a great deal of grumbling regarding the circumstances of Warrant Officer Sanchez’s arrest, as well as the status of the Lost Six Worlds. If you insist on handling this in-house, I advise you to treat it in the accepted manner.”
Palmer sneered at her. “Yes, because hanging from a rope until you die and then getting dumped out an airlock is soooo much more humane than going out an airlock still alive. Fine then. Within an hour of this ship spinning up for gravity, I want them here for Mast, and the crew assembled in the hangar to witness both of those traitorous plebs dying for their betrayal.”
Both the XO and the CMC’s eyes widened in alarm. They spoke over one another, “An hour?” “A public execution?”
Palmer held up a hand to forestall their arguments. “Yes, within an hour of spin, and yes, a public hanging. This problem has already festered too long, and the crew needs to understand the consequences of treason. The will of the Alliance is paramount, and aboard my ship, that will is my will.”
They both appeared taken aback by that, but they did not argue. Instead, CDR Ashton cleared her throat and countered Palmer calmly. “Sir, there are a couple of issues to consider. First, while Ortiz’s case is open-and-shut attempted desertion, Chief Warrant Officer Sanchez’s case is a bit more…subjective. He was flat-out insubordinate, but he was also dealing with the loss of his world and the loss of his daughter. Calling that cowardice and treason is debatable. Executing him for it after NJP is even more debatable. Executing him for it publicly after NJP is very likely going too far. The crew is already grumbling. There’s rampant scuttlebutt and rumor about what went down outside your office. And it appears they have pieced together the fact that you haven’t informed higher authority of your intentions yet.”
“How would they know that? Are my communiques to the commodore unsecured?”
The XO held up her hands. “No, sir! But word has gotten out that Warrant Sanchez requested an audience with the admiral for a review of charges and redress of grievance, with no action being taken. Those issues, coupled with some of the rumors about how the Alliance is handling the Lost Six, have led to a perception of…a cover-up and an aristo double-standard on the Puller.”
CDR Palmer turned red with rage. “There is no double-standard! These men broke the law during a time of war, thinking of themselves rather than the Alliance! They have distracted this ship during its moment of greatest need and adversity. I am under no obligation to allow Sanchez’s crimes to percolate up to higher authority during this critical time, and I am under no obligation to allow wild crew ‘perceptions’ to define my reality. I will dispose of this matter in the manner I see fit, and only then shall I inform my superiors. The admiralty will know that when tough decisions need to be made, I can and will make them. And, if the crew disagrees with how I exercise my authority, please let them know it does not matter to me whether I eventually report two justified executions to the admiralty or twenty. Do I make myself clear, XO?”
CDR Ashton nodded.
“CMC?”
Master Chief Kapoor nodded.
“Fine then.” Palmer took a breath and looked at them pensively. Nodding to himself, he released his straps and swam up out of his seat in one smooth, practiced motion. He stood behind his chair and looked down upon his senior-most advisors.
“I have no desire to disregard your council, so I won’t force the crew to witness the executions. And I’ll wait for a day after we attain spin so things can settle onboard, but we shall conduct Mast. And I shall find them in violation of capital crimes during a time of war. And I damn well will hang the pair of them and toss their dishonorable bodies into the void. And whoever gets in the way of that process will soon enough see the same process applied to them.”
* * *
ACV Puller (DA 207) slowly returned to normal, basking in the hot, blue-ish light of an alien sun. Though dwarfed by the capital ships closer to the system center, she was much larger than the frigates and cutters transiting to and fro, ferrying personnel and materiel as the fleet put itself back together, preparing for the next incursion into Terran Union space. But though they differed in size, they were all similar in shape and construction. Their purpose defined their form.
The Puller, as a warship, would have been recognizable to navy sailors of any era: sail, steam, gas turbine, rocket, or DMC drive. Long, narrow, sleek, and bristling with antennas and weapons, her form presented the smallest possible cross-section as she thrust into battle, while still bringing her biggest guns to bear. When under thrust, with her many decks laid out perpendicular to the thrust axis, the Puller became a tall tower rocketing ever upward into the heavens.
Her forward half was surmounted by an irregular hexagonal prism, topped by a lightly sloping faceted cap bringing the bow to a single sharp line, like the business edge of a splitting maul. This, her forward battle hull, was dotted by weapons emplacements, groups of missile hatches, and sensor blisters. A large hangar for a single-stage-to-orbit dropship or shuttle claimed one long, hexagonal facet and somewhat ruined the regularity of her lines, but it also added an air of lethality the armored caps covering the weapons could not match (though those caps held weapons capable of destroying entire asteroids if needed).
Further aft, below the battle hull were thruster pylons; armored tanks for her metallic deuterium reactor fuel; long, golden, glowing radiator panels and armored reserve radiators; more fuel tanks and thrust pylons; and then the reactor/eng
ineering hull. This was also a hexagonal prism, but squatter than the elongated battle hull, and it ended in the four wide, still-hot bells of the dark matter conversion drives.
Up forward, a long, deep scar had cut through the battle hull nearly to the centerline, but that wound was mostly gone now. Its presence was still apparent, given away by the fresh metallic glint of the new pressure hull skin, but as form and function went, the Puller seemed ready to return to operations.
As if to prove she lived once more, the Alliance destroyer began to blossom like a flower. Broad sections on the battle hull split off from the prism-form and angled outward, pivoting on a forward hinge. Once fully extended, the hull sections locked into place, exposing six rectangular petals, and the Puller began to spin about her central axis. As speed built up, the opened hull sections came free of the forward battle hull and started to stretch out, like a child plucking petals from a flower in some cosmic game of “He loves me, He loves me not.” The hull sections, hung from taut cables buried within the destroyer, slowly paid out until they were like six charms upon a webbed bracelet and spun out in a ring to encircle the long lines of the ship. Swung out, extended, and joined together by a ring of scaffolds and pressurized transit tubes, the crew in these sections could experience an average of a half g’s worth of centrifugal gravity, just enough to stave off the deleterious effects of extended time in zero-g. That alone was worth the pain of reconfiguring the ship every single time they stopped thrusting.
Microgravity was very relaxing in the short term, after one recovered from the initial bout of nausea. No one slept more comfortably than they did in freefall, but men and women had not evolved for weightlessness. The harmful effects upon the body—redistribution of fluids, difficulty focusing, weakening of the immune system, loss of muscle mass, and the leaching of calcium from the bones—all commenced immediately and grew progressively worse with time. Even with daily effort on extra exercise and cellular nanomachinery working to limit the damage, it still took a toll.
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