“That’s bullshit,” Husher said.
“I’m sorry, First Lieutenant, but your opinion doesn’t hold much weight these days. I’m not sure why you’re even present at this meeting.”
“You can’t try to lay this at Captain Keyes’s feet.” Husher shook his head. “How do you live with yourself? Ochrim did this. Ochrim, who everyone trusted. Not just us.”
Keyes silenced the first lieutenant with a gesture. “Who do you propose to replace me with?”
“I’m not proposing anything. Lieutenant Commander Bob Bronson will take your place as captain, effectively immediately.”
A silence swept the conference room. Keyes became conscious that his mouth was open.
He closed it, and spoke slowly: “Bob Bronson led a mutiny attempt.”
“Yes, after you led a witch hunt against him. A witch hunt conducted by you and a cohort of aliens. It has been judged that given your actions during your escapade down Pirate’s Path, a mutiny would have been the correct course of action for any member of the United Human Fleet.”
“Incredible,” Keyes said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re just another Darkstream stooge.”
“Excuse me?”
Husher got to his feet with such force his chair fell backward. He looked around at the other officers. “The captain’s right. This asshole’s bought and paid for. For all we know, all the admirals are.”
“You’re out of line, young man.” They were the Fleet Admiral’s first words of the meeting.
But Husher wasn’t talking to the admirals. “No one outside this room needs to know about them trying to remove Keyes. We don’t need to put the crew through a difficult decision, because they don’t have to know. As long as we all agree that Keyes is the best one at the helm of the Providence.”
“Wait a second. Think about this,” Keyes urged them. “What Husher’s proposing is out and out rebellion. You’ll be out of the Fleet. You might as well be pirates.”
“Keyes speaks sense,” Carrow said. “For once.”
Davies joined Husher in standing. “I’d rather be a pirate who serves humanity than a Fleet member serving a corporation. And I won’t follow Bronson. There’s no way.”
Arsenyev stood. “I’m in. We cut off contact with Command, and this conversation stays in this room.”
Lieutenant Hornwood was also present, since they couldn’t very well bring Fesky to a meeting with the admirals. Dutifully, he rose to his feet as well.
The only one sitting was acting XO Laudano.
“Laudano?” Husher said.
The XO shrugged. “Majority rules, I guess. Not that this is a democracy. Especially considering you’re keeping it from the crew.”
“That’s it, then. We’re doing this.” Husher strode over to the console connected to the twin screens and tapped it firmly. Both admirals winked out of sight.
Everyone was looking at Keyes again. Just as they’d done when they’d realized seven hundred thousand people were dead.
Deliberately, he joined them in standing. The acting XO regarded him with raised eyebrows for a moment, and then he stood, too.
“You’ve all made a very brazen choice,” Keyes said. “And now you’ll have to live with it. That will involve continuing to live with me as captain. I appreciate the faith you’ve placed in me. A little surprised by it, to be honest, considering some of my missteps. But if I am to remain captain of this ship—if we’re really entering into open rebellion against Command—I have three conditions.”
“We’re listening,” Husher said. Arsenyev and Davies nodded.
“First, we are a military vessel, and we will continue to comport ourselves as such. We will maintain the chain of command. We will remember our oath to serve humanity. Does anyone object to that?”
He made eye contact with all of them. No one spoke.
“Second, the remainder of the Fleet will no doubt engage the Wingers and Gok at the Larkspur-Caprice darkgate. We will aid them in that fight. We will help humanity retake this system. Does anyone object to that?”
They appeared less resolute than before, and Husher opened his mouth. Keyes waited for him to speak, but he said nothing, nor did any of the others.
“Very well. Third, we inform the crew of our decision to defy the admiralty. We offer them the choice to depart in escape pods or remain as conscientious objectors.”
“No,” Husher said. “We can’t risk that.”
“We must. I won’t lead men and women into open rebellion against their government and their superiors without their knowledge. If we sought to keep it from them, we would also have to deny them all updates and correspondence with the outside world, since that correspondence would contain news of our defection. I will not establish a totalitarian state aboard my ship. That’s not what she was built for. She was built to serve and protect humanity.”
Keyes waited for several seconds. They didn’t like it, that was clear, but they would accept it. And he doubted it would be the hardest thing he asked them to swallow, before this was all over.
“Dismissed.”
Chapter 47
Oh Two Hundred Hours
At oh two hundred hours, when the pair watching the brig were two men he could trust, Mario Laudano paid an unscheduled visit, exchanging nods with them as he walked past and down the long alley between the two rows of cells. Both guards had a long history of pissing off their officers, who typically responded with disciplinary action, culminating eventually in their getting consigned to the Providence. And Laudano had helped both men escape a court martial at one point or another.
The first cells held those who’d participated in the attempted mutiny, five to a cell, most of them asleep on thin-looking mattresses. Laudano didn’t want to know how they’d decided who got the bunk.
He sneered as he passed the Ixan’s cell, flipping him off, but Ochrim didn’t react. The scientist slumped against the wall at the back of his cell, dressed in shadow.
The Wingers put on more of a show.
“Tyrant!” one shouted.
“Fascist!”
Laudano saluted them in kind, snapping off his best, with a sarcastic flourish as his hand left his temple.
In the last cell on the right, removed from the other prisoners as much as the layout allowed, was Bob Bronson. Like the aliens, he remained awake.
“Laudano. I hear they gave you my old job.”
“It’s not your job anymore.”
“I know. That’s what I just said.”
“No—you don’t know. You’ve been promoted to captain.”
Bronson chuckled. “Did Keyes retire, then? Somehow I doubt he would have recommend me to succeed him.” The former XO leaned back, gently laying his head against the metal bulkhead. “Thanks for the late-night visit, Laudano. Your weird sense of humor is actually cheering me up.”
“I mean it. I was at the meeting where the admirals ordered Keyes to give his command to you. And he refused. The Providence is in open rebellion right now.”
That gave Bronson pause. “How does the crew feel about that?”
“They put it to a vote, and it was unanimous in favor of keeping Keyes as captain.”
“Well that’s that then, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. I voted for Keyes too, but that’s only because I could see which way the crew was leaning. I think Keyes is a disaster, and I know for a fact there are several who feel the same way as me, no matter how they voted.”
“What are you proposing? Another uprising, starting here at the brig? Maybe get the Wingers on board? It won’t work. If we still had the element of surprise, perhaps, but those damned Kaithe…forget it, Laudano. Keyes holds all the cards.”
“I don’t mean now. I’m saying we bide our time. I’ll keep playing my role, keeping an eye on things as they unfold. I mean, how long can the old man keep it together? Floating in hostile space, with the whole Fleet against him…and the moment things fall apart…”
“We s
tep in to piece them back together.”
“Exactly.”
“I like it. Why don’t we keep in touch, Laudano? Maybe a little more discreetly than actually coming to visit me in person.”
“Let’s do that.” Laudano extended his hand through the bars of Bronson’s cell.
They shook.
Chapter 48
A New Golden Age
Tennyson Steele removed his thick, black-rimmed glasses with shaking hands, wiping them against his suit and frowning when they remained smudged. He repositioned them, tight against the bridge of his nose, as he liked them.
A sigh escaped as he stared at the board room’s heavy oaken doors. He still couldn’t find the strength to enter and face the Darkstream board of directors. He couldn’t seem to recover his old poise. Not since hearing about the hundreds of thousands of Fleet member deaths. Admirals, captains, commanders, lieutenants, enlisted men and women…all gone.
It makes no sense. Ochrim agreed to sacrificing just one ship. The Buchanan was the necessary price to buy Darkstream’s, and humanity’s, enduring prosperity.
Steele had taken every precaution. After Ochrim had done his part, the fruit of which Steele had inspected himself, the Ixan was consigned to months of isolation aboard his research station.
None of this makes sense. The legendary scientist’s betrayal couldn’t have been spontaneous, given its scale. Such things came only after long periods of planning. Yet Ochrim couldn’t have known the Providence would show up to give him a ride to Darkstream HQ. Nobody could have planned for that.
His vintage watch told him he was five minutes late, and he pushed through the doors, which elevated the directors’ conversation from a murmur to a frantic buzz. They felt just as much panic and outrage as he did—as the rest of humanity did. Remember that, Steele told himself.
When he gripped the back of his seat at the head of the long mahogany table, it took longer than normal for them to fall silent. In Darkstream, being CEO also meant being Chairman. The others were all powerful people, but if any of them proved a problem, he would send them to join Godfrey in hell.
He stood there without speaking until, one by one, the others fell silent. “Our Chief Science Officer has betrayed us,” he said at last. “He’s betrayed humanity. I can only assume he’s been working with the Wingers from the start. Those sky-rats have waited a long time for their day, their pirates harrying our vessels while their government disavowed any connection. Now they’ve forged an unholy alliance with the Gok, and with that treacherous Ixan’s help they stand a better chance of victory than ever.”
A fresh wave of anxiety flitted through the room, its passage marked by frowns and furrowed brows. This was just how he wanted them. The Darkstream board always came around to the correct course of action—they just needed to hear the justification for it properly framed, first.
“We’re in rough shape. The Wingers will no doubt appropriate or destroy the empty Fleet ships whose crews were vaporized. And wormhole generators can’t be relied upon anymore. But wormhole generation isn’t the only source of our might. Darkstream provides many other things that give humanity an edge over its rivals.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Simulated gravity. Instantaneous communications across any distance. Ordnance propelled to devastating velocities by gravity fluctuations.
“Our Fleet is still superior, even halved, even pitted against those of both the Wingers and the Gok. But a strong humanity requires a strong Darkstream. To make sure the Fleet retains strategic dominance, an enormous war effort will be necessary to manufacture replacements for the lost ships. That means Darkstream technologies purchased by the government en masse. That means skyrocketing profits.” Steele looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “It means a strong Darkstream.”
A thin, graying man named Stapleton raised a tremulous hand. “Is this the time to be thinking about profits?”
“This is exactly the time. Darkstream profits correlate directly with human prosperity. The better we do, the better humanity does. And so to think of anything else would be treachery, plain and simple.” Spreading his hands, Steele gradually increased his voice’s volume, its resonance. “It has always been this way. Remember Earth, whose atmosphere and ecosystems were discarded in the name of corporate might. Was that the time to think about profits? Yes, it was. On the back of that necessary sacrifice, private corporations brought us into the stars, where humanity accessed untold riches. Where we came to dominate an entire galaxy. Corporations are the immortal gods of humanity, my friends, and they must be appeased. When they are, great things happen. And now, a sacrifice must be made again.”
“Sacrifice?” said a woman to his right named Defleur.
“Yes. Sacrifice. This war can be won in two ways. We can go for the jugular, ending it as quickly as possible. But what will that accomplish? It will leave our enemy largely intact, poised to rebuild and mobilize again in a few years.”
“So what are you proposing?” Defleur asked.
“We take them colony by colony. Annex the entire Bastion sector from the Wingers. Take their industrial base and add it to our own. With that many resources, that much Ocharium, who could ever challenge us again?”
“It could take years.”
“And yet it would leave us dominant for centuries. Millennia, even. A prolonged war will propel company profits to unprecedented heights, positioning us to lead humanity into a new golden age.” Pulling back his chair, Steele settled his bulk into it at last. “The public goes to the ballot box next week. I propose we contact our favorite presidential candidate with the implication that our continued support will be contingent on conducting this war the way we want. We do not aim for peace. We aim for sustained aggression, aggression that will elevate us to an unassailable position. All in favor?”
A chorus of ayes answered, and Steele felt a smile creep across his face.
Chapter 49
Flying Monkeys
“The enemy’s giving our ships a hard time at the Larkspur-Caprice darkgate, Captain. They’re using it as a choke point, pummeling anything that comes through. One Fleet ship has gone down already.”
Keyes looked up from his console, which displayed the report he’d ordered on the readiness status of all available weapons. According to Engineering, everything looked good.
“How have the enemy fleets adjusted their postures since we reentered the system from Pirate’s Path?” he asked.
“Barely at all, sir. A handful of ships are arrayed to confront us, but they don’t seem to consider us much of a threat.”
“Let’s correct that notion. Helm, bring the engines to full power along the intercept course you received from Nav. Tactical, calculate a firing solution for each target deployed against us, forty rounds per target. I want to take advantage of our acceleration to speed our railguns’ ordnance even further. On top of that, the Ocharium boost should take them up to almost relativistic velocities.”
“I like it,” Arsenyev said, and Keyes permitted the personal input. He liked it, too.
“Stand ready to discharge the primary laser the moment we’re in range,” he said. “Aim for any target we miss with our initial volley. If we succeed in neutralizing them all, which I don’t expect, then pick the nearest available target.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Helm, begin deceleration as soon as the ordnance is away. Nav, collaborate with Tactical to determine the optimal window for firing railguns. I want a timing that will allow for meaningful ordnance acceleration while giving us room to decelerate and engage.”
“Aye, sir.”
At full engine burn, it would take them just over two hours to cross the distance between the two darkgates. The CIC crew barely spoke, each intent on their stations, checking and double-checking their calculations to ensure the coming engagement went as smoothly as it could.
Despite Keyes’s impulsiveness, he’d trained his crew to exercise prudence in everything they did. Even with
the most brazen plans, a category to which this one definitely belonged, it paid to handle everything with care.
Keyes had rotated in his best officers to form the CIC crew during the coming battle, even if that meant extending some of their shifts. So far everyone appeared alert and ready, but if anyone showed signs of fatigue, Doctor Brusse stood by to administer stims. It wasn’t something Keyes normally condoned, but he’d decided to make an exception for singlehandedly taking on the entire Gok and Winger fleets.
“Arsenyev, do you have our railgun timing?”
The Tactical officer nodded. “Thirty-one thousand kilometers out looks optimal, Captain.”
“Very good.” He left the CIC for a coffee from the wardroom. Hopefully it’s the only stimulant I’ll need today.
He found the wardroom empty except for Husher, who sat as far from the door as possible, intent on his com.
“Shouldn’t you be getting briefed by Fesky?” Keyes said as he dumped a coffee packet into a mug of water. The reaction began instantly, and he grabbed a packet of wafers to munch on while he waited. They were tasteless other than a little salt, but eating always helped to calm him.
“That’s not for another hour. The CIC’s responsible for the opening act, aren’t you?”
Keyes nodded, but he didn’t allow himself to smile. He still wasn’t sure where he stood with Husher, or what his policy should be when it came to dealing with him. Cracking open the pack of wafers, he took his bubbling coffee to a seat across from the young officer.
“I’ve been in a bit of a daze ever since watching those people die,” he said.
Their eyes met. “I think we all have, sir,” Husher replied. His face was smooth and hairless, as it had been ever since his involuntary separation. Maybe Keyes had done some good there, after all.
“I still find it hard to fathom. Seven hundred thousand people, just gone, their ships floating derelicts.” Keyes cleared his throat. “I bring it up because it’s made me forget to thank you.”
Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1 Page 15
