by Neal Jones
Gabriel sighed as he turned to the viewport. Standing this close to the glass, it was easy to imagine he was on the edge of a galactic precipice. There was nothing beyond the threshold but an endless expanse of stars and the void between them. He pressed one hand against the cold surface, applying a little pressure.
"You do realize that that is not real glass, and you will need a lot more strength to break through. Of course, if it's suicide you're after, I can think of several easier ways. I'd be happy to help if you'd let me."
Gabriel glanced to his right where Captain McKenna stood at the foot of the stage. There was a glint of humor in her dark eyes, and her mouth twitched as though it couldn't decide if it wanted to form a smile or not. The commodore chuckled and walked down the brief flight of stairs.
"The situation isn't that grim." He sat in the front row. "Not yet, at least."
McKenna nodded as she sat beside him. "I've been to my share of military ceremonies and this one has been the longest, by far. I'm very glad that you chose not to give a speech."
"An hour and a half is pushing it, isn't it?"
"When I was an ensign, barely two years out of the academy, I had to attend the retirement ceremony for some fleet admiral. I can't even remember his name, but I do remember that I didn't use the latrine before the service began, and I had to hold it in for almost two hours. I later discovered that it had only been eighty minutes, but it still felt like an eternity."
She laughed softly, and Gabriel was pleased by the sound. He returned his gaze to the viewport as he exhaled a heavy sigh.
"For what it's worth, commodore, I am pleased that you stayed and accepted this assignment. Your performance today was nearly flawless, and the president is right. It takes a great deal more courage to swallow one's pride and take the higher ground than it does to give in to our pettier feelings."
Gabriel was startled by her compliment. "Thank you, captain. I appreciate that."
"I also believe that you are the right man for this job. Fleet Admiral Piller knew what he was doing when he chose you."
Now Gabriel was truly surprised.
McKenna laughed once more. "You're wondering how I could possibly know you well enough to make such a statement when we’ve only just met twelve days ago?" The commodore nodded. "In the last week and a half, commodore, I have toured your former command from bow to stern. I have worked enough with your senior command staff, as well as a few junior officers, to realize that you pride yourself in your military service as much as I do. You have left me with a very disciplined and a very well-oiled machine. I think that it's safe to assume you are a man of your word, and you would rather put a pulser against your head and pull the trigger before you would dare defy your chain of command." McKenna lifted her gaze to the viewport, then glanced around the massive expanse of the quarterdeck. "You're a bulldog, commodore. The more violent the storm, the more determined you are to sail your ship through. If necessary, you'll go down with it, and that's exactly the attitude that Admiral Piller is looking for. This station needs a bulldog for a commanding officer, and I am personally looking forward to supporting you in your efforts to maintain security in this sector." The captain abruptly stood. "Well, look at that. Listening to everyone else's speeches has apparently given me a talent for delivering one of my own. I'll see you at the reception."
She walked away before Gabriel could reply, and as he mulled over her words he felt a fresh sense of comfort envelop him. He had never looked at the situation in that way before, and as he walked up the central aisle he thought that perhaps the captain was right.
Soon enough, this storm would pass.
( 6 )
Lieutenant Commander Garrett was better prepared the second time around. He wouldn't be spilling his wine glass – or any other glass, for that matter – on anyone or himself. He was also ready to engage his crewmates in idle talk and/or conversation about the day's events. The trio of speeches that had been delivered at the change-of-command ceremony had given everyone plenty to talk about, especially where the upcoming election was concerned. Not to mention that fact that the entire ceremony, as well as its highlights, would soon be circulating among the galactic interweb networks and all major news feeds. INC – which was short for the Interstellar News Corporation – had already run their feature story about the ceremony, and more than one reporter had cornered Gabriel and Saveck at the reception afterwards. One had also tried to talk to Garrett, but he had taken a cue from his fellow officers and politely excused himself, pretending to show sudden interest in the closest group of guests and whatever conversation topic they were discussing. Now, as the engineer stepped onto the quarterdeck for the second time that day, he felt one more stab of regret that he was no longer a junior officer. He didn't mind the extra pay and responsibility, but all of this ceremonial bullshit was giving him a headache.
The rows of folding chairs had been cleared away and three long tables had been set up in the center of the auditorium in a U-shape. Aside from President Enkaro, his wife, Vice President Brouchard, Henri Comstock, Ambassador Zar, Ambassador Vorik, and Waaris, the guest list consisted Exxar-One's and Dauntless' senior command staffs. The table settings here were the same as they had been in Taelon's quarters the night before, and Grax was also present. He was dressed in a three-piece tuxedo of Galarian silk, and his staff of a dozen waiters were casually strolling amongst the crowd with trays of appetizers and drinks balanced in their hands.
Garrett snagged a couple crab cakes but skipped the platter of chardonnay, then scanned the crowd. Enkaro and Narra were talking animatedly with Vorik and Waaris. Taelon, Comstock and Major Saveck were near the stage, which couldn't be removed because it was fastened to the deck plating. The podium, however, was gone. McKenna, Decev, Wolfe and Lee were on the far side of the quarterdeck, near the other entrance, and it appeared that Wolfe was in the midst of regaling his fellow officers with an amusing story. Since he needed to speak with Wolfe about an engineering issue, Garrett set a course in Silas' direction.
It was only ten minutes later, however, when a chime rang through the auditorium, and President Enkaro raised his voice for all to hear. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us eat! Please take your places at the tables."
Garrett was relieved to see that he would be sitting next to Wolfe, since he'd barely had time to begin discussing his desired topic with the Dauntless' chief engineer, but he soon discovered the arrangement was no accident. The senior staffs had been placed around the tables according to their service classification, with the president and his entourage seated at the center table. Sitting next to Comstock was General Qeppos, a Balanite, who served as Enkaro's chief military advisor. Garrett thought it unusual that the alien officer had been present during the change-of-command ceremony, but not the reception afterwards. Perhaps he had as little desire to speak with the press as the other military staff did.
An elderly Indravian woman garbed in plain, gray robes, stepped from the shadows in one corner of the auditorium. Around her neck was a homespun braid of rope, on the end of which hung a silver medallion that bore a religious symbol. The dinner guests remained silent, waiting for the priestess to offer a prayer of thanks and blessing for the food. Like Gabriel's closing comments a few hours earlier at the end of the ceremony, the prayer was brief and simple. The woman bowed her head and then retreated to her former position where she would wait until the end of the meal to deliver the closing benediction.
The waiters brought out the first course, and the soft clatter of silverware against plates provided a pleasant musical accompaniment to the low hum of the varied dinner conversations. However, an undercurrent of palpable tension played counterpoint to the medley. Gabriel and Saveck ignored each other, despite the fact that they were sitting next to one another, while Vorik and Zar would occasionally exchange glances with one or more members of the station's senior officers. If some of McKenna's crew were aware of the silent exchange they gave no sign, and they helped to keep the conversation flowi
ng. It wasn't until the third course was served that Vice President Brouchard silenced everyone by standing and tapping his fork against his wineglass.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to raise a toast this evening to all of us seated here. As the president has stated many times, we are living history, and we should take a moment to savor this accomplishment."
While all raised their glasses, and while most responded with the customary "here, here's", it didn't escape the president that neither Gabriel nor Saveck had lent their vocal support to the toast.
"Commodore. Major. You both look as if you are not having a pleasant evening."
Gabriel opened his mouth, but Saveck beat him to the punch. "Not at all, mister president. I have thoroughly enjoyed sampling the varied cuisine that has been presented thus far. What was this course called again?" He motioned to his plate where a pile of yellowish-white casserole was resting neatly on a bed of something that looked like blue lettuce.
Gabriel deftly scooped a forkful of his own serving into his mouth to avoid an immediate response. Narra repeated the name of the dish for Saveck. Garrett was certain the commodore was hoping that his first officer would keep talking. But to Gabriel's dismay, the Chrisarii said, "I agree, however, in your assessment of Commodore Gabriel. After last night's speech during Ambassador Zar's dinner, I'm sure that he hasn't had a pleasant time at all today."
All eyes were suddenly focused on Gabriel. He appeared utterly nonplussed as he took a sip of his wine, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then folded the cloth back onto his lap. "You're right, major, I haven't been feeling myself at all today. In fact, after my oration at the end of last night's dinner, I returned to my quarters and conducted some further research of the Chrisarii religion. It turns out that I was wrong. Your concept of the Varashok - as represented by the icons of the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden and the Priest – is very similar to our own religion of Cassandranism. Zeus is regarded as chief of all the gods, and he represents power and might. Athena represents beauty and love. Hera represents wisdom and strength. Ares is the god of war. Cassandra is the goddess of prophecy and omens, the one after whom our religious mythology is named." Gabriel took another sip of his wine, this one slightly longer than the first. "It would seem, major, that our two faiths have more in common than I assumed."
Now it was Saveck's turn to mask his surprise, and he did so by nodding first, and then taking a bite of the casserole. However, he refused to respond to Gabriel's little speech, and this created a lengthy – and very awkward – silence. After a couple minutes, during which Saveck took his time chewing, swallowing, and washing it down with a sip of wine, Vorik cleared his throat.
"I'm pleased to hear that, commodore, and you're absolutely right. I, myself, have found many similarities between our two religions, as well as some of your more ancient religious doctrine. One in particular - I believe it's referred to as 'Christianity' - has proved particularly fascinating for me because of its depiction of a single god, rather than a traditional pantheon of deities."
"There were many religions of ancient Earth, ambassador, which were centered around the belief in one true God." This statement came from Doctor Burke. "In fact, Christianity has long been considered to be one branch of many on a central religious tree."
From there the conversation quickly gathered momentum, carried by the comments and observations of the rest of the officers who didn't hesitate to chime in with their two cents. For the most part, Enkaro and his party remained silent, listening with only mild enthusiasm. Garrett noticed that Brouchard and the Balanite general kept stealing glances at Gabriel and Saveck who had returned to their former state of pointedly ignoring each other. The engineer allowed himself to relax a little more, certain that Gabriel wouldn't be performing an encore of the previous evening's farewell speech. Saveck had thrown him a curve ball, and the commodore had surprised everyone by knocking it out of the park.
Nor did Saveck make a second attempt. The rest of the evening proceeded without incident, although it was well after twenty-two hundred hours when the president dismissed his guests. While everyone stood at the same time, Gabriel and Saveck were the last to leave. In the corridor outside the quarterdeck, as the fifteen officers dispersed themselves in groups of three and four, Garrett wasn't the only one who saw the look which passed between the commodore and the major.
The performance was over and the actors were now backstage. It was clear to everyone that, for all of the noble themes which had graced the many speeches and toasts which had been delivered that day, the two men who were supposed to embody those themes were looking at one another with enough fury and revulsion to power a stardrive reactor. One last performance would be delivered tomorrow morning.
After that, all bets were off.
( 7 )
Gabriel snagged Karri's hand and pulled her in the opposite direction of everyone else. When the PTL arrived, the car was empty, and Marc ensured that no one else would join them by entering a special command into the car's com panel. Karri was stunned when the commodore shoved her against the wall and began to kiss her. He planted his palms on either side of her head, leaving her no maneuvering room, but the science officer didn't care. This was the most passionate that Marc had been in several days, and she wasn't about to complain. He forced his body against hers, nuzzling her neck after unbuttoning her collar and unzipping her uniform jacket. She reached down and unzipped his pants, pushing her hand inside to caress his hardness.
By the time they made it inside Gabriel's quarters, little effort was needed to finish undressing. The uniforms, socks, underwear and boots were scattered in a trail that led directly to the bedroom, and the next two hours were spent fucking like Murdohn tree bats. By the time they came up for air, both had long scratches on their backs, but only Karri's were bleeding. It wasn't much, just a few drops, and Marc went to the bathroom to retrieve the dermal regenerator. When both of their wounds had been repaired they fell back onto the damp sheets, and Karri curled herself against Marc, nestling her head against his shoulder. After several minutes of silence, she became concerned and checked to see if he was asleep. His eyes were open, but he was staring at nothing, obviously lost in thought.
"Marc?" He didn't respond and Karri gently nudged him. "Marc."
Very slowly, he turned his face to hers. "I'm sorry. I don't think it's a good idea to continue our relationship."
"Oh. All right." She couldn't think of anything else to say. Despite her certainty that this breakup was coming, she still felt a pang of disappointment and regret.
Marc rolled onto his side, turning his back to Karri. "Computer, reduce lighting level to zero."
Darkness fell, and Marc was asleep within minutes. But Karri remained awake, staring into the dark, her expression contemplative.
( 8 )
The Llaur Rihaad departed Exxar-One the following afternoon at fourteen hundred hours, three hours later than originally planned. Enkaro had politely insisted on having breakfast with Gabriel at zero-six-hundred, and then requested a brief tour of the station. The president had apologized for waking the commodore so early, and then proceeded to talk his ear off as they walked main engineering, the observation dome, the promenade, the medical sector, opcon, the waste reclamation plant, tactical and weapons control, shuttledock one, stellar cartography, the rec sector, and the primary hydroponics bay. The only part of the station that Enkaro didn't visit was the inside of the maintenance tubes, and by the time the "brief" tour was over, Gabriel was ready to throw himself out the nearest airlock sans EVA suit.
The commodore stood at the docking port, flanked by Ambassadors Zar and Vorik, and said his farewell to the president. The diplomats then said their goodbyes, and Enkaro crossed the threshold of the crossway tunnel entrance, trailed by a pair of secret service agents. The rest of his entourage was already aboard the ship, and Gabriel didn't hesitate a second after the tunnel's doors closed. He unbuttoned his uniform collar, unfastened his sash, and plowe
d past the ambassadors and the honor guard, making a beeline for the PTL.
Once inside, the commodore leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He had three hours left on his shift, and then he would open the package from his mother that had arrived two days ago. He would kick back and relax with a large serving of Alanys' rhubarb crunch. And a bottle of Scotch, of course. The president's visit had come and gone without incident. No assassination attempts, no suicide bombings, no bar fights among the crew, no sign of an impending Haal'Chai attack, and, according to an update from Garrett, his team assigned to the raider was making good progress in putting it back together. Now that all the pomp and circumstance was over with, Gabriel and his crew could move forward with the daily business of running a starbase.
Unfortunately, the commodore would soon decide that all of this had merely been the calm before a very ugly – and very deadly – storm.
Part Two
"One Night In Gethsemane"
Chapter 8
____________________
( 1 )
The atmosphere of the homeworld of the Chrisarii Alliance burned with a deep, ruby luster against the gleaming, diamond-studded starscape. In high orbit, close to the north pole, the primary docking station was waiting to receive the small transport carrier, like a copper and gold whale pulling a brown minnow into its giant maw. Navarr stood near the viewport of the cramped, private cabin she shared with Sikandra, straining for one last look of the planet's fiery atmosphere before it was replaced by the interior of the docking bay. She turned, picked up her suitcase, and followed her companion into the central corridor where they joined the procession of fellow passengers who were already headed for the exit hatch.
