by Don Foxe
“Admiral Pam Paterson, the first commander of Space Fleet?” Billy asked. “I thought she retired.”
“Retired, not died,” Stacey replied. “I’m staying with her and her husband. They live here, in Toronto. She lectures at the academy.”
Space Fleet’s headquarters in Toronto housed the administrative offices for the paramilitary branch designated to maintain security against off-world threats. Everything from legal to intelligence operated from the half-dozen buildings comprising the Space Fleet complex. Covert and special operations tactical planning occurred there.
Central communications for surface stations, orbital platforms, spaceships, the moon, Mars and communications coming in or going out of the solar system passed through central command.
Communications occurring between stations or ships were recorded and stored on site.
Space Fleet’s Academy rested on fifty acres twenty-miles north of headquarters. The latest and smallest military academy did not offer traditional college-oriented tracks for potential Space Fleet officers. The academy accepted all levels of entrants. Engineers, armament specialist, pilots, and every other type of specialist or officer candidate could receive targeted, specific training in their area of interest.
Candidates came from high schools and colleges. Among the Cadets, several smart, capable people with no degrees from high school or university worked toward a Space Fleet assignment. The academy acted as a meritocracy. Cadets selected on the basis of their ability. Rising through the grades, and eventual assignments determined by production.
Aliens were equally eligible for the academy as humans. Currently, the academy housed fourteen non-terrestrial cadets.
“I suppose she’s here to get you,” Chaspi said to Stacey.
“I would say, based on what I have seen and heard since my arrival on Earth, she is here to get all of us.”
She looked over her shoulder, and through the office blinds. Stacey watched the diminutive woman speak calmly to the Head of Campus Security. “The woman lives by the ‘leave no one behind’ code.”
“What does she lecture about?” Rosz asked.
“Military Intelligence,” Stacey answered, turning back, giving her attention to the tips of her running shoes.
“I want to pilot a spaceship,” Chaspi said, aloud. Realizing she said it out loud, for the first time, ever, she dropped her head, wishing her hair longer.
“Me, too,” Stacey said. Because she did not know Chaspi, she did not know her aspiration to fly a spaceship was secret. “It’s why I’m enrolled. This campus is the only one with an aeronautics program, and where someone is willing to let me stay with them. Stupid Space Fleet Academy rules and regulations. I should be there, working on a Fleet pilot’s certification. I’ve flown more spaceships than anybody here has ever seen.”
“Honest?” Billy kept the attention on Stacey’s pronouncement, and away from Chaspi’s revelation. He had not been friends with the two Bosine long, but found it easy to see embarrassment. Chaspi’s light pink coloring blushed. “You’ve piloted spaceships?”
“My oldest sister, Star, let me fly her ship, AStarr. In open space. For a few minutes,” she admitted. “But we have hover-cycles and hover-boats, and I can drive them. It’s almost exactly the same thing.”
She looked to the young girl who had claimed her as a friend, and asked, “Are you in the aeronautics program, too?”
Before she could reply, or turn a deeper red, Rosz butted in to inform then, “Admiral Patterson and the Chief are headed this way.”
The Chief of Security, tall, slender, and maybe thirty-five, hooked his thumbs in his old-fashion Sam Brown belt before talking.
“We have the other four boys. It took my men a few minutes of frank discussion with them, but they pretty much confirm your stories. Aimsley Macdonald is the group’s ringleader. He told them they were just going to have a little fun by giving the aliens a scare. “
He spoke directly to Chaspi. “They swear they had no idea he intended to assault you.”
He switched his attention to the blue girl. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched.
“You, miss, were right to help, but wrong in how far you went. Those four boys are in the hospital and will be there for some time.”
Stacey, still seated, but with her feet on the floor, shrugged. “I had no idea humans were so fragile.” No one knew if the response was honest or flip.
“Perhaps. I have spoken with your sponsor, Mrs. Patterson. I decided I will inform the parents charges for assault and battery will not be issued, but the boys are not to bother any of you again. That includes the parents not pursuing any legal actions. I think they will be wise enough to agree, and should end this situation.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Patterson said. “Your help and understanding are appreciated. Stacey, you will be coming with me. Chaspi, Rosz, and Billy, the Chief will have you driven to your dorm in a heated cart.”
The two Bosine and the human all developed wide-eye syndrome. None ever met Admiral Patterson, and all were surprised she knew their names.
Rosz recovered first, and asked, “Will this effect our chances for Fleet Academy?”
Patterson smiled. “There are no charges, and no legal actions, and since, in my opinion, you were the victims, I cannot see this having an impact on your applications.”
The Chief stepped in front of Stacey, blocking her departure. “Miss, humans appear fragile for your kind. You should be more careful. I do not want to see you in these offices again.”
Stacey, unsure if the security officer acted officiously or held bigoted feelings, decided, quite maturely, to let the warning pass without comment.
Chaspi, recovered enough to remember she had anger issues, moved to her friend’s side. “If anyone tries to attack any of us again, we will defend ourselves.”
She took Stacey’s arm, and brushed the tall security cop aside, leaving him in their wake. Patterson snickered, then followed. Rosz and Billy, shocked by Chaspi’s act of confidence, looked at one another, grinned, and hurried to catch up to the women.
A Space Fleet personnel transport hovered at the curb. Sensing Patterson’s proximity, the auto-drive vehicle popped all three doors.
Stacey disengaged from Chaspi. She ran around to the street side, taking the back seat, far side.
Patterson stopped the three others from rushing to the security cart parked behind the Fleet shuttle. The two Bosine trembled in the cold. Borrowed thermal blankets provided slight protection against the cold. They stood respectfully to listen, trying hard not to shake violently.
The retired Admiral pulled a plastic card from her jacket pocket, took Chaspi’s right hand, turned it up, and placed the card in the palm of her mitten. Next, she wrapped the girl’s fingers over the card.
“You will take Rosz, and you will buy both of you proper winter clothing. If you do not know what that means for a Toronto winter, take Billy with you. There are 1,000 credits on the card. Spend it on clothes. Buy other essentials. Buy yourself a nice lunch. Spend it, Chaspi. Do not save it. Do not try to give it back.”
“Admiral Patterson, I don’t know,” the college co-ed from an alien world stuttered, unsure of the proper way to handle the gift.
“Dear, if Daniel Cooper knew you two were freezing your asses off, he would wake up, swim to the mainland, and walk across the continent to get here. When the two of you enter the Academy, I’ll find work for you to repay the debt. Fair?”
Chaspi, on the edge of tears for the, like, millionth-time that day, nodded.
“Get out of the cold,” Patterson ordered. As Chaspi and Rosz hurried to the security cart, Patterson took Billy by his arm.
“Billy, thank-you for acting as a friend,” she told him. “If you ever need anything I can provide, you ask, young man. Now, go join your friends.”
Smiling, filled with a warm sense of self-worth, and more than a little pride, Billy jumped onto the front seat of the cart, next to the security officer. Th
e officer pulled out, around, and away, taking the college students to their dorm.
The smallish, large-hearted woman entered the transport, sitting next to her ward. “Home.” The automated vehicle acted as Patterson’s official and personal transportation. It knew exactly where to go and the quickest route.
“Anything to say?” she asked.
Despite the warmth of the interior, the Fellen wore her hoodie up, safe in the depths of the head cover, eyes straight ahead.
“They deserved it. I’m not sorry. You can ship me back to Rys, or let me join the fight on Fell, but I’d do it again . . . harder.” Her arms crossed, and her shoulder’s bunched. In old-Earth terms, prepared for the axe to fall.
“I would have done the same thing,” former commander of Space Fleet, and fighter of many battles, public and private, admitted. Stacey’s shoulders relaxed. She turned to look at the person she now lived with, but did not yet know. “Of course, at my age, I would need a laser pistol.”
Stacey laughed. Patterson smiled. The driverless car continued home.
CHAPTER 9
Dorm (Markham Hall)
Markham Hall, student housing, offered double and single dorm rooms. Chaspi and Rosz lived in adjacent singles on an upper floor. Billy shared a room with a History major on one of the lower floors.
After campus security delivered them to the building, they went to Chaspi’s room, silently. The boys did not ask, and she had not offered. Gathering in her room became a habit soon after the three became friends.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, Billy on the chair that came with the student desk, and Rosz comfortable on the floor, back against a wall.
“Can I talk?” Billy asked.
“If you don’t say anything stupid,” she responded.
“If you want to become a pilot, why are you taking environmental engineering?”
“Because of me,” Rosz answered. Chaspi and Rosz were neighbors from birth. Their families lived next to each other for, like, ever. On his fifth birthday Rosz received a personal music player and special earbuds as a present. She never saw him without them, or their upgrades, since that day.
When asked how he could listen to music and still hear everything going on around him, he always answered, “I’ve got a gift.” Which meant when he acted as if he did not hear something, he was pretending to not hear something.
“I want to reclaim dead planets,” he said. “She isn’t sure what she wants, so she’s wasting time keeping me company.”
“Because of me,” Chaspi corrected. “I want to pilot, but as a Star Fleet pilot. I want to fly fighters, not cruise ships or cargo vessels. Bosine are not expected to want things like that. Earth may be the only planet in the galaxy with pilots who actually fly a ship, and not monitor a computer doing all the work. I’d rather not learn how to fly, than fly something boring, and simple, and safe.”
“I read all of the stories about the Star Gazer,” Billy said. “One of them talked about the Zenge invasion of Osperantue. As I remember, Osperantue patrol ships threw themselves at the invasion fleet in order to give ships on the surface a chance to escape. That sounds incredibly heroic. Could you become a patrol pilot?”
“It was heroic. Osperantue’s Space Patrol vessels normally provided towing services and traffic control,” Chaspi answered. “They went up against heavily armed spaceships, and only a few of our ships included small, inaccurate lasers. If we had warships, we might have defended the planet. I do not want to fly by operating a computer on a towboat or freighter, or even a cruise ship.”
“Okay, I get that. Why didn’t you apply for aeronautics? After graduation you could apply for Space Fleet Academy. You could get certified to pilot anything in the Fleet.”
Billy, good at forgetting anything negative, especially when it involved people he cared about, forgot Chaspi was angry with him. He was also genuinely curious.
“Her parents,” Rosz answered. “If she applied for aeronautics, they would not have approved. At least this way she’s out of New Zealand and in the vicinity of Space Fleet.”
“You could take aeronautics courses as electives,” Billy said. “Keep enviro-engineering as your major, but fill in your course schedules with classes that will allow you to fly. If you get enough, and you do really we'll, I bet the Academy would let you work towards a pilot’s certification and assignment.”
Chaspi went quiet. She studied her knees. “Do you think that might work?”
“Bet on it,” Billy said.
“Makes a lot of sense, Chas,” Rosz chimed in from the floor. “I mean, you were friends with Captain Daniel Cooper, Earth’s most famous Fleet officer. Retired Admiral Pamela Patterson likes you.”
“I AM friends with Daniel Cooper,” she corrected. “Until I hear differently, he’s alive. Admiral Patterson all but admitted it.”
“He would say ‘go for it,'” Rosz replied. “You know he would.”
The girl from Osperantue, with secrets and anger issues, smiled. For the first time since deciding to come to university, she may have a plan to reach her goals. She certainly did not have as many secrets, or as much anger as she felt an hour earlier.
“I’ll start next quarter,” she told them. “I’ll stay on the engineering track, and put flight school classes in every open spot. But you know what I’m going to do right now?”
“What?” both guys asked.
“Going shopping. Call a transport. I want to go downtown, enjoy a wonderful meal, and buy winter clothes. I am so tired of the freaking cold.”
As the three started moving, snow began falling. Winter finally showed the beauty that mitigated the freezing temps. The possibility of a new future took root in Chaspi’s heart. Too bad future is a fickle creature.
Home (Sam and Pam Patterson’s)
Stacey entered the kitchen from the mother-in-law apartment’s stairs. The Patterson’s basement remodeled into a one-bedroom apartment. The original change to provide a place for Sam Patterson’s mother to live when she could no longer care for herself.
She passed away before making the move. Their daughter, Samantha, moved from her upstairs bedroom and into the more spacious area her senior year of high school.
When Coop asked the Patterson’s to sponsor Stacey, Pam cleared out everything of Samantha’s. (She completed college; started a life, and had her own family.)
Stacey arrived from Rys with a couple of changes of clothing, toiletries, and a trunk filled with electronics. Members of Stacey’s tribe, and particularly her clan, thrived on designing and improving technology. The tech of preference anything communications-oriented. Patterson had a personal communicator and translator embedded in her neck, beneath her right ear. Stacey’s oldest sister, Star, and brother, Sparks developed the subcutaneous marvel. Pam’s special implant came courtesy of Stacey’s cousin, Storm.
Admiral Patterson (ret.) sat at the granite-topped kitchen island drinking hot tea, perusing the news on her pad.
“Are you eavesdropping on me?” Stacey asked. The young woman from Fell rather straightforward, as Pam and Sam were learning.
“I beg your pardon,” Pam responded. “Why would I eavesdrop on you?”
Stacey stood quietly for a long moment, deciding if the woman’s reply seemed truthful.
The Patterson’s, hell, the planet was new to her. She remained undecided if she cared for humans. Those she met on Rys were relaxed, open, and always honest with her. The ones on Earth much more difficult to categorize.
“No reason I can think of,” she admitted. “But a signal passed through the basement, searching for electronic files. It is quite sophisticated, though not to Fell standards. I decided it must be military grade technology.”
“As Space Fleet’s former commanding officer, I would have access to such technology,” Pam completed Stacey’s line of reasoning.
“I thought it possible. My personal data units, communications, and multiple storage systems are safe from intrusions, but it is still bothersome.�
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“Stacey, is the signal only transmitted to the basement, or is the entire house targeted?”
Without answering, the younger woman turned and retraced her steps to the stairwell. Patterson sipped her tea, deep in contemplation, verging on concern and edging towards worry.
Stacey returned, holding a small device in her left hand. She stopped just inside the kitchen, turned the device in different directions, tapping the screen occasionally.
“There is no current signal, but someone beamed scans throughout the entire structure within the last twenty-four hours,” she informed her hostess. She went to the auto-brew on the counter, poured a cup of tea, and joined Patterson at the island.
“I apologize if I offended you,” she said. “Someone is searching everything electronic in your home. I can install protection.”
Pamela Patterson began her career with the fledgling UEC’s Office of Naval Intelligence. She understood espionage better than most.
“If you block the signals, whoever is sending them will know we know,” she said, both hands on her warm mug. Stacey, seated next to her, both hands on her mug. They presented a picture of two women closely linked. If not for the skins colors, and Stacey’s golden cat-eyes, one might think mother and daughter talking in the family kitchen.
“Stacey, did your device tell you if the house is bugged?”
“Sorry. My translator is still learning. Why would I check for insects?”
“Slang,” Pam explained. “Bugs are what we call listening devices. The original ones looked like small insects. Are there covert listening or video devices inside the house.”
“No. The only active intrusion is by scans.”
“Could they be here, only not active.”
“No. I fired multiple trapper beams. If anything was here, even inactive, the trapper would activate it long enough to register.”
“Can you tell what they scanned, copied, or tampered with?”
