by Cameron, TR
“Uh-oh,” Drovaa observed.
“Indeed,” Kraada replied.
The priest did his best, but once damaged, he couldn’t match the captain. His armor protected him from many slashes, but he failed to connect with the heavy mace, and the shield drooped lower and lower as the battle waged on. Eventually the captain found a seam in the priest’s armor with the point of his blade, piercing the elbow joint of the priest’s left arm, causing the shield to fall from nerveless fingers. At that point, the priest raised a hand, and Traan stopped his attack, moving out of range to wait.
The priest reverently set down his mace and knelt on the floor of the arena. He clasped his hands in front of him, bowed his head, and prayed to each of the gods and goddesses while his blood dripped to the ground, where it was absorbed and added to that of countless combatants reaching back through time. After several minutes, during which the captain stayed respectfully at attention, the priest met his eyes, nodded, and bowed his head again.
A sweeping move covered the space between them, and the captain’s long curved sword removed the priest’s head. As the sensors in the poles registered the end of a set of vital signs, the barrier dropped. The captain walked quietly out of the circle to the excited cheers of his supporters and the grudging respect of those who wished for a different result.
Kraada leaned over to be heard over the tumult below. “It appears that Captain Traan’s decision to hold back has been recognized as the right one by the gods.”
Drovaa dipped his head, “Or, on this day, he was simply the better warrior. In either case, the Jade Breeze has earned its place in the vanguard of our first wave.”
“Send them as soon as you can. Time is precious.”
“As you say, Hierarch.”
The two men rose, gripped hands, and then separated to attend to the many moving parts required to begin the destruction of the trespassing alien race.
Chapter Twelve
Cross awoke from turbulent dreams and reached for Kate. She wasn’t there, of course. She never stayed the night aboard ship; that was a luxury reserved only for when they were truly off-duty during shore leave. He understood why she did it, but it didn’t make the dull ache of her absence go away.
He shrugged it off and hit the shower. When he emerged from his cabin half an hour later, he was cleaned, pressed, and ready for action. He also had a destination. The captain had summoned him for the conversation.
Cross entered the captain’s quarters, easily the most luxurious space on the ship. The admiralty consisted of former captains, and the design of the suite reflected their time as line officers. It had a working area, a sleeping nook, and a large reception area with couches, chairs, and low tables. It was there that the captain awaited him, offering a short glass of spiced whiskey as he approached and sat.
The two men drank without exchanging a word, and Okoye refilled the glasses. He then leaned his tall form back, resting his feet on the table.
Cross waited, and the silence stretched.
As the tension become unbearable, the captain spoke, “Cross, you are an excellent officer, and your accomplishments throughout command rotations have earned you the opportunity to be the second-watch commander aboard a starship. This experience is as much a rite of passage as anything. It is the place where your mettle is truly tested, where we discover if you possess that mysterious gene that will allow you to rise to great heights as a captain in the UAL Navy.” Okoye levered himself up from the grip of the couch and walked around the room as he warmed to his speech, adding gestures at appropriate times.
“On the plus side, you exhibit several of the obvious skills of command. You are confident, you are consistent, and you treat the majority of your subordinates fairly and evenly.”
Although the captain didn’t mention the relationship between Cross and Kate, Cross knew he was aware and tolerated it only so long as it caused no trouble on his ship. Even though fraternization between officers of the same rank was permissible by naval regulations, the captain’s word always trumped the letter of the law aboard his vessel.
“You have the intellectual capacity and the strength of will that are essential to success,” the captain continued, pausing to look down on Cross.
“On the minus side are your aggressiveness and your focus on tactics at the expense of strategy.” Cross had heard this from the captain before, and bristled, biting his tongue to keep from interrupting. “I reviewed the data from the beacon log generated during the encounter with the Gagarin. From the first moment, you pushed harder than you needed to. Where quiet diplomacy between equals might have worked, you sought the psychological edge. That is the correct opening move one time out of three or four. On the other occasions, it serves only to escalate the situation, which is exactly what happened here. That leads us to the second problem.”
Okoye sat again and leaned forward to meet Cross’s eyes. “You need to think bigger. It’s not enough to win the battle by any means necessary, because the purest tactical victory can be the first step toward wholesale defeat. No position you’ve held thus far has demanded a strategic focus, so naturally it’s somewhat foreign to you. That, after all, is the purpose of rites of passage, to take you beyond what you’ve mastered into the knowledge that follows it.”
Cross thought the captain’s expression couldn’t get any more serious, but then it did. “I challenge you, Lieutenant Commander Cross. I challenge you to rise above your old ways of thinking. I challenge you to think broadly, to let strategy define your tactical choices. Use your aggressiveness where it is the right move, but expand your options for when it isn’t. You are made of the optimal raw materials to build a successful career in command of any ship the admirals may assign you to. Rise above, and you’ll find yourself in one of those glittering new vessels that are the shining prize for young captains.”
Okoye leaned back again and took up his drink. “Fail to do so, and you’ll protect colonization convoys with the oldest ships of the fleet for the rest of your career.” He took another sip, using it as a transitional moment. “I’m confident you can accomplish tremendous things. Rise, Cross.”
He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself or at least lessen the negative judgment of the captain’s words. He closed it again without uttering a syllable. As with all of his conversations, Okoye had narrowed the problem to a laser focus, and offered a solution for fixing it. To protest that truth would accomplish nothing. Instead, he only said “Thank you, Captain.”
Okoye spoke once more as Cross rose to go, his voice softer, “Anderson, it’s not your fault. Felix accepted the risks knowing, as we all do, that space is as unforgiving a place as has ever been imagined. It was the actions of the aliens that caused his death. Not yours. Not mine. We will remember him with appropriate honors when we reach the base. Between now and then, put him from your thoughts. Like any of us, he wouldn’t want to cause distraction or pain to his fellow sailors.”
Cross paused in his departure and turned toward the captain. “It’s hard, sir.”
“I know it is. But it’s the captain’s role to set it aside until an appropriate moment. Then, likely over a drink, we can allow the feelings to exist for a time. We must do the duty we’re called to do, and that requires staying on target.”
Cross nodded and took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I—”
The intercom in the room interrupted Cross as the communication officer’s voice radiated from hidden speakers. “Captain to the bridge, please. Tunnel exit is imminent.”
Okoye spoke to the air, “Acknowledged.” He stood and gestured at the door. “Lieutenant Commander Cross, it appears we need to get to work.”
“After you, sir.”
* * *
A short lift ride later, the two officers strode onto the bridge, filled with first-watch officers. “Status,” Okoye announced as he took his chair. Cross a moment behind him, slid into the XO seat and entered the codes to bring up his custom displays.
; The helmsman spoke, “Tunnel jump took less time than projected, Captain. The currents must be with us today.” The ongoing joke likened tunnel space to a river, invoking the days of sailing ships.
“True enough, Lieutenant Lee.” Cross watched the countdown clock as it descended to zero and the ship reverted into chartable territory.
The communication officer spoke next, “Starbase 14 control requests course change to 37°, 15 high. We are assigned to berth twenty-seven.”
“Oblige starbase control, Lee,” Okoye said. His voice registered an almost imperceptible relief at being back in Union-controlled space. Apparently even experienced captains preferred the comfort of home—they just did a better job of hiding their discomfort when they were away.
The tactical officer reported on the other vessels present at the base and routed an image of each one to the main screen for the captain’s review. The last was the gem of the fleet, the UAL’s flagship Rio. It was the first example of the new dreadnought class, massing almost twice as much as the Washington, DC. She never traveled without her escorts, two cruisers from the generation after the DC’s—the Toronto and the Montreal. That trio had enough firepower and defensive capability to withstand any six Alliance foes at a time.
“She’s beautiful,” Lieutenant Allen Jacobs said.
“She’s unproven,” Okoye replied. “Give me a ship that’s been put through her paces over a shiny new toy any day, tactical.”
Fond laughs swept the bridge crew, as that was the only reaction someone on the Washington could offer and maintain loyalty to their own vessel. Secretly, though, there were many who would willingly transfer to enjoy the relative luxury of the larger vessel.
Kate spoke in the gap between reports from the engineering station, “Captain, the computer has finally decoded the message sent by the aliens.”
Okoye sat forward in his chair, “Impressive work, Flynn. On-screen.”
The screen divided again, showing their starbase approach on the left side and the alien frozen on the right side. Kate had served under Okoye long enough to know he would want a visual translation so he could still hear the tones used by the alien, and it was already set up. The image moved, and the entire bridge crew leaned forward as if increased proximity would grant greater understanding.
“Trespassers. Defilers. Mutilators.” The alien’s voice was harsh, but exuded a sense of control. “You have destroyed one of the most holy relics of the Xroeshyn.”
Across the bridge, sharp indrawn breaths sounded in recognition of their plight. Though religion was no longer ascendant among Earth’s children, officers didn’t rise in the ranks without understanding the past of their home planet. The ways in which deity had been used as justification for actions both military and political were key parts of that history.
On screen, the power of the alien’s delivery was increasing. “We offered you no offense to trigger this attack upon our gods.” His wings spread as he pointed at them. “Demons. Heretics. Blasphemers.” The second hand joined the first in the air, gesturing to the heavens. “You will be repaid for your trespass. As commander of the Jade Breeze, I swear it on my life.” His voice reached a crescendo. “You have been marked, and there is no escape from our vengeance.”
He dropped his arms and looked down for a moment before raising his head. His gaze traveled from left to right as he appeared to meet the eyes of each person on the bridge. “Despised, you are. Destroyed, you soon will be. Run, cowards, but know this. We are coming for you. And I will not cease hunting you, until you are delivered to the in-between. I am Captain Traan Aras, and this is my vow before the gods.”
Chapter Thirteen
The captain left the bridge half an hour before, when starbase command revealed they would have to hold before docking. Cross sat in the captain’s chair, bored, waiting for the moment they could dock and get off of the Washington for the first time in what felt like an age.
Cross could tell that the rest of the crew had seen the change in Okoye’s attitude toward him and that the tense situation had been successfully resolved. They were meeting his eyes again, no longer associating him with the dismal failure of the Gagarin. A positive sign, he thought. Still, a good week on base would be just the thing to put this terrible event behind them.
Unless the aliens stayed true to their word. The likelihood of that seemed small, because the vortex that delivered them to the aliens’ territory was random, and no known or imagined technology could determine the destination of another ship’s tunnel.
Finally, they received permission to dock and Lieutenant Lee took them toward the berth at minimum thrust, staying alert for the traffic that zipped around despite the best efforts of control to route them. Cross used the opportunity to admire the gleaming starbase, the most recent version of the UAL’s fourteen installations. While smaller in size, it exceeded the others in many other important ways. Defense, shields, amenities, these were greatly improved in the new construct.
A giant cylinder formed the core of the base, with rotating hubs at the top and bottom providing kinetic energy used to create gravity within the station. Once again, Cross was vague on the science, but glad it worked. The Washington matched rotation with the ventral hub, and then moved forward toward the dock. The motions in multiple dimensions made this a challenging maneuver, but with computer assist it was within the helm officer’s skills. Of course, no starbase docking procedure was complete without a last-second unexplained hold from control, and the Washington received hers just before sliding into the berth.
Cross itched to be a face in the crowd, to avoid his crew, and to lose himself for a couple of days. Jannik was always good for that, the two of them spending copious amounts of time over drinks and across the gameboard from one another during shore leaves. He hoped to spend a substantial amount of time with Kate as well, although in their roles as second and third in command they would split shifts with the Captain aboard the DC in case of an emergency recall.
Cross’s display screen lit up with a message from Okoye. It read, “Admiralty briefing. Tomorrow 0800.” He acknowledged and clicked the display off. Putting his head in his hand, he felt a headache grow. A briefing of the admirals was without a doubt the thing he was least interested in doing in the entire universe. He’d rather have another “conversation” with the captain. He’d rather spend three watches in a row on the bridge. The list went on and on.
But at a minimum he would have some time to himself before the briefing. If they ever docked.
* * *
Several hours later, Cross reported as off-duty to the ship’s computer, and walked across the gangway separating the ship from the starbase proper. Once there, he grabbed a lift to the center of the complex, which was set up much like a city block. Its circular design made it unfamiliar for most of the people who grew up on Earth, as did the artificial sun that was more a diffuse glow than an actual orb in the sky. In spite of these things, it hit the senses with a reassuring sense of “real.” A breeze rustled through the trees and the grass gave off a fresh scent. The park in the middle was an actual living, growing thing. All the sailors visited it at least once to take off their shoes and feel something other than metal under their feet. Radiating out from the greenery in all directions were an assortment of restaurants, shops, and nice hotels for those with the means and the desire to avoid standard, military quarters while on base.
Cross had the desire. And drawing an officer’s pay with nowhere to spend it left him with enough in his accounts to cover at least a couple of nights in reasonable comfort. He checked in to a simple room in one of the nicer hotels, then used his command access to pinpoint Jannik’s location on his pad. He downloaded the information to his wrist comm and headed out.
If the base had a seedy district, Cross was confident that Jannik would find it, and the chief came through again. It wasn’t that the physical surroundings were downtrodden in any way, because the entire facility shined. Rather, an aura hung in the bar, accented by
smoke from a variety of vices and the surly edge that certain crowds got as their collective blood alcohol content went up.
Cross had experience with tough environments and navigated without offending to find Jannik seated with two other people who looked like engineers of a similar age. Cross took the empty seat in silence and punched in his request to the table’s computer. In short order, he had whiskey neat, and the other three men had a new glass of whatever they had last ordered. Without a word, the four toasted one another with raised glasses and drank them dry. Cross leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the noise of the bar and the rhythm of his tablemates’ discussion take his brain off-line for a while.
After a hazy eon, the other men left, leaving Jannik and Cross alone.
“Glad you survived the conversation, my boy.”
“What’s a few more scars to old warriors like us, eh, Jannik?”
The older man laughed at him. “You don’t know scars, Cross.”
“The damnable thing about his conversations,” Cross said, “is that he’s always right. Just once, I would like to see him not be right.”
Jannik leaned forward, giving Cross a serious look that didn’t look at home on his face. “No, my boy. You do not want to see the captain, any captain, be wrong. Generally, when a captain is wrong, somebody dies.”
Cross winced. That one had hit a little too close to home. “I’m sure you’ve heard the whole story by now. I still can’t figure out where I could’ve turned that failure into a win, can you?”
Jannik shook his head. “There’s no way to predict what an enemy will do until you trade your first moves. There was no way to guess that this one would go crazy on us. Both sides been playing this game long enough, by now everyone should pretty much know the rules.”
“Kate said something similar.”
“She’s a smart woman, that one. Don’t know what she sees in you.”
