by Mike Moscoe
Lost forever, he reached for her breasts.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes.”
• • •
Later, she lay beside him. “So, what do I tell Mother?”
“You’re going to tell your mother?”
“A date for the wedding. Could we make it soon? They’re sending an entire division to Elmo Four-A, and I’d like to go as Senior Pilot Mrs. Longknife.”
He reached for her, pulled her halfway on top of him, let her breasts crush against him. “You may tell your mother anything you wish.”
“Good, because Father wants to talk to you tonight, and I’d rather he was talking to my fiancé than to some stranger.”
“Your father doesn’t own a shotgun, does he?”
“Shotgun?”
“An ancient earth appliance often used as a marriage aid.”
“I’ve heard about those things. Maybe once I’m a married lady, I can get someone to sell me one.”
Ray measured the distance to his shorts. It was not too late to back out. This woman had been nothing but one startling surprise after another since he first saw her on the bridge of her transport. How could anyone go so quickly from efficient spacefarer to beguiling young woman? Marriage to her would be full of surprises. Hopefully less painful than those he’d found commanding the 2nd Guard. But just as he could not think of not commanding the 2nd, he could not think of not loving Rita.
• • •
Mattim had breakfast served to his “old folks” tiger team in his day cabin. He wanted to make sure they got one decent meal, even if it was wolfed down. “By the way,” he began blandly, “you know you’re not the only science team on this problem.” He relished the dismay on every face—except Guns.
He snorted. “You found out about my brain trust. How?”
“That little snippet of a guard. She offered last night to run a major workup on the suns. Also told me in very precise details of the whopper I told the crew.”
“Ah.” Guns grinned. “The Kat who got away.”
Mattim glanced down his list. Guns was right; all but two or three were in his department. “How good are they, Guns?”
“Quite good. Of course, there’re a few that aren’t quite as good as they think they are, but time will educate them.”
“We need them now.”
“Then I suspect we need to adjourn to a mess deck. The wardroom would be better, if you don’t mind turning a bunch of strikers loose in officer’s country.”
“As a merchant skipper, I’ve issued midshipman warrants.”
“No can do here, Captain,” Ding said without hesitation.
Guns gnawed his lower lip. “Of course, sir, you are still a licensed merchant captain. I, for one, think these kids would be a lot easier to deal with if they were not part of my usual chain of command. If you gave them temporary midshipman ranks and assignments, it might avoid a lot of confusion.”
“Exec?” Mattim raised an eyebrow at her.
“I think it will be a bloody confusing chain of command any way you cut it, but I’ll go along with you. Somebody once told me if you’re going to screw up, screw up big.”
“That was my grandmother,” Mattim sighed.
The computer accessed the old Red Flag portion of his files, matched the names on his overtrained and underemployed list and printed out merchant midshipman warrants. When ordered, the kids reported to the wardroom, along with a dozen or so officers and chiefs that had been added to the “science” side of the ship for the duration. Mattim handed out the warrants. Ding swore them in. Then they got down to business.
“Any with experience in the theory of jump navigation or something close, join Lieutenant Commander O’Mally’s team. If you’re good with computers or image enhancement, Guns keeps you. The rest help Lieutenant Jagel analyze this system.”
“Are we homesteading?” came from the back of the room.
“No. Commander O’Malley has repeatedly told me that the gravity of the known systems acting on the jump points only accounts for eighty or ninety percent of their movement. I want to know if this system accounts for the missing twenty percent, or if we should be prepared for more. I’m open for other proposals for study. Write them up and hand them into the Exec. Any questions?”
“Do we get new uniforms, sir?”
Mattim studied the questioner, who’d jumped to attention before asking. He glanced at Guns, who rolled his eyes. So this is one of them who had a bit to learn. “We’ve got a damaged ship to repair. We’ll see what we can do in our spare time.” He took a bite out of the words to show there shouldn’t be any.
The questioner wilted back into her seat.
“Good. Let’s get organized. I want action plans to me by oh-seven hundred tomorrow.” He hunted for Zappa, found her. “Looks like an all-nighter to me. And I’d like a team to run a full set of tests on the gas planets to see if we’re headed for the right one. Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Have fun.”
• • •
Two days after the supply run, the roof fell on Mary.
“Sergeant Rodrigo, report to Company HQ, pronto.”
From the look on the captain’s face, all Mary’s luck was sludge. He stood, glowering at a message flimsy as she reported in her best recruit manner. He left her holding her salute. “Do you have any idea why I’m to report to brigade tomorrow morning with you and a couple of your corporals in tow?”
“Nosir.”
He tossed the message on his desk and returned her salute with a sour wave. “You ain’t gone crying to your mommas?”
“Nosir.”
“Yeah, most of you are too old to have mommas, and the young ones aren’t any better than whores’ trash anyway. Hear this, woman. You wrecked one officer’s career and damn near killed him. You aren’t wrecking mine. You bozos may have gotten a few pissant colonials to bug out. Next time they show up, they’ll see how real marines do it. You hear me.”
“Yessir.” Mary heard him loud and clear. She’d kept her platoon alive—most of them—and his ego was all bent and busted. Fuck you and the tailpipe of what you rode in on.
“Dismissed, woman. And get cleaned up. Use some lipstick. Have one of those tramps show you if you don’t know how. Make sure the rest of those stinking bums get a bath.”
The man expected her gone. She didn’t budge. “Request permission to use one of the other platoons’ facilities vans.”
“First platoon has its own.”
“Yes, sir, a sitting target for a rock.”
“I ordered you to dig it in. I’ve got a hard copy right here.” So it was cover his ass time.
“Yes, sir, but there is no location in the platoon area that provides reasonable protection. Us miners know our rocks, sir.”
The red was rising past his neck to his cheeks. Mary prepared for another blow. “Permission granted. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
There was some serious celebrating that night. Nobody had the foggiest idea what was up, but that didn’t matter. They had the run of second and third platoon’s showers—not just Mary and the three who were going with her, but all the platoon. They used the vans’ showers until the hot water ran out, and were none too careful about the mess they made.
Later, as Mary settled herself deep into her fighting hole, she remembered the captain’s order about lipstick. She’d forgotten. She didn’t care either.
• • •
Thor brought Mattim the analysis of the system. It was over an inch thick. He looked up at Thor with a lopsided frown.
“The top page is the summary. You wouldn’t believe some of the programs these kids have on their personal computers. One plugged his into the new antennae the Navy hung on the Maggie and damned if he didn’t have this in no time. I figured you’d want the full report on hard copy. I got lost in it on the computer.”
“We’re headed for the right one, I take it.”
“Yes, sir.”
• • •
The watch woke Mary. She and
the others gathered beside their holes and waited. At oh-four fourty five, a truck rolled up. “You folks pile in the back,” the driver said.
“Is the captain coming?” Mary asked.
“The command car’ll get him at oh-six thirty. You wouldn’t want an officer to miss out on his beauty rest?” Apparently the captain had done nothing to win a popularity contest among the drivers.
“Thanks for the ride,” Mary said. “Sorry about the hour, but a truck is just fine by us. We’ll sleep.”
“We aim to please the good guys.”
By the time Mary climbed in, Lek and Dumont were already flaked out, snoring. Mary took them off net.
“You have any idea what’s up?” Cassie asked.
“No,” Mary answered. She’d kept a few things back about the talk with the lieutenant. There was no reason to change now. Besides, how do you tell your friends that you may get a medal and a promotion for what they all did together? If it happened, it happened. If it didn’t, Mary didn’t want to have to eat her words.
They settled on the truck’s floor and quickly fell asleep.
“Hey, folks, we’re here,” the driver hollered, opening the tailgate. “You can take off your helmets. You got air.” From the looks of it, they had slept right through the base airlock. Mary glanced at the ceiling—bare rock.
“Looks safe enough,” she said, and cracked her helmet. Damn, the air smelled good. The mixture of machine oil, human sweat, and recycled air made her feel right at home.
Beside the driver stood a navy chief in khakis. “I’m Kawalski, Master Chief of the Brigade. I got some spaces reserved so you folks can change into dress uniforms.”
Mary let herself down from the truck bed and tried to think. “Uh, sir, we don’t have any dress uniforms.”
“You can call me Chief, Sergeant. I work for a living just like you.” He looked them over; then a sparkle came to his dark eyes. “On the other hand, I can’t think of a better uniform for an honest-to-God marine. You’ll do just fine.”
“Can we see the lieutenant?” Cassie asked.
“Why not? We got half an hour. Don’t want the officers to think we enlisted swine don’t have anything better to do than wait around on them. Follow me.” They found the LT in his hospital room sitting in an unpowered wheelchair. He was in full dress blues and trying to figure out how to place his sword.
“I refuse to hold it in my lap,” he said, scowling.
“Let me take a crack at it, sir.” The chief measured the sword and the wheelchair with his eyes for only a second before he started loosening the leather harness that held the sword to the lieutenant’s belt. At maximum extension, the sword hilt easily reached the handles on the chair. There it rested, clearly his. The chief started to wheel him up to the mirror; Mary stepped in to take over. While the lieutenant checked himself out, Mary could hear the chief doing his own check. “So that’s the way it is. It’s a damn good officer who can earn a medal and the respect of his sergeant.”
The lieutenant glanced up in the mirror. “They had their doubts. Right, Mary? Cassie?”
Mary blushed. “Damn right, sir,” Cassie answered.
The chief glanced at his wrist. “’Bout time. Can’t keep the elephants waiting.”
“Elephants?” Cassie echoed.
“Big earth animal. Huge. ’Bout the size of some officers’ egos. Let’s get moving, crew.” He led the way. Mary followed, pushing the LT. The rest came up the rear; they made quite a parade. And they weren’t ignored. It seemed every patient, doctor, and nurse was in the hall to see them on their way.
And they were all saluting.
Mary was trying to figure out how to push the chair one-handed when the chief saved her. “We’re working, Sarge. Let the lieutenant salute for all of us.”
• • •
Sandy and Guns took over a mess deck for their teams and pored over the gun data for the last seconds before the jump. When they reported to Mattim, Sandy was not happy; they had no idea what had gone wrong. “Was it the spin?” Sandy asked the overhead. “That missile near miss added lateral movement at the last moment. Nobody’s taken a type A jump point at our velocity, and we were still accelerating.” She threw up her hands. “There’s so many things. What did it?”
“There was also a wobble on the ship from the damage we’d taken,” Guns added. “So many factors to sort through.”
“And any one or all of them may be why we’re here,” Mattim summed up. “Without the right combination, we don’t get back.”
“Yes, sir.” Guns nodded.
Mattim leaned back into his chair as Guns did the same. Sandy was up and pacing. “Which ones? Which ones? We’ll have to isolate each one and test them one at a time.”
“Does anybody know how many ships have been lost in these damn holes?” Mattim asked.
“Three hundred and forty-seven,” Guns answered right back.
“Three hundred and forty-seven?” Mattim echoed.
“One of our middies researched that,” Guns said with a chuckle. “She has her paper on her own pet computer, complete with all her research notes. We’ve got the full benefit on the subject of every file on Pitt’s Hope. She got an A on the paper,” Guns added with a raised eyebrow.
In the next month, she’d get her real grade, Mattim thought. “Is there any thread running through the losses?”
“She didn’t find any then. At the moment, she’s reviewing her data with a lot more personal interest.”
“Did any of the ships have sensors like ours?” Sandy stopped dead in her pacing to shoot the question.
“There haven’t been any losses in fifty years, so we’re several generations of equipment up. Also, none were bugging out of a shoot with all gun sensors on. I think we’ve got a leg up. If we can just find the right leg in all the data.”
“Are there any observations of a ship just before its loss?” Mattim asked.
“Only that first one from Earth that didn’t make it back,” Sandy mused. “Nobody saw anything wrong with the Santa Maria. Challenger and Morning Star made it through the jump, but she just wasn’t there.” She shivered. “The Maria had problems with one of her directional jets. That’s why they always told us to keep a ship perfectly steady into a jump.”
“If we’d held the ship steady, we’d have been blown halfway across the galaxy.” Guns left no room for doubt.
“Yes. Tough choice,” Mattim agreed.
“We’ll have to make some test jumps, but we’ll find our way home.” Guns sounded like a grandfather assuring a child.
“Yes, yes.” Sandy was back to pacing. “Assuming there is a reason and it’s not that they’ve been good little jump points for fifty years and decided it was time to swallow a ship.”
“Sandy!” Mattim snorted.
She whirled on him. “Well, it’s not like we know what makes the damn things tick. They’re just there. We ride them like rivers. We can’t make them; we use them, like electricity, but try to get some genius to explain that one.” She wound down like a robot on exhausted batteries. Mattim went to her, held her; to hell with Navy regs. He’d seen her exhausted and spun up, tasked by a problem she didn’t think she could beat. She always did. She just needed a hug. Guns looked away.
“Sandy,” he whispered to her, “maybe you’re right and the jump point demon was overdue for a sacrifice and we got tagged. But you and I both know that there’re a hell of a lot of good, scientific reasons for this to happen. Let’s look them over. See what we see. I bet you the kids are having a ball.”
She chuckled through a sniff. “Bloody children don’t even know it’s impossible.”
“Which is probably why they’ll do it, and be shocked as hell to discover it was impossible afterwards. Come on, Sandy, You love puzzles. You’ve got some fun people to chew at it with you. This ship’s good for ninety days or more. We’ve got plenty of time. Let’s go have fun.”
She sniffled. Guns handed her a box of tissues. “Sorry, Matt, Comman
der,” she said, blowing her nose. “I didn’t mean to get all blubbery on you. I didn’t sleep well.”
“No problem.” Guns tossed off the apology. “And you might as well call me Howie. While I may insist Navy regs stretch halfway across the galaxy, I’m not so sure about Navy etiquette. Most of those kids are on a first-name basis, and I doubt I can keep them terrified once they’ve lectured me a few times about what was ‘obvious’ to them and I was totally blind to.”
Mattim walked them to the door. “Guns, when I came aboard, I wasn’t too sure about how the Navy part of the crew would take me. You’re a good man.”
“Won’t say I didn’t have my own doubts, but right now I can’t think of anyone I’d rather follow thirty thousand light-years from home with only three months worth of food. You’re good, Captain.”
“Matt, if you want.”
“Captain.”
Mattim watched them go. He’d taken care of his two most critical team players, given them the assurance they needed. But who’d take care of him? Mattim returned to his desk and the proposals Ding had passed along.
• • •
Mary squared her shoulders. A clock struck two bells as the chief pushed opened the door and led them into the vast space of the command center. Across the low-ceilinged room, computer terminals glowed; people were everywhere, khakied officers and enlisted in whites. They went about their duties, but Mary doubted any missed the little procession.
The company commander stood in the middle of the room, beside the battalion CO. Mary hadn’t seen him very often, but the major’s bantam rooster stance was unmistakable. The chief led them toward the two marine officers, settled the lieutenant to the major’s right and the others to the captain’s left.
The captain glowered. “Where’s your dress blues?”
“We were never issued any,” Mary whispered.
The captain started to say something, but the chief’s booming voice interrupted him. “Attention on deck. Captain’s mast, meritorious, Captain Anderson commanding.”
Mary couldn’t see anybody commanding, but she dared not move her head. Still, her eyes roved the center…and spotted movement. A tall, balding man in Navy whites wound his way through all the work stations. There were three—no four—stripes on his shoulder boards. So this was the brigade’s commander. Beside him was a much shorter but strikingly beautiful woman. There were three stripes on her shoulder boards. As they approached, the chief called, “Hand salute.”
