“Might be time to sell,” James said, more to himself. They’d considered selling when they’d agreed to have children, but James couldn’t bring himself to commit to moving out… and besides, the penthouse had more than enough room. “Maybe when I’m home,” he suggested, and Jennifer shrugged.
“I didn’t think you’d forget…” she said softly.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind, Jen,” he said sharply, more than a little defensivel, and she simply nodded, accepting his rather lame excuse – it was, after all, all he had to offer. She knew what he was alluding to – the war. “But it’s great that you did that with the penthouse. I would have done the same thing, had I been there.”
They resumed their walk, their attention fixed on the twins, who were now frolicking in surf up to their chests. James warned them not to go out any further.
“Can we get ice-cream, dad?” Amanda asked.
James smiled and looked down at his bare-feet, watching in anticipation as the water lapped at them, and enjoying the cooling sensation washing over him as the water receded. “I’m sure we can arrange some, sweetheart,” he said.
“More?” Jennifer asked, amused. Sarah had joined James and his family for lunch, and they’d all gorged themselves – including ice-cream for dessert – before coming to the beach. No doubt she was surprised at how hungry they were… but then, they were growing girls. “I don’t want to be taking Pedraza slugs home, James.”
James made a dismissive noise and laughed. “I can’t very well say no to them, can I?”
“True,” Jennifer replied quietly. “How long do you think you’ll be on Earth for?”
James shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Depends entirely on how long the Ignatius takes to get ready, I suppose… technically I can take more time off, but I’d rather not leave my ship unattended for such a prolonged period.”
“Why, will the crew miss you?”
“They might,” he said, but was cut off from further comment by a squeal of delight as Samantha was lifted off her feet by a wave, crashing back into the surf. Amanda stood just a few feet away, cackling madly as she tried to restore order to her wet hair. “I should really be in there with them.”
“Might have been an idea to pick up some bathers before coming down here. Pity this isn’t a nude beach.”
“You can say that again,” James giggled, even as his gaze wandered across a scantily-clad girl jogging past. She was a blonde, and blondes always got James’ attention.
Jennifer smiled sweetly at him as she drew his attention back to him with a finger on his chin, and suddenly the blonde was forgotten about as he stared into her piercing eyes. “Are you sure you want the girls to come to the memorial service tomorrow?” she asked, sobering. “They’re a bit… young… for this sort of thing…”
“I don’t think there’s ever an appropriate age for this sort of thing, Jen,” James said, his paternal gaze drifting back to his daughters. “But she is – was – their grandmother, they deserve a chance to say goodbye to her, like the rest of us.”
“Even if it is temporary?”
“I don’t think this is temporary, Jen,” he said firmly, with a finality that threatened to overwhelm him. “My mother is dead. We need to accept this… and move on.”
Chapter Three
“Has he always been like that?”
Troy glanced at Emil Palhares. The pilot had accompanied him to the spaceport to see James off, and the two men were now watching as the shuttle took Troy’s twin to the Ignatius, now sitting in a high orbit and waiting to depart.
“And I know he’s having a rough time,” Emil clarified, not unkindly. “But your brother gave me the impression that he’s usually that… intense…”
Troy smiled in understanding, nodding slowly as he squinted against the harsh daylight. “No, I know what you mean, and yes, he is.” He caught one final look of the shuttle as it reached a distant cloud and became obscured. “But you’re right, he is more than a bit uptight… but he’s usually like that.”
“Even when his family is around?”
Troy shrugged. “Usually he’s a little more mellow, I guess… but Jennifer and the girls leaving for Bastion kinda depressed him further… hell, it depressed me, seeing Noah leave with them…” If it had been up to Troy, Noah would have remained on Earth with his father, but the school term on Bastion was about to start, and Troy wanted his son to have a more reliable, frequent attendance record.
Emil nodded, closing his eyes as if pained – which he probably was, Troy realized. Two families were going through rough times at the moment, even if one of them was likely to have a happy ending, of sorts. “Well, I hope things don’t get any worse for him. I don’t think he can take much more stress.”
Troy cocked his head, surprised – that had almost sounded like something his mother would have said, and suddenly he found himself missing his mother’s insights all the more intensely. “You think so?”
“Yep.” Emil answered. “You could see it in his eyes. He’s a pressure valve, waiting to vent or burst… or explode.” Emil nodded gravely as he crossed his arms. “I almost feel sorry for the N’xin.”
Troy considered that, and silently agreed. He’d have to try and keep an eye on James, make sure he was coping okay… or at least as well as Troy was. It’s not like the Naval psych services have a lot of resources to spare at the moment, anyway.
“Did I tell you they got the bastard?”
Troy looked at Emil, blinking in surprise. “They did?”
Emil nodded, turning around and making his way towards one of the passenger lounges a hundred feet away, Troy easily keeping pace with him amongst the bustle of the terminal. The crowd around them represented the myriad of thoughts that raced through his mind: vibrant colours, slothful and frenzied movements… combined with everything he’d had to drink the night before, it was enough to give Troy a terrible headache, one that his cybernetics seemed unable to ease.
“They arraigned him an hour ago… surprised the police haven’t told you by now.”
Troy shook his head – he’d deactivated his VA to prevent any interruptions while he said goodbye to his brother, and had forgotten to turn its notifications back on. He turned it back on, and was flooded with nearly a hundred different tid-bits of information.
God damn it!
“They did, I just wasn’t paying attention,” he said gently. “Well, I hope they throw the book at the SOB… are you going to hang around for the trial?”
Emil nodded. “As long as they do it quickly… you know how lawyers are.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” Troy said, sighing as his mind went back to a former prosecutor he used to know.
*
“Welcome back, Captain.”
It had taken the engineers at Earth five days to get the Ignatius space-worthy, and now James Hunter was wrinkling his nose as he stepped onto the deckplates of his own ship, the Englewood. The engines of his shuttle were still cooling down, venting noisily into the thin air; combined with the ambient engine noise and work going on in the shuttlebay meant that Commander Willard Marquez had to shout a little bit to be heard.
“Eh,” James murmured, waving his First Officer off. Marquez was shorter than James, but stockier, with a rather weak chin and chubby cheeks, but a high forehead and dark, intelligent eyes. He’d served primarily on destroyers – including the renowned Exeter – before James had selected him to be his XO on the Englewood.
Well, I didn’t really select him, he was the only real applicant for the job. The middle-levels of the officer corps were a little thin lately as demand out-stripped the current supply.
“I take it things didn’t go smoothly?”
“Not remotely,” James grumbled with a sigh. “I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t nice to see my brother again, but the circumstances were… well, they were what they were,” he finished feebly, suddenly feeling very drained. Actually, I’ve been drained for a while, I just haven’t noticed.
“Indeed,” Marquez murmured, clearly unsure on how to comment without more context – James hadn’t shared the reason for his rather abrupt sabbatical – and he fell into step behind James as the captain marched towards the exit, footsteps echoing like gunfire in the cold, stark metal chamber.
“We have new orders, Captain,” Marquez continued, handing over a small datapad to James.
“Let me guess, back to the front?” James asked. He’d rendezvoused with the Englewood as it was set to depart from Augusta, a now-thriving colony world (thanks to the relocation of tens of thousands of refugees) forty light-years out from Earth, in the direction of the frontlines. The ship had gone to FTL before the shuttle had finished landing.
“No,” Marquez answered, and James looked at him in surprise. “There’s something of a pirate problem out on the rim near Versailles; we’re to join the F D Roosevelt and its taskforce and hunt them down.”
“Versailles?” James asked, confused – and annoyed. Annoyed at… well, everything. The war, his mother, his family, the universe in general. Everything seemed to be going wrong, and he desperately needed something to preoccupy him, a way to release his rage… and Versailles was not a place that would enable that.
“It’s a colony on the far –”
“I know what it is, and where,” snapped James testily, cutting Marquez off rather sharply. He looked down and scanned the contents of the datapad. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” Among other things, James added silently. He sighed. “I just don’t know why they’re sending us there: Versailles isn’t exactly in the neighbourhood.” Even as James said it, his VA was doing the calculations: at flank speed, the Englewood would take almost two weeks to travel the vast distance.
“High Command didn’t say; I suppose they’re not in the business of having to explain their orders.” Marquez shrugged. “Though, if I were to guess, I’d say it’s because the Englewood is old and slow, but still heavier than most of the assets we have out that way at the moment.”
“Disposable, in other words?” James asked, muttering. The Englewood was nearing thirty years old, one of the first of the Ithaca-class cruisers to launch; now two generations out-of-date, those that hadn’t been lost in the war with the N’xin had mostly been relegated to colony defence or rear-guard actions… like dealing with less critical issues, such as pirates. A few, though, like the Englewood, were still seeing action against the N’xin.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Marquez shrugged. “We’re to rendezvous with the Arizona and the Crazy Horse en-route, and travel in concert to the FDR.”
James rolled his eyes as he approached a turbolift. He’d never felt disposable before, and wasn’t all that keen on starting now. He had actually tried all his life to be seen as indispensable.
“I’m assuming that’s where we’re headed?” he asked sullenly, trying to content himself with suddenly being second-rate as the doors opened.
That’s never going to happen, he silently vowed as he stepped onto the lift. The Englewood may have been old, but she was still a good ship, with a good crew – it had earned a fierce reputation before James had taken command seven months before, after Captain Menendez had been bumped over to the Arizona, and James had done his best to maintain that reputation.
I think I’ve succeeded, he thought to himself, without the slightest trace of conceit. After all, the Englewood was just one of thirty warships that had what could be considered sterling careers. Besides, if this is the only success you have to brag about, it’s nothing special.
James scrunched his face up as that rather negative thought appeared out of nowhere. Uncomfortable though it was, though, James had to concede that he’d had very little to boast about in the last fifteen years; any success his family had had was entirely due to Jennifer or Troy.
I’ve done nothing but try and keep them alive… itself a noble goal, but… James smiled ruefully to himself – that sounded very much like something his mother would say. Had said, in fact: as terrified she had been of losing her son, she’d been proud of his willingness to fight. But ultimately it’s made me lonely, isolated.
That, too, sounded like Rebecca, and James’ stomach dropped as he was reminded, once again, of what he had lost.
“Orders were to depart as soon as you were on board,” Marquez confirmed, breaking into James’ reverie as he thumbed for the bridge. “It’s a long trip, though.”
“I know,” James said, a hint of complaint in his voice. He rested his head against the back of the turbolift. “Any idea as to what we’re up against?”
“There is an Intelligence briefing in the appended files, but, considering there’s only six ships being sent – in total – I don’t think we’re up for much in the way of trouble. They’ll probably see the Roosevelt and flee, stay quiet for a few years…”
“… and pop-up when things return to normal,” James finished, getting annoyed. This was a milk-run mission, meant to reassure colonists along the fringes of Commonwealth territory without actually accomplishing anything of real substance. “Still, I’d like to think we’ll be able to accomplish something on this routine assignment.”
“It is rather routine, isn’t it?” Marquez said, his eyes looking back through the years. James knew from his service record that he’d been a Navy veteran before the war had broken out – routine duties for Marquez meant something completely different to the wartime-service of James and his ilk. Exploration, surveys, cargo runs, pirate interdiction… “Takes me back.”
James smirked, unable to shake this feeling of melancholy. “I’m afraid combat is the only routine I’m aware of in the Navy, Commander.” He frowned internally, his memory casting back to the previous decade. That, and running away from it.
“Very well then,” James said. “Have Navigation set a course for Versailles, and get us there at our nominal cruising speed. Assemble the senior staff for a mission briefing in…” He paused. “Oh, make it two hours, I guess.”
Marquez smiled. “Aye, sir.”
*
“This has been a waste of time.”
It wasn’t the first time that Captain Hunter had made the proclamation – the first had been before the Englewood had reached the F D Roosevelt, when he’d reviewed their revised mission parameters – but it was the first time he’d said it out loud on the bridge of the Englewood… and, just now, the way he said was also a new contender for most bitter comment Marquez had heard Hunter utter in their service together.
Marquez glanced up at his CO from the rear section of the bridge, where he’d been shuffling through the various work-stations – arranged in neat rows and columns away from the primary forward stations of the helm and tactical – and ensuring everything was ship-shape. “Captain?”
James Hunter rolled his eyes as he grunted noncommittally, waving his First Officer off distractedly. “Nothing, Commander. Talking to myself.” He went back to perusing the datapad he was nursing, the contents of which he’d been studying intermittently for the last few hours. “But this assignment is a waste of our time.”
“Yes, sir,” Marquez said, glancing over at Lieutenant Torres. Both men shrugged at each other, not really interested in pursuing the conversation. Hunter had been moody and sullen since he’d come back from Earth. “Still nothing, Lieutenant?”
Torres shook his head. Barely older than a college freshman, Emmanuel Torres was taking to his rather rapid climb up the ranks with aplomb… although the poor kid was still a bit nervous when dealing with his superiors. “No, sir, scans are still negative.”
Despite nine hours of searching, the Englewood had been unable to track down the mercenary ship they had hunted to this system. While disappointing, it wasn’t all that surprising: the mercs had a two-hour head-start, and had plenty of places to hide in: two gas-giants that produced tremendous EM interference, three terrestrial planets to land on… and a dense asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets.
So far, the Commonwealths efforts to clamp down on
piracy in this region had met with mixed-success: while pirate attacks had been halved, the actual number of pirates gangs arrested or eliminated was negligible, meaning that as soon as the task-force departed, the brigands would go back to pillaging in a heartbeat.
“We’ll give it another hour in this system,” Hunter said, tapping at the control panel built into his chair. “Then we’ll move onto the next system of our patrol route.” He paused. “Update the FDR on our progress and destination once we’re under way.”
“Aye, sir,” Torres said, chorused by Ensign Falacci at the Communications station at the back of the darkened bridge. “Should we remain at Alert, sir?”
Hunter pondered that for a moment, then shook his head, not even looking away from his reading. “Stand down from Battle Stations, but keep the defensive systems on stand-by in case our luck changes.”
Marquez made his way over to the command chair, his routine inspection of the aft duty stations complete. “Still working on your combat simulations, Captain?”
Captain Hunter had taken up the study of strategic and tactical thinking in recent months, and, like a great many others in recent years, had doubled-down on war-games (both those designed by military schools and those meant for more domestic audiences) since his sojourn to Earth. If he had any definitive plans for these new skills, he was keeping them to himself, though Marquez conceded that the captain may have just wanted to improve his own competencies in those areas.
“Yes,” Hunter murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m actually better at this sort of thing than I used to be, which is a bit surprising.”
“You didn’t do this at Officer training?”
Hunter finally looked up, his eyes narrowed. “I did, but I didn’t think I was very good at it, so I stopped doing it in favour of more practical training.” He shrugged fractionally, but was cut off by the sensor officer.
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