by Joe Zieja
“Not ten seconds ago you said you’d never heard of him,” Rogers said. “You’re telling me since then you’ve discovered that you’re a true believer?”
Krell sat back, folding his sizable arms and boring in to Rogers’ skull with his eyes. “Just because I haven’t heard of something doesn’t mean I can dismiss and disrespect it.”
Rogers gave him his best “Whatever, I don’t want to talk to you anymore” shrug. He turned back to ask Keffoule more questions about this insanity, but when he did he saw her looking at Krell with an expression that at once confused and delighted him. She was smiling.
“Thank you, General,” she said.
“Grand Marshal,” Xan said from his place in the corner. “Do you really think the talents of the Astromologer should be wasted on something so trivial as this?”
The fact that someone had just referred to the end of all life as “trivial” was more than enough to make Rogers want to forget everything and crawl into a hole until the end. Who were these people, and why had he ever started talking to any of them?
“It is time,” Keffoule said. “It is his time.”
“Time is one thing we are all very quickly running out of,” Holdt said, bringing the conversation back to the real world. “Grand Marshal Keffoule, if this scientist of yours—”
“Astromologer,” Keffoule corrected.
“—Astromologer can really do what you say he can do, we have nothing to lose by passing all of our available data to him. Send for him as soon as you can.”
Xan snorted. “One does not simply demand that the Astromologer appear,” he said.
“Then send him a fucking invitation!” Holdt shouted, startling everyone at the table. “If he’s not too divinely inspired to care about the skin on his bones, let him know that there won’t be anything left to astromologize if he doesn’t dedicate every ounce of his talents to helping us stop the Galaxy Eater.”
Everyone shut up for a moment, but Keffoule acknowledged the request with a slight nod. She looked at Krell and nodded as well, perhaps thanking him for his defense of her hokey quasi-religious nonscientist person.
“I shall do so,” Keffoule said. “It may take me a few days to contact him. If Sagittarius is still aligned at the proper angle, he may be deep in meditation.”
Rogers shook his head, wondering if he should be rooting for the Jupiterians instead. Also wondering how they’d know anything about Sagittarius, since the Fortuna Stultus galaxy was so far from the Milky Way that it was impossible to see all of the old constellations.
“Okay,” Rogers said. “So now we have everyone researching or engaging in some kind of psychic trance. We can’t just sit here and do nothing until someone publishes a book on the Galaxy Eater.”
Holdt nodded. “Right. I’ve received orders that the Joint Force, Resistance Engagement Detachment to Avoid Planetary Elimination begin immediate preparations for a full-scale assault on all known Jupiterian positions, culminating in the destruction of Snaggardir’s headquarters.”
“I’m sorry, the what force?” Rogers asked, looking around the table. “That was the longest and most confusing name I’ve ever heard.”
“Rogers, you’re coming into this a bit late, so let me explain to you the real reason behind this meeting.”
“Real reason?” Rogers asked. “I kind of figured that a large, disaffected and somewhat maniacal portion of the population holding humanity hostage was the real reason.”
Holdt let the comment slide off him, something he was exceedingly good at. Rogers hadn’t had too much interaction with him, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like the high admiral.
“We’ve gotten direction from up at the highest levels of government to form a task force that includes representation from all of the systems. In an effort to bring the remaining sane parts of humanity together to resist our possible destruction, the burden has fallen to me to organize it.”
Rogers blinked. “Congratulations? I mean, I wouldn’t want that job in a million years, but it will probably look good on your next performance evaluation report.”
“If there is another performance evaluation report,” Holdt said without a trace of bitterness. “Besides, I’m already one of the top admirals in the entire Meridan Galactic Navy. I don’t need any more promotions.”
Holdt paused for a moment. For some reason, everyone seemed to be waiting for something, staring at Rogers intently.
“But you have some room to grow,” Holdt said. Was he smiling?
“Nope. Nope. Uh-uh,” Rogers said, standing up so fast his wheeled chair flew across the room and was instantly soaked by the murderous Snaggardir’s coffee machine. “You are out of your mind. I’m not doing it. You can’t make me.”
“You have the résumé,” Holdt said. “You have combat experience. You have practice working with the pirates who are now our vanguard against the Jupiterians. You’ve been working with the Thelicosan representative of the Joint Force longer than anyone else.”
“Nope!” Rogers said. “Nope. Nope, nope, nopery nopity nope.” He began gathering his datapad from the table and hoped to make a quick exit from the room. “Noooope. Nope.”
“Oh come now,” General Krell said. “You can’t seriously tell me that the man who crushed the droids and discovered the first Jupiterian uprising can’t handle a little bit of good old-fashioned galaxy-scale war.”
Rogers balked for a moment, looking at the powerful, if arrogant, general sitting in front of him. A man who, despite his posturing, probably had never seen combat. Feeling his face contort into something between outright sobbing and amazement, Rogers realized that he did, actually, have more combat experience than anyone else in this room. Perhaps everyone in this room put together. And he’d only been doing this for a couple of months.
It was terrifying.
“And you’ve got that brilliant pilot on your team,” Premiere Thrumeaux said. “The one who can single-handedly take on an entire fleet of enemy ships.” She sighed, placing her hand over her heart. “I’ve heard such marvelous things about him and what he can do.”
Rogers, unsure of which one of the people at the table to correct first, rapidly turned his head between Krell and Thrumeaux, his memories of both himself and Flash racing through his brain. In an age where information could be transmitted faster than the speed of light, the idea that two things couldn’t be more wrong made him want to let the Jupiterians win.
He locked eyes with Thrumeaux. “Flash is the worst pilot I have ever seen.”
He moved to Krell. “I am the worst commander I have ever seen.”
And then Holdt. “You are out of your fucking mind.”
Holdt shrugged, as if someone lower ranking than him hadn’t just insulted him publicly in a room full of other high-ranking individuals. “There’s nothing to be done about it now. The paperwork has already been transmitted, signed, and approved by all levels of the Meridan government and ratified by the other systems. You are now Captain R. Wilson Rogers—chief, Joint Force, Resistance Engagement Detachment to Avoid Planetary Elimination.”
“No,” Rogers whispered. “This is so, so bad. None of you understand how bad this is.”
He was still standing at the foot of the table, holding his datapad and counting the beads of sweat rolling down his back. He was up to a bajillion now.
“You are literally placing the fate of the galaxy in my hands.” He thought for a moment. “Again. You need to stop doing this.”
“You need to stop succeeding, then,” Holdt said. “No good deed goes unrewarded.”
No good deed goes unpunished, you mean, Rogers said. The only thing working hard ever got him was more work. He was becoming so very bad at slacking off, which used to be his primary skill set. What had happened to him?
“We’re still working on the official paperwork to promote you to admiral,” Holdt said. “For now, you’ll be acting with an authority above your rank, which may be awkward.”
“No!” Rogers sa
id. “Do not promote me to admiral. Do you know how many admirals have been hit by asteroids in the last few months? You’ll be painting a cosmic target on my back.”
Keffoule chuckled. “Oh, come now, Captain Rogers. You can’t seriously be that superstitious.”
Rogers looked at her, wide-eyed. “You just told us we were all going to be saved by a psychic astrophysicist.”
“I have evidence that supports my claim,” Keffoule said, shrugging.
Rogers felt like he had a mountain of evidence to prove that being an admiral was hazardous to one’s health, but he didn’t feel like arguing anymore.
“As you might have guessed,” Holdt said, gesturing around the table, “the rest of the system representatives for this joint force are gathered around you here.”
“Me?” Keffoule asked, genuinely surprised. “I’ve been appointed?”
“Yes,” Holdt said.
“Surely a woman with your level of prestige, combined with your history as a commander and a behind-the-lines operative, gives you more than enough credentials for this sort of thing,” Krell said, grinning like an idiot. “I can imagine there is no one else better qualified for the position.”
“I appreciate your faith in me, General Krell,” Keffoule said, nodding her thanks, “but there are many more experienced at open-space warfare than me in the Thelicosan fleet. I am more of a . . .” She looked directly at Rogers. “A direct-action kind of woman.”
Rogers felt bile creeping up his throat.
“Anyway,” Holdt said, “as with many things in this military community of ours, Rogers, there’s not a whole lot of choice you have in the matter. You’re the boss of this outfit.”
“Not the boss,” Thrumeaux said, eying Rogers like he’d been the one to suggest it.
“First among equals, then,” Holdt said. “You report directly to me, and you’ll have the final say on maneuvers. I’ll also be the one to give you your orders, after I have a chance to confer with the governments of all the systems to set time-oriented, strategically focused objectives and achieve synergistic battlespace effectiveness . . .”
Holdt stared off into space for a second, then cleared his throat. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything other than be an admiral, and there’s this computer-based training that . . . You know what? Never mind. Just do what I say, alright?”
Rogers gaped at Holdt. Gaped at life, really. What were his options? The galaxy was about to be either taken over or eaten and he was a commissioned officer in the Meridan Galactic Navy and he did have combat experience against at least three different armies, one of which was currently fighting them.
That was a lot of italics, and not a lot of choices other than flinging himself out the window of Holdt’s office. And even that wouldn’t have done a lot of good since it was on the first goddamn floor. When he’d thought he was bored on the beach, this was absolutely not what he’d had in mind. No matter how much he tried to get rid of big capital ships and go back to something like the Awesome, it seemed like all anyone wanted to do was give him more metal to throw around in space.
And he was stuck with it.
“Fine,” Rogers said, realizing that everyone in the room had been staring at him while he went on a small, depressing mental tirade. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“We’re already way past that,” Holdt said.
“Yeah, I know,” Rogers said. “But I feel like maybe I can take more ownership of my life if I pretend like I’m the one with the power, you know?” He sat back down in his chair, dropping his datapad in front of him and preparing to take notes, or something.
“So what are our orders, boss?”
Tarot, Tarot, Tarot Your Boat
Alandra raced through her chambers, taking uniforms, supplies, hygiene products, and anything that she would possibly need for an extended stay on another ship, and stuffing them into her bag. The room rapidly descended from inspection ready to barely human ready. Keffoule didn’t care.
“I find this highly irregular,” Xan said, doing absolutely nothing to help her. It was difficult to tell when the man was moping—he always looked mopey—but there was definitely something on Xan’s mind that he wasn’t letting on.
“You find everything highly irregular, Xan,” Keffoule barked, throwing an unnecessary amount of toothbrushes into her hygiene kit.
It didn’t matter what Xan thought; she was going to get to live on the same ship as Captain R. Wilson Rogers, and this time without any kidnapping or face-kicking at all! It was like a dream come true. Working together toward a common goal built camaraderie, healed old wounds, and forged unbreakable bonds that could never be broken. Her short tenure on the Flagship during the fight against Zergan had given Rogers enough reason to treat her civilly and forgive her for her mistakes during the earlier parts of their relationship. What would saving the galaxy from certain destruction yield for her?
Marriage!
According to High Admiral Holdt, the gruff, if a bit charmingly roguish, commander of the Meridan Galactic Navy, all of the commanders of the new Joint Force were to be housed together on the Flagship. They were to leave their fleets in the direct command of their immediate deputies, and be present on the Meridan command ship to promote teamwork and synergy. To Keffoule, all of those were secondary concerns to making sure that she utilized her time on the same ship with Rogers more effectively than his time on the Limiter.
Well, perhaps they weren’t exactly secondary concerns. The entire Fortuna Stultus galaxy was at stake, of course. But that didn’t mean that Alandra couldn’t use those circumstances to her advantage.
“Besides,” Alandra said, not sure if she was talking to Xan or herself, “you’ll be coming with me. Shouldn’t you be packing?”
With Edris gone, that left a bit of a power vacuum on the Limiter that needed to be filled. Her helmsman, a bright, science-driven young pre-commodore by the name of Chinnaker was next in line, but nowhere near seasoned enough to tackle full command, even if Alandra was nearby to provide guidance. She’d have to sort all of this out before she left, of course, but right now she was getting ready for the most exciting sleepover of her life.
“I am already prepared,” Xan said.
“Of course you are,” Alandra said. She was about to tell Xan to find something useful to do when her datapad began ringing. She’d left it on her desk, far away from where she was now stuffing several mathematical implements into her bag.
“Get that for me, would you?” she said, pointing to the datapad.
Without expression, Xan crossed over to the desk, face weights swaying with every step, and picked up the pad. For a moment, he looked at it, frowning ever so slightly, not saying anything.
“Well?” Keffoule said, standing up, her favorite abacus dangling from one hand. “Who is it?”
“It’s the bridge,” Xan said.
“Well that’s not so strange. Why do you look like someone didn’t show their work?”
Xan hesitated. “General Krell, from the New Neptunian fleet, is requesting a private conference with you.”
Krell. There was an interesting man, especially for a New Neptunian. Xan made a good personal assistant precisely because he had no personality, a core trait of the system’s inhabitants, but this Krell seemed to be a bit of an anomaly. Alandra had a general distrust for New Neptunians, despite hiring one as her attendant, because it was impossible to tell their motivations or predict their actions, since they didn’t show any emotion. Krell was somewhat refreshing. Then again, Alandra supposed that not every New Neptunian could be boring, just like every Meridan wasn’t lactose intolerant, as she’d recently learned.
“I wonder what he wants,” Alandra said. “Go ahead and route it to my terminal and ask him to wait. I’ll sit down in a moment once I’ve gathered a few more things. I am nearly ready.”
Xan bowed his head and relayed the message. Alandra could barely hear Krell’s response.
Gathering up h
er last few things, she shoved the bundle into Xan’s open arms and gave him instructions to prepare for immediate departure. Alandra sat down at her desk and saw that Xan had already queued up the video conference with Krell; he’d been staring at the back of her chair for a few minutes.
“I apologize for the delay,” Alandra said. “There were preparations that needed to be completed for our rendezvous on the Flagship.”
General Krell, whose face seemed chiseled out of stone, grinned at her in a way that she found at once very disarming and very unbecoming of a high-ranking officer.
“You were worth the wait, of course,” he said. While he wasn’t exactly old, his voice did sound weathered, having in it the kind of texture acquired from years of indiscriminate yelling. Alandra got the distinct impression that serving under this gentleman was not a gentle experience.
“I see,” Alandra said, not quite sure how else to respond to something like that. What did he mean? “What can I do for you, General?”
“Please, call me Alister.”
Alandra hesitated a moment.
“I believe it would be inappropriate to assume informalities just yet,” Alandra said slowly. “We are about to fight a war together, after all.”
Immediately, this struck her as an incongruity. Hadn’t she just thought the opposite about Rogers? Fighting a war was going to break down the barriers of professionalism that she so desperately wanted to claw her way over.
Krell didn’t seem to take it as an insult; he shrugged it off. “So be it. I only wanted to call and let you know that I appreciate what you’ve done so far to help stave off the Jupiterian invasion. Without your tactical brilliance, the galaxy would be in a much worse state than it already is.”
“Captain Rogers did most of the tactical brilliance,” Alandra said, but she felt a little bit of heat rise to her face. She’d been flattered before, of course; for the entire span of her life people had been telling her that she was different, smart. Occasionally, yes, brilliant. But all of those compliments had come riding on a wave of fear of being kicked in the face. Krell seemed not only genuine and unafraid, but . . . something else, as well. Something Alandra couldn’t quite place her finger on.
