by Jim Rudnick
From behind him, Harry Neal jumped out of his seat and took up station off to his right. His hair was white, as all Conclusion citizens had white hair, and Bill noted he at least kept the long white hair on the back of each of his hands cut very short. He loved Science, which Bill knew, and hence his decision was easy.
"Corporal, you will assemble an away team to take out our large cargo shuttle to close with that probe, take it on board, bring it back to the station, and then place it in max security—full force five force-fields all around it in landing port four. You are to do nothing to the probe-no investigations, no entry—nothing—do you read me, Corporal?" he said, his voice hard and edged.
Harry knew this was both important and perhaps a matter of life and death. He snapped to attention and saluted. "Aye, Sir—Wilco and I will ensure that there is no byplay between us and the probe, Sir," he said and Bill could tell he meant that.
About ten minutes went by and then appearing on the screen in front of the bridge crew, the cargo shuttle moved into view as it swung over the top of the probe and came to a direct halt. While the bridge crew couldn't see it, the cargo doors along the side of the shuttle must have opened as the probe suddenly turned neon magenta as the tractor beam played out on it. Slowly the probe lifted toward the cargo shuttle and disappeared inside.
Careful eyes followed that move on the view-screen sidebar, and not a single thing changed. The probe was appeared to still be asleep.
As the cargo shuttle slowly yawed toward the station cameras, it gently and cautiously moved toward the station.
It disappeared after a minute or so and Bill said, "Landing port four, please, Station Control."
Mel punched some monitor buttons, and the landing bay came into view. Large enough to hold a dozen of those cargo shuttles that ran more than one hundred feet in length, it had just been cleared, and the only other vehicle there was a marine shuttle that had just arrived up from Juno. Awaiting the arrival of the station cargo shuttle were more than four dozen marines, in full gear and armor, and all armed with everything from Merkels to Ship-Busters. Armed and aware should be their motto, Bill thought as the cargo shuttle slowly entered the landing port.
Whomever Harry had chosen for the pilot, this guy was good. He swung the shuttle so slowly that it looked like it was in slow motion. But eventually it had swung in between the force-field stanchions that had been placed and positioned carefully. As the shuttle came to rest, the whole side panel slid up, and from the ceiling of the landing port, that magenta ray came out to slowly lift the probe out of the cargo shuttle hold and move it onto the deck of the bay. It again happened slowly and Bill's eyes went back and forth from the live feed on the view-screen to the sideboard vitals, and there was no change at all. The probe was truly asleep, he figured, and that was surely a good thing.
As the magenta ray of the tractor beam snapped out, the blue force-field shimmers went up around the probe, and everyone let out a breath.
"Sir," came a message from the shuttle, "permission to disembark here and join the team up from Juno, Sir."
While Bill didn't hear a please with that message, he surely knew there was an implied one. "Granted, Corporal Neal. Send the rest of the team on their way, and I want your full report on my console within the hour, 10-4, Corporal?" he said and received a "Wilco" back.
Taking a moment, he went back to his console, entered his search term at Gallipedia, and turned back to the crew.
"Ansible, all feeds sent and received down to Navy Hall, yes?" he said and Phil nodded back and said, "Roger, Sir."
"Station Control, set view back to normal and archive those feeds since the alarms. Make a double copy and stream that down to Juno too," he said.
"Tactical, as you're closest, get us another Science officer up here—I take it that we're going to be here for at least another few hours—so first round down in Non-com Mess is on me then. 'Til then, I want reports from everyone on my console within an hour. Anything—and I mean anything that you noticed or found or saw or figured out on your own—I want that in your report. No exceptions—anything and everything here, folks," he said as he looked down at his search results on his console monitor.
He looked around at everyone. "So far, there has never been such an event before, Gallipedia reports. No such an event ever—on the RIM, that is. We were not attacked, but we still had an incoming intruder get by all our RIM border defenses. All of them. This is important, folks. So if you've anything to report—do that. Nothing is dumbass or stupid either. I want what you experienced and I want it unadulterated and raw. Capisce?" he said and his voice was as persuasive as he could make it.
All the crew turned back to their stations and heads dropped as they began to work on those reports.
And then I gotta write my own too, Bill thought, and all I saw was nothing other than what the recordings would show ...
#####
It had taken almost three weeks to get the task force together. Half an hour ago, the three ships under the flag of the RIM Navy and were finally on their way and leaving Juno. With the ability to go triple the speed of either the DN Triumph, a frigate, or the RN Marwick, a cruiser, the Atlas had agreed the task force speed was one light a day. The trip would take approximately twenty-seven days to get to Enki.
Sitting in the captain's chair once more, Tanner grinned to himself. Even the slow speed would be a great way to spend a month or so; anything is better than twiddling my thumbs on the Barony Hospital Ship, anything! There had been changes in his life—that was a given.
One of which—he smiled wryly—was the list of items to think on from my psychiatrist. Things to try to understand about those ninety days I spent on the Hospital Ship while doctors tested me to make sure I was sane.
Sane he was. Poorer but sane.
The court proceedings—the final voice on whether or not he was sane, as if there was any doubt—had found him sane. All the doctors agreed. The charges against him of the assault of all those marines was mitigated somewhat and fines were levied. Large fines, which just about emptied his account for rainy-day money. But then the Baroness had given him a surprise one-time payment of a full year's captain's pay for his work on the Ghayth project. The fact that he'd found what was proving to be working anti-gravity devices should have been worth more, he sniffed to himself, but a year's pay was a year's pay.
He took another sip of the green tea in his plas-cup and grimaced. The psychiatrist had told him it might help if he tried to break some habits. His love of the double-double coffees on the bridge was just one of those items, hence the move to green tea. Yesterday he'd had three different Earl Grey varieties and had hated them all. The day before, it had been Darjeeling, and he hadn't even been able to finish one cup.
Tea sucks, he thought, and I'm not going to find a kind I like—at least so far. So, if I can't find something that I like in say five minutes ... nah—he shook his head—say during this whole trip to Enki, then I'm back to my double-doubles. End of story. He nodded to himself and looked over at his helmsman, Lieutenant Cooper.
"Helm, please make a note for me in my captain's log? Remind me that if I do not find a substitute for my double-doubles by the time we get to Enki, then tea will be banned on the Atlas. Make that a big bloody reminder," he said as he forced down another swallow of the green tea.
"Aye, Sir—noted and logged and it'll come up on the captain's console soon as we hit orbit around Enki. Might I add, Sir, that I never liked that stuff either," Randy Cooper said and grinned back at his captain.
Randy had been his main helmsman since his very first shift on the bridge of the Atlas, and Tanner liked his take on controlling the ship. Tanner looked around the bridge and smiled.
All of his crew was still on the Atlas, and all held their allegiance to him as a personal goal. He looked over at the Ansible station and smiled at the back of Lieutenant Irving's head—she had been instrumental in helping thwart the Caliphate attempt to steal the Ikarian virus from the Hos
pital Ship labs. Her husband had been sent to Ghayth on research, and she had transferred back to the Atlas a week earlier than he had. She was a solid performer, and from what he understood, with her new prosthetics, her hearing was now superior to normal human abilities.
Over at the bridge Science console, it was still Lieutenant Commander Karl Sheldon, who was definitely eager to get to Enki, and their First Contact mission was his specialty too. Of course, the Marwick carried the RIM Confederacy First Contact team, but Tanner had been able to get his own Science officer on that team so he'd have a way to stay in the loop.
Bram Sander, his Adept officer, sat beside him on the starboard side, and as Tanner was taking stock of the crew, he turned and winked at him. Having an Issian mind reader sitting a few feet away was always a good thing. Bram smiled as he worked on something on his console monitor but that too was okay.
Tactical, of course, as on all ships, was handled by the Atlas XO, Commander Kondo Lazaro, Tanner's number two on the Atlas. Loyal, honest, with great insight—he couldn't think of a better man to have at his wing. His favorite marine, Major Alver Stal was not onboard, having taken over on Ghayth. His Air Force leader Colonel Richards was on board but down on decks where he and his pilots all had quarters and lived and worked for the most part.
In fact, other than that dang ninety days or so, things are just about the same. I'm not crazy; I'm broke but rich; I am hating tea; and the Atlas has the best crew in the Navy.
He smiled, took a big slurp of the tea, and coughed it up and all over the console. Sputtering, he got up, went over to the coffee station to get a pile of napkins, and came back to the captain's area to clean up. He grimaced. Tea really does suck.
Bram noted the whole thing, and he was the only one who made a comment as the rest of the bridge crew suddenly found themselves busy.
"Sir, maybe we should up that reminder note to later today," he said dryly. He smiled at least, Tanner noted, and he shook his head.
"Not at all, Lieutenant. I will give it about a month to find a home with me—or not. But the time stays firm," he said as he went back to the coffee station, tossed the big handful of wet napkins, and refilled his cup.
"Milk, maybe ..." he said to himself, and he put in a big dose of milk to try to change the taste and returned to his chair.
"Helm," he said "status on the task force, please, Lieutenant?"
Lieutenant Cooper nodded as he put the latest numbers up on the view-screen sidebar. "Sir, we're cruising at one light per day; estimated ETA is about twenty-six-plus days to this Enki planet; fuel reserves are fine; all bridge stations report all operations within range; and from the rest of the ship, we're good, Sir. Well, some kind of a minor—very minor, says CWO Hartford—snafu down in Armory Ordnance with some issues with torpedo tie-downs, but that's being handled, Sir," he said and he half-turned back to the captain.
"If torpedoes are not secure, what might happen, Lieutenant?" Tanner asked.
"Sir, as the Atlas has the best-latest—inertia dampeners available, even a lurch of huge size—uncommon as that might be—couldn't set one off, Sir. That's covered in classes at the Naval Academy over on Eons—first year, I believe."
Smart kid, Tanner thought. "Of course, while the torpedo would never go off—at its size of, what, sixty feet long, diameter of about four feet, she'd weigh, what, say eight tons. That's one hell of a thing to pin an Armory crewman to the walls down there, right, Lieutenant?" he said and hoped his point was made.
"Shit—sorry, Sir, I mean, yes and the chief warrant officer is looking after that—why don't I double-check on that myself, Sir?" Cooper said and his voice was contrite—almost apologetic.
Point made, Tanner thought, and a good thing to show crewmen that the most obvious item that comes to mind can also be shown to have just as important second or more issues too.
"Sir," Lieutenant Irving said as she half-turned to her right to see her captain, "message in from the Marwick—permission to put it on screen, Sir?" she said and smiled at Tanner.
He nodded and a moment later, the huge view-screen held the face of the captain of the Marwick.
Tanner grinned at him and said, "Aye, Captain Templeton, what can the Atlas do for you?"
Craig Templeton smiled at Tanner and held out his hands, palms up.
"Captain Scott, I am so sorry we can't get more speed outta this old tub—but we will get to this Enki nonetheless, Sir," he said with a hint of deprecating humor. "But we just wanted to invite you over for a real Marwick meal this evening—crew here just wants to pay their respects is all. Big feast has been prepared by the chefs here, and we've got Virgin Marys just for you too," he said and many of the Atlas bridge crew laughed.
"I accept, but only if I can bring a small group with me too—that okay, Craig?" he said which got him a big "Roger" back.
Lieutenant Irving disconnected the call and the bridge went back to normal shift duty.
As he busied himself with any starship captain's worst enemy, paperwork, he nodded to himself. Would be good to have some of his crew bond with the Marwick folks—never can tell when one side would need backup ...
#####
After the dinner groups had gone down to the Officers' Mess on Deck Nineteen on the Marwick, Tanner and the Marwick captain sat alone and nursed their after-dinner coffees. Tanner had resisted—well, not really so much—asking for tea instead, and he truly enjoyed having the double-double once more. He toyed with his spoon on the napkin, moving the napkin back and forth, as he listened to Craig.
"And then, as I'm sure you can imagine, Tanner, the admiral blew a gasket. I'm not that knowledgeable about the man—but he literally stamped off cursing and went to that big bookcase behind his desk and punched a whole stack of books. Never seen him so mad—just thought that you'd want to know, is all," he said and his voice was solemn yet telling.
Tanner nodded and stared at the napkin as it slid back and forth. The admiral, it appeared, had not been happy to learn he had left the RIM Navy and had gone over to the Barony and a new captaincy on the Atlas.
He also knew the word on this would have come from the man he had resigned to directly—Rear Admiral Ethan Higgins had been that man on Halberd, the RIM prison planet. After quelling the prison riot and having to kill two of the rioters himself, Tanner had taken the offer from the Barony to leave the RIM Navy and take charge of the Atlas. It was simply a matter of considering his options and making a choice.
At least that's what he told himself, and he noted his therapy of beating his fingers on his knee one, two ... one, two was going on.
It helps, I think. , That thought sped up his fingers, but he didn't feel much more than the conscious counting of that tapping pattern ... one, two ... one, two ...
He looked up at Craig and nodded once more. "Craig, I can only imagine how he felt—in all honesty as you remember, when I left the RIM Navy, I had nothing else on my mind other than survival. You know what happened on Halberd; you were there; and you did as I did. We helped put down the riot at great cost. I would imagine that his surprise when Higgins first told him was immense, and while you were there to get your eagles, he also reminded himself of my leaving and that's just bad timing, I think. We have history too, as you know, but I'd bet that once those books stopped tumbling, he was back to all business. Right?" Tanner said and he stopped the napkin in mid-move.
Craig nodded. "Yup, got my eagles and as I rose to say my goodbyes—he simply asked if I knew why you'd resigned your commission. You know that all I could offer was a no. I really have no idea why you chose to do that—care to enlighten me too, perhaps?" he said and Tanner could hear a note of curiosity in his voice.
He really had no other reason to hem and haw so he was honest. "A few reasons, really, Craig. As you know, I had no trouble at all killing Nusayr, the leader of the whole plot to riot, and perhaps hurt some of the heads of state that where there—though I'd think the Caliph himself was his real target. It was Tibah and that flare of fanat
icism in those beautiful violet eyes that she had. She looked right at me, Craig, and then aimed at the Caliph, so my navy training took over, and I killed her before her Merkel could be fired. It was the hardest shot I've ever had to take, but it had to be done. And after, I felt empty—and the thought of ever having to make that kind of a decision again was something I never ever wanted to have to do.
"The Barony offered me the captaincy of the Atlas, and the simple fact that I could—um—keep up my love of my Scotch with no worries. The Baroness said it plainly, and after the riot, I grabbed it. Never looked back—oh, well, I miss crew and all, but both Bram and I have fit in pretty well in the Barony Navy."
He said it and he knew it was true. He was a navy man, no doubt about it. That was the plain truth.
He took a small sip of the double-double coffee in the mug in front of him and then shrugged. "At the same time, I know—because the shrinks all told me up on the Barony Hospital Ship—that the riot and my actions spawned my PTSD. And that was the big reason that, yes, I exploded at the bar on Neres and hurt all those Caliphate marines. How I did that, I've no idea, as I was so drunk, Craig, I remember nothing about the bar brawl. But the next ninety days up on the Hospital Ship were both boring and yet still interesting. They gave me some kind of a gene-changing shot that cured my love of Scotch—well, of all alcohol. And yes, as you can see," he said as he nodded down toward his knee at his tapping fingers, "they also gave me a combat for the PTSD. Well, not really a method to defeat it, but something that works so that when I tap that pattern over and over and over, it doesn't allow my brain to get such isolated focus on my current situation. Sort of an anti-PTSD insurance type of thing. Dunno if it works, but just talking with you now, what almost a year since the Halberd prison riots yes, has me still reacting—but not that badly. Least not so far ...
Craig reached across the table and seized his other hand.
"Captain—Tanner—I don't think you need to worry. We all knew you're sane, and while I've no idea on what those Caliphate marines said, I'm as sure as anyone else is that they deserved what they got. So you got ninety days of paid vacation, and here you are back in the captain's chair. Maybe a bit broker, rumor has it, than before but hey, next!" Craig said and he smiled at his friend.
