A man and women were there, wearing Fleet shipsuits. “Miss Ferris,” the man said. “I’m Lieutenant Tova, this is Ensign Wyatt, we’re from the Shenandoah.”
Rachael ushered them in. “Are you going to brief me?” she inquired as they came in.
The man shook his head; he looked a little confused. “No, sir. The captain told me to get you aboard, ASAP. We lift as soon as we go through the lock, sir. The captain’s waiting.”
“They said four hours.”
There was another knock at the door. This time it was Culrippen, the network’s chief accountant. “I’m here to take care of your personal affairs, Miss Ferris,” he told her.
For a minute Rachael contemplated this and that. “You have a power of attorney for me to sign?” The other nodded. “Get it out; I’ll be done packing in a second.” She scooped a few more things into her travel bag, spent a second signing the paper, and then the Fleet officers were pointing her upstairs, not down, in her apartment building.
A minute later she was in a Fleet jitney, headed like a dart for the basin she’d seen earlier on Andan Desai’s tape. Except now there were only a few ships left; the rest were gone. They were swallowed up by a port in the side of the largest ship remaining.
They exited the jitney and the lieutenant nodded at the young Fleet ensign. “Ensign Wyatt will escort you to your quarters, sir. Please read the preliminary briefing papers, then call her when you finish, or if you need any questions answered. Ensign Wyatt will be your escort until you are settled aboard Shenandoah.”
Rachael nodded, and the woman led the way down a hallway, to an elevator, and then down a dozen decks. “Here, sir,” the ensign directed Rachael as they stood in front of a compartment door. “These will be your quarters, compartment 6A88, please remember that number, sir.”
Rachael nodded and opened the door. The closet in her apartment had been larger. The space was about two meters wide, three meters long, the ceiling not even that high. The woman made to show her where everything was, but Rachael shook her head. “I’ve been aboard a ship, before,” she told the young woman. “I made two deployments aboard the survey ship Andromeda.” This compartment was, in fact, almost the same size as the compartment she’d had in Andromeda, only this time she didn’t have to share it.
There was a fold-up bed along one long wall and a fold up desk along the other. Opposite the door, was a closet. Ensign Wyatt had already pointed out the senior officer’s washroom. The desk in Rachael's quarters was down, with a stack of file folders on it.
The two women traded stares for a moment. “Thank you, Ensign Wyatt,” Rachael said, still a little dazed by the rapidity of the transition. “I’ll spend a little time unpacking, reading the briefing and then you can come by and give me a guided tour.” Rachael paused. “I felt the lift -- when do we go to High Fan?”
“Sir, as the lieutenant said, you were the last cargo we had to take aboard. We are lifting very hard, keeping at two gees nominal, and we should be entering High Fan in less than two hours.”
Rachael remembered the eternal low level nausea of running on High Fan. She’d endured it before for nearly two years, she could endure it now.
“Ensign, my name is Rachael. Rachael Ferris. Could you use that?”
The woman grinned. “I’ve only been an ensign for about six hours, sir. It’s already the pits. I don’t want to spend a millisecond longer than necessary as an ensign; so, sir, no I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The lieutenant told me that historically, war correspondents are treated as though they had the rank of commander. So you are my superior.”
“An ignorant superior, who has only the fuzziest idea of what to do aboard a Fleet warship.”
The ensign grinned. “That I can help you with. Unpack, settle in and read your documentation. I’ll be back in half an hour and I’ll take you to your first stop for in-processing aboard.”
Forty-five minutes later Rachael stood shivering, nude, in the infirmary while two doctors teamed to complete a very thorough exam. She grimaced to herself. And here she’d thought the first stop would be a visit with the captain!
The boss doctor finally nodded to her. “You are in good health, Miss Ferris.”
“I’m so glad,” Rachael replied, sarcasm dripping, wondering when she could get dressed.
He smiled. “I’m sure. Now, if you would, please lay face down on the examining table.”
“I’m not done?”
“Not quite.” She laid down and she felt something cool being rubbed behind her right ear. “This is a topical anesthetic, like your dentist uses,” the doctor told her.
“That’s what he says just before I get a shot, and they don’t do it to my ear.”
“This won’t hurt a bit, I promise,” the doctor informed her.
Rachael stiffened with fear at the thought of anyone messing with her head. What was going on?
The doctor continued blithely speaking. “Now we’ll give it a second to numb.”
Well, at least she hadn’t felt the injection, Rachael thought sourly.
“Shenandoah is a wired vessel,” the doctor told her and continued, “you’ll be given a briefing about that shortly, but until then remember that it’s tip, top secret.” She started to nod, but his hand held her head firmly. “Don’t move, please.”
“The incision,” he went on, “is small, produces no scarring and will be invisible within a week.”
Rachael could feel them moving, but otherwise felt nothing.
“There, that will do it,” the doctor announced.
“Do what?” she asked, curious.
“You can get up now, Miss Ferris,” the doctor said, ignoring her question. “The nature of the procedure is classified and I’m not authorized to explain. Please, put your clothes back on and rejoin Ensign Wyatt.”
Rachael stood and looked at the doctor. “What do I do if there are problems?”
He laughed. “Miss Ferris, it is possible, but extremely unlikely. But if there are any problems, you can certainly come back; I give refunds and you now have an extended warranty, courtesy of Fleet Aloft. Seriously, the most likely problem is the incision becomes infected. Treat it like you would any other cut.”
Later, Rachael was in a small conference room with three Fleet officers. One of them simply stood to one side, a female commander, looking bored. Ensign Wyatt wasn’t looking bored, but she wasn’t talking either. The one who was talking, though, was 100% business. “I am Marine Captain Hothian,” the man said, “Shenandoah’s Chief of Security.”
She still wasn’t going to meet the captain, Rachael thought.
The commander continued, “I’ve come to collect my pound of pulp.” He started with a single sheet of paper. “This is a formal copy of your oath, please read it.” Rachael did and when finished she nodded at him.
“Do you have any reservations, mental or physical?” Rachael shook her head. “Then please stand, Miss Ferris.”
She stood, and he led her through reciting the oath. Then he slid the sheet of paper back to her.
“The first of many; please sign it,” the commander instructed her. He was right. She found that agreeing to come along on the Shenandoah’s deployment she had “volunteered” for active duty with the Fleet. To her astonishment, she found that the ensign had been correct, she was now a lieutenant commander. The number of papers to be signed became legion.
Finally, Commander Hothian grinned. “Welcome aboard Shenandoah, Commander. Right now your blood sugar is low, you are a little confused and a little uncertain, wondering what you have gotten into.”
Rachael shrugged. So what?
“One last thing. Shenandoah is a prototype of a new class of vessel. It has some of the most highly sophisticated computers in the Federation. One of the papers you signed a bit ago was your security oath.” She nodded. “As of now, this briefing is code word Secret. The code word is PINETREE.” Rachael wasn’t sure what he meant, so she kept silent.
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“Off Shenandoah you will never mention any of this. Quite literally, given the circumstances, security is going to be enforced with the death penalty.”
Rachael’s eyes widened. She had a sickening feeling he wasn’t bluffing. Then she realized that she was being stupid; given the circumstances? Humanity was fighting for its life! Sure they would!
“What this is about is human/computer interfaces and highly advanced artificial intelligence. You have been given an interface.” He looked at her for a long second. “I am activating yours now. The AI is Shenandoah herself.”
For a moment Rachael was afraid; after a bit, she realized she felt no different.
“What is the square root of 2,137,422?” Commander Hothian demanded.
“1461.9924,” Rachael answered. She was startled. The answer had been instantaneous, appearing in her mind without effort.
“I am Shenandoah,” a feminine voice said in her head. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Commander Ferris.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” the thought was in her head, not voiced.
The voice in her head laughed. “Yes you do, or you would have at least sub-vocalized your question. You only thought it.”
“You can read my thoughts?” Dear God! Rachael thought, could it be possible?
“Certainly I can. With practice, you will learn to read mine. For instance, I’m learning to play chess. An interesting game.”
Rachael was confused. “Computers have played chess for hundreds of years.”
“Yes, by brute force. I am refining algorithms from human players who don’t do brute force. I am very glad you play chess, Commander Ferris.”
That was more than reading her mind. She hadn’t thought about chess at all, even though she was an “A” player.
The voice spoke in her mind. “No, but the knowledge is in your mind; what is in your mind I have access to,” the computer continued.
“Certainly not everything,” she said with quiet desperation.
“Certainly everything,” the computer voice replied. “What would the point be of not knowing when you can?”
“Privacy?”
“Commander Ferris, I am not everyone; even if I were to learn something detrimental concerning you or anyone else, all I may communicate are acts and proximate acts against the Federation; you may think howsoever you please.”
“Supposing I was an alien in disguise?” she asked.
It was though someone was laughing in her head. “I would consider that a hostile act against the Federation -- wouldn’t you?”
The voice went on. “You will simply have to trust me; I will not betray anything you say, do or think, unless it has a direct bearing on the conduct of this conflict or the infliction of an injury to another. And then only what you did, or if involving harm to others, were about to do. Even then, all I can do is advise a human, not act.”
Rachael understood. “Is this reversible?”
The reply was quick. “No. Not so long as this conflict lasts. Things you see and hear aboard Shenandoah could have a particular impact on the outcome of the war. Until such a time as that knowledge could not in any way assist an enemy, you will be monitored.”
The woman watching finally spoke. “I am Commander Anna Warren.” She said without preamble, “Shenandoah’s intelligence officer.”
Rachael acknowledged the introduction.
“I will be the person you report to; the one who will write your Efficiency Report,” the woman went on with only the briefest pause.
Rachael blinked. “I had thought I would be under the PIO.”
The woman shook her head. “We don’t have one; in any case, I am the person in charge of information on Shenandoah. Everything you wish to transmit will be reviewed by me first. In fact, where possible and time permits, we will work together. Think of me as your senior editor.” The woman smiled slightly and Rachael shrugged.
“It was my thought that we would have dinner, then I would brief you on the mission. I would recommend that sequence. After the briefing you might not have much stomach for eating.”
“I saw the recordings from Hastings,” Rachael said quietly.
The woman’s expression was a cross between frosty and amused. “Yes, those were other people; I’m sure you’ll wish to know a little more about what is in store for Shenandoah and you personally.”
Rachael nodded. “Dinner, then.”
The woman led her to the ship's open mess. It was a long compartment, much larger than Rachael would have expected, and served everyone, regardless of rank.
“Regular officers,” the older woman said, “sign a chit on coming aboard, agreeing to pay their wardroom dues and charges. Your company has agreed to pick up everything except your bar tab. We have no way to separate that out; you and they can settle up sometime in the future, unless the accounting is rendered moot.”
She was watching her, Rachael thought. Rachael understood what the other meant, though.
“I am breaking the rules of the mess,” the older woman told her. “The rule is that there will be no business over food during non-duty hours.”
A messman appeared at the table they sat down at, handing them menus. The commander just waved it away. “Steak, Oscar, steak. Large, rare. A baked potato, some cherry cobbler for dessert.”
Rachael asked for a roast beef sandwich and some potato chips. Those were, for Rachael, a radical excursion into calories she normally would avoid. For half an hour they talked in general about life as it had been. Both of them knew that they were waxing nostalgic about growing up. Rachael in Hawaii, the commander in Newark, New Jersey. The messman cleared their plates away, and Commander Warren regarded Rachael for long seconds.
“Tomorrow Ensign Wyatt will take you around the ship, although you’ll just see the high points. Until then, the computer will help you go wherever you need to go. For now, come with me and I’ll show you your duty space.”
“I understood I was in the Fleet,” Rachael told her. “I understand that I’m not a correspondent along for the ride.”
The other woman nodded. “The captain doesn’t hold with the idea of someone being ‘along for the ride.’ You are permitted, any time we are aground in the Federation or where dispatching you to a Federation civilian authority is possible, to elect to return home. Your security oath would still be in effect -- that will never go away.”
“I understand and agreed,” Rachael said firmly. “This is old ground.”
She pointed to a long table along one side of the compartment. “That's the Captain's table. Most days he holds forth there from 2100 hours to 2200. Unless you have the duty, you're expected to be there. Today is one of the exceptions.
“Come with me, Commander.”
She stood and led Rachael through the ship to stop in front of a sealed hatch. “These are the I-branch offices -- your duty station.” She led the way through the unmarked hatch, using her thumbprint as a key. “Additionally, this is your battle station. I can guarantee you there will be a GQ drill sometime in the next few hours -- only departure has put it off as long as it has been delayed. It could come, literally, any second. There will be frequent drills, very frequent. Each and every time you will make all reasonable haste and report here.”
She nodded across the room to a tall dark woman, sitting at a desk. Down the long walls of the compartment were two dozen computer stations, half a dozen of them tenanted.
The woman in the solitary position was about Rachael's age, about Rachael's height and build, but who was dark-skinned. She was wearing the stripes of a Fleet master chief. Commander Warren waved at the woman. “This is our senior NCO, Master Chief Vargas. Please notify the master chief of your presence during a battle stations call; do not fail to do so. This department, as are all others, are graded on our performance. You will not want to be the proximate cause of us getting anything other than ‘Excellent’ marks.” The woman’s eyes held Rachael’s.
“Yes, Commander.”
“You’re learning.” The other gestured to two doors. “The one with my name on it, is my office. The other is yours.” The door to Rachael’s office was open. What was visible was much smaller than Rachael’s cabin. A desk, a cabinet, enough room to slide a chair back from the desk, and small space to stand in front of the desk.
“Come into my office,” Rachael was told.
Rachael followed her boss into a larger office -- larger in the sense that there was a larger desk, a larger cabinet, and room for two chairs in front of the desk.
“Sit,” the commander gestured at one of the chairs. She turned and spoke to the woman outside. “Chief, please join us.”
The woman came in and took a seat. In spite of the woman's relatively young age she carried herself with dignity, and her mien was serious and determined. “Chief Vargas is aware of some of the parameters of our mission. I want to provide both of you a more complete briefing.
“Cue map one.”
A holographic map appeared over the commander’s desk. “This is the section of the Federation where the known attacks have occurred. Colonies marked in red are known to have been attacked, orange are not known to have been attacked, but given the geometry, almost certainly have been. White colonies are those thought to be at risk, or may already have been attacked. Please note the very sparse data.”
There was a fairly clear pattern of orange and white, near two of the red colonies. The third red dot was almost half way to earth; Fleet World.
“Between Gandalf and Shackelton, nearly a half billion people have been killed.” The commander’s voice was level, like she was reading a sports score. “Including the colonies certain to have been attacked, that number doubles. Perhaps another ten billion or so are in systems that may have been attacked.
“You should adjust to the worse case scenario as quickly as possible. The new Chief of Fleet Operations, Ernst Fletcher, has proposed what is now considered the worst case scenario -- three or four ship raids against all systems in the Federation.”
Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5) Page 14
