As soon as the last of the petty officers had been awakened, Kas called them and the officers together for a briefing.
“We didn’t have time for a detailed briefing on Prime,” he began, “so I’ll do it now.
“In case you’ve forgotten or didn’t know, I’m Kas Preslin. Yes, that Preslin, the one who had the, uh, rather spirited discussion with Admiral Lu-Jenks. Since it was common gossip throughout the Fleet, I imagine most of you know the story.
“The obvious next question is why I’m out here wearing a star instead of cashiered or hanged.” He shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. All I can tell you is that it was Fleet Grand Admiral Pankin’s decision.” He smiled slightly. “Now I don’t disagree with his decision, of course. But some of you might. To you I say ‘that’s too bad’. I’m here, you’re here, and you’re under my command. Any officer that I find is not behaving in the best traditions of the Fleet, and doing their best for this mission, will find himself popped back into cold sleep. Petty officers will find themselves broken to common spaceman, and wearing lash stripes.
“If I find that you’re actively hampering the success of this mission, I won’t bother with cold sleep. I’ll space you. Consider yourselves warned and pass the warning along to your ratings.
“Now,” he continued, “Each of you and each of the ratings assigned to this mission were hand-picked by Grand Admiral Pankin’s Chief of Staff. That means that technically, you and they are the cream of the Fleet, the best. I’m proud to have you with me on this mission.
“But we all know there’s more to a crew than technical expertise. An outstanding gunner, for instance, can be a disciplinary disaster off-duty. So don’t assume your people are some sort of elite. You will have to be very watchful. There are some special circumstances on this mission that make vigilance especially important.”
He went on to repeat the story of the Vir Rekesh. There was dead silence in the crowded messroom as he recounted the mutinies, the fighting, the despair, and the heroism of the battle cruiser’s crew. “You have all been vaccinated against the plague,” he continued. “But there’s no inoculation against disciplinary failure and mutiny. We cannot conceal the signs of fighting aboard the Rekesh, and mutiny is contagious. All of you, officers and petty officers alike, will be expected to keep a close eye on those around you and under you. Report suspicions, so they can be investigated. Don’t wait for evidence; that evidence might turn out to be a homemade knife stabbing into your back some off-watch. You heard me mention two mutinies, and a lot of fighting. Starhopper ’s crew has spent the last two months in suits, scouring the Rekesh for weapons and disposing of every one we found. We got rid of hundreds of them, but no one is prepared to bet we’ve found them all.
“Then there are the stills and drug labs. You’re going to see the remains of the biggest, longest party in the history of the Fleet. It went on for weeks, and covered most of the ship.
“We will be running, and maybe even fighting a battle cruiser with only three hundred officers and crew, less than a tenth of her full complement. We will also be saddled with a bunch of civilian techs that will be repairing her enroute. Her central AI has been shut down. Her astrogational comps have been destroyed. We’ve brought spares, and the civilians will be installing them. Then, of course, there are the doctors and med techs that came up with the cure for the plague. In other words, you’re going to have civilians underfoot. And no, I won’t make them go back into cold sleep when they’ve finished their work. We may need them or their expertise. In an emergency, some of them might even be able to serve as crew.”
Kas turned to the petty officers. “You petty officers have a tough job ahead of you. When you go aboard the Rekesh you’re going to see a total mess. There are passages literally covered in dried blood. With life support restored, there will be bits of flesh rotting. The stench will be bad until we get her cleaned up. But that’s not the worst.
“There’s a cargo net in her hangar bay that’s full of some three thousand bodies. Some of them are pretty horrible and all are in various stages of decomposition. The Rekesh ’s hangar deck will be left open to space for the trip home to prevent further decay. But that’s not the worst, either.
“No, the worst is the combination of weapons, drugs, and booze. I want you to let your people know that anyone caught with a weapon will be given a drumhead court-martial and executed. Anyone caught drunk or stoned will be given lashes — lots of them. We can’t tolerate even a single lapse of discipline.”
He shrugged. “But we can’t tolerate losing crew people, either. Even if most of the civilians volunteer to serve as temporary crew, we’ll be trying to run the Rekesh very short-handed.
“Every man or woman I’m forced to execute is one less to help us fight if we’re attacked. Every one I’m forced to flog is unable to function for days. We simply can’t afford it.
“So, I’m depending on you officers and petty officers to keep that from happening. I expect you officers to give your petty officers quite a bit of latitude when it comes to unofficial discipline. Ignore cuts, bruises and black eyes unless you feel they’re becoming too frequent. Give your petty officers room to work.” An enthusiastic rumble began among the petty officers, though a number of the officers were frowning.
Kas raised a hand. “Don’t get too excited, you petty officers,” he continued. “Yes, you’ll have as much support as possible. But I expect the officers to be watching, and monitoring. Bullying and brutality will not be tolerated. At the first sign that any of you is a bully or a brute, I’ll break you to common spaceman. Then you can see how you like it!”
He sighed. “This is a very unusual mission, and an unusual situation. We might have to fight the Rekesh at any moment, without the ability to jump out of this system. More than half the governments in man-settled space are scouring uninhabited and out-of-the-way systems looking for us. We have very little time.
“All right,” he concluded. “We’ll probably take a week or so to get things sorted out before we begin awakening the rest of the crew. I’ve already moved into the flag cabin aboard the Rekesh. You petty officers would be well advised to spend that week looking for stills, drug labs and weapons.” He smiled grimly. “You know, check the places us officers would be too dumb to look. All right, a boarding tube has been rigged so you won’t have to suit up to get over to the Rekesh. Once you get aboard her you’ll be issued uniforms. You’ll have to let the issuing officer know the insignia you’ll need. As you know, we were unable to bring any service records with us.” He smiled again, less grimly this time. “That does not mean you can convince me that all of you are Master Chiefs! Some of the officers will know some of you, and most will have seen your records before we left. Be advised — when in doubt, I’ll just assume that any of you is qualified for common spaceman. Is that clear?
“All right,” he continued, “I’d like the officers to remain, but you petty officers are dismissed.”
There followed a period of benign chaos as the petty officers filed out, and the officers talked, whispered and gestured among themselves.
Kas regarded the twenty-two officers remaining after the NCOs left.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. I see only three familiar faces among you. That’s unfortunate, but we’ll live with it.
“What you may consider even more unfortunate is that we have no written records for any of us. Oh, I’m sure that those three will be able to fill you in on what a sonofabitch I am. But I will have no one to fill me in on each of you.” He shrugged. “You may consider that good news or bad news, I don’t know. But it means that each of you is starting with a clean slate.
“Now. Grand Admiral Pankin gave me somewhat more of a free hand than is usual. I may be selecting a Fleet Captain from among you to command the Rekesh, and possibly a Captain for Starhopper. Yes, I did say ‘may’, and I did say ‘selecting’. Seniority will not be the deciding factor. And be advised, Starhopper ’s exec is command quali
fied.
“I’m sure that I’ve just shocked some of you. Sorry about that. But I intend to deliver the Rekesh safely to Prime, and will do whatever I consider necessary to complete that mission. I will be talking with each of you individually over the next few days, forming opinions of you, as you will form opinions of me. I sincerely hope that both sets of opinions are favorable.” He dismissed the officers, and then watched as they milled about for a few moments before shuffling out. It was hard to gauge reactions, but there seemed to be little overt dissatisfaction. With a sigh, he began preparing for his first individual interview.
Chapter 12
Kas’ first visitor was Roi Tremling. As the staff insignia on his shoulder boards showed, Tremling was an Engineer. In fact, he was almost a caricature of the breed. His shipsuit was already rumpled, and even the three gold Commanders’ stripes on his left shoulder board were stained. His military bearing was noticeable only for its total absence; he slumped, even when tossing Kas a rudimentary salute. Despite the grease-stained rag he wrung ceaselessly between his fingers, his hands were none too clean. Kas suppressed a grimace as he invited the man to sit.
“Thought I’d go first, Commodore,” Tremling muttered, “So’s I can get back t’work. Then th’ rest o’ you can get on with your military silliness.”
Kas’ face darkened. “It’s your military silliness, too, Commander!”
Tremling shrugged slightly, but did not reply. Kas’ flush deepened and anger flared.
“On your feet, Commander!” The man looked annoyed, but obeyed. “Now,” Kas continued, “You must be an outstanding engineer, mister, because you’re a disaster as an officer. But I will not have my crew snickering behind their hands at one of my officers, line or staff! Nor will I permit you to infect junior officers with disdain for the Fleet and its purpose.
“Now, I have no choice but to assign you as Rekesh ’s Chief Engineer. But by all the weird gods of the galaxy, by the time we get back, you will be as acceptable an officer as you are an engineer, or you’ll die trying!
“Now,” he continued in a more moderate tone, “I know you’ve a lot to do to get this ship combat-ready…” Tremling muttered and Kas paused. “What?”
Tremling glowered. “I said, ‘If it can be done at all’.”
Kas matched the man’s scowl. “You mean, ‘If it can be done at all, sir!’ he demanded.
After a moment, Tremling’s eyes dropped, and he grated a reluctant, “Sir”.
Kas stared at the man for a moment, seething. Finally, he controlled himself enough to snap. “That will be all, Commander. For now. But rest assured,” he grated as the pudgy man rose; “You and I will be having much more contact in the weeks to come. For now, get out of my sight, and get my ship on-line!”
Kas found that he had to allow himself a few moments to subdue his anger and control trembling hands. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind before his next interview.
But the man who next entered was nearly the antithesis of the engineer. Tre Wansung marched into the room like a cadet on parade, snapped to attention, and rendered Kas a textbook salute. Where the engineer was large and hulking, Wansung stood only about 160 centimeters tall, and probably massed about 70 kilos. Slim and graceful, he conveyed an air of tightly constrained energy. His blond hair and youthful face belied his Commander’s shoulder boards.
Kas wondered how the man managed to get knife-edged creases in his shipsuit. Certainly the ship’s laundry facilities were not yet online. He straightened and returned the salute, inviting Wansung to sit. The man did, but still somehow managed to convey a feeling he’d be more comfortable standing at attention.
Wansung flashed him a blinding grin. “It’s a genuine honor to meet you, Commodore,” he began. “It’s about time one of us got a flag!”
Kas frowned. “One of us?”
Wansung’s head bobbed. “Sure. An outie. I was beginning to think the only way an outie would get flag rank would be by moving to the Alliance!” He favored Kas with another blinding grin.
Kas suppressed a groan. “Please,” he prayed silently to any god that happened by, “Not another damned bigot!”
He sighed. With an effort, he made his tone light and pleasant. “Tell me about yourself, Commander. You were one of the last to arrive at the base on Prime, and I didn’t have much time to review your record.”
Wansung responded with another crisp nod. “Yes, sir. I just got my third full ring three years ago.” He flushed slightly as he admitted, “I’m afraid this is my first assignment to a combatant vessel, unless you consider a planetary assault ship a combatant.” He shrugged. “I don’t. I mean, all they really are is a space bound truck hauling the real fighting troops to the battle.
“Aside from my last tour, as Exec on one of those, I had two tours on supply vessels. I’d almost given up hope of getting a combatant assignment, where I could really show what I could do. It’s getting so the innies keep all the good fighting assignments to themselves!” He continued in this vein for several moments, not noticing Kas’ increasingly stony expression. Finally, he ran down.
Kas sighed. “Very well, Commander. You will be assigned as Rekesh ’s Operations Officer. Now, your lack of combatant ship experience will be a problem, and I expect you to be using the strategic and tactical library and simulations frequently to hone your skills.”
They talked a bit more, and Kas began to relax. Wansung made no further comments that might be considered bigoted, and Kas began to wonder if the man had just imagined that stressing their common origins would be a good way to try to bond with his CO. If so, his judgment might be faulty, but at Least Kas wouldn’t have to worry about his treatment of innerworld crewpeople.
Kas began to relax a bit, but he was still uncomfortably aware that there were only two more Commanders. Despite his words at the meeting, Kas really didn’t want to appoint Rom to command Starhopper, and Wansung was simply too inexperienced. The freighter would be his scout, and operating largely independently. Kas wanted her to have the most qualified skipper available.
Kas looked at the woman on the other side of his desk, trying to recall all the details of the service record he’d seen on Prime. “Please be seated, Commander.”
Commander San To-Ling was the senior of the cold-sleep officers, which meant she was senior to everyone on the mission except Kas. Her last assignment had been as Executive Officer aboard Haroun Al-Rashid, a battle cruiser and sister ship to the Rekesh. Judging by her seniority, she was undoubtedly due for promotion to Captain. In fact, Kas suspected she was overdue. For the fiftieth time, he cursed the fact that he’d been unable to bring the crew’s service records.
Physically, To-Ling was a tiny, middle-aged woman. She certainly massed less than fifty kilos, and stood only about a meter and a half tall. But she stood ramrod straight, and her angular features betrayed a coldness and arrogance Kas felt as a physical force.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her tone making the last word a sneer. “I prefer to stand.”
Kas nodded. “Very well.” He frowned. “Tell me, Commander. Just what is it that makes you so hostile? Is it me personally, or is it just that I’m an outerworlder?”
To-Ling regarded him coldly. “May I speak freely, Commodore?”
Kas nodded again. “Please. And consider that permission to apply at any time when we’re alone.”
She suppressed a snort. “Very well, sir. To be honest, it’s both. I’ve never served under an outie before, and I’m not looking forward to the experience.” She shrugged. “Oh, I’ve known some outies that were very competent at their jobs. But I’ve never known one to be completely civilized.”
She hesitated before continuing, “And frankly, sir, an officer who would assault another officer, especially one senior to him, betrays a lack of self control I find appalling. I find it difficult to deal with the fact that this mission is commanded by an officer so… unmilitary.”
Kas paused before replying.
Finally, he said, “Very well, I asked for honesty, and I’ve received it. I replaced Starhopper ’s exec because he was an outerworld bigot. Now it seems I must deal with an innerworld snob. I’ll merely content myself with asking who is more civilized — a person who deals with others based on who they are rather than where they’re from, or one who substitutes arrogance and stereotypes for judgment? I’ve always felt that being ‘civilized’ mostly consisted of making others feel comfortable in one’s presence — not assuming an unjustified air of superiority and using it to look down on those one considers ‘inferior’.
“As for your feelings about me personally,” he continued, “You may be surprised to learn that I agree with you. The episode to which you refer is not one of which I am proud; but I have no intention of defending myself or my actions to a subordinate. I will say only that it was an aberration — not typical behavior for me.
“Now. For good or ill, you are the senior Commander aboard. I can do three things with you; give you command of Starhopper, make you Flag Captain of Vir Rekesh, or retain command myself with you as exec.
“I’ve decided on the third alternative. Starhopper ’s crew is all outerworlder. I will not subject them to a skipper who considers them inferiors. For the same reason, I’m not going to appoint you Flag Captain. You’ve served as the exec of a cruiser before. You’ve done it well enough to retain the position. How you’ve been able to successfully do that despite being an arrogant snob and while retaining such silly prejudices, I confess I don’t understand. But by the time this mission is over, I will know whether you’re as effective as your manner indicates you think you are.”
He sighed. “Now, sit down, Commander, and let’s figure out how to make this ship as battle-ready as possible as quickly as possible.”
Deagth ship quest Page 19
