Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “Oh, lighten up. Just having a little fun.” She fell into the only chair in the room and kicked her flight boots up on the desk.

  “A little fun? You’re out of line, Lieutenant.”

  She stretched her head back and laughed. “That doesn’t sound like the eager little space jock I fucked. Come on, sir, don’t be such a tight-ass. I expected it from Jemez. Not from you.”

  “Jemez? You mean you and him.…” He trailed off, searching for words.

  “Yep.” She smirked. “Not bad, too, considering his inclinations.”

  And for the second time that day, he was speechless.

  -o0o-

  Ben Jemez was having the best day of his life. When he was a kid, every adult in the room encouraged him, lauding his intelligence and drive to succeed. They cheered him on, patting him on the head and predicting a life of medals and awards and success for the eager, brown-haired child. Boy wonder, they called him.

  And the name stuck. It followed him to the elite academy he attended in his teenage years, and though he secretly hated the nickname, rather than shirk it, he tried to live up to it. To personify it in every way—his ironic attempt to show the name-callers what he was really made of. Boy wonder? No, he decided he’d be superman, the old over-the-top smarmy action figure of old.

  And so he devoted himself: not just to his academic studies as his parents demanded, but to every skill imaginable. He spent the hours he should have been wasting as a free-spirited teenager at the gym, or learning parachuting, or bow-hunting in the wilderness with the local young rangers group, or target practice at the shooting range with his neighbor, a retired Marine general and expert marksman. He insisted that his ever accommodating, upper-class parents pay for an increasingly pricier range of classes, usually private instruction from one of North America’s premier masters of martial skills or craft. Kickboxing, karate in all its forms, wrestling … he did it all, developing a lean, muscular physique other teenage boys would have killed for, but as it was they ignored him—he seemed too self-assured, even cocky, for their tastes.

  The Space Fleet Academy was worse, with other cadets either mercilessly teasing him, or silently envying his talents, his body, his looks—he had become quite easy on the eyes as a man—and even his quiet dignity, which his instructors interpreted as stand-offishness or shyness. But his perceived coldness was the simple result of parents who insisted on social grace and from socializing mainly with adults during his teenage years. And as a result, in flight school, his superiors now finally understanding him: he rose through the ranks faster than just about any before him, graduating top of his class with the rank of full lieutenant, something unheard of at the Academy. But then again, the Resistance, in charge of the Academy at the time, broke with a slew of customs given the pressing need for fighters.

  And so his first day on the bridge of the Phoenix, training for what he assumed was his position as the future XO—and eventual captain—he grinned his entire shift. Finally he had been given his chance to shine. When he gave orders to the bridge crew, they snapped to attention. The Captain—a man after his own heart, it appeared—seem genuinely pleased at his knowledge and skills, even complimenting him on his ability to quote the regulation manual. Might as well earn that nickname, too, he thought.

  “Jemez,” said the grizzled old XO, handing him a data pad. “After you go through the roster and make scheduling recommendations, take this to the Captain for his approvals.”

  Ben saluted. “Yes, sir!”

  “And not so enthusiastically, kid. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

  “Yes, sir!” he replied, dropping the volume ever so slightly. He paced back to the XO’s station and sat down, scanning the list of new arrivals, noting their assignment preferences and relevant skills and training. Nearly half the crew were fresh recruits, either drafted from Earth’s population or taken straight from the Academy, and the other half were a combination of barely experienced officers and enlisted crew from both the Resistance as well as other Imperial worlds. When making his recommendations, he kept the Captain’s orders in mind, trying to keep all the sensitive posts and all the command positions staffed by former Resistance officers. He surmised that if the Truth and Reconciliation found out about his bias he’d be censured, but the Phoenix soon would not have to answer to any Imperial commission.

  The Phoenix would soon be chasing the Imperials off of Earth. For good this time. And for good measure, he’d lobby the Captain to chase them back to Corsica itself, as payment for Dallas. Everyone knew that if the Imperial High Command had let them, the Imperial fleet would not have stopped at Dallas, but instead would have turned Earth into another Belen.

  Not just Dallas. His parents, too. He’d tried not to think about them since D-day. Their deaths were one thing he did not want to confront, to master, to even remember. And besides, they would just tell him to stop daydreaming and get back to work, wonder boy. Wouldn’t they?

  He steeled his chin and continued scanning the roster.

  -o0o-

  “Admiral Trajan, Captain Titus,” Titus leaned into the comm.

  The Admiral’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Go ahead, Captain.”

  “Chief Engineer Lombardi reports that he’s nearly done, sir.”

  “Excellent. When he is completely finished, you may escort the Havoc freighter’s crew back to their ship, and send them on their way. Tell them their little vacation is almost over and that they should enjoy their time on the Fury while they still have it.”

  Titus nodded, even knowing there was no way the Admiral could see him through the speaker. “Very well, sir. Will that be all?”

  “Send Chief Engineer Lombardi to the ready room when he’s complete. I want to thank him in person for a job well done. He deserves that, don’t you think, Captain?”

  “I believe so, sir. The man stayed up the entire night shift with his technicians, nearly wiping out our store of coffee in the process.”

  “Indeed. Trajan out.”

  Captain Titus relayed the message to Lombardi, then stood up from the command console of the bridge, stretching his back. Why on Earth they built the damn things so low he could never figure out. Then again, the ship was built in the Earth shipyards, and people from Old Earth did tend to the shorter side. Not like the saviors of the galaxy. Not like the tall, broad-shouldered Corsicans.

  The reply from Lombardi popped up on his screen. The man was done. An hour earlier than he’d said it would take. Titus made a mental note to pad the man’s next paycheck, above and beyond the overtime.

  “Navigation. Prepare for the shift to the Bismark system. We will be leaving within the hour.”

  -o0o-

  Jake woke early, grabbing a meal at the galley before running down to the engineering decks—there didn’t seem to be enough time in the day to do everything he wanted to, so he ate the muffin and banana as he ran, getting his workout too. He’d spent an hour the night before going over fighter squadron duty rotations, switching to studying chess strategy for an hour before falling asleep at his desk well after midnight.

  “Ah, my friend. You’ve returned. I was afraid I’d scared you away. Come. Sit,” the half-mustached man said, waving him down to the other chair on the other side of the cluttered desk.

  “Of course I’m back. I couldn’t let yesterday’s game stand. I’ve got a score to settle with you. Ready? I’ve got thirty minutes this time.” He rubbed his hands together and began setting up the chessboard, failing to notice that Alessandro was writing on the chalkboard. Finally, Jake looked over. “You coming?”

  “I never finished my lecture yesterday.” Alessandro tapped his chalk on an equation he’d just written. Jake groaned. He wondered if he’d discovered Alessandro’s chess strategy: numb the opponent’s brain before the game even starts. “The Naples constant, you know, the one in the new gravitic field approximation? I have
a confession to make. It is not actually constant. It also depends on the source mass. But in a special way. And hardly anyone knows this, so look sharp. Usually, the source mass has a very predictable effect on the energy required for gravitic shift. They scale linearly. Simple, right? It’s why we can almost get away with calling it a constant. But in the Naples constant, it is mass cubed.” He turned back to Jake, waiting, as if he had just delivered the punchline to a joke.

  “Interesting…” Jake stroked his chin, feigning understanding.

  “Cubed, Jake, cubed! It means that when a fighter or any other small vessel is equipped with the new gravitic field generators, they can do these short-range shifts too! The tiny power plants on them can actually handle it. The capital ships—they can’t do it, at least, not without expending the normally huge amount of energy.”

  The enormity of what Alessandro had just said started to dawn on him. “Are you saying that I can shift a few kilometers at a time now in my fighter? Cause that’s what I thought you said, and if that’s true, it’s game changing!” He thought about it, pausing for a moment. “But the Nine’s gravitic generators aren’t finished yet, and I suppose neither are the fighters. The shipment from Havoc comes in later today, so it shouldn’t be long, right?”

  Alessandro nodded, scratching his half-mustache thoughtfully. “A week, more or less. But the fighters’ field generators are tiny. The shipyards had more than enough Neodymium for the entire complement of the Phoenix’s fighters.” He seemed to notice Jake’s growing smile. “Happy?”

  Jake shot out of his seat. “Happy? What the hell do you think? Sorry, buddy, I’ve got to get to the flight deck. There’s tactical plans that are in desperate need of an update. See ya.” He bolted for the door, before looking back. “How do you know all this, anyway, and the Resistance High Council doesn’t?” he asked, suddenly realizing the whole thing sounded rather odd.

  “I’m very smart,” replied Alessandro. “And I have friends back at CERN in Switzerland—where this was all invented.”

  “And the Empire knows nothing of this? Or the Resistance High Council? Your CERN friends kept it all under wraps?”

  “Well, this last part was only recently discovered. Three weeks ago. Have fun, friend.” Alessandro went out in the hall where Jake stood, and walked aft, towards engineering.

  “Thanks…” he started to reply before sprinting towards the fighter deck.

  -o0o-

  Jake had the Phoenix’s squadrons practicing the new tactics within an hour of starting the day’s drills. When he broke the news to them, the other pilots just stared, their jaws hanging open, not quite believing their ears. So he took a fighter out himself, and, alone, tested the gravitic field generator in the manner Alessandro had suggested, using it to jump just one meter away from his starting position. It happened so quickly, so seamlessly, he had to do it one more time to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, coming up close to the part of the Phoenix’s hull where the nameplate was affixed. Sidling up so that the ‘P’ filled his viewport, he shifted, and immediately the ‘H’ replaced the ‘P’, and Jake whooped.

  “Does the Captain even know about this?” asked one of the newer space jocks, a wiry blonde haired man in his early twenties. Sitting in the first row of the flight deck’s briefing room, he seemed to be just about the most earnest young man Jake had met.

  “You know, Cream Puff, I don’t think he does,” he replied, using the man’s new callsign, courtesy of Anya Grace. Cream Puff—or Lieutenant Quadri—seemed pissed at the time, but apparently had grown used to it. “And I’m thinking we keep it our little secret for now. Let’s surprise him in a few days. We’ll do our drills out a ways from the shipyards. Fifty klicks or so, away from visual contact, at least.”

  Lieutenant Grace, sprawled out over two chairs in the exact middle of the stadium seating in the briefing room, kicked her boots up onto the chair in front of her, to Lieutenant Chan’s annoyance—the brown-haired Asian man rolled his eyes and shifted away from the boots hovering next to his face. “Well look at you, Commander. You found your big-boy pants.”

  He was about to yell at her when she continued abruptly, “Does the Empire know about this? I assume they do since they control Liberty Station, the work crews, the folks at CERN, the supply chain, and you know, everything else.”

  He glowered at her. Why did she have to undercut his authority in front of his crew? He promised himself he’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. The image of her firm breasts flashed in his mind again, and he shook his head briefly before responding. “My source tells me that they don’t, that this is a recent discovery made by folks who aren’t too happy with the Empire.”

  “How do you know that?” she challenged him, putting both hands back behind her head.

  “That’s confidential. Let’s just say that the source is trustworthy, and that we can count on the Empire not knowing about this. That good enough for you, Lieutenant?”

  “No.”

  “Well it will have to do for now,” he said. “Let’s get out there and teach ourselves how to make use of this thing. My mind is just spinning with the possibilities. For starters, we’ll practice what I’m calling the pursuit inversion. One ship will pursue the other, come in from behind in close quarters, and then the front ship will shift to an equal distance behind the pursuer.”

  Lieutenant Chan laughed. “Yeah, that’ll come in handy. Wish I could hear the Imperial fighter chatter when we pull that one on them.”

  Jake nodded. “Next, we’ll try an angle-off-tail-transfer. Two fighters will converge at a steep angle-off-tail from each other, and one ship will shift into a pursuing position with a lower AOT. Last thing we’ll try today is a vector axis shift. One ship will fly towards another’s vector at a ninety degree angle, and will shift to a pursuing position.”

  The room full of space jocks had begun chattering amongst themselves excitedly. Jake cleared his throat. “People, the limits here are endless. I’m sure in the coming weeks we’ll be rewriting the flight training manual from scratch. For today though, let’s focus. We’ll drill down and perfect these three maneuvers, and tomorrow we’ll come up with a few more. Hell, most of your names will end up on all these eventually.”

  “Ooo, I can’t wait to try out the Grace Maneuver!” Anya said wryly. “No, wait, I’ve been perfecting that one for years. Hey, Chan, come over to my bunk tonight and I’ll teach it to you.”

  Lieutenant Chan rolled his eyes again, as the other pilots laughed. Jake debated saying something, but decided not to put a damper on the good vibes he was feeling from his crew.

  “Any questions?” he asked the waiting jocks. They fell silent. “Then get your asses out there and show me some flying.”

  -o0o-

  Ben whispered into Lieutenant Commander Megan Po’s ear. “Does he always get like this with shots? I’ve known him longer than you and I’ve never seen him like this.” He watched Jake grit his teeth as he lay on the bench in sickbay. Po put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Naw. But he’s on duty in an hour and the Doc won’t let him take pain-killers less than three hours before his work shift.”

  “But, can’t the bone just heal on it’s own now? What’s he had, three Calcium hydrozolamine injections?”

  She looked up from Jake, whose eyes were closed tight with pain. “This is the third, yes. Should be all knitted up by tomorrow, according to Doc Nichols. He could have gone without it and the bone would have been fine in another month, but Jake insisted.”

  Ben shrugged. “It’s not like he’s needing to do anything physical down there on the flight deck anyway, just bark orders at his jocks.”

  Looking back down at Mercer, she nodded, and squeezed her friend’s hand. He responded with a forced, thin-lipped smile. “Yes, but the three of us rotate tomorrow, remember? He wanted to be in tiptop shape for his rotation on the bridge. And I’ve been itching to get down to the flight deck and watch those new maneuvers. Absolutely amazing, if you ask
me,” she said.

  “Amazing, sure, but stupid—borderline mutinous that we’re not telling the Captain yet. He’s nuts, you know?” Ben said, pointing down at his friend, who began to writhe with a new wave of bone-knitting pain.

  “Fucking piece of holy fucking shit motherfucker!” Jake pounded once on the wall before gritting his teeth again.

  “Did someone call me?” Doc Nichols appeared next to them, holding his ever-present cigar. He held a hydrospray syringe in the other hand. “I changed my mind. You’re getting the t-morphine. I’ll call the Captain and tell him one of his XOs in training gets a doctor’s note excusing him from duty for the evening.”

  “No! I’m going up there. Just give me a few minutes,” said Jake through heavy breathing.

  “Don’t be such a dumbass. Come on, let’s get this over with.” Doc Nichols reached down to Jake’s arm.

  “No, Doc, I said no!”

  The doctor stood back up and swore again. “Fine. Just shut the hell up—I’m getting sick of listening to you moan.” He took a puff of the cigar and blew a misshapen ring up into the air, which drifted lazily up to the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

  Ben coughed, and waved a hand at the smoke. “Doctor, you do realize you’re breaking Imperial fleet regulation forty-two section two paragraph one, right? No smoking anywhere on any starship, except by express permission of the Captain, and only then in a designated smoking area?”

  “Oh, shove it with your regulations. I didn’t get dragged out of a luxurious beachfront retirement only to get regulations quoted at me. And besides, the Captain did give me permission.”

  Ben shook his head. “Actually, I was talking to him on the bridge the other day, and he told me how much he hates the smoke and that he’s asked you to stop while on the Phoenix.”

  Doc Nichols puffed another drag and let it out with a laugh. “Ha! Well go tell old Dick that he can suck it. Look, kid, Dick and I go way back. Known each other for years. I owed him one for something he did for me awhile back, and that’s the only reason I’m here. But I sure as hell ain’t going to let him take away my cubans.”