The Odyssey and the Iliad (Kinsella Universe Book 7)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  It was something you learned with your mother’s milk -- even his mother, who had died when Steve was born. “Ick,” Steve exclaimed.

  “Now they are headed here, once again. Did I mention, Pirate, that this is a top secret, code word briefing?”

  “I’m sure I heard that, Commander.”

  Steve was unprepared to see the young commander stick out her tongue at the chief. “Liar. Now I’m telling you.”

  “Yes, Commander,” Pirate said with more aplomb than Steve could imagine a junior could have towards a senior, even if the junior was senior in the age department.

  Commander Booth sighed. “Now it gets real, Lieutenant Yardley. The AI computers had access to us via an implant at the base of the skull. As soon as we learned what was going on, everyone wanted them removed. That was about ten percent complete when the Grissom disaster occurred -- and we learned that if you were close enough, they didn’t need an implant to communicate, or for that matter, to control most people.”

  Steve grimaced. Commander Booth went implacably on. “That’s what was happening aboard my ship at the time, at least to me. It wasn’t much of a link, but it was enough. I survived when a lot of other people were killed... including my father, my boss and a lot of other very fine people. Everyone that had been aboard Grissom Station at the time.

  “Now, we’ve had another ship go rogue, this time taking control of her admiral, and trying to start a war with the Koopianers. You see, the Koopiainers have something we don’t -- telepaths. They don’t seem to suffer from the defects the AIs had -- but they can read our minds just like the AIs could. They say that they can’t control people, but that’s just what they say.

  “The people aboard the Koopianer ship were a whole lot more reasonable than they could have been. They had a Marine boarding party aboard when they realized what was going on. They went to High Fan and disarmed the Marines. Then they asked questions of their prisoners. Among other questions, they learned how to modulate fan turbines like we do, that allows faster than light communication between ships on High Fan.”

  “We can do that?” Steve asked, trying to recover from the latest shock.

  “We can. Aboard our ship, in the meantime, the Flag Captain and the head Marine were some of those lucky few who, while not immune to control by the AI, could actively resist. The Marine colonel turned the ship’s computer off. It’s off and will be turned over to the other AIs, who can deal with it if they want. Now the Koopianers are headed back here. Did I mention that they have fifteen thousand refugees from Grayhome they are holding hostage for our good behavior? Children and young people.”

  Steve was unprepared for Pirate to move to within inches of the commander and put her face in the officer’s. “My family was on Grayhome. My youngest daughter was in the reserve academy there. Is she one of the survivors? Are any of them?”

  “Master Chief, I don’t know the answer to that. They’ve returned a Marine colonel who had commanded the refugee vessel, and I’m certain that he has a complete list. We just haven’t gotten it yet.”

  “That would be Trevor Grimes... he killed a couple of friends of mine and their children in an accident. He was working on a habitat when it happened. Six people died and the Board of Inquiry ruled it an accident. He was a nice enough fellow, but when you kill your wife and two daughters -- even by accident -- it leaves a mark. He dropped out of things. I haven’t heard of him in years, but he had a habitat with fans.”

  “That’s what the report is -- he volunteered to take as many kids away as possible. We have no idea where he went or how long it took. It’s been years now since Grayhome was destroyed. The topic of where he went is high on the priority list. So is a list of survivors. Honestly, Pirate, where he went has a higher priority than the identities of the survivors.”

  “Why are they coming back now?” Steve asked.

  He was unprepared for the frown he got from Commander Booth. She picked up what looked like a phone. “Memo: Subject another question. Why now?”

  The commander stared at Steve for a few seconds. “Lieutenant Yardley, there is nothing in your public records that gives me the least understanding of why you are here, assigned as you have been.”

  “I’m as mystified as you, sir,” Steve told her. “The Master Chief took me to Captain Hargrove and said a dozen words; while I understood the words, they might as well have been Greek. I don’t understand the context. My interview with Admiral Merriweather was even shorter. I barely got a chance to speak.”

  Pirate spoke up when Commander Booth looked at her. “He’s a special project officer, Commander. Admiral Merriweather promoted him.”

  “With just some Rim Runner Basic and Advanced certificates?”

  “Commander, you’ve seen what fighter transition is like. It was my thought he’d be like butter -- the good parts churned to the top.”

  “And the leavings are drained out to be used for cattle feed.”

  “That’s the way it works, sir,” the master chief agreed.

  “Master Chief, I understand your situation with the orders you were given regarding this officer. Nonetheless, he is out of uniform. If I was a betting person, I’d wager a dollar he hasn’t eaten recently. If I was a wicked betting person, I’d suggest he hasn’t been accepted into the ship, located his berthing space or any of that.”

  “You should bet more often, Commander. You’d be rich.”

  “I realize that you’re a master chief and that you aren’t under me. That said, I do believe you have some responsibility in this matter. Contact stores and see that they send someone up to take the lieutenant’s measurements. Contact berthing and see that they know we have a new lieutenant. I imagine the XO will be surprised as well; probably you should notify him.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. The captain talked to him briefly.”

  “If anyone asks, Lieutenant Yardley’s new boss is a bitch without a heart -- which won’t surprise anyone. I have duties for him, and since we are to sortie those tasks preclude him going about the usual tasks for newly assigned officers.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Well, hop to it, Master Chief.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Chapter 7 -- Asking Questions

  Steve Yardley was surprised when the master chief turned to him. “Lieutenant, Commander Booth’s bark isn’t a pleasant thing. Usually her bite, sir, is lethal.”

  Steve spent a moment digesting that, before turning back to Commander Booth. “Sir,” he said helplessly.

  “Lieutenant, in the outer office is my yeoman and an empty desk. My yeoman hates my guts. Once a week, usually on Monday, he files a transfer request. I endorse it and send it up to my boss, the XO, and I get it back within a quarter hour marked ‘No!’ Usually in capital letters and exclamation marks. I hand the paper to my yeoman to file. No matter how many times I’ve endorsed his request for transfer, he refuses to believe that I’m not the person responsible for being turned down every time.

  “At that desk, Lieutenant, you will log onto the computer. I do believe I can get you into the system in the minute or so it will take you to get there. Ask the computer ‘Union questions.’ That’s the name the Koopianers go by these days. Study those questions that remain. There is also a file of questions already asked and the answers. You will see your contribution in there; see what else you can come up with. Needless to say, if you talk to anyone beside me about any of this, you’re dead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am the head of one of the combat departments of Thebes. The XO is my supervisor, Captain Hargrove above him and then Admiral Merriweather. Yes, I can command store clerks, cooks, berthing clerks and the like to come to me if I want. You will stay at that desk until I dismiss you.”

  “I need some personal time, sir.”

  “Potty breaks are personal time; don’t abuse the privilege. The yeoman will have directions.”

  Steve kept his face as expressionless as he could, and then went to the yeoman a
nd asked directions. The expression on the yeoman’s face was a study in a mixture of contempt and pleasure. It took Steve a few seconds to realize what it was about. He couldn’t find his ass with either hand aboard the ship. But the yeoman didn’t blame him, blaming Commander Booth instead. It was something to think about. The yeoman might have thought that Commander Booth was living up to her reputation, but his evaluation of Steve was even less flattering.

  He was measured, and promised delivery of uniforms and shipsuits, and they sent a tech with a shipsuit at once. He changed into it in the bathroom -- a head, in Fleet parlance. He’d been told to pick up his new phone and dial Star 82, when he wanted to go to his quarters.

  His day ended, however, only when Commander Booth emerged from her office. She took one look and him and frowned. “A bit of information, Lieutenant. If an officer spends more than eight consecutive hours on duty, his supervisor is notified. More than ten hours, and the XO is notified, more than twelve hours and the captain hears about it. When did your day start?”

  “Early day in Arizona.”

  “Shipboard time is always Zulu time -- GMT. You have, Lieutenant, gotten me a purple rocket from the captain, probably first thing in the morning. Call the billeting officer, get your stateroom assignment and go there. Return after twelve hours.”

  She laughed bitterly. “That’s just stupid, Lieutenant. In six hours, we go to High Fan. I imagine you’ll notice that.”

  Steve swallowed, biting back a reminder that he’d been told to stay until dismissed. “Yes, sir.”

  “You hesitated, Lieutenant. Yes or no. You’d notice going to High Fan, right?”

  “I slept through it six times when I came to Earth, sir. I don’t feel nausea on High Fan.” That was a safe subject, Steve thought.

  “Oh, that’s just wonderful. Report in twelve hours, Lieutenant. Get something to eat first.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He was unprepared to find that Pirate was his escort to his compartment. Just outside his compartment, he learned why. He thanked her and in response she hit him, hard, in the belly. When he was still coughing, she put her arm against his throat and shoved him against the bulkhead. “My family name is Rawlins. My youngest daughter was Melissa Rawlins. Please, God, let me know if any live.”

  “You could have just asked. I respond best to please and thank you.”

  “But you’ll remember this better.

  “Mr. Yardley, you were born a Rim Runner, but raised by dirty-feet and educated by dirty-feet. Inside this compartment is your next test. Your roommate is an ensign, senior to you in age as you are senior to her in rank. Screw this up and I’ll forget I ever saw a spark in you.”

  She opened the compartment door and lightly pulled him towards it.

  The lights were on, and a dark-haired woman was sitting at the desk. She craned around to look at him, blinking in surprise.

  The ensign smiled brightly. “I’m Ensign Emily Rosen, Lieutenant. Welcome to the Thebes.”

  “Thanks. Gah! I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I understand that you’re in the S-2 office under Commander Booth. So am I. I’m in plans and operations. Have you been told what you’re going to be doing yet?”

  “Asking questions.”

  The ensign laughed. “That’s unusual -- usually it’s Commander Booth asking questions. You’ll want to be ready with a lot of answers when she returns to form, Lieutenant.”

  “I suspect her question will be ‘what are your questions?’”

  “That would be like her, Lieutenant.”

  “Please, could we be Steve and Emily?”

  There was a knock on the compartment door and Steve found he had more uniforms. Emily sat watching him as he sorted through things. At least he knew where to find the drawers. His meal arrived, as he was finishing up.

  She was blunt, “Lieutenant, I’ve been thinking about what you asked. I’m afraid it’s going to have to remain Lieutenant Yardley and Ensign Rosen. Oh, for your information, Lieutenant, we share that bathroom with two other junior officers, both ensigns like myself, assigned to the S-2 shop.”

  She waved to a tray of food on the other desk. “I didn’t know we had room service.”

  Steve shrugged and took a sandwich and starting eating it. There was another knock on the door and Emily Rosen motioned to Steve get it. “I hope that’s the maid service.”

  It wasn’t the maid service, it was Commander Booth. “Lieutenant, you’ve had a few minutes with your roommate. Does she go or stay?”

  “Commander, I don’t understand.”

  “I told you we’re going out; we’re clearing the ship of non-essential personnel. If you want an assistant -- if so, she’s yours. If not, she joins about two-thirds of the crew queuing up for shuttles.”

  Steve swallowed. Commander Booth barked a laugh. “It isn’t a ding for her, Yardley. This sort of thing is SOP on a new ship. We strip off most of the crew and run a few risky evolutions. This is riskier than most, is all.”

  Steve saw the pale expression on the ensign’s face. At a guess, she did want to go, and didn’t want to be declared “non-essential.”

  “While I haven’t asked her a lot of questions, her answers have been quite satisfactory. She stays.”

  “As you wish. Brief the ensign. Before you start, here’s your answer to the question you asked and the question you implied.”

  “You have an answer already?”

  “FTL communication, Lieutenant. I grant you, it isn’t the fastest thing in the universe, but it suffices for Federation work.”

  She turned and left after handing Steve a thin folder. The first sheet was a picture of a field of small trees, all cut down. Then a picture of a city street, lined with trees that looked like they were filled with fireflies.

  There were five words after the second picture. “Fear speaks louder than Reason.” Attached to the two pictures and the brief message was an intelligence summary. He knew what it was because that’s the title of the top of the page. “The first photo is IDed as having appeared in the Bild newspaper. That was a classic newspaper in the Federal Republic of Germany that appeared after World War II. The last print edition was 2040. This photo was one of two that appeared six weeks before the Iranian Plague of 2025. It shows a scene of an experimental plot of genetically modified trees before and after they were vandalized.” The other picture was printed as well. It was just a row of skinny, leafy trees filled with fireflies and the notation: “This does not appear to be Earth.”

  The second section was far thicker -- and all text. He chewed the sandwich absently, fascinated by what he read.

  His attention was dragged back to the moment when a voice said, “Now sixty minutes to sortie! If you haven’t been told you are coming along, report to the shuttle bay forthwith. Now set the maneuver watch!”

  He turned to the ensign. “Do we have maneuver watch stations?”

  “Our bunks.”

  “I can’t lie down; I’ll be asleep in seconds. I’m supposed to brief you. I’m pretty sure that’s a priority.”

  “I think that’s a reasonable assumption.”

  “Commander Booth made a point that the brief is top secret code word. I’m not sure what the formal definition is for ‘don’t talk about it.’”

  “I have that clearance, Lieutenant. All I’ve done is read Fleet battle reports, including the code word annexes.”

  “Have you heard of the ‘Koopianers?’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Please, we’re going to be working together. I realize the Fleet is formal in official situations. Can’t we be informal between us?”

  “You’re my supervisor.”

  “And does that preclude a first-name basis?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Just about all I know about the computer revolt is what I read or heard on the news. Another ship has gone rogue...”

  He went on explaining what he’d heard. To a very many great many of Ensign Rosen’s qu
estions all he could do was plead ignorance, and make notes.

  He finished up what he knew, breathing a silent thanks to Commander Booth. The briefing had set the information into his brain in a very firm and in a cohesive way. Then came the maneuver warning and the ship was underway.

  The ensign grimaced a few minutes later when they announced they were about to go to High Fan. “I’ve never done this before. Is it as bad as they say?”

  “I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t feel anything. They usually describe it as going over the top of a roller coaster. If you’ve done that, though, you’re ahead of me because I’ve never ridden a roller coaster.”

  Their maneuver stations really were their bunks and they’d been in them for a few minutes when the transition to High Fan came. Steve asked, “How was that?” right after.

  There was only silence. He was out of his bunk like a shot. Sure enough, the ensign was unconscious, her pupils were pinpoints and her breathing was labored.

  He was on the phone a fraction of a second later. Thank heavens the Fleet’s emergency services number was Star 9, just like the civilian number. He described the problem and a team came promptly and wheeled the ensign away. Not sure what to do, he decided that asking a question was the safest way forward and called Commander Booth.

  “I thought you’d be asleep by now, Lieutenant.”

  “Ensign Rosen had never made a transition to High Fan before and had a bad reaction. She’s been taken to sickbay. I wasn’t sure of what I’m supposed to do, so I thought I’d ask.”

  “As it so happens, you report a casualty to the medics first, then your supervisor. If the casualty is from another department, the supervisor notifies the head of that department. You’ll have to excuse me, Lieutenant, it’s my duty to report this to the captain.”

  “There are thousands of crew members, sir. Surely you don’t report casualties to the captain every time.”

  “Surely we do if it is a reportable casualty. This is a reportable casualty. Mr. Yardley, we left two-thirds of the crew back on Grissom. The captain is going to be very interested in hearing that a member of his crew has never been on High Fan before.”