Tolwyn frowned. "You ought to pay closer attention to the real news. We've made considerable progress in rebuilding infrastructure." He tapped his chin with one forefinger. "Still, you may have a point." He nodded his head decisively. "We'll get some media up here, let them see the construction firsthand. That'll answer the propaganda question. It might boost morale as well."
Blair wanted to comment that he suspected the sight of such extravagance might, in fact, have the opposite effect with a lot of civilians.
"Admiral," Blair asked, gesturing towards the Vesuvius, "how are you doing this?"
Tolwyn pointed toward a small cluster of ships hovering near the carriers. "Those are foundry ships," he said, "mobile factories designed to travel from system to system, building the tools that planets needed to fix and upgrade their industries. I saw that they could also serve as a stopgap until we were able to restore our shipbuilding capability. So, I borrowed them." He smiled proudly. "Their output is a fraction of what Earth's was, but beggars can't be choosers."
"What about the Inner Worlds?" Blair asked. "Don't they need them?"
Tolwyn shrugged. "They're enterprising people. They'll figure something out." He looked slyly at Blair. "They might even build more for themselves."
Blair let his sarcasm show. "Wouldn't you just take those, too?"
"Probably," Tolwyn replied, taking him at face value. "I could use a few more." He tipped his chin towards the foundry ships. "They really are marvels. With them, we can produce everything we need right here on site, right down to smelting our own ore. We get some raw ore sent up from Luna, mostly specialty stuff for alloys. They boost it up using railguns. Most of the iron ore we get, though, comes from the asteroid belt out beyond Mars.
"All our mining ships have to do," Tolwyn elaborated, "is apply enough energy to knock the asteroids out of their orbits and aim them at L5. I'm told the vector mechanics are tricky and it takes the ore a couple of years to get here, but we get most of the iron we need for durasteel for a few centi-credits per ton."
He laughed. "That's why we're building here." He patted the observation port. "Occasionally, the catchers miss a piece and we have to dust it, but this old girl still has enough juice in her to do that."
Tolwyn tipped his head towards the grapefruit-sized moon. "We've also begun a reclamation project for the ships we lost at Luna. We do import a lot from out-system, but it's less than you might think." He smiled as he looked out on the ships. "I've seen to it that these two have a pretty high priority. Getting transport hulls to haul what we need isn't a problem."
Isn't a problem? Blair repeated silently. He thought of his troubles getting spare parts on Nephele. The colony worlds problems seemed emblematic of the Confederation as a whole; a deteriorating economy, a worn-down infrastructure, and an exhausted population compounded the lack of trade, jobs, and confidence in the government. Taken together, they added up to a serious crisis.
It appalled him that the factory ships and the transports were being used to build warships and haul military freight rather than being used to rebuild the economy.
Blair frowned, surprised at his own internal shift. He had no adult experience in the civilian world before his retirement, and hadn't really understood what the populace was going through to support the war. Two years grubbing in the dirt in Nephele to bring in a crop and fighting with the Farm Bureau had broadened his horizons in ways he'd never expected.
Tolwyn didn't miss the shift in his expression. "I take it you don't approve of my little project?"
Blair shook his head. "Admiral, we just finished a war— a war we were losing. We got lucky with one sucker punch, but otherwise we were on our way out." He glanced over at Tolwyn. "For what's being committed here," he paused, trying to organize his thoughts, "in terms of resources, wouldn't it have been better to build two or three new fleet carriers, or better yet—a couple of dozen jeep carriers, which you thought up in the first place?"
He saw the flicker of a smile at the intended compliment and his own response was one of feeling angry with himself for sucking up in such a manner. The problem was the jeep carrier concept had a hell of a lot of merit; they were cheap to build, and could put assets into a dozen systems for the price of one standard carrier. An old buddy of his, Bonderavsky, had risen to rear admiral at the close of the war commanding a jeep carrier task force.
"We need transports as well, sir. They could serve a dual purpose of replacing the fleet transports lost in the war while helping rebuild the economy, and a bunch of these factory ships… you know, to help rebuild the economy…" He faltered under Tolwyn's bemused glance.
"When did you become a bleeding heart, Colonel?" Tolwyn asked, his voice light. "Please remember that even with these two on-line we'll still have only two-thirds of the fighter strength we had before the attack on Earth."
"I thought the war was over," Blair said dryly.
"Don't fool yourself," Tolwyn said quietly. "We're still at war." He paused. "We're at war to save ourselves." Blair kept his expression neutral as Tolwyn continued. "We're mired in a depression, Colonel. The unity that held us together through three decades is fraying now that the Kilrathi have faded. Law and order are concepts that are crumbling throughout the Confederation. We're drifting, losing our sense of purpose."
He looked away from Blair and out the observation port. Blair saw his face reflected in the glass, framed by the two carriers. "These ships are symbols that we are, in spite of our current troubles, undiminished. They'll unite us now that we have no enemy to face."
"Are they symbols?" Blair asked, alarmed by the direction and tone of Tolwyn's words. "Or threats?"
"Colonel," Tolwyn said coldly, "you're on the edge of being insubordinate. The second you put that uniform on, you were subject to Fleet discipline."
His voice softened. "In the Kilrathi, we had a common enemy, something we could face together. Now that's gone, and we're losing touch with our common heritage." He looked at Blair. "We have to work together to restore our common faith, our unity."
Blair took the olive branch. "So, what does that have to do with me?"
"I'm sure you've heard of the crises in the Border Worlds," Tolwyn said.
"Bits and pieces," Blair answered. Then unable to resist the gibe at the continuing censorship, added, 'The news services aren't as informative as they once were, however."
Tolwyn nodded, again taking Blair's comment at face value. "In the last several months, Colonel, we've suffered a series of escalating attacks. It started with pirate raids, terrorism, sabotage—all conducted by persons unknown and on a fairly small scale. It's since grown to include attacks on convoys, guerrilla raids on Confed bases, and direct attacks on isolated Confed military units. It's gotten serious enough to merit a Fleet reaction."
He looked at Blair and began ticking points off on his fingers. "Our mission is twofold. The first and most immediate mission is to protect Confederation lives and property by putting a stop to these activities. Our second task is to determine if these are random acts perpetrated by opportunists or if this is part of a larger campaign to undermine Con fed authority."
Blair looked at him, his voice tinged with incredulity. "You called me back for this? A police mission? Don't you have any other pilots?"
Tolwyn clasped his hands behind his back again. "I'm sending the Lexington to patrol the sector adjacent to the Border Worlds and investigate the situation. I need your fame, your presence, to take some of the starch out of the raiders until we get organized. Hopefully, you'll help keep the situation under control until we can get it resolved."
"What if I decline?" Blair asked.
"I believe, Colonel," Tolwyn said without emotion, "that the Border Worlds are, at the least, turning a blind eye towards the raiders. They may actually be providing them aid and comfort, if not actively participating. I think your reputation, and by extension the implicit threat of what you did to Kilrah, will help scare them back into sanity."
He shru
gged. "I won't stop you if you turn us down. You can go back to your farm and grub your rutabagas while we do the grand things. Or," he said simply, "you can join us—and maybe avert a war."
He abruptly pivoted and walked towards the door. Blair turned towards him. Tolwyn stopped at the door and looked back. "I've booked you in the Arrow simulator at 1900 hours—to get your certification up to date." He smiled thinly. "The raiders are using our equipment, so you'd better factor for that, too."
Blair turned back to the portal as Tolwyn left, studying the twin super carriers. They made him uncomfortable, though he couldn't say precisely why. He turned away from the twin ships. Tolwyn was his only route back into a cockpit, and the only life he'd ever really known. He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed it until Tolwyn had offered it to him. The decision, in the end, was easy.
He turned his back on the twin ships and started for the combat simulators. He could, if he hurried, book extra time. A tiny voice inside told him he was going to need it.
Blair felt the familiar thump as the Lexingtons utility shuttle's gear hit the landing bay floor. He'd had to restrain himself from criticizing every aspect of the kid's flying ability. Face it, Chris, he said to himself, you're a lousy passenger. You'd rather fly the crates than be hauled around like freight.
The shuttle cleared the landing markers, more commonly known as the "bull's-eyes," and powered towards the embarkation area. Blair leaned forward in his spartan sling seat and watched the tell-tales over the side hatch. They flickered from red to green, indicating that the Lexington had restored artificial gravity and atmosphere to the landing bay.
The shuttle's internal PA, plugged into the Lexingtons operations frequency, scratched out "All hands, secure from recovery operations. Flight deck pressure positive. Gravity positive. Landing bay secure for normal operations." Blair listened for the real instruction that everything was fine. He smiled as it came. "The smoking lamp is lit." He was back.
The shuttle hissed to a halt just inside the embark point. He stood and swept the technical manual for the Hellcat V into his flight bag, then went forward to collect his dunnage. He turned to the side portal, spun the manual lock and keyed the opening sequence. It lifted up, leaving him flabbergasted.
A dozen Marines in dress grays formed a double row leading from the base of the shuttle's ramp. The ship's captain, a black man of average height with a receding gray hairline, stood at the end of the human corridor. A small formation of officers came to attention behind the captain while a Marine corporal, carrying the ship's commissioning pennant, grounded the oak staff with enough force for the ferrule to strike sparks on the deck. An untidy knot of thirty or forty other crew members in work uniforms stood behind the official delegation, rubbernecking.
Blair walked down the shuttle's angled ramp, stepping carefully to avoid taking an embarrassing spill. The instant his feet touched the deck a bosun raised her hand to her lips and piped him aboard. He sighed, seeing no choice but to play out the charade. He dropped his bags, came to attention, and waited for the twittering to end. He then marched smartly between the double file of Marines and halted in front of the captain. "Permission to come aboard, sir?" he asked formally.
"Granted," Captain William Eisen replied loudly, his eyes dancing with amusement. He stepped forward, his hand extended. Blair took it, exchanging a warm handshake.
Blair recalled that it had been Eisen who had met him upon his arrival on board the TCS Victory. "This seems like dejd vu," he said, "except this ship is much nicer."
"Home, sweet home," Eisen replied. "Welcome aboard, Chris." He grinned again, a fierce warriors grimace that showed Blair what Eisen's Zulu ancestors must have looked like while they were slaughtering Englishmen. "We sure as hell need you."
Blair gave him a concerned look. "Is it as bad as all that? Tolwyn gave me the impression we'd just be showing the flag."
Eisen made a noncommittal gesture. "We'll talk."
Blair glanced at the cluster of waiting officers and crew. Their stares were making him uncomfortable. "Why are you doing this to me?" he asked, sotto voce.
"It's more for them than you," Eisen said softly, clapping Blair on the shoulder with his free hand. "Most have never seen a real war hero before. Knowing that you're aboard'll be good for morale." He smiled. "So play along, Colonel. That's an order."
Blair surrendered. "Okay, sir. Now what?"
"Allow me to introduce you to my senior officers," Eisen said, speaking again in a normal tone. "I'm having you meet the wing officers later." Blair shot him a look. Eisen's face was unreadable.
Eisen steered him through the formation, meeting the ship's officers, the Marine detachment commander, and a select group of the Lexington's complement. He knew several officers and crew from shared tours of duty during the Kilrathi war. He was, as always, better with faces than names, but their grace in helping him remember the associations made the situation easier for everyone.
He endured the reception better than he'd expected, accepting the crew's good wishes with some aplomb, and murmuring platitudes about doing one's duty and leaving the rest up to fate and the news-vids. Eventually, they made it through the last of the handshakes and introductions. Eisen wasted no time in dismissing the crew, leaving him alone with a relieved Blair.
Eisen looked at him, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Do you remember our little bet, Colonel?"
"Which bet would that be?" Blair answered.
"The one I made you at your retirement dinner," Eisen said, grinning, "when I said you hadn't flown your last mission."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, that bet. I was hoping you'd forgotten." He looked around the flight deck, noting the fresh paint and the new equipment. "The Lexington sure puts the old Victory to shame."
"Yeah," Eisen said, "you should have seen her after the Battle of Earth. The defenders kicked her out of lunar dry dock as a decoy. The Kilrathi savaged her, internal explosions gutted her, and the crew got wiped out. Normally, the hulk would have been left to drift or given an honorable end with scuttling charges, but the Fleet decided that a dead hull was better than no hull at all." He grinned. "It turned out that it would have been cheaper just to scrap what was left and start over."
He looked up at the overhead fondly, "She's the Lady Lex, the Grey Ghost, resurrected from the dead, the eleventh ship to bear the honorable name. Treat her right and she'll always bring you home."
"Speaking of treating you right," Blair said, "it looks like the Confed's been taking good care of you."
Eisen's expression went flat. 'Teah," he said, after a pause, "they've been taking good care of me." Eisen's non-answer piqued his curiosity.
Eisen smiled thinly. "Allow me to give you the Cook's tour of the ship. My orderly'U see your bags get to your quarters."
"All right, sir," Blair answered, still a little unsettled by Eisen's quick mood changes.
Eisen led Blair out of the embark area and towards the maintenance area. "How're your certifications?"
"I got about six hours in an Arrow simulator yesterday, enough for a provisional raring," Blair answered. "Everything else has lapsed."
Eisen chewed his lip a moment. "Well, our simulators here are on the fritz. Bad software. We'll get you checked out on our inventory tomorrow." He paused. "I want all your check-rides done as soon as possible."
He showed Blair through an open blast door and into the fighters' recovery area. There, they watched flight crews scrambling to attach and detach blue-painted dummy ordnance to Hellcats' weapons bays and underwing stores. Each crew vied with the others to finish a practice loadout while being observed by their crew chiefs. A master chief, his back to Eisen and Blair, timed the competitors and made notes on a clipboard.
Blair looked around the bay, again surprised at how clean and new it looked. "You keep a tidy ship."
Eisen glanced around, as though noticing the state of the bay for the first time. "We had a partial refit just after the armistice," he said. "We had our
drives tuned and our air exchanged. The refit crews spruced the living quarters up a bit, too." He grinned, the pride in his ship shining through. "The rest is homegrown, a lot of hard work done by good people."
Eisen raised his voice. "How's the drill going, Master Chief?'
"Good," the chief said simply, "but it could be better." He turned, his seamed face breaking into a broad smile as he saw Blair. "Well, I'll be damned."
Eisen gestured towards Chris. "You two know each other?"
Blair laughed. "You might say that. Thad and I go way back."
Blair smiled at Eisen's puzzled expression. "Chief Gunderson was my crew chief during my stint with the system defense forces after the Tiger's Claw incident. I'd been exonerated by the court-martial but my career seemed to be pretty much over. Thad held my hand and kept me from blowing my brains out until I could get back in the game."
The old master's mate took Blair's offered hand. "That would be Master Chief Thad to you, sir."
"Congrats," Blair said, pleased at his friends success. "What's your billet?"
"I'm the wing's chief of maintenance," Thad replied. His expression turned slightly disapproving. "On this side of the ship, anyway. It'll be good to have someone of your caliber on board."
Blair stared at him a moment, uncertain how to respond. Eisen stepped into the growing silence. "Excuse us please, Chief," he said while steering Blair away.
"What was that all about?" Blair said. "What did he mean by 'on this side of the ship'?"
"This ship, like every other, has its divisions," Eisen said cryptically. "But we'll get into that in a bit."
He led Blair to the small service lift that lowered them down a level to the main fighter deck. Blair felt his spirits lift as he saw the ranks of Arrows, Hellcats, Thunderbolts, and in the distance, Longbow bombers. Flight crews swarmed over the warbirds as they performed the thousands of routine maintenance tasks necessary to keep the craft operational.
The Price of Freedom Page 6
