“Captain,” Ensign Fry said, “we’ve just received a priority transmission from a com drone that recently entered the system. It’s audio and video, addressed to you. Should I play it here or would you prefer to take it in your office?”
“Play it here.”
Admiral Iver appeared on the main display, and as per Husher’s order, everyone’s Oculenses would have access to his likeness as he spoke. “Captain Husher, hopefully this message reaches you before you leave the Feverfew system, since time has suddenly become precious. We’ve just received a distress call from the governor of Tyros in the Wintercress System, which at the time of Governor Jomo’s transmission was under attack by a vessel of unknown origin.
“On the heels of this message, I’ve ordered the com drone carrying it to transmit to you all the sensor data collected by the Wintercress System’s sensor web. Your new orders are as follows: the Vesta is to make all reasonable haste toward Wintercress and answer this new threat. Before you do, please hand off the diplomats I’ve already designated, Shobi and Bryson, to two separate ships of your battle group. The entire battle group is to proceed to the Gok homeworld and continue their diplomatic mission. I have full confidence that you will have the situation in Wintercress well in hand. While the attacking vessel’s origins are unknown, it is only one ship—a destroyer, from the looks of it. It did manage to neutralize two IGF ships on patrol in the system, the Stentor and the Orion, but I highly doubt it will be any match for the Vesta. Iver out.”
The main wall display returned to whatever each CIC officer had been viewing prior to the recording—for Husher, data on the main engines, on which he’d had Engineering perform a full inspection before getting underway to the Gok home system.
“The promised data package just arrived, Captain,” Ensign Fry said. “Should I—?”
“Put it on the display.” There was no need to conceal from the crew anything about what they would be facing in Wintercress.
The destroyer that appeared had a hull the color of a storm cloud, rendering visual sensors somewhat less effective in picking it out from the inky blackness of space. Not so bad for visuals as the jet-black Ixan vessels we saw during the Second Galactic War.
In every other way, however, the enemy ship cut a menacing figure. Despite Iver’s abundance of confidence, the ship was nearly half the size of the Vesta, according to the readouts that accompanied the image. Its form was that of a flat, elongated diamond, and it bristled with what Husher felt sure was weaponry, though each gun’s dimensions differed dramatically from anything fielded by the IGF.
Could this be it? Husher asked himself. What I’ve been bracing for all these years?
He wanted it to be, he realized. For multiple reasons—such as the interminable waiting, which was slowly driving him insane. Or the fact that, if this ship didn’t represent the vanguard of the AIs’ attack fleet, then it belonged to a different threat altogether, while the danger posed by the AIs still loomed.
A third factor: Husher didn’t know how much longer he could keep at bay the twin advances of pacifism and bureaucracy, which threatened to choke out their military effectiveness altogether. The former was a noble impulse, Husher recognized that, but a noble death at the hands of a merciless attacker was still death.
He heaved a sigh that sounded a lot like relief, drawing some curious looks from a couple of his CIC officers.
This was what he was made to do. It was what he’d trained to do, and also what he’d been preparing for, for the better part of his life. Maybe all his life.
Whatever that thing is, whoever it belongs to, it should solve an immediate problem: it will get the bureaucrats off my back so I can do my damned job.
It didn’t take very long for him to realize just how wrong he was about that.
Chapter 13
Tactical and Strategic Interests
The university president’s office was the eyesore Husher had expected it to be, filled with decorations and posters of clashing colors and contradictory ideas. It featured simulated skylights—impossible, given the room’s location within the building, but there nevertheless—installed in a ceiling whose airy height was also artificial.
Snyder kept him waiting by finishing up a task she claimed simply couldn’t be postponed, despite that they’d scheduled this meeting two days ago.
As he sat on the uncomfortably slanted couch behind her work station and peered around the room, he couldn’t discern a unifying principle that governed the decor, aesthetic or otherwise. Good aesthetics were far from Husher’s strong suit, but he knew the opposite when he saw it. The way Snyder’s office was arranged spoke of a mind that favored whatever ideas fit her current mood, to be discarded for new ones the moment that mood changed.
“Sorry about that,” Snyder said as she rotated her chair to face him. “There’s always some matter demanding your attention when you run a university, often several.”
“I think I can imagine what that might be like,” Husher said.
“Yes, I expect you can!” Penelope said amidst a gale of tittering.
“Listen, Ms. Snyder, I’m sure there are plenty of other matters waiting for your attention. Why don’t we get down to business?” Husher had no desire to let small talk happen for any longer than it already had.
“Oh, yes, let’s,” she said in a hushed tone, as if they were both about to engage in some forbidden activity, one which they both thoroughly enjoyed. “I suppose the first order of business is to discuss your own Awareness Training. I’m sorry to say I won’t be administering it personally, but we’ve converted one of our Sociology labs into what you might call an ‘awareness factory.’ If you’d like, you’re welcome to sit in on Awareness classes with other high-ranking officers. You probably aren’t comfortable interacting with your enlisted crewmembers in that sort of—”
“I’m perfectly comfortable with every one of my crewmembers,” Husher said.
“All right, then. The training itself takes ten hours, with exams and assignments that take around as long again. The whole thing typically takes about a week to complete.”
Swallowing, Husher concentrated on keeping his anxiety from showing on his face. I doubt I can find an extra twenty hours in a month, let alone a week.
Snyder went on: “We’re equipped to train four groups of forty for two hours every day. Do you think it’s realistic to expect your human crewmembers all to have completed the training by the end of next week?”
In spite of himself, Husher’s hand twitched in his lap, and Snyder glanced at it. At least he’d managed to avoid choking on his own saliva. “No, frankly, I don’t think it’s realistic,” he said. Stay calm, he told himself, remembering his conversation with Chancey. I just need to get through this, and then we’ll be done with it. They’ll all be satisfied. “We’re on the verge of encountering a warship deployed by an unknown power, and I doubt they’re going to invite us to tea. I need my crew rested and ready to perform their duties.”
“A month, then, Captain Husher. I’m afraid we simply can’t let the toxic environment we’ve identified persist for any longer than that.”
Swallowing what would have been an ill-advised retort, he said nothing.
“That brings us to the next issue I wanted to raise with you, namely the planned Nonattendance Day for space-kin. I do hope you’ll permit the space-kin among your crew to participate in it.”
After a brief pause, Husher said, “What does that entail, exactly?”
“It’s a day during which space-kin stay at home, to highlight the vital role they play in society by demonstrating how many things simply can’t happen without them.”
“I see.” Husher cleared his throat. “What are space-kin?”
“Space-kin is the proper term for people whose species originated on planets other than one’s own.”
“So…aliens, then?”
Snyder winced. “I’m sorry, Captain, but it never fails to amaze me how ignorant you’ve allowed yourself to
become, despite having easy access to one of the galaxy’s most progressive cities. Right-minded people no longer use the word you just uttered.”
“We can’t say aliens anymore?”
“Captain! I must insist you stop using that repulsive term. You make a truly poor exemplar of your species when you behave that way.”
Hesitating, Husher said, “Our species, you mean.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re both human.”
“Well actually, Captain, if you’re going to force the issue, I don’t identify as human.” Snyder reached up to stroke the simulated feather mask that covered the upper half of her face. Which meant she was stroking air, essentially.
Husher studied Snyder’s face for a long moment, deciding at last not to delve into the revelation she’d just offered.
“Do I have your pledge that you’ll allow your space-kin crewmembers to remain inside their quarters on Nonattendance Day? I think it would go a long way to helping the human crew to recognize their proper place, in relation to them.”
Glancing sideways as he collected his thoughts, Husher focused for a moment on inhaling. “When is it?” he asked at last through gritted teeth.
“In three days’ time.”
Of course it is. That was precisely the day the Vesta was due to transition into the system that had just been attacked. “Ms. Snyder,” he said at last, “Believe it or not, I’m well aware of how important…space-kin are to the operation of my ship. So much so, in fact, that I’m concerned about them staying in their quarters on the very day we transition into a system where we expect to engage an enemy destroyer.” He sighed. “If there’s any way I can accommodate Nonattendance Day, I will, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Oh, I do hope you’ll accommodate it,” Snyder said. “I’m not sure how well it will play with the students and other citizens, otherwise.”
“That sounds a bit like a threat.”
“No, no. And I do think I mostly understand your position, Captain. I just want you to be aware of all the factors at play.”
“Right.”
“There is one final matter for us to discuss—namely, the preponderance of humans among your crew, which I hope we both agree needs to be addressed.”
Here, Husher was prepared with an answer which he hoped would placate her. “Ms. Snyder, I hope you’re aware that I don’t decide which fleet members are assigned to the Vesta. I can make recommendations to Command, but that’s about it.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of the hiring situation, Captain. But I have some excellent news for you. There’s a new program called Positive Response that’s now been adopted by five of the fleet’s eight capital starships, along with their respective battle groups. Only, for the Vesta to start participating, your signature of approval would be needed—for now, adoption is voluntary, and also dependent on whether a captain believes it will serve their ship’s tactical and strategic interests.”
“What does it involve?”
“The solution it represents is as simple as it is elegant. Essentially, a reshuffling of your crew would occur, until hiring quotas for each species are met.”
“And what would happen to the humans that lose their positions as a result of the reshuffling?”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something for them to do,” Snyder said, her smile cranking up to max.
“I’ll…need to think about it.”
“Of course. I’ll send you the details later today. I can’t wait to get your thoughts on the program.”
Chapter 14
Debris Cloud
“Nearing the Lilac-Wintercress darkgate, Captain,” Winterton said. “We should transition within the next ten minutes.”
“Acknowledged, Ensign,” Husher said, and then leaned toward the XO’s chair, beckoning Fesky to lean closer. She did so, head twitching as it neared.
“Yes, Captain?” she whispered.
“Have you ever heard the term ‘space-kin?’” he asked.
Fesky’s beak clacked. “Yes.”
“What do you make of it?”
“I think ‘alien’ is a perfectly serviceable word. It means a being from a different world. Nothing more.”
“So you’re not going to start calling me your space-kin?”
“Oh, I think I can come up with far better names for you than that.”
Husher chuckled. He’d reviewed the information Snyder had sent him on the Positive Response Program and, predictably, he’d found it utterly unrealistic. Apart from his philosophical objection—that a being should be given a military position based on their competence, not their group identity—there simply weren’t enough qualified alien soldiers to satisfy the program’s requirements. It would have the IGF scouring the galaxy for soldiers from species whose militaries had never been large enough to generate the numbers this program demanded.
“Tyros’ planetary net appears to be down, sir,” his Coms officer said, cutting into Husher’s thoughts. “I’m not detecting the usual signal volume—just chatter from a few com drones passing through the system.”
“The people of Cybele will be disappointed,” Fesky muttered. “Especially if this means they can’t download the latest updates for their video games.”
Husher suppressed the urge to chuckle, shooting Fesky a reproving look instead. He wanted to clamp down on the joking before it began to compromise the professionalism he expected from his CIC crew. “Any sign of the enemy destroyer, Winterton?”
“I’m detecting a dispersed debris cloud between Tyros and its solar shield—presumably, the debris is what’s left of the Stentor and the Orion. But no sign of the enemy, Captain.”
Husher nodded. The solar shield was an enormous loop of conductive wire that was positioned between most major colonies and their suns, meant to deflect large flares. The IU had started installing them after a solar flare had fried the electronic grid of Sestos, ruining its economy and causing untold suffering until relief ships and workers could be dispatched there. There were plans to eventually install solar shields for every colony in the Union.
Husher turned to his Coms officer. “Ensign, continue trying to establish contact with Tyros. Preferably, I’d like to speak to the governor. Kaboh, continue taking us down the system’s gravity well at a measured pace, and Winterton, begin active scans of the entire system.”
“Aye, sir,” all three officers said in rough unison.
As the tense silence lengthened, Husher began to worry what it might mean for the planetary net to be down. Had the enemy vessel sabotaged it and then vacated the system? And had it done anything to harm the civilian population of Tyros before it did?
“Captain, I’m getting something,” Fry said at last, two hours into their journey toward the colony. She sounded relieved. “It’s a transmission from Governor Jomo.”
“If there’s video, put it on the display.”
The governor, a Tumbran, appeared, fleshy chin-sack wobbling as though she’d just taken a seat. “Captain Husher,” the alien said in the impassive tones characteristic of her species. “Thank you for answering our distress call. I am, however, relieved to inform you that the danger seems to have passed. Without warning, after destroying the Stentor and the Orion, the vessel that attacked us disappeared from our sensors in a most surprising way. It has not returned since.” The Tumbran shifted, glanced to the left, then refocused on the transmission.
“Perhaps we should assume that the unknown vessel concluded it could not contend with Tyros’ orbital defense platforms, which are fully operational. At any rate, in the spirit of caution, I expect you will want to remain in-system to ensure the hostile vessel does not return. In the meantime, I would like to invite the people of Cybele to conduct trade with us, and I would like to invite you, Captain Husher, to have dinner. Perhaps we can review the footage of the disappearing warship together, and attempt to make some sense of it. I look forward to a real-time conversation with you.”
With that, the t
ransmission ended.
Beside him, Fesky twitched. “Did something seem off to you about that message, Captain?”
Husher contemplated the question. “Winterton, I want you to perform a close inspection of the defensive platforms we can see from this side of the planet. Lean on radar, but do what you can with visual sensors at this distance, too. Let me know if you detect any reason to believe they’ve been disabled.”
Twenty minutes later, the sensor operator had his report. “The platforms check out, Captain. There’s no sign of damage or malfunction that I can detect.”
“Well, we’ve done our due diligence. Either way, Jomo was right that we’ll be staying for a while. And there’s no good reason not to allow Cybele to conduct some trade, though anyone who comes aboard should know that they do so at their own risk, and that a military engagement is possible at any time. Even so, in that event, there should be plenty of time to evacuate whoever wants to be elsewhere.” Husher glanced at Fesky. “There’s also no reason for me to turn down dinner with the governor, so I’m going to go ahead with it.”
“Still…I strongly recommend a marine escort, Captain.”
Husher considered that for a moment. “It could be interpreted as an insult to our hosts. But all right, Fesky. I’ll take your recommendation.”
Chapter 15
As Though in a Warzone
A shuttle was prepped by the time they reached orbit over Tyros, and as per Fesky’s recommendation—which had bordered on insistence—Husher ordered it packed with as many marines as it could hold, which amounted to two full platoons, one to guard the shuttle and one to accompany him to dinner with the governor.
Capital Starship (Ixan Legacy Book 1) Page 7
