“You really do have a bad habit with those cigars,” Reggie said.
“I really do,” Drexler said, lighting up. The smoke swirling around his head allowed his mind to drift with it.
Drexler sat back down in his office chair and coasted over to the transparent bulkhead. The rough steel casters rumbled across the smooth deck plates describing a contrast between the ancient and the new. He leaned forward and placed elbows to knees as he puffed.
The Armada idled in a circle one-hundred-fifty kilometers around. All ships faced inward, pointing at the remaining recaptured vessels. Shuttles began towing serviceable remnants into the circle from space. The recycling program yielded many useful components. It also presented the grim task of sorting through dead bodies trapped in the twisted remnants of hull. Surplus parts piled up in cargo holds as spoils of war, ready to be sold on the open market, whenever open markets might be re-established.
They were shocked to discover Trade Union members among the dead. Apparently, the Lizards used other species as slave labor aboard the ships. Morale took a major blow when the Armada discovered that, in fighting the Reptilians, they also killed their own. Even the ships crewed by criminals showed great care in dealing with hull fragments that contained dead bodies. They were very careful to pack the remains for future identification. Inquiries regarding burial practices spiked across the comm channels. The work was grim.
The tobacco smoke gave Drexler the excuse he needed to relax. He tried not to think about the implications of his disappearance from the bridge. He just wanted a few minutes to himself. It just happened to be a very bad time. The rules of leadership demanded a strong and constant presence at a time like this. On the other hand, he would not be good to anyone without some respite.
“Comm to Captain Fleetfoot,” came the call.
Drexler resisted another vulgar oath and answered, “Captain here.”
“I have an encrypted signal coming from Medina 3 orbit over the tangler channels.”
Drexler cocked his head. What could it be? Medina 3 orbit? That meant a ship circling the planet, with access to high-security comms. His brother-in-law contacted him days ago and let him know he might be coming. That might be him.
“Open channel,” Drexler replied.
“Hello, brother,” the voice said.
“Margaret!” Drexler fired up from his chair like a rocket.
“I’m on my way to you,” Margaret said, always direct.
Equally direct, Drexler replied, “I don’t want you here, Margaret.”
“Why the hell not!”
“Too damn dangerous.”
“Bullshit!” Margaret shouted. They grew up using Tradespeak, but Ancient English often expressed sentiments Tradespeak could not.
“OK, then. But you stay in the rear with the support squadron.”
“Bullshit again. You need all the good officers you can get.”
“I have good officers. I hired a lot of good officers in your ten-year absence.”
“You wasted no time throwing that at me.”
“Not really, I was a bit late. It should have been my opener.”
Margaret paused. Drexler heard angry, rapid breathing on the channel.
“I’m coming home whether you like it or not,” Margaret said.
“This is nobody’s home anymore, Margaret. This is a warship.”
“Bullshit one more time. It’s both.”
Drexler broke when Margaret’s voice softened. She knew she had him. Drexler could not stop her from coming. If he barred her from the ship, she’d just find another. “Please,” Margaret said. “Don’t make me beg, OK. I need to be there.”
Drexler sat again and puffed his cigar. He inhaled the smoke this time and ended up coughing.
“Drexler…are you smoking?” His answer was continued coughing. “I thought you just ran that stuff, not that you used it. Nasty.”
Drexler’s coughing turned to laughter. “Yeah, I got the Reptiles hooked on it, now I am too.”
“Idiot. See why you need me there?”
“To nag me about smoking? No thanks.”
“Come on, Drexler. Do this for me.”
Drexler switched back to Tradespeak. “Yes. We have a position for you. I’m about to have an opening for a First Officer.”
“Two things,” Margaret said. “What about Mumlo, and how do you expect to outrank your big sister?”
“Don’t worry about Mumlo. He’ll be fine. You and I will just have to work something out.”
“We will be there in five more days,” Margaret said.
“We’ll be here. The Armada is still regrouping.”
Drexler closed the channel and snuffed out his cigar on an ashtray improvised from a used mini fusion cell vessel. He splashed some cold water on his face in the bathroom basin and headed back to the bridge.
As worrisome as it was, the prospect of having Margaret aboard gave him a solution to another, more immediate problem. The Jubilee had no First Officer. The manner in which Drexler dismissed her former First Officer did not go over well with the Armada. In his rough estimation, opinions were split right down the middle among the all-volunteer crew on whether Drexler was in the right. The political situation was tenuous at best and presented the first real challenge to what was becoming a formal command structure.
Formal control was inevitable. The fleet proved that it could work together in a pinch, but it was easy to follow a strong leader during battle. Fourseven proved herself a ready commander who got results. Drexler, on the other hand, had to work harder with the mundane and the crucial aspects of the fleet alike. He was the day-to-day voice of authority. Or at least, he aimed to be. This whole thing was his plan. He felt constant pressure to continue earning the loyalty of the other Captains To do that, he had to come up with more good answers than bad. Good answers worked, bad answers caused problems. The scenario was not sustainable. He needed something to cement him once-and-for-all as the Armada leader.
Appointing Mumlo as First Officer of the Jubilee seemed like a good move. Mumlo established himself as a strong, trustworthy leader in his dealings with the other Captains. The downside was the potential appearance that Drexler was installing a functionary on another ship. But that was the worst scenario Drexler could imagine. He and Mumlo were not the best of friends, but the old Forest Child understood what the Armada meant, and he was not about to pull a power move to take over. He’d already demonstrated loyalty, albeit grudging, to Drexler’s command.
He found Mumlo on the bridge as always. It seemed the Forest Child gave up sleep. Mumlo saw him coming.
“Why do I feel you are up to something?” Mumlo said.
“Because you’ve known me since I was five years old, and I am always up to something.”
Mumlo’s laughter sounded like shifting earth. “What is it, then?”
“I want you to be the First Officer of the Jubilee.”
“When do I start,” Mumlo replied.
“That was too easy,” Drexler said.
“Not for me, but it is the right choice. I saw it coming. Besides, Margaret will make a great replacement.”
Drexler stepped two paces back and looked up at Mumlo with comical surprise.
“It’s a small crew,” Mumlo said. “I heard she called and did the calculations.”
“OK, then,” Drexler said. It was the only reply he could come up with.
“On the condition that I can stay for at least a day to spend some time with her,” Mumlo said, then added, “With both of you.”
Drexler could not deny that request. Although Mumlo and Drexler did not get along, he was still part of the family. “Of course. Whatever you need to do. I will inform Captain Aahloh. You have your work cut out for you over there.”
“It will be a challenge,” Mumlo replied. “What can I expect from Captain Aahloh.”
“You can expect a very competent and dedicated Professional Astronaut,” Drexler replied without hesitation. “He is on board
with Armada hierarchy. You shouldn’t have any problems in that area.”
“And other areas?” Mumlo asked.
“He’s going to need your help in other areas,” Drexler said.
“Understood,” Mumlo replied. He turned away and made his rounds through the bridge.
“You can get a head start on the job by figuring out what to do with the eighty dead Lizard bodies Aahloh has locked up in food storage,” Drexler said, then walked away.
Drexler stood in front of the bridge viewport. Outside, the Armada stayed busy with salvage operations, repairs, and supply exchanges. Ships carrying much-needed food and medicine started to trickle in from Medina 3. The Armada resembled the Trade Lanes in miniature, complete with freight runs and improvised shipyards.
Drexler wondered whether he’d done a good thing for a decent person, or whether he set a timed charge that might explode in the form of a murderous captain in command of an artificially-intelligent spaceship.
“Time will tell,” Drexler said to his reflection. “Strange days.” His breath fogged the viewport.
Another call came in from the Armada, then another. Before he knew it, Drexler was making barter deals, arranging labor swaps, calling around for spare parts and connecting Captains with other Captains who had problems of equal or lesser value for sale or trade.
***
Meetings began as soon as the Forest Child Transport reached a stable orbit. The taskforce was never busier, even though the ship was cleared of all agents and functionaries, save for Babak and his family. Margaret was also pleased and surprised that the young analyst from Medina 3 Orbital joined the team.
One of the more delicate negotiations Dhohal orchestrated was access of the taskforce to BJP Intelligence. Malik used the fact that Abhay had been cashiered from his military post as the basis of objection to passing sensitive information to the Taskforce. Never mind that it was Malik’s own treachery that got Abhay fired. Dhohal had to call in many favors from his friends from the Caliphate government to make Malik relent. But in return, the Caliphates took the opportunity to stack the taskforce with some of their own people.
The Forest Child General was not happy about it, and the BJP Colonel Meyers seemed a bit standoffish, but Margaret thought it was a boon. Dhohal believed it was a great advantage to their team as well. He and Margaret agreed that the added expertise, brain power, and political connections would help their work a great deal.
Margaret sat out one of the sessions to call her brother. The call was about as difficult as she expected. She managed to get him to at least agree to let her back on the ship. She was not expecting him to make her first officer, so she quit while she was ahead. She did not risk telling him that Abhay was along for the ride and that he planned to retake command of the former BJP soldiers aboard the Fleetfoot I .
She explained it to Abhay by saying, “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”
“What have I gotten myself into?” Abhay asked. He gave her that dopey grin that she loved so much. It was the grin that told her everything would be OK, even if it wasn’t. Margaret felt she was on the cusp of forgiving her husband, and she enjoyed it.
“I dealt with your crazy family for five years, now it’s time to deal with my crazy family,” Margaret said.
Mother Parveen cleared her throat behind them in the corridor. Margaret closed her eyes tight and groaned. “Oh, I put my foot in it,” she said.
“It would not be the first time, dear,” Parveen said.
Margaret turned around with a bashful expression that turned to utter shock when she saw Mother Parveen smile. “That is what families do,” she said. “I am hungry. I understand the Persians brought kabob.” With that, Parveen made her way aft to the common room.
For the first time, Margaret noticed Parveen’s movements looked stiff. She was starting to show the wear of her eighty years. Abhay noticed it too.
“Do you think she’ll hold up through this?” Margaret asked.
“My hearing is fine!” Parveen hollered over her shoulder.
“Both feet. Margaret said. “In mouth.”
“Yeah, you’re in trouble,” Abhay said.
“You don’t have to look so happy about it,” Margaret said, and planted a right cross on Abhay’s shoulder.
“Not a bad punch,” Abhay said, flexing his arm. “Next time, put your shoulder behind it more.”
After a quick meal, they were back in meetings again. The first three sessions were dedicated to politics, which made Margaret want to tear out her hair and stuff it in her ears. This session covered strategy and ship movements. That was precisely her bailiwick, so she arrived alert and ready to go.
It seemed nobody knew where to begin. The situation had a lot of moving parts.
“Let’s start with the latest development,” Margaret said.
“Good idea,” Colonel Meyers replied. She nodded to her assistant, who tapped his display scroll and mirrored its contents on the wall. “This,” Meyers said, rising to stand before the displayed data, “is the BJP fleet. It left blinkpoint translation from Chennai 5 two days ago and is well past the shock zone. It is heading on a direct course for the Armada.”
“Have they not contacted the Privateers yet?” Sahar asked.
“Only after the Armada hailed them,” Meyers replied.
“What did they say?” Margaret asked.
Meyers paused, scanned the room and said, “They informed the Armada of their ETA.”
Margaret fumed. She was sure Meyers held something back. “Was that all?” Margaret asked.
“Yes, and as for the retreating Reptilian fleet ―”
“Hold on there, Colonel,” Margaret interrupted. “I don’t think we’re done here yet. What is the disposition of the BJP ships? What is their plan? What do they intend to do with the Privateers?”
Meyers paused and hung her head for a moment. When she lifted her face to the team again, it appeared she made a decision. “The BJP intends to fold the Resistance Armada into the BJP army in the name of the Trade Union. Right now, my government is leader of what the Trade Union is calling the Protection Force.”
“Which as of now consists of what,” Margaret asked, “Four-hundred converted freighters?”
“And mining ships, and transport vessels and ore haulers, and any number of other ships coming out of the Luthra shipyards at Chennai 5,” Abhay said. “I read the reports.”
“The problem is ownership and command,” Margaret said. “The Armada is already established. These are volunteer ships ― thousands of private citizens putting up their own livelihoods ― their own companies into this war. They’re not just going to turn the whole thing over to some Admiral they’ve never met.”
“The mistake here,” Colonel Meyers said, “is the assumption that the Privateers have a choice.”
“Why would they not have a choice?” Margaret asked.
“The Trade Union charter does provide for the acquisition of civilian vessels in time of need,” Colonel Meyers replied.
“If I may,” Raakel interjected. “The charter is very complex on this issue. Many criteria must be met for the Trade Union to take possession or control of civilian fleets.”
“How do you know that?” Margaret asked. Her blunt question drew sharp looks from many present, but Raakel took it for the authentically curious question it was.
“I was a Trade Union lawyer and Caliphate Negotiation Minister for one of my careers,” Raakel replied.
“I see,” Margaret replied.
“Yes. All that’s in my summary report. Can we move on?” Colonel Meyers asked. Her normal patience seemed to be wearing thin.
“Let us leave that as an open question, then,” Parveen said. “Call it a factor. Let’s move on to intelligence reports.”
Colonel Meyers resumed her cool, professional demeanor and continued. “The bulk of the Reptilian battle fleet is three weeks away. It is headed for the center of the trade lanes.
Deep space stations
are being attacked along the way, so we are losing intelligence as the fleet progresses. What we do know is that fleet consists of more than a thousand vessels, from heavy attack cruisers, to support craft, troop transports, and many smaller ships we cannot identify.
If this fleet is allowed to establish itself, we have a problem.”
Margaret almost snorted laughter at the understatement. Abhay cast her the side-eye, and she reined herself in.
“So, the Armada needs to take action,” Abhay said. “We need to present them with a course of action.”
“That is the purpose of our Taskforce,” General Kuwan said. “We have authority from the Trade Union to plan on its behalf.”
“But now, we have this wrinkle with Malik ― that is, Admiral Luthra. We do not need a power struggle right now, but I have to tell you, I do not trust Luthra to make the right decisions here.”
To the great surprise of Margaret, and everyone else familiar with the conflict between Abhay and Malik, Colonel Meyers agreed. She visibly sagged with the admission, and her voice nearly sounded tearful.
“I would not have General Malik Luthra leading this operation,” Meyers admitted. “It is a breach of protocol, to say the least, for me to admit this.”
Abhay finally understood. “Colonel Meyers, I respect your commitment to duty and the chain of command. Thank you for your honesty.”
“Colonel Meyers,” Dhohal replied. “I understand the delicate position you are in. I stand behind you, and I am ready to provide alternatives if your position should become unbearable for you.”
Meyers rose to her full height again. “I understand,” she replied and cleared her throat. “In light of this, we have several options to present. We can request the BJP fleet remain in the Medina 3 system as defense and escort for the re-established trade lanes.”
“That would buy us some time,” Margaret replied. “The way I see it, we need to get the other Governments involved in a meaningful way. Right now, Malik has the power because he is one of two viable forces. If we get the Three Pillars involved, and the Federated Americas, his position drops down more than a few notches.”
“We can’t fight a war with political concerns like this,” Abhay said, slapping his palm on the table. “So far, we’ve discussed more politics than strategy!”
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 25
