Well-Traveled Rhodes (Kinsella Universe Book 6)

by Gina Marie Wylie

  “Is that it?” Lieutenant Servien said, looking at Captain Lafarge, then the JAG Captain. “Can’t I appeal?”

  “Appeal what?” the JAG officer said, shaking her head. “You were transferred, not punished. The unit you have been transferred to is one of the most decorated units in the Fleet. No reduction in rank, no pay stoppage... not even a written reprimand. A simple verbal admonishment to do better next time. Count your blessings, Lieutenant. Now, if you please, I’m for bed too.”

  “Just like that? I’m sentenced to death and there’s no appeal?”

  Commander Shapiro laughed. “I’ll give you a hint, Lieutenant. I will ask the very first question of you when you report to me. Review, sir, the survival percentages of the first combat mission of officers trained in a routine fighter transition class and those trained aboard Rome.

  “You may go now, Lieutenant, before you open your mouth one too many times. I suggest you do a lot of reading between now and then. Engage your brain, Lieutenant, not your mouth.”

  Lieutenant Servien left and Commander Shapiro turned to Cindy and Lieutenant Zodiac. “Zodiac, escort Ensign Rhodes to her quarters. Remember, we’re now at 100% of our TO and E. After this, until we get some trade, you’ll need the captain’s permission to transfer someone. I don’t expect that to happen.”

  “No, Commander.”

  “Get going! We all have a long day ahead of us, and it’s not getting any earlier.”

  *** ** ***

  Cindy sat a moment later on her bunk again; Ensign Moon sat facing her across the compartment. “How much did you understand, just now?” the ensign asked her.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. How could you know what happened? I just came from there.”

  He smiled. “Ah! How soon we forget! Do you think intelligence isn’t alerted when someone wakes up the admiral and the captain in the middle of the night? Do you think they hold Captain’s Masts after midnight on a routine basis? My boss was alerted, then, since it concerned you, I was briefed a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, how much did you understand?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. That Lieutenant, Servien, didn’t move out of the way like everyone else. Then she said some things that weren’t very nice.”

  “Do you understand that she came this close,” he held up his fingers a fraction of an inch apart, “to being shot? She may yet be, if she doesn’t do well in fighter transition?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, looking confused. “She said some mean things, that’s all.”

  “And you paraded around with a placard of cardboard with some words written on it. You didn’t understand the implications of what you were doing and neither did the lieutenant.

  “We’re at war, Cindy. A war unlike any war the human race has ever fought before. No enemy has ever before been as intent on our complete and utter destruction as a species. An implacable enemy, one who won’t talk to us, shows no sign that they recognize our existence beyond acknowledging our presence. And when they see us, they use great huge thermonuclear weapons to destroy us.

  “We have to prepare ourselves for this war, a war like none other. A war, that, so far, we’re not winning.

  “We have to adapt, we have to fight this war in a manner different than we’ve fought wars before. We, each of us individually, have to put out 110% of what we’re capable. Or more. We have to work together as a team so that not only do we get that 110% from each of us, we get the synergistic magnification that comes from teamwork, where the output is greater than the sum of the parts.

  “This requires people from diverse backgrounds and experience levels to come together for the good of us all. We have to be on the same page, Cindy. Above all, we all have to be pulling in the same direction. People like Lieutenant Servien don’t pay attention. They have their noses rubbed in it, yet come away without the least understanding.

  “The only reason Servien is still alive is that her boss stood up for her. Without Captain LaFarge there, it would have been a much shorter Captain’s Mast. Captain Sanchez would have listened to a bare bones recitation of what happened and would have remanded Servien for a general court-martial for conduct unbecoming an officer and for conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline.

  “They are unlikely to have shot her for saying that you and Lieutenant Zodiac were behaving lewdly; they would have shot her for her comments about teenage officers and Hannah Sawyer, even if she didn’t have a clue who she was talking about. It is direct evidence of a complete lack of competence. If Servien’s boss hadn’t been there and spoken for her, about noon or thereabouts, Servien would have had a Special Board and two hours later she would have been shot and a few minutes after that they’d have tossed her remains out an airlock.”

  Cindy thought about it all. “You’re saying I don’t have a much better understanding of this than she did, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. Although I’d have to say that you are a quick learner, know how to keep your mouth shut and don’t make the same mistake twice.” He pointed to her bunk.

  “Now you should get some sleep. You have a very long day ahead of you.” He grinned. “I’ve seen your schedule; Commander Shapiro has determined that you don’t have the need to know just yet. But you will be busy!”

  Chapter 3 -- Götterdämmerung

  Cindy laid down without bothering to take off her shipsuit and this time had no trouble falling asleep.

  The next morning, Commander Shapiro was talking to Zodiac when Cindy reported. He smiled at her and left the commander’s small cube of an office without saying anything to Cindy.

  “Normally, Ensign, a new junior officer reporting aboard spends the morning being escorted around the ship to various departments. That’s both a tour and a chance for you to sign in with the appropriate staffs. We don’t have time for that. In an hour you’ll be in an orientation class; I expect you to pay more attention than Lieutenant Servien did in hers. I can’t afford to have you making dumb mistakes.

  “At 0915 you will attend a briefing of all squadron officers; that is all squadron commanders, execs and ops officers. At 1100 Zulu, Zodiac and I will go over the squadron with you and give you a brief orientation concerning your duties. We’ll break for lunch and the afternoon and evening will be devoted to learning your job. Tomorrow morning, 0700, we’ll begin the formal squadron work up. You’ll learn more about that in the meeting later this morning.

  “Right now, I’ll show you your work space, and then when Captain Innis Wakia shows up, you’ll go with her. She’s the Staff Intelligence Officer. You need to have all of her i’s dotted and t’s crossed before you can go much further.

  “Come.” The last word was preemptory.

  They walked out of the commander’s office, into a much larger cubical adjoining it. There was a desk just inside, facing the opposite wall... but back three meters from it. “The exec doesn’t rate an office with a door; the ops officer doesn’t rate an office, with or without a door. But you do get really nice graphics.”

  She walked over and placed her hand on the desk, and it sprang into life. “Today’s morning flight ops schedule,” Commander Shapiro spoke aloud.

  In front of them, in the empty space above the desk, a projection appeared, with a blinking blue dot in the middle, and yellow trails that split off from the blue dot, going out to various areas marked in red.

  Commander Shapiro waved her hand in the area of the projection. She pointed at the blue dot. “That is Rome. The yellow lines are the assigned flight routes to the marked exercise areas. The Wing Commander has an operations staff of seven; they set the overall daily training goals. It’s up to us, each squadron, to implement them. Each squadron has its own exercise area for right now, so we can practice squadron deployment without interference from our sister squadrons.”

  Commander Shapiro spoke into the air, “Show Second Squadron plot.”

  One of the yellow lines and regi
ons turned red.

  “Operations has its own computer, although it’s networked into Rome’s net. It is one very, very massive computer, too. The ops desk will be keyed to you once Captain Wakia confirms your credentials.”

  “I don’t have any credentials,” Cindy told her.

  The commander smiled. “I’ll give you a clue: your next door neighbor. Even before the war, they’d done a complete background investigation on you and everyone in your family. Since the war, you’ve been under full time surveillance.”

  Cindy grimaced. Her father was the Federation Senator for Pacifica. What were the odds that he was ignorant of such a thing? None. Not the surveillance, not the investigations.

  Commander Shapiro spent more time going over the basic computer equipment in what was to be Cindy’s duty station. After about a half hour a woman entered the compartment. She was about thirty, short and pudgy, limp brown hair and weak blue eyes.

  “Captain Wakia,” Commander Shapiro said, rising. “Here is Ensign Rhodes.”

  The two women smiled pleasantly at each other. To Cindy it looked as innocuous as two cats contemplating a fight. “Come with me, Ensign,” the captain commanded and Cindy dutifully followed her.

  Down the corridor, up an elevator, down another corridor and into a room that looked like a formal interview room. There was a small table, two wooden chairs, sitting facing each other on either side of the table.

  “Be seated, Ensign.”

  Cindy sat down, while the other turned her back on Cindy and fetched a single sheet of paper from the top of a cabinet. She turned back to Cindy, putting the paper down on the table between them, the lettering facing Cindy.

  “This is your oath, Ensign. Please read it silently and indicate to me when you are finished.”

  Cindy looked at the rather plain piece of paper. Fleet Aloft’s comet ran down the left margin, a bare two lines of print, then two signature blocks at the bottom, one for her, one for a witness.

  The wording was simple: “I most solemnly affirm that as an officer of Fleet Aloft I shall defend the Federation, obey the orders of those placed over me and keep faith with those under my command and that I shall maintain the highest standards of personal conduct in the performance of my duty. So help me.”

  “I’ve read it, Captain,” Cindy told her. “I gave an oath, exactly like this once before, back at Fleet Headquarters.”

  The captain ignored Cindy. “When you are ready, you may request a sacred text such as the Bible, Quoran or Torah to swear on. Or not. Know, Ensign, that in the Fleet an officer’s word, an officer’s oath, an officer’s promise, is both the foundation and the keystone of everything we do. In peacetime being caught in a lie would see you beached. Ship captains were known to go out of their way to discharge oath breakers.

  “Now, we have a war. Oath breakers could mean the end of us all. Now, swearing falsely, not keeping the faith, is subject to swift and terrible punishment. We can. We will. I promise you.”

  “And if I were to say I won't take it?” Cindy asked, curious.

  “You would be lying, which means you can’t be trusted. Don’t worry; we don’t execute people who refuse the oath. We don’t punish them in any way. You’ll be taken home and returned to your parents.”

  “Just like that, eh?” Cindy asked.

  “Yes. However you might want to think about the consequences of what that would mean. You would never be able to hold any position that required trust. No one, not even a burger joint, would let you work for them. Janitors have few openings for employees who can’t become bonded. Your worst nightmare.”

  “I was curious, is all,” Cindy told her, meaning it.

  The other smiled. “Sign the form, raise your right hand. If you want a religious text, let me know and it will be procured.”

  Cindy signed the paper, gave her oath, just holding her hand over her heart.

  Another piece of paper, this time the security oath Ensign Moon had talked about.

  Again she read it silently, while the captain watched. When Cindy said she was ready, this time the captain gave more of an explanation.

  “In the course of your duties, you will hear many things of a classified nature, particularly concerning operational plans, but occasionally incidental things of a classified nature. There would be no faster way to cause the destruction of the Federation than for our enemies to learn our operational plans. Those operations plans are most zealously guarded, Ensign. Even when it comes to small incidental items, you will never, ever, want to transgress the secrecy regulations. Not ever.

  “In addition to operational plans, you will also be privy to weapons and tactics, information that is also closely held.”

  “I understand, Captain. I’m ready to take the oath.”

  “And, last by not least, your roommate is an intelligence officer. You may not ask questions about his work, and if he should inadvertently say anything you must report it. You must report it if he should talk to you about his duties in any fashion.”

  “Was it okay for him to tell me his duties are classified? And that whatever I said to him would be reported?”

  The captain met her eyes. “Aboard a ship of the Fleet, duty assignments are not classified; what that duty consists of may or may not be classified. That he told you that what you talk about in front of him may be reported is just common sense. Rome is in the process of converting to a fully wired ship; that is, everything everywhere is recorded and stored permanently.”

  “They talked about that last night at the Captain’s Mast,” Cindy said.

  “Yes. One last thing. You have heard the penalties for what will happen to you if you violate the security oath. Be advised that if you hear anyone doing anything in any way that might be a security compromise; you must report it, even if you’re not sure.

  “Once upon a time in the Fleet, as it was in the old ‘wet’ navies, speculation about the destination of the ship was a favorite pastime. Now it is a matter of life and death of the Federation. It’s not just frowned upon, it’s a death sentence.” Captain Wakia smiled genially. “You don’t want to make a mistake.”

  Cindy took that oath as well, and then Captain Wakia led her to a compartment where a chief petty officer stood at a podium at the front of the room. A room where a half dozen people worked at computer screens.

  “Chief Lewis, this is Ensign Rhodes. She has to leave in fifty minutes for a meeting. Between now and then, get her started and explain things.”

  The chief glanced at Cindy and spoke smartly to Captain Wakia, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  He turned back to Cindy. “This is the classroom for Basic Certificates, Ensign. I have reviewed your records with your squadron commander. She will allow you to be here for one hour during the duty day and you are permitted to be here at such off-duty hours as you wish -- not to exceed eight hours in each twenty-four.

  “The purpose of this instruction is to bring your knowledge up to that of the average six-year-old Rim Runner. Basic Life Support, Basic Sensors, Basic Flight, Basic Communications and Basic Computer Operation. Once you get those out of the way, we’ll give you a general knowledge exam and start on more advanced course work.”

  He went on to explain the procedures, repeating the warning Ensign Moon had given her that you had to be careful not to miss any questions on those exams. “Advanced Mechanics, Ensign, that’s supposed to be hard. Ditto for Benko-Chang physics. At the pinnacle of the Fleet Certificates are the watchkeeping certificates. For sensors, the different flavors of engineering, navigation, communications, electronics... there are about a dozen all told. Those are the princes of certification. The king is the bridge watchkeeping certificate. Nothing is more important than that certificate, and you will need to earn it over the next two or three years.

  “I was, Ensign, at Maunalua when Terry Morrison stood for his Bridge Certificate. I saw him get dinged for two tenths of a point for not knowing the routine Morning Report form numbers, thus ruining his chances for a D
ouble Max, as he’d already maxed the engineering watchkeeping Certificate. Lieutenant Morrison, Ensign Rhodes, had been an officer for three months when he took the exam, although he was a graduate of the Gagarin School... their last graduating class before the war. He never made it to his virgin deployment, now he’s a full commander, commanding the corvette Ridgeway.

  “All things are possible, Ensign. Now, please, sit down and commence.”

  It seemed like a moment passed, and Cindy was walking down the corridor, Mongo Zodiac at her side. “Planning meetings,” he told her, “are the bane of our existence; however, do your job right and they’ll be the making of yours,” he told her.

  “I want to do it right,” Cindy told him.

  He laughed bitterly, “That’s no way to think about it. You have to do your job right. Or I die or someone else in the squadron dies. Rome dies, maybe the Federation.”

  “Then why am I here?” she asked, unsure of herself.

  “Because what we’ve done up to now has been good, but we need better. We need to turn the war around. We’ve slowed the avalanche of systems being destroyed. In the first days it was a couple of hundred a month. Now it’s down to one every month or two. At some point though, we will run out of systems unless we stop it altogether.”

  They were stopped by a phalanx of Marines guarding a door. Cindy offered up hand prints and retinal prints to pass through. In a few minutes they were sitting next to Commander Shapiro at a long table filled with officers, a great many of whom seemed to glance at Cindy, blink in surprise and then stare at her.

  Zodiac seemed oblivious. He turned to Cindy and whispered, “You were no doubt told about the dire penalties for talking out of turn.”

  “Yes, XO,” she told him.

  He stuck his tongue out at Cindy. “Well, this is one of the few places you can say as you please. I’ll tell you one secret that not even our glorious squadron commander was going to tell you -- we are going to go over our operational plans for a forthcoming battle. Listen close, listen real close, missy ops officer! Because when it comes time to comment on the plans, they start at the most junior officer present. They don’t want you being influenced by seniors... or for you to try to curry favor with a senior.