Citizen X - BP01

by DePrima, Thomas

  "Just what the hell are you doing on my boat, Lieutenant?"

  Sydnee, standing at attention in front of the desk, stiffened even more as the Captain practically spit the words at her. "I don't understand the question, sir. I was posted to the Perry."

  "I know that, Marcola. I want to know why. I've read through your file several times and examined every entry. You graduated twelfth in your class from the Academy and seventh from your class at the WCI. Your file is full of comments from your instructors that contain glowing praise for your hard work and dedication. You've never been in any trouble, and there's not a single use of 'pestiferous' anywhere in your history. So why are you on the Perry?"

  "I was assigned here, sir. That's all I know."

  Captain Lidden grimaced. "That's not good enough. I want to know what you did to wind up here. Who did you piss off enough to be sent to my ship?"

  "Sir, I honestly don't know why I was sent here. I expected to receive a posting to a warship in Region Two. My posting here came as a complete surprise."

  The Captain came out from behind his desk to face Sydnee and stare into her eyes. Not too long ago, he would have been in the final months of his years in space, but since the mandatory age for space duty had been increased from sixty-five to eighty-five, he would be able to spend another twenty years on the Perry. That is, if he wished to remain on the Perry for twenty more years, or until someone screwed up even worse than he had and hadn't been booted from the service, thus freeing him to receive a posting to a better ship.

  "I don't buy it, Lieutenant," he said, his face just inches from hers. At five-ten, he stood a full inch shorter. Sydnee could feel his hot breath on her face and smell a hint of garlic with each exhale. "Space Command doesn't send bright young officers to the Perry unless there's something in their past to justify it. Now, I'm asking you again. Why are you on my boat?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. I know of nothing I've done that would justify assignment to other than a top-caliber vessel."

  Lidden exhaled noisily and walked back behind his desk. As he plopped into his chair and brushed his hand over his curly black hair, he said, "At ease, Lieutenant."

  Sydnee relaxed noticeably but continued to stare straight ahead.

  "I hate mysteries when they have to do with my crew," the Captain said, "and your being here is a mystery. The last time I had such a mystery, it turned out the officer was from Intelligence. They had done a very credible job with his file, but something didn't smell right. I didn't learn he was SCI until after he was transferred off the Perry."

  "I'm not SCI, sir."

  "Perhaps not, but something doesn't ring true. We'll find out what it is, eventually. You'll be on third watch with Lieutenant Milton, whom you've already met. Normally, watch commanders hold the rank of Lt. Commander, but we're at minimal complement at present. Report to the armory to pick up your personal battle armor, then get some sleep. That's all."

  "Excuse me, sir. Did you say personal battle armor?"

  "I did."

  "Um, may I ask why sir? Don't the Marines go in first and ensure that everyone is disarmed?"

  "That's what they teach at the WCI, but we don't have any Marine pilots on board so we have to provide the transportation. Your file says you're shuttle-, fighter-, and MAT-certified. Besides, all my people wear personal battle armor when boarding other vessels during interdiction activities. I'm never losing another officer to some crazy with a lattice pistol who wants to shoot it out. This is the last stop for me. Another incident, even a minor one, and I'll be flying a desk on some god-forsaken planet no one ever heard of and doesn't want to hear of. Don't make that happen or, if you survive, I promise you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Perfectly, sir."

  "Dismissed."

  "Yes, sir."

  Sydnee came to attention, saluted, turned on her left heel and exited the room. All hands on the bridge looked in her direction as she crossed from the briefing room to the exit corridor. Sydnee smiled weakly at them and continued without stopping. This wasn't the time to try to establish new friendships.

  Rather than ask someone how to locate the armory, she returned to her quarters and used her computer to find it on the ship's layout. She hurried to reach it so she could return and get some sleep, but she got turned around somehow. She knew the frame number and deck but couldn't find a path through the labyrinth of corridors. She kept encountering bulkheads that blocked her path no matter which way she tried. She finally backtracked most of the way to her quarters and discovered where she had gone wrong. As she began her trek again, she put aside all the thoughts that had been crowding her mind and concentrated on finding her way to the right section and deck.

  When Sydnee entered the armory, the door closed behind her and she found herself enclosed in a cubicle of transparent polycarbonate. She was required to perform a retinal scan for identification before the Marine on the other side of the bombproof barrier would allow her to proceed further. The armory was the one place she'd seen so far that looked to be the equivalent of what she'd expect on a new ship. Of course, that was because it was just a room full of weapons and support gear. They couldn't very well outfit her with outdated weapons, so everything there was state of the art.

  "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" the Marine Staff Sgt. asked as she stepped up to the counter.

  "The Captain sent me down to get personal battle armor."

  "Gonna join our guys and gals on a mission or two?" he asked with a chuckle as he checked his computer monitor.

  "That would appear to be the situation, Sergeant."

  He already had her ID info from her log-in, so he said, "Be right back," then turned to walk towards a long row of lockers at the back of the armory. He returned a few minutes later carrying a duffel almost as large as he was. He lifted it and dropped it on the counter with a thud.

  "Here you go, Lieutenant. Everything was prepared from measurements sent to the ship when you were assigned here. In addition to a complete set of personal battle armor, you're receiving a laser pistol and rifle, both with extra packs and rechargers, two knives, rifle sling, holster, knife sheaths and belt, two pairs of boots, CT signal repeater, and various sundries. You're responsible for all equipment. Lose any of it and it comes out of your pay." He extended a viewpad towards her and said, "Press your thumb here, please."

  "We were taught to always check all items before signing for them, Sergeant," she replied instead of simply accepting his word that everything was in the duffel.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said with a slight grimace before removing everything and repacking it one item at a time as Sydnee nodded acceptance.

  "Satisfied, Lieutenant?" the sergeant asked as he sealed the duffel.

  "Completely. Thank you, Sergeant," Sydnee said as she signed for the equipment by pushing her thumb onto the viewpad he was again holding out to her. As she grabbed the duffel, she braced herself for a weight she could barely handle and pulled it off the counter with a jerk. But the duffle was surprisingly light. It couldn't weigh more than fifteen pounds.

  "I saw you pack everything with my own eyes, but this doesn't seem right, Sergeant," Sydnee said to the Marine.

  "Yes, ma'am. Are you asking because it's so light?"

  "Yes."

  "The armor is the new stuff. The Tafton just delivered it with our ordnance and other supplies. Have you worn personal armor before?"

  "Yes, during summer maneuvers in my third year at the Academy we were shown how to put it on. And while at the WCI, everyone was required to wear it for a full day to gain an appreciation for how difficult it could be for Marines to enter and exit an aircraft under a variety of conditions. But the personal body armor on both occasions weighed in at over a hundred twenty pounds, not counting the weapons."

  "This new armor weighs just one tenth of that and is said to be impervious to laser, lattice, and lead projectiles. Dakinium, I think they call it."

  "Yes, that's the compound A
dmiral Carver discovered on Dakistee."

  "Yeah. Her Marines in Region Two were the first to get it, and I've heard it's saved quite a few lives. As production has ramped up, more and more commands are getting their allotment, but I was surprised to see it listed on our shipping manifest so soon. I thought it would be another year or two before we got our first shipment."

  "They say it's almost indestructible."

  "Yeah. You can still be ripped apart by a grenade landing in your lap or by a rocket that slices your head off at the shoulders, but they claim that shrapnel will never penetrate this body armor. The armor will just go to someone else once the blood is washed off."

  "That's reassuring," she managed to say with a straight face.

  "Yeah. The rifle and pistol are also made from it. I'm told they can't be damaged. The grips on both are keyed to your DNA, so no one else can discharge the weapons without a complete reprogram. If you're wearing the supplied gloves, they read your DNA and communicate it to the grips."

  "Thank you, Sergeant."

  "Yes, ma'am, Lieutenant."

  Back in her quarters, Sydnee stood the duffel in a corner of the bedroom. It seemed to take up a third of the room, but that was only because her quarters were so small. A century ago, when ships like the Perry were being designed, the junior officer staterooms were so tiny that one had to go out into the corridor to change one's mind. Sydnee's entire quarters of bedroom, bath, and office/sitting room would fit into just the bedroom of a junior officer on new ships.

  Tiny quarters were largely a holdover from wet navy days when space was at a premium and larger spaces meant larger ships with increased fuel needs. When man moved into space, the cost of lifting material into space for the construction of ships meant that every ounce of weight was precious. But as space travel became common, studies proved there was a direct correlation between the amount of personal space aboard ship to contentment of crewmembers during long voyages where they might not make planet-fall for months or years. Personal quarters had grown in size every decade since then until it was decided that an optimum had been reached. Unfortunately, that occurred many decades after the Perry was designed.

  There was no immediate need for the personal armor, and Sydnee was due on the bridge at midnight, so she opted for sack time over examination of the equipment. She stripped down and pulled her pajamas on in less time than it took to get the lights turned off because an oral command didn't work. She finally climbed out of her rack and searched until she located the manual override switch. At least the gel-comfort mattress on the bed worked properly. Once she got the temperature and firmness settings correct, it felt like she was sleeping on a cloud. She set a wakeup call with the computer and then fell into a deep sleep. Her ability to fall asleep in minutes had always been a great asset. While others would have tossed and turned in a new and unfamiliar setting, she was quickly cocooned in slumber.

  Chapter Three

  ~ Oct. 24th, 2284 ~

  "The Clidepp Empire falls further into disarray every day," Admiral Bradlee said to the nine other admirals sitting at the large horseshoe-shaped table. The regularly convened meeting of the group was taking place at the Admiralty Board Hall at Space Command Supreme Headquarters in Nebraska, USNA on earth. "Their central government is crumbling. For a long time I've felt they were ripe for another coup d'état, but now I believe a civil war will break out in the territory before a junta can take over. The oligarchy has brutally and systematically stripped wealth from all other planets to support the excesses of the wealthy at home. It's been a formula for disaster throughout the history of many races."

  "How soon do you expect hostilities to break out, Roger?" Admiral Platt asked. In her role as Commander of the First Fleet, it would be her job to contain problems at the border.

  "We could see a formal declaration of secession any day. We've received reports that people are queuing up daily at embassies to get visas before things heat up too much for them to get out."

  "Then we have little time to prepare."

  "Our only saving grace is that their ships are so slow it may take years for many of them to reach our territory, if that's their destination. I'm sure many will travel near the Empire's outer perimeter to avoid getting involved in the conflict. The first groups to arrive, those from planets closest to GA space, will come directly towards us and could cross the border into our space within six months. The Galactic Alliance Council must formulate a plan for handling the situation. Do we let them in or not? We can't dictate what action the planets in GA Space should take. It's their decision alone whether to allow or deny access to refugees; however, we can restrict travel by anyone not having either a passport or visa. I don't know how the Aguspod will react to a civil war in a neighboring nation— they're having their own problems— but we can be confident the Kweedee Aggregate will block any ships from entering their space. They normally bar all travel except diplomatic missions, and they only allow minimal contact in that regard. Since we don't share a border with the Blenod, and their nation is too far distant for us to have ever had any direct contact before the new speeds became available, we can't begin to calculate how they'll respond to refugees entering their space."

  "We can't possibly prevent a massive refugee migration into our territory," Admiral Hillaire said. "Our resources have been shifted towards Region Two. Until that conflict is settled one way or the other, we can't give the Clidepp border the attention it deserves."

  "Once refugees make it to habitable planets," Admiral Plimley said, "we'll never be able to evict them. They'll be so entrenched that the task would be insurmountable."

  "As Roger says," Admiral Moore, Chairman of the Admiralty Board, said, "the GAC will have to decide policy on this issue. I'll present it at tomorrow's meeting. Until we know their desires, there's little we can do, but let's start thinking about what resources we can move into place. We can't shift warships from the Region One border with Region Two, but perhaps we can shift some ships in the center of the Region towards the Clidepp border just in case we must address the massive refugee migration Arnold alluded to."

  * * *

  Sydnee reported to the bridge a few minutes before midnight. Lieutenant Milton was already there, receiving a situation pass-down on new and standing orders. She approached the two men and waited until acknowledged before moving into conversation range.

  "Hello Lieutenant," Milton said. "This is Commander Bryant, our XO. Commander, this is our new officer, Lt. Sydnee Marcola."

  Bryant extended his hand and shook Sydnee's when she responded with her own. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "You'll be taking over as navigator on third watch," Bryant said. "When we engage a ship for cargo inspection, you'll move to a tactical station until it's time to continue as navigator, or report to the flight deck to shuttle people over to the stopped vessel."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'm headed to my quarters. You have the ship, Milty. Goodnight, both."

  "Goodnight, sir," both Milton and Sydnee said as Commander Bryant stepped away and headed for the corridor.

  Milton made an entry in the pass-down log regarding the watch change before taking Sydnee around the bridge and introducing her to the rest of the third watch staff. He then invited her to join him at the Command chair. Even though they were currently docked at the Space Station, regulations required that a full watch be present on the bridge at all times. Since there was so little to do in these situations, most watch commanders permitted the watch to engage in light conversation, but all crewmembers had to remain at their posts unless specifically excused by the watch commander.

  As Milton climbed into the Commander's chair, he gestured toward the First Officer's chair immediately to his left. He waited until Sydnee was seated before saying quietly, "Bry says the Captain is pretty upset with you."

  "Upset with me? Why?"

  "Because he doesn't know what you did to warrant a berth on the Perry."

&nbs
p; "I'd tell him if I knew."

  "Would you? Honestly?"

  "Of course. I shouldn't have to though. If I'd screwed up somewhere, it would be in my file."

  "That's why he's so upset. Your file indicates that you shouldn't be here."

  "Um, why is he here?"

  "He was the Captain of the Santiago back when the incident happened."

  "Um, what incident?"

  "You haven't heard of the Santiago interdiction tragedy? What the heck are they teaching at WCI these days?"

  "I don't recall hearing anything."

  "Well, sixteen years ago the Santiago stopped a freighter for inspection and sent in a company of Marines to prepare the way for the SC inspection team. When they got the all-clear signal, the inspectors shuttled over to begin checking records and cargo. One of the inspectors discovered a cargo container that was giving some unusual readings. It was supposed to contain an unprocessed, low-density ore, but the densimeter readings were way too high. Two inspectors suited up in EVA gear and prepared to climb down into the container to investigate. That's when members of the freighter crew opened fire on the inspection team with laser weapons. They killed the two Space Command officers and wounded six Marines. The Marines would most likely have been killed as well, except they were wearing personal body armor. They managed to kill all five attackers and lock down the ship, but our two guys were DOA."

  "But surely that wasn't the Captain's fault. The Marines were responsible for securing the ship."

  "A ship's captain is responsible for everything that occurs aboard his ship or during any activities connected with the ship, unless he can prove negligence or intent on the part of a subordinate. The investigative body decided the Marine officer in command wasn't negligent, so that left only the Captain to take the fall. Since the deaths hadn't occur aboard ship, weren't the result of an order he gave, and he had no direct involvement in the action, they didn't force him out of the service or plant him at a desk dirt-side. However, someone had to be punished, so they did the next closest thing. They stuck him here to perform his atonement."