by B. V. Larson
Ursahn and Shaw were both large predator-types. They weren’t good at lying. They could plan attacks, and they were powerful combatants, but they lacked a certain knack for deception that my own branch of the Kher tree was famous for. Primates were universally shunned by other Kher for exactly this reason.
“I think you didn’t forget,” Ursahn said at last. “I think you wanted Blake to win.”
Shaw stood up angrily and flexed his oddly jointed arms. “If you demand that the trial be repeated, it will be done next shift!” I could tell he was feeling insulted. Most Kher were pretty touchy even on good days.
From the deck, Dr. Chang moaned at the idea of another beating in the morning.
“No,” Ursahn said at last. “The results stand—but they may be reversed at any time by an upset in their group.”
“Of course…” Shaw said, calming down.
Ursahn looked at him still, then added: “Make sure you don’t take too many lessons from the humans, Commander. They are naturally dishonorable creatures.”
“We’re winners,” Dalton dared to say. “Winners make their own rules. Isn’t that what your code says, Captain?”
Ursahn looked at him in irritation. “Winning is critical, but a fair fight is always the best way to victory.”
My crew clearly disagreed, but I signaled them to shut up, and they complied for once.
A short while later we were sent back to our ship with some supplies. These included what the Rebels might call “proper uniforms” and sidearms. We also had a large amount of reconstructive liquids for healing injuries.
The last item they gave us, though, was the most precious.
“An anti-grav unit?” demanded Dalton, whistling in appreciation. “That was worth the beat-down.”
Miller showed up then, red-faced and sore. He had a crusty patch of hair missing where my club had taken off part of his scalp.
“That was insane,” he said, looking at us with his eyes alight. “You shocked me—I have to admit it, Blake. I never expected your sorry-looking crew to fight like tigers.”
“We lived this way for a full year on their ships,” I told him. “That’s just how things are up here in space, Chief.”
He stiffened. “What did you call me?”
“I called you by your rank,” I said. “It’s on your shoulder—see that single gold button? That’s your new insignia. If you work hard, in time you’ll get a line of metal. That will mean you’ve achieved the rank of ensign.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
“In the Rebel Fleet, geometric shapes indicate rank. You see how you have essentially a gold button? The more sides a given shape has, the higher the rank. Gold is senior, silver junior...”
“So… what am I?” Miller demanded.
“A button is a single point—that’s the lowest rank possible. But it’s a gold version, which makes you a step above the rest of your people.”
Miller stared at me in disbelief for a moment, then pointed to my insignia. “If I’m so low-ranked, what’s your emblem indicating?”
“Uh…” I said, glancing down. I hadn’t bothered to check it earlier.
The last time I’d served under Ursahn, I’d finished up as a Lieutenant. That had been indicated by a triangle. This time I was wearing a silver diamond.
“I’m a commander,” I said in surprise. “Junior grade. Good enough to be awarded the captaincy of a phase-ship, I guess.”
Miller was red-faced by now. “I’m an Air Force colonel, Blake. I’m not going to stand for a demotion. I spent twenty-five years—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I told him quickly. “You’re no longer in the U. S. Air Force, the Navy or even Space Command. You’re in the Rebel Fleet now, which is like joining the French Foreign Legion. Your past has been forgotten.”
“That’s wrong, and you know it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t make the rules, and I didn’t hand out these ranks. If it’s any consolation, when this war ends, you can call yourself whatever you want. But up here, we’re part of the Rebel Fleet. We live and die by their rules.”
“I refuse to—”
“Listen, Miller,” I said. “I understand how you feel. Luckily, there is a solution. The relief ship will be meeting us with the rest of the crew in about twenty hours. You can go back to Earth, if you like. The rest of your team can go home as well. I’ll release you and get a new support crew.”
Miller glowered at me, but he seemed a little uncertain as to what to do. He heaved a sigh and tried to think.
“What about that girl?” he asked. “Gwen, I mean. Is she all right?”
We went to Medical and found Gwen. Dr. Chang was working on her with normal human medical instruments, but most of the work had already been done.
She had her arm in a sling. Her shoulder had been hanging low, but now it was up and looking normal again.
“You look better than I’d hoped,” Miller said.
“Thank you, Colonel—ah, I mean Chief,” Gwen replied, nodding at his button.
It seemed like he wanted to grind his teeth for a moment, but he controlled himself.
“I’m sorry for striking you. But you were beating in the skull of my pilot.”
“No apologies are necessary. Let’s just try to stick together as humans among the Kher.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “You aren’t suggesting they’ll spring contests like that on us in the future, are you?”
“It depends on how we do,” I said. “If we fail in our duties, we won’t be worth much in the way of status points. Fighting us personally won’t gain rank for anyone. But if we do well—watch your back.”
Miller shook his head and stretched painfully. “Hard to believe such a disorganized mob can wage war.”
“The Imperials usually win due to their superior organizational structure,” Dr. Chang explained. “But the Rebel system does cause people to struggle to be their best.”
“So you’re saying the Imperials have a normal, military hierarchy?” Miller asked. “Without ambushing one another for rank?”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe we’re on the wrong side,” he said thoughtfully.
My crew and I shuffled and frowned. We all hated the Imperials.
“It’s funny, Blake,” Miller mused. “I’ve read all your reports, and other people’s analyses, but it’s different to be in the middle of this madness. I’m more impressed now that you managed to thrive in such a difficult environment.”
“Thanks.”
That was the end of our conversation, but not the end of our conflict. I could tell Miller hadn’t fully accepted his new role. He’d clearly decided to play it cool for now, to learn the ropes and figure out his next move.
He hadn’t given up on commanding Hammerhead, of that much I was certain.
=20=
The next day the full crew of Hammerhead arrived to join us. The ship had room for around a hundred, but there were only seventy-one people aboard when we followed Killer into our vortex and jumped to another star system.
We hugged onto our mothership like a duckling, following as closely as we dared. Hammerhead wasn’t large enough to generate a full rip in space, having only a small phasing field for stealth. Like all small ships in the Rebel Fleet, she had to tag along with a larger, capital ship that could generate the power to create a true transformational field.
This trip through the interstellar flux was a strange one. On every previous occasion, we’d done such jumps using Kher-built ships. This time was different. This was an Earth-built ship, and that made me nervous. Our technology was centuries behind, and copying a good design didn’t always mean you’d gotten it right on the first try.
“Should we go into phase during this jump?” Dalton asked me as we followed Killer into a swirling vortex.
“No,” I said. “I say we keep this as simple as possible.”
Miller cleared his throat. I’d brought him onto the bri
dge to serve with me, as he had plenty of detailed training in operating this vessel. I hoped he wouldn’t cause a scene, and so far, he hadn’t.
“What is it, Chief?” I asked.
Miller’s cheek-muscles bulged at the mention of his new rank. I didn’t care—much. After a second, when he didn’t answer, I decided to relent and use his name instead.
“Your input, Miller?” I asked.
“This ship was designed to take jumps like this while out-of-phase. That way, if we pop out of the rip into a battle, we won’t be targeted.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” I said, “next time, we’ll engage the phasing system. This time, I want a clean jump—to make sure everything goes right.”
Miller said nothing. He didn’t even look at me. He just stood there woodenly, staring straight ahead through the ship’s hull at Killer.
Deciding I had no more time for sour non-coms, I turned back to the pilot. Henderson was manning the helm, with Dalton at her side as a co-pilot. I wanted him to learn from her. We needed a backup pilot.
The flight went smoothly all the way to the rip, but when we entered it the ship shook—and that didn’t work out so well.
“I’m reading a pressure loss, lower deck!” Dr. Chang called out. “We’re venting, Captain!”
As in all navies, there was the rank of captain and the role of captain. They weren’t necessarily the same thing. In my case, I was a lieutenant commander in the Rebel Fleet, but serving as Hammerhead’s captain.
Miller knew this, but he still cast an irritated look in Chang’s direction. He didn’t like to hear anyone calling me “captain” even if it was used correctly.
“Support? Compensate,” I ordered, talking to Samson and another crewman who were working the support systems. “And I want a helmet-check on every crewman.”
While they worked to perform these duties, Miller watched with his arms crossed. I was running the show and doing it naturally. That bugged him, despite the fact I was the only person present who’d actually commanded a ship in hyperspace.
Fortunately, we weren’t stuck in hyperspace for long. Within minutes we came out of the rip beside Killer, still hugging close.
“Engage phasing system,” I ordered.
“Phasing engaged,” Miller called out. He placed himself at that station, as he had nothing else better to do.
I decided it was a good spot for him. He’d been trained to monitor and control the phasing-system, and no one else had more experience with it than he did.
“Venting is under control and isolated,” Chang said. “Lower deck, chamber three, is depressurized. We’ve got a repair team looking for the leak.”
“Good work everyone,” I said. “We’re alive, and it looks like we didn’t scatter. Hammerhead has made her first jump successfully.”
There was some ragged clapping, but soon everyone was back to their tasks.
Miller drifted close to me again. We had a functioning anti-grav unit now, and everyone was weightless. By dampening inertia and gravitational influences, it made harsh maneuvers feel like nothing while inside the ship.
“Just one question, Blake,” Miller said. “Why not use the phasing system while we’re in hyperspace? Your own reports indicate the Imperials do it as a matter of course.”
“Yes, they do,” I admitted. “They like to be out of phase when they enter a new star system, so they can surprise us. Often, the only sign you get indicating a phase-ship has entered the system is the first disruptor blast they release.”
“So…?”
“I don’t like testing new ships under such circumstances. I figured it was more likely that some kind of power surge would overload our systems during our trip through hyperspace, than an enemy ship might be waiting to blast us when we arrived.”
“A hunch, eh? Flying by intuition?”
“No—experience. We’re far from the Orion Front, so I figured the odds were low that we’d run into any kind of trouble out here. On the other hand, the odds that an untested system might fail are closer to even money.”
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded, as if conceding my point for now.
“What’s my role to be on this ship, Blake?” he asked.
There it was, he’d come out with it. I decided it was up to me to mend fences.
“That’s up to you, Miller. You can operate the phasing-system, or…”
He frowned at the phasing control boards. He didn’t seem impressed. It wasn’t a complex task, and it wasn’t even used all that often.
“Or what?” he asked.
“Or, you can be my XO. But that’s only if you accept my authority and—”
“I’ll do it,” he said, extending his hand.
Startled, I took his hand, and we shook on it. Neither of us was quite able to smile, but at least we weren’t punching each other.
What was it that Lyndon Johnson had said? Better to have your enemies inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in...
Unfortunately, after our shift at the helm ended, some of my other crewmembers didn’t like the idea as much as I did.
“You gave that man a senior position?” Gwen demanded. “Why not me, or Chang—or, hell, even Dalton?”
“Miller is more qualified than anyone else aboard. He’s a real officer, and—”
“Like hell he is,” she complained. “He doesn’t know crap about space, or the Rebel Fleet. The Kher will eat him for breakfast. Besides, you owe all of us more than you do him.”
“Listen,” I told her, “I understand how you feel. After all, he broke your shoulder. But we have to weld this team together. We’ve got a big crew, but only about fifteen total trained flight-deck personnel. Miller’s team makes up a third of that.”
“So what? How many people does it take to sleep at the helm?”
“This isn’t like our old fighter,” I explained. “We won’t be parking and sleeping aboard Killer any more. We’ll have to have rotating shifts, a twenty-four hour watch schedule.”
“Hmm…” she said thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess. But I still hate him.”
“Noted.”
She left, and I looked after her. The ship was already full of tension. Some of the new crewmen were starry-eyed and all smiles as they explored her cramped decks. But just as many were whispering gossip and speculation in the passages.
Whenever I walked to the head up in the prow to relieve myself, I passed by some of the new people. They always clammed up and stared.
Deciding I needed to talk to a neutral party, I moved downstairs to the mid-deck and found my way to the labs in the aft section.
Dr. Abrams reigned supreme here. He had a staff of seven scientists working for him, and they all seemed excited about being in space at last. Even Abrams was in a good mood—which was a first for him.
“Doc,” I said, “can I have a word?”
He looked up in surprise from some instrumentation he’d been unpacking.
“Certainly, Blake.”
We stepped aside while the rest worked. They’d packed up all their equipment extremely tightly, as if expecting a lot of violent shaking. That was all in the past now, however, as long as the anti-grav system was operating. It prevented inertial shifts from throwing our stuff around no matter what kind of maneuvering the ship was doing.
“I hear you somehow stole command of this ship already?” Abrams asked.
“You heard wrong,” I said. “The Rebel Fleet brass gave me rank and awarded me command of this ship.”
“And how did this miracle occur?”
“In a traditional Rebel ceremony.”
He laughed. “That’s what you call bashing one another like a pack of apes?”
My sym pressed visions of violent expression into my mind, and I was beginning to regret talking to him.
“Look,” I said, “I made a mistake coming here. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait!” he called to my retreating back.
I stopped at th
e hatchway, considering my options. I checked my sym for updates—there were none, other than a routine system scan. We were cruising around an uninteresting M-class star, looking for a world to pick up more recruits for Killer.
Abrams stepped to my side and looked at me. “I apologize,” he said.
I glanced at him in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew the meaning of those words.”
He snorted. “I do. I just use them sparingly.”
“Good enough. I came down here to ask your help in welding this crew together.”
“You mean you want to know how you can get sixty-five shocked crewmen to serve you as their rightful captain?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
He looked thoughtful. “Give me full access to Killer’s sensor feeds,” he said.
“What?”
“To access all that data, I’ll need a sym, of course. Like yours. So I can perform your tricks of perception, and—”
“How is that going to help me run this ship?”
“Firstly, it will help you accomplish your mission from the point of view of Earth. Space Command wants information—hard data. The best way to get that is from the Kher. I can use your identity to access things I could never get from the ground.”
“Great, yeah, I understand you want to play spy. But how does that help me?”
“Besides the obvious of doing your duty as an Earthling, it will also gain you my support. My team will extoll your virtues to everyone aboard.”
I looked at his team dubiously. They were nerds, down to the last. They had more college degrees than social skills.
I sighed. It was probably the best offer I was going to get.
“All right,” I said. “You’ve got a deal. We’ll spy, and you’ll vote for me when the time comes.”
“Is there to be a vote?” he asked in surprise.
I chuckled. “No. The Kher wouldn’t even understand the concept. They only respect brute force. I was speaking figuratively.”
“Ah… the words of a tyrant. I understand completely.”
And he did. He huddled his scientists, gave them the details, and they frowned at me thoughtfully. I left the lab shaking my head.
=21=
