“I’d need to study some,” Thatcher said, a little haltingly. “But…I’m still not sure I understand this, sir.”
“You’re still wondering why I’m encouraging you to take a PMC job? Or why I’m encouraging you to take this particular posting as ship captain?”
“Both, I guess.”
“There aren’t very many spacers coming up on their enlistment dates who are ship-captain material, Commander. To be honest, I consider it a stroke of luck that you’re one of them, and Command has agreed to shave the final weeks off your enlistment. As for why I’d cooperate with Frontier in the poaching of one of our finest…Commander, the Fleet has no presence in the Dawn Cluster, and with the Xanthic returning to Earth Local Space, the UNC won’t have the ships to devote to ensuring the Cluster remains stable. But it must remain stable, Commander. If we’re going to fund a prolonged war against the Xanthic, a strong, stable Dawn Cluster is going to be vital.”
Slowly, Thatcher nodded. Ever since humanity had managed to tease open the wormhole connecting the Cluster to Earth Space, and to stabilize it, humanity had reaped the rewards of the unusually dense, unusually resource-laden star cluster. Over the last century, it had become the primary engine of industry, and corporations had flooded in to stake their claim and harvest those resources, building business empires that enriched the species as a whole.
“We need you to go to Tempore and find out why human pirates are working with the Xanthic—and also just how many enemy craft are lurking in the Cluster’s northern Contested Regions. We need a calm, productive Dawn Cluster, Thatcher. If you can help us achieve that, you’ll be serving not just the United States but all of humanity. Besides, Frontier is an all-American company. By all reports, serving on one of their ships is virtually identical to serving on one of ours.”
Thatcher drew a deep breath, then another. His gaze drifted to O’Malley, remained there for several seconds, then returned to Faulkner.
“I’ll need some time to think about it, sir. To talk it over with my wife.”
“I can give you five hours.”
Raising his eyebrows, Thatcher opened his mouth, then closed it again. Five hours. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
Chapter Four
Hampton Roads Spaceport
Sol System, Earth Local Space
Earth Year 2290
Lin’s arms were tight around him once more, her protruding stomach a solid reminder of exactly what he was leaving behind.
She’d gone through spaceport security with him—they allowed her to go through the same expedited screening he had, even though she wasn’t strictly eligible. It wasn’t the first time someone had bent the rules because he was a service member. The U.S. military had allowed itself to become a shadow of its former self, but its members were still fiercely proud, and their nation still proudly supported them. For the most part.
“I’m glad you’re going,” Lin whispered against his chest as they stood outside the boarding bridge for the shuttle slated to take him into orbit.
He pulled back a little. “Huh? You’re…glad?”
“To the Dawn Cluster, I mean. You’d be going anyway, but you’ll be safer in the Cluster. I’d put you up against a few raggedy pirates any day, but the Xanthic….” She shivered.
Thatcher tried not to wince. Officially, his reason for going to the Dawn Cluster was to investigate why pirates were banding together in unprecedented numbers. He hadn’t been able to mention the Xanthic’s appearance there to anyone. Including Lin.
Now, she pressed her face against his uniform and began to sob quietly.
“Lin? What is it?”
“You’ll miss the birth. And all the ‘first times’ for our son. His first steps. Maybe even his first words…”
“I want you to record them for me. Never stop recording. That way, I won’t miss them. And I’ll always be with you, Lin. Even when I’m not here. Remember that.” He kissed the top of her head.
She lifted her face from the damp blotch she’d made to peer up at him. “I won’t know you the same, when you come back. I’ll be shy again. Like the last time.”
He smiled, remembering how nervous and awkward Lin had been when he’d returned from his last deployment. It was the kind of endearing quirk that had made him fall in love with her in the first place. “I’ll write every day, sweetheart. I’ll send videos. You’ll know me just as well as you do now.”
“Okay, Tad. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
When he first told her about Frontier’s offer, she’d gotten distraught at the idea of him traveling so far away—tens of thousands of light years away, technically. But the higher salary would help them to continue calling Earth their home, even to save for their son’s education. They’d remain on the same planet as both their parents. True, their parents lived in Nebraska, but there’d be nothing stopping Lin from moving there, now. Even if she stayed in Virginia, it was much better to be a few states away than a few star systems.
Before they parted for the last time, Lin said, “What will we name him?”
“Hmm? Oh. We still haven’t decided, have we?”
She shook her head.
“What do you think we should name him?”
“Edward. For your grandfather.”
Thatcher felt a smile stretch his cheeks wide. It delighted him that she’d been the one to suggest it. It was what he’d wanted all along, of course. “We’ll name him Edward,” he said.
Two hours later, the shuttle docked with the Goliath, a freighter that did regular cargo runs from the Dawn Cluster’s Clime Region to the Sol System. The shuttle was packed with passengers headed for the Cluster—all civilians, except for Thatcher. New and long-time workers for one of the thousands of corporations operating in the Cluster, mostly, though some were probably colonists. A couple had gotten sick during the rough ride through Earth’s atmosphere, but luckily they’d found their vomit bags in time.
As everyone lined up to scan their boarding passes and wait for the cargo hold to spit their luggage down the chute near the airlock, a man with a thick Southern accent started shouting.
“Hey! Excuse me! Let these service men go to the front, people. Come on, now. Clear a path. It’s the least we can do, am I right?”
Thatcher smiled faintly as the shuttle’s passengers drew aside, clearing the way for him. Service men? I didn’t know someone else was military on here. Must have been sitting near the back. “Thank you,” he murmured as he carefully made his way past the shuttle passengers. “Thank you.”
He reached the open airlock—since the shuttle had docked directly with the Goliath, there was no need for it to cycle—and scanned his pass. The hold spat out his large duffel bag within a few seconds. It wasn’t uncommon for the system to keep a military member’s luggage near the front, for easy access.
Bag in hand, he waited outside the shuttle to greet the other service member, and was pleasantly surprised when a young man wearing a Fleet uniform emerged. Even holding his own bag, he managed to come smartly to attention, executing a crisp salute.
“At ease, Ensign.” Thatcher stuck out his hand. “I’m Tad Thatcher. Please, call me Tad.”
“Nice to meet you, uh, Tad. I’m Jimmy Devine.” The lad smiled, but Thatcher could tell he was intimidated. By my rank, or my personality? Thatcher knew he could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but right now he wasn’t trying.
“Listen, before we get settled away in our cabins, why don’t we get a drink? On the trip up I read that the Goliath has a well-stocked taproom.” Thatcher wasn’t much of a drinker, but he had learned that sharing a beer was a good way to put a lower-ranking spacer at ease. It would be nice to have someone to chat with during the voyage, but he’d soon grow weary of Devine if he remained a nervous wreck.
“Sir, I recognize you. You’re Commander Tad Thatcher, aren’t you?”
Thatcher narrowed his eyes slightly. Now, how does he know that? He’d always prided himself on bei
ng the best spacer he could be, but he hadn’t risen high enough yet to acquire much of a reputation throughout the Fleet. “Yes,” he said, slowly.
“We’re going to the same place, sir. Uh, Tad, sir. That is—I’ll be serving on the New Jersey. Frontier hired me, too. They told me it was you commanding her. I’ll be in Engineering.”
Thatcher suppressed a frown, as well as a faint tinge of regret. He’d been happy enough to befriend Devine for the purposes of camaraderie during their time on the freighter, but he preferred not to get overly comfortable with men and women who would be under his command. It was something his grandfather had taught him: “It might seem cold, Tad, but a captain who befriends his crew will hesitate to order them into battle. No one wants to put their friends in danger. And even a second’s hesitation at a crucial moment can mean disaster for that same crew. If you truly want to care for them, and keep them safe, then you’ll keep your distance.”
But there was nothing for it now. He wasn’t about to take back his invitation to have a drink with the lad. He’d just have to make sure the boundaries between captain and crewmember were clear once they boarded the New Jersey.
“That’s wonderful. Jimmy. Now, let’s go have that drink.”
Under the warm lights of the freighter’s wood-paneled taproom, one drink turned into two, though Thatcher politely stated that the second would be his last. Even so, it apparently didn’t take very much alcohol to loosen Devine’s tongue about all manner of topics.
“The U.S. should never have let the UNC limit our Fleet,” he was opining at the moment. “Everyone must see that now, with the Xanthic breathing down our necks. Every nation should have been building up their fleets since we took to space, so that we could all fight the bugs together.”
“What about the Yidu Incident?” Thatcher asked.
Devine’s scowl faltered, and he took another sip of beer as he mulled the question over. “That was the Chinese,” he said at last. “Sure, maybe their fleet should have been limited. But why ours?”
“They never would have agreed to it, otherwise. There could have been war. And that would have been even worse.”
In truth, Thatcher also had his reservations about the control the United Nations and Colonies exercised over the world’s space fleets, and he certainly had them about the UNC itself. But the restrictions had resulted in peace among the nations, even before the Xanthic’s first attack. Peace in space, at least. And the horror of space warfare was something the public had cried out against loudly, in unison. Once it had gotten its first taste.
Twenty years before the discovery of the Dawn Cluster, and thirty years after the Colony of Yidu’s establishment, the colonists there attempted to win their independence from the Motherland, thinking themselves protected by the vast expanse of space. They wanted to begin their own experiment with democracy, just as America had hundreds of years before.
Yidu’s experiment was short-lived. A Chinese destroyer was soon sent to the colony from Earth, a journey involving three separate jump gates. Once it arrived, it expended its arsenal of warheads, turning the colony to ash. It was assumed that no one survived—no structures were left standing, and Yidu’s harsh, wintry climate surely claimed anyone who managed to escape the city in time.
The ensuing outcry was swift, as well as the backlash. Country after country imposed harsh sanctions against China, led by the U.S. For its part, Shanghai tried to claim that the destroyer had been taken over by patriotic mutineers, who’d nuked the colony on their own, without government approval. Thatcher had never met anyone who bought that line. Not even his own wife, who was Chinese.
War loomed, and the public panicked. At that time, humanity had fewer than a hundred spacefaring warships to its name, but the example of Yidu had shown what those ships could do to the Earth, as well as any colony a hostile nation might turn its attention toward.
In the end, an international compromise had saved humanity. The UNC, having only recently added the “C” to its name, for “Colonies,” proposed a limit on every nation’s space fleet, proportionate to its GDP—and proportionate to the dues it was able to pay the UNC, of course. Going forward, every warship would also be tracked by the UNC, who would destroy any vessel that showed the first sign of mutiny.
The plan had had its opponents. But the public was scared, and they turned out in the thousands, then the millions, to pressure their governments to give in. And give in they did. To prevent another Yidu, the UNC would maintain strict control of any technology that might facilitate the waging of war in space. To do that would require a system of widespread, automated surveillance, to alert the UNC overseers the moment anyone began to pursue the development of such a technology. In that instance, the budding technologist would be offered a job, and if they refused, then they would be threatened with a prison sentence unless they ceased their activities.
And so the UNC accrued all the newest technology to itself. With its technological trove, it built itself a super-fleet, so that it could enforce its new role as interstellar policeman.
What’s better? Thatcher asked himself. Armageddon, or what we have now?
He knew the answer, of course. He vastly preferred the world where humanity survived—a world that had Lin in it, and their unborn son.
But he hated the corruption, and he hated the favoritism. A U.S. captain hadn’t been chosen to command a UNC super-ship for almost a decade, now. The U.S. was still filled with freedom-loving citizens, even if few of them remembered a time when true freedom existed. For that, they were punished. Ironically, China was favored, probably because their society fit the UNC’s model of governance so well.
I just hope the UNC’s fleet will be enough to hold back the Xanthic. If not, we gave up our freedoms for nothing.
Chapter Five
Aboard the Goliath
Underway to Unity System, Earth Local Space
Earth Year 2290
Thatcher sat in the angular desk chair provided him, next to his cabin’s bunk, immersed in the Fleet textbooks he’d downloaded to his Lenses. He could have laid down on the bed in better comfort to read, but he knew from experience that if he did that he would soon be fast asleep.
Rear Admiral Faulkner had predicted Thatcher would barely need to study for the exams Frontier Security used to gauge fitness for command, but as a rule, Thatcher preferred to leave nothing to chance. Not if he could all but guarantee success by spending the time to prepare.
The wormhole to the Dawn Cluster lay several systems away from Sol, and it would take the better part of six days to make the journey. After his drinks with Ensign Devine, Thatcher retired to his cabin, nestled his duffel bag between the bunk and the wall, and dragged the chair out from the bolted-down desk. With that, he started in.
As he reviewed the list of exams he would need to challenge by the time the Goliath reached Lincoln Station in Sunrise, the system on the other side of the wormhole, he raised an eyebrow at how little time would be devoted to testing his knowledge of tactics. There was plenty of focus on the technology that would be at his disposal—namely, the ship. Proper shiphandling, the New Jersey’s antimatter reactor-based engineering complex, and yes, the state-of-the-art Gladius combat system, including the Ogre and Hellborn missiles it was capable of firing, the railgun turrets, and the primary and secondary laser batteries. The Gladius system was designed to be modular, which meant that, at a well-appointed station, a captain could adapt his complement of weapons to a coming engagement with relative ease.
There was plenty of material on the damage the New Jersey was capable of dealing, but Frontier seemed much more concerned about his ability to manage the crew and keep them safe than about his prowess in battle. “Conflict De-escalation” got an entire exam unto itself, and so did making sure Thatcher wouldn’t run afoul of Interstellar Law, which could expose the company to legal action.
It was all vital, he had to admit. He’d much rather talk than fight, if it could be avoided. Any sane captain wou
ld choose that over exposing his crew to unnecessary danger. But combat tended to find warships sooner or later, and it worried him that Frontier was apparently so confident in its tech that they devoted this little thought to using that tech to defeat adversaries.
Until now, that approach had probably served them, dealing with single pirate ships out in the Contested Systems. But with the pirates banding together, and war with the Xanthic looming, Thatcher just hoped the Cluster’s other PMCs didn’t share Frontier’s blind spot. If so, they’d have to step up their game considerably, and quickly.
After four days of cramming—luckily, he truly had known most of the material, from years of serving on various Fleet commands—he fished his keyboard out of his luggage, unfolded it atop the desk, and initiated his first exam. O’Malley had transmitted the program that administered the exams to his Lenses before he’d left Norfolk. Now, it started a two-hour timer in the upper-right corner of his field of vision, and it blocked his access to every other Lens function until either the timer ran out or he submitted the completed exam. If he removed his Lenses, the software would detect it, and automatically fail him. This was all designed to prevent cheating.
He spent the entire fifth day writing exam after exam, taking only short breaks to use the head or eat. At 0800 on the sixth day, the captain came on the PA:
“Passengers and crew of the Goliath, this is Captain Therese Martoglio, informing you that we’ve just arrived in the Unity System. It will take us just over eleven hours to reach the system’s Aphesis Band, where the wormhole is located. After that, another five hours will take us to Lincoln Station, expected arrival 0100. Passengers, you are asked to be ready to disembark at that time, as the Goliath will need to proceed promptly to the next destination to stay on schedule. Thank you for traveling with us, and I hope your last day aboard is a pleasant one.”
The Unity System. Where all nations and peoples enjoyed equal access to the wormhole, overseen by the UNC. There was also a Unity Region in the Dawn Cluster—Thatcher would pass through it on his way to Planet Oasis. Here, the wormhole orbited Unity on its outskirts, nestled inside a plasma field called the Aphesis Band.
First Command Page 3
