First Command

by Scott Bartlett

  Or for other pirates, if they come across the wrecks first. The Jersey was nearly halfway through her first month of donating any prize money she accrued. They’d left the Gyve System over a week ago, and would soon enter Dupliss. Barring any delays, they’d reach Oasis in a matter of days.

  What Devine was telling him lined up with his own observations, along with the way most crewmembers clammed up when he tried to engage them in dialog. It was much the same with his department heads. They did as he asked, and he could tell they were pleased with the Jersey’s incredible performance. But there was no color to anything they said. No attempt to build the rapport necessary between a CIC crew, if they were to run a truly exceptional warship.

  We can’t rely on novel tactics in every single engagement. At some point, it’s going to come down to the hearts and minds of the crew. If they haven’t embraced their duty by then, we’ll all perish.

  Until now, Frontier had relied on being the biggest dog in the neighborhood. Thatcher didn’t think that would continue to fly. Not with pirates presenting an increasingly united front, and even joining up with the Xanthic, the aliens’ mysterious absence from the recent battle aside.

  “How are you, Devine? Are you settling in well?”

  The engineer nodded. “Yes, but—almost too well. I don’t like pretending to agree with the others when they complain about you, sir. It grates on me.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to continue, for the time being.” Devine had become an even better interface for the Jersey’s crew than the Command Master Chief, who often withheld the crew’s true feelings from Thatcher, likely with good intentions. But with Devine regularly getting called to the captain’s office, apparently to be reprimanded, it made him the perfect audience for all the crew’s grievances. Which the ensign then relayed directly to his captain.

  “Do you find there to be much of a contrast between serving in the Fleet and serving on the Jersey?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. There are corners cut aboard the Jersey that would never fly on a Fleet ship. But things have gotten better since we first arrived. You really are changing things, if you don’t mind my saying, sir.”

  Thatcher nodded. Changing them for the better…for now. But I still don’t know the extent of what this crew is capable of. Good or bad.

  The com lying on his desktop buzzed, and he snatched it up, with less self-control than he would have liked. As they drew closer to the wormhole that lay at the Dawn Cluster’s center, connecting the Cluster to Earth Local Space, he was growing desperate to hear news from humanity’s home planet. Had the Xanthic been scoured from the planet? Were the lunar colonies still secure?

  Was Lin safe?

  “Thatcher,” he said into the microphone after lifting the device to his ear.

  “Captain,” Lucy Guerrero said, sounding thoroughly shaken.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “It…the wormhole, sir.”

  “The wormhole? What about it?”

  “We just received word…a passing mining vessel, sir…and…” Guerrero cleared her throat. “The wormhole to Earth has collapsed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  Before jumping into the Freedom System, Thatcher had called his first watch on duty three hours early, so that he would have his best officers in the CIC as the New Jersey approached Planet Oasis.

  He didn’t do that lightly. His crew was only large enough for two twelve-hour watches, a reality enforced by the limited number of bunks in the berthing compartment. As it was, every enlisted member of the crew was forced to hot rack with another crewmember, going to sleep in the same bunk just as the other was getting up.

  The cruiser had been designed that way to make room for more weapon modules, but it made for long watches and spotty sleep.

  The wormhole’s collapse wasn’t the only news the mining vessel had carried: shortly after word of the catastrophe spread throughout the Cluster, Reardon Interstellar had shut down the Freedom System and declared that all Frontier vessels were barred from the Dupliss Region, due to evidence that Frontier Security had been conspiring with pirates to enslave the people of Oasis.

  “Ridiculous,” Billy Candle had said when Thatcher had rooted him from his cabin to discuss the news. “They’re moving against us based on an accusation that’s true about them, not us. Those bastards.”

  “Language,” Thatcher had said. He felt just as angry as Candle did, though he was surprised at the forcefulness of his XO’s response. Maybe he does take some pride in serving on a Frontier ship after all.

  Ever since he’d heard about the wormhole, Thatcher could barely concentrate. He wanted nothing more than to make way for the Sunrise System at full speed, and once there to reassemble the wormhole with his bare hands if he needed to.

  I have to remain sensible. The UNC would get the wormhole back open. In the meantime, he needed to focus on the mission Admiral Faulkner had given him: stabilize the Dawn Cluster. It was still humanity’s best hope for defeating the Xanthic.

  Provided we’ll ever see Earth again. Oh, God. I’m sixty thousand light years away from her… He shook his head to clear away those thoughts. If I keep thinking like that, I’ll go insane.

  They will reopen the wormhole. They have to.

  “A battle group of Reardon ships is moving out from Oasis to meet us, sir,” Guerrero said, her hands shaking as they moved across her console. “Ten strong.” The lieutenant was usually somewhat jumpy, but ever since hearing that Reardon had virtually taken Oasis Colony hostage, she’d been a mess. She had a husband and two young children living on the planet.

  At least you’re on the same side of the galaxy as your family. But Thatcher knew that wasn’t fair. Guerrero was hurting just as much as he was.

  “Maintain course,” Thatcher said. “Do what you can to establish contact with Veronica Rose, Ops.”

  “Aye, sir. The Reardon battle group is forming up around the nearest Helio base.”

  “Send them a transmission to the effect that we mean them no harm.” Not that they could do much harm, even if they wanted to, with ten state-of-the-art warships arrayed against them and more scattered throughout the system.

  Helio bases formed the backbone of industry throughout the Dawn Cluster. There, a captain could avail of any number of services, usually including dry dock repair, refitting, inter- and intra-corporate communications, and the purchase of anything from upgraded weapons to starship insurance.

  Each base boasted multiple batteries of automated turrets. Six Helio bases surrounded Oasis, all in geostationary orbit. Controlling all six offered a strong defensive position—a position which, it seemed, Reardon Interstellar had secured for itself.

  “Nav, calculate a deceleration profile that puts us just inside the range necessary for real-time communication. Coordinate with Ops to do so, if needed. Send your course to the Squall, and have them do the same.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Once the Jersey came to a halt, it didn’t take long for the largest Reardon battleship—a destroyer named the Eagle—to hail them. Thatcher told Guerrero to accept the call.

  A wiry man appeared in the main holographic tank at the CIC’s fore. This would be Ramon Pegg, CEO of Reardon Interstellar and captain of the company’s flagship, the Eagle.

  The holotank would render someone in 3D, so long as they were surrounded by the proper sensors—otherwise the entire thing would turn opaque, its front surface acting as a 2D screen. Either way, the person’s image was blown up large, to give everyone in the CIC a clear view.

  Pegg did have the right sensors. The holotank showed every detail of his appearance in high resolution. His bald head, gleaming under the halogens. His bushy eyebrows. And his worm-like lips.

  “Commander Thatcher, I presume?” Pegg’s nonchalant tone seemed in contradiction with the way his thin shoulders bunched.

  “Indeed. And
you are Ramon Pegg, I take it.” He wasn’t sure whether Reardon used ranks, so he didn’t attempt to use one. He saw no epaulet on Pegg’s shoulders, or any other indication of rank.

  “Your presence here is in violation of space safeguarded by the Oasis Protectorate,” Pegg said. “I must strongly request that you leave at once.”

  “Frontier Security is a vital member of the Oasis Protectorate, Mr. Pegg. As such, this being a Frontier vessel, we have every right to be here.”

  “Your company, Commander, has been found guilty of conspiracy with pirates, with the aim of enslaving the good people of Oasis.”

  Thatcher cleared his throat loudly. “I hope you’ll excuse me if I call what you’re saying preposterous. We are Americans, largely, and so are the people living on Oasis. Americans do not enslave other Americans, as a rule.”

  “There is evidence.”

  “May I see it?”

  Pegg’s lips firmed, whitening with the pressure. “We are not the police, Commander. We are not a judge, or a jury. The civilian government on Oasis hired us to do a job, and that job is to protect them from threats such as yourself. We will not endanger them by pretending it would be meaningful to hold a trial here in space, so close to the planet. If you will not leave, then the threat you represent will be removed by force. We will destroy you, Commander.”

  “I think I see what you’re getting at,” Thatcher said. Clearly, Pegg was content to use the flimsiest pretext to oust Frontier from the Dupliss Region—territory his company had now effectively conquered.

  In the meantime, Lucy Guerrero was gesturing at him, and he turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  Instead of answering verbally, she sent a text message to his eyepiece. “Veronica Rose is trying to contact us,” it read.

  Nodding, he returned his gaze to Pegg. “Mr. Pegg, if you’ll excuse me for a moment—”

  Pegg reddened. “Commander Thatcher, if you do not take my words seriously, I will be—”

  He cut the man off, ending their conversation with a tap on his console. “Put her through, Guerrero.”

  A second later, a 3D visual of Veronica Rose’s head and shoulders appeared in the tank, her beauty a stark contrast to Pegg. “Commander,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “Thank God you’ve returned. If we’re to take any action against Reardon at all, we first need to evacuate Frontier’s personnel from the planet, along with as many assets as we can. Until we do that, the entire company is effectively held hostage. I know there’s nothing you can do with just the Jersey, but if you can return to the north and find other Frontier ships, then return here with them in good time, perhaps that will at least be enough firepower to force Reardon to the bargaining table. I can give you our ship’s probable locations, and you—”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Ms. Rose.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and the makings of a scowl began to take shape on her face. “What? Why not?”

  “I believe we can evacuate all of Frontier’s assets today.”

  “Explain.”

  “Pegg knows he’s treading on very uncertain ground. The wormhole collapsed mere days ago, and for all he knows the UNC could get it reopened this evening. Then there are whatever UNC super-ships that were already in the Dawn Cluster. If word gets out that Reardon is openly attacking Frontier ships—which it will, if they do it in plain sight of Oasis—there’s a good chance this system will be full of UNC warships within the week. Pegg’s already playing with fire by ousting us from the Protectorate without producing any evidence. He won’t take on any more risk before he gains a better understanding of the situation throughout the Cluster. So the time to evacuate is now, before Reardon figures out its footing.”

  Rose’s shoulders rose and fell. “That seems to make sense. But you also may have misjudged Pegg. You realize, if we attempt this, it’s the New Jersey and her crew that will bear the risk?”

  “I do. But that’s what warships are for.” He noticed a couple of his CIC crew shifting uncomfortably in their seats at that. Candle, for his part, sat perfectly motionless.

  “I’d better get back on the line with Pegg,” he said. “I expect to see you soon, Ms. Rose.”

  “Good luck, Commander.”

  “Thank you.” He ended the transmission and ordered Guerrero to reestablish contact with the destroyer.

  “How dare you keep me waiting at such a sensitive time, Commander? Do you care so little for the lives of Oasis’ population?”

  “I care deeply for them,” Thatcher said. “Which is why I intend to comply fully with your requirement.”

  In a heartbeat, Pegg’s look of anger converted to one of confusion. “Oh? Well, good.”

  “Indeed. To do so, however, we will of course need time to evacuate our personnel and assets from the planet’s surface.”

  Pegg’s hand rose into the display, and he made a cutting gesture with it. “Out of the question.”

  “Then the New Jersey will not be leaving, and neither will the Squall, or the Frontier ships that will no doubt accumulate in this system as they report back.”

  His words earned him a glare of pure hatred. Clearly, Pegg was not used to this level of pushback from anyone. “I will get back to you in a moment,” he said, disappearing from the holotank.

  He returned in less than a minute later. “You will be given no more than one Earth day to leave this system with everything you can transport,” he said. “After that, if you are not gone, we will be forced to open fire on your vessels.”

  Thatcher doubted that was anything more than an empty threat, but it did surprise him a little that he made it. “I understand, Mr. Pegg. We will leave within twenty-four hours.”

  “Then I suggest you make haste, Commander. The clock is ticking.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Freedom System, Dupliss Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “Well, Commander,” Veronica Rose said as they stood a few meters from the workstation she’d set up amidst the New Jersey’s limited cargo space. “It seems O’Malley did well to recruit you. Doing so might prove to be the peak of his career.”

  “O’Malley,” Thatcher repeated, his eyes wandering to the blocky desk taking up space in the corner of his already-cramped cargo bay. The Jersey’s load master was not likely to celebrate the CEO setting up an office here. “How is Mr. O’Malley?”

  “I’m not sure. As far as I know, he’s trapped on the other side of the wormhole for the time being, in Earth Local Space. I haven’t spoken with him in months.”

  “Pity,” he said, returning his gaze to Rose’s porcelain face. Then his eyes wandered back to the desk as he fought a frown that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “Securing our exit from Freedom System, singlehandedly defeating seven pirate ships…” Rose shook her head. “It seems you are a miracle worker.”

  He chuckled at that, a little sardonically, and forgot the desk for a moment. “A great writer once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. I would say the same for tactics. Given the current state of space warfare, it isn’t difficult to be advanced.”

  Rose smiled broadly, clearly impressed and maybe a little amused at Thatcher’s sweeping statement. “I can tell that having me aboard perturbs you, Commander.”

  “Hmm?” he said, jerking his gaze from the desk once more and back to her emerald eyes. “Oh. Not at all, Ms. Rose, I assure you.”

  “Then maybe it’s the idea of my holding court inside your cargo bay. Don’t worry, I won’t monopolize the space. And unless I’m holding a sensitive meeting, I won’t bar your crew from it.”

  Unless you’re holding a sensitive meeting, Thatcher thought, the words echoing in his mind. He cleared his throat. “I’m sure the arrangement will be very workable. Very workable. You and Lieutenant Nacar will get along well.” Nacar was the New Jersey’s load master, and the fact Rose was his boss was t
he only reason he’d tolerate this situation.

  Thatcher brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his service uniform’s sleeve and forced himself to take a deep breath. Veronica Rose is your boss, and you need to be accommodating, he told himself. You can’t treat this as an enemy boarding action. However much it felt like one.

  At least the Jersey wouldn’t be giving up any of her weaponry, as the Squall was. They’d managed to talk Reardon into letting them use one of the Helio bases surrounding Oasis to modify the eWar ship. Currently, the Squall had so many weapons pointed at her that Thatcher would be very jumpy, were he one of her crew. He doubted the modifications would take less than twenty-four hours, but he also doubted Reardon would actually enforce their deadline by firing on the eWar ship once their time ran up. Hopefully not….

  They were taking advantage of the Gladius combat system’s modular nature to quickly remove a capacitor section, the small arms locker, and an ammo storage module, all of which would be replaced by cargo bays. That would be where most of Frontier’s evacuated personnel would be housed, along with as much company equipment as would fit. Both the Squall’s single shuttle and the Jersey’s pair of attack shuttles were busily ferrying people and gear out of Oasis’ gravity well as quickly as they could manage.

  Thatcher hated to relinquish firepower in the form of laser charge and ammo, but he knew it wouldn’t limit his options in combat too badly. EWar ships didn’t normally engage enemies directly anyway.

  Rose walked to her desk, then turned to lean back against it. She wore a form-fitting blazer over a white collared shirt, and Thatcher wanted to frown again at how attractive she looked, even in formal attire. I hope the crew doesn’t get distracted by having such a good-looking woman on board. Every branch of the U.S. military had been mixed-gender for centuries, but Rose’s wintry beauty was something different—like she’d stepped directly off a fashion show runway and onto a warship.