by Dave Bara
“Civilian life is busy, but in a much different way than in the military. I found I needed a companion to navigate uncharted waters,” he said. I felt as if he were trying to justify his choice to me, and it made me uncomfortable.
“I understand completely, sir, really, I’m very happy for you both.” He nodded in his silent way of acknowledging things, and then Wesley spoke, turning the conversation to more comfortable topics.
“I’ve just read the preliminary reports about the Jenarus mission,” he said. “I’m glad you both made it back in one piece.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dobrina for us both. Wesley continued.
“I understand you’re both anxious to return to your navy duties, but there’s still much to be resolved about the loss of Impulse, at least as far as the Carinthians are concerned,” he said. I noticed Dobrina flinch just slightly at this. “And after reviewing the damage reports, Starbound likely won’t be ready to go for another three weeks. So there is a bit of time yet, and the inquest is coming up next week on Carinthia.”
“What should we expect from the inquest process, sir?” I asked. Wesley shifted in his chair.
“The Carinthians have requested a formal inquest into the destruction of Impulse. They feel that she was their property, and that it was primarily their sailors who were killed—”
“We don’t know that they’ve all been killed,” interrupted Dobrina, emotion in her voice. Wesley nodded.
“I did read your report, Commander. And that’s partly what the inquest is for,” he said to her. “We’ve granted their request, and you will both be there to testify, of course.”
I looked at Dobrina, trying to reassure her. “I think we’re both prepared to tell our story, Admiral. Attending the inquest representing the Union Navy would be an honor, sir,” I said. “When would we have to leave?”
“In three days,” said my father. “After the holiday but before year’s end.” I looked to Dobrina, and she gave me a confirming nod.
“We accept, then,” I said.
“There is one other point, lad,” said Wesley. “This would be as much a diplomatic mission as a military one. The military part is a courtesy to the Carinthian Navy from the Union Navy. The diplomatic part is more about your role as a royal representative of Quantar.”
“I’m not trained as a diplomat,” I said flatly.
“That’s why I’ve set up some sessions for you with the Ministry of State,” said my father. I nodded.
“Great,” I said, lying. I was trained as a navy officer, not in diplomacy. And I didn’t want my first trip to Dobrina’s home world to be filled with protocol and state dinners.
“The fact is, son, that even though you’re formally in the navy, you will have to accept other semi-official duties as well,” said my father. It was as if he had read my mind.
“I understand, sir, it’s just—”
“Things are changing here, Peter,” he interrupted. “It’s my intent to take up the old Director’s Chair in the new year. That means you’ll have to take a new title as well.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not really following you.” I looked to Dobrina, who was clearly ill at ease with this high-level protocol talk. At this Wesley cut in.
“Fact is, lad, we don’t know yet what the old Corporate Empire consists of. It’s possible they are more advanced than we are, militarily anyway. If we were to fight a reinstitution of the old imperial system and lose, the cost could be millions of lives,” he said. “And no one wants to repeat the last war.”
“Thus we’re taking the necessary political steps of filling the old imperial peerage lines, reestablishing our claims to this star system as sovereign family territory, filling in the blanks as it were, in case we were to lose, and the Union was dissolved,” said my father. I shifted in my chair, which, soft as it was, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
“And how does this affect me?” I asked.
My father leaned forward. “I will be relinquishing the family title of Duke of KendalFalk in favor of the imperial title of Director. I want you to assume the Duke’s title before you leave for Carinthia. This will make you the primary title holder within our family, and secure your ascension to the Imperial Chair should something happen to me. If we were to leave the line of succession open, then the emperor could appoint his own lackey to the Chair.”
His words surprised me, and not in a good way. I looked to my father and Wesley, and then back again. “What’s going to happen to you?” I demanded. At this Dobrina interrupted.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, standing. “I believe I will join the ladies. This conversation obviously doesn’t concern a lowly Union Navy commander.”
Before I could say anything in protest she was on her way, and I barely had time to stand in respect before she left our gathering. I had been confused. Now as I sat down I was starting to get angry.
“Again,” I said tightly to my father, “what’s going to happen to you?”
My father shrugged. “Anything could happen Peter. War. Blockade. Invasion. Anything. And since we are swimming in deep, dark, and unknown waters, I think it’s best if we have you out there, in space, separated from our home for the time being. That’s the best way I know how to protect you, and Quantar, and our family. That and restoring these old imperial forms of law, whether we think they apply to us anymore or not.”
“There’s a planned ceremony tomorrow, formally announcing your ascension to the title of duke. It will be televised tomorrow night,” said Wesley. “And then our mission will be to get you off of Quantar as soon as possible.” I looked at Wesley, my supreme military commander. More and more, I felt his hands working behind the scenes of my life, and more and more I didn’t like it.
“I have no choice but to accept, then,” I said.
“No, son, you don’t,” said my father bluntly. I finished my whiskey with a quick shot to the back of my throat.
“I’ll be in my room then,” I said, “waiting for my instructions.” Then I set my glass down a bit harder than I would have liked and walked away.
I quickly caught up with the ladies and took Dobrina by the arm, wishing Madrey and Mrs. Wesley good night.
“I take it that didn’t go well,” she said quietly as we left.
“It will be fine,” I whispered to her as I escorted her from the library.
“I hope you’re right,” she whispered back.
We slept that night in our separate rooms, and that was fine with me. I was probably too angry for good sex anyway. The next morning I received diplomatic briefings on the trip by protocol wonks from the Quantar Ministry of State. After a morning full of protocol I was glad to take up Wesley’s invitation to lunch at the Admiralty. We met and ate in his office, the one that used to belong to my father.
“You’ll be happy to know that I’ve officially assigned Commander Kierkopf to the inquest mission as a temporary Union Navy diplomatic attaché to the Carinthian Court. It’s important that the Carinthian Navy see officers from both of our worlds are fully committed to the Union. The fact is that she doesn’t really have a permanent military assignment right now, being as her position on Starbound is considered temporary,” he said. “The Carinthian Navy won’t validate her commission transfer to Starbound until after the inquest. As far as they’re concerned she’s still acting captain of Impulse.”
“I have been worried about her,” I admitted between bites of my club sandwich. We were seated across from each other at a conference table that had been converted for our luncheon. “She’s done well on her assignment as XO aboard Starbound, but I think her strongest desire is to go back to Altos and look for her crew.”
“I understand the sentiment,” said Wesley, “and she’ll get her chance, but that isn’t possible right now. We don’t have the resources. We’re building a new Lightship, Defiant, although
she won’t be ready until next year. The Earthmen are fast-tracking Resolution for Levant and the Carinthians are building three more after losing Impulse. They don’t do anything half-assed, that’s for sure. But until they’re all commissioned it’s just Starbound and Valiant out there in full operation. I just hope we don’t have any more Imperial incursions to worry about until we have a fully functioning fleet.”
“And what about the jump gate at Levant?” I asked. He shook his head.
“Shut down from our side and guarded by the fleet, or at least as much of it as we can spare. We need to understand this ancient technology, whether it’s Imperial or Founder-based, much more thoroughly before we try to use it again. And we don’t want to encourage any further contact with remnants of the Corporate Empire, automated or not,” said Wesley.
“I’ve had my fill of run-ins with those things recently,” I said. “My concern is that the HuKs we faced at Jenarus seemed to have preprogrammed their AI’s specifically for fighting a Lightship. If that’s so, then they’re either getting outside help or there’s some kind of super-intelligent fleet AI out there reprogramming the HuKs. I’d like to be part of whatever operation we do to take them out. They’ve caused enough havoc already.”
Wesley stopped eating his meal and looked up at me, then back down to his plate.
“It’s not your concern, son. The Union Navy is just holding its own at the moment, trying to consolidate. That’s why this diplomatic mission is so important. We need Carinthia in this Union, and Pendax and Levant and Jenarus and many others we haven’t even contacted yet. They all have resources that can speed up our naval and industrial development considerably.” I sat back.
“And what about this inquest on Carinthia aids in that process?” I asked. Wesley shook his head.
“It should be a formality. We’ve prepared all of our files for you to take along. The presentation is simple enough. You’ll just have to sit there and look official.”
“That sounds fine,” I said.
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Wesley. He got up from the table and hit a button on his desk. At that, a navy medical tech entered the room and began preparing a hypo.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Something I promised your father,” Wesley said as he sat back down at the table. “A subcutaneous tracker. Historian technology. It emits a low-frequency longwave that transmits through the Historian ansible network. It should be completely undetectable to our Carinthian friends.”
“Should I be expecting trouble?” I asked. Wesley shook his head.
“Not as far as we know. But we wanted to be able to track your location, under any circumstances. You are the heir to the Director’s Chair,” he said.
“What circumstances—” I started. The tech interrupted me.
“Extend your left arm, please, and roll up your sleeve,” she said in a very businesslike manner. I looked to Wesley. He was finishing a dinner roll.
“Don’t make me order you,” he said. I did as instructed. The tech injected me but I didn’t feel a thing. There was a slight trace of blue and green wires under the skin of my left forearm. I rolled my sleeve back down.
“The unique thing about this tracker is that we’ll be able to find you in short order if there’s any trouble,” said Wesley.
“Again,” I asked, “are we expecting trouble?” Wesley smiled.
“As I said, Commander, it’s just a precaution so your father sleeps better at night.”
With that the tech left and we both finished our lunch.
“I’ve arranged for private transport for you to Carinthia, if that suits you,” said Wesley. I smiled at that. Private accommodations beat navy bunks any day of the week.
“It does indeed,” I said.
“Good luck then, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir.”
And then we were done, and I was on my way back to Government House for a further afternoon of protocol training.
The ceremony entitling me as Duke of KendalFalk was blissfully brief and recorded in the late afternoon for broadcast in advance of the Impulse drama later that evening. I did my best toy soldier impression in full royal regalia and dutifully followed the script handed to me by Perkins.
That night was Reunion Day Eve, and after a satisfying dinner with Dobrina, Madrey, and my father at Government House’s private apartments we exchanged holiday gifts, one only, as was our family tradition. I gave my father an antique sextant that Serosian had found for me at my request in an Earth maritime museum, and Dobrina received a traditional aboriginal dress, no doubt picked out by Madrey. My father gave his fiancé a pair of large diamond earrings. I opened Dobrina’s gift to me, an artisan holiday nutcracker-type figure with a pipe called a smoker. My official gift to Dobrina was a native hunting weapon called a boomerang that was ornately decorated with jewels and native art. I planned on giving her my own personal gift later.
As the evening wore on Dobrina and I found ourselves in my suite cuddled comfortably alone on a large sofa, a fire burning, reclining and watching ourselves being portrayed on the digital telenetwork drama of our exploits, and laughing.
“You’re quite handsome,” she said of the actor portraying me. “But I seem more buxom than pretty.” I looked down at her chest.
“Not a completely inaccurate portrayal,” I deadpanned. She smacked me on the arm.
“Pervert.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then we laughed again, and kissed.
The film ended with me riding a rocket out of the launch tube of Impulse, then throwing the rocket at the massive Imperial dreadnought as I drifted away in space, there to meet my fate.
“Did you really yell ‘sic semper tyrannis’ when you threw that rocket at the dreadnought?” she said, teasing me.
“That’s not how it happened,” I said.
“As if it ever is.” As triumphant music played in the background I switched off the player and kissed her, more forcefully this time.
“Time for bed, madam. And this time I intend to keep you up for a bit,” I said.
“Umm,” she said as we kissed. “Promises, promises.”
Back to Candle
The next day was full of gift giving, most of which Perkins had already taken care of for me, a formal mass at the National Cathedral, and a traditional Reunion Day dinner in the formal dining room with more military and political dignitaries. I drank too much and was only allowed a meager bit of time with Dobrina, to our mutual consternation.
By Boxing Day our departure to High Station Candle was a welcome relief. We used our time once again aboard Cordoba for some precious privacy, and we were granted all we wanted. The ship was empty of passengers this time except for us.
We arrived at Candle the next morning fully refreshed and ready to begin our next adventure. Once in our suite we found a waiting message from our transport liaison, who went unnamed.
The instructions were cryptic, only to meet him for lunch on the Cloud Deck of High Station Candle at noon. We still had a few hours so we killed time going over the inquest briefings. It was innocuous stuff, and I had a hard time believing anything would come of it. At the appropriate time we headed up a few decks and took our places at a table that had been reserved for us. Our liaison was yet to arrive.
I got restless and ordered mimosas for Dobrina and me at her insistence, then surveyed the Cloud Deck from the bar as I waited to be served. Every High Station had a Cloud Deck, a place where they could charge exorbitant prices for ordinary things such as dinner and drinks. They called it the “Cloud Deck” because it invariably offered the best view of the prime planet that you orbited, a view of the clouds, so to speak. Unfortunately Candle only offered a view of the yellow and orange sulfur-scarred rock that the station had been carved out of. Not a cloud within several million miles of the place.
Our liaison came throug
h the door at 1205. I heard him behind me first, rather than saw him.
“Jesus, lad, drinking already? It’s barely noon.”
I turned around, mimosas in both hands, to see the scarred face of Lucius Zander, my former Lightship commander, a man I had rescued from a raging fire inside a damaged shuttle just a few months back. A man who was barely alive the last time I saw him.
“I would like to think you’d at least be respectful enough to acknowledge a superior officer with a salute, lad.” The voice was weaker and his speaking pace was more deliberate than I remembered, but there was no doubting the owner of the gravelly rasp. I set the drinks back down on the bar and saluted automatically.
“Captain? Captain Zander, sir?”
“For Gods’ sake lad, relax! I’m not Marley’s ghost come to warn you on Christmas Eve. Finish your business.” I stood frozen looking at him. What I saw shocked me.
He had no hair under his captain’s beret. His exposed skin was crinkled orange and mottled brown, deep lines cut through almost every inch of his face, neck, and hands. He held a titanium cane in his left hand as a balance for his good foot, his right. The left obviously was a hindrance, but not too much. When I looked into his face it was hairless, his right eye a dark brown as if it too had been burnt, and a huge scar ran down his forehead at an angle over his left eye, which was covered by a patch.
“What’s the matter, boy? Never seen a man that’s glad to be alive?” Then he stuck out his free hand to me and I shook it.
“It’s good to see you, sir, but I never expected to see you so . . . soon,” I said.
“It’s all right to admit the truth, boy, you never expected to see me at all. Well, to tell you the truth I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it this far myself. Eighteen surgeries, over a thousand micrografts, and two months in a lung regenerator for five hours a day will make a man want something, anything, he can grasp onto for a better future.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. Just seeing him was a shock and I wasn’t tracking our conversation well. He shook his head and jabbed a bony finger at me.
