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Chapter 18


“Instinctive combat exposes the myth of ‘fight or flight.’ Truly instinctive combat is only useful to cave dwellers whose teeth and stench are their only available weapons.”


Devlin Sinclair-Maru, Integrity Mirror


“Nav, give me twenty degrees positive yaw, four gees,” Saef said. “Ops, sing out if power levels fluctuate beyond norms.” Both officers affirmed, and Saef quietly observed their performance within the web of his UI, gauging their accuracy. Saef grimaced, perplexed as his ship overlay seemed to stutter.

“Loki?”

The disembodied voice seemed a second slow to respond. “Yes, Captain?”

“UI feed was momentarily interrupted. Can you identify the issue?” Had Saef experienced more of Loki’s unique ability to interpret orders to his liking, the request would have been phrased differently.

“I will initiate diagnostics, Captain.”

Saef drummed his fingers once on the antique swing arm of his command seat. Tanager navigated out-system, still just a short distance from the Strand, still among the teeming lanes of Fleet and merchant traffic. From a tactical perspective they had no real threats, but from the standpoint of operations Tanager was a bubble of ineptitude. There just wasn’t time enough to get his small crew anywhere near the level of proficiency needed for a wartime conflict. The fact that his Fleet superiors gave no thought for this reflected the unreality spawned by centuries without war.

Looking over the assembly of his bridge crew, each at their station, each undoubtedly trying to do their job, Saef felt some cause for hope. This team would eventually become his choice for any hot work, and they would receive the bulk of his attention. His ops officer, Lieutenant Ruprecht, originated from a heavyworld, but his CV read like an advert for Fleet Life. If he didn’t engage in sabotage of some kind, Ruprecht should be a gem of a bridge officer. Saef frowned as he contemplated Ruprecht’s broad silhouette against the main holo. The fact that Ruprecht’s skills and experience would have landed him a choice berth on any number of vessels made his saboteur role all the more likely.

Why Tanager, Bors Ruprecht?

Saef turned his gaze to the trim, severe figure of Tilly Pennysmith to his left. As weapons officer, she had little to do at the moment, but she seemed quite busy, working at something. Saef took a moment to call up her workstation and see what occupied her so thoroughly.

Saef smiled to himself as he observed Pennysmith key-coding individual weapon loads, messaging the weapons chief back in the waist to physically test their scant munitions. She would do.

Ensign Julie Yeager represented another puzzle. Saef glanced at his navigation and astrogation officer whose curvaceous profile occluded a portion of the holo to the right of the narrow bridge. The fact that Yeager was a statuesque redhead should have had no bearing on her ability to land favorable postings, but of course it would. Her qualifications and training alone certainly could have obtained a more comfortable position in a much more estimable vessel. Once again, why? Undoubtedly more would become clear at some point in the cruise.

Saef saw the incoming transmission within the maze of his command UI just a moment before communications specialist Farley spoke. “Captain, message from Squadron: ‘Increase velocity. Transition as soon as possible.’”

Saef knew that Dragon and the rest of the squadron stood hours at most from their transition to Little Pacifica, but for the moment they jetted outbound, plenty close enough to interfere. “Acknowledge, please, Farley. Nav, give us six gees.” But Saef also knew he needed more time to work up his crew.

He heard his orders acknowledged and saw the actions of Yeager and Farley reflected within his UI. All shipshape there…cruising along in the safest lanes of the galaxy.

“Captain, if I may?” Deckchief Church said, turning to face Saef. As the top noncom on any Fleet vessel, the deckchief’s good opinion was important—more than important—and a good deckchief generally contained more practical knowledge than a baker’s dozen of Fleet officers. In this, Church seemed typical of the breed. Saef knew Church’s CV carried lines of pure gold, and he considered Tanager fortunate to land such a valuable asset.

“In reference to the message from squadron, Deckchief?” Saef asked.

“Yes, Captain.”

“No, Deckchief,” Saef said and felt the temperature of the bridge seem to drop. “Our current action is sufficient.” Church’s mouth compressed into a line.

“Yes, Captain.”

Saef looked back across the tight arc of his bridge. Did he imagine the tight shoulders, the rigid poses among the crew? With all his other cares, Saef hardly needed tension with his deckchief, but how better to handle the situation? Internally Saef shrugged, turning his attention back to a more immediate issue.

“Sensors?”

“Y-yes, Captain?” Che Ramos replied, jerking in surprise.

“How many inbound contacts do you read within one hundred thousand klicks of our departure route?”

“Inbound contacts?” Ramos said, punching it up on his new console. “Ten—no—eleven, Captain.”

“Show me.”

Ramos only took a moment to shift the traces up to the main holo. Saef mused over the green inbound contacts, most clearly Fleet traffic returning from patrols.

“Nav, at our current course and speed we’ll encroach on the incoming contact’s safety corridor. Reduce acceleration to three gees, alter course, heading one-one-zero right azimuth.”

“Aye, Captain,” Yeager affirmed, “three gees, one-one-zero right azimuth.”

Saef felt Deckchief Church stiffen, saw his mouth open, hesitate, close. Saef knew he had to do something about this, but it was an issue not handled in command school, nor in his Guard commands. What to do?

“Deckchief, walk with me,” Saef said, standing. “Pennysmith, the bridge is yours.”

“Aye, Captain, I have the bridge,” Tilly Pennysmith said.

Deckchief Church fell in with Saef as they stepped through the narrow bridge hatch. Saef led the way into the small enclosure of the captain’s office, little more than a closet. Supposedly the captain’s office provided a bubble of privacy, free of recording devices and the prying eyes of the ship Intelligence. No one fully believed this, but at least it was shelter from the official record and log.

“Sit.” Deckchief Church sat. Saef contemplated Church: he appeared little older than Saef, despite more than two decades of Fleet service, his only indication of years the scattered gray hairs among his otherwise dark coif. Saef cast about his mind for the perfect pathway, and Church stared back at Saef without expression, his bearing rigidly correct.

What does he see? A lethal young upstart? An Imperial shoo-in?

A course seemed to dawn in Saef’s mind. “Deckchief, if I told you that we will most certainly face enemy action, how much time would you desire to work up the crew?”

Church opened his mouth, startled, closed it, staring hard at Saef. “May I ask a question, Captain?”

“Ask.”

“Are we certain to face combat?”

Saef just stared back. “How much time, Deckchief?”

Church looked away and shook his head, puffing his cheeks. “Weeks, Captain. Months.”

“Yes. And we don’t have months. I will win us whatever small time I can.”

Realization dawned on Church’s face. “Dragging your heel, Captain?”

“I would never drag my heel, as you say. I am merely practicing abundant caution with my first command. You surely heard I was berated by the Admiralty for my recklessness.”

The deckchief smiled. “Aye, Captain. There was a rumor.”

“I might be able to stretch this to a few weeks. That’s all we’ll get. Do what you can to spark a little fire in the department chiefs.”

“Yes, Captain.”

They stood together and Deckchief Church nodded to himself as they left the captain’s office. Upon returning to the bridge, Saef observed the sharp looks from the bridge crew as they tried to assess the extent of the feud between captain and deckchief. Church’s obvious calm overlaid a glimmer of slyness that appeared to puzzle all observers. Clearly captain and deckchief had formed some kind of accord. Saef felt one tension fall from the stack of dozens upon his back.

“Captain, message from squadron: ‘Increase velocity.’”

Saef saw Church cover a grin as he replied. “Comm, acknowledge. Nav increase to six gees. Sensors, give me tracks on inbound traffic.…”


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