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Chapter 12


“Agriculture provides a fine test of any given philosophy. No farmer can practice true existentialism and survive.”


Legacy Mandate by Emperor Yung I


As the only real protection of the teeming worlds of humanity, Fleet embodied mankind’s collective will to survive. The Slaggers once demonstrated how trivial it is to destroy all human life across an entire planet, and how comparatively difficult it is to defend even a handful of systems. Fleet became the vital outgrowth of these painful demonstrations.

With nearly two thousand vessels operating across hundreds of light-years, and a tradition of service dating back over nearly a millennium, it seemed the Admiralty Headquarters in Imperial City might inspire awe in their scale and august appointments. In fact, they were anything but august.

Perhaps it sprang from some long-forgotten tradition, or perhaps it stood as a simple reminder of the chief Fleet axiom: economy first. Whatever the reason, Admiralty HQ underwhelmed all first-time visitors. Its fusty halls remained dim, grim passages unchanged by passing centuries and any number of fashion revolutions. Even standard automation apparently offended generations of parsimonious lords of the Admiralty. The accumulated residue exuded by thousands of pinch-lipped, lordly bureaucrats was apparently deemed decoration enough.

Saef did feel a certain ancient ambience from the chalky walls as he sat with the others, staring at their blank surface, waiting his turn before the dignified assembly of Fleet intermediaries to the Emperor.

“Like a red hot fork in my ass!” snarled one such dignified lord to some unfortunate Fleet officer on the other side of the antique doors. “That’s what your report is! In. My. Ass, Captain.”

Saef observed the handful of other officers waiting outside the Admiralty council chamber as they pretended not to hear the brutal tongue lashing, while simultaneously straining to hear every word. They all heard the respectful reply.

“I’m not sure I understand, my lords,” the beleaguered captain said, and Saef straightened, recognizing her voice. “I brought the only action analysis back from the ambush, and this angers you?”

Saef heard the iron in her voice, and suddenly he knew who stood before the Admiralty Lords. The next moment his appraisal was confirmed.

“What angers us, Captain Roush, is an officer who excels in running from battles.”

All the officers seated outside the council chamber cringed at the harsh words. Like Saef, they all must have watched the vidstream of Captain Roush’s close escape from the enemy force on the opening day of the uprising, and heard of her actions in Commodore Thiel’s doomed task force.

Captain Roush responded in a barely controlled tone of outrage. “Your lordships cannot possibly be chastising me because I managed to save my ship from the Ericson Two ambush.”

“Can’t we?” a different voice demanded. “Officers who specialize in turning tail are hardly to be commended.”

“Officers who nobly and foolishly die are more your style?” Captain Roush angrily replied.

“Watch your tone, Captain!” another voice snapped.

“Pardon me, my lords,” Captain Roush said stiffly.

A different, calmer voice spoke up, “I certainly don’t see what you could have done differently at Ericson Two, Captain. It’s this business in the Troy system that distresses me.”

“That’d be Fisker,” one captain seated near Saef whispered to the disapproving frowns of his fellows, unwilling to surrender the fiction of their assumed disinterest, or deafness even.

“Troy?” Captain Roush repeated. “What was I supposed to do differently, perchance, my lords? We were ambushed, outmassed, outnumbered and outgunned.”

“Some of the models we’ve run show that you and Titan alone could have overwhelmed Zeus before the other enemy ships closed with you,” a gravelly voice stated.

“What percent chance do these models show, my lord?”

“That’s immaterial, Captain!” the gravelly voice snapped. “What matters is an opportunity lost through cow-hearted decisions.”

“Yes,” the voice of the female admiral, Fisker, agreed, “can you imagine the devastation the rebels would have experienced, losing their greatest vessel to an inferior force? The rebellion might have ended right there.”

“But instead you ran,” the gravelly voice said.

“Again,” said another deep-voiced admiral.

“Ran?” Captain Roush said, her tone cold. “I followed orders, my lords!”

Saef barely heard the disdainful snort, apparently issued from the lordly nose of one admiral or another.

“So I am chastised because I was the slowest to follow Commodore Thiel’s orders to escape Troy system?” Captain Roush coldly inquired.

“You were the only captain to see how the battle developed, the only to see the opportunity,” one admiral growled. “You were the one to abandon Thiel when victory was nearly in hand.”

“Had I turned to fight, as you suggest,” Captain Roush said, and Saef thought he heard the iron fading from her voice as she saw the pit opening before her, “if I survived, I would likely be standing before you now because I disobeyed the direct order of my superior officer.”

“The Fleet articles do support Captain Roush on this point to some extent,” the voice of Admiral Fisker hesitantly offered.

“To some extent?” Captain Roush said with a shaking voice. “Show me where the articles allow me to disobey a direct order, my lords.”

“History of Fleet is filled with captains deviating from orders due to exigent circumstances!” one admiral barked. “Officers can’t point at standing orders as an excuse to run from the enemy.”

“Run—?” Captain Roush spluttered.

“Fleet captains control great power, often far from any superior officer,” the calm voice of Admiral Fisker interrupted. “They are expected to exercise a certain…discretion with orders as a combat situation unfolds.”

“Discretion? You mean direct disobedience?” Roush demanded.

“Captain,” the gravelly-voiced admiral almost shouted. “Do not forget whom you address! In a time of war we demand more from our captains than temerity and thrift. We must have aggressive, independent, and courageous captains who aren’t afraid to take some risks and engage the enemy.”

“Your example, Captain,” said another admiral in an admonishing tone, “is one Fleet cannot afford in a time when we must have courage, at all costs.”

“To wipe away this stain,” Gravel Voice said, “and send the proper message to all Fleet officers, I recommend a loss of all rank, and six months in the detention hold.”

The officers around Saef could not withhold their exclamations of horror. “That old terror! That’s Nifesh, gods rot him,” one captain whispered.

“I do not believe such harshness is supported by precedent or the Articles,” Admiral Fisker said.

Saef thought he could hear the tortured breathing of Captain Roush, but perhaps he only imagined it.

“I concur,” another admiral said. “I suggest that a loss of all seniority is sufficient as a message and a warning to all Fleet officers.”

“Loss of seniority?” demanded the gravel-voiced Admiral Nifesh. “Have you forgotten Titan? A loss of twenty billions, if she cost a single credit, and you say a loss of seniority?”

“Tradition and the Articles support a loss of rank,” Admiral Fisker said, “regardless of the finances involved.”

“I concur,” another admiral chimed in. “Loss of rank to commander is sufficiently harsh, I believe.”

“Very well,” Admiral Nifesh gusted impatiently. “Loss of rank it is… Captain Roush, you are hereby broken in rank to commander, effective immediately. Please remove your rank tabs.”

Saef’s companions continued to murmur in shocked whispers, but Admiral Nifesh had rancor to spare.

Commander Roush,” he ground out deliberately, “good luck finding a ship.”

“She’s toxic now,” one captain beside Saef whispered. “No captain’ll dare pick her up with the Admiralty’s black mark.”

The door to the Admiralty chambers opened, and all the waiting officers assumed expressions of wooden disinterest, staring blankly ahead. Saef looked up to the bloodless face of Susan Roush, whose glazed eyes seemed to see nothing.

Saef quickly composed a line-of-sight message in his UI: SEE ME SOON. He attached his Fleet credentials and beamed it to Roush. She blinked, pausing in her flight and glancing momentarily at Saef before continuing.

The voice of Nifesh drifted out of the council chamber, “I think we can see one more before lunch.”

All the officers visibly clenched, and one whispered, “Not me. Not with blood in the water.”

Saef’s UI pinged with the Admiralty summons, and he stood, hearing the sighs of relief from the other officers.

The council chamber continued the theme of underwhelming antiquity, poorly lighted and shabby. The five members of the Admiralty Board sat waiting in their raised seats, expressions ranging from bored to mildly hostile. Saef noted that three of the admirals clearly originated from heavyworlds, and the one he pegged as Nifesh appeared to be from a much older generation, although the typical signs of his age were indeterminable—clearly a recipient of extended Shaper longevity treatment. Although few lines marked the walnut skin of his face, Admiral Nifesh’s ears were nibbled down to ragged stumps, a sort of field-expedient cosmetic surgery that had been popular with heavyworld fighters three centuries earlier.

“Ah, our backwater prodigy…” Nifesh growled as Saef entered, the doors closing silently behind him.

Saef bowed just far enough and straightened. “Commander Saef Sinclair-Maru, my lords,” he said.

“Yes,” Admiral Fisker, the only female on the Admiralty Board, said. “Except you may now be addressed as ‘Captain,’ as the new record holder on the command test. Congratulations, Captain.”

“Thank you, Admiral, my lords,” Saef said, bowing again. He thought he detected a snort from the direction of Admiral Nifesh, but as he straightened he saw that one of the other heavyworld admirals openly sneered at him.

“To so excel in the command test, far beyond any other in the Imperium, this is quite an accomplishment, Captain,” Admiral Fisker continued. “In addition to granting your new rank, retroactively to your first system command, it is customary for this Board to entertain a request for your first Fleet command. Do you request us to consider a particular vessel?”

“If it pleases you, my lords,” Saef said. “I believe the frigate Dart has just become available.”

The reaction to Saef’s words spanned quite a range, from puzzled blankness as some admirals clearly called up Dart in their UI, to a bark of laughter from Admiral Nifesh.

“The Dart?” Nifesh demanded. “You’ll call yourself fortunate to get a tug. Prodigy indeed!” The heavyworlder beside Nifesh nodded emphatic agreement.

Fisker’s eyes flickered as she apparently scanned Fleet records, and Saef felt a chill. If they truly denied him a combat command, placing him in a tug or a supply vessel, the Family’s strategy was doomed from the start. He thought of the millions of credits spent to get him into a combat command, and only in a combat command would he gain the chance to reap the prize purses every hungry captain dreamed of.

Fisker suddenly spoke, interrupting the murmurs of the other admirals. “His guard command experience in gunboats would be most applicable to frigates, and it is traditional to award a frigate command to the record holder.”

“In wartime?” the tall, lightworld admiral to Fisker’s left inquired.

“We know the Imperium is thankfully short on wars,” said a deep-voiced heavyworld admiral who had thus far remained silent and expressionless. “I doubt the command test even operated during our last real war.”

“You are correct,” Admiral Fisker said after a moment’s pause. “The command test was established five hundred thirty years ago.”

“So we have the opportunity to set precedent,” Admiral Nifesh said, a triumphant gleam in his eye. “We will establish what these test prodigies receive during wartime when we need experienced captains commanding every warship.”

Saef saw an opening and dared to leap in: “Of course, my lords, I would never presume to request a vessel that a combat-experienced captain stood ready to helm, since all of my combat experience was obtained only in simulations.”

The Admiralty lords seemed momentarily stunned into silence. Of course Saef knew, as they did, that only a tiny fraction of Fleet officers possessed any real combat experience, and Susan Roush, whom they had just demoted, was chief among that small number.

Nearly all Fleet captains experienced combat only through simulations, and Saef currently ruled the world of simulated combat.

“Yes,” the lightworld admiral said in a dry tone, “I imagine all of our combat-experienced captains are already assigned ships, so that point is likely moot.”

“I remember the command test,” the expressionless heavyworld admiral rumbled. “It was a bastard, and I understand it’s only become tougher over the years.” He steepled his thick fingers, staring into the distance. “I don’t think I lasted an hour into the solo phase, and our fine new captain here endured much, much longer.”

“It is a notable accomplishment,” Admiral Fisker agreed in an even tone.

“An unlikely accomplishment, I’d say,” Nifesh said.

Saef turned, fixing his gaze on Admiral Nifesh. “I’m not sure I understand you, my lord,” he said.

“Understand?” Nifesh demanded, leaning forward. “I’m saying some backwater has-been outperforming generations of the great Fleet families is not believable. Do you understand that?”

Saef felt his pulse leap once, then checked himself, finding the Deep Man. “Yes, remarkable, isn’t it, my lord?” Saef said flatly, his eyes fixed upon the admiral.

“Not remarkable!” Nifesh spat. “Unbelievable.” He glared left and right to his fellow admirals. “Tests can be cheated.”

There was an audible gasp from one of the admirals and a disapproving murmur from Fisker.

Saef’s hand fell to the worn hilt of his sword, and his world shrank to the core of his person. Ships and plots and his aging Family’s fate fell from him.

“My honor and the honor of my Family cannot allow your false accusations, my lord,” Saef said in an even voice.

Nifesh’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and outrage. “What? What?” he demanded, looking to his fellow admirals in shocked hauteur. “Is this fool threatening to challenge me to a duel?”

“Perhaps I am not clear, my lord,” Saef said. “If you have called me a cheat, then I will see you, and I will regain my honor and the honor of my Family upon your body.”

Nifesh stared in amazement, and the other admirals seemed shocked into silence. Nifesh finally broke into a laugh. “Your Family’s history has garbled your brain, has-been,” Nifesh said, the laugh fading from his face. “You cannot challenge a superior officer to a duel, moron.”

Saef nodded. “Of course. The honor of my Family is worth more than any commission. I will resign my Fleet commission, and you will meet me, my lord.”

Nifesh made an unintelligible sound, his mouth falling open, but Admiral Fisker spoke up. “Of course, Admiral Nifesh would never seriously suggest that the command test is somehow susceptible to any improper manipulations,” she said. “As the trusted and time-honored foundation for Fleet command, any such claim would immediately call all officers’ credentials into question, including that of the Admiralty members. So rest easy, Captain. None of us would ever seriously suggest that the test could be cheated or that you somehow did such a thing.”

A weighty silence fell upon the fusty old room, and Saef waited for Nifesh to agree with Fisker, to withdraw his accusation. The silence stretched, Nifesh clamped his lips, glaring at Saef, and the heavyworld admiral beside Nifesh shifted uneasily.

Saef realized that no further apology or withdrawal would be proffered. He felt the vise of his honor clamping down, just the like the grip of his hand upon the smooth pommel of his sword. Unbidden, the image of Bess came to his mind, anxious, aging.…

Saef felt his hand lift from his sword.

“A regrettable misunderstanding, my lords,” Saef said. He heard something like a sigh uttered in the room.

“Indeed,” Admiral Fisker said, her expression inscrutable. “Since that is resolved, we should move on to an appropriate vessel for the captain, then.”

“Not the Dart,” the sneering heavyworlder beside Nifesh snapped. “We don’t need a hotheaded new captain running headlong into a disaster with such a new hull.”

“I agree,” the lightworld admiral said, frowning down at Saef. “In my many years serving the Imperium I do not believe I have witnessed such an aggressive display within these chambers. A Fleet captain controls such power that discretion and tact must be evidenced. This captain displayed anything but discretion.”

Nifesh crashed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “A tug! Like I said.”

Saef felt his heart drop into his boots, but he schooled his face into a blank.

“A tug or a supply vessel,” agreed the sneering admiral. “Not a combat command, certainly.”

Saef ran through a dozen arguments he could field in the hope of averting disaster, but every choice seemed likely to dig his pit even deeper. Perhaps if he kept silent, took a support command and worked hard for a few years, he could yet obtain a combat command…likely after the current hostilities no longer existed. He swallowed his words and bitter acid.

The expressionless heavyworld admiral cleared his throat, and Saef waited for the final seal to his doom, commanding some old hulk of a transport.

“It strikes me,” the admiral murmured, “this council just demoted one captain for temerity, for a lack of fighting spirit. If we now…shall we say, chastise this captain for displaying too much fighting spirit, what message do we send to the ranks of Fleet?”

“Fighting spirit, Char?” demanded the sneering admiral. “How about recklessness?”

“So Captain Roush displays caution, and we punish. Now this young captain displays a lack of caution and we punish again? The end result is a message of confusion, I say.”

The lightworld admiral chimed in, “Admiral Char makes a solid point, as much as it pains me to agree.”

Saef felt the glimmering of hope beginning to rekindle, then he saw the smoldering visage of Admiral Nifesh. “You can’t be serious!” he barked at his fellow admirals. “Shall we encourage every new captain to shake his fist in our face and threaten violence?”

“In a time of war,” Admiral Char said, “when we are looking for aggressive officers, and the officer in question happens to be the command test record holder, yes.”

“There’s that damned test again.” Nifesh snapped.

“Yes,” Char said. “The test is significant.”

Nifesh snorted and shook his head.

“How far did you make it, Nifesh?” Admiral Char asked. “On the solo phase of that damned test? Do you remember?”

“That is immaterial,” he almost shouted, his color rising.

Saef noted the blank look on two of the admirals’ faces, their eyes flickering as they undoubtedly checked the record, satisfying their own curiosity regarding Admiral Nifesh’s performance…and Nifesh knew it.

“Test! Test! Test!” Nifesh continued to bluster. “We all know that the test is merely a filter to cull out the patently unfit from command positions. It’s no measuring stick of excellence.”

“On the contrary,” the lightworld admiral said, “it is the only metric we possess of any value at all until there are pools of combat-tested officers to draw from.”

“So then,” the sneering admiral beside Nifesh said, “let us give him a destroyer or a cruiser if he’s such a paragon.”

“We probably should,” Admiral Char said in a serious tone as the other heavyworld admirals stared at him in shock.

“I believe we should stick with precedent,” Admiral Fisker said in her calm, detached voice. “A frigate is traditional, and I see no reason to break with tradition.”

Nifesh and his sneering companion shared a look and possibly a line-of-sight message, and after a moment Nifesh said, “Very well…but not the Dart.”

Hope and caution flowed through Saef’s mind. What game is Nifesh up to?

“Do you propose a different vessel? A frigate of some sort?” Fisker asked Nifesh.

“Well, it does happen that a fine older vessel has just become available in Commodore Zanka’s squadron,” Nifesh said with something approaching a grin. “It’s the Tanager, and as you will see, it is currently docked at the Strand here.”

Saef’s UI pulled up Tanager, and he suppressed a grimace. Over two hundred years old, Tanager remained a frigate in name only. It encompassed only thirty-five hundred tons, provided only ancient fab tech, and its weapons and shields represented one of the poorest showings among Fleet warships.

“A rather tired scout vessel, I see,” Admiral Char said.

“It is rated a frigate,” the sneering admiral said.

“Perhaps an oversight,” Char replied.

“It does seem a poor token of deference for the record holder,” the lightworld admiral said.

“Perhaps,” Nifesh said, “but as a sort of sample cruise I think it serves well. If the paragon performs so brilliantly on a single cruise we will surely move him to a more prestigious command.”

Admiral Char sat back. “It seems a poor advertisement of the Admiralty’s favor, but if we can settle on that right now, I’ll agree to it.”

“Excellent,” Nifesh said. “I believe it’s lunchtime.”

A moment later, Saef walked out the doors of the Admiralty council chamber, his emotions flickering from anger and disappointment at losing the Dart, to joy at obtaining a combat command. When he saw the expressions on the faces of the captains and commanders waiting outside the chamber, most of whom held little hope of obtaining any ship, joy pushed disappointment aside.

One captain looked at Saef with mingled respect and envy. He whispered, “I would never believe it if I hadn’t heard it myself…challenging Nifesh to a duel. Beautiful!”

Another captain shook his head. “With Nifesh gunning for you? Enjoy the thrill while it lasts, because you’ll live to regret that.”

“In Zanka’s squadron,” another captain whispered, “he may not live that long.”

Saef just nodded and started down the hall, but a young, timid-looking commander stood, saying, “I wish you joy of your command, Captain.”

Saef paused, eyeing the young man, seeing nothing but sincerity. “Thank you, Commander. I hope the old tub still works.”

“I was a mid on the Tanager, Captain,” the commander said. “She was a good enough ship…nothing above the ordinary, except for the ship Intelligence. It’s got an odd…twist to it.”

Saef hesitated for a moment, puzzled by the statement. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” the commander said with an owlish look. “It’ll be on your mind whether you try or not. The Tanager’s a ship you’ll either love or hate by the end of your cruise.”


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