Firestar
Copyright© 2009 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 15
Mustang’s hyperjump generator had been ruined by the overload that let Pride of Family Sweetwater escape. Rebuilding it took 45 hours. Corey and Tanya took turns sleeping on a cot on the Bridge in case they had to repel an attack. It was with no small relief that Chloe Graham reported they were hyper-capable.
They had spent the time accelerating toward Setosha, and after Chloe had certified the generator, they made a minor jump. It proved everything was working, and they made a second and longer one a short time later. When they emerged, they were due ‘south’ of Setosha’s ecliptic.
“I’m still not sure what we can do if we’re attacked,” Corey said as they built the energy necessary for their final jump. “I’ve got two energy mounts, one missile launcher, and five missiles. That’s not enough for a fight. That’s not even enough for target practice.”
“And I’m not confident those five missiles will work as advertised,” Tanya said. “All of them have problems.”
“On the bright side, we can crank out nearly 500 Gs,” Sue said. “We can run from trouble, if nothing else.”
“Relax,” Tanya said. “They’re not going to look for us sneaking in the back door like this.”
“Do me a favor,” Corey said. “It’s just a hunch, but--”
“I’m learning to follow your hunches,” Tanya said, laughing. “What is it?”
Corey flushed at the comment. “Let’s not go straight in. Let’s offset a little and come in at an angle.”
“You think we might have a welcoming committee?”
“An unwelcoming committee, yes.”
“All right, give us a nudge, you pick the direction. Hurry it up; we’ve got 30 seconds until we jump.”
Corey knew she couldn’t make much of a vector change, but a fraction of a degree, when spread out over two light years, could produce a large lateral displacement. She altered their course slightly, just seconds before they entered jump space.
“I couldn’t take a sighting,” Sue said after the equipment was reset. “Are you sure we’ll even hit the Setosha system?”
“Not really,” Corey said. “If we do hit it, though, it won’t be dead-on.”
“Well, we won’t know for another 27 hours,” Tanya said. “Get what sleep you can, but nobody gets any rest in the last two hours before we emerge. That way, we should all be reasonably fresh for whatever happens.”
Corey put her hand on her stomach. “You know, maybe we should have dumped the last of our food, too.”
“We have to eat,” Tanya said. “Let me see what I can do with the slop they give us.”
“It can’t be worse than what the Supply Service feeds us. Maybe I’ll get my dressing changed instead of eating.”
“Corey has a point about the food,” Sue said. “If it got burned by an Idenux missile, well, that would be better than clogging up our digestive systems.”
“You’re just mad because you don’t have an excuse to avoid it,” Corey said. She ducked through the hatch to avoid the pencil Sue threw at her.
Hours later, she pushed her plate away. “Where did you learn to cook like that?” she asked Tanya.
“I don’t remember if I told you, but I was training to be a chef when I had an inexplicable rush of patriotism and joined up.” Tanya pushed the remnants of her food around on her plate. “It’s too bad we dumped the ponics section; there were some herbs in there that I could have used to give the food a little more kick.”
“It had plenty enough for me,” Senior Genzale said. She stifled a burp and smiled. “A couple of years ago, we had this merchant crew we picked up after their ship was too damaged to continue. We were taking them to Prenger, and of course, they ate what we did. When we got to Prenger, they took up a collection and bought us some real food.” She leaned back and sighed happily. “That lasted us almost all the way home.”
“If anything happens to you after we reach Setosha,” Corey said, “you should go back to cooking. You have a real talent.”
“Perhaps,” Tanya said tightly. “We’ll see how it goes with the Review Board that’s probably waiting for us. I’m sure they’ll tell us everything we did wrong.”
They emerged on the fringes of a battle. A group of Idenux cruisers were running from a fighter strike while two squadrons of Families cruisers angled in from another direction. Missiles raced back and forth as the two sides traded shots.
One Idenux cruiser slowed. The fighters closed quickly, punching holes in the ship. After nearly a minute of this, the kin-stealer ejected his fusion bottle. The fighters cleared out as the bottle went critical and blew.
Two escorts peeled away from the fight, repeatedly scanning the Mustang. Finally, one of them issued a challenge.
“This is the Families’ warship Stearman. Identify yourself at once.”
“This is the escort Mustang,” Tanya replied, “or what’s left of us.”
After nearly thirty seconds, the voice on the other end eased. “We’re going to board you anyway, just to make sure, but welcome home. The Captain of Pride of Family Sweetwater told us what had happened.”
“So they made it back safely. That’s good to hear.”
“So did the rest of the convoy. They were shot up a bit, but they got through. Now stand by.”
Fifteen minutes later, a Families Marine in powered armor pushed through the hatch to the bridge. “Damn, you’re right,” she said, removing her helmet. “You’ve got about half a ship here. What did you do to it?”
“Disassembled parts of it to cut our mass and make us more nimble,” Tanya said. “It worked, but we’re short on air and water. I’m not sure we have enough to make it to the inner system.”
“We’ll get some over to you,” the Marine said. She shook her head. “Damn. Just when you think you’ve seen everything.” She put her helmet back on and left.
“The good news is that the convoy made it,” Tanya said, slumping back in her seat. “The bad news is now we’ll have to explain what we did.”
“I’ll back you all the way,” Corey said. “After all, it was my idea.”
“But I approved it,” Tanya said. “Oh well, being in the Navy was fun while it lasted. What was that you were saying about a career as a chef?”
PSK Main Naval Base, New Republic
The doctor closed his instrument case with a snap. “You need more fluids,” he told Alan. “Your white blood cell count is still low, but I think you’re on the road to full recovery. This wasn’t caused by a single burst of radiation; it looks like you had a long-term exposure. What happened?”
“I can’t tell you,” Alan said.
The doctor sighed. “Fair enough. I’m releasing you to outpatient status. For the next couple of weeks, check in every other day for a blood test. All right?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Very good, Commander Young,” the doctor said. He placed his equipment on a cart and ambled off to look at his next patient.
Alan slipped on his uniform coat. After a stop in Scheduling, he went downstairs to catch the shuttle back to his office. Anthony Pagadan got out of the shuttle right behind him.
“All healthy?” he asked Alan.
“Pretty much. How about you?”
“Low white-cell count, but that’s coming round. I don’t think we could have stayed there much longer without suffering permanent damage.”
Alan nodded. They walked up the front steps of the office building, automatically returning salutes from the junior officers heading out to lunch.
“One of the Ladies told me a story,” Alan said. “They took some prisoners from a ship they’d knocked down during a raid. They left the prisoners exposed to the elements for a few months. The survivors were more than willing to talk if the Ladies gave them medical treatment.”
“Which they got, I suppose,” Anthony said. The elevator they took was empty. “They don’t strike me as unnecessarily cruel.”
“The Ladies shot them after questioning them,” Alan said. “The woman who told me this said it in the same tone she might use to describe folding a napkin. They’re a harder people than we thought, Anthony. This war has made them that way.”
“Perhaps,” he nodded, “and perhaps not. Maybe they were just showing mercy. A quick death by execution, or a slow death by decay; that’s a nasty choice. When will you have your report finished?”
“In a bit,” Alan replied. “Are you making any progress?”
Anthony grimaced. “There’s a lot of skepticism in high places,” he said. “I think a lot is going to come down to how much of your report is believed.” He glanced up as the door opened. “Our floor, I believe.”
“I’m downplaying their fighters,” Alan said, following Anthony down the hall. “Fighters are their chief offensive weapon, but nobody seems to believe what they can do. My report will mostly deal with secure lines of supply, convoy escort ships, access to resources not easily developed in our own systems, and other things that could make an immediate impact on our front-line strength.”
“That’s a good idea. That will be telling the powers-that-be what they want to hear.”
“Have you ever written a report that wasn’t believed, even with all the evidence in hand?” Alan held up his hand. “That was just a rhetorical question, you don’t have to answer.”
Anthony laughed. “I won’t tell you the details, so I won’t have to shoot you, but we caught a spy from Medina, caught him literally with all of the tools of his trade. Nobody would believe where he was from, though.”
“Medina,” Alan said slowly. “I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they a religious dictatorship?”
“Officially, they’re neutrals,” Anthony said. He looked around before drawing Alan into a corner. “Unofficially, they’re as much in the Imperial pocket as anyone can be. There’s no official proof of that, mind you. You’re right, they’re some sort of religious dictatorship, and they’re almost impossible to penetrate.”
Alan tried to remember what he had read about them. “I thought they were settled by Moslems or somebody like that.”
“No, not Moslems. Their faith bears as much resemblance to the Islam of Old Earth as an aircar does to a dinner roll. Their rulers are dictators with absolute control over everyone below them. It’s easier dealing with a pit of rock rats than dealing with them.”
“So how did they end up in the Empire’s pocket?”
“This is all rumor,” Anthony said, “but the story is that their Prophet did something that would warrant a long and painful death for him and his entire family. Apparently, there are certain things even an absolute monarch who is God’s Chosen Speaker can’t do in the eyes of the Faithful, and he did them. The Empire covered it up for him, and he’s been their pet ever since.
“He pays them back by providing cover for anything underhanded the Empire wants done. Nothing too direct, mind you; they’re too convenient as a neutral, but we think they provide a fair percentage of the spies for the Empire. We catch a handful every year. We have to release them, of course, since Medina is a neutral.” He rolled his eyes as he said that last bit.
Alan shook his head sympathetically. “I’ll let you and your cohorts deal with issues like that,” he said. “I have enough trouble figuring out how to beat Imperial admirals. Spying is too devious for me.”
“It’s the grandest game of all,” Anthony said, smiling, “but you have to be cut out for the work to be any good at it.”
“Like commanding a ship; you have to have the knack for it as well as the training.”
“Precisely. You’ve got that, Alan; I haven’t.” He chuckled. “Putting me in command of a ship would be the worst mistake the Navy could make.”
Alan sighed. “I’ll go back and finish my report,” he said. “Hopefully, the government will accept the alliance, and we’ll be able to free up ships for the main fleets.”
“Let me see it when you’re done. I know one or two people who should see this.”
“Sure thing.”
Alan returned to his desk and looked at his report. The part he was working on now was his estimate of the possible effects of an alliance. As he had told Anthony, he was taking a conservative approach. Instead of serving in the front-line fleets, the Families’ ships would defend supply routes and resource planets. He had pieced together an estimate of their strength: 40 or so cruisers, with half a dozen carriers and maybe 80 escorts. That was probably a low number, but from the names he had heard dropped and from what he had seen around Jellicoe, that was a reliable minimum.
He was confident that using the Families’ ships as convoy escorts could free up more than two-thirds of the PSK fleet for frontline service and give them an unassailable logistics base. If they could figure out a way to use Families shipyards, who knew how big a fleet the PSK could build? The Empire had destroyed better than half of the PSK’s shipbuilding capacity. One of the critical features of the last six years had been the inability of the PSK to replace ship losses. Solve that problem, and the momentum in the war would shift dramatically.
He worked on his conclusions and force estimates for another two hours before walking the whole report down the hall to Anthony. “Who were you thinking of showing this to?” he asked.
“Admiral Bloodstone for starters,” Anthony said. “His sector is the closest to the Families, and he could get the first help. Then I was thinking of some of the officers on the Procurement Board. They’re always looking for ways to make our existing ships stretch farther. Tell them that we could free up ships to use elsewhere, and you’ll be their friend for life.”
“I hadn’t thought of the Procurement Board,” Alan said. He sprawled in the guest chair and waved at the report. “I was going to pass this upwards through channels.”
“Where it would disappear instantly, if not sooner. We’ll have to make sure copies end up with the Naval Affairs Committee in Parliament, too. Some of the Members will champion it so they won’t have to vote for any more ships.”
“Why are you in favor of this alliance?” Alan asked. “On the trip out, you weren’t very enthusiastic.”
Anthony stretched and settled farther back in his chair. “I had been wondering how much their interests and ours overlap. I learned that there’s almost none. We’re not interested in the same planets. We don’t have the same political beliefs. There’s almost no place that could cause us any friction. This would be strictly a military alliance.”
Alan nodded. “Well, let’s hope something comes of it. I’m glad we both think this is a good idea.”
Ten days later, Anthony stopped him in the hall. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“Lunch? I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s head over to The Atrium, my treat.”
“Your treat?” Alan shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
The Atrium was the unofficial Officer’s Club for those between assignments. The Atrium also adjoined one of the busiest shuttle stations in the city. Today must have been field trip day for the schools. As Alan settled at the table next to the balcony, he saw several groups of school children being herded around by their teachers.
“I think the thing I like best about being home is that all the women have long hair and wear dresses,” Anthony said. He lifted his drink and nodded at a waitress circulating among the tables below them. “I never appreciated that until we got back.”
“Which was worse?” Alan asked. “The cultural shock of going there, or the cultural shock of coming back?”
“I think it was the coming back,” Anthony said. “I got used to their hair, and no matter what they wore, they couldn’t hide that they were women.” He laughed. “The day we returned, I think I stared at some woman’s legs for nearly 20 minutes. I never thought I’d appreciate them so much. How about you?”
“I’m not sure,” Alan said. “I’ve been so busy; this is the first time I’ve gotten off the base.” He looked at Anthony, the unspoken question in his eyes: why were they here? What was he up to? It couldn’t be to rehash old times.
Anthony sipped his drink for a bit, watching the ebb and flow of people, and especially one statuesque brunette in a long, flowing red dress that almost revealed here and almost revealed there. “Have you gotten your new assignment yet?” he asked at last.
“I’ve heard rumors,” Alan said, “and I know the wheels are turning somewhere. After what happened at Tangler’s Star last month, we can’t afford to keep experienced command deck officers on the ground.”
“True.” Anthony took another sip of his drink, clearly savoring the imported liquor. “Shortly after we got back, I heard that you were slotted as the Operations Officer for the 2nd Cruiser Squadron as soon as it came back from its current mission. Good thing nothing came of that.”
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