Firestar
Copyright© 2009 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 7
The trip seemed to last forever, just one hyperjump after another. Corey was a passenger, so she felt at loose ends. If she were part of the crew, there would be watches to stand and corridors to paint. As a passenger, she had no assigned station and no assigned duties. One of the few breaks in the routine came after the second hyperjump.
She was in the mess, pushing food around her plate, when a hand landed on her shoulder.
“Corey?” someone asked. Corey turned to see who it was. “You’re Corey Andersen, aren’t you? I’m Tamara Andersen.” The woman sat next to her.
Suddenly, the face was familiar. “Aunt Tamara?” She was in the other woman’s arms in a flash, hugging her fiercely. Light years separated them from the red granite peaks that gave their family its name, but that distance fell away, and the years spun into nothing. Corey looked at Aunt Tamara and saw her mother the way she remembered her from the last time she’d been home.
“The years have been kind to you,” Corey said. Tamara was as slender as Corey, but her dark hair was lined with streaks of silver. Her strong cheekbones and deep-sunk eyes gave Corey an idea of what she might look like in a few years.
“Poop,” Tamara said. “So you’re a Squadron Lead now, which makes you an officer, at least in the Frontier Fleet. I always knew you would do well. You’ve done much better than I have.”
“Senior Power Tech on a cruiser?” Corey shook her head as they sat down at a table in the corner. “I think you’re the one who has done quite well.”
“So why do I still have to explain simple things like gaseous diffusion or quantum-level bonding to the officers they give me?” Tamara asked. “If I were any good, I wouldn’t have to do that, would I? And what’s this I hear about you being a hero?”
“Oh. That’s just something that happened,” Corey said.
“You’ve won three ... Marna,” she called, seeing Marna walk in, “get over here. You’ve met my niece, Corey?”
“Yes, I have,” Marna said, as she sat beside them. “I’ve been showing her around.”
“Did you know she’s won three birthrights?”
“I thought I only won one,” Corey said, confused. Three?
“Didn’t you hear?” Tamara asked. “Word came just before we left. The Eldest on Jellicoe awarded you one for some insanity you did when we took the system, and the Council of Families awarded you one for working out how to contact these foreigners.” Tamara beamed with pride. “And then there was that one you won out on the Frontier last year.”
Corey shook her head, trying to clear her confusion out. “I ... uh... three? I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh, Eldest Marie is going to want you home making babies,” Tamara chuckled. “I know you’re needed out here, but you have to think of your duty to your Family, too.”
“Three?” Corey shook her head again. “I didn’t think ... that is, I ... three? Are you sure about that?”
“A message drone arrived from Home less than an hour before we jumped,” Tamara said. “Captain Valentine was going to have an award ceremony, but she’s been busy with that ship that’s hard-docked to us. But I saw the paperwork, and you’ve got three birthrights, enough for a pregnancy. I heard the Council agreed to it before they understood that two of them were being awarded to the same person for events only a day or two apart.”
“They were completely different events,” Corey said. “And I certainly didn’t think it was worth a birthright.”
“You know how they can be,” Aunt Tamara said.
“That reminds me,” Corey said. “I’m on my way to Command & Staff School, and I was wondering if they let you go there if you’re pregnant?”
“Good question,” Marna said. “I don’t see why not. Anything’s possible in this gal’s navy.”
Tamara shrugged. “It’s worth finding out. I didn’t know you were being sent to Staff School.”
“That’s why I’m on Voss, not flying from Jellicoe.”
“I’ll skin that Comm Tech for breakfast,” Aunt Tamara said. “She never said anything about you being posted. And she was supposed to tell me everything. I thought you were just going to take the month’s leave you got for each birthright.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
“So you’re thinking about babies, eh?” Aunt Tamara asked. “Well, you’re at about the right age.”
“I know. I have a million questions, though, including what it’ll do to my career.”
“I know a lot of people retire or take Extended Leave to have their kids.” Aunt Tamara shrugged. “That’s always a possibility.”
“But I don’t want to leave the Navy,” Corey said. “I know that back home I’d probably teach flying like I used to before I joined the Navy. Those things have to be done, but I think serving out here is more important.”
“I can’t make that decision for you,” Aunt Tamara said, “but I agree with you. What I can do is answer some of your questions about pregnancy.” She looked around at the other crew members filling the wardroom, and then lowered her voice slightly so she could be better heard. “All right, you know how it happens, they cover that in school. And you know some of the physical changes that happen while you’re expecting. But that isn’t even half the story. What you really need to know...”
They were interrupted by the food line opening up, but other members of the crew joined in. By the time she returned to her cabin, Corey’s head was spinning. She’d been given a lot of advice. Some of it she knew was probably wrong, but all of it was well-meant. She’d have to think about it.
There were two other pilots on the ship. Both were getting their own squadrons. Marcia, the oldest of them, had been assigned to the new Strike Carrier Phormio. Kelly, the other pilot, was going to the light carrier Chancellorsville. They exercised and ate together. Both of them picked her mind about how to command a squadron. Corey shared what she could, but after another day, the talk turned to various fights they’d been in.
“I can see why they nicknamed you ‘Crazy’,” Marcia said at last. “That was a fool stunt you tried back there.”
They were sitting in the corner of the mess, sipping brew. The other passengers and the rest of the crew had tried to join in, but one of them had gotten too close to Marcia and had almost been impaled by her swooping hands as she described a particular maneuver she’d used in a fight. After that, the others in the mess had steered clear.
“I broke up their formation,” Corey said. “That was why I did it. The imploders helped, but they really just drew the Idenux fire, and after that, it was too late. After that, it was our kind of fight.”
“Granted,” Kelly said, “but I’m not sure the risk was worth it.”
“We have to win this war quickly,” Corey said. She felt like she was back in a Ready Room on Jellicoe, arguing the same point with the other Squadron Leads.
“That’s obvious,” Kelly said, “but--”
“It’s not obvious to the Powers-That-Be back home.” Corey looked at the other two and grimaced. “They don’t believe the Idenux are outbuilding us.”
“We could easily build three times as many ships as we have today,” Marcia said. “And half of them could be those super cruisers that people keep talking about.”
“How would we crew any new ships?” Kelly asked. “Corey has a point, even if she hasn’t been making it very well: if things keep on the same, we’re going to be ground down. I’ve read the official reports,” she added with an airy wave of her hand, “and they’re wrong. They’re fantasy babble disguised with a bunch of numbers.
“Look, the assumption has always been that the kin-stealers are a bunch of pirates. I’ve read the report; my grandmother wrote it. But look back in history. When the Germans preyed on English shipping in the last great war before space flight, they weren’t out to make a profit. The German navy didn’t haul most of those merchants into a port and sell them to finance their war. They destroyed most of the merchants they found, content that the cargo didn’t get to its destination and it would cause economic hardship on their enemies. I think the Idenux are acting on the same strategy.”
Corey was a little surprised. Kelly had switched her position completely between breaths. “There was a war between two halves of one country,” she said finally. “One side, the weaker one, sent out merchant raiders. One of them almost single-handedly destroyed all seaborne merchant commerce in one of the oceans on Earth. And there is no possible way they could have benefited directly from their depredations.”
“That’s my point exactly,” Kelly said. “I think the same thing applies to the Idenux.”
“You mean they have a central government and so on?” Marcia shook her head. “If that was so, somebody in our Intelligence Service would have found that out by now.”
“They could be a front for someone else,” Corey said. It was her turn to shake her head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Whoever it is would have to have almost bottomless pockets, both in money and personnel. And if they were that wealthy, why use a front? Why not come after us with their own ships?”
“War is foreign policy carried out with shooting,” Kelly said. “You don’t leave your policy in the hands of someone else. There’s the chance that they’d do it wrong, and then where would you be?”
“Back to Corey’s original point,” Marcia said. “If this war isn’t economic, then what is it?”
“Oh, it is economic,” Kelly replied. “We’ve captured a lot of Idenux, right?” Marcia nodded. “They have a lot of electronic aids on their ships, so there are only 40 or so skilled members in their crew. The rest are for boarding and landing parties. We have 70 crew in our cruisers. If ship losses are equal, the Idenux come out ahead by almost 2:1. See?”
Marcia pursed her lips. “I think so, though that’s an odd way of looking at it.”
“Blame my mother, she was a statistician by training, and advised the Family Eldest on things like that. What Corey’s saying is that we can’t afford the losses, and apparently the Idenux can. So we have to crush them in several battles, while keeping our losses to a minimum. Isn’t that right, Corey?”
“More or less. That tight formation they use is unmaneuverable.” She laughed. “One thing I thought of was to flaunt our merchants in front of them and tempt them to break it up themselves. And afterwards...”
“That’s a wicked mean thought,” Marcia said, “and I don’t know that the merchants would go for it.”
“That’s why they call her ‘Crazy’,” Kelly said. “I never would have thought of it. I’m still not comfortable with her headlong charge, either, but I can’t think of any other way to break them up.”
“They’ll find a solution to your head-on attack,” Marcia said. “And then we’ll have to try something else.”
“Not if we kill enough of them,” Kelly said. “Kill the skilled ones, the ones with discipline who will hold their formation. Their replacements won’t have the experience and determination to keep their place in that formation, making it easier for our own ships.”
Marcia had other questions, and after a bit, Corey just sat back and watched. They’d both had some interesting ideas, and she’d have to think about them. But whatever they tried, the central point she had to keep in mind was that Families’ ships were better at a melee style of fighting. Generate that kind of fight, take the losses that came with it, and you could smash the Idenux every time. The trick was to find a way to bring about that kind of a fight.
They emerged from hyper one day and didn’t jump again right away. After a couple of hours, the intercom in the cabin buzzed.
“Squadron Lead Andersen?” It was Captain Valentine.
“Aye, Ma’am.”
“You have an hour to get polished up. We’ve cut loose the Spatha, and we’ve been invited aboard a PSK Admiral’s flagship for a meet and greet.”
Corey looked at Marcia and Kelly. “Just me, Ma’am?”
“Just you. I want a variety of uniforms, but I don’t want to overwhelm anyone. You’ve met these men, so you’ll have less of a shock than the other two.”
“Yes, Ma’am. One hour.”
“Shuttle Bay #2. See you there.”
Corey thought of the two shipsuits she had with her. Both were for everyday wear. “I don’t have any dress uniforms with me,” she told Marcia and Kelly.
“What did you wear that day the men dined aboard?”
“One of my uniforms, but cleaned and ironed.”
“I have my dress uniform with me,” Marcia said, “but it isn’t even close to your size. You’re such a skinny little thing. I’m too tall, and Kelly’s too round.”
“I need to put something on my shipsuit besides a unit patch,” Corey said.
“She’s going to be on the staff,” Kelly said. “Do we have any braid? We could make her one of those shoulder things I saw in a book once, one with loops of braid.”
“I know what you mean, and I’m not wearing one,” Corey said. “I think they look stupid. And besides, I haven’t gone to Staff School yet. I may not do well enough there to graduate.”
“Oh, you’ll do well,” Kelly said. “I’ll even go so far as to predict that you’ll do better than most of the gals who’ve gone there. But if you won’t wear that braid thing, what else could you wear?”
“Could we invent something for her?” Marcia asked. “You know what I mean, something that looks impressive but doesn’t mean a thing?”
“She’s turning bright red,” Kelly said, laughing at Corey. “She knows everyone would make fun of her if we did that.”
“I’d do it anyway,” Marcia said, “but she’d probably get me sent to patrol the backside of the Beyond.”
Corey shook her head. “Let’s get one of my uniforms pressed,” she said. “The Captain will have to be satisfied with that.”
“I’ll do that,” Kelly said. “You go shower and clean up. If you can’t wear a dress uniform, you can at least look clean and well-scrubbed.”
Corey returned 15 minutes later to find Marcia sewing black piping along the seam of her shipsuit. “It was the only thing I could think of,” she said. She held her work out at arm’s length. “I think it looks pretty good.”
“I suppose.” Corey toweled her scalp vigorously. “How much longer will you be?”
“Just a couple of minutes,” Marcia said. She took a few more stitches. “Here, try it on, I want to see the effect.”
Corey slipped it on and turned, modeling it. “Well?”
“It’s not exactly regulation,” Marcia said. “But fortunately, pilots are allowed some leeway.”
“I’ve always thought that was one of the reasons the gals in the cruiser squadrons envied us so much.” Corey propped up her mirror and turned, looking at her shipsuit. “Not too bad.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a few ships like Spatha helping us the next time I jump into a formation of Idenux cruisers,” Kelly said. “If their big ships are more powerful, that could be even better.”
“Captain Johnson certainly had that idea.” Corey pinned her beret in place. “I guess I’m ready.”
“If you don’t get lost on that thing,” Kelly said. She waved. “See you when you get back.”
For all of Voss’s size and apparent complexity, Corey found the Shuttle Bay #2 with two minutes to spare. Third Officer Lewis, the senior Marine officer, was in a plain green uniform with only her rank badge, her seniority marks, and the single gold star of a birthright. Second Officer Johnson’s uniform was bedecked with medals, service ribbons, and other finery.
“I’ve never understood one of our traditions,” Second Officer Johnson said as she saw Corey.
“Which one is that?” Corey asked.
“The crazier the service, the plainer the uniform.” She gestured at Corey and Third Officer Lewis. “Personally, I think it’s the height of folly to leave a perfectly good warship unless you have absolutely no choice in the matter. Here we are, safe behind armor and shaped gravity fields. But Mead routinely drops into flaming messes with her only protection being her powered armor, and don’t even get me started on what you do, Corey. You go chasing off through wormholes and the like, and your only protection is your size and speed.”
“I wouldn’t think of it that way,” Third Officer Lewis said. “You have a ship full of heavy weapons. What are you going to use them on ... little Corey in her fighter, or me in my armored suit? Or are you going to go after the glory of bagging an enemy cruiser? I’d rather hide down there in the wreckage than be on something as big as this.”
“I always thought of cruisers as large targets,” Corey said. She saw Captain Valentine approaching and stiffened to attention.
Captain Valentine gave them a quick inspection. “This will never do,” she told Corey. She touched the back of her hand to one of the contact plates. Two minutes later a rating appeared with a small box. “I’ll make this a direct order, you will wear these. You’ve earned them, and I am going to insist.” Then she smiled, softening her features. “Consider it a gift from me to you.”
Corey opened the box. Nestled in the middle were two gold stars. “Thank you, Ma’am.” Feeling a little foolish, she pinned them on next to the one she already had. Second Officer Johnson’s reaction, though, made her feel better.
“Three birthrights?” she asked.
“Three,” Captain Valentine confirmed.
“No wonder they’re sending you back home,” Second Officer Johnson said. “I don’t know of anybody who’s won three, or at least won three and lived to talk about it.”
Third Officer Lewis laughed lightly. “I had a Senior Trooper in my last command who won two. We sent her home with orders not to come back until she had had some kids. We wanted more gals with her luck and brains.”
“I’ve heard some rather pointed suggestions like that,” Corey said, blushing.
They all heard the shuttle from Spatha dock. “Let’s be on our best behavior, girls,” Captain Valentine said. “First impressions are lasting impressions.”
Commander Young was the only one on the PSK shuttle, what he called a pinnace. They undocked and headed directly for a large ship in the distance. The closer they got to it, the larger the ship seemed. Corey tried to compare it to the ships she knew, but finally gave up. It was much larger than Jellicoe, and she had been amazed at how big Jellicoe was. She had seen a few stations that were this size. It was hard to think of something this big as a ship.
As they swept across the hull, she looked for any point defense arrays. She could only see two. Idenux cruisers carried six, as did Family cruisers. It hit her suddenly: if she got in close enough, this thing would just be another large target. She counted weapons installations. Getting close could be a problem.
“We’re going to meet Admiral Bloodstone,” Commander Young said. “He’s the ranking officer in this sector and also commander of the Third Battle Squadron.”
It took a few minutes to line up with the shuttle bay. Corey found herself standing next to Commander Young.
She wasn’t as nervous this time. During the trip, he’d eaten several times on Voss, and each time she’d been invited. She’d never eaten on his ship; she wasn’t sure how she’d feel with so many men around. One was bad enough, but 300? They’d talked at every meal, and he’d insisted she call him Alan. She’d initially thought that wasn’t socially proper but realized that the rules she’d grown up with probably didn’t apply here; they were light years from Home and creating new rules for a new situation.
Marcia, Kelly, Marna, even Aunt Tamara, had all questioned her closely after every meal. She’d tried to explain what was different about him, what was fascinating about him, but found words were useless.
“Of course, he’s different,” Marcia said after Corey had finished talking. “He’s a man.”
“I think that’s part of it,” Marna said. She gave Corey a sidelong glance. “I think it’s a good thing to get to know these men. The only other men we know are the Idenux, and--”
“Marna, how can you say that?” Kelly asked.
“All right,” Marna smiled, “how about male-gendered humans? But it’s true, the Idenux are men.”
“He’s not like them,” Corey said. “His crew outnumbers us by 5:1 or something, and they’re not trying to take over our ship.”
“They’d have to get past the Marines at the lock,” Aunt Tamara said, “and that might be a little hard.”
Now Captain Valentine was taking a whole party into a PSK ship that had to be filled with men. She tried to focus on the docking procedures the PSK was using. Anything to take her mind off of him.
The bright lights of the Admiral’s Lock threw everything into stark relief. Admiral Bloodstone and his staff were at attention as the lock opened. But in the glare of the lights, they looked like little more than flesh-colored blobs on top of bright white uniforms.
“He should lower the lights,” Corey murmured to Alan. “All this brightness spoils the effect.” She’d learned they shared much the same sense of humor.
“It is a bit much,” Alan agreed quietly.
Corey shifted uncomfortably. She was conscious of the bulk of his body standing to one side and slightly behind her.
Admiral Bloodstone was a thin, ascetic man of medium height with dark eyes and a lightly tanned face. He stood half a pace ahead of his staff, his expression neutral, but his eyes missing nothing. As Captain Valentine’s foot touched the deck, he stepped forward, his hand extended.
“Welcome to Courageous,” he said in a barely understandable guttural accent.
“This was an unexpected pleasure,” Captain Valentine replied, speaking slowly.
Corey watched the reactions of the Admiral’s staff. As one, they were staring at the Families officers.
“What are they staring at?” she asked Alan in a low voice.
“The same thing we did when we first met you,” he said. “You’re women, they’re men.”
Corey felt her face flush. That made too much sense, and she wasn’t used to thinking like that.
The Admiral was saying something. Corey followed some of it, but finally looked at Alan. “I think you are going to have to translate,” she said quietly.
“The Admiral does have a thick accent,” Alan murmured. “He also has a unique way of speaking. Rumor has it that even his staff has trouble following him.” He sighed. “I’ll do my best.” He stepped forward. “Sir, you may have seen in my report that these people have been away from the mainstream of humanity for a long time with only a few recordings to help them maintain their language.”
“Commander Young has had more than three weeks to learn their dialect,” one of the staff officers said, understanding Alan’s point at once. “For now, Sir, I recommend he serve as a form of translator.”
The Admiral nodded, and Alan stepped between him and Captain Valentine. Corey, feeling suddenly at loose ends, tried to look inconspicuous. That didn’t work. Captain Valentine motioned her forward.
“This is Squadron Lead Andersen. She is the senior officer of the fighter element on my ship.” Corey nodded slightly, conscious of all the men’s eyes on her. “Beside her is Third Officer Lewis, my senior Marine officer. Second Officer Johnson is the head of my medical staff.”
The Admiral rumbled something that sounded like, “Pleased to meet you.”
“How in the world did you translate this?” Third Officer Lewis said out of the corner of her mouth.
Corey gave a small shrug. “I had a lot of time on my hands and nothing else to do.”
The Admiral motioned them down a passageway and into an ornate cabin. One of his officers took over at that point as the Admiral and Captain Valentine retired to a corner. Corey looked around. The bulkheads were paneled in wood, with a thick carpet underneath. In the far bulkhead, there were two large ports with a view of the stars. A table in the corner held a selection of foods, while another table held various bottles.
As Corey and Alan lagged slightly behind, Second Officer Johnson slid up next to them. “I don’t recognize half of this,” she said.
Alan read the labels on the bottles. “There’s wine in all but the bottles on the end; those are distilled water. The food is ... do you have a term for food you eat with your fingers? We have a large selection of breads, fruits, and vegetables.”
“I’m not sure of any of this,” Second Officer Johnson said with professional caution. “I’d trust what you would serve us on Spatha, but that’s because we’ve spent some time trading medical information. Personally, I’ll have just the water.”
A bell chimed somewhere, and two men in undecorated white coats entered to stand behind the tables. Alan approached the table with the bottles, Corey and Second Officer Johnson beside him. “A glass of the white Neumesia for me,” he said.
“And the ladies, Sir?”
“Water, please.”
Alan parceled out the drinks. As he took a sip, he saw the Captain of the Courageous motioning to him. “Sir?”
“I read your report on the action against those two hostile ships,” Captain Christianson said. “I suspect in the heat of combat you might have mistaken the actions of these singleships for the effects of some of your own weapons.”
“It’s possible, Sir,” Alan said politely. “Have you viewed the computer log of the fight, yet?”
“I haven’t had a chance,” Captain Christianson replied. “I was in the Weapons Development Division before I accepted this posting, and I know you can’t pack a weapon with those effects into something that is little more than a manned drone.”
Alan motioned to Corey. “Captain Christianson, this is Squadron Lead Andersen. She was one of the pilots who fought beside us that day.”
Captain Christianson tried unsuccessfully to hide his surprise. “Um, Squadron Lead,” he said, looking Corey up and down. “What rank does that correspond to?” His accent was far more understandable than the Admiral’s.
“I asked that same question, Sir,” Alan said. “Apparently, there is no exact comparison between that rank and any of ours. But she is the senior fighter officer on Voss.”
“And Voss is a cruiser.”
“Voss is a cruiser,” Corey said, nodding.
“Do you have many cruisers?” Captain Christianson asked. It was clear he was at a loss for things to say.
“Enough,” Corey said.
“Very good,” Captain Christianson said. He nodded to Alan and walked away.
“He’s not a social person,” Corey said.
“His social skills aren’t very good,” Alan said, “but his tactical skills are superb.” He looked around the compartment and stiffened slightly. “I was wondering if he was here,” He nodded at a man standing against the far bulkhead. “That is Commander Pagadan, and he is very well connected.”
“Connected? As in he has many friends?”
“Many important friends,” Alan said, nodding. He raised his voice. “Commander Pagadan, Anthony, pleased to see you.”
“Alan,” Commander Pagadan nodded, as a senior might to a junior. “Alive and well, I see.” Commander Pagadan was Alan’s height, but with receding dark hair and soft hands. Though he was no taller than Alan, and thinner, he somehow seemed larger and softer.
“Anthony and I graduated in the same class at the Academy,” Alan said. “Alan, this is Squadron Lead Corey Andersen of the Families Navy.”
“How are you, Commander?” Corey asked.
“Holding body and soul together,” Commander Pagadan replied.
“What do you do, Commander?” Corey asked. “What is your position in your Navy?”
“I’m the Chief Administrative Officer for the Admiral.”
“That sounds important,” Corey said. “We have a saying in our navy,” she went on. “When the mass of the paper equals the mass of the ship, you are ready for your mission. So the people who deal with the paperwork are very important.”
Commander Pagadan laughed. “That’s very nearly true in our Navy,” he said. “I’ve heard that same thing said of the Imperial Navy. I think some things are universal.” He nodded at Corey’s uniform. “What do the stars and patches on your uniform mean?”
“This is my rank badge,” Corey said, touching her collar. “This patch is from the last unit I was with. Until my new assignment starts, I’m allowed to wear it.” She ran her eye over Commander Pagadan’s collection of medals and ribbons. “What do your decorations mean?”
Commander Pagadan briefly described each of the decorations he was entitled to wear. As he finished, he glanced over his shoulder at someone. “Well, no time to talk shop. I must be going. It’s always interesting to meet an officer from another Navy.”
Corey waited until Commander Pagadan was some distance away. “Has he been exposed to radiation?” she asked.
“Not that I know of,” Alan replied. “Why?”
“His hair seems to be falling out. That’s one of the signs of radiation sickness.”
“It’s a genetic thing.” Alan thought of an entire planet full of women. Of course, they wouldn’t know that men could go bald.
“That can be fixed,” Corey said. “With the right kind of treatment, hair can be grown again.”
Alan felt his mental gears shifting as what she’d just said hit home. She assumed genetic problems could be fixed.