Kimberly watched the final stages of the Battle of Tantaline play out in front of her again, transparent, holographic ships suspended in the air.
Combat between starships, on a strategic scale, was a chess game-or at least, it was supposed to be. There were virtually no chaotic elements. The Starfighters and KKVs that the large capital ships carried were all known quantities. Watching two Carriers dueling was sterile, and predictable.
Combat between starships, on a strategic scale, was a chess game-or at least, it was supposed to be. There were virtually no chaotic elements. The Starfighters and KKVs that the large capital ships carried were all known quantities. Watching two Carriers dueling was sterile, and predictable.
Introducing multiple ships added a tiny chaotic element, but combat between two of the Republics Strike Groups had been reduced to essentially a set of scripted moves over the past thirty years. There was still an element of strategy-but there was one in Chess too. The ships had set ranges of speeds, set weapons and payloads, set capabilities.
Twenty years ago, in the Republic-Imperiata war, things had been less well-defined. The Imperiata had rolled out new fighters every year or so, and the Republic had done the same. Ships had gotten regular upgrades, and every individual warship was practically unique due to field repairs and refits.
Thirty years ago, in the Xon war-Military people were clearly not linguists-the Xon had been, quite literally, completely alien. They were unpredictable, but there were patterns. Those who had never fought them personally apparently had trouble understanding, but their commanders had developed what amounted to an instinctive understanding of the Xon.
Three weeks ago, in the Battle of Tantaline, there had been complete and utter chaos. What was now named ‘Species D’ had exhibited exactly no predictability, exactly no strategy. Tactically, the commander of each Species D ship was a genius. Kimberly had gone toe-to-toe with several of those, however, and, while they were excellent, she was better.
Unfortunately, she was not infallible, which was, apparently, what was expected of her. “I stand by my decision, Admiral. The Goei was under my command in the Battle of Tantaline. I admit that, due to communications difficulties, I did not make perfect decisions. However, I acted in the best manner I could to preserve both my ship, and the lives under my command.”
First Citizen Julian Shishani, one of the two Coven members physically present at the meeting, nodded. “We understand your objectives, Commander Shan. We understand that you thought you were making the best decision you could at the time. If we were not assured of that fact, Commander Shan, you would be in the brig-not standing review for reassignment. The question at hand is not your theoretical competence, only your experience.”
“If that is the question, Admiral, then I would like to request that all members of this Council be required to undergo a review before taking any command in this war. We are fighting a new opponent-one that we neither understand, nor have any analogue to in our own biomes. I have as much, if not more, experience in combat against Species D than any other person in this room.”
“And yet you’re also the only one to have never fought in an actual war, Commander Shan.” That was Sheila Hazzard, and, coming from her, that statement was only true in the most technical sense. She was the only member of the Coven to come from the ‘Ind’ part of the ‘Mil-Ind Complex’, and had little experience in warfighting beyond hiding in a Battlecruiser’s Safe Room during a drill. She was equally safe now-present via ansible-relayed hologram, she was probably hiding in some bunker on Earth.
“I won’t deny that fact. What I will deny is that it matters. We’ve spent the last ten years systematically reducing the complexity of wargames to the point where it’s practically just a scripted formality that takes place to allow you to justify placing two Strike Groups in one system for a photo op!” Had she said that angrily? She hadn’t meant to-but dammit, when they had pulled her into the military, they had known what they were getting.
“Mind your tone, Commander.” Admiral Riya Dare, head of Strike Group Valkyrie. Safe, months away from any real fighting. Kim curled her lip. She had never liked Admiral Dare, and the feeling was mutual. Fortunately, Kim was widely regarded as Shishani’s protege, which meant that having a Coven member hate her probably wasn’t going to sink her career.
“Apologies, Admiral Dare.” Kim said. Unnecessarily angering one of the most powerful women in the Republic still wasn’t a good idea, after all.
“Actually, Commander Shan, this outburst has proven what I’ve suspected since the moment you’ve entered this room.” Colonel Sarai Kastori, the other person physically present in the room said, stepping out of the shadows. The light played off the Kynaki woman’s pale skin, highlighting the pair of black knives at her waist, the only weapons in the room, and the only things that distracted from her stark white uniform. “You’re unfit for command of a cruiser like the Goei not because of inexperience in war, but because of inexperience in leadership in general.” The Kynaki woman glanced around to the three holograms, and one man, that represented the leadership of the Republic. “I believe that we have a standard procedure for such a circumstance?”
Shishani thought for a moment, then spoke. “I disagree that this is the problem that Commander Shan faces, but will admit that she has likely been promoted above her level of competence in our rush to earn her leadership experience. In peacetime, this would not be problematic, but in our current circumstances... I propose that we move Commander Shan to a smaller ship, one that will require her to learn a proper sense of military decorum.”
Sheila Hazzard nodded. “Seconded.”
Admiral Dare curled her lip-she likely wanted something more than the relatively light censure of reassignment-but nodded curtly. Colonel Kastori, obviously, agreed-she had been in effect, if not formally, the one to propose the measure.
“The issue is settled. Commander Shan, you will report to the UTFS-” Shishani swiped something on his tablet, “-Warbler, to take command. As soon as the Species D threat has been dealt with,-and Admiral Killian Hazzard has exited foldspace and becomes available-you will be summoned before the Governance Committee for another review.”
Kimberly told herself that it was a slap on the wrist. It still stung. “Thank you.” She bowed. Only Kastori saw fit to return it, however.
Already thinking through her new assignment, Kim executed a 180-degree turn with her customary precision, and exited the room.
The Warbler was an Oscen-Class gunboat, old, yet survivable and reliable. Dozens of them had been turned out during the Republic-Imperiata war, and, even despite the fact that they had repeatedly been put forth as a sacrificial lamb to appease calls for reform in the Fleet’s budget-by which Civilians often meant putting the Fleet on a budget in the first place-the fact that the ships were so damn versatile had kept them Commissioned.
The Warbler sat in a long row of a dozen or so of more or less identical gunboats, a ladder extended from her underbelly to the deck of her carrier, the UTFS Warrior.
The ship had a battered gray exterior, the Republic flag on each of her wings the only bit that looked like it had been painted in the past five years. In all honesty, that reassured Kimberly. If the ship was still in one piece, she saw no reason that it would decide to break down under her command. She knew that was irrational, but, well, deep down inside, she still thought like a monkey whose biggest fear was being eaten by a lion in the African Savannah.
All in all, the Warbler wasn’t a bad ship-she just was a comparative demotion. Hell, Kimberly had been one of the officers to call loudest the for the continued use of the Oscen gunboats-was this perhaps Julian’s idea of a joke?
Kim stuck one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, climbing onboard. The ladder came up in the middle of the ships living quarters, in a corner of the common area. The Warbler was, apparently, a long-range model, probably outfitted with her own Foldspace Drive and an Ansible.
A man stood from where he had been sitting on one of the chairs, and turned to face her. He had mildly dark features, probably of Middle Eastern descent. His name badge read ‘Jae Ali’, which sounded vaguely familiar to Kimberly, and his rank insignia identified him as a Deck Officer.
“Would you be the Skipper, ma’am?” He asked, saluting.
Kimberly nodded. “Yes, Deck Officer Ali. At ease, soldier.” He dropped into parade rest, a posture that Kimberly emulated-feet at shoulder width, hands clasped behind her back, arms bent. “You would be my XO, I assume?” The XO, or Executive Officer, was the Skipper's second-in-command.
“Yes ma’am.”
Kimberly gestured to the chairs. “Do you mind if we sit, Mr. Ali?” She asked. “I see no reason to stand on protocol at the moment-if the ships register is correct, we have barely half a dozen of our crewmembers onboard, and I see no reason to insist on formalities when there’s no-one to see them.”
Ali nodded. “Thank you, Commander Shan.” He strode over to one of the chairs, and sat down, facing Kimberly, who had already taken a seat. “I assume you’ll be wanting the dossiers of the crew?”
Kim shook her head. “I read them on the way here. I’m going to want private interviews with Steele, Freeman, Burton, Silver, and Wentworth when they come aboard. If at all possible, I want Norton’s bags searched before he comes aboard-he’s apparently a brilliant pilot, but we’ll need to keep an eye on him. Have I missed anything?”
“Not that I can think of.” Jae’s voice sounded more than a little surprised-apparently he wasn’t used to commanding officers who thought things through this much. He would have a lot to get used to.
“Incidentally, I didn’t have you on the list of individuals that I want a private interview with, but only because we’re speaking now. I’m going to need help, Ali, and you’re the single best soldier on this boat.”
He cocked his head. “What does that mean, ma’am?”
“It means that you’ve seen every major war of the past two hundred years, Ali. You probably saw the end of the Xon war, and you definitely fought against the Imperiata. I’ll need that expertise. In addition, while you don’t appear to have ever commanded a ship of your own, I’ve never been Skipper for one like this either-but they appear to be your area of expertise.”
Jae nodded. “Understood ma’am. If I can offer one piece of advice?”
“I actually believe that that’s what I just ordered you to do, XO.” She said, not sure if the man was being overly polite, deliberately obtuse, or patronizing.
“There’s a Tactical agent on your ship somewhere, Ma’am. They put one on almost every fold-capable ship, and while they sometimes skip ones this small, it’s no secret that you’re somewhat of a protege of the First Citizen.”
“I know all this-I’ve commanded ships before.”
Ali smiled. “Ahh, yes. But I doubt any previous XOs have suggested that you immediately dump the damn man out the airlock.”
They both laughed for a moment-Kimberly had actually fantasized about doing exactly that to the Goei’s Tactical Agent, a Weapons Officer who made no secret of her status-not that most Captains didn’t explicitly try to root out anyone from Tactical on their ship anyway. Eventually that had been noticed by the Agent’s higher-ups, however, who removed her, and, if Kim knew anything about Tactical, had probably arranged for her to have a date with an airlock of their own.
“Advice noted, Mr. Ali.” She said, smiling. “However, we both likely have duties to attend to-we’re on High Alert, after all, and we honestly have no idea what the adversary’s Foldspeed is.”
Ali nodded. “Yes ma’am. We’ve got several draftees-by which I mean a lot of draftees-but we should be able to whip them into shape.”
“Understood, XO. You’re dismissed.” Kimberly said, standing. “If I’m not mistaken, Middie Steele is already aboard the ship-if you would page her and send her to my quarters in a few minutes that would be appreciated.”
Ali nodded. “Do I scare her?”
Kim laughed. “No. The poor girl’s already been court-martialed for padding her age, Ali-although that’s not exactly a crime we want to discourage at this point.”
“True enough ma’am.”
Ali and Kim parted, he heading for the bridge, while she poked around the living quarters of the Warbler to try and find her own.
The Skipper had a few extra amenities, but they all had a purpose. As the Commanding Officer she had a small office-read as ‘miserable and cramped office’-attached to her private cabin. She also had a safe, for the storage of certain vital items, such as the Letters of Last Resort, and her Antimatter Keys.
What she didn’t have was anywhere near enough private possessions to fill her seachest. She possessed two suits of Civilian clothing, her Dress Uniform, a second GI Uniform like the one she wore, a packet of papers, all scans of various important documents such as commendations and particularly memorable sets of orders. There was also a singular, small velvet bag, which contained a handful of items. Kim stowed that somewhere in the middle of her trunk, between multiple sets of clothing, to minimize risk to it from acceleration and inertia. She also obviously wore a Truekeeper on her wrist-in the fleet, everyone wore one. They were by far the easiest way to keep track of how much out of sync you were with the rest of the universe, due to the strange temporal effects of foldspace.
That taken care of, she stepped into the office, which came with a decidedly pre-used feel. The Skipper's Office was in the same sad state of affairs that its last occupant had left it in-and with a good reason. Every paper or report any Skipper had ever filed, every dossier they had officially accessed, was stored here. It was a massive collection of information, one that Kimberly had absolutely no use for whatsoever.
She began to flip through the one file she actually cared about-the condensed history of the ship, known in the Fleet’s vernacular as the Tilde File. The name was, etymologically speaking, a descendant of an ancient, ancient acronym, that meant-.
Kim froze as she glanced up for a moment. There was a woman sitting in the single other chair in the office, directly across the narrow desk from her. Her ID tag identified her as Jane Steele, her rank insignia as a Midshipman.
Damn. Kim swore to herself. “I apologize, Middie.” She said, placing the folder on the desk and reaching out to Middie Steele with her right hand. “But how long have you been sitting there?” She remembered, just in time, to crack a smile.
“Not long, Commander.” Steele said, taking Kim’s hand tentatively.
Kim sighed. “By which you mean that you’ve been here since before I walked in, don’t you?”
The Middie smiled, which was a good sign. “Not quite that long, ma’am.”
“Ahh-I’m improving then. Before we begin to speak, Middie Steele, I’d like you to list any possible reason that you think I have you here.”
The young woman-damn, but how on earth did any recruiter ever think she was eighteen?-fidgeted slightly, before saying, “I can see two possibilities, Commander. Either you’re interviewing every crewmember, or you wish to speak to me about the disciplinary action taken against me.”
Kim nodded. “Good enough. I assume that your age is the only thing that you’ve lied to the Fleet about?” Kim made sure to make direct eye contact with the young woman-though really, she was just a girl.
“Yes, ma’am.” Straight face. No indications of lies, at least, none that Kimberly could tell. Nervous, of course, but that was to be expected-she was being interrogated by her new Commanding Officer, after all. “I’ve come clean.”
“Then I will operate on the assumption that this is the truth, Ms. Steele. Don’t make me regret that.”
The Middie nodded.
“A few other things: You’re young. That makes you a target among the crew for all sorts of nastiness. You’ll want to steer clear of that, for obvious reasons.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t let you yourself think for a moment that the fact that you padded your age matters at all, though. To be honest, I’d rather have a single person who wants to serve the Republic badly enough to lie their way into Fleet than a dozen Draftees who only made it through this abbreviated version of Basic Training they’re pushing on them now because of the Drill Sergeant's baton. Hell, I’m only two years older than you myself, Middie. I'm nineteen, and somehow in command of a starship-these things don't mean anything.”
Silence for a moment, then, “Do you really mean that, Commander?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“Soldier, I never lie to my crewmembers. We trust each other far too much for that to be a good idea.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Kim realized that she wasn’t going to get much more than that out of Steele, so she dismissed the Middie, almost telling her to go about her duties, before glancing at her watch, and realizing that ordering her to sleep was likely a better option.
Alone once again, she touched the intercom button on her desk, hoping to speak to one more crewmember before turning in to bed herself. “Midshipman Sadira Ibn Caspar, please report to the Captain’s office.” None of this ‘repeat’ crap-if you were on the ship, you had heard the message, if you weren’t, then you wouldn’t hear it no matter how many times she repeated herself.
The door slid open a few minutes later though, and a woman in what appeared to Kimberly to be an eclectic collection of items from three of the four branches of the service entered. She wore a Fleet jumpsuit, though her cap was an old Tactical one, and her boots from the Recon Corp. Mixing uniform parts was technically forbidden, but everyone, Kim herself included, did it. The Fleet just issued crappy gear from time to time, and if you could get better from a Marines commissary, well, odds were that other people had figured it out too, giving a sort of safety in numbers to the whole endeavor.
“Mrs. Caspar?” Kim asked, unsure of how to phrase the greeting-or even how to pronounce ‘Ibn’.
“With all due respect, you’ll probably just want to call me Sadira.” The woman said, voice respectful in that grudging way that Recon Corps members always had. Kim liked it.
“Understood, Sadira.” Kim also knew enough about the Corp to understand that using ranks to refer to someone who appeared to be a relatively recent transfer would be a bad idea. “We’ll be needing to talk for a few minutes, however.”
Sadira nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“You seem to be a fairly direct person, Sadira, so I’ll be equally direct. Detail your involvement in Tactical to me.”
The question seemed to catch Sadira off-guard. “I’m sorry, what ma’am?”
“Please explain to me what bearing Tactical has on you, and your involvement in-and loyalty to-this ship, its crew, and myself.”
Sadira looked more confused than anything else. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, ma’am. I have no relationship with Tactical.”
Kim leaned back in her seat. “You’re literally wearing part of a Tactical uniform. Now, that’s admittedly probably from your father. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s no love lost between Fleet and Tactical-and while I understand that there’s almost definitely an Agent on board my ship, that doesn’t mean have to like it, or make life easy for them.”
“And you think I’m the plant?”
“You claim to have transferred from the Recon Corp, though there appears to have been no discernible reason. In fact, you have no proof of this claim, apart from the fact that your work was on Antaria, which makes it just lightly classified enough that it’ll take a little bit of effort to find records of, but not highly enough that it will seem implausible. In other words, it seems to be an effective cover.”
Sadira looked genuinely confused. “Ma’am, do whatever digging you want. I’ll co-operate in it, because I’m not affiliated with Tactical in any sense other than that which is public record-that my father served in it over a decade ago. I don’t see anything further I can do prove otherwise though.”
Kimberly nodded. Hell, she probably obsessed over this, but Tactical was everything she hated about the Republic, rolled up in one neat little opaque plastoid shell. When she had finally gotten a 10th-Level Clearance, she had confirmed something she had long suspected-that the agents responsible for the sabotage that had killed her family had been members of Tactical. She knew that there really were no other possibilities, but it had still cemented her dislike of them into something as close to hatred as she could stomach.
“You’re likely speaking the truth, Midshipman-however, please understand that I dislike that agency, and do everything in my power to make their lives hell. If you happen to be one, I would highly suggest staying out of my way.”
Sadira’s face was beginning to flush with anger now, an outcome that Kim had not desired-though, in all fairness, it was one she probably could have anticipated. Damn though, this woman was such an obvious mole that she could hardly be more conspicuous if she wore a sign that said ‘Secret Police Spy’ on her chest.
“With all due respect, Captain Shan,” Sadira said, clearly trying and failing to modulate her voice, as well as probably very deliberately referring to Kim as ‘Captain’, an honorific that, though she was technically entitled to use, she hadn’t identified herself with as of yet. “I have no involvement with the branch of the Armed Forces known as Tactical. My father was an agent years ago, before the agency in question began to transition from wartime commandos to peacetime police forces. If that is damning evidence in your eyes of a connection to Tactical, then I must request a transfer to another ship, as we will clearly be incapable of working together.”
Kimberly felt a grudging respect for the woman well up inside of her-Sadira had clearly made an effort to show respect to her, and had, in all fairness, laid out a logically compelling course of action. Kim inhaled deeply, held her breath, then exhaled. This was a stupid mistake to have made-she had put herself in a situation where the only possible outcomes were to either attempt to transfer a good soldier off her ship, or to lose face. Kim chose the second one. “I apologize, Midshipman. I should not have reacted in that manner.”
Sadira nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll attempt to refrain from acknowledging any familial affiliation with Tactical, if only to avoid conflict within the rest of the ship’s crew.”
“Thank you, Midshipman. I would appreciate that-it’s entirely possible that we’ll end up in one of these tin cans for a very long time over the course of this war and it’s integral to our mission that we be psychologically capable of surviving those situations. You are dismissed, Midshipman Caspar.”
“Thank you.” Sadira saluted, turned, and left the room, leaving Kim alone with the files. She understood that, should she attempt to continue reading about the ship's history this late, she’d be up until Ship's Morning. She needed sleep-the Strike Group was on 24/7 High Alert, and they could literally be called to action at any moment.
She slipped back through the door into her quarters, and set her tablet to sleep mode. The lights dimmed; her eyes closed. Faintly she could hear the hum of the Warrior’s engines-massive Matter-Annihilation Capsules, capable of propelling a vessel a quarter of a mile in length through space at a sizable fraction of the speed of light. Modern military doctrine required keeping a fleet moving at all times, at an unpredictable speed, in an unpredictable direction. While the Strike Group might act out a choreographed sequence of events in combat, there was deliberately no logic to its movement within the star system. Space was huge, and the easiest way to avoid being found in it was to simply head off into the void. Strike Group Warrior was complying with that wisdom, and though Julian kept it within a light-second or two of the system’s primary Foldpoint, that was a hell of a lot of space for a hostile force to search through.
Hypnagogic imagery of warships engaged in battle, the familiar Terran ones, and the utterly unfamiliar D designs, swam through Kim’s mind as she drifted off to sleep. Yes, she realized, starships dance. It’s structured, yes. There are only so many possibilities. But if a dance is defined as ‘a series of rhythmic sequential movements,’ then no-one can claim otherwise.
Twenty years ago, in the Republic-Imperiata war, things had been less well-defined. The Imperiata had rolled out new fighters every year or so, and the Republic had done the same. Ships had gotten regular upgrades, and every individual warship was practically unique due to field repairs and refits.
Thirty years ago, in the Xon war-Military people were clearly not linguists-the Xon had been, quite literally, completely alien. They were unpredictable, but there were patterns. Those who had never fought them personally apparently had trouble understanding, but their commanders had developed what amounted to an instinctive understanding of the Xon.
Three weeks ago, in the Battle of Tantaline, there had been complete and utter chaos. What was now named ‘Species D’ had exhibited exactly no predictability, exactly no strategy. Tactically, the commander of each Species D ship was a genius. Kimberly had gone toe-to-toe with several of those, however, and, while they were excellent, she was better.
Unfortunately, she was not infallible, which was, apparently, what was expected of her. “I stand by my decision, Admiral. The Goei was under my command in the Battle of Tantaline. I admit that, due to communications difficulties, I did not make perfect decisions. However, I acted in the best manner I could to preserve both my ship, and the lives under my command.”
First Citizen Julian Shishani, one of the two Coven members physically present at the meeting, nodded. “We understand your objectives, Commander Shan. We understand that you thought you were making the best decision you could at the time. If we were not assured of that fact, Commander Shan, you would be in the brig-not standing review for reassignment. The question at hand is not your theoretical competence, only your experience.”
“If that is the question, Admiral, then I would like to request that all members of this Council be required to undergo a review before taking any command in this war. We are fighting a new opponent-one that we neither understand, nor have any analogue to in our own biomes. I have as much, if not more, experience in combat against Species D than any other person in this room.”
“And yet you’re also the only one to have never fought in an actual war, Commander Shan.” That was Sheila Hazzard, and, coming from her, that statement was only true in the most technical sense. She was the only member of the Coven to come from the ‘Ind’ part of the ‘Mil-Ind Complex’, and had little experience in warfighting beyond hiding in a Battlecruiser’s Safe Room during a drill. She was equally safe now-present via ansible-relayed hologram, she was probably hiding in some bunker on Earth.
“I won’t deny that fact. What I will deny is that it matters. We’ve spent the last ten years systematically reducing the complexity of wargames to the point where it’s practically just a scripted formality that takes place to allow you to justify placing two Strike Groups in one system for a photo op!” Had she said that angrily? She hadn’t meant to-but dammit, when they had pulled her into the military, they had known what they were getting.
“Mind your tone, Commander.” Admiral Riya Dare, head of Strike Group Valkyrie. Safe, months away from any real fighting. Kim curled her lip. She had never liked Admiral Dare, and the feeling was mutual. Fortunately, Kim was widely regarded as Shishani’s protege, which meant that having a Coven member hate her probably wasn’t going to sink her career.
“Apologies, Admiral Dare.” Kim said. Unnecessarily angering one of the most powerful women in the Republic still wasn’t a good idea, after all.
“Actually, Commander Shan, this outburst has proven what I’ve suspected since the moment you’ve entered this room.” Colonel Sarai Kastori, the other person physically present in the room said, stepping out of the shadows. The light played off the Kynaki woman’s pale skin, highlighting the pair of black knives at her waist, the only weapons in the room, and the only things that distracted from her stark white uniform. “You’re unfit for command of a cruiser like the Goei not because of inexperience in war, but because of inexperience in leadership in general.” The Kynaki woman glanced around to the three holograms, and one man, that represented the leadership of the Republic. “I believe that we have a standard procedure for such a circumstance?”
Shishani thought for a moment, then spoke. “I disagree that this is the problem that Commander Shan faces, but will admit that she has likely been promoted above her level of competence in our rush to earn her leadership experience. In peacetime, this would not be problematic, but in our current circumstances... I propose that we move Commander Shan to a smaller ship, one that will require her to learn a proper sense of military decorum.”
Sheila Hazzard nodded. “Seconded.”
Admiral Dare curled her lip-she likely wanted something more than the relatively light censure of reassignment-but nodded curtly. Colonel Kastori, obviously, agreed-she had been in effect, if not formally, the one to propose the measure.
“The issue is settled. Commander Shan, you will report to the UTFS-” Shishani swiped something on his tablet, “-Warbler, to take command. As soon as the Species D threat has been dealt with,-and Admiral Killian Hazzard has exited foldspace and becomes available-you will be summoned before the Governance Committee for another review.”
Kimberly told herself that it was a slap on the wrist. It still stung. “Thank you.” She bowed. Only Kastori saw fit to return it, however.
Already thinking through her new assignment, Kim executed a 180-degree turn with her customary precision, and exited the room.
The Warbler was an Oscen-Class gunboat, old, yet survivable and reliable. Dozens of them had been turned out during the Republic-Imperiata war, and, even despite the fact that they had repeatedly been put forth as a sacrificial lamb to appease calls for reform in the Fleet’s budget-by which Civilians often meant putting the Fleet on a budget in the first place-the fact that the ships were so damn versatile had kept them Commissioned.
The Warbler sat in a long row of a dozen or so of more or less identical gunboats, a ladder extended from her underbelly to the deck of her carrier, the UTFS Warrior.
The ship had a battered gray exterior, the Republic flag on each of her wings the only bit that looked like it had been painted in the past five years. In all honesty, that reassured Kimberly. If the ship was still in one piece, she saw no reason that it would decide to break down under her command. She knew that was irrational, but, well, deep down inside, she still thought like a monkey whose biggest fear was being eaten by a lion in the African Savannah.
All in all, the Warbler wasn’t a bad ship-she just was a comparative demotion. Hell, Kimberly had been one of the officers to call loudest the for the continued use of the Oscen gunboats-was this perhaps Julian’s idea of a joke?
Kim stuck one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, climbing onboard. The ladder came up in the middle of the ships living quarters, in a corner of the common area. The Warbler was, apparently, a long-range model, probably outfitted with her own Foldspace Drive and an Ansible.
A man stood from where he had been sitting on one of the chairs, and turned to face her. He had mildly dark features, probably of Middle Eastern descent. His name badge read ‘Jae Ali’, which sounded vaguely familiar to Kimberly, and his rank insignia identified him as a Deck Officer.
“Would you be the Skipper, ma’am?” He asked, saluting.
Kimberly nodded. “Yes, Deck Officer Ali. At ease, soldier.” He dropped into parade rest, a posture that Kimberly emulated-feet at shoulder width, hands clasped behind her back, arms bent. “You would be my XO, I assume?” The XO, or Executive Officer, was the Skipper's second-in-command.
“Yes ma’am.”
Kimberly gestured to the chairs. “Do you mind if we sit, Mr. Ali?” She asked. “I see no reason to stand on protocol at the moment-if the ships register is correct, we have barely half a dozen of our crewmembers onboard, and I see no reason to insist on formalities when there’s no-one to see them.”
Ali nodded. “Thank you, Commander Shan.” He strode over to one of the chairs, and sat down, facing Kimberly, who had already taken a seat. “I assume you’ll be wanting the dossiers of the crew?”
Kim shook her head. “I read them on the way here. I’m going to want private interviews with Steele, Freeman, Burton, Silver, and Wentworth when they come aboard. If at all possible, I want Norton’s bags searched before he comes aboard-he’s apparently a brilliant pilot, but we’ll need to keep an eye on him. Have I missed anything?”
“Not that I can think of.” Jae’s voice sounded more than a little surprised-apparently he wasn’t used to commanding officers who thought things through this much. He would have a lot to get used to.
“Incidentally, I didn’t have you on the list of individuals that I want a private interview with, but only because we’re speaking now. I’m going to need help, Ali, and you’re the single best soldier on this boat.”
He cocked his head. “What does that mean, ma’am?”
“It means that you’ve seen every major war of the past two hundred years, Ali. You probably saw the end of the Xon war, and you definitely fought against the Imperiata. I’ll need that expertise. In addition, while you don’t appear to have ever commanded a ship of your own, I’ve never been Skipper for one like this either-but they appear to be your area of expertise.”
Jae nodded. “Understood ma’am. If I can offer one piece of advice?”
“I actually believe that that’s what I just ordered you to do, XO.” She said, not sure if the man was being overly polite, deliberately obtuse, or patronizing.
“There’s a Tactical agent on your ship somewhere, Ma’am. They put one on almost every fold-capable ship, and while they sometimes skip ones this small, it’s no secret that you’re somewhat of a protege of the First Citizen.”
“I know all this-I’ve commanded ships before.”
Ali smiled. “Ahh, yes. But I doubt any previous XOs have suggested that you immediately dump the damn man out the airlock.”
They both laughed for a moment-Kimberly had actually fantasized about doing exactly that to the Goei’s Tactical Agent, a Weapons Officer who made no secret of her status-not that most Captains didn’t explicitly try to root out anyone from Tactical on their ship anyway. Eventually that had been noticed by the Agent’s higher-ups, however, who removed her, and, if Kim knew anything about Tactical, had probably arranged for her to have a date with an airlock of their own.
“Advice noted, Mr. Ali.” She said, smiling. “However, we both likely have duties to attend to-we’re on High Alert, after all, and we honestly have no idea what the adversary’s Foldspeed is.”
Ali nodded. “Yes ma’am. We’ve got several draftees-by which I mean a lot of draftees-but we should be able to whip them into shape.”
“Understood, XO. You’re dismissed.” Kimberly said, standing. “If I’m not mistaken, Middie Steele is already aboard the ship-if you would page her and send her to my quarters in a few minutes that would be appreciated.”
Ali nodded. “Do I scare her?”
Kim laughed. “No. The poor girl’s already been court-martialed for padding her age, Ali-although that’s not exactly a crime we want to discourage at this point.”
“True enough ma’am.”
Ali and Kim parted, he heading for the bridge, while she poked around the living quarters of the Warbler to try and find her own.
The Skipper had a few extra amenities, but they all had a purpose. As the Commanding Officer she had a small office-read as ‘miserable and cramped office’-attached to her private cabin. She also had a safe, for the storage of certain vital items, such as the Letters of Last Resort, and her Antimatter Keys.
What she didn’t have was anywhere near enough private possessions to fill her seachest. She possessed two suits of Civilian clothing, her Dress Uniform, a second GI Uniform like the one she wore, a packet of papers, all scans of various important documents such as commendations and particularly memorable sets of orders. There was also a singular, small velvet bag, which contained a handful of items. Kim stowed that somewhere in the middle of her trunk, between multiple sets of clothing, to minimize risk to it from acceleration and inertia. She also obviously wore a Truekeeper on her wrist-in the fleet, everyone wore one. They were by far the easiest way to keep track of how much out of sync you were with the rest of the universe, due to the strange temporal effects of foldspace.
That taken care of, she stepped into the office, which came with a decidedly pre-used feel. The Skipper's Office was in the same sad state of affairs that its last occupant had left it in-and with a good reason. Every paper or report any Skipper had ever filed, every dossier they had officially accessed, was stored here. It was a massive collection of information, one that Kimberly had absolutely no use for whatsoever.
She began to flip through the one file she actually cared about-the condensed history of the ship, known in the Fleet’s vernacular as the Tilde File. The name was, etymologically speaking, a descendant of an ancient, ancient acronym, that meant-.
Kim froze as she glanced up for a moment. There was a woman sitting in the single other chair in the office, directly across the narrow desk from her. Her ID tag identified her as Jane Steele, her rank insignia as a Midshipman.
Damn. Kim swore to herself. “I apologize, Middie.” She said, placing the folder on the desk and reaching out to Middie Steele with her right hand. “But how long have you been sitting there?” She remembered, just in time, to crack a smile.
“Not long, Commander.” Steele said, taking Kim’s hand tentatively.
Kim sighed. “By which you mean that you’ve been here since before I walked in, don’t you?”
The Middie smiled, which was a good sign. “Not quite that long, ma’am.”
“Ahh-I’m improving then. Before we begin to speak, Middie Steele, I’d like you to list any possible reason that you think I have you here.”
The young woman-damn, but how on earth did any recruiter ever think she was eighteen?-fidgeted slightly, before saying, “I can see two possibilities, Commander. Either you’re interviewing every crewmember, or you wish to speak to me about the disciplinary action taken against me.”
Kim nodded. “Good enough. I assume that your age is the only thing that you’ve lied to the Fleet about?” Kim made sure to make direct eye contact with the young woman-though really, she was just a girl.
“Yes, ma’am.” Straight face. No indications of lies, at least, none that Kimberly could tell. Nervous, of course, but that was to be expected-she was being interrogated by her new Commanding Officer, after all. “I’ve come clean.”
“Then I will operate on the assumption that this is the truth, Ms. Steele. Don’t make me regret that.”
The Middie nodded.
“A few other things: You’re young. That makes you a target among the crew for all sorts of nastiness. You’ll want to steer clear of that, for obvious reasons.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t let you yourself think for a moment that the fact that you padded your age matters at all, though. To be honest, I’d rather have a single person who wants to serve the Republic badly enough to lie their way into Fleet than a dozen Draftees who only made it through this abbreviated version of Basic Training they’re pushing on them now because of the Drill Sergeant's baton. Hell, I’m only two years older than you myself, Middie. I'm nineteen, and somehow in command of a starship-these things don't mean anything.”
Silence for a moment, then, “Do you really mean that, Commander?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“Soldier, I never lie to my crewmembers. We trust each other far too much for that to be a good idea.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Kim realized that she wasn’t going to get much more than that out of Steele, so she dismissed the Middie, almost telling her to go about her duties, before glancing at her watch, and realizing that ordering her to sleep was likely a better option.
Alone once again, she touched the intercom button on her desk, hoping to speak to one more crewmember before turning in to bed herself. “Midshipman Sadira Ibn Caspar, please report to the Captain’s office.” None of this ‘repeat’ crap-if you were on the ship, you had heard the message, if you weren’t, then you wouldn’t hear it no matter how many times she repeated herself.
The door slid open a few minutes later though, and a woman in what appeared to Kimberly to be an eclectic collection of items from three of the four branches of the service entered. She wore a Fleet jumpsuit, though her cap was an old Tactical one, and her boots from the Recon Corp. Mixing uniform parts was technically forbidden, but everyone, Kim herself included, did it. The Fleet just issued crappy gear from time to time, and if you could get better from a Marines commissary, well, odds were that other people had figured it out too, giving a sort of safety in numbers to the whole endeavor.
“Mrs. Caspar?” Kim asked, unsure of how to phrase the greeting-or even how to pronounce ‘Ibn’.
“With all due respect, you’ll probably just want to call me Sadira.” The woman said, voice respectful in that grudging way that Recon Corps members always had. Kim liked it.
“Understood, Sadira.” Kim also knew enough about the Corp to understand that using ranks to refer to someone who appeared to be a relatively recent transfer would be a bad idea. “We’ll be needing to talk for a few minutes, however.”
Sadira nodded, but didn’t say anything else.
“You seem to be a fairly direct person, Sadira, so I’ll be equally direct. Detail your involvement in Tactical to me.”
The question seemed to catch Sadira off-guard. “I’m sorry, what ma’am?”
“Please explain to me what bearing Tactical has on you, and your involvement in-and loyalty to-this ship, its crew, and myself.”
Sadira looked more confused than anything else. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, ma’am. I have no relationship with Tactical.”
Kim leaned back in her seat. “You’re literally wearing part of a Tactical uniform. Now, that’s admittedly probably from your father. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, there’s no love lost between Fleet and Tactical-and while I understand that there’s almost definitely an Agent on board my ship, that doesn’t mean have to like it, or make life easy for them.”
“And you think I’m the plant?”
“You claim to have transferred from the Recon Corp, though there appears to have been no discernible reason. In fact, you have no proof of this claim, apart from the fact that your work was on Antaria, which makes it just lightly classified enough that it’ll take a little bit of effort to find records of, but not highly enough that it will seem implausible. In other words, it seems to be an effective cover.”
Sadira looked genuinely confused. “Ma’am, do whatever digging you want. I’ll co-operate in it, because I’m not affiliated with Tactical in any sense other than that which is public record-that my father served in it over a decade ago. I don’t see anything further I can do prove otherwise though.”
Kimberly nodded. Hell, she probably obsessed over this, but Tactical was everything she hated about the Republic, rolled up in one neat little opaque plastoid shell. When she had finally gotten a 10th-Level Clearance, she had confirmed something she had long suspected-that the agents responsible for the sabotage that had killed her family had been members of Tactical. She knew that there really were no other possibilities, but it had still cemented her dislike of them into something as close to hatred as she could stomach.
“You’re likely speaking the truth, Midshipman-however, please understand that I dislike that agency, and do everything in my power to make their lives hell. If you happen to be one, I would highly suggest staying out of my way.”
Sadira’s face was beginning to flush with anger now, an outcome that Kim had not desired-though, in all fairness, it was one she probably could have anticipated. Damn though, this woman was such an obvious mole that she could hardly be more conspicuous if she wore a sign that said ‘Secret Police Spy’ on her chest.
“With all due respect, Captain Shan,” Sadira said, clearly trying and failing to modulate her voice, as well as probably very deliberately referring to Kim as ‘Captain’, an honorific that, though she was technically entitled to use, she hadn’t identified herself with as of yet. “I have no involvement with the branch of the Armed Forces known as Tactical. My father was an agent years ago, before the agency in question began to transition from wartime commandos to peacetime police forces. If that is damning evidence in your eyes of a connection to Tactical, then I must request a transfer to another ship, as we will clearly be incapable of working together.”
Kimberly felt a grudging respect for the woman well up inside of her-Sadira had clearly made an effort to show respect to her, and had, in all fairness, laid out a logically compelling course of action. Kim inhaled deeply, held her breath, then exhaled. This was a stupid mistake to have made-she had put herself in a situation where the only possible outcomes were to either attempt to transfer a good soldier off her ship, or to lose face. Kim chose the second one. “I apologize, Midshipman. I should not have reacted in that manner.”
Sadira nodded. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll attempt to refrain from acknowledging any familial affiliation with Tactical, if only to avoid conflict within the rest of the ship’s crew.”
“Thank you, Midshipman. I would appreciate that-it’s entirely possible that we’ll end up in one of these tin cans for a very long time over the course of this war and it’s integral to our mission that we be psychologically capable of surviving those situations. You are dismissed, Midshipman Caspar.”
“Thank you.” Sadira saluted, turned, and left the room, leaving Kim alone with the files. She understood that, should she attempt to continue reading about the ship's history this late, she’d be up until Ship's Morning. She needed sleep-the Strike Group was on 24/7 High Alert, and they could literally be called to action at any moment.
She slipped back through the door into her quarters, and set her tablet to sleep mode. The lights dimmed; her eyes closed. Faintly she could hear the hum of the Warrior’s engines-massive Matter-Annihilation Capsules, capable of propelling a vessel a quarter of a mile in length through space at a sizable fraction of the speed of light. Modern military doctrine required keeping a fleet moving at all times, at an unpredictable speed, in an unpredictable direction. While the Strike Group might act out a choreographed sequence of events in combat, there was deliberately no logic to its movement within the star system. Space was huge, and the easiest way to avoid being found in it was to simply head off into the void. Strike Group Warrior was complying with that wisdom, and though Julian kept it within a light-second or two of the system’s primary Foldpoint, that was a hell of a lot of space for a hostile force to search through.
Hypnagogic imagery of warships engaged in battle, the familiar Terran ones, and the utterly unfamiliar D designs, swam through Kim’s mind as she drifted off to sleep. Yes, she realized, starships dance. It’s structured, yes. There are only so many possibilities. But if a dance is defined as ‘a series of rhythmic sequential movements,’ then no-one can claim otherwise.