Vindication

by Ken Wolfson

  "Good to have you back. I need a happy trigger finger in these times," Adrian said.

  "Oh, I'll pull the trigger on any cunt you want me to." He slipped into a seat. His head was still past Adrian's standing height. Damn zero-g babies.

  Next, Jamie walked in, a red goggle outline burned into her brow. "Commander," she rasped. She took a seat, and pointed at her throat. Fighter-pilots tended to lose their voices, from all that shouting in the heat of combat. Adrian pointed at the beer. Jamie promptly downed an entire can.

  Then came Doc Veris, who sat down without a word. They were all that were coming. Jon Sare was being shoveled into a casket, and Grissom languished in surgery, getting his forehead reconstructed and frontal lobes rejuvenated.

  "We're in deep shit, but we're not dead. So, I am going to continue to operate as if we are under normal wartime conditions, and I expect every one of you to do the same," Adrian said. Silence for a long minute.

  "And what are we going to do?" Elliot said.

  "We're going to assess the damage, find a safe harbor to conduct repairs and possibly link up with friendlies, and then we're going to bleed these traitors dry," Adrian said as he slammed his fist into the table. The other officers jumped at the impact.

  "Well, what do we have on the traitorous motherfuckers?" Cage said.

  "They're led by our good friend Emoche Hulle; they include apparently all of first and second fleets. No word if the Venkos are involved, and they came out of nowhere, which implies ministry of intelligence involvement to execute a conspiracy of that size," Adrian said. "So we don't know who to trust. Anything to add?"

  Cross cleared her throat. "They're still using our tactics. I got my own flight maneuvers thrown right back at me," she said.

  "Good; we know what to expect next time. Were there Wendago out there? I haven't had time to review the sensor logs, but none were shooting at us directly," Adrian said. Nothing. "Keep a look out." Adrian cracked his own beer, and took a quick drink. "Doc, how are you doing?”

  “Well enough, I’ve stabilized everyone I could,” Veris said. He slid into a seat and grabbed a drink. “There’s still work to be done.”

  "Everyone’s here, we've got work to do," Adrian said. He finished his beer in one long gulp, and grabbed another.

  "A couple lifetimes of work to do," Ravin said.

  "And we'll do it by the time we reach the next star system," Amelie said.

  "Anyways, Technical Colonel, how's our engineering and navigation?" Adrian said. He started on this beer. His hands had finally stopped shaking.

  "Reactor three is done. I'm sealing her off until we find a dry dock, and sending requisitions for thirty-three lead-lined caskets," Ravin said. "I can get the plasma drives all online and reinforce the power grid so it doesn't go down in combat. The problem is the FTL spools. Two is being held together by duct tape, and three is showing heat damage along her magnetic conveyors as a result of stress from keeping two up." He pushed his beer at Cross, who chugged it.

  "Can we fly?" Adrian said.

  "For short range tunnels I can run her on two, though that'll strain three further do to resonating heat and radiation. We need all three to get anywhere more than two light years without serious mechanical risks, which is what it looks like we'll be doing," he said.

  "What about the redundancies? This ship carries extra components for everything." Adrian said.

  "We used them already. Spools one and three had to be totally replaced after Vykhor, and earlier than that, number one had the double-magnet failure on its own," Ravin said. Another thing that wasn't a problem when she was being decommissioned. Oh, well. He'd have to improvise.

  "Try two; if not, then go with three, and helm will keep their fingers on the emergency egress lever," Adrian said. "Now, I've got a list of possible fleet redoubts. The navigation departments got their heads together."

  He pulled up a map of Wicked Creek on the table's cracked surface. A spiderweb centered on Tollyon and radiated outwards across the region. There were 132 systems in the 3-dimensional area of space identified as Wicked Creek. Of them, Tollyon was the only garden world and major population center. Six worlds were classified as developed worlds with city-level infrastructure, and the rest were marginal settlements for trade, mining, and private communities. Such was the population density of the five regions of the Expanse. The fleet had thirty-odd outposts of all sizes scattered about. Half were manned.

  "Well, how do we know there won't be a horde of Wendago waiting for us to egress, with their pants down and railgun batteries mooning us?" Ravin said.

  "We don't, so I'm picking a remote base. Navigation's highlighted five within ten light-years. Any of you have input?" Adrian highlighted the five bases green. Three were in barren systems, one orbited a barren world with a mining colony, and one had a system population of three million, mostly tending industrial crop farms orbiting a yellow star.

  "Cross Tovil off right away. I saw a house Nykola cruiser firing on the Anchorage, and they're the biggest owners in that system," Cross said. Adrian removed the mining colony. He listened to his subordinates. Any good Commander knew that the best ideas came from anywhere, and knew which subordinates to trust for good ideas.

  "I'd recommend IPX-88—that one," Ravin said, and pointed out the furthest base.

  "That's a lot of distance for number 2 spool to handle, you sure?" Amelie said.

  "If you remove the mining colony, it’s the only one with facilities to handle a supercarrier, so yes I’m sure. Though it’s a damn far trek," he said. "A lot can happen in ten days."

  "We could all die. Or we could not. We're going there," Adrian said. Well, he wasn't comfortable with any of the options; too many variables that could kill him and Vindication. That was war, and the universe would keep moving on its own, so might as well make his choice and keep up. "Now, one more issue. The radio nest was wiped out. I need a new crew and department chief," Adrian said.

  "Single digit survivors out of about two-hundred people," Veris said.

  "Exactly. Go through your department rosters and find anyone with any experience and training in EWAR or communications, civilian courses included. Send their dossiers my way for review, we’re giving the XO some rest," Adrian said. He finished the second beer and grabbed a third.

  "Yes, sir," they murmured.

  "Any last concerns?"

  "Me," Cross said. "They know all our tactics and we know all theirs. We won at Tollyon on having the most talented and coordinated fighter wing in the fleet, but that narrows the margin of victory too much. I—"

  She coughed her lungs out. Amelie opened her the final beer can, and Jamie chugged that one too. "Our flight sims were a total loss during the battle. I want an unlimited requisition of torch fuel so I can take the Knights out and develop some fresh tactics."

  "Granted. I trust you not to run the tanks dry," Adrian said. Jamie laughed, and tossed the can over her shoulder, swishing into the accelerator.

  "Boss, anything else?" Ravin said.

  "That's all. Dismissed," Adrian said. They filed out, save Amelie, who took his hand and waited until the door had shut.

  "What's going on?" he said.

  "I took some initiative found you a comms chief," she said. She drew out a slip of plastic, and slapped it before him. Adrian clapped his hands to his head.

  "You're not supposed to be working."

  "Now I’m not. So are you going to use my work or not?" she said

  "Who did you find?" he said, and scooped it up.

  "Lieutenant Zoella Marlay, currently serving as a TACNET analyst with the recon boys in the frame 1 sensor pods," she said.

  Adrian's ears perked.

  "That...actually doesn't surprise me," he said.

  "You know her personally?" Amelie said.

  "She's a charity case I took on, from Lady Flank Admiral Elia Nassar, two years ago. Her Academy MOS was EWAR, and she got top scores across the board, with secondary scores in radio transmission high
enough to get her a post on any ship in the fleet in either of those fields," he said. He didn't need to read the dossier, so he rolled it up and deposited it in his jacket pocket for filing.

  "Good to know I was right. Want me to interview her before dumping the mother of all field promotions in her lap?" she said.

  "I'll do it. Rest on that concussion. That's an order."

  “Yes sir.” She exaggerated the salute and departed.

  Adrian popped his flask and drank deeply. Vodka ran down his throat with a reassuring stabbing pain. He didn’t stop until his eyes were watering.

  He should be home. Waking Alyssa up for school with the warmth of a fresh-cooked breakfast and hugs. Slipping into a pair of Amelie’s tights for some fun while no one but she watched.

  “FUCK!”

  #

  Chapter Twelve: Zoey

  Avrile 1

  2nd day of the War

  "Hello, LT. How are you doing?"

  The woman seated across Adrian's desk clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Technical Lieutenant Zoella Marlay was fairly tall but built stocky. Her skin was a beige shade lighter than Adrian's, and her face splattered with freckles. She had her curly black hair bobbed at ear level, imitating the neat and efficient style of Tollyon businesswomen. And she was young—barely twenty-three and three years out of the academy. Yet the wary look in her eyes betrayed far more experience than twenty-three years provided most.

  "Sir, very good, sir," she said.

  "That's a sir sandwich, LT. Ground pounders love those, but we in the fleet eat more nutritious food." Adrian quoted his first DI from bootcamp. A laugh started on Zoey's face, and drained away in an instant. Adrian chuckled at his own joke, and her smile returned.

  “Permission to speak, sir."

  "Go ahead."

  "What'd you want me here for?" she said.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Sir, I'm not sure how to put this, but given the situation there's no way you called me here for a chitchat. What's going on?" she said. Good; she possessed basic intuition. A mandatory skill for any officer in a command role to possess. She yawned, and instantly grimaced.

  "Is that a yawn? Didn't you sleep in the past day?"

  "Sorry, sir. I pulled an all-nighter to study our old logs for any intercepted comms from Emoche's mercenaries out in the Burn. I thought I could find something we'd overlooked that'd foretold what happened yesterday. Unfortunately there was nothing," she said. With that, she sighed raggedly, and rubbed her eyes. That was above and beyond the call of duty. Adrian already liked his newly minted section chief.

  "Well, Lieutenant, you can get your sleep when you're done here; you'll need it." Her brown eyes widened. "Captain Jonathan Sare is KIA, along with every technical officer in the radio nest. You're the new head of the comms department."

  Her eyes bulged out of their sockets. "Sir, you've got the wrong person for the job. I'm a junior LT. And last time I had responsibility was my ensign posting. That went so bad, admiralty shunted me off to a desk job and told me to wait five years before applying for a promotion." She ran her hands through her hair. "I don't know what you're thinking."

  Failing one's ensign posting was as good as comprehensive as the dreaded denouncement of dishonor in destroying a young officer's career. And for good reason. Ensign was the trial rung on the officer's career ladder. The officer was tutored and pampered there. If they were totally incompetent at even the learner's permit stage of their career, they were hopeless. Many forms were required for anyone to move an officer back to line duty after a failure like that.

  "Well, you’re the best technical officer left in electronics, so you’ve got the job.” Zoey's jaw worked for a few seconds, yet nothing came out. "Afraid?" He asked the rhetorical question.

  "Yes, sir. Why me? I'm a junior Lieutenant and a failure. I got the LT's rank and assigned here because Vindication's old, and you're..." She clamped her hands over her mouth. Disgraced, Adrian finished for her.

  "Actually, Zoey, after that deployment on the comms relay, you weren't assigned here. You were going to be shipped off to the basement of the Citadel and put on spreadsheet duty until you gave up your dream of being a space traffic controller and resigned your commission. Your record would have relegated you to secretary and independent work in the civilian world," Adrian said. Adrian swore he saw tears condensing in the corners of her eyes. "Your old academy mentor came to me and asked me to give you one more chance. I trust Elia’s judgment, so I put you here."

  Zoey gasped in a deep breath, and then spoke.

  "I failed my Ensign cruise. Captain Piernance. XO of the Stockton had to hold back laughter when I asked if I'd made the grade for lieutenant. I don’t understand.”

  " Captain Piernance and Major Nilvar felt threatened by your competence, so they tanked your eval and shitcanned your career. Your fellow ensigns rated you highly, as did every other officer you’d met.” He held up a red packet containing the three meters of paperwork to the fleet personnel department he'd filled out for her. Zoey gasped, speechless again. While she was so, he lunged forwards and struck the hammer blow. “You surpassed expectations during our deployment to Vykhor. Clearly your old COS was the one with poor judgement."

  When Zoey finally pulled herself together, she said, "I don't have a choice to decline, do I?"

  "We don’t choose when the calling comes. You just have to act when it does.” Adrian said. When she hesitated, he leaned across and seized her by the shoulder. "Actually, you do have a choice. You can refuse and accept mediocrity and obscurity, one of two-hundred billion sleepers working dead-end jobs in the lower levels of society. Or you can rise to the call and be someone."

  "Yes, sir. I accept your assignment wholeheartedly," she said. Her fists white-knuckled. "What...do you need me to do?"

  "You assume all of Sare's duties, including management of the communications department, and acting as my voice in the void. I will give you a brevet promotion to Captain so you may have proper authority while I evaluate your performance. If you meet my standards after sixteen standard 25-hour, 7-day weeks of service, you'll get a full promotion with the pay raise and benefits of a Captaincy," Adrian explained.

  Zoey nodded in understanding.

  “Oh, and if you demonstrate undue incompetence or criminal mischief I’ll put you up on charges of treason.”

  Zoey gulped, then nodded.

  "Good." Adrian pinned the Captain's single crimson bar on her collar. He made sure to pin them upside-down with the crossed swords on top, to designate her as a brevet captain and not the full rank yet. "If you have further questions, message me. Otherwise, get some sleep. That's an order."

  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Zoey said. With that she stood, stiffly, and walked out. Adrian followed her out. Time for some sleep of his own.

  #

  Chapter Thirteen: Rally Point

  Avrile 4,

  5th Day of the War

  4 days passed in a blurred collection of bridge shifts. Adrian spent his time on administrative work, rebuilding his roster.

  Fleet work was all administrative. Organize your crew to put the right people in right positions, organize your logistics for maximum efficiency. Train your crew to an effective fighting force, and create a training plan that kept them fresh without taxing them to sleep deprivation. Once in a great while there’d be a fight and the well-oiled machine would spring to life in a flare of violence.

  First on his list was building a communications staff, and after studying every one of the hundred dossiers sent his way, he came up with 20 names for a half-strength department. Zoey and the few experienced survivors were at work by day 3. Then came the rest of his crew, all 10,000 of them. Then he rationed his remaining supplies and ammunition to get the best longevity out of that, as Vindication hadn't had time to replenish after her previous deployment. Easier said than done, but he did it. With help, once his XO got off of mandatory injury rest. His crew worked with greater fervor; the o
uter corridors clanged with the efforts of the engineers and any volunteers with a modicum of technical experience. By the tenth day, Vindication had restored her armor integrity and barriers, which was enough.

  "Sir, we're approaching the jump shelf," Grissom said.

  "Start the clock," Adrian said.

  "Clock started." A clock folded down from the ceiling and counted down from 60.

  Cage grabbed the intercom. "Sixty seconds."

  "And check the spools. I don't want the tunnel collapsing on us," Adrian said.

  "If the FTL tunnel collapses, we'll be deleted from existence. I know," Grissom replied. Not even energy survived a tunnel collapse; the laws of thermodynamics didn't apply when one was outside the universe. They’d leave a ghost behind, a sensor impression of Vindication egressing from its tunnel to light up any nearby ship’s sensors. All their last radio messages and emissions preserved forever.

  "If we're deleted, I'll be disappointed in you," Adrian said. Though his nerves gnawed at his throat, he maintained the jaunty surface.

  The clock reached zero.

  "Regression in three...two...one...mark!" Grissom said. He pulled the lever back. Vindication burst from her warp tunnel and landed in real space with a thunk that shook her to the structural members. Amelie stared warily at her feet.

  "Status?" Adrian said.

  "All clear," Grissom said. A bead of sweat tricked between the plastic retainers holding his forehead together. "Anyways, welcome to IPX-88."

  "Begin combat startup," Adrian said.

  "Sensors up. We are clear to the safety line," Amelie said. That was ten million kilometers, the minimum safe perimeter. The big sensor bulbs buried in Vindication's bow and stern armor had been the only critical departments not damaged during the last fight.

  "Navigation is total green," Grissom said.

  "Fire control online, weapons grid on passive targeting," Cage said.

  "Radio and extra-web feeds online," Zoey said. She was clutching at her microphone like a lifeline.

  "Hangar deck is cleared for action, the pilots are in the ready rooms," Chief Flight controller Captain Will Merle said from the flight control zone at the rear of the bridge.