by P. R. Adams
“The ones who lived?”
“Some died?”
“All who stayed within for any period.”
“Hmph.” The younger man twisted. “What theory did the survivors have?”
“A weapon.”
“So, you have seen the files then? We have more knowledge than we admit?”
“They do. And they believe that was the target of a strike. Or an accident. Or maybe it was the place being protected when they used the weapon that caused this great pit.”
“What sort of weapon could do this?”
“Something orbital. Something advanced. Whatever it was, perhaps it is what caused this moon to become such a barren waste.”
“Madness. And no one knows for sure?”
“There is no knowing, not with something so old. But there is theory.”
The younger man’s eyes twinkled with curiosity. “About who these people were?”
“Yes. You have heard it yourself: Some of the planets we claim have ruins, maybe like this. Others throughout Gulmar and maybe Moskav space have the same.”
“Older species?”
“Or just one. More advanced, certainly. But they settled here long ago.”
Franke harrumphed. “This does not match the teachings.”
“Only a blind few believe we were the first and the greatest, but those are dangerous enough. So nothing is spoken about these findings.”
“We could learn from them?”
“Possibly.”
“This weapon—what would justify destroying a place that could support life?”
“Hatred of other life, Lieutenant. A lesson we already know, do we not?”
“But they must have left more in their ruins.”
“Who knows what they left behind. Who knows what happened to them. And maybe that is the lesson. Anyway, the military position has always been not to wake the dead. I happen to agree.”
A clatter brought them back around. The robots were coming toward them, Lyonne between them, eyes locked onto a glowing, hand-sized piece of plastic. “Major!”
The dogs stopped at the edge of the crater and looked down. Ice already covered them.
O’Bannon took the piece of plastic from the private. The world as seen through the robot-dogs’ eyes filled the display. “Good. Send them down, please.”
Lyonne squatted beside the robots and snapped ice from their backs. “You two be careful. You saw the image of what we’re looking for. Antennas, devices of any sort. Something that could indicate someone transmitted from down there. Okay?”
The dogs rubbed against him.
“Go on!”
They jumped down about four meters, their metal paws scraping and scratching. On the display, it was all smooth rock—here a ledge, there a flat area where something had cracked and collapsed, and over there a pit that could lead to something breaking. The robots’ programming handled it all flawlessly.
After a few minutes, the dogs were close to the bottom. Their mix of thermal, ultraviolet, and LIDAR signals produced an interesting map of the way down. The glass-like bottom—smooth as a still lake in one area—almost seemed like an optical illusion.
The major snorted. “A distinct lack of equipment for transmission, I fear.” He handed the display back to the private.
Franke nodded to the east. “What of the ruins?”
“Possibly. There is a winding path, a wide fissure that connects the crater and the ruins. We could—”
Lyonne gasped. “Major!”
“Yes?”
“It is Jurgen. His signal—” The young man shook his head. “Gone. It is gone.”
The major looked over the young man’s shoulder. “Send Engel around to where Jurgen was.”
The remaining signal filled the display, but there was no sign of the other robot anywhere.
Lyonne handed the display back to O’Bannon. “I will go, sir. He is probably—”
“No. Leave it.”
“But Jurgen—”
“They’re old and unreliable, Private Lyonne, but you are not.”
“I know how to climb, Major.”
“The risk is too great. Log it as a loss due to system failure. Bring the other one back now.”
“Yes, sir.” Lyonne brought up a command console and tapped. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
O’Bannon patted the young man on his shoulder. “Maybe we’ll find him in the summer.”
Lyonne laughed, but it was only a temporary respite from his sorrow.
O’Bannon waved Franke away from the edge. “I plan to report that we checked the source of this signal out and it was nothing. What do you say?”
“It makes sense, Major. What could have possibly transmitted from this horrible place anyway?”
The major glanced back at the crater and shivered. “What, indeed?”
6
The Clarion was an ancient ship, officially a light destroyer, which wasn’t even part of fleet designation anymore. Its bridge was spacious compared to the Pandora’s, and there was a jarring brightness and polish to everything, something Benson had noticed when glancing at the outer airlock hatch. The smell of fresh paint and cleanness was pleasing, as was the barely perceptible whisper of the air filtration system. But the newness also warned her that the recent refit and upgrade that created the sheen of modernity couldn’t hide just how old the ship really was.
Could it be relied upon if things became violent with the Azoren?
Colonel McLeod was waiting for her on the bridge. He took her by the elbow and guided her to the command station behind the helm bay, all under the watch of a pale, stocky woman with black hair and thick sideburns that reached her jaw. “This is the Clarion’s primary crew.” McLeod pointed to the woman—a lieutenant commander. “Commander Benson, Commander Patricia Scalise. She’ll be your executive officer.”
The stocky woman stepped forward, eyes raised to look up at Benson. “Commander. Welcome aboard. I have five years as an XO.”
“Thank you.” Benson felt off-balance. She’d printed a fresh dress white uniform on the chance there would be some sort of celebration or ceremony, but the crew wore blue flight suits. I didn’t get the memo.
McLeod didn’t seem to notice just how awkward the moment was. “So, this will be where you spend most of your time during the mission.”
He seemed similarly oblivious to how out of place his enthusiasm was.
Benson put on an uncomfortable smile. “Commander Scalise, could you—?”
“Oh!” The stocky woman turned toward the helm. “I’m sorry. These are your staff. Lieutenant Bales is your communications officer, Lieutenant Ferrara is your helmsman, and Ensign Chao is your weapons officer.”
Bales was a youthful-looking, lanky black man with a broad smile. “Welcome aboard, Commander.”
Ferrara was a much less youthful-looking man and had more of a bronze skin tone. His face was puffy, his eyes large. He extended a hand, which seemed equally swollen. “Commander.” His grip was weak.
Sick. Benson would need to check his record. “Thank you.”
Finally, Ensign Chao straightened. “Welcome aboard, ma’am.”
He was small, but he obviously took care of himself. When he shook her hand, there was the same sort of confident strength she’d come to know from Halliwell.
“Thank you so much.” Benson turned back to Scalise. “Is this…?”
Scalise arched her eyebrows. “The entire bridge crew? Yes. Staffing changes affected even capital ships. Smaller ships are down to minimum personnel. The Clarion was just launched a few months ago after two years of refitting. You won’t find a bit of slack in her roster.”
“I’m sure we’ll all have a chance to learn about each other over the next few days, but I promise to come up to speed on things quickly.”
The staff smiled obligingly.
Not Scalise, though. Her pale brown eyes kept a piercing, patient lock on Benson.
Is there going to be a problem? “Com
mander Scalise, would you mind showing me to my quarters?”
Scalise glared. “Of course, Captain.”
The way “captain” came out—bitter, sharp…there was definitely going to be a problem.
They left McLeod on the bridge and sped past Sergeant Halliwell, who had been waiting outside. He was sharp enough to pick up on both officers’ tense body language.
“Officers’ Country is just down this passageway, ma’am.” Scalise was short of breath, and not from the brisk walk. “If you notice that the passageways are narrower than on most ships, it’s to allow for more circuitry and systems hardening and redundancy. Everything’s embedded in these shielded walls, distributed to provide a better chance of survival.”
“I see.”
“It’s almost impossible for a single hit to cripple the Clarion because of this design. The Clarion’s the first to have it implemented, and now they’re retrofitting it into the Valor.”
Another delay for the Valor. Benson noticed the bristling posture of the other woman. “Mind telling me what I’ve done wrong, Commander?”
“Only if the captain gives me permission to speak candidly.”
Their boots clomped against the deck.
“Permission granted.”
They turned down a passageway that connected to another one at the end but stopped shortly after the turn. Everything was painted a light gray. There were three hatches on the right wall, four on the left.
Scalise sucked in a breath, and the color that had built up in her cheeks faded slightly. “It’s not fair for me to be mad at you, of course, but you’re the only one I can be mad at right now, so there you have it.”
“Since I don’t believe in hysterical nonsense, there has to be a reason.”
“I have a reason, but it might be considered petty and misguided.”
“You were expecting to be given command of the Clarion when you received the assignment?”
The husky woman bowed her head. “Everything. I did everything to ensure my promotion, and another year goes by without…” Her voice broke slightly at the end.
“I understand the feeling.”
“I don’t think you do.” Scalise tugged one of her sideburns. “Look at me. Look at you. You’re one of the hotshots coming out of the Academy; I had to bust my ass coming up through candidate school. You came from money; my parents ran an agri-business on Muresi.”
Muresi. Halliwell’s home. Not a great place. “I do understand what you’re feeling. What I mean by that is that I wanted command so bad, I started to look down on my situation and not to believe in myself.”
“I believe in me plenty! It’s everyone else who—”
“Give me a second. Please. What I mean is that I turned sour on the system because it felt like it had given up on me. But now I’ve got this.”
“I know what you have, Commander.”
“Do you? Think about what we’ve been assigned. A destroyer that was refitted instead of mothballed. A few other ships en route that can’t be much better if at all, and they’re pulling two ships out of mothballs down there. Those ships aren’t being given significant upgrades. I’m not even sure they’ll be truly space-worthy.”
“And you’ll be in command of the entire task force.”
Benson ground a knuckle into her forehead, trying to thwart an imminent headache. “A task force that’s been given an assignment with almost no chance of success. This is going to be the second time in a month I’ll be heading into Azoren space, and the last time got me killed.”
Scalise tensed, then relaxed. “I’m sorry. We hadn’t been informed you were among the dead.”
“Among the living now, thank you.”
The short woman shoved her hands into her pockets. “Might as well show you your cabin while we’re here.”
She opened the first hatch on the right—the closest to the bridge. The interior was about twice the size of Benson’s cabin on the Pandora. The fold-out bed was down and made; it was larger than her old one as well. The bedspread was Navy gray-blue and had the Clarion’s emblem printed on it. There was a set of shelves, and the personal locker space was significantly larger.
And she had a head of her own—a small shower, toilet, and sink as big as the walk-in closet she used to have in her bedroom back on Kedraal.
Benson ran a hand over the bed cover. “It’s nice.”
“Thank you.” Scalise looked the cabin over with open pride.
“You cleaned it up?”
“Printed out the blanket. Put a few personal touches on the shower and sink.”
“Don’t give up, Commander. It may not turn out to be what you were expecting, but it will come if you keep trying.”
The stocky woman swallowed. “I won’t.”
Benson eyed the spot that would hold her globe. It seemed so silly now, yet it also seemed a part of her that couldn’t be shaken off. How would her mother feel knowing that her daughter had finally been given a command of her own? Would the truth come out if the task force were obliterated by the Azoren, or would SAID bury the whole thing even from parliament members?
Scalise cleared her throat. “Any chance there’s still some time left on that freedom to speak candidly?”
“I’d prefer we always have open and honest discussions, personally.”
“Good. So, one of the people you didn’t meet today was Owen.”
“Owen?”
“Captain Owen Gadreau. He’s the head of your Marine contingent.”
“Does he have the same sort of problem with me?”
“He’s going to have an all new problem with you, I think. Was that good-looking Marine outside the bridge from the Pandora?”
“Yes. He ran my—” Benson could see what Scalise was driving at. “I’ve received authorization to keep Sergeant Halliwell on as a consultant.”
“Mm-hm. Which won’t offend Owen at all.”
“Sergeant Halliwell—”
“I know Clive, Captain. He might not remember me, but I remember him. And he’s going to be a problem.”
She knows Clive? “He’s a very disciplined—”
“The Clive Halliwell I knew was stubborn and reckless.”
“He’s changed.”
“People don’t generally change that much, not unless they undergo trauma.”
“Which Sergeant Halliwell has. He and Corporal Grier are the only two survivors—”
“Of the Dramoran Incident. I know. I’ve got a few friends with connections.”
“It made a big impact on him.”
Scalise chewed her lip. “He’s still going to be a problem. Owen runs a tight operation. I knew him when he was still a gunnery sergeant. He’s got a spotless record and lots of experience, and he follows orders.”
“We all follow orders.”
“He follows orders without hesitation and without question.”
Gadreau isn’t just going to have problems with Clive; he’s going to have problems with me.
It was exactly the sort of thing that had been gnawing at Benson since waking from death. Since the second she realized Martinez had put the entire ship into danger. Orders had to have some reason and rationale behind them. If headquarters sent out a directive to fire on civilian facilities, it was an illegal order. It couldn’t be followed.
But this Gadreau sounded like the sort who expected all orders to be followed.
It was something they’d have to sort out later.
Benson leaned against the bed. “Tell me about the crew.”
“Well, you’ve met the best of them. I think Ensign Chao’s full of promise. Bales is competent. Lieutenant Rao is good. She runs the second shift. She was supposed to be promoted this last time around, but it looks like she was one of the lucky ones who will make it next year.”
“And Lieutenant Ferrara?”
“He’s coming off a batch of cancer treatments. He applied for separation and was denied. If you hadn’t heard, they’re having a hard time keeping qualit
y officers in.”
“And they’ve cut back on Academy class sizes and OCS commissions. I know.”
“Isn’t your mother Assemblywoman Sargota Benson?”
Benson blushed. Here came the inevitable accusation of favoritism. “Yes.”
“Might want to keep that to yourself. Owen doesn’t care for the Labor movement.”
“Labor Party. It’s been an accepted party for as long as the current version of the Republic has existed.”
“As far as he’s concerned, it’s still a front organization for the Moskav.”
“My mother’s as loyal to the Republic as anyone. It’s possible to have views that aren’t popular and still be a good citizen.”
“I guess. But if those are your views—”
“They’re not!” Benson winced. “Sorry. My mother and I don’t agree on much.”
“But you’re sticking up for her. I understand. Just…don’t mention it around Owen.”
Benson bunched one of the pillows. How wonderful would it be to have Halliwell’s head pressed against that cloth? To hear his sleeping breath once again? To run her fingers through his hair and look into his eyes?
But that was going to be a lot tougher on a ship the size of the Clarion. “I’ll be keeping my old crew with me, Commander Scalise.”
“It’s your call, Captain.”
“Call me Faith, please. When it’s just the two of us.”
Scalise shrugged. “I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”
“Commander Dietrich is the best surgeon we have in the fleet. Chief Parkinson and Petty Officer Kohn are already involved in getting those ships online. And Sergeant Halliwell’s combat experience against the Azoren should prove invaluable.”
The stocky woman took a couple steps toward the hatch but scuffed to a stop and let out a little sigh. “Clive ever talk to you about Jaqqi Gosset?”
“Who?”
“Jaqqi Gosset.” Scalise slowly turned around. “The reason he went into the military.”
A shiver twisted in Benson’s gut. “I don’t recall the name, no. Clive—Sergeant Halliwell and I haven’t really discussed personal matters before.”
“That’s terrible. He’s a good-looking guy. There are a lot of women who’d love to sink their claws into him.”