by Jake Elwood
Chapter 23
Under the circumstances, on a damaged ship during a crisis in wartime, Tom felt perfectly ridiculous putting on his dress uniform. Nevertheless he dressed with care, checking his reflection in the tiny mirror above his sink. He looked tired, haggard, gaunt. I need to get some sleep. The crew needs to see a captain who's got it together.
I'll sleep, he promised himself. After this one last duty.
He buckled on his sword, checked that it was hanging straight, smoothed his jacket, and left his cabin. He found Harper in the corridor outside. The marine's dress uniform was black, the jacket several centimeters shorter than Tom's, the stripe up his trouser legs a vivid blue. The sword was identical, though. Harper said, "Maybe you should move into the captain's cabin."
"No."
Harper didn't argue, just fell in beside him as Tom headed for the shuttle bay.
They entered the forward section and descended to Deck One. In the corridor leading to the shuttle bay they found more than a dozen spacers lining the starboard bulkhead. They all wore clean uniforms without coveralls or work belts. All of them looked tired, but they'd washed and done what they could to look professional. They stood rigidly at attention, their backs against the bulkhead, not speaking as the two officers went past.
The shuttle bay was full, which explained the line outside. Bodies filled the center of the bay in a triple line, each corpse sewed into a shroud. Tom wasn't sure where the crew had scrounged up the fabric. He saw different colors and textures, but all of it was dark.
The ship's entire complement of marines lined the port bulkhead, twelve somber figures standing perfectly rigid with their eyes forward. Along the starboard bulkhead the spacers were a less tidy group, huddled together in irregular clumps. Some had tears on their cheeks. Others stared at the deck plates, their expressions bleak.
Tom and Harper parted ways, Harper joining the marines, Tom picking his way along the narrow gap between the shrouded bodies and the gathered spacers. He reached the front of the bay and stood with his back to the bay doors.
He surveyed the gathered crew, and noticed for the first time half a dozen pirates in a group near the marines. They gazed back at him, solemn-faced. He looked down at the bodies, then lifted his gaze to his crew.
"From the first time human beings left the surface of the Earth, space travel has been fraught with danger. For centuries it has attracted the best, the most courageous, the brightest stars humanity has to offer. In return, space has given us the chance to explore, to open new worlds, to express the very best parts of what it means to be human.
"And from time to time, space extracts a price for these gifts. Sometimes that price is cruelly high. These are our friends, our shipmates. They are some of the best and finest in the United Worlds. Not satisfied with lives of safety and comfort planetside, they chose to take up the challenge of duty in space. They chose to serve their nation, to place their very lives on the line so that their countrymen could be safe.
"It has been my great privilege to serve alongside these people. Their service has ended. Their trials are over. They rest, but they are not forgotten."
Tom turned to face the back of the shuttle bay. O'Reilly stood there, fingers poised over his bracer. Tom nodded, and O'Reilly tapped the bracer. The force field behind Tom came to life with a faint hum, stirring the hair on the back of his head. Then, with a rumble, the bay doors slid open.
"We commit their bodies to the stars," Tom said. He turned, acutely conscious of the vacuum of deep space less than a meter away, and walked to the starboard bulkhead. The spacers there crowded back to make room.
Two spacers in heavy boots came forward. They stood before the shimmering force field, looked across the bay at O'Reilly, and nodded. O'Reilly worked his bracer, reducing the gravity field in the bay, and Tom felt his stomach lurch as the deck seemed to sink away beneath him.
The two spacers stepped toward the nearest body, moving their feet with careful deliberation. Their boots were magnetized, allowing them to keep their footing as they worked. They lifted the first body and turned to face the open bay doors.
The music when it started was so faint Tom thought he was imagining it. A soft rumble began, just at the edge of awareness, then slowly grew until he looked around, trying to figure out the source.
The two spacers gave the first body a gentle toss. It sailed forward, floated through the force field, and drifted away into hyperspace. Energy storms would destroy the body, reducing it eventually to its component atoms. The spacer would merge with the void.
The music grew in volume, a wordless song so full of sorrow and lament that Tom, who'd been keeping his emotions under rigid control, thought he might burst into tears. The marines were singing, if that was what you called a song without words. He had never heard such music, like pure distilled emotion. The voices of the marines were rough, untrained, but they sang with such heartache Tom felt like his guts were being turned inside out.
A second body drifted into the void.
Another voice joined the song. It was Alice Rose, her voice rising high and clear above the rumbling bass of the marines. She stood with her eyes closed and her head tilted back, and her voice seemed to weave in and out of the marines' song, using it as a foundation to rise higher and higher, then sinking back down.
One by one, the other pirates joined in. They seemed to have a different musical tradition, but one with the same distant roots as the lament from the marines. The two songs blended, separated, then blended again. It was sadness given form, and it tore at Tom as the bodies went past, one by one.
Brady is in one of those shrouds. Is she already gone? You did your best for me in a bad situation. You did your duty, and you helped me do mine. Thank you, Brady. Goodbye. Goodbye, Carstairs. You befriended me when none of the other officers would. I'll miss you.
He said goodbye to all of them as the bodies drifted past, people he'd worked with, people who'd helped him, and anonymous faces he had passed in the corridors.
Faces he would never see again.
At last the final body sailed into the void. O'Reilly tapped his bracer, and Tom felt his weight increase until the gravity in the bay was back to normal. There was an awkward moment as people looked at one another, and Tom wondered if he should give some final words. Then the tension broke, people leaving their tight ranks and beginning to chat with one another. A handful of spacers crossed the bay to shake hands with the marines and thank them for the song.
More spacers clustered around the pirates. Tom edged closer, and heard crew members giving heartfelt thanks. "That was so beautiful," a woman said, wiping at her cheeks with one hand while squeezing Alice's arm with the other. "You gave Jimmy a proper send-off. Thank you so much."
In a few minutes it was over, most of the spacers gone, the pirates and marines talking quietly in two separate groups. Tom stepped into the space between them. "Thank you," he said. "You did a fine thing today."
Both groups gazed at him, expressions solemn.
"Now I have an assignment," he said. "I need to put a crew on the Free Bird to take her to Argo." He looked at Alice. "How many crew will it take to fly her that far?"
"Three," she said promptly. "They can get there in sixty or seventy hours. Three people is enough for a three-day trip."
"Choose your crew and send them over," Tom told her. Then he turned to Harper. "I want you to send two marines with them."
Harper nodded. Tom glanced at Alice, who stared back with lips pressed tight. She clearly didn't like the implication that her people couldn't be trusted. She gave him a stiff nod, though.
"Get going right away," Tom said. "The Kestrel will catch up. Don't waste any time, but when you get to Argo, approach cautiously. The Dawn Alliance might already be there."
Chapter 24
"Battle Stations."
It was Tom's second day in command of the Kestrel, and he was beginning to feel almost comfortable in the big chair. Starting a ship-wide drill sti
ll felt odd, though.
"Gun Station Bravo reports ready," Harris said. After a moment he added, "Fire suppression crews report ready."
Several seconds passed. Then several more.
"Any word from the other gun stations?" Tom said at last.
"No, Sir."
For that matter, who else is supposed to report in? I wasn't expecting to hear from the fire crews. I've never been on the bridge during a drill.
Wait, there's one group that I know is supposed to call in. He tapped his bracer, went through the communications menu, and called Operations. "Operations. What's your status?"
Silence.
Tom sighed and looked around the bridge. O'Reilly, as acting First Officer, should really be in Operations. Tom didn't want him away from the bridge during a crisis, though. So who should be there? Maybe the off-shift bridge crew. That would be Silver and Trenholm.
"All right," he said, "I can see we need to clear up a few things. That's fine. That's why we have drills." He brought up the microphone on the arm of his chair. "All hands, this is the Captain." It still felt very strange to say that. "Remain at your posts. I'll be doing a quick inspection and clarifying some assignments." He stowed the microphone and stood. "Mr. O'Reilly, could you come with me, please?"
The two of them walked through the ship, finding a lot of nervous-looking crew waiting at their posts. It occurred to Tom that he had very little idea who was assigned to do what during Battle Stations, or why. He knew there were a lot of redundancies in the way things were done under normal circumstances, with extra crew standing by to take the place of casualties or people drawn away by emergencies.
Now, however, things had changed. With desperate crew shortages, redundancies were a luxury he couldn't afford. He visited one station after another, asking people to explain what their assignments were. O'Reilly took notes, and Tom slowly built up a picture of how the ship functioned during a crisis.
He found Gun Station Alpha completely unmanned. It shocked him at first, but he realized it only made sense. The entire gun crew was dead, and so was Lieutenant Curtis, who oversaw the ship's turret weapons. Gun Station Bravo, by contrast, had three spacers on duty. One person could operate the laser in a pinch. It was better to have a second person, who would act as a spotter. Three were completely unnecessary. Tom reassigned a man to Station Alpha and continued on his way.
"We need more gunners," Tom said to O'Reilly as they walked down the spine. "See if any of the pirates have relevant experience." He thought for a moment. "Oh, and talk to the marines, too. They're all about shooting things. I bet they'd make terrific gunners."
O'Reilly nodded and made a note.
As they passed the brig Tom had a thought. "Is Hanson still confined to quarters? I forgot all about him."
"I had him released this morning." O'Reilly gave Tom an embarrassed look. "I hope that's all right. You were asleep, and Lieutenant Sawyer needed another spacer. Hanson swore to me he would be good."
"That's fine," Tom said. "I should have released him earlier. I just forgot."
Electronic Surveillance Two, commonly known as the Aft Spotting Room, was a tiny compartment on the underside of the hull in the aft section, barely big enough to seat two people. A cluster of scanners bristled from the hull nearby, feeding data directly to the two stations in the compartment. The compartment also had a large window, so the spotters could be of some use if anti-electronic measures scrambled the scanners.
Tom and O'Reilly arrived to find a scowling marine and a surly pirate in the corridor outside, and a solitary spacer inside. Tom stuck his head into the compartment long enough to verify that the young woman inside knew her job and what was expected of her. Then he closed the hatch and turned to the pair in the corridor.
The marine and the pirate were remarkably similar, though they seemed to hold opposing worldviews. They were both young men in their late twenties. They were both fit, competent-looking, and angry. They both turned to stare at Tom with flat, expressionless faces.
Tom said, "What's your name, Marine?"
"Unger, Sir."
"What's your station, Unger?"
"General spotter in the aft section, Sir." Unger patted the rifle slung from his shoulder. "My instructions are to be ready to repel boarders or deal with other security issues, and to watch for fires, damage, or casualties."
Tom turned to the pirate. "And your name?"
"Collins." The man glowered, as if daring Tom to challenge him for the missing word "Sir".
"What's your station, Collins?"
Collins looked at O'Reilly. "This one here said I was supposed to go to the window room." He jerked a thumb at the hatch behind him. "He says the basic scanner systems are like the ones on the Free Bird. He says the Free Bird crew are more used to using their eyes, while the Navy boys all depend on instruments. He said I'd be useful here."
"This is a sensitive post," Unger said. "We can't have personnel that we don't trust getting access to the instruments. I said I'd have to go along with him, keep an eye on him. But there wasn't room inside."
"The ape won't let me do my job," Collins said, glaring at the marine. "Don't matter to me. I never hired on to help a bunch of Navy boys. I can stand out here. No skin off my ass."
"I might have let it go," Unger said, not taking his eyes off the pirate. "Until he opened his mouth. He's pretty hostile. Frankly, he's not someone I'd trust anywhere near sensitive equipment." He curled his lip. "I wouldn't trust him to serve me a cup of coffee."
Collins bristled, and Tom said, "That's enough." When neither man moved he said, "Unger. Back off a ways, please."
The marine took two paces back, his gaze fixed on Collins's face.
"Thank you. Now, stop glaring at Collins."
Unger looked at Tom, startled. Then he smoothed his features and stared at a spot just above Collins's left shoulder.
Tom turned to Collins. Unger was right, he saw. Collins had paid lip service to Alice's plea for cooperation, but he radiated hostility.
"Collins."
Collins didn't react, just stared at Unger.
"Collins, I'm talking to you."
The pirate turned reluctantly and met his gaze.
"It's time to decide what side you're on."
The man's head jerked back as if Tom had just insulted him. "I'm on the side of the Free Planets."
"The Free Planets haven't got a Navy," Tom said. "The Free Bird is gone, and you're not getting her back."
Collins scowled.
"The United Worlds has interfered with the governments of the colonies," Tom said. "That bothers you. I understand. But right now the governments of those colonies are being dismantled. Destroyed utterly. You had limited self-determination under UW rule. Now, you have nothing at all."
A muscle jumped in Collins's cheek, but he didn't speak.
"You must know what's happening on your home world right now. If the Dawn Alliance hasn't invaded yet, they will soon. You know what they'll do."
"That's where we should be going!" Collins leaned toward Tom, bringing his hands up in a frustrated gesture that made Unger unsling his rifle. "Not gallivanting off to some outpost."
"We're one shot-up frigate," Tom said. "We can't take on the whole Dawn Alliance. That's going to take a massive effort. It will take the entire United Worlds Navy, and all of their allies. All we can do is our share. We can keep some people and supplies out of Dawn Alliance hands.
"We can do our share," he repeated. "What about you? Will you do your share? Will you help us fight the people who are invading your home world? Or will you pretend it's not happening because you're too pissed off at the people who are eventually going to liberate your planet?"
Collins glared at him, clenching his hands into fists. Fabric rustled behind Tom as Unger shifted position. "I already said I'd help, didn't I?" Collins demanded.
"Yes, you did," said Tom. "But talk is cheap, isn't it?"
Collins recoiled as if he'd been slapped.
"It's pretty clear your heart's not in it," Tom said. "I don't need any half-assed helpers. Everyone around you is laying their life on the line to fight your enemies. You don't get to come along as a tourist, making faces and complaining and expecting to be congratulated every time you do something. The rest of us are committed to this mission. If you're not going to commit, you can go sit in a cell with Fagan and be just as dedicated and useless as he is."
For a long moment the two men stared at each other. Then, millimeter by millimeter, Collins's shoulders slumped. He lowered his gaze. "Fine."
"That's not good enough, Collins."
The man's head snapped back up. "Fine!" he snapped. "I'm committed. I'll do my part." He grimaced. "I won't complain about it, either. I'd rather rush back to Emerald. But, since I can't do that, I'll do what I can right here." He looked down for a moment, shook his head, then looked up and met Tom's gaze. "You won't get any more trouble from me." He hesitated. "Sir."
"Good," said Tom. "Take your post."
Collins opened the hatch to the Aft Observation Room, ducked through, and let the hatch close behind him.
"Don't worry, Sir," said Unger. "I'll keep an eye on him."
"No you won't." The words came out more sharply than he'd intended, and Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need you to ignore him. Treat him like any other crewman."
Unger didn't argue, but the expression on his face spoke volumes.
"Look. Unger. Your instincts were good. There was an issue with Collins, and you spotted that. But now …" Tom shook his head, searching for the words to express what he was thinking. He'd learned about leadership in Basic Officer Training, but in truth he'd spent much of his classroom time just fighting to stay awake. He didn't know if something like this had been covered, but his instincts told him how Collins needed to be handled. "If we trust him, he will be trustworthy. If we watch him, if we don't trust him, well, he'll do what we expect."