There was no way she was going to give a bully like Bruno Lorengel the satisfaction of her quitting. She would stick with the training, and she would become the best cinder in the Company. If she could kill a lycaon, she could handle the likes of Bruno Lorengel. He had no idea what he was dealing with.
“That’s it, Ensign. I need to see the captain. Right now.”
The chief designer threw down his stylus on the engineering worktable, making the ensign standing behind him look up in surprise as the clatter broke the quiet of the Laika’s engineering section.
“I can certainly submit your request for an appointment,” Ensign Bruno Lorengel told the designer demurely. “The captain is very busy, so she won’t be able to see you right this moment.”
The thing they never told you about being a security officer, Bruno thought as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other for what was surely the hundredth time this duty rotation, was that it was mind-numbingly dull for the vast majority of the time. The Fleet made a career as a security officer sound like a grand adventure in the recruitment files: Explore the universe! See the galaxy! Protect the Fleet that protects our homeworlds!
Never mind that the Fleet hadn’t done any exploration to speak of in the last thirty years since the cendrillon shortages began limiting galactic travel. Never mind that Bruno had seen more of the colonized worlds when he was in training than he had since being assigned to the Laika, which had been stationed in the Avis system for longer than anyone aboard cared to think about. And never mind that the Fleet had very little protecting to do. Somehow the Fleet hadn’t mentioned playing escort for visiting experts in the advertisements.
The designer huffed in frustration, interrupting Bruno’s thoughts. “Oh, she’ll see me.”
Isambard Humphreys was the best starship designer in the Fleet, and he knew it a little too well, in Bruno’s opinion. The man somehow gave the impression of being smaller than he was, probably because he spent so much time hunched over the latest data burn of some ship’s blueprints, but he behaved as though he ran the ship. Bruno knew tiny dogs who behaved similarly.
“Take me to the bridge,” Humphreys commanded.
“Unauthorized personnel aren’t permitted on the bridge,” Bruno replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a crewman working at an engineering station nearby smirk. The entire engineering crew was more than ready to be rid of the talented but demanding designer.
Humphreys didn’t seem to notice his unpopularity. “Son,” he began, “who are you calling unauthorized? I designed that bridge.”
“Seems like you might’ve done a better job with the security station layout, in that case,” Bruno said without batting an eyelash. “It’s downright claustrophobic with two crewmembers in there.”
Humphreys stared for a moment before bursting out into laughter, showing a flash of very white teeth against dark skin. “You’re not nearly as stuffy as you look, Ensign…?”
Bruno suppressed a flash of annoyance, looking past Humphreys to focus on the slate-blue bulkhead behind him. The two men had been stuck together on and off for almost a week, and the designer still didn’t know his name. “Lorengel, sir,” he said.
“Well, Ensign Lorengel, I’m not without sympathy for you. Neither of us wants to be here. You’re probably what, not even thirty years old yet? You want a chance at action and promotion. Small chance of that on this assignment. And I, I want off this clunker of yours—no offense—and back on the Sovereign to oversee her refit. She’s where I belong. You understand, don’t you? The Laika is your home, right?” He gave Bruno an expectant look.
Bruno hesitated before nodding. In spite of the Laika’s boring assignment in the Avis system, babysitting the Fleet repair docks at Atthis and the construction shipyards at Anser, he had loved much of his time living aboard the sloop. True, every time he heard of a particularly nasty raid on cendrillon ore barges, he had a yen to go where the action was, closer to any of the chthonian planets where cendrillon was mined. Such places seemed to offer the only real adventure left in the galaxy. For an ambitious young officer, his assignment aboard the Laika should have been torture, but Bruno had enjoyed it, even on torturous days like today when he was counting the hours until his shore leave began at the end of the shift. His proximity to Atthis and Katrin had been enough for him—until lately.
But the designer didn’t want to hear about Bruno’s recent ambivalence, he was sure. Humphreys’ face clouded, preoccupied in his own woes. “What’s more,” he said, “I don’t trust anyone else to supervise the conclusion of the construction on the Wilhelm. Someone needs to keep those apes under control at the yards.”
The Sovereign was the flagship of the Fleet, but Bruno had heard that the Wilhelm, still under construction at the Anser shipyards where the Fleet constructed its new vessels, might rival her sister ship when she was complete. Bruno had never been aboard either vessel; as far as he was concerned, the small and scrappy Laika was more his speed anyway. With her narrow corridors and blandly colored interior, she could never compare to the luxury of the Sovereign or the Wilhelm, but Bruno didn’t sign up because of the décor.
Humphreys pulled himself from his distraction with a brisk shake. “Neither of us where we want to be. But the fact remains that we are stuck with each other, and I truly do need to see your captain. You can either accompany me to the bridge, or I’ll go myself and have you written up for insubordination,” he concluded.
“You don’t have an official Fleet rank, sir,” Bruno said mildly. “You don’t have the authority to write me up.”
Humphreys narrowed his eyes. “Just what gives you the brass to be quite so bold, Ensign? Don’t you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I’m quite the admirer of your work, and I don’t hold with those who say you’re arrogant, unorthodox, and eccentric to the point of potential instability.” Bruno gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look as he quoted his captain’s comments about her brilliant friend.
Humphreys laughed again. “I am most certainly arrogant, unorthodox, and eccentric to the point of instability, and kindly don’t forget it. What’s the point of being indispensable if you don’t take advantage of it?” He pushed the schematics into a pile on the desk with an air of finality. “I’m going for a walk, Ensign Lorengel. One which may or may not take me in the vicinity of the bridge, although I promise I’ll leave when I’m no longer wanted. Care to join me?” He was already striding away, and he tossed the question over his shoulder.
Bruno followed with a sigh. “So thoughtful of you to ask, sir.”
Moments later, Humphreys made a dramatic entrance through the sliding bridge door, waving an arm expansively around the bridge. “Captain Volkova, I require a few moments of your time,” he announced.
The captain looked up from her chair near the center of the bridge, glanced at Humphreys, and raised an eyebrow at Bruno, who had trailed in rather less bombastically.
Bruno gestured vaguely at the designer, who stood out in his bright civilian clothes against the muted greys and blues of the bridge colors and the dark coats of the Fleet members. “He reminded me of his indispensability, ma’am. I would have had to restrain him forcibly to prevent him from coming. Would you like him removed?”
Humphreys shot him a dirty look. The friendship between the designer and the captain was the only reason Bruno had permitted this etiquette breach.
Volkova sighed as Lieutenant Anfortas, her second in command, tried to catch her attention. The viewscreen at the front of the bridge, which had been showing the view from the ship’s forward cameras, switched to display a chart of the Avis system. “No, thank you, Ensign. Take him into the conference room. I’ll be there momentarily.” She pointed to Humphreys. “Behave yourself, Isambard.”
Humphreys threw her a mock salute and bowed, backing away to the bridge door. Bruno followed in more staid fashion.
Bruno palmed the controls outside of the conference room, and the door slid open. The bridge felt co
mfortable to him, with its stations oriented around the captain’s chair and its open design. In contrast, he had never liked the conference room, in spite of—or perhaps because of—the bank of windows that stretched floor to ceiling on one side, looking out into space. The room simultaneously felt too dark, even with all of the overhead lights on, and too exposed. And the chairs weren’t particularly comfortable. He wasn’t sure if the captain used the room so infrequently because of these deficiencies, or if she had intentionally arranged the room that way so that she had an excuse to stay on the bridge and avoid meetings.
Humphreys walked in, but he didn’t sit down in one of the chairs around the conference table that took up one half of the long room. Instead, he paced the other end, stopping to fiddle with the pictures hanging on the walls, deliberately making them crooked. Many of the images were of a bleak landscape, a world Bruno didn’t recognize. He wondered why the captain kept them around; the planet looked terribly inhospitable.
Humphreys tilted another picture awry. “It’ll drive Volkova crazy,” he told Bruno in response to the ensign’s unspoken inquiry about his actions. Yet Humphreys’ voice didn’t match his light-hearted words. Bruno had the impression that Humphreys knew the joke was expected of him, but he didn’t actually feel like making it.
Bruno smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it either. He shifted his weight again as he stood by the door and tried not to check the time on his commlink again. He wasn’t on duty much longer, but this last hour felt more like three. Impatience to see Katrin again thrummed in the back of his mind, regardless of what he was doing.
Humphreys stopped his frenetic movement, pausing in front of the window wall. The ship was approaching Atthis, Bruno knew, but the planet couldn’t be seen from this side of the Laika. Humphreys looked as though he wanted to lean on a windowsill, but the floor-length duraglass didn’t give him the opportunity.
Fairly satisfied the designer wasn’t going to cause any trouble for the moment, Bruno allowed himself the luxury of daydreaming. He wondered what Katrin was doing right now. Probably still at work at the university. She knew he was coming home today, but maybe he could surprise her at work on his next shore leave. He wondered if any of the shops at the shuttle dock sold flowers.
Humphreys spoke, breaking the fantasy. “Ensign, we’re in a proper mess this time.”
Bruno turned his head in surprise. The designer wasn’t in jest; his tone of voice was the most somber that Bruno had heard it. “What do you mean, sir?”
“We’ve lost sight of our purpose,” Humphreys said, leaning forward to rest his fingers against the window. “We’ve become involved in a battle between corporations, and the fleets—both ours and that of the Demesne—are just the weapons in the corporations’ hands. I’ll be damned if I see the Sovereign and the Wilhelm become nothing more than the newest shiny swords in the armory.”
The designer was very still. Bruno only realized how active the man usually was when he finally stopped moving. “The Wilhelm, sir?” he asked. “I thought she was intended to be primarily a science vessel.”
Humphreys threw his hands in the air. “Oh yes, she was going to be. Not anymore. The redesigns the Fleet is requesting of me will make her into a warship: plain, deadly, and simple. And the refits they want for the Sovereign are little better. The Sovereign! That ship is a work of art. Cluttering her up with enough weapons to fill an ore barge is like defacing a masterpiece.”
Privately Bruno thought that last bit might be a little much, though not having seen the Sovereign himself yet, he couldn’t say. Still, he was concerned by the designer’s ramblings. Were the skirmishes over cendrillon in the last few months more serious than he had thought, or was the man merely worked up over nothing?
Humphreys continued, fingers pressed to the duraglass again. Bruno would have to see that the fingerprints were cleaned later. “Since when did the Fleet become the Tremaine Mining Company’s fist? We’re meant for exploration and scientific advancement, to inspire the next generation of star-farers, not to fight a war between cendrillon-diggers.” Humphreys all but spat the last words, his mouth twisted in disgust.
The captain entered the room in time to hear his comment. “Then find us a way to explore without cendrillon,” she said in exasperation, striding to a chair as the door slid closed behind her. She sat down heavily, crossing her arms in front of her. She caught sight of the crooked pictures on the wall and glowered. Humphreys smirked.
“We’re all but crippled without the ore,” she said, not to be distracted. “Commerce, transportation, exploration—it all falls apart without cendrillon. Protect the cendrillon sources, and we protect our future.”
“That’s a line straight from the politicians,” the designer sneered, leaning his back against the windows. “Don’t give me fluffy rhetoric to justify your atrocities.”
She sighed. “You’re being melodramatic, Isambard. We’ve committed no atrocities.”
“You will,” he accused, pointing a finger at her. “You’re creating a ship that—no, not a ship, you’re creating a hammer that will wipe out life, not discover and protect life. The Sovereign wasn’t built solely for war, and neither should the Wilhelm be.”
“It may have escaped your notice, Chief Designer,” Volkova emphasized the title with a hint of sarcasm, “but we will very soon be in the middle of a war, whether that pleases you or not. If the ship isn’t good for keeping us alive, then very soon it won’t be good for anything—we’ll all be dead, idealism be damned.”
Bruno blinked. Humphreys’ wild prognosticating was one thing, but if the captain also believed the cendrillon conflict could escalate into full war, the situation was serious. His bushy eyebrows knit in concentration, trying to read the captain’s body language. How desperate did she really think this was?
Volkova’s commlink chimed, and the voice of Lieutenant Anfortas on the bridge interrupted the debate. “Captain, we’ve arrived at Atthis, and the shipyard has verified our ID codes and assigned us a docking port.”
Bruno’s head came up as he stood by the conference room door, and he couldn’t help but smile at the news, distracted from the conversation. Finally! He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt an inordinate thrill just to be near Katrin’s planet. He forced himself to focus on his duties instead of imagining their upcoming reunion.
The lieutenant continued. “The yard controller reports that space will be limited after the Sovereign’s arrival as they accommodate the frigate. Our early detection sensors found a flotilla of ore barges from Benizara yesterday. The flotilla is likely docking late today for inspection, and between the two arrivals, the place is full. We’re permitted to enter the drydocks for minor repairs, if necessary, but we’ll have to clear out before the Sovereign arrives tomorrow.”
The captain tapped a key on her commlink to reply. “Understood, thank you.” She mulled the information over for a couple seconds before issuing her next order. “Inform the repair yards that we’ll enter drydock for some brief repairs. I want those aft shield emitters checked sooner rather than later. Everything else can wait until after the Sovereign clears out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Anfortas replied. “In that case, we’ll be in drydock within half an hour.”
Volkova closed the commline and raised an eyebrow at Humphreys. “Your darling is rather a hefty girl. She could have left us some space.”
He shrugged. “Just large-boned. Wait till you see her. She’s magnificent.”
Bruno fidgeted as he listened to the conversation, torn. He wanted to hear more, but he also desperately wanted to get to the planet’s surface.
Volkova swiveled her chair quickly and rose, catching sight of Bruno squirming as she did so. He quickly straightened.
“Let me guess,” she said, “you’re due for shore leave on Atthis?”
He nodded and tried not to look chagrined. He refused to feel guilty for wanting to see Katrin.
“Go on,” the captain said, gesturing with her chin. “I k
now the shift ended a few minutes ago. I’ll escort Humphreys back to his draft station.”
Humphreys snorted. “I know the way better than you do, Ruby.”
Volkova pointedly ignored him. “Inform your relief where the Chief Designer will be,” she told Bruno, “and then enjoy your time off.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Bruno said, unable to wipe the grin from his face, and he left the conference room as quickly as dignity would permit.
Within fifteen minutes, he had spoken with the next security officer on duty, swung by his quarters to pick up the bag he had packed last night, and was in a shuttle heading for Atthis’ surface. The shuttle was nearly full; quite a few people were taking advantage of the chance for a little planetside relaxation.
The shuttle rounded the prow of the Laika and headed for the planet below. Looking out through the shuttle window, Bruno could see the Laika cradled in the giant drydock. The drydocks for ship repair looked almost skeletal, like the ribcage of some gargantuan sea creature floating through space. The arms of the drydock held the Laika in place while still permitting small craft to fly around the exterior, bringing crew to service outer systems and bulkheads. Normally Bruno found the view fascinating, but today he had no patience for the circuitous route the shuttle pilot was forced to take around the repair-yard vehicles.
As the shuttle made its gradual descent, the crewman sitting across from Bruno looked at Bruno’s leg pointedly. The security officer realized he had been jigging it up and down and probably had been doing so for the whole ride. He stopped.
“Sorry,” he said, abashed.
“Not a problem,” the crewman said. “You seem like you’re looking forward to some time onworld.”
Bruno grinned. That was an understatement. “My wife lives on Atthis,” he explained. “We haven’t seen each other since the ship last docked here two weeks ago.”
The crewman nodded. “Ahh. How long have you been married?”
The Battle of Castle Nebula (The Cendrillon Cycle Book 1) Page 4