Chief Langerhans insisted civilians stay behind while his team opened up the wreck. ‘Civilians’ apparently included naval personnel.
Marines paired up on the hull, one with a saw, the other standing behind with a recoilless rifle. Cuts were extended to make a rectangle. An explosive charge sent the chunk of hull sailing into the dark.
A five minute wait saw no response from inside the wreck. The spiderbots didn’t appear until the saws started cutting again. Two Marines were flung off the ship. The bots swarmed the next pair.
The saw-armed Marine carved open the bots grappling him. His partner passed out as the spiderbots twisted his limbs to the limit of the armored joints.
The rest of the team closed in, blasting the robot bodies with point-blank rifle shots. The metal tentacles held tight until the saws cut them into pieces.
It was over by the time the two Marines sent flying started up their thruster packs and landed back on the wreck. Chief Langerhans ordered them to take the casualties back to the Joshua Chamberlain. The conscious one protested he was still fit to fight the whole way back.
Cutting and blasting continued without further excitement. A few hours work exposed an armored egg shape with bundles of cables at each end. The Marines hauled the egg half a klick from the wreck before trying to open it.
They peeled it gently, not wanting to damage the contents. Even when a tentacle snapped out at a Marine they used the minimum force to cut it.
When the electronic yolk was revealed Pete and his assistants came out to inspect. He directed them to remove the processors, leaving only the memory arrays.
“Perfect,” he said. “Let’s get it back to the lab and I can start understanding the Boswell AI.”
BDS Patton, centrifugal acceleration 10 m/s2
“The admiral is in a meeting, Commander Long,” said the receptionist. “Please have a seat.”
Mitchie was precisely on time. She was certain the wait was planned to put her in her place. She wasn’t worried. She knew where she stood with Admiral Galen.
Everyone else in the outer office had turned to look when the receptionist announced her name. Ah, fame. They looked away as she returned their gaze. She categorized the reactions.
The Fusion Navy officers hated her for being a spy before the war. The Marine major with them hated her for interrupting the fire support during the invasion of Demeter. The senior operations officer teaching a class on strategy with the admiral’s holographic display wondered what trouble she’d cause next. The ensigns and lieutenants in the class admired her various heroics. And the receptionist hated her for her methods as a spy. Well, at least she didn’t say ‘slut’ out loud.
The instructor resumed his lecture. “The fleet is executing the Boustrophedonic Plan. We’re reducing the Betrayer systems adjacent to human-occupied systems first, one at a time. Then we’ll sweep the next layer and continue until we’ve eliminated the Betrayers.” As he talked the star map in the hologram showed a path going back and forth through the red stars. “Advantages of this strategy? Johnson.”
The ensign said, “Eliminating the incursions into human space. Keeping our supply lines shorter.”
“And disadvantages?”
“It maximizes the number of systems we have to provide security for. And gives the other Betrayers time to form coalitions against us,” she said.
“What other strategies could we use?” asked the Ops captain.
A JG offered, “Go straight to Old Earth. Smash the toughest target. Split Betrayer space so they can’t all unite. The resources of Earth would let us build a stronger fleet.”
Another officer said, “We could go around the outside of Betrayer space. There could be humans on the other side. Descendants of people who fled the opposite direction from our ancestors.”
Mitchie let a chuckle escape at that one. The students froze.
The Ops captain pivoted to face her. “Commander Long. Which strategy would you prefer?”
“The one which keeps the politicians from panicking and yanking our choke chain,” Mitchie answered.
The captain let out a chuckle of his own. He turned back to his juniors. “That’s not how I would phrase it, but Commander Long has captured the main advantage of the Boustrophedonic Plan. It keeps the fleet close to human space. We’re always between our civilian leadership and any Betrayers that may try to attack them. This keeps the civilians calmer.”
“Long!” Admiral Galen stood in the door of his inner office. As she started moving he returned to his desk. At his gesture she closed the door behind her.
Mitchie tried to report in properly but Galen interrupted her. “Skip it. I think you know my guest.”
“Good afternoon, Michigan,” said Stakeholder Ping. He was the Fusion’s senior political representative with the fleet. Before that he’d received the blackmail threats Mitchie had delivered for the Disconnected Worlds. Which was more pleasant than their first meeting, when he’d wanted her tried for war crimes.
“Sir,” was the safest thing she could say.
“The Fusion has only delivered half the reinforcements they promised,” said Admiral Galen. He waved a datasheet displaying ship statistics. “The Stakeholder will meet with the Council on Pintoy to correct this.”
“Apparently no Fusion ships are available to transport me,” said Ping.
“The Stakeholder has requested your services. Is Joshua Chamberlain up to the trip?”
“To Pintoy?” Mitchie was slightly offended. “We wouldn’t even need to top off the tanks. Sir.”
“Do it anyway. Be ready to leave in twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll come on board at 0900,” said Ping.
Galen broke in. “Because of the urgency of this mission you are to go directly to Pintoy and return the Stakeholder directly to the fleet. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mitchie. That explains why he’s not going on a Fuzie ship. They’d take him on a detour or not bring him back at all.
“That’s all, Long.”
She saluted. The admiral waved her out.
An empty desk in the outer office had an intercom she could borrow. Guo and Setta answered her call.
“The good news is we’re going to Pintoy,” she began. “The bad news is our passenger is Stakeholder Ping.”
“As long as it’s not a combat zone I’ll be happy,” said Guo.
“We’ll see. We need to be under way in less than twenty-four hours. Preferably by noon. Get us topped off.”
“Aye-aye.”
“Setta, pull everything out of my office. That’ll have to be the guest cabin.”
“Yes’m,” said the Boatswain’s Mate.
“Cheer up. We’ve earned this vacation.”
Joshua Chamberlain, Atafu System, acceleration 10 m/s2
As they entered the Atafu system the picket ship informed them no Betrayers had been sighted there for over eight months. The crew felt their tension ease. They weren’t back in human space yet, but at least they were safe from being attacked now.
With ten people aboard they were overflowing the galley table. Mitchie declared there’d be no all-hands meals. The bridge and converter room would have watchstanders at all times. With the Stakeholder coming to dinner she had plenty of volunteers.
To honor their guest Guo cooked Marshal’s Chicken. The spicy sauce would flavor the ship’s air for half a day. Mitchie wondered what Setta had traded to get the frozen vegetables from the depot ship’s quartermaster. Probably best I don’t know.
Mitchie opened the meal with a non-sectarian grace. The bowls of rice, chicken, and vegetables went around the table. It looked like the watchstanders would be having sandwiches instead of leftovers.
“This is delightful,” said the Stakeholder. “If I’d known you treated passengers so well I would have found an excuse to travel with you before. Do you always serve traditional food?”
Mitchie knew “traditional” meant “Chinese” for
him. Ping led the Sinophone autonomy faction in the Council of Stakeholders. At least he was polite enough to speak in English instead of Mandarin. Guo and Spacer Ye were the only members of the crew completely fluent in the other language. Hiroshi knew enough to deal with Traffic Control in Sinophone systems. Mitchie had been expanding her vocabulary since marrying Guo. Setta and Finnegan couldn’t speak it at all.
Guo said, “We all take turns cooking. So you’ll taste the traditions each of the crew grew up with. Spacers Ye and Wang should have some comfort food for you. The rest of the time I’m afraid you’ll have to be more adventurous.”
“Adventure is good. How much variety can I look forward to? I know the captain is from Akiak, and I noticed the Boatswain’s Mate is from Bonaventure.”
A tactful way for Ping to point out he hadn’t been introduced to the rest of the table. Mitchie started on her right. “Pilot-Centurion Hiroshi is from Shishi. He’s married to Boatswain’s Mate Setta. You’re correct that she is from Bonaventure, as is Spacer Finnegan. We have two spacers from Fuego, Ye and Dubois. Dubois is standing watch.”
“North or South?” asked Ping.
Spacer Ye said, “I’m from North Fuego, Dubois is from the south.”
Mitchie continued, “Spacer Wang is from Hainan. Our other watchstander is Coxswain’s Mate Mthembu from Nevaeh.”
“Who doesn’t cook often,” muttered Setta.
She wasn’t quiet enough to keep Ping from catching it.
“Is Nevaeh’s food so bad?” asked the Stakeholder.
Setta flushed.
Hiroshi said, “I’ve enjoyed the food there. But after eating his cooking a few times we’ve asked him to stick to sandwiches.”
Ping laughed. “I like sandwiches. And I’m delighted to have so many of the Disconnected Worlds represented here. How did you assemble such a collection, Captain?”
She passed to Guo. “Senior Chief Kwan has been on the ship the longest.”
“There was never a policy for it,” said Guo. “We just took the best people we could find. When Captain Schwartzenberger fitted the ship out I was finishing a class on Bonaventure. The initial crew was me and five Bonnies. We’d have the usual attrition, people deciding they couldn’t stand analog tech or not wanting to visit the Fusion any more. Next port we’d hire a replacement if anyone met the captain’s standards. Which left us short-handed often.”
Mitchie noticed sadness flashing across his face each time he mentioned her late predecessor.
“Becoming a Defense Force ship hasn’t changed that,” Guo continued. “When we need people, we find them. We don’t worry about which planet they’re from.”
“I’m surprised you’ve never hired on a crewman from the Fusion,” said Ping.
“We’ve had a couple over the years,” said Mitchie. “They didn’t work out.” An understatement. One was locked up as insane. The other might still be on strong psychiatric medication.
“In the Fusion we make sure at least the enlisted crew of each ship are all from the same planet to promote cohesion. Even officers won’t be exchanged until their third assignment.”
Hiroshi said, “Disconnect warships are manned the same way. Shishi ships are all sponsored by a specific subpolity, so their crew is all from the same island or province.”
“Interesting.” The Stakeholder seemed pleased. “So even the Disconnected Worlds recognize the necessity of drawing people from homogenous groups for mission effectiveness.”
“A Shishi duchy isn’t homogenous, every barony in it could be a different culture,” said Setta. “Bonaventure crews are drawn from all over the world. They may have nothing in common when they report aboard. But they form a good crew. BDF units regularly outperform Shishi Imperial Legion ones.”
“Buying all the best gadgets helps with that,” snarked her husband.
“But surely molding such disparate individuals into a crew must be harder than starting with a common background.”
Mitchie waited to see if anyone else wanted to answer that before speaking. “I’ve found a common focus on the mission matters more than shared background. A homogenous group will completely fail if the members are all competing instead of cooperating.” For example, all trying to be the Academy honor graduate. “We have a clear mission and everyone understands their part. Our performance proves our crew functions well together.”
“Is that a team or just individuals moving together with no bonds between them?”
Setta took Hiroshi’s hand. “Individuals can form bonds, sir. Professional and personal ones. Even if they come from very different backgrounds.” They exchanged a kiss, still looking like newlyweds.
Mitchie wondered, Did Guo and I ever look that sappy? Reflecting on it made her admit, Yes, until I blew things up trying to keep my undercover work from him.
The Stakeholder applied himself to his food. The junior spacers at the table relaxed in the quiet. No one was eager to bring up a new topic.
Ping thought of a new approach. “Senior Chief Kwan.”
“Sir?”
“I understand you are an enthusiast of the Confucian Revival.”
Guo examined the statement for traps. Finding none he said, “Yes, I discovered it on my first visit to the Fusion. The lodges I’ve visited have been very accepting of Disconnect visitors.”
“Did you ever visit the Confucian cities on Tiantan?”
“Three times, for a couple of days or weeks each. I studied in Hongmou. Beautiful city, beautiful people.”
“Yes. They have the lowest crime and highest happiness statistics of anywhere in human space,” said Ping.
“I was happy there myself.”
“Have you been instructing your subordinate in the tenets of Confucianism?”
Spacer Ye looked up to find Stakeholder Ping pointing at him. He looked back down at his plate and froze.
“We’ve had a few conversations about it,” said Guo. He sensed that this was the trap.
“But it’s your duty as the senior philosopher present to instruct others.”
“Forcing my personal beliefs onto my subordinates would be an abuse of my authority.” Guo sounded angry at the suggestion that he would do that.
“Your philosophy requires you to do so.”
“That would apply if I was in a Confucian society. The Disconnect military is not one.”
“If you are so fond of Confucian philosophy why are you still wandering the galaxy as an individual?” asked Stakeholder Ping.
Guo did not reply.
“I guess you’re not as enthusiastic about it as I’d thought.”
***
Most ships would stagger the captain and first mate’s sleep shifts so one was always awake in case of emergency. Mitchie stuck to that rule in hostile space. With Atafu officially safe she’d rearranged the schedule to let her sleep with her husband.
After months of missions in a combat zone sleep was all she wanted. She snuggled up to Guo as he stared at the ceiling and promptly fell asleep.
Spacers sleep lightly, especially captains. The steady roar of the torch or the hum of the ventilators doesn’t bother them. But any unexpected noise will wake them as well as a siren would.
Mitchie sat up in bed, adrenaline surging, and tried to identify the sound which woke her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” said Guo.
“What was that?”
“Sorry, I closed a book hard.” Guo had been wiggling a book back into its position under the restraining straps. He pulled it out, opened it in the middle, then slammed it shut.
Mitchie laughed. “That’s louder than I thought they could be.”
“Usually I’m gentler with them.”
She glanced at the chronometer. They’d turned in four hours ago. “Did you get any sleep?”
“No. I’ve been doing some research.” He traded the book for another.
“You need to rest.”
“Too much on my mind.” He dropped into the readi
ng chair.
Mitchie watched him go through the index then start flipping pages. She rolled out of bed and walked over to him. She perched on the arm of the chair.
“You’re in my light.”
“I know.” She studied the ideograms on the open page. “Duty to the community?” she said in Mandarin.
Guo nodded.
“Are you letting that manipulative bastard get to you?” In English.
He sighed. “Bastard or not, he’s right. I am not living according to my philosophy.”
“You’re living well.”
“I should be joining or forming a community.”
“That’s something for peacetime. We have to win the war first.”
“I could have been doing it before the war.”
She pressed her naked body against him. “You need to relax.”
Guo moved the book away. Mitchie slithered down his body until she knelt before the chair.
“That is not relaxing.”
Her reply was non-verbal.
***
Two nights later the shuffle of watch assignments put Spacers Ye and Dubois at the dinner table. To Stakeholder Ping’s amusement they sat next to each other.
“I thought Fuegans didn’t get along with each other,” he said.
Ye ducked his head, eyes on his mashed potatoes.
Dubois answered, “He’s a Northie. They get along with everyone.”
“And Southerners don’t?”
“We like our own clan. Other clans, there’s usually a history of violence to give us reason to stay away.” She cut her pork chop in half on the word ‘violence.’
“Really. What if you were both from South Fuego?”
Mitchie said, “The S-1 shop would flag the transfer and make sure the second one never got to the ship.”
“The chief network usually keeps it from getting that far,” added Guo.
“The clan feuds fascinate me,” said Ping. “Why so much hate for neighbors? Most peoples hate those who are different and far away. Why do the South Fuegans hate those most similar to themselves?”
Torchship Captain Page 2