Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  “You didn’t ask her?”

  “No, she relaxed and enjoyed it.”

  “That is exactly the situation where you should ask someone! Especially a virgin, for God’s sake.”

  “She left happy. She’s fine. And if you think it should’ve gone differently why didn’t you ask her?”

  Guo stared at the bulkhead as he ran through his memory of the encounter. “You manipulated me. You actually pushed me into doing it.”

  She shrugged. “Somebody had to or you two were just going to look at each other all afternoon.”

  “No, you didn’t have to. Looking at each other was just fine. That could have turned into something horrible.”

  “If it was rape, who did the raping?”

  “Don’t goddamn try to pin this on me. Why? Why were you so obsessed with me screwing her?”

  Mitchie took a deep breath. This was not going to go over well with his romantic nature. “She’s the chairwoman of the CPS. It’s a powerful position. I wanted to make her like us as much as we could.”

  Guo needed a moment to assimilate what he’d been told. “That’s it? Not doing your friend a favor or a treat for your husband or adding some excitement because you’re bored? This was politics?”

  She kept her voice level instead of shouting back. “Guen is the figurehead for millions of bloodthirsty revolutionaries who are about to board hundreds of warships. They could go anywhere. I want to give Guen every reason to not aim them at the Disconnect.”

  “You manipulated me into popping a teenager’s cherry for political advantage?”

  “It’s not politics. It’s a war. Fuzies against Diskers, with a truce that can’t survive this civil war breaking out. One Fusion destroyer carries enough missiles to kill everyone on Akiak. Our duty is to keep that from happening. We’re protecting our families, mine and yours, and everyone else on the planet.”

  “Fucking to protect the planet. Including the penguins and sheep?”

  “Yes, and the goddamn terraforming lichens too.” She was shouting back now.

  “So now I’m a whore for Akiak too.”

  “Fuck you.” Mitchie walked over to his chair. She grabbed his hand and pulled it between her legs. “This is a weapon I will use to do my duty and protect our world. Just like this ship is a weapon.” She leaned in to stroke his crotch. “And I’ll use that as a weapon if I see a way to get the mission done.”

  “You’ll destroy our relationship for political advantage.”

  She sat on the bed again. “I’m willing to die for my duty. I’m willing to let you get killed. We’ve come closer than I like to think to that a dozen times. If either of us dies that’s the end of the relationship. There are a hundred million people on Akiak. I will trade the two of us to protect them. DO THE FUCKING MATH.”

  “That’s a great attitude for a captain,” Guo said.

  They’d been married long enough to start completing each other’s sentences occasionally. She heard the rest of this one clearly: But a terrible one for a wife.

  “I guess I’ll go do some captain stuff then.”

  As she closed the cabin hatch behind her Mitchie saw four crew at the galley table, halfway done with lunch. The flinches belied the we-weren’t-listening-poses. Crap. So much for soundproof bulkheads.

  She met Hiroshi’s eyes and pointed at the bridge hatch. He followed her up the ladder.

  On the bridge Mitchie told Mthembu, “You’re relieved.”

  “I still have two hours left on my shift, ma’am,” said the coxswain.

  Mitchie said nothing.

  Mthembu unstrapped, went down the ladder, and locked the hatch behind himself.

  “Y’all heard that I take it?” said Mitchie.

  Hiroshi stood at attention. “Couldn't make out words, ma’am. Just that there was angry shouting.”

  “All right then. Married couples all have fights.” The twitch on his face brought out a small smile on hers. “Enjoy your honeymoon while it lasts. Go finish your lunch. I have the con.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mitchie climbed into her acceleration couch. A long silent shift of watching the cameras for nonexistent intruders was just what she needed right now.

  ***

  “Ma’am?” Ensign Jones popped up in the bridge hatch.

  “Come on up, Heidi.”

  Jones climbed onto the deck and stood at parade rest.

  “Relax,” ordered Mitchie. She sat on the edge of her acceleration couch and waved the ensign to the other one. “How are the troops?”

  “Settled, ma’am. We found a building abandoned during the unpleasantness. The security guard said the landlord skipped town, so we’re paying rent to the guard. They’re setting up bunks and offices.”

  “Good work.”

  “I’ve also set up virtual and physical dead drops for the chief and myself. We’re ready to go undercover as soon as you give us a target.” Ensign Jones waited eagerly.

  Mitchie took her time replying. She still felt doubts about Jones’ aptitude for covert work. Chief Morgan was better suited, but his experience made him expect armed back-up close at hand. Mitchie might not be able to give them any support in an emergency.

  The target she was sure of.

  “Professor Georges Corday. He’s on the Committee of Public Safety. Does a lot of behind the scenes manipulation. Very influential. I need to know his ultimate objective, what he wants, and why. Don’t rush. Work your way in slowly. Read everything the analysts can find you on him before you deploy.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Jones saluted before disappearing down the hatch.

  Good luck, kid, thought Mitchie.

  Capitol City, Pintoy, gravity 9.4 m/s2

  The virtual reality parlor looked like all the others Mitchie had seen before. Rows of transparent bubbles holding people in tactile feedback suits. The difference was that these VR junkies were doing push-ups instead of miming swordplay.

  “How do you promote team-building in a solitary experience?” she asked.

  “They have a squad of fictional people as buddies. The better they do, the better the buddies do. Then they have four drill instructors taking turns yelling at them.” Commodore Strittmeyer waved at his trainees, each lost in their personal boot camp.

  “Four? Why not just one?”

  “Immersion,” answered the Fusion Navy officer. “Having the same sergeant yelling at them continuously without getting tired or sweaty eventually triggers their disbelief. Instead every time they switch training stations one is waiting for them in a crisp uniform.”

  “Just like real boot camp. The staff is rested and trainees exhausted.”

  “Exactly,” said Strittmeyer.

  A bubble split open. The trainee inside dashed to the corner of the building. Mitchie raised an eyebrow at her guide.

  “Bathroom break. The biosensors tell us their exact physical state so they’re allowed just enough for what they need.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t always get that much time as a plebe.”

  He shared in the laugh. “Neither did I. But we individualize to keep their focus.”

  “Doesn’t letting them out of the bubble break immersion?”

  “It does. We use physical conditioning exercises to get them back into the mindset. Once the sweat is rolling off we can do real training again. Also we have headsets on them. Yelling at them in the latrine keeps their minds from wandering.”

  “I see. What’s your graduation rate?”

  “Over ninety-five percent of the ones who make it through the first week complete the six-week course. The big losses are in the first four hours. Almost one in three quit then,” said Strittmeyer.

  “And then the graduates go to tech school?”

  “The very best do. The rest go to ships for on the job training.”

  “Training from who?”

  “Their supervisor. We’ve been spreading out the crews of the operational ships to provide experienced cadres.”

&nbs
p; Mitchie did mental arithmetic on what she knew of the Fusion Navy’s dispositions. “How experienced? You’d have to put first-hitch spacers in supervisory roles.”

  “They may not be experienced, but they’re fully trained. There’s also augmented reality scenarios to take them through routine maintenance and operations tasks. That was the predecessor to the virtual boot camp.”

  “That’ll get them through day-to-day but how will they learn trouble-shooting and damage control?”

  Strittmeyer grimaced. “The hard way. We can only do so much.”

  “Of course.”

  Walking through the rows of bubbles she’d seen trainees doing physical conditioning, marching drill, and some contortions that might have been an obstacle course or unarmed combat. Their eyes were covered by VR goggles. The mouths wore expressions as serious as any trainee she’d seen before.

  The commodore used an obstacle-climber as an excuse to blather about the group problem-solving exercises. Mitchie cut him off. “How are you getting officers?”

  “From everywhere. Headquarters is pretty lonely now. Most of the Academy faculty were assigned as ship commanders. All the midshipmen are ensigns now.”

  “Good God. Even the freshmen?”

  “Yes. Well, the Commandant had a blackballing party the last night. Thirty-odd middies went out on the street instead. The rest are on ships now.”

  “Officers that green must be driving the chief petty officers mad.”

  “If they complain we commission them.”

  Mitchie laughed. “Sneaky. What do you want out of me?”

  “Inspiration. One of the rewards for passing a milestone is a pep talk from a hero. A few were recorded for the prototype test. Some more from troops sent back for long-term hospital treatment. Your record exceeds everyone we’ve recorded so far.”

  If running away and herding refugees counted he was probably right. At least the public affairs people found ways to make that sound heroic.

  “All right. Let’s do it.”

  “We’ll show you an example first.”

  Techs waited by a pair of empty bubbles. They dressed the visitors in full feedback gear. A few minutes of checks in the bubbles had them ready for VR.

  “This is a typical instance,” said Commodore Strittmeyer.

  Mitchie turned on her heel. They were in the obstacle course area of a boot camp. Trainees and instructors ran everywhere. Most were marked “scenery” in her interface, which possessed privileges no trainee could access. The one actual human was marked with his full name, performance rating, and physical status. More trainees surrounded him, bearing the labels “slug,” “brute,” “weasel,” “joe,” and “brain.”

  “We’re invisible to him,” said Strittmeyer. “You can talk freely.”

  “Weasel?” asked Mitchie.

  “There’s forty-some squadmate simulations. We select them to match the trainee’s personality. Weasel encourages him to cheat.”

  “And another acts as his conscience?”

  “No. He has to learn to be his own damn conscience or we don’t want him.”

  “I see.”

  The human reached the end of the course then turned to cheer on the rest of the squad. As the last one crossed the line a virtual Marine walked up to the group. He congratulated them, told a summary of his medal story, and promised the trainee would do great things when he got to the fleet.

  “That’s how it works,” said the commodore. “We can pair you with a live trainee to do your speech, or you can do it with a virtual one. Give me a moment and I’ll find someone about to finish.”

  Mitchie shook her head. “Don’t bother.”

  The VR controls were standard. Once she filtered for instances with someone active in this spot she could flip through and look at each one.

  One trainee was tilting to the side as he struggled to crawl along a log. The display put “RYAN” in glowing letters over his head. Mitchie flipped her invisibility setting from a hundred percent to zero.

  He slid off the log and hit the ground spinning. His mouth twisted as the feedback suit squeezed him to simulate a four meter drop onto dirt. At least he was spared the traditional mouthful of mud.

  Mitchie went to one knee by his head. “Hard landing, spacer.”

  Trainee Ryan looked up at her.

  “I’m Michigan Long, the Disker. I landed an unarmed cargo ship on Demeter during the invasion to pick up a load of wounded and flew out through a storm of Betrayer missiles. You might have heard of that.”

  He nodded.

  “What you didn’t hear about is the times I ran like hell. Or when I was punched in the jaw so hard I blacked out. Or before all that, when I fell off something like that and got so much mud in my nose and mouth I nearly choked.”

  She leaned toward his face. “But you know what I did? I got up. I got up, and I got back in the fight, and I kicked some ass.”

  Mitchie stood. “So get up, spacer! The Betrayers are out there. I want you with me when we kick their electronic asses.”

  Ryan scrambled to his feet. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” He trotted toward the beginning of the course to try again.

  She turned away. The label “Strittmeyer” hovered over empty space. She set herself to invisible as she walked toward him. “How’s that?”

  The commodore said, “It’s not what we wanted. But I think it’s what we needed.”

  ***

  Returning to the Joshua Chamberlain, Mitchie found Guo and Guen sharing a late lunch in the galley.

  “Oh, hey,” said her husband with a welcoming grin. “There’s some left in the wok if you want to join us.”

  “Thanks.” She checked the wok. It had a half meal’s worth of something broccoli-based. She poured it into a bowl.

  Behind her Guo was saying, “With all the historical references he’s drawing on I’m surprised Corday doesn’t have people calling each other Citizen Smith and Citizen Wang.”

  “Oh, he tried that,” answered Guen. “But the second time someone called me Citizen Chairwoman Claret I told him to just say Guen. And we’ve been on first names ever since. Except Corday’s first name is Professor.”

  “Now that was exercising personal power.” Guo’s voice was warm with praise. “You didn’t need to hold a vote or give an order. You set an example and people followed.”

  “I guess so.” Guen wrenched her eyes from Guo as Mitchie sat next to him. “What did you think of the training?”

  Mitchie decided an honest report would be best. “I think one percent of the fleet will blow up from incompetent maintenance. Another percent will be lost to friendly fire. But we’re still going to come out ahead on firepower with all those ships manned.”

  “Good.” Guen scraped the last grains of rice out of her bowl. “I’d better be going. There’s a Food Subcommittee meeting this evening.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” said Guo. He slid out of his seat away from Mitchie and went around the table to take Guen’s chair as she stood.

  Mitchie said, “Good-bye.”

  “Bye,” said Guen. She snuggled into Guo’s side as they walked toward the hatch.

  Mitchie looked over the dirty dishes, wondering if Guo would come back to clear them or if she should just wash them all now.

  ***

  “I’m not asking for the whole fleet,” said Mitchie. “Just some reinforcements to help them out. The Combined Fleet is tired and worn. They need some hope. One squadron would give them that.”

  “The Harmony could attack at any time,” countered Guen. “We need to concentrate our ships to defend ourselves. That’s an important strategic principle, concentration of force, isn’t it, Admiral?”

  “Well, yes, Madam Chairwoman.” Admiral Selig had expected to present a status report on the readiness of newly constructed warships. He was not happy to be dragged into a top-level policy dispute.

  Mitchie wasn’t impressed. “The Harmony is making noise but what are they actually doing? Nothing. They’
re probably putting all their effort into redoing their internal structure.”

  Guen looked down. Then she turned to her aide. “Annie, can you put that report from Danu on the wall?”

  Annie fiddled with her console. The view wall shifted from an autumn landscape to a spaceport. Text labeled it as Ballyshannon Port on Danu. Thousands of protestors lined the chain-link fence waving signs.

  In the corner of the room Guo put down his reader. He’d been waiting for the meeting to end. Now he stood behind Mitchie for a closer look.

  Two dozen spaceships descended to landing pads inside the fence. They wore the elegant calligraphy of the Protectors of Harmony. Mitchie counted eighteen troop transports escorted by destroyers with one heavy cruiser for intimidation.

  An English translation of the announcer’s speech scrolled along the bottom. A quarter of the planetary council had petitioned for membership in the Harmony. The Harmony had accepted this request and declared a majority council vote rejecting them invalid. Now the new order would be backed with force.

  The camera switched from watching the off-loading troops to moving along the line of protestors. “What do the signs say?” asked Mitchie. She knew over a thousand ideograms but the sign-makers were not drawing from the vocabulary of navigation, engineering, or spaceport safety.

  Guo translated. “Slave masters go away. You are not welcome. Freedom for stipend kids. Choices for individuals.”

  “Notice they brought children along,” said Guen.

  The troops formed up facing the protestors. Thin lines of infantry were broken by armored vehicles mounting heavy guns. Drones hovered overhead. An officer strode forward. He began reading a document through a megaphone. The scrolling text translated it as a formal order to disperse.

  “He’s talking in Mandarin,” said Guo. “Danu’s Sinophones speak Cantonese. Even the announcer did.”

  A few people in the crowd translated for their neighbors. Some of those began to back away. Most of the crowd chanted back against the megaphone.

  The officer finished reading, about-faced, and barked a command. The infantry dropped to kneeling stances, rifles ready. Another command. The rifles and heavy guns fired as one. A few of the explosive bullets struck the fence, blowing it into stray wires. Most passed through and shredded the sign-holders. The heavy guns put some angle on their shots, blasting holes in the rear of the crowd.