“What do you need?” Menziwa asked brusquely.
All right, then. “You were tasked by the government to provide twenty volunteers for a new Marine force. Only sixteen were provided.”
“Only sixteen volunteered.”
Three years of handling customers of the shipyard had taught Rob a little more about dealing with the difficult ones. He didn’t reply to Menziwa’s assertion, continuing his own statement. “I’m told that eight of the supposed volunteers are unsuitable and did not, in fact, put their own names forward. Fortunately, I have the names of twelve ground forces soldiers who did volunteer but through some oversight didn’t get added to the list. That would bring the total up to the twenty required. You can see the list of names as an attachment to this call.”
Menziwa’s eyes shifted to one side, reading the names, then regarded Geary closely for a moment before replying. “Where did you get these names?”
“I know people. Can I assume you’ll release those twelve to Captain Darcy?”
“The government asked for volunteers. That’s not a blank check for you to cherry-pick men and women from my unit.”
Rob shook his head, keeping his voice and expression calm but unyielding. “The government ordered the volunteers to be provided. And I’m informed that all twelve names on that list are indeed willing to volunteer.”
“Are you accusing me of not following orders?”
That was an old trick, one to which Geary knew the right response. “Why would I do that, Colonel?”
Menziwa glared back at him, displaying no sign of giving in. “I don’t like people accusing me and my officers of not correctly obeying orders, and I like even less people who try to raid my forces for their own needs.”
There had been a time when someone like Colonel Menziwa would have caused Rob to second-guess himself. But he had seen some serious combat, had seen people die, and no longer saw any reason to give in to attempts to intimidate him. Especially since in this case he knew the government would support him. Menziwa must know that as well despite her attempt to bluff him into backing down. This might be how she always did business, or it might be a test to see if Rob would yield when pushed. “I don’t like having to make this an issue, Colonel. We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. I can play as hard as I have to. Which way do you want it?”
Menziwa held her stare awhile longer before easing back. “Geary, I’ve looked into what actually happened three years ago, into what was left out of the official accounts. I know what you did, and you have my respect for that. But I’m commander of the ground forces for this star system.”
“And you never liked having to provide soldiers to the space forces,” Rob pointed out. “This is a win for you.”
“Ground forces responsibilities should not be divided among multiple forces.”
“Marine missions have not traditionally duplicated those of ground forces.”
Menziwa tried another tack. “I’ve met people like Darcy before. She’s a loose cannon. Loose cannons kill people.”
“If you know what really happened three years ago, then you know what Mele Darcy accomplished.”
“I know that you’re friends with her. And that until yesterday the highest rank you’d ever held was lieutenant. If you think—”
“I was commanding officer of the Squall,” Rob broke in, letting his tone grow noticeably colder. “I won my battles when it counted, Colonel. So did Mele Darcy.”
Menziwa eyed Geary again before shrugging. “In the interest of establishing a working relationship, I will release those twelve individuals to you. Is that all?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
After the call ended, Rob squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember when he’d taken aspirin last. Maybe he should up that to a migraine dose.
He tapped his comm. “I’ll see you now, Lieutenant Shen.”
In Rob’s admittedly limited experience, chief engineers on warships tended to fall into two types. Some resembled victims of trauma, like highly strung veterans of a battlefield littered with land mines who expected each step to bring another ordeal. They gulped coffee and yelled a lot, always struggling against the punishment that fate had assigned them. Others were almost the opposite, having adopted a Zen-like philosophy that the universe tended toward chaos, that the wheel of calamity would spin to bring new trials every day, but getting too upset would just feed the flames. They drank coffee slowly, smiling with the serenity of those who know that even the worst of things will someday pass.
Vicki Shen appeared to be mostly the second type, resigned to her fate.
Rob waved her to the other seat the captain’s cabin boasted. “You’ve been chief engineer on Saber for four years.”
“Yes, sir,” Shen replied, “though Saber was the Kamehameha for the first year before Earth Fleet sold her to Glenlyon.”
“Chief Engineer for four years,” Rob repeated. “Did you commit some horrible crime in a past life that you’re trying to make up for?”
His attempt at a joke apparently fell flat as Shen replied in an equally flat voice. “Commander Teosig didn’t believe in rotating officers through jobs, sir. He wanted someone who knew the job to stay there.”
Rob rubbed his chin as he studied her. “Just about every rank and position on this ship has been frozen because there isn’t any other place for anyone to go. The ensigns have been ensigns for at least four years.”
“We knew what we were getting into, Captain,” Shen said, her attitude still guarded.
“It’s going to be changing. I’m going to be direct with you, Lieutenant. The evaluations on file for you and every other officer on this ship tell me almost nothing. They say you’re all very top-one-percent performers who deserve early promotion. The write-ups on those evaluations have obviously gone through customization apps to reuse the same words in slightly different ways. But I know you. I worked with you during periods this ship was docked at the shipyard. I noticed that while you paid close attention to checklists and operating rules for equipment and safety and maintenance, when it came to administrative and operational issues you were more concerned with getting the right outcome than you were with following the former Earth Fleet checklists.”
Shen nodded as if she’d heard similar statements many times in the past, and not for the purpose of praise. “I am aware of my shortcomings in that regard, sir, and am attempting to place proper emphasis on all established guidelines and requirements in all areas.”
Rob blinked at her, momentarily surprised by her apparently rote response until he remembered Earth Fleet’s culture. “That wasn’t a criticism, Lieutenant. I’m actually impressed by your ability to distinguish between those checklists that need to be followed and those checklists that are more of a hindrance to reaching a desired outcome.”
“Sir, I . . .” Shen frowned in confusion. “Sir?”
“You impressed me,” Rob repeated. “Both in your professional skills and your ability to get things done. How would you like to be executive officer for Saber? I need a good second-in-command. I think that’s you.”
Whatever Shen had been expecting from this meeting, it wasn’t that. She stared at Rob, openly baffled. “Sir?”
“A promotion. To lieutenant commander. And assignment as XO of this ship,” Rob said. “Can you handle it?”
That question produced an immediate and definite answer. “I can handle anything the universe throws at me, sir,” Shen replied. She took a deep breath. “And I can handle being executive officer, Captain. Thank you for this . . . opportunity, and for your confidence in me.”
“Good. Who should take your place as Chief Engineer?”
“I never thought I’d have to worry about that. Uh, Ensign Delgado, the Main Propulsion Assistant. He’s got a feel for things, runs his division well, and he knows everything about the engineering systems on this ship.”
>
“Have Ensign Delgado come up here so I can give him the bad news,” Rob said. “You can tell him he’s a lieutenant effectively immediately.”
“Good news, bad news?” Shen said, finally smiling. “How quickly do you want me to turn over engineering to him?”
“As fast as you’re comfortable with. I need a good exec backing me up, and I need her yesterday. I also need a recommendation for who to replace Delgado with when he moves up.”
“Will do, Captain.” Shen stood up to go, but paused. “Sir? Commander Welk wasn’t . . . highly regarded. But he was one of us.”
“I understand,” Rob said. “But who is us? Is the crew of this ship going to gradually become part of this star system, or are you going to remain tied to Old Earth in your loyalties and your mind-sets?”
Shen pondered the question. “You’ve got it right that a lot of us have been thinking more and more of Glenlyon as home. But it’s hard, Captain. Giving up what we were. We stayed with this ship because we wanted to remain what we were.”
“You may be giving up something,” Rob said, “but you’ll be gaining a lot. You’ll be building a real, long-term space force for this star system. We don’t have much of a past, yet. But that gives us the freedom to focus on the future.”
She nodded. “How much of a future have we got, sir? I come from a long line of people who kept fighting, no matter the odds, but this looks bad.”
“It is,” Rob said. “I won’t lie to anyone about that. But it also looked bad three years ago.”
He didn’t add that he regarded his victory three years ago as something of a miracle and that depending on more miracles was a really bad way to plan. But at the moment it was all he had.
Rob waited until Shen had left before bringing up the star display, a three-dimensional projection in which names glowed next to stars and spiderweb-like lines leapt from star to star to show the jump points each star had and where those jump points led.
Either Commander Welk or Commander Teosig had tagged star systems claimed or controlled by Apulu, Scatha, and Turan. The resulting lopsided sphere of red-tinted stars didn’t inspire confidence that Glenlyon, buried inside, would be able to hold out. Couldn’t other star systems, farther off and still safe, see what was happening?
Glenlyon wasn’t alone in its peril. The sphere of aggression was pushing up against Kosatka and had already apparently engulfed Catalan. He knew how badly Kosatka and Glenlyon were being pushed. What about Catalan? Did that star system have some breathing room while Glenlyon and Kosatka fought for their freedom?
And would Catalan’s people have the foresight to do something before they, too, were forced into action?
* * *
• • •
“I heard from a friend back on Earth,” Commander Dana Fuentes said as she sat down in the office of Catalan’s Defense Minister. “The message was months old, of course, but it said Earth Fleet was preparing to dispose of their decommissioned light cruisers. You could get one for about what you paid for the Bolivar. Maybe less.”
“And then we’d have to worry about paying to operate it,” Minister Ross Chen replied. He had noticed that Fuentes didn’t always take long-term expenses into account, which had created some short-term problems as the ministers balanced the many costs of settling a new world and creating the industry and farming it required for local needs. “Everything from fuel and food to pay for the crew, which is larger than that on the Bolivar, right?”
“You could get by with about the same size crew,” Fuentes suggested. “But, a little larger, yes.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Ross said, smiling politely.
Dana cocked her head at Ross. “Look, I know a lot of people in Catalan think the Bolivar is a waste of money that could be better spent on other things. And they’re right that the money could be spent elsewhere. But you’ve seen the reports we’re getting. My crew doesn’t have happy feelings about things out here. I don’t think I’m being alarmist. I just want to be sure you know that if the Bolivar faces an equal fight, we’ll win. But if we’re outnumbered two or three to one, I can’t make any promises.”
“No one has threatened Catalan,” Ross said.
“Not directly,” Dana agreed. “Did you see my report about those solicitations my crew has been receiving from Scatha? Scatha is trying to recruit my own crew out from under me. That’s not exactly a sign of good intentions.”
“No,” Ross said. “But we should have plenty of warning if any other star system is planning to attack us.” He didn’t bother adding that the idea seemed ridiculous.
Dana Fuentes took on a questioning look. “How’s the warning going to get here? We only know what reaches us.”
“But . . .” Ross paused, thinking, and not liking where his thoughts were going. “We have a couple of trade delegations due to leave soon. I’ll make sure they’re told to also find out everything they can about what’s going on in other star systems right now.”
“That’s a good idea.” Commander Fuentes stood up, giving a casual salute. “Don’t forget about the light cruiser idea, though. By the time you know you need one, it might be too late to get one.”
“If it comes down to spending money on another ship of war or spending it for expanding agricultural resources on the planet,” Ross said, “I’m going to need a lot stronger argument than maybe we’ll need it someday.”
Dana Fuentes nodded to acknowledge his words without either agreeing or disagreeing and left.
Ross Chen sighed and leaned back, gesturing so his display switched to show a low orbital view of the planet relayed from one of the satellites orbiting it.
Catalan. A world close enough to Old Earth’s gravity and air and temperature to be welcoming to humans. Like all the other Earth-like worlds found so far, it had native life in a wide assortment of forms of animal and plant but nothing approaching the level of intelligence and self-awareness that marked humanity. It seemed insanely prideful to believe that humanity was unique in the galaxy, but no companions (or rivals) had yet been found.
There were those who argued that Others were indeed out there, though intelligence might be a far rarer occurrence than once thought. Others who were hiding their presence and deliberately avoiding humanity. In his darker thoughts, Ross had been able to understand why those Others might not want to reveal themselves to the trouble-prone and trouble-causing species of humanity.
Ross took a moment to relax, watching the slow movement of clouds above the planet, some of those clouds blocking the view from orbit of the city and building where he now sat. He could see portions of the two other cities, linked by a loose chain of farms, ranches, and heavy industrial areas. It was just a beginning, but anyone looking over it could see a wealth of promises for the future.
Anyone. He didn’t want to believe that Dana Fuentes was right, that Catalan might in the future face threats serious enough that a single warship couldn’t handle them. But Ross Chen knew his history. The promise of wealth here could attract not only those seeking a new start but also the predators who had always plagued humanity.
Ross wondered how hard, or even whether, he should push Fuentes’s suggestion to acquire another warship. Events a few years ago in other star systems had worried Catalan sufficiently that the government had scraped together enough extra funds to purchase a surplus warship from the rapidly dwindling Earth Fleet. Since the leaders of the new government had been unable to agree on another name, the destroyer had remained the Simon Bolivar. And so far, the Bolivar had kept trouble outside the bounds of Catalan’s star system.
So far.
What was happening in other star systems at this moment? Ships could jump from star to star much faster than light, but it still took time to reach the jump points and to transit through jump space. News from even the closest star systems took weeks to reach Catalan.
Maybe he should—
An urgent tone sounded, warning of a high priority call. Ross tapped the receive command, seeing the image of the port director appear in place of the peaceful globe of Catalan.
“Have you heard?” the port director demanded.
That sort of opening usually meant bad news. “No. What is it?”
“Rates for shipping to and from Catalan are doubling. Effective immediately.”
Ross stared at the port director. “Doubling?”
“Yes! And passenger fares will be going up at least as much. Supposedly because of increased costs, but that’s nonsense. I warned the government about this! With the transit fees imposed by some star systems and the continuing problems with ships being waylaid, it’s become more and more expensive to run shipping to new colonies like us. A lot of lines have stopped coming out this far. We’re dependent now on two shipping lines, one that is owned by a state-corporation on Apulu and the other a supposedly private company from Hesta that was taken over by Scatha after they took control. I’ve told everyone what was likely to happen, and now it has!”
“Doubling,” Ross repeated. “And we have no choice but to pay such a rate?”
“Not unless we can convince other companies to start coming out this way again or make it safe to operate our own lines.”
“What about Vestral Shipping? They were still running ships here.”
“They were, until that ‘accident’ happened to the Morning Star. Vestral got the message. They’re cutting their losses.”
“Can’t we buy our own ships?” Ross asked.
The port director spread his hands in the age-old gesture of helplessness. “We could. But right now if we tried running freighters and passenger ships, they’d be either snapped up by piracy or charged huge transit fees to get through star systems controlled by people like Apulu. We’d lose ships and money faster than we could make up the losses. That’s not a guess. It’s a firm prediction.”
“I’ll call an emergency meeting of the ministers.” Ross paused. Shipping costs like that would amount to a massive tax on everything, and everyone, coming into and leaving Catalan. And what would prevent those costs from being doubled again in a little while? It seemed all too likely that acquiring a light cruiser had suddenly become the less expensive option. “Commander Fuentes should be on her way to the port for a lift back to the Bolivar. Ask her to return here. I want the full council of ministers to hear her proposal.”
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