Wolves at the Gate

by Shane Van Aulen

  “True, I find that you still fall outside of my contact protocol’s restrictions,” Pallas said his words resonating in his head.

  “How’d you come up with that?” he asked as he went down the hall to the sublevel’s lifts.

  “Your orders clearly state that you are here on a temporary duty assignment and therefore you are not a member of the crew. Your name has not been registered as a member of the ship’s complement of personnel and therefore I am not under any restrictions in contacting you,” it argued sounding very logical and self-assuring.

  Reaching the lift, he found that it was a very small elevator big enough for only two people at a time. Stepping inside, he saw that it had a manual instead of a voice-activated controls system. Hitting Level M, he felt the lift lurch as it descended.

  The ride was short and when the door opened, he found himself in a narrow corridor that was dimly lit.

  “Take a right,” Pallas said and then added, “Pick up your pace so you’re not late.”

  Mike hurried down the corridor until he saw a sign outside a bulkhead door that said, “Engineering Maintenance Office Annex B.”

  He didn’t see an intercom or any way of signaling that he was there. The door was solid poly-steel and even if he knocked no one would hear it. Giving up, he activated the door’s locking mechanism and opened the door manually.

  Pushing it open, he saw that inside was a small office crammed with a plain metal desk and two chairs. Two officers were within the room sitting on either side of the desk. They both had cups of coffee and one laughed as he entered.

  “I told you he’d make it,” the officer sitting in front of the desk said. He was of African descent and had the rank of a full commander on his collar.

  The other officer was a woman with red hair and a fair complexion and was seated behind the desk. Obviously, this was her office. She wore the rank of Lt. Commander though her uniform looked a bit wrinkled and seemed to have several spots of dirt or grease as if she had been working on something mechanical earlier in the day.

  “So, I owe you another cup of Joe,” she said with a kind of a half-smile.

  Mike walked in and snapped a salute, standing at attention waiting to be told what to do next.

  “Ensign Michael Collins, reporting for duty, sirs,” he said.

  The full commander stood up and returned his salute with a perfect one of his own.

  “At ease, Ensign,” he said as he sat back down.

  Mike relaxed and suppressed a smile, happy to finally see that someone on this ship who knew how to salute.

  “Sir, I’m to report to Lt. Commander Danielle Huber,” he said looking from him to the female officer behind the desk.

  “That’s me,” she said and added, “and my friends call me Danny.”

  “But you can call her Commander Huber,” the full commander said with a smile.

  “Yes, sir,” Mike replied looking at the senior officer.

  The senior officer continued to smile, “I’m Commander Rick Hemmings, I’m the executive officer of the Pallas.”

  Mike remembered him from his brief conversation with Cmdr. Hunter when they had first arrived in-system. He had to admit he was a little surprised to see the XO of this massive ship way down in the bowels of the engineering section sitting in a dinky little office drinking coffee.

  Cmdr. Hemmings must have seen the wonder on his face as he answered him and before he could ask a question.

  “I like to meet all new officers and see that they are squared away,” he informed taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

  Ensign Collins looked at him and for a minute as he thought that he had seen the commander somewhere else and knew his name. It was an odd flash of memory but it came to him just then.

  “You and my …” he started but the Commander held a single finger signaling him to wait.

  “Ensign, shut the door and we will go through your duties and responsibilities while you are assigned to us,” Lt. Cmdr. Huber said.

  Mike stepped back and pulled the door shut and then activated the locking sensor.

  Looking back, he saw the engineering officer shake her head.

  “I’m reading all clear,” she said holding a scanner up that had been previously out of sight behind her desk.

  Collins knew that it was comm. signal scanner. He also knew that his subdermal unit couldn’t be detected even with such a scanner.

  “Mike, do you …” Cmdr. Hemmings started but was stopped as Collins held up a single finger indicating for the senior officer to wait.

  Taking that finger, he then reached behind his ear and tapped his subdermal sensor cutting off his comm. link to the Pallas.

  “Did you have an open comm. link?” Cmdr. Hemmings asked.

  “Yes sir,” Mike answered and added, “it was to the Pallas.”

  “The A.I. was talking to you,” Huber asked in surprise and concern.

  “Yes, it found that my TDA orders put me outside of its communication restrictions. It also feels lonely and I think it is very frustrated.”

  Hemmings looked to Huber questioningly.

  “It is an A.I. and has a need to be usefully and productive,” she suggested.

  “Sir, aren’t you a friend of my father,” Mike commented changing the subject.

  Rick Hemmings looked back at the young officer and smiled a big broad smile.

  “Best friend, best man at his wedding to your mom and roommate at the Star Academy,” he said and added, “not to mention your godfather.”

  “Uncle Rick,” Mike said with a huge smile of recognition.

  “Yep, Uncle Rick but I haven’t seen you since you were twelve,” Cmdr. Hemmings said and continued, “I got assigned to the outer rim and hadn’t been back to Earth in some time. When I did get back you had already gone off to Harpers Academy.”

  “It is good to see you, sir,” Mike commented still smiling as he held his hand out to shake.

  Hemmings quickly stood up, grasped his hand and pulled him in for a hug.

  “None of that, we are family,” the tall man said giving him a quick bear hug.

  “Which you better not let Granny Essex know about or he’ll make your life a living hell as well as the boy’s,” Lt. Cmdr. Huber commented.

  “She’s right, that why I’m meeting you here. This is one of the few places on board that the A.I. can’t monitor and record our conversations,” he explained.

  “I glad you picked up on that and terminated your contact with the Pallas or we could all be in hot water,” she added looking worried.

  “I felt something was wrong on board and a couple people including Dr. Emir, kind of clued me in that you need to watch what you say and that someone was listening in and watching.”

  “Granny Essex likes to have the A.I. eavesdrop for any remarks or comments that could be construed as insubordination or disloyalty,” Huber informed.

  “He would then target that officer or crewman until he could get something on them. Once they made a mistake even a small one, he’d then press charges against them just to make them into an example or transfer them,” Hemmings added.

  “We figured out Granny’s game a few weeks after he took command. He also monitors our mail and any off-ship transmissions,” the engineering officer said sitting back down and grabbing her cup of coffee.

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” Mike said shaking his head in disbelief.

  “He is paranoid and from the sound of it, he really didn’t like the orders you delivered or any of the suggestions that Captain Hope and Admiral Norton-Underhill had to make,” Rick Hemmings commented.

  “You know about that?” Mike asked surprised that the Commodore would have let him see those orders.

  “Yeah, but only because he was complaining to Captain LaFevers and I happened to be in the room,” the XO of the ship revealed.

  “I have a copy of those dispatches in case you’d like to see them,” Mike suggested.

  The two senior officers looked at e
ach other before looking back at the young ensign.

  “Really?” Huber said.

  “Yes, Captain Hope was concerned that someone might not pass those orders on or that they might be ignored. He gave me a second set including all of our battle reports, ships records and the intelligence files that we have gathered.”

  “That’s why the Star Tiger left so fast and defied Granny Essex’s orders to stay,” Hemmings remarked remembering the bridge crew suppressing their smiles as the attack cruiser fled the sector.

  “Sir, why do you keep calling Commodore Essex, Granny?” Mike inquired his curiosity getting the better of him.

  The two senior officers laughed.

  “We call him that because he is like a grandmother, slow to move, change or act,” Lt. Cmdr. Huber said.

  Again, this reminded him of several Union generals from the first American Civil War that just couldn’t quite get the job done and had to be relieved of command.

  “Do you have those dispatches with you?” Cmdr. Hemmings asked his godson.

  “Yes, sir,” Mike said quickly reaching into his space bag and retrieving the data files.

  “I’ll make copies and get them out to those officers we trust,” Huber said taking the cry-chip data crystals from his hand.

  “They also contain vid recording of the battles the Star Wolf has fought since our escape from Austro Prime,” he commented.

  Rick Hemmings smiled as his brown eyes kind of twinkled in inspiration.

  “I think I have an idea,” he stated but kept it to himself as he continued to smile.

  “Oh?” Huber said hoping for more.

  “Mike, I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll get caught up then,” Hemmings said and added, “Your dad’s been busy too from what I hear.”

  “Sounds good, sir,” he replied thankful to find a couple friendly officers on board the battle carrier.

  The commander than excused himself stating that if he stayed any longer it might look suspicious. Lt. Commander Huber then took Mike on a tour of the engineering maintenance section. He was in charge of Repair Team Four. His responsibilities would include machine installation, general repairs operations, and custodial duties.

  He found part of his team doing maintenance on the internal gunnery controls to a gauss cannon on Deck 6. Lt. Cmdr. Huber informed him that during times of battle her whole section would serve as part of the damage control teams.

  After being briefly introduced to some of Team Four’s members, the Lt. Commander received a call via her comm. link and excused herself leaving him with his team. Mike stood by watching as they tried to adjust the gauss cannon rotation disk to allow a full 360-degree circumference of movement. He looked around for a repair robot or droid but didn’t see any.

  “Might, I suggest …” Collins started but the maintenance staff either ignored him or just didn’t notice that he was still there.

  He then moved closer and looked up into the open housing. One of the men finally noticed him and turned and looked at him funny.

  “Can we help you with something, Ensign?” a specialist with the name patch of Rivera asked.

  “No, but I can help you,” Mike said putting his hand on the spacer’s shoulder he pulled him back from the gun’s housing. He then took a magnetic spanner from another crewman’s hands and reached into the housing. Placing it on the rotary restraining bolt, he back it off a quarter click. He then repeated the process to the five other bolts.

  “What are you doing, sir?” a female technician with the name of Pilgrim asked.

  “Well, gauss cannon mounts don’t like to be too tight. If you lock them down with a death grip they don’t rotate so well,” he said as he finished adjusting the last bolt.

  “I never heard that before,” said one of the older crewmen.

  “Give it a test spin and let’s see,” he suggested handing the spanner to Rivera.

  Pilgrim moved to the manual control unit and quickly gave the turret a spin. Inside the housing, they saw that it moved smoothly and without hesitation.

  “Won’t they work themselves loose?” someone asked.

  Mike pointed to the magnetic spanner, “Nope, they are held in that position by its magnetic field, that’s why you need a spanner to loosen them.”

  The Maintenance Team Four’s members that were present looked at their new officer with a mixture of expressions. Some of them were smiling, others just looked dumbfounded and one even looked a little upset.

  “Sir, how’d you know to do that?” Pilgrim asked.

  Collins smiled, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  It was the truth, though he wasn’t an engineering officer he had worked on numerous restoration projects as well as ship repairs from battle damage. Everything including the Star Wolf attack cruiser, Gunfighter sloops, Battle class frigates, enemy destroyers and even star-fighters. Hell, he had helped restore and repair damaged parts for almost every system a ship had. He wasn’t a master engineer like Padre Zimmerman or even his good friend Rufo Cappillo but he knew a few things.

  For the rest of his duty shift, he and his team went around and pulled maintenance on twenty-three more gauss cannons. When he was captain of the Q-ship Randori, his crew wouldn’t let him help unless the proverbial shit had hit the turbine. It was a matter of ship’s pride. The CO doesn’t get his hands dirty, every other officer on board that’s fine, lend a hand but not the commanding officer. Here on board the Pallas he was once more just a very junior officer and was allowed to jump right in and help.

  Exhausted but happy, he stumbled to find his quarters after his duty shift was over and he had dismissed his people.

  Pallas had been quiet all night but as he struggled to find his way to his new quarters the supercomputer signaled him via his subdermal transceiver. Reaching up he acknowledged the covert signal.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Our link was lost when you went into the maintenance office,” the A.I. said and added, “I don’t have access to that area via my ship’s sensors.”

  “Yeah sorry, I got the feeling that I needed to focus on the meeting and didn’t want to be disturbed,” he said.

  “Is that all?” Pallas inquired sounding odd.

  “No, I don’t want to lie to you, friends shouldn’t do that,” Mike started and continued, “I got some warnings that you listen in and record all ship conversations. That you even turn in anyone who says anything bad about Commodore Essex and they then face disciplinary action. Is that true?”

  The A.I. didn’t answer right away and for a moment Mike actually thought that he had severed the link.

  “It is true, I’m under orders to eavesdrop on everyone, monitor their mail and all off-ship communications,” the battle carrier disclosed sounding almost ashamed of its actions.

  “To what purpose?”

  Again, silence for a moment, “To root out any dissidents or troublemakers that could undermine the Commodore’s command.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you have much of a choice in this,” he commented trying to make the A.I. feel better though he was unsure if it even had feelings.

  “I don’t like it, I hate it,” Pallas revealed, “It is dishonest and is a betrayal to my crew.”

  “Well, I think we’re both stuck with bad hands for the time being,” Mike remarked wishing he could do something to fix both of their problems.

  “Is that a playing card reference?”

  “Yes, I prefer stud poker,” he replied as he reached a secured door. Next to the door’s frame were a sign and some numbers. It said “Junior Officers’ Quarters, 10-2-5.”

  Looking at the sign he didn’t like it. All it needed to say was Officers’ Quarters. The junior part almost seemed demeaning.

  “Why do you hesitate?” the A.I. asked, his voice resonating in his head.

  “Just admiring the sign,” he answered.

  As he said the word “sign” the door slid open and three junior grade officers, all ensigns hurried out the
door. The first one out looked at him funny as he passed by but then called back to his friends to get a move on or they’d be late for breakfast.

  After they had passed him by, he quickly entered the room. Once inside, he found that it was a sort of common area, complete with a small kitchenette, two sofas and a small round table with two chairs. On the wall, just across from the sofas was a holo-emitter set up to watch vids in multi–dimensional formats.

  Opposite the door that he had entered was another hallway which had three doors on each of its side walls and a door at the end of the corridor. The door at the end looked like a head and shower area. Next to each room’s door was a number along with a name placard with the names of the two officers living in each room. All of the rooms except one had two names next to the door. Checking his palm pad’s housing orders, he found that he was assigned to the room with only one name card.

  Ensign William Brian Porter, the name placard said identifying his roommate.

  Mike paused for a moment and then decided to knock. After a few raps, there was no answer. Passing his hand in front of the sensor was also useless. His biometrics data should have been downloaded by now.

  Looking to see if anyone else was in the hallways he saw that he was still alone.

  “Pallas, could you help me out here?” he said in a lowered voice.

  A moment later the door slid open.

  The room was a standard junior grade officer’s quarters set up for a pair of officers to share. Two bunks, each with a dresser that had a fold-out desk and a narrow closet. This was all no surprise to him, what was the surprise was that the room was a mess and it was currently occupied.

  Standing in the narrow center of the room was an officer who was hopping about on one foot as he tried to pull his pants on over his shoes.

  “Ensign Porter?” Mike asked as the fellow nearly fell over in his quest to pull up his pants.

  Falling onto an unmade bunk, the ensign finally yanked on his pants and let out a deep breath in either victory or exhaustion. Looking up at him, he smiled at his unexpected visitor.

  “Can’t be late to breakfast,” Porter said still grinning like an idiot.