by Ryk Brown
The president glanced at the admiral for only the briefest of moments, after which, the president’s voting lamp turned green.
Admiral Galiardi could not believe his eyes. He was so shocked by President Scott’s support of the new budget that he did not even notice the three green lights that followed.
“Voting has been concluded,” President Wilkey announced from his podium. “The new budget for the Earth Defense Force has passed. I thank you all for your attendance.” The president struck his gavel one last time. “This meeting is adjourned.”
The buzz of conversation once again filled the great room as those in attendance prepared for departure, each anxious to return to their own country and the daily routines of running it.
“Well, I didn’t see that coming,” Eli told his father. “How the hell do you think your constituents are going to react?”
“I suspect many of them will be displeased,” President Scott admitted.
“That’s an understatement,” Eli said as they rose from their seats to depart. Eli followed his father and their party through the attendees, heading for the exit.
“Mister President,” the admiral said as he approached.
“Admiral Galiardi.”
“I have to admit I am surprised at your support of our new budget.”
“Why is that, Admiral?” President Scott asked as he continued pressing forward toward the exit.
“Well, sir, during your campaign, you were quite vocal about your opposition to military expansion.”
“The plan called for two FTL ships,” the president said. “One was lost, and now, you need to replace it. I see no reason not to approve such funds. After all, you are not asking for an expansion, Admiral, just maintaining the originally agreed upon resources.”
“That’s a very fine line, Mister President,” the admiral said as he walked alongside President Scott into the main corridor, “one that I’m not sure your supporters will be able to recognize.”
“Then I’ll just have to explain it to them,” President Scott said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Admiral, I have an ocean to cross before dinner.”
“Of course, Mister President,” the admiral said as his stride slowed, allowing President Scott to continue on his way without further distraction.
“Was that his way of saying thanks?” Eli wondered aloud.
“In a roundabout way, I suppose it was,” the president said.
“We’ll be ready in a moment, sir,” the lead protective agent told the president as they approached the outer doors to the courtyard.
“I’ll be riding in the backup shuttle on the way home,” Eli told his father.
“Why?”
“I have some business to take care of once we get back to North America. I figured it would be faster to do it on the way instead of making a separate trip later,” Eli explained.
The doors opened, and the president’s protective detail led them outside and into the waiting transport.
“Just make sure you’re back by dinner,” the president told him. “Your mother is arriving from Vancouver today. She’d like it if you were there.”
“Of course,” Eli promised. “I’ll be back in plenty of time.”
* * *
“Delaveaga!” a voice cried out.
Luis looked across the crowded terminal at the North American Fleet Academy’s main spaceport on the southern tip of Florida. The terminal was packed with cadets arriving to begin their next semester at the Academy, as well as those departing for their new assignments.
“Delaveaga! Over here!” the voice called again.
In the distance, Luis could see a hand waving above the crowd. He pushed his way toward the calling voice, finally reaching the far side of the terminal despite the crowd that seemed to work against him. “Devyn!” he called out when he finally found the person calling him. He dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around his friend, giving her a friendly hug.
“How have you been?” Devyn asked as Luis released her from his embrace. “I haven’t seen you since the memorial service.”
“I’ve been well,” Luis told her. “I’ve been hiding out down at my mother’s.”
“Kind of hot down there this time of year, isn’t it?” Devyn said.
“I’m used to it. I grew up down there, remember?”
“Kyle is around here somewhere,” Devyn said. “Tilly as well. They came in around noon. I think they’re looking for something to eat. I guess we’ll all be riding up together, huh?”
“I can’t wait to get up there,” Luis stated enthusiastically. “Two months is too long.”
“Tell me about it,” Devyn said. “I’ve probably forgotten half my algorithms by now.”
“I know what you mean,” Luis said. “I was studying the tactical manual on the way over. Hopefully no one will ask me anything difficult for a few weeks.”
“Luis!” Kyle called as he returned.
“Kyle!” Luis reached out, grabbing his friend’s hand and pulling him in closer for a pat on the back. “What have you been up to, man?”
“Just riding the waves while waiting for our ship to be ready. Sorry I couldn’t make it in for the memorial, man. I know Nathan was your best bud and all.”
“Don’t worry about it, Kyle. It was depressing as all hell anyway.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured as much. Really sucks, what happened to him, you know?”
“Hey, we all know the risks, right?” Luis said. It was a common expression used in the fleet to dismiss the inherent danger of a life in space. “Where’s Tilly? He’s assigned to the Intrepid as well, right?”
“Sure is. He’s around here somewhere. Last I saw him, he was talking up some hot-looking cadet over by the lounge. She’ll shoot him down soon enough, I figure.”
“Same old Tilly, huh?” Luis commented. “Damn, it’s good to see you guys again.”
“Our shuttle should be here in about twenty minutes, so if you want to take a dump in a normal toilet one last time before we go, you’d better get busy, Ensign.”
“Jeez, Kyle,” Devyn complained. “Is that all you ever think about? Pooping?”
“Nope. Surfing, too. And eating. Don’t forget eating.”
Luis couldn’t stop grinning. The last two months had been difficult. Nathan Scott had indeed been his best friend and roommate for his entire four years at the Fleet Academy. Nathan had even spent time in South America with Luis, visiting his family. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of his friend. At least now, he was back in the company of his fellow graduates, about to embark on their first patrol together. At least for a while, he wouldn’t have time to think about his lost friend.
* * *
“What’s taking so long?” Miri asked her mother as she watched the house staff load the van.
“Seems I forgot to pack a few things,” her mother said.
“Like what? We emptied your closet and your dressers.”
“Just a few odds and ends, honey. Pictures and mementos and the like,” her mother explained. “I’ll just be a bit longer.”
Miri knew what she meant by pictures and mementos. Her mother was bringing along some of Nathan’s belongings to keep with her. She had hoped that her mother would use the change of residence as an opportunity to leave the past behind and start anew, to forget and put the tragedy behind her. Unfortunately, her mother seemed determined to do everything she could to remember her lost son.
Miri couldn’t blame her mother, as she, too, would have had difficulty dealing with the loss of any of her own children. She tried on several occasions to imagine what it must be like to lose a child, but she could not. It was bad enough for her to have lost a brother, especially Nathan. Unlike most of her sisters, and especially her brother Eli, who was the
oldest sibling in the family, she and Nathan had only been born a year apart. They had grown up together, played with the same friends, and gone to the same schools. She had even married one of Nathan’s older classmates, despite his many protestations. Yet she had managed to move on.
Her mother, on the other hand, had no more children about the house to occupy her time. They were all grown with families of their own. Of course, as the wife of the President of the North American Union, Marlene Scott would eventually become quite busy. In the meantime, Miri would have to bring her kids to Winnipeg on the weekends to keep her mother busy and her mind off Nathan.
Miri checked her watch, noting the time had passed more rapidly than expected. “Mom, I need to go. I have to pick up the kids in an hour.”
“Of course, dear,” her mother said. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up and be on my way to the airport in no time.”
“Are you sure?” Miri asked, worried that her mother would continue to pick through her dead brother’s belongings.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure, Miri,” her mother promised her. “Now go, and kiss your angels for me.” Her mother kissed Miri on the cheek, then set off to return to the main house.
Miri sighed. “You’ll make sure she leaves soon?” she asked the protective agent watching over the van. “I promised my father that I would get her to Winnipeg in time for dinner, and they’re two hours ahead.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the agent replied politely. “I’m well aware of the time difference. I’ll make sure we leave on time.”
“Thanks,” Miri told him as she turned and headed for her car.
* * *
Synda’s anger continued to grow as she punched and kicked at her padded opponent. As she danced about the ring, dodging her opponent’s blows, all of the possible reasons for her denial into the Fleet Academy raced through her head. She knew it wasn’t her intelligence, as she had scored highly in all categories during her evaluation testing. It wasn’t her health, as she was as fit as anyone. It also wasn’t her background, as she had never been in trouble of any kind. In fact, her parents had been killed when she was seventeen, so she had no family ties planet-side. As best she could tell, she was the perfect candidate, except for one thing… She was small.
While most people rejected due to body size were either too tall or too heavy, she was both ten centimeters and ten kilograms below Fleet minimums. She had tried to gain weight, working out religiously with every resistance machine there was. She had put on some muscle, but it was not enough. She had even tried spinal expansion, but her back muscles were in such good shape that she had gained barely a single centimeter in height after repeated sessions.
It seemed so unfair to her. She hoped her intellectual scores and physical prowess might make up for her lack of size, but the Fleet recruitment review boards stuck to their rules every time. And now, she was out of applications and out of options. Even if she got into one of the local militias, there was no way she was going to get a field assignment. She would end up in an office somewhere with some officer talking at her chest at every opportunity.
Her anger got the better of her, and a quick combination of left, right, and a roundhouse sweep brought her opponent down onto his back. Synda instinctively landed next to him, her elbow driving into his padded collar.
“Damn, Synda!” her opponent complained. “You trying to kill me or what?”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Tony,” she said in embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet. She held out her hand to help him up, which he refused. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Of course not,” he said, his pride showing. He looked around the gym, making sure none of his friends had witnessed his failure to defend himself against a girl half his weight. “I’m wearing pads, remember?” he said, pointing his gloved hands at his head and shoulder pads. “Why are you so aggressive today, anyway?”
Synda pulled off her sparring gloves and tossed them into the corner. “I got rejected again.”
“Why do you keep applying?” Tony asked. “You know they’re going to turn you down.”
“I really want to be in the fleet. You know that.” Synda removed her head gear and tossed it aside as well. “It’s all I ever think about.”
“Why? People die in the fleet, Synda. And we ain’t even at war yet. Remember the Aurora?”
“Yeah, I remember the Aurora. That was an accident though.”
“An accident that killed a hundred people.” Tony removed his own pads and dropped them on the mat beside him. “Besides, you’ve got a good job.”
“Serving drinks and getting groped by drunk factory workers? Yeah, it’s every girl’s dream job.”
“You make great tips, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do make great tips,” she admitted. “Of course, I have to stick my boobs out to here to make those tips.”
“At least you’ve got the boobs,” Tony told her. “My sister is flat as a board. She works in that upscale bar down by the financial district—you know—the one where all the brokers go after work. She doesn’t make shit for tips. You know what you should do?”
“What?”
“Save up them tips, go back to school. Get a career where you can use your head instead of your tits.”
Synda picked up her pads and threw them at him. “I gotta get my tits home and get some sleep before my next shift,” she told him with a smile.
“Make it happen with what you’ve got, girl,” Tony told her.
“Later,” she said as she stepped under the ropes and hopped down to the floor. She picked up her bag, wrapped her towel around her neck, and headed for the door. “Hey, Tony,” she called back as she turned around. “Tell your sister to get a boob job. She’ll clean up.”
* * *
Admiral Galiardi sat in his shuttle as it sped across the western portion of the African continent on its way to EDF headquarters at Port-Gentil. The budget vote at UER headquarters in Geneva had gone surprisingly well, and he was now facing the rapid build of the Aurora’s replacement vessel. In order to get a second FTL warship in service as soon as possible, cuts would need to be made in other departments. The problem was in deciding where, as every department in the Earth Defense Force was doing its best to provide maximum results at minimum costs.
According to Fleet intelligence estimates, it would take the Jung at least a year to regroup after the losses they suffered while successfully invading the Alpha Centauri system. They had waltzed into the Centauri system with a fleet of six heavy cruisers and had gone toe to toe with over a dozen ships. Even outnumbered two to one, the Jung ships had eventually defeated the Centauri fleet, destroying every one of their ships before the Jung had begun landing ground troops on Centauri soil.
The EDF’s four Defender-class warships were more heavily armed than any of the Centauri ships had been. The problem was that they were only capable of sub-light speeds, while the Jung ships were able to travel faster than light. Even at sub-light speeds, the Jung ships were faster. But the Earth ships were heavily armored as well and were able to take a substantial beating. Although that fact had yet to be tested in battle, what limited information they had on Jung weaponry indicated that a single Defender-class warship could easily take on four Jung warships—except, of course, the recently discovered battle platforms that the Jung usually parked in larger systems. All four of their Defender-class ships would be needed to take down a Jung battle platform. Fortunately, such platforms were few, and they were slower than the rest of the Jung ships, making them unlikely to be used in an invasion of the Sol system.
The Aurora, had she survived, might have been able to hold her own against a battle platform. Along with her sister ship, the Celestia, they definitely could have taken one apart. But now the admiral had to figure out how to build another ship in less than a year when it normally would take two yea
rs at a minimum. He had toyed with the idea of building several smaller ships, each FTL-capable, and letting the diplomats use them for their peace negotiations with the Jung. That would allow him to finish the Celestia more quickly and maybe even beef up her armaments to some extent. Several fusion-powered laser weapons were nearly ready for testing by the Fleet’s special projects division. Although the destructive power of the laser weapons was not as impressive, the speed at which their blows would be delivered made them a nice compliment to the standard rail gun turrets used by Fleet ships. The more he thought about his options, the better the admiral thought their chance might be to defend themselves.
“Admiral, you’re wanted in the communications compartment, sir,” the attendant told him.
Admiral Galiardi rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the passenger compartment, stepping through the hatch at the forward end.
“It’s Rear Admiral Duncan, sir,” the comm-tech told him as the admiral entered the compartment. “You can take it there, sir,” the tech added, pointing to the unused console.
The admiral sat down in front of the console, donning the comm-set as he activated the screen. Rear Admiral Duncan’s face appeared on the screen. “Galiardi here.”
“Sir,” Rear Admiral Duncan began over the vid-comm, “we just received a comm-runner from the Reliant. She’s detected six Jung cruisers just beyond the orbit of Jupiter, about thirty degrees above the ecliptic. It looks like they just came out of FTL. They’re headed for Earth, Admiral. ETA is just over three hours. The Reliant has changed course to intercept. They should be in range in about seventeen minutes.”
“Dammit!” Admiral Galiardi cursed. “What the hell happened to one year?”