The Merrimack Event (Shieldclads Book 1)

by David Tatum

  “You’re stuck with them,” Schubert finished for him. “How did you get into the Academy, then, if your eyes were that bad?”

  “I’m ineligible to try out for helmsman or small craft military pilot,” Chris clarified, “but there are areas where having perfect vision isn’t a requirement – tactical studies, engineering, environmental controls, that sort of thing. I’m not the only one with glasses in the Navy – or the Academy, for that matter. We’re just something of a rarity.”

  “Who else in the Academy wears glasses?”

  Chris smirked. “Well, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. The person who I saw usually wears contact lenses, and doesn’t want the secret to get out.” He frowned. “The instructors all know, of course.”

  “And just how did a recluse like you find out, then?” Schubert laughed.

  The door chimed for their visitor’s arrival. Chris put on his much-maligned glasses, grabbed his hand comp, donned the uniform deerstalker cap, and glanced in a mirror to ensure he hadn’t forgot anything. “Oh, entirely by accident, I assure you,” he said, nodding to himself. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an irate classmate to attend to.”

  Schubert snickered. He knew that one Cadet Lieutenant Commander Rachel Katz would be plenty “irate” with the his roommate’s rather disheveled appearance, regardless. And, just like one Christopher Desaix, Schubert loved to see their barracks CO in a snit... at least when she wasn’t in a position to administer discipline to him personally. “Good luck.”

  Chris waved in acknowledgment before opening the door and stepping out. “Hi, Rache. What’s up?” he drawled casually.

  He stood about a head taller than the small, lithe young woman in front of him, and was built with an athletic, if slender, frame. That, however, didn’t prevent her from glaring up at him and slamming him up against the wall with one hand. “‘Hi, Rache?’ You, Mr. Desaix, are to address me as ‘Ma’am’ when on duty, and ‘Ms. Katz’ when off. You are never to address me as ‘Rache!’”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “When we’re off duty, I’ll call you whatever I want to call you, Ms. Cadet Lieutenant Commander Rachel Katz, ma’am. So what’s got you so steamed this time, Rache?”

  Rachel growled, baring her teeth in frustration and wrinkling her nose up. “Where the blazes were you yesterday? I had to cover your thrice-damned ass to both Commander Shirokauer and Captain Morrison! That’s the fourth time this month I’ve had to save your miserable career, Mr. Desaix. And this time, I had to tell them that you were running the computer evaluations of our tactics project on the base macro simulator. I doubt they would have believed anything else, considering how many times you’ve called in ‘sick’ to work on your stupid antiques. You are aware that this is a military academy, and that you can actually be arrested by the MPs if your teachers think you’re going AWOL?”

  “Of course I know that.” Chris said, shaking his head. “And your cover story was the truth. Sanchez commed me right before Shirokauer’s class to let me know our request for macrosim time had been approved, but only if I was able to use it right away. You know how he is with freshmen....”

  That put Rachel in a quandary. She wanted to berate him for not keeping her informed, but Chris was right. Lt. Commander Sanchez governed the macro simulator schedule zealously, especially with freshmen. If Chris had been even slightly late, he would have lost out on a rare opportunity to test the results of their project.

  “Oh,” she said hesitantly. “How did it go?”

  “Ran smoothly. I’ve got the results here, if you want to see them,” he said, handing her his hand comp. “Under the filename ‘project3.’”

  Rachel nodded absently, perusing the file. After few moments, she handed the tiny computer back to Chris, studying him with one raised eyebrow. “I guess your plan worked, Chris. Good job.”

  That was a surprise to Chris. In the six months he’d known Rachel Katz, he had never heard her compliment anyone, or refer to them by their first name. “Uh, thank you.”

  She looked at him again, and her smile quickly disappeared. “Your uniform is an absolute mess, however. Get it cleaned up and pressed before class.”

  Chris sighed. Of course it couldn’t last. “Look, Rache, I’ve been busy working on that thing for the past two days. I’ve had less than an hour’s worth of sleep in the past three days. If I look a little wilted, I’m sorry, but it’s your fault for waking me up just as I’d finally gotten to sleep!”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She knew he had a point, but to put the responsibility of his poor appearance on her head was very aggravating. He had to know that – he had to be goading her into replying.

  “Mr. Desaix, you should know better than that. You are an officer, after all. As an officer, you are expected to present a spotless appearance at all times, regardless of your personal condition!”

  Chris sighed, closing his eyes in frustration. Normally, he liked a nice, spirited argument with this girl. He usually encouraged them, in fact, just for the fun of it. Right at that moment, however, he was much too tired to fight with her. “Why do you care, Rache?” he groaned out, exhaustion filling his voice. “It’s not like you’ll suffer if I get in trouble, after all. You’ve got the grades and the ability to make it through the academy with no problems, regardless of what I do.”

  If his eyes had been opened, he would have seen Rachel blink in surprise. He’d never sounded so... defeated, before, in their association. He obviously was worn out, but he’d been tired before and not sounded like this. For a brief moment, she was worried for him. For a very brief moment, that was.

  “I don’t care!” Rachel snapped, making Chris open his eyes. “But, by some odd chance, you are my executive officer and my teammate for this project. In either role, your appearance reflects on me. With that in mind, you better believe that if I see you in another shirt as wrinkled as that one, I will take action.”

  I should have known not to expect any sympathy from her, Chris thought, wincing. “I’m terribly sorry to annoy you so, Ms. Cadet Lieutenant Commander Rachel Katz, ma’am. Forgive my impertinence in being woken up unexpectedly after hardly any sleep and with less than three minutes to get dressed. I’ll be sure to have a clean uniform pressed and ready to go next time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some sleep before Commander Shirokauer’s class. I’ve only got two hours before I have to get up to get into my uniform properly.”

  “Fine,” Rachel replied, storming off. “But don’t expect me to cover for you if you’re late to class.”

  Watching her go, Chris just shook his head. I never expect you to cover for me, anyway, so why should today be any different?

  ——————————

  Rachel sighed as she looked around the small, auditorium-style classroom. It was less than a minute until Commander Francine Shirokauer (retired), started the Spatial Theory and Philosophy class. As she watched, the walls blackened and then re-colored to form a wraparound image of the night sky – Commander Shirokauer’s favorite “wallpaper.” A faint whirring of fans signified that the central HoloPoint projector and Classnote recording drones were already starting their warm-up sequence. Of course Chris isn’t here on time. I wonder what kind of excuse he’ll have? He’s probably still sleeping, he looked so exhausted....

  Lt. Desaix, hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away, burst in through the rear door just as the chime sounded announcing the time. “It is now 0900,” an electronic voice intoned, in the Navy-standard synthetic accent Chris had once jokingly dubbed ‘British female announcer number three.’

  “Atten-HUT!” called Cadet Commander Robert Orff, the senior cadet in the room. Everyone immediately stood at attention, obeying the order.

  “Sit down, sit down,” their instructor said, hands waving dismissively. “I’m not in uniform, anymore. No need to stand on ceremony for me.”

  Chris darted to a seat between Rachel and Cadet Ensign Jeff Cohen, one of his closer acquaintances. Cohen
was his first choice on most classroom activities, but had been assigned Rachel for a partner in their tactics class – a point of friction for the both of them.

  “I see you made it, Lt. Desaix,” Rachel whispered to him dryly. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  When he didn’t shoot back one of his typical biting replies, she frowned. Something was wrong with him – maybe something more serious than just a lack of sleep. He wasn’t acting like himself at all.

  “Okay, class,” Shirokauer began. “Let’s go back to what we were talking about yesterday. I believe you and Ensign Drake were having a bit of a debate, weren’t you, Mr. Evans?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” replied Cadet Ensign Wayne Evans, a hopeful science officer for one of the future colony expeditions.

  She snorted. “Please. After having been called nothing but ‘ma’am’ for the past sixteen years I’ve worked here at the academy, it’s nice to finally be rid of that moniker. Call me ‘Francine,’ or if you can’t manage that, ‘Mrs. Shirokauer.’”

  “Uh, yes, Mrs. Shirokauer,” Evans replied bashfully. He was a sophomore, and had just spent a year and a half getting used to the idea of always referring to his professors as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’ The sudden switch disturbed him. “At any rate, if I recall correctly, Mr. Drake and I were debating the boundaries of the universe. I believe that there are no boundaries, and that the universe is infinite. No matter how far you push out, you’ll continue to encounter the void of the universe. As far as he was concerned—”

  “As far as he is concerned, he can speak for himself. So, Mr. Drake, what was your side of this argument again?”

  “Well, I’m not necessarily against the concept of an infinite universe,” replied Eric Drake, also a Cadet Ensign. “But I definitely believe the existence of hyperspace, the very method by which we travel to the stars, is proof that there are other universes outside of our own. So the only way I see for the universe to be ‘infinite,’ as Mr. Evans calls it, is if it is shaped in a sphere. There are several well-reputed articles which state that the universe may be shaped as a sphere, a cylinder, a moebius strip, a... well, you get the idea. Mr. Evans’ claims only work if the universe is shaped as an infinite plane, and an infinite plane only works if there is only one universe. To be blunt, I feel uncomfortable with the concept of an infinite plane as the shape of the universe...”

  Chris tuned them out. Spatial Philosophy never interested him. Instead, he flipped on his hand comp and started fiddling with some figures, trying to see what refinements he could make on his and Rachel’s project now that they had seen the sim results. Shirokauer wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t paying attention – she was entirely focused on the debate unfolding in front of her. If he fell asleep trying to listen to something as boring as a theoretical discussion of the construction of the universe, however, she would certainly slam him for not paying attention. He could give an opinion on the topic if asked, anyway. Chris figured that Evans had the right idea, and decided that Drake was something of a... a macro-agoraphobe, for lack of a better word. The man couldn’t accept the possibility that the universe was infinite, and never seemed comfortable on spacewalks, either.

  If I just adjusted the formation so that all the ships were just three hundred meters further apart, that would significantly increase its flexibility and allow the ships to make those tight turns about fifteen percent faster. The drawbacks would be negligible with that minor a change, as well. Hmm.... Chris thought as he looked over his figures. Both he and Rachel were required to critique their own battle plan with “recommendations for improvement” now that they’d seen the sims. He wouldn’t be able to get any more macrosim time to test his recommendations, but that wasn’t required. Few students would be able to test even their initial plans on the system before handing them in, but those who had such opportunities were expected to make them count. Rachel probably already had written her improvements, since she’d had two hours of time to work on it while he was sleeping, but he only had one free hour remaining until the project was due. Thankfully, he had this class to work on it, too.

  It seemed like he had barely started when he felt someone tapping on his shoulder. Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced over to see Cohen standing beside him, smiling. “Hey, Chris. You seem out of it – didn’t you notice class is over?”

  Chris saved his work and smiled up at him. “Sorry, Jeff. No, I didn’t – what’s up?”

  “I was just wondering if you’d care for a quick game of chess?”

  Chris hesitated. He loved playing chess, and his only regular chess partner was Jeff Cohen. However, Cohen was so much better than he was that their matches were usually quite lopsided. Still, Chris enjoyed the game enough that he was more than willing to undergo the multiple drubbings handed to him in order to keep playing it.

  “Sure, even though you’ll probably beat the living hell out of me. When?”

  Cohen chuckled. “Heh. You know, it’s funny. You’re probably the best tactician I’ve ever seen – even better than Captain Morrison – but you can’t play chess worth a damn. Ever try to figure that one out?”

  Chris shrugged. “I dunno. Chess is too... one dimensional. Or maybe I should say two dimensional. I don’t like not being able to move multiple pieces, not being able to take advantage of terrain, not being able to use camouflage, things like that. It’s... too simple for me, I guess.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like your kind of problem,” Cohen snorted. “So, what do you say to a game now?”

  “He can’t play, now,” Rachel Katz said disapprovingly from over his other shoulder. “Cadet Lieutenant Desaix and I still have to finish up a few things on our project for Morrison’s class next period.”

  Chris shot a questioning look at her. “We do? What do we have to do?”

  “We need to compare notes on what recommendations we’re making on the sims. It’d be a bad idea to go in there without coordinating those things.”

  With an instinctive snort of disgust, Chris realized she was right. “I guess there’s your answer, Jeff. I don’t seem to have any say in my own life any more, thanks to this project.”

  Cohen smiled sympathetically. “Well, good luck, then. I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  Picking up his hand comp, Chris stood up and glared at Rachel. “So, where do we go to work on this thing? We don’t really have time to go back to either of our quarters.”

  Rachel matched his stare with her own, and for the first time saw how bloodshot his eyes were. “Well, I’m betting you overslept. You probably haven’t eaten anything at all, today, have you?”

  “No, I guess I haven’t,” Chris replied sheepishly.

  Rachel smirked. “Didn’t think so. Come on – let’s go to the cafeteria. I’ll even buy you some breakfast, and we can go over our project.”

  Uh oh. I wonder why she’s trying to be so nice? Chris shrugged, nevertheless. Breakfast definitely sounded like a good idea. “Okay, Rache. Now, I’ve had a few ideas already – I spent some of this class period working on it all. I think the biggest thing was that the formation was too tight; our ships weren’t able to maneuver properly, so I was thinking....”

  ——————————

  Breakfast had been a good idea. Now that Chris had gotten a couple of cups of coffee and a cinnamon bun into him, he was looking infinitely more refreshed, and they’d still been able to figure out most of the problems from their sim. She would never admit it, at least not to him, but he had really come through for her this time. This whole project had finally made her realize how he’d earned that Lieutenant’s bar on his lapel: His tactical genius was higher than she’d ever seen.

  The tactical situation they’d been given was nearly impossible by design. The assignment was to “get the best possible solution,” not to win. In fact, Captain Morrison had stated that she wasn’t expecting anyone to succeed. Even Admiral Ken Pratchet, the highest ranking officer in the Navy, had failed to su
cceed in his time at the Academy.

  That hadn’t stopped Rachel from trying, though. And she thought she’d done well. She knew she couldn’t win against the odds presented to her, so she had instead tried to find a way not to lose. In doing so, she had found a perfectly acceptable way to reach an 80% probability of stalemate, which she had been certain would be better than anyone else in the room could have boasted.

  Except, perhaps, for Cadet Lieutenant Desaix. He had looked over her work, nodded approvingly, and said, “Nice try. Mind if I have a go at it? Then we’ll work on the one we both agree is the best.” His answer infuriated her. In fact, his attitude had made her wonder how anyone could ever have promoted him to Lieutenant as a freshman.

  She learned why, quickly, once he put his mind on that project. Rachael didn’t believe his results when she first saw his figures, so she’d double checked them. And then triple checked them. It was a highly unorthodox strategy, but that didn’t matter – he had the better strategy, hands down. She didn’t have much to say after that beyond making a few minor suggestions to his plan that, she hoped, improved it a little. And she no longer cared that he’d dismissed her own plans so off-handedly.

  Ever since she’d seen that, she started doing whatever she could to push his career forward, including covering for him when he was absent and yelling at him when he needed a good kick in the pants. But now she had a funny feeling this would be the wrong approach – he hadn’t been acting like himself all day, and thinking back she wondered if she’d been pushing him a little too hard, lately.

  Something else was bothering him, though, and she couldn’t tell what it was. It was more than just his present exhaustion, for she’d seen him worn out before, many times, and in all those times he’d never acted like this. Nor had he had those bloodshot eyes. Nor had he ever refused to banter back at her when she delivered her sermons.

  She hated knowing that she cared about him. Not that she didn’t care about people – far from it. Rather, there was just something about him, in particular, that rubbed her the wrong way. This was despite the fact that she had lately been spending most of her free time with him. In return, he constantly tried to present her with those weird antiques he kept tinkering with in his dorm. And it wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate that – against her better judgment, she found herself accepting a few of them, and they always proved useful..