"See? We might need topping up in a few places, but I think we've probably got what we need." He stood up from the table. "In any case, I have a week's paperwork waiting for me on my desk. I've no idea who I'm going to be sending it to, but by the time we get back undoubtedly they'll have come up with a plethora of administrative officers."
He turned, making his way for the door, waving a hand over his head as he left the room. The corridor to the elevator was almost empty, just a couple of crewmen also heading for the mess deck.
Idly, he wondered how many of his crew were actually on duty as the elevator sped up the decks to officer's country, making a mental note to check in with the bridge before he settled down to his paperwork. The doors opened, and a crewman was standing in the corridor, saluting as he walked past; Marshall returned the salute without a second thought.
Some flash of sixth sense led him to duck at that exact second; whether his peripheral vision had noticed something that his conscious mind had managed to overlook, or whether he had seen some sense of intent in the crewman's face, but it meant that the knife jabbed in his back missed his kidney by a matter of inches. Gasping in pain, he span around to try and land a blow on his assailant, his flailing arms missing as he tumbled to the deck, crimson blood gushing out across the floor.
Looming overhead, his attacker saw an advantage and reached up with his knife to strike a mortal blow, but with his last bit of strength Marshall twisted his legs underneath him, sending him crashing to the deck, the knife sliding across the floor. A pair of savage eyes looked up at him as the two of them dived for the blade; it was a few feet closer to Marshall, enough that he got his shaking hand around it first.
The crewman had risen to his knees, crouching, his hands ready to charge the young captain. Marshall's vision was beginning to dance, he was starting to feel numb as scythes of pain shattered across his body, but he retained just enough strength to lunge forward with the dagger, catching his assailant across the wrist, a spurt of blood arcing across his uniform. As he lay panting on the deck, his attacker down on the ground next to him, he reached for his communicator, jabbing his thumb on the emergency button before everything went black.
Chapter 8
Marshall's universe consisted of a haze of pain and a succession of seemingly random mechanical noises, with the occasional expression of concern from voices that should be familiar, but which his half-conscious state was ill-equipped to decipher. He gasped as the pain abruptly changed, suddenly getting closer to the surface before finally beginning to ebb and fade away.
"Captain Marshall?" an unfamiliar voice called out. "You can wake up now."
With an effort, he forced his eyes to open, then closed them again to a blinding white light. As he squinted, the light level seemed to dim, and he saw an auburn-haired woman leaning over him, some sort of unidentifiable equipment in her hand. He tried to sit up, but the pain returned again.
"Don't do anything stupid like try to run about. If you promise to behave and take your pills I might be able to release you to light duty." The woman turned to a communications console, continuing to talk. "This would have been a lot easier if you'd bothered to drop in for a physical when you reported on board."
The captain tried to pull himself up again, reaching for the arm of the bed. Rolling her eyes, the doctor grabbed a cushion, eased him forward and pushed it behind him, then passed him a glass containing some foul-smelling red liquid. Marshall's nose wrinkled over it as he took an experimental swig, gagging at the cloying, sweet taste.
"What the hell?"
"Special nutrient blend I came up with. I've been pumping it into you for the last week."
His eyes darted across to the doctor. "I've been here for a week?"
"Close enough. That was a nasty fight you were in. Still, should have seen the other guy. Well, you can, he's in the morgue."
Marshall's eyes dropped. He hadn't killed anyone since the war, and never face-to-face. The doctor noted his expression, saying with the nearest thing she could manage to a supportive voice, "It wasn't you. I fixed up his damage nice and quick, but there was some sort of mental block, a deep hypnotic down in his subconscious. When he realized he was caught, his functions just shut down."
"Now we've got no way of knowing who he was."
The door slid opened, and Caine walked in, snatching a chair from a locker and sliding it over to beside his bed.
"I'd have bought some grapes, but I don't think you could handle the processor's attempt in your current condition."
"I'm glad someone is still thinking of my welfare." He looked over at the doctor, who shrugged. "Any idea what happened?"
"Someone stabbed you in the back. We're still working on the rest of it. He was listed as a Titanian, but the examination revealed he was a Loonie. Documents were very good, but faked; Sub-Lieutenant Tyler checked the rest of the crew manifest and didn't find anything else suspicious."
"That's something."
"That's about all, though. The knife was out of one of the emergency supply set-ups, part of one of the contingency toolkits. He didn't have anything on him that was any sort of clue, nothing out of the ordinary. No communication logs before we left Mariner, but with all the milling around – hell, you sneaked on board, anyone else could have. Maggie told me how many shuttles were unofficially flying in and out."
Leaning up further in his bed, Marshall took another swig of his disgusting drink; disturbingly, he was beginning to find the taste acceptable.
"Next question. Why isn't my Exec telling me all this?"
Caine looked at the wall, and sighed, "Because she called a senior officer's meeting for, well, now. I'm playing hookie, but I'll need to get back there before everything goes completely to hell."
"That bad?"
She sighed. "We've been operating under the assumption that you weren't coming round. It was a damn close thing – there was some sort of neural poison on that blade. No idea where that came from, nothing's missing from the ship's chemical stores. There have been a few changes, and I know some of the Martian crew are getting a bit hacked off. They seem to be getting all the dud shifts. We're about to implement a shift change that'll make it permanent."
"Fine, a staff meeting is convenient. Get me a stick."
Caine looked at the doctor, who shook her head and moved back to the bed, "Don't be stupid, Captain. If you push it now, you'll be back here for weeks."
"Doctor Duquesne, if I don't resume command, by the sound of things it won't matter anyway."
She put her hands on her hips, shaking her head again, "I could relieve you on medical grounds."
"And think of all the paperwork you'll be stuck with."
Caine offered her arm, and Marshall experimentally tried to stand; he didn't collapse immediately, but struggled to get his other leg out of the bed. The doctor rolled her eyes, opened a locker and grabbed his uniform jacket.
"I hate you stupid fleet types. Always making my life harder. I'm inviting myself to this meeting as well, and if you start to run into problems I'm calling for a gurney."
Marshall looked over at her, nodding, "Deal, Doc. But don't make too much of a fuss of me in there, or someone will ask you to do something we're both going to regret."
"Don't get the idea I want your company around here. I like peace and quiet." She slid the jacket over his shoulders while Caine worked on the tie, pulling it into at least a passable knot. After a couple of minutes, Marshall was at least adequately dressed, and the three of them made their way into the corridor, each step yielding a grimace from the captain's twisted face. He turned to Caine.
"Had enough?" she said, looking at his face.
"Was Ensign Esposito invited to this meeting?"
She shook her head. "Lieutenants and above only. Apparently that's standard protocol in the Orbital Patrol."
Marshall pulled his communicator out of a pocket, activating it with an effort, "Ensign Esposito and Sub-Lieutenant Tyler, report to the briefing room on
the double."
Not waiting for an answer, he limped into the elevator, sighing with relief as he leaned on the wall. Usually the rides seemed to take far too long; this one seemed to be over far too quickly, and the door opened on the lower deck, a couple of surprised-looking crewmen saluting as they saw the captain.
With an effort, he returned the salute, and shrugging off any assistance, started limping towards the briefing room. He could hear a loud argument inside as an unfamiliar officer ran down the corridor behind him.
"Ah, you must be Sub-Lieutenant Tyler. We didn't have a chance to meet before the incident."
The young, carrot-haired officer looked as if he hadn't yet got around to shaving; his face flushed red with guilt, "Sir, you can have my resignation. I've already prepared it."
"How could anyone have known what was going to happen, Sub-Lieutenant? What happened there is the past; it is what happens now that is important. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
Caine squinted at the young security officer, looking him up and down, "You seem vaguely familiar, Sub-Lieutenant. I couldn't quite put my finger on it earlier. Are you any relation of Maggie Tyler? Last time I saw her she was a Captain on the Curtiss."
He nodded, jerkily, "She made Major before dying at Second Vesta. My father fell in the same battle."
"Sorry, Sub-Lieutenant. I didn't know," Caine replied.
"That's fine, ma'am. It was a long time ago." He turned to the captain, "Can I have your permission to implement security procedures, sir? At the very least I want to assign you a permanent bodyguard, though I'll make it clear that they are to be discreet."
"Good start, but forget about the discreet part. I'd rather have people warned away completely than force one of your people into a daring last-minute rescue. Now, shall we go in? I'd really like to sit down."
"Oh, yes, sir." The young security officer opened the door, revealing minor pandemonium inside. Zakharova was on her feet, yelling at Esposito, who was standing over by the door. Mulenga was shaking his head, while Quinn had his head buried in a pile of datapads, muttering something to himself. It was Dietz who first noticed the captain half-staggering into the room, and bolted to attention.
"Captain on the deck!"
Mulenga rose with evident relief on his face, as did Esposito. Fury danced across Zakharova's features as Marshall made his way to the head of the table with precise steps, gesturing for her to move out of his place.
For a brief second he thought he was going to have to order Tyler to move her, but she finally nodded and strode to the other side of the table. He managed to sit down before his legs gave out from under him, and gestured everyone else to seat.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, Captain?" his Exec began, before turning to the doctor, "I understood, Doctor, that his condition was extremely serious."
"I can't help being amazing at my job, Lieutenant," Duquesne replied. "Nor can I refuse the orders of my commanding officer. When he tells me he's ready to attend a staff meeting, I am forced to agree."
She pointed at him, "You can declare him medically incompetent."
"I could, but I'm not going to."
Lieutenant Caine smiled, taking a drink of water from the desk. "Captain Marshall is here, he's fit, and he's in command."
"You are allowing your personal feelings for Captain Marshall to overcome your professional judgment."
Marshall looked daggers at Zakharova. "Lieutenant, this conversation is over. Now. If you wish to continue it then you can do so in your cabin, but I warn you, no-one will be there to listen."
Dietz nodded, "Unless judged medically unfit, the Captain is in command." He slid over a datapad. "My operations report, sir. Training has proceeded along the lines you directed, and though I consider we still have some weak spots, all key personnel are operating at required levels of competence."
"What's this I heard about a revised shift rotation?"
The operations officer looked at the executive officer, "I was instructed by the acting commander," it might have been Marshall's imagination, but there seemed a slight stress on the word 'acting', "to prepare a plan along the lines I suggested at our last meeting, with the staff separated according to their former services."
She nodded, "It would be the best way of improving crew efficiency. I have ordered that it will be implemented as of the next watch."
"My gunnery crews won't be, Lieutenant, I'll tell you that now. I've only just got them meshed, and we'd be missing some key people," Caine said.
"You are flirting dangerously close to insubordination, Ms. Caine."
"Really?" Caine said sweetly, then turned to face Marshall, "Am I being insubordinate, Captain?"
Before Zakharova could escalate the argument, Marshall slammed his hand on the desk, instantly regretting it as a bolt of pain stabbed up his shoulder. "That's enough, both of you." He turned to face Dietz, "I hope you haven't wasted too much time on that outline, Lieutenant, because I'm not implementing it. Inform the shift heads accordingly."
"Wait a minute," Zakharova began.
"Aye, sir," Dietz replied. A look passed between him and the executive officer that Marshall had trouble reading; he raised his hand to warn Caine not to gloat.
"Sir," Esposito said, breaking into the silence. "Before you arrived, Senior Lieutenant Zakharova placed me on report for coming to the meeting without her approval."
"I ordered her to be here, Lieutenant," Marshall said, looking at his furious Exec again. "And in future she will be attending all staff meetings. Our Espatier force is critical to ship operations."
"Patrol doctrine was to keep such meetings small, to senior officers only," Dietz said, his voice still calm and flat.
"I prefer to receive input from the widest possible range of sources before making my decisions, Lieutenant."
He nodded, "I will alter the invitation software accordingly. Are the Doctor and Sub-Lieutenant Tyler to be invited as well?"
"As if I'd have time for this nonsense. Some of us have work to do, Dietz," Duquesne said, hunching forward on the table.
"Mr. Tyler will attend all such meetings in his role as department head. I will yield to the Doctor's desires in this regard."
"I will see that it is done, Captain."
Marshall looked around the table, trying to read the room. Most of the officers seemed relieved that he was back in command; his doubts focused on the Patrol contingent. Zakharova looked as if she was contemplating mutiny, and as usual, Dietz was almost impossible to read. Quinn had returned to his technical journals, and Mulenga seemed relieved for another reason; as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders.
"I can catch up on the last week in individual meetings later on. And we will get to those one-on-ones at the same time, I haven't forgotten. Mr. Quinn, vessel status?"
The young engineer looked up from his datapads. "All fine, sir."
Caught slightly by surprise at the brevity of the report, Marshall asked, "That's it?"
"FTL drive working fine, reactors at full capability, weapons ready to go, sensors operating normally. Everything's fine."
Rolling his eyes, Marshall turned to his Exec. "What about the battle stations drills?"
"Poor, sir. Principally because of the difficulty faced by the Martian and Titanian crewmen in adapting to Patrol protocols."
Not again. "Lieutenant, I will remind you for I hope the final time that we are not in the Patrol. I consider that answer unacceptable." A voice in his head was telling him to give up, to pass the job to someone else. "You have four hours to provide a better solution within the restrictions I have established."
"I will assist, Lieutenant," Dietz offered. "I suspect a deficiency in our training programs."
Marshall nodded, looking at the two of them. "I want maximum war-fighting ability. Not adherence to protocols. Concentrate simply on the best possible performance on vessel systems. Lieutenant Caine, work with the two of them."
Watching her face fall, he started punching out a
crew roster on his panel. "I note that Sub-Lieutenant Kibaki has some combat experience as well. Bring him in, Lieutenant," he addressed his Exec again, "to get the Titanian perspective."
She looked as if she was about to make another objection, but Marshall caught Dietz almost imperceptibly shaking his head. "Yes, sir. We will meet once our business here is concluded, and provide a report in four hours."
"There are still two days to our destination. Let's use them. Now, about the system itself. Lieutenant Mulenga?"
The astrogator nodded, and called up a complicated three-dimensional hologram of the system they were approaching, taking a battered laser pointer out of a pocket. "The system ahead has five planets and two asteroid belts; the latter is of little serious interest, being too far from the planetary system for easy access. As far as I can determine, there have never been any surveys."
He pressed a button, and a pair of course projections appeared. "The flight plan provided to us by Cornucopia Mining indicates that their survey team was planning to focus its attention on the outer moons of Gatewood, the superjovian gas giant closest to the star."
Quinn nodded, suddenly interested again, "Standard mining company practice."
"Indeed. They were also going to examine Ragnarok, one of Gatewood's moons." He pushed a button, and the map disappeared to reveal a white and blue moon, a sheet of ice broken only by the occasional gray and brown of a mountain range. "This moon has an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere suitable for human habitation, as demonstrated by the original UN surveys."
Tyler looked around the moon, obviously nerving himself to speak, "Why wasn't it colonized?"
Mulenga replied, "Too cold. The moon is currently in a 'snowball' environmental pattern. The average surface temperature is minus twenty at the equator. No life forms aside from single-celled organisms in small colonies, though the survey indicated that there was extensive life before the moon entered its current phase."
"When Arcadia and Thalassa were discovered, the whole UN focus was switched to worlds where the temperature and gravity were more suitable," Marshall added. "That moon looks a little on the small side."
Battlecruiser Alamo: The Price of Admiralty Page 8