The Hot Gate - [Troy Rising 03]

by John Ringo

  “You guys see a lot more than I do,” Tyler said. “I’ll take your recommendation. We’ll add MOGS. He’s a captain.”

  “Captain DiNote is currently being considered for rear admiral, sir,” Paris noted.

  “Close enough,” Tyler said. “Argus, got all that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Figure out the scheduling on this trip. But base it on those four, Parker, MOGS, and the two that Paris suggested.”

  “Chief Flight NCOIC Elizabeth Barnett and Engineering Mate First Class David Hartwell.”

  “And I want this as a snap-kick,” Tyler said. “I want to be on the way to Wolf within the week. But we still need some admirals. And those coffee guys with all the doodads.”

  “May I ask why, sir?” Argus said.

  “No.”

  “Transportation?”

  “Too many for the Starfire,” Tyler said. “We’ll take the Starfire and some Myrmidons. It’s just through the gate, after all.”

  “Myrmidons are the crux of the issue, sir,” Argus pointed out.

  “That’s part of the plan,” Tyler said. “Parker’s doing engineering. Can she still fly?”

  “Yes, sir,” Leonidas answered. “She is still flight qualified.”

  “Try to figure out a way to slip in having her fly the boat without it being a political issue,” Tyler said. “And I think that about covers it. Next business...”

  * * * *

  ELEVEN

  “I had a message from my father yesterday,” Velasquez said, not looking up from the panel he was testing. “It was congratulations on the MASSEX.”

  “I’m glad he approved,” Dana said neutrally. She was double-checking some of the runs he’d tested. She’d certified him as passing his initial trial period and he’d been automatically promoted to Engineer’s Apprentice. Didn’t mean she was letting him run Twenty-Three by himself.

  “It has caused some issues,” Velasquez said, just as neutrally. “That was from my mother.”

  “I still don’t get that,” Dana said. “Can you explain how?”

  “She hopes I’m not planning on making a career as a ‘person with his nametag on his shirt.’ Which is what her friends think I’m becoming.”

  “There’s a nametag on your uniform,” Dana said, sighing. “There’s a nametag on the Chief of Naval Operations’ uniform.”

  “The Chilean Navy does not use nametags for officers,” Velasquez replied.

  “I just so don’t get your culture,” Dana said, sighing.

  Things had been relatively quiet since the MASSEX. Given that hers was one of only two divisions that had had four fully capable shuttles, shuttles able to make every target and perform every required action, she should be feeling quietly proud. And she’d been officially praised.

  She also knew the calm before the storm. Just because she hadn’t gotten one “reply by endorsement” since the MASSEX didn’t mean the various Families—the capital “F” was important—weren’t stopping their full-scale war against one Engineering Mate Second Class Dana Parker. At this point Megdanoff just sent the message without comment. She’d created a cut and paste program to reply. It didn’t take long. But what the pause probably meant was they were preparing something really nasty.

  She’d long figured out that everything that was the “right” thing to do in “normal” circumstances was about as wrong as you could get in these. She also didn’t know anything else she could do. So she’d stuck to the program. She’d been so far up everyone’s butt she sometimes thought she was looking at the world through their eyes. And then Velasquez would trot out something like that.

  Since her one frank discussion with Palencia he’d clammed up. To the extent she was getting any back-channel it was through Velasquez, who wasn’t quite as connected as Palencia. And the only Family that wasn’t complaining about her, constantly, was Sans’. She wasn’t sure why. Even the Benitos had gotten into the act after one friendly game of jungleball. She was still sporting the shiner.

  “Headed out,” Dana said.

  “Yes, EM,” Velasquez said.

  She used to say “Headed over to Twenty-One.” Until it became apparent that information was being passed along. Now she simply said she was going. Let them guess.

  The corridor was crowded. Call it closing the door after the missile was already in the main bay. The MASSEX had been an enormous cluster grope. She wasn’t sure how this unit had managed to even get to Station Two much less take it. Instead of a nice, flat LZ, the boarding MASSEX had been predicated on a ship that had to be taken by cutting in from the outside. The shuttles were specifically designed for that sort of boarding action. Clamp on the grapnels, seal to the bulkhead, arm the cutting charges, fire in the hole.

  Forty ships in the squadron. Nineteen were able to successfully undock and get underweigh. Seventeen made it out of the main bay. Twelve made it to the objective. Eight were able to lock on—Dana’s full division, three from Alpha Three which also had a “Norté” Eng NCOIC, and the CO’s boat. The CO’s boat and one of Alphas had been almost totally destroyed by the cutting charges being mislaid by the Marines. They’d also lost the full complement of Marines and the Alpha engineer who hadn’t taken the pains he should have with his suit.

  Two crews, and most of their Marines, had been lost to similar incidents while stuck in space. In the end the Navy had had to get Apollo to tow most of the boats home.

  Now the One-Four-Three had “gotten religion.” No more sleeping in the barracks or ghosting out of squadron area. Oh, no, they were being serious about maintenance. Everybody was in their boats pulling maintenance and the pilots were all in simulator practice, since they also had been nearly unable to find the objective.

  Dana had learned the drill by now. Plates were open. Guys were in their birds. Real work? Manana. And from the POV of the Suds they were doing something. Call it form over function. Actually fixing the issues was besides the point. The only point was to look like you were fixing things. Her crews, in fact, were looking sort of bad. They didn’t seem to be really working hard if for no other reason than she’d taught them through repeated poundings how to actually perform maintenance. Which didn’t always look as if you were doing a damned thing.

  It made her want to cry.

  She drifted through the crowd, most of whom were gesticulating at each other angrily, and into Twenty-One. Nobody around, but the hatch to the crew compartment was open.

  “EN Vila,” Dana commed as she drifted through the hatch. The EN was sitting in the engineering chair but she couldn’t frankly tell if he was working or asleep.

  “EM Parker,” Vila answered. “This really could put you to sleep. My God it’s boring.”

  She entered the feed and saw that he was running a sequence of sensor checks. She could also tell he was doing it to condition and standard.

  “Work is its own reward,” Dana said. She knew they were getting really tired of her various maxims. Screw’m. They had lived through the MASSEX. Other crews hadn’t.

  “Send me the raw record of your checks when you’re complete,” Dana said, turning herself around. Diaz came into the cargo bay as she was drifting across.

  “Where is Vila?” Diaz snapped. “He is supposed to be performing maintenance.”

  “He is,” Dana said. “In the engineer’s compartment. He is performing sensor checks to condition and standard.”

  “He should be out here working,” Diaz said. “What if someone comes down here and doesn’t see him working?”

  “They can look in the crew compartment where they’ll see him with his eyes closed and apparently asleep,” Dana said. “And they can get angry if they’re an idiot because he is doing the task to condition and standard. This is my division, EM. We’ve had this discussion. My division isn’t screwed up. We perform our tasks. We don’t perform like trained monkeys. So leave my division alone.”

  “That can be viewed as being disrespectful to a superior, EM Parker,” commed Diaz.


  “Very,” Dana said. “Why don’t you Mast me? Now get the hell out of this boat and leave my people alone. You might want to think about getting some of your other trained monkeys to actually do the job! So the next time, and there’s going to be a next time, we don’t end up looking like a colossal ass! Again!”

  “If you really want me to request a Captain’s Mast, continue as you are, EM,” Diaz ground out.

  “EM2 Parker, report to the Squadron Offices,” Parker’s plant chimed.

  “God, that was quick,” Parker said.

  “What?” Diaz asked.

  “I’ve got to report to the squadron office, EM,” Dana said. “Don’t know what I did this time. Unless you already sent the Mast request.”

  “I did not,” Diaz commed, then sighed. “You know we spoke in haste.”

  “Didn’t think you did, Diaz,” Dana said. “We’re all sort of on edge. But, seriously, my guys are working. They’re actually doing their jobs. Don’t mess with them, please. And this is not meant to be disrespectful. But I can tell that most of what’s going on is people opening up panels for show. Seriously. It might make more sense to get them to actually do the tasks to the SOP. There is, especially in this situation, some value to doing things, well...”

  “Right?” Diaz commed. “You really don’t understand.”

  “No,” Dana commed. “And, yes, I sort of do. I’m trying to understand at least. But I think that’s only going in one direction. What is not happening is your, sorry, people trying to understand. There’s a lot of talk about cultural issues. I get that. Your culture has your thing. Thing is, that’s becoming irrelevant. You can bitch, whine, moan and try to spread the blame. You can engage in conspiracy theories. I’ve heard them all, so please don’t even start.

  “It’s all lying to yourselves and at a certain level you know it. The one thing you haven’t tried, can barely think about trying, is actually doing the job. Because that would require you to essentially reject all the cultural baggage you’re carrying and examine your current reality. And that’s damned hard. So far, it’s too hard. I don’t know if anything can get you to do it. All I know is I’m going to keep doing the job the way that actually works and let you do whatever you want. As long as it’s leaving my damned division alone.”

  “Do you enjoy being a bitch?” Diaz asked.

  “Not until I started dealing with you guys,” Dana said. “But now? Yes. I’m enjoying very carefully in a Norté way not crowing about the fact that we kicked the ass of every other division in the squadron in engineering. And I’ve told my guys that if they so much as make a single positive comment about our division, I was going to kick their ass. In micro so they knew I meant it. Here is our one and only reward for a job very well done. Diaz, get your superior self out of my division area and go harass somebody else. I have to go to the squadron offices.”

  “EM Parker, report to the squadron commander at earliest convenience,” the com chimed.

  “Shit,” Dana said, blanching. “Make that to the CO. Seriously. Get out of my division area, Diaz. Goodbye.”

  * * * *

  “Palencia,” Dana commed as she cleared the corridor.

  “Yes, EM.”

  “Drop what you’re doing and go make sure Diaz isn’t harassing the division. You’re the ‘right’ people so he’s more deferential to you. Bottom-line, don’t let him interfere with the tasks the division’s on.”

  “I’m not sure that falls into maintenance tasks, EM.”

  “You kidding me? If he starts harassing Velasquez and Sans they’re not going to get a damned thing done. And make sure they keep doing them as well. I will be checking when I get back. Be clear. This is not a request, Pal.”

  “Aye, aye, EM. I’m on it.”

  “Send an EM3 to tell an EM1 what to do,” Dana muttered. “This is a hell of a way to run a railroad.”

  * * * *

  “EM2 Parker reporting to the squadron commander,” Dana said, saluting. Her hair looked like crap and her suit was covered in some goop from one of the power relays. But it said “at earliest convenience.” Which is mil-speak for “right damned now.”

  “Parker,” the CO said distractedly. “How goes the maintenance?”

  Captain Higgins got along with the Latins very well. It took Dana a while to figure out why. Finally she’d pieced most of it together. He was big, physically and in personality, an Annapolis grad, ergo from their perspective from the “right” class, and was very respectful of their culture.

  Which meant he’d been playing the game their way from the date of taking command. Make things look good and they are good.

  Right up until the Alliance Navy ordered, and monitored, MAS-SEX where every little niggling item that had been glossed over and covered up came home to roost. Well, not every item. The birds had been so broken it hadn’t been terribly apparent how bad the coxswains were. Dana felt a bit bad about that last part. She’d ended up conning the division to their LZ and screaming at division coxswains that weren’t meeting her standards of flight safety and quality. Which made them look marginally competent.

  The Latins loved Captain Higgins. Still. Dana wished she was his rating officer. He’d be... somewhere very unpleasant and unimportant. Somewhere she’d heard about a post called Diego Garcia but she wasn’t even sure where it was. But since it was apparently a Latin post it would be right up his alley.

  “The division’s birds are all nominal, sir,” Dana replied. “Twenty-Four was down with a bad transformer. That has been rectified.”

  “Good, good,” Higgins said, looking at something on his screen. “Tell me you have ‘dress uniform or formal uniform suitable for a high level official function.”‘

  “Yes, sir,” Dana replied.

  “You do?” Higgins said, looking up.

  “I have my dress uniform, sir,” Dana said.

  “That will have to do,” Higgins said. “Is it pressed?”

  “It is pressed, sir,” Dana said, frowning.

  “How do the birds... look?” the captain asked nervously.

  “Sir?” Dana said, confused. “They look like shuttles, sir.”

  “What is their physical condition?” Higgins said. “Are they clean? How scratched up?”

  “Sir...” Dana said. She wanted to say “It’s my division, sir.” “There is some scuffing due to use, sir. But they are squared away. Well, Twenty-Four will be as soon as Sans finishes cleaning up.”

  “Okay,” Higgins said. “And your cox rating is still up-to-date.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dana said. “Sir, what is... Does this have to do with the MASSEX?”

  “I don’t know what this has to do with,” Higgins said, his face firming up. “EM2 Parker you are on TDY orders as of 1300 this afternoon. You will take two Myrmidon shuttles from your division, with yourself as one of the coxswains for some reason, configured with passenger seats, and proceed to the Pentagon landing field in Crystal City there to take on a ‘high level DP delegation.’ EM3 Palencia is also specified. You choose the other engineer and cox. You and Palencia are required to have suitable wear, dress uniform or formal uniform. I’m going to require that all personnel have suitable dress. And you have to have... Definitely get your suit cleaned before you leave. But you need to leave as soon as you have made arrangements.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Dana said, her eyes wide. “This is an independent tasking, sir?”

  “Apparently,” Higgins said. “You rendezvous deep space with two more shuttles from the Troy. I hope they have more senior personnel aboard. But you need to get cracking. Get your suit cleaned, choose your additional engineering personnel and which shuttles from your division are in best possible condition. I’m going to assume that the really high level DPs are going to fly with the senior people which means the 142 shuttles, of course. But the aides and assistants are terrible gossips. After the MAS-SEX I don’t need them gossiping about the visual appearance of our shuttles as well.”

  “Aye, aye, s
ir,” Dana said, still confused. She shook her head. “We’ll find out what it’s about eventually, sir. Sir, permission to...” How are you supposed to say it?

  “Permission to withdraw, granted,” Higgins said, looking up. “Parker...”

  “I won’t pee in the potted palms, sir,” Dana said, smiling in a rictus. “But I really do have a lot to do to get this done.”

  “Go,” Higgins said. “Run.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dana said. “Sir, one request.”

  “Anything you need,” the CO said.

  “Please ... Could you make sure that...” Dana was trying to figure out how to put it delicately.

  “That people don’t get in your way?” the CO asked. “I understand.” He put a finger on his temple and looked off in the distance. “Raptor, Hang-Man. Comet has been assigned a high level mission by DNav. She has the parameters of the mission. You need to run interference. Right. That would be the sort of interference, yes. Hang-Man out.” The CO looked up. “See Raptor.”