by Ken Britz
Reed smiled back, but inwardly he was panicking. He had to play this carefully. “We can talk about this. You’re the captain, I’m the Hegemony aristocrat—the proconsul.”
Kenga’s service pistol never wavered. “There’s nothing to talk about, commander.”
Reed sighed. “I know about your illness.”
“The whole ship knows about my illness. You’ve made it clear to everyone.”
“But I know it’s a ruse, Captain. Ma’am.”
Kenya raised a pale eyebrow, her smile fading. “You think this pain is a ruse?” He heard uncertainty in her words.
That’s it, he thought. Keep her on her heels. “The pain is real. It’s just not cancer.” Reed said. “Why haven’t you gotten treatment, Captain? Only the rarest and most aggressive cancers can kill a person before they get treatment. No, you don’t have cancer. You have something else. Am I right?” He lowered his hands, mindful of her gauss pistol. In his heads up display, he brought up secure codes given only to a Hegemonic proconsul.
“Turn around.”
“Going to shoot me in the back?”
“It would be better than leaving you in here, but I know my duty. Killing an aristocrat is a greater offense than pulling a weapon on him, though I could successfully defend this in court. Intergalactic law takes precedence over planetary or governmental law. Let’s not take that path though, shall we?”
Reed turned around. He muted his mike and whispered commands into his suit.
“This launch bay is a shielded and isolated inside the fin’s systems. You won’t be able to call in or out via suit comm. When my mission is over, we’ll come for you.”
“We?” he said and brought up the suit codes. He should’ve done this earlier, but he’d allowed himself to enjoy the moment of victory. ‘Accessing,’ flashed on his heads up display. Damnably slow! “Is Dr. Lin a part of your mission?”
“I, we, the crew. It doesn’t matter. The mission matters, and Dr. Lin knows nothing about the details.”
“Your Admiralty mission?” Reed tried. He had no evidence, but why would his patrol orders be so vague? Why would he be placed in the command structure as proconsul? It was because the Hegemony suspected the Admiralty. He was not convinced Dr. Lin wasn’t a part of this, but perhaps she was only on Kuro to keep the captain alive.
“The same mission you were been briefed on.”
“Except I wasn’t.” There. He found it. He had to get through the overrides. Override. Override.
“You were told exactly what Hegemony needed, and as proconsul, you have access to my personal files. My medical status. You have all my secrets, Proconsul.”
Override. “I guessed that something was amiss.”
“Your suit is stocked, so you’re in good shape for a while.” She reached around and took his terminal from his suit pocket.
Override. He had to hurry. He heard her boots click as she went to the ladder. Air was returning to this part of the ship. There! “Can you look me in the eye when you lock me away?”
“I’m not granting special requests.”
“Goodbye, Captain.”
“Goodbye, Commander.”
Reed sent the command.
Kenga hissed. She stiffened, then her entire body relaxed and she crumpled to the floor.
Reed turned around and looked down at her. “Hegemony is about control, Captain.” The amber lights went green. Reed hit the helmet retract, breathing in fresh ship air. He knelt beside the captain, face down on the deck, and picked up her pistol, his terminal, then rolled her over with a grunt. Her ash blond hair was in her face, but her eyes were open in a blank. The suicide subsystem had done its job—the suit detected the loss of vital signs and was transmitting its RIP beacon. He accessed her controls and after a moment, acknowledged and shut down the beacon. He opened her helmet and closed her eyes. Her collapse looked perfect. He went through his overrides and ensured that the subsystems had no trace of his entry or commands. Her suicide subsystem appeared to be functioning normally, though its eternal sleep cocktail had been used. He’d replace that, when he had time. He shut her helmet.
The comm system beeped. He went to the wall pad and touched it. “Proconsul.”
“Sir,” XO Jin said. “We’ve just cleared the magnetosphere, and sensors picked up a compression echo on the bearing of the first corvette. It looks like she’s hopped out of the system. Light delay, twenty-seven minutes.”
“Out-system? She must’ve tried to go for help. Any debris?”
“None detected sir, but ships can jump out system if they’ve been in-system for a time. It’s not recommended or routine, but warships have the quantum computing capability to make the jump safely.”
“I know that,” Reed snapped. “I’ll be in the control room in a moment.”
“Will you inform the captain?”
“I have some sad news to report.” Reed pulled out Kenga’s terminal. He flicked through its contents, but as suspected, he couldn’t find any orders. What he found was command coded. He copied the files to his own terminal and put it back in her suit. Squatting over her, he felt… empty. He was happy he’d put this Hegemony traitor to death, but he still didn’t understand what she’d been about and that bothered him. What was the message she carried inside her? Did Dr. Lin know? He returned her service pistol to her suit holster. He wouldn’t need it, and neither would she. He’d granted her freedom from her pain, and he’d gained freedom from her machinations.
26
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Inner System Transit
1330 U.Z.
1254.12.14 A.F.
Reed pocketed his terminal and shut the hatch. He set the starboard fin to evacuate the chamber and punched in the command code, then changed it before locking it again. The hatch lit red, an angry blur in deep space.
XO Jin stepped off the ventral lift, his expression a mix of worry and confusion. “Where’s the skipper?”
Reed frowned. “The extreme radiation and impeller acceleration were too much for her. Captain Karine Kenga collapsed in the starboard fin. Before I could climb down to her, she’d gone into respiratory failure.”
“We should get the flight surgeon immediately,” Jin said.
Reed grabbed his wrist, holding him. “Captain Kenga is gone. She directed me to continue the mission. I’ve checked her vitals and downloaded all data from the suit. If we finish the mission, I am recommending her for posthumous promotion, and full funeral honors.” He pulled out his terminal, called up his Hegemony orders and handed it to Jin. “These orders place me in command if the captain is unfit.”
Jin read the orders. “Hegemonic Federation Fleet regulations prevent proconsuls from assuming command of Hegemony vessels.”
“These are direct from the Triumvirate. They can override regulations.”
Reed could tell Jin was weighing his options and trying to decide if Reed was telling the truth. He didn’t so much as glance at the fin hatch. That gave Reed confidence.
“I’ll have to confirm these,” Jin said. “In the meantime, I’m in command. I’m already logged as Kuro Hai’s acting Executive Officer.”
“Confirmation codes are available,” Reed nodded. “Until you’ve confirmed, you’re in charge, though I have the command codes. Prepare the port fin for attack and bring the ship shallow once we’ve cleared the sensor field.”
“Has there been a change to the mission, Proconsul?”
“No. Captain’s orders stand—the shipyard orbital is our target.”
“Aye, sir,” Jin replied, climbing onto the lift with the proconsul. “The crew won’t take this well, Proconsul. Kuro’s strike against the enemy corvette was masterfully done.”
“I’ll be sure to note that in my report and recommend Captain Kenga be rendered the Triumvirate’s highest honors,” Reed said, and meant it. If he couldn’t prove now what her real mission was, did it matter? He could finish what Kuro set out to do.
“We’ll have a ceremony
on the outbound flight, sir. Who will take her place after the mission?”
“That should be obvious. I cannot remain in command of Kuro Hai, Max.”
Jin nodded, turning over the possibilities. Max Jin was ambitious, though he hid it well. It didn’t matter that Reed had no direct influence on the High Admiralty’s promotion process, if Jin performed well, he would be duly promoted and given command, though perhaps not of Kuro.
Reed followed Jin into the control room, where he resumed his station at the executive officer’s creche. There was an air of excitement, of having just been through a hellish ordeal and made it through to the other side. Jin stood next to the captain’s creche, perhaps not daring to violate an unspoken rule: no one but the captain of the Kuro mans that creche. The control room crew tended their controls and displays with anticipation.
He tapped the tactical display. The ship was in deep subspace—except for their projected course, the sensor displays were dark. Space whale song resonated around them. Sometimes it sounded close, but often it was eternally distant.
Jin keyed the PA. “This is Lieutenant Commander Jin. I have assumed the role of captain of the Kuro. Captain Kenga has succumbed to her illness. I don’t have to say that if the crew is the mind and body of the Kuro, she was the will that drove us. She led us through many missions, and for some of us, our entire subspace careers. We will finish our mission first and mourn second.” The anticipation in the control room evaporated, replaced with… what? This reaction was unexpected. “Ready final weapons loadout to port attack fin. We will translate into shallow subspace for final approach once astrogation reports we’re clear of the sensor field. Remain at modified battle stations and allow any additional repairs to be completed. Carry on.” Jin snapped the PA off.
The crew responded smartly, dim lights and motes flitting around them. He carefully ignored sidelong glances and curious faces.
Jin joined the communications officer, Ensign Atarashi, who was prioritizing final repairs. “Efron, I need you to validate these orders with the Triumvirate command cypher, please,” he said in a hushed tone, handing Reed’s terminal to the Ensign.
“Yes, sir,” Atarashi said. “I’ll have to go to the communications compartment. The cypher isn’t on our normal systems.” The ensign blushed. “I’m sorry, sir. You know that.”
“You’re excused, Efron,” Jin said with a small smile, and the ensign departed.
Reed glanced meaningfully at the captain’s creche, but Jin settled into the astrogator creche. “It’s bad luck to sit in the captain’s chair. And somehow it doesn’t feel right, Proconsul.”
“I understand,” Reed said, but didn’t. Still, with no one in the captain’s creche, it gave credence to his authority on board Kuro. He accepted that.
“Conn, weapons, loadout of port fin launcher underway. Estimated time to completion, thirty minutes,” Tan said over the control room circuit.
“Weapons, conn, aye,” Jin said, checking the chronometer. “Chief of the Boat, have the galley bring hot meals for the crew at their stations. We’ll be pushing hard to get through the sensor field before proceeding shallow.”
“Aye, sir,” Chief Wagoner replied and relayed the commands to the mess deck.
The dorsal lift hissed, and Dr. Lin stepped off, her brow furrowed, her medical kit slung over her shoulder. “I heard your report, Max,” Lin said to Jin without looking at the proconsul. “The captain isn’t in her quarters. Where is she?”
Reed went to the flight surgeon. He noticed she didn’t refer to Lieutenant Commander Jin as ‘acting captain’. Such fierce loyalty to Kenga, he noted. Motes of light flitted about her white spacesuit like a flickering halo. In the dimness imposed by the deep, she looked almost like a beacon, or a bioluminescent fish. “A moment, if you please, Commander,” Reed said, gesturing to the lift.
“I’d rather hear it here, in the control room as a matter of record,” Dr. Lin said, putting her kit on the deck where it adhered, and folding her arms. “Proconsul,” she added as an afterthought.
Reed frowned. In matters of state and mission, the proconsul was rarely questioned, but he had placed himself in a precarious position—in charge of a crew that was entirely too enamored of their deceased captain. He wondered idly if he should send the override command to Lin’s suit as well, and indeed the entire vessel, but immediately dismissed the idea as ludicrous. Jin was right—the ship needed her crew, and Reed needed them to finish their mission. His mission. He said, “I was powering down and we were discussing our final maneuver when she collapsed.” Reed repeated the story of her final words and wishes for the entire crew to hear, liking the words more as he spoke them. “Do you wish to examine the body?”
“I’m the Kuro’s flight surgeon. It’s my determination, not the proconsul’s, on the final disposition of the captain and her remains.”
“That’s your prerogative, doctor,” Reed replied.
“It is my duty,” Dr. Lin replied, her lips thin. She looked childlike to Reed, and almost petulant.
You could cut the tension with a knife. Ensign Atarashi stepped from the lift, pale and shaken. Jin got up from his creche and took the terminal. After a moment, he offered it to Reed.
Reed, who had read it many times, waved a hand for Jin to give them to Dr. Lin. “I’m in charge of the Kuro now, per orders from the High Council.”
Lin snatched the terminal from Jin and read the orders. Her expression darkened. More than petulant now. Angry. This one is a problem, Reed reminded himself. “The gods themselves wouldn’t obey these orders! Max?” Lin turned to Jin.
Jin shrugged. “They are from the High Council who command the Admiralty, who in turn commands the Fleet, doctor.” Jin had command within his reach. He only needed to reach out and grasp the ring.
Reed rocked on his heels. “I’m content to allow Lieutenant Commander Jin to continue to act as captain of Kuro.”
“And Karine—? Captain Kenga?” Lin said, her voice strained. She flushed with emotion—anger or grief, Reed guessed.
“Kuro’s mission proceeds. You can examine the body after we’re back in fold-space. We’ll deal with the ramifications after, doctor,” Reed said, his jaw set.
Dr. Lin’s mouth worked, but her professional demeanor returned. She handed the orders back to Jin and picked up her kit. “I’ll check on the crew. I have a few injuries from our last engagement to treat,” she said, her voice flat. “By your leave, Captain,” she said to Jin.
“Thank you, doctor,” Jin said.
And that was that.
27
HFSS Kuro Hai
Rigel B Inner System Transit
0040 U.Z.
1254.12.15 A.F.
Dr. Lynn Lin stewed for hours in the sickbay, reviewing instructions to ensure that she was no less right than when she’d confronted that bastard Rehan Reed in the control room. What she had was the right to examine Kenga, but she’d already checked—the starboard fin was locked with new command codes. She’d been right to make her medical disposition request, but she could be overridden by the proconsul.
And so, without no valid reason to excuse herself, Lin made her rounds through the ship. Most of the complaints were minor. A few of the crew were close to red-lining their stimulants and needed to be evaluated, and if necessary, relieved from duty. A few had minor injuries that even the autodoc could repair.
As she made her way around the ship, she sensed a subtle shift in the gestalt of Kuro. Lin was only aboard through Kenga’s direct intervention. She wasn’t part of the whole, battle tested and blooded. Nevertheless, in the short time she’d been aboard she’d gotten to know this crew better than any she’d ever served with, including her final tour with Kenga aboard the Tora Hai before Secession. Lin couldn’t put her finger on the difference in Kuro’s mindset, but she noted the symptoms
And more than a few of the new subspacers just wanted a kind word before battle. No, they wanted more than a kind word. They wanted to talk about Kenga, b
ut indirectly, in a way contrary to subspacer nature. What was the collective telling her? Was she just feeling what she wanted to feel—that Kenga meant more to the crew than just a ship’s captain?
The ship slipped through the sensor field. Toward the trailing edge, Kuro started a hard deceleration that increased as they exited the field. Now within one inertial gravity, the ship and its crew were readying their final approach. When Lin returned to the sickbay, she was still as angry as when she’d left the control room over half a day ago. But what could she do? She could find the proconsul unfit for duty, or Jin, but that seemed implausible. It was a ridiculous notion, but Lin had desperate fleeting thoughts of wresting control of Kuro. While she outranked both of them, she wasn’t in the line of command. Besides, she didn’t want to command, she wanted the damned codes to get into the starboard attack fin.
An inescapable problem with no solution. I’m sorry, Karine.
The PA chimed. “Deploying port attack fin,” the computer voice said. “Proceeding shallow. Standby to translate.”
Lin climbed into her creche, as much out of spacer habit as any desire to get off of her feet. She was reliving menopause, in reverse, with its attending endocrine fluctuations which, if nothing else, were an unpleasant distraction. She wanted that to be the excuse for her anger and inability to solve the inescapable problem, but that wasn’t it at all. Her skin prickled, and she was warmer than usual, according to her suit readouts. Her epithelials were regenerating, the prickling was collagen replenishing, smoothing her skin. Getting younger was a temporary pain in the ass.
She braced herself and waved her displays up, keeping an on Kuro’s crew through creche interfaces. Kenga’s read OFFLINE/OUT OF RANGE, and she realized that she’d been trying to approach the problem as an officer not a doctor.
The course change alarm buzzed and her creche hissed, but she didn’t notice. She pulled up Karine’s medical profile which, as were the crews’, accessible to the flight surgeon. Kenga had been connected in the starboard fin creche prior to her death, so her data had been recorded. Lin ran the data back to the encounter with the second corvette. There was the elevated heart rate, though lower than expected for someone in combat conditions—a testament to Kenga’s experience and control. There was the small endorphin spike at the end of the fight. Her data was all over the place, but nothing hinted at her being in great pain or distress.