by Neal Jones
On the other side of the table was Doctor Rosenberg, Exxar-One's Chief Medical Officer. Mariah had only spoken to him once, as they passed in the corridor outside their assigned quarters. His head was shaved clean, and the wardroom's overhead lighting reflected off his coffee-dark skin. Mariah liked the nicely trimmed goatee which added just the right amount of ruggedness to his otherwise smooth features. To the doctor's right sat Lieutenant Commander Soong Lee, the Dauntless' chief of security. Her long, straight hair was pulled back and bundled neatly in place, and her almond shaped eyes were focused on Lieutenant Commander Benson, who was to her right. Mariah couldn't hear the whole conversation, but she did catch the words "mask" and "epée". On the other side of Benson was Ensign Juarez, and he was in mid-conversation with Ensign Voorhees. Commander McCoy was on the bridge, standing watch.
Mariah turned to Gabriel who was seated at the head of the table, studying his compad. She reached out, gently tapping a finger on his wrist to get his attention. He looked up and she inclined her head to the chrono. It was time to start the briefing. Gabriel nodded and stood, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop to restore silence. All heads turned his way, and the murmured buzz faded.
"I think we should start this meeting with a round of introductions, primarily for the benefit of Commanders Decev and Rosenberg. Decev is Exxar-One's chief science officer, and Rosenberg will be my CMO. You've all had the chance to meet Captain McKenna." He proceeded to go around the table, and each officer nodded to Rosenberg and Decev as their name and rank was stated. When he was finished, Gabriel extracted a disc from the compad and slipped it into its slot on the control panel in the tabletop in front of him. A tactical schematic of the Tiralan Neutral Zone sprang to three-dimensional life in the air above the table. The location of Exxar-One was highlighted in bright orange.
"According to the report Admiral Hazen gave me yesterday, Exxar-One has come under attack in the last several weeks from the Haal'Chai. As most of you probably know, the Haal'Chai are the renegade Chrisarii who are against the peace treaty. They have attempted to sabotage the Exxar-One project in one way or another since its inception. Their most recent attack was a week ago, and they succeeded in crippling the station's entire defense network almost immediately."
This drew several murmured exclamations of surprise from the group. "Were they using warships?" Zamora queried.
"No. According to Major Saveck's report – he's the Chrisarii liaison officer currently in command of Exxar-One – the Haal'Chai are equipped with nothing more than type two assault craft. Over the last two months, they have attacked with irregularity, using no less than nine raiders but no more than a dozen. The one last week was instigated with ten."
Wolfe spoke up. "Exxar-One is a six mile long starbase, equipped with the latest in weapons and defense technology. She can house a crew complement of three hundred thousand. Chrisarii type two assault vessels are only slightly larger than our own type three shuttlecraft. They hold a maximum crew complement of what – four? Five? How the hell did they cripple a military defense network the size of Exxar-One's?"
Gabriel smiled grimly. "That's part of our assignment, and it's one of the reasons that the Dauntless has been permanently assigned to that sector."
"The logical explanation is that the Haal'Chai are utilizing some sort of superior technology," McKenna suggested. A thick British accent laced her speech, and her words were clear and crisp.
Gabriel nodded. "That's the assumption of Saveck and Lieutenant Commander Garrett – Exxar-One's chief engineer. Unfortunately, they haven't been able to capture one of the raiders. And that's where we come in. Before we enter the neutral zone, we're going to cloak and go silent running. Once inside the zone, we'll hold position three hundred klicks from the station and wait for an attack." A new blip appeared on the holo display. "Since almost two weeks will have passed by the time we arrive, we shouldn't have to wait long. I'm betting that the Haal'Chai, even with their superior tactical technology, won't be able to detect a cloaked ship, especially one as advanced as the Dauntless." He shut off the display. "Any questions?"
Wolfe leaned forward, his eyes glinting with fascination and curiosity. "If they can cripple the defense network that quickly, why not destroy the station entirely?"
"I was thinking that myself," Benson chimed in.
"According to Saveck's report, Commander Garrett and Lieutenant Sikandra – Exxar One's chief tactical officer – have been able to pull a few tricks from their sleeves, but they're quickly running out of options."
"Have you informed the major that we're on our way?" Rosenberg asked. It was the first time he'd spoken since the briefing began.
"No. I don't want to risk the Haal'Chai eavesdropping, even on a secured channel." Besides that, Gabriel wanted Saveck to sweat a little. CMC had taken the same precaution, so no one on the station's crew was aware that the Dauntless was on her way. There would be precious few opportunities like this, and Gabriel wanted to annoy the Chrisarii major as often as possible while he still could. "Does anyone else have anything to add?" No one did, so Gabriel dismissed them.
As Mariah walked to the door, she frowned, repeating the name 'Saveck' silently to herself. There was something familiar about that name, but she couldn't remember where –
- she stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Commander Lee stumbled into her, and Mariah quickly apologized. She walked back into the room, and saw that Marc had sat down, lost in thought once more. Mariah waited until the others had gone before she spoke.
"Saveck. Kralin Saveck?"
Gabriel looked up and nodded. "He was a colonel, but an incident two years ago got him demoted to major and, apparently, assigned to Exxar-One. I don't have the details."
Decev began to chuckle, and Gabriel scowled at her.
"You find this funny?"
"Don't you? It's so absurd! Major Saveck was captured from the Rigana-seven mining camp where he and his fellow soldiers were responsible for the mass murder of more than a hundred Federation prisoners of war. And now he's serving as your second-in-command and liaison officer."
"Only because the war crimes tribunal was only willing to execute a few of Saveck's superiors in the Chrisarii government," Gabriel snapped, "instead of all Chrisarii who were directly responsible for the murder of Federation soldiers!"
"Well, now, that's the tricky thing about war," Mariah replied calmly. "Sooner or later, both sides have to draw the line. The Chrisarii forgave just as many murderers on our side. We're at peace now."
Gabriel's scowl deepened as he stood and walked to the expansive viewport which dominated one wall of the wardroom. Beyond it, the stars were sailing by at hyperlight speeds, white lines on black paper. Mariah decided this was as good a time as any to see if the skeleton was still intact.
"I never told anyone about that night on Kelatia, and I no longer blame you for Paul's death."
"Dismissed, Commander."
Marc's voice was quiet but firm. He still wasn't looking at her, but she could see his reflection in the glass. His image was faint, as though the artist had quit the sketch when it was only half finished. Mariah turned and walked out of the room.
( 5 )
"Yellow alert. Engage cloaking shield. Initiate protocols for silent running."
Captain McKenna perched on the edge of her chair like a hawk on the edge of a cliff, each hand resting casually on the armrests, her toes barely touching the floor. When she first sat in this chair, her feet had dangled almost two inches above the carpet, and her first priority had been to adjust the height. But as she made the attempt she discovered that this was a new model, with many more features than her old chair on the bridge of the Eisenhower, so finding the correct command menu hadn't been easy. She had finally turned to Commander McCoy and, without lowering her voice, requested his assistance. The entire bridge crew shared a chuckle, but it was not derisive, and McKenna smiled as she thanked her first officer. The moment had served exactly as she intended, as a way of br
eaking the ice with her new crew. She proceeded to sit as she was sitting now, in the position that her former crew on the Eisenhower had called the "hawk stance", in order to test the new height. One more slight adjustment was required, and then it was perfect.
"Now on silent running," McCoy stated from his seat to McKenna's right.
"All tactical systems on standby," Zamora announced in a voice which always seemed to spill from his mouth like a rockslide. His bass tones, in combination with his six-foot-three height and his muscular build had earned him "The Mountain" as a nickname among his fellow officers. "AGC reports ready. Hornet fleets Alpha and Beta are on standby."
"Thank you, Mister Zamora," McKenna replied. "ETA to neutral zone boundary?"
"Twenty-six minutes, thirty-one seconds," Voorhees said. "ETA to desired tactical position is forty-six minutes, twelve seconds."
McKenna nodded and sat back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap as she crossed her legs. Commodore Gabriel had left her with an efficient crew and a tight ship. She glanced his direction, watching as he conversed quietly with Lieutenant Commander Benson. Their relationship had not been spoken of directly during her conversations with her senior officers over the last few days, but there had been a few passing references, and the captain had seen Benson and Gabriel together in the arboretum last night. Kathryne held steadfast to the belief that forming a personal relationship with those under one's command should be avoided at all costs. It always led to complications and rarely ended on a happy note, even for those who eventually married. She had known more than a few close friends who became divorced after less than five years, especially during the war. It was hard enough in peace time for married officers to receive a posting at the same ship or base, but in war it was almost unheard of.
Central Military Command, the body of military officers who governed the whole of the IFP's Armed Forces, had refused to pass any regulations concerning the personal relationships of the soldiers and officers under their command. Instead, they left such matters up to the individual military authorities of the Federation's member worlds, and the only law which EarthCorps Naval Command passed stated that, while it was not a good idea for senior officers – captains especially – to engage in a personal relationship with one under their command, such acts would not be expressly forbidden. However, if a captain or other senior officer allowed his/her relationship with his/her subordinate to interfere with his/her judgment, and the result brought undo or unnecessary harm to his/her ship or crew, then said officer would face appropriate disciplinary action. Sadly, too many courts-martial proceedings had been convened where too many captains and first officers had not been able to separate their personal lives from their duties and responsibilities to their uniform. McKenna had personally testified at one such hearing, where her captain had lost fourteen of his crew because he wouldn't give an order to his chief engineer that would have saved the landing party but only at the cost of the engineer's life. Kathryne was a lieutenant then, and the experience had driven home for her the importance of maintaining a reasonable distance between herself and those under her command.
The downside, however, was that by maintaining such a distance, a captain must accept that his/her only spouse would be the uniform. Unless one married a civilian, there was no option for a romantic relationship, and while most commanding officers found this sufficient, many had succumbed to clinical depression, becoming too detached from their ship and crew, which led to another host of problems. It was not enough to have licensed and qualified counselors assigned to all ships and starbases. A captain needed someone to share his/her quarters with at night, someone whom he/she could trust and confide in, someone who could relieve part of the loneliness and the extreme burden of command. This was the reason that Naval Command had not passed strict regulations forbidding the development of personal relationships between the captain and his/her senior officers.
None of this, however, had plagued Captain Kathryne McKenna. She knew her duties and responsibilities, fully accepted the weight that commanding a starship and its crew placed on one's shoulders, and she bore it gladly. For her, the uniform was all she needed. She found it much easier to live a focused life when all one had to concern one's self with was one's career. Her ship was her spouse, and her crew was her children. She was a veteran at separating herself from her offspring, at guiding and nurturing them from a safe distance. In McKenna's book, Gabriel had committed a grievous flaw by becoming romantically involved with Commander Benson, but he redeemed himself greatly by providing the new captain with a senior staff that knew their jobs and how to run a tight ship.
Commander McCoy interrupted McKenna's reverie to deliver several routine status reports. The captain perused the compad, planting her thumbprint at the end of each report. She paused at the last one, frowning, and glanced at her first officer.
"I’d like to schedule a meeting with Lieutenant Harding after we've settled our initial business with the Haal'Chai. These efficiency ratings for her department are abysmal."
McCoy nodded as McKenna handed him the pad, and he entered a notation into Harding's report. Kathryne was pleased with McCoy's performance thus far. He had a solid grasp on his duty as first officer, certainly more so than her former CO on the Eisenhower. Commander Thorne was a chauvinist in every sense of the word, and he refused to cultivate a firm, profitable working relationship with his female captain. Oh, he did his job well enough, but McKenna didn't have to be empathic to detect the constant undercurrent of resentment and belligerence which laced his every response to her orders and directions. He refused to go out of his way for her or to perform above and beyond the call of duty. He did just enough to get by with a satisfactory rating on his yearly performance review, which in turn caused McKenna endless frustration, and Thorne knew it. Only when an officer was rated a performance review of less than satisfactory could a captain request a replacement, or even put a black mark on his/her permanent record. Another unwelcome side effect of Thorne's disposition was the way he spread his feelings and opinions to the rest of the senior staff. It was like having a rotten apple at the center of the bushel.
So it was with great relief that McKenna received her new orders posting her to the Dauntless, and while she had yet to find any Commander Thornes among her senior staff, she had enough experience under her belt to know that no crew was perfect. There was always a honeymoon period right after a change of command, when the crew put forth their best effort for the new boss, but that never lasted very long. They would test her in their own way, just to see if she would remain consistent, or if her declaration on the second day, when she had addressed her senior officers in their morning briefing, was just the boss trying to impress her new staff. She had told them of her standards, that she expected nothing except the best from her crew at all times, no matter what.
"There will be times when you'll get frustrated with me because you'll think I'm pushing you too hard. But that will only happen when I see you failing to give your best, or trying to get away with just a passing grade. We are officers of the best Navy in the Interstellar Federation, and if you don't wake up every morning taking pride in yourself and your uniform, then you have no business serving on my crew."
That was who Kathryne McKenna was. She genuinely believed in the code of honor and conduct which governed all who donned the uniform. She was proud to serve her empire, to be a part of a military history which stretched back more than one thousand years, to the era when the Spanish Armada had been soundly defeated by her Royal Majesty's Naval Forces. She believed that rules and regulations were meant to be followed, and on only rare occasions were they to be bent. They were in place for a purpose, and one either followed them to the best of his/her ability, or one could get off at the next stop and cease wasting everyone else's time.
"Now entering the neutral zone," Voorhees said.
McKenna panned her gaze from left to right, surveying the bridge once more. Her pleasure at being reassigned to a new s
hip had increased tenfold when she discovered she would be commanding a Delta Class heavy cruiser. At last count there was three hundred and twenty-seven ships in the EarthCorps Navy, and - with the exception of cargo vessels, medical frigates and various other support craft – they all fell into one of six classes. Alpha, Beta, Delta, Epsilon, Gamma and Omega. Delta Class was top of the line.
The ECS Dauntless was an all-in-one starship. Her length was six hundred and ninety meters, with a mass of just over three million metric tons. Her maximum crew capacity was thirteen hundred, and her current crew complement was one thousand twelve. She was armed to the teeth with six missile launchers, six primary and eight secondary pulse disruptor rods, a.k.a PDRs, and a deflector grid with four primary generators – one fore, two mid, and one aft. She was as equally equipped for battle as she was for deep space exploration. Three science/medical labs, four trauma centers, three hydroponics bays, enough cargo space to house a light cruiser, four galleys, a dozen hornet fleets – each numbering ten "stingers" as they were informally known among the AGC pilots - and one astrometrics lab which took up an entire section of the mid-hull ensured that the Dauntless was as prepared for a two year survey mission beyond the galactic rim as she was for a dogfight with a Chrisarii fleet.
The bridge alone was twice the size of the Eisenhower's, and McKenna silently marveled once more at how much walking room she had. On her former ship, there could only be seven officers on the bridge at one time. Any more than that and everyone would be standing on top of each other. There was hardly any room between the stations, and the captain's ready room was little bigger than a closet. Here, a dozen officers would fit in the space between the command chair and the navigation console with enough room for them to do a round of calisthenics. Same for the upper level, between the tactical station – which was just behind the command chair – and the backup stations which lined the rear wall. McKenna still found it hard to believe that Gabriel had been able to fit a full size couch in his ready room, with space to spare.