Firmament: Machiavellian

by J. Grace Pennington

  FIRMAMENT:

  Machiavellian

  J. Grace Pennington

  Text and cover Copyright 2014 J. Grace Pennington

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Kindle Edition, October 2014

  Cover Design: Michael McDevitt

  Layout: Penoaks Publishing; http://penoaks.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are merely coincidental.

  For Jonathan

  because he always believes in Firmament

  and in me.

  Special Thanks

  First I’d like to thank my family, for their support of this book and my writing in general. They are my biggest fans, and the ones who have to put up with me during the days where I miss chores, stress out over deadlines, and remain in a zombie-like state while trying to figure out those sticky plot twists. I especially thank my parents, who have always encouraged my writing, and my brother Adam, who always lists me as his favorite writer. I’d also like to thank my sister Hope, who was the first person to hear this story all the way through.

  Next, a huge thank you to my wonderful test readers: Jonathan Garner, Aubrey Hansen, Lawrence Mark Coddington, Jeremiah Stiles, Sarah Holman, Faith Blum, Sarah Jamrizok, Emily and Cheryl Mann, Jordan Miller, and Joel A. Parisi. Without them, this book would be a mess with glaring mistakes and lots of boring and illogical spots.

  But even with all that help, the book still would have been a disaster without the hard work of my amazing editor, Michelle McDevitt. Her patience with me and her dedication to making my stories the best they can be are true blessings. And the book wouldn’t be what it is without the beautiful cover done by Michael McDevitt, who brought Napoleon to life in a way that exceeded my expectations. But while he made the outside look beautiful, credit for the inside goes to Aubrey Hansen’s legendary formatting skills. And extra special thanks to my brother Jacob for adding text to the cover and working with me for hours to get the color of the title just right.

  And even though they didn’t read the book or actively contribute to it, I owe thanks to Annie Hawthorne, Heidi and Heather Salzman, and Jotham Chua. Their enthusiasm for this series and my writing is a much-needed source of encouragement! Also thanks to Martin Selbrede for his interest in my writing and his recommendation of an extremely helpful book, Nancy Sample for her contribution to one particular scene, and Daniel Schwabauer for his advice on a difficult decision.

  Most of all, I thank my beloved savior Jesus Christ, without whom I would not have the strength, dedication, or hope that I need to tell stories.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter

  I

  I didn’t hear about the incident until the shuttle had already departed. This wasn’t unusual—unless I was up on the bridge, I didn’t usually hear much about what was going on. And I hadn’t been on the bridge when the communication from the Copernicus came in.

  Instead, I was in sickbay, helping my father Doctor Lloyd. We had two patients that afternoon, a mate from engineering who’d cut his leg, and a lieutenant with a slight cold. The Doctor tended to the mate, who had a mild laceration on his upper calf, and I was left to examine the lieutenant.

  “Andi,” the Doctor called from the other side of the long, white-walled room. “Did you put my regen kit somewhere?”

  “No sir.” I peered at a monitor to read my patient’s temperature. “But I think I saw it in the main cabinet last night.”

  Mumbling to himself, the Doctor crossed the room and opened the shining metal doors at the other end of it. “I’m sure I didn’t put it there.”

  I smiled as I slid my finger across the smooth, cold screen to display more information. I was sure he had, but it didn’t matter. An explosion in engineering yesterday had flooded us with patients for most of the day, making it the most natural thing in the world that even the normally fastidious Doctor should misplace something.

  “It’s just a common cold,” I reassured, switching off the monitor and turning to smile at the reclining officer. “Nothing to worry about, but you should quarantine yourself in your cabin until it’s over. Captain Trent doesn’t want an epidemic.”

  The middle-aged, balding officer sat up and scooted himself off the bed, then bent to retrieve his jacket and armband from the personal effects box under his cot. “Thanks,” was all he said, then tossed the jacket over his arm and walked out.

  “Grateful lot, aren’t they?”

  I looked over my shoulder into the sparkling eyes of Olive McMillan, our nurse. I grinned, then reached for the corner of the cot sheet. Her slender, beautiful hand playfully slapped my lighter-skinned one away. “It’s not fair. You and Gerry had all the patients, I should at least get the sheets.”

  “My patient, my sheets,” I protested, fighting what had become a customary losing battle.

  “You could at least be a good friend and bring me something on your way back from the mess hall,” she scoffed, pulling my shoulders back and spinning me out of the way.

  I laughed as she began yanking off the sheets. “Fine. What do you want?”

  “I’ll take one of those big, hot pretzels.”

  “Okay then. Doctor, are you coming for lunch?”

  He was still bending over his patient and just grunted as he waved me away.

  “I’ll send him down,” Olive said with a wink.

  I smiled at her, wondering again why I’d been so resistant to the idea of a nurse before she’d joined the crew.

  I walked towards the sanitation room at the far end of sickbay, stretching my shoulder blades back until I could hear crackling in my spine. When I reached the coat rack next to the doorway, I shed my medical tunic and donned my thick green uniform jacket. I stepped into the long, sink-lined room and rolled up my sleeves.

  I washed my hands, splashed a bit of water on my face, then dried both with the blow drier that hung above the sink. Tucking a stray bit of blond hair behind one ear, I walked down the narrow room past all the lavatories, and out the exit that led into the main corridor.

  As I emerged into the clean metal hall, I saw my brother August strolling down the hall, about to walk into sickbay. With a stifled giggle, I hurried up behind him and poked him in the back just as he stepped through the doorway.

  “Ow!” he protested, his soft Austrian accent showing through even that one syllable. Turning, he smiled as he recognized me. “Ah, there you are.”

  “You caught me just in time.” Gripping his elbow, I started to pull him into sickbay to have his blood pressure checked. “I was just about to leave for lunch.”

  Now, four months after meeting h
im, the ease and familiarity with which I teased him and touched him still held a microscopic spark of awkwardness. I hadn’t yet entirely adjusted to the idea that this man was in fact my brother. We‘d grown up thousands of miles apart, him with our biological father and me with the Doctor. And yet there was a connection—deeper than our shared pain from our parents’ death—drawing us together with the empathy that only blood can give.

  At the moment, however, he gently pushed my fingers off his arm and shook his head. “I didn’t come to get checked. The Captain wants you and your dad to come to airlock one.”

  “Dad’s busy right now.”

  He glanced into sickbay. “Well, we’re gathering there in half an hour. The Captain wants all primary and secondary officers to be on hand to greet our guests.”

  “Guests?” I pricked up with curiosity at once. The Surveyor didn’t often have guests, and when she did, they were usually just officials sent for an inspection, or a friend or relative coming for a private visit with some crewmember. And neither scenario required all primary and secondary officers to be present for the boarding. “Who’s coming?”

  He leaned against the doorway, clasping his hands behind him as he spoke. “We were hailed by an orbiting science station with failing life support systems. We’re taking them back to earth.”

  I straightened my posture. “Back to earth?” My pulse sped up a bit. Even those who loved life on a starship, as I did, admitted that breaks in the inevitable monotony were always welcome.

  He inclined his head slightly and pushed himself away from the wall. “I’ll tell your dad.” Before he could turn towards sickbay, I touched his sleeve again.

  “Are you sure you won’t stop and have a quick check-up?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve been monitoring myself. I’m being careful. It’s one-o-nine over sixty-three right now.”

  I nodded. “All right. That’s a little low, but it’ll do.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Andi,” he repeated, his brown eyes smiling. Then he strolled into sickbay.

  I was late for lunch, so I just grabbed a bagged meal from the snack bar, forgot Olive’s pretzel, and trotted to my quarters to straighten my clothes and comb my hair.

  Would there be any women close to my age? There were a couple aboard, but I’d never really hit it off with any of them. I preferred to be with the Doctor, August, Captain Trent, Olive, or our other few close friends such as the first officer and the cook.

  But then, girls my age didn’t come to space often.

  What was a science station like, anyway? I should ask August. He’d worked on one, a year or two before he came to the Surveyor. Did science stations have captains? How big were they? Did they use ranks at all? Or were they all different?

  I smiled as I used my fingers to work out a tangle the comb had snagged on, amused at my own lack of knowledge. Living on a starship since age eleven had made it my world, the only one I really understood.

  But I didn’t mind.

  The tangle loosened, and I smoothed my hair until I deemed it satisfactory, took a final look at myself in the mirror, and hurried out of the cabin, up the elevator, and down the halls to airlock one.

  Already a dozen people had gathered at the end of the corridor, circled around the massive white metal door that sealed off the starboard peripheral accesses from the rest of the ship. Hushed murmurs electrified with curiosity pervaded the group, telling me instantly that Captain Trent wasn’t yet present to quell the wondering with instruction. I spotted our white-haired first officer, Guilders, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture straight and steady. Other bridge officers stood by, as well as engineers and security officers. August was stationed at the front of the crowd, eyes fixed on the closed door.

  The Doctor stepped up beside me, and I turned to see the his thin form as his fingers smoothed back his iron-gray hair. Looking towards the airlock again, I saw the Captain making his way through the group to stand by the door.

  I reached up to fasten the top button of the Doctor’s uniform jacket. He wrinkled his nose and looked down at me. “Maybe I did that on purpose.”

  “You know regulations,” I reminded with a smile. “Jackets must be completely buttoned during duty hours.”

  “That’s not fair. All hours are duty hours for a doctor.”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer this, because the Captain’s voice called us to listen.

  The buzz of questions silenced, and he spoke clearly. “For those of you who don’t know, we have guests coming aboard temporarily. The personnel of the science station Copernicus have suffered from life support system malfunctions, and we’ll be taking them back to Earth. Have my orders been carried out with regard to C-Deck quarters?”

  “They have, sir,” called a man from the group. The Captain nodded.

  “Good. I know I don’t have to say this, but I want you all to extend optimum courtesy to our guests. There should be about twenty-five people. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yes, these passengers are not used to being on a starship—so security, keep an eye on them. There may also be warp stomach cases; Doctor, I imagine it’s been awhile since most of them have undergone interstellar travel. But you can handle that, right?”

  “Yes sir,” the Doctor nodded, putting an arm around my shoulders. I smiled as I felt the pressure of his fingers through my jacket.

  “Captain Trent,” came a voice over the intercom, “the shuttle has returned, and Captain Holloway and his party are ready to board.”

  My answer to the question of whether science stations had captains.

  The Captain brought his wristcom to his mouth. “All right, King, let them in.” Lowering his arm, he stood tall and beckoned us to stand back.

  The Doctor and I backed carefully towards the wall of the corridor, until I felt the slight chill of its metallic surface pressing against my spine.

  A loud hiss sounded from the other side of the airlock door, and it slowly slid upwards, revealing a group of figures within.

  The first to emerge was a man with a bearing much like that of the Captain, but different in every other way. He was a dozen centimeters shorter at least, and the hair that sprouted from under his cap was a blue-black instead of the light, sunny brown of Captain Trent’s. His features showed traces of Asian descent, although they were not unmixed with American influences. His stylish, artsy uniform with its blue and silver accents far outshone Trent’s solid, military-style green jacket and plain but carefully pressed black pants.

  The newcomer put out his hand to grasp the Captain's darker one. His smile was charming and gave an air of naiveté. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Harrison Trent?”

  “You do.” The Captain gave the hand two friendly shakes before letting it go.

  “Pleased, sir, very pleased indeed! I’m Holloway, Captain Felix Holloway. But Holloway is fine.”

  “Welcome to the Surveyor, Captain Holloway.

  “Just Holloway, please.”

  The Captain ignored him, and laid a hand on Guilders’ shoulder. “I’d like you to meet a few of my crew. This is my first officer, Commander Guilders. He’s also the ship’s helmsman.”

  The smaller captain’s black eyes glittered genially as he shook Guilders’ hand. “Very pleased indeed, I can’t think when I’ve been so pleased.”

  Guilders just nodded, his bushy white eyebrows hiding anything his eyes might have communicated.

  Gesturing to us, the Captain continued, “And this is my first medical officer, Doctor Lloyd.”

  As Captain Holloway neared us, I sensed the lingering smell of sulfur and ether on his clothes. He reached his hand out for the Doctor’s and shook it, smiling. “Pleased, pleased I’m sure, Doctor Lloyd. And this is your assistant?” The little black eyes twinkled at me, and I smiled. I had never seen a more charming person. I thought that Napoleon must have been something like this short but commanding fellow. I made up my mind to mentally nickname the man Napoleon—even though he was Asian, not Frenc
h. It would be too confusing with two captains aboard.

  “This is my daughter, but she’s also second medical officer,” the Doctor said, and I shook the little man’s hand. It felt fleshy and soft, but its grip was firm.

  “Pleased, quite pleased.” Smiling and nodding, Captain Holloway moved a little further along the hall to give the rest of his party space to enter.

  “This is our head scientist, Doctor Julian Pearson,” Holloway went on as a tall, long-faced man in a blue jumpsuit stepped out into the hall. His blond hair brushed the tips of his ears and his eyes were large and sad. He seemed the opposite of his captain in every way. He nodded slightly as he shook Captain Trent’s hand, then Guilders’ and the Doctor’s. He ignored me, and retired to the rear of his pleased captain.

  “Oh yes,” Napoleon went on as the rest of the station’s personnel filed out of the airlock, “our chaplain. Good saint that he is. Science stations are required to employ a chaplain, I’m sure I don’t know why. He has little to do with a group of sinners like ourselves. We’re pleased to have him, very pleased, but he does us little good, I’m afraid.”

  The little captain babbled on as a tall, faintly sun-tanned man stepped into the corridor. His light brown hair was combed neatly, every hair in place, and his unassuming navy suit contrasted with the bright blue and silver of his companions'. A white armband with a bronze cross on it singled him out as a chaplain. He wore a pleasant, determined, and yet good-natured look on his face, and he walked with the easy air of someone who has no regrets. His blue eyes took in the scene, resting on me for an instant, and the feeling spread through me that I had seen those eyes before, many times. But where?

  The Doctor stiffened beside me, and I looked up at him. He stared at the chaplain, his fingers clenching my shoulder, and then his gaze shifted to the Captain, who was still the closest one to the airlock. Instinctively, I too turned my eyes on our Captain, who was staring openly at the chaplain.