by Jim Rudnick
“Cadet, this book is out of date. On that measure, I can attest that the piercing depth of a pulse cannon is at least twenty-four feet. And I know that for a fact, having suffered same just a few months ago.” He looked at the cadet with interest.
“Sir, thank you … uh, Sir. But this book, this text was written just a few years ago, by Admiral Childs, our academy commander … so, Sir, while I judge that you may be mistak—”
“Ten-shun, Cadet,” their cadet guide barked.
“Cadet, this is Captain Scott, now of the RN Marwick—but previously of the RN Kerry. Do you remember what happened to the Kerry, Cadet … uh … Cadet Radisson?” their guide said, recognizing the cadet they were grilling in the Hall.
“Sir, yes, Sir!” Radisson barked back, “The Kerry was attacked by Pirates, and yes, there was damage, Sir, and loss of life too, Sir.” A drop of sweat appeared on his now furrowed brow. His voice shook only slightly and his color had lightened only a touch, Tanner saw and then decided to end this now.
“Cadet … uh … Cadet Radisson. We lost at least two dozen feet of deck on the Kerry. As well as Navy men. You’re right in that you’re quoting the text, but that’s not enough these days. You must always consider that change is surely as much a part of weapons and their firepower as it is in all things. Dismissed,” Tanner added, and all around him, cadets slowly began to continue down the hallway and moved around their little five-some like water around a rock … eddies and ebbs and currents moved about them.
“Sir, this way, please,” cadet Simmons said, “the admiral awaits us, Sir,” and he pushed by Radisson and his cadet friend who stared at Tanner and Sander, mouths open and faces slack.
“Cadet Radisson? See me next year, son … I like your style,” Tanner said as he moved past the two cadets and once again in tow behind their cadet guide.
Above the ground floor, after the long stairwell hung with a host of photos, they met the second floor and were ushered up to the admiral’s offices. At the doorway, Cadet Simmons opened the door and did not follow them in … but left after closing the door behind them. Within those offices, all was painted white, walls, ceiling, and doors, stark white on white with almost no personalization, except for one wall. On that wall hung rows of photos, not too many Tanner noted, but still a grouping, and above them were the words “Academy Alumni of Valor” in the RIM Navy colors of blue and gold. Nothing else was written there, and nothing else ever would be as these were all photos of alumni who had died while Navy officers, Tanner suddenly realized. He searched and found his ex-captain and crew members from the Kerry, alone on the lowest row, and he suddenly went white and slowed, his mind working on that loss and his heart suddenly in his throat. He wanted that Scotch now more than ever. To lose himself in a bottle. To end these feelings of loss by helping him cope by getting sloshed. Sloshed. He shook his head.
Valor, he repeated … and the Pirates are to blame … God, let me find them … let me be the one! His thoughts were interrupted by a short cough.
“Haw … er … Captain Scott … and Lieutenant Sander, do I have that correct, Sirs?” the master sergeant said from behind his desk. He did not rise. Nor would he much follow Navy etiquette, so I won’t challenge him … I’ve already made enough of a disposition here, and still got some distance to go too …
“Sergeant, yes, you have us correctly identified. Scott and Sander to see the admiral,” Bram said, and they waited while the admiral’s adjutant used their comm to call in and then pointed off to a few chairs, as this would be a minute or two, the visitors surmised.
Tanner looked at Bram and smiled.
“So, was I that much ‘out of line’ correcting that cadet, Bram?” he said contritely, his voice soft so they would not be overheard.
“Sir, not a bit. The pulse cannon specs that he was quoting though were exactly the same that I was taught, and that book was written by the admiral we’re waiting to see.” His voice too was soft but his points were spot-on, Tanner knew, and he took his time before he answered.
“Bram, the pulse cannon specs were out of date. The Kerry was only four years out of dock. She was made as well as any Navy frigate and we lost men. I lost my captain, so it … it behooved me to speak up. So, while I did not want to berate that cadet, I had to say what I had to say when faced with that untruth! And I would again,” Tanner said, his hand clasped in front of his chest missing the feel of a glass half-full and his voice still quiet but firm. His eyes were steady on Sander, and he looked away after a moment to see the admiral’s sergeant about to interrupt.
“Uh, Sirs? Admiral will see you now,” he said as he rose and opened up the large plain white door whose only adornment was the Rim Navy crest … and they went into the academy commander’s office.
They were met just in front of a large desk of ebony with a large communal sitting wing off to one side. The admiral greeted them quietly but surely according to etiquette, Navy etiquette at that.
“Sir,” Tanner said as he saluted and came to attention, mirrored by his lieutenant, and they had that salute returned just as snappy as their own had been, as the admiral rose and rounded his desk and said, “at ease,” and reached to shake each officer’s hand.
“Captain Scott and Lieutenant Sander, welcome to the Academy. Please be seated here and let’s get to it, shall we,” the Admiral said as he also sat at that seating wing and slowly sorted his cuffs as his dress khakis looked a bit bigger than he’d needed. Wonder why that might be, but that can wait too, Tanner thought and then came right to the point.
“Sir, we first of all would like to thank you for agreeing to see us without a previously arranged time. Our apologies on that, Sir,” Tanner offered up a small apology first, trying to appease the admiral should their not checking in earlier in the day have somehow been “off target” for the admiral’s Navy sensibilities. He looked at the admiral who still played with a cuff as he twisted it up higher on his forearm, looking to anchor it away from sliding down and covering almost all of his palm. Across the desk sat a large side table stacked with piles of paper and a clock, and old fashioned maritime clock under a glass bell that chimed the quarter hour softly just then.
“Not a problem, Captain. Of course, we knew you were there, as we too receive full notice of all landings and/or leavings over at Dessau landing port, so we knew you had arrived. And yes, your landing team did fulfill their duty of registering the reason for your visit as being to speak to someone over at the Issian village, so we knew that perhaps you would not even stop here at all. So we were a bit surprised then only in that you did show up. Nothing is amiss, may I ask, Captain?” His cuff now unattended, he stroked his white goatee slightly as he looked askance with a raised eyebrow to the captain. His pose was relaxed, but Tanner judged that his attention was growing. It’s time, he thought.
“Sir, we have a special … uh … a special request to make of you, and this is an instrumental part of our mission, one that I can only share in part with you. We, Sir, have been charged by the RIM Navy Admiral McQueen, to find the Pirates—and Sir, we would like a bit of help from you … and the Academy. Sir. If possible, Sir,” Tanner stated, not as well as he had hoped, but then again asking a Navy officer, an officer who was his superior by a big jump to break Navy Regs, was always going to be a mouthful. Least in my world, Tanner thought.
“And exactly what would that request be,” the Admiral said, leaning forward to listen to what might be coming.
“Sir,” Tanner said, “we need a mutiny to occur on an Academy training frigate with the mutineers running to ITO to set down while the Marwick gets the job of bringing them to justice, or a reasonable facsimile of same.” Tanner got it all out in a rush, his voice cracking only once on the early word “mutiny,” and he waited with bated breath as the Admiral sat very still and just looked back at him. And he sat and didn’t move … and then he sighed and nodded.
“Fine, Captain. I take it that all academy cadets will be acting only as some kind of underco
ver agents in this; that all officers who are mutinied against as well as the mutineers will be ‘in’ on the mission and there will be no—and I insist on NO repercussions for this on any of the mission officers. That is my only proviso, Captain, will that be agreeable?
“Sir, not at this time—er, what I mean, Sir, is that yes, we agree in theory, but we need—the mission needs the mutiny to be a real one. We need for the faculty and senior cadets, all the officers, to be under the real assumption that the mutiny is real … anything else may just be seen through too easily by the rest of the Rim inhabitants, and that can put the whole mission to find the Pirates in jeopardy, Sir. That is a needed item … Sir …” Tanner added, trying to be as honest as he could to the admiral yet still trying not to indicate who actually had been a part of the planning of the mission.
There was no way he could ever offer that up … so he sat and waited for the admiral who appeared to be pondering Tanner’s counter proviso. And they waited for about a minute as the admiral looked out one of his white-framed windows out and down to the quad below where drill cadet sergeants were making their squads go through their paces in close order drill. And then the admiral cleared his throat.
“Agreed, Captain. This will be a live mutiny, but I will hold you responsible personally if anyone is injured during the mutiny itself, Captain. I can organize same and use trusted cadets to pull this off. As well, I have some rather … er … ‘mild mannered’ faculty who just might need a bit of a shaking up to put out on a training cruise … so, let’s see … yes, I can arrange this, Captain. But you are still responsible … and I intend to log this as well, Captain. Do we have an agreement here?” he said, his eyes locking onto Tanner’s as he leaned forward once again.
Tanner thought for only a moment and then grinned hugely at the admiral.
“Sir, yes, Sir,” he barked back at the admiral and nodded to cement their deal. The admiral would arrange for the mutiny of an Academy frigate near ITO, and then as the Marwick would be close at hand, the admiral would then contact them to go into ITO to quell the mutiny. And RIM Navy Regs quite clearly stated in no uncertain terms that any ship trying to either quell a mutiny or trying to arrest the mutineers had to do that with all haste; nothing was allowed to get in their way except, of course, the quarantine. But with the help of Lady St. August, they would circumvent that blockade and gain the surface on their mutiny quelling mission. This could work, Tanner thought as he smiled. Our mission now has a degree of success … if the Admiral could pull off his end. A big word, that “if,” Tanner knew … but Admiral Childs was a force to be reckoned with as he was Admiral McQueen’s predecessor, having run the whole Rim Navy for almost twenty years.
As they sat and worked out the details, Tanner learned that he had nothing to worry about as the admiral found holes and plugged them in their mission plan. He sought answers too and forced Tanner and Sander to stop ad-libbing some of the issues that they might face and come up with a full set of “best practices” to count upon instead. The admiral helped big time, Tanner thought as they put the finishing touches on the mission and they rose to take their leave.
The admiral shook both officers’ hands and returned back to behind his desk as his adjutant suddenly appeared as the door opened, and he paused as they half-turned back to the office door.
“One thing, Captain,” he said, his hand once again playing with his cuff. “The textbook answer of twenty feet was accurate at time of printing. But that spec has already been updated, and the printing proofs are over there,” he said as he pointed to his side table that held a few stacks of manuscripts, books it appeared that were being vetted for content.
The admiral shrugged. “Being not up to date is an issue all higher educational institutes face … but we are trying to correct our facts, Captain … even at the cost of lives … Navy lives, Captain!” he finished with his voice low and almost melancholy in tone.
“Gentlemen,” he added as they saluted, “Godspeed.” He saluted smartly back to them, and they turned and left his office.
Out in the robo-cab minutes later, turning down the main road out of the Academy, Tanner watched the cadets count their marching cadence as they moved by, while their the drill sergeant cadets moved between the ranks, cajoling and persuading them for more and more effort, more spunk, more spirit. A lifetime ago, I was a cadet too, Tanner thought and wondered on that topic on the return trip to the Marwick.
CHAPTER NINE
“I am sorry that you may think that such duties, fully valid RIM Navy duties, mind you, are somehow beneath you,” Admiral McQueen said quietly on screen. “This is not,” he said as he shrugged, “a simple duty that can be forsaken, Captain.”
Tanner squirmed on his seat in his ready room as the Ansible comm screen played back the message sent to him on the admiral’s personal secure channel.
“We must all do things that we think are unimportant, and while I’m sure that you’re not happy with policing the latest Jump Games on Neria, that’s what you will do. I also am sure that you’re shaking your head with what may be negativity, but once again, Captain, that’s your lot for the next few days.”
“You and the Marwick are to proceed to the Neria Station; assume the role of the RIM Navy liaison and watch, police if needed, and generally ensure that this ‘sporting event’ runs without any kind of a hitch to the Rim. Council members, I’m told, may even be there, as well as the Caliph himself, Sharia Al Dotsa, who is a friend to the Navy and will undoubtedly meet with you, and you are to be the perfect Rim Navy officer, as are your crew on station leave. Those are your orders. You may certainly now yell at the screen and me vicariously, but those are your orders. Follow them, Captain Scott. Admiral out.” He faded from the comm screen.
Tanner sat for a moment and then just shook his head. At least, he thought, Neria was toward ITO, about a nine-day trip out of the way by FTL, and he’d be closer to where the final confrontation with the Pirates would happen … at least. He also sighed once and then swung around to his ready room view port and the flow of stars. Change heading would be first, he thought and sighed once again as he returned to the bridge to proceed to Neria Station.
# # # # #
On the cerulean blue love seat with the fuchsia pillows, the Baroness lounged back and stretched as she passed the time in her private study. She was a tad tired due to the extra time she'd spent with her personal trainer almost all morning. Her quads felt tight, but they hadn't even been worked on as much as her delts as today had been upper body intensive work.
The recent leaving of her head scientist with the news that Argosenium broke down after approximately nine days of use was bothersome. The costs alone to get the frigate outfitted with the Tachyon over-drive and then mounting the specialized Argosenium mechanism had been eye-popping.
And if the costs had a return of only nine days of effective life in the field, then that was a problem. More new Argosenium would need to be mined, refined, and then centrifuged for purity before it could even be added to the drive mechanism again at more costs. And that meant that more and more hostages would need to be taken to mine the ore as they died in mounting numbers.
Life she realized was expensive. Costs of mining were high. Costs of having hostage miners were high. Everything was expensive and the hunt to build revenues was always on her mind. The other mines on ITO produced rare earths and other Bohr metals too that were so very profitable for the Barony. The Argosenium had been a surprise and one that was so, so costly.
If only the captured spoils were much better. Diamonds and specialty ores were well worth the effort to pirate, but the simple fact was that most of the ultra-expensive cargo shipments went under anonymous bills of lading. If no one knew what was in a container, no one would bother stealing it was the rationale, she thought. Damn them. We need treasury funds and the costs are so so high.
She took another small sip of her recombinant juice drink to try to rehydrate her quads, and after that sip, she sat back again
. “If costs are higher than what you want, you need to rethink the program,” she remembered from years ago.
She supposed that to limit and defray costs, one could consider closing down tunnel number two up at the Argosenium mine.
And all the pieces and parts that went with that mine.
All the costs she repeated to herself and half-smiled as she re-crossed her legs to ease her quads.
Each and every one of them … perhaps …
# # # # #
“Okay, Jocko, one more and then let’s knock off for lunch time, okay?” the gray-suited trainer asked the thin man beside him.
Jocko nodded, his face as usual showing no emotion. Beneath his shock of black hair, the sorrel-colored face of an ex-Neria Prime miner gave away nothing; it was too stiff and leather like to ever offer a smile. At 155 pounds and 6 feet 8 inches tall, he was about the right size for an inner planet miner ... and he had the skin to prove it. Gave me my edge, Jocko thought, and that is what is important. Not what I left behind, nor what I could have been ... but what I am. A champion vacuum jumper, soon to be a citizen member of the Nerian caliphate my own self. He smiled at that and then turned toward the shimmering green force-field jump-curtain.
He walked back to the jump-curtain line and looked out across the gap to the finish line catch-curtain, seventy-five yards away. Stars lit the black inkiness around him, and as this was on the dorsal side of the station, even Nerian, the planet that this station orbited around, could not be seen ... just the blackness of the RIM and the catch-curtain across the vacuum track of outer space.
He nodded to no one and then turned around to walk back to the start point which was ten yards distant. Here in the residential wing, this specialized training camp had been set up especially for him by the Nerian caliphate Family. As their monthly champion for the past eight months, he was expected to train every day for at least four hours a day, jumping, then looking at the jump stats, and then jumping again. The addition of this training camp had been something new in the last few weeks, but he admitted it was very handy to train under actual conditions. And with it being located deep inside one of the residential wings, it was hidden from all others who weren’t to know. The Caliphate must win, and if I can win just this one more monthly VacJump, I’m “in” myself, Jocko thought as he knelt in the push blocks that lay exactly ten yards from the jump-curtain and then slowly tuned out the station around him. He looked down to his waist to check his exit-pod and noted it was at half-full, knew that’d be enough O2, and got set in the blocks.