A Call to Arms

by Bradley Hutchinson

“Sir, we’ve got something! Intermittent energy spikes… could be weapons fire.”

  “Finally.” It was said so softly, Marquez barely heard it… but the small smirk that played at Hunter’s lips confirmed that the captain had, in fact, uttered it. He seemed excited, almost blood thirsty. “Plug the coordinates into the helm, and engage at flank speed.”

  Marquez frowned and approached the command area. “Sir, we don’t even know what it is yet –”

  Hunter waved Marquez off. “They brought us out here to combat the enemy, didn’t they?”

  “Well, yes.” Marquez said, slightly flummoxed as a predatory leer came Hunter’s eyes.

  “Then find me something to shoot at, Commander.”

  *

  “I think they’re dead in the water, Captain.”

  The object of Captain Hunter’s ire was a pirate ship the Englewood had just chased through four star systems before finally battling it out here, in this barren binary star system that had no worth to anyone. Even as its holographic representation flickered on the forward bulkhead of the bridge, Commander Willard Marquez thought it looked like a helpless target, now at the mercy of the guns of the Englewood.

  “You think?” Captain Hunter asked Lieutenant Torres at the Tactical station. The young officer looked slightly bewildered to be under the piercing gaze of his CO. “They either are or are not, Lieutenant.”

  Not that the captain is all that merciful these days. Commander Marquez watched like a hawk from the rear work stations on the bridge, most of his attention on one of the damage-control readouts. This was the third such situation the Englewood had been involved in in the last four weeks.

  Granted, those engagements were a lot cleaner than this one has been. Hunter seemed to have taken the damage to his ship personally… Actually, he seems to have taken this entire assignment personally. Marquez presumed the captain’s terrible demeanour of late was related to whatever had happened on Earth, but Hunter hadn’t been forthcoming, and Marquez hadn’t pressed the issue.

  “Get me an update on this conduit,” he said to Farris, tapping at one of the screens that displayed one of their damaged decks.

  “Aye sir,” Farris murmured, already tapping away at his control board. Marquez moved his attention back to their prey, displayed more conveniently on an auxiliary monitor.

  It was a highly angular craft with not a single sleek curve to be seen. It certainly looked to be in sorry shape – its engines were almost certainly dead, flickering and sputtering lifelessly, pitted and scored from several direct hits. Its weapons – what remained of them, at least – had to be depleted or exhausted after the running firefight.

  The pirates had certainly done a number on the Englewood, which, while still operational, had suffered heavy damage… and yet, if Marquez was reading Hunter properly, the captain wasn’t convinced of their victory. Considering their number of casualties – twelve dead, with more than thirty injured – it was hard to blame Hunter for being cautious.

  “Radiation is interfering with my scanners, Captain,” Torres answered, sounding flustered as he stabbed uselessly at his console. “I can’t be more definitive than that from here without more data.”

  If James Hunter was bothered by this lack of analysis, it didn’t show. He didn’t even nod in acknowledgement as he stroked his chin in thought. He just stood imperiously in front of his command chair, his attention locked squarely on the image of their foe. “Lock torpedoes on them, and prepare to fire on my command.”

  There was a tense moment of silence on the darkened bridge at the macabre order, punctuated only by the fizzing of a still-smouldering console along the port-side of the bridge that had been neglected in favour of more critical repairs.

  “Captain?” Marquez asked into the silence.

  “You heard me!” Hunter snapped menacingly, his eyes narrowed dangerously. It was as if he perceived a threat to his person on his own bridge. The abruptness of his tone – and the glare he directed to Marquez – precluded any further objections from the First Officer. “Fire.”

  *

  “Is there anything else you’d like to add to your report, Captain Hunter?”

  Admiral Rina Shukri hadn’t looked away from her desktop terminal since Hunter and Marquez had been ushered into her small, cramped office, her attention fixated on the reports scrolling down the holographic screen while the two men she’d summoned stood gingerly on the other side of her desk.

  Despite commanding a state-of-the-art dreadnaught, the small Malaysian woman – the commander of the anti-marauder taskforce, and of the F D Roosevelt – had opted to use one of the smaller, sparsely decorated offices below the bridge, rather than the expansive Ready Room, a person of her stature deserved.

  “No, Admiral, that just about covers it,” Hunter said evenly. He sounded, if anything, slightly bored with the whole proceeding, as if the routine debriefing was beneath him… it was an arrogance that Marquez had seldom seen the captain display, though, considering his background, it was an arrogance common to the super-rich.

  Finally, Shukri looked at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hunter said archly.

  Shukri evaluated him evenly for a long time, and Marquez wondered if Hunter would wilt under that piercing gaze. “Very well, then, you’re dismissed… Commander Marquez, please remain behind a moment.”

  Hunter gave Marquez a confused look, an eyebrow rising archly over his narrowed dark eyes, as if he was boring into the First Officer’s soul. Marquez tried to affect an air of indifference, but failed, and he was glad when the doors swished shut behind Hunter.

  Shukri sighed softly to herself as she tapped a finger gently against the arm rest of her chair. “It’s a very serious matter, Commander, leaving open a charge of depraved indifference, or wilful disregard, against your CO. Even in a time of war, we have clear rules of engagement. Your supplemental report seems to suggest that Captain Hunter ignored those procedures.”

  Frowning, Marquez chose his words carefully – beside being a superior officer, Shukri was renowned for having a short temperament, especially when she felt she was being disrespected, or having her time wasted. “I simply stated events as they happened, and appended my personal cache and logs to corroborate them, Admiral.” Marquez said slowly, carefully. “I didn’t level anything against Captain Hunter.”

  Shukri frowned at that as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you sure? Why upload anything if you weren’t suspicious? There’s probably enough evidence to get JAG involved, even if in the current climate Hunter simply gets a reprimand.”

  “Because, Admiral, I’m not at all certain what the Captain’s intentions were,” Marquez said. “He’s been under pressure lately and –”

  “Are you implying he’s unfit to command?”

  “No,” answered Marquez emphatically. “I just mean that, given his frame of mind, and the circumstances, I can understand why he made the decision to open fire.” He paused, unsure if he should continue, and found himself wilting under the penetrating gaze of the admiral. “Technically, Admiral, I don’t believe it was an illegal order, I’m just uncomfortable with the decision on a personal level, and felt I needed to go on record with that.”

  “I see.” It was clear the Shukri didn’t, but Marquez held his tongue, unwilling to risk angering the admiral further. “Have you any other concerns over Captain Hunter’s demeanour or behaviour?”

  Marquez frowned in concentration. “Aside from his newfound and rather bizarre and intense fascination with strategy and tactics… no ma’am.”

  “Strategy and tactics?”

  “He’s been running dozens… hundreds… of war game scenarios in his off-hours… and even during the more mundane hours of his shifts, if his attention isn’t required on more pressing matters.”

  That raised an eyebrow. “Intriguing,” Shukri muttered, more to herself than Marquez. With a rather exaggerated shudder, she
waved Marquez off. “Very well, Commander, I’ll make a note of this, though in the future I would suggest that, during a war, you keep such concerns to yourself unless you think direct action should be taken. We really are too busy to be dealing with the minutiae of such… incidents…” Shukri heaved a sigh. “Dismissed.”

  A salute and five steps later and Marquez was at the threshold of the door when Shukri stopped him. “Oh, and Commander?” He turned to look back at her. “See if you can get forward me copies of the war games Captain Hunter is running… call it professional curiosity.”

  Marquez didn’t understand the order, but, as a soldier, he didn’t need to in order to obey it. “

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  *

  “In the future, Commander, if you have a problem with my decisions, take them up with me, not with the brass.”

  Commander Marquez cocked his head to the side as he considered the profile of his CO. Outwardly, he didn’t appear upset, but there was a definite chill in the turbolift as it took them down from the upper decks of the dreadnaught to the ventral hangar bays.

  “I attempted to do so, Captain, at the time. You weren’t exactly receptive to my… concerns.”

  James Hunter finally looked at Marquez, casting him with a deep penetrating gaze. After several long, tense moments of silence, broken only by the mechanical buzz of the turbolift,

  “Point taken, Commander,” he said, nodding in silent acknowledgment. “My apologies… I’m just… trying to find my place in a world that has suddenly become very alien to me.” He frowned, sighing as he waved his comment away. “Did the admiral want anything else?”

  “Just copies of your war simulations,” Marquez admitted, sounding puzzled. “Not entirely sure why, she seemed very interested in how much time you’re spending on them since your mother’s death. Since they were in the public mainframe of the main computer, I passed them on…”

  “How the hell do you know about my mother?” James asked breathlessly, looking as if he’d been slapped in the face, his cheeks losing what little colour they had had. “I’ve hardly told anyone about that. It was… supposed to be private.”

  Marquez shrugged fractionally. “Commander Palhares is a friend of mine – he shot me a message the other day, checking in on you… I finally got it out of him why he was asking.” Marquez nodded slowly. “I’m very sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “There was a perfectly good reason for that,” James growled, then let out an angry breath. “Well, I hope the admiral up there has a great laugh at my little hobby.” He eyed Marquez suspiciously. “You haven’t told any of the crew, have you?”

  “Of course not, Captain.”

  James nodded, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Good. See to it that doesn’t change.”

  *

  “Shouldn’t you be chasing after pirates, right about now?”

  “Ha ha ha,” Rina Shukri said demurely as she stared at the diminutive hologram of Admiral Jeremy Hawthorne, the current commander of the Fourth Fleet… and, if rumours were to be believed, destined for greater things in the near future.

  It had been several hours since Hunter had departed, and Shukri had spent much of that time scrolling through the various wargames Commander Marquez had gifted her – she wasn’t a great strategist, but she was no slouch either, but she was impressed with Hunter’s subtleties. He’d give some of the idiots in the SOC a run for their money, she wagered.

  “Shouldn’t you have won the war by now?” she continued.

  Hawthorne smiled broadly as he placed a hand over his heart, as if he’d been shot. “Give me a moment, Rina, we’re about to kick the N’xin out of the Tarses system, so if this is a social call, I really don’t have the time… unless you’re calling to say good luck.”

  “Relax, Jeremy, this is business,” Shukri said, punching in a series of commands into the console next to the holographic. “I’ve got a potential new hire for you.”

  Hawthorne frowned as his eyes darted to the side, glancing over the wall of text that would be getting displayed. “Hunter… Hunter… he’s that rich twerp from Bastion, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell would I want with him? I’ve got a fair few snobs of my own already under me, I don’t need a professional snob, too.”

  Shukri rolled her eyes and smiled. “Nothing like that, Jeremy, but I thought your strategic division could use him.”

  “I’ve got enough of them, too.” He sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fine, send him to Elysium once you’re done out in the nether regions of the Commonwealth… I think Admiral Morrow’s taskforce needs a ship or two.” He gave Shukri a pointed stare. “I hope I won’t regret this, Rina.”

  “You won’t, Admiral.”

  2436-2437: Changing Fortunes

  “The appointment of Admiral Hawthorne to the position of Supreme Commander is the latest sign that the Commonwealth Parliament is preparing to engage in a new offensive. Hawthorne is rising to this position after having commanded the Fourth Fleet to several crucial victories in the last three years, including driving the N’xin out of their foothold in the Tarses system. Highly regarded by the officers under his command, the new Supreme Commander is rumoured to have already started a sweeping personnel change, including a complete reshuffle of the much-maligned Strategic Operations Command, which has been responsible for developing and implementing naval combat policies since President Ansara established it in 2428.” – The Daily Herald, June 10, 2436

  “Have you been to Titus recently?”

  Troy Hunter slowly shook his head as the refugee planet steadily grew in the viewport at the front of the cockpit of the freighter Westphalia. With all that had happened to him in the last few years, he couldn’t say that he was thrilled with the idea of coming back to the planet that had challenged his sanity and confidence. Especially now that mother isn’t here to offer advice… or a shoulder to cry on.

  Although he’d never been as close to Rebecca as James had (which wasn’t to say they weren’t close) her loss obviously gnawed at him on a daily basis. A year on, Troy had decided to continue his mother’s quiet crusade of generosity, and had combined her efforts with his own to help war refugees.

  “Not for a while, no,” Troy said, his voice tightening along with his stomach. Just the mention of the name of the planet usually resulted in his stomach churning, unwelcome and unpleasant memories springing to mind automatically – a dead child, blood and guts everywhere… the smell of death. He hated thinking about it. “I was here for an inspection back in ’33, got here just after the N’xin struck.” Troy shuddered, and it wasn’t for show. “Awful mess.”

  Commander Sylvia Marsden, the commander of the Westphalia, nodded in understanding. Troy had met the small, tough woman twenty years earlier, when she’d been hired by his family’s business to run cargo – specifically, specialised mining equipment – between Bastion and HB&S’ mining colonies in the far-off Chernuchin system. It had been one of the few contracts Troy had drafted unaided, and it had been successful enough that it had become the standard for HB&S contracts in that field.

  At nearly a century old, Marsden – whose black hair was turning grey prematurely, suggesting that her genetic engineering hadn’t been completely thorough (or had been done on the cheap) – had been a freighter captain for nearly half that time, owning the rugged Westphalia for almost thirty. Marsden had been running supplies to the fringes of the Commonwealth since before the war had begun, and her experience at being able to slip into areas quietly had made her an easy choice for Troy to hire her to do his philanthropic bidding.

  Ever since his earth-shattering experience on his first visit to Titus, Troy had expended much of his considerable wealth on trying to improve the plight of the refugees holed up on this dreary world. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t achieved much… but he was doing what he could.

  “We’ve had a good run so far,” he observed.

  Mar
sden shrugged. “I’m privately surprised we haven’t seen any pirate activity.”

  Troy glanced at her. “Pirates?” He hadn’t heard of any major pirate activity for quite some time – of course, both the media and the Navy were caught up in the war, so things like a gang of armed thieves going around and seizing the odd private freighter weren’t likely to be widely reported on.

  “Yeah, there are about three human mercenary groups that hide out this way – they’ve been pretty quiet the last few years, though. The N’xin really don’t care if a human belongs to the Commonwealth or not – we’re all equally worthless to them.” She cocked her head as she thought, her eyes glowing softly. “You’ve also got Vergé freelancers scurrying around, trying to get around the trading laws we have with their government. And you also have about three other alien species who aren’t as lawful as we are.” Marsden shrugged and fell silent. “Plenty of trouble to be had, even without the N’xin.”

  “I don’t know as much about the Vergé as I probably should,” Troy said, somewhat reluctantly – after all, they were the one alien government HB&S had significant trade relations with, but those arrangements had been made before he was born… and besides, trade deals with aliens was Michael’s area of expertise. “I know they’re not as advanced as we are.”

  “They only achieved FTL technology a century or so ago, but the systems they’ve staked a claim to are rich in resources, some of which are hard to come by in some areas of the Commonwealth.” Marsden shrugged fractionally, but was cut off from a furious beeping from her control panel. “We’re receiving an automated hail from Colony Control.” Marsden tapped a series of commands into the console.

  Troy let out the breath he’d been holding – he was anxious as it was, and the delay in descending to the surface had made the hairs on Troy’s neck stand on end. “Are they going to let us land?”

  Marsden held up a placating hand, and then nodded after a few seconds. “Yes, they’ve given us landing coordinates.” She glanced out the aft exit of the cockpit, down the short corridor that led to the top-side cargo hold. “How much is this trip setting you back, anyway? You’re paying me five million – ten, if I get fired on… and survive, of course.”