"Captain on the bridge," the young commander said, standing up and snapping into attention. Wellard found it hard to believe after what the kid had been through the last thirty minutes he'd look so pristine. His short brown hair was parted and styled perfectly leaving not so much as a stray hair out of place. His white commander's jacket looked as if not a single drop of sweat penetrated the cloth.
Not only that, he didn't seem rattled by his sound defeat in the simulator. If the paperwork was correct, and it always was, the prodigy hadn't so much as had a less than perfect score from any simulations he'd run. In fact, he'd done so well Admiral Flannigan had suggested the simulations be rebuilt from scratch. As long as he didn't have to go through them again, Wellard agreed.
"At ease, Commander." Wellard strolled the bridge, taking a few moments at each station to glance at the personnel he had to work with. From what he could tell each one of these young people were just as dedicated and hard working as the commander. Other than Bremerton, who'd done so as an act of respect, none tried to garner even an extra second of his attention.
"Open a shipwide channel," Wellard said as he finished his stroll. He waited for the signal to continue. "This is Captain Vincent Wellard. As you may or may not know, for the next two years I am serving as the active captain of this vessel. If you serve the term without incident, handling your jobs in the way fleet academy trained you to handle them, control of the ship will be relinquished to you. Given your track records in the academy, I suspect the next two years will be nothing more than a triviality."
"This starship, the Endeavor, is the sixth such vessel to share the name. Its history goes back to the late twentieth century to a space shuttle and the command module from the fourth successful landing on Luna."
"As it stands, Endeavor's illustrious history is marred as both her namesakes currently sit in Mythrar hands. While I cannot promise you will play a part in it, I promise that this vessel will be instrumental in liberating our homeworld from those bastards who stole her from us."
Other than Commander Bremerton, who stood still as a tree, the rest of the bridge crew broke into applause. Normally Wellard would snap the crew back into focus, but there was no reason to be rash just yet. It would be another thirty-six hours before the ship was scheduled to leave the New Earth shipyards on its maiden voyage, assuring him the ship would be ready with plenty of time to spare.
"Your first order under my command is to clean up your stations and get the ship ready to disembark. Afterward you are dismissed until 0600 hours. I suggest you get plenty of rest and do your best to avoid drinking too much as I'm told President Alvarez herself is seeing us off tomorrow. Wellard, out."
Without command, the communications officer cut the transmission. Wellard looked over at the kid and nodded his approval.
"Commander." Wellard stepped away from the viewscreen and towards his XO. Through the speech Bremerton hadn't shown an ounce of emotion. While Wellard admired a well used poker face, he wasn't used to seeing it on those in his command.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Admiral Flannigan and I request your presence for dinner this evening. We have a few things to discuss before we disembark tomorrow."
"Understood sir. Is there a preferred time, or am I to wait on the captain to show up as he pleases?"
Well, it looks like the kid has some emotion after all. Damn shame he used it to be a smartass.
"2100 hours. Tell the hostess you have a reservation with the Admiral and me."
Bremerton nodded. "Understood, Captain. I look forward to our chat."
"So do I, Commander. So do I."
Chapter Ten
New Earth Station
Private Dining Room
"What do you think of the new commander?" Admiral Flannigan asked before taking a long pull of whiskey. She'd filled her glass to near overflowing, allowing scant room for two small slivers of ice.
Wellard regarded the drink but opted to stick with his orange juice instead. In the vastness of space, there was no shortage of booze. Shit, he had a running bet that the Endeavor would have a distillery setup within six months. Oranges, however, were a true luxury. Very few planets controlled by the NEC could grow the fruit. Because of that Wellard made it a habit to consume as much of it as possible during his stays on the station, which thankfully were no longer than two years apart.
"You've seen his reports. The kid is a prodigy. By all accounts he is more qualified for my job than I am."
"And mine," Flannigan countered. "But I'm not talking about his test results. As far as we know he might be a simulations master. Maybe he can see situations play out in his mind before they happen. It is a handy trait when your job is to train in said simulators, but hardly applicable to service on a real vessel."
Wellard nodded and took a pull of juice. "The kid has a knack for command. Earlier today I ran the crew through another simulation, but instead of letting it play out the way it was supposed to, I sat in the comm room and modified it as they went along." Wellard went over the full details of what he'd done, including how he'd modified the carrier to act like one of the deadly Mythrar ships. All except for the part where he'd rigged the program to turn the torpedoes back on the Endeavor. "By all rights the ship should've been toast within minutes of the carrier jumping in, but he held her together. Nearly took the whole damn thing anyway."
Flannigan's features broke out into a wide grin. "Good. That is the kind of people we need at the helm if we want to take Earth back."
Wellard deflated in his chair. "I'm not sure we'll ever get her back. You didn't see what I did. Their fleet is massive and grows by the day. Just the one I saw stationed around Saturn was nearly ten times the size of our combined fleets. That doesn't take into account any new ships they've created or had flown in since my little trip."
"Maybe not, but we have to try. Our ancestors didn't spend thousands of years prepping humanity for the jump to space just for us to turn tail and run at the first alien species that wants to take our home from us. We have an obligation..."
"We have an obligation to future generations to survive, Stacey. I can't help believing we'll be heading into a slaughter. I know it's what we signed up for at fleet, but what about the rest of humanity? What if, by attacking the Mythrar head on, we start a chain of events that has their people hunting us back here to New Earth? What if, after they take New Earth from us, they don't stop here? If they continue into EU space and take Belfast, Beijing, or New Berlin. I know there's no love lost for the Chinese or Russians, but I don't think we, as a species, can leave them out of any discussions to get Earth back."
"And we won't Vince. Every move we make has been carefully orchestrated with the other factions. Not just that, all have assured me they will be ready to lend their firepower to our cause."
Wellard pulled his glass away from his lips. "You really think the Chinese and Russians will help us fight the Mythrar?" Flannigan opened her mouth to plead her case, but before she could Wellard continued. "Even if they do, who is going to be in charge of this united fleet? Last I heard they made it abundantly clear they don't take orders from the NEC."
"I understand your concerns, Vince, but there isn't another choice. The longer we sit around waiting the more likely the Mythrar find New Earth on their own. Rest assured they are looking for it."
"They might find it eventually," Wellard agreed. "But we haven't heard anything that suggests an invasion is likely."
"My grandfather never thought the first attack was likely either. Yet here we stand, two-hundred light years away from our real home while an alien species shits on the graves of our ancestors."
Wellard considered countering her argument, but knew it was an exercise in futility. There wasn't anything he, or anyone could do to change her mind on the matter. He thought, perhaps this was the reason she'd been chosen for the post over him all those years ago.
Thankfully, the table-side communicator chirped to life, saving him from another twenty minutes of
this conversation.
"Admiral Flannigan, your guest has arrived."
"Thank you, Vanessa. Send the young man back."
Chapter Eleven
New Earth Station
Private Dining Room
Jason Bremerton held his head high as he entered the restaurant. The sight and smell of the evening's dinner made his stomach grumble in protest. He'd avoided visiting the mess hall after his shift, opting to save his appetite for this late evening meeting in case the admiral had something special in mind. He was, after all, the first recruit in NEC history to have graduated without failing a single simulation.
Of course, she might want an explanation how he achieved that perfect record after his performance earlier in the afternoon. To tell the truth, he'd been wondering the same thing. Two years in the academy were supposed to have prepared recruits for a long tour of duty inside a starship, yet the first challenge put before him was an absolute failure.
But as much as he supposed the rest of the crew was disappointed at the loss, he hadn't felt the same way. From what he'd seen, the simulation was heavily stacked against him. Likely as a test of mettle to see how he would handle the chaos of open space. He had put everything he had into winning the encounter and thus felt content knowing few others would've come close to matching his result.
He stopped outside the admiral's private room and gathered his composure. While she had a reputation for treating her senior staff, the privilege rarely was shown to the regular crewmen under their command, let alone a recruit less than a week out of the academy. By all rights he should've been elated to have been asked to this meeting, but instead was a nervous wreck. He'd spent most of the evening trying to visualize the encounter. Trying to come up with a list of questions and comments the pair might ask of him later that night. But now that he was here, all of that previous preparation seemed to dissipate with his rumbling stomach.
He took in a few deep breaths, composed himself, and then stepped into the door.
"Commander Jason Bremerton reporting as ordered." He snapped into a perfect salute.
"At ease, Commander," Flannigan said, smirking. "Take a seat."
"Thank you, Admiral."
She sat back in her chair, watching the young commander as he sat in the only remaining seat. Noticing the gesture made him even more nervous at being in her company, knowing his whole career may hinge on this single encounter.
"The captain tells me you did well in your combat simulation this afternoon."
Bremerton's head moved to the captain and studied his eyes. "Perhaps the captain failed to tell you I lost the encounter."
"Perhaps he did," she retorted. "But he also told me you held up remarkably well under pressure."
Bremerton nodded at the compliment, but couldn't help but feeling like it was ill placed. "I let my emotions get to me. Perhaps if I'd acted more rationally, the encounter would've played out different."
Wellard smirked. "Kid, I was going to sic the carrier on you regardless of what you did. To tell you the truth, better than ninety percent of fleet CO's would've handled the situation the same way you did."
"Permission to speak openly, Captain?"
"Go ahead."
"I believe the encounter was meant to keep me on my toes. While it's obvious, the technology level of the Russian ships wasn't grounded in reality, all the proposed systems exist. Therefore, it is to reason that I should be prepared to face a foe who possesses all the systems as the simulation."
Flannigan smiled before taking a long pull from her glass. "Told you the kid was first class."
"I admire your dedication, Son, but that trick with the torpedoes wasn't totally correct."
"But it was, Captain. The Xandar possess technology to disrupt projectile technology."
"That they are. But there has never been a recorded case of them disrupting twenty such projectiles at once."
"Captain Wellard is right," Flannigan added. "By my recollection, the current record stands at five."
"Still," Bremerton continued, "I believe it would be in the best interests of the NEC to have recruits go through Captain Wellard's simulation. It would be a reminder to expect the unexpected, and perhaps to find out how they deal with certain defeat."
Flannigan smirked, but nodded. "I'll have the crews extrapolate the data from the Endeavor and have it shipped to the academy at once." She grabbed the sole empty glass at the table and poured Bremerton a shot. He stared at the glass contemplating if he should even take a sip. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. The last thing he could afford was to be tipsy during the events.
"It's not good manners to turn down the admiral's fine whiskey." The irony of Wellard's words wasn't lost on Bremerton who noted the liquid in the captain's glass. Unless he'd mixed the whiskey into his juice, he'd turned it down too.
"It's quite all right, Vincent. If he's not comfortable drinking before the big day then that's his prerogative." She reached for Bremerton's glass to pull it close. "Besides, this stuff costs a small fortune."
"I'm sorry, Admiral," he wrapped his fingers around the glass before she could take it from him. "One drink couldn't hurt." He took a slow, careful sip of the whiskey and found it sweet, even as it burned his throat. Part of him wanted to know where she'd gotten the stuff, but realized that might get him in trouble with the captain. No, he'd decided he'd enjoy this one drink and leave it at that.
Flannigan nodded, leaned back, and regarded the commander's face as he took his drink. She almost looked amazed that he'd taken her up on the offer, but didn't seem displeased at the turn of events either. Bremerton thought for a moment that perhaps he wasn't the only recruit fresh from the academy who had turned down her offer, but figured he must've been the first to accept it after the fact.
"Now that I've got the both of you here, we can get down to the real reason for this conversation." Flannigan pulled a leather satchel onto the table and pulled out two manila folders, one for each of the men. Each opened their folders and scanned its contents.
"To christen the Endeavor, I'm sending you and your crew on an escort run. As you are probably aware, Vice President Landry is here at New Earth Station for the ceremony. After everyone has eaten enough food to become a sloth for the next three days, he intends to board his personal cruiser and make for the Atroxxin sector."
"Why in God's name would he want to go to the Atroxxin sector. It's just a handful of mining colonies in an otherwise barren wasteland of space."
"Because, Captain, this barren wasteland has found a planet rich with wolframite. It seems the VP procured a few large shipments of it to be delivered to our refining facilities near Quantos Prime."
"What the hell is he planning to do with it?" Wellard asked, confused. As far as Bremerton knew, the captain wasn't fleet educated. He was one of the rare people who worked his way through the ranks the hard way, struggling every step along the way until he reached his current position. Lack of academy training would keep him from reaching the rank of admiral, but from what Bremerton had heard, the captain wasn't looking to move up any further.
"If I may, Admiral." Bremerton glanced over at Flannigan, but held his tongue until she nodded her approval. "Wolframite is a blend of iron and manganese tungstate. Figuring out where they'll use the iron is obvious, and as much as the NEC needs a healthy supply of it to create more ships, the tungsten is far more valuable."
"I always wondered where they got the stuff," Wellard marveled. "It makes sense. I suppose I should get the crew in early to make sure the Endeavor is ready to disembark after the ceremony. If you don't mind..." Wellard downed the rest of his juice and placed the cup on the table before standing. "I'm not in the business of telling my new XO how to live his life, but I'd advise you to finish your drink and get some shuteye. I expect you on the bridge at 0800 awake and ready to supervise last-minute procedures."
Bremerton stood up and nodded at Wellard. "I'll see you then."
Flannigan coughed, nearly spitting her dri
nk across the table. Wellard responded with a chuckle. "I'll be busy schmoozing the dignitaries most of the morning followed by a speech at 1300. By the time I get back to the bridge it will be near time to depart, therefore it's imperative you get the ship ready to depart before I arrive."
Bremerton nodded, but when he noticed the Wellard's glare he realized he must've shown the disappointment that had begun to well up inside of him. He didn't resent the captain or his position. Shoot, he knew how big of a circus the whole event was sure to be. The captain's speech would likely be broadcast to dozens of NEC worlds and about half the hospitable planets in the United Earth Alliance. Of course, the reality was that most of those homes would tune into the ceremony. Bremerton doubted if anyone outside military personnel, new or retired, would care enough to watch.
"Don't feel bad, Commander. Believe me when I tell you I'd much rather it be you out there dealing with that mess."
"Me too," Flannigan joked. "But the captain is right. We need to have someone overseeing the last-minute procedures, and who better than the crew's new XO?" The admiral took one final pull of her drink and set her glass on the table. "I've assigned three teams of techs to the Endeavor to give you a hand. You have full authority over the crews until you depart. Use them as you will."
Bremerton nodded. "Yes, sir." He picked up his glass and drank the final bit of his drink before placing it next to the Flannigan's. "Admiral, if you'll excuse me, I believe now is as good a time as any to get some rest. Thank you for tonight."
Flannigan nodded. "Anytime, Commander. Watch over your crew and Godspeed."
Chapter Twelve
New Earth Station
Officer's Sleeping Quarters, NECS Endeavor
Klaxons blared through the speakers in his room, causing Bremerton to bolt upright from a restless sleep. His heart raced. His mind raced. Shit, even his eyes raced trying to find the cause of the alarm. To make matters worse, was the feeling of impending dread the followed his abrupt awakening.
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