by C. R. Daems
As I sat eating my evening meal, three Lieutenants approached. “Lieutenant Reese, we understand that Master Chief Rucker has agreed to give you a private tour of the Environmental section. We’re assigned there and would like to come along, if you don’t mind.”
“You don’t have to ask her, we’ll just go,” a young Lieutenant said with a laugh. He was dressed in whites, which had two ribbons—Good conduct for three years service and an Expert Pistol medal. He stood taller then the other two and was quite handsome with a muscular build. Right now, however, his face was twisted in disgust. “She isn’t even a real Lieutenant. She’s a Riss-thingie.”
“I’ll ask Master Chief Rucker. I doubt he’ll mind,” I said, ignoring him.
“You’ll ask. He’s a chief and we’re Lieutenants. I’ll tell him.”
“Fine. It’ll save me the trouble.” I cut a slice of meat and continued eating.
I almost choked and had to take a sip of water.
“Who do you think you are, Lieutenant?” he shouted. Now everyone within hearing distance was watching, which was most of the mess hall. I looked up and smiled.
“I’m Lieutenant Reese, a Riss-thingie.”
He stomped off in anger. He knew he couldn’t do anything with everyone watching. I addressed the other two. “If you two would like to accompany Master Chief Rucker and me, be at Environment unit at 1900 hours. Be dressed in something you don’t mind getting dirty. For this tour, we all dispense with rank. Is that acceptable?” They both nodded.
* * * *
I wandered down to the Environmental section a bit early to ensure Rucker didn’t mind two extra. He didn’t and thought it a good idea for all officers to get their “hands dirty.” At 1900 hours the two Lieutenants showed up in work clothes—and to everyone’s surprise, including Chief Rucker, so did Commander Jacklin. Everyone braced to attention.
“At ease. I understand the rules are no rank on this tour,” he said with a smile.
“Congratulations, Commander,” I said. I hadn’t had a chance to say anything to him during the classes. On the Peregrine he’d been a Lieutenant Commander. “Obviously, the navy knows talent when they see it.”
“Thank you, Reese. Lead on, Master Chief, and ignore me.”
Rucker did a good job at ignoring his section chief. The next four hours were spent examining each piece of machinery, talking about its function, potential problems, and the parts that made it work. In several instances, I had Rucker remove a cover to better see what he was talking about. Finally we reached the tunnel that led to the ship’s recycling systems.
“Well, Master Chief, would you be willing to give me a tour?”
Rucker laughed. “Yes, ma’am. I anticipated you might want to see them, so I’ve two suits ready.”
“Filter?” one of the Lieutenants asked.
“Yes, the waste from the ship runs through many filters as it’s recycled. The Lieutenant’s right. Because of this ship’s condensed space, the filter system differs significantly from the other cruisers. She wants to see them up close and personal. You need suits because contact with the chemicals in there would cause severe skin damage and the gases would kill you.” We suited up and crawled in the ducts, examining the input pipes, filters, and output ducts. Twenty minutes later we exited and headed for the showers.
“Anyone else?” Rucker smiled as he asked. I could see the emotions flash across their faces—except Jacklin.
“Sure, Master Chief. Wouldn’t want to miss the best part of the tour.”
“I’ll take him, Chief. Give you a rest.” The Chief helped Jacklin suit up, and I gave him the full tour. The commander knew about everything in there but, like me, was interested in touching and seeing it first hand. When we exited, the two Lieutenants decided they needed to see it.
“Well, Reese, I would have thought you wouldn’t want any part of the tunnels after the explosion.”
“Flying down the tunnel wasn’t so bad; it was that damn bulkhead.” I nodded to the wall. Jacklin laughed.
“I could imagine. I never could figure how Petty Officer Embert didn’t get more serious injuries. He flew down and out the same tunnel.”
“He was in front of me, and I partially shielded him from the explosion. As we came flying out, I caught and twisted him, so he hit me rather than the bulkhead.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? You probably saved his life.”
“I was too busy trying to avoid a court-martial.” Jacklin and I had a good laughed together.
“I notice my third Lieutenant isn’t here.”
“He’s a hands-off Lieutenant.”
“I’d planned to put him in charge. After having you as the supervisor, I don’t know. Do you’ve any suggestions?”
“You could do what Commander Wang did in Security. The other Lieutenant and I reported directly to her. I took a different shift, which avoided confrontations.”
“Good idea.”
* * * *
The officers had just finished a detailed tour of the bridge and all of its new gadgets when Commander Riddler pulled me aside. “I understand you’re having the section Chiefs give you personal tours.”
“Yes, Sir. Several of the Chiefs know me and my inherent curiosity. Apparently the Chief’s network got the word out. They volunteered to give me a tour in their free time and to include anyone interested. Commander Jacklin joined us last night.”
“Who’s your tour volunteer tonight?”
“Senior Chief Luckist, Sir.”
That night, Luckist found me with the XO and five other Lieutenants. For three days we crawled over missiles, examined the tracks that carried them, and reviewed the safeguards. Ten separate panels connected to the bridge controlled the firing of the missiles. In the event that one or more of the automatic controls failed, electronic and manual cranks on each track provided emergency backup. The tracks looked like a belt from an old-fashioned machine gun. This mechanism permitted the missiles to be fired at a rate two times faster than the standard SAS cruiser. The missiles could also be fired manually if the Weapons officer’s control panel failed.
At the end of the three days, Riddler again pulled me aside. “I see why you do it, Reese. I know the theory well, but seeing, touching, and examining the machinery gives an insight that would be useful on the bridge. It provides a better understanding of what’s happening when things go wrong.” He stopped and looked at me. “You seem to take a mechanic’s interest in the equipment. You’re a Lieutenant and should supervise, not fix.”
“Sir, I find knowing what you’re talking about, understanding what your people do, and taking an interest improves moral and the work environment. I would love to fix it when there’s a problem, but that would be seen as lacking faith in their skills.”
“Why every department including the Scorpions?”
“The Captain intends to rotate me, so I’ll eventually be assigned to each department. The Scorpions because I work out there and have good friends, who fought with me on Saipha. A Riss-human has trouble making friends, so I cherish the ones I have.”
“Your friends are very lucky. This ship’s loaded with them and each one has benefited from that friendship. The ship’s one of a kind and everyone would like to be assigned to it. Moreover, it’ll put everyone here on a fast track for promotion, or a promotion like in Commander Jacklin’s case. You seem to be the only one who hasn’t benefited.” He watched me closely as if he expected something.
“I’ve benefited, Commander. My reward is getting the Riss recognition and one step closer to acceptance. I put up with the hate and viciousness only for their sake. Otherwise Captain Gebauer would have driven me out of service long ago.”
He nodded without saying anything.
* * * *
I sat in Captain Jordanno’s office two weeks later. The previous day the Tiger had officially been declared operational, and would be leaving Hercu
les in two days. The office was smaller than Captain Gebauer’s, as was everything on the Tiger, but subtly more elegant. The chairs covered in a rich-blue fabric and well-cushioned, the desk a rare black wood from Wallowa in the Oracle Sector, several monitors spread around the room, a carpet with the Tiger’s emblem embroidered in the center, and pictures of SAS cruisers, including the Peregrine.
“Reese, my XO informed me that you seem to have the confidence of every Chief on the Tiger and are qualified in all departments. So my dilemma is where do I rotate you and why do I need to? I can’t put you in charge of anything since each section has someone who outranks you.”
The Captain didn’t seem to be asking me a question. More like he was thinking out loud. Besides it wasn’t my decision to make. I stayed very quiet and gazed at his chest. Staring at him wouldn’t have been right.
“Commander Uchida would like you as her backup Navigator; however, she already has a Lieutenant Commander assigned to her, as does everyone on the bridge.”
I had trouble not smiling, but did manage to keep it to a slight twitch of the lips.
“I imagine Thalia has found something funny.” The Captain smiled.
I thought that a good sign. Gebauer would have come out of his chair screaming.
“I assume she has a suggestion,” he added.
“Yes, Sir. Sorry.”
He dismissed the incident with a small hand wave. “It’s unusual but I think I’ll rotate you through the bridge stations. I can justify that, as you’re an SAS special project, and Commander Uchida wants you on the bridge. Commander Wang would also like some of your time. I’ll leave it to you and whomever you’re apprenticing under to determine how to work it out. Begin with Commander Kollar. You’ve impressed her while on the Peregrine. Dismissed.”
I decided to go see Commander Wang, since Commander Kollar’s backup, Lieutenant Commander Buckman, currently sat at the weapons station.
Chapter 23
Angela Ja’Oyrat had returned from a visit to Tamerland city. She’d been trained to be a spy from an early age, when her preciousness had caught the eye of the Elders. She loved playing parts, and being naturally beautiful helped. One could always make oneself look plain but it was extremely difficult, if not impossible, to make oneself beautiful. She had played at being a wealthy traveler, housewife, poor beggar, prostitute, and trader. The various identities were as easy for her to assume as changing clothes. Those efforts always paid off with useful information, which frequently was secret or privileged.
Her grandfather’s ship, the Compton, looked similar to any other merchant ship. The differences weren’t immediately apparent and would go unnoticed in a normal inspection. Upgrades included a more sophisticated control suite, a concealed bank of lasers, and slightly larger than normal engines. Like other merchants, her grandfather traded goods purchased elsewhere, carried cargo from one location to another, and belonged to the Merchant’s guild.
“Grandfather, I’ve heard an interesting rumor, which I believe has a basis in fact. We’ve assumed that the failures on Saipha and Tamerland were attributable to bad luck. To some degree that’s true—however, I now believe the bad luck has a name—Nadya Reese.” Angela smiled as she sat down with her cup of kaffa. Her grandfather’s office was intentionally modest. One didn’t want to give the impression of being well off and able to afford to pay higher prices. Alternatively, one didn’t want to appear poor and desperate for business.
The chair Angela sat in was well-cushioned and comfortable but the material slightly worn. Rares Ja’Oyrat’s desk was made of a standard quality wood. The pictures of various cities gave a warm touch to the plain steelplex walls, and a plain rug hid most of the steel gray floor.
“She’s one of the ten Riss-humans originally produced under the Riss Project. No one knows what she did at Tamerland, but she was awarded the Silver Star. We know she clearly proved a factor on Saipha.”
“And your conclusion?” Rares asked, smiling in his good-natured way. It didn’t fool Angela. He could be devious and as deadly as she; however, his easygoing merchant trader facade never changed.
“We may have less bad luck if she were dead.”
Rares sat back in his chair and took a sip of his favorite whisky. It was over a hundred years old and rare. He nursed it because he only had one case left. It hadn’t come from Earth. People who’d inherited a several generation-old family secret had made it. Angela could see her grandfather’s satisfied look. Fortunately, she didn’t like the taste.
“We may lose a deep cover spy if you do. Have you thought of that?” Rares nodded. “Of course, you have. You don’t need my permission, granddaughter.”
“No, grandfather, but I value your advice.” In fact, she worked directly for the Elders and could order Rares to take any action she thought necessary. Rares smiled. Angela loved her grandfather. He’d raised her once the Elders decided she would make a good spy. He’d always been gentle, even when he reprimanded her for something she’d done wrong. Others considered him ruthless and cold-hearted as a viper. She was also ruthless and cold-hearted but retained a bit of humanity by truly loving and respecting her grandfather.
“Yes, we could use a little less bad luck, granddaughter.” Rares raised his glass to her.
* * * *
The Baptiste Clan had clan members everywhere. Mostly they were deep cover agents, pretending to be travelers or settlers, who stayed only a few years. There were few colonies where the clan only had paid contacts. Angela knew everyone. They were coded into her handheld—a very special device that used symbols for words and letters, and that would destroy all of its contents if the right sequence of symbols weren’t entered when it was turned on.
This evening Angela dressed like a commoner. Tonight the streets she walked wouldn’t be as safe as in the daytime. She didn’t worry; she was as dangerous as she was beautiful. She turned into a narrow alley where she could have touched the houses on each side by extending her arms. The houses were attached, old, and in desperate need of repair. The alley was littered with foul-smelling debris, which would remain until the next rain. She stopped and knocked on a decrepit green door and waited.
“Yes,” came the reply from behind the door. It didn’t open. Angela looked around but saw no one.
“An Angel to see you.” She smiled—the idea amused her every time she gave that identifying phrase. She admitted to herself that she did have the face of an angel, but not the bleeding heart. Her heart belonged to the clan and its cause. The door opened and a broad unshaven man peered through the narrow opening. Angela’s hand shot up, her finger at his throat. She pushed as she walked in. He choked while stumbling backward. Once inside, she closed the door with her foot.
“Good morning, Tamas Ja’Shar. The clan sends greetings. I need to get a message to someone on Eden’s new Hunter warship.” Angela knew Tamas’s contact was his alleged wife, who lived on Lan Breeze with two kids. She was another clan member with the appropriate contacts. The message should read as follows:
Rachel is safe; somehow her friend wasn’t so lucky. She was killed.”
Angela looked around the room. Fortunately it was dimly lit. In daylight, the stained walls, garbage lying on the tables, and worn furniture would have been overpowering. Despite appearances, he’s clan and reliable, she mused. She threw a package containing a thousand credits on the table, knocking off several dishes and old containers. “Immediately.”
He smiled as he picked up the envelope.
“Yes, my angel. Today.”
* * * *
“Well, Angela, have you taken care of your business?” Rares asked when she returned late that evening. Still dressed like a lower-class working woman, she intentionally looked tired.
“Yes, grandfather. A woman’s work is never done: washing clothes, cooking meals, shopping for food with too little money, a
nd looking after the children—not to mention having them.”
Rares laughed long and hard, handing her a cup of kaffa. Angela never drank or took mind-alternating substances for pleasure. While working, she had to for effect, but only after she’d also taken something to nullify the effect. She was a very careful woman.
“It would be easier to visualize you with wings.” He laughed again and took a sip of the wine he was drinking.
“I’ll have you know a man called me his Angel just tonight.” She lifted her chin and turned her head slightly for a better profile.
“After you gave him how much money?”
They both laughed.
Chapter 24
“You know Kurt, I didn’t think I’d make it into the Blacks. I’m better than I thought,” Owin said as he sprawled on his cot.
“You’re not.” Blackstone laughed. “I had to call in a favor to get your scores switched with someone who’d qualified.”
“Why?”
“We’ve got a score to settle. I thought you wouldn’t want to be deprived of the pleasure. You’re still interested, aren’t you?”
“Oh, little miss dirty face. Yes, I’d like to see that bitch get hers. But how are we going to do that? I don’t want to be caught or hurt, so they know who did it.” Owin looked around the empty room.
“I’m told she still works part-time for Intelligence and there’s that long unguarded hallway.” Blackstone walked over to his locker and removed two Buzz sticks.
“My God, Kurt. Where did you get those? With those she couldn’t get close to us without being paralyzed, and a few seconds contact will kill her.” Owin jumped up and ran over to inspect them. Blackstone looked at each before handing one to Owin. When Owin gripped the handle and thumbed the switch, it began buzzing.
“While the Peregrine was being blown apart, I managed to get into the weapons room and appropriate our riot clubs. They’re keyed to us. No one else can use them. We’ll catch her between us, so she can’t run.”