Briefly, Scoggins asked herself why James couldn’t be more like Rick Johnstone, good-natured and casual instead of uptight and combative, and then stuffed that genie back in the bottle. Falling in love was hardly a choice. Once this latest crisis was put behind her, maybe she and her husband could take a long vacation and try to reconnect over something other than shared shipboard experiences.
She’d always wanted to learn to ballroom dance. Maybe…
Shaking herself free of her wandering thoughts – was this a symptom of too much time in VR? – she went back to getting her task force set up as Absen wanted them.
Thirteen C-ships, plus the rebuilt Constitution fresh from the shipyards of Jupiter, waited interspersed with the six surviving D-ships plus Deathbringer, strung in a great ring just outside the Jericho Line.
Devastator proceeded under fusion drive toward the orbital docks of Earth for repairs; if the fight reached the planet again, he would add his weight of metal to the defense.
“Do you really think we can take them?” Ford asked two hours later, stepping up beside his wife and admiral.
“You still objecting to Bull’s arguments? Or are you just mad that I took his side?” Scoggins snapped more harshly than necessary, instantly regretting it.
What’s gotten into me? she wondered.
Hurt, Ford turned away and sat down at his console again. “It was an honest question, ma’am. That’s all.”
“I apologize, Commander. I’m wound too tight right now.”
“No problem, ma’am.” He didn’t look at her.
Sighing internally, Scoggins tried to get her mind back on work. She considered having Michelle speed time up until something, anything, happened, but for now, they simply waited, and waited some more, for the enemy to show.
Finally, she gave the order she should have two hours ago, with that much longer to wait for the Scourge’s emergence. “Pass the word. Call Captain Indira. Rotate the watch. The enemy won’t likely show for at least five more hours. Everyone take a break. Have a beer. Hell, go lie on a beach in Tahiti; we’re in VR, after all.”
Okuda opened his eyes and smiled up at her before vanishing from his cockpit. In his place, another man appeared. “Master Chief Rensselaer reports for duty,” he said, and she nodded.
One by one, her officers were replaced with others, until Captain Indira stepped through the door in a more conventional manner. She strode up to Scoggins and saluted. “Ma’am, you are relieved.”
“I am relieved,” Scoggins replied, returning the salute.
And I am relieved, in both senses, Scoggins thought. I know exactly what I need to do for the next few hours.
“Michelle, where’s James?” she asked.
“In his crash chair, Admiral,” Michelle replied with a wink.
“I know where his body is. Where’s his consciousness?”
“In your quarters.”
“Excellent.”
Moments later, she walked through the door of her suite to see James standing in front of the mirror, his tunic unbuttoned.
“Hello, Admiral,” he said, not turning.
“James…please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“This thing you do when you’re mad.” She held up a hand to forestall his reply. “Never mind right now. Let’s go somewhere. We have four hours of realtime. We can stretch that to days in VR. How about Lake Tahoe? Do some parasailing?” She walked up behind him to hug him around the waist.
“All I want to do is kill those bastards and get it over with,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can’t relax until it’s done.”
“I know what you mean. How about if we just stay here? There are other ways to relax…” She ran her hands under his T-shirt, feeling deliciously hard muscles there.
A smile crept onto his face, visible in the mirror. “That’s cheating.”
“If you ain’t cheatin,’ you ain’t tryin’,” she said.
Her husband turned to sweep her up in his arms, carrying her toward the bed. “Then let’s try as hard as we can.
***
Four hours later on the dot, Scoggins reassumed her watch and dismissed Indira. “Nothing yet?” she asked, pointedly not looking in Ford’s direction as he took his seat.
“No, ma’am,” Fletcher replied. “We’ll get the sixteen minute FTL wave front warning…if they’re coming.”
“Sure would be nice to have some kind of long-range detection mechanism,” she mused.
“And I’d like a ski condo on the slopes of Olympus Mons, but that’s not happening any time soon, Skipper,” Ford said with a smile.
The next four-hour watch passed slowly, filled with similar banter, some awkward, some relaxed. The officers lounged in their chairs or paced, chatting and passing routine reports. It reminded Scoggins of long periods at sea during her wet navy days so long ago. She wasn’t used to it anymore, she found.
Three full rotations came and went, twenty-four more hours, and she reluctantly decided to begin dumping the crew out of VR in phases. After nearly four months under, sedated or in the virtuality, she suspected things might get rough for a few people, and Doc Horton would be working overtime in the rehab clinic, but it had to be done.
Her worst fear was that the enemy would show an hour later, with everyone readjusting to their own bodies again. That was why she ordered a slow approach, the bridge officers the last to be decanted.
Days passed before Scoggins eventually consulted with Absen and put her ships back on their normal routine rather than watch-on, watch-off. She ordered regular drills, requiring everyone to make it into VR space within five minutes.
At least things seemed better with James.
Once days turned to weeks, though, she began to wonder.
***
When Devastator left dry dock to rejoin his brothers on the Line, major repairs finished, Absen decided enough was enough. “Armstrong, assemble my staff,” he said to the moon base’s pseudo-AI.
When his officers arrived at the irritatingly comfortable command conference room, he didn’t bother to sit. “Ladies and gentlemen, tomorrow at noon GMT we need to begin rotating out our crews on leave and resuming a normal, if vigilant, routine. It’s been five weeks since Task Force Center returned, and no enemy has shown his face. Based on Captain Fleede’s analysis and further interrogation of the prisoners, I now believe that they won’t be coming for some time. In fact, it’s likely the Scourge are in a state of civil war, and it will take probably years, perhaps decades, before they unify again under one Archon – if they ever do.”
Absen stalked around the room, pacing between the senior officers seated at the table and the more junior ones lining the walls. “We can’t live every moment at hair-trigger readiness. Frankly, our non-sentient machines can do that for us. With TacDrive, we can keep all our ships in position and simply put fresh crews on them as needed. The only ones that won’t get a break for a while are the integrated AIs of the D-ships and C-ships, but eventually we’ll have enough forces to swap whole ships out as well as personnel.”
Admiral Sawyer nodded. “I agree, sir. I’ve studied the reports and I’m convinced that we’ve turned a corner. Even if the Scourge sent everything they had at Center to attack us, we’d probably win, now that we have enough SLAM IIIs in place.”
Absen’s face formed a half-smile. “So you’re saying we can hold out indefinitely?”
“Yes, sir. That’s all we need to do.”
Absen held himself back from embarrassing Sawyer for her timidity. She was a good match to administrate the defensive works, the bases and orbitals, but would never rise to command a fleet, he supposed. Not with that mindset.
“No, Admiral, it’s not enough. It’s only half of what we need to do, or less. Shall I give you a to-do list?”
Without waiting for her response, Absen continued, raising fingers as he checked off topics. “One, we have to secure Gliese 370 and Ryssa just as well as Earth is. The entire fleet is sitting here while
they’re vulnerable to any decent-sized Scourge attack.”
He held up a second finger. “Two, we need to establish solid comms with the Meme Empire and Spectre, and get their ships equipped with TacDrives and FTL, otherwise we’re just a bunch of separated islands rather than a true empire of allies.”
Absen’s thumb joined the first two fingers. “Three, we have to produce and send out recon drones, thousands of them, to each star system around us, to find out just what we’re facing.” Another finger. “Four, we need to assemble another strike fleet to decapitate the Scourge’s regional capitals just like we did Center, to keep them off balance.”
The last finger on his right hand went up. “Five, we need to begin a massive effort to establish colonies of all three races on every planet where they’ll thrive, and get the Meme to join us in those systems with their living ships. In other words, we need to get out there and form a real alliance with strategic depth, not just a fragile grouping of worlds with a strong military. Those are the things we need to do…for a start.”
By the time he’d finished, the officers around Absen were nodding and exchanging enthusiastic whispers. They broke out in spontaneous applause as he made his way toward his seat.
“That’s an ambitious agenda, sir,” Sawyers said, her mien serious. “Is the civilian government on board?”
“I’ve already run this by the Emperor – I mean, the Chairman – and he has the cabinet and the Assembly debating it right now. He’s assured me that it’s being well received.”
Sawyer snorted. “For now. They’re still scared. Just wait until the politicians feel like the threat has abated – and they see what it’s going to cost.”
“All the more reason to get the ball rolling now.” Absen swept the room with his eyes. “The official outline of what I just told you should be in all of your inboxes already. I need you to begin filling in your annexes and implementing your parts of the plan just as soon as you can. Armstrong should have all the data you need at his fingertips. Dismissed.”
As Absen walked back, he felt his stomach begin to unknot for the first time in ages. EarthFleet had genuinely turned a corner, he believed. Perhaps now he could put all these skin-of-the-teeth defensive battles behind him. Just once, he’d really like to organize, train and equip a well-planned military organization to conduct a long-term campaign.
The key was to begin to act rather than react, to get out in front of the enemy’s decision curve and stay there, striking when and where he chose, like he’d done with the Meme.
Finally, after two hundred years of war, that goal seemed within his grasp.
Epilogue
Chairman Daniel Markis sipped a nice Australian red over dinner with his wife, Elise. “It’s nice to have you back,” he said.
“It’ll be even nicer when you move the capital to Carletonville,” she replied, lifting a bite of her appetizer to her mouth.
Around the couple, a small army of servants made certain to cater to their every whim; Daniel knew it would take some time for the worst of the obsequiousness to settle down to mere appropriate respect due a representative of the people.
Elise went on, “You looking forward to the wedding?”
“Not as much as Henrich and Rae are, I imagine. Remember ours?
Elise chuckled. “This one will be a far cry from a bunch of outlaws hiding in a bunker. You know,” she said, toying with her glass, “maybe we should renew our vows.”
“You just want the big ceremony you never got,” Daniel replied with a grin.
“Well, why not? You’re still the big cheese. Might as well put your staff to work on something more fun than politics and military matters. And Vincent can be your best man. We don’t see enough of him anyway.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, my love,” Daniel said, leaning in close to stage-whisper. “Weddings are only fun for the bride, and maybe her bridesmaids. For everyone else, it’s a pain in the ass. The reception, now…that can be fun. Oh, and the bachelor party.”
“You do whatever you have to, Daniel John Markis.” Her stink-eye surfaced.
“Uh-oh,” Daniel said. “You used all three names. That’s the nuclear option.” He held up his hands. “Okay, you win.”
***
One week later, EarthFleet Chaplain Christine Forman married Henrich Absen and Raphaela Denham in a ceremony attended by a cast of thousands, as many friends, acquaintances and hangers-on as could get themselves onto the guest list.
Held in the Shepparton Palace’s grand salon and ballroom, the wedding was formal in the military sense, with the usual pomp and circumstance, but less so than, for example, royal weddings of the past. Those born in the twentieth and twenty-first century, who hadn’t spent their formative years under the Meme Empire or Spectre’s, often scandalized the younger generation with their lack of earnestness.
I can hardly blame them, Sergeant Major Jill Repeth thought as she sipped champagne at the edge of the reception’s enormous ballroom floor, watching friends and acquaintances dance. Many of the Yellows ruthlessly punished breaches of protocol, so these people act like sour Puritans half the time and pompous children the other half. They must think us oldsters are all libertines.
That didn’t keep her from exchanging her empty glass for a full one off one of the trays carried by a stone-faced young waiter. Those smiles she could see among the staff seemed painted on, as if the servers worked in a theme park where their jobs depended on it.
“I was thinking…” her husband Rick said as he stepped up from behind her.
“I’ve cautioned you about that,” she replied.
“Watch it, or I’ll pull your hair.”
That was a very real threat, now that she’d allowed it to grow longer, because it had taken her a half hour to pin up properly. “Never threaten a woman who can snap you in half, O husband of mine.”
“I was thinking,” Rick said heavily, “about going back to Afrana. Seeing our children, maybe.”
“They’ll be strangers, Rick. It’s been years, and they’re all grown up.”
He shrugged. “I’d still like to see them. With Mom gone, we’re the elders in our family. How are they going to know what it was like in the old days? Vids?” He snorted.
Jill kept her face turned away, wondering to herself why she felt uneasy about Rick’s idea. Maybe it was because, deep down, the mothering part of her had never really taken hold. She’d birthed her babies and she loved them, but she’d felt more relief than sadness when she saw the other parents in the communal crèches, the ones who felt motherhood and fatherhood as callings rather than duties, taking such good care of hers…relief that she would soon get back to being a Marine, with its structure, its duty and honor.
“You’re thinking, too,” Rick said. “That means you’re not so hot on the idea.”
“I’m not. But…I know you are. Do you mean we should take leave, or are you wanting to get stationed there?”
“Wanting for you to get stationed there, you mean. I think I’m done with the military.”
“What? You’re kidding.” Jill turned to Rick, genuinely shocked.
“Look, I was drafted, okay? I had a very special skill set and cutting-edge cybernetics for the time. Now…I’m just one commander among many, I have no desire to be promoted to Captain, and these new kids…they can hack with the best of them. Let’s be frank; I put up with it because I had to, and because it was the best way to stay near you. But now, with FTL travel, we don’t have to face the prospect of decades apart every time we head for a new star system.” He took her hands. “I want to have a home that’s not bounded by the decks and bulkheads of a warship. I want to have friends that aren’t colleagues. I want to play baseball and take walks in the woods with a big happy dog. I want to sit on my ass on weekends with a beer, watching old vids from back when people didn’t know the universe was out to get them.”
“That’s quite a speech.” Jill stared at him a long moment. “So…you want to sett
le on Afrana?”
“Either that, or in New Carletonville. At least the mountains there look the same. Those two places are where I spent the longest, and they were both beautiful.”
“No need to choose between them. I’m sure I have enough pull to get stationed at Gliese 370 for a while. Then we can move back to Earth when you’re done with Afrana, okay?”
Rick leaned down to kiss Jill. “Okay. Thanks. And one more thing…”
“Here it comes.”
“Any chance you’d like to have more kids?”
Jill’s eyes crinkled. “Maybe the Sekoi should engineer you a womb.”
“God. They could, I bet…but no, I’m not that progressive. But…will you?”
She finished her champagne and launched her glass toward the outdoor fire pit, pleased when it broke among the coals with a tinkle. Then she unbuttoned her dress jacket and loosened her collar. “I’ll think about it. Now, let’s get drunk and dance, lover. We’re only young once.”
From across the floor, Bull ben Tauros stared at the couple. He never understood what Reaper saw in Rick, but he was too fair-minded to begrudge them their happiness.
Besides, at long last he’d run across another woman who interested him and seemed worthy. He slid across the edge of the crowd, using the perimeter of the ballroom floor rather than pressing through the crowd. The fact that he stood a head taller than most people made it easier to home in on his target, a head of white-blonde hair barely visible on its petite body.
“General! Good to see you again,” Chaplain Christine Forman said as he approached.
“Good to see you too, Chaplain. Please, call me Bull.”
“Then you must call me Christine,” she said in the Boston Brahmin accent she’d never quite given up despite the fact that there was no such city anymore. “Please, let me introduce you to some friends of mine. This is Larry and Shawna Nightingale.”
Bull shook hands with Larry, finding it interesting to meet a man even bigger than he was, though lacking his cybernetic strength. “I served with an Ellis Nightingale, the weapons engineer aboard Conquest,” he said.
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