Guo jumped in. “With you and Hiroshi on the bridge full-time and Bing, um, out of rotation, Setta’s been picking up a lot of routine maintenance.”
Which I’d’ve known if I was a decent captain, thought Mitchie. “Chief, you handle the priorities. Check how much technical background the Rangers have. Train a couple of them to help out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Guo. “Spacer, top priority is securing the loose boxes.”
“Yes, chief.” Setta stepped into the cabin.
The captain and mechanic returned to theirs. When the hatch closed Mitchie said, “Now I’m off duty.”
“Good,” said Guo as he pulled off his shirt. Mitchie giggled as he stripped off her clothes and laid her on the bed. He took off his boots and pants as quickly as he could.
Mitchie snored gently.
“Yep, saw that coming,” he said. Guo climbed into the other side of the bed.
***
Five hours later Guo chased her into the shower with promises of breakfast. She emerged from the cabin to find her husband making pancakes and a Marine washing dishes. The Marine excused himself to go belowdecks as Guo placed a stack in front of her.
Gunny entered the galley as Mitchie started on her second stack. “Good morning, Captain!”
“Good morning, Gunny. At ease. How are you?”
“Fine, ma’am. Request permission to use ship’s secure communications facilities to contact local Marine headquarters.”
“We don’t have a secure comm. Analog voice only. You’re welcome to use it. Decurion Hiroshi can show you how. It’s a good time for it. We’re only two light-minutes from Coatlicue.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Gunny disappeared up the ladder.
Guo followed the pancakes with eggs and sausage. Mitchie realized she’d been skipping meals while shepherding the refugees. She ate it all. When he put the next serving on her plate she paused to ask, “Is Bing eating?”
“Sometimes,” answered Guo. “Enough, I think. She’s not coming out much.”
“Thanks.”
He secured the stove and racked the pans. Mitchie asked how his new recruit was working out. Guo described Waja’s performance as acceptable. He went on to explain how he, Waja, and Setta divided up maintenance and taking care of their passengers.
Mitchie realized Guo had taken on the first mate’s duties, and possibly some of the captain’s as well. Hell of a captain I’m being, she thought.
Gunny came back down the ladder. At the bottom he slumped against the wall. His face was slack, eyes wandering around the room.
Mitchie asked, “Gunny? Are you all right?” She’d never seen him look so weak, not in combat or during the memorial.
The Marine slipped down the bulkhead to sit on the deck. “We’ve been disowned.”
“I’m sorry?” she said.
“Called in my ID and codewords to COASYSMARCOM. They didn’t care. Said we’re a data hazard. Banned from all Fusion worlds.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Mitchie came around the table to face Gunny. She said, “Akiak needs good soldiers.”
Gunny looked up at her. “Captain?”
“We’ve always had a bandit problem. Stealing food, burning families out of their claims, kidnapping new chums for slave labor. The Rangers can tell you stories.”
Gunny’s eyes focused on her. “I’ve heard a few.”
“I can swear you in as a member of the Akiak Ground Guard. You’ll come in at equivalent rank.” Roughly equivalent, since the Guard had a much shorter list of ranks. “We can’t match Fusion pay, but there’ll be more missions and less exercises.”
He grasped the ladder and pulled himself to his feet. “That’s—yes, Captain, I’d be honored.”
“Don’t make a snap decision,” said Mitchie. “Sleep on it. We have time. Talk to your troops. Any who don’t want to join the Ground Guard will be transported as civilian refugees.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.” Gunny saluted then went down the cargo hold ladder.
Guo shared out the last of the pancakes. “Can you do that?” he asked quietly.
Mitchie chucked. “Do which? Space Guard officer swearing in Ground Guard troops? Enlisting someone without a background check? Or admitting enemy soldiers in the middle of a war?”
“That one.”
“I don’t know if it’s legal,” she admitted. “But a suicidally depressed guy with access to heavy weapons and no rules controlling his behavior is someone I need to lock down.” She swallowed her last bit of egg then looked at the chronometer on the bulkhead. “Oh, God. I need to get to the bridge.” She paused to give Guo a hug and a maple-flavored kiss. “Thank you for a lovely breakfast.”
“You’re welcome. Want me to brief Master Ranger on what’s up with the Marines?”
“Yes, please. You’re a damn good mate.” She winked then headed up the bridge ladder.
***
There was no answer to his knock. Guo kept banging on the hatch.
Eventually Bing said, “Go away.”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s you.” She opened her hatch.
Guo looked past her. The cabin was a mess. Clothes and trash lay on the deck where they’d fallen when acceleration started, ready to float about again when the ship cut thrust.
Bing didn’t look any better. She slumped against the coaming. Her color was off. Dried tears streaked her cheeks.
“I brought soup,” said Guo. He popped the lid on the bowl to let the scent out. The rich chicken broth made his mouth water, and he’d just finished his lunch.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat it anyway.”
Bing looked up and down the corridor. No one else was in sight. A pair of Marines noisily washed dishes in the galley. She asked, “Who’s making you do this?”
“Nobody. You need to eat. Somebody has to take care of you.”
“That’s my job.”
Guo shrugged.
“Get out of the corridor before someone sees you,” said Bing.
He came in and set the bowl, spoon, and napkin on her desk, shoving an undershirt onto the deck to make room.
She stood by the hatch after closing it.
He half-filled the spoon and held it up to her face. “Give it a taste.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Show me.”
She stared at the spoon long enough to make Guo wonder if he’d have to force-feed her after all. Then Bing took the spoon and swallowed the contents with spilling any.
“That’s . . . not bad,” she said.
“Try the noodles.”
She sat at the desk. The chair was secure in its brackets. Bing flipped the lid off the bowl and took a spoonful.
Guo picked clothes off the deck. He stuffed them into a bag riveted to the bulkhead. Books and toiletries went into the cabinet. A bound collection of pictures he put on the desk. Crumpled papers and wrappers he compressed into a ball.
The soup disappeared. Bing leaned back. Her color looked better. “Can you believe that bitch told me over the PA?”
Guo almost snapped at her but bit down on it. I’m here to comfort her, not correct her.
“Yes. I was there.”
“That’s not rude. That’s inhuman.”
“Another wave of bots was gathering at the fence line. When we lifted off Gunny was setting up a squad to attack them, keep them off us while we launched. They would have been left behind.”
Bing looked away.
Guo continued, “I’ve been talking to Gunny. He recorded the whole battle. Showed me what happened to Captain Schwartzenberger.”
“Should I watch it?”
“No . . . only if you really need to.”
Bing stared at a picture of her and Schwartzenberger mounted on the cabin’s curved outer wall. “I don’t need to. He really made her captain?”
‘Her’ was an improvement over ‘that bitch.’ Guo said, “Yes.”
“Well. I didn’t
want his ship anyway. I wanted him.”
“You’re getting the ship anyway. Mitchie is captain but you inherit ownership.”
She snorted. “I inherit the debt. Alois is . . . was . . . still paying off the Jefferson Harbor. This ship belongs to the investors.”
“His Eden loot should cover that.”
“Maybe. If it sells. And it’s not all confiscated.”
By her tone she didn’t care if some government took it all. She continued, “Anyway, the charter he signed is for the duration of the war. The ship will get blown up with her in charge.”
Guo bit back another hot reply. He settled for saying, “She’s kept us alive through some nasty situations.”
“Yeah. Because she keeps looking for trouble. Sooner or later she’ll find some trouble she can’t get out of.”
***
If Joshua Chamberlain flew the dogleg course by herself she would take the second leg at high speed. Slowing down to the proper transition speed could wait until a couple light-minutes from the gate. Asking the refugee ships to do that would get people killed.
Their collision avoidance radars had more precision than the analog ship’s system could dream of. Their crews never used the data to plan maneuvers. The timing and direction of burns came to them from the control center, carefully choreographed to keep every ship’s plume clear of the others.
Saying “Just match your course to mine” would have worked fine with a single ship. With thirty-one a simple course change could lead to a passenger liner going through another ship’s exhaust plume close enough to melt all her windows. A nightmare of that scenario ended Mitchie’s last nap.
The Coatlicue control center collected position and velocity information digitally. Mitchie had to get her data through Hiroshi writing down the numbers each ship read out over the radio. The bridge plotting table was ridiculously inadequate for representing everyone’s position but it was the best tool she had. Sometimes she’d double-check the vectors by marking up the outside of a piece of paper rolled into a cylinder.
Sequencing the burns to keep everyone safe reminded Mitchie of a puzzle she’d been given as a kid. A frame held fifteen sliding tiles in a four by four grid. You couldn’t solve part of it and then deal with the rest. They had to be carefully arranged so one move would snap all the tiles from a confused mess to a pretty picture. I shouldn’t have pried the damn frame open. It would’ve been good practice for this.
Hiroshi handed over the list of the latest relative position and velocity vectors. Mitchie checked it against the target values for the last set of burns. Gave him a thumbs-up. Mitchie floated over to the comm console. “All ships. Secure from maneuvering. We are on course for the gate. In three days we will make midcourse correction maneuvers as needed. Joshua Chamberlain out.”
Her co-pilot had an I-can-barely-believe-it smile. Mitchie considered who should take the watch. She’d finished a nap just a few hours ago. But she’d been on the bridge for days straight, napping in her acceleration couch and using the fold-out to pee. Hiroshi had been allowed off for the occasional meal, nap, and sponge-bath. Then again, it wasn’t his idea to bring all those incompetent Fuzies home with us. “I have the con,” Mitchie said. “See you in ten hours.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Hiroshi flew through the hatch.
Mitchie slid into her couch. Staying awake would be the challenge for this shift. The ship was quiet. She could hear Hiroshi bouncing off the walls through the open hatch. He knocked on a hatch then pulled it open. Ah, he’s visiting Setta, thought Mitchie.
Hiroshi called out a cheerful greeting. Setta answered less cheerfully. Then a third voice entered the conversation. Not one Mitchie recognized. Male with an Akiak accent. Had to be one of the Rangers. Oh, shit.
An angry but brief argument ensued. The hatch slammed shut. A moment later another hatch opened and slammed. Silence. I’m glad I didn’t have to intervene in that.
***
Thirty minutes until she had to go on shift. Mitchie decided she couldn’t procrastinate any longer. She went down the corridor to Bing’s cabin. Knocked. No answer. Knocked harder. Listened. The cabin was silent.
Captain Schwartzenberger’s cabin was on the other side of the corridor. At some point Mitchie would have to get the ship’s papers and logs but she hadn’t gone in there yet. She knocked on the hatch.
Bing opened it. “What?” Grief made her look wounded. She moved as if she had a hole ripped in her belly.
“How are you doing?”
“Terrible. And it’s your fault.”
Mitchie swallowed an angry rebuttal. It wouldn’t accomplish her goal. Besides, a big chunk of the blame was hers. “I need you to work bridge shifts.”
“I’m not taking responsibility for your Fuzie pets.”
“I’m not asking you to. Just comm and collision. If anything happens with the other ships page me.”
Bing looked away. Her face worked with conflicting emotions.
Mitchie kept her mouth shut. She hoped the first mate’s sense of duty would bring her back to work. If not she could play the “Alois would want you to” card. But that felt as likely to produce violence as a watchstander.
“What hours?” asked Bing.
“Relieve me at 0600. Hiroshi will relieve you at 1800. You’ll work the same schedule the next day. That’ll give us a chance to recover from the twenty-hour shifts we’ve been working. Then we’ll go to eights.”
“See you at 0600 then.” Bing closed the hatch.
That went well.
***
Going back on shift after twenty-four hours off felt almost restful. Her planned walkthrough of the cargo hold had turned into a court session. They’d wanted information she didn’t have and reassurances she couldn’t give. She liked taking position sights much more. There was enough time to think about what would have to happen after this jump. She’d covered two pages with trade-off grids by the time Guo came onto the bridge.
Mitchie grinned at her husband. They’d made some time together last night. She still felt a temptation to lock the hatch and abuse the privileges of rank. No, bad precedent.
He said, “Ma’am, an encrypted reply to your message came in last shift.” Then he just held out a folded paper to her.
She stared at it a moment before taking it. As captain all messages went straight to her. Playing games to withhold one would be unthinkable. Great. Now this captain gig is trashing my sex life. “Thank you, Chief,” she answered.
Guo looked wistful. He’d probably expected to play more message games on the way home. “Have a good shift, ma’am.” He vanished back down the hatch.
Mitchie opened the paper. She’d sent an encrypted report to headquarters a few days ago. Not asking permission—it was far too late—just warning them of what had happened. And what she was bringing home.
ACK FALL DEMETER. ENLISTMENTS APPROVED. WILL ACCOMMODATE REFUGEES. SHIPS WILL SERVE WELL.
CONDOLENCES ON LOSS CAPT S. GOOD LUCK AND GODSPEED.
CHU.
The mention of Schwartzenberger’s death started her crying for the first time. She missed him. He’d been a good boss. If she hadn’t grabbed the chance of a behind enemy lines mission he’d still be alive. Why now, dammit?
Now because she had time for it. The constant string of emergencies had paused. She had enough privacy to let weakness show. Mitchie clipped the papers to her console. Closed the hatch. Then she let tears flow for Alois Schwartzenberger, the soldiers she’d eulogized, and all of Demeter’s half-billion.
***
Mid-course corrections had both Mitchie and Hiroshi on the bridge again. They took turns taking sights and checking each other’s math. Wads of crumpled paper accumulated on the ventilator intake grill.
The Fuzies aligned perfectly to Joshua Chamberlain’s course. The analog ship’s vector had the center of the gate inside of its error cone. Mitchie would have been delighted with the accuracy if they were flying alone.
Analog ships routin
ely made velocity corrections a few hours out from a gate. The refugee flock would need longer than that. Unless they could adjust vectors with just their maneuvering thrusters.
Mitchie built a probability table. Hiroshi checked her math. 60% of the error cone was small enough for thrusters to handle the corrections a day out from the jump. Which left a 40% chance of losing a few ships who couldn’t correct before they reached the gate.
Making a series of corrections further out would waste fuel. Thrusters were a hundredth as efficient as torches. Mitchie already worried about some ships running dry before reaching Bonaventure.
The frequency scanner spiked. Transmission on the emergency channel. Hiroshi put it on speaker.
“Joshua Chamberlain. Do not reply. Flash your running lights if you can hear this.” The message kept repeating. Not automated, just a human repeating himself.
The co-pilot gave Mitchie a confused look. She shrugged and turned the exterior lights on and off a few times. Hiroshi started the comm console stopwatch.
Forty-eight seconds later the message changed. “Joshua Chamberlain, thank you. We have course correction vectors for you. Prepare to copy. We will repeat.” Both spacers grabbed paper and pens. “Beginning. Velocity component system north zero point zero zero two . . .” Their mysterious navigator sent far more significant figures than their instruments could ever measure. After the second time he recited the vectors he said, “Do not reply. Flash lights twice for another data repeat. Flash four times for good copy.”
Mitchie and Hiroshi carefully compared their copies. They matched. She turned the running lights on and off four times.
A minute later they heard, “Good luck, Joshua Chamberlain. Out.”
Hiroshi asked, “Who was that, ma’am?”
“I’m guessing they sent a destroyer to shadow us. Just in case we changed course to ram a planet or something. Nice to know there’s a few actual human beings in the Fusion Navy.”
***
Mitchie had the galley table covered with paper. Alternate courses through Danu and Lapis were plotted in different colors. The best one she’d found so far let four ships run out of fuel and seven out of food.
Torchship Pilot Page 16