Torchship Pilot

by Karl K Gallagher

  That assumed a day of puzzle-solving for each maneuver and three days of cat-herding after each jump. If the Fuzie refugee ships learned to plot their own maneuvers they’d save a lot of time. If they didn’t and she let them try they could all kill each other.

  She pulled out the almanac for Danu. Passing closer to the sun would save time if they could do it safely. The radiation intensity tables told how much heat they’d take in a close pass.

  She looked up as Hiroshi’s hatch opened. Maybe the co-pilot would have some ideas.

  A Marine corporal first class snapped to attention as he saw her. His tan face flushed but held a rigid expression.

  Mitchie waved him toward the cargo hold ladder and turned back to the almanac. I don’t care, kid, I have bigger problems.

  Pushing the limit on solar heating could get them through Danu a day faster. She’d have to ask the ships what their cooling systems were rated for.

  Oh. That’s why Gunny asked if decurions were officers yesterday. Dammit, I’m the last one to find anything out on this ship.

  Danu System, acceleration 10 m/s2

  Danu System Control volunteered to provide maneuvering vectors to the refugees. Mitchie publicly thanked them and checked the numbers for half a dozen ships to verify they had safe courses. Probably just want to get the unclean ones out of here as quick as they can, she thought.

  Mitchie celebrated by declaring the crew would have dinner together. With guests. Bing insisted on taking bridge watch. Mitchie didn’t argue. The rest of the crew decided menu and guest list were “NCO business” and took over. The captain went back to fretting about courses. They were crossing Danu efficiently enough the flock might be able to get through Lapis without starving.

  “Captain on deck,” called Guo as Mitchie entered the galley.

  “Please, be seated,” she said. They all waited for her take her seat at the head of the table.

  Guo smiled at her from the far end. No chance to play footsie during this dinner, sigh. Setta sat next to him, as far as she could get from Hiroshi at Mitchie’s left.

  Mitchie studied the guests. The oldest civilian refugee, Lo Zheng, sat on her other side. A Ranger Njoya sat between him and Setta, paying more attention to her. Setta’s Ranger, I presume, thought Mitchie. Or is that Setta’s current Ranger? Is she collecting the whole set? I really need to know what’s going on with this crew. Gunny Singh and Master Ranger Robinson filled out the table.

  Platters of lightly spiced fish and root vegetables passed around the table. Zheng praised it as the latest fashion in Demeter cuisine. Then he looked like he might cry.

  Gunny changed the subject. “Captain, some of the troops are wondering if their enlistment commits them to settle permanently on Akiak.”

  “We’ve been considering our settlement options as well,” said Zheng. “Will any world take us in as we are?”

  “Most of the Disconnected Worlds are free to all immigrants,” said Mitchie. “The Marines can move anywhere once they’ve finished their enlistments. If they want to move while still serving they can apply for a transfer. The DCC tries to make those go smoothly.”

  Zheng said, “The only one we’d heard of was Bonaventure but Spacer Setta said we wouldn’t be able to become citizens.”

  “Um, you’re allowed, it just costs a lot of money,” explained the deckhand.

  “The price dropped a bit since the war started,” said Ranger Njoya.

  “Enough to afford it on our pay?” asked Master Ranger.

  “Well, no.”

  Mitchie said, “Half a dozen worlds offer free immigration. Several more will waive fees if you have particular skills. You could also ask for a humanitarian discount.”

  Zheng shuddered. “It’s all so complicated. There should be an office steering people to the right places.”

  “If you want someone making decisions for you there’s always Turner,” said Mitchie.

  Master Ranger snorted. Guo let out a blunt, “Oh, God, no.”

  Gunny Singh put down his fish-laden fork. “I thought the Disconnected Worlds were all dens of anarchy. What’s with this Turner place?”

  Mitchie and Guo started to talk at the same time. She waved for him to continue.

  “Compared to the Fusion we don’t have much government,” Guo said. “Turner is the exception. It’s—well. Say you were at the weekly ideological conformity rally and you saw a pretty girl. So pretty you wanted to make workers in training with her. You’d tell your precinct captain. She’d go talk to her precinct captain. They’d decide if you’d be a good match. Then you show up at the designated table in the dining center to find out if they assigned you to the pretty girl or someone else.”

  Guo took a bite of beet. The table was silent.

  He continued, “We’d load at least a dozen emigrants every time we touched down there. But they got immigrants too.”

  Master Ranger said, “Then the emigrants come to Akiak and get suckered by the first crook to happen along. I bet half the slaves I’ve rescued were from Turner.”

  “I’m sure that level of control is reassuring for some,” said Zheng. “I’d feel constrained by it myself.”

  “If you want some control you can go to Shishi,” said Mitchie. “The feudal lords can exert as much control as they want.”

  “It’s not a feudalism, dammit,” snapped Hiroshi. “It’s a pedestrian democracy. Uh, ma’am.” He flushed. “I apologize for my tone, ma’am.”

  “No offense taken,” she answered. “You know your homeworld best. Please enlighten us.”

  Hiroshi shifted in his seat as everyone stared at him. “Anyone on Shishi can buy the sovereignty right to some land from a lord and run it as they please. We have anarchies, democracies, autocracies, futarchy, demarchy, anything anyone wants to try. The only rule is you can’t keep people from moving out. They vote with their feet. Pedestrian democracy.”

  Gunny laughed. “That’s real? I thought that shit was made up to make Diskers look crazy.”

  Zheng asked, “So I could walk across a line and find murder was legal?”

  “If a baron makes a stupid law like that everyone moves out. But for regular laws they put up signs and have net alerts.”

  “Does everyone’s house have wheels?” asked Setta.

  “I grew up in a house with a basement. But, yes, some people migrate a lot. My parents are still in the same barony they were born in.”

  Ranger Njoya said, “So there are feudal titles.”

  “It’s a handy set of words everyone knows. Emperor, King, Duke, Baron. We could say Planetary Director, Continental President, Provincial Governor, Mayor. The system would be the same.” Hiroshi paused. “Okay, some of the rulers get into playing dress-up for the pageantry of it.”

  “Does Akiak have all of these local variations, Captain?” asked Zheng.

  Hiroshi gratefully returned to his fish.

  Mitchie said, “No, we’re one of the more homogenous worlds in the Disconnect. It’s a younger colony. We started along the shores of the equatorial ocean and spread out as the ice caps receded. So there hasn’t been much differentiation.”

  “Geography can control culture,” said Master Ranger. “Shishi is a dozen small continents and lots of islands, room for many niches. Fuego’s equatorial region is too hot for anyone to live on. So it’s divided into a happy-go-lucky North and grudge-carrying South.”

  Ranger Njoya laughed. “Grudge is right. That’s why my family moved to Akiak.” His sunburn-resistant skin was better suited to Fuego. Mitchie wondered if he had to take vitamin D supplements.

  Zheng looked to be crossing Fuego off his list of potential homes. “Where should we settle?” he asked.

  “You’re a free man now, Mr. Zheng,” said Mitchie. “We’ll give you all information we can. But you have to decide what you want.”

  Bonaventure, gravity 10.1 m/s2

  Lapis was equally eager to see the refugees through as efficiently as possible. A few ships were on half-ratio
ns when they arrived in the Bonaventure system. The DCC organized a rendezvous with each refugee ship. The passengers and crew were taken to temporary housing on Bonaventure. Spacers came on board to steer the vessels to newly-built shipyards in other systems.

  Joshua Chamberlain returned to Redondo Field. Admiral Chu came on board. Mitchie met him in her new office. Setta had taken out the bunk, added a desk and chairs, and decorated the bulkheads with ship schematics and obsolete navigation plots.

  Hiroshi ushered the Admiral in then closed the hatch to give them privacy.

  Mitchie saluted. “Sir, welcome aboard!”

  “Sit, Long.”

  They took facing seats. The admiral stared silently at her. Possibly he intended to make her nervous. It didn’t work. Between being safely in the Disconnect and the refugees no longer being on her shoulders Mitchie wanted to sing and dance.

  “I skimmed your report,” he began. “Good job on the primary mission. I have no idea what to make of your mystery box. We’ll meet with Dubois and Woon tomorrow. The shipwrights are happy with your tag-alongs. Doubt we’ll get you a finder’s fee this time though.”

  “If there’s any finder’s fee, sir,” said Mitchie, “I’d want it to go to the refugees so they can get a good start.”

  “Not my department. You can put your crew on leave, other than security for that box.”

  “Yes, sir. When can we expect a replacement for Captain Schwartzenberger?”

  “Well, Long, it’s like this. Every officer we think is ready to command a warship is running a cruiser or at a shipyard getting ready for his ship to commission. Everyone we think has potential to be a commander is in charge of a destroyer or frigate. Or at a shipyard. So we can’t spare anyone to take over an auxiliary.”

  Amazingly, part of Mitchie felt relieved she’d keep her command.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also, you’re out of uniform.”

  “Sir?” Mitchie had carefully donned her Space Guard greys the moment she heard Chu was coming.

  “Board met while you were gone. You need another half-stripe on the cuffs.”

  “Ah. Thank you, sir.” Hell of a way to say, ‘Congratulations, you’ve been promoted,’ thought Mitchie.

  “My aide will send you the meeting coordinates. See you then.”

  Admiral Chu saw himself out. That might be a protocol violation. Mitchie decided she didn’t care.

  ***

  “This ship just got a lot emptier,” said Guo.

  He’d found Mitchie in the galley, going through DCC regulations on a new datasheet. “They’re all on leave?” she asked.

  “Crew is. Half the Rangers and Marines are. The Marines appreciated the pocket money. How’d you get them a pay advance?”

  “It’s from the ship’s fund. We should get reimbursed for it from the Ground Guard but God knows if that’ll ever happen.”

  “I think we can afford it,” said Guo. “The civvies are off to the resettlement place. And . . . Bing left with three duffle bags.”

  “She quit?”

  “Didn’t say anything to anybody. I think she did.”

  “Let’s check.” Mitchie led him to Bing’s cabin. The hatch was unlocked. It opened on a stripped cabin. A sealed trash bag against the bulkhead was the only thing not ship’s equipment. “No, she’s not coming back.”

  She turned around and opened the hatch to Schwartzenberger’s cabin. It looked the same as Bing’s except for the books and folders on the desk.

  Guo asked, “Why’d she take his clothes?”

  “I don’t know. She was his heir.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Are you free tonight?”

  Mitchie giggled. “I’m scheduled for a complete lack of responsibility until midnight. Have any suggestions?”

  “Yeah, but Master Chief Lee sent me a line. He wants us to have dinner with him in Commerce tonight. Sounded worked up about it. Might be important.”

  “That’s a long way for dinner, but okay. Has he been hanging around with Billy?”

  “Don’t think so, but we’ve been gone a while.” He pulled out his datasheet and sent off their acceptance. “God, I love being back in civilization.”

  She smiled at his toy. “You really think that’s better than the Fusion ones we were using?”

  “No, but it’s not a loaner. I own it.”

  “Fine. Get us a flyer to get to Commerce. I don’t care if you rent it or buy it.” She picked up one of the folders on Schwartzenberger’s desk. “I have to get back to finding out what captains are really supposed to do. And talk to the people who own this ship to let them know I’m running it now.”

  ***

  The actual address for dinner wasn’t in Commerce proper. Bulwark was nine klicks from the capital, hosting a military spaceport and the Bonaventure Defense Force HQ. When Mitchie saw they were landing at the Shield Club she stopped worrying about Billy showing up at dinner.

  Master Chief met them on the steps. He led them around displays of model warships and antique artillery into the banquet hall.

  “Is it always this crowded?” asked Mitchie.

  “Normally only during official ceremonies,” said Master Chief. “But nothing is officially going on tonight.”

  She and Guo exchanged looks. Something was going on, and they weren’t in on it.

  A few people seemed to recognize Mitchie but their table mates shushed them.

  Master Chief kept herding them toward the empty stage. He looked about more, trying to spot someone. Then a tall man in a heavily braided uniform stepped out of the crowd.

  “Oh, good evening, sir,” said Master Chief.

  “And good evening to you, Master Chief,” said the stranger. “How nice to run into you here. Who are your friends?”

  “Sir, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Michigan Long, commanding Joshua Chamberlain, and her chief engineer, Chief Engineer’s Mate Guo Kwan. Ma’am, Chief, this is Vice Admiral Galen, commanding Blockade Fleet.”

  Guo realized this was the admiral who Mitchie had committed insubordination against by effectively ordering him to attack the Fusion battleship. He managed to go through the proper social motions.

  A moment later the admiral said, “Lieutenant, I have some friends who are dying to meet you. Chiefs, please enjoy yourselves.” He led Mitchie toward a cluster of commodores and captains.

  “We can relax now,” said Master Chief. “My buddies saved us seats. I scored a bottle of the good stuff.”

  “Will she be all right?” asked Guo, looking after the officers.

  “Of course. This is her fan club.”

  The chiefs had a table in the back of the room. Guo knew the others from previous epic drinking sessions. A Senior Chief Electrician’s Mate filled a plate from the platter of beef in the middle of the table and put it in front of Guo.

  A late arriving chief snagged the remaining seat at their table. Master Chief introduced him as Chief Gunner’s Mate John Ti. Guo noticed his stripes were red instead of the gold ones the others at the table wore. Ti had to be a direct appointee like Guo, or he’d done something in the last ten years to blemish his record.

  Ti noticed Guo’s blue stripes as they shook hands. “Pleased to meet you. What’s your sin?”

  “Fucked an officer,” answered Guo.

  Master Chief choked on his whiskey.

  Ti laughed. “You beat me. I just got drunk and missed a take-off.”

  “Sssst!” Another chief ended the conversation. People were getting onto the stage. Mitchie looked comically short next to Admiral Galen.

  The room came to attention as the “informal” ceremony began. Applause greeted her introduction. Galen officially announced the board results making her a lieutenant commander. Thin ribbons went on her cuffs to mark the promotion. Then the admiral turned to face the crowd.

  “I won’t bother reading this award citation to you,” he said. “It doesn’t say anything real. Just as I can’t tell you what she really did. But I can tell you this
. Without Lieutenant Commander Long’s actions many of the people in this room would be dead and this base would be under bombardment.

  He turned to face Mitchie. “So I am very proud to present you with this Extraordinary Merit Award.”

  Master Chief grunted in surprise.

  Admiral Galen draped a striped ribbon around Mitchie’s neck. A bright silver medal pulled it taut as he let go. The room burst into applause and cheers.

  Guo clapped with them until his hands hurt. The noise didn’t stop until the admiral waved them all back to their seats. The crowd went back to their meals, chattering louder than they had before.

  After Guo finished a bite of his beef he asked Master Chief, “What was wrong with the medal she got?”

  The senior NCO waved his hands. “It’s not wrong. It’s just not what I expected it to be.”

  “How so?” asked Guo.

  Master Chief pulled out his datasheet. It displayed all the ribbons awarded by the BDF. A few gestures pulled them into categories. “Here’s the valor awards—for doing something brave and dangerous. Bigger the danger, the higher the award. To get the top one you have block a plasma blast with your body.”

  A second column lined up next to the valor awards. Guo recognized the bottom two from Mitchie’s uniform. “Performance awards. They show how well you do your job. There’s a rank factor. So a spacer can get the Accomplishment Ribbon,” bottom of the stack, “the EMA she got,” top, “is something a captain or commodore would get for doing a great job running a headquarters.”

  “So you expected her to get one lower down?” said Guo.

  “No. I expected a valor award. You were in a battle. Could’ve been blown away at any moment.”

  “Why a performance award then?”

  Master Chief’s voice went grim. “Politics. The same reason everyone was told ‘dinner at the Club’ instead of giving her a damn parade.”

  Chapter Eight: Shore Leave

  “Four men died to get it and you don’t even know what it does?” shouted Mitchie.