All of them drew their cutlasses, and saluted her as one.
Michael Marshall of The Condor, her fleet Second after her, smiled proudly.
“This is but one of many reasons why we follow you, Strike Fleet Captain Maeris. If you are a hellion, then your be our hellion. You have proven yourself both clever and fierce. We are your lions. And we shall roar into battle at your side, any time. Any where. You have but to command us.”
Naero smiled and fought the urge to tear up. After fighting and bleeding beside them all for months, she knew their great worth and their valor, extremely well.
“Dammit, Mike,” she said with a laugh. “If you make me cry here in front of everyone, I’m going to have to shoot your ass.”
The meeting chamber erupted in booming laughter, slicing through the pent up stress and tension. Their planning session could now continue.
Naero ordered a round of Spacer poteen or other libation for her thirsty lions. Regs or no.
They had all earned their nip of grog.
Every damn one of them.
13
The new fragrances Naero instituted throughout her fleets made a huge difference, just like the music. A difference for the better, and she was glad for it. The air smelled less stale, less like machines and circuits, less unpleasant overall.
And Zeke’s thiolin music wafted sweetly in the background of every warship.
Naero was pleasantly surprised when Tarim came to her in private, outside of their regular security briefings.
She rose from her comfy gelchair in her quarters and embraced her good friend. He looked slightly nervous for some reason. It had been a long time since she saw him act that way.
“What can I help you with, Tarim? You said it was a personal matter.” She tried to guess.
Tarim and Shalaen had a long distance relationship, and those were always problematic. Yet both of them seemed fine with it.
“Something with Shalaen?”
He shook his head.
She gave him a moment, and let him spit it out finally.
“I’m not…a Spacer, N.”
Naero took that in and then blinked.
True. What did he want her to say?
“Everyone knows that, Tarim. But everyone still accepts you among us, as both a comrade and an equal. Don’t they? You’re not having any trouble with lander prejudice or anything of that kind, are you?”
He shook his head again. “No, not at all. God, no. There are just certain things I don’t know…that I don’t understand. And I wish I would. They…they make me feel stupid...and inadequate. Less than everyone else. Certain things I don’t know very well. Jeez, I know this is all in my head. It’s just me. That’s why it’s bothering me so much.”
He looked down, almost as if he was ashamed. He kept trying to find the right words.
“I wasn’t…weaned on all this stuff like all of you Spacers were, N. I grew up a Triaxian slave in the mines–until you and your people uplifted me–at the age of twenty. Not like that wasn’t embarrassing.”
Naero was still at a loss. “I want to help, Tarim. But what exactly are we talking about? What kind of stuff don’t you know?”
Tarim looked down again and sighed.
“I make a lousy Spacer, and yet I live among you guys 24/7. How can I describe how it is for me? You guys know so much, and I don’t even understand you people or your way of life. Except for being good with guns, I’m a terrible pilot, an awful navigator, a weak fighter, a so-so leader. I keep trying, but I wasn’t born to it all like you and your people were. Where do I even begin?”
“Okay, Tarim. I guess I can get some of that. I imagine it gets pretty discouraging.”
“And I don’t have smartblood. I don’t heal overnight or in a few days like Spacers seem to. I break a bone–even just a finger or a toe, and it takes me one to two months to heal. I don’t have increased speed or strength. After one sparring match, I’m so beat up and bruised, I can hardly get around for a week. But a lot of it is just day to day stuff. The way Spacers think, live, deal with everything. We’re in the midst of a war that scares the living shit right out of me every day. And to you people, it’s just a walk in the park.”
“So, if I hear you right,” Naero said. “You don’t see or react to things the same way that we do, and that often leaves you feeling both inadequate, confused, and afraid?”
Tarim nodded emphatically. “Damn straight. The war is just one big example. Look, I understand ground combat just fine. I get it. But I wasn’t born in space, and never learned to understand the ins-and-outs of space combat. I don’t even know the basics of interstellar naval battles. And yet I could die in one at any time. When it comes to that stuff, I’m a complete idiot.”
Naero stared at him. Stumped again.
“Look at it from my perspective, N. We’re in the midst of just such a complex war, and you and your people understand every aspect, from history, to vessels, and strategy and tactics–all in great detail. I huge amount of information. While I feel utterly ignorant and stupid. Because I am. Other than failing at several vid games, I don’t have the foggiest notion about how space combat works, any more than I have a clue to Spacer culture, and the workings of your society”
Naero tried to speak, but Tarim cut her off.
“I feel really isolated and alone a lot of the time. And quite frankly—that frustrates and scares the living hell right of out me, every time we go hurtling headlong into the next terrifying battle. However I look at it, I’m still an outsider, a stranger living among you paragons.”
Naero finally nodded. “Okay. Let’s look at it rationally. You’re not a Spacer, but you are a smart person, Tarim. You’ve been able to learn more things in a shorter length of time than anyone I’ve ever known. Okay, so you have big gaps in your knowledge base. We could pick a few things. I could have instructors and trainers tutor you.”
Tarim shook his head and waved his hands violently. “No. I don’t want anyone else to know, N. I couldn’t handle that. It’s bad enough that I’m telling you, but I don’t know what else to do. At least I know you care about me.”
“I do, Tarim. What do you want?”
Could…you teach me, N? Even just the basics–about space combat, about understanding your people and your ways. Just enough , so that I feel more at home among you guys. I just…feel humiliated enough by it all.” The poor guy hung his head down.
It hurt Naero to see Tarim like that.
She grinned and placed both hands on his shoulders. “Sure, Tarim. I can explain things to you; whatever you want to know.”
Her friend perked up and smiled sadly. At least he had some hope now.
Naero continued. “Let’s take say–ten–to twenty minutes out of our weekly security meetings. We can speed those briefings up a bit, and we’ll be in the conference room any way, with access to the training systems. We can talk, and I can try to answer any questions you may have.”
“Sounds good, N. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Once or twice a week, if I have time, you can also join me here for dinner or some other meal. It’s not like I don’t take most of my meals here already–most of them alone.”
Naero thought about that. How pathetic was she?
“Thanks, N.” He looked around and check the time on his wristcom. “I’ve got some time right now. What can you tell me about space combat to start with?”
Naero chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t have much more time today, but you can get with gameboy Tyber about vid games. Don’t worry. Tyber’s a geek, so he won’t suspect a thing. Just don’t let him turn you into a vidgame junkie like him. But seriously–you can learn a lot of the basic concepts of naval battles, strategy, and tactics from vidgames. Some of them are quite realistic, and they can even demonstrate what past wars were like through historic simulation. You can see how interstellar naval strategy, tactics, and warships, and weapons have evolved–up to the present.”
He looked uncertai
n. “Uh...I already said I tried vid games, N. I kept losing. Badly. They just make me feel worse.”
“Ahhh…but you didn’t have Tyber–the mighty gamemaster himself–guiding you along the path to true enlightenment, grasshopper.”
Tarim just stared at her, his face blank. “Say what?”
Naero waved her hand, laughing. “Ty’s a good teacher—if you are willing to play various dumb games with him. Trust me. Try him first first for a bout a week, and then I’ll start training you. As for your other questions, we have a briefing two days from now, and we can have dinner the day after that. We can talk then.”
14
The very next day, on the bridge of The Hippolyta, Naero received a direct and open communication from the enemy. From the High Command of Triax itself.
That in itself was both rare and unusual.
Triax–and the Hevangian High Council–had a direct message for her and Strike Fleet Six–specifically.
Surina Marshall, her com officer, put the link on hold and notified Naero of the situation. Both of them found it extremely odd.
“Is this some kind of joke or trick, Rina? Where is this link actually coming from?” Naero asked.
Surina studied the com tracings on her displays again. “Sir, it’s being bounced around the relays, but it does seem to originate from deep within the Hevangian Systems. And it does match their codings. Do you want to take it, ignore it, or shunt it to Intel?”
“Let’s hear what the Hevangians have to say to us, Rina, on my command. No doubt, some kind of threat, or some such. Keep the link tight, so they can’t scan our bridge or any of our systems. And make sure Intel is getting all of this, by a direct relay.”
“Done, and ready, sir. Give the word.”
Naero spread her stance, put her hands behind the small of her back, and lifted her head high.
Her battle face snapped up automatically.
“Open the link, Rina–main screen.”
The tall figure of a powerful man appeared over the holoscreen. Imposing. Black hair shot with dark-gray steel, pale blue eyes–so pale that they gleamed like twin ghosts. A hard-angled, jagged face that might have been handsome once, without the Hevangian penchant for battle scars.
Several such badges of Hevangian honor ripped ragged across the high officer’s looming visage. He wore a red and black Hevangian dress uniform and high boots, and a carried golden baton of command in his gloved hands.
This man was a killer–a killer of many–he seemed to reek and ooze of death, even over a transmission. That was the impression Naero had of him.
When he moved, Naero could see that his uniform and his hands were stained and splattered with blood.
He announce himself.
“I am High General Garrok Shul Dreth of Hevangian Intelligence, Lord Assassin of the Triaxian Imperium, and a ruling board member of the Triax Gigacorporation, Military Defense Council.”
“I am Fleet Captain Naero–”
Garrok Shul Dreth cut her off abruptly, his face twitching with suppressed rage. “I know very well who you are, Captain Maeris. I knew your parents–after a fashion. In fact, you could say that our two families have had many dealings with one another, over the years–ever since the Third Spacer War.”
Both of them knew very well that the Hevangians and Spacers had been bitter enemies for nearly three centuries.
“Say what you have to say, general. I’m busy. I do not have time for social calls…to rehash old times and old disputes.”
He laughed. “Such a pity, youngling. The old hatreds are the best, the most enduring. It was too bad my strike force did not kill both of your brothers that bloody day, so very long ago. Yet we did cripple the one brat. How we tortured that little spack runt–for years–and drove him mad in the labs. And now we have the other one as well.”
Naero wasn’t going to let him bait her with Jan.
“General–” Naero tried to interrupt, but he kept raving.
“And I was also present when death finally caught up to your illustrious parents, as well. How very satisfying that was–them betrayed by their own insane whelp. Let me tell you about your heroic parents, captain. How they perished in their own blood–squealing and begging for their lives, like cowardly pigs–like the wretched, filthy swine all of you spacks are.”
Naero sighed briefly. “A lie to any who knew them. I will ask you once again, general. Is there a purpose to this communication, other than to heap further insult upon me and my family?”
“Did you ever wonder what happened to your parent’s dead bodies, captain? I can assure you–they were prized very highly. Considered priceless trophies, really. I have seen them…on display.”
“Go away, general. You are a brutal thug, without honor, like most of your foul kind. I’m ending this little rant of yours.”
Garrok Shul Dreth laughed. “Welcome to the Hevangian Sectors when and if you reach them, Captain Maeris. My people, and my extensive family, remember Clan Maeris very…very well. Whatever the outcome of the war, we shall be looking for you, at every opportunity–with many surprises laid in store for both you–and the Alliance. With the greatest anticipation. You have no idea what you fools have set forth in motion.”
“So be it, general. And we shall respond in kind, as ever, to your many evils. Until we meet, then, upon the field of battle.”
“We earnestly look forward to that, spack filth.”
Naero broke off the link from her own console.
14
Nothing was ever simple. Especially too much of anything new.
Many of the new practices and protocols Naero instituted across Strike Fleet Six proved fruitful and actually cut and prevented losses. They worked just fine, and integrated into the daily routine seamlessly, with a modicum of adjustment.
Yet, unfortunately, some of the new regs that sounded good in theory, did not work very well at all in practice, and only led to confusion and disarray.
There was always a trade off it seemed, a learning curve, a price to pay for everything. Several ships dumped their power cores too soon.
Some of them right in the midst of battle.
They either got the auto protocols wrong, or their on board AIs reacted prematurely, dumping the cores as soon as the ship’s shields went down, or the core areas sustained a near hit.
That proved both embarrassing, and in one case, even deadly.
The destroyer, The Wellington, was set upon and obliterated by the enemy.
Yet doubling the number of escape pods on the fleet did manage to save over two thirds of her crew. Still, a very costly mistake, and a very high price to pay.
Naero and her captains agreed to re-adjust the core jettison protocols back closer to the prior combat levels. They coupled that with pweaking the responsiveness of the fleet AIs. She had Tyber and his teks and fixers kept working on the problem.
The new core shielding, however, did work better and saved many lives.
But the casualty estimation flows were a complete and total bust.
In the heat of battle, there were just too many variables at work. Potential casualties simply could not be predicted in any rational way.
Studies showed that the test groups using the calculators performed much more poorly during a fight. They were a constant distraction to their captains and officers. In some cases, it caused them to pause or hesitate too much.
A battle might even sweep in another direction and pass them by in a matter of minutes, while they attempted to study predictors and variables. While they ere paralyzed by what might happen to them.
Or even worse, the enemy might see them holding back as weakness and pounce on them even more–in order to crack through a weak link.
That experiment was promptly dropped. Testing proved that it was better for the captains to rely upon their experience and instincts. Battle computers and AIs could only evaluate so much.
They possessed no power to predict the future completely in any rational way.
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Naero reported all of their findings to the fleet. The bad ideas were studied and dropped. Many of the good ones were implemented throughout the Alliance, but only if they proved effective.
The Alliance continued to strive to adapt and improve against the many tricks and strategies and tactics that the enemy threw at them. Sometimes these changed from day to day.
Naero adjusted her own patterns and practices.
She struggled to remain cunning and hardnosed, but neither reckless nor bloodthirsty—nor heedless of the damage and casualties her ships and crews endured.
Balance, where everything was chaos and out of balance.
*
A week or so later, Naero and Tarim had dinner in her quarters. A hearty seafood stew, bread, and cold meat and cheese sandwiches on sweetbread. And of course, lots of Jett.
Naero waved her hand at the frozen holoships above them, and two vessels started fighting again.
“The standard goal in naval combat is usually to close with another vessel or vessels and duke it out with them. You wear down their deflector shields first, and then degrade their armor. Then you start doing actual physical damage to the ship and its vulnerable systems that keep it functioning and able to fight back.”
“Like the power core,” Tarim said. “I’ve watched your warships target enemy power cores time and time again, with great success.”
Naero smiled. “So, at least you have paid some attention. Power cores are great targets, because they more or less control the entire ship. Take out a ship’s power core and the ship ceases to function. It’s no longer a threat and is more or less dead in space. And if you damage a power core badly enough, the entire ship can explode and be destroyed, although lately, Alliance battle doctrine now seeks to avoid destroying enemy ships entirely.”
Tarim jumped in on that point. “So that we can capture even severely damaged enemy ships and convert them with our fixer clouds to Alliance use.”
Naero nodded. “You can’t convert something very well that has been blown to smithereens. I see the strategic wisdom in that policy, but given the choice between completely taking out a ship from a fight, or letting it still shoot at and possibly destroy me…I’m going to take it out and be sure it can’t fight back. Every damn time.”
Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War Page 9