Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga)

by Grant, Peter

  Steve made a wry face. “I see, Sir. How do you want me to handle them?”

  “Stonewall them. Say something along the lines of, ‘I’m not authorized to make any statement. You should ask the Fleet’s Public Relations Directorate for more information.’ No matter what questions they ask, say that and keep on saying it until they give up and go away.”

  “Aye aye, Sir.”

  “I discussed all this with Captain Ratisbon this morning. While I came to collect you, he planned to see Admiral Brunel, Flag Officer In Command of BuShips, to lay all this out for him and ask for guidance. We’ll hear what the Admiral had to say when we get to the office.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Sit down, gentlemen,” Captain Ratisbon invited. The Commanding Officer of AIU Lancaster was a tall, craggy man, his face energetic and determined. As his two subordinates sat down, he continued, “Admiral Brunel wasn’t at all pleased to hear about what’s been happening, particularly as the Small Craft Directorate hadn’t yet said anything to him. He called its Commanding Officer while I was with him, and ordered him to be in his office at eleven with a full report.”

  Lieutenant-Commander Bullard winced. “I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes right now, Sir. Still, I’d like to be a fly on the wall to listen to that conversation.”

  “I would, too. We might learn some new words!” The two senior officers grinned at each other. “The Admiral approved of what we’ve done so far, but he wants you out of the way, young man.” The Captain looked at Steve as he spoke. “You’re a hot potato in his lap right now. The last thing he wants is to have the news media pursuing you from pillar to post demanding a statement, and disrupting our activities – and those of BuShips as a whole – in the process.”

  Steve blinked in surprise. “Ah… I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss, Sir.”

  “You didn’t cause it, Lieutenant – that’s at Commander Buchanan’s door, and whoever was behind him. Still, you’ve been caught up in it, which is a problem, because a kerfuffle like this can damage your career if some of the crud flying around manages to stick to you.”

  “Oh!” For a moment Steve was nonplussed. “I hadn’t thought about that, Sir.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve just run headlong into one of the less palatable ways in which politics affects our profession. Junior officers seldom encounter it, but as you’re promoted to more senior ranks, you’ll have to deal with it much more often. In this case, you were just doing your job, so I want to make sure you don’t suffer for that. We’ll get you out of the way of the consternation and monkeyhouse until they’ve died down. Your promotion to Senior Lieutenant takes effect on the first of July, Galactic Standard Calendar, according to the regular biannual promotion signal, right?”

  “Yes, Sir, as soon as I have the required minimum of two years’ seniority in O-2 grade.”

  “Good. You’ve done well to get it that quickly. Many Junior Lieutenants have to serve more than the minimum time in grade before promotion. Be that as it may, it couldn’t be better timed from our perspective. Have you ever heard of Rolla?”

  “It’s a minor member planet of the Commonwealth, Sir,” Steve answered, puzzled.

  “Correct. It’s a former colony of New Missouri that became independent about thirty years ago and immediately applied for associate membership of the Commonwealth. Its armed forces were systematically neglected and run down by the previous government, along with all sorts of other problems that led to a constitutional crisis last year. The new government’s faced with a massive rebuilding job, and they’ve asked our Planetary Forces Directorate for assistance. One of their problems is their Planetary Self-Defense Force’s shuttles. They operate about fifty Mark IX’s, plus a few score unserviceable units that they’re cannibalizing for parts to keep the others flying.”

  Steve shook his head in astonishment. “I can hardly believe there are still Mark IX’s in service anywhere, Sir! The last of them was manufactured over a century ago.”

  “That’s right. They need to replace them very urgently, but there are many other demands on their limited resources. They’ve asked PFD to help them find affordable replacements, and lend them a shuttle specialist to help reorganize their shuttle training according to the latest Fleet standards. PFD is handling the request as part of a training mission it’s already putting together for Rolla. They passed the request for a specialist advisor to Vice-Admiral Brunel, because the Small Craft Directorate falls under his Bureau. He received it just before I walked into his office.

  Ratisbon steepled his fingers together, resting his elbows on his desk. “He’d normally have sent it down to SCD for action. However, as we discussed the ongoing investigation into the Mark XVIIA crash, I mentioned that your qualifications as a shuttle pilot were proving useful. He called up your file and learned you’d been a qualified instructor on assault shuttles as an NCO, as well as all of the Fleet’s other small craft types, and served as Small Craft Officer on a destroyer for the previous two years. She carried two assault shuttles, and you commanded one during boarding and search operations. You identified a potentially serious problem with one of the destroyer’s shuttle pods, leading to an alert disseminated via the Fleet Technical Bulletin to all Sectors, and formal recognition for your efforts.

  The Captain sat back with a satisfied smile. “Putting all that together, he suggested to me you can undoubtedly be described as a small craft expert, particularly concerning assault shuttles. You’re therefore qualified to assist Rolla if we’re prepared to detach you for a temporary duty assignment there. PFD had asked him to assign an O-3 grade officer to the job, and you’re about to be promoted to that grade. I assured him that in the light of recent developments, a temporary assignment like that will suit AIU just fine. It’ll get you off-planet and out of the way of local news media for two to three months. By the time you get back, the dust should have settled somewhat.”

  Steve nodded. He couldn’t help feeling hard done by at being shunted aside from the accident investigation just because he’d obeyed orders, but he knew the problem wasn’t of Captain Ratisbon’s making. He settled for saying cautiously, “Sounds like it’ll be an interesting job, Sir.”

  “I think it will. You’ll go to PFD for an interview this afternoon. If they agree to use you – and with Admiral Brunel having submitted your name, I’m sure they will – they want whoever they send to be rated as an instructor in assault shuttles. You’re already qualified as an instructor, so you’ll go to Small Craft School to renew your license. Thereafter you’ll spend some time at Orion Industries, which manufactured the Mark IX, to pick up what technical information they can give you and discuss an upgrade option for Rolla’s shuttles that PFD has lined up with them. As soon as you’ve done all that, plus anything else PFD needs, they’ll put you aboard the weekly dispatch vessel to Rolla and nearby planets. You’ll probably arrive there a few days after your promotion takes effect, and be there for a couple of months. PFD will pick up the tab for your apartment lease during that time, of course, or the cost of terminating it and packing and storing your belongings. D’you think you can be ready in time?”

  “I’m a Fleet officer, Sir. It goes with the territory.”

  “It does indeed, although too many of our people forget that and fail to keep their affairs in order, ready for short-notice deployments like this. I’m glad to hear you’re not one of them.”

  He rose. “Very well, Lieutenant. Close out any outstanding business, hand over your files to Lieutenant-Commander Bullard for reassignment to someone else, then see Admin to begin the out-processing for a TDY assignment. You can use the rest of the week to wind up your affairs locally, then head for Preston to reinstate your instructor qualifications at Small Craft School and visit Orion Industries.”

  “Aye aye, Sir. Thank you very much.”

  Preston

  June 2847, GSC

  Steve couldn’t help smiling nostalgically at his memories as he drove into Preston. He’d spent two and a half
years assigned to Fleet facilities in and near the town, first as a Petty Officer instructor at Small Craft School, then as a candidate officer at OCS, and finally as an Ensign attending the Deck Officer and entry-level Navigation and Tactics courses.

  He stopped at a luxury food store to buy ingredients for supper, then found the apartment block he was seeking and parked his truck outside a ground floor unit. Tugging his suitcase behind him, he went to the door and rang the bell. Footsteps approached from within, and the door opened.

  “Steve, you scrofulous Spacer!”

  “Brooks, you mangy Marine!”

  His friend swept him into a huge bear-hug. Grinning, Steve returned it in kind, then stood back and looked him over. They were about the same height, but Brooks Shelby was more strongly built, with darker brown hair – almost black – and darker eyes. He was wearing running shorts and T-shirt instead of his usual Marine Corps uniform.

  “Going for a run?”

  “I was planning to, until you arrived.”

  “If you’ll wait while I get changed, we can go for a run together,” Steve offered.

  “Sure. It’s about time you worked some of the Spacer Corps lard off your butt!”

  Steve blew a raspberry as he tugged his heavy suitcase towards the spare bedroom. He hastily exchanged his Number Two uniform for exercise clothing, then they headed out the door.

  “Lots of runners out today,” Steve noted as they jogged slowly down the sidewalk, warming up their muscles.

  “There usually are at this time of day, after people get back from work.”

  “Uh-huh. Pity, though, because I can’t tell you what’s going on until we’ve got more privacy.”

  “I’m suuure you can’t! Far be it from me to accuse you of wanting to cut our run short because you can’t keep up with me!”

  “Ha! We’ll see who can’t keep up with whom!”

  They arrived back at the apartment out of breath and perspiring profusely, with running honors even. Steve let Brooks use the shower first while he inspected the kitchen, selected a few ingredients to go with those he’d brought with him, and prepared a Turkish-style moussaka. He started it cooking, then showered while Brooks dressed, set the table and kept an eye on the food. They sat down to eat in the kitchen alcove with eager appetites.

  “Your cooking’s as tasty as ever,” Brooks said with a satisfied sigh as he swallowed his first mouthful. “I’d forgotten how handy you are in the kitchen. Most of us can’t do much more than heat up pre-packaged processed meals.”

  “That comes from my years in the orphanage. The Benedictines insisted we all had to learn how to cook from scratch. It’s come in really handy since then.”

  “You don’t hear me complaining.” Brooks took another mouthful, chewed, and swallowed. “So what brings you to Preston? You didn’t say much when you called.”

  “Well, I had to make sure you weren’t associating with the wrong people, for a start.”

  Brooks tried to look indignant, but spoiled the effect as he choked on a morsel of food. When he’d stopped coughing, he retorted, “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m pure as the driven slush!”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of!” They shared a laugh. “Anyway, I can’t tell you everything that’s been going on, because a lot of it’s very sensitive, but I’ll do my best. Just keep it to yourself, OK?”

  “You got it.”

  Steve outlined the events surrounding the Mark XVIIA crash investigation, without going into too much detail or mentioning names. He didn’t mince his words when describing his frustration at being caught up in political in-fighting between other people and organizations.

  “The injured officer died yesterday without regaining consciousness,” he concluded, “so whether I like it or not, I’m a witness in a case that’s going to attract much more than its fair share of media attention. AIU doesn’t want undue publicity to derail the case before it comes to court, so it’s loaned me to Planetary Forces Directorate. They’re sending me on a temporary assignment to Rolla, to help solve its assault shuttle problems. Hopefully journalists will leave me in peace if I’m that far away – or at least until I get back, at any rate.”

  Brooks frowned. “I hope so, but if this is as complicated as it sounds, you may have trouble even before you leave. Would they follow you to Preston?”

  “As far as we know, the media hasn’t yet figured out the full extent of the scandal. As soon as they do, I’m going to be in their crosshairs, but I hope that won’t happen until after I’ve left. It’s bound to blow open in the end, of course. If what we suspect can be proved – if a defense contractor has persuaded or bribed current Service members to commit crimes on its behalf – there’s going to be a monumental kerfuffle. The Fleet’s sure to court-martial any personnel involved, and the contractor will probably land up in court, too. If found guilty it’ll face huge fines, possibly prison terms for the executives who authorized the crime, and perhaps disbarment from bidding for Fleet contracts for up to a decade.”

  Steve shook his head in frustration. “My problem is that I’m a critical link in the chain of evidence. Lieutenant-Commander Bullard quoted what he said was an old courtroom maxim. ‘If the facts are against you, argue the law. If the law is against you, argue the facts. If both the facts and the law are against you, assassinate the character of the witness.’ He says it’s a dirty tactic, but it can be very effective. Juries often won’t convict, even on the basis of solid evidence, if they don’t trust a witness whose testimony is crucial.”

  Brooks scowled. “He’s got a point. I know you’re honest, but the average juror won’t know you from a bar of soap.”

  “Exactly. If this goes to trial I may be called as a witness. Captain Ratisbon warned me that unscrupulous defense lawyers with nothing to lose may try to pressure me into mistakes before the trial – an unguarded comment or statement, behavior that makes me look foolish, anything that’ll allow them to portray me as unreliable and untrustworthy. He said lawyers like that often have contacts in the media, because they can offer access to inside information that makes journalists look good. In return, the newsies help them by reporting their side of a case, or putting pressure on a potential witness in the hope of making him do something newsworthy. Lieutenant-Commander Bullard agreed. He said the tactic was used against him during a high-profile investigation some years ago. He says it’s a serious risk.”

  “Sounds tricky.” Brooks’ face was somber. “I guess you can’t punch an interfering journalist in the snoot to put him off his stride?”

  “No way! That’d fall under ‘behavior that makes me look foolish’, much as I’d like to do it if necessary.”

  “I get it. Still, there’s nothing stopping me doing it for you, is there?”

  “Let’s not go there. You don’t want to blot your copybook either, not when I’ve gone to all this trouble on your behalf.”

  “Trouble? What trouble?”

  “I told you I was on loan to PFD. The Fleet’s building up quite a large mission to Rolla, assisting both the ground troops of their Planetary Self-Defense Force, and the spacers of their System Patrol Service. Two River class destroyers have already been activated from the Reserve Fleet. They’re conducting patrols for the SPS while two of its old corvettes are overhauled. Half their crews are reservists from planets in the Vesta sector, serving short-term volunteer tours of duty under regular Fleet CO’s. The other half are Spacers from Rolla’s System Patrol. Rolla’s going to buy several patrol craft to supplement its corvettes as soon as it can afford them.

  “I’m going to act as a consultant to the PSDF on restructuring their shuttle training for both pilots and troops, planetside and in orbit. I’ve spent the last five days renewing my instructor ratings at the Small Craft School. Over the next few days I’ll be at Orion Industries’ plant outside town. PFD’s working with them on upgrade possibilities for Rolla’s ancient shuttles. By the way, if that’s too long for me to use your spare room, just say the word and I�
�ll move into the local visiting officers’ quarters.”

  “No problem. I need someone to do the laundry, clean up the place and cook supper for me.” Brooks ducked, grinning, as Steve pretended to swing at him.

  “Thanks. While I was doing all that, I found out that the Rolla mission might have something to offer you, too, if you’re interested. D’you fancy six months off-planet?”

  His friend grinned eagerly. “Tell me more!”

  “PFD’s putting together a unit of Marine instructors to retrain and recertify Rolla’s Planetary Self-Defense Force NCO’s and junior officers. There’ll be a couple of dozen Sergeants and Staff Sergeants, plus three Gunnery Sergeants and a Master Sergeant. They’ll be commanded by a Captain, assisted by at least one Lieutenant. He’ll report to Colonel Houmayoun, the Fleet’s Military Attaché on Rolla. I’ll report to him as well, but independently of the Marine unit.

  “A Major Venter of PFD is setting up everything as Colonel Houmayoun’s local representative. He’s a bright spark. He’s already arranged a very good deal for Rolla, if they’ll agree. Last year Orion Industries agreed to take the Marine Corps’ last 500 old Mark XIII assault shuttles in partial trade against the same number of current-production Mark XVI’s. They’ve developed an upgrade for the old models, calling them the Mark XIII Plus. It gives them almost the same capabilities and performance as the Mark XV shuttles you and I used aboard Achilles last year. Major Venter’s talked them into offering to trade four of Rolla’s old Mark IX’s for one of the refurbished birds. That saves them having to interrupt their production lines this year to do another run of Mark IX bodies.”