by Britt Ringel
“Well, I… of course I do. I’m the most trusted, most reliable source of news in the whole LMA.” Fuller flashed a reassuring smile into the active camera but his eyes darted away briefly to his stage director.
Heskan sat back contentedly as he watched Fuller flick his index finger rapidly over the computer screen inlaid into his desk. I’ve just robbed him of most of his talking points. He can’t make any of his ridiculous accusations posed as questions without looking like he’s trying to weaken the entire corporation.
“Here,” Fuller said as he found a suitable starting point. “Much has been said of your decision to command the fleet from a warship instead of your command, control and communications ship.” Fuller brought a hand up to his cheek and rested his head upon it. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your thought process?”
Heskan nodded. “That’s a fair question, Chase. I know that decision was contrary to over a half-century of tradition but I promised the sailors under me that I’d never ask them to take on a risk I wasn’t willing to accept myself. I promised that on your very show in fact.” Once again, he looked into the ranks of the audience. “Contrary to some of the rumors, I’m not seeking glory or have some kind of death wish. However, I strongly believe that if I’m going to place your sons and daughters into the line of fire, then I should be standing beside them.”
Applause broke out over Heskan’s remarks, which Fuller did his best to stifle with a quick follow-up question. “What about showing respect to the members of the media, Garrett? Several dozens of reporters were aboard the C-Three ship expecting to have access to you.”
“Their needs will always take a backseat to the sailors risking their lives defending Seshafi,” Heskan said bluntly.
The naked honesty stunned Fuller into a brief silence. After a moment, the newsman leaned forward in anticipation of his own, decisive blow. “So you openly admit that you treat the esteemed members in the media outlets of all the corporate systems like second-class citizens?”
“During an actual battle? Absolutely.” Heskan mirrored Fuller’s movement to bring himself even closer to the man. “The media is present to find and tell a news story. My sailors are there to defend our way of life.” He cast a hand toward the audience. “Ask them who they think should be my priority during those moments?”
Fuller’s expression twisted slightly in frustration as he sat back. It transformed almost immediately as his voice grew several decibels louder in an attempt to sound patronizing. “My dear friend, perhaps if you treated the media with more respect, those ‘ugly and base rumors’ you’ve complained about might not run as rampant in the news cycles.” He reached across the table to pat Heskan’s forearm in a faux-consolatory manner. “I understand you’re new to our ways, being an outlander, and I’ve tried my best to act as your guide to media relations but you certainly don’t make it easy!” He sunk further into his chair and laughed good-heartedly into the camera to defuse some of the tension.
“Well, I can use all the help I can get,” Heskan admitted. “I know I’ve ruffled some feathers with my way of doing things, Chase, but I’m used to the media being treated a little differently and it will take some adjustment for me to get used to the change.”
“Since you brought it up, Garrett, any chance you’ll give me an exclusive and tell us what part of the Commonwealth you called home?”
“Sorry, Chase,” Heskan said. “That’s a taboo subject for now but I promise you that if the time ever comes, I will do my best to give you the information first.”
Fuller’s smile brightened even as Heskan felt his stomach pitch. Dammit, Garrett. You shouldn’t have promised that. Any olive branch you extend to him will just be fashioned into a dagger he’ll try to place in your back.
Fuller brought his hand down onto his desk in triumph. “There you have it, folks, when the news breaks, it will break here first!” He looked down at his inlaid monitor again. “Now let’s talk about the legal proceedings scheduled to take place on Nessus.”
* * *
Heskan rose from his interview chair with the applause of the audience. The exchange of thrusts and parries with Fuller took most of the show. When the active camera’s red light dimmed, Fuller’s friendly facade dropped completely and he looked across the studio to a stagehand. “Ed, if you ever again cast that shadow over me while we’re live, I’ll make sure you never get work again.” Ignoring the incoming explanation, he looked down at his desktop and engrossed himself in the preparation for his closing remarks.
I guess he’s done with me, Heskan thought as he looked around the studio blankly. Off in the direction he had walked on stage, the same attendant waved him anxiously toward her.
“You did well,” she complimented quietly as he approached her. She began to lead him back to the holding room. “Your belongings are waiting in your room, Captain Heskan. Will you need me to escort you out of the studio?”
“No, that’s the one route I’m sure I can find.”
The woman brought him to the threshold of his door and stopped. She looked at Heskan pensively before saying, “Don’t discount Mr. Fuller, Captain Heskan. Everyone in AmyraCorp is grateful for what you’ve done but please understand that we Seshafians place a great deal of trust in the media. Fuller may seem like an ass most of the time but an independent media acts as a counterbalance to the corporation and the military.” She looked away shyly for a moment but continued to speak. “We need Chase Fuller just as much as we need you, sir. Otherwise, we might become just a mini-Brevic Republic. It’s happening on other corporate worlds… too much power without enough checks to balance it.”
The statement surprised Heskan. There was much truth to the insight. “Thank you, miss. I’ll give that careful thought.”
The woman smiled modestly and stepped away.
Would things have turned out differently in Anthe if the media reported the truth about how Isabella’s squadron gave up so much to get us home? Would Brevic citizens have insisted on her fair treatment? The likelihood of that seemed slim. The average Brevic’s hatred toward the Commonwealth was renowned and the war only intensified those feelings. Would the public have changed its sentiment given Isabella’s sacrifices? Probably not, Heskan surmised. But then, they were never given the chance.
Heskan opened the door to find Vernay still sitting on the couch.
She looks so small.
Her head lifted upon hearing the door. A puffy redness had supplemented the wrinkles around her eyes. “I can’t do this any longer,” she confessed.
Heskan felt panic course through his body. “My God, what’s wrong?”
Vernay launched herself from the couch as a determined look took hold of her. “I’m done, Captain. I should have never accepted command of Ajax. I’m not capable of commanding her.”
Heskan gawked briefly at her before composing himself. “You’re a better ship captain than I was when I took over Anelace, Stacy, and your potential is light-years wider than mine.”
Vernay shrugged as if in mild concession but then shook her head. She burst into motion toward the door. “My mind is made up. I’m done. I’m not going to jeopardize the lives of my shipmates because my heart isn’t in it.”
Heskan reached out to catch her arm as she tried to maneuver by. “You may feel like your heart isn’t in it right now, but that can change.” He looked at her anxiously. “Don’t you think that I wanted to quit after Derringer? I understand the pain you’re feeling but you’ve got to find a way to walk with it. Don’t let it make your decisions for you.”
“You haven’t a clue as to my pain!” Vernay snapped irritably and jerked her arm out of his grasp. “Or the source of it.”
Heskan reeled from the venom directed at him. He studied her expression and wondered how she could be the wounded party in the room. Perhaps sensing no further comment from him, Vernay sighed and resumed her movement for the door. Heskan’s stomach twisted at the imminent departure of his best officer. I’m losing her,
he realized as more volts of panic shot through him. Do something!
“Stacy, I need you.”
Vernay stopped dead in her tracks.
“I can’t get through this mess without your help,” Heskan confessed. “Please don’t abandon me.”
Vernay’s shoulders plummeted at the simple, impassioned appeal. An eternity of silence stretched out between them until, finally, she answered softly. “I’m only doing this one more time, Captain.”
Heskan’s spirit soared at the ultimatum; the relief washing through his body shook him. He felt his lips curl into an involuntary smile that was quickly extinguished by her next, chilling words.
“Don’t force me to watch you die, Garrett.”
Chapter 12
Stacy Vernay stared longingly at the wall screen in her quarters. The oversized, three-bedroom apartment was located on the top floor of Cooke Tower in Seshafi Major’s fourth largest city, Port Crown. The building was named after Margaret Cooke, great-grandmother of Piers Cooke and famous ship captain during the birth of the corporate systems. The structure currently served as both officer and enlisted quarters for the primary naval base on the planet’s northern continent. Vernay had lived in the spacious apartment since Elathra’s cannibalization for parts needed to repair the other three Colossus-class snows. Those snows remained conspicuously absent during the last few months, still moored in shipyards inside the Lagrin star system.
Vernay stared, transfixed, at the image before her, feeling a combination of hope and doubt. She stubbornly tried to will the doubt away. It was an elusive dream. The ethereal ambition was tangible enough to reach for but incorporeal enough to resist all attempts to wrangle it into reality.
Her datapad chimed from a nearby tabletop and broke Vernay’s trance. She walked away from the dream to see that Selvaggio was on her way. After unlocking the front door with a datapad command, she returned to her present predicament: how to pack twenty days of clothes into her two allotted deployment bags. She frowned at the Federation-style bags that contained nearly a half-dozen compartments and dividers to organize her belongings but in reality only served to limit the total useable space. Her old LG-3 standard Brevic-issued bags were yet another thing she preferred over the “new and improved” versions handed to her by the Seshafian navy.
Despite her unease, she was looking forward to the trip to Nessus. In fact, she was approaching the trip as more recreation than a burden of duty. She had spent two hours speaking with lawyers from AmyraCorp who explained the possibility of her actually being called to the witness stand was slim. Their reasoning was sound. First, Seshafi did not intend to call her to testify. Second, it was highly unlikely that opposing counsel would call to the stand someone obviously devoted to the Seshafian cause when there was very little to gain from it. She had not even made the list of personnel to be deposed by Saden counsel, and the risk of calling a witness to the stand when a barrister did not know how that person would testify was generally unacceptable. When Vernay confessed her fear of being called specifically to answer questions regarding the most recent skirmish in Sade, attorneys dismissed her apprehension on the grounds that those events were irrelevant to the actual proceedings: the murder of Admiral Piers Cooke.
With that weight removed from Vernay’s shoulders, she decided to treat the journey to such a cosmopolitan planet as Nessus as a paid vacation instead of a work requirement. She stood over her baggage and deliberated briefly over bringing an extra pair of flats before attempting to stuff the additional shoes into the bag. The wrinkles they might cause in her clothes, she decided, could be pressed later. A knock on the door interrupted her packing triumph.
“Come in, Diane,” Vernay called out while tugging at the bag’s closure.
Selvaggio entered Vernay’s living room and whistled in admiration. “Wow, this is so much bigger than what I have. What the hell, Stacy? We’re both ship captains; how’d you get this huge apartment?” The raven-haired woman walked over to help Vernay zip the deployment bag. As the pair struggled, Selvaggio’s eyes strayed around the spacious room and stopped on the wall screen. “Where’s that?”
Vernay grunted as the zipper moved its final centimeters. “About forty kilometers south of here. Kind of in the middle of nowhere.”
“The sand is so white,” Selvaggio admired softly. “I’d love to live on the coast but Jack wants a farm with a lot of land.” She screwed her eyebrows at Vernay quizzically.
“A farm?” Vernay barked between fits of laughter.
The brown-eyed woman stifled her own amusement before answering, “Yeah. He wants to farm animals or something.”
“You raise animals. I think you mean a ranch.”
“Oh, whatever. I think Jack fancies himself as some future cattle baron. Can you see Jack on a horse?” Selvaggio shook her head as she looked toward the ceiling in resignation. “But it’s his dream and I love him so what can you do?” She shrugged her shoulders as her eyes dropped to the third finger on her left hand.
“I can’t believe he proposed,” Vernay said. “I’m so happy for the both of you. Have you set a date? Will you have a ceremony?”
Selvaggio admired her engagement ring dreamily. “Thanks, Stacy. Jack was ready to set a date but I wanted to wait. I didn’t want to jinx ourselves with another battle looming. We’ll figure out if we want a traditional ceremony or not later. It’s not like our families could sail in to attend anyway.” She looked at Vernay’s two, burgeoning deployment bags. “You ready?”
Vernay nodded. “How many uniforms did you take?”
“Two. One duty and my dress blues in case I have to testify. I know the captain said we didn’t have to wear our uniforms during the trip but I’d feel naked without having at least one available.” She looked away guiltily.
“I brought the same,” Vernay admitted. Even though there was a certain logic to keeping the military passengers in civilian attire during the trip aboard Hawk, the old habit of having a duty uniform ready to go at a moment’s notice was not easy to ignore. She snatched her datapad off the table and deactivated the wall screen. With the press of her thumb, she initialized the security protocols for the flat. The two friends each grabbed a deployment bag and started tugging. “Let’s go start our vacation. It better be more relaxing than the one to Erriapius.”
* * *
“Everything is squared away,” Chief Anderson promised his captain for the fourth time.
“I know I’m being a pain,” Clayton Covington acknowledged. “I just want everything to be perfect. Not only is it the fleet commander we’re hosting but his entire command crew, Boats. We can’t let them down.”
Anderson stifled a slight smile at the title. Covington had overheard Heskan use the archaic moniker and adopted it ever since. The old chief had to admit that the label’s distinction was a satisfying one. “We’re ready for them, Captain. Everyone on board is set to impress.”
The two men entered Hawk’s shuttle bay. The brig was awaiting the return of its missing shuttle, out now on its mission to retrieve Heskan and company. Hawk’s passenger manifest read like the who’s who of the “New” Seshafian Navy: Heskan, Nguyen, Vernay, Tannault, Selvaggio, Truesworth and Hall. The entire command crew of Elathra would make the trip, except the young sub-lieutenant in charge of Operations who had left the star system after recovering from wounds she had sustained during the battle.
Covington had felt both delighted and horrified when his father informed him that Heskan wanted transport to Nessus on Hawk. He had grown up with access to the inner circle of the highest-ranking Seshafian naval officials, leading him to view Piers Cooke and others in a respected but different light than most. Cooke was certainly a legend within the Seshafian navy, but Covington heard and occasionally witnessed minor foibles that made the legend human. Covington had observed Cooke’s status without the rose-colored glasses of most sailors.
Garrett Heskan, on the other hand, had taken the navy by storm. To Covington, the exemplar of honor
and combat was an unspoiled and uncompromisingly honest fighter who valued courage and integrity above pomp and circumstance. The man and his equally dauntless crew were veterans of the Hollaran-Brevic War and represented everything that officers should be. Garrett Heskan was the finest example of leadership and that path now shone brightly for the CEO’s son, who was determined not to let his privileged status diminish the truly noble route illuminated before him.
Warning claxons alerted the sailors inside the hangar to the paragon’s imminent arrival as containment fields snapped into place. A marine second lieutenant called his reception detail to attention and even Covington felt his back stiffen slightly at the woman’s powerful command. Covington exhaled slowly to release some of his rising tension.
“We’re set, Captain,” Anderson assured him again.
The aft-most portion of Hawk’s hangar deck split to reveal infinite space. Condensation bubbles momentarily appeared as atmosphere evacuated from the enclosure. Minutes later, Hawk’s wayward shuttle rose from the depths of space and into the bay. Covington felt his heart rate rise with the shuttle’s upward movement. A terrifying instant later, the shuttle settled rather abruptly onto the deck and the bay doors behind it began to close.
Covington gritted his teeth at the imperfect touchdown. That’s our best shuttle pilot, he thought with more than a little irritation but quickly exhaled once again. They probably didn’t even feel it, Clayton… don’t sweat it.
Once atmosphere was restored and the containment fields collapsed, the opening shuttle door and piped-in music foretold the fleet commander’s presence. Covington and his boatswain walked in step to the shuttle ramp. From behind them, the marine ordered “present arms,” causing every soul in the hangar to salute in unison.