Starhold

by J. Alan Field

  Pettigrew tried not to take it personal and let the truth of what Getchell said sink in. “Sir, I think you’ve just given me some very sound advice.”

  The admiral rose and walked to a cabinet. “Join me in a brandy, Captain?”

  Pettigrew didn’t like brandy, but he knew it would be a bad tactical decision to decline. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “According to your report, your ship’s pretty banged up. Looks like you’re going to have to sit this one out,” Getchell remarked as he handed a snifter to the younger officer.

  “Sir, we just need a patch job. I think we can be operational in a few days at most.”

  Getchell swirled the fine Tezrinan brandy under his Roman nose and inhaled its aroma. “My people say six days, minimum. Rusalka Station is only a Class Two facility and its resources are being stretched to the breaking point as is. Besides, the task force will be departing in forty-eight standard hours. I don’t see any way Tempest can be with us.”

  Pettigrew took a gulp of brandy. He hated the taste, but maybe he needed some right now. “Sir, I have an idea.”

  Getchell sipped his drink and smirked. “I knew you would. Go ahead, be clever for me, Captain.”

  Pettigrew plunged ahead. “Not trying to be clever, sir, just trying to get my ship into the fight. I noticed that Lares is in system.” Lares was a massive auxiliary vessel, the only Union ship of her kind. She was a mobile spacedock, designed to repair ships that were stranded in systems without repair facilities or near forward areas during a conflict.

  “Yes, Lares is here for additional ship support. Admiral Sykes is bringing Sixth Fleet to Hybrias, just in case our mission at Sol goes all wrong.”

  “Not to be presumptuous, sir, but I’ve already checked with the dockmaster of Lares. If you give your permission, Lares could begin work on Tempest immediately and have us operational within five days, possibly four. My guess is that TF Nineteen will rendezvous at a rally point just outside Sol before entering the system. If Tempest follows but makes directly for Sol and not the rally point, we can be there at almost the same time as you, sir.” When traveling long distances, groups of warships tended to get strung out in hyperspace. Battleships, for instance, couldn’t travel as fast as destroyers could. To enter a system in force, it was naval doctrine to use a rally point just outside the target system in order to gather everyone together for action.

  Admiral Getchell leaned back in his chair. “You really want in the fight that bad? Hell, there may not even be a fight. My orders are to attempt diplomacy first, especially if we have a first contact situation on our hands.”

  “Sir, Tempest is the only ship in the fleet that’s actually fought these people, whoever or whatever they are. It may not be much of an edge, but it’s one you may be able to use when the time comes,” Pettigrew countered. When Getchell failed to respond immediately, Pettigrew pushed on. “Just two hours ago, I watched eleven bodies being hauled off my ship, sir. Tempest needs to be at Sol when it all goes down. My crew and I need to understand what this is all about, why our crewmates had to give their lives. We’ve earned the right!”

  That got a rebuke from Getchell. “Forgive me, Captain, but you’re sounding a bit entitled,” the admiral said in a sharp voice.

  “I don’t mean to be, sir, it’s just that I’m angry at what’s happened.”

  The admiral stared at the captain with uncertain eyes, trying to decide about Pettigrew. Rubbing his jaw with his left hand, Getchell finally stood.

  “All right, Captain—you win. I’ll cut the orders for Lares to begin repairs on your ship at once. You’re instructions are to follow the fleet ASAP, making directly for Sol. But, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you. I don’t need your brilliant tactical mind at Sol, Captain—I need your heavy cruiser. So, if and when we go into battle, you play it straight up and by the book.”

  “That’s perfectly clear, sir.”

  “And speaking of orders,” Getchell continued, sitting himself on the corner of his desk, “if anything should happen to me or my flag captain, you will take command of the fleet as senior officer.”

  Pettigrew was caught off guard. “Surely, there must be someone else in the task force more senior than myself.”

  “Believe me, I’ve checked and it’s you. I’ll send you the mission orders I received from Central Command to make it official, but there’s one thing you need to know. My orders are that, if in my judgment, the outsider’s presence on Earth constitutes a threat to the security of the Union, I am to destroy not only the enemy ships but also the colony on the ground via orbital bombardment.”

  Getchell paused a moment to let that sink in. Union probes indicated the existence of up to twenty thousand lives at the Earth colony, lives that Getchell or Pettigrew may have to destroy. “I can only hope that neither of us has to give that dreadful order.”

  “Agreed, sir.” Pettigrew placed his empty brandy snifter on the desk. The somber mood of the last topic made him want to request a refill, but he had work to do. “Admiral, if I’m to have my ship ready, I have work to do. Permission to return to my vessel, sir?”

  “Permission granted, and good luck, Captain. I expect we’ll all need some in the coming weeks.”

  Pettigrew turned to leave and Getchell called after him.

  “Oh, Captain, do me a favor, will you? Day after tomorrow, my Merrifield football team plays in the first round of the Pan-Union Cup. Obviously, I’m going to miss the match. When you arrive at Sol, let me know how the game turned out, will you?”

  “I’d be happy to, sir,” Pettigrew grinned. As he was about to step through the hatchway, he turned back to Getchell. “And, sir, thank you.”

  By now, the admiral was back behind his desk, head down and writing on his paper pad. Without looking up, he nodded. “Dismissed, Captain.”

  * * * *

  He almost lost her at the bar. It was the day of the first Pan-Union tournament game and the place was packed with fans, gathering to watch the match on the big viewscreens. Many were locals, but off-duty spacers and Marines were out in full force as well. The Hybrias system had become the most militarized place in Union space. Sixth Fleet had arrived yesterday, joining Fifth Fleet who was already stationed here. There was talk of war with Gerrha in the air, but Hybrias wasn’t even close to Commonwealth space and nobody could figure out what was really going on. He was certain the captain knew, but the Old Man wasn’t sharing.

  With over forty warships in system and a great many of their personnel on shore leave, things were really wild in Port Bannatyne that evening. Toss in the football match with a lot of drinking and the local constabulary was gradually being overwhelmed. Fights were breaking out everywhere: ship crews fighting other crews, fans fighting other fans, spacers fighting civilians, and Marines fighting everyone.

  The first bar she hit must have been too unruly for her tastes, because she came out just seconds after she entered. In fact, she left so fast that he almost bumped into her. Only a quick dodge behind a huge Marine sergeant saved him from being spotted. When the sergeant wanted to know what was up, he had to do some quick thinking. The Marine was clearly buzzed and not in a good mood, so he smiled and promised to treat the Sarge and his chums to a drink, then sprinted away when the big oaf went through the bar’s old-fashioned revolving door entrance.

  It was a few minutes before he picked up the trail again, spotting her red blouse down the street. Thank the Gods she hadn’t worn her uniform because he would have never found her in the sea of space force blues flooding the city. This time she chose what looked to be a smaller, more intimate dining establishment. That worked for him. If all went according to plan, intimate would be good.

  Waiting outside for fifteen minutes or so, he did a final check of himself while looking at his reflection in a shop window. His hair looked good. It was never mussed because it was so short, too short in the back where a premature bald spot was growing. His stubble beard looked fine, making him look more mas
culine. The clothes checked out too. It was mid-summer in Port Bannatyne and he had selected a light cotton print shirt and beige trousers for the evening. He gawked at a netboard mounted on the facade of a building across the street to kill some more time, pretending to be interested in its flashing images. Someone must have scored in the football match, as a noisy cheer suddenly sprang from every building up and down the avenue. Finally, when he was sure she was committed to dinner—and when he had worked up enough nerve—he moved toward the door of the restaurant.

  She was alone at a corner table. It suddenly occurred to him that she might be meeting someone, which would be a disaster. Wait, if that were the case, she wouldn’t have bolted from that first place. OK, this was going to be OK. He went to the bar and ordered a draught beer, which would help him stay his nerves. ‘Social lubricant’ was a term he had once heard. Waiting for his drink, he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye. I happen to be having a drink and saw you over here by yourself. That was the play. Wait—she’s got datatabs spread out on the table. Gods, she’s actually working! It figures, this is probably her idea of a fun night out.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  Taylin Adams looked up from her tablet. It was odd seeing her in civvies and just as strange seeing her with jewelry on. She was wearing a gold necklace with matching earrings peeking through her shoulder length brunette hair—not a look ever seen on duty. The red blouse resulted in a fine décolletage, something else never seen on the bridge of the Tempest. Regulations could be so cruel.

  “Commander,” she acknowledged coolly.

  “I just came in for a drink and saw you from the bar. May I join you?” Parker Knox asked in his best innocent voice. Before she could protest—and she was about to—he seated himself. “Just for a few minutes, I promise. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner, or your work.”

  “You already have.”

  “Taylin, we’re on shore leave! This can wait until you’re back aboard ship,” he said just before taking a mouthful of beer.

  Adams took a sip of her Galbanese Chardonnay. “No, it really can’t. This work has to be done before we leave this system, which, if the Lares people are right, is in two days. Frankly, I’m not sure why the Captain even granted shore leave. We’re on a very tight schedule.”

  “The crew needs to take a break. Gods, we just lost twelve people. You can’t expect everyone to keep that pent up inside them. These people need to cut loose a little.”

  She put her datatab down on the table. “Twelve? Did you just say twelve?”

  Knox blinked at her and then looked down toward his beer. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Petty Officer McGahey died a few hours ago.”

  Both officers were silent for a minute, interrupted by the server bringing Adams dinner. Knox quickly killed his beer and asked the server for another.

  “Commander, I was really hoping to have some time alone this evening,” Adams said as she started on her pasta salad.

  “Really? I was actually hoping we could spend some time together, getting to know each other. I mean just talking, that’s all. Since I transferred to the Tempest, I don’t know, it’s like you and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye. I was hoping to get past that and just talk, you know. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better.” Knox looked at her with pleading eyes.

  “And what would you and I ‘just talk’ about, Commander?”

  “I don’t know—anything. The Captain,” he blurted out, interrupted by the arrival of his second beer. “What do you think of the Captain?”

  “I like him,” Adams said as she continued to eat. “The crew likes him and most importantly, they respect him. I think he’s a good man. He’s a good leader, even if he’s, well, unorthodox.”

  Knox scoffed as he sipped the foam off his drink. “Unorthodox, now that’s an interesting choice of words. Don’t get me wrong, I like Captain Pettigrew, I really do. It’s just that his unorthodox style bothers me. He’s reckless. For a moment back there at Uritski, I wasn’t sure we were going to make it. I still think we should have met up with that destroyer.”

  Adams stopped eating and glared at Knox.

  “There’s that look. You looked at me the same way on the bridge that day, during the battle. What’s with that look?” he asked. She made no move to respond and simply held the glare. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, “Why do you always have an attitude toward me?”

  Adams took another sip of her wine. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Sure,” he answered, forcing a smile.

  “I don’t like you. I think you’re in over your head. No XO worth his spit would sit here and question his commanding officer in front of another officer. I think at Uritski, you wanted to rendezvous with that destroyer because you’re craven, not because it was good strategy. You may not think Captain Pettigrew is a good CO, but let me tell you something—he’s a hundred times better officer than you can ever hope to be.”

  Knox froze for a moment. “Wow! That really was speaking freely.” He tried to laugh off her scathing comments. “I think we’ve just gotten off on the wrong foot here. That’s why we need to talk and get to know each other. All those things you just said, that’s not me, it really isn’t. If you got to know me, you’d understand how wrong you are.” He placed his hand on hers. “Seriously, why don’t you finish your dinner and then we can go someplace and have a few drinks. It’ll do us both a world of good. What do you say?”

  She moved her face slightly closer to his. “I say, if you don’t take your hand off me, I’m going to put this fork into your arm, all the way to the bone—sir.”

  Knox tried to maintain his genial expression, but it eroded in an instant. He withdrew his hand and closed it around his pilsner glass. “All right, Commander, I’ll leave you to your work.” Standing up and placing his fisted right hand over his left shoulder in a mock salute, he turned and conducted a slow and measured retreat.

  That was so predictable, I should have known. To think that a little space force automaton like Taylin Adams could lighten up and enjoy herself for one evening was hoping for too much. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. If she won’t respond to kindness, then he’d figure out another way to deal with her.

  After exiting the restaurant, he stopped on the sidewalk to collect himself. Across the street, two figures came crashing through the front window of a small drinking establishment. The Marine and the spacer, both women, continued fighting as if they hadn’t noticed their own defenestration. Some of the patrons tore themselves away from the football match to come outside and gawk at this contest instead.

  The town was alive and the evening was young. If Knox hit a few more places, surely he would run into some nice female crewmember from Tempest who would be more than happy to party with the XO. As for Taylin Adams, well she could go straight to hell.

  7: Destiny

  Earth

  Three standard weeks later

  The black glidecar and its escorts slid along the streets of Bakkoa. Actually, the car slid above the streets—three feet above them. Lord Governor Cheprin had ordered the car to be elevated so that he was raised above the citizenry, but also kept low enough to allow his people to see him. It was a lovely afternoon and the car roof had been retracted. As the Lord Governor rode by on the city streets, the people understood to stop what they were doing, smile at him while taking a slight bow and hold that position until the car was out of sight. Occasionally, he would favor them with his own insincere smile. Seated beside him, Deputy Governor Sheel once lifted a hand to wave at someone he knew, prompting a subtle but firm rebuke from Cheprin. Nobles, even Lessers like Sheel, simply did not wave to the Emperor’s Common Children.

  They had presided over the opening of a school building today, the fourth new school since the colony’s founding. Sheel felt it was an exciting occasion because it meant the colony was continuing to grow and prosper. After all, they did have an entire planet to populate. Howe
ver, the Deputy Governor knew his superior did not share his enthusiasm. Cheprin said all the right things and observed the proper form, but the man was like a cardboard cutout of a leader. The only thing he showed real zest for these days was his liaison with Naar. Understandable, Sheel supposed, she was an attractive young woman.

  The glidecar traveled slowly along as they journeyed back to the Government Compound. Sheel found himself gazing not so much at the people, wearing their forced expressions of happiness, but at the city itself.

  The colonial fleet had arrived at Earth twelve years ago. For two years, they lived in orbit aboard the ships as the planetary engineers worked their magic to restore the world’s biosphere. Many of the eighty or so vessels in the fleet then landed and disgorged colonists, vehicles, prefabricated living units and factories. The ships themselves were then disassembled and turned into apartment buildings, industrial units, shops, farm silos, and whatever else was needed for survival. Some of the larger ships were dismantled in orbit and brought down piece by piece. The Government Compound itself was constructed from the shell of the colonial flagship. It had been a colossal effort. Sheel was convinced that any people who could do all of that could also conquer this world—and more if they were asked.

  Now, the Threshold had been activated. Dr. Acree was undoubtedly one of the greatest scientific minds of his time. The scientist had made good on last month’s promise and the great gateway was now functioning, though at first there had been concern. A message had been sent through the Threshold and no response had returned. No updates from home, no greetings, no acknowledgements, just empty silence from the other side. It was like that for a week and then a message was received from the Homeword. There was jubilation—mostly. Some citizens were content with being on their own, relishing the distance from the heavy hand of the Rhuzari Empire. Sheel appreciated their apprehension about a reunion with Homeworld authority, but he knew Cheprin could never understand their concerns. Now, just an hour ago, word had arrived that a Rhuzari battle group had emerged from the Threshold. The school ceremony was shortened and it was back to the Government Compound.