The others tested the air and attention sharpened, testifying to the Master’s conclusion. Out of deference, they allowed Vom to exit the room first, but scrambled to be second.
No one talked while they ate. It pays to do the important things in life well. Thus Tlar had said and thus they believed. Afterwards, they sat back and relaxed.
“Ah, Tlar was right,” Ange observed, his pupils slitted in pleasure, “there is nothing like a good meal with good company.”
“Caught it myself,” the sleek, grey-furred cook said proudly, as she brushed absently at her scarred nose, “just like Tlar said. No wonder it tastes good. I waited, a paragon of patience, until it came so close you could almost reach out a claw and hook it. Then I jumped,” Kiron laughed. “It didn’t have time to go to wing!”
Vom raised his head and looked at Kiron so long that she suddenly quieted, as did the rest. He continued staring, looking through her rather than at her, she thought, making her most nervous indeed.
“If there’s something I said or did, Master, pray let me know that I may honor you by not doing it again.” She had the faintest touch of a tremor in her voice and the others looked away, shamed. Vom had no right to treat her so. Had he a complaint, found something amiss, he should tell her directly. Hunters enjoyed toying thus with their prey, not they.
Vom’s eyes focused and he bowed his head low as Kiron’s words penetrated. “Pray forgive the unseemliness of my behavior, Kiron. Your words enlightened me and, caught by them, I thought naught of else. You have my thanks, not my censure.”
The atmosphere lightened perceptibly. Vom bared his teeth, his ears cocked in the joy of the hunt. “Thanks to Kiron a new strategy arises. Attend closely.”
All leaned forward; Kiron gave a little purr of pleasure at Vom’s acknowledgement of her contribution . . . though even she did not know its form.
LORM MILITARY ACADEMY
“My god, I think they’ve pumped enough specs into my poor brain that I could build a Class-C Mothball from scratch. I feel like a cadet again.”
The sun lowered and the group of recalled captains enjoyed a needed breather before evening classes.
Vella Mesicsah groaned as she saw Commodore Prusnol headed their way. “This probably bodes ill,” she remarked to no one in particular, “it’s Old Square-Jaw.”
Commodore Prusnol, whose moniker cadets had bestowed on him many years earlier, grinned. Reorienting captains required a different protocol than instructing cadets.
“Good afternoon, Captains,” he began, “I have some news.” Their attention fixed on him; the smiles engendered by Mesicsah’s comment faded.
“Captains Fronel, Llemartol, Mesicsah, Neco and Thugan: your bridge officers have arrived and, as we speak, Bravo II readies your ships. Now we begin in earnest.” He smiled at the groans. “The rest of you must wait a little longer. Now, if those named will come with me, we’ll get you introduced, and start you working together; your ships will comprise a short squadron.”
The six officers walked together towards the conference building. “As a short squadron you will need to work together well. I suggest you take some time and get acquainted.”
They passed through the doors to the large square building and proceeded to the personnel offices. An old spacer handed each of the captains a datastick. “Those hold the records of your bridge officers, Captains,” Prusnol told them. “Familiarize yourselves with them. Your time here grows short.”
* * *
The small tavern hummed with music. Lemm Fronel relaxed into his chair and contemplated his wine. Three hours of file study had resulted in a need to relax.
“Youngsters, mostly,” he said. “It’ll be a job.”
“We’ve all done it before, Lemm,” Vella Mesicsah smiled at him. She had, Lemm thought, the curves of a much younger woman—and the charm. Were he not married—he let the thought go.
“Correct, Captain Mesicsah, we have—with the exception of our young fire-eater, Captain Neco.” Ten Llemartol, tall, stout and blocky of face, grinned. “This will be your first command, will it not, Captain Neco?”
Honin Neco turned his serious blue eyes to the hero of Restovine. He felt honored to serve in the same squadron. “Yes, sir, it will,” he replied. The others laughed gently. Neco flushed, realizing his error. “Sorry, the fourth stripe is still new.”
“Don’t worry, Honin,” Ulla Thugan confided in a stage whisper, “you’ll soon get used to these lofty heights. It took me only . . . oh, three or four years. But, if you can fake it well, no one will know. That’s what I did.”
“And I,” agreed Llemartol. “Just remember that you are a God now, and may the heavens help any ignorant of that fact.”
The senior captains broke up laughing and Neco joined them somewhat tentatively. They relaxed again and sipped their drinks.
“The thing to remember is that Ulla has seniority,” Llemartol said, returning their attention to the matter at hand. “Until we get a commodore, we look to her for orders. As of the moment, she’s squadron leader.”
“Ten, you are more experienced in battle than any of us,” Ulla objected, brushing absently at a strand of greying hair that had escaped the barrette.
“Restovine lies far in the past, Ulla, in a very different sort of war. Fire-eaters like young Neco and myself will need to be reined in. Class-C frigates will not stand up to the demands we would put on them.” He affected to not notice Neco’s sudden blush of pleasure at being included in a very select group. “Vella?”
“Agreed. Ulla, you have the job, like it or not.”
Lemm Fronel nodded as heads turned his way. He, in turn, looked over to Neco who, as most junior captain, signified his agreement. If the others agreed on Thugan, he wasn’t about to argue the point.
Fronel, the most recently retired, cleared his throat. The others looked to him expectantly. “The Commodore wants us to operate as a team. He’ll watch for that. As well as getting our own officers into shape and getting our ships ready, we must learn how Ulla thinks. Let’s begin with common scenarios.”
They spent the next hour brainstorming solutions to typical problems. In each case, Ulla Thugan listened to all points of view, then made her decision. Once made, no one argued the point. It just might work out, Fronel thought, Class-Cs or no. They had the makings of a team.
CONFEDERATION SCOUTSHIP SEARCHER
Tension permeated the atmosphere aboard Searcher. The crew shrugged into their survival suits and manned their stations. Natya Krirtol looked up from her console. Her captain had beads of sweat on his forehead. So, even he worried about the drop.
A full day, now, their probe had sent clear and nominal signals, yet none could forget that the signals from their last drop had also displayed such conditions. The other probe, lost to the Phenomenon, could give no hints as to what might be considered abnormal in its presence.
Three days had passed since Lieutenant-Commander Britlot had declared them likely out of danger. He gave it an additional three days’ margin at the half power, which Engineering still recommended. One engine remained unenergized, Engineer Chief Retuwet not willing to risk running it if not absolutely required; pieces from another lay scattered about the spaces as he and his staff took it apart to find its problems.
Krirtol looked over to Comm-Op Neler Dhine. He caught her gaze and shrugged. No word from the Confederation. All attempts at communication had failed. That, more than anything, unnerved the crew. With comm, they felt a part of something bigger: Fleet. Without, they felt alone.
Dhine had checked the comm equipment time and again. Not his fault, he pleaded. The Comm checked out green, operational. Yet no signals arrived to their urgent queries. Perhaps the Confederation received what Searcher sent. They didn’t know, and not knowing made it worse than a definite comm failure.
The clock drew her attention and she watched the seconds tick away. Dorvon drummed his fingers on his gunnery console. Krirtol glared at him and he desisted.
An aura of unhappiness surrounded her. All the new navigational work, all the mapping she’d worked so hard at—all gone. Only hard memory had survived the Phenomenon. They hadn’t cut hard discs of the new data. She had almost cried with frustration until Lieutenant Weytok had reminded her that the Confederation had the data. The loss applied only to them.
“We’ll drop, recalibrate and begin anew. When we return home, they’ll simply add our new work to the old,” Weytok had comforted her. Small comfort, Krirtol thought. They shouldn’t be doing this. They should return to base for repairs. Britlot, however, had been adamant, and would not deviate from his course. Hot to find the Adians, he dismissed what she and the others felt.
A minute left.
The Captain caught each of their eyes in turn and smiled. Krirtol tried unsuccessfully to smile back.
“Drop!”
Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol held herself very still and tight. Weytok’s fingers did their magic on the con, and the ship slipped out of hyperspace. The starfield wavered and steadied. The silence deafened. Normal space looked very good and Krirtol drew in a breath. She’d stopped breathing, she realized.
“Up shields. Detectors?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Very good. Navigation, do your stuff. Soon as we recalibrate all instruments and get some idea of where we are, we’ll head for the nearest star system.” Britlot allowed no trace of the relief he felt into his voice. As Captain he needed to maintain the illusion that normalcy and disaster were as one to him.
“XO, you have the con. I’m going back to Engineering to check on the engines.”
“Aye, sir. I have the con.”
Britlot made his way slowly back to Engineering, stopping to talk with the cook, who sat in the mess peeling off his emergency suit.
“Smoked survane for supper, sir,” he told Britlot.
Britlot cocked an eyebrow. “A bit extravagant.”
“But it’s Lormar’s Confederation Day,” Tetjuin reminded him, somehow hurt. Even the smallest perceived slights now appeared large.
“Ah, of course it is. You’re from Lormar, aren’t you, Cookie?”
“Aye, sir. Born and raised in the capital city.” Tetjuin opened his oven and pulled out fresh binta bread.
“Smells wonderful, Cookie. We’ll have Friesen wine with the meal to celebrate.”
Tetjuin smiled, mollified, and Britlot moved on.
Engineering remained a mess. With the suspect engine in pieces, and the engineers only now beginning to carefully reassemble it, the compartment looked like a junkyard.
“Good day, Chief,” Britlot greeted Engineer Chief Retuwet. “Thought I’d come by the Hole and see the progress. All quiet up front, so it seemed like a good time to stretch my legs.”
“We should have her back together and ready before we jump again, Captain. It’s been something of a do. Really a dockyard job. Uraphret has been working above and beyond, sir.”
“Good. I’ll so notate her record.” Britlot ignored the hint they should return to a Confederation dock.
“Thank you, sir.”
Britlot inspected the area and talked with the other crew before returning to the bridge to relieve Weytok.
CAPITAL CITY, LORMAR
“Oooh,” Melsie Drendol cooed as the fireworks lit up the sky. Her blue eyes filled with wonder as skyrocket after skyrocket blazed a trail upwards and burst in a splendor of colors. “Did you see that one, Grandie?”
“Yes, Melsie, I saw. Look!” Lemm Fronel pointed out yet another color-burst rocket and Melsie clapped her hands together with joy. His granddaughter enjoyed the fireworks more than any of them, as they celebrated Lormar’s Confederation day. She sat on her father’s shoulders, like many other small children at the park.
It was good to be with family, Lemm thought as he watched the little girl’s face light up again and again with wonder. For him, the wonder had long since passed. Yet, he enjoyed the artistry. His gaze went past Jol Drendol, his son-in-law, to his daughter, Colli. A beauty, she took after her mother more than him, thanks be to the gods. Good strong features, he thought, but each of them complementing the others. If only she had listened to him. Still, the union produced Melsie.
“Oh, look at that, Melsie,” Colli called out with an excitement Lemm wished he could still feel. But the latest briefing left him worried. The second front would arrive sooner than anyone had expected, and Lormar stood directly in the path of Tlartox aggression. No declaration of war had come from the Tlartox, but the Treaty renewal rejection made it only a matter of time. Some hoped, but the massing of the Tlartox fleets made it a foregone conclusion. The speed the Tlartox navy had prepared for the campaign caught everyone by surprise—even the Tlartox, it seemed.
The quick-fire busting of a multitude of rockets lit the entire sky, and a roar of appreciation rose from the crowd. Melsie grinned and held her hands over her ears, as the explosions seemed to rock the very earth. Lemm smiled at the sight of her, though the sparkling trails of the rockets reminded him too much of the tactical displays he would soon see. He sighed. Even in this celebration, the threat of war showed its ugly face.
Silence. The sky slowly went dark as the last of the sparklers faded and died. For several long moments the crowd stayed in place, as if hoping for yet another volley, then began to disperse. Soon landcruisers would fill the area roads.
The Fronel family made their way through the park, drifting with the masses.
“How much longer?” Relnie asked him, leaning against him as they walked.
“We move up to Prime Delta day after tomorrow. Torbird awaits us. She’s a Class-C frigate, and we’ll train aboard her until they re-commission our ships. We’ll get a day or two leave before going to Spacedock Bravo II for squadron maneuvers.”
Relnie held him tighter, then released him. A spoken name caught his attention and he drifted slightly away from his family in order to overhear the conversation.
“I tell you, it’s true,” a middle-aged man was saying. “I have it straight from Karli. She says they’ve been engaged to look after the houses while they are on vacation.”
“What’s wrong with that, Hoert?” his companion questioned.
“What’s wrong is they have given her no set return date, Frell,” Hoert sounded his impatience. He didn’t appear to think too highly of the other’s intelligence. “Don’t you see? They aren’t planning on returning. And that’s not all. Karli heard that Admiral Jhorsal’s entire family has left over the last two months. What’s wrong is: the navy families are slowly leaving Lormar.” The man’s voice turned from angry to frightened. “They know something, Frell, and they aren’t telling the rest of us.”
The conversation ended, and Lemm hurried back to where Relnie and the rest waited. He felt an increase in the coldness which rarely left him these days.
“I’m buying iced cream for all,” Lemm declared much to the delight of Melsie, and the surprise of the others. Usually he just wished to get away from the crowds. “I don’t like driving at night so much anymore,” he explained without being asked. “This’ll give the traffic a chance to clear.”
One by one they received their flavored creams and went to sit at one of the tables. Jol and Lemm were last to order.
“I’d like to talk with you a moment, Jol.”
“Sure, Dad.” Jol watched him warily, braced for the usual. He spooned some cream into his mouth and allowed it to slowly melt while Lemm placed his order and paid.
“How’s the job, Jol?” They wandered over to the window and gazed at the park.
Jol looked out from under his heavy brows, his face suddenly still. “The job is fine,” he replied carefully. His father-in-law rarely engaged in small talk. This was no family chat. This was man-to-man stuff. “Come straight to the point, Lemm.”
Lemm raised his brows in surprise. Jol wasn’t one to stand up to an issue. Perhaps Jol had matured since he and Colli had married. Lemm doubted it, just as he doubted Colli’s messages portray
ing him as a solid father. But, how could he tell? That’s what came of being off among the stars while your family grew up.
“I just heard some disturbing talk about Fleet from a couple of civilians. I want to know what the gen is around your factory.” If Jol wanted it straight, he’d get it straight.
Jol scooped another mouthful of cream before replying. “Some people are getting edgy, Lemm. Relations with the Tlartox continue to go downhill, and Lormar sits too close to their empire. Everyone knows that.” He paused a long moment, then held Lemm’s eyes. “But some think that the Fleet knows just a bit more, and those higher up are pulling their families out.”
Insolence, or just straight talk? “I see.”
So, it was true. Living on a navy planet, the people of Lormar were more finely attuned to Fleet nuances than most.
“You know they’ve recalled me,” he stated. Jol well knew that but, if his son-in-law had any intelligence, his saying so would tell him what a man needed to know without Lemm compromising his oath.
Jol gave him a long, steady look. “We don’t have the money to leave, especially not based on rumors.”
“I know.” Lemm sighed. “Things get bad, you move into the house.” It was a fortress in all but name.
Jol nodded. “I’ve begun stockpiling necessities.”
Lemm’s eyebrows rose. Probably Colli’s doing, he supposed. “I’ll let her know.”
“No, Lemm, you won’t.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s my job. I’m her husband. I’ll take care of her, just like I promised.” He paused, then fixed Lemm with a steely gaze. “You look after yourself out there, Lemm. It is going to get ugly.”
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