by J. R. Mabry
The young woman’s eyes were sharp and wide-set, and her hair was a blonde buzz cut. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor, sir.”
“This is going to be your first battle situation, I understand.”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ll be honest with you—if there were another weaponer aboard with any experience at all, they’d be in that seat right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But your simulations reveal that you’re the meanest gun-toting bitch on this vessel.”
“I am, sir.” One lip curled back, showing Jo more crooked teeth than she cared to see.
“What’s our situation?”
“I’ve got sixteen gunners, all first class, and three with first-class honors. They’re prepping every cannon port we’ve got. The torpedo crew has been drilling for the past four days. I told them to get some rest last night, but they’re in place and they’ve run one simulation—we’re at 104% efficiency, according to RFC goal standards, sir.”
Jo nodded. “Good. Get to work.”
“Yes sir.” Ditka’s head snapped down to look at her console and her fingers flew over it. Every now and then she looked up to reference something on her neural.
Jo swung about to face the view screen again. A calm came over her that only materialized in the heat of battle. It was how she knew she was destined to be a soldier. Every woman she grew up with would have been scared shitless—that was true of most of the men as well. But she welcomed it, like an old friend, the feeling of ecstasy mixed with centered, focused attention. Let others opt for whisky or morphex. This was her drug of choice.
She punched at the arm of her command chair. “Dr. Mbusa, everything battle ready in sickbay?”
It took a moment, but seconds later she heard the doctor’s sonorous voice. “We’re ready, sir. Fully staffed, with first aid teams located throughout the ship. I’ve got stasis tubes powered up and ready to hold the worst injuries until we can get them proper treatment.”
“Excellent. Bridge out.”
They were as ready as they were going to be.
“Mr. Chi, I want you to adjust our course.”
“Sir?”
“Aim wide of the battle and overshoot. In fact, I don’t want to drop into normal space until we’re past the thick of it. As soon as we’re running on conventional thrusters, I want you to bring us about on an arc, approximately 750k from the epicenter of the conflict, and keep us there.”
“Adjusting course settings, sir.”
Captain Felix of the Fang had mission authority, but until she got a direct order she was going to trust her gut. It had never steered her wrong before.
A few minutes later, Jo heard the telltale whine of the thrusters, and felt the momentary, gut-lurching transition as the ship dropped out of its C-register and into normal space. She watched the star wheel turn on the main viewer as they came about.
“Full tactical display,” she called over her shoulder to Liebert.
A moment later the main view screen was segmented, and she was able to sort through what they faced. At the top was a bird’s-eye view of the conflict. She saw the moving red dot that was the Talon near the periphery, just as she’d hoped. Other colored circles identified friendly and enemy ships, fifty-two of them all told.
There didn’t appear to be anything just ahead of them, and indeed, the portion of the screen reserved for the prow camera showed her nothing but distant stars.
She began to sort through the specs of the ships they had and those they were facing. She made mental notes and occasionally looked up to check a fact on her neural. She rubbed at her jaw. Finally she spoke.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Mr. Chi, set a spiral course working our way into the center of the conflict, adjusting only to intercept enemy ships within 100,000 kilometers of that course. Instead of joining the thick of the battle, we’re going to clean up the field of every single ship not engaging. Try to come up behind these ships if you can. Use your head.
“Mr. Ditka, I want you to be smart about how we attack. I don’t care about destroying these ships, I only care about their ability to fight. Don’t waste firepower making big explosions. Target smart and take out their weapons and drives. Do the most you can as fast as you can. We’ve got a lot of ships to cripple.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jo spun in her chair. “Mr. Liebert, I have a special assignment for you. I want you to catalog every enemy ship within hailing range. Find me the one that isn’t doing anything.”
Tash Liebert scowled. “Not doing anything?”
Jo spun back toward the main viewer. “Look at that—they’re kicking our asses, and they’re doing it smart. Someone is calling an organized game—more than we’re doing. We need to find them.”
Chi and Ditka looked at each other, then back down at their consoles.
Liebert spoke, his voice much higher than usual. “Sir, I have an Authority vessel coming up on our starboard bow—distance 498 kilometers.”
“On screen.”
There was a flicker, but the ship soon came into view. It was facing the main battle, and looked like it was aligning itself for a run at one of the RFC battle cruisers.
“Swing wide, Mr. Chi. Try to get us in his exhaust chute.”
“No good, Captain. He’s seen us. He’s coming about.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Ditka, take out those guns and seal those torpedo ports. Fire at will.”
The Authority ship had fired first, however, and the bridge lurched as Navigator Chi tried to evade the fire. Jo felt the metal bones of the ship shake as the torpedo connected.
She punched at the arm of her chair, calling up engineering. “Status?”
“Direct hit to our port bow,” Chief Engineer Avery’s voice was quick and distracted. “Shields at 95% and holding. No structural damage.”
“That’s what I want to hear,” Jo said.
Shell Ditka’s fingers were flying, and Jo watched as a barrage of particle bursts erupted across the hull of the enemy ship. Then, a surprise—two thin laser lines converged on a point she could not make out. There was an orange flare.
“The enemy’s aft cannons are offline,” Ditka called out.
Two torpedo bursts shot from beneath them and arced toward the enemy cruiser, one following the other along a slightly divergent route. A swarm of laser fire caught the first one and lit it up—the explosion filled the screen for a few seconds, but a larger explosion followed as the second torpedo found its mark and the ship’s exhaust cones transformed into a blinding fireball that soon consumed the whole ship.
“That’s one way to do it,” Jo said. “Good work, Mr. Ditka. Only next time, let’s just disable the ship, if we can. Ships are cheaper to appropriate than they are to build.” She tapped at her temple, “Long range vision.”
“Captain,” Liebert called, “I’ve got RFC Mission Command for you—Captain Felix.”
“On screen.”
There was a flicker, and then Jo was staring at a bridge much like her own. In the command chair was a slight, Indian-looking man of about her age with a large nose and a wispy mustache. There was a lot of noise on his bridge, but his own voice cut through. “Captain, welcome to the fight. I see what you’re doing there, and it’s a good idea, but I need you in the thick of it. I’m sending coordinates. I want you in place ASAP. Good to have you alongside. Good hunting.” The screen flickered and was quickly replaced by tactical schematics.
“Damn,” Jo said under her breath. “That’s no way to survive a firefight.” She spoke up. “Do you have those coordinates, navigator?”
“Just coming through now, sir.”
“Set a new course once you’ve unpacked them. Weaponer, remember: disable, don’t destroy. Communicator,” she turned to face Liebert again. “That ship that’s not doing anything? Keep looking for it. That’s your number one assignment.”
The ship lurched, then a moment later the motion dampers kicked in. “Easy, Mr. Chi,” she
said, leaning forward in her chair. “Get us to the fight in one piece.”
“Sorry, sir,” Marcia Chi’s shoulders rose above her ears as she hunkered sheepishly over her console.
Jo watched the whirling stars in the view screen as they came about and punched at the comm buttons on her armrest. “Battle stations, everyone. This is the big one.”
He was staring at the stars when he felt a presence behind him. He knew it was her before he looked, although he didn’t know how. Was it her scent, or the way her foot fell on the poly flooring? It was hard to say. “Hey,” he said without turning.
She slipped her arm around his waist and joined him at the window. “I expected to find you in a bottle,” she said. “This is better.”
“Yeah, strangely…” He shook his head, not finishing the thought.
“I was on my way to your cabin. I was hoping we could catch dinner.”
Jeff nodded. “Yeah. That sounds fine.” He backed up from the window and caught her eye. He smiled. She took his arm, and they began to stroll toward the mess.
“I just came from Wall,” Emma said. “She’s…a little freaked out.”
“That seems appropriate.”
“She’s freaked out because she ran into herself.”
“That would freak me out too,” Jeff admitted.
“Then…they had sex,” Emma said, watching Jeff for his reaction.
“That’s…just weird,” he said, eyes wide. “I didn’t know…I mean, I’m not surprised…but still…with herself?”
“Yep. It’s a little narcissistic—”
“By definition.”
“Now she’s holed up in her cabin with the covers over her head.”
“Huh.”
“Plus, she’s got survivor’s guilt.”
“Who doesn’t?” Jeff almost spat.
“Oh…well, that’s not what I mean. She’s feeling guilty that Pho and Nira are in the brig and she isn’t.”
“She’s feeling so guilty she’s on a sex binge, you mean.”
“People react to stress in odd ways,” Emma said.
“Isn’t that technically masturbation, though?”
“Does that make it better if it is?”
“No. It’s still weird.”
A moment later they were standing outside the mess. “After you,” Jeff said.
After loading up their trays, Jeff followed her to a seat near the rear of the galley, as far away from anyone else as she could manage.
“Are you sure we don’t want to find a storage closet or something?” Jeff said. “Cause we could probably do that.”
Emma sat. “I don’t want to be overheard,” she explained.
“Fair enough.” Jeff’s nostrils twitched as the aroma of his dinner filled them. “This looks surprisingly good.”
“The food aboard Sol Station was always good.”
“Our Sol Station. I think this Sol Station slips a bit.”
“Just eat.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeff said, picking up his cutlery. “I had breakfast with Danny this morning.”
“Any help?”
“He said he’d talk to Tal. You never know. I have no idea how much pull he has. But…”
“But?”
Jeff put down his fork before he’d tasted anything. “I watched him humiliate an ensign for absolutely no reason at all. He did it in front of the entire mess. It was cruel and abusive, and…completely unlike him.” He stared at his plate, aware that it was cooling. “I don’t know what to think about it.”
Emma pursed her lips. “You want to know what I think?”
“Sure.”
“I think this is not your Danny, in two senses.”
“Okay…”
“First, the obvious—this is a different world, and this Danny is just a different guy. Maybe he has a cruel streak that the Danny of String 310 didn’t have.”
Jeff nodded. “And the non-obvious?”
“Let’s say that, twenty years ago, this Danny and your Danny were exactly the same—not just physically, but psychologically. He lived through Catskill, you didn’t. So let me ask you, did Catskill change you?”
Jeff froze. He didn’t respond.
She continued. “And did it change you for the better?”
Jeff shook his head slowly.
“People deal with stress in odd ways,” she repeated. “You became an extreme introvert.”
“Morbid isolation,” he intoned.
“That is as good a term for it as I have heard,” she smiled. “Where did you hear that?”
“It was something Jo said once,” he said. “She had an uncle who was a monk, an actual hermit.”
“Ah…” She took a sip of her tea. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine, but…I had some very weird dreams.”
“Tell me about them,” she began to cut into her steak.
“I dreamt about—” he realized he hadn’t told her about the shaman. “I met this shaman, at the docks.”
“Shaman?”
“Yeah, he was from Peru or something.”
“How do you know he was a shaman?”
“I…” Jeff stopped. “I guess I don’t. It was just a…I guess I just knew.”
“Okay. That’s weird. So what happened?”
“He knows about the Ulim.”
She dropped her knife. “He what?”
“So I dreamed about him. And in the dream, he was saying, ‘Come find me.’”
“That was all?”
“No, then I dreamt about you in the shower—”
“Jeff, don’t tease—”
“No, I’m serious. I saw you getting out of the shower, and you slipped and hit your elbow. You swore.” He smiled. “I like it when you swear.” He stopped when he saw her eyes were wide.
“Jeff, that wasn’t a dream.” She pulled back her sleeve and showed him her elbow—an angry purple welt graced her skin. “That really happened.”
“Shit,” he said, taking her arm gingerly in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
She pushed her sleeve back down. “It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt—not anymore.”
Jeff blinked.
Emma’s brows bunched as she thought. Attacking her steak once more, she said, “Jeff, what if your shaman dream wasn’t a dream either?”
Jeff hadn’t even considered it.
“How could it not be a dream? It was a dream.”
“You seeing me in the shower—that was not a dream. That happened.”
“I don’t know what to say about that.” Jeff realized that he still hadn’t touched his food.
“You know what I think?” Emma asked.
“What?”
“I think it’s like the early stages of squashing—how you scope things out before you squash. I think maybe you were doing that in your sleep.”
“I was squashing in my sleep?” Jeff’s voice rose several pitches.
“Don’t panic.” She put her hand on his arm. “You didn’t squash, you just…looked.”
“But if I tried to squash in my sleep, I could—”
“Destroy another universe?” she asked. “Yes. But you didn’t squash in your sleep. Just…relax and examine the theory. Be a scientist for a moment and not an emotional soldier.”
“I’m—” He started to protest that he wasn’t the emotional one, except that it wasn’t true and he knew it. “Fine,” he said.
“Nothing bad happened until we tried to move a space ship,” she said.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I think we’re overlooking another aspect of your…talent. You might not be able to move starships without wrecking the place, but there’s nothing saying you can’t spy.”
Just then a light pinged in Jeff’s neural. He glanced up and opened the message.
“I’m being summoned,” he said. “Admiral Tal.”
“Bring us about wide and then loop us in,” Jo said, her eyes glued to the tactical screen above her.
�
��Coordinating with the Fang for real-time deployment,” Liebert called.
“You do that,” Jo nearly spat. Reflexively, she tried to stand, to pace, but her restraints kept her locked into her chair. She chafed at the limitation, but kept her gaze riveted. “Mr. Chi, here’s what we’re not going to do—we’re not going to give these Authority fucks an easy target. We’re not going to float in like a barge with weapons flashing.”
“We’re not a Carson scout, sir,” Chi called over her shoulder and then cringed, realizing what she’d said.
Jo took note of her tone, knew that it was an honest reaction, not an insubordinate one. “No, we’re not. We’re a big lumbering brick, so we’re going to make inertia work for us rather than against us. Get us into a Möbius loop—”
Marcia Chi looked away from her controls, her forehead bunched in confusion. “Möbius loop?”
“Get us locked into an infinity sign pattern so that we change our horizontal orientation by 180 degrees every 1.5 repetitions. Is that clear enough?”
Jo could see her eyes darting back and forth.
“You want us to lock into a figure eight pattern, but every time we hit the middle you want us to turn over a little bit, so that every third loop ‘up’ is pointing a different direction?”
“Make it happen before we hit that cluster. Deviate only to avoid collisions—and if we’re going to collide with anything that won’t destroy us, don’t worry about it. Let’s push our weight around a little.”
“Yes sir. Where did you learn this, sir?”
“I didn’t learn it anywhere, lieutenant. I made it up on the spot.”
“Fuck…” Chi said under her breath.
“Weaponer—”
“Shooting to disable, sir. We learn fast.”
Jo couldn’t suppress a smile. Weaponer Ditka learned fast indeed.
“I don’t want us to come within 2000 kilometers of a gun we don’t take out.”
“Aye sir. You can count on us, sir.” The oddness of the woman’s long face added severity to her tone. Jo instinctively felt they were in good hands.
“Mr. Liebert—”
“Looking, Captain.”
“That’s my boy. Hold on, everybody.”
Chi had done her work quickly. The star field on the main view in front of them began to spin slowly and relentlessly, causing Jo’s stomach to lurch. She forced herself to look away from the star field and focus on the tacticals.