by Ryk Brown
“Yes,” Miri replied. “Personally. Luckily, both Nathan and Jessica had the foresight to keep their heads down and look away from every camera they encountered. The most anyone could claim is that a man and woman, each in their mid-thirties, were escorted from the public seating areas to the presidential suite complex for unknown reasons.”
“I’m more concerned about the possibility that one of the cameras on Kohara might have captured an image of Nathan,” the president said.
“We don’t even know that he was there,” Miri insisted. “For all we know, he was long gone by then. It did happen nearly two days after he was here. He could have been halfway to the Pentaurus sector by then.”
President Scott cast a skeptical look at his daughter.
“Yeah, wishful thinking, I know. But still…”
President Scott turned slowly in his chair, his hands in his lap, thinking as he came to face the big picture window behind him. “We must publicly state our disapproval of this attack,” he finally admitted.
“But, if we had honored the terms of our alliance with the worlds of the Pentaurus cluster…”
“It doesn’t matter,” President Scott insisted. “The people of Earth will only care about this planet.”
“Not everyone,” Miri argued.
“No, but the majority will, and they are who we must play to.”
“Play to?” Miri wondered. “I thought we were supposed to represent everyone, not just the vocal majority.”
“It is that vocal majority who Galiardi will be calling to arms, once he learns Nathan is alive, and that we knew about it.”
“But we didn’t.”
“Unfortunately, no one will believe that we didn’t.” The president looked at his daughter. “Politics is not about truth, it’s about perceptions.”
* * *
“Rainey is a good man,” Cameron insisted as she and Commander Kaplan walked down the corridor of the Aurora’s command deck.
“Without a doubt,” the commander agreed. “But he’s a crappy captain.”
Cameron cast a doubtful glance Commander Kaplan’s way.
“He looks good in a uniform, and he’s probably quite adept at engaging Takaran nobility at the captain’s table over dollag steaks and greisha. But his XO ran the ship, and he’s dead…along with the Mystic’s department heads.”
“So, what are you saying?” Cameron asked as they rounded the corner. “You think he’s not qualified?”
“He’s in over his head,” Commander Kaplan stated plainly.
“But he’s got you to help him.”
“Part-time, sure,” the commander said. “But that’s not enough. Rainey needs a full-time executive officer, not one who’s jumping back and forth between two ships.”
Cameron stopped just outside the command briefing room and sighed. “Adjust the split as needed,” she finally decided. “Spend more time on board the Mystic, at least until things settle down and we can find a permanent XO for him.”
“What about the Aurora?” the commander asked. “We’re not exactly fully crewed here, you know.”
“Maybe, but we do have all our department heads, and I can handle things when you’re not around.”
“And if you go to general quarters while I’m not aboard?”
“If that happens, then it means the fleet itself is under attack,” Cameron pointed out. “In which case, it would be better if you were aboard the Mystic…for the sake of all the civilians.”
“Of course,” Commander Kaplan agreed, nodding as she followed Cameron into the command briefing room.
“As you were,” Cameron ordered before her staff could rise to their feet. She moved to the head of the conference table, taking her seat. “What’s the latest count?” she asked Lieutenant Commander Shinoda.
“With the addition of the Manamu and the Innison, we’re up to eight ships, including the Aurora.”
“The Innison?” Cameron wondered.
“Another medium cargo ship, like the Manamu. Corinairan registry, commanded by an ex-Corinari by the name of Coran Goggins. I checked with Mister Montrose, who vouched for the captain’s character. My people are currently interviewing his crew. Of course, we can’t really do a background check on any of them. Not without contacts on Corinair.”
“We’re working on that,” Cameron replied. “Anything useful aboard either of those ships?”
“The Manamu was carrying miscellaneous cargo. Not of much use for anything other than raw materials to feed our fabricators,” the lieutenant commander said. “But the Innison is carrying a variety of textiles, and quite a bit of clothing, all of which should come in handy.”
“But no consumables,” Commander Kaplan stated with disappointment.
“Speaking of which, how are we holding out?” Cameron asked.
“The Mystic was well-stocked in that department,” Commander Kaplan assured them, “just in case something happened that delayed their return to port,” she added with a wry smile. “I don’t have a tally from the two ships that just joined us, but what I do have indicates that we’re good for a few months, longer if we start rationing.”
“That may be true for food, but not for medical supplies,” Doctor Chen added.
“I thought medical was fully stocked,” Cameron said.
“It was,” Doctor Chen agreed, “but we’ve treated a lot of wounded, military and civilian alike. If this were peace-time, I wouldn’t be concerned, but since it appears that this conflict is just beginning, well…”
“Make a list and give it to the quartermaster’s office,” Cameron instructed. She turned to her CAG, Commander Verbeek. “Any progress filling out your deck crews, Verbeek?”
“We picked up about a dozen people from the Lawrence refugees, most of which have at least turned a wrench in their lives. We’re teaching them basic routine maintenance tasks, freeing up the mechanics we do have to do the more specialized tasks. Unfortunately, we’re still spread pretty thin. We’ve got about one full crew for every four fighters. If we get into any real combat, it won’t be long until we’re unable to keep more than a handful of ships in action at a time.”
“Any chance we can start training complete novices to work on Super Eagles?” Commander Kaplan wondered.
“Super Eagles are fairly complex ships,” Commander Verbeek replied. “Our techs spend two years learning to work on them.”
“We’ll operate twenty-four fighters,” Cameron decided. “Rotate them, with one flight of eight down at a time. And tell your pilots to start getting their hands dirty and help work on their own birds.”
“They already are,” Commander Verbeek assured her. “It would be easier if we only operated two flights instead of three.”
“As long as we’re not in any firefights, you should be able to keep three flights in service at all times,” Cameron insisted. “In the meantime, I’ll make sure recruiting keeps an eye out for people with spacecraft maintenance skills.”
“Captain, we’re a thousand light years from Earth,” Commander Verbeek said. “Super Eagles are Earth ships. Even if you found an expert spacecraft mechanic, they wouldn’t be qualified to work on our fighters. Not without significant training.”
“I understand your concerns, Commander,” Cameron replied. “But I urge you to keep an open mind. Based on past experience, I expect the people out here to surprise us, perhaps, even teach us a thing or two.”
“I hope you’re right, sir,” the commander replied. “Especially if we do end up in regular firefights.”
“Are we anticipating combat?” the chief of the boat wondered.
“Sooner or later, it seems inevitable,” Cameron replied. “Even if they come back with a dozen gunships, eventually we’re going to have to go up against the Dusahn’s battleships ourselves. Hopefully, not for some time, however.”
The intercom beeped. “Captain, Bridge. The Seiiki just jumped in. She’s squawking proper codes, sir.”
Cameron pressed the intercom button o
n the conference table in front of her. “Very well, clear them in. I’ll meet them myself.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Commander, finish up this briefing, and then check in with me later, before you return to the Mystic.”
“Aye, sir,” Commander Kaplan replied.
“Oh, and I want you to teach Lieutenant Commander Shinoda how to run combat, in case we have to go to general quarters while you’re off ship.”
“Sir?” the lieutenant commander said, both surprised and concerned.
“Your service record says you’ve had tactical training, and that you’re combat qualified,” Cameron said as she rose.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem, sir,” the lieutenant commander assured his captain. “Just a little surprised, I guess.”
“We’ve got to improvise,” Cameron said as she headed out.
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Shinoda replied.
“Don’t worry, Kenichi,” Commander Kaplan said. “I’ll go easy on you.”
* * *
Nathan stared out the forward window of the Cobra gunship as he waited for the next jump in the final leg of their three-day journey to auto-sequence. With each jump, he would momentarily turn his attention to the navigation displays, ensuring the gunship’s computers had determined their new position in space before calculating the next jump in the series.
It was a mundane way to travel, but it was one he was quite familiar with from his years as Connor Tuplo. The Seiiki’s systems functioned in the same way, completely automated for ninety-nine percent of their journey. If it hadn’t been for the occasional flights into uncharted space, he and Josh would never have gotten to actually fly.
Of course, all of that had changed since the Dusahn had arrived. Everything had changed, even Nathan himself. He had spent the last five years being Connor Tuplo, unaware of his true identity; unaware of the meaning of the images that occasionally flashed into his mind.
“I do not know how much longer I can eat this stuff,” Vladimir said as he entered the gunship’s flight deck. “Whoever decided that this was food should be shot.”
“Stop it, you’re making me hungry,” Nathan joked, accepting the plate of food from Vladimir.
“I tried mixing a few things together, and then burying it all in sauce, to try to make it more palatable,” Vladimir explained as he climbed into the copilot’s seat, being careful not to spill his own plate of food. Once seated, he scooped up a spoonful and put it into his mouth. His face soured as he chewed, finally swallowing hard. “I believe I have failed…miserably.”
“I’ve eaten worse,” Nathan assured his friend as he too forced himself to consume the unappetizing meal.
“Impossible,” Vladimir replied.
“Try eating Jung prison food sometime.”
Vladimir did not respond, his mouth full of food despite its lack of appeal.
Nathan stopped chewing for a moment, his face taking on a curious expression. “Except for that one time.”
Vladimir looked at him, waiting for him to continue, but his friend just stared straight ahead as if waiting for the memory to fully form in his mind.
Nathan shook his spoon several times as the memory became clearer. “The night before my execution… Someone brought me… It was a guard…” He looked at Vladimir. “A Jung guard. The same one who had treated me with contempt and hatred throughout my trial. He brought me the most amazing final meal.”
“The guard did?”
“Trever…something,” Nathan said. “He asked me what I wanted for my last meal, and I didn’t know what they had other than the crap they had been feeding me.”
“What did he bring you?”
Nathan smiled, remembering. “Corintakhat and Ergin Tota,” he said fondly.
“What is that?”
“The best way to describe it would be very tender beef, with a tangy fruit glaze, and cheesy-spicy mashed potatoes in a caramelized crust.”
“Sounds delicious,” Vladimir said.
“It was, and unexpectedly so.” Nathan thought for a moment as he suffered another mouthful of Vladimir’s modest attempt at making their emergency rations bearable. “But that’s not what struck me the most about that meal,” he continued. “It was the guard… Soray,” he finally remembered. “Trever Soray. That was his name. Married, with three kids.” Nathan looked at Vladimir, smiling. “The same man who would have been just as likely to slit my throat earlier that day, sat down and shared a magnificent meal with me, as if we were old friends.” Nathan looked down at his plate, thinking to himself as he scooped up another spoonful. “For an hour, I almost forgot he was my enemy.”
“The man was not your enemy,” Vladimir said. “It was the uniform he wore.”
Nathan looked at Vladimir. “And for a person’s choice of clothing, it is okay for us to kill them?”
“It is not their choice of clothing,” Vladimir explained, “it is the responsibility the person accepts when they agree to wear it. They accept that the enemies of their uniform will try to kill them, and that they will try to kill the enemies of their uniform.”
“And if they had no choice but to wear that uniform?” Nathan asked.
“Everyone has a choice, Nathan.”
“Earth history is replete with governments that required military service of their citizens.”
“And the citizens of those governments had the choice to oppose such requirements.”
“I can cite numerous examples from the past where such opposition would have been impossible,” Nathan argued.
“Difficult, yes, but never impossible,” Vladimir countered. “If the people refuse to rise in opposition to governments and policies they oppose, then they must accept the responsibilities of their failures to do so,” Vladimir insisted.
Nathan smiled. “When did you become so philosophical?”
“I am complicated man,” Vladimir replied as he wolfed down another spoonful of his meal. “This is really bad.”
Nathan continued to ponder Vladimir’s point. “So, you believe that those marines on Kohara deserved to die?”
“No one deserves to die,” Vladimir said. “With the possible exception of some very bad criminals, I suppose. But those men chose to serve knowing death was real possibility.” Vladimir looked at his friend. “You are not responsible for their deaths, Nathan, nor are the Ghatazhak who ended their lives. If anyone is responsible, it is the Dusahn. Or perhaps even the leaders who failed to honor the original Alliance charter.”
“Like my father?”
“I suspect, given a choice, your father would have sent as many gunships as possible,” Vladimir insisted. “Unfortunately, leadership is never that simple, especially at the top.” Vladimir took another spoonful of food. “But you already know this.”
Nathan poked at his food, pensively. “I still can’t help but wonder… If we had been better prepared; if we had better intel…” He looked at Vladimir. “Those men did not need to die.”
“You cannot know this,” Vladimir insisted.
“How do you mean?”
Vladimir stopped eating for a moment, sighing. “What if the deaths of those marines makes the people of the Sol sector realize their leaders’ mistakes? What if it makes them force their leaders to send the support we need to defeat the Dusahn? Would their deaths then have a purpose?”
“Perhaps,” Nathan admitted. “But we can’t know that.”
“Which is exactly my point,” Vladimir insisted. “Surely, when you agreed to the Kohara mission, you knew that some of those marines might die?”
“Yes, but I also believed it was possible they might not die.”
“That was wishful thinking,” Vladimir dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You and I both know this to be true.”
“But it was never my intention…”
“Of course not,” Vladimir agreed, attacking his food once again. “Few intend for bad to happen. Y
ou were merely doing what you felt was necessary to accomplish your ultimate goal. And that goal, without question, is a righteous one.”
“As was their defense of the assets we stole.”
“Correct.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“I was not trying to,” Vladimir replied.
“You are not the same Vladimir I knew,” Nathan admitted.
“I am older now…wiser.” Vladimir smiled. “I know it is difficult to believe that I could be even wiser than I was before, but it is true. Age and experience brings wisdom, whether we like it or not.” Vladimir looked at Nathan. “You were wise beyond your years when I first met you. Although you still look as young as the day I met you, you too have gained wisdom through experience.” Vladimir took another scoop of his meal and shoveled it into his mouth, continuing to speak with his mouth full. “Just do us all a favor and don’t act like you did last time.”
“How did I act last time?” Nathan wondered.
“Like a whiny little boy who thought he was being treated unfairly.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“Da. But you were. It was understandable, at first. It was a lot of responsibility…for all of us. But even after you stepped up and took command, every once in a while, you slipped back into that ‘Why me? Why is it all on me? I’m not qualified.’ Blech! It was nauseating.”
“Seriously?”
“Okay, maybe I exaggerate a bit,” Vladimir admitted. “Just don’t be that guy again, alright? Accept your role as leader, and we will all be much happier, believe me.”
“I thought that I was,” Nathan defended.
“Yes, you have,” Vladimir replied. “But this… ‘Did they need to die’ stuff… It serves no purpose, and it is very much what the old Nathan would do, not the Nathan who sacrificed himself to save his world.”
“So, I’m not allowed to feel guilt for the lives my decisions cost?”
“Not if it prevents you from making those decisions.”
“And has it?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Then why the concern?” Nathan wondered.
“Because of who you were as Connor Tuplo,” Vladimir explained.