Sixteenth Watch

by Myke Cole

  She had to fix this.

  She was still puzzling through the problem as the following Earth day and SAR-1’s shift drew to a close without a single alarm. Chief dismissed the crew and got to his feet, beginning to strip out of his bunny suit. “Ready to eat, ma’am?”

  She could hear Allen’s words ringing in her ears. He was right, she had put his balls in a vise. And she knew he was watching the mission logs. He was watching her effectively keep the team idle. She was confirming his suspicion that she was wasting everyone’s time. Chief had warned her. Heck, Alice had just warned her. There was barely six weeks to go to Boarding Action and she was just digging the hole deeper.

  But the certainty in the back of her mind wouldn’t let go. She knew in her bones this was the right move. Something was going wrong with it, and she had to figure out what.

  “You go ahead,” Oliver said, turning to leave without taking her bunny suit off.

  “Where you headed, ma’am?” Chief said.

  Oliver turned to him, anger rising at the presumption. Chief read her expression and smiled, spreading his hands. “Contubernium, ma’am.”

  She smiled back. “I’m going to go talk to the SAR controller. See if I can get this unstuck.”

  Chief looked over his shoulder at the crew changing back into their uniforms. “Give us a minute and we’ll come with you.”

  “Thanks, Chief, but something tells me this is going to need… officer power. XO and I’ll go.”

  Chief cocked an eyebrow. “If you say so, ma’am. Might be we could help.”

  “I appreciate it, but we officers have so precious little we’re good for. Let us have this one thing.”

  Chief chuckled and turned back to his locker, and Oliver left, going faster and faster as she moved down the hallway until she was practically running.

  Ho caught up to her after lengthening his stride so much Oliver thought he looked like a human protractor. “You’re in a hurry boss.”

  Oliver bit out the words. “This is bullshit.”

  “What is?”

  “Our radio calls. It’s been three Earth days, Wen. So far it’s either no alarms or bullshit alarms.”

  “So what? It’s the lunar day. There isn’t as much vessel…”

  “Bullshit. It’s bullshit. Something’s up.”

  “Boss, you don’t want to go storming in there and be wrong. Are you sure that–”

  “Absolutely,” Oliver said, the determination in her stride never slackening. Her mind checked in with her gut, as it always did when Ho counseled her, and as was usually the case, her gut won out in an instant. “This is fucking bullshit and I’m going to find out what the hell is going on, and you’re going to cover my six because I’m fucking pissed and liable to say something stupid.”

  “So, just another day, is what you’re getting at,” Ho said.

  “Yup,” Oliver said as they reached the ladder and began hauling themselves up it.

  The SAR controller looked up as Oliver crested the top of the ladder, snapped to attention. “Attention on deck!”

  “At ease.” Oliver was already waving everyone back to their posts before Ho had even exited the ladderwell. The SAR controller was a fresh-faced lieutenant junior grade whose nametape read BASKIN. He relaxed a fraction at Oliver’s words, then tensed again as he saw the expression on her face. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

  Oliver knew it wasn’t his fault, that confronting the skipper and a flag officer besides was scary enough for him without putting any pepper on it, but she couldn’t help herself. “Does this sector not have emergencies?”

  Baskin blinked. “Ma’am?”

  “Alarms! Crises! You know, radio calls? Do we not have them?”

  “Ma’am, traffic is always slow during the lunar day, but of course we do. Your own crew ran…” he glanced over at the log, and Oliver could tell it was more of an excuse to busy his eyes, “four calls just the last shift.”

  “Yeah,” Oliver said, strengthened by the sight of Ho moving up beside her in her peripheral vision, “but it’s all bullshit. We’re SAR-1 of the SPACETACLET and you’ve got us pulling over boats to count lifejackets.”

  Baskin cocked an eyebrow. “Ma’am, you’re on the 16th Watch. People out here don’t wear lifejackets.”

  “Sorry,” Oliver said, grateful for the opportunity to back off some of the tension, “I’ve been working Earth missions for the past couple of decades.”

  “Ma’am, I assure you. I’ve been passing the calls down to you as the standby crew as we get them. Take a look at the log,” he tapped his touchscreen and a list of radio calls scrolled out before her.

  Oliver leaned over them, squinted. “These… these have a ‘from’ field. We don’t take our own calls?”

  “Of course we do, ma’am, but that’s the minority. People don’t know to call SPACETACLET directly. We only get the ones we pick up as an emergency hail. Have to be pretty close and pretty desperate.”

  “So, where do the majority of the calls come in from?” Oliver cursed herself internally for refusing Avitable’s briefing back in the executive shuttle over from OTRACEN.

  “Why, the main SAR controller at lunar 911, ma’am. Pipes to us via the Captain of the Port.”

  “The Captain of the Port.” Oliver exchanged a glance with Ho.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Baskin said. “Admiral Santos.”

  “I know who the COTP is, lieutenant,” Oliver turned back to Baskin. “What I don’t know is why all these bullshit calls are being assigned to us. Show me last week’s log, before SAR-1 got put on alert status.”

  Baskin turned back to the terminal, brought up the logs. Oliver ran her finger down the margins. “This is all… this is also all bullshit milk runs. What the hell is going on?”

  Baskin shrugged. “This is what we get, ma’am. You’d have to take it up with Admiral Santos’ staff.”

  She turned to Ho. “I was led to believe there are quarantine-runners on a daily basis. Even in the lunar day.”

  Ho nodded. “So was I, boss.”

  Oliver turned back to Baskin. “I don’t see anything like that here.”

  “Oh, there are,” Baskin said, “but 11th Fleet handles that.”

  It took Oliver a full thirty seconds to process what she was hearing. Ho touched her elbow, and the contact reminded her to take a deep breath and smile. “I’m sorry. All the quarantine runners? One hundred percent of them?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why is the Navy handling a border protection issue?”

  “Navy and marines, ma’am,” Baskin said. “It’s a joint op. Captain of the Port has designated quarantine violations as a national security matter.”

  This is exactly what the Commandant wants to avoid, Oliver fought against the boiling feeling in her gut, this is how we start a war. The thought was followed by another. Take it easy on the kid. It’s not his fault.

  “It is,” Oliver agreed, “so is hurricane relief, or a major oil spill. But you don’t see the Navy responding to those.”

  Baskin shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am. I thought you knew. Been like that as long as I’ve been here.”

  Oliver took a long breath, proud of herself for keeping it from shuddering. “You have CGMS access on here, lieutenant?”

  Baskin punched up the input screen for the Coast Guard’s official messaging system. “Yes, ma’am, right here.”

  “Outstanding,” Oliver said, staring at the blinking cursor. “Jesus Christ. I can’t remember the last time I used this dinosaur to send a cable.”

  “That’s because I’ve been drafting them for you since God was a non-rate, ma’am,” Ho said, walking to stand beside Baskin, his fingertips hovering over the virtual keyboard.

  “I knew there was a reason I made you my XO,” Oliver said. “Commander Ho, please draft a cable to the Captain of the Port. Instruct him that all, and I do mean all – one hundred percent – of alarms are to come through Coast Guard channels until further notice. SPACET
ACLET will assume authority for referring incidents under the jurisdiction of Title 10 to the Navy.”

  Baskin blanched, “Ma’am, you can’t–”

  “Excuse me,” Oliver spun on him, “were you just about to tell me what I can’t do?”

  “No, ma’am,” Baskin swallowed, taking a step back, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I thought so,” Oliver nodded as Ho finished typing and hit send.

  “Care to make a friendly wager, ma’am?” Ho asked.

  “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Over-under on the phone call from the COTP. I like thirty minutes.”

  “Fifteen,” Oliver said, heading back to the ladder.

  “You’re on,” Ho said as he followed her.

  The COTP called in ten. Okonkwo took the call, since Oliver had refused an orderly, and was standing holding the receiver as Oliver and Ho returned to the ready room. “It’s… it’s Admiral Santos, ma’am. He says he wants to talk to you. He’s been holding for at least five minutes.”

  “XO,” Oliver motioned to Ho and took a seat at the table, arms folded across her chest.

  Ho picked up the phone, ignoring the confused looks of the crew gathered around. Oliver saw Pervez mouth to Chief what the hell is going on? Chief shook his head in reply.

  “SPACETACLET – Commander Wen Ho, Executive Officer,” Ho said.

  “Yes, admiral. No, sir, I’m sorry. Admiral Oliver isn’t available to speak with you right now. It’ll be some time before she can take a call, but I’d be happy to get you on her calend… Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir, she was very clear. I’m afraid not, sir, Admiral Oliver was extremely specific. Yes, sir. She told me to tell you that the SAR Watchstander has been instructed to scan all alarms, and that if any are referred to the Navy by any other authority than ours, she will have you court-martialed.”

  Ho jerked the receiver away from his head for a moment, worked a finger in his ear. “I’m sorry, sir? I didn’t get that. Yes, well that’s our view of the matter. Admiral Oliver was clear. Yes, I’ll let her know, admiral. You do what you think is right, but we’ve made our position clear. Yes, sir. Thanks for your time.”

  He handed the receiver back to Okonkwo, who hung it back in its cradle as Ho turned to Oliver. “He’s got a colorful vocabulary.”

  Oliver waved a hand. “Will he do as he’s told?”

  “In my experience, ma’am, people only blow up like that when they’re terrified. He knows he’s exceeded his authority. He’ll play ball.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Oliver said.

  Ho paused, stroking his chin.

  “What?” Oliver asked.

  “Sorry, ma’am, just trying to think.”

  “Well, don’t strain yourself. What are you trying to think of?”

  “The last time I was wrong about something.”

  “Very funny,” Oliver said. “We can’t assume he’s going to do what’s right. We need to be ready with charges if he doesn’t cooperate. We don’t have time to–”

  But the klaxon was already blaring overhead with the latest alarm. The LED readout below was already scrolling off the description of the radio call – words Oliver hadn’t seen even once since she’d had SAR-1 put on alert status.

  Quarantine evasion. Unknown flag. Unknown status. Hot pursuit.

  CHAPTER 11

  We are completely confident that the People’s Liberation Army Navy possesses sufficient capability to engage and defeat the United States in either a conventional or nuclear war on both the Earth and the Moon, simultaneously.

  VICE ADMIRAL QIN JIANLONG. POLITICAL COMMISSAR, PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY NAVY

  SAR-3 was on alert status for that call, and there was no time to get the crew scrambled, but there were two more quarantine runners that shift, so Oliver went to sleep confident that there would be ample opportunity to get after it once her crew was rested.

  She was more right than she thought. The alarm sounded even as her crew was receiving the passdown from SAR-2. Another quarantine runner, this time US flagged, racing for the Chinese EEZ rather than submitting their cargo to inspection.

  “OK,” Oliver tried and failed to keep the joy from her voice. “Now, we’re going to do our jobs.”

  The enthusiasm was systemic. The crew suited up and had boat checks completed in just a few minutes, and they were underway even as Chief radioed green status back to the controller. “SAR-1 is in pursuit. Expected intercept at course in plotter.”

  “Roger that,” Oliver imitated Lieutenant Junior Grade Baskins’ voice now. “Take her easy Chief. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”

  Oliver put her hand on Pervez’s shoulder instinctively, knowing the woman wouldn’t feel the touch through her hardshell. She bridged directly to her radio. “Drive it like you stole it, BM1. All you need to worry about right now is getting there before the Navy does.”

  Oliver could almost hear Pervez’s grin as she responded, “Can do, ma’am.”

  The longhorn groaned as Pervez tucked the nose and kept the thrusters burning hard. Oliver bridged to Chief’s radio before he could speak up. “Let her off the leash, Chief. Just this once.”

  Chief turned to look at her, but she could see nothing but the reflection of the sun’s burning rays in his smoked glass visor.

  “Safe speed, BM1,” McGrath warned, stopping speaking as Oliver chopped one gauntleted hand across his vision.

  The longhorn’s frame groaned, rattled. The lunar surface below began to race past so quickly it was little more than a gray-white wash. “Contact! One hundred… no fifty…” Okonkwo finally gave up calling the contacts as they appeared on radar far too quickly for him to sound their relative position before they had zoomed past. If just one of those changes direction suddenly, we are going to be pasted all over this rock. A maser-pylon flashed past, just twenty-five yards off their port quarter, little more than a metal and plastic flash that would have ripped their boat in half if Pervez had tapped the control stick just an inch to the left. Oliver fought the instinct to seek reassurance, to remind Pervez to be careful. No. She knows that. She knows the risk. Let her fly, Jane. Trust her to do what she’s been trained to do.

  Oliver watched as the longhorn skillfully juked around a piece of debris settling down toward the surface from some load hauled by above them, and added, What she was born to do.

  “I have a visual,” Okonkwo said.

  “Guns up,” McGrath added, as the autocannon came online and began to track the target highlighted on the display.

  “Make that two targets!” Okonkwo said.

  “What?” Oliver asked, moving over to the binnacle to check the display.

  The first vessel flashed red – the quarantine runner, burning aft thrusters hard as they futilely tried to accelerate away into the Chinese EEZ. The other vessel was tagged blue, with a stylized anchor and eagle splashed above a numerical designator “USN – 88126.”

  A Navy small boat, on an intercept course.

  “Pervez, if you don’t get us docked on that runner before the Navy can intercept, we are going to have a rather dynamic disagreement,” Oliver said.

  “Oh, ma’am,” Pervez breathed, goosing the aft thrusters and making the longhorn shudder, “I do like negative reinforcement.”

  The hailer lit up on the encrypted channel – reading the Navy boat’s designator. Chief reached across to patch it into their suit channels, but Oliver pushed his hand down. “Leave it, Chief.”

  “But it’s a hail,” McGrath said, “on encrypted. From the Navy. Regs say we have to…”

  “Regs say you have to obey an admiral, right?” Oliver overrode him. “Leave it.”

  “OK,” Chief exhaled slowly, making the radio crackle. “So, what do we do, ma’am?”

  “What do you think we do?” Oliver didn’t even try to keep the excitement out of her voice. “Hail that runner, and when they don’t answer, have Pervez maneuver us in, and Okonkwo get us to hard dock.”

  “What are y
ou going to do, ma’am?” McGrath asked.

  “I’m going to turn things over to the coxs’un as the functional leader until we cut into the hull. Then Pervez will turn it over to you, boarding officer, and you will tell me what to do.”

  Oliver could feel McGrath staring at her through his smoked visor. He knew the regs as well as anyone. As boarding officer, he would be in charge. But Oliver was an admiral. This had to be way beyond his comfort zone. Good, Oliver thought, because nobody is going to give a fuck about making you comfortable at Boarding Action, either.

  Okonkwo stared out the front window as the runner drew closer, checked the vessel specs on the display. “It’s a six-pack, ma’am. Standard short haul configuration.”

  “Hailing,” Chief said, switching off the Navy attempt to contact them and opening a new channel. “US-flagged six-pack, this is the United States Coast Guard. Fire bow thrusters and bring speed to 00. Make your heading two-seven-zero and station keep. I say again, go DIW and await instructions.”

  The vessel did not respond, and there was no change in speed. “Well, that’s a shock,” Ho radioed her from his place in the control room. He had access to the boat’s cameras, and could see pretty much everything Oliver did.

  Chief chirped the hailer again. “US-flagged six-pack, this is the United States Coast Guard. We consider you in flight from lawful customs authority. Heave-to and be boarded. If you resist we will fire on you.”

  No response. The Navy boat was a growing dark-gray blotch in the corner of Oliver’s eye, the blue-white plume of its aft thrusters leaving a smoking contrail behind it. “They’re still trying to hail us, ma’am,” Okonkwo said. “They’re CBDR and gaining speed.”

  Constant bearing, decreasing range. In other words, on a collision course. They want to play chicken. “BM1, are they fast enough?”