He seemed surprised that I even asked that question. “Colonel, you are fighting, and winning, against the ultimate enemy of my people. I believe we are on the same side in this war. In the absence of orders, I must do what I expect my leaders would want from me. I pledge to help you in any way that I can.”
“Cadet, that’s great. Thank you.” My decision was made easier by knowing that Nagatha or Skippy would be watching everything the young beetle did. He was young, not even a cadet yet. It bothered me that his parents would be worried sick about him, until we could return him home. He would also be missing two years of flight school, which would put him behind his classmates and derail his career plans. Unless- “Cadet, have you ever flown a Thuranin dropship? In a simulator, I mean.”
“No. Why?”
“Because while you’re with us, you might as well continue your studies. We can teach you to fly Kristang, Thuranin and Maxolhx spacecraft.”
“Hyuh hyuh hyuuuuh,” the poor guy was hyperventilating. “You would do this? For me?”
“For us. It would be useful, when you return to your people, for you to be able to compare the flight characteristics of various spacecraft. Most of your time would be in a simulator, and, well, we’ll need to modify the controls.” And the seats, I reminded myself. Probably I should have mentioned the idea to Skippy before I opened my big stupid mouth.
“Colonel,” he pointed a leathery claw at my chest. “I see wings on your uniform. You are a pilot?”
“I am an Army aviator, yes.”
“Mm. That is good.”
“Ok,” I tapped the table, and signaled for Frey to come into the room. She was still wearing a mech suit and had a rifle by her side, but her faceplate was open. “Captain Frey here will show you to a cabin.”
“Colonel, may I make a request first?”
Crap. If the beetle wanted time in a flight simulator right away, I was going to crush his hopes. “What is it?”
“All of my gear, including my other clothing, is aboard the dropship. Could someone bring it to my cabin? I have,” he ran a claw down his, sort of his chest or thorax or something. “Been living in this suit for several days. It is unpleasant.”
Frey answered for me. “I’ll take care of it, Sir.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Dinner that evening was late, as measured by ship time. According to the body clocks of the Commando team, we had captured them just after their lunch, but that was late afternoon for us. So we waited until they were hungry. We also needed time to prepare something special to welcome our new teammates.
While waiting for food to be served, I was answering uncomfortable questions, and trying my best not to glare too hatefully at Lamar Greene. The guy had to be wondering what he had done to get on my bad side. Enough questions had been asked about the mysterious AI that had been helping us, that Skippy just couldn’t stand it any longer. “Joe. Joe!” He hissed in my earpiece. “The audience is demanding the main attraction. They are tired of the warm-up act.”
Cupping a hand over my mouth, I whispered back. “I am not the warm-up band, you idiot.”
“Idiot? Me, an idiot? You are not a warm-up band. You are just a monkey making balloon animals until the audience rushes the stage and throws you out. This is a travesty.”
“Do not speak until I-”
His voice boomed over the speakers as the avatar appeared. Not just the avatar, he had added lighting effects and dramatic music to his grand entrance, which had all the understated class of a pro wrestling match. “Yoo-hooooo everyone! May I have your attention please? Behold, ’tis I. The one, the only, the LEGEND, His Almighty Awesomeness, Skiiiiiiippyyyyyy the Magnificent!”
“Who?” Fabron asked, confused, looking to Smythe for answers.
“Ugh. It’s me, you tete de noeud,” Skippy made the insult in French. I knew from French Canadiens that it meant something like ‘knothead’, or ‘knuckehead’. “I am the AI who has been helping this troop of filthy monkeys. I am an Elder AI.” He cleared his throat. “Um, that was your cue to be struck by unfathomable awe. It would be appropriate at this time for you all to kneel before me and contemplate how unworthy you are.”
Fabron was unimpressed. With a very Gallic shrug, he turned to Smythe. “Your AI is an asshole, Non?”
“He is an arsehole for sure,” Smythe agreed, his shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh.
“Hey!” Skippy screeched. “You monkeys really are not going to worship me?”
That pissed me off. “What do you think?” I gave him an entirely justified single-finger salute. “Duh.”
“DUH to you,” he retorted.
Now I was really mad. “Duh!”
“Duhhhhhh!”
“DUHHHH!” I made an L with one hand and placed it against my forehead.
Commandant Fabron shifted his feet uncomfortably. “We are doomed,” he groaned.
“Because of this?” Smythe scoffed. “No, this is typical. They’ll get over it.”
“You saved the world, more than once, with those two?” The French soldier was incredulous.
“We saved the world, because of those two.”
“You are serious?”
“Believe me,” Smythe rolled his eyes. “I wish it weren’t true.”
It took a full ten minutes to get Skippy calmed down, and even that required an assist from Nagatha. It did not help that, shockingly, the new people decided they liked Nagatha, and that Skippy was an arrogant asshole. When Skippy launched into reciting his Top Ten list of awesome things he had done, I had to put a stop to it. Besides, steaks were grilling in the galley and we didn’t have much luxury food left. No way was I going to miss a prime meal because of Skippy’s shenanigans. “Ok! Skippy, can I make a deal with you?”
“Hmmph.” His avatar had its arms crossed defiantly. “Like what?”
“Send your Top Ten list to everyone’s zPhones, and we will all vote on which one is the most awesome.”
“Ugh. Ignorant monkeys are going to judge my actions?”
“Or, we could just ignore you,” I suggested.
“Let’s go with the voting thing,” he said quickly. “But-”
“Oh crap. What is it now?”
“Everyone has to submit a five-thousand word essay on why they voted for a particular awesomeness. Including what about me made it so unfathomably awesome.”
“Can we compromise, and instead of a five-thousand word essay, people include whatever emoji best represents your awesomeness?”
“Hmm. Ok, but nobody can use the poop emoji,” he insisted.
That blew my plan out of the water, but I agreed. “Deal.”
“Sir?” Smythe paused in the doorway to my office. He was there for our regular morning meeting, which usually lasted only five or ten minutes. The meetings were short, because he always was anxious to get back to something more important.
“Smythe! Come in, sit down,” I gestured, distracted by my laptop. On the screen were a variety of objects I was considering as a wedding present for Simms and Frank Muller. Candlesticks were an obvious choice, too obvious. When Skippy saw me browsing what he called ‘girly stuff’, he asked why. Then he suggested that instead of me waiting until we got back to Earth, I find something he could create with the ship’s fabricators. It would be a present from the two of us, which would save me the trouble of shopping, and him the embarrassment of probably choosing an inappropriate gift.
Working with Skippy on the gift sounded like a good idea, until he shot down all my very good suggestions. Either the ship’s fabricators could not manufacture the item without pulling them away from the vital work of making parts for our ships. Or, my suggestions were, as Skippy tried to say tactfully, ‘lame’. At that point, we were back to the drawing board. What I wanted to do was give them something practical, because they would hopefully be living on the undeveloped world of Avalon. Or some other, equally primitive beta site.
My best suggestion, to give them a dropship, ran into several s
nags. Neither Simms nor Muller were pilots, and Simms certainly didn’t have time to take flying lessons. Plus, I didn’t actually own any dropships, they were technically all UNEF property. And, there was the issue that we might need them to evacuate Earth. Skippy had drawn up plans to build space elevators on Earth, to replace the one the Thuranin had rented to the White Wind clan. With two or three space elevators running, the process of bringing people and supplies into orbit would go much faster. Except that, Skippy annoyingly reminded me, building space elevators would consume time and resources that could better be used elsewhere, like possibly constructing another starship.
Whoa! Before you get too excited, he meant an unarmed transport ship, something like the Yu Qishan. A tin can with a jump drive, that we could stuff full of filthy monkeys. He thought there might be enough of what he called ‘go-fast’ parts leftover from our Lego project, that he could use to cobble together the engineering section of a ship. All humanity had to do was build the front section, which was still impossible given Earth’s level of industrial development.
Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Wedding presents. The good news was that I already knew about the engagement, which Simms was keeping quiet. That gave me a head start on thinking of a gift.
Smythe sat down and his body language told me whatever he wanted to talk about, I wasn’t going to like it. He got right to it. “We need to discuss Gunnery Sergeant Adams.”
“We do? Or you do?”
“Er, both.” It wasn’t often that I could make him uncomfortable.
“Her fitness for duty, you mean? She’s on your team, it’s your call.”
“Not completely, Sir.”
Shit. He really was uncomfortable with the subject. My, special regard for Adams was no secret among the crew. I should never have put Smythe in a position to worry that he might offend my feelings. “Look, Smythe, I’m serious,” I held up my hands. “It’s your call. Well, you and Doctor Skippy. I don’t want to be involved, I need to not be involved, you understand? I can’t play favorites. That’s not fair to the crew and it’s especially unfair to Adams. If you clear her for duty, and that puts her life back on the line, that’s what she wants.” Smythe did not need to be concerned about Adams, he needed to be concerned about me. I needed to be concerned about me. How would I react if Adams was in another life-and-death situation, where I had to choose between saving her and achieving the mission? What would I do?
I knew exactly what I would do, because I had begun considering the problem the day that Adams left the sickbay and returned to her own cabin. She was recovering, and that meant she might return to duty.
What would I do in that situation?
Easy.
If I couldn’t handle the pressure, I would surrender command to Simms, and let her make the decisions. It’s not a subject we had discussed, it was sort of understood. If she thought I was cracking under pressure, Simms wouldn’t wait for me. She was a damned good XO and she knew what the ship and crew needed.
The look of relief on Smythe’s face told me I had hit the mark. “In that case, Sir, I am not clearing her for duty.”
Oh shit. I had been all wrong about the source of his anxiety. He wasn’t worried that I would refuse to let her put herself in danger. He was worried about her reaction, and my reaction, when he declared she wasn’t ready. Or worse, that she would never again be ready. That was an important distinction. “Yet, you mean? You are not clearing her for duty yet?”
“Adams has made remarkable progress, both physically and in cognitive skills. Given time, I am confident she can rejoin the STARs. Her recovery has focused on regaining basic motor skills. She has not been training with the team, nor do I believe she can safely train with the team at this time.”
“Does she know?”
That drew a wry laugh. “Our Gunnery Sergeant is the best judge of her own abilities. She is certainly aware of her level of progress.”
“Ok.” It was my turn for relief that made my shoulders shudder involuntarily. “You will talk with her?”
“Yes. I wanted to assure her there will be a role for her during the rescue?”
“Oh, hell, yes. We can always use people on the bridge. I’ll get Simms to assign Adams to a weapons station, she’ll like that.”
“Training to serve on the bridge will divert time away from her preparing to requalify for the STAR team,” he cautioned.
“She can suck it up,” I replied, and to my surprise, realized that is how I really felt. She wanted me to treat her no different from anyone of the crew, and that’s exactly what I wanted to do. “I’ll talk with her about that.”
“If you want my advice, Sir, I suggest you have Simms tell her.”
“Because I’ll make it too personal?”
“No. Because that is the procedure for any other member of the crew,” he arched an eyebrow and waited for my reply.
“True. Good idea. Is that all? I know you want to get back to training with the new people.”
“Training is what I want to discuss next. The rescue operation will be conducted on the surface of a planet. It would be useful if we could train in similar conditions.”
“Oh. Hey, I’d like that too. Flying all the way back to Avalon takes too much time.” Plus, the last thing I wanted was to go back to that world, until we had opened a wormhole to Earth. “Do you have a candidate planet in mind?”
“No, Sir. I was hoping you and Skippy could think of something.”
“I got nothing’,” I admitted. To be useful for training, we needed a planet with roughly the same gravity, atmosphere and surface conditions as the target site. Plus, most importantly, it had to be uninhabited and unlikely to have visitors. That was a tough set of conditions. “Skippy?”
“Ugh. What is it now?” His avatar groaned.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t listening,” I wagged a finger at him. “What can you do for us?”
“Do for you? Joe, there are plenty of worlds out there you could use for training, but like the real estate saying goes, it’s all about location. Any place with easy access is inhabited, or might have ships stopping by for surveys, monitoring or their own training.”
“Ok, fine. What about places that do not have easy access?”
“Like what?”
Sometimes, Skippy could be dense as a monkey. “Like, we have the unique advantage of being able to create new wormhole connections. Back when we first talked about a beta site, you looked for candidates inside the galaxy.”
“Yessssss,” he was making an effort to be patient with me. “And we discarded all those sites, none of them were useful as a beta site.”
“None of them were useful, because you thought the next wormhole shift, or the one after that, would give alien bad guys easy access. But right now, we don’t care about what happens during the next wormhole shift a hundred years from now. We just need a place for training.”
“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say that,” he glared and shook a finger at me. “There is a place within two wormhole transitions, that would be an excellent site for training. And for the all-important rest and recreation this crew needs so very much. Hey! We can call this resort ‘Club Skippy’. It is very exclusive, Joe, and the rates are quite reasonable-”
“We get a free vacation before we buy a timeshare, right?” I asked, and Smythe snorted at my joke.
“I will show you the brochure,” Skippy gushed. “Afterward, there will be a short four-hour presentation, with light refreshments, while I tell you all about the amazing benefits of fractional ownership in Club Skippy.”
Smythe was already halfway out of his chair. “Er, I’ll leave you to handle the executive decisions, Sir.”
“Coward,” I muttered. “I’ll take this one for the team, Smythe. But I am voluntolding you to sit through the next karaoke night.”
When Adams was told she was not cleared for duty with the STAR team, that she wasn’t even cleared to train with them, and that she was assigned to sitt
ing at a console on the bridge, she left us.
That sucked.
I don’t mean she left the Merry Band of Pirates. She left Valkyrie, to go aboard the Flying Dutchman.
She wasn’t mad at me, she wasn’t upset with anyone. She was disappointed, sure, but only a little. She knew she wasn’t up to speed yet, and hadn’t really expected to accompany Smythe on the rescue. Her going aboard the Dutchman was not an act of anger or defiance, it was simply practical. It wasn’t even her idea, Simms assigned her to the other ship. Executive officers handle routine personnel matters, leaving the captain free to focus on important captain things, like getting to the next level on Super Mario Kart. My first notice that Adams was no longer aboard was a line in a morning status report. Like I said, it was simple. Adams had worked a bridge console aboard the old Dutchman, so she would need only quick refresher training to get signed off as ready to pull a duty shift. Getting familiar with the very different controls and environment aboard Valkyrie would have taken her so long, the rescue op would be over before she knew what she was doing. See? Simple and practical.
I was still a little pissed that Simms hadn’t told me ahead of time. Then I got pissed at myself for being unfair. My instructions to Simms were to treat Adams like any other member of the crew, and that’s what she did. A person aboard the Dutchman was scheduled to come aboard Valkyrie for training, so Simms used Adams to backfill that position. We did that all the time, cross-training people on the different systems of our two ships.
It did hurt that Adams had not given me a good-bye note, or stopped by my office before she went aboard the transfer dropship. That left me very confused. Was she avoiding me, and subtly telling me that what happened between us was only her damaged brain and the nanobots talking? Or was she afraid of making the situation awkward? Was I reading too much into the situation?
Valkyrie (Expeditionary Force Book 9) Page 47