Thatcher nodded. “Everyone’s always on their best behavior, under the watchful eye of the UNC.”
The CEO of Frontier Security chuckled softly. “If only that eye cast its gaze on the Contested Systems, from time to time.” The CEO gave off a subtle lilac scent he found soothing.
His efforts to focus on her face were thwarted by the magnificence of the view through her floor-to-ceiling window. Lush, rolling hills and thick vegetation made it hard to believe he was looking at a densely populated city. A strong wind rustled the leafy canopy, revealing patches of asphalt far below, and here and there buildings poked above the tall forest ceiling.
“The trees here grow unusually tall,” he remarked.
“So they do. Oasis is well-named. Won’t you take a seat?” Her tanned arm stretched toward a chair opposite hers, and he sank into it, reluctant to relinquish the stunning view.
Rose took her own seat and met his eyes with the frank directness that came with power. Her gleaming, raven hair flowed down to her shoulders, perfectly straight—a marked contrast with her pale visage. “It’s a great privilege to count you among Frontier’s ranks, Commander. I can hardly believe our luck. Few prospective captains come as highly recommended as you did, and I believe your talents were being wasted while you waited for your own command in the Fleet.”
He felt himself stiffen slightly at her suggestion the Fleet was doing anything except its best, given the conditions the UNC imposed on it. But he remained silent.
Rose tilted her head. “I understand you were reluctant to leave the Fleet.”
“Yes.” He saw no point in masking his feelings.
“I know there’s a lot of cynicism in Earth Local Space about whether Cluster corps actually care about human prosperity—whether all that talk is just marketing. I want you to know that my company does care. We care about the Americans living on Oasis. We care that we’re an American company, serving the US government. And we care about spreading American values.”
Spreading those values is easier said than done, with everyone under the UNC’s thumb. But again, he reserved comment.
“I’m especially excited by the tactical prowess you demonstrated in the Command Leadership exams you challenged while en route to the Dawn Cluster. You performed well in all the exams, but tactics was where you truly shined. And that’s what we need out here.”
“Very good,” he said, a little tersely. He sensed that he was being buttered up for something, and he felt impatient to know what it was.
“There is one little issue, however.” The CEO folded her slender fingers in front of her trim stomach, and he knew the time had arrived. “I’ve been receiving reports that certain members of your crew feel…disquieted about changes you’ve made aboard the New Jersey. And in my experience, for every person that speaks out, ten more share the same concern.”
“What changes, exactly?”
“Your predecessor, Captain Vaughn, was very accommodating when it came to his crew. They’re used to a commander who listens to their concerns, and makes provisions for—”
“I fully intend to listen to the concerns of my crew, Ms. Rose. Any good starship captain does that. I’ve already engaged several of the crew individually about their sense of the New Jersey, as well as their own personal hopes and fears, their mood, their family lives or lack thereof. I also appear to have an excellent command master chief to relay crew concerns to me. But if I can be candid, ma’am, a lack of crew comfort is not the main issue aboard the Jersey. It’s too much crew comfort.”
She visibly drew breath, her slender shoulders rising and falling. “Commander, the rigid standards that apply in the Fleet simply don’t apply on Frontier ships. Trying to recreate the environment you experienced there won’t fly aboard one of our vessels.”
He continued to meet the CEO’s gaze, keeping his expression neutral. “I am here because a superior suggested to me that securing the Dawn Cluster is strategically important, both for America and for humanity. I was told that serving on a Frontier starship would be nearly indistinguishable from a properly run USSF ship. If that isn’t the case, and you would prefer to let me go, I would be more than happy to return to Earth and reenlist in the Fleet. But I can get the job done for you, ma’am. I can best the pirates who presume to gather in force against American ships. I can get to the bottom of the Xanthic’s presence here. But only if I’m allowed to run my ship as I see fit.”
Veronica Rose studied him for a long time, one eyebrow arched far above the other. Then, the errant brow relaxed, and she chuckled. “You are a formidable man, aren’t you Tad Thatcher? I shouldn’t have expected anything less than this from you, I suppose.”
He remained silent.
“Letting you go is the last thing I want to do. I’m not afraid to confess that we need you, Commander. So you will have your way with this—I just hope your knowledge of tactics is matched by your ability to control a crew.”
“Are you worried about a mutiny?” Thatcher asked, eyes narrowed.
“It’s always a possibility, in the deep, dark of space. But the more likely outcome is that your crew will simply seek positions with other companies once their contracts run out. Employee attrition is a big problem, here in the Cluster. It’s a race to the bottom between private military companies, to see who can best compromise their effectiveness in order to cater to their workers. As you’ve already gathered, Captain Vaughn was extremely popular with the Frontier employees that served under him. So far, you are not. But as I said, I need you, and so it will be up to you to figure out a way to make sure your crew doesn’t abandon ship at the earliest opportunity.”
A silence descended upon them, and Thatcher’s gaze wandered out to the bright blue sky beyond Rose, visible through the segmented glass. Planetside sights always riveted his attention like this, even on Earth. They had become a novelty in his life, which was so much spent aboard the cold metal of starships, adrift in the void of space.
“There’s another matter, Commander,” Rose said, snapping the silence in two. “You no doubt noticed the warships distributed throughout the Freedom System, guarding America’s primary colony in the Cluster.”
He nodded. “They belong to Reardon Interstellar, do they not?” That both companies had been given a contract by the government to defend Oasis was no secret to anyone interested in knowing.
“They do. That much is public knowledge, but there’s much that goes on in the Dawn Cluster that isn’t. How would you react if I told you that a significant amount of the violence that occurs on the Cluster’s periphery isn’t between corporation and pirate, but corporation and corporation?”
The question made him blink. “But the UNC prohibits fighting.”
“Yes, but they don’t have the super-ships to patrol the whole Cluster, do they Commander? The attackers always do their best to seem like pirates—that’s easiest if they manage to destroy their prey. There are also rumors of corps simply paying pirates to execute such attacks.”
“For what purpose?”
“The usual one. If the victim corporation considers a system too hot to do business in, it will withdraw to safer, less profitable stars. And it’s never long before the shadow aggressor moves into the system where the attacks occurred. Generally, they’re smart enough to ensure there’s a lack of concrete evidence—if pressed, they’ll say they must simply have a higher risk-tolerance than the corp that fled. But everyone knows what really went on.”
“Does Reardon Interstellar have a history of being involved in such situations?”
“It does indeed. Not only that, I’m certain they have an arrangement with some pirates in the north. Why else would they grow so bold as to band together and attack our vessels directly? Reardon’s been tasked with protecting the Freedom System, whereas Frontier is responsible for patrolling the surrounding systems and regions, scanning for threats and answering them before they become unmanageable. But Reardon wants both contracts, and they’re in the perfect position t
o make that happen, sitting pretty inside this system while their pirate lackeys pick us apart.”
Thatcher felt the corner of his mouth twitch—a tick that often befell him as he was sizing up a problem. “Do you think Reardon would stoop so low as to work with the Xanthic?”
“Honestly, Commander, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I see. Would it be possible for a logistics ship to also be deployed with the New Jersey?”
“I’m afraid not. You may have noticed the Squall maintaining orbit over Oasis—the same electronic warfare ship that enabled your cruiser to escape her last encounter with pirates and Xanthic. You will have her, but there is nothing else available for you to take. I am sorry. All other Frontier ships are busy carrying out patrols and assignments vital to the safety of this region. As I said, Commander, I need you. But really, I was understating it. What I really need is for you to perform a miracle.”
Chapter Nine
Aboard the New Jersey
Ramage System, Dupliss Region
Earth Year 2290
Every engagement is a puzzle you must solve in minutes.
His grandfather had been fond of saying that. Yes, Edward Thatcher would concede, space engagements unfolded over hours, not minutes. But those hours had to be spent executing the plan you devised upon first spotting the enemy. Switching tacks halfway through a battle could work, but more often it ended in ruin.
As the New Jersey moved from jump zone to jump gate, sailing through the final warm systems before transitioning into hot ones, Thatcher tried to fit together as many of the puzzle’s pieces as he could in advance.
He’d requested information on the New Jersey’s capabilities from the chief engineer, at a level of detail that drew a blank stare from the rotund Scottish man. Apparently Frontier captains didn’t take that deep an interest in what their ships could do. She can move and she can fire her guns. That’s enough for most, I suppose.
Sitting at his desk inside his cramped office, which made economical use of space—very economical—he looked up. It had suddenly occurred to him to wonder how a man as fat as Ainsley, the chief engineer, managed to fit into the engineering plant’s various nooks and crannies. How did the man do his job?
“He must be a champion delegator,” Thatcher murmured. Then he returned to his study of the specifications listed on the holographic screen, which extended from his desk and would retract again at the tap of a button.
In particular, his eyes scanned the information detailing the new Hellborn missile’s acceleration profile. According to what he was seeing, the missile attained its top speed quickly, but its acceleration then leveled off in order to conserve enough fuel to reach the target, and track it if necessary.
The New Jersey, on the other hand, could afford to continue accelerating throughout an entire engagement. Which meant that, provided a Hellborn was loosed early enough, there was nothing to stop her from catching up to her own missile.
“Interesting,” he muttered. It was something an old sea-bound Navy ship could never have done. But during his time in the Fleet, he’d become convinced that most captains still conceived of their ships in naval terms and thought of space engagements as sea battles that simply happened in the uncaring void.
And why not? Because of the Yidu incident, humanity had barely experienced space warfare. Yes, they’d fought back the Xanthic fleets, but any serious analyst admitted that outcome had been due to having greater numbers. The Xanthic engagements had taught Earth’s space fleets a few things, but not enough, in Thatcher’s view. There was still a lot of room for innovation. For trying things no one had thought of, and shaping the face of warfare for centuries to come.
The hatch buzzed, and Thatcher swiped his screen clear before tapping the button to retract it, and then the one to activate the com. “Yes?”
“It’s Major Hancock, if you please, sir. Might I speak with you?”
“Come in.” Thatcher tapped the button to admit his marine commander.
The hatch swung inward, and the swarthy Englishman swaggered in, his muscled arms held out to both sides as they strained the fabric of his brown service uniform. Hancock closed the hatch behind him and then came to attention, eyeing the narrow chair in front of the desk all the while.
“At ease,” Thatcher said. “Take a seat.”
“Sorry to bother you, sir. I won’t waste your time with chitchat. It’s just that…well, there’s something I think you ought to know.”
Thatcher raised both eyebrows and waited for Hancock to spit it out.
“Sir, as I’m sure you know, the crew on this rig is used to prize money, and lots of it. Captain Vaughn kept them bathing in it, but now there’s talk on the mess decks that they won’t see a fraction of what they used to, going forward. With that, on top of the rules and such you’ve imposed, there are a lot of discontented spacers on this ship.”
None of this was news to Thatcher. He was capable of reading his own crew, and it didn’t take very long aboard warships to figure out that spacers didn’t like change. Either way, he’d made a habit of calling Ensign Jimmy Devine to his office regularly, under the guise of reprimanding him for this and that. His fellow engineers thought that Thatcher had a particular dislike for Devine, but in truth the lad was feeding him information about the gossip he heard while working in the engineering plant and dining in the mess. Thatcher told Devine that his performance report would be glowing so long as his comportment remained exemplary. That assurance had pleased Devine to no end, and he’d answered with a hearty “Yes, sir” before returning to his duties.
Still, Hancock’s presence means something. Maybe it’s something I can use. “Are you here to complain on the crew’s behalf, then, Major?”
“Huh? Oh, heavens no, Captain! I’m here to make sure you know that no matter how surly the crew gets, order will be maintained aboard this ship. I intend to see to that personally.”
That’s good, considering it’s your job. “You’re not concerned about a reduction in prize money, then.”
“That’s just it, sir. Old Captain Vaughn never cut my marines in on any prize money, because he always managed to secure pirate ships’ surrender without our help. He went out of his way to do that, and it’s not hard to see why. Splitting it with us would mean spreading it thinner, see? And so it don’t bother me none if there’s less prize money. Especially if you intend to divide up any prize money we do win more fairly than Captain Vaughn did.”
Thatcher stared at Hancock, fighting hard to mask his sudden contempt for the man. So he’d come here to try and bargain with his commanding officer, using the execution of his duty as a bargaining chip, had he?
He deserves a sharp rebuke, at the very least. But Thatcher knew better than to deliver that just yet. No matter the man’s motivations, Hancock had just revealed himself as one of the few allies Thatcher had aboard the New Jersey.
I need to determine which has greater sway over his marines’ hearts—their loyalty to him or their sense of duty. Until I do, I need this man.
“Thank you, Major. I appreciate your assurance. It brings me great peace of mind.”
“I knew it would, sir,” Hancock said, a grin spreading across his face like an oil slick over water.
“Dismissed.”
The major rose to his feet, saluted, and left Thatcher with his thoughts.
The Jersey’s about to head into battle without proper support. No logistics ship to bolster her shields, and only her own repair drones to keep her hull intact.
On top of that, he was sitting on a discontented crew—a serious blow to any vessel’s combat effectiveness.
By any measure, things looked bleak indeed for the light armored cruiser. Nevertheless, he grew a smile of his own.
I’ll simply have to show our enemies something they’ve never seen before.
Chapter Ten
Aboard the New Jersey
Elsin System, Tempore Region
Earth Year 2290
“I’ve devised a plan for defeating the pirate battle group that bested the New Jersey before,” Thatcher said, meeting the gaze of each of his department heads in turn. They peered at him from their spots around the ship’s conference room, which was situated near the CIC. “I think it’ll even give the Xanthic warship a run for its money. Either way, I don’t intend to share that plan with anyone aboard this ship.”
The department heads—his chief tactical officer, chief engineer, operations officer, senior supply officer, as well as his XO—all looked at him with expressions ranging from confused to aghast. Tim Ortega, his chief tactical officer, opened his mouth for a protracted second, then closed it.
“During my first weeks aboard the New Jersey, I’ve come to the conclusion that the environment here is an abysmal one for maintaining proper OPSEC. As you know, I come from the U.S. Space Fleet, where it can be generally expected that the reason spacers are serving in the first place is out of loyalty to their country—to the cause of keeping her safe, and of defending what freedoms she has left. Certainly, no one joins up for the pay.
“But here on the Jersey, Frontier’s employees are far more concerned with their own personal advancement than any cause we might devote her faculties to. That seems to be true despite the fact that stabilizing the Dawn Cluster will prove vital to humanity’s victory over the Xanthic. Very well. I will work with what I have been given, and I will do it in the following manner: in the coming engagement, department heads are to be at the ready, to ensure any order I give is executed by subordinates swiftly and effectively. You will be held personally responsible for any failure on your subordinates’ part, so I would advise you find a way to properly motivate them that doesn’t involve appeals pertaining to prize money. Do not concern yourself with pondering any order you find odd or counterintuitive. Simply execute each order promptly, and all will be well.”
His executive officer, Billy Candle, cleared his throat. “Captain—”
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