First Command

by Scott Bartlett

  “At times like this, I wish I could ask my father’s advice,” she said, staring across the cargo bay, her eyes wandering over stacked crates of ordnance, batteries, repair drone parts, and countless other necessities. “I used to accuse him of grooming me to take over Frontier since the day I said my first word, and I don’t think that was far from the truth. But I’m not sure anything could have prepared me for this.”

  Thatcher stood there, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. He felt a need to reassure her—to suggest that the UNC would reopen the wormhole soon. But that would feel like a lie, since he had no idea what was going on with the wormhole. A large part of him stridently insisted—had been insisting ever since he’d heard the news—that opening or closing or doing anything with a wormhole was well beyond human technology. They’d found it open, and they’d used it for over a century, and now it was closed. Neither state was likely to change from human action.

  But he pushed that voice to the back of his mind, where it needed to stay if he was to keep his sanity. If the wormhole didn’t reopen, then he would remain a galaxy away from his wife. That wasn’t an outcome he was willing to entertain.

  “Even if they reopen the wormhole,” Rose said, as though she’d been following the train of Thatcher’s thought, “there’s still the Xanthic. We’ll all have to confront them sooner or later, I think. In the meantime, if the pirates really are forming their own corps, maybe even their own alliances….” She shook her head. “Trouble is only starting in the Dawn Cluster. There are plenty of other Reardons here, too. Corps that will keep pushing the boundaries of what they can get away with, all the way to making open war on law-abiding corps, if the UNC lets them.”

  “They won’t.”

  “How can you know that? If the wormhole stays closed, the entire game changes, Commander. The UNC won’t be able to call for reinforcements, meaning the super-ships they have here are what they have, and that’s it. They won’t be able to maintain order if corps all across the Cluster start misbehaving as Reardon has. And they will. Mark my words. Having the exclusive right to mine and develop a system is too tempting a boon to any corporation’s bottom line. It’s well worth it to win that right by force, if they can.”

  Thatcher nodded slowly. He couldn’t find any fault with what Rose was saying. Things are about to get very interesting, aren’t they? “What do you want to do, then?”

  She shrugged. “What else is there? We have to go to Clime. To free Oasis Colony from Reardon’s grip, we need the UNC’s help.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Sunrise System, Clime Region

  Earth Year 2290

  “Good Lord,” Thatcher muttered as the entire CIC stared at the holotank, which was swimming with thousands of scale-model ships scattered across the size-adjusted representation of the Sunrise System.

  “It looks like we have something of a wait ahead of us,” Veronica Rose said from over his right shoulder.

  He glanced back at her, trying not to appear annoyed. Does she intend to stay there during engagements, too? I don’t need her questioning my tactics, no matter how much she thinks she knows about military affairs. Rose was buckled into one of the CIC’s observations seats, which lacked armrests, and so she often gripped the straps running down her front. She was doing so now, and her posture put Thatcher in mind of an overly enthusiastic schoolgirl.

  As for the sheer number of ships here, he’d expected something like it, if not quite this quantity. After the Jersey had passed from the Dupliss Region into Unity, they began to encounter increasing numbers of starships the closer they drew to Clime, all headed to the UNC’s Dawn Cluster headquarters in Sunrise. Without exception, every ship they met bore some sort of grievance against a rival corporation, and they all wanted the UNC to intervene.

  “Nothing we’ve heard so far comes close to our dilemma,” Rose had said from her observation seat as the Jersey prepared to jump to the fourth Unity system along her journey. “Civilian lives hang in the balance, back on Oasis. The UNC has to do something.”

  Thatcher hoped she was right, in part because his crew’s morale had sunk low. Some of them had family on Oasis, like Guerrero, but more of them had their homes in Earth Local Space, and talk of whether they’d ever see their loved ones again had largely replaced the complaints about prize money. One small blessing, I guess.

  At Rose’s suggestion, he’d held an ice cream social on the mess decks as they neared Clime Region. Initially he’d been resistant to the idea, but the crew had done well in the recent engagement, in spite of themselves. He’d also spotted an opportunity, and had embraced the event wholeheartedly, which he turned into a cocktail party two hours in.

  Two mess specialists wheeled in carts laden with booze, and everyone happily went to work on them—the Jersey’s crew and officers, along with officers from the Squall as well as Frontier executives, who’d been shuttled over from the accompanying eWar ship. It made for plenty of dragging feet the next day, but little was likely to happen in the cold regions anyway, and Thatcher saw the massive consumption as a great victory in his war to turn the New Jersey into a dry vessel. First the booze had to be disposed of, after all, and if it spiked crew morale in the short-term, all the better.

  “Sullivan, set a course for the nearest UNC Helio base,” Thatcher ordered. “Tell the Squall to wait for us here, just outside the jump zone.” He eyed the holotank with unease, his focus resting on the empty space on Sunrise’s distant outskirts, where the wormhole had been. The UNC had apparently dragged one of its Helio bases out there, no doubt to act as a staging area for its efforts to reopen the gateway between the Cluster and Earth Local Space. But there was no trace of the wormhole that the Jersey’s sensors could detect.

  Thatcher’s stomach sank toward his feet. If we could reopen that wormhole, then we probably wouldn’t be far from opening wormholes wherever we want, to wherever we want. But we’re nowhere near reopening it, are we?

  The UNC knew that, he felt sure. They had to try, of course—if only to maintain the appearance of order for as long as possible. But they were going to fail, and soon everyone would learn of that failure. The Dawn Cluster stood on its own, perhaps forever. The humans here might as well belong to a separate species. And the people back home…prey for the Xanthic.

  Lin. No. I will return to you. I’ll find a way. He couldn’t see how he would succeed where the UNC’s best scientists would surely fall short. But he also didn’t care. I will find a way.

  They fell in with the dozens of ships surrounding one of the Helio bases orbiting Sunrise’s third planet, a cloud-covered rock that reminded him of Venus. The UNC maintained hundreds of Helio bases throughout the system, and they were all surrounded by corp ships waiting to have their grievances heard. All the while, massive UNC super-ships prowled—hulking fighter drone carriers and dreadnoughts that ran for kilometers from stem to stern, both which dwarfed the waiting starships.

  The New Jersey was given a number when she arrived, forty-seven, and then told not to contact the base until they were contacted first, barring an emergency. Thatcher didn’t dare leave the CIC, for fear that the UNC would skip right over them in the absence of the Jersey’s CO, forcing them to wait until after the ships with higher numbers had been dealt with. That could take forever.

  Veronica Rose remained as well—it was arguably more important that she be here, after all.

  “Sir, I don’t see any shuttles moving to and from the Helio base,” Guerrero remarked after a half hour had passed.

  Thatcher nodded. “They must not be holding physical meetings. That’s good for us, I suppose, since waiting for people to come and go from the base would take even longer.”

  “Nevertheless,” Rose put in from behind him. “We’ll request an in-person meeting.”

  “Hmm,” Thatcher said, then fell silent, stifling a yawn.

  His fatigue tugged at his eyelids and muddled his thoughts. Even though the journey
from Oasis had been fairly uneventful, there’d been no shortage of stress and worry to go with the usual demands of being captain. Even during the most uneventful of times, his com could be counted on to disrupt his sleep at least a few times with its aggravating buzz. Course changes, strange behavior from other vessels, inconsistent jump gate readings—the interruptions were always legitimate issues that required the captain’s attention. But they eroded his rest like the tide erodes the shore.

  His grandfather had warned him about those sleep-shattering calls, and told him they posed the greatest threat to his enthusiasm for being captain. “It doesn’t matter,” he’d told his grandfather, just as idealistic youths always did. “It will be worth it.” And it was worth it. But he felt tired, all the same.

  Their turn arrived at last, and when Guerrero put the transmission through, a man appeared inside the holotank wearing the midnight service dress uniform of the United Nations and Colonies. “Greetings, Captain….” The UNC officer looked down at something, probably a holoscreen. “Um, Vaughn. Of the Frontier Security ship the New Jersey. Is that correct?”

  “You need to update your records,” Veronica Rose said, before Thatcher could speak. “Commander Tad Thatcher is now the CO of this unit.”

  Knowing she couldn’t see him, Thatcher didn’t bother to keep his lips from pressing together in a thin line. I need to find a way to ‘politely’ exile her from my CIC. Being superseded as the first to speak to an outside party aboard his own ship wasn’t sitting well with him at all.

  “Apologies, madam.” The UNC officer blinked in confusion. He wouldn’t be able to see Rose, after all—for the purposes of communication, the CIC’s sensors all pointed to the captain’s chair. “I am Lieutenant Laurence Klein, with the UNC. What brings—”

  “We’re here to make a report about a troubling situation taking shape in the Dupliss Region,” Thatcher said, cutting Klein off to ensure that he spoke next. “Reardon Interstellar has barred Frontier Security from the region, based on the evidence-free claim that our company has been working with pirates to somehow harm or enslave the population of Oasis Colony, which we were hired to protect. The main irony is that we have good reason to believe Reardon, in fact, has been consorting with pirates. Either way, until challenged, they have effectively conquered the Dupliss Region for their own exploitation. We’re here to request the UNC’s aid in liberating the people of Oasis as well as the other American colonies throughout Dupliss.”

  “I see. Well, Commander, it is regrettable for me to inform you that until the wormhole is reopened, the UNC can offer no aid beyond Clime, Unity, Basin, Sunlit Mesa, and Steppe Mortalis—those regions commonly known as ‘cold’ regions. Anyone, whether corporate employee or civilian, is welcome to shelter inside one of the systems that comprise those regions. But at present, the only way we can guarantee the cold regions’ security is to keep all of our vessels within them. I hope you understand.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rose cut in, and this time Thatcher didn’t begrudge her the interruption. “I can’t see how you can leave millions of civilian lives hanging in the balance so casually. Those people have been effectively stripped of their freedoms, and until Reardon’s grip on Dupliss is broken, they’re living in what amounts to a corporate dictatorship!”

  Klein shifted uncomfortably. “It is regrettable, madam. But I can only follow orders. There is nothing to be done, at present.”

  “Can we have an in-person meeting?”

  “I am afraid that won’t be possible, given the volume of ships waiting to—”

  “The UNC was given the power it has in order to safeguard all of humanity.” Rose’s voice was like cold steel. “All of it. I hope you know that you’re failing in that duty.”

  “I do not know what to say,” Klein said.

  “To hell with you. Cut off the transmission, Commander.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aboard the New Jersey

  Sunrise System, Clime Region

  Earth Year 2290

  Thatcher nodded to Guerrero, confirming Rose’s order to terminate the transmission. He was certain it wasn’t a good idea to mouth off to the UNC, but then, he felt just as upset as Rose.

  “Commander,” the CEO said with barely restrained emotion. “Can I speak with you for a minute?”

  He nodded. “Candle, you have the conn. Take us away from the Helio base—climb to a higher orbit.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Rose followed him into the conference room, just off the CIC. He held the hatch open for her and closed it again once she was seated. Then he made his way around the table and sat opposite her, folding his hands on the tabletop. “Yes, Ms. Rose?”

  “Do I need to remind you who is CEO of this corp, Commander?”

  Other than a slight narrowing of his eyes, he didn’t answer.

  “What was the meaning of you taking the lead in the discussion with Klein?”

  “I believe you took the lead,” he said, regarding her levelly. “You were the first to speak.”

  “Then you jumped in and gave him a stripped-down version of events. You should know that my father had me trained in everything needed to run a private military, from ops to logistics to effective messaging. Rhetoric, Commander. The art of using language to elicit emotion.”

  “I see.” Thatcher wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

  She heaved a ragged sigh, pressing her face into an open palm. This is the first time I’ve seen her lose her cool.

  When she lifted her head again to look at him, she appeared more composed. “You’re a military man, Commander. A ship’s captain now, and a damned good one. Quite possibly the best natural captain I’ve seen—judging from your single engagement, anyway. But there are certain things you know nothing about. Things I was trained extensively in. Those things, you must leave to me.”

  A silence stretched between them, and eventually Rose’s eyebrows jerked up. She obviously expected a response, but he wanted to carefully consider his words.

  “I can agree there are matters that should be left to you,” he said at last. “Many things, most likely. And in this instance, I think we should have worked out a plan in advance—who would say what, and when. But one thing I cannot have is my authority being undermined inside my own CIC, in front of my officers. A captain should be the first to speak when hailed by an outside party, for example—not someone who isn’t even in the New Jersey’s chain of command. You’re my boss, and I must do as you direct. But at the micro-level, the day-to-day operations of my ship…that must be left to me.”

  Incredibly, Rose nodded. “Maybe it’s best for me to keep away from the CIC, to avoid the temptation to micromanage you and your crew. You’re right, Commander. This is your ship, and you must have full command of her. I’ll give you direction, and then you will carry out my orders in the way you consider most effective. The exception being any time it would be advantageous for me to speak to an outside party, like today.”

  For a moment, he sat there, stunned. He hadn’t expected such a reasonable reception for his concerns. “Thank you, Ms. Rose. This seems very fair.”

  She nodded curtly, and as she did his com buzzed.

  He tapped the button to activate speaker mode, so that Rose could hear as well. “Thatcher.”

  “Sir,” Guerrero said, “we’re being hailed by a destroyer registered to Sunder Incorporated.”

  Thatcher exchanged glances with Rose. Here was exactly the scenario they’d just discussed. “We’ll be right out.”

  They drew a few curious glances as they reentered the CIC together, but that was nothing new. Since becoming captain, he’d grown used to everyone’s eyes following him everywhere.

  “Go ahead, Ops,” he said as he settled into the padded leather command seat. “Put them in the tank.”

  A man appeared in the holotank, his eyes finding Thatcher’s right away and regarding him as though he were a piece of spoiled meat. His gaze instantly put Thatcher on edge.
“Yes?” he said.

  “Commander Thatcher, is it not?” The stranger’s voice was deep, and sounded so arrogant that Thatcher wondered if it was an act. The man was perfectly bald, with a white mustache and facial hair that extended down to run along his jaw, though the chin itself was bare.

  “It is,” Thatcher said, and gestured toward Rose, who stood beside the captain’s chair, hands at her sides. “This is Veronica Rose, CEO of Frontier Security.”

  “I’m aware. I am Simon Moll, captain of the Victorious and CEO of Sunder Incorporated. I have a proposition for you, which I would very much like to discuss in person. May I come aboard?”

  Thatcher and Rose looked at each other. She gave a slight nod.

  “You’re welcome to dock a shuttle on our starboard side, Captain Moll,” Thatcher said. “We’ll receive you there.”

  Forty minutes later, Thatcher was back in the conference room, seated at the head of the table and watching Rose and Moll eye each other from opposite chairs. Even from a seated position, Moll seemed to tower. He was certainly much taller than Thatcher, who came a few inches shy of six foot.

  “I’ve heard great things about your corporation, madame.” Moll’s compliment was diluted somewhat by his perpetual smirk. “Unlike most corps in the Cluster, you conduct yourself with some honor, or so I am told.”

  “Thank you,” Rose said coolly, her eyes never leaving the other CEO’s. “I’ve heard of your outfit as well.”

  The smirk broadened into a slight smile. “I doubt the reports you’ve heard about Sunder were quite as pristine. We have many enemies, and on occasion we’ve been forced to place expedience over honor.”

  Then you have no honor, Thatcher mused, but he kept the thought to himself.

  “You must know we belong to the Oasis Protectorate,” Rose said. “And that the only other private military company in the alliance is Reardon Interstellar.”