The Renegat

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “I think we have made a major discovery,” Crowe said. “I think it’s one that was worth our travel time, worth the difficulties we’ve experienced, and worth all the effort we put into planning this trip.”

  Preemas raised his head. His gaze met Crowe’s.

  “You want us to turn around,” Preemas said flatly.

  “I do, sir,” Crowe said. This time he couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “I think if we turn around and go back, bring this information to the Fleet, and let the anacapa specialists study it, along with the foldspace problems with the larger drives, we will be hailed as heroes.”

  That word finally left his mouth, and as it did, he wished it hadn’t. It sounded wrong. Stupid.

  Preemas smiled with only half of his mouth.

  “Or idiots,” he said, “if those specialists already knew about that little foldspace opening over the communications array and had deemed it insignificant.”

  Crowe felt the heat from his cheeks move into his chest. “I don’t think so, sir. I think that they don’t know about this. I think—”

  “You don’t know, Chief Engineer Crowe. You’ve been out of the major loop for years. You have no idea what the Fleet knows and what it doesn’t.” Preemas put his hands flat on the desktop, and levered himself up. “If we go back, and I’m right, that’s the end of all of our careers. We’d become laughingstocks within the Fleet.”

  “And if I’m right,” Crowe said, deciding to let the anger out, “then we have discovered something that will save countless lives.”

  “Maybe you didn’t get the message, Mister Crowe,” Preemas said, his voice filled with sarcasm. “We’re not supposed to save countless lives. We’re supposed to waste five hundred lives on a trip for some admiral’s whim.”

  Crowe stiffened. He didn’t like that “Mister,” and he also didn’t like the “admiral’s whim.”

  Crews were subject to their commanders’ orders. That was how it worked. That was how it was supposed to work, and a captain, like Preemas, should have made his peace with that fact a long, long, long time ago.

  “Well, then.” Crowe spoke softly, like he always did when he was extremely angry. “You should take my advice. We can surprise everyone by saving lives—including the five hundred who would die going to that Scrapheap.”

  “By disobeying our orders,” Preemas said.

  “That hasn’t been a problem for you in the past,” Crowe said.

  Preemas’s eyes narrowed.

  “I frankly don’t understand why you’re worried about our reputations, Captain,” Crowe said. “We had none going into this. It is a last-ditch effort to repair our relationship with the Fleet. If I’m right, then we will do just that.”

  “You will do that, Mister Crowe,” Preemas said. “As you told me, captains know nothing about the history of the anacapa drive or the vagaries of the way they interact. You and Stephanos and that new recruit, Atwater, you’ll all be heroes. The rest of us will have been along for the ride.”

  So that was what was bothering Preemas. That no matter how he twisted this, he wouldn’t get credit for the discovery.

  “It would be your decision to return,” Crowe said. “Your decision to abort the mission and make a huge change inside the Fleet. You were the one who gave the orders that led us to this discovery. You would be the one who would get all the credit, Captain, not us.”

  “Nice angle,” Preemas said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “But it doesn’t work, Mister Crowe. Because anyone with a brain would figure out who briefed me, who discovered the issue, and who—by the time we get home—might actually have a solution.”

  Crowe took a deep, steadying breath. Unfortunately, the breath didn’t steady him at all.

  “So,” Crowe said, trying not to let all the anger he felt into his voice, and failing miserably, “you don’t want to return with something that might possibly change the way the Fleet does things, preventing people from disappearing into foldspace for good, you don’t want to do anything about that, because you won’t get credit? Is that what I’m hearing, Pre?”

  Using the nickname Preemas had wanted him to use was a bit passive-aggressive, but Crowe hadn’t been this mad in a long, long time.

  Preemas’s posture didn’t change, although his body stiffened just enough to be noticeable.

  “I can’t verify your work, Mister Crowe,” Preemas said. “I have no idea if you’re lying to me because you’re scared and you’ve decided that the Renegat would be better off returning to the Fleet. You know I won’t order that on my own, so maybe you’re taking the matter into your own hands. Maybe you’ve decided that you know what this ship needs much more than I do. Maybe you feel that you can manipulate me into aborting this mission and therefore saving lives, no matter what the cost to the rest of us.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called me a liar,” Crowe said. “I. Don’t. Lie.”

  Preemas moved his right arm away from his head, waving his hand in a dismissive motion. “All humans lie,” he said. “Especially when they have something to gain.”

  “What,” Crowe asked, “do you think I have to gain?”

  “Your life for one,” Preemas said. “We’ve been talking about this as a suicide mission. You don’t believe I can get us through this, so you’re afraid that the changes we’ve made—the changes I’ve made—will kill us all. So you want to turn tail and run back to the Fleet, no matter what the cost to your reputation.”

  A reputation is worth spit if you’re dead, Crowe nearly said, but stopped himself. He didn’t care about his reputation. He never had. He would have just said that as an argument for arguing’s sake.

  Crowe took two steps forward until he was as close to Preemas’s desk as he could get. Crowe then leaned down, and placed his hands on the surface.

  His eyes were completely level with Preemas’s.

  “This ship started in trouble,” Crowe said. “We were sent with the worst possible crew into an impossible situation to investigate something no one cared about except on some intellectual level.”

  “We agree on that, at least,” Preemas said.

  “We got into more trouble when it became clear that many on the crew really weren’t up to the job at even a minimal level.” Crowe leaned toward Preemas, lowering his voice even more. “At that point, I agreed with you. I thought we needed to take some drastic action. I thought your methods were flawed, but then, I thought the Fleet’s methods were flawed too.”

  “So, two wrongs make a right,” Preemas said, snidely.

  Crowe ignored that. “I figured we could live with the communications time lag, especially one at thirty seconds or so. Even two minutes was fine. I figured we could adjust for that.”

  Preemas nodded. “We’re not disagreeing yet, Mr. Crowe.”

  “But lag grew, and you demanded we investigate, and when we did, we discovered major threats to the ship. If we get lost in foldspace, no one will try to rescue us. There won’t be a sector base nearby that will attempt to ping the ship. We’ll be lost.”

  “That was an expected risk from the very start, Mr. Crowe,” Preemas said. “And you know it.”

  “We may have found the cause of the problems with foldspace travel, not just for us, but for all Fleet ships,” Crowe said, “and you’re ignoring that.”

  “I am ignoring nothing,” Preemas said. “As far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed except your opinion, Mr. Crowe. And your opinion counts for nothing.”

  The blood left Crowe’s face. He could feel it, draining down, as his fury grew.

  “Then you don’t need me to fix that communications anacapa, do you?” Crowe snapped.

  “No, I don’t,” Preemas said. “I’m going to let the vice admiral know that our communications across this vast distance no longer work. I’ll send her reports, verbal ones, but the one-on-one communications will stop.”

  Crowe waited for Preemas to continue, to order him to stop in
vestigating the communications anacapa and its interaction (if there was any) with the regular anacapa drive.

  That half smile of Preemas’s seemed cold. “Is there anything else, Mr. Crowe?”

  Crowe stood upright and clasped his hands behind his back. “Who do you want me to send in here, sir?”

  “No one.” Preemas frowned. “Why would I?”

  “You’ll need a replacement for me,” Crowe said. “Both as first officer and as chief engineer.”

  “Are you resigning?” Preemas asked.

  “No, sir,” Crowe said. “But you have made it clear that you think I’m unqualified—”

  “I did not say that, Crowe,” Preemas said, leaving off an honorific altogether. “I said we did not agree.”

  And your opinion is based on nothing, while mine is based on decades of expertise. Crowe wondered if he should say that. He wasn’t sure what he had to lose.

  “And,” Preemas said, “since I’m the captain, I win.”

  As if it were a contest. As if winning and losing was more important than doing the right thing.

  “At least let me speak to Vice Admiral Gāo, sir,” Crowe said.

  “There’s no need,” Preemas said. “I’ll let her know that the communications problem stems from the distance.”

  Which might not have been true at all.

  “Sir,” Crowe said as firmly as he could, “I would like to request from her all the records the Fleet has concerning the communications anacapa drive. As you said, this could be nothing, and I would like to know that before we waste future resources on it—”

  “As you said, if there was a regular problem with the communications anacapa, the Fleet would have notified everyone working with communications and anacapa drives. There’s never been a notification. There is no regular problem.” Preemas spoke with heavy emphasis on no regular problem.

  “Then, sir,” Crowe said, “we have a problem, and it could be dire.”

  “Or it might not be. Swap out the little drive,” Preemas said, “and see if that one interacts like the first one.”

  Crowe blinked at him. He hadn’t told Preemas about the other drive. And that surprise must have shown on Crowe’s face, because Preemas smiled.

  “You think I don’t know when one of my crew makes a bargain to get a piece of equipment. Now I understand why there was a discrepancy between the request you put in for a backup anacapa and the size of the delivery.” Preemas’s smile grew. “And here I thought you were asking an old friend in some kind of code for something specific, something other than an anacapa drive. I was half right. You were asking for something specific, a part of the ship I hadn’t even known existed.”

  Crowe’s mouth was dry.

  “I don’t miss much, Mister Crowe.” There it was again, that verbal demotion. Crowe didn’t like it. “It would do you well to remember that.”

  Crowe nodded. He would remember that.

  “I would like to stay on as Chief Engineer, sir,” Crowe said.

  “Of course.” Then Preemas’s frown returned. “You didn’t say anything about remaining as first officer.”

  Because Crowe didn’t beg. And he wasn’t sure he was as enamored of the job as he should have been.

  “I am waiting for you to ask me to tender my resignation, sir,” Crowe said.

  “And who the hell would I replace you with?” Preemas asked. “You think anyone else on this ship is competent enough to command it? You’re the best I’ve got, and you barely are.”

  The insult was deliberate. Apparently, this was going to be their relationship from now on, because Crowe had dared to think they should turn around.

  “There are others who would do just fine,” Crowe said.

  “I disagree,” Preemas said. “You’re the first officer, whether you like it or not, Mister Crowe. And you will do as I tell you.”

  Crowe’s interlaced fingers tightened painfully behind his back. “As you wish, sir,” he said.

  And it wasn’t until Crowe left that he realized As you wish, sir, was not an agreement. As you wish, sir, was a dodge.

  Crowe couldn’t follow Preemas’s orders. Preemas’s orders were wrong.

  And there was only one way to overrule them.

  Crowe had to talk with Vice Admiral Gāo. She could order Preemas’s return. And he would have to listen.

  Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have that triumphant return he had been looking forward to. No matter how well Preemas performed on this mission, disobeying an order to return would guarantee that he got no credit, no matter what he did.

  The Renegat

  Crowe stood inside engineering near the communications array. He had told the Engineering crew that he was working on part of the array they couldn’t handle, but that wasn’t true.

  He was going to contact Vice Admiral Gāo.

  His stomach twisted as he did the planning for this. He had disobeyed a number of captains in his career. He had refused to execute orders that he believed would harm or kill crew or innocents. He had created a lot of reports that outlined the reasons for his protests. He had testified in front of a large group of officers, after incidents had occurred. He had justified his positions to vice admirals and admirals more than once.

  But he had never gone over someone’s head before, not in the middle of a mission.

  This time, though, he felt justified. This time, he believed that he could make a difference for the entire Fleet, not just for this crew.

  Although, he knew there was also a lot of self-interest here.

  He didn’t want to get stuck in foldspace, and he felt the Renegat was careening down that course.

  Engineering was quiet, except for its usual equipment hum. The air smelled faintly of coffee: he had caught one of the new recruits from Sector Base Z drinking from a sealed mug near her station. He had sent her away with a reprimand, telling one of the other crew members to make sure that the recruit knew why her actions were so damn dumb.

  He didn’t have time for tiny dumb today. He needed to deal with Big Deal Dumb.

  Initially, Crowe had planned to contact Gāo by himself, then realized that wouldn’t work.

  If Preemas was on the bridge when Crowe initiated contact, the ship herself might notify Preemas that there was a long-distance message going through.

  Stephanos was on the bridge to monitor Preemas and the communications system. If he had any questions, she would tell Preemas that Crowe was testing the system.

  A captain who understood how all of the equipment worked down here would not have believed that for an instant, but Preemas let the engineers handle engineering. He was much more interested in the other systems on the ship, as well as the interactions between the people in his newly redesigned crew.

  Even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get caught, Crowe was nervous. He had packets of information to send to Vice Admiral Gāo, although none of it was conclusive. And he wasn’t really sure if it would all reach her. He knew that the communications array was acting up; he didn’t know how it would work with large packets of data—larger than what he was creating by talking to her.

  He also knew that eleven-minute lag would be an issue, especially for him. He wouldn’t be able to see her reactions in real time.

  If he was going to abandon this path, now was the moment.

  He stood very still and thought about what he was going to do. Again.

  Then realized he could bat this around in his mind forever, or he could actually take some action.

  He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and then contacted the vice admiral directly, using the Renegat’s command code.

  Then he added a visual, as he said, “First Officer Crowe to speak privately with Vice Admiral Gāo on a matter of life and death.”

  Of course, there was no immediate response. He had set up a timer on the communications array, so that he could time the delays between contacts in real time, which was what he would tell Preemas he was doing if he got caught.


  It only took a few minutes for a response, which surprised Crowe. He had planned on the eleven-minute lag that Preemas had talked about, or maybe even something more.

  A holoimage opened, showing a thin woman in a lieutenant’s uniform. Her features were severe, her expression serious. Behind her, he could see brown walls with rotating images cycling through. Most were of the Fleet itself.

  “We were not expecting contact,” the lieutenant said. “I will get Vice Admiral Gāo. Be patient. This may take some time.”

  She didn’t mention the lag. Maybe she assumed he knew about it or maybe she didn’t think it was relevant.

  She did not wait for him to respond, which was a good thing. Instead, she walked away from the area, leaving him staring at the rotating pictures on the far wall.

  Only they had ceased to rotate. They remained stationary, showing the DV-Class ships of the Fleet, with their names etched beneath the images. He had served on at least two of those ships. He didn’t miss them, although he missed the size.

  Then he blinked, wondering why the image had paused. Had she done that? Or was it part of the lag? Did the imagery freeze on the walls or did it just freeze when it hit a certain amount of data to be sent through the nodes?

  He wasn’t certain, but he made a note of it on a small tablet he had beside the communications array. From the start, he had planned to make a list of the technical things he had noticed in this communication.

  Then he started sending the data packets. He wanted them to arrive as he was talking to Vice Admiral Gāo, so that she couldn’t order him not to send them.

  The image in front of him shifted and split. It became two images—the room itself, empty, and another room in which a small woman stood. That room was decorated in blues and golds, and looked official, although Crowe couldn’t quite say why he thought it was official.

  Maybe it was because the small woman was wearing a uniform, her shoulders squared by the piping that trailed down the front of the navy jacket. Side tables stood behind her. They gleamed—or, at least, Crowe thought they gleamed. He wasn’t certain if the gleam was a trick of the light, or some anomaly in the holographic image.