Torchship Pilot Page 3

  “Aye-aye!” The deckhand vanished into his cabin.

  Fastest I’ve ever seen him obey an order, thought Mitchie. She looked over the message.

  “Shi, I need to talk with you a moment,” continued the captain. He led the first mate into his cabin.

  “So what’s the news?” asked Guo. Mitchie shook her head. They went into their cabin.

  When the hatch closed Mitchie said, “We’re being put on active duty for a week. I have to get debriefed by the Operations and Analysis departments. You and the skipper are getting lessons on how to live up to your reserve rank. They’ll have quarters for us.”

  “So I get to go to basic training camp?”

  “No, basic is for making spacers. You’re a Chief. Well, if the captain makes it stick. You’re a little young for it.”

  Guo laughed. “I’m not worried. They can make me whatever rank they want.”

  “That’s easy for you. Think of my reputation. If I’m married to some Engineer Apprentice people will think I abused my authority to make you marry me.”

  They’d been married long enough for Guo to know where her ticklish spots were.

  ***

  Bing waited until the hatch closed to say anything. “What’s going on, Alois?”

  He took a deep breath. “Remember when I told you the Defense Force gave me a reserve commission?”

  “You said that was just a formality. An excuse to pay you for enabling whatever Mitchie’s doing that you won’t talk about.”

  “That was before the Disconnect decided to stand up to the Fusion. War is coming. We have to stand together.”

  Bing reached toward him then shoved her hands in her pockets. “You’re too damn old to play soldier. Let the young men do it.”

  “I’m not going to be a soldier. They’re giving me one week of training so I can play the part a little. Then I’m back here as a freighter captain.” He pointed at the deck to emphasize the ‘here.’

  “They don’t need to put you in uniform for that.”

  “Maybe not. But they’ve asked me to serve and I’m going to do my duty.”

  “Even if that takes you straight to hell?”

  Schwartzenberger said nothing to that.

  “Fine. Go play soldier. I’ll take a week’s shore leave with Billy.”

  “No, you have work to do. Find buyers for all that stuff we got from Amalgamated, and turn those keys into real money.”

  ***

  The autocab dropped the three of them off at the “Depot’s” main gate. An ensign from Protocol was there with a vehicle. Once they’d passed DNA identity tests she whisked them off to the military clothing store. A yeoman was waiting with the duffle Mitchie had left in a storage locker five years ago.

  Mitchie emerged triumphantly from the dressing room in her dress uniform. “It fits!”

  The yeoman studied her carefully. “Yes, ma’am. We can get your rank fixed on the premises if you’ll give me your jacket.”

  Mitchie looked at her cuffs. They still had the dashed stripes of a junior grade lieutenant instead of the solid ones she was supposed to wear as a senior grade. She sighed and started unbuttoning.

  The store clerks had Guo and the captain in hand. The Bonaventure Defense Force’s solid black uniform looked good on Schwartzenberger. Akiak’s Space Guard wore pale grey. Mitchie thought it looked even better on Guo than it did on her.

  Intelligence had members from every planet in the DCC and the store stocked all their gear. When Mitchie came up to Guo he asked, “What the hell is that?”

  She followed his pointing finger to a mannequin wearing a bright red tunic with gold braid along the seams. She laughed. “Shishi Imperial Legion. Don’t worry, they have sensible camouflage uniforms for combat. They just love their parades.”

  Once they were fully dressed Protocol herded them over to an office building. A conference room held about fifty officers and senior NCOs. Mitchie recognized some from her previous assignments but had no chance to say hello.

  A BDF captain called the room to attention, introduced the Fives Full contingent, and explained that the new recruits had yet to be sworn in. The protocol ensign provided the captain a card with the BDF oath which Schwartzenberger echoed. “Chief Kwan is joining the Akiak Space Guard,” said the BDF captain, “so we’ll need a Guard officer to administer his oath. Lieutenant Long, would you care to do the honors?”

  Mitchie crisply marched over to in front of Guo. The ensign slipped the appropriate card into her left hand and faded back into the crowd. She held up her right hand and he matched her. Mitchie had seen swearing-ins but never performed one before. Doing it for Guo gave her a special thrill. When Guo smiled back she realized she’d let it peek out on her face. She quickly put her lips at attention. Guo sobered as well.

  Mitchie lifted up the card and solemnly read out the oath. Guo echoed the phrases firmly. “I, Guo Kwan . . . do swear my complete and undying loyalty . . . to the Fundamental Law of the Planet Akiak. . . . I will protect the Law and the Planet . . . against all enemies whomsoever. . . . I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me . . . and carry out my duties . . . with honesty, bravery, and honor. . . . So help me God.” Now they grinned freely at each other. Mitchie felt their bond was stronger now, another strand tying them together.

  The crowd broke into applause and cheers. A Master Chief Cryptographer’s Mate introduced himself to Guo as “your trainer” and led him out. The BDF captain took charge of Schwartzenberger and followed them. A few more unnecessary people left. Mitchie was alone with nearly two score analysts.

  With the swearing-in over she had the front of the room to herself. Her audience was seated in rings of desks, the rear ones elevated so everyone had a clear line of sight to her. I feel like a mouse at a cat convention. She glanced at the lectern. It didn’t have a step block and was tall enough to hide her from the nose down. There was a table against the front wall but sitting on it would look too casual.

  Best defense, she thought. Mitchie walked forward to a conversational distance from the first row. “I’m sure everyone has some questions for me,” she said. “Commander Jenkins, would you like to start?”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Your report on port security on Lapis stated the sentries for the cruiser Euripides were ‘inattentive.’ Can you be more specific about . . .”

  ***

  The quarters provided for them were comfortable. Mitchie was hoping to work off some of the stress of her debriefing with her husband. Unfortunately the Master Chief had decided a “liver function test” was an essential part of training. Guo was delivered to her barely able to stand. She poured him into bed with no audible complaints.

  The hangover left Guo not much better company in the morning. That evening they finally had a chance to talk.

  “How are you liking life in the military?” Mitchie asked. Guo had found her stretched on the bed, fully dressed except for her shoes. She’d woken up when he started rubbing her feet.

  “Master Chief’s part of it is pretty entertaining,” Guo said. “He’s skipping everything I can get out of books. God help me if I have to do a uniform inspection.”

  Mitchie chuckled, then turned more serious. “Are you keeping the rocker?”

  “Oh, yeah. To Master Chief the real qualification is having enough ‘no-shit-there-I-was’ stories to keep the juniors intimidated. So he kept pumping me for stories between whiskies.” He let go of her feet and started taking his boots off. “I’ve had some impressive experiences. All since you joined the crew, I noticed.”

  She sat up. “Hey, I didn’t sign us up for any of those jobs.”

  “No. But I’m still blaming you for the firefight with Max.”

  “Um. I won’t argue.” She blamed the firefight on Guo killing two of Max’s men, but since he’d saved her from possible torture and murder she didn’t hold it against him.

  “The other reason for all the booze is he wanted me hungover while he taught me how to shout at re
cruits. Said it would give me the right tone of voice.” His wife giggled. “Didn’t have any recruits but they rounded up some one-stripers for me to practice on. Marching circles around the cafeteria. Is there really room for doing that on a warship?”

  “No.”

  “Then why bother?” asked Guo.

  “To get them in the right mindset,” said the academy graduate. “Teach them to be part of a group. One boy puts his foot wrong and the whole formation looks bad.”

  “Why make me do it then?”

  She poked his ribs. “So you’ll expect them to obey your orders instantly. Makes you be careful what you say.”

  “Heh. So how are they treating you?”

  Mitchie flopped back on the bed. “Like a sponge.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re squeezing me. Trying to get every detail I left out of my reports. Which is stuff I never knew or was totally obvious. ‘Was Major Razoun’s information completely reliable?’ No, I said I’d poured six shots of vodka into him in the report. ‘Why did you describe the Mark 7 security bots as low reliability?’ Because they didn’t notice me sneaking around. Feh. Bunch of swivel-chair second-guessers.”

  Guo resumed the foot rub then moved up to her calves. “How about I do some squeezing?”

  “Mmmm.”

  ***

  “Lieutenant Long?”

  “Yes, sir!” answered Mitchie. Intel types tended to be sloppy about military formalities, but having an admiral accost her in the hallway had her standing as rigid as an academy plebe.

  “As you were, Long,” said Rear Admiral Chu. “It’s paperwork time. Since you’ve been on detached duty I’m doing your evaluation. Which you are very overdue for.” He led her through an antechamber to his palatial office. “Sit, relax.” Chu pointed her at the leather chair before the oaken desk.

  Mitchie nervously sat. Sitting while an admiral stood set off all her ‘social error’ alarms.

  Chu pulled a folder out of his safe and handed it to her. “Read through it, sign at the end. Take your time. Feel free to ask questions, don’t be shy, I know you’re out of practice with this.” He took another folder out, closed the safe, and sat at his desk to begin reading it.

  Her folder had a hardcopy of her evaluation, marked ‘MOST SECRET’. She read through it slowly. It summarized her key scoops and their importance. Seeing it all together was impressive. I’ve done some damn good work. Even by the generous standards of official evaluations the admiral was giving her high praise.

  The fourth and last page had the “CAREER PROGRESSION” section. “This officer’s supreme effectiveness at intelligence acquisition should be utilized to the fullest. When it is no longer practical for her to practice covert operations,” Mitchie recognized that as a euphemism for Fusion CI putting her on the shoot-on-sight list, “this officer should be transferred to counter-intelligence, training, or analysis. Due to her moral failings this officer should not be placed in a command assignment.”

  She re-read the last line several times before looking up. “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s nothing in this evaluation describing moral failings on my part.”

  Admiral Chu picked up a datacrystal from the corner of his desk and placed it between them. “This inspector general report details your failings. I can have it attached to your evaluation. It explains how a junior officer with no field experience was given an unlimited time, unlimited scope commission to recon Fusion space. It doesn’t include the transcript of Commander Willoughby’s divorce court, but I can attach that separately.”

  “I never –”

  “No, the IG confirmed you didn’t. But you worked so hard to convince Willoughby you might that several other officers were convinced you had. His wife was convinced too.”

  Mitchie remained silent.

  “Long, you have powerful talents and an unorthodox approach to achieving the mission. I wouldn’t ask anyone to use your methods but I’m thrilled with your results. I’m not going to complain about how you got them. I’m glad you’re willing to get the mission done.” Chu leaned over the desk to lock eyes with her. “Do not use those methods on our own people. That destroys trust. It destroys trust in each other’s judgment. And that can destroy our whole organization.” The admiral straightened up and waited to see if Mitchie would say anything.

  “There’s another reason I don’t want you to have a command,” he continued. “You hate the Fusion. You’ve got a solid reason for it. Many of us do. But that has to be subordinate to our duty. We can’t sacrifice the lives entrusted to us to further a personal vendetta.” The Admiral sat back in his chair.

  “I’ll certainly keep that in mind, sir,” said Mitchie. She signed the form, certifying her agreement with everything in it. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Chu shook his head.

  Mitchie came to attention, saluted, and walked out of the office.

  ***

  “Commander Schwartzenberger reporting as ordered, sir!” He stood at attention and saluted, bringing the fingertips to his eyebrow. Then he remembered to flatten his hand and wrist to make them properly straight.

  Admiral Chu returned the salute. “Please sit, Commander. Or perhaps I should be calling you ‘captain.’ I need to talk to the master of the Fives Full.”

  Schwartzenberger leaned back. “We don’t have any current contracts, Admiral. What do you need hauled?”

  “Nothing. Well, some sensor gear. The Fusion has been attacking Disconnect warships entering their space. No ban announced, but the last frigate we sent to Lapis came back so irradiated we had to scrap it. Commercial traffic is still going through.”

  “So you want the whole ship to be an undercover operative instead of just Lt. Long?”

  “More or less. Nothing complicated. Just drop off a cargo and come back, looking around as you go.”

  “That doesn’t sound like something that needs an admiral to arrange. Just put out a transport job on the net.”

  “I’m here to discuss how to do it covertly. Also, transports are demanding some stiff hazard fees to cross the blockade zone.”

  “Speaking as a merchant captain,” said Schwartzenberger, “I have a responsibility to my investors to make sure they’re properly compensated for the risks taken.”

  “Haven’t they been fully compensated from your trip to Old Earth?”

  “They didn’t loan me money to get sculptures, Admiral. All that needs to be sold and the shares passed out.” Schwartzenberger wished he’d asked Mitchie how detailed her report on the Eden loot was.

  “There are things we can do to help with that,” said the Admiral. “Not direct purchases, but some secure introductions.”

  “That would help. But I can’t sell stuff while hauling junk through hostile space.”

  An impatient look crossed the admiral’s face. “The legislature has authorized wartime measures. The Defense Force could simply confiscate your ship.”

  Schwartzenberger answered this with a small smile. “Exercising angary requires you to compensate owners for the use of their property.” During his time in the Senate he’d pushed through a revision of that law as part of an update of eminent domain regulations. “It would be more cost-effective to arrange a long-term charter or lease, with a hazard bond. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about replacing the civilian crew members.”

  Admiral Chu thought for a long moment before answering. “If we chartered Fives Full for the duration of the crisis, what rates would we be looking at?”

  Captain Schwartzenberger pulled out his datasheet.

  ***

  The paintbot made Mitchie jump. She hadn’t expected anyone to be on the ship this time of day. Hearing the fans whining over her head triggered evasive reflexes.

  Captain Schwartzenberger looked up from his datasheet. “You okay?”

  “Just startled.” She took a few steps away from the airlock so she could look at the bot’s work. The ship’s name and crest
(five playing cards) had been painted over. The bot was finishing a new picture in the crest’s place.

  She studied the silver shape. At first glance she’d thought it was a sword but it had a strange handle, an angled rod connected to a tube. “What is that?” she asked.

  “A knife.”

  “How do you hold it?”

  “You don’t. It fits on the end of a rifle so you can use it like a spear. It’s called a bayonet.”

  Mitchie walked over to him. His data sheet displayed the picture the paintbot was copying. A name arced around the bayonet. “Who’s Joshua Chamberlain?”

  “A hero of the Anti-Slavery War.”

  “He stick somebody with one of those?”

  “Not him, his men.” Schwartzenberger had to be pretty worked up about the guy if he was renaming the ship after him.

  “What did he do?” asked Mitchie.

  “It was the decisive battle. He was out at the end of the line. His men were tired. Been fighting for years, lost half the unit crippled or dead. Marched non-stop for days to get to the battle. Then got run over to this little hill and told to hold it or their whole army would collapse.”

  He’d lowered the datasheet. His eyes were focused on something beyond the hull. “So they’d been fighting all day. Waves of slavers charging, getting beaten off, coming back. It was a hot day. They’d lost a lot of men. Tired, thirsty, scared.”

  Schwartzenberger mimed peeking over some cover. “They beat off one more attack, but that used up all their bullets. Now they were out of ammo. Normally that meant they were done, go back to the rear, get more. But Chamberlain knew if they fell back it might start a panic. The whole army might crumble.”

  The captain paused to catch his breath. Mitchie stayed silent. She’d rarely seen him talk so passionately. “When the next slaver attack came they were going to overrun Chamberlain’s men. So instead he made them get out their knives. Then he took those men out from behind the trees and rocks they’d been hiding behind, pulled them out of their holes. Took those tired, hot, thirsty, scared men, and he ran down the hill waving his knife. And they followed him. They left their safe holes and ran down the hill at the slavers, getting shot at the whole way, and smashed them. They broke the slavers on that hill. And that’s the last time the slavers ever had a chance to win their damn war.”