Fermi's War Read online

  "Beauties, aren't they," he began.

  "I'll be honest, I felt a bit naked without a fighter screen," Marshall replied.

  Warren looked around at the technicians, slightly nervous, "I checked these out before I left Mars, all of them seemed fine. Maintenance records checked out."

  "Yes, but some of them were well into their service cycle." Quinn turned to Marshall. "My boys could use the practice on these ships, and I haven't found anything wrong – yet – with the work the station did on Alamo, so I thought I might as well do the servicing now. Mariner's Q's sending me over some bits and pieces." He looked over at a monitor. "Here they come now."

  Marshall looked at the monitor and saw a tug, cargo pod loaded and towing a pair of fighters that looked similar to the ones hanging in the bay. He looked at Quinn, raising an eyebrow, and the engineer smiled in response.

  "I put in a bid for the parts being auctioned off as part of the defense cycle. Our spares bays are full, and they had a couple of hangar queens. Worst case I can use them for parts like they were."

  "Worst case?" Warren asked.

  "Well, it would be nice to have five fighters instead of three, wouldn't it? Or four at the very least."

  Marshall frowned, "Wait a minute. Those parts were being auctioned as surplus by the Triplanetary Fleet Disbursement Office." He looked at his Systems Officer. "Did you just buy those parts at auction from our own fleet?"

  "Using the station's budget. Silly to sell them in the first place, I thought."

  "I'll be damned."

  Warren looked at Marshall, shaking his head, then slapped Quinn on the shoulder with glee.

  "We're going to get along well, Jack my boy," the flight leader said.

  A gentle cough echoed from behind Marshall; he turned to see the all-too-familiar face of John Cunningham, now wearing a Triplanetary uniform but with a non-regulation flying jacket on top. Aside from that, he'd managed to get the uniform spot on, though somehow he didn't seem comfortable in it, and it was certainly strange to see only two rings on his sleeve, compared to his own two-and-a-half.

  "Senior Lieutenant Cunningham, reporting for duty." Aside from the lack of the honorific 'sir', a textbook introduction.

  Marshall thought about it for a second, then held out his hand, "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. We were just looking over your fighters."

  "Yes." He turned to Quinn. "Lieutenant, I would have to insist that in future I am informed before any work is undertaken on ships under my command. You might as well finish it now, but leaving this ship without any fighter screen is unsatisfactory."

  "We're at Mariner Station, and then presumably in hendecaspace for a while. I'll have the maintenance finished inside a week, and my boys are already looking at some improvements."

  Cunningham frowned, "Send them through my office first so I can look them over."

  Watching this exchange, Marshall broke in, "And to mine as well, Lieutenant, for final approval." He frowned, looking over the fighters again. "I'll admit it, there's something wrong with them but I can't make it out."

  "Ah, sorry. I thought you knew – these are trainer models. But fully combat-capable," Warren said.

  "Trainers?" Marshall's eyebrows raised.

  "Have you not been informed of that element of our mission, Captain?" Cunningham said. "The report reached me in transit three days ago. I filed a protest, but it was rejected. Mr. Warren is correct, though – there is some loss in endurance, but these variants are fully combat-capable. Apparently they've had some sensor upgrades, as well."

  "I suppose I can't object to that." He turned back to Quinn. "Better take a look at those upgrades, see if there's anything else you can do to them. And make sure they tie in properly with Alamo's systems."

  The engineer laughed at that, earning another frown from Cunningham, "My spooks are already having a fun time working on that one. We've got the software upgrades we need from Mars, but there are some systems incompatibilities we're working on. Few hours, we'll have it fixed."

  "Could you be more precise, Lieutenant?" Cunningham asked.

  "No. That sort of work takes as long as it takes. But if it takes longer than four or five hours, I'll want to know why."

  "So will I. See that I am updated."

  Looking around the deck again, Marshall said, "I think we need to let Lieutenant Quinn get on with his work. Teddy, I'll catch up with you later; you'd better get yourself settled in." He turned to Cunningham, "I'd like to discuss your shipboard duties with you."

  "I'm aware of my responsibilities as a Wing Commander, Captain."

  "Glad to hear it. Nevertheless, we will talk. My office."

  The two of them stepped into the elevator, silently riding up to the bridge. The maintenance technicians had done a good job on the repair work; it was a lot smoother and faster than it had been during Marshall's last mission. The doors slid open on the bridge; Beta Watch had just come on-shift, and there were quite a few new faces since the last mission. Sub-Lieutenant Mohmand was leaning over the guidance station, having a discussion with Sub-Lieutenant Orlova, former shuttle pilot and transporter of dubious cargoes. Spinelli, now wearing the insignia of a Senior Spaceman, was the first to notice Marshall's entrance from the sensor station.

  "Captain on the bridge," he called, and the crew members came to attention. Marshall walked over to Mohmand.

  "At ease, everyone." He turned to the watch officer. "Settled in fine?"

  "Yes, sir. Senior Lieutenant Dietz has been most helpful."

  "Good. Once you've had a look at watch operations, I'd like a report on potential areas of improvement."

  The officer frowned, sending his bushy mustache curling, "I am unsure that I am qualified..."

  "There are always ways to improve, Sub-Lieutenant. You've had two tours of duty prior to this; I'm sure your experience will provide some new insights." He smiled. "I'd like to see them. No rush, give it a few shifts before you submit it."

  "Aye, sir," Mohmand nodded, frowning as he began to consider his report. Marshall made his way to his office, Cunningham following him through the door. The room was as he had left it last time; the holo-image of his father still hanging on the wall, flag of the Triplanetary Confederation behind his chair. If it wasn't for his desk being clear of clutter, he wouldn't have known that he hadn't been in the office for a month.

  "Nice to be home. Take a seat, Lieutenant."

  Cunningham looked down at the seat opposite Marshall, then sat down, replying, "Is there anything specific you want to discuss, Captain?"

  Marshall leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers together. "I thought we would cover more...general topics. I presume you have familiarized yourself with our personnel roster?"

  "Of course."

  "Good. What isn't on there is that Senior Lieutenant Mulenga has informed me that he is uncomfortable with his current assignment as Second Officer."

  "I see," Cunningham said, though his tone suggested that he didn't.

  "I'm naming you Second Officer. Out of Triplanetary seniority, but you've got more than enough seniority in your old Martian rank that it can be justified. I'll expect you to familiarize yourself with bridge operations, sit in on a few shifts."

  "I'm a fighter commander, Captain. That's not really my specialty."

  Smiling wryly, Marshall replied, "It wasn't really mine either. Nevertheless, it's an essential part of your career advancement, and a key part of your job. With only half a squadron on board, I think you'll have the time."

  "Probably. I'll arrange with your Operations Officer to take a few watches once we are under way."

  "Good." He paused. "What are your first impressions? I'm curious."

  Cunningham took a minute to contemplate his response, then said, "I'll be honest, I think some things are a bit lax. Does your engineer often go off half-cocked like that?"

  "Jack Quinn is the best engineer I've ever worked with, and as it happens, is a pretty good pilot in his own right. I trust his judgme
nt and generally give him a wide latitude to get his job done."

  "I have only been on board for half an hour; I haven't really have time to see how things are done in this fleet. Am I to take it that you have a rather looser command style?"

  Frowning, Marshall replied, "When I trust the officer to get the job done, I tend to sit back and let him do it. That lets me concentrate on areas that I know are of greater importance, or where I can't necessarily trust the officer involved."

  "Have you any other orders for me?"

  "If Quinn says that he can get two more fighters ready for launch, I believe him. I presume you will want to fly one of the fighters yourself?"

  That seemed to hit Cunningham in the chest. He looked down at the door, taking a couple of deep breaths before he replied.

  "My waiver to fly has been canceled. Orders of General Cox."

  "Welcome to the Triplanetary Fleet, Lieutenant. Ride the simulators for an hour or two, and I'll push through your recertification. As long as you are passing the physicals, I can't see any reason to deny the service a good fighter pilot. I hope to get in some flight time myself if our mission permits."

  A frown crossed the wing commander's face, and a puzzled air surrounded him, "You're giving me my wings back?"

  "I've been there myself, Lieutenant. I'm not going to put someone through that unnecessarily." He pulled a datapad out of his desk, dropping on the table, then started to scan it, “We might have half-decent fighters, but I'm worried about the pilots. With the exception of Warren, all we have are reservists. None of them have any serious combat experience or training.”

  Cunningham nodded, “Are you expecting combat, then?”

  “I hope not. But there's no harm in being prepared.”

  He gestured at Marshall's chest, “I see you still have your wings. With the two of us and Warren, we could form a flight if necessary.”

  Marshall's eyes widened a little, “Three pilots for three fighters is too few for my liking. And while I'd like to fly combat again,” Cunningham frowned at that, “I don't think you can count on me for such an operation.”

  He nodded, “Your place is on the bridge.”

  “I'm afraid so.” He chuckled, “I suppose I could sneak out while Dietz isn't looking.” Cunningham's face remained expressionless, and he continued, “See about training up some of the guidance controllers, most of them are former fighter pilots, or at least had some training at the Academy. Hell, take a look and see if anyone's had such experience. Even if it was a while ago, bringing them up to date shouldn't be too much trouble."

  "How many do you want?"

  "Three sounds about right for the present. Don't run through the whole program, that'll take too long. See if you can find anyone who can take an abbreviated course. If you get an enlisted with the right sort of skills, let me know and I'll boot him up to Technical Officer. No civilians, though."

  "I'll get it done, sir." That was a little success, in any case, Marshall thought.

  "That's fine, Lieutenant. You should go and settle in. I don't know how long before we leave Mariner."

  Cunningham nodded, then headed to the door. He stopped short, turning, "I did not request this assignment, Captain, nor my transfer to the Triplanetary Fleet.”

  Holding his hand up, he replied, "As far as I'm concerned, you are just my new Wing Commander. No personal feelings involved."

  "I see. Thank you for my wings."

  "My pleasure." Marshall's datapad began to beep, and he saw a new updated message from Triplanetary Command. He scanned it quickly, then swore in three languages under his breath at the wall of text.

  "Problem?" Cunningham asked.

  "Our orders have come through. I don't think you're going to like the details any more than I do." He looked down at the pad again, shaking his head. "Better hurry up and get unpacked. I'm calling a meeting of the senior staff in half an hour."

  Chapter 4

  Marshall took his customary seat in the briefing room, turning a datapad around in his hands as the rest of his officers filed in. Dietz had already been seated in his chair when Marshall arrived, his new rank insignia still fresh on his sleeve, looking slightly more comfortable than he had previously, though still with the same close-cropped hair and almost-too-perfect uniform.

  Cunningham was next, followed by Quinn, taking seats around the table; the wing commander looked up as Caine walked in, taking a seat beside Marshall. She didn't appear to return his gaze. Mulenga then arrived, sitting at the rear of the table, starting to punch up course information; Marshall had given him a few minutes' advance notice to get started on a navigation plot. Sitting in Dietz's old chair, the new Operations Officer, a slight man still wearing the olive uniform of the People's Belt Defense Directorate – he seemed to be trying to read the room.

  Two seats were empty at the table; Esposito arrived, sliding her petite form into a chair at the rear, apologizing for being late, but she was not the last to arrive. After briefly pondering whether to start the meeting, the door opened, and a tall redhead stormed in, dropping down in the vacant chair, spilling a collection of datapads messily across the desk. Her uniform had obviously been put on in a hurry; the tie was still undone.

  "This place isn't easy to find. I had to ask someone," she said, drawing the gaze of everyone in the room.

  "I suppose I might as well begin by introducing our new officers. This is Technical Officer...

  She interrupted, "Professor, really. Morrigan Vivandi, Lowell College."

  Dietz rolled his eyes, and replied, "Ms. Vivandi, it is not customary to interrupt the Captain."

  "Sorry. I had a Dean like that once."

  "Indeed," Marshall said. "I should compare notes with him." That drew some grins from around the table. He gestured at the other newcomer, "Our new Operations Officer, Lieutenant Tetsuro Shirase. On temporary loan from the People's Belt Defense Directorate."

  "Captain," Shirase nodded. "It is a pleasure to be here, especially on a mission of such critical importance."

  That drew more looks, and a couple of smiles from Quinn and Esposito, but Marshall didn't return the smile.

  "Some of you know Senior Lieutenant Cunningham. He'll be serving as our Wing Commander, as well as Second Officer."

  Mulenga looked contented with that, though some of the others looked slightly concerned. Caine's face was a careful blank. Marshall gestured at the astrogator, who tapped a course computation into the keypad in front of him, sending a holographic model of the solar system above the table, lines indicating a projected course for Alamo.

  "Alamo has been assigned to an exploration of the moons of Uranus," Marshall began. "As you can see, we will proceed via hendecaspace to Saturn's L4 Point, and thence by normal propulsion to Uranus. Upon our arrival, we will refuel at Shakespeare Station, then commence a full survey of the Uranium sub-system."

  "That'll take weeks," Caine said.

  Mulenga nodded, "Two days in hendecaspace, twenty-nine in normal space."

  "We could get to Proxima in less time. Heck, we could get to Tau Ceti in less time."

  Marshall said, "Which explains why Uranus has remained a backwater, without its own hendecaspace egress point."

  "That is not totally true," Shirase added. "The Belt Council has instituted exploration and potential exploitation of Uranian space, and have already had some interesting results."

  "There have been at least half a dozen surveys of the Uranian sub-system, Captain," Mulenga said. "Why are we going over it again? It hardly seems like an appropriate use of a battlecruiser."

  "And what about the Triplanetary Fleet Charter?" Esposito asked.

  "No-one has conducted surveys in this manner before!" Vivandi said, slamming her hand on the table. "We're going to look closer than anyone has before at the inner moons. We'll be the first ones to actually walk on them!"

  Looking at the enthusiastic Vivandi, Marshall turned to Esposito and punched up the charter, "There has been an amendment. The Belt has requ
ested that the Triplanetary Fleet assume responsibility for its military operations on Uranus, and Trident Station at Triton has also been assigned to us. As a result, the charter now prohibits operations within the orbit of Saturn; everything else is our turf." There was a murmur around the room, and he raised his hand, "This is a pretty big breakthrough for us, a big increase in our potential responsibilities."

  Frowning, Cunningham looked at Vivandi, "What exactly do you mean by a closer look?"

  "Using the fighters, of course, and following up with landings at sites of interest."

  Sighing, Marshall said, "We have been assigned two-seater fighters, which have been modified as long-range survey craft." He rose his hand, "Their combat potential still remains in place. They have been upgraded with an enhanced sensor package, and our mission profile calls for our fighters to conduct close surveys of a series of target sites on the inner Uranian moons. Our science team are to double as the flight crews. We will also provide any required support to Shakespeare Station, and the colony on Titania."

  "Our goal is exploration, though," Vivandi added.

  "What are we looking for? Any specific minerals?" Mulenga asked.

  "Alien ruins."

  Caine's eyebrows raised, "You've got a xenoarchaeological research team on board? I might like to pick their brains at some point."

  "I think, Lieutenant, you are the obvious choice as liaison officer with the science team," Marshall said. "Dr. Vivandi, Lieutenant Caine has a masters in archeology. You should find her the ideal liaison."

  "Excellent. I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant," Vivandi said.

  "Have the scientific pilots received any training?" Cunningham asked, sighing.

  "Oh, yes. Two of them are reserve officers, and all of them took some training with the University Squadron over the last few months. This project has been under consideration for ages, we're all really excited to get started."

  "I will assign quarters to your team," Dietz said. He turned to Marshall, "If nothing else, this mission is an excellent opportunity to conduct training exercises and increase crew efficiency, Captain. I took the liberty of preparing a cross-training program." He slid a pad over to Marshall, who nodded in reply.