Victory or Death Page 3

  "Tame her?"

  "Something along those lines."

  "Is this one of those tests of a new officer, sir?"

  Marshall laughed, "We all get lumbered with this sort of assignment from time to time. Even Captains. Do your best; that's all I ask."

  "I will, sir. Maybe I'll get her to switch to career."

  "Let's not expect miracles, Sub-Lieutenant," Marshall said in between laughs.

  After the laughter subsided, Orlova looked up at Marshall, "Sir, if we find any trace of the Hercules..."

  "I give you my word that I will make sure you are in on the hunt. I certainly will be. If she's still out there, then we'll find her."

  Chapter 3

  Caine browsed through the datapad nestled in her hand, skimming over the records of the three midshipmen for the third time; what she had done to make Marshall give her this duty she couldn't imagine, but she was already considering some sort of scheme to get even. Training rookies was not her idea of fun, and neither was preparing tactical briefings that usually ended up as six thousand words of 'we know nothing, anything could be there, just make sure we are ready for the unexpected'.

  They'd been issued with two Martians and one Callistan, all of them just out of the respective service academies, and for some reason they had each been released to the Triplanetary Fleet instead of their home service. Their instructors had provided long and detailed letters of recommendation that seemed to read almost identically, as if they had all known that they needed to tick off a series of boxes – which, of course, they did.

  The door to the midshipman's mess opened, and the three new recruits were sitting around, silently. Two women, one man, though all of them had identical standard-issue haircuts. Michelle Steele and Laura Zabek from Mars, and Ivan Varlamov from Callisto. They bolted up to attention as she walked in, one of them managing to knock a half-filled glass to the deck, its contents fizzing across the carpet. Zabek looked down, aghast, while Steele tried to hide a snigger.

  "If that's the worst thing that happens to you, Midshipman, consider yourself lucky," Caine said. "You and Steele can clean it up later." Steele's face dropped, flashing into a quick scowl before she managed to mask her face again. It'd take quite some work before that one could sit down at a poker table.

  "I'm Lieutenant Caine, Tactical Officer, and as of now, your final instructor. I'm aware that you have all passed out of your service academies," Steele was preening herself at her words, "but I don't care about that. You've been taught what the buttons do, but you don't have any real experience of how a starship operates."

  Steele snapped to attention, "Ma'am, I spent three months on the Gilgamesh last year. Advanced Field Training."

  Caine smiled, "As I said, no real experience about how a starship operates. What was the Gilgamesh doing, wandering around the inner system? What about the rest of you?"

  "One patrol, ma'am, on the Poseidon," Varlamov said, "but it didn't amount to much."

  "Honest, at least. Zabek?"

  Zabek stuttered, "I didn't..."

  "What?"

  "I didn't get good enough marks for the advanced courses."

  "This is your first time on a starship?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "So two of you are starting out ahead of the other." Caine stopped Steele's smile cold, "As Zabek and Varlamov don't have to unlearn as much. We operate very differently from the other fleets; our doctrines are still forming up. Anything you learned about how the Martian Space Service or the Callisto Orbital Patrol operates isn't really relevant. That's why I don't care about your class standing, or anything like that; I'm going to act on the assumption that you graduated with some basic level of competence, and that you are qualified to sit at the guidance control station. It'll be what you do with your learning that will be interesting." She gestured to the seats. "Sit down. No need to stand at attention when I come in the room again. We don't usually do things that formally out here; we're all too busy doing our jobs."

  The three of them took their seats, Varlamov with a formality that vaguely reminded her of Dietz, Steele leaning back, and Zabek perched precariously on the edge of her seat. Caine took pains to sit down as casually as possible, then pulled out her datapad.

  "You should all have received your flight assignments by now; Zabek's on Alpha shift, Varlamov on Beta, Steele on Gamma. Of course, you'll be spending a lot of your time on other duties around the ship, especially while we are in hendecaspace. I'll probably put you to work myself. What did you all specialize in?"

  Steele leapt in first; that seemed to be a trademark. "Tactical, with a minor on Astrogation." A fairly typical combination for someone aspiring for command, especially deep-space command.

  "Logistics for my final year. Tactics and Flight, as my other specialties," Varlamov volunteered. "I was hoping to end up in administration ultimately."

  "Tactical also. Secondary in Intelligence Theory."

  "Interesting mix. I see all of you fancy a fight. I presume that's why you all signed up for the fleet." Steele nodded in agreement, but Zabek looked around the room, avoiding eye contact.

  "Ma'am," Varlamov asked, "If you can tell us, what is our mission?"

  "The whole crew will be briefed shortly, so you might as well know; we're going on a long-range exploratory mission. Six months out in the wilds of deep space. Before you all get your hopes up, this likely means an awful lot of very boring survey work, but I'll try to see each of you has an opportunity to stretch your legs a bit. If you earn it, naturally. That gives you your time-frames to a full commission, as well; when we get back you'll all be going up before the Board back at Mariner. Any questions?"

  Varlamov nodded impassively; Caine made a mental note to find out if he was any relation of Dietz. Steele was looking as if her selection was a mere formality, while Zabek continued to fidget.

  "When will we get our training program, ma'am?" Steele asked.

  "First of all, spend the rest of the day wandering around the ship. Get familiar with it, work out the best ways of getting from one key area to another. Routes to escape pods. While you're at it, see the Doc for your medical; and remember that her bark is worse than her bite. By the time we get to hendecaspace, you'll have your schedule for that jump."

  "Thank you, ma'am."

  "I would like to volunteer to assist with administrative duties, ma'am, if that is an option," Varlamov said.

  "I'm sure Sub-Lieutenant Matsumoto will be only too glad to have the help. Anything else?" No-one spoke, so Caine concluded, "You'll be spending some time with our Espatier force, as well; your duties, on occasion, might involve embedding with them. Ensign Esposito will organize that, I'm sure she'll make it fun for you. I think that's all for now, so go settle in and explore. Zabek, if you would wait a moment?"

  Steele and Varlamov rose, saluted, and walked out of the room; Zabek looked after Steele with narrowed eyes, before turning back to Caine as the door closed. The Lieutenant made her way over to the drinks dispenser, and returned with two drinks, placing them carefully on the table between them.

  "Have I done something wrong, Lieutenant?"

  Caine smiled, shaking her head, "Not a thing, Midshipman. I'd just prefer you not to be scared of your own shadow. I'm getting the feeling that you aren't particularly comfortable here."

  "Twenty-eight, ma'am," she muttered.

  "I'm guessing that was your class standing. I already told you I don't care about that, and neither will the Captain."

  "You got the top and the bottom, ma'am," Zabek almost shouted. "I don't deserve to be here. I'm here because I managed to scrape a pass at the bottom of the barrel, and the Service didn't want me. My supervisor told me that it was this or nothing. Steele demanded this, she didn't want to end up 'stuck' in Sol when this was where the action is."

  "I'm guessing you two have a history."

  She blushed; "When we were freshmen; it didn't last. She was the golden girl, I was always the one sitting up in the middle of night prepar
ing for a test I knew I wasn't going to pass."

  Caine's eyes widened a bit; that was territory she hadn't intended to intervene in. "I'm sorry to hear that, Midshipman. I didn't mean to pry..."

  "I won't bring it up again, ma'am."

  "Oh, damn it, if you need to talk, you might as well talk to me as anyone else." She shook her head, "In one sense, your instructor was right. Most of the planetary fleets seem to have got the idea that this is a dumping ground for everyone they have given up on, and Alamo is no different. We're a crew loaded with people who were either desperate enough for adventure that they threw out their old careers and decided to take a gamble, or that no-one wanted back home. Want to know something?"

  "What?"

  "It's the best damn crew I've ever served with. I don't believe in giving up on people. You see the cadet sitting up in the middle of the night and still failing; I see the cadet sitting up in the middle of the night determined to give it her best, determined to try despite knowing the odds were against her. Take that attitude to Alamo and I think you'll do fine here. To hell with those bastards back home, and if Steele tries to lord it over you, feel free to refer her to me."

  "She's better than I am, ma'am."

  "That's not for you to judge, Midshipman. That's my responsibility, and the Skipper's. Six months from now you'll be up before the board for certification, and we'll have to see what they say. If you push like you have been doing, then I'll see what I can do. I've got your first job for you, by the way."

  "Ma'am?"

  "Prepare a briefing on FL Virginis for the senior staff. I'll be doing the tactical assessment myself. If it's any good, you can present it at the next meeting. I was going to give each of you one star; you might as well get the first bite. Get it to me in, say, thirty-six hours."

  "I'll do the best job I can for you, ma'am."

  "I know that much. Now run along and get to work."

  She stood up, saluted, and left the room, clutching a datapad, already beginning to call up statistics and figures. Caine relaxed in her chair and pulled out the pad, curious about a couple of things. Steele's record was about as Zabek had indicated; top marks in every class, and glowing recommendations from all sides. As much as her first instinct was to dislike her, she'd be willing to tolerate her if she actually did as good a job as the reports suggested. Zabek, on the other hand, was a bit of a disaster area. Several failed courses, and that she scraped through at all seemed to be a minor miracle. Her instructors reports only became glowing after her transfer request to Triplanetary service had been submitted, and it was easy to see why.

  Flicking over to the ship's library, she called up a few of Zabek's papers, skimming through the contents. Her conclusions were sometimes a bit obvious, but that was the nature of the beast. Her turn of phrase was rather too embellished, though; some of them read more as if she was writing a novel than preparing a report. Quite a focus on the Lunar Republic. More than half of her optional papers were analyzing their strategic plans. In fact, most of her optional papers were on strategy rather than tactics, even where the latter was indicated in the instructions. Interesting.

  Finally, Varlamov. Top quarter of his class, with his grades indicating him as a solid, steady performer. No demerits during his entire time at the Academy. He hadn't been one of the stars, but somehow she was getting the impression that he didn't particularly want to be. Flicking over to his personnel file, she smiled; he was Dietz's nephew. The thought briefly crossed her mind that he might have pulled a few strings to get his relative on board, but Dietz being Dietz, she dismissed that immediately. Looking down at the forgotten spill on the carpet, she shrugged her shoulders and headed out to her office. Just in case, she'd better prepare her own report on their target star. Frowning, she pulled out her datapad and began a search, her eyes glazing over as the first page of impenetrable astrographic data flashed onto the screen.

  Chapter 4

  The hangar deck was more crowded than Orlova had ever seen it; it seemed like most of the crew was hurriedly loading the transit shuttles that were still swarming in, cargo holds filled with last-minute essentials requested by every department. Crates and containers were being loaded onto trolleys to be taken deep into the bowels of a ship; one of the crewmen cheered as he uncovered a large box loaded with food flavoring, which suggested that the meals prepared by the auto-chef would be tolerable for at least the first part of the journey. Dixon was ruling the roost in the overhead gantry, going over the fighters with a practiced eye while Quinn followed along behind, trying to keep up.

  Sirens sounded from the central elevator airlock as another shuttle began to rise onto the deck, the last personnel transport from Hunter Station. A little voice inside her head was rather hoping that at least one member of her team had failed to make the shuttle in time. Glancing down at her watch, she realized that the last shuttle back was going to have to leave in twenty minutes, or run out of fuel on the journey back; the Captain had Alamo racing off at a tearing pace to get to the hendecaspace point. The plot showed that Flynt also had the same idea, and the ship's betting pool was taking wagers onto which ship would get there first.

  The airlock slid open, and half a dozen crewmen walked out, two of them with faces she recognized from the hastily memorized personnel dockets. Evidently they had spent the journey over looking at her file; as soon as they saw her they snapped to attention, dropping their kit-bags to the deck and saluting. She returned the salute.

  "Vakil and Neumayer?"

  "Yes, ma'am," one of them said.

  "Go get your kit stowed away, then head right to the security office. We'll have to do orientation later." She peered into the airlock, "Harper in there?"

  The two crewmen looked at each other, then back at Orlova, one of them replying, "She's still in the shuttle, ma'am. There was a little trouble on the ride over."

  A green-haired woman wearing a battered jumpsuit was dragged out of the shuttle by an espatier, the flash of C Company on his shoulder. He was managing to push her out with one hand while carrying a pair of datapads in the other.

  "Get your damn hands off me," she said. Orlova walked over to her.

  "You must be Spaceman Third Class Harper."

  "I'm Kristin Harper, and who the hell are you?"

  "Your boss." She turned to the espatier, "What did she do?"

  "Hacked the shuttle computers and tried to route us back to Hunter. You have a seriously unimpressed shuttle pilot in there."

  "And you?"

  "Lance-Corporal Haskins; just transferring in as your armorer." He looked across at her, baring his teeth, "Which means I know enough to spot clumsy work like that when I see it."

  "It wasn't clumsy, just quick. If both of you know what is good for you, you'll send me back right now. When my father hears about me being hijacked like this, all hell will break loose."

  Orlova rolled her eyes, "He'll have to shout pretty loud where we're going. Corporal, would you do me the favor of dragging her out to the security office for me?"

  "With pleasure, ma'am."

  "I had a bag, damn it," Harper spat at Orlova.

  On cue, a disgruntled looking pilot leaned out of the airlock with a beaten-up old bag, festooned with patches. She swung it out by the handle onto the deck, a smashing noise suggesting that it had not been properly packed.

  "You'll pay for that," she said.

  The pilot laughed in her face, "Send me the bill. I'll send you the bill to fix my naviputer." Turning to Orlova, the pilot said, "I've got a nice nightmare to fly now, Sub-Lieutenant. She's the last one, and you're welcome to her."

  "Safe flight, Spaceman."

  "More chance of that now." The airlock closed, and Orlova picked up the bag, hefting it; surprisingly light. Evidently she hadn't been given much chance to pack. Her protests were subsuming as the corporal half-dragged her out of the room, and she shook her head as she looked after her new recruit. Even at her worst back in the old days, she was never that bad. She took her t
ime making her way to the security office; Petty Officers were legendarily good at dealing with new arrivals like this in their own special way, and hopefully Washington would be no different.

  She arrived to see Washington glaring down at Harper, who was sitting at a desk while the other three recruits were moving around components. Another trolley was parked in the corridor, loaded down, and she had no idea where they were going to store it all. Everyone except Harper stood and saluted as Orlova walked in, in a move rehearsed sufficiently that she knew it had been pre-arranged. It didn't seem to make any impression on the disgruntled girl, though.

  "Harper on report yet, Chief?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "My office, Harper. Now."

  "Or?"

  "You won't like the food in the brig."

  Curling her lip, the green-haired recruit slouched into the tiny office, sitting down. Before following, Orlova turned to Washington, leaning down over the workstation; she was reading through the incident report logged by the shuttle pilot. Quickly scanning the report, she caught herself smiling at the quick job; the expression on the old Petty Officer's face showed that she had the same idea. She walked in, sat down, and closed the door behind her.

  "You've still got time to send me back."

  "Give that one up, Spaceman. You're on this ship for the duration. Don't think that I like the idea any more than you. Incidentally, I'm giving you administrative punishment now for the trick you played on the shuttle. Confinement to quarters when not on duty for two weeks. Consider yourself lucky; under other circumstances that would be brig time."

  "Am I supposed to be grateful?"

  Orlova laughed, "I would be surprised if you were. I'll be honest, that was good, fast work you did."

  "Crap security."

  "I'll bet. Mil-spec is either years ahead of the game or decades behind. Nothing in between. A fast transit shuttle is nothing to brag about, though."