Fermi's War Read online

  "I'll see to it."

  "Then the ship is yours until I get back. Let me know immediately if there are any problems."

  Ryder shook her head, "Sir, you're only going for dinner."

  "I don't like being railroaded, Sub-Lieutenant, whatever the circumstances."

  He stepped into the elevator, and punched for the hangar bay. Dress uniform might be overkill at this point, given the appearance of the Lieutenant-Major, but he felt that putting on a good show was probably more important than being uncomfortable for an evening's entertainment. The door slid open on the hangar bay; a shuttle was being prepared for launch and a cluster of people were assembling around the airlock, standing to attention as he approached.

  "Relax, everyone, and enjoy your night off," Marshall said. He looked around the group, spotted Esposito standing by a couple of her troopers, and made his way over to her. She turned and smiled at him.

  "You taking some time off as well, sir?"

  "Dinner with the station commander. How's the flight training going?"

  She looked around for a second, before back at Marshall, replying, "I'm enjoying it, sir. I think I'm doing reasonably well."

  Noting her discomfort, he changed the subject, "You and Orlova seem to be the only officers over there. This seems to have a familiar ring to it, somehow."

  "I hope we don't have to do anything like last time, sir! Speaking purely personally, I just want a chance to look around the station for a bit."

  "Any change of scene?"

  She smiled again, "Something along those lines, sir."

  "Well, keep your eyes open over there. Just in case something unexpected happens."

  The airlock opened, and Caine came running towards the shuttle, a pile of clothes in her hands which she thrust at Marshall as she stepped on board. He looked at the mess; he seemed to have been given parts of two different dress uniforms, semi-randomly arranged and crumpled. Shirase was walking calmly towards the airlock behind him, already changed. Marshall climbed on board, taking the seat next to Caine as the passenger compartment filled up; with a clang, the shuttle began the launch process.

  "I hate this part," Marshall said as the engines engaged, pushing him back in his seat.

  Caine laughed, "Maggie might be crazy, but she's a great pilot. One of the best shuttle pilots I've ever seen, and from what I've seen, not bad in a fighter cockpit either. I think she might have missed her calling."

  "What have you seen?"

  "John showed me some of the simulations. He might be acting tough towards them, but that's just his way. I think he rates them pretty highly."

  Marshall hurriedly changed the subject, "Something else I hate – being forced into something. Akimoto essentially ordered me to come over, and who to bring."

  "As I understood, he told you to bring a couple of officers. It's understandable that he wants Shirase to be one of them."

  He shook his head, "He's a Triplanetary officer, not a Belter. If he'd asked for leave, I'd have happily granted it for the night, but this seems more than that."

  "And me?"

  "Dietz's idea."

  "You picked a good man there." She smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "You normally do, though. The Ravens always were the best flight in the service."

  The acceleration stopped, and the passengers began to briefly float as Orlova turned the ship; Marshall was fidgeting with his hands, eventually holding onto the armrests, drawing laughter from Caine.

  "Don't joke, I really hate not flying these ships myself. I should at least have taken the co-pilot's slot."

  "You really are a terrible back-seat flier, aren't you."

  "The worst."

  Acceleration returned again, and Marshall stood up, "I think we need to go to the bathroom now we've got gravity back."

  Her eyes widened, and with mock outrage, she said, "Now, Captain, is this the time or the place?"

  "We've got about five minutes to change before we dock – unless you want to be pulling up your uniform trousers while Akimoto is trying to shake your hand."

  "Message understood."

  Scrambling into his dress uniform was difficult in the confined space, but at least it turned out that he had a complete set – and then some, as he stuffed an extra tie and pair of socks into a convenient pocket. His service uniform he bundled into a locker, typing a request that the maintenance personnel put it in his cabin when the shuttle returned to Alamo. By the time he had finished, there was a clang from the side of the ship indicating a successful docking, and he gulped a couple of times as the gravity shifted. It was heavy; Shakespeare Station seemed to be keeping a stronger gravity than normal. It took an effort for him to make it to the airlock.

  He stood next to Caine, Esposito and Shirase standing behind him as the lock slid open. On the far side stood Lieutenant-Major Akimoto, who was wearing the olive-green dress uniform of the Belt Directorate, but again with Triplanetary insignia instead of the traditional crossed katanas of his rank. He saluted; Marshall returned the salute.

  "Welcome to Shakespeare Station, Captain."

  "A pleasure to be here, Major." He gestured behind him, "May I introduce Lieutenant Caine, my Tactical Officer, and I presume you have met Lieutenant Shirase, my Operations Officer."

  "Indeed. A great pleasure to meet you both. I understand you are sending some of your people over for a night's leave during the refueling; while our facilities are limited we are only too pleased to have you make use of them." He looked down at his watch. "I think my chef will be ready to serve shortly; shall we proceed?"

  "Lead on, Major."

  The group headed down a long corridor, into the core of the station; the feel of age was still present, though this area had been carefully cleaned. Some old information posters were on the wall, written in French and German; Marshall could make out the odd word. Akimoto nodded as he saw Marshall's interest.

  "We're still just scratching the surface of the refit at this point. I've issued orders that the original decor should be left intact; after all, we are only inheriting this station, and it seems reasonable to preserve what we can."

  "How much have you opened up?" Caine asked.

  "Two habitation levels, the recreation deck, and some of the shuttle bays. And the fueling core, of course. We're mining Helium-3 locally again, so Shakespeare is reasonably self-sufficient. My apologies for the gravity; adjusting it has been a low priority. The station was designed for Terran gravitational simulation."

  Reaching the end of the corridor, they stepped into an old elevator. Some long-dead occupant had scrawled illegible graffiti on the wall, despite squinting in an attempt to make it out Marshall couldn't read it. The doors popped open on another corridor, and a pleasing smell wafted towards them, overriding the usual tang of manufactured air; Akimoto smiled.

  "I told you, my chef is about ready."

  "I thought you meant an auto-chef. That smells real."

  "Ah, Captain, this station was designed to grow its own food, and those systems were operational. One of my crewmen has turned out to be quite the expert; he will be reclassifying at the end of his tour. Won't you come in?"

  He gestured towards a door, which opened to reveal a well laid dining table with six place settings. Akimoto took a seat at the head of the table, Marshall sitting opposite him, flanked by his two officers. Two more officers, a man and a woman, again wearing the hodge-podge uniform, stepped in as they sat down, taking their own seats at the table.

  "Might I introduce Lieutenant Tokubai, my Operations Officer and Deputy Commanding Officer," indicating the man, who nodded, "and Ensign Matsumoto, my Tactical Officer."

  "A pleasure."

  The door opened again, and a corporal – wearing proper Triplanetary espatier uniform – walked in with a silver platter, which he placed in the middle of the table, pulling the cover off to reveal a tureen of a thick brown soup. More bowls were placed in front of the officers, and the corporal started to ladle the liquid in equal measures around th
e table.

  "Feel free to start. It must have been some time since you have eaten anything fresh."

  Eagerly, the officers began to eat their meal; the soup was a welcome treat after a month of processed food, and the cook was evidently a master of his art. Matsumoto and Tokubai seemed less enthusiastic, though Akimoto was keeping polite pace with the Alamo officers.

  In between mouthfuls, Marshall asked, "If you don't mind my asking, your uniforms are a little...unconventional."

  Akimoto smiled, and replied, "This station was designed with old solid-printers. Essentially a rugged first-generation model. The transport we came in was able to provide parts to get them working again, and they admittedly are adequate, but I fear that is all. They are somewhat slow, and uniforms are something of a low priority. The insignia took only an hour for the entire staff; I decided it was an acceptable compromise for the present."

  "I understand you have some tactical problems, Ensign," Caine asked. "Perhaps you could fill me in."

  She looked nervously at Akimoto, who nodded, and she replied, "This station, being constructed in the days before military operations took place cislunar space, was not designed with any defensive systems in mind. Nor was it a priority for our government prior to this station being transferred to the Triplanetary Fleet."

  "And we have a frigate from the Lunar Republic on the way. Its intent unclear at best."

  Marshall nodded, "I can well understand your problem. What abilities have you to evacuate the station should the worst happen?"

  "One transport, the Atomic Syndicate's Raifuku Maru, is all we currently have. That would allow us to minimally evacuate the station, but it is a slow ship. Even under a white flag, I would fear for the safety of my people."

  The soup was beginning to grow cold as the discussion continued, Shirase saying, "Alamo cannot remain here. We have only a limited time to complete our mission, and the fighters we are carrying do not have the range or capabilities to complete this mission by themselves."

  "Could Alamo remain close enough to provide an intercept if required?" asked Tokubai in a clipped voice.

  Caine shook her head, "I doubt we could guarantee it. Too many of our targets are close in, and waiting for the moons to settle in favorable positions to allow us to return to the station in any meaningful amount of time would be extremely limiting."

  Akimoto raised his hand, saying, "Of course, of course, we understand that your ship cannot remain here indefinitely. Were the frigate seeking something in this system, I venture that we would wish the Triplanetary Confederation to find it first. We do have some ability to protect ourselves, in a manner of speaking. Our last transport brought some equipment that we thought might be adaptable for other purposes, but now I think we should consider using in its original configuration."

  "And that is?" asked Marshall, as he dipped his spoon into the bowl for a last trace of soup.

  "We acquired a trio of war-surplus Dragon interceptors from the Martian Space Service."

  The spoon rattled into the bowl, and Marshall replied, "Why did you get them?"

  "Many of the components, we thought, could be adapted to bring the station's original ship-to-surface shuttles on-line. Fortunately, they are still present, and should be in combat-worthy condition. I have no-one qualified to fly these fighters, of course, but I am aware that Alamo is carrying pilots."

  Caine smiled, looking at Marshall; the captain replied, "If I thought I could get away with it I'd take them up myself for you. I'll have a word with my wing commander when we have finished our meal, but I am certain that we can provide you with some pilots. What about ordinance?"

  "We obtained the specifications as part of the package; the Belt purchased two squadrons to use for short-range defense. Strangely enough, that has now become a priority for our solid-printers."

  The door slid open again, and the corporal returned, bowing down and whispering something in the major's ear.

  "I am told, my comrades, that the fish course is ready to serve if we have finished with the soup."

  "Fish? Where are you getting that from?" asked Caine.

  "Well, nearly fish, Lieutenant. Close enough, in any case."

  The food actually smelt palatable, though Marshall tried not to give too much thought about where it had likely come from, instead settling down to enjoy his meal. Shirase especially was eating heartily, though he noticed Tokubai was only pecking at his food, pushing chunks around the plate, leaving a trail in the thick, gloppy sauce.

  "How do you feel in the new uniform, Mr. Tokubai?" Marshall asked, in a bid to break the ice.

  "It is a necessary step in the evolution of the Triplanetary defense structure," he replied, with a phrase that was wholly lifted from the press release that had been issued three months ago.

  Matsumoto looked at him, then across at Marshall, "I'm excited by the opportunity. All we have out at the Belt are garrison stations, a few short-range frigates."

  "Want to get onto a battlecruiser?" Caine said, smiling.

  "If I'm good enough," she said, "though I'd have to transfer into the regular fleet first, I suspect. Not many berths for espatier officers on the battlecruisers." While not phrased as a question, there was a slight tone to her voice that suggested she would accept any such opportunity if it came up, and wondering if one might be available.

  Akimoto chuckled, "Ambition in its place, Ensign." He turned to Marshall, "It would still make sense, though, for some of us to transfer. We were effectively all marines, as you would term them, out on the Belt. Most of our space defense was handled," he nodded his head, "by the Martian Space Service, and handled well at that."

  "We would be better providing such services ourselves," Tokubai said. "It is not wise to become too dependent on others."

  "Surely that's the whole purpose behind the Triplanetary Fleet, though. Having three," Caine looked around for a second, then continued, "excuse me, four different forces covering Mars, the Belt, Callisto and Titan was a wartime necessity, but it makes a lot more sense for us to combine our resources."

  "It worked well during the war. We were victorious," Tokubai said.

  Akimoto placed his hand on his subordinate's shoulder, "You have to excuse my deputy, gentlemen. His loyalty to the Confederation is unquestionable, but there is always a certain nostalgia for old times."

  "Indeed," Marshall said, raising his glass up to the light.

  "Ah, we found that in the cold storage. There was a crate of wine that was here for the dedication ceremony they never had. Do you think a century's exposure to the vacuum of space has improved the quality, Captain?"

  "Anything better than reconstituted alcohol," Caine said, taking a deep sip. "You keep an excellent table, Lieutenant-Major." She shook her head, "How did they come up with such an absurd rank anyway?"

  "You are speaking in the presence of a Lieutenant-Captain, Lieutenant," Marshall said with an air of mock menace.

  "I believe it was an attempt to resolve the age-old problem of two 'Captain' ranks when only one officer is correctly addressed by that title while on ship," Akimoto said.

  Shirase frowned, "Correct me if I am wrong, but there are no officers holding that rank currently in service."

  "Quite right, Lieutenant," Marshall said, "Just a swarm of Lieutenant-Captains and Lieutenant-Majors being ordered about by a small constellation of stars." He raised his glass again, "And though I know it can't last, I must say how refreshing it is to not have dozens of departments to send meaningless paperwork too."

  "I will drink to that, Captain," Akimoto said, raising his glass. He looked over at the door at the sound of approaching footsteps, then back to the table, "That must be dessert."

  Chapter 9

  Esposito and Orlova stood on the observation deck of the outer ring of the station, looking out at Alamo seeming to slowly spin away from them as Uranus rose in the distance, casting an eerie green glow. There was a small crowd lounging around on couches, their clothes an amusing riot of col
or, half a dozen different syndicates represented in the off-duty personnel. Esposito was having a debate with a vending machine, and was resorting to carefully placed blows.

  "This had better be the best iced tea I've ever had," she said, grimacing.

  Orlova smiled, replying, "Probably not good odds on that. If you've finished breaking the machine, shall we have a walk around the lower level?" Gesturing towards the viewport, she continued, "This is lovely, but it's nothing we haven't seen for the last few days."

  Shrugging, Esposito abandoned her attempt at refreshment, walking next to her friend down the steps, saying, "I hope the lower level is better than the upper one was. Most of the Belt syndicates seem to have decided to open up office space out here. I can see offices on Alamo."

  "Almost as if they're expecting a gold rush."

  "Out here?" she said, shaking her head.

  It was getting towards late evening, station time, and the lower level was getting crowded as workers went off shift for the night. A few Alamo crewmen were sprinkled through the crowd, but there didn't seem to be many station personnel present. Orlova noted a small shop, still open, with 'Used Equipment' printed above the door. Inside were racks of what looked to be old scavenged junk from the abandoned areas of the station, and she nudged Esposito, pointing her in the shop's direction. The proprietor, who looked to be about as old as the station, sat behind a counter on an old stool, staring at the two of them as they began to browse.

  The shelves weren't well organized; dusty old components from long-forgotten machinery were strewn around by pornographic posters in a variety of poses, next to some rather dubious looking knick-knacks. Orlova started to rummage on a top shelf, pushing some glass bottles dangerously close to the edge to reach for something at the back.

  "What the hell is this?" asked Esposito, holding up a strange piece of equipment with wires dangling from it.

  "No idea," replied Orlova, as she picked up an old spacesuit helmet, Mandarin writing along the back. "This is more interesting. I saw it from the corridor. Looks original, as well."