A portal opened with a swift swish, and a baby-faced young man in a lieutenant’s uniform walked through to the Captain of the Nelson’s day cabin. The mess astounded him, data slates piled around randomly across the room, almost burying what could be seen of three half-eaten meals, and an empty bottle with tumbler with a bit of ice still melting. All of it was highly against regulation, and the young squeaked out his first response, nervously fidgeting with the thick package of sealed orders, “Captain Boyd?”
A pile of data slates shifted with a clatter, revealing muddy brown hair and a pair bloodshot green eyes. The young man swallowed heavily at poaching a ship’s god in its den, and stammered out, “Captain Boyd?” One hand tossed a data slate aside after a thumb print and reached for the beaten metal mug. Boyd took a slug of caffeine and made a sound between a groan and a sigh. His eyes tracked up from the open paperwork forms up to the ceiling, paused, and then tracked back down. The young man gulped as Boyd’s face transitioned from a frown to a glare directed at him. He stammered out his previous query in a squeak.
“Who else do you think would be in the captain’s day cabin doing this mountain of paperwork for three days on no sleep, lieutenant?” Boyd growled. He took a deep breath at the green tinge in the young man’s face, and continued in a dangerous calm. “What is it?”
“Sealed dispatch orders, sir!” He held the thick package in front of his face like a shield.
“Hand it over.” Boyd’s eyes narrowed at the biometrics suite on the package. “Sit.” The free hand gestured towards a pile of data slates covering a chair. “Don’t break them.”
Boyd dismissed the kid from his immediate concerns and frowned as the tiny machine checked his retina, thumbprint and blood sample. He unconsciously clenched his jaw. More covert intelligence manure. I told Ban I was down with his messes. Written orders, a few rank packages and a data slate came out. A vein on his forehead started to bulge at the anachronistic written orders when the lack of commodore insignia among them. The data slate required another biometric scan to open. It was far faster to scan it, then work through the thumb thick stack of legalese. His eye twitched and teeth ground at the list of promotions and immediate transfer orders for what seemed to be a third of his crew, including a full battalion of his marines. Boyd cursed audibly at the transfer date. It was a full three days late for a normal transfer to a new assignment.
“Athena, please put in an immediate transmission to Vice Admiral James Curren. Lieutenant...” Boyd trailed off for a second. “What’s your name?”
“William Vernon, sir!” He stood up in a clatter of slates and gave a passable salute.
“Unless I am mistaken, I don’t a think a rookie like you is transferred to my ship. I am going to give you a brief piece of advice before you say anything. When you deliver orders to your next skipper, don’t squeak, and find either an AI or the COB to introduce you before wandering into the Captain’s day cabin. Got it?” The younger man nodded. “Now, get off my ship and don’t get lost. We are leaving in 12 hours and if you are still here…” Boyd trailed off and the young man nodded, desperately trying to leave. A hand motioned for him to leave, and Boyd have turned away, only to turn back again half a second later. “Why are you still here?”
“I need confirmation, sir…” Boyd tossed the empty case at him.
“Go. [b]Now[/i].”
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Athena’s voice chimed in softly a few minutes later. Her voice sounded as wise, calm and soothing, while still echoing an unbreakable core of iron. The corners of his lips tugged into a momentary smile, as he the vocal programming was truly a masterpiece every time he heard it. “Vice Admiral Curren has accepted your com, sir.”
“Put him up, please.”
Boyd swiveled in his chair to see the holographic image of a vigorous man in his late fifties slowly going to fat. Not even the tasteful beard and professionally tailored uniform could hide the double chin and steadily thickening middle. Mischievous and deceitful eyes topped a professionally fake smile.
“Admiral Curren.” Boyd tossed out a sloppy salute.
“Captain Owen Nelson Gerhardt Boyd. Good to see you, I have been waiting for you to call.” A cherubic smile appeared.
“Go to hell Ban. If we weren’t cousins I would beat you into a coma.”
“But what about my rank?”
“We both know I wouldn’t get caught.”
“So let’s get to it.” The admiral clapped. “Go ahead and let it out.”
“After I told you I was done with your cloak and dagger games, you saddled me with every disgusting, fat incompetent of a commodore you could find, and Yeargin was the worst of the lot. HE turned a routine patrol in a diplomatic shooting incident with three transtellars and the system government in twelve minutes. Twelve minutes of leering at the governor’s daughter and son.”
“Why would that cause a problem?”
“She was twelve and he was eight. And then he got handsy.”
“Well…”
“Not to mention that fat tub of lard reeked of his own rotting flesh and noxiously sweet perfume, or his ‘flag lieutenant’ squeeze.”
“Well, come back to work for intelligence then. You got a chest full of medals for it.”
“That I can only wear in a theater closet in the basement of high command! Two-thirds of my records are redacted, and the last 8 years have been babysitting imbeciles too connected to can. I am tired of it Ban.”
“Your father’s history complicates the situation…”
“Really? Sins of the father, Ban? You’re replacing a third of my crew, promoting several vital people out of zone, including my XO, and replacing an entire battalion with Viktor Thailen in charge instead of Maria. What exactly do you want?!”
“Don’t worry too much boyo. Finish this mission, and I will have something better for you then a tour of BuShips doing quality control—“
“I am not doing any more naval intelligence work, Ban. Get me a fighting Commodore’s slot.”
“Depending on how it goes, that might not be a problem at all.”
The smirk on James face was the last thing Owen saw before he disconnected. Boyd’s blood pressure skyrocketed and he threw yesterday’s breakfast tray against the wall. He panted for a few moments, and breathed deeply, trying to bring some clarity to his tired brain. Eight hours of sleep in the last three days wasn’t enough to fully process everything, and he knew there was some curve ball he wasn’t accounting for.
“Athena, contact shore patrol. Get all the crew in for a rush load. Max the supplies, and have Clara obtain replacements for anything she can’t fix on the way. Its Curren’s backstab, so he will have to live with all of that on his budget. Maybe the accountants will get a few digs in. Speaking of which, notify my steward to just dump all of Yeargin’s personal belongings in a crate and have it shipped somewhere… unpleasant for him, except for the booze. We can requisition it for ‘religious purposes.’”
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Commander Claudia Arza ignored the few whistles on the dock on the way to her new post. She was used to getting catcalls, and she had to admit the naval uniform looked quite fetching on her, but at least the commander’s insignia removed the most of the naval personnel from the equation. The crew on her new posting seemed to be a bit frantic, with drifting sailors in skin suits all over the surface of the ship and an open cargo bay with continuous flights in and out. She bit her lip a little, thinking of the potential fatal accidents.
The sergeant at arms had an efficient screening process right outside the umbilical to the Nelson. The fifteen year veteran couldn’t help the widening of his eyes at the young female commander handing over her dispatch orders, but she didn’t notice anything else as he fed the chip into a reader.
“Commander Arza?”
“Yes?”
“Please enter through here ma’am. Would you prefer a steward to help you with your luggage?” He eyed the two large duffel bags meaningfully, before continuing, “Otherwise you are cleared to board, and just ask Athena, one of our AI’s for direction to your cabin.” He gave a brief salute and gestured her through. “Next?”
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Claudia didn’t expect that the first sight of her new commander was an extremely dirty pair of pants, bent over in the flag cabin digging through a pile of silk sheets. Athena had led her to this unexpected sight, and her mouth fell open a little bit before she regained her composure.
“Sir?”
“One second. I almost got it.” Claudia was nonplussed. A tall spare man with gold eagles on the epaulets stood up with a bottle of fine 40 year old whiskey. She was even less impressed by the haggard expression three day old beard and redden eyes. “Yeargin wasn’t good for anything but his own gluttony. Who are you?”
“Claudia Arza, your new XO.” She saluted, repressing the distaste from her facial expression. The captain tossed off a quick salute.
“Good. Follow me.” He rotated his jaw to change the internal com. “Steren, get another glass. The new XO showed up.” He nodded, and did another jaw twitch. “Ok. Follow me Commander Arza, you can meet the woman you are replacing. Come on, let’s get out of here. It reeks worse than I do right now.”
His free hand grabbed another bottle of a clear liquid, and quickly strode out of the room. She had no choice but to follow, and he was moving so fast she had to jog to keep up with him. Through a warren of corridors, maintenance bypasses and what even looked like HVAC passage, Claudia couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to steal her door and stash it somewhere, and if she could ask for the AI’s help. Before she knew it, they entered a small state room with about thirty other officers.
“Alright, settle down. The party has arrived. Now most of you know why we are here, and that is to celebrate the departure of dear friends. Several of you have been promoted and transferred away, and if you haven’t been notified by me already, you don’t get to escape from hell just yet. But, your lovely XO is being promoted to command her own ship, so let’s have a toast!” He raised both bottles, popped off the corks before grabbing a pair of glasses and filled them with one of each before passing the bottles around. He held out both to Claudia, and she picked the one she recognized, the whiskey.
He turned back around and pulled out a square box. “Before the libations begin, I have a small gift for Commander Foirgoine.” He handed the small red-headed woman the box. “Now I wish I could have given you my eagles, but High Command still thinks I need them. However, I do have my great-great-grandmother’s for you. Don’t clean them, and don’t lose them. They are supposed to be that color and are practically antiques. If you are curious, her citation has recently been made public. Now thanks for all the hard work for this last tour, but we leave in three hours, so don’t get drunk, and don’t get stuck. I will brief you all on the way, we are going to be a bit late from paperwork SNAFUs. Cheers.”
He clanked the glass against Claudia’s, and downed it. Like a magician, he disappeared right in front of her eyes, leaving her alone with a mixed crowd of total strangers and co-workers. What an introduction. She sighed and began to mingle. After the weird experience only two fragments of conversation stood out with her, one from the former XO and the other from the marine colonel.
First was that Boyd had a solid core of integrity and honor with great passion, but was totally ruthless if need be. The second was from the marine, and that the man who was replacing her was not all his official record would say he would be, and to be careful because at least Boyd had some sense of dignity and restraint. The last was that nothing would be as it seemed, from which they included her in the assessment, and that to keep a good watch on her back. The captain’s official steward Steren Rose was a good guide for that, but do not impose on her at all. It was a confusing, irritating two hours.
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The transition between FTL and normal travel always made Boyd queasy, but he never mentioned it. The three day workup in transit had been promising, and his crew was fully prepared to be dropped back into the toilet, but they were grudgingly admitting it wasn’t his fault and used to it. IFF signals trickeled in as he dropped from out of the ecliptic to the meeting point. Shaving off two days from the fastest recorded was a neat bit of astrogation, but they were still three days late.
“Athena squirt our transmission to command the minute we confirm, and let’s deploy six recon drones in a standard cube pattern until we are tied into the group com-link for detection. Keep on your toes, boys and girls.”
