Barbarians at the Gates (12 page)

She paused. “It may interest you to know that the original design, if it had been built as ordered, would have suffered a catastrophic internal failure if they had ever brought the drives up to full power. Many of the bulkheads would have collapsed.”

Thank goodness for engineers,
Roman thought. He leaned forward. “Commander ... why didn’t they fix the problems right away?”

“
Enterprise
was the largest ship in the Federation Navy when she was built,” Duggan said, sounding as if she was picking her words with great care. “Computer simulations only go so far when so many delicate compartments are involved. See what I mean about the importance of experience? An experienced engineer discovered the problem and reported it before they actually tried to install the internal systems. Now...”

Her expression turned savage, just for a second. “I have tasks for you,” she said, her implant dumping files into their implants. “All you have to do is follow the instructions—
separately
—and then report back to me. Good luck.”

Roman watched as Duggan scrambled up a ladder to an internal tube and wiggled through it, then he turned to look at Sultana, who looked as stunned as he felt. He opened the files Commander Duggan had sent to him and frowned. None of the tasks seemed complicated, which meant there was probably a sting in the tail for the unwary and inexperienced young officer. Some of the tasks promised to be boring—he had to check the filed FNRS-47 plans against the reality—and others made no sense at all, at least at first.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he promised. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Sultana said.

Roman turned back to the internal tube. According to the plans loaded in his implant—the same plans he’d been warned couldn’t be trusted—the first place he had to check was only two decks down from his current position.

Over the course of an hour, he realized what the commander was trying to teach him. He didn’t know his way around the ship, not instinctively, and relying on his implants was asking for trouble. He got lost twice before he stopped listening to his implant and started to go by the markings on the bulkheads. Slowly, he realized just how the carrier’s open areas went together. It wouldn’t be long, he hoped, before he figured out the logic of the internal tubes as well.

The FNRS-47 files were particularly confusing. At the Academy, he’d been told that keeping up with the FNRS-47 files was important. Regulations clearly stated that there had to be an individual FNRS-47 form for each replaced component on the ship that accounted for its removal from stores, installation in the required unit and then removal and disposal once it had started to wear out. The Federation Navy designed components to be as durable as possible, but there was a strict pattern of replacement for every compartment in the starship, to the point where cadets had joked that ships were effectively rebuilt over the course of the year.

But in this case, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that
Enterprise’s
files were hopelessly out of date. Puzzled, he made a note of the discrepancies and went on to the next section.

The commander had ordered him to introduce himself to the fighter jocks, so he found his way down to Fighter Country and checked in with the CAG, the Controller Air Group. The CAG seemed underwhelmed to meet him, and only reluctantly organized a meet and greet. Roman was reminded, yet again, of his own inexperience. Many of the fighter pilots he met had fought in the Battle of Earth, and had been transferred to
Enterprise
only two or three days ago. The others had seen action out on the frontier. He could just tell, somehow, that they weren’t too impressed with him. The Marines weren’t much better, even though they seemed a hair friendlier.

“I trust we’ll be seeing more of you,” Major Shaklee said with a grin. The short, stocky Marine winked at him. “Young officers are encouraged to spend time in the gym, brushing up on their training with us. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time down there.”

Roman felt like frowning, but he hoped the Marine hadn’t realized it. RockRats kept themselves healthy, but they didn’t go in for physical sports and rarely contributed athletes to the Federation Games. Luna Academy had insisted that all cadets learn to spar and encouraged them to develop skills in the martial arts, yet he’d never had the time to really work on it. The Marines, on the other hand, would ensure that he did more than the regulation workouts each day. And
encouraged
generally meant
ordered
.

He was thoughtful when he reported back to Officer Country and discovered that Sultana had completed her share of the tasks before him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise—she had always had more patience for detail work than him—but it still rankled, somehow. It
was
surprising when Commander Duggan cut off their attempt to report to her and focused, instead, on something different.

“You did all the tasks,” she said flatly. “Why did I give you those specific tasks?”

“You wanted us to get used to the ship,” Sultana hazarded.

“Could be,” Commander Duggan said absently. “What do you think, Lieutenant Garibaldi?”

Roman hesitated, and then took the plunge. “You wanted us to know the ship and its personnel,” he said finally. “I don’t just mean finding our way around, I meant actually knowing them...”

“Close enough,” Commander Duggan agreed. “You have to learn to understand that the crew—all the separate crews that make up a carrier’s personnel—are human. There are young officers who fail to realize that enlisted personnel are mortal, too.” She shook her head. “You are expected to spend some of your off-duty hours—which will be few and far between for the first few weeks—socializing with your fellow officers. Marine and Navy alike.”

She grinned, a completely different expression than her smile from before as it completely lit up her face. “And as for the forms?”

“There isn’t time to fill them in,” Sultana told the commander.

Roman lifted an eyebrow.

“I checked with the engineering officers,” she told him. “They don’t have time to do all the paperwork.”

“And that is the second lesson,” Commander Duggan added. “There are tasks on this ship that are genuinely important, and tasks that regulations
claim
are important. When we’re in the middle of a desperate refit and working up period, we don’t have time to worry about the paperwork, not with the level of redundancy built into the ship. We will catch up on all of that while we’re in transit, by which time we should be functioning as an intact unit.”

Her gaze softened. “You’ll meet your fellow lieutenants in the Officer’s Mess in”—she made a show of checking her wristcom—”forty minutes. I suggest that you each have a quick session in the fresher, and then study their files. After that, we can make some proper assignments for you. You’ll both eventually end up in the tactical section—you’re command track—but for the moment we need you elsewhere.”

Roman nodded. “Commander, if I may ask, where are we going?”

“Nothing has been said officially,” Commander Duggan said, “but I suspect from the scuttlebutt flying around the fleet that we’re on our way to Harmony to make Admiral Justinian see reason. I just hope we get worked up by the time the hammer comes down on him. I’d hate to miss the show because we couldn’t get there in time. And believe me, the captain will
really
hate it.”

“Yes, commander,” Roman said. It would be nice to believe that Admiral Justinian would surrender without further ado, but he’d seen the executions at the Academy of Justinian’s distant relatives. They’d all been made to watch. Somehow, after seeing that, Roman was sure the admiral would refuse to surrender. “We won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t,” Commander Duggan said. “
Enterprise
is the finest ship in the fleet, and we mean to keep it that way.”

The problem with not having fought a major war for decades is that it is difficult to tell an experienced commanding officer from an inexperienced officer. The Federation Navy has thus developed an alarming habit of promoting officers for political rather than professional credentials.

-
An Irreverent Guide to the Federation,
4000 A.D.

FNS
Enterprise
, Sol System, 4092

“Attention on deck!”

Marius stood with the other officers as Fleet Admiral Cuthbert Parkinson entered the
Enterprise’s
briefing room. There had been no other choice for the flagship, not after
Enterprise
had been assigned to the Retribution Force, which worried Marius more than he cared to admit. The star carriers were, in some ways, a revolutionary design, but they had their weaknesses, weaknesses that would be as apparent to Admiral Justinian as they were to Marius Drake.

“Please be seated,” Parkinson said once he had taken his place at the head of the table. “We have a great deal to cover, and very little time.”

Fleet Admiral Parkinson was taller than Marius had expected from his file, although it was quite possible that he’d had his body altered to conform with the latest fashion. His short, dark hair topped a clear face and dark brown eyes, which contrasted oddly with the white dress uniform he wore. Marius hoped that he’d come directly from Earth and hadn’t had time to change. An admiral who attended a meeting of his subordinates in full dress uniform wasn’t a good sign.

Marius had asked Kratman about the Fleet Admiral, as his former CO had known Parkinson once. The Professor had told him that Parkinson was competent, nothing more. Parkinson could follow orders to the letter, but he didn’t have the initiative to take advantage of opportunities as they arose. His career would have stalled out, barring political interference of course, if there had been any justice in the universe.

Marius had spent ten years along the Rim and had been insulated, to some degree, from the political storms of Earth. But because of what Kratman had told him, Marius had taken the time to carry out a thorough study of Earth’s media while waiting for his new commander to take command of the Retribution Force. There seemed to be three separate story lines running through the media. One: Admiral Drake was the hero who saved Earth. Two: Admiral Drake had taken command illegally, preventing Admiral Parkinson from assuming his rightful place. Three: Admiral Drake’s illegal decision to assume command had resulted in Admiral Justinian’s force escaping certain destruction. The reports that upheld the third line had produced hundreds of pretty diagrams that bore no relationship to reality; all professed to prove that Justinian’s fleet could have been intercepted and destroyed, if the
proper
man had been in command.

It wouldn’t have impressed any halfway competent fleet officer, Marius knew. But civilians wouldn’t know what to believe.

Kratman had been right. Again. Marius tried not to grind his teeth in despair.

Behind Parkinson, Captain Timothy Oriole followed him into the briefing room, even though
Enterprise
was his ship. At least Oriole was a known factor, a solidly competent man with a splendid record of courage and loyalty. The Federation Navy would hardly have given its flagship to an incompetent, even though Oriole had probably been bored floating in orbit around Titan Base. His dark skin showed no trace of awareness that he was the junior officer in the compartment, although as the admiral’s flag captain—his tactical alter ego—he had more authority than was commonly realized. And besides, he had given up command of a cruiser squadron to command the
Enterprise
. There could be no questioning his capabilities,
or
his political contacts. He had the support of some very powerful people.

“It’s good to see you all together for the first time,” Parkinson said. His voice—and face—was stilted and formal. “I believe that we have set records in reactivating starships and personnel from the Naval Reserve in preparation for our departure to Harmony. I know that there have been some …issues—” he gave them all a droll smile, apparently begging for forgiveness, “—but we have managed to overcome them. We shall depart for Harmony within the week.”

Marius kept his face expressionless with some help from his implants. Parkinson was understating the case, for the plans to reactivate and crew the starships stored in the Naval Reserve had floundered, and badly. Home Fleet had a shortage of experienced officers and men to serve as reactivation cadre, and they’d had to raid every command within ten Asimov Points of Earth for manpower. There were hundreds of thousands of crewmen who had never served together before being called to serve in the Retribution Fleet, and there had already been several nasty incidents. Marius was confident that all would all be resolved in time, but it would require a far longer outfitting and working up period than his superiors had accepted. As it was, they were going to have to continue their training exercises while in transit.

“I have been in close communication with the War Cabinet,” Parkinson continued, “and we finally have our mission objectives. They are fairly simple in concept, and I am sure that we will have few problems carrying them out.”

Marius’s eyes narrowed. He’d thought that they already
had
their mission objectives: track down and destroy Admiral Justinian. He shared a glance with Major General Tobias Vaughn—at least the War Cabinet had confirmed him as the Marine CO for the Retribution Force—and realized that his friend was just as surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time that orders had been changed alarmingly close to the departure date, yet it still was odd. The entire planet wanted the rogue’s blood.