Authors: Christopher Nuttall
“She's a Liberal-Progressive,” he noted, with some surprise. “I would have expected a Federalist.”
“The Federalists would raise hackles,” David said. Beside him, Theodore looked unhappy, even mutinous. “And besides, Wu is known for being power-hungry. She will not betray us.”
Glen nodded. In his experience, all politicians were power-hungry – and none of them would willingly bite the hand that fed them. But he could understand Theodore’s concerns, even if a Liberal-Progressive would seem be more accommodating to the colonials than a Federalist. A politician whose ideology clashed too much with that of her patrons could never be trusted, not entirely. He skimmed through the file and noted that Wu was actually on the outskirts of the Liberal-Progressive Faction. They probably didn't trust her either.
“She was responsible for feeding the refugees outside the Occupied Zone,” he said. “But the file doesn't go into many details.”
He gritted his teeth, remembering some of his post-war duties. Millions of refugees had fled their homeworlds as the Dragons advanced, mostly ending up in makeshift refugee camps on unoccupied worlds. Many of them had gone into the military, but the remainder had been a major problem. Families had been broken up; there were kids who might never see their parents again, assuming that their parents had also escaped. Getting them all back where they belonged was a nightmare that would take years to resolve.
“It wouldn't,” David said. “There are aspects of the whole operation that remain classified.”
Glen looked at David, then switched his attention to Theodore. “There were ... disputes over how best to proceed,” Theodore explained, crossly. “Wu was one of those who ended up being moved to another department. It didn't damage her career.”
But it did have some effect on her
, Glen guessed.
No wonder she was tempted to take whatever Theodore offered in exchange for her service
.
“Brilliant,” he said, out loud. He would need to try to obtain the information, even if it
was
classified. Somehow, he doubted that Wu’s involvement in the whole affair was unknown outside the government. “Can you find me a complete file?”
Theodore and David exchanged glances. “We can try,” Theodore said, finally. “But we expect you to work with her, whatever happens.”
“I can try,” Glen said. Dealing with his brothers always brought out the worst in him. Still, he would have bet good money that they knew the full story – and were refusing to share it with him, for whatever reason made sense to them. “But you do realise that the entire political situation is unstable?”
“Of course,” Theodore said. “That is, I believe, why you are being assigned to the Fairfax Cluster.”
“Admiral Webster would have been a far better bet for Governor,” Glen pointed out. The Admiral hadn't always been
liked
, but just about everyone respected him. “I believe the colonials would have preferred him.”
“What they might prefer is not important,” Theodore said. His voice was very cold. He would happily ride roughshod over the colonies as long as he got what he wanted out of the whole affair. “Our priority is ensuring that Knight Corporation comes out of the post-war chaos in a position to capitalise on the end of the war. Whatever it takes, we have to survive.”
Glen took a bite of his food, thinking hard. There were political undercurrents at work, he was sure. He’d spent long enough in the military to sense them, even if he couldn't quite see them yet. He would have to watch his back – and that of his crew. No doubt the Governor would expect him to bend the regulations in her favour as much as possible.
It was not going to be an easy voyage.
“The strong survive,” he observed.
“Indeed they do,” Theodore agreed. He shifted, eying his brother as he'd done years ago, when Glen had asked for his blessing before he left for the Academy. The memory made Glen shiver. His brother had been the closest thing to a male role model he’d had until he’d gone to the Academy, where he’d met others. “And we will survive.”
“Commander?”
Commander Sandy Mannerheim rubbed sleep from her eyes as she sat upright in her bunk, muttering curses under her breath. She'd intended to catch a few hours of sleep between duty shifts, but
Dauntless
was a new ship and problems just kept popping up as her crew tested each and every component. Sandy was already keeping a log of glitches she intended to rub in the face of the yard master, the next time he showed his face. It wasn't as if
he
was going to be entering hyperspace on a new and largely untested starship.
“Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “What is it?”
“We just received a ping from Luna Base,” the duty officer said. “Our new Captain is on his way. ETA; thirty minutes.”
“Understood,” Sandy said. She swung her legs off the bunk and stood upright. Formal protocol demanded a reception in the shuttlebay, but half of the senior officers were busy and the other half were desperately trying to sleep. Their estimated departure date was only a week off and they were
still
finding problems. “Inform Colonel Armstrong and request that she meet me in the shuttlebay before the Captain arrives.”
She closed the connection, then pulled off her tunic and stepped into the shower. Warm water cascaded down over her, followed by a gust of hot air that left her dry. If there was one advantage to serving on a fed starship, it was almost unlimited water ... but there was no time to enjoy it, not now. If their new commander couldn't have the full formal reception, the very least she could do was to be there in her dress uniform and hope that he was reasonable enough to understand why the senior staff hadn't greeted him. They hadn't even been told who their new commander
was
.
It should have been her command, she told herself. She had joined the Colonial Militia at fourteen and risen in the ranks, then transferred to the Terran Federation Navy after Second Bottleneck, when contact had been re-established between the colonies and the Federation. It hadn't been
that
bad until the war had come to an end, whereupon competence and experience had been replaced by political connections, at least when it came to assigning promotion. It didn't help that she’d been born on the other side of the Great Wall. The bureaucrats on Luna Base didn't seem to realise that paperwork was a so-so thing for the colonies.
She stepped back into the cabin and eyed herself critically in the mirror. Her blonde hair had been cut short, a style that made her look severe; her arms and legs were muscular, while her blue eyes were sharp and clear. The only sign that she’d been in combat was a nasty scar on her cheek, which she had never bothered to have removed. It made her look intimidating to the new recruits, the ones who had never seen war. Shaking her head, she pulled her dress uniform on and buttoned it up, then checked her pistol and facemask out of habit. The Colonial Militia’s starships had never been as well-built as the Federation Navy’s ships. Their construction habits were the one thing she would take home, if she could.
They probably wouldn't thank me for it
, she thought ruefully.
It’s easy to forget that space is dangerous on a Federation warship.
Her implant blinked up a message in front of her eyes, alerting her to the arrival of a new file from Luna Base. They’d finally gotten around to sending her the Captain’s file. Rolling her eyes, she marked it for later attention and strode out of the cabin, heading down towards the shuttlebay. Half of the ship’s bulkheads were still open, allowing maintenance crews to work on her innards. She sighed in dismay at the sight, even though she knew that there was no alternative. The end of the war had also put an end to agreements banning labour disputes on shipyards and other war-related industries.
Bloody unions
, she told herself.
Now that the war is over, they’re trying to claw back their power
.
Pushing the thought to one side, she stepped into the shuttlebay and smiled as she saw Jess Armstrong standing there. The Marine Captain – she was always addressed as Colonel onboard ship, to prevent confusion – looked tough enough to chew her way through iron bars and shit bricks. She was from one of the Core Worlds, but Sandy had always gotten on with her. Jess was fond of claiming that she’d been offered a choice between jail or joining the Marines and there were times when Sandy believed it.
“Our new CO is arriving,” Jess said, nodding towards the opening hatch. Once, the sight had been disturbing; now, Sandy could pick out the shimmer of the force field keeping the atmosphere inside the ship. “Did you review his file?”
Sandy shook her head, then accessed her implants and reviewed the file, skimming through the highlights. It was surprisingly short; their new Captain had served on a cruiser, then a fleet carrier ... and little else, apart from training craft. He didn't have any actual command to his credit, although he
did
have several awards for tactical bravery. The Terran Cross wasn't normally awarded for political purposes, not after the last public outcry. And he’d been at the Battle of Sphere Prime.
Her lips twitched. She'd been there too.
The shuttle came into view, a boxy shape that seemed to be little more than a flying brick that shouldn't be able to move at all. Sandy watched as the pilot neatly put the craft down on the deck, then deactivated the drives. The faint hum faded away into nothingness. She took a step forward as the hatch hissed open, revealing a young man in a navy-blue uniform. He didn't seem to have bothered to wear his dress uniform. It was, she told herself firmly, a good sign.
She pulled herself to attention as the Captain stepped out of the shuttle. He made no acknowledgement; instead, as per protocol, he formally saluted the flag painted on the far side of the shuttlebay, then saluted Sandy. Sandy returned his salute, then relaxed minutely, studying her new commandeer with all the experience of thirty years in the military. He really
was
alarmingly young. And his face suggested that
someone
had engineered the best possible genotype into his genetic code before birth.
“Welcome onboard, Captain,” Sandy said. She buried the resentment at the back of her mind. Whatever connections Captain Knight had, it was unlikely that he’d personally barred her from further promotion. There were more officers than slots in the years following the end of the war. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
The Captain extended his hand. Sandy took it and shook it, then introduced Jess, who gave their new commander a disturbing smile. The Captain didn't seem to notice the traditional Marine game, but then he
had
been an XO on a fleet carrier. He was probably used to the Marine tradition of trying to gross out the spacers, who never had to get down in the mud and get their hands and uniforms dirty.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice was almost unaccented, suggesting that he’d grown up on Earth or Mars. Earth tended to have the most blended accents in the known universe, a result of its position as the wellspring of human culture. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Sandy nodded, brusquely. “I’m afraid that the majority of the senior crew are currently on duty or trying to catch some sleep, sir,” she explained. She might as well hit him with the bad news at once and see how he reacted. “There are too many problems on the ship to allow us to relax just yet.”
She paused, waiting to see what he’d say, then pressed on. “I can take you to the bridge and you can formally assume command, or I can give you the full tour. Which one would you prefer?”
“The tour,” the Captain said, after a moment. “I need to know just what has happened to my ship.”
“The shipyard was still too used to cutting corners,” Sandy said, tightly. She turned to lead him towards the hatch that led into the ship’s interior. “Which isn't too bad if the ships aren't expected to last more than a few months, but what little I was told about our mission suggested that we would be operating some distance from the Federation. Right now, we are going over the entire ship in cynical detail and checking everything.”
The Captain nodded, ruefully. Of course, Sandy reminded herself; he’d been an XO before his promotion. The shipyards
had
developed bad habits during the war, when there had been a desperate need for war material, but it could not be tolerated. If a vital component failed while they were in hyperspace, it was far too likely that they would never be seen again.