Starhold (15 page)

14: Edge

Union heavy cruiser Tempest

Hyperspace

“What’s the song?”

“Huh?” the captain asked as he browsed through his datatab.

“The song.”

Uschi Mullenhoff had known Chaz Pettigrew for fifteen years. They graduated from the Space Force Academy at Acworth in the same class and during their careers, they had briefly served together aboard one other vessel. It seemed the two were always bumping into each other and she felt like that was a good thing. Mullenhoff was fond of Pettigrew and she knew he liked her as well. It wasn’t in any kind of romantic way, as their friendship had more of a brother-sister feel to it. She hoped that after this meeting, it still would.

As they went over engineering reports in his stateroom, music played in the background. Pettigrew loved antiquities, and that passion included reading very old books and listening to music from the past. It was part of what made him such a compelling personality—his slightly eccentric nature. Many people were put off by it, but Mullenhoff enjoyed his quirks, even though she frequently teased him about his choices.

Roughly three weeks had passed since
Tempest
had departed from the Hybrias system. As chief engineer, Mullenhoff still wasn’t overly pleased with the general condition of the ship. The
Lares
crew had done their best in the time they had, however she felt too many corners had been cut during the hasty patch-up process. Pettigrew understood her concerns, and in many instances shared them, but he was anxious to get
Tempest
to the Sol system. Despite her apprehension regarding the ship, Mullenhoff also wanted to discover what was going on and why fourteen of her crewmates had perished in the Battle of Uritski, three more having died in the hospitals of Port Bannatyne.

Pettigrew nibbled at a cheese sandwich while he half-looked through a report on his datatab. Crews on warships were not placed into cryonic sleep during month long trips through hyperspace. Large ships like
Tempest
had fitness centers, entertainment lounges, and other facilities to keep the personnel from going stir-crazy while traveling between the stars. Despite such amenities, everyone was ready to hit realspace again and that included the captain. Mullenhoff noticed that he was somewhat ill tempered today and Chaz Pettigrew was almost never in a sour mood.

“The song,” she asked again, “what’s its name?”

“Ah,” Pettigrew responded, always happy to talk about the art and times he found so endearing. “It’s called
Drown in My Own Tears,
by a twentieth century singer named Ray Charles.”

“Doesn’t sound like a very happy tune,” she remarked as she finished her tea. “I think it’s amazing you can find so much of this stuff.”

“You know, they did a great job of preserving art back then. It was important to them.”

“Too bad they didn’t put as much effort into preserving their planet,” Mullenhoff countered. “You know, you really ought to get out more, maybe meet some real live people.”

Pettigrew reached for a thermos and poured himself another glass of tea. “As clichéd as it sounds, one person demands all of my time and her name is
Tempest
. Speaking of significant others, what’s the latest word from Ajax?”

“Oh, yeah, Jax. Well, I might as well be dating a ship myself,” she lamented. Ajax Baker was also an engineer and for over a decade, Baker and Mullenhoff had conducted the ultimate long distance relationship, most of that time being separated by light years. “We manage to get together once or twice a year on leave. Right now, he’s stationed on the
Galatea
.”

“Fleet flagship in the Artemis system—nice job if you can get it,” Pettigrew mused.

Mullenhoff agreed. “Jax always was a sharp one.”

“You kids ever going to formalize things?”

“Yeah, someday,” the commander sighed. “We almost set a date last year and then Admiral Polanco had his little coup d’état, which kind of pushed things back indefinitely. Of course, I’m not complaining, and thank the Gods you were there to pull the Admiral’s backside out of the fire.” Pettigrew had been a commander then, executive officer aboard Polanco’s flagship during the biggest battle of the People’s Rebellion. In the space above Sarissa, Pettigrew’s tactics had rallied Polanco’s forces to victory.

Pettigrew’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, I also remember a key part of that particular engagement was Presidio Station going completely off line at a crucial point during the battle. I always wondered how the Admiral managed that—figured he had a person on the inside, maybe an engineer,” the Captain gibed. “You were stationed on Presidio around that time, weren’t you Uschi?”

Mullenhoff grinned. “So were a lot of people.”

They completed working on their reports, mixing in small talk about the old days at Acworth. Pettigrew knew that his friend had something on her mind.

“So, what did you really want to see me about?”

“I needed to go over these reports with you,” she said far too matter-of-factly.

“You usually file these on the ship’s Net and I scan them at my convenience. You only want to meet when there’s a problem, so out with it.”

Mullenhoff switched off her tablet. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Always, you know that.”

She drew a deep breath. “You have a problem and I think it’s a big one.”

Pettigrew grimaced. “Just what I need on the eve of a probable battle.” He paused to study her face. “But something tells me this isn’t an engineering problem.”

“Those I know how to fix. I hope I’m wrong, but this may be a lot more difficult.”

The captain leaned forward, placing his elbow on his desk and cupping his chin in the palm of his left hand. “Commander Knox?”

The chief engineer gave a small sigh of relief. “Well, you’re not as clueless as I thought you might be.”

“I try,” Pettigrew said and then added, “not to be, you know what I mean. I’ve been hearing snips of things here and there, but I’m sure you’re getting more than I am. You know how it is—nobody will go directly to the skipper. Usually, they go to the XO, but in this case… How bad is it?”

“Permission to speak freely?” she repeated.

“Stop that and spit it out,” Pettigrew grumbled.

In her mind, Mullenhoff had practiced how she would lay this out, but now she was grasping for words. “Well, basically your XO has declared war on Commander Adams. He’s undermining her authority at every turn, spreading gossip about her personal life, and generally being a bastard—sir.”

Pettigrew placed his forehead into his hands as both elbows rested on the desk, then pushed back into his chair, tilting it and looking up at the ceiling. “Humor me. Give me some examples of what he’s doing.”

“Last week, Commander Adams scheduled the bridge duty assignments for this week and gave it to Knox for his approval. He made her do it over again—four times. Yesterday, Mr. Swoboda conducted tactical drills with the primary fire control teams. Things were a little sluggish, so Adams ordered them to redo the drill until they increased efficiency. Knox showed up, countermanded her order, and ended the drills. Adams was furious.”

“I know, I heard all about that one from Adams. And the personal stuff?”

“Someone is spreading the rumor that Adams tried to put the moves on Knox, but that he refused her advances because it would be an inappropriate relationship. The way I heard it, it was the other way around.”

“And who’d you hear that from?”

“Well, actually, it was Adams who told me. Captain, I believe her,” she added defensively.

“And you’re not just taking her side because she’s a woman?”

Mullenhoff scowled at him.

“Sorry, I had to ask to make sure.”

“No—you really didn’t,” she said coldly.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he said. “Of course, you’re right. I apologize, Commander.” He reached to rub the back of his neck. “I’m tired and I’m worried. We lost fourteen people at Uritski and that was against just one enemy ship. If the task force can’t find an answer to those enemy shields, we could be looking at a bloodbath at Sol. Now, on top of all that my XO is acting, I don’t know, what would you call this? Odd? Bizarre?”

“I’d call it unmilitary and unprofessional. Look, Chaz, I know you’ve tried to take this guy under your wing and help him, but he’s stepped way over the line. You no longer have the luxury of bringing him along slowly. The crew is starting to choose sides and he’s actually encouraging it. Frankly…” Mullenhoff abruptly stopped speaking.

“Go ahead—finish what you were going to say. I need to hear it.”

“This whole thing is starting to undermine your authority. Crewmembers are starting to wonder where you stand, or why you don’t do something.” Mullenhoff knew she needed to say it, but that didn’t make it come out any easier.

Pettigrew touched a control on his desk to silence the music. “You know, when Dusty Hamilton was given his own ship, I requested Central Command to make Taylin Adams my XO. From the day Parker Knox came aboard this ship, I knew they should have listened to me,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll speak with him, but I’m not going to toss him away just yet. I want to give him a chance to correct his behavior.”

The captain eyed Mullenhoff carefully as she rose to depart. Muscular and nearly as tall as Pettigrew, he always said that he was thankful she was one of the good guys. “Commander Knox might just be an arrogant SOB,” she said as she turned to leave, “or he may be an officer who’s truly in over his head and doesn’t know what to do. Either way, considering what we’re about to fly into, I wouldn’t wait too long to have that talk.”

“Commander,” Pettigrew called after her. “Thanks for bringing this to my attention.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Commander, just—thanks.”

* * * *

The turbolift ride to D deck was somewhat uncomfortable for both of the men. While the green uniformed Space Marine John Hiteshaw stood at near attention, Pettigrew fiddled with the datatab he was holding, finally turning to his lift companion.

“Sergeant, I don’t suppose I could convince you to go get yourself a bite in the galley or something, could I?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir, but I have my orders.” At least Hiteshaw had broken his statue-like stillness in order to reply.

A frustrated Pettigrew furrowed his brow. “Sergeant, I am the captain of this ship. You know that I could order you to grab a snack in the galley.” A faint smile came to Pettigrew’s lips, as he convinced himself that he had gained the upper tactical hand.

“With respect, sir, sorry but that won’t work. If I leave you before I’m relieved, it would be desertion of my post and Lieutenant Cruz would have my butt in a bag for that—sir.”

Pettigrew’s hope slipped away, replaced by resignation. The
Tempest
had a platoon of thirty-eight Space Marines attached to it under the command of Lieutenant Daniel Cruz, just five months out of Acworth. Regulations stated that during battle, Marine guards were to be stationed on the bridge and near the captain at all times, but Cruz was getting a jump on things by posting a guard to Pettigrew before the upcoming action—many days before. The captain had objected, but Cruz was firm. Pettigrew yielded, but it did make him think. Was the young lieutenant just being overly efficient, or was the division of the crew in the Knox-Adams feud even worse than Mullenhoff had let on?

“You win, Sergeant. Just don’t crowd me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” assured Hiteshaw. Pettigrew considered that the Marine had no more of a desire to be escorting him than he desired to have an escort.

The two men left the turbolift and walked through nearly empty passageways. It was around 23:00 hours and blue team was on first watch. Most of the crew was preparing for sleep or already there. Pettigrew had used the ship’s computer to locate Parker Knox and the XO was alone. It seemed like an opportune time to have a chat. As they approached their destination, Pettigrew turned to his Marine companion.

“Stay at the hatchway, Sergeant, and don’t let anyone in.”

The captain entered the officer’s mess and found Commander Knox working alone at a table. He wanted to meet with him somewhere other than his stateroom to make it more neutral territory, so Knox wouldn’t feel like the hammer was being dropped on him. Pettigrew hoped to give the man a chance, but if he didn’t like what he heard from Knox in the next fifteen minutes, the hammer would indeed be dropping.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Captain,” Knox started to stand, but was waved back to his seat by the CO. “I was just going over a few things before hitting the sack. You’re making the rounds late.”

Pouring himself a mug of coffee, Pettigrew sat down across the table from his executive officer.

“Honestly, I thought we’d have a talk,” started Pettigrew, going right for it. “I’ve been hearing that I have a problem with my XO, so I wanted to ask you—is it true?”

“And who’s telling you that, sir, if I may ask?”

“Honestly, lots of people, and you didn’t answer the question.”

“Commander Adams, no doubt,” remarked Knox under his breath, but loud enough for the captain to catch it.

“Actually, she’s said very little. She did come to me the other day about that business with the fire team drills.”

“Captain, I can explain…” Knox was cut off as Pettigrew raised his open hand in a ‘stop’ gesture.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Commander,” the captain pointed out with an edge to his voice. “Let’s try a simpler question. Why did you become an officer in the Union Space Force?”

“Sir?” asked a surprised Knox.

Pettigrew’s tenor seemed to lighten, ever so slightly. “Seriously, why did you apply to the Academy?”

Knox rose to pour himself a mug of coffee. The caffeine at this late hour wouldn’t matter much now. After this encounter, he probably wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight anyway.

“Well,” he began, sitting back down, “I’d have to say my father.”

“So, your father wanted you to become a space force officer?”

Knox looked at him oddly. “Sir, do you know who my father was?”

Pettigrew became testy. “I really don’t care how rich, or well-connected your family is, Mr. Knox.”