The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (15 page)

“Unless you have an urgent need for Howard, I’ll take him back for the moment,” she said.  It was possible that the ensign would view the transfer as a punishment, although it wasn’t really anything of the sort.  Detached duty wouldn't be countered in his favour when the promotions board met.  “In any case, we have to defeat the Druavroks at Malachi or the Grand Alliance will come apart before it’s even fairly begun.”

“Agreed,” Captain Ryman said.  He glanced at his watch, an old clockwork model that looked old enough to predate Contact.  “With your permission, Captain, I’ll beam down to the planet now.  My reports - to you and to the ITA - have already been filed.  Should the Druavroks return ... well, we can at least give a good account of ourselves this time.”

“Try and keep the locals from bombarding the enclaves,” Hoshiko said, as she rose.  “And good luck.”

“I’ll do my best,” Captain Ryman said.  He took her hand and kissed it, lightly.  “And thank you for everything.”

Hoshiko watched him go, then sat down and closed her eyes as she accessed his reports through her implants.  They weren't particularly detailed, but they touched on everything of importance; she smiled, in genuine amusement, when she read the details about what
else
several races wanted the Grand Alliance to do.  A trade deal was one thing, but a semi-united federation of planets was quite another.  The idea was attractive, she had to admit, yet it was a far cry from her original plan.  Perhaps, once the Druavroks were defeated, they could consider a long-term alliance.

She rose and walked to the bridge, taking her command chair as the starship prepared for departure.  The aliens, thankfully, didn't seem to have a problem with being punctual; the fleet status display was showing an endless wall of green icons, with only a handful marked out as yellow for unready and red for disabled.  She checked one of them and discovered that an FTL drive had burned out and repair crews were struggling to get the freighter ready to depart on time.  It looked unlikely they’d be remotely ready to go, but she decided to see if they made it.  The more enthusiastic they were about taking the offensive, the better.

“Captain,” Commander Wilde said, an hour later.  “The fleet is ready to depart.”

Hoshiko nodded, studying the display.  The alien repair crews
had
made it, after all, and the freighter was ready to leave with the rest of the fleet.  She was a heavy freighter, crammed with missile launchers, but Hoshiko had no illusions.   She’d die very quickly if a warship decided to kill her.

But they won’t die for nothing
, she promised herself. 
We’re going to face a genocidal foe
.

“General signal to all ships,” she ordered, coolly.  “Set FTL drives to the correct coordinates, then prepare to jump to FTL.  All ships acknowledge.”

She waited, as patiently as she could, until the final ship had reported in.  The formation would horrify her superiors, let alone the Tokomak, but it would have to do.  Flying so many ships in close formation at FTL speeds would be asking for trouble.  And the gravitational eddies would be so powerful that they couldn't risk getting too close to the target system before they knew what they were facing.  The Druavroks would see them coming and prepare a surprise of their own.

“All ships have acknowledged, Captain,” Wilde said, formally.  “The fleet is ready to depart on your command.”

Hoshiko hesitated.  For better or worse, her every action was being recorded and whatever she said or did would serve as an example to her successors, either as an example of moral judgement or what
not
to do under any circumstances.  She wanted to say something that would resonate down the ages, but she couldn't think of anything that might pass muster. 

“Take us into FTL,” she ordered, instead.

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.  The starship shuddered slightly as she slipped into FTL, followed by the remainder of the fleet.  “We’re on our way.”

“Good,” Hoshiko said.  She glanced at the XO.  “Give the crew a day of reduced duty, then return to the simulations and disaster drills.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.  He had doubts - she
knew
he had doubts - but he wouldn't let them interfere with his duty.  And as long as he didn't, she’d ignore his doubts.  His advice was always good, even if she didn't take it.  “I’ll see to it personally.”

“You have the bridge,” Hoshiko said.  She
needed
a break, if nothing else.  Her XO could handle the ship long enough for her to have a long nap.  “Inform me if anything happens.”

“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.

Chapter Fourteen

Investigative teams in South Africa have confirmed that the white-killing disease is almost certainly man-made and, worse, is very likely to mutate and target non-white/mixed individuals.  It is strongly advised that all people within the danger zone be vaccinated against the virus and, if they wish, take immune boosters.  This virus threatens to spread rapidly
.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

“Well,” Ensign Sandra Higgs said, as she rolled off him.  “I needed that, Tom.”

Thomas smiled, taking a moment to bask in the glow of simple contentment.  Sandra had caught him as he finished his duty shift and invited him, in line with the simple etiquette governing onboard relationships, into the privacy tubes.  Thomas hadn't needed to think before accepting.  It had been too long for him too.

“So did I,” he said.  “You were great.”

Sandra gave him an affectionate look.  “You’re new to shipboard duty, aren't you?”

Thomas nodded.  There was no point in trying to hide it.  He’d been the baby ensign, the lowest commissioned officer on the ship, ever since he’d boarded
Jackie Fisher
before she departed Sol.  It was uncommon to be the baby for longer than a few months, when the next graduating class left the academy, but no one had given him a hard time over it.  There’d just been too much to do for more than a little good-natured hazing.

“Don’t make more of this than it is,” Sandra warned, as she stood.  Her breasts glimmered with sweat as the lights grew brighter.  “I just wanted a little relief and so did you.  We’re too young for a formal romance.”

Thomas smiled, although he felt oddly hurt.  She was right - they were both too young to attempt to start a courtship that would lead to marriage - but it still bothered him.  And yet, in the normal run of things, most shipboard relationships lasted only a few months.  One of the lovers would be transferred or the relationship would simply run its course.  It was absurd to think that Sandra and he would be any different.  She simply wasn't interested in anything other than spending the night with a willing partner.

“I’m not looking to settle down yet,” he said.  Most Solarians married formally in their forties and settled on one of the asteroids to raise children, before going back to work or seeking something completely new.  “I’m not even sure where I want to go.”

Sandra gave him a smile as she stepped into the sonic shower.  “Amstar?  I hear you did well there?”

Thomas considered it.  He’d never thought about a career as a diplomat, although he had to admit that diplomats got to travel from place to place.  It had struck him as boring ... and yet, juggling requirements for a dozen different races had been fun, if complex.  He’d seriously wondered about trying to find a job with the Pan-Gal, if he didn't stay in the navy.  Running a multiracial hotel was one hell of a challenge.

“I’m not sure,” he said, finally.  “I got sent back up here when the squadron left.”

“Detached duty isn’t counted as shipboard duty,” Sandra said, her voice echoing oddly as she turned on the shower and washed the sweat from her body.  “You need at least twelve months as an ensign before you can be considered for promotion, in the normal run of things, but a month or two on detached duty wouldn't count.  And then the promotion board would start asking pointed questions, if you stayed in grade long enough to be considered for an automatic promotion.”

“That’s not fair,” Thomas protested, when he worked it out.  “I could have twelve months of service, but only ten of them would count!”

“Life isn't fair,” Sandra said.  She stuck her head out of the shower and smirked.  “Only a baby ensign would think it
was
.  Would you like me to kiss your ego better?”

“No, thank you,” Thomas said, biting down the rude suggestion he’d wanted to make.  She would probably have refused to have sex with him again.  “But you could tell me how best to outsmart the promotions board.”

“Do something heroic and get promoted,” Sandra said.  She stepped out of the shower, picked up her shipsuit and started to pull it on.  “But I doubt there’s much hope of getting anything other than a provisional promotion before we return home, Tom.  And if you did ...”

Thomas sighed as he sat upright and stood.  They’d been told that, in certain cases, a commanding officer could hand out a provisional promotion, if there was a reason the officer needed the authority of a higher rank.  But such cases were always carefully scrutinised when the starship returned home, just in case favouritism - or worse - had been involved.  The Academy staff had been careful to note, more than once, that provisional promotions were rarely confirmed, let alone counted as time in grade.  It hadn't struck him as fair either, but there had to be limitations on a commander’s authority when the ship was far from home. 

“I need to nip down to my cabin for four hours of sleep before I go back on duty,” Sandra said.  She leaned forward, kissed him on the lips and then stepped back, all professional once again.  “Try not to grin
too
broadly as you walk back to your cabin.”

Thomas flushed, then hurried into the shower and washed himself clean.  When he stepped back outside, Sandra was gone and the automatics were already cleaning the bed and readying it for the next users.  He shook his head, pulled his shipsuit on as fast as he could and checked his implants.  He had seven hours before his next duty shift, which would be well spent sleeping or eating something before he reported to the bridge.  His stomach rumbled as he stepped out of the privacy tube, urging him to head down to the mess to get something to eat.  And then a new icon popped up in front of his eyes, demanding his immediate attention.  The XO wanted a word.

Shit
, Thomas thought.  The message’s time-stamp indicated that it had been sent thirty minutes ago, but - because it hadn't been tagged urgent - it hadn’t reached him while he’d been in the privacy tube.  Unless he invented a time machine in the next ninety seconds, he would have to explain to the XO why he was over thirty minutes late. 
I’m dead
.

Thomas tried to come up with an explanation as he hurried to the XO’s office, but nothing came to mind.  He’d just have to tell the truth and hope the XO didn't do more than assign him a thoroughly unpleasant duty for several weeks.  He should have removed the filters, he told himself angrily, but he hadn’t expected to be dragged into the privacy tube.  There hadn't been any sign Sandra was interested in him ...

He pushed his hand against the buzzer, feeling as if he were going to his own execution.  The hatch hissed open a second later, revealing the XO sitting at his desk.  Thomas braced himself, then strode forward and into the compartment.  The hatch hissed closed behind him, trapping him.  There was no escape.

“You’re late,” the XO said.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  “I was in the privacy tubes.”

The XO gave him a dark look.  “And do you think that’s a good excuse?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said.

He swallowed, hard.  There were all sorts of rumours, nasty rumours, about the old crewmen who’d served in the wet navies before transferring to the Solar Union.  All of a sudden, the stories about them ramming red-hot pokers up the backsides of ensigns who displeased them seemed alarmingly plausible.  Some of them were so old he was tempted to believe they dated all the way back to the age of sail, even though cold logic told him it was unlikely.  The oldest in naval service couldn't have been born long before 1950.

“For the record, I
strongly
suggest you don’t put any filters on your messages, even while you’re in the tubes,” the XO said, dryly.  “Had the meeting been urgent, young man, you would have been in deep shit.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

“As it happens, you may be in deep shit anyway,” the XO said.  “I understand from your Academy records that you know how to fly a Galactic courier boat?”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  “They were trying to attract couriers to transport messages from star to star.”

The XO nodded.  “And why didn't you take a post on one of the boats?”

“Too claustrophobic, sir,” Thomas said.  “The idea of being cooped up with two or three other couriers was too much to handle, even with VR sims and other entertainments.  I didn't think the incentives made up for it.”

“And promotion would be very slow,” the XO said.  “But you know how to handle a courier boat?”

“As long as it’s in working order, sir,” Thomas said.  “An emergency on a courier boat in FTL would be very difficult to handle.”

“It probably would be,” the XO agreed.  He cleared his throat.  “We have a mission for you, Ensign.  You’re not the only person who can fly a courier boat, but you’re the only
expendable
person at our disposal.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  He had to admit that the baby ensign was certainly the least important member of the crew.  Indeed, he’d been so unimportant that he hadn't been offered a billet on one of the alien ships.  “You want me to fly a courier boat?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the XO said.  “We have ten days until we reach our target.  If you accept the assignment, you’ll be taken off the regular duty rota and put to work in the simulators, testing everything before we commit you to the operation.  I should warn you that the prospect for disaster is actually quite high.”

Thomas kept his face impassive as he considered it.  The assignment made little sense, unless there was something he hadn't been told.  The Galactics practically had a
fetish
about protecting courier boats, although the Druavroks might have other ideas.  They might break the rules about not firing on courier boats, but few courier boats would fly right into the teeth of their fire in any case.  Did the XO intend to turn a courier boat into a spy?  It would explain much ...

“I accept the mission, sir,” he said.  If the XO was right, Thomas was the only one who could be spared ... and besides, it might look good in his file.  Turning down the mission, on the other hand, would look very bad indeed.  “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re sending a modified bulk freighter into the system,” the XO said.  He cocked his head, sending a command to the compartment’s processors.  A holographic image of a Galactic bulk freighter, scarred through centuries of faithful service, appeared in front of them.  “The freighter has been slaved to a courier boat that is currently stowed in the lower hold.  You will be piloting that courier boat when the Captain decides she wants to abandon the freighter and leave the system.”

Thomas stared.  “The Captain, sir?”

“She will be in command of the mission,” the XO confirmed.  It was hard to be sure, but he didn't sound happy about it.  “When the time comes, you will abandon the freighter and jump back into FTL.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  It didn't sound
that
hard or dangerous, which suggested there was a nasty sting in the tail somewhere.  “I should be able to do it.”

“See that you can,” the XO said.  “We’re giving you the simulation chamber.  I want a full report on your progress in eight days.  The Captain will be watching with great interest.”

“I understand, sir,” Thomas said.  Inwardly, he was reeling. 
He
was expendable, but the Captain?  She shouldn't be putting herself on the front line.  “I won’t let you down.”

***

Max stopped outside the hatch and hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to enter.  He’d spent the last two days editing the sensory recordings he’d taken during the landing on Amstar, but now he needed interviews to help flesh out the follow-up stories.  None of the marines had responded, save for Hilde, a fact that worried him.  Hilde might well have
orders
to allow him to interview her, orders she was unlikely to
like
.  And while, on one hand, it didn't matter if she liked her orders or not, he knew it wouldn't make her an easy interview subject.

And allow her a chance to sue, later
, he thought, as he pressed the buzzer.  There were quite a few precedents that suggested a senior officer couldn't
order
a junior officer to talk to the press, whatever the situation.  Hilde could easily claim she’d denied permission to have the recordings made public. 
She’d have every chance of winning quite a substantial judgement in her favour later.