Cast Adrift, #1, page 3
“Good,” the alien said. “And ...”
Thomas glanced up as the proximity display flashed another alert. A gravimetric distortion had appeared out of nowhere, a bare three kilometres from their position. He let out a sigh of relief as the distortion became a crossroads, which opened to reveal a warcruiser. The giant warship glided into realspace, its sensors already searching for targets. The Vultek ship didn’t move, but Thomas liked to think he saw it jump. Warcruisers were the most powerful warships in the known galaxy. The Alphans would have no trouble blowing the Vultek ship out of space if they so much as looked at them funny.
“They’re ordering the Vulteks to leave,” Sarah said. She let out a sound that was half-giggle, half-sob. “That was really too close.”
Thomas nodded, watching as the Vulteks reversed course and headed straight for the nearest crossroads. They didn’t have the technology to create their own, not yet. The Alphans were the only race known to possess such technology, although Thomas wouldn’t have cared to bet the other Galactics didn’t have it. The technology offered too many advantages to whoever held it.
“Reverse course,” he ordered, firmly. “We’ll pass through Gammon, then head home.”
Sarah gave him a sharp look. “And you don’t think we should head home now?”
“I think we have weapons to sell,” Thomas said. “And we need to know what’s happening on the surface.”
And see who’s really in control of the system, he thought, grimly. He understood his wife’s point. They’d pushed their luck dangerously close to the limits. But they also needed to find out what was actually going on. If the Vulteks landed a major ground force, digging them out might take a full-scale war.
“Aye, sir,” Sarah said. They were going to have a screaming match as soon as they were alone. Thomas was sure of it. “We’ll enter orbit in five hours.”
“Keep monitoring local space,” Thomas ordered. He didn’t relax. He wouldn’t until they had completed their mission and left the system safely behind. “I want to know the moment the Vulteks show up again.”
He sucked in his breath. The Vulteks weren’t stupid enough to pit an outdated light cruiser against a warcruiser, but they wouldn’t like being told to leave at gunpoint. They might assemble their fleet, if they had a fleet within the system, and gamble the Alphans wouldn’t want to start another war. Or try something, hoping their patrons would come to their aid if things got out of hand. The crisis might have only just begun.
His eyes slipped to the display. The warcruiser was moving ahead of then, gracefully displaying her power - and her masters’ resolve - to the entire system. He felt a sudden stab of envy that surprised him with its intensity. Humanity had advanced far in the last five hundred years, learning from its masters and even improving - in some respects - on their technology. But they didn’t have anything to match the warcruiser. The ship was so advanced that she had been designed for aesthetics, not practicality. There was no way anyone could mistake her for a human ship.
Wesley had the same thought. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Thomas agreed. He’d seen the recordings. And read the secret files, the ones that officially didn’t exist. The fact the EDF kept a wary eye on humanity’s masters, as well as its enemies, was a closely-guarded secret. “But she also took five years from her builders laying down her spine to her crew activating the ship’s drives and deploying her for the first time.”
And if the Alphans hadn’t had us fighting by their side, he added silently, they might just have lost the last war.
Chapter Two
EDS Washington, Earth Orbit
Commander Naomi Yagami braced herself, then carefully removed the rank badge from her sleeve before stepping into the next compartment. A handful of crewmen stared up at her in shock, their expressions caught in a frozen rictus of alarm, guilt and anger. Naomi stared back at them evenly, keeping her face under tight control. The crewmen were already on the verge of crossing the line. A single show of weakness might encourage them to mutiny. And it would end badly. The Earth Defence Force’s commanders wouldn’t hesitate to fire on a mutinous ship. Naomi was all too aware the marines were already primed and ready to intervene if - when - the shit hit the fan.
She allowed her eyes to sweep the compartment as the hatch closed behind her. Twelve crewmen were hastily scrambling to their feet, snapping salutes that were distressingly sloppy. Senior Chief Nigel Thompson appeared to be in charge, although it was hard to be sure. The pre-war military structure had broken down under the stress of war, allowing a degree of social mobility that would have been unacceptable in peacetime. Thompson was tough, but was he tough enough to impose himself on his fellows? Crewmen Harris Pettigrew and Isabel Ruthven were a little more surprising, particularly the latter. Naomi happened to know she’d been earmarked for officer rank, if she was willing to become a mustang. She’d shown promise in the last two years.
“I trust,” she said calmly, “that you were not actually discussing mutiny.”
Pettigrew spoke first, quickly. “Merely airing our grievances, Commander.”
“Indeed?” Naomi looked from face to face, wondering if they were willing to cross the line. “And what would those grievances be?”
Thompson shot Pettigrew a nasty look. “Commander, with all due respect, is there any point in discussing our grievances?”
“I am the executive officer of this ship,” Naomi said, coolly. She squatted, resting her hands on her knees. “And crewmen, as has long been established, have the right to bring their grievances to me.”
She waited, wondering if they’d see the out she was offering them. They could air their grievances to her, without fear of punishment. They didn’t have to hold a secret meeting that might get them in real trouble, let alone do something that certainly would. But ... too much had happened, during the war and afterwards, for the lower ranks to have any real faith in officialdom. She might be trustworthy. The Empire’s bureaucracy was anything but.
Thompson leaned forward. “Commander, we were promised shore leave immediately after the war,” he said. “Proper shore leave, not a couple of days in a seedy spaceport strip. It’s been two years since the promise and we haven’t had our shore leave!”
“I was told my enlistment would end with the war,” Pettigrew said. “And I can’t even leave this ship! My job won’t wait for me much longer!”
Naomi winced, inwardly. Pettigrew - and thousands like him - had been yanked out of his pre-war job and involuntarily conscripted into the navy. The EDF had needed the manpower desperately, and it had the legal authority to draft whoever it needed, but it couldn’t be denied that the impressments had caused all sorts of problems. Pettigrew’s growing resentment was actually the least of them. Naomi had heard there were skilled manpower shortages all over the system. She’d even heard suggestions the human-owned and -operated industries were being deliberately starved of manpower, just to allow the alien-owned combines to compete on even terms.
“My brother says he’ll have to find someone else if I don’t rejoin him soon,” Pettigrew said. He shot her a challenging look. “Why shouldn’t I desert?”
“Because you’ll be arrested and dumped on Liberty without anyone bothering to court-martial you,” Naomi said, dryly. “You might have a point, crewman, but that point will be lost if you commit an offense against good order.”
“And the peacocks aren’t helping,” Isabel said. “That prick upstairs ...”
“Don’t insult the captain in front of me,” Naomi said sharply, cutting the younger woman off before she could say something dangerous. Everyone knew the bulkheads had ears. The Alphans didn’t have a concept of privacy and didn’t expect their human subjects to have one either. “If you have a valid complaint, make it.”
“We’re fed up,” Thompson said, glaring at Isabel. “Commander, we didn’t sign up for the long haul. We knew we’d be retained if war broke out, and it did, but the war is over now. We should be discharged ...”
“Or given shore leave, at the very least,” Isabel put in. “Commander, we’re worn down as well as fed up. It’s only a matter of time before someone makes a deadly mistake and blows the entire ship to atoms.”
Naomi nodded, keeping her face expressionless. The hell of it was that they had a point. The crew had been retained, even after the war. And there had been no shore leave ... there hadn’t even been any hazard pay. The bureaucrats hadn’t bothered to think, as always, before they ordered the navy to retain its people. They could have solved half the problems if they’d bothered to exercise their brains and realise that discontent would spread rapidly. Or simply offered extra pay to anyone willing to stay. In these times, the navy was actually a pretty good employer.
“We’re orbiting Earth, not some godforsaken outpost along the border,” Pettigrew snapped. “They could easily give us a couple of weeks off before we resume our patrol!”
“Yes, they could,” Naomi said, although she wasn’t so sure. The official newscasts from Earth were rosy, but she’d heard - through the grapevine - that the security system was deteriorating rapidly. Too many people had suddenly found themselves out of work, too many people had suddenly found themselves desperately short of money ... too many politicians were trying to make hay while the fields burned down. “And I will suggest as much to the captain.”
“That peacock,” Isabel snapped. “Commander ...”
Thompson elbowed her, hard. Naomi gritted her teeth and pretended not to notice. The captain wouldn’t understand the context, if he heard a junior crewman had insulted him. He’d want Isabel flogged ... Naomi wondered, grimly, if she could convince the captain that discharging the younger woman would be a suitable punishment. She’d never liked the idea of flogging a grown adult. She would do everything she could to ensure it didn’t happen.
“The captain will take your words under advertisement,” she said. “For the moment ...”
She looked from face to face, trying to gauge how serious they were about causing real trouble. Thompson and Pettigrew wanted out. Isabel ... Naomi wasn’t so sure about Isabel. The younger woman had potential, but she’d come very close to saying something she couldn’t take back. The others ... she frowned as she noticed the Humanity League literature someone had tried to hide at the back of the compartment. That was, technically, banned onboard ship. Legally, she should confiscate it and arrest whoever had brought it onto the cruiser. Practically, there was no point. Political messages spread, whatever the captain and his superiors said. She’d just make an ass of herself if she tried to stop the message and failed.
“For the moment, I want you to remember that times are not easy for anyone,” she continued. “I know, it doesn’t feel that way. I know, you’re thinking how unfair life has been to you over the last two weeks. But we are doing the best we can.”
“Even a few days off-ship would be good,” Thompson said, shortly.
“I’ll do what I can,” Naomi said. She hardened her voice. “And until then, it would make my life a great deal easier if you refrained from holding secretive meetings. Understand?”
“Yes, Commander,” Thompson said.
Naomi concealed her relief as she stood, brushed down her uniform and strode out of the compartment without looking back. They were discontented, but they weren’t mutinous. Not yet. It would take something - an incident of some kind, she thought - to turn them to outright mutiny. Thompson wasn’t stupid. He’d been in the navy long enough to know that mutiny would lead to total disaster. Even if they took the ship, where would they go? There was no way they could get down to Earth with the EDF and the Alphan Picket Squadron bearing down on them.
She kept her back ramrod straight until she reached Officer Country and stepped into her cabin, where she allowed herself to sag and wipe the sweat from her brow. Thompson wasn’t the only one to feel the crew was being worked to death. She’d had to break up a dozen fights over the last two months, then issue sharp reprimands to enterprising spacers who’d decided to supplement their wages by selling moonshine. It wouldn’t have been a problem if crewmen hadn’t started reporting for duty while drunk. She’d had no end of trouble trying to write creative explanations into the logbook ...
I guess I’m lucky the captain doesn’t bother to follow the log, she mused, as she walked into the washroom and splashed cold water on her face. I’d be in real trouble if someone more intelligent was posted here.
She shook her head, suddenly feeling very tired. Things had been better, before the war. The peacocks - the Alphan officers appointed to the EDF - had been intelligent, capable and very driven, quick to respect their human subordinates. They spoke English, they often studied human history and they treated humans as close to equal. But the war had drawn those officers back to the Alphan Navy, their slots filled with stodgy oxygen thieves who didn’t have a gram of imagination between them. She supposed she was lucky. Her CO was merely lazy and disconnected. She’d heard there were others who were sadistic, cruel and generally unpleasant.
Her lips quirked as she lifted her head and stared into the mirror. Green eyes, short red hair and a pale complexion stared back. She’d had boyfriends who’d told her she was pretty, once upon a time, but now there were dark shadows around her eyes and her face was set in a permanently displeased expression. Thompson was right. Everyone needed shore leave. She understood, better than she cared to admit, why otherwise loyal officers and crew might be considering desertion. They were coming to the end of their rope.
She walked back into the main cabin, poured a cup of coffee and drank it slowly. Navy coffee was universally foul, she’d found in a lifetime of service, but it did keep her awake. She wasn’t getting anything like enough sleep. She wasn’t even getting a few hours of rest and relaxation. She finished her coffee, put the mug aside and surveyed her tiny metal box. The bulkheads looked to be looming closer. She knew it was an illusion - the bulkheads were older than her great-grandfather - but it was alarmingly persistent. She’d been in the cabin too long.
The intercom bleeped. “Commander,” Captain Nobunaga said. “Report to my office at once.”
“Yes, Captain,” Naomi said. “I’m on my way.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror - Captain Nobunaga had a habit of reprimanding officers for their uniforms, while ignoring or overlooking more serious issues - then strode from the cabin and up to the captain’s office. It should have been right next to the bridge, but Captain Nobunaga had insisted on occupying the room next to his suite and converting it into his workplace. Naomi wasn’t sure what the Alphan did all day. She was his XO, true, but she seemed to be doing half his duties as well as her own. He certainly wasn’t socialising with the crew, even his servants. Perhaps he had a sexbot in his cabin. She smirked at the thought, then schooled her expression into calm impassivity. Captain Nobunaga had never learnt to read human faces, but there was no point in taking risks.
The marine on duty outside the office ran a scanner over her body, then opened the hatch and motioned for her to enter. Naomi nodded her thanks as she stepped into the warm chamber, feeling her skin prickle as dry air washed over her face. The Alphan homeworld was hotter and drier than Earth, although they had no trouble coping with colder temperatures. Captain Nobunaga had tried to insist the entire ship be matched to his homeworld, but someone higher up the chain - Naomi had no idea who - had had a word with him and he’d dropped the request. Naomi wished she knew who to thank. The crew would have crossed the line into open mutiny if they were sweating as well as everything else.
“Captain,” she said, lowering her eyes and dropping to her knees, sinking into the posture of respect. “You summoned me?”
She felt an odd little chill run down her spine as Captain Nobunaga studied her thoughtfully. She was no xenophobe - she’d served on a dozen multiracial and multicultural starships and stations - but the Alphans had always worried her. Perhaps it was just the simple fact that their slightest wish was everyone else’s sternest command. They ruled a vast swathe of the known universe and never let anyone forget it. A word from Captain Nobunaga could propel her career into orbit or send her crashing down to Earth - or Liberty.
He was unusually short for an Alphan, but still taller than she was. He wore a simple harness and pants, decorated in a style that marked him as outrageously rich and well-connected even by Galactic standards. Naomi had a private suspicion he was actually the black sheep of the family, as his connections should have been more than enough to enter the Alphan Navy at a very high level. Or so she’d been told. Family relationships among the Alphans were hideously complex. It was possible he was actually quite poor by their standards, but - as long as he was well away from Capital - he could pretend to be rich.
“Commander,” Captain Nobunaga said. “You may rise.”
Naomi stood, carefully staring at his leathery neck. Direct eye contact was rude amongst the Alphans, unless one was addressing a social equal. And, no matter her rank, Captain Nobunaga would never see her as an equal. He would never invite her to join his social network, he would never socialise with her ... he would never do anything for her, unless it benefited him in some way.
“The Viceroy is returning to Earth next week,” Captain Nobunaga said, as if he expected her to know the Viceroy had left Earth. “We will be part of his reception committee.”
“Yes, sir,” Naomi said.
“You will see to it that the hull is clean and shiny,” Captain Nobunaga said. “And painted in my colours, of course.”
“Of course,” Naomi echoed. The Viceroy wouldn’t notice, unless he deigned to inspect Washington personally, but Captain Nobunaga wouldn’t thank her for pointing it out. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
“Very good,” Captain Nobunaga said. “Dismissed.”
Naomi bent into the posture of respect. “If I may, My Captain ...?”
Captain Nobunaga sounded displeased. “You may.”
