The Last Hunter, page 3
Only when the flow of people had reestablished itself did he speak. “Forgive my bluntness, but who are you and what do you want?”
“My name is Doctor Alan Prescott, and I head the Locust War Historical Society. I find myself in need of a senior Navy officer, and I think you might be that man. Are you in such a hurry to get out of the Navy that you don’t want to at least hear what I have to say?”
Jack stood there, flabbergasted. He’d heard of the LWHS, of course. They operated all of the historical displays about the Locust War in the Confederation and maintained the Delta Orionis Museum. What he didn’t understand was why they needed a Navy officer. Or, more specifically, him, since this encounter seemed planned.
But the man was right about him being in a hurry to get out of the Navy. So what did it hurt to hear him out? Jack doubted very seriously that Prescott actually had the authority to countermand the orders in his dreaded red folder, but his schedule was open.
“I do happen to find myself with a little bit of free time on my hands,” Jack admitted. “Where would you like to go to make your pitch? Someplace that has sandwiches, I hope. Lunch was a long time ago, and I’m starving.”
3
Prescott led Jack deeper into the bowels of the station than he’d ever gone before. All of his past visits had either been to receive briefings as part of a task force or as a junior officer on his way from one ship to another.
Oh, there’d been times where he’d been sent to the supply depot to try to bully parts out of recalcitrant supply clerks, but those had been few and far between. That kind of thing was generally best left in the hands of experienced noncommissioned personnel. Those guys knew how to talk to one another.
If an officer tried to intimidate a supply clerk, odds were good that the clerk would just dig in their heels. They weren’t in the same chain of command, and you couldn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to.
Jack was tempted to ask Prescott where they were going but decided that it really didn’t matter. Instead, he played tourist and gawked at the parts of the station he’d never seen before.
Not that they were shining examples of the very best that humanity could offer. It was kind of the opposite, actually. The farther off the beaten path they got, the dingier the corridors became and the dimmer the lighting got.
The people around them remained civilians, but it was obvious that they were not well-to-do. Their clothes were shabbier than he’d seen in the main corridors, and they seemed a bit more… furtive.
He was about to ask the other man what the hell was going on when they turned into what certainly looked like a mom-and-pop restaurant. Or maybe restaurant was too grand a word.
A haggard-looking yet cheerful middle-aged man behind the counter waved at them and gestured toward an open table. The place was packed, and everyone was talking as they ate. The difference from outside made it seem like walking into a completely different environment.
Prescott waved cheerfully at the man and snagged two menus from a pile on the counter, then he gestured for Jack to sit and joined him. “It’s going to take them a couple of minutes to get to us, so you’ve got plenty of time to peruse the menu. Let me give you some friendly advice up front. If they recommend the chili, I’d try something else. It’s a trap.
“Don’t get me wrong, their chili is excellent, but it’s extremely spicy. Unless you’re a connoisseur of that kind of thing, pick something more pedestrian. The sandwiches are first-rate, as are the burgers on most days.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at the man. “It sounds like you’re here enough to know the ropes.”
“When you have a limited budget, you learn where to go. After they get to know you here, they don’t try to overcharge you or steer you into something that will be… gastronomically problematic. And before you ask, they prefer a certain type of clientele. Senior Navy officers aren’t typically among them. They’ve got their reasons, but that’s not really relevant to why we’re here, is it?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack said as he skimmed his menu. “I thought I knew everything there was to know about the Confederation Navy, but it seems I was wrong. There’s a dark side that I never dreamed existed. Somehow, I suspect this place is part of that.”
Prescott considered his words and slowly nodded. “In a way, I suppose that’s possible. I don’t know what you’re referring to, but this kind of thing is collateral damage from the rot that’s taking place.”
Before Jack could answer, a young man in a stained white apron holding a half-used pad of paper and an old-fashioned pencil stepped up to the table. He smiled at Prescott and inclined his head toward Jack.
“Welcome to O’Shaughnessy’s. What can I get you and your guest, Professor?”
“I think I’ll take the chili, Gary. I’m feeling adventurous. Make sure to include plenty of that amazing bread of yours to help take the sting out of my questionable life choices. And whatever beer you have on tap will do.”
Prescott lifted his chin in Jack’s direction. “And this is my potential associate, Jack Romanoff. He’s had a really bad day, so I’m going to ask that you go easy on him as a personal favor to me.”
The waiter nodded, his eyes flicking to the red folder that Jack had set on the table. “Anything for you, Professor. I’ll be your personal Sherpa today, Captain Romanoff. You tell me what kind of food you want, and I’ll make sure there are no unpleasant surprises.”
“Do you have many unpleasant surprises here?”
The waiter spread his hands slightly. “You’ve got to think of eating at O’Shaughnessy’s as kind of like an adventure. Depending on the day, you can never really be sure what you’re getting. It’s kind of like that whole mystery meat thing. We do the best we can with what we have, but you pay your money and take your chances.”
Jack wasn’t sure he agreed with a food lottery, but he gestured for the man to continue.
“Because the professor has been a good friend to me and my boss over the years, and he’s asked nicely, I’m going to do you a solid and steer you in the right direction.
“Are you a fan of burgers? We got some fresh Faustian beef in this morning. I recommend an extra-thick burger cooked up just the way you like it. Any of the fixings are yours for the taking.”
“Such as?”
“We’ve got half a dozen kinds of cheese, all the way from plain to spicy, some excellent mustards, though some of them might be just a little hot. The lettuce is passable today, but I’d stay away from the tomatoes. As for sides, you can’t go wrong with fries. You tell me how you want them, and I’ll make the magic happen.”
Jack set the menu down and nodded. “I’ll take a burger, nice and thick, cooked medium with a slice of something that’ll go well with the bread and meat. Add some medium mustard and some lettuce. Top it off with some crisp fries and whatever beer the professor is having.”
“You got it.” The young man scribbled on his notepad for a moment, smiled at them both, and then headed back toward the kitchen.
Jack turned his attention back to Prescott. “So why would an officer in the Confederation Navy be taking his life in his hands coming to a restaurant aboard headquarters? I don’t get it.”
Prescott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose the changes started seven or eight years ago. Do you keep an eye on the Confederation budget, by chance? No? Well, there were deep cuts for the Navy about that time. A number of ships were released from service, and the senior admiral here began looking for ways to save money.
“There is always a certain level of graft in the military. Perhaps you haven’t encountered it, but it’s always been there. That was the time it really gained a foothold here.
“There are certain organizations in the civilian world that want more access to the military side of things, and they’re willing to pay to get it. Such partnerships help the admiral alleviate some of the aforementioned budget shortfalls but come with deleterious side effects.”
The older man sighed and shook his head. “The problem is that the new players cut corners because they’re not here to lose money. That means that these organizations can coerce people into jobs to pay off debts that they have. That brings them here and makes them dependent on their bosses.
“I’m afraid that headquarters has turned into a company town. Prices for even the most basic things are high for these people, which keeps them trapped. You see, they’re responsible for paying their own room and board.”
Jack opened his mouth to argue but realized he really had no idea what went on aboard this station. This could very well have been going on for years, and he just hadn’t realized it. The commanding officer of a ship of war was somewhat insulated, it seemed.
He’d heard about company towns in history lessons. Slavery by another name. If that was really the case here, he didn’t know who the hell the Navy was anymore. How could something like that have been allowed to happen?
The server returned with two mugs of beer and set them down before heading off to serve another table. Jack sampled the beer tentatively and found it passable. Certainly not the best that he’d ever had, but not the worst by far.
“So, the young man called you professor. You call yourself doctor. Which is it?”
“Both, actually. I taught on Faust for many years before I accepted the position I currently hold. I never had the pleasure of being one of Gary’s teachers, but he must’ve heard somebody talking about my time at the university. My background is in xenoarchaeology.
“I suppose the most accurate title for me at this point would be director, though I’m loathe to use it. I discovered about ten years ago that if you complain about something strenuously enough—and for long enough—the powers that be will offer you the opportunity to fix it. In case you’re wondering, that can be far less satisfying than one might imagine.”
Jack had had his own share of similar disappointments, so he could sympathize.
“I was displeased at the amount of research being done into the Locusts and the Locust War—basically none—and railing about the fact that they lacked a director for the Locust War Historical Society with the qualifications to actually perform that necessary work,” Prescott said. “The Locusts were the product of an alien civilization—something the Confederation has never found other signs of—and it’s inexcusable that we aren’t learning everything we can from what the war left us to study.
“I became such a thorn in the side of the Confederation Council that they offered me the directorship of the LWHS. Like a credulous fool, I accepted, and here we are.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “If you got exactly what you wanted, why does that make you a fool?”
Prescott inclined his beer toward Jack. “Beware of what you ask for, young man. If you’re damned unlucky, you might just get it in full measure. I now hold the position to do the job, but I don’t have the budget to do the work, so I’m trapped in much the same way your admiral is. Oh, I’ve found more palatable ways to close the budget gap, but making me the director of the LWHS was an excellent way to stop my complaints because now my reports vanish into some dark hole where I’d wager no one ever reads them.
“In fact, considering some of the outrageous claims I’ve made over the years without hearing a peep in response, I’m certain of it.”
“You’re not doing the best job of convincing me to come work for you.”
Prescott chuckled. “There’s some truth to that, I’ll admit. Nevertheless, we each find ourselves with an opportunity at hand. I believe that you should hear me out before making a final decision.”
The server returned bearing a tray with their food. He set a bowl of steaming chili in front of Prescott and placed a platter of what looked like homemade bread beside it.
Jack got a burger that looked delicious. He picked it up, took a bite, and was pleased with the texture of the bread and the taste of the meat. It might not have been the best burger he’d ever eaten, but it certainly ranked up there. The fries were crisp on the outside and tender in the middle, just the way he liked them.
Jack gave the server a thumbs-up, and the man smiled as he headed off to look after someone else.
The men dug into their food rather than continue their conversation. Jack watched perspiration break out on Prescott’s forehead as he ate the chili. It had to be significantly spicier than a run-of-the-mill mixture.
It took them about twenty minutes to finish their meal, and Jack was still enjoying his fries when Prescott set his bowl aside and drank the last of his beer.
“I’ll just lay my offer out for you,” Prescott said after wiping his mouth with his napkin. “The LWHS manages all of the museums across the Confederation that deal with the Locust War. Our biggest attraction is, of course, the Delta Orionis Museum. Have you ever visited?”
“When I was a kid,” Jack said with a nod. “And we flew by her on the way in just a few hours ago. She’s quite the sight.”
“Did you know that she’s still assigned to the Confederation Navy? Her status is mothballed, but she hasn’t been decommissioned.”
Jack blinked. “I hadn’t realized that. So that means there has to be a Navy crew over there somewhere, right?”
“Of a sort. Not nearly enough people to do the work that needs doing, and they have issues that occasionally need to be dealt with, but we do have a small cadre of Navy officers and crew. And that’s actually where I hope you come into the picture.
“You see, the old battleships—all of them—are technically mothballed and subject to recall. That’s very unlikely to happen considering the condition the ships are in, I suspect, but the battleship division is meant to be under the authority of a senior Navy officer.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “I’ll assume from your tone that that hasn’t been the case.”
“There hasn’t been a senior officer assigned to command the battleship division in over a hundred and thirty years,” Prescott said with a sigh. “The Navy decided back when they were mothballed that they could get by with a commodore.
“Over time, the rank of the senior officer has notched slowly downward until, at this point, the senior Navy officer assigned to oversee all the ships is a lieutenant. Not that she sees to any of the ships other than Hunter.”
Jack took a moment to drink the last of his beer, then set the mug back on the table and considered the other man. “Hunter?”
“The war crew called her that. Delta Orionis is a star in Orion the Hunter’s belt, as seen from Earth. It’s also the name of the class of battleships. Nicknames for warships were common back then. Has that changed?”
“I suppose it has,” Jack admitted. “I don’t know of any modern ships with nicknames one would actually want to share. Perhaps I’m missing something, but the Navy still assigns the officers in question to this post, don’t they?”
Prescott nodded. “They do, and you can rest assured that they have assigned people who don’t fit well into other organizations, if you know what I mean. Working with them requires some mental gymnastics, but we mostly manage.”
“I’ll bet. You know the admiral won’t waste the money for a captain’s salary on that kind of position. She’s already sent me to out-processing, so I don’t imagine that she’ll change her mind. If anything, she’ll be looking for someone to buy that commission.”
“Did you know that that sort of thing used to be common in some militaries back on pre-spaceflight Earth?” Prescott asked with a professorial air. “Unlike today, those who bought their commissions were required to outfit their new units and gained political power from that service. Now? Well, it’s more graft than anything else.
“In any case, I suppose it’s a good thing that we don’t need to discuss the matter with her. You see, the billet for the division’s commanding officer was provided for when the ships were mothballed. That worthy reports directly to the grand admiral, not Vice Admiral LaChasse.”
The older man smiled more than a bit smugly. “I suppose that would be something of a shock to the current grand admiral since there hasn’t been anyone in that position for longer than he’s been alive. But if one looks at the organizational chart’s footnotes, the position is there.
“Here’s a free tip that I learned as an educator. No one ever reads the footnotes. You can put outrageous things into them with impunity.”
Jack tipped his chair back slightly. “Someone would have to cut orders for me to take over that position, and I assure you that Admiral LaChasse wouldn’t be willing to do it. As the grand admiral wouldn’t know me from Adam, exactly how would this work?”
“As you’ve probably already guessed, that’s where your father comes in. As a former grand admiral, he has a lot of connections inside the organization. Because of the many presentations I gave the Navy about the Locusts over the last twenty years, he must have become somewhat familiar with me, and we spoke at length about my problems.
“I wouldn’t say he believes everything I’ve been warning them about, but he was open to the idea that my suspicions should be investigated further. Before his retirement, he issued orders to fill the open slot to help me get to the bottom of everything.”
Jack was somewhat surprised to hear that his father had been so accommodating. He’d never found the man to be that way.
“Rather than pushing them through the chain of command,” Prescott continued, “he delivered them directly to me. You see, that was his condition for assisting me. When the time came that you were going to be cashiered from the service—that was his opinion of what would happen, and sadly, it proved correct—I was to bring the offer to you, and only you.
“Do you see my predicament? I have to convince you to help me, or all of that preparatory work will have been for nothing.”
Jack sighed. Of course his father had expected him to fail. He seemingly always did.
He opened his mouth to object that his father hadn’t been grand admiral for five years, so any orders he issued couldn’t be valid, but then he closed it again. His father was a devious man, so he’d undoubtedly have thought of a way around that limitation.
“My name is Doctor Alan Prescott, and I head the Locust War Historical Society. I find myself in need of a senior Navy officer, and I think you might be that man. Are you in such a hurry to get out of the Navy that you don’t want to at least hear what I have to say?”
Jack stood there, flabbergasted. He’d heard of the LWHS, of course. They operated all of the historical displays about the Locust War in the Confederation and maintained the Delta Orionis Museum. What he didn’t understand was why they needed a Navy officer. Or, more specifically, him, since this encounter seemed planned.
But the man was right about him being in a hurry to get out of the Navy. So what did it hurt to hear him out? Jack doubted very seriously that Prescott actually had the authority to countermand the orders in his dreaded red folder, but his schedule was open.
“I do happen to find myself with a little bit of free time on my hands,” Jack admitted. “Where would you like to go to make your pitch? Someplace that has sandwiches, I hope. Lunch was a long time ago, and I’m starving.”
3
Prescott led Jack deeper into the bowels of the station than he’d ever gone before. All of his past visits had either been to receive briefings as part of a task force or as a junior officer on his way from one ship to another.
Oh, there’d been times where he’d been sent to the supply depot to try to bully parts out of recalcitrant supply clerks, but those had been few and far between. That kind of thing was generally best left in the hands of experienced noncommissioned personnel. Those guys knew how to talk to one another.
If an officer tried to intimidate a supply clerk, odds were good that the clerk would just dig in their heels. They weren’t in the same chain of command, and you couldn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to.
Jack was tempted to ask Prescott where they were going but decided that it really didn’t matter. Instead, he played tourist and gawked at the parts of the station he’d never seen before.
Not that they were shining examples of the very best that humanity could offer. It was kind of the opposite, actually. The farther off the beaten path they got, the dingier the corridors became and the dimmer the lighting got.
The people around them remained civilians, but it was obvious that they were not well-to-do. Their clothes were shabbier than he’d seen in the main corridors, and they seemed a bit more… furtive.
He was about to ask the other man what the hell was going on when they turned into what certainly looked like a mom-and-pop restaurant. Or maybe restaurant was too grand a word.
A haggard-looking yet cheerful middle-aged man behind the counter waved at them and gestured toward an open table. The place was packed, and everyone was talking as they ate. The difference from outside made it seem like walking into a completely different environment.
Prescott waved cheerfully at the man and snagged two menus from a pile on the counter, then he gestured for Jack to sit and joined him. “It’s going to take them a couple of minutes to get to us, so you’ve got plenty of time to peruse the menu. Let me give you some friendly advice up front. If they recommend the chili, I’d try something else. It’s a trap.
“Don’t get me wrong, their chili is excellent, but it’s extremely spicy. Unless you’re a connoisseur of that kind of thing, pick something more pedestrian. The sandwiches are first-rate, as are the burgers on most days.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at the man. “It sounds like you’re here enough to know the ropes.”
“When you have a limited budget, you learn where to go. After they get to know you here, they don’t try to overcharge you or steer you into something that will be… gastronomically problematic. And before you ask, they prefer a certain type of clientele. Senior Navy officers aren’t typically among them. They’ve got their reasons, but that’s not really relevant to why we’re here, is it?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack said as he skimmed his menu. “I thought I knew everything there was to know about the Confederation Navy, but it seems I was wrong. There’s a dark side that I never dreamed existed. Somehow, I suspect this place is part of that.”
Prescott considered his words and slowly nodded. “In a way, I suppose that’s possible. I don’t know what you’re referring to, but this kind of thing is collateral damage from the rot that’s taking place.”
Before Jack could answer, a young man in a stained white apron holding a half-used pad of paper and an old-fashioned pencil stepped up to the table. He smiled at Prescott and inclined his head toward Jack.
“Welcome to O’Shaughnessy’s. What can I get you and your guest, Professor?”
“I think I’ll take the chili, Gary. I’m feeling adventurous. Make sure to include plenty of that amazing bread of yours to help take the sting out of my questionable life choices. And whatever beer you have on tap will do.”
Prescott lifted his chin in Jack’s direction. “And this is my potential associate, Jack Romanoff. He’s had a really bad day, so I’m going to ask that you go easy on him as a personal favor to me.”
The waiter nodded, his eyes flicking to the red folder that Jack had set on the table. “Anything for you, Professor. I’ll be your personal Sherpa today, Captain Romanoff. You tell me what kind of food you want, and I’ll make sure there are no unpleasant surprises.”
“Do you have many unpleasant surprises here?”
The waiter spread his hands slightly. “You’ve got to think of eating at O’Shaughnessy’s as kind of like an adventure. Depending on the day, you can never really be sure what you’re getting. It’s kind of like that whole mystery meat thing. We do the best we can with what we have, but you pay your money and take your chances.”
Jack wasn’t sure he agreed with a food lottery, but he gestured for the man to continue.
“Because the professor has been a good friend to me and my boss over the years, and he’s asked nicely, I’m going to do you a solid and steer you in the right direction.
“Are you a fan of burgers? We got some fresh Faustian beef in this morning. I recommend an extra-thick burger cooked up just the way you like it. Any of the fixings are yours for the taking.”
“Such as?”
“We’ve got half a dozen kinds of cheese, all the way from plain to spicy, some excellent mustards, though some of them might be just a little hot. The lettuce is passable today, but I’d stay away from the tomatoes. As for sides, you can’t go wrong with fries. You tell me how you want them, and I’ll make the magic happen.”
Jack set the menu down and nodded. “I’ll take a burger, nice and thick, cooked medium with a slice of something that’ll go well with the bread and meat. Add some medium mustard and some lettuce. Top it off with some crisp fries and whatever beer the professor is having.”
“You got it.” The young man scribbled on his notepad for a moment, smiled at them both, and then headed back toward the kitchen.
Jack turned his attention back to Prescott. “So why would an officer in the Confederation Navy be taking his life in his hands coming to a restaurant aboard headquarters? I don’t get it.”
Prescott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose the changes started seven or eight years ago. Do you keep an eye on the Confederation budget, by chance? No? Well, there were deep cuts for the Navy about that time. A number of ships were released from service, and the senior admiral here began looking for ways to save money.
“There is always a certain level of graft in the military. Perhaps you haven’t encountered it, but it’s always been there. That was the time it really gained a foothold here.
“There are certain organizations in the civilian world that want more access to the military side of things, and they’re willing to pay to get it. Such partnerships help the admiral alleviate some of the aforementioned budget shortfalls but come with deleterious side effects.”
The older man sighed and shook his head. “The problem is that the new players cut corners because they’re not here to lose money. That means that these organizations can coerce people into jobs to pay off debts that they have. That brings them here and makes them dependent on their bosses.
“I’m afraid that headquarters has turned into a company town. Prices for even the most basic things are high for these people, which keeps them trapped. You see, they’re responsible for paying their own room and board.”
Jack opened his mouth to argue but realized he really had no idea what went on aboard this station. This could very well have been going on for years, and he just hadn’t realized it. The commanding officer of a ship of war was somewhat insulated, it seemed.
He’d heard about company towns in history lessons. Slavery by another name. If that was really the case here, he didn’t know who the hell the Navy was anymore. How could something like that have been allowed to happen?
The server returned with two mugs of beer and set them down before heading off to serve another table. Jack sampled the beer tentatively and found it passable. Certainly not the best that he’d ever had, but not the worst by far.
“So, the young man called you professor. You call yourself doctor. Which is it?”
“Both, actually. I taught on Faust for many years before I accepted the position I currently hold. I never had the pleasure of being one of Gary’s teachers, but he must’ve heard somebody talking about my time at the university. My background is in xenoarchaeology.
“I suppose the most accurate title for me at this point would be director, though I’m loathe to use it. I discovered about ten years ago that if you complain about something strenuously enough—and for long enough—the powers that be will offer you the opportunity to fix it. In case you’re wondering, that can be far less satisfying than one might imagine.”
Jack had had his own share of similar disappointments, so he could sympathize.
“I was displeased at the amount of research being done into the Locusts and the Locust War—basically none—and railing about the fact that they lacked a director for the Locust War Historical Society with the qualifications to actually perform that necessary work,” Prescott said. “The Locusts were the product of an alien civilization—something the Confederation has never found other signs of—and it’s inexcusable that we aren’t learning everything we can from what the war left us to study.
“I became such a thorn in the side of the Confederation Council that they offered me the directorship of the LWHS. Like a credulous fool, I accepted, and here we are.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “If you got exactly what you wanted, why does that make you a fool?”
Prescott inclined his beer toward Jack. “Beware of what you ask for, young man. If you’re damned unlucky, you might just get it in full measure. I now hold the position to do the job, but I don’t have the budget to do the work, so I’m trapped in much the same way your admiral is. Oh, I’ve found more palatable ways to close the budget gap, but making me the director of the LWHS was an excellent way to stop my complaints because now my reports vanish into some dark hole where I’d wager no one ever reads them.
“In fact, considering some of the outrageous claims I’ve made over the years without hearing a peep in response, I’m certain of it.”
“You’re not doing the best job of convincing me to come work for you.”
Prescott chuckled. “There’s some truth to that, I’ll admit. Nevertheless, we each find ourselves with an opportunity at hand. I believe that you should hear me out before making a final decision.”
The server returned bearing a tray with their food. He set a bowl of steaming chili in front of Prescott and placed a platter of what looked like homemade bread beside it.
Jack got a burger that looked delicious. He picked it up, took a bite, and was pleased with the texture of the bread and the taste of the meat. It might not have been the best burger he’d ever eaten, but it certainly ranked up there. The fries were crisp on the outside and tender in the middle, just the way he liked them.
Jack gave the server a thumbs-up, and the man smiled as he headed off to look after someone else.
The men dug into their food rather than continue their conversation. Jack watched perspiration break out on Prescott’s forehead as he ate the chili. It had to be significantly spicier than a run-of-the-mill mixture.
It took them about twenty minutes to finish their meal, and Jack was still enjoying his fries when Prescott set his bowl aside and drank the last of his beer.
“I’ll just lay my offer out for you,” Prescott said after wiping his mouth with his napkin. “The LWHS manages all of the museums across the Confederation that deal with the Locust War. Our biggest attraction is, of course, the Delta Orionis Museum. Have you ever visited?”
“When I was a kid,” Jack said with a nod. “And we flew by her on the way in just a few hours ago. She’s quite the sight.”
“Did you know that she’s still assigned to the Confederation Navy? Her status is mothballed, but she hasn’t been decommissioned.”
Jack blinked. “I hadn’t realized that. So that means there has to be a Navy crew over there somewhere, right?”
“Of a sort. Not nearly enough people to do the work that needs doing, and they have issues that occasionally need to be dealt with, but we do have a small cadre of Navy officers and crew. And that’s actually where I hope you come into the picture.
“You see, the old battleships—all of them—are technically mothballed and subject to recall. That’s very unlikely to happen considering the condition the ships are in, I suspect, but the battleship division is meant to be under the authority of a senior Navy officer.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “I’ll assume from your tone that that hasn’t been the case.”
“There hasn’t been a senior officer assigned to command the battleship division in over a hundred and thirty years,” Prescott said with a sigh. “The Navy decided back when they were mothballed that they could get by with a commodore.
“Over time, the rank of the senior officer has notched slowly downward until, at this point, the senior Navy officer assigned to oversee all the ships is a lieutenant. Not that she sees to any of the ships other than Hunter.”
Jack took a moment to drink the last of his beer, then set the mug back on the table and considered the other man. “Hunter?”
“The war crew called her that. Delta Orionis is a star in Orion the Hunter’s belt, as seen from Earth. It’s also the name of the class of battleships. Nicknames for warships were common back then. Has that changed?”
“I suppose it has,” Jack admitted. “I don’t know of any modern ships with nicknames one would actually want to share. Perhaps I’m missing something, but the Navy still assigns the officers in question to this post, don’t they?”
Prescott nodded. “They do, and you can rest assured that they have assigned people who don’t fit well into other organizations, if you know what I mean. Working with them requires some mental gymnastics, but we mostly manage.”
“I’ll bet. You know the admiral won’t waste the money for a captain’s salary on that kind of position. She’s already sent me to out-processing, so I don’t imagine that she’ll change her mind. If anything, she’ll be looking for someone to buy that commission.”
“Did you know that that sort of thing used to be common in some militaries back on pre-spaceflight Earth?” Prescott asked with a professorial air. “Unlike today, those who bought their commissions were required to outfit their new units and gained political power from that service. Now? Well, it’s more graft than anything else.
“In any case, I suppose it’s a good thing that we don’t need to discuss the matter with her. You see, the billet for the division’s commanding officer was provided for when the ships were mothballed. That worthy reports directly to the grand admiral, not Vice Admiral LaChasse.”
The older man smiled more than a bit smugly. “I suppose that would be something of a shock to the current grand admiral since there hasn’t been anyone in that position for longer than he’s been alive. But if one looks at the organizational chart’s footnotes, the position is there.
“Here’s a free tip that I learned as an educator. No one ever reads the footnotes. You can put outrageous things into them with impunity.”
Jack tipped his chair back slightly. “Someone would have to cut orders for me to take over that position, and I assure you that Admiral LaChasse wouldn’t be willing to do it. As the grand admiral wouldn’t know me from Adam, exactly how would this work?”
“As you’ve probably already guessed, that’s where your father comes in. As a former grand admiral, he has a lot of connections inside the organization. Because of the many presentations I gave the Navy about the Locusts over the last twenty years, he must have become somewhat familiar with me, and we spoke at length about my problems.
“I wouldn’t say he believes everything I’ve been warning them about, but he was open to the idea that my suspicions should be investigated further. Before his retirement, he issued orders to fill the open slot to help me get to the bottom of everything.”
Jack was somewhat surprised to hear that his father had been so accommodating. He’d never found the man to be that way.
“Rather than pushing them through the chain of command,” Prescott continued, “he delivered them directly to me. You see, that was his condition for assisting me. When the time came that you were going to be cashiered from the service—that was his opinion of what would happen, and sadly, it proved correct—I was to bring the offer to you, and only you.
“Do you see my predicament? I have to convince you to help me, or all of that preparatory work will have been for nothing.”
Jack sighed. Of course his father had expected him to fail. He seemingly always did.
He opened his mouth to object that his father hadn’t been grand admiral for five years, so any orders he issued couldn’t be valid, but then he closed it again. His father was a devious man, so he’d undoubtedly have thought of a way around that limitation.
