Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (9 page)

In
her absence, Ricot felt the entire bridge staring at him, including Chief Brown,
and quickly realized the chief’s astonished expression matched the rest of the
crew’s.  “Lieutenant Skoglund, you have the bridge.  Please assume our place in
the formation.”

Ricot
heard the senior lieutenant’s acknowledgment as he hastily made way for the
bridge doors.

He
did not have far to run; Commander Vernay was standing alone in the corridor
just outside the bridge with her arms folded tight.

“We
must
make every shot count, Sam,” she said in a more measured tone.  She was staring
at the deck.  “I know we can’t protect the sailors in our vanguard and that some
of them are going to die in the pass so we must honor their sacrifice with
solid hits, dammit.  They deserve that much, at least.”

Inwardly,
Ricot relaxed slightly, relieved that his captain had cooled off.  Since her
arrival to
Ajax
a little over three weeks ago, she had started out
docile enough but with combat looming, it seemed as if nothing accomplished
aboard
Ajax
was done fast enough or good enough to the captain’s
liking.  Ricot’s first thought the day he looked upon his new captain after
nearly running her down was, “Aw, she’s adorable.”  He shook his head now at
the snap-judgment.  Sure, Commander Stacy Vernay’s small stature and natural
beauty made her easy to underestimate, but her talent, focus, and experience were
undeniable.  She was an adorable, miniature, unstoppable brawler that pulled no
punches against the crew regardless of how battered they had become.

Ricot
softened his voice and answered, “We’re doing our best, Captain.  None of us
want to let down our fellow sailors or disappoint Captain Heskan.”  The first
part of his sentence contained more emotion in it than the last and it was a
minor, though growing, source of irritation for him.  A month ago, the Seshafian
navy was run by Seshafians and led by, perhaps, the greatest Seshafian admiral
of all time.  Now, although technically Seshafians, Ricot felt as if he,
personally, worked for an outlander while his entire navy was run by yet
another outlander.  He held no prejudices against Hollarans or the Commonwealth
but it was a big adjustment, especially when their differences seemed to
outweigh their similarities.  These new officers’ attitudes, methodologies—even
their peculiar accents, were a constant reminder that the old, cherished
traditions were eroding away with uncertain consequences.

“He
shouldn’t have to die here,” Vernay confided in a whisper meant only for
herself.  “Not in these… this place.  Not after all we’ve been through.”

The
comment poked at Ricot’s patriotism but he tried to offer support.  “Captain, I
know Seshafi and Sade aren’t major systems like Hollara and Honos but we call
them home just like you do now.”

Vernay
finally faced Ricot.  Her blue eyes shimmered.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it
like that.”

Ricot
smiled at his captain.  “I know, ma’am.”  His smile widened a bit more.  “And
who says that people have to die?  These aren’t the bloody battles of attrition
that you had to fight against the ‘Vics.  In fact, Captain Heskan could always
just withdraw the entire
casus bellum
before hostilities commence. 
After all, this has always been just a stalling tactic anyway.”

Ajax’s
captain returned Ricot’s smile, although
there was a tinge of melancholy to her.  “That’s not our way, Sam.”

Ricot
took the final steps to close the distance between them.  “Captain, nobody
feels like they can say this directly to Captain Heskan but there’s a reason we
fight the way we fight.  The Hollaran way may have saved us during the last
battle but if we actually fight Wallace in Sade as heavily outnumbered as we’re
going to be…”  Ricot shook his head as he considered the consequences before looking
back to Vernay.  “Well, Admiral Wallace is a stellar tactician looking for retribution. 
Just one pass could be catastrophic.”

“We
hope these quarters are more than adequate this time, Mr. Fuller,” the petty
officer offered through a smile that was a mixture of hope and frustration.

Chase
Fuller looked around the larger compartment and grunted.  “You call that a
closet?  How am I supposed to cram my wardrobe into that?”

The services
petty officer’s face brightened briefly as she considered where to stuff the
grating media star’s clothing.  “We can offer you additional storage space but,
unfortunately, this is the guest compartment with the most space attached to
it.”

The
command, control and communications ship dedicated nearly half a deck to
hosting the various media members that would cover the skirmishes the ship and
her crew were meant to oversee.  However, the ship was still technically designed
as a combat vessel and engineered toward compartmentalization and
survivability.  Such a layout had regrettable limitations but the events of the
last battle only served to reaffirm the rationale for her warfighting
configuration.  Had a bomb the size of the one that killed Cooke been detonated
inside the bridge of a civilian sloop, the entire ship could have very well
been lost.  Even with the C-3 ship’s robust design, dockworkers had toiled
around the clock to bring it back to life.  While the bridge still lacked the
refinement she formerly enjoyed, her functionality had been restored enough to
perform her job over the coming days.

Fuller
sighed heavily at the restrictions placed upon him.  “War is hell,” he stated
without a trace of irony.  “When will my massage therapist be ready for me?”

The
PO consulted her datapad briefly.  “She’s already waiting for you, Mr. Fuller,
and we’ve been able to acquire the grape you insisted upon.”

The
news that Chase Fuller would not be forced to endure drinking an unsatisfactory
vintage helped reduce his ire.  “Well, that’s something, I suppose.  I want to
be the first one to ask questions when Heskan addresses the media.”

“You’re
in the queue, sir,” the woman stated, intentionally addressing only half of his
concern.

“I
better be
first
in the queue, spaceman!” Fuller insisted while a cruel
smile transformed his expression.  “I want my questions to resonate through the
entire system before he begins negotiations, and I better be seated in the front
row during the pre-battle Q-and-A.  I want to be the last face Garrett Heskan
sees before hostilities commence!”

“Of
course, Mr. Fuller.  I’ll see what can be arranged.”

Fuller
shook his head in exasperation.  He groped furiously for his datapad and
connected to his personal assistant.  “Debbie, this spaceman isn’t working
out.  Get me a new one.”

*  *  *

Heskan’s
Seshafian shocksuit felt familiar, having been based on Federation design, just
like Brevic suits.  He checked each junction of material, ensuring a proper
meld formed between the different parts of the combat uniform.  Starting from his
collar, he inspected every centimeter of his suit for discrepancies.  As his
eyes drew lower, they tripped over the unusual equipment hanging off his right
hip.  While permissible under Brevic regulations, Heskan never carried a
sidearm while suited up.  Seshafian regulations were completely silent in guidance
on the matter and the ship’s armorer initially thought Heskan was joking when
he asked to be issued a P-52A, light semi-automatic pistol.  The 8mm slug-thrower
was small and contained only a seven-round magazine, but the weapon was
exceptionally streamlined and smooth in its operation.  Moreover, it weighed
less than three hundred grams.  Heskan wished there were an even smaller
alternative, feeling ridiculous to be wearing a sidearm on the bridge of his
own ship in the first place.  When he half-heartedly mentioned the idea to
Vernay, he did so knowing she would talk him out of it.  Surprisingly, Vernay
fully endorsed the notion and spent the next hour at Heskan’s side ensuring
there were no Seshafian regulations against it.

He
sighed as his eyes continued to return to the small holster at his hip. 
This
is stupid!
  He annoyingly grappled with the buckle of the belt. 
What
does wearing a gun on the bridge say about my faith in the crew?
  He was
unfastening the buckle when he heard
Dioscuri’s
dive chime from the
corridor. 
Just wear it, Garrett.  You’ve already gone through the
embarrassment of having it issued to you and after a while, people won’t even
notice it.
  A wave of nausea struck at his senses during the second-rate’s
transition into normal space.  When Heskan was able, he refastened the gun-belt’s
buckle.  He thought darkly of Cooke’s final moments. 
Maybe a pistol
wouldn’t have made any difference but I’ll be damned if I leave myself
completely vulnerable to some corporate back-stabber.
  With a resolute nod,
he looked into the mirror. 
You have much bigger things to concern yourself
with today anyway.
  The man in the mirror half-smiled. 
Let’s go wreck
some Saden ships.

Less
than a minute later, Heskan entered the bridge of the Seshafian flagship and
quietly walked to the captain’s chair to relieve Lieutenant Commander Cottineau. 
If Cottineau noticed Heskan’s sidearm on his way to his first officer’s
station, he gave no hint of it.

“We’ve
arrived at the Sade system, Captain.  Confirmed.” 
Dioscuri’s
navigator
reflexively moved her hands toward thruster control.  The Seshafian fleet had
exited the tunnel in good order but there were always minor corrections to be
made in terms of position within the fleet.  Although
Dioscuri
was the
fleet’s flagship and technically always in the proper position, the lieutenant
adjusted the line ship’s heading toward the portion of space the Sadens had
designated as the field of battle for the
casus bellum
.

“Thank
you,” Heskan acknowledged while examining the system plot on the bridge’s main
wall screen.  Wallace’s forces were waiting for them, nearly 20
lm
away on
the far side of the designated battlefield.  The practice of having a
delineated battle zone was foreign to Heskan although he could see the value in
it. 
Civilians can stay clear of the fight,
Heskan thought
, and since
defenders typically choose the location of the battle anyway, it just makes good
business sense.
  As was typical, Wallace chose a vacant stretch of space
roughly 7
lm
out-system from the Seshafi tunnel point.  The expanse was
truly empty with no physical features other than a few atoms per cubic
centimeter.  The only remarkable quality of the region was the considerable
civilian traffic around the 10
lm
containment zone.  He gaped at
Dioscuri’s
wall screen, stupefied by the sheer volume of civilian ships packed along the
outer markers.

“Sixty
years ago, we started marking out our skirmish zones to keep our battles from
leaking into civilian traffic,” Cottineau stated with a voice thick with
sarcasm.  “Today, we mark our zones to keep civilian traffic from leaking into
our battles.”

Seventy-one
civilian ships crowded the “sidelines” of the battlespace.  Ranging in size
from tiny, private sloops to enormous chartered schooners, it seemed to Heskan that
the entire Federation populace had decided to observe the looming battle. 
Interspersed among the spectator ships were close to a score of media ships
from IaCom and a dozen other galactic media conglomerates.  These ships,
installed with priceless, high-resolution sensors that would have put
Anelace’s
SENS section to shame, were purpose-built to archive and broadcast corporate
warfare.  The reason was twofold.  First, an archival account of each battle
was to be stowed in the core library in Nessus, home to The Courts, in the
event one of the active parties lodged an allegation of fault or foul during a
skirmish.  Second, media corporations made billions of credits selling the viewing
rights to corporate battles in Federation and corporate-world markets. 
Already, the credits generated from the last Sade-Seshafi conflict surpassed
IaCom’s revenue from the last three corporate skirmishes alone.  Across the entire
Federation, conglomerates were lamenting the missed opportunity in failing to send
a media ship to the last event.

“It
looks like the whole LMA is here,” Cottineau said.

“Well,
they’re going to be disappointed, Mike,” Heskan replied.  “One pass today. 
That’s all.” 
We’re here to try to knock out a couple Saden ships from the
next skirmish, not demolish my own fleet.
  “Helm, once the fleet’s formed
up, make way for the skirmish zone.”

“Aye,
aye, Captain.  We’re moving out now.”

Heskan
thought about the approaching hours.  Ten ships and thousands of lives depended
on how well he could maneuver his fleet against an opponent that was nearly a
legend in modern corporate warfare tactics.  Doubt began to chip away at
Heskan’s confidence.  Instinctively, he looked to his left.  The rugged man
wearing the blue shocksuit of the Seshafian navy was very different from the
anchor to which Heskan often attached himself during stormy weather.  Mike Cottineau
had been an excellent first officer to date and Heskan had faith in the Seshafian’s
ability to command
Dioscuri
should that become necessary, but he was not
Stacy Vernay.  Heskan sighed quietly. 
Well, at least his first name is
familiar.
 A chime in Heskan’s helmet gently prodded him from the past.

“Yes,
Captain?”  It was Vernay’s voice.

Heskan
glanced down and saw his right hand over his communications controls. 
Did I
call her accidentally?
  He shook his head to clear his thoughts.  “Stacy, I
want to remind you that your section will get only one chance at this. 
Depending on how each side maneuvers, you might have to change your target from
their main section to their rearguard.  I won’t have time to call out your
targets so I’m counting on you to determine the best line to hit when the time
comes. Whichever you choose, hit them
hard
.”

“Aye,
sir.”  Vernay’s voice seemed tentative.

“I can’t
think of another person in the galaxy that I would rather have leading our
main, Stacy.  I know I can count on you.”

Heskan
intended his statement to bolster his friend’s confidence; it seemed to have
the opposite effect.  “Captain, you’re going to be grossly outnumbered and
Wallace will want to hit our line ships as hard as he can…”  Vernay dropped her
voice to nearly a whisper.  “You’re taking a huge risk being on Dioscuri. 
We’ve already accomplished our goal, delaying the resolution of Sade’s
casus
bellum
until after The Courts hear testimony over Cooke’s assassination.  We
could just quit right now… sir.”

“We’ll
be fine,” Heskan replied nonchalantly in an attempt to ease her fears.  “I have
some tricks up my sleeve and you know that pinning down a group of ships
decisively is a tall order in itself, especially when the other side isn’t
seeking a decisive engagement.”

When
it became evident to Heskan that no reply would be forthcoming, he summarized,
“Your orders are to determine which section of Saden ships gives you the best
opportunity for a strong battle pass.  I want one, preferably two ships from
said section out of action for at least a couple months.  At the same time, you
are to minimize the damage your section sustains.  Are we clear, Commander?”

This
time, Vernay sounded a bit more optimistic.  “We’re clear, sir.  Protect
yourself, sir.  We need you.”

Heskan
smiled inside his helmet.  “Will do, Stacy.  Happy hunting.”

As
he closed his communication with Vernay, his sensors officer announced, “Incoming
message from the Saden command ship to our C-Three, Captain.”

Heskan
rocked back and waited.  Nguyen would redirect the message, obviously a
greeting from Admiral Wallace, from the Seshafian command ship to
Dioscuri
. 
Heskan’s response would likewise take the reverse circuitous route.  In
planning the skirmish, Heskan begrudgingly agreed that maintaining the
appearance that he was on the bridge of the C-3 ship would prevent Wallace from
levying undue levels of hostility at the Seshafian second-rate. 
Like
Wallace won’t be gunning for this ship after what we did to his own line ships
in Seshafi,
Heskan thought with mild irritation.  
Still, every ship
captain in the planning room was insistent on this precaution and part of being
a good commander is choosing which fights to make your stand and which ones to
let go.
 He thought back to his time in Task Group 3.1. 
Did Hayes ever
let one go?

Once
Wallace’s message reached
Dioscuri
, it played on the main wall screen. 
The Red Admiral looked resplendent.  With no need for a shocksuit, the man’s
uniform consisted of multiple, golden braids that looped under his shoulders,
attached to epaulettes of frilly gold containing an admiral’s rank insignia that
sparkled like diamonds.  The dazzling medals on his chest filled the entire field
of the red coat down to his third button.  Wallace would see a close-up view of
Heskan in a shocksuit but Heskan hoped the sight would be attributed to his
reputation as a bloodthirsty fleet commander.

Wallace’s
expression was one of weightiness mixed with contempt.  “My greetings to you,
Captain
Heskan.  I offer my compliments on your punctuality and hope this display of
compliance with our way of war marks your willingness to follow
all
of
our rules.”  Wallace’s back stiffened and the slight change to his height
allowed him to look down on the camera recording him.  “It is my assumption
that, seeing our overwhelming superiority and your status as the aggressing
officer, you wish to open negotiations immediately.  After your inevitable unconditional
concession, I shall expect your immediate transit back to Seshafi.”  A precise
wave ended the transmission.