“On the other hand, why didn’t you allow the automated systems to take over sooner?” Commander Duggan asked. “You could have spent longer looking for the gunboats.”
Roman considered his answer carefully. One thing he had learned was that neither the commander nor the captain had any patience for waffling. If there were several right answers, it was best to go for the one that made sense to him rather than the one he thought his superior officers wanted to hear. They were knocking him into shape and he understood why, even though part of him resented it.
“I wanted to ensure that they would continue to track the missiles, even if I was wrong,” he said. “I didn’t know for sure that it was gunboats doing the directing.”
“Well, something had to be directing the missiles,” the commander pointed out sardonically. “In your copious spare time, you might want to study the dynamics of missile control systems and how they operate in real life, as well as theory.”
“Yes, commander,” Roman said. He tried to think about when he could fit in time to study missile control systems, and drew a blank. Every minute of every day was crammed with tasks, from actually serving as assistant tactical officer to working on the vessel’s interior, to spending time exercising with the Marines. And he’d been assured that he had an easy life! He wouldn’t be getting much sleep, were it not for the fact that sleeping hours were mandatory.
“I see that you have a session with the Marines coming up,” Duggan added. “I’m afraid that that has been cancelled. The captain wishes to hold a small dinner party for the new officers, and you’re invited.”
Roman nodded. No junior officer with a lick of sense would refuse an invitation to dine with the captain. He’d been told, back at the Academy, that some captains were very sociable with their crews—though always maintaining command distance—and that others hardly spoke to their subordinates when off duty. Captain Timothy Oriole seemed to fall somewhere in between. He’d spoken briefly to the newcomers when they’d first come onboard, but he’d left most of their training in Commander Duggan’s hands. And perhaps that was for the best. Captains had absolute authority over their crews—and irritating his commanding officer could bring his career to a screeching halt.
“Thank you,” Roman said.
“Hit the fresher and don your dress uniform,” the commander ordered. “The party starts at 1700 precisely; try not to be late.”
The superdreadnaught FNS Magnificent was one of the newest superdreadnaughts built for the Federation Navy. She was only five years old—Federation Navy personnel counted from the moment a ship first left the shipyard under her own power—and carried enough firepower to go toe-to-toe with anything smaller than a fortress. The ship had been refitted twice since her launch, but Marius Drake knew as well as anyone else with real experience that naval technology hadn’t advanced since the Inheritance Wars. There were a hundred small refinements made every year, yet there was nothing new or revolutionary in his flagship.
He stood in the Observation Blister and peered out into the darkness. The cold, unblinking stars shone back at him, mocking human pretensions to galactic rule. You think you are so mighty, they seemed to say. But we will be here long after you and all your works have vanished from the universe. It was easy to see why there were cults that worshipped the universe itself, believing it to be imbued with sentience, even though it apparently took little interest in human affairs.
Marius had never been particularly religious as an upbringing on Mars had left little room for religious introspection. Staring at the stars was as near as he got to any kind of overt belief. He’d seen people who prayed daily, to gods who might or might not exist, but he’d never been tempted to accept any of them himself. He believed in what he could see and feel; no god had ever spoken directly to him, unless the universe itself counted.
The hatch hissed open and his friend Vaughn stepped in, coming over to stand beside him. Marius didn’t turn around, as he’d programmed the hatch to admit only Vaughn, once he’d personally swept the Observation Blister for surveillance devices. It seemed unlikely that anyone would bother bugging the entire ship, but he knew that the ship’s computers covertly monitored internal conversation and occasionally flagged something for Security. This way, the computers would know where they were—their implants would see to that—but they wouldn’t be able to listen in.
“You seem to have developed an attack of paranoia,” Vaughn observed mildly.
Marius knew it was that very mildness that had caused many people to underestimate Vaughn. The Federation Marines were the Federation’s shock troops, the most powerful and capable rapid reaction force in history: they boarded enemy starships, landed on enemy planets and were generally feared by the Federation’s enemies. But Vaughn didn’t seem like the type to do anything violent.
Before Marius could answer, Vaughn went on. “Do you honestly think anyone would dare to bug the second-in-command of the Retribution Fleet?”
“I don’t know,” Marius admitted. “Considering all that’s happened so far…”
He started to outline everything that had happened since he’d learned that he wouldn’t be commanding the Retribution Fleet, just so Vaughn could check his thinking. Despite his objections, Parkinson had split the fleet into three sections, just as Parkinson had said he’d do in the first place. Marius had even pointed out that this put Parkinson’s life at risk, but Parkinson hadn’t wanted to hear it.
But the stupidity didn’t end there. A quick check had revealed that the Fleet Train had been joined by several luxury liners, which carried the new governors of Harmony Sector. The files had been sealed, but with the aid of a couple of intelligence officers, Marius had managed to work out a list of the potential candidates. They had all been men with very strong political connections.
None of them seemed to care that they were flying straight into a war zone.
“Honestly, Vaughn, what do you think of all this?” Marius asked. “Because this really doesn’t look good, not from where I’m standing.”
Vaughn considered it for a long moment. His thoughtful expression reminded Marius of when they’d first met, when he’d been the young commanding officer of a light cruiser and Vaughn had been the CO of the ship’s Marine detachment. As the Marines reported only to the ship’s captain—him—he and Vaughn had become fast friends, serving together as their careers advanced. When he’d been sent to the Rim to take command, there had been no other choice for Marine CO. He trusted Vaughn with his life.
“The Brotherhood’s involvement is worrying,” Vaughn said finally. “You never know who might be working for the Brotherhood, or reporting back to them. They’ve always been very well represented in the Navy, and nothing has ever managed to change that, so…”
He shrugged. “Watch your back, that’s all I can think of right now. Though I wish I had better advice to give.”
“Everyone seems to be telling me to watch my back,” Marius said. He smiled, ruefully. “Perhaps I should wear body armor under my uniform, and sleep with a pistol under my pillow.”
“Good idea,” Vaughn agreed. “And make sure you carry a weapon at all times, not just in simulations.”