Susan sighed. Two years out in the dark had left nearly every shipboard system seriously degraded. The endurance of an Astronomer-class light cruiser on patrol was supposed to be nine months. Some systems had simply failed at a year plus, when parts wore out. Others had been destroyed or severely damaged in combat. It was unlikely they would be able to pass a shipworthiness review. "We're stuck on over half of these items without a dry-dock to set into. Including the number one priority for everyone below decks…"
"The aft heat exchangers?" Hadeishi rubbed his nose. "Could we run atmosphere with only the fore environment plant?"
Kosho shook her head. "Only if we send all but repair crews off-ship. Efficiency of the whole system is down almost forty percent…we need to pull both and replace them with brand new units, if possible."
"Can the Jaganite industrial base fabricate replacements?"
"Helsdon has been looking for compatible systems…but has found nothing. The natives don't have the right kind of machining and composite construction technology. Isoroku had been hoping a civilian spaceliner would be in-system with a spare, compatible environ-plant we could commandeer. This was not the case."
Hadeishi smoothed his beard, looking at his chrono. "Then we'll have to wait until we reach Toroson. And the rest of these leave schedules and maintenance priorities will have to wait. I've a conference cast about to start with Tlacateccatl Yacatolli of the 416th about our reaction and support plan."
Kosho did not laugh, but she made a funny coughing sound. Hadeishi glared at her, suppressing his own smile of amusement. "Now you have to sit here with me and listen to the Army and be polite."
The Sho-sa nodded, resigned to her fate, and began sorting all of the report pads on the table into neat piles.
"I understand your combat lift requirements, Tlacateccatl," Hadeishi repeated. "But the Cornuelle is not an assault carrier. We carry three Varanus-class cargo shuttles and a captain's launch. Those shuttles could be stripped out, I suppose, but they'd still only carry a platoon each of troops in full combat armor. I don't have anything capable of evacuating one of your armored tracks from a combat situation."
Yacatolli's face twisted into a truly fearsome grimace, the tattoos incised on both cheeks bunching into vaguely demonic shapes. He was getting angrier with each tick of the chrono. "What good is your ship to me then? You've no lift support for my men, you say your missile inventory is exhausted, you've only two squads of Marines…why are you here and not a proper support craft?"
"You will have to discuss that with Admiral Villeneuve," Hadeishi snapped, voice rising involuntarily. His headache was getting worse. The Mixtec officer's eyes narrowed to slits. Hadeishi's face closed up tight, lips thinning to a harsh line. "My apologies, Colonel. My request to transit to Toroson for repair and resupply was rejected by the Admiral's operations officer. Instead we were put on picket here until the battle group returns. More than this, I cannot say. Those are my orders."
"What support can you give me, then?" Yacatolli's tone verged on open anger. Hadeishi understood his position all too well – the Army was used to operating under an umbrella of rapid-response Fleet fire-support, used to being able to call on heavy-lift shuttles to redeploy their ground combat vehicles and troops, expecting supplies to be delivered in any kind of terrain – and now none of those resources were available. "Anything?"
"Full communications net," Hadeishi answered, knowing how paltry his offering sounded. "For remote detachments. Surveillance overwatch. We can swamp all local comm from here. Override or seize any satellite support the native princes might have in operation. Medevac for your wounded. In dire circumstances I have three bombardment missiles still in inventory, but I was saving those in case we get jumped by a raider." And we can't run fast enough to avoid battle.
"I see." The colonel let his fury at the universe, Hadeishi and Admiral Villeneuve leak through into his voice. "Very well, we will adapt our reaction plan accordingly. If we have need of your assistance, Chu-sa, I expect immediate compliance. My operations officer will forward a copy of your rules of engagement and expected support duties tomorrow, after we've worked them up."
"Colonel!" Hadeishi leaned towards the v-display, stung by the man's words. "I expect my executive officer, Sho-sa Kosho, to be fully engaged in your operational planning at every step!"
"Do you?" Yacatolli scowled, lip curling. "Given the disparate levels of resources we each can apply, I think the Army will lead the planning, as we'll be doing all the work. Don't worry, we won't overburden your ship's capabilities."
"Overburden?" The temperature of Hadeishi's tone dropped remarkably. "How would you even know what our capabilities are if we're not fully engaged in working up the ops plan?"
"You've given me an excellent idea of your capabilities," Yacatolli snarled, holding up his thumb and forefinger circled into an O. "Do I need to remind you I am the ranking Imperial officer in this system? This is an Army operation, and Fleet will follow orders."
Out of the immediate range of the channel pickup, Kosho's eyes widened and she shot a pleading look at Hadeishi, pressing her palms towards the floor. The Chu-sa unclenched his fists – also out of view – and tried to breathe deeply. Yacatolli stared back at him, waiting.
Finally, Hadeishi nodded in agreement, though there was a sour taste in his mouth. Army running Fleet? At this moment, even the Buddha is dumbfounded!
"Expect a 'cast transfer of new orders tomorrow. Yacatolli, out."
The v-display went black, then reset to standby. Hadeishi sat stiffly, staring at the pale blue colors, the corner of his left eye twitching. He did not look at Kosho. After a little while, she stood up, bowed and went out quietly.
When she was gone he slumped, almost shuddering into his chair. Now, what will you do if something happens? A sharp, angry voice echoed in his thoughts. You've worn your poor ship to the bone – how could this be an improvement on sending her to the breaking yard?
Hadeishi had no answer for his conscience. He rubbed his brow line with the back of his thumb, trying to drive away the piercing headache.
With the aft air exchangers running at less than half strength, the enlisted mess on deck sixteen of the Cornuelle was oven hot, stifling and filled with an oily smell from the recyclers. Marine gunso Fitzsimmons slouched into the mess in a pair of ratty exercise shorts and a sour mood. Due to the constant heat and humidity, off-duty personnel had taken to wearing as little as possible.
This made the sight of Heicho Felix and some of her cronies draped in flamboyantly colored fabric from head to toe unexpected. Fitzsimmons altered course, veering away from the rows of drink dispensers, and parked himself on the end of a nearby table.
Felix and the other female Marines ignored Fitzsimmons, their attention on a stack of iridescent cloth wrapped around wooden dowels, boxes of shining trinkets, fluted leather bottles with wax stoppers, stacked sets of bowls and cups in a pale, shimmering green glaze, plump bags of ground spices, a basket of some spiky native fruit, and boxes covered with garish labels and boldly unintelligible lettering. A rich smell of ginger and cinnamon suffused the air around them. After a moment of watching the women, Fitzsimmons realized they were dividing up the goods.