Dry, No Lube Ch. 07b: Armor

"Not your job," Pixy grated. "What you should do is follow fucking orders. Get back here and defend your ship." She didn't wait for an acknowledgement, turning toward the OOD as the guns went silent around the great rim at the bow. "Helm. Full reverse. We're backing off the ionosphere and turning broadside as soon as we're clear of the ionization belt. Comprehend?"

"Yes, ma'am." The Officer of the Deck swallowed, wide-eyed. They'd never cut off a barrage in the middle of a placer operation.

"I want the mouth of the Tunnel turned away from the planet as soon as you can manage it safely," Pixy went on, reinforcing her intent. Her mind screamed imperatively, eyes roving toward the targeting scope to check for incoming drones; they were so, so vulnerable now, until the Tirving could get underway.

"Ma'am?" The call came from the commo officer. "Durlindana's requesting assistance."

"Of course they are." Pixy's leg still shook helplessly. She frowned, her mind working over her options. "XO," she said at last, turning back to Jatsupa, "alert Byskop. Have him get my shuttle ready. You'll assemble a relief party and get over to the Durlindana as soon as you can."

"Ma'am."

"You're taking Dr Reilly and whatever medics he thinks he's going to need. Ask Mr Perfaxon which engineer he can spare, and take one of them." She hesitated. "And bring Rabbi Bermudo."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

"I want you on the way within ten minutes. Make sure you stay in comms with us. I'll tell Laredo to give you a fighter as escort; there's still a fucking space battle going on out there," she sighed, but the scope was still suspiciously clear: too late, she was beginning to figure out why this planet had toned down its orbital response. Why layer your defenses, when you've got a brand-new drone weapon? Tirving shuddered as Malavongsy backed them up, the hyperventate straining with the difficulty of fast maneuvers in such a low orbit, then smoothed out as the physics began to work. "And, Jatsupa? If they crash? Don't be aboard."

"Aye aye, ma'am." The XO signaled to a couple of officers, then nodded. "Off I go."

"Ma'am?" Submajor Nestilio spoke into a sudden, brief silence as the engines whined. "Colonel McMerckx wants to speak with you. Says it's urgent."

She nodded and grabbed her personal vox box. "Send it up here." The scrambler signal bleeped in her ear before the link stabilized. "Pfeiffer," she rapped.

"Yeah. What's going on?" She could hear heavy ground fire in the background, but for a man commanding a placer operation whose fire support had just disappeared, Crazy Jack sounded pretty cool. "When can I get my fire back?"

"Have you heard from your Sixth Battalion buddies yet?" she asked. "Their ship just got its ass kicked. I've pulled back until I can analyze what happened and try to mitigate the threat; I'll be back on target as soon as I can. We'll be about ten thousand meters higher."

"Oh." He paused, a machine-cannon rattling from somewhere nearby. "Huh. Well, that's going to make things difficult for us."

"Yeah. Any more of those weird drones Nestilio told me about?" The intuition was hardening into a certainty in her gut. "That might have been what bitch-slapped the Durlindana."

"We're still knocking them down. They're not hard to kill." She heard him give a muffled order off to the side. "I'll salvage some wreckage and send it up with the first wounded, if you want."

"Please." She hesitated. "And... look, don't send anything up without my personal clearance. Our fighters are in berserker mode in the Cone; they're liable to shoot anything they see ascending."

"Roger." He gave more orders. "Do you see a possibility we'll need to abort and extract?"

She gnawed at her lip, her implant sorting through outcomes, but when she spoke the number came from her own brain mostly. "Possibility, yes. Not probability. I'd call it a 35% likelihood." She shook her head. "Sixth Battalion will definitely need some help from us, too; it's not too early to start thinking about a rescue mission."

"It's last night where they are," he scoffed, "and they're over 3,000 kilometers away. I won't be rescuing them unless I get my perimeter under control first." He sounded like he was pondering something. "Actually, you might be right. We might need to consolidate over there, if they can't come here..."

"Call them. I'll be in touch." Beneath her bridge, she saw her shuttle slip smoothly out of the bow. One of the Tygon Interceptors streaked in to get Jatsupa's party to the damaged P/E ship on the nightside.

"Roger. Out."

She clicked the vox box back into place, her mind racing. So much to think about all of a sudden! She was sure her own ship was heading out of immediate danger, but the need to get back on her own objective while simultaneously assisting Captain Peet was strong. She turned to the comms station. "Any word yet from Durlindana, Mr Romario?"

"I've reached out," he replied soberly. "They're busy."

She nodded, glancing over at the Master Plot. Now that she'd raised her orbit, she could get a better look at the torn Durlindana. She adjusted the magnification. "Looks like a lateral twist? Some significant bulging there?" A moving contact off to the side drew her attention. "What's that ship, off to upper port? Is that the Leith?"

"I'll find out, ma'am."

"Don't bother, Mr Romario," she nodded, "it's the Leith." She knew how GP Service ships looked on scopes. "They're heading toward the Durlindana. Good. Captain Stellato can do more good over there than he can here. Don't bother him."

"Hey, ma'am?" Nestilio, with his usual quiet diffidence. She turned. "Colonel says to tell you he's decided to link up with Sixth. So he's moving as soon as he can, shuttles on ground effect mode."

"Ah." She nodded. "So I guess we're all complete as far as our supporting fires here." She nodded, her eyes finding her First Officer. "Mr Malavongsy? With Commander Jatsupa gone, you're acting XO. Give your navigation job to Lieutenant Velzeboer and get back here with me. We have things to discuss."

"Oh. Okay, ma'am."

"And none of that bullshit. Speak like you've got some testosterone."

"Aye aye, ma'am!"

"Better." She studied the plot, then raised her voice to address the whole bridge. "So. Here's the deal. The situation on the ground has changed. Our Fifth Battalion is hopping into shuttles and disengaging from their objective, then moving to reinforce Sixth. Sixth has shit for a perimeter now, so we're going to take over their fire-control duties with the combined Army units. Meanwhile, our tender will do what they can to help save Durlindana. It's a fucked-up, ad hoc situation." She shrugged. "Dry, people. No lube. As usual."

"Helm to one-oh-eight," Velzeboer ordered quietly. He glanced back at her. "Move out, ma'am?"

"At your convenience, Mr Velzeboer," Pixy nodded, turning to deal with her new acting XO.

* * *

Pixy did not even want to think about how crowded Colonel McMerckx' troops must be, but one look at Sixth Battalion's battered barracks barge told her those troops were much better off aboard the Tirving than if they'd stayed on their own ship. She toyed absently with her tabslate as she sat at her command station, idly wondering whether anyone would care if she stopped reading damage reports and started playing Solitaire. "Entering Headquarters starfield, ma'am," the OOD reported briskly. The scope showed the downrange course alive with friendly proximity mines. "We'll make orbit in fourteen minutes."

"Mmm." Pixy was in no mood to talk. She disliked working up here on the bridge, but every spare centimeter aboard had been donated to the Sixth Battalion soldiers she and McMerckx had evacuated from Helvidius. That included her own office, loaned to their lieutenant colonel as a command post; her own Barracks Barge simply had no room. "Great."

Headquarters Planet loomed before them, a caramel-colored crescent with the nearside in shadow. Lights twinkled here and there on the surface, where the terraforming had gone far enough to provide living areas. The OOD glanced at Commander Jatsupa, who stood with his arms crossed as he always did. "Um. Permission to clear away for orbit then, ma'am?"

Pixy did not look up. "My standing orders call for orbital clearance within twelve to fifteen minutes of insertion, Ms Millipet. It staggers me that you should be so thick-witted as to imagine you need to seek permission to follow those orders."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied into the awkward silence that followed.

Pixy sighed and glanced at her XO. "So. What's your plan, Commander? Shuttle the Sixth guys down, or wait for the docking elevator to come around and then land them directly? I know we had to jettison most of their shuttles..." She'd put him in charge of figuring out how to offload all the Durlindana's rescued soldiers.

He shrugged. "I think it's safer to wait for the Dock, ma'am. Extracting them put more stress on the docking spar than we realized." He hesitated, but he'd learned that when Pixy Pfeiffer glared, you spoke until she stopped glaring. "I just did the macroscopic survey. I didn't think you'd need the results; they're in line with my recommendation."

Pixy grunted. The extract had been brutal, undertaken way down in the atmosphere while Leodmannsegge desperately shuffled McMerckx' shuttles and the Sixth Battalion guys gawked at their wounded P/E ship. The spar had nearly broken as Tirving had backed out into space. "I've already transmitted the survey report to the Yard Captain. They'll have a new spar for us tomorrow."

"Fine." It wasn't, really; she never enjoyed repairs. Plus, she wanted the Sixth off her ship soonest; their battalion commander had been offered Jatsupa's quarters as a courtesy, meaning her XO was sleeping in her own conference room. He was not the greatest roommate, and Pixy knew Juno was about to kill his steward. Still. He had a plan for disembarkation, so she'd let him work it out. "Give Ms Millipet the necessary orders to line up with the Dock, then. I'll be... hell. I guess I'll be mindlessly roving the ship," she sighed, "since I can't really relax anywhere."

"Ma'am."

"Actually? Fuck it." She got to her feet and stretched with an almighty yawn. "I'm going to head down early, I think. Mr Verily!"

"Ma'am?" Her secretary, currently doubling as the weapons officer since there was zero prospect of combat, stirred at his console. "You need me?"

"When's my appointment with Admiral Jominus?" She'd been summoned planetside, as she'd expected. The events at Helvidius has been just the kind of abnormality that admirals wanted explained, and until the Durlindana could limp home, that meant Pixy was going to be doing the explaining to Fleet's chief Placer/Extraction officer.

"Uh... 1400 tomorrow, local." Verily's eyes went glassy as he did the math. "That's three hours and, uh, about fifteen minutes from now? But it'll be over on the dayside."

"Yeah. No shit. Admirals only set up appointments at local night when they want to fuck you, and that ain't Jominus." All around her the bridge crackled with the lead-up to docking. "You'll come down with me, Mr Verily. Be at my shuttle in ten minutes. Dirtside uniform, with your tabslate."

He sprang to his feet. "Is Byskop flying you?"

"Is Byskop flying us. No. I need to unwind. I'll drive." She turned to her XO. "Go ahead and do your thing with the Sixth Battalion, Commander Jatsupa. If you run into any problems, I'm right down there at Headquarters; just let me know on my implant, and I'll fix whatever needs fixing."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

She'd not seen the Tunnel since the day after the battle, as she'd surveyed the Sixth people being brought aboard while everyone was still doing damage control aboard the Durlindana, so it shocked her to see how full it was. Every single docking pylon was occupied, and then some: docking allocation was Subcommander Leodmannsegge's business, and he'd shoehorned placer shuttles everywhere the eye could see. He'd even found room for two of Durlindana's Tygon Interceptors up forward. "Strap in, Mr Verily," she grunted as she powered up. She was really just expecting Verily to sit there and look pretty. He wasn't much good at flying, but that was fine.

She was.

The soft-dock released with its usual greasy clack as she dropped down into the clear space of the central Tunnel, surveying the length of her ship: navigational hazards as far as the eye could see, with the bottom of her own bridge globe far ahead. "Make yourself useful," she instructed Verily, "and tell the bridge we're going."

She didn't wait for the acknowledgement, sending the shuttle twisting among the docked shuttles at slightly too great a speed, taking out her fidgety energy on the controls of her shuttle. The Tunnel mouth loomed, larger and larger until they were out, flying fast through free space, darting toward the planet's terminator so that she could find Headquarters Base on the dayside.

"Wow. Ma'am," Verily whistled, his head craning around to stare off to the side, "check out the Construction Basin."

"Hmm?" She spared it a glance, the crisscrossing patches of scaffolding spreading all over the planet off in the direction of the gravity well. "Yeah. It's a basin. We were here a couple of months ago, Mr Verily. I mean, I know you're young and inexperienced, but try to act like a seasoned space offier."

"No, but look over at the shipyard." He was pointing. "When we pulled out, they weren't done with the last two P/E ships. Now there's only one there, and she looks about ready to launch."

Pixy did look this time, frowning across the emptiness here at the edge of the atmosphere. The Dock, at the head of the big elevator, was now well below her safety zone. Verily was right: where Pixy had last seen the half-done hulk of the Dansleff, there was nothing now but an empty spacedock, its construction arms silent. In the next berth sat the very last of the K-class P/E ships, Fragarach, now nearly finished. She hid a cynical smirk: the last ship in the class wasn't even active yet, and already one of the other ones was limping home, nearly destroyed.

She shrugged. "Looks good. Wonder who the captain will be," was all she had to say to her secretary as she arced the shuttle down and away, aiming for the Headquarters reentry angle. And as the ionization started to nip at her vessel, she forgot all about new construction in favor of the demands of transorbital physics.

Wouldn't do for her shuttle to have anything but a perfect approach. After all, she was Pixy Pfeiffer. She had a reputation to maintain, where flying shuttles was concerned.

* * *

Pixy thought she recognized the tech outside Admiral Jominus' office door. "Do I know you, sailor?"

"I wouldn't know, ma'am." He didn't get up. "You're Commander Pfeiffer?"

"Yep." She snapped her fingers. "Yes! You were the implant tech at the command conference! With Commander bar-Murphy!"

"Oh." The tech shrugged. "Kavirell-III. Um, nice to see you again, ma'am." He glanced at Pixy's rank-stripes curiously, then at his tabslate, and he seemed like he was about to say something when he noticed the clock. "Well. The admiral is expecting you, so head right in."

"Thanks." She wobbled a bit, the Headquarters gravity like nothing she was used to. Then, always, there was her sense of unease whenever she was walking over earth rather than a deck. The office door swished open, smelling new like everything else on this planet; Fleet had only decided to pursue P/E operations on a large scale about a year ago, and this planet was only about 40% terraformed. She stepped three paces into the office, eyes straight ahead, then clicked to a halt and tried a tight, parade-ground salute. "Subcommander Pfeiffer, reporting!"

Jominus lurked behind his desk like some big, shaggy ape, head cocked as he frowned. "What the fuck is that, Commander? Are you having flashbacks to when you were a cadet, or are you into military-discipline roleplay?"

She blinked, her hand wavering down to her side. "Um. Sir?"

"You're a warship captain. You're past the point in your career where you're supposed to be standing at parade rest while people yell at you. At this level, we sit on couches and chat." He worked a little keypad on his desk. "Coffee?"

"Tea, sir, if you have it," she blurted.

"I'm an admiral. I have it." He tapped in the order while she made her way tentatively to his big, sectioned couch. She ran a hand through her hair.

"Um, butter-tea, sir. Please."

"Sure." She'd only met him once before, when he'd booted her out of orbit on her first mission, and it hadn't been pleasant: she'd arrived here expecting him to tear her a new asshole. Instead, he creaked to his feet and joined her at the other end of the couch. "Fucking gravity on this rock," he grumbled as he collapsed into the cushions. "Too heavy."

"I was just thinking that," she ventured, but when she found his eyes among all his facial hair he was squinting at her rank-stripes with an air of vague menace. "Something wrong, sir?"

"Hmm." He cocked his head. "Did you come down here before your ship picked up its mail?"

"Yes, sir. I was... well, I was feeling antsy." She tried not to fidget with the hem of her cape. "My ship's pretty overcrowded right now."

"Must be." He waited while a shiny new robot appeared with their drinks. Pixy's heart fell when she saw that the goddamn thing had simply scooped some butter into a cup of normal tea; that wasn't the way it was supposed to go, but whatever. She sighed and took the little bowl. "You're out of uniform. I promoted you."

"What?" She didn't bother trying to hide her shock. "To... to what?"

"Full commander." He seemed to enjoy her amazement. "I know. You're not eligible. It's only an honorary promotion. No extra salary, but there are the perks and allowances. And when you finally do make commander? You'll have some seniority." He slurped at some Turkish coffee, thick as mud. "Fleet agreed with my idea to let you and Subcommander Borgia wear the rank your position entitles you to."

"Well." Pixy had no clue what to say. "Shit."

"You've earned it. Seven P/E operations, well-executed."

"Six, sir," she corrected. "This last one was fucked up."

"Not by you." He glanced at his 'slate. "I have the initial report here. You seem to have done well enough."

"I..." She paused, then shook her head and tried her grease-tea. It tasted like it looked. "It was a weird day, sir."

"Tell me." His eyes were calmer now. Attentive.

She took a deep breath and fidgeted with her tea. She'd recorded the bare-bones events for her After-Action Report just after the battle, and she knew he'd have read it. "You know the basics, sir. Some sort of projectile weapon flew up the Durlindana's Cone and detonated inside the Vag. Er, the Tunnel."

He smiled a moment; he knew the Army's slang for the Tunnel. "You called out both Subcommander Jatsupa and Captain Stellato for special commendation in your report?"

"Yes, sir. And also Subcommander Lindon? XO aboard the Durlindana?" She took an oiled sip. "She's in charge there now, since Captain Peet's gone missing."

"Sure." His gaze went vacant as he consulted his implant. "Looking like three months. That's how long it'll take her to get that ship back here. Since they can't go Lightspace."

"The structural damage was... intense," Pixy nodded. "Commander Lindon said she'd forward her damage survey as soon as she could. But I brought her Army guys back. And I left Captain Stellato back there with her, until her own tender can catch up. I think there's a frigate enroute, too, for escort." She took a deep breath. "Leith is a good ship, sir. Her crew tried to maintain the bombardment for the Army even though they were sending assistance to Durlindana."