Gravity Capture

He turned almost in afterthought, contemplating the multi-media control pedestal in the deck beside him. He scrutinized the color-coded buttons on the pedestal until he found the one he was looking for. Motors quietly hummed as massive bulkhead panels slowly began retracting into the overhead.

“I should very well imagine that I’ve spent more years in cold sleep than most of you have years,” Spencer said and chuckled. “I'll warn you now that it stays with you, the chill that is. It settles into your bones and never leaves. I suggest you all pack a coat."

There was scattered laughter. Controls for the overhead lights were on the pedestal and he dimmed them to a more comfortable level. Once he was content with the atmosphere the Commodore took his place at the podium again.

“It seems like just a week ago you all arrived from your primary training sites,” Spencer said. “Now you all are set to take the new cruiser Constellation on her maiden voyage. Remember, the frontier is no easy place, dangers abound on even the most civilized worlds.”

Spencer leaned forward over the podium and sought out the eyes and attention of the younger crewmen. Jena felt him looking through her as his gaze swept over her section.

“If you’re not off protecting supply convoys from pirates and EuroCon raiders, you'll be watching your mates back while you’re off snapping holopics on liberty,” He said sternly. “Your only duty is to your vessel and shipmates, do you understand?”

Heads around her nodded.

“Those frontier thugs look for you when you've had too many pints, or too much stim. They consider you all easy marks- especially on whatever world you’ll get to first. You all are not stupid people, if you were, you would not be here. Exercise common sense and mind the schedule and you all will do fine."

Spencer poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher hidden from view and wet his lips, set the glass down again and said, "The only part of my career I take exception to is the lifetime I slept away in transit, wasted dreaming irrelevant dreams, so many years gone and not even remembered. When I came back from the frontier, my children had grown up and started families of their own; other loved ones had passed on without my having a chance to say goodbye. I came back to a world I did not remember… and that did not remember me.”

He spoke the last part under his breath but the wireless microphones arranged throughout the compartment caught every whisper and amplified it to reach every ear. Spencer continued. “The circumstances of my own case are exceptional. Most of you will probably return home after your obligation expires. Ten years is not so long, but for those of you who choose to make the vacuum-fleet your career. It will become your family, your life, everything you are. If given the choice to do it all again, I would gladly, and I will tell you why.”

The panels concealed a spectacular view of the Earth, which was revealed, as the pressure doors retracted, in its glowing splendor. Spencer half-turned and extended his arm, palm upward, almost seeming to be supporting the Earth with one hand.

“There are other jewels out there, like this one, and on them mankind thrives. We prosper, mocking those doubters that said we could never do it, our colonies are monuments to our triumph.” The Commodore said as he stepped up to the multimedia pedestal and depressed another glowing button in a row of the same. Doors opened in the ceiling and on the stage, lowering and raising holographic projection domes into position. He watched them move into place and said, “I’ve looked over the records collected during the Frontier Strike exercise. Now perhaps someone can tell me what happened?”

Lt. Florez triggered his signal-light. He had been furious at the outcome of the fight, considering a draw to be the same as a loss. Jena shared his feelings.

“Yes, lieutenant?”

“Sir, with all due respect, is it possible that the exercise was just a little unrealistic? Their turret-mounted beam weapons shouldn’t be cohesive enough to engage a target at the range they first engaged us but they still were able to unmask outside of our weapons range and deliver accurate fire.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Lieutenant. Please explain.”

“We had to close to normal range before we could engage them and that’s when we took the critical damage that knocked us out of the fight. If anything, we should’ve been able to get off the first shot since our power-plants, targeting arrays, and weapons are superior.”

Spencer patronized him with a look.

“Take care never to assume you know the capabilities of a foe, especially not in close combat with EuroCon cruisers, you run the risk of assuming wrong. Once you know your opponent, weaknesses can be found- his and yours. I was aboard the Resolute at Fifty-one Pegasai. We found ourselves separated from the main battle-line, engaged with the Nova Talon,” He said. “In those days, the E-cons still gave their warships pretty names. The Talon was scoring hits on us at better than eighty thousand kilometers… does anyone know why?”

Jena triggered her own signal for she knew why. An exhaustive analysis of the battle got her top marks during her specialty training; though Spencer seemed to ignore her.

“No? It’s because they use longer emitter tubes for their beam weapons… a different design philosophy. Their energy weapons are accurate at longer ranges but are also made vulnerable by the length of the emitters… ours do more damage at short and medium range and are less vulnerable because we protect them within armored turrets.”

“The EuroCons know it as well,” Crites said as Spencer took a breath, turning in his seat to give Florez the hard eye. “So why should we expect them to close in when they can snipe at us from outside of our weapons range?”

“Yes, captain, quite right,” Spencer said and fiddled with his multi-media controls. Holoforms of Constellation, Independence, and Audacity appeared at eye level. "We have capital intelligence on the EuroCon Frontier Force, especially the big fleet yards around New Haven and New Saxon. The Grendel is approximately equivalent to an early model Republic class.”

Now it makes sense, Jena thought. The Admiral Hood was an early model Republic-class. A signal light came on in front of Bradley.

“Sir, what do you estimate our chances of meeting one of these new types in combat?” Bradley said when he was acknowledged. Spencer took a drink before answering.

"The ultimatum that Transterran has issued to the European Confederation, states that they begin seizing the assets of member governments unless the balance of EuroCon debt to them is paid off by the end of the fiscal year. If the Euros default there will be chaos, mark my words.”

“With all due respect, sir, that doesn’t answer the question.” Bradley said and sat down after Crites turned in his seat and delivered a stern glare.

“All Transterran is waiting for is a ruling from the world court,” Spencer said. “If the court decides that the company’s claim is valid, it supercedes the rulings from the regional jurisdictions, then Transterran will have the legal right to collect what is theirs and enforce the terms of the original contract. You’ve all heard the reports of the arms factories that Transterran has acquired; they’re preparing to do it by force."

Jena opened her datapad and keyed a quick note; "When do we leave?" and passed it to Tali, who smiled as she typed a response. "T minus 72 hours. FRONTIER OR BUST!"

Jena smiled back and offered a thumbs-up while Commodore Spencer droned on.

"Next question please. Lieutenant Mitchell, I believe.”

Jena stood at attention in front of her seat.

“Sir, was the proper response to protect the beacon or engage the OpFor blocking force?"

"Be careful, Jena." Tali cautioned out of the corner of her mouth as her eyes darted back and forth, gauging the reaction of the Constellation staff.

“Your orders were to sweep through control zone Omega in support of the beacon station,” Spencer said. Crites turned in his seat and fixed her with his piercing stare as she mustered the breath to continue. “Next question.”

“Sir, second, what was the proper response to fighter attack when already engaged?" She rattled off as quickly as she could. Crites appeared to lose interest and turned to whisper a comment into Ellison’s ear, something that drew a quiet chuckle.

“Single main battery firing to cover the secondary weapons powering up," Spencer said. She and Crites had both been wrong. "Don't look so glum, Lieutenant. Surviving to fight another day is by no means a failure. Any other questions? No? Good, let’s get started.”

An hour passed while Spencer delivered the evaluation compiled by his office. The feed from the holographic projectors showed the track of every ship and its status as each salvo was delivered. Jena nearly fell asleep twice in that time. Unsatisfied with the results of the evaluation, she was nodding off a third time when Tali delivered a subtle elbow to the ribs to wake her.

“Thanks.” She whispered and blinked away the sleep to see that the Spencer had gathered his folders and was heading for the door. Captain Crites took his place at the front of the group. Everyone jumped to attention as the senior officer departed.

“Group dismissed!” Crites barked and the tedium was finally at an end. Jena had seventy-two hours before reporting back to Constellation for embarkation. With nothing else pending for the day besides packing, she headed for her favorite place on the whole station.

She had a spot on the galley/observation deck from which she could see a quarter of Alpha Station, with the beautiful Earth as a luminescent backdrop. The naval base, as well as Luna, occupied the L-5 orbit around the planet. Luna, with golden-domed colonies built into the craters covering its surface, was just coming into view on her left. Liberty Station, the civilian space-dock, moved in a lower, faster orbit and was just disappearing over the opposite horizon with its attendant flotilla of tankers, freighters, and transports.

From that place, Jena could make out the lines of her ship, as well as USS Independence and RN Audacity, all hard-docked to free-floating gantries. Numerous frigates and destroyers were out behind them she knew, but she could only make out their flashing anti-collision lights.

A destroyer with a name in Cyrillic glided past the windows as Jena sat and switched her attention to the menu. Ships from every nation in the Combine fleet and others paid call to the station. Workmen in baggy spacesuits scaled the hub, held down with magnetic boots.

“It was a mistake to put him on the fast track so quickly. We should keep him here where we can keep an eye on him.”

“Why do you say that?”

Jena was close enough to hear the conversation going on at the table behind her. The first voice sounded like Commodore Spencer. She was so engrossed with the view of the Earth and all the activity that she did not notice him arrive.

“It’s many things, little things. Certainly he runs things by the book but add in something that the book doesn’t cover and he hesitates. In a combat environment that’s death. He has no talent for improvisation.”

“Admiral Hagen thinks that he’s flag material. That must count for something these days.”

Are they talking about Captain Crites? Jena thought and quickly dismissed that possibility. She tried to detatch herself from the conversation but could not.

“Invite Admiral Hagen to come down and have a look at the training tapes. I should imagine that they would give him a good laugh, or a good worry.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You know me, Edward, I'm so often prone to exaggeration.”

Whomever Spencer was talking to laughed at his snide remark. Jena feigned a visual sweep of the panoramic view and caught the reflection of the man behind her; Admiral Edward Mallory, commander of the NorCom 2nd Fleet.

“True. So what you’re telling me is that, after scouring our command schools for the best talent to support him, he still can’t hack it?”

“No, I’m not telling you that at all. His support would carry the ship surpassingly, it's what they've been trained for."

"Then what's the problem?"

The chair behind her squeaked as Spencer got to his feet.

"He won't let them,” He said. “If you ask me, he’s been behind a desk too long, find another one for him."

“I find that a bit extreme.” Mallory said.

“Edward, you wanted my opinion and there it is," Spencer said. "His TACO handed him a fabulous setup today and he still shagged the bleeding poodle.”

“So what would you do?” Mallory said.

“It’s no matter what I would do or say. It has been made very clear to me that my views no longer matter," Spencer said, bitterness creeping into his otherwise stoic tone. "I have my pension and a cubicle on Centauri Prime. I’m through with all of this.”

“Fine, so if you were me, what would you do.”

“Relieve him," Spencer said. "From what I hear, he’s also a bloody wretch to his crew. A pity, because they’d make anyone else look like your John Paul Jones.”

“You know I can’t do that. It’s political now. There are too many in Washington that want this," Mallory said. "The late senator Crites still has a lot of powerful friends, including Admiral Hagen. His son can’t make admiral without a frontier cruise.”

“Politics has no business in war, Edward, you know that,” Spencer said. “If you must go through with this, ensure that there are no fleets placed under his direct command and hope that he doesn’t get his crew killed, or CrusRon twenty-one.”

“It’s out of my hands." Mallory said. "Besides, the only way to pull him from his command slot is to get an order from the Combine Legislature. There's no time."

“A tragedy,” Spencer said and gave a heavy sigh. "I'm off to the bogs. If the serving machine comes, tell it to wait."

“Sure thing, Leslie.”

“Ahem,” Someone, male by the sound of his voice, was clearing his throat, trying to get her attention as Spencer brushed by him. “Ahem.”

She looked up over the top of the book at the man. He smiled at her when she met his eyes.

“Can I help you?” Jena said more curtly than she’d intended.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He said. “I hate to bother but all the rest of the seats seem to be taken.”

He swept his arm around the compartment, to demonstrate that his statement is true enough if she cared to check.

Jena did so, then focused on the man addressing her. He was a pilot, judging by his flight suit, about the same age as her or slightly older, and wearing Commander’s bullets. She searched for his nametag and found it underneath his unit patch, the kind with the mottoes she usually found sexist or macho, but occasionally clever.

VF Two-twenty-one, “In thrust we trust,” how typical. She thought and fought a sneer. His unit mascot was a cigar-puffing cowboy astride a huge rocket. She smiled at the blatant phallic reference and motioned the man into the seat across from her.

“Please, Commander Hogan. Have a seat. We can’t have men of your rank standing around like the hired help, even if they are robotic.”

“Call me Dale,” He said and sat. "Or Hurricane. Rank is too formal for this place here."

He smiled and extended his hand. Jena took it, her fingers hurt by the press of the silver ring on his right hand, University of Regents, class of 2188. She had graduated from Vandenburg two years later. The inset stone was deep red, perhaps a garnet. She checked for a ring on the other hand. There was none.

“Jena Mitchell. What can I do for you, Dale?” She said and hesitantly shook his hand as she saw his eyes widen.

“Vandenburg volleyball. You were one of the captains.”

“Yep. That was me.” She said, reaching for her pendant, the Vandenburg Delta-V for victory. She found that it was showing and tucked it under her collar.

“I thought you were supposed to go the Eridani games?” He said with a puzzled smile and leaned forward on his folded arms. “By my count they should still be going on.”

“I was, but I got hurt. I landed bad going for a dig and tore my ACL . I didn’t make it back in time. Things happen.” Jena said. She kept her tone light but she was still wary of this man. He seemed nice but sounded too much like a used robot salesman, and worse, he knew a great deal about the past she was trying to forget.

"What tournament was it?" He said, as he examined the label on the wine-bottle and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Queensland Commons.”

“You don’t need any more of this wine then,” He said and laughed, setting the bottle back on the table. “It’s been sitting in a cask in Sydney for eight years.”

“Where have you been?” Jena said, leaning back to give the steward-bot room to set down her plate. The smell of it made her stomach growl, but Hurricane took no notice of it.

“My squadron got called to do the flight tests on the F-twenty-eight," He said as the steward-bot arrived. He held up the bottle for it to scan and put a finger into the air to indicate how many more he wanted. "We’re deploying on the Ranger.”

A reservist. I should’ve guessed. She thought. The sides of his head were closely trimmed but hair still grew down over the tops of his ears, not by much, but it was still out of regulation.

“I’m on Constellation, sir,” She said, working her mouth into a polite smile. “We’re headed for the frontier too, but I wasn’t aware that they needed any reserves for this deployment.”

As a rule, Jena had little respect for reservists and their lack of proper military bearing. On the other hand, they had little worry about political infighting among officers, and the members of a given unit were often as close as family. She decided to give him a little slack. He was amusingly bold.

“Neither was I two days before I got called up,” Hurricane said. “And it’s Dale, we’re all just sailors here.”

“True enough.”

“I don’t know how well you take advice but you should lighten up, Lieutenant,” Hurricane said as he leaned forward and shook his head. “You look like you got the weight of the world resting on your shoulders. You don’t have to be Power-Girl all the time.”

“Thanks for the advice, sir.” She said. “But I gave up on super-heroes a long time ago.”

“Call it my instinct for debilitating helpfulness,” He said and shrugged. “Take it how you will. It’s just seems like too much stress can turn you real ugly and that would be a shame.”

“I see,” She said and attempted to shift the topic away from herself. “I didn’t think we needed to call up any help for this deployment. Is there a war going on they only told reservists about?”

“I’m on the production team for the new advanced superiority fighter, I got my degree in Aerospace Engineering ELP." Hurricane said as he looked off toward the bar to see if his order was being filled. "They were going to send me anyway for flight tests on our new design, so they activated my unit to keep from having to pay my company to contract me out.”

"Impressive," Jena said. "I hope you're not one of those ten percent that had a nervous breakdown because of this enhanced learning process.”

"Not me," Hurricane said and grinned with just a hint of smugness. "I even graduated three months early, my balance is just fine."

“So why did you join?” She said, taking her knife and cutting into her steak. It is near-meat, but it smelled like good near-meat. After the outbreak of Bovine Blood Pox, the price of real beef had rocketed out of the range of most citizens.

"It was part of my contract," Hurricane said. "ELP isn't cheap. You?"

"I don't know where to begin," Jena said and tried to pin-down a single motivation but could not. “I guess there were a lot of reasons.”

"Pick one."

“I’m not very good at small talk,” Jena said after several uncomfortable seconds. “It’s too much like talking about nothing.”