Black Fleet Trilogy 1: Warship (2 page)

“So you weren’t just born on Earth,” she said. “You grew up there as well?”

“Yes,” Jackson said. “I was born in the North American Union in a smog-choked city on the Ohio River and lived there until earning a slot to the Academy. Anyway, there are four ships in total in this squadron:
Blue Jacket
,
Crazy Horse
,
Pontiac
, and
Black Hawk
. There were two others but they were decommissioned years ago and never replaced.”

“Fascinating,” Celesta said, seeming to genuinely mean it. “Is there any information I could read on the subject?”

“I have some books that I will send to your comlink,” Jackson said. “In the meantime, we’ll come up with a duty schedule to maximize our coverage and effectiveness. I don’t expect you to simply fill the space Commander Stevenson previously occupied, I want you to figure out how you’ll be most effective. The crew won’t begin showing up for another few hours and we’re not scheduled to depart for another week or so after that. I’d like you to accompany me and the chief engineer on our walk-through.”

“Of course, sir,” she said. “It would be an excellent opportunity to meet much of the crew.”

“That’s the idea,” Jackson said. “Go ahead and get settled in your quarters and I’ll contact you when we’re ready to begin. Welcome aboard.” At his last statement he reached across his desk and offered her his hand. She rose out of her seat to shake it before standing up and offering another salute.

“I’m happy to be here, sir,” she said.

“Dismissed, Commander,” Jackson said, picking up his tile as she opened the hatch and walked out of his office. He stared at the hatch for a moment after it closed, still unsure how he felt about his new exec. Despite her qualifications he couldn’t help but feel there was a bull's-eye on his back. The fact that Admiral Winters, not one of his biggest fans, had enthusiastically pushed her candidacy didn’t do much to dispel the feeling.

Chapter 3

“Captain on the bridge!”

“As you were,” Jackson said with a dismissive wave. He climbed up into the raised command chair and began navigating through menus on the display attached to the left armrest. “Ensign Davis, what is the crew status?”

“All crew accounted for, seven still not aboard,” the short, shapely operations officer reported, consulting her display. “Those seven are being brought to the ship by local law enforcement. A ship’s officer will need to meet them at the gangway to secure their release.”

“XO to the bridge,” Jackson said loudly. The computer would automatically ping Commander Wright’s comlink and inform her she needed to report to the captain on the bridge. “OPS, tell the Marines at the main gangway that the new exec will be down shortly to deal with the locals.”

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Davis said, speaking into her headset.

It was a few minutes later when an only slightly winded Celesta Wright strode onto the bridge. “You needed to see me, Captain?”

Jackson looked over and noticed that she was still in her dress blacks, and obviously not the same set that she had reported onto the ship in as evident by the razor-sharp creases.

“Yes,” he said. “We have seven crewmembers who had a little too much fun on their shore leave down on Haven. Local LEOs are escorting them to the gangway now. I want you to meet them there, secure their release, and then review the case files to determine punishment.”

“You want me to do that, sir?” she asked after a moment of hesitation.

“Is there some problem, Commander?” Jackson asked, his voice neutral.

“No, sir. I just assumed you’d have wanted to review the case files yourself as I am unfamiliar with ship’s personnel.”

“Commander, you are in charge of junior personnel matters, including the enlisted ranks,” Jackson said softly, not wanting to dress his new exec down in front of the crew. “You’ll need to figure out how best to integrate yourself into the crew. Either way, it looks like you’ll be meeting these seven first.”

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly, but strongly. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Just one,” Jackson said. “Uniform of the day is utilities unless otherwise stated. This is still a combat ship despite the fact that there hasn’t been a war in over two hundred and fifty years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go get our people,” he said as a dismissal. “Don’t let the locals give you any shit either. Other than apprehension and detention they have no authority over Fleet personnel.”

He watched her leave the bridge, glad to pawn some of the administrative actions off on her. His former exec had become so chummy with all the crew that it became almost impossible for him to enforce discipline. It fell to Jackson to come down hard on all the department heads to keep their people in line, a move that made him even less popular among the other officers … if that was even possible.

“Captain,” Ensign Davis said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Go ahead, Ensign,” he said.

“Boarding hatch sentries are telling me there is a group from CENTCOM on their way up,” she said apologetically. “They had all the proper authorization to board the ship.”

“Very well,” Jackson sighed. He hadn’t even gotten everyone back on the ship and resumed normal watch schedules and some desk jockey from CENTCOM was no doubt on their way up to make some absurd request that would do nothing but slow him down in trying to get the ship through her shakedown and underway. He also had no doubt which admiral’s signature he would find at the bottom of the orders.

It was twenty minutes later when he heard some discussion at the bridge entrance as the group of visitors negotiated with the Marine posted there. He made no move to get up and ease the process along, still rankling at the delay they would inevitably cause.

“Captain Wolfe,” a young, fresh-faced lieutenant said, approaching the command chair. “I’m Lieutenant McCord, I’ll be your docking pilot today. My team is ready to go and the tugs will be here within the hour.”

“Docking pilot?” Jackson said, dumbfounded. “Lieutenant, we are not scheduled to decouple from Jericho Station for another six days.”

“Change of plan, Captain,” a well-dressed civilian said, walking up behind McCord.

“And just who the hell are you?” Jackson demanded, feeling control of the situation slipping away from him. The oily smile that had been pasted on the man’s face began to slide at Jackson’s abrupt tone.

“My name is Aston Lynch,” he said. “I am an aide to Senator Augustus Wellington, Chairmen of Fleet Operations Committee. You will be departing immediately for Tau Ceti, and I will be accompanying you. Here are your orders.” He handed Jackson a sealed hardcopy which the captain grabbed and stuffed into the gap between the seat and the armrest, making no move to open or even look at them.

“Well that will be a bit tough, Mr. Lynch, as we have yet to even fire the engines for the first time since coming out of a major depot level overhaul of half a dozen systems,” Jackson said through clenched teeth. “We have weeks, probably months of trials and testing within this star system before returning to normal duty.”

“As I said, plans have changed,” Lynch said with a bored shrug. “The issue is non-negotiable, Captain. While I understand this is somewhat unusual, orders are orders. The senator wants this ship on its way to Tau Ceti as quickly as possible and Admiral Winters not only agreed but signed the orders personally.”

Jackson felt completely impotent, and it was manifesting itself in a rage that burned in his chest. He looked around and could see his bridge crew trying to pretend they were engrossed in their duties and not hearing their captain being dressed down by an arrogant civilian. He reached around as calmly as he could and popped the seal on his orders. Sliding out the synthetic sheet he quickly read the overview on the first page.

Sure enough, the admiral had decided to force him to skip his planned series of tests on the
Blue Jacket's
new systems and depart as soon as they could. Her justification was that navigation and warp drive systems hadn’t been touched during the overhaul and were technically still within their calibration window. There was a scancode at the bottom of the page that would link him to a secure server on Jericho to download the complete set of mission parameters. Just above that was the signature of Admiral Winters, unmistakable with the obnoxiously flamboyant “W.”

“Putting aside the fact that the admiral hasn’t actually ever commanded a starship,” Jackson began in a controlled tone, “I hope that you are aware that these orders place the ship, and my crew, at significant risk. Just because the warp drive or the navigational sensors weren’t supposed to be touched doesn’t mean that something connected to those systems wasn’t. My orders specifically state that I will be underway
as soon as possible.
I see no problem in complying.” Lynch looked surprised and suspicious at the same time at Jackson’s sudden acquiescence.

“Very well, Captain,” he said slowly, looking around the bridge in that uncomfortable manner one adopted when their argument has been completely deflated just before they were about to launch a full-voiced counterattack. “If there is nothing else, I will leave you to your work.”

“Of course,” Jackson said pleasantly. “Your escort will show you to your guest quarters.”

Once Aston Lynch left the bridge Jackson grabbed the orders and stepped down off the command dais. “I’ll be in my office. Notify me when the tugs show up. Do not allow them to grapple onto the hull without me being present.”

“Aye, sir,” Ensign Davis said to his departing back.

****

Jackson sat at his desk and read over the details of his orders for the second time, no less confused than he had been after the first. None of it made any sense. The Confederacy had access to an entire fleet of courier ships that could carry a senator’s aide to Tau Ceti, some of them faster than an aging destroyer could. There were no details as to why Aston Lynch was being ferried to a New America planet by a Black Fleet ship or what his purpose was. The sentries had reported that Lynch had only brought on a single bag, so there wasn’t any special cargo he was ferrying.

He sat back and rubbed his temples, the aftereffects of his previous night's self-medicating still lingering. If Senator Wellington needed to talk with someone in Tau Ceti the simplest, and cheapest, way would be just to send an encrypted message via the long-haul com drone network that crisscrossed through human space. Instantaneous communication was still the stuff of imagination, but the high-warp com drones that transported digital content from system to system at least made back and forth conversations possible, if somewhat slow.

For now he would play along with the politicians, a group in which he included Admiral Winters. He didn’t have much of a choice while they were still docked. If he refused to comply with his orders Winters would gleefully have him removed from command and someone else would take the
Blue Jacket
to Tau Ceti. But once they were underway he would no longer be so constrained. He would have the authority to lock down coms and execute his orders how he saw fit and there would be nothing the arrogant young staffer could do about it.

He jumped slightly at the single knock on his hatch. “Enter!”

“Captain,” Commander Wright said as she walked in, now dressed in her dark gray utilities. “All crew are aboard and accounted for. I’ve sent a summary of the non-judicial punishment I gave our seven troublemakers to your command inbox.”

“Have a seat, Commander,” Jackson said distractedly. “Did those Haven Internal Security assholes give you any trouble?”

“Only a little, sir,” she said as she slid into the chair. “Six were simple public intoxication incidents, but the seventh was a drunk and disorderly with a physical assault tossed in for good measure.”

“I’m guessing they wanted to keep that one for a trial here on Haven?”

“Yes, sir,” Celesta confirmed. “They blustered a bit about their right to try him locally, but they weren’t very serious about it.”

“I wouldn’t think so if they bothered to bring him all the way up to the station,” Jackson said. “Are you aware the docking pilot and his team are already aboard waiting on the tugs to pull us out of port?”

“I thought we weren’t even decoupling from dock power for another six days according to the schedule you gave me,” she said with a frown.

“The schedule has apparently changed,” Jackson said, looking at her intently. “Senator Wellington himself has taken an interest in this ship, apparently, and wants us underway to ferry one of his aides to Tau Ceti immediately.”

“While I’m new to the Seventh, this seems highly unusual,” she said.

“Try unheard of,” Jackson confirmed, sliding the orders brief across his desk to her. She picked it up and skimmed through it, one eyebrow arching as she did.

“Does the Senate task Black Fleet with covert operations often?” she asked, tossing the sheet back onto the desk.

“Explain,” Jackson said with a frown.

“This reeks of CENTCOM Intel Section,” she said. “I’ve had a few interactions with them and they like to play games like this: put an operative on a ship that won’t draw unnecessary attention to itself and give the captain vague orders. To be honest, sir, it looks to me like we may be glorified couriers for Senator Wellington and our cargo is something he’d rather not have going through normal channels.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Jackson said. “I’d hate to think Admiral Winters is risking the safety of my ship and crew over some political wrangling. To answer your question, no … Black Fleet does not have any normal interaction with Intel Section. They don’t really trust us with anything like that.”

“That’s a shame,” Celesta said diplomatically. “A contact within Intel can be a good resource to have.”

“Oh I never said I had no contacts,” Jackson said with a half-smile. “I just said we have no normal interaction. Go ahead and take the rest of this watch on the bridge. Call me when the tugs show up to pull us out of dock.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, rising and twisting out of her chair gracefully before leaving his office. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, enjoying just one more moment of peace and quiet while the
Blue Jacket's
engines were silent in the dock.

****

“Captain Wolfe to the bridge,” the computer’s dispassionate voice said over the intercom. The ship knew where he was at any given time and would only activate the speakers near him. He’d been walking back to his office after a quick shower and change in his quarters. It had been a choice between getting cleaned up or grabbing a much needed meal in the wardroom, but he knew that he’d been sweating. Anyone on the bridge with a sharp nose would likely catch a whiff of sour sweat as well as the previous night’s bottle.

“Report,” he said, interrupting the announcement that he had arrived as he strode onto the bridge.

“Tugs are in place two hundred meters off the prow,” Ensign Davis reported. “Jericho Station is standing by to disconnect all umbilicals and moorings.”

“What is our status?”

“Propellant tanks are full, consumables are full, fuel tanks are topped off,” Ensign Davis said, reading off the checklist she’d already had up on her station. “All hatches are clear, all personnel are accounted for, and all departments are signaling ready for flight.”