Impulse (3 page)

“And if the Sri are in league with a revived empire?” I asked. He leaned forward and met my eyes.

“If the First Empire still exists out there and it is under Sri influence, then none of us are safe,” he said. “Watch your back, Peter. The heir to the seat of Quantar would be a welcome target for either of those potential enemies.”

I nodded. “And what about this Captain Zander?” I asked.

“What of him?”

“He led
Impulse
directly into the attack that killed Natalie and my countrymen. Should I trust him? Should I hate him?”

Serosian contemplated me. “Whatever happened at Levant was no accident. Don't hate a man you've never met for Natalie's loss. Hate the ones who killed her with their machines. Hate the empire, Peter.”

Then he stood up and walked away from the table and went to the window, staring out at the shining globe of Quantar.

I took another drink of my wine and contemplated what I had gotten myself into.

Exploring High Station

B
y evening, only George Layton and John Marker had arrived from my select team of cadet instructors, so I rounded them both up for the impromptu memorial service for Natalie and the others. I sent out a general announcement on the station com band, and by the time we gathered at 2000 hours about two dozen Quantar officers and enlisted ended up joining us. I was forced to lead the service, both by my rank and by my standing in Quantar society. I said the few words I could manage and we all lit a candle for those lost, followed by twelve minutes of silence, one for each of the lost souls. During that time I thought of Natalie, and then Derrick, and how much I had lost in such a short time.

At the end, each of the participants placed their candles on a makeshift altar I had prepared one by one, some adding photos of their friends who had been lost. When the crowd was gone I blew all the candles out, but I left the memorial where it was.

As I walked away with Marker and Layton I tried to clear my head and connect with what I was actually feeling. The fact was that I had emotionally broken from Natalie a few months ago, when she had first learned of her new assignment. We were being forced to separate by military necessity, so I knew we had to draw the line on our personal relationship as well. She didn't like it and neither did I, but we stuck to it. Now it felt like once I had turned my emotions off, I wasn't sure I knew how to turn them back on again.

Marker insisted we go out on our last free night together and Layton agreed, so in the end I was forced into carousing about the station. We hit several bars and restaurants, but eventually we ended up at a standing table at our favorite hangout, Paddy's Pub on the tourist deck, drinking our last beers together as cadets. From here on out it was going to be all business.

Corporal John Marker was a huge man with caramel-colored skin, an inheritance of his mixed descent from the aboriginal peoples of the Australian continent on Earth. I'd always wanted to tease him that I thought he looked more Maori than Aussie, but he was far too big to give stick to, and I was smart enough not to go there. Layton was like me, as Earth-English as they come and white-skinned as sheep's wool.

Marker was twenty-six, old for the cadet corps, and two years older than Layton, who was a year older than me. I had just turned twenty-three the previous month, so this was my last official drinking binge before assuming my station on
Impulse
. I'd come into the Lightship program two years late, but I made up for it by doubling up on my classes and finishing in three years instead of four. And becoming valedictorian of the class in the end, of course.

Marker raised his glass of stout. “For Natalie,” he said. Layton and I repeated the toast, and I drank from my pint of beer. It was bitter for me in more ways than one.

“We're both sorry about this, Peter,” Marker said. I nodded.

“Thank you both,” I said. “Natalie was special to me, so we have to make sure we honor her with our performance on
Impulse
.”

“Agreed,” said Layton. “I just wish we were getting our first assignment on
Starbound
.”

“We all do,” I said, taking another swig of my beer. “But this mission is critical to the Union, and our performance is critical to Quantar. I'll miss
Starbound
too, and the adventures we could have had aboard her.”

Marker stirred at this, and I could see the alcohol was starting to get to him. He'd been drinking far more than Layton or I had.

“And here's to
Starbound
,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the pub to hear. “The finest ship in the Union!” The whole pub raised their glasses at that one.

“Here, here!” said Layton and I, lifting our beers and clacking them with Marker's. I was sticking to bitter, but Layton was going adventurous with a brown Belgian ale. Marker was strictly a stout man. We all killed our beers and then Marker called to the bartender for more.

“I can't believe they're breaking us up,” said Layton in the intervening moment.

“Believe it,” chimed in Marker. “That goddamned Wesley's a pillock. All he cares about is keeping his nose up the Carinthians' arses. As long as they're happy he keeps his job.”

“Here, here!” said Layton, raising his empty glass just as the serving girl brought more. Layton tipped her heavily and then patted her gently on the bottom as she walked away. She turned and smiled back at him.

“I'll have that one eating out of my hands by midnight,” he said. Marker looked down at him through glazed eyes.

“It's already 0030 hours, idiot,” he said. I had to laugh at that. Layton took the insult affably enough and then turned his attention to me.

“Do the bloody Carinthians even drink beer?” he asked.

“I think they invented it,” I quipped back, taking another big swig from my glass. Marker laughed so hard he snorted.

“Well, here's to 'em then,” he said, taking yet another drink. On cue, three officers in Carinthian green came into the pub and made their way straight to the bar. One was an older gray-haired officer that I took for station staff, another a young red-haired man of ensign rank, and the third was an athletic-looking woman with the rank of commander.

“She's pretty,” said Layton as the three Carinthians doffed their berets and started drinking in a corner of the bar. I watched her as she brushed out her regulation-cut hair with her hand and took a drink of a very dark beer. She was indeed pretty, but not overly so. I caught her taking a quick glance in my direction and nodding at me. I quickly looked away, not wanting to be seen staring at her.

Marker's booming voice interrupted my surreptitious observations.

“You know, Commander,” he said, elbowing me playfully, his voice starting low but then rising. “You know goddamned well I'd follow you to the steps of the Emperor's palace!” he said, raising his glass. “If the goddamned Union Navy gave us half a chance!”

“I know, John,” I said, trying to quiet him down. “I'm looking forward to having you both aboard
Impulse
.”

“Well, I hope the cod-eating Carinthian Navy know what they're getting!” he said, practically yelling now. The bar was noisy but more and more patrons were paying attention to Marker's vocal exercises, especially the three Carinthians. He put his arm around me and started in again, this time in the clear direction of the Carinthian officers.

“This here's the best goddamned cadet graduate in the fleet,” he said, tapping my chest repeatedly with his index finger while slopping beer on the floor. “Name's Cochrane. Peter Cochrane, and you'd better respect that!” he said, the slurring of his words increasing. “You're gettin' our bess!” Then he wrapped me in a huge bear hug.

“Thanks, John,” I said, while waving apologetically to the Carinthians as Marker refused to let me go. The older officer looked miffed and the ensign had a disapproving look on his face, but the woman smiled a bit at me, more out of sympathy than anything else, I guessed.

“George, why don't you see if you can help me get John here back to his bunk,” I said. Marker was still draped all over me.

“Sure thing,” said Layton. He took one arm while I took the other.

“Perhaps you could use some help with your friend?” said a husky female voice from behind me. I looked around to see the Carinthian commander standing behind me.

“Um, sure,” I said, pleased that she had come over to make my acquaintance, but worried about the circumstances. I was in fact quite unsure of how she could help with a man of Marker's size. She was around five-foot-seven from my guess, clearly in good shape but I couldn't say she was more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. Marker was a hundred more than that, easily, and he was starting to sway like a badly designed bridge.

“You're a cutie,” he said to her.

She ignored him, smiling, and then turned to the young ensign from her group and waved him over. He put down his beer with a look of great distaste and reluctantly came over to our table. Without a word he slid in next to me and took my place. At first I didn't understand what was happening until he and Layton started walking the now-quiet Marker out of the pub. When I turned back the staff officer was gone and I was alone with the Carinthian commander.

“Um, what just happened?” I said.

“Your friend looked like he need some help home. In the interests of interplanetary unity I thought I would offer my ensign as assistance,” she said. I smiled.

“I see,” I said. “And your other friend?” She turned to look at the empty space near the bar where he had been standing a moment ago and shrugged.

“Probably home to his wife, I'd guess,” she said. I picked up my beer as she pointed to a booth that had opened up.

“Perhaps we could get better acquainted?” I opened a path with a sweep of my hand and then followed the commander to the booth and sat down. She slid in across from me with her beer glass in hand. I noticed she also had a double shot glass with some kind of chaser.

I extended my hand. “I'm Peter Cochrane,” I said.

“So I gathered from your friend. Pleased to meet you, Commander Peter Cochrane,” she said, gripping my hand firmly in reply for a few seconds. As I pulled back, my fingers went to my new collar pins nervously, then I took a drink of my bitter. I had two full stars, she had three.

“And whom do I have the pleasure of sharing this drink with?” I said, trying to open up the conversation.

“I'm Dobrina Kierkopf, Commander, Royal Carinthian Navy, class of '74,” she said. The same year that Derrick had graduated from our Academy. That would make her twenty-six, three years older than me. I took another sip of my beer to calm my nerves.

“Pleased to meet you, Commander,” I said. “Kierkopf? Is that Carinthian?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Actually it's Slovenian,” she said back. “We have a plurality of German ancestry on our world, with large mixes of other nationalities from Central Europe on Old Earth.”

“Ah, fascinating,” I said. Then without thinking I blurted out: “So, Commander, what brings you to High Station?” She smiled silently for a moment as I got redder and redder. It was an innocent enough question . . .

“That sounds like a pickup line, Commander. Do you use it often on superior officers?”

I swallowed hard, embarrassed at how my question had come out. “Forgive me, Commander, I didn't mean to imply—”

“Oh, so you
don't
find me attractive?” she cut in, a very stern look on her face. “Am I too old for you?”

“Certainly not, ma'am! It's just, I didn't—” She laughed hard and then covered her mouth as she giggled. “You're playing me,” I said.

“Guilty,” she said, then took a drink of her stout. I did my best shy-young-officer impression then and matched her with a drink of my bitter.

“You really should switch to something more robust,” she said as I had a mouth full of beer. It took me a second to respond in kind.

“No thank you, madam,” I said. “I've tried that motor oil before and once was enough!”

“You're sure?” she asked. I nodded.

“Absolutely.”

“Then maybe I could interest you in trying some of this.” She slid the double shot glass across the table to me. “It's a family favorite back home, especially in New Wurzburg, where I'm from,” she said.

I looked down at the nearly full shot glass. The drink was clear with a slight green tinge and looked harmless enough. She sat and waited patiently, her hands clasped together.

“Aren't you up for the challenge, Commander Peter Cochrane of Quantar?” she said, teasing me. I had no intention of backing down now. I took the glass in a swift and casual motion. Raising it to my lips, I hesitated only a second before taking an ill-advisedly large drink. For a second I tasted the pleasant flavors of apple and pear mixed together, then the viscous fluid started burning my lips and tongue. It crawled down my esophagus like a worm on fire. I coughed and choked, my eyes watering as I struggled to catch a breath of air without burning my lungs.

“My . . . God!” I choked out, “What
is
that?” She reached across the table and snatched the glass from my hand, then downed the rest of it, more than half a glass full, in one quick gulp, snapping her head back at the finish and exhaling.

“We call it schnapps,” she said in a normal tone of voice. I was still coughing. “As I said, a family favorite back home.”

“I'm glad I'm not in your family,” I said. She smiled wryly.

“Yes, well, I should answer your original question, Commander,” she said.

“I've forgotten what it was,” I said, wiping my mouth with my uniform sleeve. “But go ahead.”

“You asked what brought me to High Station. I've been assigned as a strategic attaché for the Carinthian Navy for the last three months, although my commission has recently been transferred to the Union Navy Command.”