Impulse (9 page)

“You're still here, Mr. Cochrane,” he said.

“I am,” I replied, then I clasped my hands in front of me, matching his posture, and leaned forward. I wanted answers, at least as many as I could get.

“What happened at Levant?” I asked.

“Is this about the attack as a whole or about your girlfriend?” he said. I thought about that for a second.

“Both,” I said.

“I'm under no obligation to tell you anything,” he snapped. I was ready with a response.

“Consider it a courtesy that will help us to establish proper ‘boundaries,'” I said. He looked at me with disdain. Clearly this was a man who didn't like being challenged. Nonetheless, he chose to reply.

“You saw your navy's report, did you not?” he said.

“I did.”

“Then let me just say it was mostly accurate in its assessment,” he said. I waited for him to continue. When he didn't I asked another question.

“So the displacement waves were generated by First Empire technology?”

“Undoubtedly,” he responded. “And your government has good reason to be worried. This ship as it's currently trimmed will have difficulty defeating that kind of defense. Zander is on a fool's errand, and he may lose his ship in the process.”

Now I wondered if I might have an ally after all. “If you were to intervene, or upgrade
Impulse
's weapons and defensive capabilities—” I started. He quickly cut me off.

“There are limits, Commander, to what a Historian can do, let alone to what
I
am willing to do to save this ship. Now as to the matter of your secret orders—”

This time I interrupted. “You know about that?” I said. He looked at me like I was a child.

“We gave you longwave and Lightship technology. Do you suppose that we don't know how to use it in our own best interests?” he said. I had no answer to that. “It is possible, Mr. Cochrane, that your orders and my own
may
have some areas of overlapping interest. But don't count on me for support. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” I replied.

“Good. One more thing to keep in mind.” His eyes bore down on me now. “You may have to be prepared to lose a battle to prevent a war, for the greater good. Even if it means disobeying direct orders from your commanding officers. Are you prepared for that?”

It was the second time I'd been asked that question, and I didn't like it any better this time than the first.

“I'm prepared for that eventuality,” I said. Tralfane smiled. It was cold and cheerless.

“Then I can see why your government picked you for this mission.” With that, the room went silent and our conversation appeared to be over. I started for the library door without another word.

“Did you want to see the images of the attack on
Impulse
?” he said. That caught me by complete surprise. I half turned back to him and crossed my arms.

“Are you trying to hurt me?” I asked. The Historian shook his head.

“No. I just thought you had a right to see it,” he said. I nodded and sat down at a reading terminal. After a few moments he brought up a video display. A chronometer ticked by in the lower right-hand corner. The video was grainy but detailed enough. It was undoubtedly from one of
Impulse
's longscope cameras.

I watched as a white-hot energy wave smothered a tiny shuttlecraft. It twisted and burned, tumbling out of control, tossed around like a dried leaf in the winter wind. Inside, twelve of my countrymen, one of them Lt. Natalie Decker, burned with the flame of a thousand suns unleashed upon them. The shuttle rolled on through space, second after agonizing second, until the tracking camera lost sight of it.

Suddenly the visual display changed to show a camera view from the stern of
Impulse
, looking forward toward her baffle shields. Purple sprites rippled along the length of her body as her shielding kicked in, struggling to absorb the impact of the rogue wave. Ruptures opened along her leading edges and amidships, her Hoagland Field collapsing under the strain as bolts of energy streaked through to singe her shining hull. The camera view flickered for a few seconds but stayed on just long enough for me to see bodies flying out of
Impulse
's belly and into the vacuum of open space. There, the image froze, leaving my navy comrades hanging in the cold abyss. A few moments passed as I held my breath, nauseated by what I had seen. Then, mercifully, the display went black.

“You're a brave young man for watching that,” he said. I thought I detected the first bit of respect I had seen from him in his eyes, but it vanished quickly. “I wanted you to know what you were going to be up against.”

I swallowed hard into a dry throat, then stood to leave as quickly as I could go.

“Mr. Cochrane,” he called from across the room. I stopped. “I understand you had a close relationship with the Historian assigned to
Starbound
,” he said.

“Serosian,” I replied. He looked at me coldly.

“Understand, I am not him. There are different schools within the Church of the Latter Days. They have differing philosophies about how to best help your civilization return from barbarism. Not all of us believe this quaint little Union is in your best interests.”

“So you're in favor of a return to Imperial rule? A second empire? After what you just showed me?”

Tralfane shook his head. “I never said that,” he said. I contemplated this, not sure I could trust him, but certain I would probably never know.

“Fair enough,” I responded.

“One last thing. I expect complete secrecy in these meetings. You are not to share the content of our conversations with anyone. That includes Captain Zander or Commander Kierkopf,” he said. I tilted my head at him, deliberately, to let him know he didn't intimidate me.

“I've sworn an oath to the service to always tell the truth,” I said, “and I have no intention of breaking that oath for you or anyone else, sir. But I also have no intention of offering up sensitive information on a lark, either. Just don't make me choose between you and my oath and we should get along fine.”

“Good,” he replied, then turned and strode purposefully away to his inner chambers.

On the Bridge

A
n hour later I was freshly showered, shaved, dressed, and ready to take my station on the bridge at 1200 hours. With just a few minutes to go until my first duty shift aboard
Impulse
, I stepped into the empty lifter and pressed the button for the bridge. I felt a slight tug of motion as the lifter began ascending the conning tower, passing through the artificial gravity wells of several decks as it climbed. A ship with a functioning Hoagland Field provided equal protection to all areas of a space vessel, making the location of the bridge a style decision. When the Lightship designs had been drawn up they had debated placing the bridge somewhere more practical, perhaps even deep in the center of the ship, but in the end tradition had won out, and the builders of the Lightships had chosen to put the bridge “on top.”

I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes, taking the last few moments to contemplate my situation and how far I had come. I'd dreamed of being a spacer since early childhood, then had given it up for a shot at professional soccer in my early teens before recommitting to a career in space when we had lost Derrick. Since that day I'd worked almost nonstop to get to this moment, and although it hadn't come aboard
Starbound
as I'd dreamed, I was still undeniably excited by the step into the future I was about to take.

The doors slid open and I stepped off the lifter and onto the bridge of
Impulse
at precisely one minute to noon, wearing my newly pressed Quantar Navy jacket. The USN patches and crest were sewn on at the arms and breast, as I'd requested, and I had Derrick's lieutenant commander's pins on my collar.

I took in the bridge, laid out in three levels, with the massive main plasma display taking up the far wall. The microscopic com implanted in my inner ear provided me with a variety of possible overlays for the display; Tactical, Systems, Visual, and Infrared were among my choices. Using the com with the visual options activated was reserved for officers and necessary bridge personnel, and managing the different displays without being distracted was an acquired skill, but one I'd been working on for almost two years. I was ready. I decided to set the display setting on Systems so I could monitor shipboard activities, which would be my most likely function as third. The display would stay centered to me as I walked about the bridge, tracking with me as I went until I changed my settings.

I acknowledged the bridge duty guard with a nod and then proceeded to the elevated captain's station. Lucius Zander sat with his back to me, surveying the bridge and its myriad activities.

My eye was immediately drawn to the polished gold of the longscope, situated on the same level as the captain's chair next to the Tactical station. I turned to observe the empty Historian's post behind me. It took up half the back wall with its various display panels and workstations, all dark now. My curiosity at the goings-on there would have to wait for another, less pressing, time.

Below, six crewmen, including Jenny Hogan wearing a green Carinthian Navy jacket, I noted, worked at the nav, helm, and con stations, which were recessed so their seats sat a few feet below the floor of the captain's deck. Another level below them, a dozen or so junior officers occupied the daily duty stations: Environmental Controls, Engineering, Central Computing, Weapons, Propulsion, and the various and sundry operational activities of the ship. George Layton was absent, perhaps on a different shift than mine, and Commander Kierkopf was busy at the engineering station, no doubt monitoring final repairs.

I checked my watch one last time and then cleared my throat as I rounded the captain's chair.

“Lieutenant Commander Peter Cochrane reporting for duty, sir,” I said, standing to attention.

Zander swiveled in his chair and looked up at me, coffee cup in hand. “Welcome, Commander,” he said. Then he took a sip from his cup, never taking his eyes off me. He set the cup down and casually sat back in his chair. “I'm looking forward to having you aboard.”

“As I'm looking forward to being here, sir,” I replied. The next few minutes were taken up with general conversation about the layout of the bridge, duty stations, personnel, officer shifts, and the like. Then he got down to business.

“I understand you're fully certified on the longscope,” he said. “Our previous 'scopeman wasn't up to the task at Levant. I'll be asking you to do better.”

“Of course, sir. I am certified on the 'scope, sir, but Mr. Tralfane requested I stay off of it until his updates are complete,” I said. He waved his hand dismissively.

“I've already spoken to the Historian. The 'scope is free for you to use. His updates can wait.” This surprised me, as Tralfane had been quite insistent I stay off the apparatus. I wondered if he would take this opportunity to “look in” on me and monitor my session. Zander continued.

“As you may expect, my main concern now is getting this ship ready to go back to Levant. We still don't know what generated the rogue displacement waves. It wasn't us, and from the look of the surviving Levant system society it wasn't the natives either. It was something, or someone, else,” Zander said. I mulled over his words in my mind, then came up with a question.

“So what's our next move?” I asked.

Zander eyed me very seriously. “I want to find out why my ship was blasted, Commander, and why twelve of your Quantar countrymen died in those shuttles. That's our first mission, and why I'll need an able longscopeman.”

“I'll give you nothing but my best, sir,” I said.

“I'm sure you will, Mr. Cochrane,” he replied. I understood him better now, and I decided Lucius Zander was one tough little bastard. Still, my secret orders from Wesley about betraying him hung over me like a circling vulture.

“Sir, about this mission back to Levant,” I started. He cut me off with a wave of his hand before I could voice my concerns.

“I know some of your people are against it, son, but Union Navy Command has approved the mission, and that's the last I'll hear of it,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

Zander motioned to the 'scope, at long last. “A demonstration of your skills, if you please, Commander,” he said.

I stepped into the brass-railed 'scope covey, a circular extension of the captain's deck, then took off my duty cap and set it aside before closing the rails behind me. I placed my thumb over the thermal panel reader and the 'scope louvers descended down to my eye level from their stowed position. I placed my hands at the control rods on either side and leaned in under the hood. The hood closed behind me, enclosing me to the waist to keep distracting light from interfering with the displays. After a few minutes of calibrating the equipment to my preferences for contrast and brightness, the 'scope read my vision, which was 20/15, and adjusted itself accordingly to match my prescription.

“Ready, sir,” I said via the com. I didn't know for sure, but I believed a man like Zander would have a test for me. I was right.

“Please scan section two-point four by four-eight, azimuth seventy, and tell me what you see,” he said.

I took my hands from the calibration rods and engaged the infrared, keyed in the location, and then activated the wave beacon. The display went out of focus for several seconds as the 'scope adjusted for distance and time displacement. I fine-tuned the instruments as I waited for the display to firm up, trying to seem as professional as I could under the circumstances. This was my first full-duty shift on the longscope, and I hoped my inexperience wouldn't show.

After a few more moments the visual display painted in. I scanned the field in a series of interlocking triangles, as I'd been trained to do. In the lower left corner of the third triangle I spotted the first anomaly, an elongated black-gray dot. It could be metal, it could be natural, I wasn't sure. Wanting to stay ahead of the game I brought up the infrared display and then refocused on the anomaly while my sweep continued to run in the background. Infrared indicated it was artificial, so I bounced a low-density H-wave off of the object. The returned albedo clearly indicated a metal and crystal structure, the crystal probably from standard navy-issue carbonized glass. The Hoagland ping downloaded shape, size, and mass data into the 'scope and I ran an analysis by loading the object specs into the navy database. The result came back with a positive ten seconds later.

“Object number one is a Carinthian Navy bulwark shuttle, Werder class. Capacity of twelve when active, ten passengers, pilot, and copilot. Shuttle is currently powered down and on systems standby. Distance is one-three-point-four-five AUs from present location. Give me another minute and I'll have her registry information,” I said confidently.

“Unnecessary,” said Zander. “Send a longwave with the following code, encrypted: alpha, delta, one-five omega, seven-niner seven, tetragrammaton.” I entered the code and sent the longwave communications packet. “That will start the shuttle up so she'll be ready to go when we get to her,” said Zander. “Now, find me my other anomaly, Commander.”

I returned to the 'scope and picked up my field search again. After several minutes of scanning I had found nothing. Except for the shuttle, the coordinates as given by Zander were clear of objects, anomalous or otherwise. Clearly, this was going to be the tough part of the test. I considered the possibility that there was no second object and Zander was merely trying to test my mettle. Would I stand up to him and stake my reputation on a clear field?

“The rest of the grid shows clear, Captain,” I said, not taking my eyes from the 'scope as I continued to scan the various displays for something I'd missed.

“Correct, Commander. But I still want my second anomaly,” said Zander. I looked at him on my bridge view display as he confidently took another sip of his coffee. “Improvise,” he said. This was clearly the test he truly had in mind. Many could be trained to use the 'scope, but few had the intuition and logic skills to make it more than a tool, to make it an extension of their own personalities. I'd heard veteran 'scopemen call their instruments “she,” or even use a proper name for it.

I ran through the navy catalog and my displays again and then found what I was looking for, an observation satellite in the same triangle area as the bulwark shuttle. Logic and intuition told me Zander was a man of intent, and with the rest of the grid clean the second anomaly must be in the same general area as the shuttle.

I bounced a longwave off the satellite, embedding a request for visual and infrared scans of the area around the shuttle. It returned my ping in approximately ten seconds with the second anomaly. Zander had said he wanted to recreate the incident at Levant exactly, and he meant it. The second object was tucked in behind the bulwark shuttle in the same plane relative to
Impulse
. A purely visual search wouldn't have found it.

“Second object is a light personnel carrier, Matilda class, complement of thirty-two with crew and passengers, sir.”

“You feel no need to verify this finding?” asked Zander. I opened the hood and released the 'scope, stepping back and facing my commanding officer. Commander Kierkopf now stood beside his station.

“No, sir,” I said. “Shuttle is the same class and displacement as the one lost at Levant, sir.” Zander put down his coffee and stood up.

“Thank you for the demonstration, Commander,” he said. “And well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.

“But there is something else we need to address, young man, something unsatisfactory,” he said. I was at his station in a few short strides.

“Yes, sir?” I said. Zander motioned me closer and I joined him and Commander Kierkopf to make a closed rank of three.

“Mr. Cochrane, I've been meaning to discuss something with you, and I've been letting it slide, but I find I cannot ignore it anymore,” he said. I cocked my head slightly at this, showing interest and, I hoped, respect.

“Sir?”

“It's the issue, Mr. Cochrane, of your uniform.”

I swallowed hard, not wanting a confrontation but firm on my grounds for defending my country's honor. “Sir?” I said again.

Zander cleared his throat and then raised his voice loud enough for the entire bridge to hear. “On this vessel, Mr. Cochrane, we all wear the same uniform. It is a sign of our unity.”

“Yes sir.”

“And that unity is essential to a well-run ship, wouldn't you agree?”

“Yes, sir.” Next to me, Commander Kierkopf shifted her weight, obviously uncomfortable with where this conversation was going.

“So why do I find you on my bridge not wearing the duty uniform I issued to you?” Zander demanded.

I looked him straight in the eye. I knew my answer would set my course permanently on this ship, either upward or downward. I decided to be brave.

“With all respect, Captain, to be asked to wear the uniform of another world is not a reasonable request. I swore an oath of service to my world long before I swore one to the Union Navy. Additionally, being asked to not wear my country's uniform would dishonor the memory of my countrymen from Quantar that were lost at Levant. And, at any rate sir, the uniform issued to me is not the USN standard. It is Carinthian.”