The Terran Gambit (Episode #1: The Pax Humana Saga) (15 page)

Alessandro finished placing the last piece and rubbed his hands together. “Now you are talking, my friend. Let’s play.”

Five minutes later, Alessandro escorted Jake back to the flight deck, and when they arrived, the other squadron members were still filing in. “You see?” the tall engineer said in his extravagant accent, “I had you back early. Good game, my friend, good game. Until next time, then. Come visit me in engineering when you get the chance.”

“Yeah, Alessandro,” he replied. “Just so you know, we’re having a rematch. Tomorrow. Oh six hundred before my shift. Don’t think it’ll be so easy next time.”

“Of course not, my friend, of course not.” Alessandro smiled smugly at him before leaving.

Cocky bastard, he thought.

I think I like him.

5

C
APTAIN
T
ITUS SPENT NEARLY
an hour in engineering, waiting as Chief Engineer Lombardi examined the pad from Admiral Trajan, memorizing it until he felt satisfied he no longer needed it.

“But sir,” the beefy man said, scratching his head with a thick finger, “how am I supposed to get this done in a day?”

“I spoke to the Admiral about that, and he agreed to let you choose two technicians to assist you. But you are not to divulge any contents of that pad that they don’t need to know. Only what they need to do their job. Is that clear?”

The man nodded. “Yeah, I think with help I could do it. I’ll have to grab some equipment from storage, and I’ll probably need the metalworks plant down on deck thirty-two to lend me one of their portable smelters. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’d better get started if the Admiral wants this by the morning.”

“Don’t worry, Lombardi,” he began, reading the man’s thoughts. “The Admiral assured me you’ll get overtime pay for it. Just keep it discrete, and talk to no one. Lieutenant Torricelli here will be your security escort to make sure you are undisturbed for the entire time. Just don’t tell him what you are up to. Admiral’s orders.”

Chief Engineer Lombardi handed the pad back to Captain Titus. “Very well. I’ll take Chang and Rossi. They’ve got young families and can use the extra cash.” Titus nodded his approval and left engineering, heading towards the bridge.

What an intricate web we weave, Admiral.

* * *

As Alessandro left the flight deck, Jake looked up to watch as the rest of his squadron took their seats. He glanced down at the console on the podium at the front of the room and saw a message flashing from the Captain. Curious, he read it. More space jocks coming in on the next passenger carrier. Two more fighter pilots and a gunner. Good, they were at full compliment now.

He glanced at one of the names, which looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Well if it isn’t Jake Mercer, Viper squad extraordinaire,” a voice announced at the rear of the room. He glanced up.

It was her. The name on the list, it was her.

Holy shit.

It was as if not a day had passed in three years. Her flight shirt hung next to her legs, tied around her waist by the sleeves, and her blonde hair still fell loosely into her eyes, which she blew out of the way with a puff as she stepped forward to take a seat. Jake glanced at her tattooed shoulders, and instantly the image of her naked ass in the bathroom mirror jumped back into his mind’s eye.

“Lieutenant Grace. Welcome aboard,” he said, stiffly, and looked back down to the console, as if studying it, trying to suppress his sudden boner. Think unsexy thoughts. Breathe.

As the others finished taking their seats, he heard her whisper loudly to the pilot next to her for all to hear. “I played with his viper!”

His head snapped up, a look of horror on his face, which he quickly tried to subdue, to change into what he thought would be a look of official disapproval. The sound of snickers from a few other pilots could be heard, and he knew he had to say something to get control of the situation as quickly as possible.

She glanced up at him innocently. “That was the name of your squadron, right sir? I played with all the vipers up there in orbit on D-day, taking out the Corsicans. Had a blast—you guys were good.”

“And girls.” He looked sidelong at her as he began to step away from the podium.

“Yeah, they were good too,” she said suggestively, as the pilots who had been snickering now burst out into full-on laughter. Jake frowned at her. “Lieutenant, a word?” he motioned back to the ready room, and she smirked at him as she ambled past. He closed the door and turned to her.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Oh, lighten up. Just having a little fun.” She fell into the only chair in the room and kicked her flight boots up on the desk.

“A little fun? You’re out of line, Lieutenant.”

She stretched her head back and laughed. “That doesn’t sound like the eager little space jock I fucked. Come on, sir, don’t be such a tight-ass. I expected it from Jemez. Not from you.”

“Jemez? You mean you and him.…” He trailed off, searching for words.

“Yep.” She smirked. “Not bad, too, considering his inclinations.”

And for the second time that day, he was speechless.

* * *

Ben Jemez was having the best day of his life. When he was a kid, every adult in the room encouraged him, lauding his intelligence and drive to succeed. They cheered him on, patting him on the head and predicting a life of medals and awards and success for the eager, brown-haired child. Boy wonder, they called him.

And the name stuck. It followed him to the elite academy he attended in his teenage years, and though he secretly hated the nickname, rather than shirk it, he tried to live up to it. To personify it in every way—his ironic attempt to show the name-callers what he was really made of. Boy wonder? No, he decided he’d be superman, the old over-the-top smarmy action figure of old.

And so he devoted himself: not just to his academic studies as his parents demanded, but to every skill imaginable. He spent the hours he should have been wasting as a free-spirited teenager at the gym, or learning parachuting, or bow-hunting in the wilderness with the local young rangers group, or target practice at the shooting range with his neighbor, a retired Marine general and expert marksman. He insisted that his ever accommodating, upper-class parents pay for an increasingly pricier range of classes, usually private instruction from one of North America’s premier masters of martial skills or craft. Kickboxing, karate in all its forms, wrestling … he did it all, developing a lean, muscular physique other teenage boys would have killed for, but as it was they ignored him—he seemed too self-assured, even cocky, for their tastes.

The Space Fleet Academy was worse, with other cadets either mercilessly teasing him, or silently envying his talents, his body, his looks—he had become quite easy on the eyes as a man—and even his quiet dignity, which his instructors interpreted as stand-offishness or shyness. But his perceived coldness was the simple result of parents who insisted on social grace and from socializing mainly with adults during his teenage years. And as a result, in flight school, his superiors now finally understanding him: he rose through the ranks faster than just about any before him, graduating top of his class with the rank of full lieutenant, something unheard of at the Academy. But then again, the Resistance, in charge of the Academy at the time, broke with a slew of customs given the pressing need for fighters.

And so his first day on the bridge of the
Phoenix
, training for what he assumed was his position as the future XO—and eventual captain—he grinned his entire shift. Finally he had been given his chance to shine. When he gave orders to the bridge crew, they snapped to attention. The Captain—a man after his own heart, it appeared—seem genuinely pleased at his knowledge and skills, even complimenting him on his ability to quote the regulation manual. Might as well earn that nickname, too, he thought.

“Jemez,” said the grizzled old XO, handing him a data pad. “After you go through the roster and make scheduling recommendations, take this to the Captain for his approvals.”

Ben saluted. “Yes, sir!”

“And not so enthusiastically, kid. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

“Yes, sir!” he replied, dropping the volume ever so slightly. He paced back to the XO’s station and sat down, scanning the list of new arrivals, noting their assignment preferences and relevant skills and training. Nearly half the crew were fresh recruits, either drafted from Earth’s population or taken straight from the Academy, and the other half were a combination of barely experienced officers and enlisted crew from both the Resistance as well as other Imperial worlds. When making his recommendations, he kept the Captain’s orders in mind, trying to keep all the sensitive posts and all the command positions staffed by former Resistance officers. He surmised that if the Truth and Reconciliation found out about his bias he’d be censured, but the
Phoenix
soon would not have to answer to any Imperial commission.

The
Phoenix
would soon be chasing the Imperials off of Earth. For good this time. And for good measure, he’d lobby the Captain to chase them back to Corsica itself, as payment for Dallas. Everyone knew that if the Imperial High Command had let them, the Imperial fleet would not have stopped at Dallas, but instead would have turned Earth into another Belen.

Not just Dallas. His parents, too. He’d tried not to think about them since D-day. Their deaths were one thing he did not want to confront, to master, to even remember. And besides, they would just tell him to stop daydreaming and get back to work, wonder boy. Wouldn’t they?

He steeled his chin and continued scanning the roster.

* * *

“Admiral Trajan, Captain Titus,” Titus leaned into the comm.

The Admiral’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Go ahead, Captain.”

“Chief Engineer Lombardi reports that he’s nearly done, sir.”

“Excellent. When he is completely finished, you may escort the Havoc freighter’s crew back to their ship, and send them on their way. Tell them their little vacation is almost over and that they should enjoy their time on the
Fury
while they still have it.”

Titus nodded, even knowing there was no way the Admiral could see him through the speaker. “Very well, sir. Will that be all?”

“Send Chief Engineer Lombardi to the ready room when he’s complete. I want to thank him in person for a job well done. He deserves that, don’t you think, Captain?”

“I believe so, sir. The man stayed up the entire night shift with his technicians, nearly wiping out our store of coffee in the process.”

“Indeed. Trajan out.”

Captain Titus relayed the message to Lombardi, then stood up from the command console of the bridge, stretching his back. Why on Earth they built the damn things so low he could never figure out. Then again, the ship was built in the Earth shipyards, and people from Old Earth did tend to the shorter side. Not like the saviors of the galaxy. Not like the tall, broad-shouldered Corsicans.

The reply from Lombardi popped up on his screen. The man was done. An hour earlier than he’d said it would take. Titus made a mental note to pad the man’s next paycheck, above and beyond the overtime.

“Navigation. Prepare for the shift to the Bismark system. We will be leaving within the hour.”

* * *

Jake woke early, grabbing a meal at the galley before running down to the engineering decks—there didn’t seem to be enough time in the day to do everything he wanted to, so he ate the muffin and banana as he ran, getting his workout too. He’d spent an hour the night before going over fighter squadron duty rotations, switching to studying chess strategy for an hour before falling asleep at his desk well after midnight.

“Ah, my friend. You’ve returned. I was afraid I’d scared you away. Come. Sit,” the half-mustached man said, waving him down to the other chair on the other side of the cluttered desk.

“Of course I’m back. I couldn’t let yesterday’s game stand. I’ve got a score to settle with you. Ready? I’ve got thirty minutes this time.” He rubbed his hands together and began setting up the chessboard, failing to notice that Alessandro was writing on the chalkboard. Finally, Jake looked over. “You coming?”

“I never finished my lecture yesterday.” Alessandro tapped his chalk on an equation he’d just written. Jake groaned. He wondered if he’d discovered Alessandro’s chess strategy: numb the opponent’s brain before the game even starts. “The Naples constant, you know, the one in the new gravitic field approximation? I have a confession to make. It is not actually constant. It also depends on the source mass. But in a special way. And hardly anyone knows this, so look sharp. Usually, the source mass has a very predictable effect on the energy required for gravitic shift. They scale linearly. Simple, right? It’s why we can almost get away with calling it a constant. But in the Naples constant, it is mass cubed.” He turned back to Jake, waiting, as if he had just delivered the punchline to a joke.

“Interesting …” Jake stroked his chin, feigning understanding.

“Cubed, Jake, cubed! It means that when a fighter or any other small vessel is equipped with the new gravitic field generators, they can do these short-range shifts too! The tiny power plants on them can actually handle it. The capital ships—they can’t do it, at least, not without expending the normally huge amount of energy.”

The enormity of what Alessandro had just said started to dawn on him. “Are you saying that I can shift a few kilometers at a time now in my fighter? Cause that’s what I thought you said, and if that’s true, it’s game changing!” He thought about it, pausing for a moment. “But the Nine’s gravitic generators aren’t finished yet, and I suppose neither are the fighters. The shipment from Havoc comes in later today, so it shouldn’t be long, right?”

Alessandro nodded, scratching his half-mustache thoughtfully. “A week, more or less. But the fighters’ field generators are tiny. The shipyards had more than enough Neodymium for the entire complement of the
Phoenix
’s fighters.” He seemed to notice Jake’s growing smile. “Happy?”