Chapter Twenty-Six

Politics

Commodore Charles Tucker III

Every now and again, I have to go back to Earth on Fleet business.

Today's visit's going to be even less of a pleasure than usual, because the Admiralty is apparently questioning Jupiter Station's capacity and security since the explosion.

I'll go to hell and be damned before I'll let anyone take the Station away from me. My power lies in its productivity and the loyalty of the people I have there, every bit of it hard-earned and precious. I can guess easily enough that there are those with their eyes on my position there (aren't there always?), but I take what comfort I can from the fact that as far as I know, I have the backing of the one person whose opinion really counts.

She sits at the head of the conference table, looking demure in figured amber Triaxian silk. She doesn't say much, but after I've given my account of what's happened to date she listens attentively to what each of the four admirals present has to say. The secretary at her elbow takes notes and occasionally leans forward to whisper in her ear.

"I for one would be more comfortable if there had been a BII investigation," Admiral Gardener says stubbornly.

Well, that's one thing I can't have.

"Respectfully, sir, are you questionin' my loyalty, or my engineerin' abilities an' those of my people?"

Normally I wouldn't challenge an admiral this way, but Gardner is clearly the least respected of all the people around the table. Both Greene and Hernandez tend to roll their eyes when he speaks, and Leonard seems more interested in his manicure than any point Gardener is trying to make. It doesn't hurt that the Empress has already read and approved the reports.

Not receiving any indication from Hoshi that I've overstepped the mark, I continue, pressing my point hard. "You see, it was myself, my head of security, then-Major Austin Burnell, who was, incidentally, appointed by General Reed himself an' has since been promoted to Colonel an' SiC of the MACOs, an' my Chief of Maintenance an' Repair, Terry Virts, who traced the explosion to the non-standard-issue cooling unit that Generals Hayes an' Gomez approved an' had installed without station assistance or oversight for Doctor Phlox's project.

"It sounds, sir, like you're suggestin' either that we're not smart enough to find the real cause, so we made somethin' up, or that we know the real cause is somethin' that reflects poorly on us, an' so we're lyin' about it. I can't imagine you think you'd find a BII team with enough engineerin' know-how in general an' enough specific knowledge of Jupiter Station to conduct a more thorough investigation than we did. So, I'd like to know which it is, sir, so I can defend myself an' my people against an honest accusation an' be done with it instead of fightin' gossip an' innuendo every time I turn around from now 'til the sun goes nova!

"I ask you again, sir, are you callin' us traitors or idiots?"

"I'm not making any accusations, Commodore!" Gardener tells me, trying with his tone to put me back in my place, but he only succeeds in setting off another round of eye rolling and cuticle inspection. "I'm just suggesting that it might have been worthwhile to have trained investigators do the investigating."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but what exactly do you think an engineer does when somethin' quits workin'?" I ask, using a politely perplexed tone that makes it sound as if I can't believe he's said something so stupid.

That gets a snort of amusement from Hernandez (although she manages to stifle it in a fake-sounding cough), and Leonard is now smirking at his fingernails. Even the Empress shoots me a wink. As senior comm. officer aboard Enterprise, she had to troubleshoot her own station from time to time, so she knows what I'm talking about.

Gardener has clearly managed to get promoted beyond his ability to perform; he's a walking illustration of the old Peter Principle that states 'In a hierarchy every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence'. Anybody with any brains could have told him what he needed to do to shut me up was come back at me with something like, Maybe you're both! It's damned convenient, isn't it, that the only people to survive the explosion were your old nemesis from Enterprise and his favorite fuck toy? And why is it, exactly, that only you and your people got to see the wreckage? The project may have been top secret, but from everything I've heard, all that was left of it was scorched and twisted metal, so there's hardly any worry about clearance to prevent a transparent investigation.

Ironically, had he said something like that, in the kind of world I'd like to see, I'd be sounding like a nut job and he'd be the reasonable one. Luckily for me at this present moment, it's not that kind of world and he hasn't the brains to pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel – or the imagination to wonder how the boot might get filled with piss in the first place!

At any rate, it's the Empress herself who now comes to my defense, her eyes sparking with annoyance.

"Admiral Gardener!" she snaps, and everyone sits up straighter. "I have personally read and approved the reports of Commodore Tucker and his Chiefs of Security and Maintenance," she continues ominously. "I can assure they are all most thorough and complete. I also ordered a search of purchasing records which found the invoice for the refrigeration unit at fault for the explosion."

I don't know if she really ordered that search or not, but if she did, I'm damned lucky we stayed so close to the truth.

I see Gardner swallow as she sweeps onward. "If you insist, I can have that information forwarded to your chief engineer along with the three reports. He can compare the specifications for the cooling unit to the system requirements for components being installed on Jupiter Station and come for himself to the same conclusion that it was only a matter of time until the coolant leaked and the gas, being highly volatile, exploded."

If the Empress is bluffing, I need to get a whole lot better at poker. If she's telling the truth, I need to be a lot more careful in what I'm doing. I never would have expected her to do more than rubber-stamp our reports with her approval.

"Thank you, Empress, that won't be necessary." Gardener wisely backs down. I'm guessing we won't be hearing a whole lot more from him on the subject of a BII Investigation anytime soon.

"May I offer a suggestion that might put everybody's mind at ease?" Hernandez offers.

Glancing at the Empress, Black gets a nod.

"What are you thinking, Erika?" he asks.

"The Revenge is due for a refit next quarter. Why don't we move that up, and I can visit the station, do a thorough inspection, verify whether Jupiter Station has the capacity to handle salvage, refits, and new construction, and report back on whether I think Commodore Tucker's claims and requests for additional personnel are reasonable?"

She's perfectly right, of course. Her ship's seen some hard service and if the truth were told, the refit's well overdue.

But I'm not going to jump at the offer as if I've something to hide. I take a moment to consider what our current workload is and how we could rearrange things to fit this change to the schedule.

"Yeah, Admiral, I guess we can deal with that. The sooner we have that ship of yours back up to full battle order, the better. She's a beauty." I don't have to pretend enthusiasm – Revenge really is a lovely ship, sleek and deadly.

I glance around the table and then deferentially at Hoshi, who will naturally have the final decision. "Are you happy with that, Empress? I'm sure all of us here trust Admiral Hernandez to render a fair account of what she finds."

Even Gardner – as much of an asshole as he is – can't really argue with that point; Hernandez is as sharp as a needle, but whatever her feelings towards any of us around the table, she's a loyal servant of the Empire who would do nothing to jeopardize its defense capabilities. As one by one the others nod acquiescence, he glumly adds his.

"Excellent. I'll consider the arrangements made." The Empress smiles graciously. "And since you're here, Commodore, and we don't see each other often enough, I'm sure you'll be kind enough to join me for a meal this evening."

I incline my head until my forehead nearly touches the table, the appropriate obeisance when one is seated and unable to bow, and for just that moment I reflect on how far I've come from that rednecked farm boy from Panama City. There probably aren't a hundred people in the empire privileged to sit in the Imperial Presence, let alone dine with her.

"The honor will be all mine, Empress."

The honest truth is that I'd counted on going back to the station as soon as the meeting was done – presuming, of course, I'd survived it still in control. But even though I'd a darn sight rather be getting home than spend an evening 'poodle-faking' (I can't remember for a moment where I heard the expression, but then remember with a grin that it's one of Malcolm's), the sight of Gardner looking like a bulldog that swallowed half a dozen wasps at the same time is nearly enough to make up for everything.

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