Chapter Thirty-One

Being Pack

Colonel Austin Burnell

When I am informed that the Dragon is docking, I don't drop what I'm doing and head down there to meet with the security chief, Lieutenant Tanner. My new position as senior field officer for the MACOs ensures that he will wait on my convenience. Still, as Commodore Tucker is prone to saying, 'time is life,' and though I'm in a position to waste as much of Tanner's as I want, I would never be so discourteous – it only breeds resentment.

Seeing that I have only three pages left of the monthly readiness report I'm reviewing for the 'Fleet admirals, a courtesy to them which I gladly took over for General Reed because it gives me a voice in the deployment of ships, I advise my secretary to inform Tanner that I'll arrive to meet with him in fifteen to twenty minutes. I've been making marginal notes all along, and after giving the report a full twenty-four hours to percolate through my subconscious brain, I'll synthesize those notes into a one-page response which I'll transmit to the admirals on Friday morning to give them time to consider it before their Monday meeting.

The Monday meeting is another of the General's former duties that has quite naturally fallen to me, though I only attend in person once a month. The other three or four Mondays, depending on how the month happens to fall, I join in by secure conference call from my office on Jupiter Station.

A great many things about my work have changed since my promotion. The first thing I did was promote my second in command, Lieutenant Janis Crawley, to major and put her in my previous post, the command of station security. She's in a difficult position, having to do my former job with me still here on the station, but she's handled it with impressive grace and dignity. She knows I'm available to give advice, and she has sought me out once or twice, but otherwise, I'm consciously making an effort to keep my nose out of her business. The one and only time one of my former staff tried to go over her head by coming to me when he disagreed with her orders, I blistered his ears with an irate lecture about the chain of command and sent him, literally, crawling back to her to beg forgiveness – with the threat of a day in the agony booth hanging over his head if he ever dared to do something so inappropriate ever again.

At Commodore Tucker's morning meetings, which I still attend, I make a steadfast point of deferring to Janis whenever the commodore slips and questions me about issues of station security. It is, in fact, the commodore himself who inspired my hands-off approach. 'Pick the right person for the job, an' just let 'em get on with it,' is another of his practical platitudes which has served me well.

To be honest, though, it isn't just appreciation for Janis's ability that has me adroitly shifting my shoulders to allow all the appropriate responsibilities of her position to slide onto hers. There are so many new and heavy ones on mine that I simply wouldn't have the time to deal with hers as well, and I'm thankful that she copes as well as she does. The commodore's sage advice is paying handsome dividends already.

My new office, though somewhat smaller than the old one, is comfortably appointed and far and away more prestigious for being on the exterior hull – a sign of my rise in the world. The view is quite spectacular, with the swirling storms of Jupiter filling the lower half of the port and the twinkling stars in the space beyond filling the upper.

I've also begun building myself a new staff. Taking another leaf from Commodore Tucker's book, I brought them on the same way he drew Commander Kelby in: I simply gave them a list of their options and let them choose. Though it meant no promotion for either of them, at least not yet, my old friend Jignesh and the lovely Zenobia Towneley have both come willingly into my employ, along with my secretary, a young corporal by the name of Ian Trainor.

I value Jignesh primarily for his interrogation skills; he works with a lot of the elite strike teams, organizing and planning missions against alien rebels and human seditionists. Also, invariably, he brings me back intel on who's jockeying for position in what corner of the Empire and how we can manoeuvre to keep them in their places.

When Zenobia came to join me, she made a special request that her duties let her travel frequently on Starfleet ships so she can interact with their MACO teams. Given how ready she was to render services to me, I can imagine that she has her own reasons for this, but another pleasant factor of Pack mentality is that we're not ashamed of our physical hungers the way other humans are; no doubt she will find many ready to oblige her. Conscious that a sexually eager and submissive representative would be one more lure to display the benefits of my service, I was happy to grant her request and use her as my liaison with the New Pack officers. In just twelve weeks she has identified half a dozen more members of the New Pack, and introduced me via encrypted feeds to all of them, identifying me as their Alpha – though I emphatically remind them that I am just standing in for General Reed until he is able to return to full duty. I am careful never to even hint that he is anything less than fit and well, and take pains to remind them that he is now doing the work of three top-ranking officers. I also add that it's only a matter of time until General Hayes's and General Gomez's personal projects and responsibilities are reassigned and properly dispositioned, and then we will have our Alpha back. In the meanwhile, they can come to me for anything they need.

I doubt Commodore Tucker would be best pleased to learn that I am using the opportunity he and the Empress have given me to start building my own pack, but General Reed certainly wouldn't hold it against me. Moreover, neither of them could argue that I am not doing what I think is best for the empire. If Reed comes back, I will be able to hand over to him a larger, integrated, organized Pack. On the other hand, if he does not return at full steam, I will be able to oust him easily and assume his power with the strength of the merged Pack behind me.

Practical and merciless. This is Pack law. Thus it was, is now and always shall be, world without end. Amen.

My musings have carried me all the way through the readiness report and down to the docking hatch where the Dragon is coupled up to the station. Ian has clearly communicated my approach because I barely have to slow my steps to go from Jupiter Station through the hatch and onto the Dragon. Frankly, I prefer it when Ian telegraphs my coming to the ships I am about to visit. Another lesson from the commodore: Surprise inspections are unnecessary and can only serve to upset the people serving under you. People who take pride in their work only need about fifteen minutes to get the house in order so they can show off their accomplishments with a sense of pride and purpose. On the other hand, people who don't care about what they do will never be ready for an inspection, however much time you give them.

When I board the Dragon, I accept Lieutenant Tanner's greeting and immediately get into his personal space a little bit more than a typically reserved Englishman would be likely to do. If he is not Pack, he will just think me a bit peculiar; if he is Pack, he will give me a sign. In fact, after only a second or two of startled hesitation, he does in fact shift his gaze downward and lick his lips.

Immediately I step out of his space. We will repeat and complete the ritual later, in his office, out of sight of the prying eyes of his shipmates.

The lieutenant then conducts me on a tour of the ship. Frankly, I could take myself on this in half the time from having visited half a dozen or more ships of this class in the past three months, but I'm taking yet another lesson from Commodore Tucker here: Let people perform for you and let them think you're impressed. It will make them work harder in the future.

I've been doing my homework regarding the New Pack. It's taken a while, but Zenobia has been happy to be of service as regards filling me in on the way things work, and I've come to the conclusion that things need to change.

There's a lack of respect for the structure, for one thing. They fight among themselves far too much just to achieve small shifts in the hierarchy, and they leave survivors. A fight within the pack should destroy the loser and elevate the victor, and so fighting should only take place where there are real gains to be made, and the risk is worth taking. Minor squabbles are a waste of energy, and they're going to stop.

Also, they pick on the 'Fleeters far too much. Obviously, these people don't understand what it means to be Pack. They couldn't possibly. But that doesn't make them fair game for petty torment and it doesn't mean they don't deserve fair treatment. Pack or 'Fleeter, we're all in the service of the Empire, and a machine whose component parts don't work together in harmony is a machine that won't last that long. I reflect wryly as I come to this conclusion that it seems being surrounded by engineers for years is starting to affect my thinking, though that's not entirely a bad thing as they are extremely efficient people and emulating them has helped me streamline many of my sometimes tedious routines.

On our tour of the ship, I get odd impressions now and then that Tanner is curious about me. Clearly, it's quite out of the question for him to ask me anything; he's there to provide information, not obtain it. But I think Jignesh would be proud of me for the amount of information I've managed to obtain by the time we reach his office, where a meal is waiting for us both.

As the door closes, I wait for the appropriate act of submission. Tanner, however, has decided to risk not delivering it. Rather than tilt his head and bare his neck, he lifts his chin and gives me a defiant stare.

His audacity takes my breath away. If he supposes that because I'm a colonel I'm less dangerous as a dominant member of the Pack, he's made a serious mistake. An extremely serious mistake.

I honestly don't think he expects the attack. He doubles up with my fist in his belly, which of course presents his head and shoulders. His uniform rips like worn cotton and my teeth sink into his splenius capitus muscle. This is not a minor reprimand; I taste blood, and hold him there, growling threat, while he shrieks and finally capitulates.

After enough of a pause to scare him, I release him and kick him away. He wisely goes into full abasement posture, down on the floor with his belly exposed, arms and legs bent and splayed, waving in the air, whimpering piteously.

Victory is arousing, and he is not in a position to resist. I snarl down at him softly, tempted, but I think he has already learned a lesson, and he needs to have the bite seen to by a medical professional. How he chooses to explain the wound is his own affair; Zenobia has assured me that the secret of the conditioning we all share is as closely guarded among the New Pack as it is among the Old. Instead, I lean down and catch hold of his face, pulling it around towards me so he has no choice but to meet my eyes now. Then I speak, my voice quiet and hard.

"Try that again, and you will have to kill me to keep me from killing you."

He knows I mean it. He drops his gaze, whines submissively and licks my hand.

"We are Pack," I continue coldly. "The rules are different now – General Reed's rules. Pack submit, or they fight to the death. One or the other."

The flicker of eyes towards me indicates scared confusion, so I lean closer. "I am in control now. I am dominant. You will submit, or you will die. Is that clear?"

"Colonel." He licks his lips and nods. Later, in bed, he will demonstrate his absolute understanding of that new law. But for now, dead men learn no lessons and spread no stories, and so I let him escape.

=/\=

But I'm not ashamed to learn from Commodore Tucker as well as from General Reed. In fact, it would be fair to say that the commodore has had the greater influence on my thinking these past few years. Though my loyalty to the general has never wavered (until recently, perhaps, though much of that will depend on how things are when he returns), he has for a long while been a beloved figurehead seen from a distance while the commodore has been a part of my world every day. I've seen beyond any doubt that Tucker's approach to command works better than the reign of terror that operates pretty well everywhere else in the Empire.

So, borrowing his methods where I can without compromising a discipline that especially with Pack needs to be absolutely unwavering, I begin cultivating a loyalty that relies on more than simply dread of the consequences of failure. And here, once again, Zenobia is invaluable in finding out what makes various people tick. Many of her discoveries are undoubtedly made in bed; when she reports to me I'm inwardly amused by the high gloss of satiation that hangs about her. But no matter what the source or the method of acquisition, the goods are valuable. She finds out not only what people need but what they want, and within reason I arrange for it to happen – more links in the chain of loyalty binding the MACOs to me until such time as General Reed reappears.

I have contacts, and where I don't have them I make them. I arrange for weapons upgrades that have been requested and despaired of for years, I make desperately-needed gear materialise as though from nowhere. I discover that a transfer from this ship to that will make someone happy and – by extension – harder working; and the transfer happens.

I don't turn overnight into Father Christmas, of course. I'm still perfectly willing to order people put into an agony booth if it's the prescribed punishment for an infraction they have committed, and anyone who tries to take advantage of my benevolence soon finds out the hard way that it was a mistake. But good service deserves rewards, and as I become more adept at handing them out, I can almost feel the undertow of eagerness to serve gathering strength. Soon it becomes practically a role all by itself, and Zenobia makes it her own: helping me to keep the loyalty and obedience of both New and Old Pack by keeping me informed of their needs and moods so that I can deploy both gifts and rewards where deserved, and threats and punishment where required.

Sometimes – though not often – I wonder what General Reed would make of my methods. Already I've made subtle changes in the relationship between the Pack and the Alpha. If he comes back fighting fit, and ready to retake the reins of power, then he will find out how things have altered. At a guess, if it can be demonstrated to work better than the old way, he will be at least prepared to tolerate its continuance. During one of our briefings I remarked lightly to Zenobia that I'd have to arrange an opportunity for her to convince him of its benefits, and she wasn't slow to understand what I meant. Her lips moved in a beatific smile, and I made a note to delay their first encounter until I can assess the general's physical condition. From various remarks made by my secretary Ian, who might have been a virgin when he accepted the post but most certainly is not one now, I suspect that a frontal assault by Zenobia might undo at least six months' work by the medical team charged with Reed's recovery, and possibly put an end to him altogether. A development that, however warmly welcomed by the Empire as a whole, would no doubt seriously exasperate Commodore Tucker.

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