Rauld stood at attention, staring at his commanding officer sitting behind the desk, glaring daggers at him. That was typical, but his eyes had an unusual intensity in them.
"You disobeyed an order," Sealer hissed.
Rauld swallowed. "Sir, I feel what I did was in full compliance of my order. If the command ship went down it would have put the Farwalker at risk too. We didn't have the firepower to hold off eight mobile suits on our own."
"I'm not interested in your excuses," he snapped. "You disobeyed your orders and abandoned your assigned post. Nowhere in your orders did it say you could independently decide a command ship was more important than a freighter."
Rauld clenched his jaw and felt his guts sink towards the floor. "Sir, that's not what I–."
"I said I didn't want to hear your excuses!"
Rauld stopped and knew there was nothing he could do at this point to try and reason with his commander. There never had been.
"Your whole flight will be punished for your screw up," Sealer went on. "All leave is cancelled and you will all be doing the dirty jobs until further notice. I'm sure they'll appreciate the liberties you took with your orders better now. Maybe you will to and follow them in the future."
He jabbed a finger towards the door. "Now get out. I don't want to see your face again until I have to."
Rauld's tongue struggled in the confines of his own mouth, as if trying to break free and lash out at his obstinate commander to remind him that the squadron's only kill in the entire battle had been the one his flight had scored, but he knew that wouldn't end well. Sealer hated him, and as long as he was under his command, there was nothing he could do. For all he knew, the fact that his flight had scored that only kill might be the real reason he was angry at him. So he stomped on his pride, turned on his heel and walked out of his commander's office, distracting himself from his anger by trying to figure out how he was going to tell the rest of his flight the news in a way that made it seem less like it was his fault.
Captain Rancher and Marie waited restlessly outside Captain Skelper's office as the sentry checked their IDs. Their security measures were nearly as extensive and overbearing as Black Butte's.
They were in their dress uniforms to meet their new superiors, Rancher in the navy-blue and red tunic and trousers of the Marines while Marie wore a similar outfit of black and red, though the female tunic of the CSF was longer, creating a more feminine profile. The Marines didn't differentiate uniform styles between sexes. Both of them were checking their appearances one last time as they waited to be cleared.
The sentry keyed the intercom by the door and announced their presence. A moment later, a firm voice replied to let them in.
Replacing their IDs, Rancher and Marie straightened and stepped through the office door.
Captain Skelper's office was much like one would have expected for someone buried in work and dealing with far more headaches than necessary. Scattered papers, discarded coffee cups, and the small couch tucked in the corner of the room had a displaced blanket, implying it had been slept in recently.
There were three chairs in front of Captain Skelper's desk, one already occupied. Captain Skelper himself rose slowly amidst the scattering of papers. He looked sleepless and the colour in his lavender mantle appeared washed out.
Rancher halted them and they saluted. "Marine Captain Rancher and Space Lieutenant Sansea, 13th Autonomous Corps, reporting Sir."
Skelper returned the salute somewhat casually then immediately sat back down, gesturing to the two empty seats.
"I'm happy to have you here, Captain. We're stretched thin here and any extra hands will be useful."
He gestured to the inkyar sitting in the other occupied chair. "This is Commander Skour, our chief test pilot for the Mobile Suit Development Program."
"Promoted I see," Marie remarked. "Congratulations, Sir."
Skour smiled wearily. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Glad they sent us at least a few old test hands up here, no offensive of course, Captain."
"None taken."
Rancher had not been part of the original test program. She'd been brought in late during the RX-77s development and while she'd been trained to operate the mobile suit, she hadn't conducted much in the way of testing until the RX-79s the 13th had been assigned, making her the least experienced of the 13th's team leaders.
"Right, let's get down to it then," Skelper said, organizing a few of his papers as if visibly ordering his thoughts. "We've been experiencing a few difficulties with the test program, namely in the form of delays."
"Because of our feedback?" Rancher asked but Skelper waved his hand.
"I wish it were so, Captain. Truthfully, that's just the excuse we've been giving out. In reality, it's the basic design we're having trouble with. We don't even have any running prototypes at this exact moment."
Rancher and Marie looked at each other for a second before Rancher asked, "but I thought we already had the basic template with the original Gundam prototypes and we were working on reliability and simplicity for production."
"That's true enough," Skelper said. "But that's turned out to be much more difficult than anyone imagined. These prototypes were designed for the express purpose of testing space performance and handling before we finalized the production model." He looked at Skour for him to take over.
"We've worked out most of the kinks," he said, staring down at his hands. "Honestly, the performance of the machine is superior in most aspects compared to the original Gundams, the issue has been the foot thrusters. We know how much they improve the capabilities of the Zaku so we've tried to incorporate it, but we haven't been able to directly copy how the Zaku does it. The main issue is the fuel lines. They keep rupturing from all the leg movement we do during manoeuvres and the engineers we have are used to relying on advanced computer models to figure these things out."
"Computers which were all fried by the Collective when they bombarded us with M-particles," Marie sighed. "How did the RX-77 get around it?"
"Trial and error," Skelper replied bitterly. "Same as us but they were lucky to get it right quicker. But the RX-77 also copied the Zaku a bit more, which let them cut some corners, and the mass-production model is more closely related to it than the new Gee-Emm is to the Gundam."
"The real issue–," Skour cut in, "–is that we haven't been able to set up test rigs either. The Marines openly backed their aspects of the Mobile Suit Development project, while we're having to fight beak and hook the whole way."
Skelper rubbed his head and nodded with an almost hopeless expression, his mantle dulling and losing some of its meagre lustre. "And things have gotten worse since we found out you were coming. Our… rivals, shall we say, found out and are turning up the heat."
Marie shook her head. "What program could compete with mobile suits? Does the CSF think they've actually found a counter?"
"Between the Warship Anti-MS Upgrade Program and the Heavy Fighter Program, they think that will be enough to counter the Collective's mobile suits in space, while also being cheaper and less disruptive to how the entire fleet has been organized."
"Heavy fighters?" Rancher's mantle darkened. "Wasn't that program cancelled because they found it too big and slow compared to regular fighters?"
"That was before the development of ultra-compact reactors," Skour pointed out before sourly adding, "which were originally developed for the mobile suit program. I haven't seen them myself, but from what we know, they basically have the speed, firepower and manoeuvrability of a mobile suit without the added cost of things like arms and legs, and a head."
"And also without the added versatility, flexibility, and manoeuvring options those provide." Marie's eyes hardened. "It's pure politics, it has nothing to do with their actual performance or practicality."
"But it's up to us to prove it, Lieutenant, and prove that the added cost is worth it. Our resources are being stretched thinner and thinner." Skelper folded his hands then looked over at Rancher. "We'll be expected to give a demonstration relatively soon. We're pushing as hard as we can to get five mobile suits built and ready for it. Will that be enough time for your pilots to train on the new suits?"
Rancher frowned. "You want us to conduct the demonstration?"
"A requirement of the demonstrations," Skour explained. "They have to be done by combat pilots and ones who have recently seen active combat. Well, relatively recently, I suppose. It'll have been nearly two months since you all will have seen combat by the time the demonstrations occur."
"I wasn't informed," Rancher admitted. "But, I suppose it fits in with our mission anyway. We're supposed to be taking the mobile suits on an actual combat mission as part of their testing."
Skelper's own mantle darkened. "Unless the program is allowed to continue, Captain, I'm afraid that's unlikely to happen. Although we are very close to mass production we haven't actually started. We only have these prototype units. That's why this demonstration needs to go well."
Rancher exhaled and glanced at Marie for a second then said, "we'll do our best, Captain. If my flight focuses on learning to operate the new mobile suits I think we can manage it, depending how similar they are to the ones we're used to."
"Functionally, very little difference," Skour told them. "Only difference is your flying them in space and their performance will be a little different. In terms of how you control them, you'll adapt quicker than you think."
Rancher flashed green in satisfaction. "Then, Lieutenant, while we're training on them, you'll be getting the rookies up to speed on the Zakus."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Rookies?" Commander Skour's voice rose. "We were told we were getting ten combat experienced pilots."
Rancher's mantle rippled slightly but she answered in a calm, controlled, and respectful tone. "You are getting ten experienced combat pilots, but three of them are wartime recruits and two of them don't have their SNC yet."
The colour in Captain Skelper's mantle drained out and he buried his face in his hands. "How is anyone supposed to take wartime recruits seriously in this situation? Do you not realize that the heavy fighter program is made up entirely of some of the CSF's top pilots? This'll make us look like we're scraping the bottom of the barrel."
Marie frowned and opened her mouth to answer but Rancher put a hand on her arm. "Sir, they've already done most of the theory and passed most of the written tests already, they only need the practical flight training and testing. Once that's done, they'll get up to speed quickly. They're quick learners, and I'll even admit they can pilot mobile suits better than the rest of us."
Captain Skelper looked at her from behind his hands with upturned eyes. "Was that supposed to be encouraging, Captain?"
Captain Rancher simply replied, "we work on deeds, not words, Sir. We'll show you what we can do. In the meantime, we're what you have and we can let Commander Skour decide how we all rate."
Captain Skelper sighed in a way that managed to not sound defeated. "Very well, Captain, you're right. Pickers can't be choosers and I'm not really in any position to judge your competence. I haven't exactly had time to go through your records. Commander Skour, I'll leave all that up to you. I'll try to keep the heat off you as best I can but you know the drill."
"Yes, Sir."
"Then you're all dismissed. We all have things we need to be doing and not enough time to do it."
All three other officers rose and saluted the captain before swiftly departing the office. Once they were in the corridor, Rancher quietly asked Commander Skour the obvious question.
"Sir, what did the Captain mean by keeping the heat off of us?"
Skour scowled. "A lot of other people have been complaining we're using up too many of Gibraltar's resources. Not just material, but the ranges and courses too. The fact that we can't even use some of the time we've scheduled due to malfunctions has everyone else rankled up. A lot of people around here hate mobile suits on principal and want nothing more than to see our usual fighters and warships win against them."
Marie's eyes narrowed, her mantle rippling with contempt. "I can understand the sentiment, but reality has other ideas."
"That remains to be seen," Skour pointed out. "I don't know much about these heavy fighters, but I've heard they've been used in combat against enemy mobile suits. Ours haven't yet, not in space, anyway, and Terra might as well be a different universe as far as the CSF is concerned."
Rancher replaced her berét. "Then we'll just have to show them otherwise. We did it to the Octarians, this should be even easier."
"I hope so," Skour said mournfully, "because if it turns out wrong, we'll just be repeating the same mistakes we did at the start of the war and we'll fall even further behind the Collective. If we lose space, we lose the moons by default, and the colonies. If that happens, we've basically lost the war."
And that reality wasn't lost on any of them.
Sahna hurried after Hypori as they half-jogged down the narrow corridor to the lift. Everyone else was already there.
"Keeping us waiting, Scar?" Callie asked with a smirk.
Sahna flushed slightly. "You caught me at a bad time." She'd been in the bathroom when the call had come for all of them to assemble. Hypori had to come and get her.
Team 05 all boarded the lift and as it rose, Sahna felt something closer to the full one gravity she was used to and the reassurance of that weight put her a little at ease. She couldn't believe it had been less than two days since she had left the embrace of Terra's gravity for the first time.
The attack on the convoy had turned their roughly eight hour journey to Fort Gibraltar into over twelve hours as everyone tried to rescue survivors and salvage what they could. Meanwhile she and the other passengers had been stuck in a single room almost the entire time with no food or water, and they'd had to cut open the hatch to get them out.
It had been a sobering experience for many of them, floating out through that hatch and seeing the compartment right next to theirs shredded apart and exposed to naked vacuum. Sahna had nearly vomited when she'd stared out a hole in the hull the diameter of a space pod yawning out into space.
Fortunately, it had been only a short wait before a small cutter took them and the other passengers to Fort Gibraltar. The cruiser was in such a state that it couldn't be docked. Once arrived, they'd peeled themselves out of their vac suits, grabbed their duffles then been ushered through a maze of trams, lifts, and corridors until they reached their designated billet. None of them had wasted time in getting some sleep.
The lift stopped at the tram station where Marie and Team 02 were waiting. Marie and Captain Rancher had changed out of their dress uniforms into their flight suits. They must have just gotten back from talking to Captain Skelper.
Sahna grimaced as she experienced the familiar sensation of floating and reflexively grabbed onto one of the lift's handholds.
Hypori waved at Marie. "What's happenin'?"
"We've been told to muster," Marie told her. "Break time's over."
Dirk pulsed grey. "Month-long vacation was nice."
Hypori huffed. "I wouldn't call Black Butte a vacation spot."
Marie turned red and fixed Hypori with a glare, silently reminding her that there were some things that should not be said out loud, including that they had been stationed at one of the Federation's most restricted bases. Flushing, Hypori flashed a pale green in acknowledgement of her error.
Callie grasped Sahna's hand then they floated together to the waiting tram.
Fort Gibraltar was a former resource asteroid, from which most of the early Federation space colonies had been built. While mostly expended, some small mining operations still existed in remote parts of the asteroid, but the rest had been taken over by the military and was now the Federation's premiere space fortress and military base.
The fort was apparently named after tales of an enormous rock on ancient Earth that guarded the entrance to a massive inland sea from which some of the greatest pre-Deliverer civilizations had originated. It seemed an apt name for a fortress who's primary task was to watch over the Federation homeland from space, and the CSF had taken that task seriously the moment they chose the asteroid as the location for their new fortress.
Large sections of the 60 km long asteroid had been hollowed out for mining, and even more was hollowed out to make room for large rotating drum sections to provide simulated gravity, like the one they had just left. Unfortunately, their particular drum only simulated up to 0.7 g, whereas many of the other drums were newer and simulated to full 1 g.
As the tram travelled from their habitation block, Captain Rancher addressed them. "Alright, listen up; there's been a few changes. First of all, to avoid confusion we'll be switching team designations now that we've officially formed Beta Squadron. Team 02 will be Blue Team and Team 05 will be Red Team. Clear?"
Mantles flashed green and the Captain went on. "Second, a reminder not to share details about the program or any of our activities with anyone, even with each other, outside the operation areas or your quarters. Even if you're talking with other people with top secret clearances, you are not to speak a word of it to anyone. Even a superior officer cannot order you to divulge information considered top secret, is all that clear?"
Again, green flashes acknowledged her, but Sahna was feeling a bit worried. They knew all these things already, it had been drilled into their heads since they had first arrived at Black Butte months ago. If she was reminding them of this now, then it meant they had to be on their guard for something. What exactly?
The tram travelled through the base to another section called "Hangar Block G". Captain Rancher guided them to a locker room and told them to suit up. Pilot suits were waiting for them on lockers that already each bore their names.
"I guess this is where we'll be operating from for our training," Hypori murmured. Her locker was right next to Sahna's. She took out a white and orange flight suit, grimacing.
"What?"
Hypori's mantle turned an dissatisfied brown. "These suits are for trainees. See how the orange is in the shape of training squares?"
The Federation as a whole coloured almost any vehicle or piece of equipment used for training purposes with large, bright-orange rectangles (which were always called squares), usually over a dirty-white background. Forcing a seasoned pilot to have to wear a trainee flight suit was a common practical joke, but given that everyone else seemed to have gotten the same suit that couldn't have been the case here. It was more likely the result of equipment shortages.
"Quit carping and get suited," Marie chided, though even she couldn't hide her displeasure.
Sahna started getting dressed without a word, but it proved difficult.
Pilot suits were meant to be worn overtop a flight suit, just like regular vac suits were designed to fit over regular clothing, but the fit was tighter, so it took more effort to put them on, and as Sahna was finding out, zero gravity exacerbated the situation. Every time she tried to force her legs through the suit it felt like her legs were trying to get away from her. She still hadn't the faintest idea how to move or operate in this environment.
Hypori got suited with expert swiftness then helped Sahna into hers. "Put both feet in at the same time and do it while getting your legs into the loops on the floor, that makes it easier to get your arms in and keep you from floating away."
With some instruction and physical assistance, Sahna managed to get into her suit then grabbed her helmet from the locker's upper compartment. The sound of some harsh grunting prompted her to turn her head.
Aside from the Terran Army, the Federation's military branches didn't typically separate locker rooms between sexes, but a long, unspoken rule was that the males didn't linger, and left the locker room as soon as they were ready, even in situations where nobody was undressing. That long-standing social custom was precisely for situations like this.
Sahna expected Callie and Marie, with their long experience, to have been dressed and impatiently waiting for them. Instead, they were just now forcing their zippers closed as they struggled into their flight suits, whose material was straining to conform to the shapes forced into them.
"Someone's practical joke?" Sahna asked.
Captain Rancher flashed red. "I don't think the problem is the suits are too small but the girls are too big." She regarded the two sternly. "Am I going to have to set compulsory gym time? You can't expect the CSF to put you into those sexy space suits they put you in in those posters."
Marie looked back at her with an expression of hurt pride. "They may have been highly fetishized but at least they fit."
"They were super comfy," Callie agreed. "Honestly though, these are the wrong size. They must have just looked at out heights and given us whatever."
Trainees tended to still be in their growing period so the people who provided the suits must not have taken into account that Callie and Marie were closer to maturity.
Hypori voiced her own guess. "Right, training suits are made a lot more cheaply and don't differentiate between male and female measurements."
"That should mean they fit both, not just one," Marie said sourly as she made herself as comfortable as she could. "Whatever, we'll deal with it, Ma'am, but these are definitely not our official size."
Rancher shook her head. "We'll see if we can get you better flight suits quick. Can't have it impact your performance."
"We won't let it."
"I don't think it's entirely up to you. Regardless, if we find something that fits, you'll wear it." She grinned. "Even if its the sexy suits."
Hypori laughed. "Oh, wouldn't everyone just love that." Marie silenced her with a glare.
"Enough waiting around," Rancher grabbed her helmet. "Let's get moving."
Outside the locker room, a CSF lieutenant guided them to a pilot's ready room where they checked the integrity of their suits. This part, at least, Sahna was well familiar with. It was part of standard Marine training.
They were about to start checking their helmets when the door opened and another officer entered. He was wearing a pilot suit, but its epaulettes were dressed with the gold star of a CSF Commander.
As the senior officer in the room, Rancher called everyone to attention. It was hard to come to attention in zero gravity though, so nobody really bothered other than going mostly rigid. The commander waved them all into the seats, which were actually little more than a small tubular frame with pegs attached. It reminded Sahna of the leg machines in the gym, but without any padding.
Hypori helped Sahna take her position and they all faced the front of the room, waiting for the captain to speak.
He surveyed them all, appraising them. He had probably never seen what the pilots he would be training would look like. His expression was serious but not grim, so Sahna took that as a good sign.
"I'm Captain Skour. I'm in charge of training pilots in the operation of the new general purpose mobile suit. Since you're among the few mobile suit pilots with combat experience, your ideal candidates for what we have in mind."
Sahna felt a bolt of energy race up from the base of her back up to the nape of her neck. So, that was why they were being sent up to space for training. They were going to learn to fly the new models, the full production versions of the mobile suits they had piloted in East Orica! That was both exciting and a little anxiety inducing. The mobile suits they'd piloted in combat had good performance but been plagued with malfunctions but at least they'd had strong armour. She hoped these new 'suits would be less prone to having their ankles breaking, because there wouldn't be any fancy armour protecting a mass production machine.
"That's just half of the job I've been given in regards to the ten of you, however, but rather than just tell you about it, I'm going to show you. Get your helmet's on and I'll meet you in the airlock."
Sahna quickly donned her helmet and checked the seal. It was a little stubborn but it eventually clicked in place. Once everyone was ready, the whole group moved as one to the large airlock, which was large enough to accommodate twice as many people. After several minutes of waiting, the airlock finished cycling and they slipped out into a large hangar, lined with alcoves for mobile suits just like at Black Butte, but most of them were empty, save for two.
Captain Skour gestured for them to follow as he floated across the hangar to the huge, skeletal frames being swarmed by technicians in the two first alcoves near the door to the outer hangar. Sahna noted the frame was slimmer and more lightly built than those of the Gundam Ground-Type she'd piloted in East Orica, but on a positive note, she saw the barrels of two guns mounted in the head, a modification all of them had petitioned for. It was good to see that someone had actually listened.
Skour waved his hand towards the machine. "This is the RGM-79. Specifically, this is another prototype model we're designing to test it's space flight and combat functions before we refine the design further for the full production model; as a result it lacks many of the features necessary for ground combat on Terra. Eventually, you will all be trained on this model, and some of you will be taking it on a future mission to test it in combat."
Sahna frowned but it was Hypori who asked the obvious question.
"Only some of us, Sir? What will the rest of us be doing? More testing?"
Skour smiled mirthlessly. "Something to that effect."
Lights began flashing and techs stopped flying across the hangar. Skour motioned everyone to the railing built into the wall and Sahna somehow managed to avoid a tumble on the way there.
As she steadied herself, the large doors separating the inner and outer hangar opened. She had to fight an instinctive urge to flee as a familiar mobile suit slowly floated head-first into inner hangar: a Zaku II.
"What's that doing here?" Hypori asked. Even some of the techs had paused to look at the awesome machine of their enemies as it drifted past them, guided gently by crane arms mounted on rails to the floor and ceiling of the hangar and reoriented into one of the alcoves opposite them. Peering into the outer hangar, they could see more enemy mobile suits being unloaded from enormous crates, waiting their turn.
"That's what the other half of you will be doing," Rancher replied. "We will all be trained on them, to some extent, but Red Team will be training to pilot them specifically."
That made sense. Callie and Marie were the ones who had brought the first intact examples of the Collective's mobile suits to the Federation in the first place and became the Federation's official and unofficial first mobile suit pilots. She wondered if Skour knew that.
Captain Rancher continued. "Before any of that, two of you still need to get your space legs and that has to be done ASAP." She looked between Sahna and Dirk; and Sahna's stomach tensed. "I want maximum effort from everyone. We need to make the Mobile Suit Program look good if we want the CSF brass to get their heads out of their funnels and realize that this is the best way forward and trying to glue a broken system together is only going to get more people killed in the end."
Sahna frowned. She thought that the mobile suit had already been proven as the way forward. Hadn't they proven its viability in East Orica? That's not in space though, she remembered. But still, why would the CSF resist the program now when it was on the verge of completion to their first mass-production mobile suit?" The Marines were already getting theirs.
"Alright," Commander Skour cut in. "Which two of you still need to get their SNC?" Sahna and Dirk raised their hands. "Should'a guessed. Alright then, you two feeling confident?"
"Yes, Sir," Sahna replied. Dirk said nothing but he came to a semblance of attention.
"Alright then, since the day's still young and we need to get this project moving, I'll hammer you two out quick then you'll be caught up. As for the rest of you, I'll be sending you all the literature you'll need to go over for the GM. Since you already piloted the prototypes, you'll only need to concern yourselves with some of the new functions. Just about everything else is the same, so I don't anticipate a lot of issues."
Heads nodded and the captain seemed satisfied. "Then come with me you two. We need to get this over with. We've been given a schedule and, as usual, it's tighter than any of us would like. I'm going to get you two tested and you're going to pass it first time, clear?"
"Yes, Sir." Sahna answered for both of them. She was reasonably confident she could pass the exam if she had to take it right now, but she and Dirk had been hard pressed to study and pass all their previous ones, and there was normally a day or two between the practical instruction and the final exams, written and otherwise. It was going to take every ounce of knowledge, skill, and learning ability they possessed to get through this first try, and she wasn't too proud to start silently praying.
Her confidence was shaken a bit when she misjudged her jump across the hangar just enough she missed the grab handle and bounced off the wall, hard. Dirk caught her but she doubted she had given Captain Skour any reassurances.
Varmos tried not to scowl as he followed Rear-Admiral Blackhill down one of Fortress Gibraltar's many long corridors, holding onto the travel handle as it pulled him along. He wasn't sure exactly what part of it he was in, but judging from the large size of the corridors and his rough estimate of how far they'd travelled, his best guess was that they were near some of the docks.
"Your awfully quiet," Blackhill remarked after a while.
"A lot on my mind. I have a lot of people breathing down my neck about some cargo I 'lost needlessly'."
At least he hadn't lost any crew needlessly – not permanently anyway. Six had been injured from being banged up, one had minor burns. They would all be on duty again within the next couple of weeks, but he wasn't so sure he would have a ship to get back to.
The port cargo hull was a complete write off, with some small hull breaches on that side of the main hull. In addition, there were plenty of hull breaches down the dorsal side of the ship, exposing some of the ship's interior to space and nearly reaching the ship's pressurized habitation section. He was still waiting to hear back on whether his ship would be repaired or scrapped. What he was most worried about now though, was whether or not it would still be his ship by the time it was repaired.
Blackhill's mantle turned a derisive purple at Varmos' explanation. "People who have never been shot at, I imagine. Bureaucrats in uniform are all the same. At least you didn't lose any people in that attack, and you got your most important cargo here intact. Given what happened, I'd call that a win. Just what I'd expect from someone who was once called the 'fightingest' captain in the CSF."
Varmos glowered at the admiral's back at the mention of his old moniker. "That captain was another person," he said, trying to maintain a neutral tone. "And I'm still not sure 'fightingest' is a word."
"Oh, I don't know, I still see a lot of that old captain in you. I saw enough of it back then to know it when I saw it."
Admiral Blackhill, his own former First-Lieutenant, looked back at him over his shoulder. "I guess you can already sense what's coming."
"I've been in the service at least a year longer than you have, Sir. Respectfully, I know how the game is played."
Blackhill looked into his eyes a moment then gave him a sardonic smile. "I suppose you would. Maybe that's why you've been able to keep your easy job hauling cargo for so long. Well, I'm sorry to tell you, Captain, we have need of you elsewhere."
Varmos couldn't hide his displeasure this time. "So I gathered. But I've spent most of the last decade behind a desk."
Blackhill smirked. "I think recent events prove you still have what it takes. Besides, you and your crew are still fresh and Farwalker isn't going anywhere for some time anyway. Isn't it my duty to use my available resources as effectively as possible in order to ensure the effectiveness and safety of those under my command?"
Varmos winced, a vindictive fist driving deep into his gut at having words he himself had said over a decade ago thrown back at him.
"I'm still not sure I'm the right one. What I did was desperation. In combat you need someone with aggression, and I ran all out of that years ago."
Blackhill hummed. "I'm not so sure about that." He led them onward until they reached a security checkpoint, then he took them down another long corridor into what looked like a break room. Nobody was there.
"I'm offering you a brand new ship, Captain, and it's not your typical cruiser either. I'm also giving you the choice of bringing your previous crew along with you. They have the experience needed. From there, you'll get to pick and choose the rest of the crew to fill out your command. Sounds like an awfully good deal, doesn't it?"
"Too good." Varmos floated a little bit away from the admiral and got a packet of chamomile tea from the vending machine. The fluid that came out of the straw didn't hold a candle to his wife's brew though. "What's the catch?"
Blackhill turned serious. "The catch is that I don't know what the catch is yet. I'm mostly in charge of R&D at Gibraltar and I have limited authority for authorizing deployments, but I know somebody has something in mind. We need someone capable of handling a variety of different situations while getting the ship and everything and everyone in it back as intact as possible."
Shadowy claws scraped the tender scars of old wounds across Varmos' soul. He gave the admiral a black look. "In case I need to refresh your memory, I don't have a great track record in that regard. Just ask the hundreds of families of those I got killed."
Blackhill looked directly back into his eyes, unwavering. "I remember. I was there, in case you forgot. I saw dozens of people killed before my own eyes, I spent hours dragging frozen and flash-burned corpses from Thunderhead's engineering section. You're not the only one who carries scars from that day captain." His tone carried no small hint of bitterness and anger. Honestly, Varmos didn't hold that against him one bit, but he wasn't in the most accommodating mood at the moment.
"You didn't have to spend hours upon hours behind a desk writing condolence letters to so many families, explaining how and why their husband, brother, son, daughter, mother, or wife, died. More than ten years later and I still can't give them an answer."
Blackhill stared at the opposite wall, his eyes opaque, his expression unreadable. That was his thinking face. Even over a decade later he remembered his former subordinate's habits. When Blackhill spoke next, it came out in a soft voice just above a murmur.
"I've had people dying almost every day, you know? Every minute of every day, someone dies because of this war, and some of them, I've had to send to battle. I've had to write a few condolence letters myself since this mess started, one for every captain and commodore that's died under me until they assigned me here, and each one of them represents hundreds of other deaths."
He turned and faced Varmos, his shoulders squared. The look he gave him was not that of a former subordinate or an old friend, it was of an admiral addressing a captain under his command.
"Some days I want to quit too, Captain Varmos, but I can't, because all the people still alive are relying on me to help win this war, and all those who have died are counting on me to make their lives count for something. I have a job to do, Captain, and you believe you do too. You wouldn't have kept that uniform on for ten more years otherwise."
Varmos squeezed his tea packet tightly. Now, more than ever, he regretted the decision to remain in the service, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He was where he was, and he was trapped in it as long as this war continued (or at least until he was dead, whichever came first).
"If you have orders for me, Admiral", he said finally, "I'll carry them out to the best of my abilities, but as your subordinate, it's my prerogative to bitch whenever your back's turned and nobody else is listening."
Blackhill's face cracked with a slight smile at having a few of his own words from his past thrown back at him. "I suppose I can deal with that. Now that I have you on board though, I can show you your new ship. She's a little indecent at the moment, but I'm sure you'll forgive her."
Varmos let out a resigned sigh and stuffed his packet into the waste canister before he let the admiral lead him out, down the hall and into one of the nearby vertical shafts until they reached an opening labelled "Observation Deck". They reached a large lounge area – again, empty, but with a large rectangular view port looking out towards an enormous hangar, where a ship was taking shape.
Varmos frowned when he saw it. "Another freighter?"
The ship resembled another Columbus-class, like Farwalker, but with another pair of cargo bay hulls below the original two, with superstructure and what appeared to be a secondary bridge filling the void between the port and starboard pairs. But more startling than that, she was armed, well armed.
Not all the weapons had been fitted yet but was already there wasn't anything to sneeze at. Two large turrets, each with a pair of mega particle cannons, sat on superstructures positioned either side of the main bridge superstructure. Twin point defence guns had been added further aft on the dorsal hull and at least two point defence turrets were mounted on the port side. From this angle, Varmos couldn't see the starboard side or ventral hull, but what he saw was still impressive.
"She's based on a freighter but no, not quite. We've built another ship like her before." The admiral gestured to the large cargo bays. "The design is based on the Super Columbus concept design, but because war was on the horizon, nobody was interested in buying a freighter that was just going to be a big fat target and other yards had already gotten most freighter orders of similar tonnage cancelled. Unfortunate for the shipyard who designed it because they already started building one, so they came to the CSF for help bailing them out.
"We'd been toying with the idea bringing dedicated carriers back to the fleet with fighters and bombers becoming relevant again. So, they paused construction just long enough for us to come up with enough modifications to turn it into a carrier, our first dedicated fleet carrier in over fifty years. The cargo bays were modified into pressurized and armoured hangars, we strapped some point defence guns on her, added more superstructure, storage, and a secondary bridge, and what we got was a lot like what you see in front of you."
Varmos nodded slowly. "So this isn't her."
"No. That ship had the misfortune of completing her trials in time for the attack on Neo Byzanium. She was badly damaged in the later fighting around Alexandria colony and is currently in space dock being repaired and converted into something more like this ship."
Varmos frowned. "Converted? Into what?"
Blackhill grinned. "Oh, she's still a carrier. The main difference is what she'll be carrying."
Varmos frowned. "Frankly, I don't see those Balls as much of an improvement."
Blackhill chuckled but there was no humour in it. "I know. But the armed pods were only a temporary measure, something to help hold the tide until the real innovations came in."
Varmos turned his head. "So, if this ship is almost done then, ideally, what she's supposed to carry should almost be done too."
Blackhill's mantle turned green. "Yes, ideally. For once, we've actually gotten that ideal pretty close; though, I'm not able to tell you what they are for now. Anyway, handling them won't be your job; carriers have void commanders for that. You can just focus on getting the ship ready."
Varmos' mantle pulsed blue. "Fine then. So long as I get my old crew back."
"They're all yours, Captain. We'll get the transfers started over the next few days. Thank you, Captain."
His tone during that last line was different than the others, reminiscent of days when Varmos had been his captain.
Not knowing what else to say, Varmos simply said, "you're welcome. Can you at least tell me her name?"
The admiral smiled. "Of course. Her name is Audacity."
Author's Notes:
A little late but it's here. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Our heroes are learning about the new problems they face and the new paths that life is sending them on. How that will ultimately end you'll have to keep reading to find out.
