. . .
With a proud and accomplished swagger Carl Kauffman and his squads returned to the State Police Barracks. Efforts were underway to secure the area against another attack. Sandbag walls were being built ten feet high and gaps in the fences were being closed. D.R.S. excavation equipment was moving earth to dig trenches and raise walls. Through this buzz of activity Carl sought the command tent. Feeling rightly accomplished at having not only destroyed a morale center of his enemy, but also catching two fireteams and the proprietors as well, Carl was having a glorious day. His helmet swung freely in his left hand, his M16A4 loosely cradled in the crook of his right arm, he had personally shown their enemies that no action would go unpunished, the sun was shining, and he had lunch to look forward to. All was right in the world.
His face beaming, he entered the command tent. Captain Chojnacki was absent but Chiefs Strong and Warburg were there, Sheriff Wilson, and a few lieutenants. All were sat down to a working lunch. Files, papers, notes and overflowing boxes filled with more of the same were intermingled with cups and half-finished plates. "Well, hello, hello! How have things been here, back on the home range?"
"Aren't you chipper?" Sheriff Wilson was not in the mood for such a radiant attitude. "It's not been good, not at all."
"The evidence room and armory were breached during the raid." Chief Strong informed. "As was the server room. What's worse is the fires started in the evidence and server rooms have resulted in both being catastrophic write-offs. So as an overall organization, the State Police and most, not all, thank God, of the Sheriff's office and our local units, our entire information collection, all of our intelligence take, our reports, all of the personnel information, and command structure from a records and written doctrine, process, point... is all..." Strong took in a deep sigh to prepare himself for speaking this plunge. "Gone."
"And now, we have the... distinct pleasure..." Chief Warburg rubbed his temples and stared at the mass scribbles that were his hasty notes from memory. "Of building it all over again from scratch. Speaking of, does anyone remember who would have been responsible for the radio encryption keys? The name's on the tip of my tongue, but I just can't get there."
"While that is an unenviable task indeed..." Carl helped himself to an open chair and put his feet up, helmet and rifle in his lap. "You can take comfort that I just made the end of this fight mercifully closer."
Sheriff Wilson was hopeful yet skeptical. "That so? How'd you do that?"
"I struck a blow to both the enemy food supply chain, but also their morale by removing a significant cultural lynchpin."
"That sounds like CEO talk, yeah."
"Ah, Mister Kauffman, Sir?" One of the Sheriff Lieutenants could not contain his curiosity.
"Yes! Lieutenant, I'm...sorry, I'm not familiar."
"It's Yoder, sir."
"Lieutenant Yoder, I will remember. What is your question?"
"Just out of, y'know, just... wondering. Uhm... what 'significant cultural lynchpin' did... you remove? Just wondering."
"I'm sure you're all familiar. It has been many years since I had seen it last, but you all surely knew it well. Hi-Way Pizza Shoppe."
The air in the tent froze. Then it shattered as another lieutenant dropped his mug and it exploded across the table in porcelain shards and cold coffee. Carl's eyes searched all present. This was not what he expected. No praises, job well done, or acknowledgement of his accomplishment. Just stares.
"What? Someone speak! I can't hear your heads rattle."
"Exactly what did you do, to Hi-Way Pizza?" Strong's eyes narrowed.
"I did exactly what they tried to do to us." Carl stated the matter factually. "They tried to burn down our barracks in a surprise raiding attack. So, I executed an ambush raid of my own into enemy territory and razed Hi-Way Pizza to the ground." Again, Carl was met with stunned silence. Utterly ungrateful, idiotic, and incompetent, the lot of them.
"Holy fuckin' shit, dude..." Another lieutenant forgot his professional decorum.
"You executed an ambush..." Chief Warburg talked through the event. "Who all did you catch in this ambush?"
"Two fireteams of militia riflemen in lightly armored technical trucks, and the proprietors of Hi-Way."
"Jerry and Sara..." Sheriff Wilson paled. He looked down at his half-eaten chicken and took a breath to steady himself. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph... assist me in my agony." He then swung his gaze fully on Carl. "They're dead, aren't they?"
"Why yes! Of course, they're dead! Why is this coming as a surprise to you?" Carl was astounded by the ocean of ignorance he found himself in. "I'm not a babe in the woods, gentlemen. This isn't the first time I've taken part in breaking an insurgency."
"You don't fucking get it, do you?!" Strong had lost all color from his face. "You're walking around proud as a peacock and have no idea what you've done."
"I've shown them we are not to be trifled with, that we will not tolerate raids and sneak attacks, that we can and will reach any of them, anytime, anywhere. That adhering to our enemies and giving them aid and comfort will be swiftly and decisively punished with no exceptions. That no target is off limits, and they have nothing to hide behind. Why are you all looking at me like I have grown a third eye?"
"No, it's not because you have a third eye." Chief Warburg's eyes were wild in their sockets as he grasped the ramifications. "It's because I, we, are amazed that someone as accomplished as we were told and you have claimed, in your overseas operations would do something so tone deaf and so astoundingly stupid."
"Is that so? Dare I ask you, those who were bested by welfare royalty with small arms, as to how I, the professional mercenary with eight years of experience, should do my fucking job?!" Carl had gotten to his feet so suddenly no one remembered him standing.
"Carl, I have a cousin who works for Pike Natural Gas; which's one of our biggest enemies right now." Sheriff Wilson attempted to put things in perspective. "I don't know what has happened to my cousin or if he's fighting us or not, he's stopped answering my calls. But if he weren't this morning, he sure's shit is fighting against us now. And that goes for everybody..." He drew a circle on the map easel behind him. "In these two counties. If they were neutral or leaning towards fighting us but were trying to keep out of it, you just made their minds up for them."
"It is quite an accomplishment in a way." Chief Strong allowed. "It's a real talent to be able to piss off two whole counties worth of people at once. Usually, we have to rely on the Mayors and their councils to do that, but you, well, you've set a new record!"
"I fail to see at all why we should care." Carl was losing his patience. "It's not our job to be nice, to be sensitive to local attitudes, or be worried about public backlash. In case you have forgotten..." Carl now stood next to the map and cracked it with the knuckles of his gloves. The area he touched was Roman's Mine. "THIS, this right here is the only thing you're concerned about. This is what you care about. Nothing else. Our orders come from here, and the work being done there is our ultimate goal. Your job is to keep anything capable of stopping this project busy and distracted at minimum, dead at best. And neither I, The Man, the Marines Captain, nor a single person in the Red Star, gives a fiddling fuck on how you get that done. Only that it is done. Burn the towns down for all the fuck I care. I'm doing my part, I'm checking off boxes and being productive while you're all sitting here playin' with your dicks, worrying about paperwork. Take this paperwork bullshit..." Carl picked up a full box and pitched it out the tent door. "Annnnd... fire it into the sun!" He threw another one, another, then pushed the remaining off the tables and onto the floor.
"Burn the towns down?! Oh yeah, sure!" Sheriff Wilson had filled his tank on Carl's tantrum. "If that's your idea of productive, sure. I don't know what has gotten the burr up your ass about this area and why you left Pennsylvania. But you are not going to be using us as your own personal revenge tool on these hills because you had a shitty childhood. We still have agency and can make our own decisions about..."
"No, you don't."
"I don't what?"
"Your agency, those 'own decisions' of yours." Carl advanced on Wilson. "Remember when you joined The Red Star, The Solar Federation, and thought 'Wow, I'm part of this truly awesome and incredible thing! And it didn't cost me any sacrifices at all!' Well guess what? That agency of yours? The making your own decisions? That was it. That was your price of entry. This shouldn't be news to you, I'd have hoped you'd have figured that out already; yet here we are!"
"No! Quit trying to justify your desire to murder your past by dressing it up as some kind of noble cause we all gave ourselves over to. What you've done and are trying to get us to do is counterproductive, ego-maniacal, and stupid. And we will not be bullied into going along with your raiding, burning, raping and pillaging fantasy; Man in Black, The Red Star, Solar Federation be dammed!"
Sheriff Wilson's outburst hung dead in the air. Just this side of casually, Carl's thumb popped the holster strap holding his USP45. His right hand hung loosely at his side. Wilson thought back to the last time he had to draw his S&W 686 under duress and was unable to recall. Sweat forming under his hat brim, Wilson fought to keep an illusion of calm. Everyone in the room shrank back and readied for what might come. Eyes an icy, frigid blue and locked on Wilson, Carl laid out the facts of the situation.
"Sheriff. You are going to walk that back. If you do not, your Lieutenant is getting a battlefield promotion effective immediately. You have until the count of three. One."
Sheriff Wilson was struck by the immediate life clarity that can only be found by the possibility of having a 0.45 caliber sized hole punched into your head. Suddenly, his list of cares and worries seemed petty in perspective.
"Two." A slow finger waggle from pinky to index adjusted Carl's hand and indicated he was ready.
"Okay Carl." Sheriff Wilson maintained his cool and deliberately chose his words. "I take it back. You found me in a moment of frustration, and I channeled it in an inappropriate way. Please, forgive me. After all, I am only Human."
"Apology... accepted." The USP45 was re-secured with its holster retaining strap and the room heaved a sigh. "Sheriff, I understand that you are frustrated and under greater duress than you and your peers are used to. This is active warfare, and until recently you were peace officers. But I assure you, I promise you on my reputation and undefeated career, that you do not have to fight any of these battles alone. There is an entire organization at your disposal. And both myself and the talented men of Dark River Security are ready, willing, and able to guide you through these trying times. All that we, that I, ask man-to-man, is that guidance and advice so freely given is not dismissed for trivial reasons. On a technical level, perhaps discussion might be had. But not because of squeamishness or an aversion to getting your hands bloody. And I would like to start right now with two items, if I may?"
"Cer-certainly. Speak freely." Sheriff Wilson stammered as blood slowly reentered his adrenaline stream.
"First, would be take stock and remember exactly, truly what you are doing here and where your allegiances are. Because your outburst Sheriff, merited or rational as it may feel, must never happen again. Those we have bound ourselves to are not as understanding as I am. Second..." Carl pulled back the tent door and pinned it open. "Is I want all of you out of this tent, and out in the field, actually doing something that will actively contribute to winning this fight. Do not worry about paperwork, once this is over there will be Great Computers, and Monks and Priests to manage all the paperwork you can conjure! Now out! Out! Out, all of you! Find someone and kill them, find something, and blow it up or burn it down, fill sandbags or shovel shit from the latrines, I don't care! The Red Star does not tolerate dead weight, and neither will I! Out and off with you all!"
The retinue of lieutenants, chiefs, and a sheriff shot out of the tent and scattered to the winds. Two lieutenants were so unsure what to do and terrified of being found standing still they each grabbed a sandbag and joined the brigade of lower ranks filling and hauling the sacks. Satisfied with his inspiration to the police command staff, Carl's smile returned as his stomach growled.
'All considered, that went rather well. A shame about Wilson, but he will come around in time. This is still new to them, after all. Well, finally time for lunch.' Helmet and rifle in hand again, cheery disposition restored, Carl set off for the mess hall with the comfort that once more all was right in the world.
. . .
Another morning meeting, another list of disappointments, further bad news, and The Head spent wishing it already over. Results from the Materials Laboratory were due any day and he would finally know what ingredients his secret project was made of. To not arouse suspicion, he had put the samples in with a low priority tag. This meant the technician would 'get to it whenever they got to it'. In the meantime, The Head suffered his waiting and endeavored to keep The Red Star of The Solar Federation glowing brightly as the beacon for the wayward and lost of the galaxy he'd always known it to be. Today, in this specific meeting, the task to keep The Red Star lit was to puzzle out how to best help his old home: the Navy.
"I understand the need to keep our lanes open, ensuring safe travel and commerce is paramount, of course. However..." The Shipyard Commandant used his touchscreen to broadcast an endless stream of photos of ships in dock. Red Star naval ships varied in size and role, but all held a general shape. The main hull was shaped like a spearhead, narrow on the sides and coming to a point on the bow while flaring back towards the engine clusters. Along the thin edges were rows of anti-ship batteries, also useful for bombardment from orbit. It was flat on top and bottom, but these sides were arrayed with Triple-A guns, missiles, and defensive systems. Finally, at the rear of the ship and sticking up for an impressive view was the pill capsule shaped command center. Where the command center connected to the hull began the engineering sections and power generation. The entire capsule was also arrayed with guns and defenses and could rotate in a complete circle independent of the ship's hull.
"However... it can be seen clearly that our navy as it stands is not up to the task. I have ships passing through that have not had a full reactor shutdown for at least five tours. Sub-N.O. and atmospheric engines exhaust patterns and filters indicate they are burning not only fuel, but have coolants, lubricants and oils leaking into the fuel. Electrical systems patched with black-tape. Air ventilators so full you could build bricks from the dust in them. Piping and ductwork wrapped in silver-tape or layered with heat cloths, which if they're not handled properly or are damaged, the heat-cloth fibers can make our sailors deathly ill. Bilges, garbage disposals and septic's that have not been pumped and are near full. I suspect when they are emptied, crews are venting them in deep space, in the middle of our lanes. You do not have to be an Admiral to see the kind of hazard that practice creates. Further still, shown here, here, and here, are entire sections given over to rust. Worst of all, I am seeing stress fractures in many supporting members of the hulls, usually welded over, or bolted or riveted back together with scrap plate. In these photos here..."
"Alright, very well, you've made your point." One of the Admirals summoned for this meeting sighed. He rubbed at his eyes, pinched his nose, and sighed again. Another Admiral, to his right, spoke while his comrade gathered himself.
"And I find your point rather accusatory. This list of grievances all sounds to me like work you and your men have failed to complete. Why am I and my fellows being brought to task over what is your responsibility?"
"Because it's your captains and commanders who are fighting me, Admiral, sir."
"Preposterous! Is that all this meeting is going to be? A blame and fault-finding session? You dare question the integrity of our ship captains of the..."
"AHEM." The Head stepped on this tirade before it could gain traction. "Commandant, why are the ship captains fighting you? Wait, no, back up from that." The Head realized there was more than a mere disagreement on maintenance schedules. "What do you mean by they're fighting you? Elaborate on that."
"It means what I say it does, Sir." The Commandant shrugged. "Getting them to agree to having work done outside of repairing battle damage is agonizing."
"They are having the minimum work done to be battle ready, then immediately taking off again, yes?" The Head saw a nod in agreement and notes were made. "That's good to know, but not quite what I am looking for. What specifically happens...?"
"Director, is this line of inquiry the prerogative of Medical Mechanica?" The third Admiral interjected. "Shouldn't this matter be handled internally by the Navy?"
"Before this meeting began, I would have said yes." The Head tried to burn the interrupter to ash with his glare. "However, based on how this conversation has gone thus far and your immediate reactions to it, I am beginning to have serious doubts the Navy can be trusted to investigate itself honestly. The Navy I left ten years ago is obviously not the same today. Now, there will be no further interruptions. You will have your turn and say when I ask for it. Is that an issue?"
The top Admiral ground his teeth but kept his temper. "No, Director."
"Thank you, Admiral."
Another board member voiced a concern. "Director, perhaps the good Admiral has a point. Is it really the responsibility of Medical Mechanica to micromanage the internal workings of any branch, not only the Navy? Ought we to remain impartial and not be seen resolving internal disputes, giving perhaps the appearance of favoritism?"
"It is not my intent to turn Medical Mechanica into an investigative body. And it will never be a practice here to favor one branch over the other, unless we are specifically directed by The Priests otherwise; if that is what your concern is?"
"Correct, that was my concern."
"I will counter though, by asking: if we are the procurement and distribution center, and manufacturer for our vital militaries and police forces, do we not have a right to intervene if our hard built and carefully distributed resources are being misused; especially if they are being misused maliciously? I would say that we have an obligation to become involved. Gentlemen, my time, and yours is valuable. The work our people do is valuable, as are all the materials that pass through their hands. And if our valuable time is being wasted, do we not have a right to know, and have the right, nay, obligation to have the waste stopped?"
"I cannot think of any counters to your argument, Director. Forgive me."
"There is no transgression to forgive. You occupy your position because I need you to ask those exact questions. Now, Commandant. If you would, please continue."
"...Right then. I have on my desk..." The Commandant opened his case and took out several reams of documents. "And these here are only one stack of several, hundreds of complaints lodged against various fleet officers. They are shadowing and harassing my inspectors. They have threatened with damage to careers and promotions my supervisors and foremen. Numerous personnel from my Yard Boss on down to fresh recruits on hull scraping and painting duties have been offered bribes to overlook items or make illegitimate sign-offs for work orders."
"If what you are saying is true, these are incredible claims. And the punishments for such offenses are more severe still." The Head ignored the three fidgeting Admirals and pressed the Commandant. "Why do you think naval officers would risk these dire consequences? What could be worth the risks?"
"It is my suspicion, and right now it is only a suspicion, as I have not been granted sufficient access to confirm it. But my suspicion is that if any of our fleet, from patrol gunboats up to a bulk planet cruiser, were to be selected at random and properly inspected from bow to stern, not only would it fail to pass inspections..." The Commandant gathered himself for the final blow. "But they would fail inspections so badly that the vessel would be declared unfit for duty, structurally unsound, unsafe for overhaul work, and be condemned to the Breakers."
"...I see." The Head made some notes while the room drowned in overwhelming silence, broken by board members sniffling or clearing throats. "Admirals, thank you all for waiting patiently. What have you to say?"
"W-w... w-well, he's obviously lying!"
"And not only is he lying, but there's not even a good reason for it! At least none so obvious as to be seen."
"Director, you commanded aboard ships once upon a time. You no doubt remember that maintenance workers are the worst of mechanical hypochondriacs. Every loose bolt, every fraying wire, chipped bit of paint is a disaster waiting to happen and unless the ship is committed to full dry dock for half a year, it will spontaneously combust; or some other wild nonsense."
"I do recall being reprimanded, more than once, for driving my ship too hard when I had a vessel command. 'You're going to crack up coming into atmosphere one of these days driving your boat like that, and then you'll burn to cinders on the way down' or some kind of warning like that. In my defense though, I had to know exactly what my ship was capable of, what it could handle and do, and not just what the specification tables said. Ah, simpler days..."
"Then you understand? You know how the shipyards think and how every ship a day or two over the recommended maintenance date is a disaster waiting to happen."
"I do understand, yes. I also understand that I must consider the worst case. What if the Commandant is right? What if any of our fleet at random is a disaster in the making, with a 'when' instead of an 'if' attached to a fatal accident? And as terrifying of a possibility as that is, is also easily disproven."
"Is that so? How?"
"Quite simple. A ship will be chosen at random from either low orbit or already in the yards. If in low orbit, it will be ordered to dock immediately in the yards, but either way, the chosen ship will be inspected with all of us here present. Do you find that agreeable, Commandant?"
"I do, Head Director." The Commandant sat upright in his chair. "I find it perfectly agreeable. With all members here as witness let it be recorded that if I am proved to be a liar, I will resign my commission and position, and turn myself over to the mercy of The Priests, to be done with as they deem fitting. On this I stake my honor as an officer, and my sacred faith in our great oracle Syrinx."
Upon this declaration, The Head turned to his side. "Aide, you took all of that down, yes?"
"Yes, Director I have." The Aide confirmed. "In writing and we have been recording the entire time."
"Excellent. Now, for myself and all others present, have our schedules cleared for the rest of the day."
"Certainly, Sir." This drew some of the board into mild protest but the loudest came from the Admiralty Trio.
"Excuse me?!"
"I beg your pardon?!"
"Director, what are you doing? What ploy is this?"
"Gentlemen, this issue has been passed over and handed off far too many times. The Navy was my home once upon a star and I still care for it. I have the power to bring this issue to an immediate halt and am doing so, right now. Our Solar Federation's lifeblood and security is at risk and that is completely unacceptable. Aide, please have transports brought around for everyone. Commandant, do you have a list of all ships in your yards and docked in low orbit?"
"I do, and now..." The Commandant made a few strokes on his touchscreen and everyone's screen pinged. "So do you all of you. As far as making a selection, I would suggest conducting a random lottery from the list."
"And how will we do that?" One of the board members inquired. "Do we just pick ones off the list, then among the group we debate down to one? I don't see that going anywhere."
"Everyone will pick one separate ship from the list." The Head took from a shelf on the side of the conference table a notepad of paper. This was officially for transcribing notes to Couriers, but it would do for his purposes. He tore off a page, then began tearing it into strips. "Then I shall write each name on a separate piece of paper. These will be placed in the Grand Admiral's hat..." The Head nodded at the peaked cap precisely placed on the table. "And he will blindly draw. Crude, yes. But perfect for this impromptu drawing."
"This is madness..." The Grand Admiral shook his head but scanned his own list to make a selection. Once everyone had selected a ship, the name was written down and put in the hat. The Head shook the hat to scramble the names and presented it to the Grand Admiral.
"Admiral, if you would please do us the honor?"
The Grand Admiral looked daggers at The Head, then at the Yard Commandant. "You'll regret this, both of you. Best to get it over with..." He sifted around and drew a ship. Unfolding the paper slip, he announced the selection. "Battle Cruiser, Medium Class. The Devotion."
"And the Devotion is in low orbit. I will have it brought down for immediate inspection." The Commandant promised. "By the time we arrive it will have docked and be ready for inspection. Perfect timing!"
"Then we should not waste time. Aide, are our transports ready?"
The Aide's touchscreen pinged. "They have just arrived and are waiting for us."
"Excellent! Everyone, if you'll please follow me?" The Head lead everyone to the front steps of Medical Mechanica. Two sleek and elegant shuttles waited to usher them to the nearest train station, which would speed them several hours to the yards. All passengers comfortably seated; the transport drivers set off smooth as silk. While board members availed themselves of refreshments from the onboard miniature bar and pantry, the Aide pulled The Head to a corner of a seating bench.
"Sir, I did not want to contradict you in front of everyone but... are you sure this is wise? I understand your attachment to the Navy but..."
"Arom, the part of my position that is overlooked by those who want it is that I have to be the one who makes everyone unhappy. I must tell people what they do not want to hear, what must be done versus what they want done. I have to be the one who forces them to confront uncomfortable reality. Even if they will hate me for it, I must do what is best for our people, our beliefs and way of life. When I was selected by The Priests, I knew it was not my role to make everyone my dearest friend. It was to make good decisions even at the cost of making enemies. Do you understand?"
"I do. Though perhaps in future, consider a more tactful approach?"
"This is what a life in the Polite Services does not teach you." The Head looked out the rear window at the following transport. It carried the admirals and a few of the board. "On some people you'll find tact and subtle measures are wasted effort. I served under admirals like them for twenty-five years." The Head held up his pocketwatch, a ray of light flashed through the window and sparkled off the golden timepiece. "I know how they think, how their internal clockwork runs, what makes them tick. Attempt diplomatic and discrete methods with them, and they will never take you seriously."
"I will keep that in mind for when I am Head Director."
"Will you now? That's quite bold of you, young man."
"With all the deepest respects Sir, but none of us will last forever. Time comes for us all eventually. Of course, I still have much to learn and you much to teach, so you're not allowed to take permanent leave quite yet."
"And I shall keep that in my mind, with whatever space I have left up here." The Head patted his smooth scalp. "For now, though, I am going to let this mind of mine wander a bit. Help yourself to something from the ice chest and don't disturb me until we arrive at the station. I am going to let my subconscious get its exercise." The Aide took his leave and slid down the bench to join the others. The Head settled into a more comfortable position, took one of the Temple Papers provided for passengers and draped it over his face to block out light. In a few moments he was peacefully asleep.
. . .
While The Head Director of Medical Mechanica was drifting to sleep on a plush cushioned bench, far away and deep within the warren of tunnels dug through Roman's Mine, another agent of The Red Star of The Solar Federation was beginning to wake up. And his experience was nowhere near as comfortable. A crowd of medical attendants looked on as specialists performed their final tasks.
"Drainage complete, and the fluid flush is complete." One confirmed from his control panel.
"Confirm lead attachments." The supervising doctor ordered.
"Leads are confirmed to be attached."
"Controller..." The doctor nodded to the attendant at the control panel. "Proceed."
"Beginning in three, two, one..." With a button press stimulant charges surged into the patient, still dripping wet with warm and bright blue fluid on an examination table. The body spasmed and arched its back, then thudded to the table. Another surge kicked the patient to consciousness out of their induced sleep. There was a spat of heavy coughing and discharge of the remaining blue fluid from the patient's lungs. None of the attendants moved, knowing this part of the process was routine. Their patient would have to work out on their own whatever was still in their system. Finally, the patient sat up and swung their legs off the side of the table, feet dangling above the floor.
"Good afternoon, how are you feeling?"
"I'm...huuuueeaaack-hack-blurgh-agh-hack! Pth-huh!" A final stubborn blob of congealed blue fluid was spat onto the floor. The patient then began stretching their arms, rotating, and working out the knots, particularly in their right bicep. "I'm stiff as stone, but otherwise feeling none the worse for wear. Doctor, you have truly been steered by Syrinx's hand! Your team and your skills are a testament to this fact!"
"Oh, you're too kind. All in a day's fun. Can you stand?" The doctor and attendants watched as the patient put their feet to floor. "Excellent. On first, cursory examination, you appear to have healed perfectly, as expected. We will have a few tests to ensure you are in full form and the N.O. solution has completely cleared your system. Before then, I suspect you would like to freshen up?"
The patient looked down at themselves, still covered head to toe in blue fluid. "That would be wonderful, yes."
"Shower's right over there. Take your time, there is no rush." After a shower, then a battery of tests with lights being shined in their eyes, knees tapped, and all other sorts of dreadful routine medical nuisances, the patient was cleared and released from the medical staff's care. Then there was one final order of business.
"Ah, Doctor. Am I to face the world again as I did the first time? Naked?"
"Your personal effects are on the far table. We took the liberty of having them cleaned, pressed, and readied for you."
"What exceptional hospitality! If this is the kind of service found here, you'd understand if I found excuses to come back. But alas, I must be on my way for I have much work to do and am terribly behind in my schedule."
The patient strolled to the indicated table and found their effects neatly lain. With haste they dressed and made ready. Black slacks and mirror polished shoes, crisp white shirt, a trim midnight dark waistcoat and black tie fixed in place with a silver clip. Over the waistcoat went a leather harness with a pistol holster, fighting knife sheath, and spare pistol magazines. Into this was loaded a Coonan 0.357 Magnum, an Applegate-Fairbairn Combat II knife, and two spare loaded magazines. Over the harness went a custom fitted suit jacket, then tight leather gloves, a wide-brimmed fedora, then smoked and mirrored sunglasses. Lastly, a pocketwatch of gleaming starlight silver was secured to the waistcoat by its glimmering chain. Holding it up to their ear, the patient confirmed it ticking in perfect time. Pressing their thumb to the smallest face at the bottom of the pocketwatch's main face, the patient closed their eyes for a blink of time. Opening their eyes, they let drew a deep breath of clean air that wasn't supplied through fluid and savored it for an indulgent moment.
"Ahhh..." The Man in Black snapped his pocketwatch closed and gently stowed it in his waistcoat. He turned to the medical staff and taking his hat in his right hand, held it over his heart while saluting with his left hand. "My many thanks to you all! May Syrinx continue to guide you all, and may he protect me so that I never have to enter that wonderful, dreadful healing tank again!"
"Farewell, and may Syrinx be at your back!" On reaching the surface, The Man in Black took in the changed surroundings. If not for the absence of smoke, he might have thought the forest surrounding Roman's Mine to be on fire. Golds, yellows, reds, and crimson leaves filled the horizon and hills, a tapestry made from millions of individual points of color; all flashing with mesmerizing brilliance as the wind wound through.
"Incredible..." The Man then remembered himself and tightened the grip on his attaché case. "No time to waste, back to it." Once more with none of the locals the wiser, a Man in Black plied his craft in Central Pennsylvania.
. . .
The train stopped to disgorge its cargo of passengers onto the Naval Shipyards Station. Sailors, Marines, and workers piled out and were joined by a group unusual to the familiar crowd. At its front was the Yard Commandant, flanked by The Head, both men excitedly chatting and pointing out sights to the other. Wide-eyed board members and surly admirals followed in their wake. First the group stopped at the main headquarters where the Commandant summoned a resident Courier. He then placed a call to the docking bays to confirm the Devotion was waiting for them.
"Thank you for confirming and taking care of this on such short notice." The Commandant held the receiver with his cheek and shoulder while scratching a note. "I will be down soon for inspection and will be bringing a retinue of guests. Let's show them our very best."
"It will be done, Sir. See you soon." The Commandant hung up and pulled the paper he had been writing on from its notepad. At his elbow with a handcuffed attache case waited the Courier. He was shown an address on the paper and nodded that he understood it. The message was locked in his case and with a salute, he made ready to leave.
"With haste Courier, with utmost haste." The Commandant emphasized. "Station Seven, quick as you can."
"Consider it already delivered, Sir. Gentlemen." With a professional nod to the group the Courier made a swift exit.
"Apologies for the administrative fluff, an annoying but necessary little task that could not wait." The Commandant led them to the main docking bays. Most were empty but one of the larger bays was occupied. The Devotion was twenty main city blocks in length and five across at the engines, its command tower seeming to soar into the sky. And it was only in the top half percentile of the fleet. To meet them were a three dozen score strong team of inspectors. All looked puzzled at the sudden, unscheduled call to their post. Seeing their Commandant, The Head Director of Medical Mechanica, two High Admirals and the Grand Admiral, and their entourage of directors and aides all approaching did not alleviate any confusion.
"Commandant, Sir!" The Lead Inspector saluted. "All present and accounted for, ready to begin. Need I inquire as to your guests?"
"No need. Please proceed as if we are not here. They are merely here to observe our work. Do us proud, Inspector."
"Aye-aye, Sir." The Lead turned to his men and with a sharp wave of his arm, loosed them upon the ship. With ruthless efficiency the inspectors tore into the ship. From looking at the outside on their walk up a gangplank, the visiting group knew the inspector findings would not be glowing with positivity. Large patches of rust dotted the otherwise regally red and black striped hull. Only docked for a few hours, large pools of fluid had already gathered in the concrete basin under the hull keel line. Once inside things did not improve. Bundles of cable and piping snaked through the halls on the deck, through doors and up and down ladders. Rust, pools of water and mystery fluids, were found on every deck level. In some passageways portable maintenance lamps were the primary light source and the main lights mounted in the ceiling remained dark even with the ship connected to shore power. Most of the ship was filled with hot, stuffy air because, as one helpfully vocal sailor told them, there had been either a refrigerant or coolant leak, or perhaps both, that had been sucked into the ventilation system. To prevent poisoning the crew the ventilation fans had been shut down and the system itself sealed. Now that they were planet-side they could begin slowly venting with outside air. With this ominous information in mind the inspections and tour continued. Finally, after an afternoon onboard, the inspectors were called to the cargo bay and ordered to present their preliminary reports. They were brutal in their synopsis.
• Significant leaks in main climate control coolant system.
• Auxiliary Cooling System shows signs of repeated overheating.
• Power converters in Storage/Repair Bay Four unable to produce charge, system has been bypassed with unauthorized direct cable link.
• Sensor Array Controller/Interpreter unable to maintain configuration, requires Technician to refresh manually every thirty seconds.
• Fleet Systems Active Sensor Pulse Generator unable to generate required charge to signal at minimum required range; only capable of fifty percent range and charge.
• Signal-Augmented Sensor Jammer out of acceptable range, is detecting ships own Active Sensor Transceiver and blocking it.
• Passive Sensor Antenna broken.
• IFF Transponder unable to hold configuration; randomly assigns itself new numbers. Requires constant Technician override.
• Subspace drive exhaust tested positive for: lubricating oil leak, hydraulic oil leak, cooling fluid leak, raw and unmixed fuel entering combustion chambers, Stabilizer fluid leaks, and Alluvial Damper fluid leaks.
• Battery Array for Emergency Generator #3 Fully Discharged. Inspection of battery internals found them corroded beyond repair.
• Investigation of exterior hull battle damage discovered a live large caliber armor piercing - high explosive round lodged in structural bracing beam. Fuse found defective. Went unnoticed as no area with atmosphere was penetrated, thus no exposure to vacuum of space. Naval Ordnance was immediately summoned to begin removal and disposal.
• Bile Pump Alarm in Bilges #2, #3, #5, #7, #9, #10, #20, #24 intentionally disabled or removed.
• Emergency Overpressure Valve for Supplemental Reactor #1 fixed in closed position. Valve has a Large #48 Pipe Wrench welded to control lever, and tail end of wrench is welded to bulkhead support member. Removal of wrench with cutting torch resulted in Valve closing immediately and tripping Overpressure Alarm, despite reactor being powered down.
• Electrical Breaker in Engineering Sub-Deck for Cargo/Fuel Elevator locked in closed position. Breaker bar used as brace against breaker switch to hold in upright position. Removal of breaker bar resulted in breaker tripping and stoppage of elevator system.
Half an hour in and the inspectors had not presented even a quarter of their report. Off to the side the trio of admirals sweated through their uniforms. They had called the Yard Commandant's bluff and lost. The captain of the Devotion also stood by at rigid attention with the appearance of a statue. Either he knew something he wasn't letting on or was exceptionally good at hiding his fear. Thoroughly pained by the list of issues, The Head indicated to the Yard Commandant he had heard enough from the inspectors. The cargo bay fell silent, and The Head tidied up the tail end of his notes. He then called the ship's captain front and center.
"Captain Lux, good afternoon."
"Good afternoon, Head Director, Captain Doyen, Sir." Captain Lux held his hat under one arm and a leather document case in the other. "My apologies for the lackluster and substandard state of my vessel. It was not my intention to receive you here with it in such a sorry state."
"That is why I am here, to discover how such a state could have been reached. As ship's captain, and not an inexperienced one..." The Head noted that Captain Lux's uniform had four rows worth of campaign and commendation ribbons. "What have you to say?"
Captain Lux addressed The Head, The Commandant, and the rest of the board members. "Sirs and gentlemen, first understand I recognize that the state of my vessel and crew are my responsibility; and cannot be foisted on others. As is plain to all present, I have failed. However. I have not been allowed to execute this responsibility to the best of my ability. This does not excuse my vessel's lack of readiness and I accept all blame. But it must be said, I have been deliberately and explicitly ordered from on high to ignore, suppress, and cover up the numerous issues plaguing not just this vessel, but the fleet at large. If I may indulge those gathered, I can sustain these claims in writing."
"These are serious allegations. If they can be proven, then please do so."
"With pleasure." Across the main table Captain Lux pulled from his case document after document, complaints sent and ignored, requests denied, demands for replacements and repairs refused. The stack of documents sat a ream high, and Lux explained these were only what he could bring with him on the moment's notice. Several cabinets worth was privately secured and could be brought forward if needed. The Commandant and Admirals were called forward to authenticate the orders and their signatures. One in satisfaction, three in bitterness, confirmed the documents legitimate.
"Alright. One last order of business." The Head looked over one of the orders, sending the Devotion back to duty despite the transponder issues. "Why, Captain? Why are you being given these orders?"
"May I speak plainly?"
"You may."
"We, being the Navy, are stretched too far and too thin, with too few ships to cover too much territory. There is no time to stop and refit. New ships are not coming online fast enough, with enough properly trained crews, to make up the difference. We know the risks, that our wonderous Federation is under constant threat from all who would destroy it out of envious spite. We know that all citizens are depending on us to keep them safe, fed, healthy, and in the comfort our ancestors fought so hard for; to see Syrinx's vision for his children realized. And it pains me to say that our navy, with its storied history and outstanding record of being the backbone of The Red Star of The Solar Federation, in its current state is barely holding on while delivering this promised providence. I am so terribly ashamed and heartbroken that it must be said..." Captain Lux blinked several times and gathered himself. "It must be said that not only have we failed you and our people, but our failure is borne out of cowardice and incompetence by our leaders. Chief among them are before you. If we are to have any hope as a people, as a culture, to continue thriving then at minimum these men must be called to account for their inadequacy; if not outright sabotage."
After a pause to drink the testimony in, The Head turned to the Commandant. "Anything you would like to add?"
"There is nothing for me to add. Captain Lux's account is sadly the average of what is passing through my yards. I have heard this story countless times."
"Admirals, Grand Admiral. Have any of you anything to say?"
"In fact, I do, Head Director." The Grand Admiral drew himself up and stiffened his back. With bitter snarling he laid in. "You are correct in that the navy you left does not exist anymore. It was a navy that was used to soft living and easier sailing. Your navy did not have to contend with the new expansions The Priests have set forth from their communications with The Great Computers. Your navy did not have to trouble itself with supply lines and transport routes being raided by spies and saboteurs the likes of which are now commonplace. Your navy was flush with experienced crews and officers, who decided to skip out of longer tours and take leisurely careers sitting behind desks instead of standing watch. While I know you fought your share of battles and have been commended for them, your navy did not contend with the daily brinksmanship our enemies subject us to. They would like nothing more than an accident to occur, a shirt bloodied they could then wave in front of the cesspit they call a republican senate while howling for total war. They are constant in their harassment, intrusions into our territory, poking and prodding for the smallest of gaps or hint of weakness. Aside from turning what should have been a lazy afternoon of crushing harmless peacenik Liberas on Portum into a decade long, slogging bloodbath… I would say your navy had life easy compared to ours today. And I'll suffer Syninx's Damnation before I allow someone who hasn't commanded a ship in ten years, let alone a fleet, tell me how to do my job!"
"I am not telling you how to do your job, Admiral." The Head clarified. "I am asking why you have not met the standards set down for you, and the stipulations Medical Mechanica made when granting you access to our resources. A bargain between our parties was struck, that Medical Mechanica supplies the materials and technology, and you supply a fighting force worthy of being called The Pride of Syrinx. Your end of this bargain has not been held up Admiral, and you're being called to account. Though, given such a sorry state you have allowed the Navy to lapse into, I am suspecting even that may be too high a task."
"Do not think that your rank grants you immunity to the consequences of your words!" The Grand Admiral pointed at The Head's pocketwatch. "That timepiece has made you drunk with its power. And now that you've convinced yourself you can run the Navy better than the likes of us, you're going to turn it into Medical Mechanica's personal flotilla. To do with as you deem fit, Will of The Priests be damned! Am I wrong?! I hear no argument!"
"Are you accusing me of usurpation, Admiral?" The Head's voice slashed the Grand Admirals' tirade. "Because if you are, this is the absolute worst way you could have gone about it."
"Usurpation certainly, and treason too! Some form of disgusting blasphemy is in there as well, in all those hidden hours you spend at home alone with no wife or family. What all do you get up to all by yourself, I do wonder?" The Head's mind immediately went to the thick-paper box hidden in his home and for a second, he wondered how the Admiral could have known about it. Then he realized this was an attempt to pull an emotionally charged reaction out of him. But the slight tremor over his face did not escape notice. "Ah-ha! You can see it in his face! Guilt, written all over it! What is it then? Since we're all sharing here, is there something you'd like to..."
"Grand Admiral, that is quite enough!" The Yard Commandant cut in. He snapped his fingers and called out. "Master of The Watch!"
"Commandant, Sir!" The Master Chief Petty Officer at Arms stepped forward with his team behind him.
"Have the Bosun call in our other guests. See to it they remove these Admirals from my facility, and they are placed into Naval custody. They have meetings with the Courts Martial and The Priests they'll need to prepare for; and solitary confinement in the brig will provide the quiet and solace they require."
"I... w-what?!"
"Bosun! Send them in." A hatchway was opened to allow in a squad of Capital Police, blue uniformed with dashing red trim, and commanded by a pair of black suited Operatives.
"Good afternoon, and Syrinx's Blessings upon you all." The lead Operative spoke while he and his twin both saluted. The Capital policemen followed suit, but in the usual fashion and not the Operative's left-handed gesture. "How might we be of service?"
"Take these three into custody, transport them to the main naval brig, and begin questioning upon booking." The Commandant ordered. "They are accused of gross and deliberate misconduct, resulting in damage to the capability of our Navy."
"This is madness, stark raving madness!" The Grand Admiral felt the walls closing in on him. "I, I won't stand for this! Have all of you taken leave of your senses?! How has this happened?! It's you, isn't it?!" He turned wildly, then focused on The Head. "I knew it, I was right! This is all your doing! You won't get away with this. I won't..." He advanced on The Head, still seated at the main table. What he was going to do once he reached the table, he didn't know but he would find out when he got there. Only two steps into his move and he felt a crushing grip seize him. The Grand Admiral looked down to see a black, tight leather glove had materialized in an instant from across the room and latched its unshakeable grip onto his elbow. This was his one unspoken warning to stop and to his hubris, he ignored it. "Unhand me, Operative! Unhand me at once! I won't take this from the likes of...AHHHHAGHGHHAHAAAGGGHAH!"
The Operative tightened his grip around the joint and ground the hard bits his fingers found until they were soft. The gristly crunching of bones echoed off the metal deck. The Grand Admiral, elbow joint powdered, dropped to his knees in agony. Maintaining his stranglehold, the Operative leaned over to speak privately with the Grand Admiral. In a light tone and whisper only the Admiral could hear, he made his terms clear. "Admiral, you are making an ungentlemanly scene that is unbecoming of an officer. If you continue to do so, or if you make one more step towards The Head Director, I am going to take away your arm, and you will not get it back. Am I understood?"
"Haarrggg...haaah... ye-yes! Please, stop, just... huuahhgghh... yes..." Words were failing him as pain radiated through his arm. Compliance secured; the Operative's jovial mood returned.
"Marvelous. Officers, if would please?" The Operative forced the Grand Admiral to stand so the Capital Police could put irons on his wrists and march him out. "Commandant, I will see to it personally that these charges will be given only the best hospitality a naval brigantine can afford. If there is nothing else for us, my partner, retinue, and I shall be on our way. Oh, one last thing." The Operative pair turned to The Head Director.
Both saluted him before turning and departing with the police. "So good to see you again, Captain Doyen. Come round and visit sometime. You know where to find us, and you will find our door open. The Priest's Blessings and Goodwill of Syrinx upon you all! Good day!" As discretely as they came, the pair followed the Capital Police out and latched the hatchway behind them.
"This has turned into more of an experience than I thought." The Yard Commandant realized he had been holding his breath. He heaved a massive sigh and for a moment sat drained, hands limp on his lap. "The Priests are going to be furious."
The Head waved his hand in dismissal. "They will be my responsibility, do not worry yourself. What you should be concerned with is repairing our fleet as quickly as is physically possible." The naysaying grumblings of board members were ignored. "Gather your officers and draft a plan that will have us back in action, and describe what resources Medical Mechanica must provide, and in excruciating detail. When I break this news to The Priests, we must show we not only have plans in place but have already begun solving the problem. If we can limit what they will have to invest of their time and interest, it will go easier for all involved. Have it brought to me by... Captain Lux, is there something on your mind?"
The man stepped tentatively forward, glancing over his shoulder at the hatchway where the police and Operatives had traversed. "I... do not understand. Am I not being arrested as well?"
"Why would you be?" The Yard Commandant asked. "Do you want to be arrested? That can be arranged if you so desire."
"My ship failed inspection, in spectacular fashion. I have failed my responsibility as captain... Sirs?" Captain Lux was tensed for being suddenly seized. His eyes flitted between The Head and the Yard Commandant, the other officers behind them, and board members, expecting someone to drop the hammer on him.
"Yes, I suppose that you have a point in that your vessel is completely un space-worthy." The Yard Commandant agreed. "However, as you have proven by your extensive documentation it was through no negligence or incompetence on your part, but the failings of others. It is possible to do everything right and still fail. You and your crew are therefore to be..."
"Hold, for one moment. Trust me just once more." The Head held up a halting hand. "Now, as was so recently pointed out, it has been ten years since I wore a naval uniform. But I do recall that part of the officer's culture was to immediately bring to light items that could potentially diminish the capability of the Navy, so that they may be corrected. By allowing the problems of his ship, and many others to fester, Captain Lux has done the Navy a great disservice. He gave into a culture of fear and discouragement to report wrongs. And by gathering and preserving these documents to use as evidence someday, he knew what he was doing was negligent at best, and certainly wrong. So, you must agree, Commandant, that he must be punished in at least some form or another. But again, as I have been reminded, I am no longer a naval officer and thus have no say in the matter except to offer a has-been's recommendation. For Captain Lux's sake though, it would be a shame to lose such an experienced officer and crew. Perhaps there is a middle ground that can be found? While he has admitted to failure, Captain Lux does possess the potential to still be useful to the Navy; perhaps even redeem himself. In what capacity, well, I cannot say. Though there are a dozen nasty assignments and duty stations I can recall from hazy memory. Ultimately, the decision is yours. Do with him as you will."
Captain Lux appeared almost relieved The Head had pointed this out, seeming to expect it. The Yard Commandant stroked his chin in thought, taking in The Head's words while deciding on Captain Lux's fate. An idea struck. "Director Doyen, you make an excellent point. Very well, Captain Lux. Since you seem so keen on the idea... you, your ship and crew all, are to be punished. I am going to need a fresh army of workers to bring our Navy back online, and they will need fresh ships on which to practice. Your Devotion is to be confined here in the docks and barred from takeoff. While here, you, your crew, and ship, are to be reassigned as a training force and vessel; teaching new workers how to repair ships. Once the Devotion is fully repaired, all your certifications and qualifications will be revoked. You will be repeating the year-long trials period for novice crews, and everyone aboard will be starting over. Provided you pass with no less than perfect scores, and if you fail by even a point you will start the trials over, your first assignment will be a full cruise, yes, a full eighteen months, as a listening post in Sector Nine-Two-Four-C."
The Yard Commandant had reset the Devotion's career, and the same for all on board. Once they had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, they were competent enough to be allowed to leave port, their assignment was to be parked in an empty section of deep space, doing absolutely nothing but listening for enemy communications. And not just any part of space, but an area so devoid of interest it was unworthy of naming; just assigned a number. This was a job for fresh crews firing their N.O. generators for their first deep space run, aging ships on their last cruise before being sent to the Breakers, or those too incompetent to be trusted with anything besides sitting perfectly still and making no noise. The experience would be deeply humiliating for the Devotion's crew, painfully boring, and forever mark them as a crew who screwed up so badly their Medium-classed Battle Cruiser was assigned to the naval equivalent of sentry duty. But, it would be an opportunity for them to atone and seek redemption without being drummed out of the navy. As the Yard Commandant drew up the new orders and made his signatures, Captain Lux seemed overjoyed at the prospect. The orders finished, signed by other officers present, the Commandant officially handed Captain Lux and the Devotion their new task.
"We shall accept this new responsibility with honors!" Captain Lux sprang to attention, purpose and joy radiating from his face. "My crew will be furious, but it's the least we deserve. Thank you, Commandant, for this opportunity!"
"Don't thank me yet. All leave passes are cancelled, and all personnel of the Devotion are confined to the yards, including you, Captain. Your new duties and assignment begin immediately. Brief your crew and set them to work. Questions?"
"None, Commandant, Sir!"
"Then you're dismissed. See yourself out." With these new orders and lease on life, Captain Lux barely restrained himself from sprinting out. The Head offered his praise of the Commandant's decision.
"Masterfully handled! I could not have done better!"
"Hmm. Probably so." The Commandant cracked a wry smile. "But I must give credit where it is due. Thank you for giving me the idea. I was initially going to have the crew given a Bad Conduct Discharge and the officers a Dismissal."
"When I was in, that meant full grade reduction in rank before leaving and being stripped of service merits. Is that still correct?"
"It is."
"Strict as that is, it is the established way to handle the matter. I was wondering if in this case while it is the correct way: is it the right way?"
"There is always a little room for pragmatism; here and there." The Commandant allowed. He gathered the papers before him and stood. "And now my part, the easy part, is over. I do not envy you, Director. I wish nothing but the best of Syrinx's Fortune when you deliver this news to The Priests."
"If I know them half as well as I think I do, and especially Father Brown, they will already know by the time I arrive. It will be less breaking the news and more of filling in the gaps." The crisis and drama over everyone began making ready to leave. Before departing, The Head took the Commandant aside for a whisper.
"Something else, Director?"
"You are far from a reckless man." The Head showed scratch notes on the margins of a Temple Paper. "The odds you would have gotten a ship that would fail inspection as badly as the Devotion, while pulling at random from the number of ships that we have in the yards and in low orbit, are preposterously bad. You bet your commission, your honor, your life on... what? Luck? What am I missing? How could you have run these numbers and thought this was a sound idea?"
"This is a noble endeavor, and one desperately needed. How could Syrinx not give it his backing, weave things so they run his way? Luck had nothing to do with it." The Commandant answered matter-of-factly. "You should know that nothing happens by accident."
"Hmm... a man of truer faith I could not find." The Head conceded. "And I cannot argue that Syrinx would find this cause worthy of his interest. Very well, and better played. You have my praise. Thank you for the opportunity to be of assistance once again. If you have nothing for me, I will take my leave."
"No, thank you, for believing in me. And some day, when the time is right, I hope to repay the favor." The Yard Commandant gave another wry smile and ushered The Head to his waiting retinue. "We shall see each other again soon. In the meantime, take care, Captain Doyen."
. . .