Badger (14 page)

Waiting for them on the other side of the hatch was Commander Miguel Salazar, chief officer of the Reefhome Defense flotilla. His Celostian uniform looked a little odd, which was understandable since the rush to defend Reefhome had not given Jacob the chance to issue uniforms to his newly recruited officers. Before that battle, Salazar had been a merchant spacer caught up in the pirates’ snare along with the rest of Reefhome. Now, he wore the eagle and bars with the authority and weariness of a career officer, complete with the uncertain gratitude at seeing a superior officer come for a visit. Miguel saluted sharply. “Captain Hull, welcome to the Dockyards. I trust the trip wasn’t too arduous?”

The subtle shift of Miguel’s eyes toward the governor made the true purpose of the question clear, but Jacob shook his head and returned the salute. “No, Commander Salazar. We made it here fine, and we appreciate the chance to tour the docks with you.” His voice caught as he relaxed his stance. “And Miguel, for
Wolfhound
…” Jacob shook his head, frustrated at the sudden lack of words.

Miguel’s face broke into a grin Jacob remembered all too well. “Don’t worry about it Jacob. I know what you mean.” He glanced at Leon and Al-shira. “Commanders. I wasn’t aware you would be joining us as well.”

Leon nodded. “We decided to accompany Captain Hull on his tour, since both of us were involved in the liberation of Reefhome. It was a good opportunity to relive old times.”

Miguel chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it would be.” He paused to look back at Jacob. “Actually, I would have expected more of you to show up for a victory tour like this one. The Navy was never one to miss a good photo op, especially if things along the rest of the border are as tough as I’m hearing. Where’s Ashford hiding out?”

Jacob coughed into his fist. “Lieutenant Commander Ashford was transferred to a different position a long time ago, Miguel. I haven’t heard from him in some time.”

“He’s serving along with the
Bear
at Calrey, Commander Salazar.” Al-shira’s voice was laced with frustration. “The officers there tell me he’s still cursing up a storm and wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to get killed here in the system. He still seems to be doing well from what I have been able to find out.” She glared daggers at Jacob. “I guess some of us are better at keeping track of old friends than others.”

He grunted, and glanced back to find Miguel raising an eyebrow in his direction. Jacob shook his head, and then turned to Governor Chilt. “Should we continue our tour now Governor? I am sure you have a lot to occupy your time.”

Chilt had been watching the byplay between the officers, a small frown forming at being left out of the conversation. He beamed again, and nodded enthusiastically. “Certainly, Jacob! I will only be able to accompany you for a short while longer, but I am sure Commander Salazar would love to show you the rest of the facilities after I leave. Would you, Commander?”

Miguel, his face falling back to the patient kind of endurance Jacob remembered seeing on the faces of prisoners of war, nodded. The governor then sped off down the corridor, forcing the rest of them to walk quickly in order to keep up. “Now then, here are some of the storage units…”

By the time Jacob returned to the docking bay, he felt as if he had been running a marathon. Governor Chilt’s perception of what “a short time” meant was crucially different from Jacob’s own definition. The tour of the repair yards had gone on for nearly four hours, stretching from one end of the facility to the other. Every single ship in the docks had been described and explained, to the point where the next time he heard the phrase “repaired in our fine Reefhome tradition” he was in real danger of screaming in frustration.

The one true blessing of the journey had been the chance to see Miguel Salazar again. His father’s friend had grown into his role as the Defense forces’ leader quite well, and his shaded comments managed to impart some humor to the governor’s diatribe. Once the politician tired of monopolizing Jacob’s time, Miguel had provided an amiable escort back to the shuttle that brought them to the repair yard. Leon and Al-shira had both quickly made their excuses, going on ahead when Jacob paused near the hatch.

He turned to Miguel and nodded. “Thanks for the help getting through that, Commander Salazar. I’m not sure I could have made it through the whole thing without you.”

Miguel snorted. “Please, Jacob, I’m still Miguel to you. We’ve been through too much for the rank to get in the way.” The Reefhome officer must have caught sight of something in Jacob’s reaction, because he leaned in closer. “Hey, something I should know about?”

Jacob shook his head, trying to compose himself. It had to have been the sight of
Wolfhound
again; his control slipped far too easily with all those old memories welling up. “No, Miguel. Nothing, really.”

The commander made as if to continue the interrogation, then stopped short. He shook his head sullenly. “Your father used to do that too, you know. Worry about some critical mistake that had been made and then lock up without saying a thing.”

Jacob remained silent. Miguel leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I remember on one run from New Yarrell to Al-Nasserim, he got the idea in his head that the cargo hadn’t been secured properly, that it was down in the hold shifting around. He kept it to himself for most of the run, until finally I caught him down there, late one night, checking the crates on his own. It took him six hours to find the one crate out of place, but by then it was too late.”

Miguel shook his head. “Fifty thousand dollars worth of cargo, bounced around and broken, because we were sloppy, and he didn’t tell anybody.” Jacob grunted, and Miguel locked eyes with him. “Jacob, is anything loose in the cargo hold here?”

With an emphatic shake of his head, Jacob turned to look back at the hatch. “No, Miguel, you’ve done an excellent job here in Reefhome. They look like they’re ready now, much more than they were when we took them against Dianton. Whatever happens, you did well.” He paused, emotions fighting against the reins. “Thanks for bringing
Wolfhound
here too. I think I needed to see her one last time.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “One last time? The Navy might be thinking of scrapping her, but I’ll tell you right now Reefhome Station wouldn’t allow it. Her, the
Feist
and the
Setter
are already halfway to becoming museum ships, no matter what the high and mighty at Central Command think.” The defiance in those words teased a smile out of Jacob, but then the other officer frowned. “Unless you think
you’re
going somewhere, Jacob.”

He felt his face close down. “I can’t talk about anything like that, Miguel. You know how it is.”

A calculating look had come over Miguel’s expression. “I do indeed. If you
were
going somewhere—not saying you are, of course—but if you were, the flotilla that escorted you in would need to pick up supplies. And Reefhome’d be a pretty good spot for that.” The veteran spacer rubbed a hand over his chin. “Still, you’ve been in worse spots than some kind of task force operation. I doubt you’d be worried about going into combat, even if it is Odurans you’re facing instead of pirates. So that can’t be it.”

Jacob gave him an irritated scowl. “You seem to be assuming an awful lot, Miguel. I haven’t even told you if I’m worried or not, and you’ve already moved onto the reasons behind it.”

Miguel flashed a crooked smile and pushed himself away from the bulkhead. He walked past Jacob, gesturing as he went. “I guess you’re right. You’re obviously handling whatever it is so well you won’t need an old hand’s help with it, right?” There was a painfully awkward pause, and Miguel stopped, turned and tilted his head. “Right?”

He resisted the urge to respond for another awkward pause, and then dropped his head with a sigh. “Miguel, thank you again for everything you’ve been doing. It’s been a great help to me.” A curious expression entered Miguel’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but Jacob shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commander Salazar, but I can’t keep the others waiting. I have to go.”

Miguel’s nostrils flared for a moment and his lips settled into a stern frown. He seemed about to pursue the topic anyway, but the Reefhome officer stopped again, halted by some internal decision Jacob couldn’t begin to guess at. He watched as Miguel grunted and folded his arms again. “Fine then. I won’t pry this time, but if you come back and you haven’t dropped that hang-dog look, you and I
will
be sitting down to speak. Am I clear, Captain Hull?”

There was no bite in the use of his official title, but Jacob winced anyway. He nodded and glanced down for a moment. “Thanks, Miguel. For everything.”

The other officer shrugged and exchanged his frown for a small grin. “It was a pleasure, Jacob. Now get going. The Navy’s waiting for you.” They exchanged salutes and Jacob climbed back aboard the shuttle, feeling more tired than he probably should have. Miguel remained at the hatch, closing it behind him, and he strapped himself into his seat as the pilot did his preflight checklist. Leon and Al-shira had resumed their quiet resentment of him, though he had expected as much after forcing them to wait for him. As the small ship left the docking hatch and that same, terrible silence filled the craft, Jacob wondered how he was going to get out of the mess he was in. No answers came by the time the shuttle returned to
Badger
, and he was beginning to doubt one ever would.

The flotilla remained in Reefhome for another seven days, extending the amount of time for their repairs and resupply as the remaining elements of the task force were brought up to readiness. Both
Terrier
and
Beagle
had the battle damage from Tiredel patched up, and the few other ships that had carried scars were also given priority repairs. Yorkshire, the passionate civilian engineer behind the last of
Wolfhound
’s refits, was now in command of the repair docks, and his typical style of immediate action was obvious in the speed that accompanied the work.

Finally, the “victory tour” flotilla was ready and assembled in formation for the riftjump into the frontier right on schedule, and Jacob admired the final congregation of warships as they formed up for their jump. Nine
Arrowhead
s, organized into three equal flights, preceeded the others, while the four destroyers coasted above and below the rest of the formation. A
Knight
class cruiser and two
Knife
class frigates made up the wings on either side, four
Crowns
and two
Lancers
clustered in the center around the
Badger
. Each portion of the formation glided into position with consummate discipline and skill, and when the signal went out from
Badger
, the flotilla was entirely ready.

Jacob, having returned to his command at last, listened to that signal with the bridge crew of the
Terrier
. He tasted the edge of his battle nerves as the High Admiral’s voice came over the speaker. “This is High Admiral Alan Nivrosky to all members of Task Force Forty. You will jump within two minutes of the termination of my signal. Any ship unable to jump at that time will signal the command ship with the reason and time needed to effect repairs.” The Admiral paused. “We are going to secure the future of the Union and the safety of our families with the mission, and I expect us all to do our duty. High Admiral Nivrosky out.”

With the end of the signal, Jacob glanced at Commander Flint. The officer gave him a cold shake of the head, indicating the
Terrier
would have no problems making the jump; after all, the Capistan had already been spinning long before the order had been given, and the calculations for the riftjump had been constantly updated by the Engines officers on the hour. It would take only the barest delay to update them again and lock in their journey to the next system.

He waited for a moment, tense despite himself when the other ships failed to register a failure in their jump systems. Then he began to relax, realizing once again the Navy was throwing him into action. In the coming days, there would be no political struggle, no rigid and unyielding superiors or personal disagreement. There was going to be a battle, one not even Upshaw could criticize him for, and it said something that the fact gave him less worry than what he’d been going through lately.

The time came, and the riftjump took the flotilla out of Reefhome, out of the Union, and into the vast unknown of the frontier. Soon, it would be time to fight.

Chapter Eight

Five days later, the flotilla snapped into existence in the formerly unoccupied system of Wayward. Jacob had to take a moment to orient himself.

The flotilla had spent the preceeding few days in the dark recesses of deep space. There was no reason to pass through systems generally devoid of human presence; no supplies could be gathered, and the fleet had what it needed thanks to the efforts of Reefhome. Passing through those systems would have given Oduran spies—or even turncoat frontiersmen—the chance to report back to the League about the Celostian warships, and the plan depended on surprise. So they had avoided the stars and moved through the dark, alone as they slid ever closer to their target.

Now, having arrived at the system most frontier spacers labeled Wayward, Jacob found a far different picture. GRC13576 had been blessed with far more worlds than most systems on the Frontier. Three rocky planets orbited within the inner system, one of which had the wispy, toxic haze of an atmosphere no human could stand to breathe. Four more planets spun their merry way through the outer system, their collection of small, brittle moons whirling after them as they made their way through space.

The truly interesting object, however, and the one that had given Wayward its nickname, was not actually a planet at all. At some point in its evolution, the star glowing at the center of the system had captured a wandering flurry of comets. The cluster of ice and rock had then come together to form a kind of greater comet that now looped through the system on an irregular orbit, at a skewed angle compared to the rest of the planetoids. Jacob, having read through the background information on the system, knew the physicists had predicted a collision between Wayward’s wandering comets and the fourth planet in the next few million years, given their orbits and proximity, but it wasn’t a problem they needed to worry about now.