Cluster Command: Crisis of Empire II (3 page)

###

The shuttle pilot gave Merikur a clean lift and a smooth ride but the general was too angry to notice.

Merikur’s family had money, but he was a provincial, and therefore conservative. He knew political marriages were common enough among senatorial families, but he didn’t approve of them, and he damned well wanted no part of such a relationship himself. In fact, he’d said as much to Citizen Ritt.

“This is outrageous! You can keep your comets. I refuse!”

“General Merikur,” she replied sweetly, “refusal to comply with an Imperial Decree,
any
Imperial Decree, is treason.”

At least that had told him the level at which Windsor’s theories were being discussed.

Already furious with Ritt, Windsor, and Pact Command, he’d returned to the BOQ and found Lisa gone. Ordered out with the same military efficiency which had sent over a complete set of marine uniforms and an orderly to pack his personal belongings.

Theirs had been a contract friendship with only light option, but still, it would’ve been nice to say goodbye. The only bright note was the set of gold comets in a little black box.

So, as General Anson Merikur stepped out of the shuttle lock, he wasn’t in a good mood. His reception did nothing to improve it. Instead of the twittering pipes, and double row of gleaming uniforms to which he was entitled, Merikur was greeted by an ensign with acne, a prominent Adams apple, and the look of someone sentenced to death. Two ratings stood behind him, their faces professionally blank.

“General, ah, Merikur?” The ensign checked a note in the palm of his hand.

Merikur was seething, but he did his best to hide it. “Yes?”

“The senator sends his respects, Sir, and asks that you join him in the wardroom as soon as possible.”

“Oh he does, does he? Well, you tell the senator something for me. With his permission, I’ll receive a report from this vessel’s commanding officer, visit my stateroom, and maybe even take a shit before I join him. Have you got that, mister?”

“Yyyesss, Sir. I think so, Sir. Is there anything else, Sir?”

Merikur saw the two ratings were about to explode into laughter. The story would be all over the ship within an hour. “Yes. Tell one of these ratings to carry my gear and show me to my quarters.”

“Yyyesss Sir. Nolte, you heard the general. Help him with his luggage and take him to his cabin. It’s number four on B deck.”

Merikur felt his implant buzz. “The
Bremerton
is a standard Port Class Cruiser. For full schematics, plug me into any printer.” Well aware of the ship’s layout right down to the smallest crawlway, Merikur ignored his AID and asked, “Your name, Ensign?”

“Polanski, Sir.”

“Thank you, Ensign Polanski. Dismissed.”

“Sir.” Polanski did a smart about face and hurried off, an amused rating in tow.

Merikur wondered how Ensign Polanski would handle it. Unless the boy was a complete idiot he’d take the edge off. Senator Windsor would get the message nonetheless. It was a calculated move. To do his job with some chance of success Merikur would need a measure of authority and independence. Being abjectly at Windsor’s beck and call would serve neither purpose.

“This way, Sir.” The rating, a young woman with the badges of a weapons tech, nodded towards a bank of lift tubes. She had his bags, his attaché case, and a big grin on her homely face. “If you don’t mind my saying so . . . welcome aboard, Sir.”

Merikur smiled. Some officers felt any sign of humanity fostered familiarity, and that once begun, familiarity inevitably led towards contempt. Merikur knew better. Familiar or not, the enlisted ranks knew the good officers from the bad, and no amount of bullshit would fool them. Besides, how the hell can you lead people you don’t know?

“Thank you Nolte. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

As she followed him into the lift tube, Nolte put a bag down long enough to touch the letter “B.”

“I’m sorry about the way you came aboard, Sir. Normally we run a tight ship, but the senator and his party docked half an hour ago and things are a bit hectic.”

The platform came to a smooth stop. “Right this way, Sir.”

Merikur considered Nolte’s comments as he followed her down a gleaming corridor. If Nolte was any example, morale was good, and in spite of his reception, that reflected well on the commanding officer. A woman named Yamaguchi, if he remembered correctly. It was equally clear that Windsor and his party had completely disrupted military routine aboard the
Bremerton.
That would have to stop.

“Your quarters, Sir.” Merikur stepped through the open hatch and into a spacious stateroom. Spacious though it was, the huge pile of baggage in the middle of the cabin made it seem small.

He looked at Nolte. She shook her head and said, “This is number four on B deck, just like the ensign said, Sir.”

Merikur nodded and circled right. Working his way around the baggage, he came to another hatch. Sticking his head through he saw only rounded buttocks, a smooth back, and a mop of hair. Moonstruck, he could only stare.

The woman caught sight of him at the same moment and stood, turning towards him with hands on shapely hips as she did so. Her beauty hit him like a physical blow. Long brown hair swept down to frame an oval face. Her breasts were small and pert. White skin curved down to the darkly tangled triangle between long slim legs. “General Merikur, I presume?”

He nodded dumbly.

She nodded in return, as if he were confirming her worst fears. Her voice was calm but icy cold. “I see. An officer but no gentleman. Well, we’re not married yet, General, so I suggest you come back and inspect your property after we are!”

She stabbed a button, and the hatch slid closed in his face.

Angry and humiliated Merikur stormed out of the cabin, past Nolte and up the corridor. By tomorrow,
that
story would be all over the ship too.

Merikur instinctively headed for the bridge. Perhaps up there he’d find something that made sense. Startled crew members scrambled to get out of the way as the new cluster commander stalked down corridors and climbed up ladders.

By the time Merikur reached the bridge the worst of his anger had passed, but he was still upset and ready to take it out on anyone who gave him half a reason.

Like a commanding officer who wasn’t where he or she should be, for example.

Fortunately, Captain Yamaguchi had arrived seconds earlier and knew Merikur was upset. Having heard Ensign Polanski’s report, she also knew why. Merikur’s reception, or lack of one, constituted a serious breach of military courtesy.

It all started when the duty officer mistook Merikur’s shuttle for a supply lighter. By the time he’d realized his mistake, and informed Yamaguchi, it was too late and Merikur was aboard. No matter that the shuttle was a supply lighter, commandeered at the last moment, and that the pilot must have failed to identify his new status properly.

It was a silly mistake, but one which could seriously impact her next fitness report if Merikur wanted to be that way. In fact if Merikur were
really
angry, he might relieve her of command and order her off the ship, probably in the same supply shuttle which had brought him.

She could have dumped the whole thing on the duty officer, and many commanding officers would have, but that wasn’t Yamaguchi’s style. She’d have a private heart-to-heart talk with the duty officer later . . . if she still had a command later. She just wished to hell that the senator, who must have gotten word direct from groundside, had deigned to inform her as well as the ensign that the cluster commander had come aboard.

In the meantime, she did what she could: “Attention on deck!” Those members of the bridge crew who were standing came to rigid attention and those who were seated froze in place.

As an ex-naval officer, Merikur knew that even in orbit it was unusual, even potentially dangerous, to call the bridge crew to attention, but he also knew what Yamaguchi was trying to do. She was simultaneously paying him the respect denied him on boarding while also demonstrating the readiness of her crew.

Still, the point made, there was no reason to have a dysfunctional bridge crew.
“As you were.
Thank you, Captain . . .”

Yamaguchi’s body was no more than five feet tall but her personality filled the bridge. “Captain Marie Yamaguchi, Sir. I apologize on behalf of myself and the ship for my absence when you came aboard. Shall I summon my first officer?”

Merikur smiled. Yamaguchi was offering to relinquish her command. Someone had screwed up and she was accepting the responsibility. His respect for her went up a notch. “That won’t be necessary, Captain.”

From the corner of his eye Merikur saw the tension drain out of the crew members near enough to hear. The crew liked Yamaguchi and was pulling for her. Better and better. “I could use a cup of coffee though.”

In spite of her best efforts to look impassive, Merikur saw relief in Yamaguchi’s eyes. She’d met the general and survived. “Of course, Sir. My day cabin is right this way.”

As in every other Port Class Cruiser, the captain’s day cabin was just aft of the bridge. As he entered, Merikur noticed a transparent display case filled with sea shells and stopped to admire them. Another side of Yamaguchi’s personality. “Pretty.”

“Thank you, Sir. A hobby of mine.”

As she ordered coffee Merikur took a chair. He’d hardly settled in when the coffee arrived and was served by a Cernian steward. Like most Cernians this one was short, no taller than Yamaguchi, and olive-green in color. Many humans called them trolls. Short and squat, their heads seemed to merge with their torsos, and at first glance their features seemed coarse and ugly. A closer inspection revealed intelligent eyes and an expressive, remarkably human-looking mouth. Like most Cernians, this one wore a short jacket and skirt combination.

Remembering Ritt’s comments about possible conflict with the Cernians, Merikur made a mental note to find out how many were on board. He blew the steam off his coffee and took a sip. “Good coffee.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Merikur found himself looking into bright brown eyes. He could see the wheels turning. Yamaguchi’s actual rank, commander, was the same as his less than a day ago. Obviously she’d heard about his double jump to general and was wondering what made him so special. Well, he couldn’t answer that one, because he didn’t know himself. But he could clear the air. “Let’s clear the deck, Captain.”

“I’d like that, Sir.”

“I’m going to need all the help I can get to carry out my orders. That includes straight talk from my senior officers. So when we’re alone let’s cut all the ‘yes Sir, no Sir’ crap and just talk. My name’s Anson.”

She grinned. “And mine’s Marie.”

“Good,” Merikur said. “O.K. Marie how’s the ship? Can she run? And more importantly, can she fight?”

Yamaguchi took a sip of coffee. “She’s as good as any twenty-year-old ship can be, and in answer to your questions, she can fight better than she can run. Newer hulls can run circles around us.”

“Fair enough. Now the senator. Is he pissed because I didn’t come running?”

Yamaguchi laughed. “No, he’s not pissed, not according to what my ensign tells me, but his chief of staff, a guy named Tenly, sure is. But I think the senator was amused. If anything, you probably gained some points with him.”

“Good.” Merikur swallowed the last of his coffee. “Well, I guess I’d better go and see him. What time are we scheduled to break orbit?”

Yamaguchi glanced at the watch strapped to her wrist. “About three standard hours from now. The senator’s in a hurry.”

Merikur stood. “That’s understandable, I suppose. Thanks for the coffee, Marie.”

“You’re welcome, Anson. Come back any time.” She said his name carefully as if it might break. “And Anson?”

Merikur paused by the door. “Yes?”

“Welcome aboard.”

He nodded and disappeared around the corner. Yamaguchi leaned back and raised her coffee cup in salute. “To the Naval Appointments Board. I think the idiots finally got one right.”

###

The wardroom was fairly large—Port Class Cruisers were large ships—and packed with people. Civilians talked to each other, officers came and went, and everyone shouted orders at the small army of aliens and enlisted people who actually did the work.

Remembering the attaché case he’d left with Nolte, Merikur stopped a passing Cernian and said, “Excuse me. I left my attaché case in my stateroom. Cabin four on B deck. Would you get it, please?”

“Of course, General. It would be a pleasure.” The Cernian clapped his hands in a formal salute and disappeared into the crowd. Right at that moment a chief petty officer noticed him, realized who he was, and bellowed, “Attention on deck!”

All the uniforms snapped to attention while the civilians looked around to see what the fuss was about. Merikur spoke. “I’m General Merikur. Would the most senior officer in this room please step forward?”

A harassed looking lieutenant commander stepped forward. From the red braid running over the lieutenant commander’s right shoulder, Merikur deduced he was one of Windsor’s military aides. A rather recent one given the man’s obvious confusion. Merikur sympathized.

“I think I’m senior at the moment, Sir.”

“Excellent. Your name?”

“Moskone, Sir.”

“Thank you, Commander Moskone.”

Merikur turned to the now silent crowd. “From now on you will submit your needs to Commander Moskone. You will do this one at a time. He will prioritize your requests and assign people to carry them out. Please remember that this is a warship and not a cruise liner. Although the crew will do everything they can to ensure your comfort, military necessity may require them to return to their normal duties at any time. If this occurs, please try to be understanding. In the meantime, I see the wardroom bar is open. Perhaps those of you with less urgent requests would step over and have a drink on me. Thank you. Carry on.”

As half the crowd headed for the bar, and the rest lined up to see Moskone, Merikur heard a voice at his elbow. “General Merikur?”

“Yes?” He turned to find a man in livery standing by his side. He wore a tight-fitting grey tunic with a high collar. He had nervous little eyes, a sizeable nose, and a forehead that looked like it must be perpetually wrinkled with worry. A large crest, Senator Windsor’s no doubt, decorated his breast pocket. A vein throbbed in his right temple. Before the man could answer, Merikur said, “Chief of Staff Tenly, right?”