Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (3 page)

“I know, Abe. It stinks to high heaven. But orders are orders.”

“Are they just scrapping her? They can’t scrap my baby,” said his Chief Engineer, Commander Rayna Scott, a short middle-aged woman whose uniform was a perpetually greasy set of blue coveralls. She ran a greasy hand through her dull blonde hair. It was hard to tell if the gray speckling fringes came from her age or her work.

“Ironically enough, that would be too expensive. But the muckety-mucks managed to procure funding from the Smithsonian to turn her into a museum.”

Silence reigned around the table. Several jaws hung open. Commander Scott covered her face with a hand.

Commander Haws broke the silence with a vulgar snort. “What a load of lukewarm rat piss. A museum? They’re turning the Old Bird into a goddamned
museum
?!”

Granger nodded humorlessly. “It’s my understanding that she’ll be in permanent high-earth orbit just a few klicks from
Valhalla
Station
. Given all the shops they’re building in the new annex ... well, makes it easy for tourists—”

Another snort from Haws at the word “tourists” silenced Captain Granger, and he grit his teeth as he frowned back at them all. “Look, people, I hate this just as much as you do.” He looked up at the ceiling, which had water damage in several places. “The Old Bird is my home. I started my service to the fleet on the
Constitution
, and I intended to end it that way. But not like this.”

Commander Scott cleared her throat. “Cap’n, would you be very disappointed if we suddenly had engine trouble?”

“What?” Granger cocked his head. She hadn’t mentioned anything in the engineering briefing early in the day.

“Oh, you know, I mean if we weren’t able to maneuver out to Lunar Base in time due to persistent unexplained engine failure? They’d have to reschedule, and we all know how much time it takes to shuffle the schedules of so many dignitaries and senators....”

A smile tugged at Captain Granger’s lips. Haws snorted again, but this time with a grunt of approval.

“Rayna, I ...” he began, but stalled as he saw her dead-serious expression. “You’re a gem. No, I’m afraid this is it. This is goodbye. You’ll all be reassigned”—he turned to Commander Haws—“except for you, Abe. I expect you’ll probably take the plum retirement package they’ll offer you—”

“Like hell ...” began Haws with a grumble, before Granger cut him off.

“And I can assure you that you’ll all have the highest recommendation from me.” He looked them all in the eye, one by one. The XO, his diminutive and greasy chief engineer, and the CAG—Tyler Pierce, who’d remained silent and scowling. Standing near the wall were the operations chief, Colonel Hanrahan—who commanded the marine contingent—and the chief medical officer, Doctor Wyatt. Half a dozen other men and women stared back at him from around the table. “It’s been an honor serving with you all, misfits and misanthropes included,” he added with a wink.

He stood. The rest mirrored him. “One more thing. We’ll be taking on a new officer, Commander Shelby Proctor. She’ll oversee the conversion of the ship to its new, ahem, status. She’s been given operational authority aboard the ship for our remaining time here—hold on, Abe,” he held a hand out to touch his XO’s elbow. Haws had tensed when he mentioned operational authority. “You will all please defer to her. We’ve got to get the ship ready for tourists, you see,” he added, unable to keep the derision out of his voice.

“Over my dead body. I’m the XO, Tim,” growled Haws.

The captain sighed. “I wish it were different, Abe. I really do. Just—give her a chance. Let’s make our last few weeks here something we can be proud of.”

He was tired. More tired than he’d ever been—even during that short bout with cancer five years previous. In a sense, he was relieved to be moving on.

The officers filed out, followed by Granger and Haws, who grumbled, “Oh, I intend to.”

Chapter Six

Sol System, Earth orbit

Valhalla Space Station

Admiral Yarbrough glanced out her window at the dance of ships flickering in and out of view, with the blue marble of the Earth in the background. Mostly cargo freighters and crew transfer vehicles, but several large tourist cruise ships sailed among them, bound for one of the outer moons in the solar system or possibly on their way to one of the handful of planets Earth had settled within a few hundred light years or so. Probably Mercia—one of the worlds run by the British government—or Jefferson—an American colony.

Ha. Colony. Most of the
colonies
were now larger than their governing nations on Earth. Hell, Jefferson was up to three billion already. And Merida, in the Veracruz Sector? Closer to four billion. They’d even gone so far as to declare formal independence from Mexico—not that the old country could do anything about it, seeing how they had never really fully recovered from the Swarm War.

A fluttering tone from her desk indicated the arrival of an IDF communique. She waved her screen open and read.

From: Fleet Admiral Zingano, Commander, CENTCOM

October 21
st
, 2650

Attn: Admiral Yarbrough.

Vicky, we’re getting strange reports out of the Veracruz Sector. A few colonist transport ships never showed up to Merida and have not reported in. Veracruz Sector is close to Russian Confederation space, and CENTCOM is worried that Confederation President Malakhov has approved the use of covert force to expand Russian interests in the region.

Dispatch a few intel ships to the Veracruz Sector and figure out what’s going on. Do not engage if the Russians are hostile. The diplomats are all telling me we have nothing to be worried about, including Ambassador Volodin, but all the same, see what you can find out.

-
Bill

Dammit. Russians. By some stroke of luck, their region of space was mostly spared the worst of the destruction of the Swarm War. Continental Russia fared nearly as bad as North America, but the Russian colonies somehow generally escaped the attention of the Swarm. Perhaps they were too small to notice. Or perhaps the wafting odor of vodka-soaked day laborers bubbled up through the atmosphere and assaulted whatever the aliens used for olfactory sensation.

Either way, sounded like the people in the Veracruz Sector needed IDF assistance. Why hadn’t Zingano sent the request to Starbase
Heroic
? Surely Admiral Ryten was closer to the situation and could dispatch ships faster than she could.
 

Maybe he didn’t have any intel ships at his disposal. The military cuts from the Eagleton Commission were leaving nothing untouched—even IDF intel services were feeling the pinch. But he was sure to have a few scout ships at least. A Corvette or a Skiff. Just a quick meta-space message to Ryten would get there far faster than q-jumping a couple of intel ships out there, even as quick as the newer ones were—a light-year per hour.

She looked up and spoke to the comm. “Lieutenant Aelian, prepare an intel ship and meet me in my office in twenty.”

“Yes, sir,” came the curt reply through the speakers. “Problem?”

“I hope not. We’ve lost contact with a few colonist transport ships in Veracruz Sector.”

“Why not send them out from Starbase
Heroic
?”

Good, she wasn’t crazy. It didn’t make any sense to him either. “Those are my orders from CENTCOM, Lieutenant. See you in a few.”

Chapter Seven

L-2 Lagrange point, Earth

Captain’s Ready Room, ISS Constitution

“Commander Shelby Proctor, reporting for duty, sir.”

Captain Granger forced out a thin smile and tried not to groan as he rose out of his seat. Dammit, he needed exercise. His belly bulged against his uniform, straining the buttons. The desk job was going to kill him one of these days. And for some reason, his chest felt like someone was wringing his lungs with their fists.

“Commander. Welcome aboard.” He looked her up and down. Young. Fit. Approaching middle age. Black hair but pale skin. Was she Asian? No. Well, maybe an ancestor or two in the distant past. “Has Haws shown you to your quarters yet?”

Her brow furrowed. “No, sir. Was he supposed to?”

He muttered a profanity under his breath.
Dammit, Haws, it’s not like she’s after your job or something.
“He’s been busy.” Holding out a hand to indicate the doorway he continued, “If you’ll follow me....”

Granger walked to the door of his ready room, but she didn’t move. “Actually, sir, I wanted to get started right away. We’ve only got two weeks and I want to hit the ground running. You still have a full contingent of V-wing X-25 fighters on board, no? I want to gut about half a dozen of them, strip out all their weaponry, and use them as hands-on display pieces down in the hangar. You know, so kids can get up inside of them and pretend they’re fighter jocks for a few minutes. That should take the longest, so I want to get started early.

“Next, I want to convert most of the command consoles on the bridge into interactive displays and configure them to run in simulation mode. That way we can run guests through in groups and give them the chance to command a warship in battle for a few maneuvers. We can wire them together with the environmental controls to simulate the inertia changes with the artificial gravity deckplates. Then, I want to—”

Granger had held up a hand, but she steamrolled right over his gesture. Finally he had to raise his voice. “Commander?”

“—the galley into a full service restau—” She looked up from her datapad in surprise. “Yes, Captain Granger?”

“No.”

She lowered her datapad and pursed her lips, looking as if she were about to stab him with her beady eyes. “Excuse me? Sir?”

“No.” He desperately wanted to stop the conversation there, to let the single word of defiance hang in the air as he sent her packing, but reluctantly he went on. “Not today. We’ll start tomorrow. We’re almost at the end of the day shift, and tonight we’ve got a standard maintenance of the main engines—”

“But you’re not going to need those engines in two weeks, Captain Granger,” she interrupted. “I suggest that—”

“Regardless, my orders stand. I’m still in command of this ship, and if you want to protest that inconvenient fact you can take it up with Admiral Yarbrough.” He glanced at the old leather-strap watch on his wrist. “And by my reckoning she’s dead asleep by now, so you may as well go kick back, have a few drinks at our bar—”

“You have a
bar
?”

“They call the place
Afterburners
. Well, technically it’s just a satellite service counter from the galley down in the observation deck by engineering, but some of the boys put together a little distillery. It’s actually quite good if you can believe it. Just don’t drink too much of it or you’ll spend an evening in the detox unit in sickbay. ” He turned back to the door and nodded to the marines as he passed, Commander Proctor hot on his heels. “Dismissed, Commander. See you in the morning.”

“I—” she began. But the conversation was over. He’d left.

She pounded the air beneath her hanging fists at her side and muttered, “Dammit. This is going to be a long two weeks.”

“Ma’am?” One of the marines looked at her questioningly.

“As you were, Corporal.”

He snapped back to attention and she strode down the hallway to the elevator shaft. Maybe if she found the astrometrics lab she could get a head start on converting it into a planetarium.

The captain’s blunt declaration repeated in her mind and grated her nerves.
No
, he’d said. How dare he? Admiral Yarbrough had recruited her herself for this job. She’d promised her that if she could successfully handle a smooth transition of the
Constitution
into one of the
Smithsonian’
s centerpiece museums then she’d be up for a command position.
 

Ha—command. Something she’d always dreamed of in her previous life as a scientist. It wasn’t until she gave that career up and joined IDF that the prospect suddenly become more real, especially with her well-placed friends higher up in IDF’s Science and Research Division. And with Yarbrough as her new patron, Proctor would rise quickly. She might not be the youngest captain on record, but definitely the captain with the fewest years of service.

But Yarbrough had warned her about Granger. A washed-up, cantankerous old soldier who’d had more than his share of discipline problems. The admiralty was doing its damnedest to ease him out of command, and it seemed decommissioning the Old Bird a few years ahead of schedule was the easiest way to do that.

The doors to the astrometrics lab slid open, revealing banks of computer access stations and walls of monitors, which, at the flip of a switch could project three dimensional holographic images of whichever starfield or planetary system the user wanted. Perfect for the future museum’s new planetarium.

“Excuse me, Commander?”

An older lieutenant peered up at her from his station. His eyes squinted, and the frown indicated she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I’m sorry, but the captain called down a few moments ago. He informed me that the astrometrics lab is closed for the rest of the duty shift today, and will not reopen until the morning.”

Granger, you old bastard.
 

“Excellent—with the lab closed that will help me be able to get a head start on the modifications to—”

The Lieutenant held up a hand, breaching decorum by interrupting her. “I’m sorry, sir, but he was quite clear. No modifications are to happen before tomorrow morning.”

She bristled. How dare he? She had half a mind to get on the comm and ask Yarbrough to beat the old fart into submission for her.

But no. That was not the way to impress the admiralty. If she had Yarbrough fight her battles for her, how could they ever trust her with command?

No, she’d have to be patient. Persistent. Granger may try to oppose her at every turn—in fact, she was sure by that point that he’d throw up every roadblock he could. But she’d push forward anyway.