The Terran Gambit (Episode #1: The Pax Humana Saga) (16 page)

Jake shot out of his seat. “Happy? What the hell do you think? Sorry, buddy, I’ve got to get to the flight deck. There’s tactical plans that are in desperate need of an update. See ya.” He bolted for the door, before looking back. “How do you know all this, anyway, and the Resistance High Council doesn’t?” he asked, suddenly realizing the whole thing sounded rather odd.

“I’m very smart,” replied Alessandro. “And I have friends back at CERN in Switzerland—where this was all invented.”

“And the Empire knows nothing of this? Or the Resistance High Council? Your CERN friends kept it all under wraps?”

“Well, this last part was only recently discovered. Three weeks ago. Have fun, friend.” Alessandro went out in the hall where Jake stood, and walked aft, towards engineering.

“Thanks …” he started to reply before sprinting towards the fighter deck.

* * *

Jake had the
Phoenix
’s squadrons practicing the new tactics within an hour of starting the day’s drills. When he broke the news to them, the other pilots just stared, their jaws hanging open, not quite believing their ears. So he took a fighter out himself, and, alone, tested the gravitic field generator in the manner Alessandro had suggested, using it to jump just one meter away from his starting position. It happened so quickly, so seamlessly, he had to do it one more time to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, coming up close to the part of the
Phoenix’s
hull where the nameplate was affixed. Sidling up so that the ‘P’ filled his viewport, he shifted, and immediately the ‘H’ replaced the ‘P’, and Jake whooped.

“Does the Captain even know about this?” asked one of the newer space jocks, a wiry blonde haired man in his early twenties. Sitting in the first row of the flight deck’s briefing room, he seemed to be just about the most earnest young man Jake had met.

“You know, Cream Puff, I don’t think he does,” he replied, using the man’s new callsign, courtesy of Anya Grace. Cream Puff—or Lieutenant Quadri—seemed pissed at the time, but apparently had grown used to it. “And I’m thinking we keep it our little secret for now. Let’s surprise him in a few days. We’ll do our drills out a ways from the shipyards. Fifty klicks or so, away from visual contact, at least.”

Lieutenant Grace, sprawled out over two chairs in the exact middle of the stadium seating in the briefing room, kicked her boots up onto the chair in front of her, to Lieutenant Chan’s annoyance—the brown-haired Asian man rolled his eyes and shifted away from the boots hovering next to his face. “Well look at you, Commander. You found your big-boy pants.”

He was about to yell at her when she continued abruptly, “Does the Empire know about this? I assume they do since they control Liberty Station, the work crews, the folks at CERN, the supply chain, and you know, everything else.”

He glowered at her. Why did she have to undercut his authority in front of his crew? He promised himself he’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. The image of her firm breasts flashed in his mind again, and he shook his head briefly before responding. “My source tells me that they don’t, that this is a recent discovery made by folks who aren’t too happy with the Empire.”

“How do you know that?” she challenged him, putting both hands back behind her head.

“That’s confidential. Let’s just say that the source is trustworthy, and that we can count on the Empire not knowing about this. That good enough for you, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

“Well it will have to do for now,” he said. “Let’s get out there and teach ourselves how to make use of this thing. My mind is just spinning with the possibilities. For starters, we’ll practice what I’m calling the pursuit inversion. One ship will pursue the other, come in from behind in close quarters, and then the front ship will shift to an equal distance behind the pursuer.”

Lieutenant Chan laughed. “Yeah, that’ll come in handy. Wish I could hear the Imperial fighter chatter when we pull that one on them.”

Jake nodded. “Next, we’ll try an angle-off-tail-transfer. Two fighters will converge at a steep angle-off-tail from each other, and one ship will shift into a pursuing position with a lower AOT. Last thing we’ll try today is a vector axis shift. One ship will fly towards another’s vector at a ninety degree angle, and will shift to a pursuing position.”

The room full of space jocks had begun chattering amongst themselves excitedly. Jake cleared his throat. “People, the limits here are endless. I’m sure in the coming weeks we’ll be rewriting the flight training manual from scratch. For today though, let’s focus. We’ll drill down and perfect these three maneuvers, and tomorrow we’ll come up with a few more. Hell, most of your names will end up on all these eventually.”

“Ooo, I can’t wait to try out the Grace Maneuver!” Anya said wryly. “No, wait, I’ve been perfecting that one for years. Hey, Chan, come over to my bunk tonight and I’ll teach it to you.”

Lieutenant Chan rolled his eyes again, as the other pilots laughed. Jake debated saying something, but decided not to put a damper on the good vibes he was feeling from his crew.

“Any questions?” he asked the waiting jocks. They fell silent. “Then get your asses out there and show me some flying.”

* * *

Ben whispered into Lieutenant Commander Megan Po’s ear. “Does he always get like this with shots? I’ve known him longer than you and I’ve never seen him like this.” He watched Jake grit his teeth as he lay on the bench in sickbay. Po put a hand on his shoulder.

“Naw. But he’s on duty in an hour and the Doc won’t let him take pain-killers less than three hours before his work shift.”

“But, can’t the bone just heal on it’s own now? What’s he had, three Calcium hydrozolamine injections?”

She looked up from Jake, whose eyes were closed tight with pain. “This is the third, yes. Should be all knitted up by tomorrow, according to Doc Nichols. He could have gone without it and the bone would have been fine in another month, but Jake insisted.”

Ben shrugged. “It’s not like he’s needing to do anything physical down there on the flight deck anyway, just bark orders at his jocks.”

Looking back down at Mercer, she nodded, and squeezed her friend’s hand. He responded with a forced, thin-lipped smile. “Yes, but the three of us rotate tomorrow, remember? He wanted to be in tiptop shape for his rotation on the bridge. And I’ve been itching to get down to the flight deck and watch those new maneuvers. Absolutely amazing, if you ask me,” she said.

“Amazing, sure, but stupid—borderline mutinous that we’re not telling the Captain yet. He’s nuts, you know?” Ben said, pointing down at his friend, who began to writhe with a new wave of bone-knitting pain.

“Fucking piece of holy fucking shit motherfucker!” Jake pounded once on the wall before gritting his teeth again.

“Did someone call me?” Doc Nichols appeared next to them, holding his ever-present cigar. He held a hydrospray syringe in the other hand. “I changed my mind. You’re getting the t-morphine. I’ll call the Captain and tell him one of his XOs in training gets a doctor’s note excusing him from duty for the evening.”

“No! I’m going up there. Just give me a few minutes,” said Jake through heavy breathing.

“Don’t be such a dumbass. Come on, let’s get this over with.” Doc Nichols reached down to Jake’s arm.

“No, Doc, I said no!”

The doctor stood back up and swore again. “Fine. Just shut the hell up—I’m getting sick of listening to you moan.” He took a puff of the cigar and blew a misshapen ring up into the air, which drifted lazily up to the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

Ben coughed, and waved a hand at the smoke. “Doctor, you do realize you’re breaking Imperial fleet regulation forty-two section two paragraph one, right? No smoking anywhere on any starship, except by express permission of the Captain, and only then in a designated smoking area?”

“Oh, shove it with your regulations. I didn’t get dragged out of a luxurious beachfront retirement only to get regulations quoted at me. And besides, the Captain did give me permission.”

Ben shook his head. “Actually, I was talking to him on the bridge the other day, and he told me how much he hates the smoke and that he’s asked you to stop while on the
Phoenix
.”

Doc Nichols puffed another drag and let it out with a laugh. “Ha! Well go tell old Dick that he can suck it. Look, kid, Dick and I go way back. Known each other for years. I owed him one for something he did for me awhile back, and that’s the only reason I’m here. But I sure as hell ain’t going to let him take away my cubans.”

Ben pressed on. “Fine. At least obey regulation forty-two section two paragraph three,” he said, continuing when the doctor only stared at him blankly. “Designated smoking areas? Sickbay and the bridge are both off-limits.”

“You know what? You actually sound just like him. Old Dick. He was just like you at your age. Spouting off regulations and rules and nonsense. I thought he would lighten up with age, and he has, but not when it comes to rules. He’s still a stickler. Still a persnickety tight-ass.”

“So are you going to abide by regulation, or not, sir?” Ben stood his ground.

A single puff of smoke blown in Ben’s face was his answer. “Eat shit,” said Doc Nichols, and pointed his thumb at the younger man, looking down at Po and Jake, whose moans had subsided. “Nice robot you guys brought on board with you.” He laughed, pleased at his own joke. “Look, I overheard a little something about keeping something from the Captain. Anything I should know about?”

Ben smirked and looked down at Jake with a glance that said, ‘I told you it was a bad idea.’

Jake said, in a croaking voice, “Just some new fighter tactics we came up with using the new tech we’ve got on board. Thought we’d surprise the Captain with some good news before the big day.”

“Let me guess. This guy thinks it’s a bad idea?” the doctor said, motioning his head back to Ben.

“Hey now, doc, you leave Ben alone. His bark is worse than his bite. Unless you’re fighting him in the bar, in which case he says nothing and just sweeps your feet out from under you. Isn’t that right, Ben?” Jake was breathing steadier now, and started to prop himself up.

Jake knew he had defused Ben’s rising ire when his friend huffed and muttered something under his breath, with the barest crack of a smile gracing his lips.

“Let me teach you fellas a lesson. You too, Commander,” he said, patting Po’s shoulder. “The Resistance fleet is—was—full of good men and good women who dedicated their lives to freeing our people. It was the sort of people like Admiral Pritchard that kept us together. That inspired us. That kept us together when everything seemed lost all those years before D-day. Dick is my friend, and your commanding officer. But he’ll never be—” he paused, as if considering his words. “Look. What I’m telling you is aim for the best. Pritchard was the best. And he didn’t always stick to the manual,” he said with a sidelong glance at Ben, who stared straight back, his face inscrutable.

Jake put his hands on his knees and started to stand up. “Well thanks, Doc. We’ll keep that in mind. While I’m here, any pills you can give me for another problem? I’ve got a pain in the ass. She’s a fighter pilot. Unruly, disobedient, crass. Questions my every command. I have no idea what to do with her. She walks around my flight deck like she owns the place. Got anything?”

Doc Nichols dragged on his cigar and rolled the smoke around in his mouth thoughtfully. “Unruly, disobedient, and crass? My word, she sounds like a fighter pilot. Looks like you’ve got a case of misogynitis. The only cure I can offer you is to surgically remove that thumb up your ass and for you to start treating her like a person. Got it?” He puffed on the cigar and walked away.

Jake’s mouth hung open, and Po held her head in her hands, apparently trying to hide her laughter.

Ben slapped the Doc on the shoulder as he left, a grin covering his face that said to Jake ‘how do you like it, you bastard.’

“Man,” Jake said, getting to his feet and rubbing his newly healed forearm. “That hurt.”

* * *

Captain Titus entered the ready room, ready for yet another blast of god-awful music, when he blinked in pleasant surprise.

“Do you like it, Captain?” It was a question the Admiral had a habit of asking him whenever Titus entered the room while something new was playing.

“Why, yes. Yes, of course, Admiral, Verdi is one of my favorites. A true Corsican if there ever was one.” As he said it, he noticed something familiar in the lap of the Admiral. He glanced up at the wall, and sure enough, one of the two Panreh pipes were missing, the other held in the Admiral’s hands. Instantly, he felt a little on edge, wondering why he was holding the instrument, wondering if someone was about to get a dart to the neck.

“Parma, actually, but yes, I know what you mean. A man after our hearts.” He paused, closed his eyes, and looked as if he were letting the music flow through him. “A masterpiece. One of his many. Do you know, Titus, how he wrote the requiem? Under what circumstances?”

Titus hemmed. “Uh, no sir, I don’t believe I do.” He didn’t take his eyes off the Panreh pipe cradled in the Admiral’s lap.

“When Gioachino Rossini died, you know Rossini, right?” Titus nodded—how could he not know the composer of the William Tell Overture? “When he died, Verdi submitted a proposal to the greatest Italian composers of his day to collaborate on a Requiem Mass to honor him. The others agreed, and Verdi quickly busied himself with his contribution. But it soon became apparent that the effort was becoming mired in bureaucracy and politics, and rather than see his contribution languish, he wrote the entire mass himself. He then rededicated it to the also-recently-deceased poet Alessandro Manzoni. Now, Manzoni wrote many things, yes, but perhaps his most important work was the novel
The Betrothed
, which later became a symbol for the Italian Risorgimento—the political movement that sought to establish one unified Italian kingdom over the petty states that made up the peninsula at the time. When Manzoni died, the Kingdom of Italy had been made fact, and Verdi wanted to honor him, and by extension, Italy. Captain, am I boring you?”