“From here on out, Commander, I think you should have priority on all resources,” Richards said. “I’m not happy sitting on a ship that can’t break orbit and can’t defend herself in a combat situation. I know we’re off the beaten track here, but a Kilrathi raiding squadron could ruin our whole day. Any comments?”
No one argued with the decision, though Bondarevsky could see several department heads looking grim. Too many jobs, too few resources, that was the story of the Goliath Project from start to finish.
“All right, other points.” Richards consulted his computer terminal. “Damn, it’s printing out in Kilrathi again. Armando?”
Diaz keyed a command into his terminal, and after a moment Richards gave a faint smile. “That’s better. Actually, I can read Kilrathi. Last week I think it was giving me Gaelic.”
“Probably got confused by Lieutenant Harper’s folk-sing in the rec room,” Bondarevsky suggested. “I know I did.”
“Be that as it may,” Richards said. “Hmm. Vision Quest, I think, should head back to Landreich in company with Independence. Unless you think there’s anything else for you here, Captain Springweather?”
She shook her head. “You took care of the money. That was the important part. And I have the survey data from Nargrast. That could fetch a few credits on the minerals market. But if I stay here much longer I’ll be losing money hand over fist.”
“That would never do,” Richards said blandly. “By all means head for home with Independence next week. I’ll see to it that the Navy gives you a free maintenance overhaul when you put in at Landreich.”
Springweather smiled, an expression that always put Bondarevsky in mind of a cat studying a trapped bird.
“Next item…Captain Galbraith, I’m also requisitioning your marines.” Richards held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest. “Same reasons as before, with some added points. The colonel and his men know this ship inside and out after their part in the early surveys. In addition, they have Nargrast experience, and we’ll still be conducting mineral extraction work there for some time to come. Once again, we need them here, and you’ll be able to pick up replacements at Landreich. Colonel? Any problems with that?”
Bhaktadil shook his turbaned head. “Not on my part, Admiral,” he said. “I think my boys and girls are getting used to things over here.” He looked more pleased than the reverse. Probably, Bondarevsky thought, he was looking forward to getting out from under Galbraith’s thumb. And he would be the ranking Marine officer aboard, commanding a double-sized contingent.
“Very good, then,” Richards said. “That clears my list. Now, who wants to talk about anything?”
“Sir?” Lieutenant Mario Vivaldi, the Communications Officer, put up a hand.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, Christmas is coming up, and some of us were wondering…”
Richards smiled. “I think I can safely say that we’ll be on a holiday watch rotation for Christmas, Lieutenant. Father Darby was already in to see me the other day to discuss religious observances. We’ve got a good cross-section of faiths represented in the Chaplain’s Office, so I’m pretty sure you’ll be well covered spiritually. Anything else you need, I’m sure we can provide.”
“If you want a tree, you’re welcome to try the ones on Nargrast,” Graham said with a grin. “Of course, they’ve got trunks as big around as this compartment and don’t reach as high as the overhead, and they give off fumes that smell like something died, but they’re green…sort of.”
“Pass,” Aengus Harper said.
“Any other questions before we get down to the regular business?” Richards asked. “No? Then the squadron officers are free to go, unless they want to sit around and listen to a lot of technical garbage. Mr. Clancy, I want you to go over the ideas you brought up last night concerning the improvements to the helm station. You’ve already got the thing cross-patched so many different ways I’m afraid to even think about powering up the engines, for fear of where we might land…”
And so the work went on.
CHAPTER 12
“There is no such thing as a battle without honor, though it is possible to encounter an honorless foe.”
Flight Wing Lounge, FRLS Karga
Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System
1925 hours (CST), 2670.358
“Break left! Break left!” The voice in Bondarevsky’s helmet receivers was urgent. “Come on, Captain, you can nail this guy!”
Bondarevsky pulled the joystick hard over, rolling to the left and trying to spot his quarry. The Strakha bucked and kicked as if it resented the very idea of a human pilot flying it, but he fought the controls and forced the fighter into the turn. He reached for the sensor controls to narrow the focus and try to get an accurate position estimate on the cloaked enemy fighter he knew was closing in for the kill, but a split second too late he realized he’d instinctively reached for the spot where they would have been located on one of the Ferrets he’d flown back in his days as Tarawa’s Wing Commander. The sudden realization made him try to shift in mid-reach, but that sent his bionic arm into a feedback spasm.
The delay was fatal. The enemy Strakha decloaked bare meters off his starboard side, and the red flash of incoming fire washed through Jason Bondarevsky’s cockpit.
The buzzer going off in his ear made him wince and grind his teeth. The cockpit opened up, revealing a crowd of men and women surrounding the simulator unit. Money was changing hands as they paid off their bets. Bondarevsky blinked in the glare of the lights.
“Bang, you’re dead,” Doomsday Montclair announced from the other simulator cockpit, climbing out with the aid of a pair of his squadron’s younger pilots.
“I noticed,” Bondarevsky replied dryly. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Doomsday. You haven’t lost your edge.”
Montclair grinned. “Didn’t let them promote me out of the cockpit, skipper,” he said. “But don’t sweat it. You’ll get the moves back. And if you don’t, I’ll be around to bail out your sorry ass!”
That sparked laughter from the audience. Bondarevsky started to clamber out of the cockpit, and Harper and Sparks were quick to help him. The simulator modules were cobbled together from a combination of Confederation and Kilrathi technology, mostly the former. The Kilrathi had less use for detailed simulations of flight missions than human pilots did. According to Jorkad lan Mraal, the senior pilot from the Nargrast survivors who had been working with Sparks on building the modules, the Empire preferred live-training exercises with real ships, real maneuvers, and live ammo.
Jorkad was there now, looking out of place amidst the revelry of the Flight Wing’s Christmas party. The Christmas holiday was something the Kilrathi couldn’t quite grasp. The message of “peace on Earth, good will toward men” was so alien to their way of life that they simply had nothing to compare it to. But a kil enjoyed a good party as much as any human, and Jorkad seemed to be developing a special fondness for eggnog.
“I was studying your performance, Captain Bondarevsky,” he said gravely. Jorkad was always studiously correct and formal. At first some of the members of the wing had assumed it was a mask for some underlying hostility to the humans, but on closer acquaintance the general consensus was that Jorkad was just naturally serious and punctilious all the time. “Your instincts are good. But I fear your reactions have been somewhat slowed by your injuries. The artificial arm…”