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“Don’t even joke about that,” Muna said, sharply. The pain in her voice brought us up short. “It isn’t even remotely funny.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “They might have wanted the Captain,” I suggested, finally. “Whoever they are…killing a starship Captain would have given them a serious victory.”

“But a victory for whom?” Rolf asked.

We had no answer.

At the end of the second week, the Captain ordered us to set course for Albion, a world only thirty light years from Terra Nova. I’d been expecting some kind of farewell from the planet, but apart from a brief inspection by the Port Admiral commanding the observation squadron there was nothing, not even a goodbye signal. If the Captain felt the lack, he didn’t show it, merely ordering the Pilot to open the wormhole and take us out of the system. I had hoped that I’d be on the helm again, but after the brief encounter with the pirate ship the Captain had decided that the Pilot would handle all manoeuvres in an inhabited solar system. I didn’t mind. I’d had plenty of time to practice in simulators and somehow it felt more real after I’d flown the ship into battle.

There was not, of course, any chance to slack off during the voyage. Lieutenant Hatchet kept us working hard, hammering new skills and disciplines into our heads even as we struggled to master automatic weapons and unarmed combat. I spent several hours per day on the tactical console, learning to master the system, even though I doubted I’d be allowed to use it until I reached Lieutenant, if I ever did. I was starting to realise — no, I’d realised it long ago — that I had been unprepared for duty when I’d boarded the ship and without the extra training, I would probably have been killed long ago.

“But Lieutenant,” I said, one day, “I won’t be allowed to use this console until after I reach Lieutenant…”

“If the ship is attacked, and all the Lieutenants are killed, do you think that the Captain will decide not to continue to return fire?” Lieutenant Hatchet asked, dryly. I flushed. It had been a pretty stupid question. “If I am out of the loop for any reason, the next in line will take over and continue to operate the console. If the senior crew was wiped out, you would be in command of the vessel…”

And God help her, I thought. I had wanted command of my own, one day, but I knew now that I wasn’t even remotely prepared for command. The Engineer or the Pilot would be far more qualified for the position, but regulations were inflexible. The Department Heads were not in the chain of command, any more than the non-commissioned crewmen were, while the merest Ensign was. I’d need years before I knew half of what the Captain knew about running a starship. The punishment duty Lieutenant Hatchet had assigned me once, helping her with the paperwork, had rubbed that in as well. I had had no idea just how much paperwork was involved in operating the starship.

It might not make any difference, of course. The Space Opera videos that I’d absorbed back when I’d been a child, when the UNPF patrolled the galaxy and everything was well with the universe, had suggested that a heavily-damaged starship would be able to limp back home eventually. It hadn’t taken long for me to lose that impression. A hit that took out the bridge and most of the senior crew would almost certainly destroy the ship completely. The bridge was the most well-protected compartment on the ship, but a nuclear warhead — officially banned, but it was an open secret that some pirate ships possessed them, along with UNPF ships — would vaporise the entire vessel.

“Once you’ve finished with the tactical console for the day, go on to the shuttlebay,” Lieutenant Hatchet ordered, finally. I didn’t relax. The shuttle training simulators had been designed by a sadist who was far more devious than the person who dreamed up the Academy simulators. The Pilot had been needed on Terra Nova after all. “The Captain wants you all checked out on the shuttles before we arrive at Albion. You may be needed to operate on detached duty.”

I took the risk and asked her. “Lieutenant,” I asked, “is Albion going to be as dangerous as Terra Nova?”

Lieutenant Hatchet looked me right in the eye. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, blandly. I blinked in surprise, but realised just what she meant. It wasn’t something we could talk about in the open. “Everyone knows that Terra Nova is a peaceful world and any rumours to the contrary are malicious propaganda spread by the enemies of peace and harmony.”

I got the message and shut up.

Two weeks later, we arrived at Albion.

Chapter Six

The relationship between the UNPF and the various independent freighters is a complex one. Official UN policy is that independent freighters are dangerous and therefore all freighters should be operated under UN supervision as part of a shipping cartel. This is accomplished by endless bureaucratic regulation that makes the lives of independent freighter crews much harder. Regardless, independent freighters make up a critical part of the galactic economy and, because of the regulations, tend to be strong supporters of independence movements. The UNPF therefore harasses them where possible.

-Thomas Anderson. An Unbiased Look at the UNPF. Baen Historical Press, 2500.

Albion was settled thirty years after the invention of the Jump Drive by a forward party from a nation called England, one that I hadn’t even heard of until I’d read the briefing notes on the planet. England had been absorbed into the Pan-European Federation centuries ago, after the nationalists had left to live on various other planets. I had learned, by now, to take everything in the briefing notes with a great deal of salt, but even so, it was apparent that Albion was doing much better than Terra Nova. The system was crammed with sublight spacecraft mining the asteroids and moving between the outer planets, while the handful of UN craft seemed badly outnumbered. I didn’t know if there was a garrison on the surface at all — the briefing notes had been vague on the exact political status of Albion — but it certainly seemed peaceful. Of course, Terra Nova had also looked peaceful from high above.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?”

I looked over at Marine Corporal Alice Hayden and had to fight to repress an embarrassed grin. Alice was two years older than me and looked tough enough to take on a gorilla and win. I had sparred with her on the mat and she’d held back…and she had still won. I wouldn’t have dared to pick a fight with her over anything…and I was supposed to be the one in command. The shuttle was an independent ship at the moment and, to all intents and purposes, I was the Captain.

“I was just thinking about how peaceful it is out here,” I said, ruefully. I might have been the senior officer on the shuttle, but everyone else had far more experience than I had. The Senior Chief had warned me to listen to the others and learn from their mistakes. It was, apparently, cheaper than making my own. “There’s no one shooting at us, there’s no one even shouting at us…”

Alice laughed. “In space,” she announced dramatically, “no one can hear you scream.”

I rolled my eyes. It was a kind of unofficial motto for the Marines and they never lost a chance to work it into their words. It was true, of course, but it didn’t make me any happier. There were dozens of vessels in orbit around Albion and anything could be happening on any of them. The UNPF had a remit to prevent smuggling, but there just weren’t enough starships to enforce it properly. There was little point in smuggling anything into Albion — the system could provide everything its inhabitants might want — but there was plenty worth smuggling out of the system. The UNPF had been warned to watch for high-tech cargos and other illegal consignments.