“Thank you, ma’am.” Sikander decided that the captain meant what she said. Of course, what she didn’t say was whether the rest of Hector’s officers would feel the same.
“As I just said, you’re taking over a gunnery department that is running well at the moment. Do you know how you would like to proceed with assuming your duties?”
“I have already started reviewing the service jackets of my personnel—my thanks to the chief yeoman for forwarding them to me at Laguna. As soon as I can, I intend to meet with the division officers and chief gunner’s mates. But what I would really like to do is get in some live-fire exercises and see how the team works together.”
Markham offered a small smile. “A gunnery officer who isn’t interested in shooting is a gunnery officer I have no use for. As it so happens, we have some range time already scheduled for next week. I’ll see if we can add some torpedo practice, too.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Mr. North. I am a stickler for high range scores.” Markham stood, and offered her hand. Sikander stood and shook it. “If you have any questions or trouble, my door is always open. Make sure you introduce yourself to Pete Chatburn—the XO—soon. He’s running errands planetside right now, but he should be back in a few hours.”
“I will, Captain,” Sikander promised. He saluted again, and turned to go.
“One more thing, Mr. North.” Captain Markham stopped him. “Out of curiosity, just what is the significance of the title Nawabzada of Ishar?”
“Ah. Ishar is the largest continent of Jaipur, the fourth planet in the Kashmir system. It’s the next one out from Srinagar—Kashmir Prime. My father is the nawab, or prince, of Ishar. Nawabzada simply means ‘son of the prince.’”
Markham’s calm reserve cracked just a little at that. She blinked. “You are the prince of a continent?” she asked.
“It is mostly a ceremonial title, Captain. I am the fourth-born in my family, and since I am unlikely to succeed my father, I’m expected to find another way to make myself useful. Military service is a traditional alternative, but of course Kashmir’s navy is almost nonexistent, so my father had me sent to Aquila’s naval academy instead.” Sikander offered a small shrug; as much as he might have resented being sent away at first, idleness wasn’t really in his nature. Pursuing a competitive and engaging career helped to make up for ten years of virtual exile. “There are also diplomatic benefits. The Aquilan alliance is vital to Kashmir’s development and will certainly remain so for many years to come. Serving alongside Aquilan officers helps me to appreciate Aquilan interests and traditions, and perhaps meet those who will play an important role in Kashmiri affairs in the future.”
It might also demonstrate to the Aquilan Commonwealth that, while Kashmir was a backward system, it would not always be so, and Kashmiris were every bit as capable as native-born Aquilans if given the education and opportunity … but Sikander didn’t feel that he needed to point that out. Many Aquilans held little respect for the peoples who were native to the colonial possessions of the Commonwealth, and harbored a sort of unthinking bigotry toward them. It was not founded on race, since Aquilans themselves represented a mix of many different Terran phenotypes, but there was no doubt that most Aquilans were quite convinced of the superiority of their culture. He hoped that Elise Markham wouldn’t turn out to be that way, or it would be a trying tour of duty for him.
The captain quickly recovered her Aquilan aplomb. “I see,” she said. “For what it’s worth, Mr. North, I look forward to learning a thing or two from your assignment on Hector, too. Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sikander replied, and left to get settled in his new home.
2
Aberdeen Fleet Gunnery Range, Caledonia System
“Main battery, engage target Alpha,” Lieutenant Commander Hiram Randall said in a calm and unhurried manner from his station at Hector’s tactical console. “Helm, take us to the port side of Alpha at eleven thousand klicks.” The tall, laconic Aquilan lounged in his battle couch as if he didn’t have a care in the world, one hand tugging absently at the small dark goatee he wore. As head of Hector’s Operations Department, Randall served as the tactical officer when Hector was at battle stations.
“Engage target Alpha, aye,” Sikander repeated. He was stationed at the cruiser’s master weapons console, the customary battle station for the ship’s gunnery officer, just a few paces behind the tactical station. It was Randall’s job to decide which targets to engage and in what order, and it was Sikander’s job to make sure that whatever Tactical wanted hit got hit hard. Captain Markham observed the exercise from her own station in the middle of the bridge. By long-standing tradition she left the details of the engagement to the tactical officer and focused on maintaining her overall situational awareness. If Randall started to do something she didn’t want done, she’d step in—but so far Randall handled Hector’s pass through the Navy’s Aberdeen firing range perfectly.
Sikander checked his displays to confirm that Hector’s sensors held a good lock on the target drone, and keyed the engage icon, selecting the ship’s forward kinetic-cannon mounts for the job. His battle couch overlooked the stations for the main-battery fire control, secondary-battery fire control, and the torpedo battery, each manned by a junior officer of the Gunnery Department. In fact, Sikander could easily see the main-battery console, manned by Ensign Michael Girard, from his station. Girard would actually do the shooting.
“Target Alpha, Mr. Girard,” Sikander said. “Blue shot only!” The engage order on the console sufficed, of course, but Sikander felt it couldn’t hurt to be a little specific the first few times he worked with his new team.
“Commencing fire!” Girard replied, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. One of the youngest officers on board, only five months out of the Academy, he still looked like a schoolboy with his slight build and unruly hair. What Girard lacked in experience, he made up for with quick reflexes and a natural aptitude for his battery console: Even as he acknowledged the order, his fingers flew over the controls. From somewhere forward of the bridge and a few decks above, Sikander heard the electric whine of Hector’s turrets slewing their weapons onto target, followed by the deep, thrumming pulses as the electromagnetic coils launched their heavy slugs at the target drone. At the same time, Hector’s acceleration changed, the bow dropping and rolling left as the chief pilot at the helm maneuvered to keep the drone at optimal range. The motion pushed Sikander deeper into his battle couch for a moment until the ship’s internal compensators caught up.
Sikander ignored the ship’s movement and kept his eyes on the integrated sensor display. Kinetic rounds, even the general-purpose ones, moved fast: the big Mark V kinetic cannons in Hector’s main battery accelerated a ten-kilogram rod of tungsten alloy to a velocity of more than three thousand kilometers per second. Each rod hurtling downrange was moving at one percent of the speed of light when it left the driver coils. Even so, flight time between Hector’s cannon snouts and the armored drone stretched out for three full seconds. The target drone twisted and rolled, maneuvering like an enemy destroyer trying to throw off the cruiser’s aim … and Girard’s first volley missed, blasting through empty space just behind the drone.
The young officer raced through a set of corrections and fired again, this time overcorrecting and leading the target too much. Sikander’s display plotted the path of the missed shots into the blue-and-brown mass of the gas giant Aberdeen, which served as a convenient backstop to the firing range. K-rounds that could have leveled a small city vanished into the huge planet without a splash.