In Victorian Space
Atlas Space Station
The man stood in the doorway of the Fleet Intelligence Center, his way barred by the Queen’s bodyguards.
“And you are?” asked Admiral Douthat impatiently.
“I’m Opinsky, in charge of plant operations for Atlas,” he said, seemingly not fazed by the Admiral, the guards or the fact that a woman who looked suspiciously like Princess Anne was standing there with a bemused look on her face. He gestured toward Hiram Brill. “Hiram asked me to get up here right away.” He shrugged. “So I came.”
“It’s okay,” Hiram said hastily. “I asked him to come. We need him if we’re going to move Atlas. Max,” he said to Opinsky, “Peter Murphy is bringing in all the tugs he can get hold of, maybe two hundred. We’re going to move the Atlas station out of orbit and tow it to Refuge.” At that Admiral Douthat and Captain Grey both looked at him in astonishment. Queen Anne tilted her head, considering, and stole a glance to Sir Henry. Sir Henry frowned.
“Big job,” Opinsky said stolidly.
“Murphy says if we try to tow the space station, we’ll tear it apart.”
Opinsky glowered. “Murphy is a thick-headed Irishman whose idea of a big engineering job is opening a bottle of beer, and at that only if he can find the top of the bottle. He knows less than nothin’ about this station. This old girl’s got a series of strong points on each outer ring. If there is a major disaster, like a fire, or if one of them damn fool Navy drivers smacks a ring with a battleship, we can unhook the entire section and tow it out, then replace it with a pre-fab section. There’s like eighty or more strong points around the main ring, couple of dozen or more on the inner ring.”
“So we can tow Atlas?” Hiram asked.
“Course you can,” Opinsky said. “Slow, of course. I mean, she’s a big bitch and it won’t be easy, but you tie into the strong points and she’ll hold up just fine, ‘long as Murphy and his crew don’t fuck it up.”
Queen Anne coughed to cover a laugh. Her eyes were dancing. “Thank you, Mr. Opinsky.” Another short fit of coughing. “Um, how is it you know Lieutenant Brill?”
A hint of a smile creased Opinsky’s lips. “Hiram? He’s just a curious son-of-a-bitch, is all. Offered to buy me a drink and asked me all sorts of questions about how Atlas was built, what industries we have on board, ship building, the whole lot. But Sweet Gods, he can’t hold his liquor worth a damn.” He frowned suddenly, peering closer at the Queen. “You look very familiar…”
Queen Anne nodded emphatically. “People often say that, I don’t know why. Admiral, could you please use Mr. Opinsky to help coordinate the towing effort with Captain Murphy?” She looked around. “I think we are leaving for Refuge just as soon as we can.”
After they left, the Queen turned on Brill. “Lieutenant, do I understand that once you saw the incoming Dominion ships, you just decided on your own to take Atlas off to safe haven in Refuge, without consulting with the Admiral or any of your superiors?”
Hiram thought of trying to explain, but finally just nodded.
“Are you always this impulsive? Is that why you did all this?” And though her tone was light, her expression was serious.
Her question stung him. Impulsive? He was the least impulsive person he knew. It was his primary flaw. He dithered, poked, considered and was usually so indecisive that it drove him crazy. He yearned to be impulsive.
“Sometimes,” he said flatly, “I simply see things with great clarity.”
The Queen tilted her head again, then nodded slowly. “Okay, Lieutenant. I lost all of my personal staff on Cornwall when the Palace was destroyed. I can always use people who see things with ‘great clarity.’ You are now seconded as my Intelligence Adjutant. You will report directly to me.” She turned. “Sir Henry, we need a home. Atlas has room and the necessary communications nexus. And I suspect that Admiral Douthat will be delighted that we are not staying on one of her war ships.”
Sir Henry looked pained. “I would prefer, Majesty, that you get on a fast destroyer and go directly to Refuge. Atlas will be the target of every Dominion ship out there. We cannot guarantee your safety.”
Queen Anne smiled coolly. “I think not, Sir Henry. If we lose Atlas, we lose everything. If I must run from the Dominion and abandon Cornwall and Christchurch, I must have Atlas.”
“I must protest, Majesty. Exposing yourself to this danger is reckless in the extreme.”
“So noted,” Anne said. She turned back to Brill, who was still trying to digest the news that he was now part of the Queen’s personal staff. “I assume you had some plans for the second space station, Prometheus?”
“We don’t have the tugs to tow it, but we can’t leave it behind,” he replied. “It has to be destroyed.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “Destroy it? Destroy the second largest industrial space station in all of Human Space?”
Hiram refused to back down. “We don’t have enough tugs to tow both of them. If Prometheus is left behind, it will fall into enemy hands and they’ll have the benefit of its capacity to turn out a frigate every day, a destroyer every week, a cruiser every month or a battleship every three months.”
“That space station cost five trillion credits, young man,” Sir Henry huffed.
Admiral Douthat returned then, and to his surprise, she supported Hiram. “It is a military decision, Your Majesty, not a political one. We simply can’t leave this significant an asset to fall into Dominion hands.
They argued the point for an hour, then the Queen grudgingly gave her permission for Prometheus to be sacrificed.
“You don’t seem terribly upset by this loss, Mr. Brill,” Queen Anne observed tartly.
Hiram shrugged. “When your good options are taken from you, Your Majesty, the choices you have left are simple. Terrible, perhaps, but simple.”
Anne smiled thinly. “For such a mild mannered man, Lieutenant, you can be very cold. I think you and Sir Henry will get along famously.” Hiram and Sir Henry gave each other a considering glance.
The Queen, her bodyguards and Sir Henry swept from the room. Hiram collapsed shakily into the nearest chair, his mind whirling. He gradually became aware that Captain Grey was smiling at him.
“Relax, Brill,” she said dryly. “An hour ago you were about to be arrested for high treason…and now you have the favor of the Queen. You’re doing just fine.”
He blinked in confusion. “Captain, I thought you were on board the New Zealand. I mean, I thought you were the one who shot down the Dominion freighter that tried to take out Lionheart.”
Grey’s eyes widened. “New Zealand shot the freighter? My ship?”
“Yes, Ma-am, I thought you knew. Heck, I assumed it was you who did it.”
The New Zealand was still at full battle stations, but as Emily watched the holo display it was becoming increasingly clear that whoever the bad guys were, they were dead. Indeed, just about every Dominion ship in sensor range had either been destroyed outright or boarded and seized.
“Coffee, Lieutenant?” Chief Gibson asked.
“Oh, Sweet Gods, I would kill for a cup of coffee.” She accepted it greedily. The adrenalin letdown after they’d destroyed the Blue Swan had been brutal. She sipped; it was sweet. She raised an eyebrow at Chief Gibson, who shrugged. “I noticed that you like a couple of sugars, Lieutenant, so I made sure they made it right.” Emily was touched.
“Thank you, Chief…and thank you for your support earlier. I know things were moving pretty fast. And…well, thanks.”
Gibson pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, it was a little wild and woolly, wasn’t it?” He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “But Lieutenant, what I don’t understand…well, the thing is, when you arrested Mr. Bishop, which was the right thing to do, I understand that, but when you did, you cited Article 13.27(a) of the Fleet Code of Justice.”
Emily looked at him expressionlessly.
“Well, I got curious, you see, so when things had calmed down a little, I asked Merlin for a copy of Article 13.27(a), and the thing is, Lieutenant, the thing is that all it talks about is housing allowances for junior grade officers, not dereliction of duty or treason or any of that stuff.”
Emily leaned forward. “Chief?”
Gibson looked at her expectantly. She put a finger to her lips.
“Shhssh!”