In Victorian Space, Approaching Refuge
It was a small ship.
It drifted on the far edge of the Victorian and Dominion forces, observed by neither of them. Despite its size, its passive sensors were sensitive enough to pick up all of the Victorian forces and the forward edge of the Dominion’s. It also had a set of sensors specially designed to monitor worm holes, and other special equipment as well.
“You’re sure?” Jong asked the Singer, a petit, dark haired woman named Lin.
“Yes, Brother. It has spoken most clearly.”
Jong could not suppress a groan. Why now, of all times?
“When will it start?”
“It has already started, Brother. The Victorians do not have sensors such as we do, otherwise they would have seen it already.”
“But when they see it, they will see it move to their left as they approach?”
“Yes, Brother.”
Jong wanted to weep. The Victorians would see the worm hole begin to slide to the left and would frantically turn to the left to keep on target. But then…
“And you are sure that it will turn and then go to the right, go past its starting point and continue.”
Lin looked at him with a hint of reproach. Jong sighed. Of course she was sure. This wormhole was her life’s work. She had studied it since she was a child and knew it better than any other in The Light.
“Perhaps we could-” he began, but Lin was shaking her head.
“It is very young, Brother Jong.” She spoke of it protectively, as if a mother of her rambunctious but much loved child. “I think this is how it plays.”
All God’s creatures are beautiful to Him, Jong reminded himself. He sighed.
“If we cannot change its path, then we must change the Victorian’s,” he said, and was rewarded with a hint of a smile from Lin.
But would the Victorians believe him?
Onboard the Atlas, the flow of radio messages was so great that it had been divided into two streams. All the tug boat messages coordinating the movement of the Atlas went to the commercial traffic controllers. All of the military traffic went to the First Fleet communications center, which had been moved to Atlas from the Lionheart and was now housed in a large room immediately next to the Fleet Intelligence Center run by Hiram Brill. Hiram had an open circuit to the Fleet communications center so that he could loosely monitor the general traffic, or lock into any one conversation.
One of the ratings monitoring traffic suddenly stiffened in his chair, then slapped the red button on his desk to summon a supervisor.
“What is it, Catino?” the supervisor asked.
“Just in, Lieutenant,” he said, handing her a slip of paper. “Message header says it is for Queen Anne and for Lieutenant Hiram Brill.” His forehead wrinkled. “Who is Brill?”
The supervisor scanned the message, the blood draining from her face. “Gods of Our Mothers,” she muttered, then reached for the comm.
Admiral Mello nodded in satisfaction; Kaeser’s Second Attack Fleet had finally caught up. The battles with the damn Vickies had been hugely more expensive than he could have imagined. Of his original eighty five ships, Mello had only forty seven left fit to fight, but with Kaeser’s ships finally on line, he now had one hundred and seventeen, more than enough to overwhelm the battered Victorian defenses.
He gave the orders to reposition the Fleet in preparation for the final attack. It would take some time to put into place, but once in place they would be unstoppable. And for the Vickies, there would be a little surprise.
“Captain, we are being hailed by a picket ship,” Partridge reported.
“Put it up, Toby.” Emily had finally learned his first name and was using it to make sure she didn’t forget again.
“Unknown ships, activate your beacons and identify yourselves.” The voice was clipped and brusque; Emily could almost see the unknown captain’s hand in the air, ready to order their laser batteries to fire.
“Who are they, Chief?” she asked Chief Gibson.
“Merlin reads them as several destroyers from the Queen’s Own. Cape Town, Oxford, Southampton and Coventry. The communication came from the Cape Town, captained by Captain Melissa Wyman.
Emily glanced at Rudd. He smiled and nodded: Atlas was nearby. Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “Tell the other ships to activate their beacons, and open a channel to the Cape Town.
“Cape Town, this is Emily Tuttle, Acting Captain of the New Zealand. We are returning from a raid on enemy supply ships. I have seven ships of the Coldstream Guards and three stragglers from Second Fleet, the Yorkshire, Kent and Galway. We have many wounded on board and request emergency docking at Atlas.”
“Where is Captain Grey?” A hint of suspicion there.
Emily hesitated. “Captain Grey died five hours ago from injuries sustained when we attacked the first supply ships.”
There was a long moment of silence, then: “Stand down all weapons systems and slow to two hundred KPM. Deactivate computer security and prepare for C2C communication.” Which meant that they were to go dead slow and open up their computer for a full scan from the Queen’s Own ships. Standard precautions for verifying someone’s identity if there was any suspicion they might be a Trojan horse.
“Understood, Cape Town and we will comply, but please hurry. Also, be advised that we’ve seen Dominion ships moving in a wide arc toward the Refuge wormhole. I think they are running around your flanks to get to the wormhole first and take up blocking positions.”
“Could you tell how many, New Zealand?”
Alex Rudd tapped his tablet and put it in front of Emily. “Cape Town, they were at the edge of our passive sensor range, but we put it at fifteen destroyers, thirty ships of cruiser size, some twenty smaller ships, frigate size or smaller, plus one very large ship of unknown type. We did not — repeat, did not — see any Hedgehogs or anything that looked to be a supply ship.”
“Understood, New Zealand, prepare to receive our boarding party.”
Five hours later, the battered remnants of the Coldstream Guards docked at Atlas. After the medics had hurriedly removed the wounded and the remains of the dead, and Emily had talked to the yard dogs about the list of needed repairs, she joined Alex Rudd and Chief Gibson and walked into the main concourse. Standing there, smiling broadly, was Hiram Brill. Emily blinked once when she saw his insignia of rank, then smiled. She stood to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Tuttle reporting, Commander Brill.”
Hiram laughed and stepped forward, looking like he was going to give her a hug, but shook her hand instead. “Sweet Gods, Emily, we all thought you were dead, or at best, captured.” He shook his head. “The last word we had from you was when you were under attack. It sounded, well, hopeless.”
“It was pretty grim,” she admitted. “Hiram, you’re a Commander! Did they skip you over Lieutenant Commander? Gods of Our Mothers, I’m gone for two days and they make you a Commander!”
Then a voice behind her said: “Are you Lieutenant Emily Tuttle?”
Emily turned to see five Military Police standing in a semi-circle around her, led by a weather beaten, no-nonsense Major. They all carried nerve induction batons and side arms. They looked very serious. Alex Rudd took a step closer to her on one side, and Chief Gibson on the other. Suddenly it seemed as if the entire concourse had gone silent as everyone stopped and watched. And in that moment, Emily knew what it was.
“Yes, I am Lieutenant Tuttle of the New Zealand. What can I do for you, sir?”
“Lieutenant Tuttle, I am Major Patrick Donaldson, Home Fleet Military Police. I have orders to arrest you and take you immediately to detention pending further proceedings.”
That weasel, Wicklow! Emily struggled to keep her voice calm. “And the charges?” she asked.
“You are charged with refusal to obey a lawful order of a superior officer, cowardness in the face of the enemy, treason and inciting treason,” Major Donaldson replied. He motioned abruptly to the other MPs and two of them stepped forward to take Emily by either arm. Rudd and Gibson stepped forward reflexively. In a moment the other MPs had their batons pushed against their chests.
“Sirs!” Donaldson said harshly. “You will stand down right now or so help me I will put you on the deck and then I will arrest you for interfering with a military police officer in the line of his duty. Now stand back!”
“Lieutenant Commander Rudd, Chief Gibson, stand back, please.” Hiram Brill put his tablet back in his pocket and stepped forward. “Do as I say, everything will be all right.” Rudd and Gibson exchanged a glance.
“Please,” Emily said softly. “I don’t want either of you hurt.” And reluctantly, they stepped back, glowering at the MPs.
“Thank you, Commander,” Major Donaldson said. Then, to one of his men, “Cuff her.”
“One moment,” Hiram said. He peered at the MP’s name tag. “Major Donaldson, I believe you are here on the orders of Captain Joseph Wicklow of the Gloucester, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And out of curiosity, where are you to deliver Lieutenant Tuttle?”
Donaldson hesitated. “To Captain Wicklow on the Gloucester, sir.”
“Hmmm…on the Gloucester, not to the Fleet Detention Facility for processing?”
Donaldson hesitated, his mouth opening and closing.
“I asked you a question, Major,” Hiram said, with just a little touch of authority in it.
Donaldson’s ruddy complexion grew a shade redder. “Captain Wicklow gave me specific instructions, sir.”
“And did he also give you specific instructions about the New Zealand’s log?”
Donaldson nodded reluctantly. He couldn’t see where this was going, but he didn’t like it. “Yes, sir. I am to remove the log from each of the Coldstream Guard ships and deliver them personally to Captain Wicklow.”
Hiram put on a puzzled frown. “Really, Major Donaldson? In the case of charges this serious, wouldn’t you normally deliver the logs to the Fleet’s Judge Advocate Corp for analysis and use at the courts martial?”
Donaldson shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, sir, that would be normal procedure.”
“And Major Donaldson, how is it that you came to be taking orders from Captain Wicklow in the first place? He’s not in the MPs, as I recall. And you have a superior officer in the MPs, do you not?”
Emily’s head had been swiveling back and forth, trying to see where Hiram was going with all of this. Major Donaldson looked increasingly unhappy.
“Sir, my superior office is Colonel Wesseling. He gave me specific orders to do what Captain Wicklow told me to do. I am following his orders, sir.”
As he spoke, a group of ten Marines trotted up the main concourse and formed a circle around them. They were dressed in full battle gear, body armor and battle helmet, and each carried a sonic assault rifle or pistol. But what really got everyone’s attention was the Model T7 Military Assault Robotic Vehicle, Infantry Node. Or, as the troops called it, ‘Marvin.’ It walked, or rather, scuttled, on eight spider legs, had twelve sonic blasters sprouting from its hide, three grenade launchers, and a small anti-aircraft missile launcher. It was five feet tall and six feet long. Its multiple sensors had been designed to look like large, red eyes, and some mischievous engineer had designed them to slowly blink, creating the unpleasant sensation that it was a living, breathing thing staring right at you.
The MPs looked at each other in alarm.
“Marvin, guard!” ordered one of the Marines, and the robot’s sonic blasters each moved to aim at one of the MPs.
“Ah, good,” Hiram said warmly. “Major Donaldson, may I introduce you to Lieutenant Hunter and Sergeant Nici of the 4th Marine Regiment. They have been assigned to protect the Queen while she is our guest on Atlas.”
Donaldson looked carefully around, taking in the battle-ready Marines and the menacing Marvin. “Commander, you are interfering with a Military Police Officer in the performance of his duties. I must ask you to stand down and I will take the prisoner-”
“No, actually, you won’t,” Hiram replied shortly. He was more relieved than he cared to admit that the Marines had finally showed up. “See this braid, Major?” he asked, gesturing to the scarlet braid he wore over his right shoulder. Donaldson nodded glumly. “This braid means that I am on the Queen’s personal staff and that I speak with her authority. The Queen outranks both Colonel Wesseling and Captain Wicklow, and she and Admiral Douthat are waiting right now to debrief Lieutenant Tuttle on the results of her mission. In case you’ve forgotten, Admiral Douthat is the senior Admiral of the Home Fleet. So, Major, I will be taking Lieutenant Tuttle with me to meet with Queen Anne and Admiral Douthat, and I have asked Lieutenant Hunter and Sergeant Nici and their charming companions to ensure that you do not interfere. In the name of Queen Anne, I hereby order you to stand down. Is that understood?”
Donaldson worked his jaw for a moment, staring hard at Hiram. He didn’t like what was happening…but he hadn’t much liked it when Wesseling had told him to turn over the prisoner to Wicklow, either. He had the unpleasant feeling that he was missing something important.
“I acknowledge your orders, sir.” He motioned to the two MPs holding Emily and they let go, one looking relieved and the other thoroughly pissed off.
“And Major,” Hiram said pleasantly. “You should know that although Captain Wicklow claimed Lieutenant Tuttle demonstrated cowardness in the face of the enemy, the ship’s log shows that in fact she led the Coldstream Guards into an attack when she was outnumbered three to one. The other Coldstream Guard ship’s logs show the same thing. Those are the logs you were supposed to remove and hand over to Captain Wicklow, if I recall correctly, rather than give them into the custody of the Fleet Judge Advocate General. Curious, isn’t it, Major? And also, you should know that Colonel Wesseling is Captain Wicklow’s brother-in-law. Food for thought, Major, in case you receive any more unusual orders today.”
Hiram turned to Rudd and Gibson. “Gentlemen, I am hereby ordering you to seal your logs in preparation for a national security investigation being conducted by the Queen. Communicate this order to the other ships in the Coldstream Guard. If the MPs show up demanding access, you should immediately contact Lieutenant Hunter here, and in the meantime you are authorized to use force to protect the ship’s log from being seized.” He turned to Hunter and Nici. “Now, gentlemen, if you would be kind enough to escort us to Queen Anne and Admiral Douthat, we are late for a debriefing.”
They walked for several minutes in silence, then Emily blurted: “How did you know Wicklow was-”
Hiram laughed ruefully. “I didn’t. I thought you were dead. Wicklow had told a story of treason and cowardness, but while the picket was escorting you in, Captain Rowe of the Bristol contacted me. Seems someone was using a C2C connection to try to edit the Bristol’s log of the events with Wicklow. I looked into it and discovered that Wicklow had talked to Colonel Wesseling and that Wesseling had essentially delegated the entire investigation of the charges against you to Wicklow. Pretty damn unusual. We did some more digging and found out they were going to arrest you and interrogate you on the Gloucester instead of at the Detention Facility. So I thought I would meet you at the docking bay, just in case.” He shook his head. “Wicklow is turning out to be a real head case, and not too bright to boot.”
“And you can do this? I mean, you can just whistle up a squad of Marines and take me away from the MPs?”
Hiram grinned coldly. “I am one of the Queen’s personal advisors; I can do pretty much whatever I please, as long as I’m careful not to abuse it.”
Emily smiled, a little bit uncertain and a little bit astonished. This wasn’t the same Hiram Brill she knew at Camp Gettysburg. “Are we really going to a debriefing?”
“Absolutely, but not for another two hours. I just wanted to get you away from the MPs. But, yes, there is a debriefing of you and the other Coldstream Guards captains. Admiral Douthat is very anxious to learn what you know. In just a few hours we are going to be making the last push to Refuge and we need to know any insight’s you’ve learned.”
Emily suddenly remembered. “Hiram, listen, there is someone I need you to talk to right away. It’s important, but I would prefer you meet them in your quarters rather than at the Fleet Intelligence Offices.” Hiram looked at her, obviously bewildered. “Trust me,” she pleaded. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was really urgent. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Send them to my cabin.” He gave her the address.
Emily opened her tablet and typed out a message, then attached that message to an email and sent it with a ‘Priority 1 Special Order’ status. That should do it, she thought.
She felt very pleased with herself.
On board the Yorkshire, Cookie was in the machine shop, working to make a coupling that would allow them to pressurize the air cylinders the dead Savak had been using.
“That should do it, Corporal,” the rating said cheerfully, holding up a brass fitting. He screwed it into the end of an air hose, then clipped the other end onto the intake valve of the cylinder. He rolled the cylinder in his hands. “Huh, no sign of a pressure gauge.” He hefted it. “Pretty light. No idea what pressure it’s designed to take?”
Cookie shook her head. “We tested them all. Some were empty, one still had seven hundred and fifty pounds in it and it had clearly been used.”
The rating whistled. “Well, stronger than it looks, then.” He stroked his chin. “So, let’s clamp it down so we don’t make a rocket out of it by mistake, and take it up to a thousand pounds and see what happens.” He smiled brightly, looking all the world like a high school kid in a science fair.
Ten minutes later the cylinder was pumped up and Cookie gingerly snapped it onto the Savak assault rifle. So far so good. She clipped on the magazine of pellets, worked the action and took aim at a wooden target she’d made, which was backed by fifty pound bags of flour and beans. She squeezed the trigger and the gun made that curious ‘popping’ sound that she was all too familiar with. The wooden target shivered. Cookie and the rating looked at each other, then walked to the target and inspected it. The pellet had punched through three inches of wood and had finally lodged in the third layer of flour bags.
The rating grinned. Cookie smiled back, then handed him the rifle. “Start shooting. Mark how many shots it takes before you can’t put the pellet at least half an inch into the target.” Then her comm buzzed. She flipped it open and found a text message.
“To Corporal Maria Sanchez
Priority 1 Order — Upon receipt of this Order, report immediately to Cabin 714B on board Atlas Station for debriefing regarding recent actions. Action Immediate. Anyone wishing to counterman this Order must first report to Tuttle, (Acting) Captain, New Zealand. Upon entering Cabin 714B, you are to open the attached message and comply with the Orders therein.
Signed: (Acting) Captain Emily Tuttle, (Acting) Commander Coldstream Guards.
Cookie frowned, glanced at her stained uniform and shrugged. “Action Immediate” left no room for discussion. She took thirty seconds to splash water on her face and check to make sure her uniform was at least buttoned properly, then walked briskly to the main hatchway and across the gangway into the Atlas ship yard bay. Hopping onto one of the passing autocabs, she gave the address and soon found herself at an elevator bank that took her to the seventh level of an apartment block reserved for officers. A minute later she was standing outside of cabin 714B. She pushed the bell, then braced to attention.
The door opened and Hiram Brill stood there, his tie loosened and a tablet in one hand. “Yes, may I-” He stopped and stared at her.
Cookie blinked, then blinked again. “Hiram?” His name came out funny. She tried again. “Baby?” Then his arms were around her and they were laughing and hugging and then they were both crying and that made them laugh some more and he pulled her bodily into his room and kissed her and she took his face in her greasy and stained hands and kissed him back.
“I thought you were-” but he choked with tears and couldn’t say it and she hugged him and kept saying “I’m here, I’m here” over and over and when they next came to anything resembling conscious thought they were in his bedroom and their clothes were strewn about in joyous disarray. And just as things were about to tip over and become unstoppable, Cookie suddenly whooped with laughter. “That goddamned Emily!”
“What?” Hiram asked breathlessly, still in shock of finding Cookie alive and well and in his bed.
“She sent me a message that I had to report here for debriefing. Priority 1, ‘Action Immediate.’”
Hiram looked up from something amazing he was doing to her breasts. “We can talk about Emily later,” he gasped.
Cookie was more than inclined to agree, but then remembered the attachment. “Hold on,” she whispered hoarsely, her concentration tattered from what his mouth was doing to her breast and his fingers were doing elsewhere. She pulled the comm off the side table and clumsily opened the attachment to her earlier Order, read it, then collapsed again in a gale of laughter.
“What? What is it?” Hiram demanded.
“These are my orders once I reach your cabin.” She turned the screen to show him.
To Corporal Sanchez:
Upon reaching Cabin 714B, immediately undress and get into bed. Vigorously debrief the interviewing officer.
Cookie tossed the comm on the floor and wrapped her legs around Hiram’s waist. She looked at the man in her arms, taking in the black fatigue smudges under his eyes, the gentle eyes that she had dreamed about so fervently and never expected to see again. She pulled his face down and kissed him fiercely.
I’m home, she thought. I will never leave him again.
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true.