FWSS Ishaq, berthed on SBS-44, in orbit around Jascaria
The Ishaq’s conference room was packed. A murmur of conversation washed over every officer not on watch while they waited for the captain to arrive.
Michael, Aaron Stone, and the rest of Ishaq’s junior officers were seated where all prudent junior officers sat: right at the back of the conference room, well to one side and out of the line of sight of prowling senior officers, of which Ishaq, being a capital ship, had a depressingly large number.
Everyone was stumped. Nobody knew why the meeting had been called. Something was up, that much was clear, but Captain Constanza was not acting normally. It was no secret that Constanza did not like face-to-face meetings; in particular, she did not like groups as large as the one that waited for her now. She much preferred to use her neuronics for virtual conferences. Why Constanza was breaking the habit of a lifetime had been the subject of an energetic debate conducted in carefully hushed tones.
Thus far, the most popular theory was that Constanza’s time as Ishaq’s captain was finished and that Morrissen would take over.
Michael-and many more in the conference room that day, he suspected-wanted this to be the reason so badly that it hurt, if only for Ishaq’s sake. Sadly, he was not convinced that Constanza had convened this meeting to announce her own demise. Why would she endure such public humiliation? There had to be another reason. From the little he knew-mostly secondhand from his father-Fleet was more than willing to chop nonperforming captains if it had to, but it liked to do so quietly. Announcing a change of command at a three-ring circus, which was what they had here, was not Fleet’s way. So what the hell could it be?
Michael had a leaden feeling in his stomach. He thought he knew even if his peers had howled down his theory. Please, God, he thought, not a program change; anything but a program change. He and Anna had booked a weekend away, and more than anything else, he wanted that weekend. He would give anything to get away from Ishaq for a few days. That was how badly he wanted to see Anna again.
“Attention! Captain on deck.” The executive officer’s crisp tones snapped Michael and all the others to their feet.
Captain Constanza strode into the conference room and went straight to the lectern. She ignored Morrissen.
“Sit down, everyone.” Constanza paused for a moment, looking around at the mass of Ishaq’s officers arrayed in front of her. Michael could not help himself. He shrank down into his seat.
“I’ll make this as short as I can.” Constanza paused again.
“Doesn’t look too comfortable,” Michael whispered to Stone, who nodded.
“The reason for this briefing is to let you all know that we have been retasked by Fleet in response to new intelligence. .”
A barely audible sigh swept through the room. No spacer liked program changes.
“. . suggesting that mership traffic on the trade routes between the Old Earth Alliance and the Federated Worlds is to be the target of significant pirate activity over the next few months. Our task will be to provide enhanced security for all ships using those routes. We will be part of Task Group 225.2 under the tactical control of Rear Admiral Chavez in Recourse. However, in accordance with antipiracy standard operating procedures, the Ishaq will operate independently. The program change is effective on completion of our formal visit to Kelly’s Deep. How long these patrols will last is anyone’s guess. Fleet tells me they are open-ended at this stage, but they have assured me that Ishaq’s docking for scheduled maintenance next June still stands. Before I hand over for the intelligence briefing, are there any questions?”
Constanza was met by a stunned silence. The personal plans of Ishaq’s entire crew lay in ruins, and the officers present would have to clean up the mess.
“No? Okay. Commander Nandutu?”
“Thank you, sir. Now. .”
Michael tuned out. He would look at the detailed intelligence summary in his own time. One thing was for sure: He would not be asking any questions of Constanza, Nandutu, or anyone else. He cursed softly under his breath. His long-planned and much-anticipated weekend with Anna had been flushed down the crapper. Damn, damn, damn, he thought despairingly.
Finally Nandutu finished and sat down. Michael had taken in not a single word. Constanza came to the lectern again.
“That’s all I want to cover right now. The operations planning group will have the preliminary operations order out by Monday. .”
Bang goes their weekend, Michael thought.
“. . so I think that does it. Before we close, are there any questions?”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael peered around the officer in front of him to see who the brave soul was. “Foolhardy idiot” might be a better description. According to his neuronics, it was some lieutenant commander from navigation. Jenkins was his name. Michael had not met him yet.
“Go on,” Constanza muttered. Her body language was unmistakable. She was not interested in questions.
“Thank you, sir. As a member of the ops planning group, I had a chance to study the intelligence summary before the meeting, and I must say that while it is long on the bloodstained history of these pirates, it is short on the tactical detail we need to put together an effective operation: their order of battle, ship types, weapons systems, likely tactics, logistics arrangements, that sort of thing. Now-”
Constanza was not having any of it.
“Thank you for your insight,” she spit venomously. Jenkins blanched and quickly sat down. “I think you’ll find we have all we need to deal with what are another bunch of undisciplined, murdering crooks. If these pirates really are the Karlisle Alliance as Fleet intelligence is telling us, we whipped them back in ’92, so I don’t think we’ll have any problem doing the same thing again. In fact, I look forward to meeting them. A bunch of pirates should give us some useful live firing practice.” Constanza looked pleased at the thought.
Michael leaned over to Stone. “She should be careful what she asks for,” he whispered.
Stone nodded. “I know, I know. She might get it.”
Michael smiled. By now, Stone knew it was one of his favorite sayings, knew it well enough to finish it for him.
Constanza did not wait for more questions. “That will be all for now,” she declared, and left the room. Behind her, the meeting broke up in a welter of small talk.
Michael sighed, a long and heartfelt sigh of frustration. Stone patted him on the shoulder. “Michael! You are one unlucky boy. Anna is going to rip your balls off.” Stone looked positively cheerful at the prospect.
Michael nodded. “She surely will. If she gets close enough, that is, which I doubt she ever will. Christ, what a life we lead. I’d better go and get a vidmail off to her.”
Stone shook his head. “No. Don’t do that. Wait for the revised program to come out. You never know your luck. We might get a few days off somewhere, and maybe the relationship fairy will arrange for Damishqui to be alongside at the same time.”
“Or maybe the relationship fairy will keep you apart,” an unfamiliar voice taunted. “A true test of the bonds of luuuuuve.” Everyone found this highly amusing; Michael’s love life-or lack of it-was turning into an enjoyably soft target.
“You are all bastards,” Michael responded without rancor. “Heartless, scum-sucking bastards.”
“What crap you all talk.” Stone shook his head in despair. “Michael! I’m sure it’ll turn out okay. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Check the ship’s program, then write the vidmail. Oh, and in case you’ve forgotten, before we go chasing pirates, we have a long weekend to look forward to. Kelly’s Deep, here we come!”
Michael had to laugh at Stone’s infectious enthusiasm. Stone was right to be fired up, and he was not alone. In fact, everyone was practically drooling at the thought of Ishaq’s long-planned formal visit to Kelly’s Deep, and for good reason.
When it came to foreign ports, Kelly’s Deep would rate in the top five in all of humanspace. The planet was a great place to spend a long weekend. Not quite up to the standard of Jackson’s or Scobie’s, but damn good nonetheless. Great scenery, great beaches, cheap booze, some of the best food in the cosmos and-not that he would be interested, of course-some of the friendliest people known to humankind.
Michael slid out of his seat. Everyone senior to him finally had left, so the chance of being ambushed by a senior officer on the lookout for some poor sucker to do some shitty little job or other was now minimal. He had things to do. True to form, Stone’s advice had been good advice, and he intended to take it.
“I’m off. See you all later.”