February 20, 2438 / New Tegea Spaceport, Kypria / Interstellar Commonwealth
“Navy Charter LT5 to Argos Fleet Yards is now boarding.”
Simon Marston glanced at his watch; exactly on time, unlike some of the earlier flights that had been canceled due to a bad solar storm. He stood, hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder and joined the line of people waiting to board. When it was his turn to pass through the security arch, he handed his ID card to the ensign, who swiped it through a scanner.
“Enjoy your flight, Captain.”
It took a moment for Marston to realize the ensign was talking to him; it had been six weeks since his promotion, yet Captain still sounded strange to Marston’s ears. “Thanks,” he said, unconsciously tugging at his dark blue uniform jacket, where the newly-stitched gold bars denoting his rank were visible. Here he was, embarking on the next stage of his career in the Commonwealth Navy. It was exciting, and a little scary.
He boarded the transport ship and picked a seating row at random, stowing his bag in an overhead compartment and sliding across to the window seat. When all the passengers had boarded the engines activated, sending a faint thrum reverberating through the deck. The transport rose off the ground, and the passengers were gently pressed back in their seats as the ship angled upward and accelerated, beginning its ascent out of the atmosphere. The peninsula of New Peloponnesus shrunk away beneath them; its spaceport, military academy, forests, rivers, and cities spread below them like features on a giant map diminished rapidly. Tendrils of white cloud whipped by the window, obscuring Marston’s view of the surface, until they too fell away. The sky darkened, and stars began to appear. As they cleared the last reaches of the planet’s atmosphere the pilot reported over the intercom that the flight to Argos, located in the system’s inner asteroid belt, would take six hours.
Marston took the news tablet from its slot in the back of the seat in front of him and scanned the headlines. He scrolled idly past news on local politics and weather, entertainment and sports, until a headline caught his eye: Navy Ship Vanishes Near Helix Nebula. He read through the short article, which reported the Navy ship Fortitude had disappeared while responding to a distress call from the Prosperous, a civilian prospecting ship. Investigation by the scout ship Watchman had so far failed to recover any trace of either vessel.
It was impossible to say whether the two ships had been lost because of an encounter with hostile aliens or one of the spatial phenomena poorly understood or as yet undiscovered by humans. Marston observed his fellow passengers talking, reading, or napping as their ship hurtled across the solar system at nearly twenty-eight hundred kilometers a second. In such comfort it was easy to forget the risk inherent to space travel. Although humans had traveled amongst the stars for nearly four centuries, it could still prove dangerous.
He flicked through a few more news articles, then stared out the window for an indeterminate amount of time. The unchanging vista grew monotonous after a while, and his eyelids began to droop; nerves and excitement had prevented him from getting more than a few hours of sleep the night before. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“Excuse me.”
Simon opened his eyes. An older man across the aisle was looking at him. “Sorry to bother you,” the man said apologetically, “But I was wondering if you had any painkillers? I forgot to put mine in my carry-on.”
“I don’t, sorry. Maybe one of the flight crew could give you one,” Marston said helpfully.
“Thanks, I’ll ask.” The man signaled to a female flight attendant. He spoke to her quietly and she nodded once before disappearing. She soon reappeared with the painkillers and the man accepted them gratefully.
“It’s my back,” he explained to Marston. “I’ve just completed six months at the Navy base on Soshana, developing engines for ground vehicles in high-gravity deployments. The work was good, but my back hasn’t yet forgiven me for the higher gees.”
“I’ve heard Soshana is one of the most physically demanding deployments in the Commonwealth,” Marston said, “Although I wouldn’t mind seeing the Brazen Sea.” It was the largest lava-filled caldera on any world in the Commonwealth.
“It’s well worth the hike,” the man assured him. “I’m Don, by the way. Don Winston.” He offered his hand across the aisle.
“I’m Simon Marston,” Simon replied, shaking it firmly. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Don leaned over conspiratorially. “So, why are you going to Argos? I’m transferring to the shipyards. I’m a mechanical engineer.”
“I’m on my way to take command of a frigate,” Simon told him reluctantly. He braced himself for a surprised or even openly skeptical response.
To his credit, Don took in his stride. “Oh, well then it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t notice the captain’s stripes on your uniform earlier.”
“No need to apologize,” Simon assured him. “It’s still weird that people who were my peers a few weeks ago call me ‘sir’ now.”
Don smiled. “At least you’re lenient with an old man. Last time I forgot to show proper respect to a superior I was put on waste management duties for a week.”
Simon grinned. “Yes, well, some captains take themselves a little more seriously than they should. I can say that now,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye. Don chuckled.
“What ship are you taking command of?” he asked. “Maybe I know of her.”
“The Pericles. An Interceptor-class frigate,” Marston said proudly.
Don searched his memory. “I know the Interceptor well, but I can’t say I’ve heard of her. Is she new?”
“She is.” The starship was as new as Marston’s captaincy. A perfect match, he thought happily.
“I worked on an Interceptor class at the Terelos Shipyard. They could outrun a roadrunner on steroids.” Don chuckled again.
Marston hadn’t heard that peculiar expression before, but he did know that the Interceptor was the fastest ship in the Commonwealth fleet. “I’ve heard the same thing,” he agreed.
“Well, I hope it’s all smooth sailing for you.” Winston gave him a serious look. “Your ship will serve you well if you treat her right.”
“I will,” Simon promised.
Don looked at him shrewdly. “I’m sure you will.” He shuffled in his chair to get more comfortable. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m still on Soshana time. I could use some shut eye.”
“Be my guest,” Marston said.
Don seemed content to nap, and Simon decided to do the same. He closed his eyes, letting the distant thrum of the engines and the quiet murmur of passengers lull him to sleep.
When Marston woke, he was surprised to see more than two hours had passed. Don was snoring quietly in his seat. The ship, operating on New Peloponnesus time, had the cabin lights dimmed in a simulation of evening.
A flight attendant wheeled a food trolley down the aisle and Marston gratefully accepted the in-flight meal. He spent the remainder of the trip reading, starring out the window, and mentally reviewing the details of his new command, thinking about the officers he had selected and would soon meet in person, some for the first time. His natural apprehension at meeting them was balanced by knowing they would probably be more nervous to meet him, their new captain. One hour out from their destination, the ship passed Mochlos, a small, lifeless terrestrial planet. Marston could just make out the only human interest in the planet, an orbiting refueling station visible as a white speck glinting in the dim sunlight.
Beyond Mochlos, rocks started to appear in space, growing in size and number as the transport neared the Argos Asteroid Belt, which orbited the star Struve 2398 Alpha from two astronomical units away. Marston and the other passengers watched out the windows as the first mountain-sized asteroids of the belt appeared and the ship decelerated to allow for safe maneuvering. Their course would take them to the inner field, the location of the Commonwealth Navy’s largest fleet yards. Navigation buoys with powerful repulsors kept the space lanes to Argos clear of all but the largest debris; still, their progress through the belt slowed again as the pilot carefully navigated around the larger asteroids.
The captain announced that the planetoid Argos would soon be visible through the jumble of space rocks, and the passengers eagerly switched on their data screens to view the live feed from the ship’s forward camera.
When the Struve binary system was first charted in 2128, the surveying ship had dispatched probes to investigate the planets and two asteroid belts orbiting Struve 2398 Alpha. The surveyors themselves spent thirty days surveying Kypria, dispatching landing parties to determine its suitability for colonization by examining its soil, flora and fauna, atmosphere, plate movements, climate, and weather patterns. The planet proved to be an ideal candidate for human settlement, unlike Mochlos, which was revealed to be a resource-poor world unsuitable for even the smallest mining interests.
The probe sent to investigate the system’s inner asteroid belt had come across Argos. The Commonwealth government, interested in building asteroid habitats as well as colonizing planets, sent the survey ship to investigate further. The planetoid, which contained a third of the asteroid belt’s entire mass, lived up to the survey team’s hopes. Resource-rich and measuring nearly 900 kilometers in diameter, it was large and dense enough to be rounded by its own gravity. However, due to the inherent difficulties in mining the ultra-hard boromite which comprised most of the planetoid’s surface, it was deemed undesirable for conversion into a civilian habitat when there were easier candidates in the system’s outer asteroid ring. Information on Argos was relegated to the archives of the Commonwealth Prospecting and Surveyance Agency.
No more attention was given to the planetoid until 2174, when the Commonwealth Navy expressed interest in using it as a base. The same boromite that made excavation so difficult also rendered the planetoid impervious to most contemporary weapons, and at the time it was near the border of human-controlled space, make it an ideal location for a Navy stronghold. Like many other Navy bases in Tier 1 Space Argos was constructed during the era of Consolidation, when the fledgling Commonwealth was becoming increasingly aware of its alien neighbors. To secure the borders of their young interstellar state, the Commonwealth Government and Navy spent a large amount of energy and resources on infrastructure and defensive outposts. Their most significant project was the construction of the base in Argos. The first excavator ships arrived in 2176, and by 2196 the military base was operational, complete with new, state-of-the-art shipbuilding facilities. Since then, the shipyard had become one of the most important strategic sites in the Human Interstellar Commonwealth. Although work on the planetoid continued to this day, it was already the second-largest Navy base in the Commonwealth.
The transport ship emerged from the corridor between the asteroids into the zone around the planetoid kept permanently clear of debris. The space was filled with activity; dozens of white-hulled ships of every size and class traveled to and from the base, some carrying personnel or cargo and others delivering resources from the belt’s far-flung mining communities for use in station construction and shipbuilding. Marston paid little attention when the pilot announced they would be docking shortly. He’d never seen Argos in person before, and he and the other passengers craned their necks to get a view of the colossal base.
The surface of the planetoid was dotted with weapons arrays, communications antennae, and refueling docks. Between them, tall, spindle-like towers emerged from the boromite surface, housing flight-control stations, cargo conveyors and docking points for visiting ships. Automated refineries processed Argos’s vast mineral wealth and transferred it to the construction facilities of the shipbuilding yards, which dominated the planetoid’s equator. It was these extensive facilities that drew Marston’s eye. The rocky boromite surface was indented with construction bays and repair facilities that produced more starships than anywhere else in the Commonwealth except for some of the wealthier planets.
Marston could make out the scene in greater detail as the transport drew closer. Dozens of starships in various stages of construction were nestled within their docking cradles; engineers and constructor bots swarmed over the hulls like ants while giant robotic arms maneuvered components into place. The spark of welders and flash of spotlights reflected off shining white hulls, and he marveled at the scope of industry before him.
His view was momentarily obscured by a hulking cargo ship as it passed close by on its way to one of the cargo ports that serviced the Navy’s Fourth Fleet, which was based at Argos. An excited exclamation from one of his fellow passengers drew his attention to the flagship of the Fourth Fleet, the Consul-class Honorable, visible in its berth before it rotated out of view behind the horizon.
The transport approached a docking bay large enough to hold four vessels of the same size. The darkness of space was replaced by bright lights and white metal walls as the ship glided smoothly into its berth. There was a soft clunk as docking clamps latched onto the hull and an airlock tunnel connected to the ship. The pilot announced that it was safe to disembark. Marston stood up and stretched, relishing the movement after sitting for six hours. He pulled his bag from the overhead compartment and helped Don retrieve his own bag.
“It was good to meet you, Don,” he said, offering his hand again.
Don shook it enthusiastically. “You too, sir. All the best with your new command.”
“Thanks,” said Simon. “I hope you enjoy your posting too.”
The passengers filed out of the cabin, crossing through the airlock tunnel into Argos Station itself. Passing through an embarkation lounge similar to those in other spaceports across the Commonwealth, Marston found himself in a large, busy corridor that stretched away in either direction. It was full of people in Navy uniforms and technician overalls moving about on various tasks.
Marston and Winston followed the signs until they came to a four-way intersection. Don gestured with his thumb toward one of the corridors. “This is me. See you around, Young Captain,” he said. Marston nodded in farewell as Don walked off.
Marston was about to ask the computer for directions when he heard a familiar, booming voice behind him. “Well, well, it’s Captain Simon Marston. Welcome to Argos!”
Marston turned to face the grinning visage of his new executive officer, Ronan Balzano. Balzano was a tall, solidly built, bald-headed thirty-five-year-old. The two men were firm friends and had served together on the Saber, when Simon had been second officer and Ronan the tactical officer. Ronan was bold, forthright and gregarious. Although his size made him appear intimidating, Ronan was one of the most easy-going officers in the fleet and worked well with people above and under his command. These qualities, in addition to his fifteen years’ experience in the Navy, made him the obvious choice for Marston’s second-in-command.
“When did you get here?” Simon asked as they shook hands.
“Yesterday afternoon,” Ronan told him as they began walking down the corridor. “How was the trip? Are you jet-lagged?”
“No. The time difference is only two hours, and I napped on the way over.”
“I saw the ship,” Ronan said with a gleam in his eye. “She’s a beauty.”
“I bet,” said Simon, a little jealous that his executive officer had already seen her. “As soon as I check in with Command, that’s where I’m headed.”
“You’ll also get to meet Katarina Sirroyo. She arrived at the same time I did,” Ronan informed him.
Like Marston, most of his new crew came from other posts across the Commonwealth. “The new sensor operations officer? She arrived early.”
Ronan chuckled. “She told me she was eager to get to work. I think she’d rather calibrate the sensors herself than trust an Argos engineer to do it. But most of the crew will be arriving over the next three days. On schedule,” he added with a grin.
Signs led them through an archway into a monorail station that was part of the high-speed transit system that interlaced Argos. Marston spotted a carriage advertising its destination as Navy HQ and gestured toward it.
“I have to check in with Admiral Garcia,” Marston told him. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Balzano nodded. “I’ll see you on the ship.” He disappeared into the crowd.
Marston stepped into the monorail carriage with twelve other people, smiling apologetically and adjusting his duffel bag to try and minimize the space it occupied. The monorail would travel nearly four hundred and fifty kilometers to the heart of Argos. The carriage glided away from the station, accelerating rapidly as it sped through the enforced-titanium tunnel toward its destination. Inertial dampeners kept the occupants from being flattened against the wall, and Marston barely felt the motion of the carriage. For several minutes, the walls of the tunnel flashed by as a grey blur. Then, without warning the walls fell away, and the monorail was speeding through a vast open space. For the second time that day, Marston was left speechless at the vast scale of Argos.
When construction had commenced on the planetoid, the Navy had emphasized the necessity that Argos be self-sustaining in the event of a siege. At this distance from the system’s star, the weak, red sunlight was inadequate for plants to photosynthesize, so the Navy had decided on hydroponic crops using artificial lamps. The designers, however, had envisioned a much grander solution.
The Argos base was planned to be far larger than any other military base in human history. In addition to food and water, it required smelters and refineries to produce the alloys needed for constructing ship components, medical facilities, waste management systems, and accommodation for the hundreds of thousands of military personnel the station would house, not to mention their families, who would also require schools, jobs and recreational facilities. The first excavators on Argos had drilled directly toward the center of the planetoid. It took two years of non-stop drilling before they reached the rocky, inner core, at which point they began excavating the great cavern that would house most of the base’s facilities. The exterior facilities only scratched the surface of Argos, literally; the real station was at its heart. It was into this space the monorail carriage now rushed along its needle-thin track.
Marston found himself gazing, awestruck, into the heart of a great, cylindrical cavern over one hundred kilometers in diameter. It was also two hundred kilometers long, with plans to triple that length; Marston couldn’t even make out the far side where giant automated excavators tirelessly continued their work. The first thing that struck him about the cavern was that it was green. The entire inner surface was covered in lush vegetation introduced once the vast space had been filled with a breathable atmosphere, a huge undertaking in itself. The surface was a patchwork of automated farms, with lakes and planted forests placed sporadically between them to create a more natural look. Settlements dotted the surface, both below and above him; the planetoid’s natural gravity and artificially induced rotation provided a comfortable Earth-standard gravity for the interior’s inhabitants. Marston had seen many planets, but he found it somewhat disconcerting to see buildings on the inside curve of a planet rather than the outside surface, as though someone had taken a planetary surface and curled it into a cylinder.
Everything about Argos was on an unprecedented scale, and it had paid off. The designers had succeeded in creating a self-sustaining biosphere at the center of the planetoid, equipped with a giant, artificial sun suspended in the center of the space to provide warmth and light for the habitat, while the vegetation converted carbon dioxide into oxygen for the population to breathe. A natural life-support system.
The monorail carriage sped toward a sprawling city. Called Argos City, it was home to a quarter of the two-million personnel stationed at Argos, along with their families and the civilians who ran the businesses that provided services for off-duty personnel. The city was similar to other modern human cities across the Commonwealth, with tall skyscrapers of glass and steel laid in a neat grid of tree-lined boulevards. The city bordered an artificial lake whose water came from melting the ice on the planetoid’s surface. The water supply of Argos came entirely from meltwater, purified and recycled for safe use.
By the shore of the lake was Argos Navy Headquarters, a seven-story high, ring-shaped building. From here, officers oversaw all Navy activity within the surrounding sectors of Commonwealth space. The white stone pathway leading to the main entrance was inlaid with an image of the Navy insignia, clearly visible from this height. Extensive, well-kept gardens surrounded the building and from his vantage point Marston could see dozens of Navy personnel on the pathways and green lawns surrounding the building, some relaxing in the grass eating lunch while others hurried between tasks.
The monorail decelerated as it approached the building, its cylindrical glass tunnel completely muffling any disruptive booms as it dropped below the speed of sound. After several minutes it glided gently to a halt, and Marston and the others stepped out into a small subway station. He followed the signs down a corridor to an elevator that took him directly to the nerve center of Argos. After having his identity confirmed by a guard, the doors slid open and he entered the Operations Center.
If it weren’t for the warm white light of the artificial sun filtering through the windows Marston could have been standing in the Operations Center on any other Commonwealth planet. Ops, as it was referred to, was a large, circular room lined with computer terminals, monitors and other technical equipment. There was a Navy officer at every station, hard at work. The middle of the room was dominated by a ring of consoles with twelve individual stations, at the center of which a large holographic projection displayed a real-time image of the Struve Alpha System. The room buzzed with energy; this was the true heart of Argos.
He identified a middle-aged man in a rear admiral’s uniform as the station’s second-in-command and approached him. He put down his bag and stood to attention. “Captain Simon Marston reporting for duty, sir,” he said, saluting.
“We’ve been expecting you, Captain,” said Rear Admiral Percival. “Welcome to Argos Station.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Marston, remaining at attention.
“At ease, Captain.” The rear admiral sorted through a stack of data pads on the console in front of him. He selected one and typed on it with one hand.
“Please sign here and leave your thumb print on the scanner. This will transfer the command codes of the Pericles to you, effective immediately.” Percival handed the pad to Marston, who took it and signed it with a shaking hand. He pressed his thumb against the scanner at the bottom corner of the pad. He was now in control of a Navy starship; it was beginning to feel real.
“Perfect,” said Percival. “If you take this to Admiral Garcia, he will also sign it and give you your orders. He’s in his office,” he said, pointing to a doorway across the room. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Marston, saluting again. He picked up his bag and strode across the busy room to the doorway with a plaque reading: “Samuel Garcia, ADMIRAL, FOURTH FLEET.”
He only had to ring the chime once before a voice inside called him in, and he entered. Admiral Garcia was standing behind a large, stained oak desk. Marston snapped smartly to attention.
“At ease, Captain,” the Admiral said. He gestured for Marston to sit in one of the guest chairs facing the desk and eased himself into his own high-backed chair.
Garcia returned his attention to a data pad on his desk. “How was your trip to Argos?”
“Good, thank you, Admiral,” Marston replied. He wasn’t sure what else to say. There was silence while the admiral read over the document and typed something on his computer. Marston glanced past the admiral to the large glass window behind him. The admiral’s office had an unrivaled view of the city foreshore and the lake where he could see white-sailed yachts cruising across its calm surface. Beyond that, the convex horizon stretched into the distance.
Marston tried not to fidget. It was so quiet he could hear the Admiral’s breathing and the soft hum of chatter from the operations center.
“This is the brief for your first mission,” Garcia said after several moments without looking up. “The Pericles has been assigned to patrol the Stromar Sector as part of the Sixth Fleet.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Sector patrol was a relatively simple and straight-forward mission, quite acceptable for an untested captain and new starship. “If you don’t mind, Admiral, I require your signature here,” he added, handing the Admiral the data pad given to him by the commodore.
“Nervous about your first command, Captain?” the admiral asked as he signed the pad.
“Actually, I’m looking forward to the challenge,” Marston said, hoping that his tone conveyed calm confidence. He didn’t want to come across as blasé or childish in his enthusiasm.
The admiral didn’t reply, but he looked like there was something he wanted to say. Marston steeled himself.
Sure enough, the admiral stood and began pacing behind his desk. “May I be perfectly frank, Captain?”
“I would prefer that you are, sir.”
The admiral appeared to consider his words carefully before speaking. “I’m sure you are aware that your promotion was a contentious issue. There are some admirals and even captains who don’t believe you have the age or experience to command a Navy ship.”
Marston kept his posture straight and his expression inscrutable. “That’s their choice, sir.”
Admiral Garcia stopped pacing and regarded him shrewdly. “I, and others like me, believe you are ready for a captaincy. Admiral Mackenzie, for example, is one of your biggest supporters. Did you know that?”
“I did, sir. Admiral Mackenzie’s commendation means a great deal to me,” Marston said, and he meant it. When he was a lieutenant commander, Marston had faced a tribunal for his conduct during a mission popularly known as the Raptor Nebula Incident. The captain and executive officer of the Navy ship he was posted to, the Saber, were killed in battle, and he had assumed command of the ship. Marston’s actions had resulted in the destruction of the Saber and two enemy Thordran battleships. During the tribunal, which ultimately determined his actions to be justified in defense of the Arretrian colony on Tethannis, Mackenzie had been his staunchest defender. Marston was not only grateful for the confidence the admiral had demonstrated in him then but also for the admiral’s recognition of his potential. It was Mackenzie who had promoted him to the rank of captain eighteen months later.
Admiral Garcia continued, “Most officers don’t achieve the rank of captain for another ten years, five if they’re exceptional. But your career, particularly the last few years, has caught the attention of certain members of the Admiralty. Even though you are young, some of us want to see you in the captain’s chair, if only to find out whether you can handle the responsibility.”
“I appreciate the opportunity, Admiral.”
“Do you know what Admiral Mackenzie says about you?” Admiral Garcia asked.
“What’s that, sir?”
Garcia sat down again and entwined his fingers on the desk. “You’ve got an old head on young shoulders.” Garcia tapped his forehead. “Wisdom. Your conduct during the Beta Thorii mission showed that. It also showed you have a knack for original thinking, which is what the Commonwealth needs right now. People who are willing to look outside the box for creative solutions.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. There are some people expecting you to fail. Just don’t let that stop you from doing your duty to the best of your ability. Remember that you have the support of many officers, including myself.”
“I appreciate that, Admiral,” Marston said.
“Good luck, Captain.” They shook hands.
“Thank you, Admiral,” Marston said, saluting him. The admiral returned the salute, and then dismissed him. Marston shouldered his bag and left the office.
When the door to the admiral’s office closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. The meeting had only taken a few minutes and had gone as well as could be expected, but he was glad it was over. Crossing Ops, he considered the admiral’s warning. There are still plenty of people waiting for you to fail. Well, he had already resolved not to let the opinion of others affect his conduct. He stepped into the elevator and gave the computer instructions to return him to the monorail station. It was time to see the ship.
*
The first time Simon Marston crossed the threshold of the airlock into the Pericles, he had to stifle an excited grin. There was something exhilarating about the bright lights, newly laid carpets and gleaming bulkheads of a new starship. It even smelt new. He was already familiar with the layout of the ship, so he turned right and strode down the corridor toward the elevator he knew would take him to the captain’s cabin.
The ship’s launch was only twelve days away, and all the major work was completed. They were now in the changeover period as the Pericles crew arrived and replaced the engineers who had constructed the ship. Most of the current works were minor projects; last-minute adjustments to circuits and relays, recalibrating sensors, stocking the ship with supplies, that sort of thing.
Marston reached the door to the captain’s quarters on Deck Two and smiled to himself. Inside would hopefully be his home for many years to come. He typed his access code into the panel and the door slid open. He entered the cabin, pausing just inside the doorway to look around. It was much larger than his berth on the Saber, but then, captains always had the most spacious accommodations on the ship. The cabin was on the starboard side of the ship and the windows along that wall offered a panoramic view of the space outside, which currently consisted of the reinforced titanium wall of the dry dock.
He moved into the bedroom and dropped his bag on the bed. On his bed. His other belongings had already been delivered; when he pressed his palm gently against the wall, a panel slid neatly aside to reveal a wardrobe containing his neatly arranged clothes. He looked around, a satisfied smirk on his lips. This was home, now. But he would settle in later. He was eager to visit the bridge.
Marston arrived on Deck Three and felt a thrill of anticipation as he neared the ship’s command center. The doors to the bridge were already open, while a technician worked on the door control panel.
“Excuse me,” Marston said, carefully stepping around the man and his toolbox.
“Careful,” the man muttered, before recognizing the captain with a start. He stepped nimbly out of the way and snapped to attention. “Captain on the bridge!”
The crew and technicians on the bridge looked up, surprised at his unexpected arrival. They stood hastily to attention. Marston raised his hands. “At ease, everyone. Don’t let me interrupt.”
Everyone resumed their work, except for Ronan Balzano, who strode over to greet him. “Welcome aboard!” he beamed. “Want a tour?”
“Thanks,” said Marston. He’d studied the layout of the ship, and knew almost every room, corridor, and maintenance tunnel, and he was eager to see the ship in person. He insisted they be thorough, so the tour took most of the afternoon. He used the opportunity to speak to the engineers and technicians, offering encouragement, asking shrewd questions and discussing technical details. Balzano was impressed with the captain’s knowledge of the Pericles and its systems, but not surprised. Marston was a stickler for details.
On their way back to the bridge, Marston said thoughtfully, “I’d like to have dinner with the senior officers, when they’ve all arrived. It’ll give us a chance to get to know them.”
“Sounds good,” Balzano agreed.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped onto the bridge. Katarina Sirroyo, the new sensor operations officer, was there to greet them.
“It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Captain,” she said primly. Marston shook her hand.
“Likewise, Lieutenant,” he said warmly. “It was good of you to give up two days of shore leave to arrive early.”
“I had nowhere better to be,” Sirroyo said simply. She handed him a data pad. “Here is an update on our progress.” Marston accepted the pad, using the moment to covertly study her face. Sirroyo was twenty-eight years old, with pretty features and straight, dark hair that she kept pinned back so tightly he wondered if her face would split in half if she smiled. Not that there was much chance of that happening, Marston thought to himself. The young woman was one of the most serious officers he’d ever interacted with. Although reserved, she was also dedicated, studious and driven. And brilliant, making her the natural candidate for sensor operations officer.
He scanned the report on the screen. “I didn’t think the primary sensor array would be activated until tomorrow,” he said.
“We got it working today, sir,” she said, clasping her hands tightly behind her back.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Balzano asked her. “The rest of your department doesn’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“I mean… I did it,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “All that was left to do was programming the interfaces for the—”
“That must have taken hours!” Balzano exclaimed.
She inclined her head in a brief nod. “Four hours, actually.” She glanced fleetingly at her boots before looking back at the captain.
“I’m impressed,” Marston said.
“Thank you, Captain. If there’s nothing else…?” Marston looked past her to the sensor operations console, where she was halfway through a diagnostic.
Marston shook his head. “Just one thing: I’d like you to join us tomorrow night for dinner,” he said. “It will be a good opportunity for the senior staff to get to know each other.”
A look of uncertainty flashed across her face. “Of course, Captain,” she said, and Marston wondered if she were uncomfortable with the idea.
“Thank you. That’s all for now, Lieutenant.”
Marston and Balzano watched her walk away. Balzano shook his head. “We’re fortunate to have her on the crew,” he said quietly.
“Yes, we are,” Marston agreed. He gestured with the datapad toward a door on the starboard side of the bridge. “Shall we?”
“After you, Captain.”
The two men stepped through the doorway into the captain’s office. Although it wasn’t a large room, it comfortably fit a workspace with a desk and two chairs and a small lounge area for more informal meetings.
“How does it feel?” Balzano asked as Marston lowered himself into the chair behind his new desk.
Marston grinned back. “Pretty good,” he said. He pressed a button on the desktop and a monitor emerged from the smooth surface. He opened a file before rotating the screen so the commander could see.
“These are our orders,” Marston said, and Balzano leaned forward.
When he’d finished reading, he commented: “Sector patrol is a pretty standard first mission for a new ship and a new commander.”
“Yes,” Marston agreed.
Balzano looked at him shrewdly. “But…?”
“But nothing. Patrolling a quiet corner of the Commonwealth isn’t exactly my dream mission, but I’m not about to complain.”
“At least we can’t get into trouble in the Stromar Sector,” Balzano remarked.
“That’s true. I half expected we’d be given an impossible mission so they could see me fail,” Marston said wryly.
Balzano knew the “they” he referred to were those Navy officers who objected to Marston’s promotion to captain. The executive officer shrugged, unconcerned. “We’re not here to put on a show for them. We’re here to do our duty.”
“That’s true,” Marston conceded. “And I will do my duty.” He straightened his uniform jacket and swung the monitor back to face him. “Now, enough about that. Let’s get to work. First things first: I think we need a logistical operations officer.”
Balzano nodded slowly.
“It would improve efficiency; the Pericles may be a small medium-sized ship, but its systems are complex. During conflict, a logistical operations officer could assist sensor ops and tactical with the combat systems operations.”
“I agree,” Balzano said.
“Good. I’ll submit a personnel request to Admiral Bryant,” Marston said. Admiral Bryant was the commander of the Fifth Fleet, to which the Pericles was to be assigned.
They discussed the scope of works to be completed before launch, the test flight of the new slipstream drive, and last-minute appraisals of the crew members arriving the next day. Most people would have found the work mundane, but for Marston it was exciting.
