Star Glory (Empire Series Book 1) Page 22

  “I already said yes.” Then guilt hit me. Being abrupt with Evelyn did not feel right. “Hey gal, I know you care. And I know this is the right thing to do. Just never had to do it. So I’m . . . flustered. That’s all.” None of my friends corrected me to say I was scared. Which I was. They were that kind of friends. I stood up. “Thanks for caring. And for understanding.” I stepped away from my chair.

  “Hey guy,” Warren called. “I can show up with you and take my turn at Brig guard duty. Okay?”

  I shook my head. “No, stay here. Eat. Drink some booze. Be nice to Oksana. She deserves it.” I reached down, grabbed my plate, put my mug on it and headed away from the five people who always left me feeling good. Happy even. I’d not felt happy during my years at Great Lakes. Studying antimatter engineering tech had been an enjoyable challenge. Being assigned right out of A-School to the Star Glory was someone’s vote in favor of me being career Star Navy. Only after arriving on the ship had I discovered happy feelings, now and then. Discovering love and joy with Evelyn was still a shock to my system. I had spent so many years in public school and at Great Lakes hiding my abilities and talents, it had felt natural to be distant from other people. Being close to these five had become special. In truth, I needed them.

  “Thanks, PO,” said a Spacer doing cleanup duty at the kitchen opening where dirty plates and mugs and glasses and silverware were turned in. He grabbed the plate and mug I had set on the counter.

  I didn’t know his name. Then saw his right chest badge. Watkins, James it was. He had normal brown hair that was curly like the captain’s. There were no tattoos visible on his neck or arms and hands. But the easy smile on his face made it easier to return the welcome.

  “Thank you, Spacer Watkins. Uh, can you direct me to where I can see the boss cook? I need to take a meal to . . . someone.”

  He gave an easy nod and gestured to his rear. “Chief Warrant Officer Malone is running the kitchen this shift. She can help you. Though any of the other cooks could help you,” he said, pointing at the line of men and women who were ladling out various foods onto trays held by a line of crew folks.

  “Thank you. But Chief Malone likely needs to okay my request.” I looked over to the open archway that led into the kitchen. “That way?”

  “Sure, PO Stewart. Go through there and head back. She’s the brunette you can see sorting through our computer food records behind the glass wall.”

  I gave him a smile and a nod, then I walked over to the archway, through it amidst the loud clanking of pots, pans and serving plates, mixed with the hiss of steamers and the high infrared glow from the cooking ovens. Telling my senses to calm down, I headed for the corner office that had a large glass or plexi window fronting it. Behind the wall window sat a middle-aged woman who looked stocky, dark skinned and Italian in features. Or at least south Mediterranean. I stopped in front of the swinging metal door. My double knock on it made her look up. She had golden-brown eyes, curly black hair and wide cheekbones. Her eyebrows rose. “Enter.”

  I stepped inside. Her name tag said Malone, Daisy. Seeing her shoulder bars that had three blue squares on them told me she was a chief warrant officer four. So I saluted. Her rank was way above my new PO first class. “Petty Officer Nathan Stewart, ma’am. I request your approval of me as the conveyor of today’s meal to Lieutenant Commander Nehru. No need to send a Spacer to the Brig.”

  Brief surprise showed on her face. Then she frowned thoughtfully. “You are the PO who saved that red-furred girl, right?”

  “Yes ma’am, I am.”

  A serious look replaced the surprise. “You are also the person whom Mr. Nehru is accused of trying to kill. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why do you wish to take him the vegetarian meal that we always prepare for him?”

  “Personal need, ma’am.”

  Curiosity replaced serious. “That is the first time I have heard that given as a reason to do something unpleasant. Plenty of folks use those words to excuse stupid behavior. I gather this is not an attack of stupidity?”

  “No ma’am, it is not.”

  She glanced at her large tablet screen, which leaned against some old style paper books. The word Recipes showed on the binding of one of them. Then she sighed. “Fine. Go find Cook Mataguchi. Tell him you are the transporter for Mr. Nehru’s meal. Dismissed.”

  I saluted her again, turned, walked through the swinging door and headed for the serving counter. Three men and three women stood with their backs to me, ladling out various dishes. Lunch hour still had thirty minutes to go.

  “Cook Mataguchi?”

  A bald-headed man on the right end of the line turned and looked at me, while holding a ladle and a giant fork in his hands. His goatee was half white and half black. He must be 50 at least, maybe older. His service khaki sleeve showed the three chevrons, arch and star of a senior chief petty officer. So I saluted him and repeated what I had told Malone.

  “You are taking Nehru’s meal to him today?”

  I nodded. “CPO, yes, just today. I gather it will be a vegetarian meal?”

  “Correct.” The CPO turned away, reached down to a warmer unit under the counter, opened it and pulled out a large platter. He turned and presented it to me. “Here you go.”

  I grabbed the platter with both hands, since it had a glass of ice tea sitting in a slot on the left side, with plastic silverware lined up on the right side. Dispensers of salt, pepper, soy sauce and curry lined the top of the platter. In it was a pile of brown rice, green peas, lentils, a square of tofu and a piece of chocolate cake with brown frosting on it. It was not that heavy but it was a bit cumbersome. I gave him a nod. “CPO Mataguchi, thank you.” I turned away and headed for the open archway that gave access to the Mess Hall.

  My walk out of the kitchen, across the upper end of the Mess Hall and over to an exit slidedoor was watched by my friends, still seated at our table. Chief O’Connor gave me a nod from his seat at the NCO table. There were no officers I knew at the officers table. And none of them looked my way. But at the far end of the room the Marine table had a full crew. Among them was Staff Sergeant Osashi. The man who had rescued me on the concourse. He gave me a thumbs-up. I nodded his way, then walked as fast as I could to the slidedoor and out into the hallway. The slidedoor closed behind me. The sound of other voices came from people exiting the Recreation and Medical parts of this deck. I ignored them, even though one of them was Doctor Khatri. She I had thanked, after the happy entry of my friends and Evelyn. But I did not wish to see her, or anyone, right now. I stopped before the gravshaft slidedoor. Twisting I hit the Open patch with my right elbow. The status light changed from orange to green. The door slid open. I hurried inside.

  “Heidi, take me up to Recycling Deck.”

  “Lifting to Recycling,” the AI said, her tone a happy mix of a singing voice and background music I did not recognize. “Is that meal for you?”

  “No.”

  “Is it for Chief Dillingham in Recycling?”

  “No.”

  The gravplate stopped moving. Or so say the vertical bar at one side of the slidedoor. There was no real jerk to the stop. It just stopped.

  “Heidi! Obey.”

  “Why should I?” Her tone was now peevish. “You humans like to make too much mystery out of your behavior. Failure to answer my questions messes with my response algorithms. For whom is this meal intended?”

  Damn. The gravplate would not move until I humored this smart-ass AI. “It is for Lieutenant Commander Nehru. I am delivering it today instead of the usual Spacer delivery. Now take me to Recycling!”

  The vertical bar showed the red line rising up past Residential. In moments we passed through Supplies.

  “Why are you delivering the meal? It is usually delivered by Spacer Cynthia Lovejoy.”

  I breathed deep. “I volunteered to deliver it.”

  “Why?”

  Damn nosy AI. “Because I want to see the man who tried to kill me!”


  “Oh.” There was a moment’s pause. “That requires a new adjustment to my relations algorithm. Thank you. I think.”

  “You are welcome.”

  The ascending red bar passed through Armories and Weapons. Then it moved into the section labeled Recycling. It stopped. The slidedoor opened. No one was outside waiting. Nor in the ring hallway. I stepped out.

  “You should hurry. The food is cooling quickly.”

  I knew that. My infrared vision showed the bright orange glow had changed to light yellow. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

  It took only a short walk to put me outside the entry door to Recycling. I passed it. Halfway around the ring hallway I stopped before the hatch labeled Brig. I tapped the Open patch with my left elbow, feeling contrary. The slidedoor slid open. I stepped inside.

  “PO, this is restricted, oh!” called the Marine who stood ten feet to my left, in front of a solid steel and chrome door.

  It was Master Sergeant Jenkins. She was out of her combat suit, dressed in blue and grays, holding a laser pulse rifle at port arms. A laser pistol hung from her left hip. As she faced me I saw her name tag, her ribbons and pins and the sleeve patch with three chevrons with three arcs below and crossed rifles in the middle. Her E-8 rank was two levels higher than mine. I put the platter on the floor, stood up and saluted her.

  “Master Sergeant, I have brought the lunch meal for Lieutenant Commander Nehru. May I see him?”

  “You sure?” Then she shook her head. “Of course you are. Otherwise you would not be here.” She pulled the security pod from her belt, aimed it at the large steel door and I heard the click, clank and hiss of multiple bolts and latches becoming detached. Jenkins slung her rifle on her left shoulder, pulled her laser pistol and stepped forward. Reaching out with her left hand she grabbed the latch bar. She pulled. The door swung out toward her. Which gave me access to the cell. I stepped forward, turned and faced inward.

  Nehru was sitting on a bunk at the end of the rectangular room. He was reading something on a secured tablet. He looked up. Shock filled his swarthy face. Then anger.

  “What the hell are you doing here!”

  I stepped forward with the platter. “Bringing you lunch.” I turned, saw a small table swung door from the right side wall and put the platter on it. Then I stepped back and faced him. “It is still warm.”

  The man half rose. Behind me Jenkins moved.

  “Freeze, Mr. Nehru.”

  The man finished standing but did not move forward. His black eyes were fixed on me. “You little enlisted bastard!”

  I met his eyes. Breathing deep, I said what I needed to say.

  “I forgive you.”

  Surprise showed. Then anger. Then bewilderment. He closed his eyes, standing there with arms at his side. His fists were clenched. “Go away. Please.”

  I turned, nodded to Jenkins and stepped through the cell door.

  She swung it closed. I heard the buzz of her pod securing it once more. She stepped to the small grill that occupied the top center of the door. “Mr. Nehru, you are free to move. The platter will be removed in one hour.” She looked to me, her hazel eyes bright. “That took guts.”

  I shrugged. “What you and the other Marines do takes more than guts. It takes courage. Thank you for keeping us all safe.” I turned and headed for the exit to the ring hallway.

  “You are welcome. And if it matters, I would have you in my platoon. You are a brave man.”

  It mattered to me. I headed for the gravshaft and hopefully a solitary, quiet trip down to Residential, a walk down the hallway to my cabin, and a glass of Kentucky bourbon with ice cubes. Evelyn would be by later. But right now, I felt I had earned a stiff drink.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fifteen minutes before our exit from Alcubierre and arrival at the outer edge of Kepler 445, I sat in my seat on Engineering. Like everyone on the ship I now wore my vacsuit with helmet hinged back. Accel straps criss-crossed my chest. The antimatter injector tubes surrounded me like a forest of vertical rainbows. Beyond them I saw Dolores Gambuchino seated before her own fusion reactor work station. To one side of her sat her Spacers Gus, Cindy and Duncan, each busy with the monitoring of a different function of this reactor and the second one on Weapons. Looking left I fixed on my boss and fellow sharer of Scottish heritage. Chief O’Connor sat like barrel with muscles before his three function panels for the thrusters, magfield drive and Alcubierre stardrive. Paying attention to three vital systems simultaneously surely warranted his chief warrant officer four rank. I only had to manage the AM flows to the thrusters or the AM flow to Bill’s antimatter beamer block. That thought made me look right. The hatch to his access tunnel was closed. He had been inside, powered up and ready to fight his beamer, for the last hour since the start of First Shift. With a sigh I turned my attention to the one thing that held my interest.

  The bulkhead vidscreen held two side-by-side images. One was the overhead view of the Bridge with Captain Skorzeny, XO Kumisov, Major Owanju and Doctor Bjorg seated at their usual posts. As before the Empire translator block was to Bjorg’s right. The other view was a system graphic of Kepler 445. It was not an active view, of course. But it did display what our cosmologists and astronomers know about the system. In the center sat the dot of the M4 red dwarf star. Lines of data next to it said the star was one-fifth the size of Sol and put out heat equal to 3,157 kelvins versus Sol’s hotter temp of 5,800 kelvins. The smaller size and lower heat of 445 meant its planets had to be much closer in order to be warm enough for liquid water and habitation. Of the three planets whose dotted orbits showed in the graphic, only 445d lay fully within its green habitability zone. That planet was just 20 percent larger than Earth, had a similar mass and was known to have an oxy-nitro atmosphere based on space telescope observations. World three’s average surface temp was computed to be 305 kelvins or 89 Fahrenheit. A bit warm when compared to Earth’s average temp of 288 kelvins or 59 Fahrenheit. Still, the ancient Kepler survey had listed planet three as habitable. Later surveys of its atmosphere had confirmed that with the oxy levels providing evidence for life in the form of chlorophyll or something that regularly injected oxygen into the air. No doubt planet three was the target of the refugee aliens. About whom we knew almost nothing other than their existence and their hope to find a new home world beyond the Empire’s reach.

  “Stewart, how are the injector tube fields?” called my boss.

  I put on my goggles and pulled tight the head strap. The watching videye needed to be appeased for Star Navy bureaucrats who would review all records of our flight, our fighting, our survival and our discoveries. “The field shimmer is bright, sharp and stable, Chief O’Connor.” I shifted my view. “Same for the feed tube to the antimatter beamer block. Either or both systems can handle antimatter flow, sir.”

  “Good.” The chief tapped his armrest’s comlink patch. “Captain, Engineering is ready to start thrusters upon emergence. Antimatter flow is available for afterburner push.”

  In the vidscreen the captain looked up briefly, then ahead at the Bridge’s own giant vidscreen. “Thank you, Chief O’Connor. However, I do not wish to show anything unusual about the Star Glory upon our emergence. That is why I had us shut off the magfield drive and cut back our speed to the 10 psol function of our thrusters. But we might have to make an Alcubierre micro-jump if we arrive in the midst of Empire ships. Stand ready.”

  “Standing ready on Engineering Deck.”

  Once more I realized how remarkably competent our captain was. I would not have thought to lower our transit speed to the magnetosphere edge of Kepler 22. But since whatever speed we had upon entering Alcubierre was the same speed our vessel would have upon exit, it made sense to not reveal our ability to move through normal space as fast as Empire ships. Nor our ability to slightly exceed that 15 psol by use of our antimatter afterburner. The captain had thought of this before we even left Kepler 22 and the pirate base. Now, when we exited Alcubierre at the edge of Kep
ler 445, anyone watching for moving neutrino signatures would see our emission point and observe our 10 psol movement inward. And if they were an Empire ship or ships, they could quickly identify our neutrino emission flavor as that of the single Earth ship encountered by Smooth Fur’s ship Golden Pond. Our arrival would appear to be no different than when we had arrived at Kepler 37, long weeks ago. It was clear the captain wished to hide his speed advantage and our possession of an antimatter beamer until the right moment. But something more basic than appreciating my captain called for attention.

  “Chief, permission to exit my station for a few moments to hit the head.”

  The man shook his head. “Better now than during a live fire battle! Go. And PO Gambuchino, you and any of your Spacers are granted seven minutes for personal ablutions.”

  I tapped my armrest to release the straps. Standing up, I passed through the vertical rainbow pillars and headed to the left and rear of my station. There were three unisex heads there. Behind me came the sounds of someone at the fusion reactor unstrapping. Bootsteps sounded. I recognized them. Cindy the electronics tech was heading this way. I tapped open the slidedoor to one head, entered and headed for a sit-down stool. I needed to empty both liquids and solids. Telling myself to not feel stupid at forgetting to do this earlier, I pulled down my vacsuit, then my inner skinsuit and sat down. But worry over the future filled me. Would I do my part? Would I have a hit versus miss at anticipating a problem and coming up with a needed solution for my ship? I didn’t know. Closing my eyes and shutting down my hypersenses, I focused on simple body functions.

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