Chapter 57
Jim Vassilakos
Kaz’s mother, her sickly face twisted in anger, began yelling.
“Of course, they fired you! You practically declared yourself a slut… to the Countess, no less… and on the Cleon-crapping viewy! What were you thinking?!”
“I didn’t declare myself…”
“‘Stalked? You say it like it’s a bad thing,’” mother quoted daughter in a high-pitched voice. “Were you trying to be cute for your boyfriend?” she snapped.
Biting her lip, Kaz pivoted toward the door. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I know he spent the night! What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains especially?!”
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
(If Gus gets up, go ahead and describe the process, but bear in mind that he’s only had about four hours of sleep, so he probably feels like crap. Also, while it would be tempting to go back to sleep, he never asked Nizlich to postpone the morning briefing, so he’s scheduled to meet with her and perhaps others in a few minutes in the special galley just a few meters from his quarters. It would be bad etiquette for him to cancel with such short notice, but then again, he is Captain, so he can do pretty much as he likes. Assuming he gets up, you might also imagine what Gus looks like in greater detail as he looks in the mirror, adjusting his uniform, shipsuit, or whatever. In doing so, however, remember to stay consistent with the very brief description of him at the beginning of Chapter 1 as well as any other instances where he was described in the write-up. You might also compare and/or contrast how he looks with how he feels given his lack of sleep combined with the intrusion of such a vivid dream.)
Continuing:
“Good-morning, sir,” Nizlich said, standing up as I entered the special galley. She’d been seated at the table with a cup of something, either coffee, tea, scuf, or perhaps some beverage known only to Sword Worlders, but she quickly stood up as per protocol, not just because I was captain of the ship but also because now that I was in the special galley, also called the captain’s galley, that was my technically my table, and I’d not yet invited her to sit.
“Good morning, Commander.” (Does Gus invite her to sit?)
My breakfast tray was already on the table. (Curious to see what you come up with as far as the food goes. And let me know if Gus says anything to Stef or just waits for her to get started with the morning briefing.)
(Apologies for taking such a long winter break, over a month this time. I'm still not through with the work that hits this time of year, but I'm far enough along that we can continue whenever you feel up to it, assuming you're past the infestation and so forth. If you're still too busy, that's fine. Just let me know.)
Conrad Rader
Kaz’s mother, her sickly face twisted in anger, began yelling.
“Of course, they fired you! You practically declared yourself a slut… to the Countess, no less… and on the Cleon-crapping viewy! What were you thinking?!”
“I didn’t declare myself…”
“‘Stalked? You say it like it’s a bad thing,’” mother quoted daughter in a high-pitched voice. “Were you trying to be cute for your boyfriend?” she snapped.
Biting her lip, Kaz pivoted toward the door. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I know he spent the night! What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains especially?!”
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
(If Gus gets up, go ahead and describe the process, but bear in mind that he’s only had about four hours of sleep, so he probably feels like crap. Also, while it would be tempting to go back to sleep, he never asked Nizlich to postpone the morning briefing, so he’s scheduled to meet with her and perhaps others in a few minutes in the special galley just a few meters from his quarters. It would be bad etiquette for him to cancel with such short notice, but then again, he is Captain, so he can do pretty much as he likes. Assuming he gets up, you might also imagine what Gus looks like in greater detail as he looks in the mirror, adjusting his uniform, shipsuit, or whatever. In doing so, however, remember to stay consistent with the very brief description of him at the beginning of Chapter 1 as well as any other instances where he was described in the write-up. You might also compare and/or contrast how he looks with how he feels given his lack of sleep combined with the intrusion of such a vivid dream.)
Continuing:
“Good-morning, sir,” Nizlich said, standing up as I entered the special galley. She’d been seated at the table with a cup of something, either coffee, tea, scuf, or perhaps some beverage known only to Sword Worlders, but she quickly stood up as per protocol, not just because I was captain of the ship but also because now that I was in the special galley, also called the captain’s galley, that was my technically my table, and I’d not yet invited her to sit.
“Good morning, Commander. As you were.” (Does Gus invite her to sit?)
My breakfast tray was already on the table. Someone was paying attention to my preference file. A pitcher of icy water, a bowl of hot grains with chunky bits of protein. And on a side plate, three rolls of protein wrapped in flaky pastry. Meatrolls. Someone had found out I liked meatrolls. I hoped they had did their seasoning research. I reached out for one, and noticed Nizlich watching me closely while appearing to sort items on her tablet.The pastry cumbled slightly under my fingers and the aroma hit my nose. Yea, they had done their research. The musty scent of dried wildshroom powder and the tangy scent of pepper flakes brought me back to happier times with my family. I bit into it and felt the full force of the taste. I reached for the water jug.
(Curious to see what you come up with as far as the food goes. And let me know if Gus says anything to Stef or just waits for her to get started with the morning briefing.)
(Apologies for taking such a long winter break, over a month this time. I'm still not through with the work that hits this time of year, but I'm far enough along that we can continue whenever you feel up to it, assuming you're past the infestation and so forth. If you're still too busy, that's fine. Just let me know.)
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Jim Vassilakos
Kaz’s mother, her sallow face twisting in barely controlled rage, glared at her daughter with burning eyes.
“Of course, they fired you! You practically declared yourself a slut! To the Countess, no less! And on the Cleon-crapping viewy! What were you even thinking?!”
“I didn’t declare myself…”
“‘Stalked? You say it like it’s a bad thing,’” mother quoted daughter in a high-pitched voice. “Were you trying to be cute for your boyfriend?!” she snapped.
Biting her lip, Kaz pivoted toward the door. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I know he spent the night! What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains especially?!”
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
I fumbled for the off-switch but missed, disengaging the bed’s gravity suppression. Not only was I suddenly heavier, but the alarm was still doing its (INSERT ADJECTIVE) <Beep> <Beep> <Beep>.
I finally impacted the target — albeit, more forcefully than necessary — and contemplated falling back to sleep. I was captain, after all. And we were in port. For the next seven weeks. But then I remembered the dream, the one about the (INSERT ADJECTIVE) (INSERT NOUN) and (her daughter / Kaz / etc.). [Re-word as desired.]
(Gus is going to have to think about the dream here. What is his internal reaction to what he was dreaming about just before he woke up? What does he think about Kaz and her mother? And is he concerned at all whether the dream has something to do with his psionics, meaning that it might have been evidence of clairvoyance/clairaudience?)
Conrad Rader
Sorry for my own delay. But allow me to tender my excuse, which is that I got a cold. Getting over it finally, but I'm still a little phlegmy.
Kaz’s mother, her sallow face twisting in barely controlled rage, glared at her daughter with burning eyes.
“Of course, they fired you! You practically declared yourself a slut! To the Countess, no less! And on the Cleon-crapping viewy! What were you even thinking?!”
“I didn’t declare myself…”
“‘Stalked? You say it like it’s a bad thing,’” mother quoted daughter in a high-pitched voice. “Were you trying to be cute for your boyfriend?!” she snapped.
Biting her lip, Kaz pivoted toward the door. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I know he spent the night! What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains especially?!”
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
I fumbled for the off-switch but missed, disengaging the bed’s gravity suppression. Not only was I suddenly heavier, but the alarm was still doing its (INSERT ADJECTIVE:slagging) <Beep> <Beep> <Beep>.
I finally impacted the target — albeit, more forcefully than necessary — and contemplated falling back to sleep. I was captain, after all. And we were in port. For the next seven weeks.
But then I recalled the dream. Or rather the images of the fierce mother berating Kaz that would not leave my mind's eye. Where was this coming from? I had barely thought about Kaz since trying to clear up her situation with the Countess, almost in passing.Had I even seen her mother? Maybe on a screen or pic at Kaz's place? So why was this suddenly in my head. The part of my brain that was soberly keeping notes for me reminded me that I was a newly awakened psion and kept learning new things about my mind and brain at a breakneck pace.It also tapped the clipboard it was holding and reminded me that my so-called handlers in Intelligence weren't sure what I could do either and that this state of affairs had already precipitated me into influencing senior naval staff into different modes of action. I looked at my inner self as it noted, they shoot Zhos for those kind of actions.
I really hoped this iteration of my subconscious would not take on material reality inside my brain. I closed my eyes and studied what I remembered of the, well, I guess I could call it a dream for now, we would worry about what it was when I thought I was awake and seeing things. The memory of the ghost at the memorial struggled to rise, and I pushed it back down. No, one new thing at a time.
(Gus is going to have to think about the dream here. What is his internal reaction to what he was dreaming about just before he woke up? What does he think about Kaz and her mother? And is he concerned at all whether the dream has something to do with his psionics, meaning that it might have been evidence of clairvoyance/clairaudience?)
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Jim Vassilakos
Timothy Collinson
Sent: 23 February 2026 20:48
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
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Jim Vassilakos
Conrad Rader
To view this discussion visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/plankwell-pbem-s1/CAO4nEqbLX567cc1HyApXKJ6awBZSZcN7%2BTJkfpxTSfL1NHUNBw%40mail.gmail.com.
Conrad Rader
Jim Vassilakos
Kaz’s mother, her sallow face twisting in barely controlled rage, glared at her daughter with burning eyes.
“Of course, they fired you! You practically declared yourself a slut! To the Countess, no less! And on the Cleon-crapping viewy! What were you even thinking?!”
“I didn’t declare myself…”
“‘Stalked? You say it like it’s a bad thing,’”1 mother quoted daughter in the high-pitched voice of mockery. “Were you trying to be cute for your boyfriend?!”
Biting her lip, Kaz pivoted toward the door. “I can’t talk to you right now.”
“I know he spent the night! What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains, especially?!”
<Beep> <Beep> <Beep>
I fumbled for the off-switch but missed, disengaging the bed’s gravity suppression. Not only was I suddenly heavier, but the alarm was still doing its slagging <Beep> <Beep> <Beep>. Finally, I impacted the target — albeit, more forcefully than necessary — and immediately contemplated falling back to sleep. I was captain, after all. And we were in port. For the next seven weeks. But then I remembered the dream.
What have I always told you about Navy men… Navy captains, especially?
Was that real or just my imagination? With these newfound psi talents, it was a question I now had to ask.
Kaz’s mother — had I ever gotten her name? — seemed quite angry. And here I’d thought I’d made a good impression. I had tried to fix the situation. I made the request2 Kaz wanted me to make3… to the Countess herself… before getting into a big argument with Helena and then… well… injecting my rage into her daughter, Lady Alise.4
Well done, Gus. Well done.
I’ll give Kaz a call, I thought to myself, ignoring the mocking voice in the back of my head. After all, I was apparently going to be here longer than I thought.
But would I? Was there any point? What would I even say to her? Better not to call.
I was reacting like I did to all things I couldn’t fix. I was shutting it out and hoping it would just go away. But I was pretty sure that was no longer an option.
I don’t have time for this right now.
I had to clean up, suit up, and fuel up. It was time to be Captain, even though I’d gotten only about four hours of sleep. Damn MilStim. What was I thinking?
I should have messaged Nizlich last night and asked her to postpone the morning briefing. Now was too late. It’d be bad etiquette to cancel on such short notice. In any case, I had to urinate. According to the sensations emanating from my bladder, it was a bit of an imperative, so I dragged myself up and staggered over to the fresher, where I stared at myself in the mirror and peed.
Stubble! I needed a shave. And those wrinkles around the corners of my eyes… when did they show up?
Stupid place to put a mirror.
A touch-up to my hair wouldn’t be a bad idea either. Now that I was Captain, I had to set an example.
I finished my business, did a quick face wipe with depilatory gel, and considered my clothing options. Given the start-up of the zero-zero drill cycle, the shipsuit was the obvious choice, and again, I needed to set the example. Shaving would have to wait until after the morning briefing, however. It was time to face the day.
“Good-morning, sir,” Nizlich said, standing as I entered the special galley. She’d been seated at the table with a cup of something, either coffee, tea, scuf, or perhaps some beverage known only to Sword Worlders, but she quickly stood as per protocol, not just because I was the captain of the ship but also because now that I was in the special galley, also called the captain’s galley, the table she’d been sitting at was technically mine, and I’d not yet invited her to sit. She was obviously a stickler for protocol, which was one of the reasons I liked her.
“Good morning, Commander. As you were.”
My breakfast tray was already on the table, and as I lifted the lid, I could see someone had been paying attention to my preference file. A pitcher of ice water, a bowl of hot grains with chunky bits of protein, and on a side plate, three rolls of protein wrapped in flaky pastry. Meatrolls, basically. Someone had found out I liked meatrolls. I hoped they’d done their seasoning research.
I reached out for one, Nizlich glancing over before returning her attention to her tablet. The pastry cumbled slightly under my fingers, and the aroma hit my nose. Yeah, they had done their research. The musty scent of dried wildshroom powder and the tangy scent of pepper flakes brought me back to happier times with my family. I bit into it and felt the full force of the taste. I reached for the water jug.
“A tad heavy on the pepperflakes, but delicious,” I said for the benefit of Nizlich, who by now was smiling, albeit slightly.
I finished the meatroll and dug into the grains.
“Let’s get this underway, Commander.”
“Aye aye, sir. First, a report from Lt. Sidara that needs your stamp of approval. She told me it was time-sensitive and needs to be forwarded to a local attorney, so I thought we should get it out of the way before the other matters.
(Gus’s response, if any.)
I’d asked Sidara to compose a report to Mr. Faulk, summarizing what she’d seen and witnessed at the Imperial Palace. Since she’d brought a voice recorder, she theoretically could have written out a word-for-word account, but she wasn’t that brazen, so she instead summarized the conversation, or at least the parts to which she was privy. There was an account of the Countess trying to get me to side with her against Admiral Karneticky, something that despite my personal distaste for the man, I hadn’t been willing to do. It was over the whole base switcheroo she’d been pushing. Then there was the part about her Chief of Staff asking me to accept the apology of the two guards, a request to which I’d complied, albeit minimally and with as stone-faced a demeanor as one could manage, nevertheless advising them of Faulk’s appointment as our advocate. She also mentioned my apology over disturbances caused by the interdiction5, adding in a footnote that I hadn’t specifically apologized for the interdiction itself or in any way relinquished my right to have declared it. Then she moved on to the apology itself, the one made to me by the two guards, which I didn’t need to read, as it referenced a video that had apparently already been released. Helena’s people had apparently wasted no time in making it public.
As for what wasn’t in Sidara’s report, that was a topic of some breadth, as while the verbal exchange at the palace had been polite, the telepathic one had been anything but. Indeed, the Countess told me to delete the Navy’s copy of the post-memorium interview, the one she had butchered to portray me as a supporter of the Darrian technology. I’d flat out refused. And then, of course, there was Alise’s sudden outburst, which I was pretty certain I had caused. Did the Countess know? Alise or her minder, Squiress Durami, would be the first to figure it out… where that sudden burst of rage had come from. She was in direct, physical contact with a known psion. Who else could it have been but me?
Of course, none of this was in the report, because Sidara, although she’d been sitting at the table, could see none of it.
(Does Gus sign off on the report so it can be forwarded to Mr. Faulk, and if so, then before he does so, does he add anything?)
“Next is the zero-zero drill report.” Nizlich said. “The crew performed better than expected.” Her eyes narrowed, and I wasn’t sure why.
(Does Gus try poking a telepathic tendril into her mind to see what she’s thinking?)
1See the 3rd page of Ch 29 in A&E #577 or page 187 of the consolidated write-up.
2See the 1st page of Ch 49 in E&A #4 or page 311 of the consolidated write-up.
3See the 6th page of Ch 44 in A&E #592 or page 283 of the consolidated write-up.
4See the 1st & 2nd pages of Ch 50 in E&A #5 or pages 318-319 of the consolidated write-up.
5See the 3rd page of Ch 49 in E&A #4 or the bottom of page 313 of the consolidated write-up.
Conrad Rader
I’d asked Sidara to compose a report to Mr. Faulk, summarizing what she’d seen and witnessed at the Imperial Palace. Since she’d brought a voice recorder, she theoretically could have written out a word-for-word account, but she wasn’t that brazen, so she instead summarized the conversation, or at least the parts to which she was privy. There was an account of the Countess trying to get me to side with her against Admiral Karneticky, something that despite my personal distaste for the man, I hadn’t been willing to do. It was over the whole base switcheroo she’d been pushing. Then there was the part about her Chief of Staff asking me to accept the apology of the two guards, a request to which I’d complied, albeit minimally and with as stone-faced a demeanor as one could manage, nevertheless advising them of Faulk’s appointment as our advocate. She also mentioned my apology over disturbances caused by the interdiction5, adding in a footnote that I hadn’t specifically apologized for the interdiction itself or in any way relinquished my right to have declared it. Then she moved on to the apology itself, the one made to me by the two guards, which I didn’t need to read, as it referenced a video that had apparently already been released. Helena’s people had apparently wasted no time in making it public.
As for what wasn’t in Sidara’s report, that was a topic of some breadth, as while the verbal exchange at the palace had been polite, the telepathic one had been anything but. Indeed, the Countess told me to delete the Navy’s copy of the post-memorium interview, the one she had butchered to portray me as a supporter of the Darrian technology. I’d flat out refused. And then, of course, there was Alise’s sudden outburst, which I was pretty certain I had caused. Did the Countess know? Alise or her minder, Squiress Durami, would be the first to figure it out… where that sudden burst of rage had come from. She was in direct, physical contact with a known psion. Who else could it have been but me?
Of course, none of this was in the report, because Sidara, although she’d been sitting at the table, could see none of it.
“Next is the zero-zero drill report.” Nizlich said. “The crew performed better than expected.” Her eyes narrowed, and I wasn’t sure why.
1See the 3rd page of Ch 29 in A&E #577 or page 187 of the consolidated write-up.
2See the 1st page of Ch 49 in E&A #4 or page 311 of the consolidated write-up.
3See the 6th page of Ch 44 in A&E #592 or page 283 of the consolidated write-up.
4See the 1st & 2nd pages of Ch 50 in E&A #5 or pages 318-319 of the consolidated write-up.
5See the 3rd page of Ch 49 in E&A #4 or the bottom of page 313 of the consolidated write-up.
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Jim Vassilakos
“Next is the zero-zero drill report.” Nizlich said. “The crew performed better than expected.” Her eyes narrowed, and I wasn’t sure why.
I paused mid-chew to look at her. Better than expected could mean a lot of things, and Stefani was too inscrutable for me to quickly decode. Would have to add that to the never-ending list of things to do. Either she had been expecting an all-hands crash out that didn’t happen, or there were specific departments that had surprised her based on prior tests. It made me momentarily consider extending a psionic tendril, but I immediately clamped down on that impulse. I was not going to telepathically investigate my officers — not unless absolutely necessary — so I finished chewing, swallowed, and casually said, “What were the percents?”
“Eight zero void.”
8% had failed to signal readiness within the mandatory time limit. In other words, they hadn’t been wearing a shipsuit — the standard issue ones were bulkier and more cumbersome than mine — and they compounded this misfortune by failing to reach an emergency vacc suit and go through the whole procedure of getting completely inside of it. Only when their helmet was securely fastened could they signal readiness, and they had to do it within a time limit that was individually determined by the onboard medical staff.
How long each of the crew could hold their breath while under various forms of mental and physical stress was in their personnel files, and it determined how long each had to signal readiness. Miss the deadline and be considered a casualty but not necessarily one who needs saving, as there was another option.
Those who didn’t have a vacc suit close at hand would hopefully at least get to a lifebubble. They were all over ship, and getting into one basically involved pulling it out of its deck locker and pushing a button.
Long ago, spacers had discovered that such emergency equipment should be secured in the decks themselves rather than walls or ceilings, as in a zero-zero drill, although a crewperson could float up to whatever out-of-the-way storage unit was being used to store the lifebubbles, sometimes, in battle, a ship would lose air pressure but not gravity, in which case that same crewperson, as they neared the end of their life, would be gasping on their knees rather than leaping up, trying to catch the handle of a storage locker. Lots of people apparently died that way before someone figured out lifebubble lockers needed to be in floors, and to this day, there were Navy captains who both drilled and fought at zero pressure and zero gravity specifically to take such variables out of the equation.
In any case, as long as you could reach a lifebubble and activate it, it would wrap itself around you like a cocoon and feed you oxygen once it self-sealed. Then it would signal damage control and tell them where you were, and the ship’s computer would determine who you were by the personal transponder either on your ID badge or bodily embedded, not that a damage control team would immediately show up to make sure you’re okay. No, they were more interested in those who didn’t report in, which in this case was 0%. The third number, in this case void, indicated the percentage of unreported who would have actually died. So, in short, everyone, the entire crew and complement, successfully made it to either a vacc suit or a lifebubble, meaning zero simulated fatalities.
“Zero percent as in zero,” I said, not that I needed it confirmed. Her use of the word void had already confirmed it. It was just that on a ship of this size with so many people...
“Flat zero.” But there was still no hint of a smile.
“Is there something specific about the drill getting your attention?” I asked.
“My apologies, sir… but… this is highly embarrassing. I did a count of the number of shipsuits being vorn. There was an increase.”
“Statisically significant margin?” I asked.
She nodded.
In other words, the crew had advance knowledge or at least suspected a drill was coming. It was Command’s responsibility to keep surprise drills an actual surprise — otherwise, what’s the point? — but word must have leaked.
“Who knew?”
“You, me, Patrice, Josefeen, Kosy, Oneri, …and Manda.”
(What does Gus think/say/do? And, by the way, thanks for posting as much as you did. Although, as you can see, I changed quite a bit of it, the ideas you brought to the table were obviously the essential component of all this, so thank you, even though I’m sure it must be frustrating for you to see me take what you write and twist it nearly beyond recognition. Feel free to comment on this, if you wish. I may be over-editing at times. It’s hard to know, as this whole campaign is an experiment.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Who knew?”
“You, me, Patrice, Josefeen, Kosy, Oneri, …and Manda.”
I sat and thought, or rather I tried to think, but my brain wasn’t cooperating. Sleep-deprived and still distracted by that dream, I pondered if perhaps I might not be the only person on this ship capable of telepathically influencing the crew. Josefeen was in a position to both know about the details and make things happen. This might be yet another test. Though, to be fair, I was probably just being paranoid. In my defense, Naval Intelligence generally had that effect on people.
Stefani, all this while, kept her gaze locked on me, but whatever she was thinking wasn’t leaking out, and I had no intention of going into her head. I’d already made her uncomfortable by staring at her a few times, so that had to stop, but so did this business of withholding information.
“Well,” I said, “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you. You’re good at keeping secrets, right?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I should have told you immediately. It’s just so… I vanted to take care of it privately.”
“Privately? This is my ship. You’re my right arm. Don’t keep secrets from me. Don’t even think about it.”
“Aye aye, sir.” A flush crept across her cheeks. “It von’t happen again.”
“So let’s walk through it, shall we? It wasn’t you, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. I was in my cabin recovering from an ill-advised MilStem cocktail.” Had I inadvertently broadcast a feeling like I should be in a shipsuit today? I didn’t think so. “Did the statistical deviation point to any specific department, or was it across the board?”
“Technical services and engineering both saw big bumps in their number of personnel wearing shipsuits.”
Which pointed to either Manda or Onneri. I had my doubts Onneri would futz a drill. He struck me being extremely tight-lipped, to the point where Asperger’s meets Autism. Likewise, as an engineer, he’d be the first to understand the necessity of accepting reality so that one could then take the necessary steps to adjust it. Manda, on the other hand, was another story altogether. She kept showing up in tangential relation to things that I was doing. The skuubi snacks, the relationship with Bim, stepping a little beyond regs to open the STT. Any one thing could be marked off as a coincidence, but put them all together…
“I don’t vant to… ah… point fingers,” Stef said, “but in the interest of not keeping secrets from you, sir, my gut tells me it vas Manda.”
This is the rest of what you wrote. Go ahead and amend it if you wish, or just copy & paste it into your next email if you want to continue along these lines:
“I don't want to take this to the step of openly investigating officers, so let’s fudge the numbers. What were the stats on the last drill before I showed up? Do a comparison on all the zero-zero drills we have on record, and see if there is any correlation to the areas the officers you mentioned are responsible for. Also, we can’t forget that the crew may just be slightly more eager to impress the new captain into going out after the ship that wounded them…” I could not miss the twist of doubt that ran across her face.
I held up my hands, “Yes I know, long outside chance and not really likely, but still…”
“In any case, fudge the number so it is not perfect, but then issue a commendation for a successful drill. Even if they knew in advance, they could still have futzed up, so it is heartening to see that the crew can work together to cheat a little. We will be more careful with the next drill.”
Jim Vassilakos
“Well,” I said, “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you. You’re good at keeping secrets, right?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I should have told you immediately. It’s just so… I vanted to take care of it privately.”
“Privately? This is my ship. You’re my right arm. Don’t keep secrets from me. Don’t even think about it.”
“Aye aye, sir.” A flush crept across her cheeks. “It von’t happen again.”
I wasn't sure how Gus would be likely to deal with this, but it seemed like something that maybe should be addressed.
Conrad Rader
“I don't want to take this to the step of openly investigating officers, so let’s fudge the numbers. Adjust up and down to even out the curve What were the stats on the last drill before I showed up? Do a comparison on all the zero-zero drills we have on record, and see if there is any correlation to the areas the officers you mentioned are responsible for. Also, we can’t forget that the crew may just be slightly more eager to impress the new captain into going out after the ship that wounded them…” I could not miss the twist of doubt that ran across her face.
I held up my hands, “Yes I know, long outside chance and not really likely, but still…”
“In any case, fudge the number so it is not perfect, but then issue a commendation for a successful drill. Even if they knew in advance, they could still have futzed up, so it is heartening to see that the crew can work together to cheat a little. We will be more careful with the next drill.”
I got back to my breakfast. The staff meeting, the doctor's visit, and more were already filling my attention span. But I also need to comm Kaz. The dream had definitely left me unsettled.
The staff meeting proceeded as these meetings do, and I saw a lot of wincing, some relieved looks, and a lot of business as everyone absorbed our new departure numbers and the shake up of the Scout detachment. Nothing else really stood out, but there were a few sidelong looks as I let Stefani run the meeting and I sat back and absorbed how these people did their jobs. People perked up a little at the commendation for the drill and glanced towards me. I let my Captain Stoneface look do it's job as if I had expected nothing less. Josafeen was also doing the quiet routine, not even poking at my curtain. The mood felt like the weary acceptance all naval spacers got, hurry up and wait, so that at least was normal. I took over the meeting after Stefani finished the reporting agenda and the highlights from the task queue that were falling behind.
"Thank you all for your contributions. I realize it has been a rather exciting couple of days, and I hope that things will settle as we continue to get ready for deployment. It is my intent to drill the fighter detachment against the ship and the gunnery division, so I expect the relevant commands to be ready. I expect at least three scheduled drills and one snapshot drill. Winner of the competition gets the first live-fire drills. If there are any questions, please queue them to my task list. Kosy, I will be down in medical in an hour for the follow up physical. As requested. Thank you all, dismissed."
The mumur of acknowledgements was a familiar sound. I was starting to feel like things were settling back to normal.
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Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“I don’t vant to… ah… point fingers,” Stef said, “but in the interest of not keeping secrets from you, sir, my gut tells me it vas Manda.”
“I don’t want to take this to the step of openly investigating officers, so let’s fudge the numbers.”
“Fudge?”
“Adjust the results. Even out the curve.”
“Sir, if I… ah… release this fudge… the affected department heads vill smell something is off. But, you know, ve don’t have to post the drill results. Ve don’t have to do anything.”
“Fine. (or not fine. Feel free to edit.) What were the stats on the last drill before I showed up?”
“Not as good as this, and ve vere in space.”
In space, crews expected to be drilled. In port, it wasn’t so common.
“Do a comparison on all the zero-zero drills we have on record, and see if there is any correlation to the areas the officers you mentioned are responsible for.”
“I’m already on it,” she said. “If there has been cheating, orchestrated or not, I vill find it.”
“I hope you don’t find any.”
“For their sake, sir, I hope I don’t either.”
“You know, we shouldn’t discount the possibility the crew might have just been overeager to impress their new captain.”
Stef tipped her head slightly to one side, appearing to weigh the idea.
I held up my hands, “I know, an outside chance, but still… I’m sure they want to get back out there and take some revenge. In any case, even assuming advance knowledge, they could have still futzed up, so it’s heartening to see them working together, even if only to cheat. We’ll be more careful with the next drill.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Nizlich said, expressionless and gazing down at her tablet.
“What’s next on the agenda?”
“The staff meeting… in thirty-eight minutes. To discuss departure scenarios as vell as trials and drills.” She paused for a moment, frowning at her own notes. “Also, you asked if any other pods in the yard are mission-ready. The answer is no, but the yard tells me they think they can have a Marine Operations pod delivered and mounted within ten veeks.”
Ten weeks? Did we just go from seven to ten?
“…subject to confirmation,” Nizlich continued after a pause. “I explained ve vant for them to expedite repairs, and they say ve need to talk directly to G.P., so ve’re trying to schedule a meeting. Also, Josefeen vants a few minutes of your time to brief you on a matter related to the Countess. Do you vant for me to stay in the room for this vun, or vould you rather I leave the two of you and… uh… concentrate on repairs?”
Conrad Rader
“I don’t vant to… ah… point fingers,” Stef said, “but in the interest of not keeping secrets from you, sir, my gut tells me it vas Manda.”
“I don’t want to take this to the step of openly investigating officers, so let’s fudge the numbers.”
“Fudge?”
“Adjust the results. Even out the curve.”
“Sir, if I… ah… release this fudge… the affected department heads vill smell something is off. But, you know, ve don’t have to post the drill results. Ve don’t have to do anything.”
“Fine. [[I'll leave this in your hands.]] What were the stats on the last drill before I showed up?”
“Not as good as this, and ve vere in space.”
In space, crews expected to be drilled. In port, it wasn’t so common.
“Do a comparison on all the zero-zero drills we have on record, and see if there is any correlation to the areas the officers you mentioned are responsible for.”
“I’m already on it,” she said. “If there has been cheating, orchestrated or not, I vill find it.”
“I hope you don’t find any.”
“For their sake, sir, I hope I don’t either.”
“You know, we shouldn’t discount the possibility the crew might have just been overeager to impress their new captain.”
Stef tipped her head slightly to one side, appearing to weigh the idea.
I held up my hands, “I know, an outside chance, but still… I’m sure they want to get back out there and take some revenge. In any case, even assuming advance knowledge, they could have still futzed up, so it’s heartening to see them working together, even if only to cheat. We’ll be more careful with the next drill.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Nizlich said, expressionless and gazing down at her tablet.
“What’s next on the agenda?”
“The staff meeting… in thirty-eight minutes. To discuss departure scenarios as vell as trials and drills.” She paused for a moment, frowning at her own notes. “Also, you asked if any other pods in the yard are mission-ready. The answer is no, but the yard tells me they think they can have a Marine Operations pod delivered and mounted within ten veeks.”
Ten weeks? Did we just go from seven to ten?
“…subject to confirmation,” Nizlich continued after a pause. “I explained ve vant for them to expedite repairs, and they say ve need to talk directly to G.P., so ve’re trying to schedule a meeting. Also, Josefeen vants a few minutes of your time to brief you on a matter related to the Countess. Do you vant for me to stay in the room for this vun, or vould you rather I leave the two of you and… uh… concentrate on repairs?”
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Jim Vassilakos
“…subject to confirmation,” Nizlich continued after a pause. “I explained ve vant for them to expedite repairs, and they say ve need to talk directly to G.P., so ve’re trying to schedule a meeting.”
“My intention,” I said, “just so you know, is to only proceed with the Marine Pod if it substantially accelerates our departure schedule. The Exploration Pod is the right choice for a border patrol, but Bim was getting too many ideas above his position." At this, Stef’s eyes narrowed, but rather than elaborate, I decided to change the subject. “See if we can plot a course to take us near a scout base where we can requisition a new staff for the pod. We will make do until then.”
“Aye aye, sir. Also, Josefeen vants a few minutes of your time to brief you on a matter related to the Countess. Do you vant for me to stay in the room, or vould you rather I leave the two of you and… um…concentrate on repairs?”
I paused, stifling the immediate urge to ask her to stay. As much as I would have liked to use her as a shield, I didn't want to risk pulling Stefani into the machinations of Naval Intelligence. I was already far enough down that path myself, and there was no reason to expose her to the professional risks and ethical compromises that would no doubt come with the territory.
“I thank you for your offer, but sometimes one needs to face the torpedoes alone. Besides, I need you able to take over without any… uh… anymore shade attached to you, as it were.” That was awfully clumsy, but I hoped she got the message. “In the meantime, have someone compile a report on the various setbacks we’ve encountered during our departure preparations. I need to send something to counter any of the narratives I am sure are already x-boating their way to Admiral Vasilyev.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Stef said, rising from the table. Her expression was tight, as if she were consciously holding back, suppressing the urge to ask follow-up questions. Shade? Narratives? I was sending her signals that there was a lot going on, a lot that I either couldn’t or didn’t want to tell her about, and despite her lack of telepathy, she seemed to sense the weight of what I was only hinting at. “I’ll send in Josefeen, and I’ll see you at the staff meeting.”
Then she departed, leaving me to ponder if emotional intelligence was itself a minor form of telepathy. Either that or Stefani had the gift of wisdom, perhaps thanks to her prayers to Frigg. Moments later, the door slid open again, and Josefeen strolled in.
“Well, hello there, Sir. I trust you thoroughly enjoyed yourself last night? I know I did.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Well, hello there, Sir. I trust you thoroughly enjoyed yourself last night? I know I did.”
“Enjoyed is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that statement.” I drew open my psychic curtain, mentally adding, «I hope you have interesting news for me, and not another humping diplomatic issue I’m expected to solve.»
“Hmm?” «…received… something about hump… don’t care… you beg.»
She must have sensed my confusion by either reading my mind or facial expression, because she reached out her hand, as though for me to take it in mine, which I did.
«What exactly did you do last night?» her voice reverberated in my mind.
(Gus’s response. You might work in the thought that now you’re in physical contact, the telepathy seems to be working much better. But there was definitely some sort of problem just a moment ago. Also, do you still want to continue with the following: “It did seriously feel that being an independent command meant everyone who was fed up with the local Navy felt free to complain to me about the situation. You are all Navy, right? Civilians and nobles alike spent so little time thinking about the constraints that protected them from the full use of our power and authority.”)?
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
«What exactly did you do last night?» her voice reverberated in my mind, no lost words this time. She’d mentioned before that touch was the best route for establishing a deep connection.1 There was a reason, something to do with auric synchronization triggering neural entanglements.
She blew a puff of psychic ether into what felt like my telepathic eye, pushing me out of the memory of her school days on Iderati.2 Now it was apparently her turn to come into my mind, and as I reached for my psi-curtain, she put her other hand against the side of my face. «Don’t close up. Let me look at you. There’s something off about your aura.» And then she looked, thumbing backward through my most recent memories. There was the briefing from Nizlich, which was mostly about the zero-zero drill and Stefani’s interpretation of its results, then there was Sidara’s unavoidably abridged report to Faulk, then dressing, urinating, and getting out of bed, then that disconcerting dream with Kaz getting yelled at by her mother.
Communicating telepathically was much faster than doing so verbally. Without this mind-to-mind connection, I’d have had to talk through each event, giving her a verbal recap and answering questions, but instead she could flip through each memory image, looking at it as though one might admire a painting or a piece of sculpture, although each had potentially much greater depth. One added benefit was that the thoughts and emotions were interwoven, almost like a subchannel giving everything a layer of context. Helpful, certainly, though I was rather glad I didn’t have to report this way to any admirals. Indeed, it felt weird communicating this way to anyone. But at the same time, in a strange way, it felt somehow natural, even liberating. After all, I was effectively getting to complain to someone about all the stuff that everyone complained to me about.
She’d paused on my dream about Stallion, which was not just about him but appeared to take place from within him, as though from behind his eyes. There was even the taste of his drink in my mouth. Rather than continuing to my walk with Nizlich, she slid directly into my memory of the Phoenix Nest, watching me snag Stallion’s drink and watching also as I slammed my own, the Milstim-Q36, all because I’d asked the bartender, Rage, for a kick-me-up.3
«So on top of the Darrian psi-enhancer, you splashed a military-grade stimulant and then some mystery drink you stole from this fighter jock you’d just met.» Josefeen sighed, lowering the hand that had been on my cheek.
(Any stray thought from Gus?)
«You’re hungover, Gus. For future reference, mixing psi-drugs with recreational pharmaceuticals probably isn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever hand, although, to be fair, I’ve known clairvoyants to try all sorts of experiments, and I’m curious to know if your dream was… uh… reflective of reality. You might want to see if you can find out, not that I’m encouraging extracurricular activities on your part, but if you are clairvoyant, it would be good to know. Trust, however, that this time I won’t be letting you out of my sight.»
(Any other stray thought/retort?)
«As for the primary reason our telepathic link isn’t quite as strong as before, it’s because the psi-enhancer we took yesterday has finally worn off. And no, before you even think it, you can’t have more. Not right now. Your brain needs rest.»
«Rest? I have to be at a staff meeting.»
«You poor thing.»
«Wait. Before you let go, what were you saying before about begging?»
Josefeen just looked at me for a moment but then threw her head back and laughed, her hand squeezing mine as the door opened. Lt. Sidara walked in. Of course, we immediately let go of each others’ hands, Josefeen’s awkwardly cutting her laughter short.
“Sir… uh… sorry for the intrusion,” Sidara said. “I just got word from Mr. Faulk. It’s about the High Court. We’ve got a virtual preliminary hearing in one hour.”
1See page 104 of E&A #1 or page 293 of the consolidated write-up.
2See the 5th page of Chapter 39 in A&E #587 or page 247 of the consolidated write-up.
3See Chapter 55.
PS: Regarding the Independent Command bit, I'll hold onto it and see if it can be worked in later.
Jim Vassilakos
Conrad Rader
«What exactly did you do last night?» her voice reverberated in my mind, no lost words this time. She’d mentioned before that touch was the best route for establishing a deep connection.1 There was a reason, something to do with auric synchronization triggering neural entanglements.
She blew a puff of psychic ether into what felt like my telepathic eye, pushing me out of the memory of her school days on Iderati.2 Now it was apparently her turn to come into my mind, and as I reached for my psi-curtain, she put her other hand against the side of my face. «Don’t close up. Let me look at you. There’s something off about your aura.» And then she looked, thumbing backward through my most recent memories. There was the briefing from Nizlich, which was mostly about the zero-zero drill and Stefani’s interpretation of its results, then there was Sidara’s unavoidably abridged report to Faulk, then dressing, urinating, and getting out of bed, then that disconcerting dream with Kaz getting yelled at by her mother.
Communicating telepathically was much faster than doing so verbally. Without this mind-to-mind connection, I’d have had to talk through each event, giving her a verbal recap and answering questions, but instead she could flip through each memory image, looking at it as though one might admire a painting or a piece of sculpture, although each had potentially much greater depth. One added benefit was that the thoughts and emotions were interwoven, almost like a subchannel giving everything a layer of context. Helpful, certainly, though I was rather glad I didn’t have to report this way to any admirals. Indeed, it felt weird communicating this way to anyone. But at the same time, in a strange way, it felt somehow natural, even liberating. After all, I was effectively getting to complain to someone about all the stuff that everyone complained to me about.
She’d paused on my dream about Stallion, which was not just about him but appeared to take place from within him, as though from behind his eyes. There was even the taste of his drink in my mouth. Rather than continuing to my walk with Nizlich, she slid directly into my memory of the Phoenix Nest, watching me snag Stallion’s drink and watching also as I slammed my own, the Milstim-Q36, all because I’d asked the bartender, Rage, for a kick-me-up.3
«So on top of the Darrian psi-enhancer, you splashed a military-grade stimulant and then some mystery drink you stole from this fighter jock you’d just met.» Josefeen sighed, lowering the hand that had been on my cheek.
«You’re hungover, Gus. For future reference, mixing psi-drugs with recreational pharmaceuticals probably isn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever hand, although, to be fair, I’ve known clairvoyants to try all sorts of experiments, and I’m curious to know if your dream was… uh… reflective of reality. You might want to see if you can find out, not that I’m encouraging extracurricular activities on your part, but if you are clairvoyant, it would be good to know. Trust, however, that this time I won’t be letting you out of my sight.»
«As for the primary reason our telepathic link isn’t quite as strong as before, it’s because the psi-enhancer we took yesterday has finally worn off. And no, before you even think it, you can’t have more. Not right now. Your brain needs rest.»
«Rest? I have to be at a staff meeting.»
«You poor thing.»
«Wait. Before you let go, what were you saying before about begging?»
Josefeen just looked at me for a moment but then threw her head back and laughed, her hand squeezing mine as the door opened. Lt. Sidara walked in. Of course, we immediately let go of each others’ hands, Josefeen’s awkwardly cutting her laughter short.
“Sir… uh… sorry for the intrusion,” Sidara said. “I just got word from Mr. Faulk. It’s about the High Court. We’ve got a virtual preliminary hearing in one hour.”
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Conrad Rader
Just put together a new version of the consolidated writeup. You can get it from https://jimvassilakos.com/dos-programs/plank.html
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Jim Vassilakos
«So on top of the Darrian psi-enhancer, you splashed a military-grade stimulant and then some mystery drink you stole from this fighter jock you’d just met.» Josefeen sighed, lowering the hand that had been on my cheek.
«When you put it that way, it does sound… not great.»
Visiting the Phoenix Nest had brought back memories of squadron life. Living and working and potentially loving and dying in such close proximity created incredibly tight camaraderie. It was something I missed. But that desire was now overshadowed by the responsibility of command.
«You got that right,» Josefeen sent with a smirk.
«Huh?»
«You’re hungover, Gus. For future reference, mixing psi-drugs with recreational pharmaceuticals probably isn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever hand, although, to be fair, I’ve known clairvoyants to try all sorts of experiments, and I’m curious to know if your dream was… uh… reflective of reality. You might want to see if you can find out, not that I’m encouraging extracurricular activities on your part, but if you are clairvoyant, it would be good to know. Trust, however, that this time I won’t be letting you out of my sight.»
Ugh! Not another psionic ability. Telepathy by itself was already overwhelming. I was just starting to get a handle on the on/off switch of psychic shielding, and now I might be clairvoyant as well? Add to that being an influencer or whatever the mekcac1 it was called.
«Manipulator,» Josephine clarified.
«If I’m clairvoyant, aren’t you the one that won’t be out of my sight?»
«The intel pod is telepathically shielded, so no… if you see me in your subconscious, most likely I’ll be there for a reason.»
Something about the way she looked at me reminded me of how she’d infiltrated my mind as a succubus.2 She hadn’t done it since, so far as I knew, but her intimation was that she could if she wished.
«The primary reason our telepathic link isn’t quite as strong as before,» she continued, «is because the psi-enhancer we took yesterday has finally worn off. And no, before you even think it, you can’t have more. Not right now. Your brain needs rest.»
«Rest? I have to be at a staff meeting.»
«You poor thing.»
«Wait. Before you let go, what were you saying before about begging?»
Josefeen just looked at me for a moment but then threw her head back and laughed, her hand squeezing mine as the door opened. Lt. Sidara walked in. Of course, we immediately let go of each others’ hands, Josefeen’s awkwardly cutting her laughter short.
“Sir… uh… sorry for the intrusion,” Sidara said. “I just got word from Mr. Faulk. It’s about the High Court. We’ve got a virtual preliminary hearing in one hour.”
“It’s always something,” I said. “Jackie, record message to Commander Nizlich: I am sorry, but the High Court is requesting my virtual presence in an hour. Fast track the staff meeting to ASAP, and I will deal with the top issues before I have to leave. Jackie, send message. Lt. Sidara, did Mr. Faulk send along any presentation notes, what I should be wearing or what I should be prepared to answer?”
“He said all you have to do is show up and let him do the talking.”
“Have you checked with comms to ensure we can interface with the High Court system?”
“It’s an Imperial Court, so I don’t think there will be a problem, but I’ll verify it through comms. sir.”
“Good. Also, can I do this from my quarters or do we need to use a secured room?”
“There’s a secure VR interface on the command bridge.”
The Jaqueline had three bridges, a fact that had surprised me when I’d first studied the deckplans. Most ships of this size had two, a main bridge at the bow and an auxiliary bridge, sometimes called the engineering bridge, near the stern. However, in addition to these, the Jaqueline also had a command bridge, sometimes called a flag bridge, which was situated just starboard of the forward end of the STT, its purpose ostensibly for task force coordination.
But here was the problem. The INS Jaqueline wasn’t a dreadnought. It wasn’t even a battleship. It was a cruiser, a fairly large, multi-role cruiser, but a cruiser nonetheless, and while we might coordinate with destroyers or system defense boats, we weren’t the sort of ship where a commodore was likely to set up his or her base of operations unless there was simply nothing better. Of course, during the war that was a real possibility. Dreadnoughts learned there were ships and situations worthy of dread. But in peacetime, command bridges were essentially a second backup bridge, full of all sorts of expensive equipment and taking valuable deck space, but mostly just sitting vacant outside of the occasional training simulation.
“Command bridge, huh? Come get me before I need to be there. I’ll be in a staff meeting.”
“Where?” Sidara asked.
I had no idea. I turned to Josefeen.
“The large conference room,” Josefeen told her. “The one next to the theater.”
Sidara nodded and then left, and Josefeen turned to me with one eyebrow arched.
“When you want your private intel briefing, Sir, you can let me know. Maybe we should schedule a date?”
(Gus’s response.)
* * * (this may end up being a chapter break)
I followed Josefeen to the large conference room, which turned out to be a surprisingly short walk. Several ratings were already there, setting up a large conference table, and, of course, they came to attention as soon as we entered, but I told them to carry on. Josefeen, catching my eye, motioned me to follow her into the next room, which turned out to be the theater she'd mentioned. During my tour of the ship, Nizlich had mentioned the were two theaters, and since it was “Old Movies Week”, one was playing Once Upon a Time on Proxima Centauri D and the other The Neptune Chainsaw Massacre.3
At the moment, however, the theater was vacant, and once we were inside, Josefeen offered me her hand again, but then Nizlich’s sharp voice carried it from the conference room. She must have just arrived.
“Double time it,” she ordered. “The meeting vill start early. Has anyone seen the Captain?”
“In there.”
“Oh?” A few seconds later she was at the theater’s door, looking in.
(Basically, does Gus want to go back into the conference room and wait for people to arrive, or does he want to stay in the theater with Josefeen and have Nizlich inform him when everyone has assembled? Or you could have him take some other course of action.)
1Conrad proposed “mekcac” as a new swear word, and I decided to allow it without modification. After all, not every bad word can be Cleon-based.
2See the beginning of Chapter 32 in A&E #580 or page 199 in the consolidated write-up.
Conrad Rader
* * * (this may end up being a chapter break)
I followed Josefeen to the large conference room, which turned out to be a surprisingly short walk. Several ratings were already there, setting up a large conference table, and, of course, they came to attention as soon as we entered, but I told them to carry on. Josefeen, catching my eye, motioned me to follow her into the next room, which turned out to be the theater she'd mentioned. During my tour of the ship, Nizlich had mentioned the were two theaters, and since it was “Old Movies Week”, one was playing Once Upon a Time on Proxima Centauri D and the other The Neptune Chainsaw Massacre.3
At the moment, however, the theater was vacant, and once we were inside, Josefeen offered me her hand again, but then Nizlich’s sharp voice carried it from the conference room. She must have just arrived.
“Double time it,” she ordered. “The meeting vill start early. Has anyone seen the Captain?”
“In there.”
“Oh?” A few seconds later she was at the theater’s door, looking in.
(Basically, does Gus want to go back into the conference room and wait for people to arrive, or does he want to stay in the theater with Josefeen and have Nizlich inform him when everyone has assembled? Or you could have him take some other course of action.)
1Conrad proposed “mekcac” as a new swear word, and I decided to allow it without modification. After all, not every bad word can be Cleon-based.
2See the beginning of Chapter 32 in A&E #580 or page 199 in the consolidated write-up.
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Jim Vassilakos
“Double time it,” she ordered. “The meeting vill start early. Has anyone seen the Captain?”
“In there.”
“Oh?” A few seconds later she was at the theater’s door, looking in.
“We’ll be with you momentarily,” I said, then turned back to Josefeen, eyeing her. «Can you please stop creating moments of innuendo? I have enough on this ship to worry about.» Unsure how much of that she caught, I verbally added, “Was there something else Lieutenant? If not, we have a staff meeting to attend.”
«Innuendo?» Josefeen frowned. “My report can wait, sir.”
Obviously, she’d been hoping to squeeze it in before the staff meeting, but if what she’d had to tell me was brief, she could have just blurted it out, telepathically or otherwise, which meant that it wasn’t, and I didn’t want to create the appearance of having any sort of particularly close relationship with my intel liaison. Sidara catching us “holding hands” was bad enough. At some point, if this were to continue, people would start talking.
(Let me know if you want to add anything to Gus’s reasoning and/or worries.)
We returned to the conference room and watched the deckhands finish setting up the table as my top officers began to arrive. First was Dr. Willin.
(Care to say anything to her?)
Next in was Lt. Cmdr. Furtle, our CWO (Chief Weapons Officer). She acknowledged me with a curt nod.
(Have Gus greet her if you wish, or don’t if you don’t wish.)
Next was Lt. Cmdr. Wang, Fighter Pod Commander.
(You can say something to her as well, but around this point, you’ll probably all be taking your seats. The table is basically three retangular tables lined up end-to-end, creating room for a chair at either end and twelve chairs along the sides. As the captain, Gus should probably sit at one end, but that’s up to him. People are still arriving. Next will be Martinsen, then the Senior Master Chief, then Bonventure, the operations officer, then Gani (forward comms), then Manda (technical services), then Briggs (chaplain)… speaking of which…)
“Should we wait for everyone to arrive before I open the meeting with an invocation?”
(After Briggs is the head of the flight divisions, a young man who’s name Gus can’t remember, and finally Major Fa’Linto. How does Gus want to start the meeting? Or would he prefer to leave it to Nizlich to start/conduct the meeting? And let me know if he allows Briggs to do an invocation.)
Conrad Rader
Ah... committees and personnel issues. And here Gus is about to have a staff meeting. Sorry if fiction is following reality a little too closely.
“Double time it,” she ordered. “The meeting vill start early. Has anyone seen the Captain?”
“In there.”
“Oh?” A few seconds later she was at the theater’s door, looking in.
“We’ll be with you momentarily,” I said, then turned back to Josefeen, eyeing her. «Can you please stop creating moments of innuendo? I have enough on this ship to worry about.» Unsure how much of that she caught, I verbally added, “Was there something else Lieutenant? If not, we have a staff meeting to attend.”
«Innuendo?» Josefeen frowned. “My report can wait, sir.”
Obviously, she’d been hoping to squeeze it in before the staff meeting, but if what she’d had to tell me was brief, she could have just blurted it out, telepathically or otherwise, which meant that it wasn’t, and I didn’t want to create the appearance of having any sort of particularly close relationship with my intel liaison.[[Well, any more of an appearance in any case.]] Sidara catching us “holding hands” was bad enough. At some point, if this were to continue, people would start talking.
(Let me know if you want to add anything to Gus’s reasoning and/or worries.)
We returned to the conference room and watched the deckhands finish setting up the table as my top officers began to arrive. First was Dr. Willin.
(Care to say anything to her?)
Next in was Lt. Cmdr. Furtle, our CWO (Chief Weapons Officer). She acknowledged me with a curt nod.
(Have Gus greet her if you wish, or don’t if you don’t wish.)
Next was Lt. Cmdr. Wang, Fighter Pod Commander.
(You can say something to her as well, but around this point, you’ll probably all be taking your seats. The table is basically three retangular tables lined up end-to-end, creating room for a chair at either end and twelve chairs along the sides. As the captain, Gus should probably sit at one end, but that’s up to him. People are still arriving. Next will be Martinsen, then the Senior Master Chief, then Bonventure, the operations officer, then Gani (forward comms), then Manda (technical services), then Briggs (chaplain)… speaking of which…)
“Should we wait for everyone to arrive before I open the meeting with an invocation?”
(After Briggs is the head of the flight divisions, a young man who’s name Gus can’t remember, and finally Major Fa’Linto. How does Gus want to start the meeting? Or would he prefer to leave it to Nizlich to start/conduct the meeting? And let me know if he allows Briggs to do an invocation.)
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Jim Vassilakos
First was Dr. Willin. I nodded to her.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” I said. “I haven’t forgotten the physical, but it might need to be pushed a little later in the day.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Whenever you can fit it in. Good morning, Commander.”
She headed toward Commander Nizlich, Josefeen glancing in my direction while slowly circling the tables, apparently trying to decide where to sit. The deckhands had lined up three rectangular tables end-to-end, placing chairs at either end and twelve more along the sides.
I moved to snag a chair along the middle of the side facing the door. I'd never liked sitting at the head of the table. Too many others used it to prop up their authority. I always preferred being in the middle of my groups. They all knew I was the captain. I knew I was the captain. I didn’t need a spot at the table to reinforce it. Of course, I took it for formal occasions, but this was not that. I motioned to Stefani to sit opposite and waited to see how things shook out. I had a feeling about department relations, but I wanted to see how they arranged themselves.
Unsurprisingly, Dr. Willin sat down beside Stef, and Josefeen sat next to me, directly across from Kosy.
“What’s this about a physical?” Josefeen asked.
(Does Gus care to respond?)
Next in was Lt. Cmdr. Furtle, our CWO. She acknowledged me with a curt nod and sat next to Dr. Willin, and then came Lt. Cmdr. Wang, the Fighter Pod Commander, who parked herself next to me while saying good morning to everyone.
“Sir, I hope the party met with your approval.”
(response.)
“And what about the percussion?”
(response.)
“By the way, I don’t know if you’re interested, but we’re going to be doing training exercises with the new pilots, and… well, one of my squadron commanders suggested I invite you to take part.”
(response.)
Conrad Rader
First was Dr. Willin. I nodded to her.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” I said. “I haven’t forgotten the physical, but it might need to be pushed a little later in the day.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Whenever you can fit it in. Good morning, Commander.”
She headed toward Commander Nizlich, Josefeen glancing in my direction while slowly circling the tables, apparently trying to decide where to sit. The deckhands had lined up three rectangular tables end-to-end, placing chairs at either end and twelve more along the sides.
I moved to snag a chair along the middle of the side facing the door. I'd never liked sitting at the head of the table. Too many others used it to prop up their authority. I always preferred being in the middle of my groups. They all knew I was the captain. I knew I was the captain. I didn’t need a spot at the table to reinforce it. Of course, I took it for formal occasions, but this was not that. I motioned to Stefani to sit opposite and waited to see how things shook out. I had a feeling about department relations, but I wanted to see how they arranged themselves.
Unsurprisingly, Dr. Willin sat down beside Stef, and Josefeen sat next to me, directly across from Kosy.
“What’s this about a physical?” Josefeen asked.
Next in was Lt. Cmdr. Furtle, our CWO. She acknowledged me with a curt nod and sat next to Dr. Willin, and then came Lt. Cmdr. Wang, the Fighter Pod Commander, who parked herself next to me while saying good morning to everyone.
“Sir, I hope the party met with your approval.”
“And what about the percussion?"
Ah. Here it comes. The percussion was the first rule bending I had seen out of Wang, and they knew I knew that it was an unorthodox maneuver. I briefly wondered if the party was to buy me off on the percussion. That seemed a little too pointed for a fighter pilot, but they did keep Stallion in the squadron, so.... maybe I was giving too much credit?
"Our incidentals fund is somewhat depleted from citizen complaints, but I think everyone got the message. Well done." Well, that was that, I had officially endorsed the percussion maneuver, and given my wing commander permission to continue with unorthodox methods. If anyone suspected me of being easy on the fighter jocks, this would be their first indictment. I looked down to my tablet and made a private note to update my personal log with backdated data and musings about giving permission to impress upon the local government the nature of the the Navy's defense. Showing the flag and baring the teeth was rarely censured, and the evidence around my person's attack would seem to be plenty of justification. I would need to find a way to placate Fa'Linto above and beyond letting them beat me up in the gym. Maybe I would request space for a live fire extraction training mission from the Countess. Could I get away with having the Marines abduct the security guards?
“By the way, I don’t know if you’re interested, but we’re going to be doing training exercises with the new pilots, and… well, one of my squadron commanders suggested I invite you to take part.”
Oh, that sounded interesting, although I assumed Spooky just wanted a chance to size me up and score a couple off of me , so she could make all her rusty jokes.
"That's a tempting offer. How about we see how these new pilots shake out before we scare them by having them fly in formation on the Old Man. I will keep it in mind."
I looked up to take in all the people at the table. Enough chitter chat, time to get to work.
"Thank you all for coming so promptly. We are on a time crunch, so skip the status reports and only captain decision priority items please. Lt Cmdr Furtle, please begin.
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Jim Vassilakos
“What’s this about a physical?” Josefeen asked.
I shrugged. “Navy doctors seem to think that captains are incapable of self-diagnosis after violence has been committed upon them. Naturally, they wish to ensure that the Navy’s investment in their captains remains well protected.” I smiled across the table. “A fair point to the bean counters and risk assessors. Dr. Willin simply reminded me of the regs associated with after-action clearance.”
“He lost consciousness,” Kosy said. “I thought we’d do a neurological scan to make sure he’s okay.”
“A neuroscan?” Josefeen frowned.
Lt. Cmdr. Furtle, our CWO, entered the room, acknowledging me with a curt nod as she sat next to Dr. Willin, and then came Lt. Cmdr. Lydia Wang, the Fighter Pod Commander, who parked herself next to me while saying good morning to everyone.
“Sir, I hope the party met with your approval.”
“It was memorable. Thank you for the effort.”
They talked about the party as others entered and sat down: Martinsen, our chief engineer, then Bonventure, the operations officer, then Gani, chief of Forward Comms, then Manda, head of technical services. Pretty soon there were multiple conversations happening at once, at which point Lydia turned to me and asked, “And what about the percussion?”
Ah. Here it comes. The percussion was the first rule bending I had seen out of Wang, and they all knew that I knew that it was an unorthodox maneuver. I briefly wondered if the party was to buy me off on the percussion. That seemed a little too pointed for a fighter pilot, but they did keep Stallion in the squadron, so… maybe I was giving too much credit?
“Our incidentals fund is somewhat depleted from citizen complaints, but I think everyone got the message. Well done.”
Well, that was that. I had officially endorsed the percussion maneuver and thereby given my wing commander implicit permission to continue with unorthodox methods. If anyone suspected me of being easy on the fighter jocks, this would be their first indictment. I looked down to my tablet and made a private note to update my personal log with my intention to impress upon the local government the nature of the Navy’s defense. Showing the flag and baring the teeth was rarely censured, and the evidence around my person’s attack would seem to be plenty of justification. I would need to find a way to placate Fa’Linto above and beyond letting them beat me up in the gym. Maybe I would request space for a live fire extraction training mission from the Countess. Could I get away with having the Marines abduct the security guards?
“By the way,” Lydia said, “I don’t know if you’re interested, but we’re going to be doing training exercises with the new pilots, and… well, one of my squadron commanders suggested I invite you to take part.”
Oh, that sounded interesting, although I assumed Spooky just wanted a chance to size me up and score a couple off of me so she could make all her rusty jokes. Then I remembered the dream of Stallion, of being in his head. If he’s in here drinking with us, it means he wants to fly.
“I can see you’re tempted,” Lydia said, no doubt studying my expression.
“It’s a tempting offer,” I admitted. “How about we see how these new pilots shake out before we scare them by having them fly in formation on the Old Man. I will keep it in mind.”
By this point, Elen, the Senior Master Chief, had already entered the room, and surveying the remaining seating possibilities, chose a seat next to Lt Cmdr Furtle. Next in was Briggs, our Chaplain.
“Good morning, everyone, and a blessed morning it is,” he said, walking through the door. “Captain, should we wait for everyone to arrive before I open the meeting with an invocation?”
“We will pass on the invocation today, Briggs. I am on a deadline.”
“Oh…”
I looked up to take in all the people at the table. Enough chit-chat. It was time to get to work.
“Thank you for assembling on short notice,” I said as a young lieutenant entered the room. He was head of the fight division, but I couldn’t remember his name. “We are on a time crunch, so skip the status reports. Critical updates and decision items only. I will be resuming my individual department tours and meeting with you all individually, so you can save the long-term stuff for then. Who wants to start?”
“I will,” a deep voice said from the doorway. It was Major Fa’Linto. “Sorry if I'm late,” he said, taking the last remaining seat.
“No, you’re just in time,” Nizlich replied.
“Good,” he said with a nod. “Sir, I recently heard some scuttlebutt about Mr. Marshall, who I see is not here with us today. Was he dismissed, and if so, what are your intentions with respect to the ongoing replacement of the Exploration Pod?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Mister Marshall has been dismissed from the ship’s company for overextending his authority and failing in regards to activities assigned to him by me. The current delay in launching is due to his actions in replacing the Exploration Pod. I have entertained various other options but most of them will compound the error and delays made by Mr. Marshall, so we are proceeding with the current installation as the best of worst options. I will note Major, that was neither a critical update from the Marine contingent, nor an issue from you requiring my decision. I meant what I said….”
“Sir, the reason I asked was that if you are open to pod replacement alternatives, we could procure an Orbital Assault Pod at Efate. This would make our fighting force more nimble, more formidable, and it would allow us to clear and secure landing zones in hostile territory, which would, in all likelihood, save Marine lives, sir.”
Conrad Rader
“Mister Marshall has been dismissed from the ship’s company for overextending his authority and failing in regards to activities assigned to him by me. The current delay in launching is due to his actions in replacing the Exploration Pod. I have entertained various other options but most of them will compound the error and delays made by Mr. Marshall, so we are proceeding with the current installation as the best of worst options. I will note Major, that was neither a critical update from the Marine contingent, nor an issue from you requiring my decision. I meant what I said….”
“Sir, the reason I asked was that if you are open to pod replacement alternatives, we could procure an Orbital Assault Pod at Efate. This would make our fighting force more nimble, more formidable, and it would allow us to clear and secure landing zones in hostile territory, which would, in all likelihood, save Marine lives, sir.”
--
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Jim Vassilakos
“I remain open to all possibilities,” I said. “Forward the details to Commander Nizlich, and we will do an analysis. Certainly, a more proactive strategy. Thank you, Major. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Who’s next?” I looked one seat to the Major’s right. “Senior Chief?”
“Nothing that needs your immediate attention, sir.”
Lt. Furtle and Dr. Willin demurred as well, but when I got to Nizlich, she said, “Sir, ve just received an invitation from General Products to meet them tomorrow regarding our request they expedite their timetable. Should I confirm and make the necessary arrangements?”
(Gus’s response.)
Next was the young lieutenant who’s name I couldn’t remember. He shook his head, coughing softly into his fist, and so I continued around past Briggs to Bonventure and then to Martinsen.
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new pod is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, we should still be able to maintain a bubble, but it would be prudent to attach a fuel pod, even if it’s only temporary.”
(Any follow-up from Gus?)
Next was Lydia. “No emergencies, sir. But tomorrow we’re taking delivery of our replacement fighters, and if we’re staying in port, I’d like to initiate practical drills between the squadrons and gunnery.”
(Gus’s reply.)
I turned to Josefeen, who turned to Gani on her right, who turned to Manda, who looked at all three of us and, indeed, the entire table, like a K’kree caught in the headlights.
“Ah… no, I’m fine,” she said, the tip of her tail betraying a whiff of nervous energy. “I just need to know about my budget request and how long we’ll be in port, but as far as tech-serv is concerned, we can be ready to leave as soon as you like.”
(Does Gus say anything else to the crew?)
Lt. Sidara appeared at the door, tablet in hand.
(I'm going to be gone for about a week, so no hurry on the response, in case you're still busy on your end.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
[My apologies. We need to go back in time just a little bit, because I f'ed up. Apologies to Timothy. We had discussed this, but I’d forgotten. Fortunately, it occurred to me just now to double-check his email on this point. It was very clear, and so I don't know how I missed it. In any case, here's the correction]
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new one is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, the pods each include sections of our grid, so if one is missing, it’ll be like there’s a huge hole in our net. We won’t be able to establish a bubble, and trying to jump could… uh… could end badly.”
(Gus’s response, if any, and I’ll try to connect to what we played out previously, if the opportunity presents itself.)
And now skipping forward...
“Ah, Lieutenant, right on time. Let’s get this over with.”
Since I didn’t actually know the way, I motioned for her to lead, and we took a right turn sandwiched evenly between four lefts, bringing us just starboard of the spinal transport tube. The Command Bridge turned out to be even nicer than I’d expected. Unsurprisingly, the layout was completely different — indeed, the room itself was was more evenly proportioned, making it easier for the commanding officer to keep track of everything that was going on — and it had a truly massive holographic display, probably double the size of the largest one on the main bridge. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should switch bridges. I could designate this one as my main bridge and rename the other the command bridge, although if ever a commodore or admiral came aboard, expecting to be ensconced in their beloved “Command Bridge,” they’d immediately figure out what I’d done and would probably not be too happy about it.
And I could easily enough imagine the rationale for the larger display. A captain only had to keep track of his ship, whereas a higher ranking flag officer would have to keep track of an entire squadron or perhaps even a fleet. It all made sense when you thought about it, although the idea of such a gloriously high-tech command perch sitting idle almost all of the time felt like the sort of profound waste only the Imperial Navy could perpetrate.
Sidara led me to the central console with the holographic display I’d been eyeing since we’d entered the room. I could use this to track our fighter squadrons in real time. It was my ship, so why not? “Sir,” she said, “before I turn you over to Mr. Faulk, have you ever been to an Imperial High Court?”
[Has he? If so, feel free to summarize and/or describe the experience, but please specify which level of court we’re talking about (baronial, marquisial, viscounty, county, or ducal). If not, no worries. It’s not mandatory.]
She pushed a button along the console’s perimeter, eliciting a disembodied voice: “Communications.”
“This is Lt. Sidara with the Captain. Have you established the secure channels?”
“Yes, sirs, the court’s on HC-1 and Mr. Faulk’s on HC-2.”
“Acknowledged,” Sidara said, then closed the line, opening up the second of the two channels Comms had mentioned. As to be expected, Bilem Faulk appeared in front of me. He was mid-stride, apparently opening the channel with his tablet despite the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of reporters.
“It is true the Imperial Navy has filed an official complaint against the Heron Public Security Service?”
Faulk ignored them. “Due to a lack of time,” he said, “I think we’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” the holographic image crackling as he walked through what looked like some sort of scanning device. “First and foremost, follow my lead in there, and if there’s something you need to ask me privately, text me on the sub-chat. Also, IHC-COJ etiquette is fairly relaxed, so you can go ahead and pull up some chairs." I momentarily panned the holograph sideways to see if Sidara was also there in virtual form, and indeed she was, the console’s camera catching her biting her lip as its rendering processor perfectly mimicked the expression on her holographic double.
“Another thing,” Faulk said, lowering his voice as he paused outside an impressive set of double doors. “I read that report you sent, and…” he cracked a grin. “My honor is satisfied, but the legal case remains. What you said at the palace was essentially perfect: civility and self-restraint coupled with a tacit and unmistakable indication of just how serious we are. Well done, Captain.”
(Gus’s reply)
“Before we go in there, is there anything else I need to know?”
(Gus’s reply)
Timothy Collinson
Sent: Thursday, June 11, 2026 6:32:38 AM
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
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Conrad Rader
[My apologies. We need to go back in time just a little bit, because I f'ed up. Apologies to Timothy. We had discussed this, but I’d forgotten. Fortunately, it occurred to me just now to double-check his email on this point. It was very clear, and so I don't know how I missed it. In any case, here's the correction]
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new one is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, the pods each include sections of our grid, so if one is missing, it’ll be like there’s a huge hole in our net. We won’t be able to establish a bubble, and trying to jump could… uh… could end badly.”
(Gus’s response, if any, and I’ll try to connect to what we played out previously, if the opportunity presents itself.)
And now skipping forward...
“Ah, Lieutenant, right on time. Let’s get this over with.”
Since I didn’t actually know the way, I motioned for her to lead, and we took a right turn sandwiched evenly between four lefts, bringing us just starboard of the spinal transport tube. The Command Bridge turned out to be even nicer than I’d expected. Unsurprisingly, the layout was completely different — indeed, the room itself was was more evenly proportioned, making it easier for the commanding officer to keep track of everything that was going on — and it had a truly massive holographic display, probably double the size of the largest one on the main bridge. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should switch bridges. I could designate this one as my main bridge and rename the other the command bridge, although if ever a commodore or admiral came aboard, expecting to be ensconced in their beloved “Command Bridge,” they’d immediately figure out what I’d done and would probably not be too happy about it.
And I could easily enough imagine the rationale for the larger display. A captain only had to keep track of his ship, whereas a higher ranking flag officer would have to keep track of an entire squadron or perhaps even a fleet. It all made sense when you thought about it, although the idea of such a gloriously high-tech command perch sitting idle almost all of the time felt like the sort of profound waste only the Imperial Navy could perpetrate.
Sidara led me to the central console with the holographic display I’d been eyeing since we’d entered the room. I could use this to track our fighter squadrons in real time. It was my ship, so why not? “Sir,” she said, “before I turn you over to Mr. Faulk, have you ever been to an Imperial High Court?”
[Has he? If so, feel free to summarize and/or describe the experience, but please specify which level of court we’re talking about (baronial, marquisial, viscounty, county, or ducal). If not, no worries. It’s not mandatory.]
She pushed a button along the console’s perimeter, eliciting a disembodied voice: “Communications.”
“This is Lt. Sidara with the Captain. Have you established the secure channels?”
“Yes, sirs, the court’s on HC-1 and Mr. Faulk’s on HC-2.”
“Acknowledged,” Sidara said, then closed the line, opening up the second of the two channels Comms had mentioned. As to be expected, Bilem Faulk appeared in front of me. He was mid-stride, apparently opening the channel with his tablet despite the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of reporters.
“It is true the Imperial Navy has filed an official complaint against the Heron Public Security Service?”
Faulk ignored them. “Due to a lack of time,” he said, “I think we’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” the holographic image crackling as he walked through what looked like some sort of scanning device. “First and foremost, follow my lead in there, and if there’s something you need to ask me privately, text me on the sub-chat. Also, IHC-COJ etiquette is fairly relaxed, so you can go ahead and pull up some chairs." I momentarily panned the holograph sideways to see if Sidara was also there in virtual form, and indeed she was, the console’s camera catching her biting her lip as its rendering processor perfectly mimicked the expression on her holographic double.
“Another thing,” Faulk said, lowering his voice as he paused outside an impressive set of double doors. “I read that report you sent, and…” he cracked a grin. “My honor is satisfied, but the legal case remains. What you said at the palace was essentially perfect: civility and self-restraint coupled with a tacit and unmistakable indication of just how serious we are. Well done, Captain.”
(Gus’s reply)
“Before we go in there, is there anything else I need to know?”
----
(Gus’s reply)
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Timothy Collinson
Sent: Thursday, June 11, 2026 4:26:28 PM
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
Jim Vassilakos
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new one is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, the pods each include sections of our grid, so if one is missing, it’ll be like there’s a huge hole in our net. We won’t be able to establish a coherent bubble, and trying to jump could… uh… could end badly.”
His warning put a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “As the recent survivor of a misjump, I read you loud and clear. If we lose a pod, do we have enough supplies to cover the grid gap?”
“You mean in the field?”
“Yes.”
Onneri frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “Strictly speaking, we don’t have enough spare panels, but if we could scavenge them from the lost pod, as well as other materials we’d need to reconstruct the underlying frame… uh… it would be very hard but not necessarily impossible.”
“How long are we talking?”
“That would depend on the condition of the damaged pod.”
“How long would it take if we had to scavenge from our Exploration Pod?”
Onneri frowned some more and even made a Hmmm noise. “I’d need to study that and get back to you.”
“Do that. And let me know if we’d need to requisition additional supplies while we’re still in port. Also, I’d like the flight crew to run simulations for maneuvering with a missing pod. Incidentally, is there any way to jettison pods in an emergency?”
“No,” Onneri said, shaking his head. “Once properly installed, they become an integral component of the ship’s structure.”
“And what if they’re improperly installed?”
“If you take the Jaqueline to full thrust, any improperly installed pod will likely rip right off its mounts.”
(Pausing here to see if there’s any more questions for anything else Gus wants to add.)
And skipping forward...
Sidara led me to the central console with the holographic display I’d been eyeing since we’d entered the room. I could use this to track our fighter squadrons in real time. It was my ship, so why not? “Sir,” she said, “before I turn you over to Mr. Faulk, have you ever been to an Imperial High Court?”
“No, but I’ve been to noble courts.”
“Then I assume you’re familiar with reverentia?”
“Yes, of course.” I nodded.
It was the most common of the forms, the first most people learned if they learned any. Indeed, it was the one I’d decided to use when I’d been presented to the Ducal Court at Rhylanor after the war to receive honors. This was the court of Duke Leonard, not the high court of his magistrates, and I hadn’t had to do much beyond standing at attention and then stepping forward to be acknowledged. I was among three hundred other honors recipients, and everyone else was using it, so I fell in line rather than trying to strut my stuff.
I’d learned it while preparing to serve as a page in the court of Lord Roderick. It was there I’d mastered numerous forms, the dance as it was sometimes called, and I’d practiced reverentia relentlessly. It was my way of showing I was just as good as the sons of nobility who’d been drilled in it from the time they could walk.
Of course, a noble’s court and a high court were two different things. The former dealt with ceremony and, quite often, actual governance, while the latter dealt strictly with judicial matters, but it was good to know what form to use.
She pushed a button along the console’s perimeter, eliciting a disembodied voice: “Communications.”
“This is Lt. Sidara with the Captain. Have you established the secure channels?”
“Yes, sirs, the court’s on HC-1 and Mr. Faulk’s on HC-2.”
“Acknowledged,” Sidara said, then closed the line, opening up the second of the two channels Comms had mentioned. As to be expected, Bilem Faulk appeared in front of me. He was mid-stride, apparently opening the channel with his tablet despite the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of reporters.
“Is it true the Imperial Navy has filed an official complaint against the Heron Public Security Service?”
Faulk ignored them. “Due to a lack of time,” he said, “I think we’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” the holographic image crackling as he walked through what looked like some sort of scanning device, guards preventing the reporters from following. “First and foremost, follow my lead in there, and if there’s something you need to ask me privately, text me on the sub-chat. Also, IHC-COJ etiquette is fairly relaxed, so you can go ahead and pull up some chairs.” I momentarily panned the holograph sideways to see if Sidara was also there in virtual form, and indeed she was, the console’s camera catching her biting her lip as its rendering processor perfectly mimicked the expression on her holographic double.
As she went to fetch some chairs, Faulk cracked a grin.
“Another thing,” he said, lowering his voice as he paused outside an impressive set of double doors. “I read that report you sent, and…” he chuckled for a moment. “My honor is satisfied, but the legal case remains. What you said at the palace was essentially perfect: civility and self-restraint coupled with an unmistakable indication of just how serious we are. Well done, Captain.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Faulk, and I am in your hands. I would like a successful resolution to this issue, and I would be amenable to a settlement if it is not too onerous or puts the Navy in a dim light. But I want the message sent that the Navy takes a strong position on the physical infringement of our persons.”
“Understood,” he said, no longer smiling. “Before we go in there, is there anything else I need to know?”
Like my telepathic kerfuffle with the Countess? Or that I was a recently activated Naval Intelligence asset, not to mention also a psion with the ability to influence behavior as well as clairvoyance or perhaps precognition, and who knows what else? Oh, hell no! I couldn’t even imagine the look of his face, not to mention to look on Josefeen’s when she found out. Assuming I lived to see it. Sidara might pull out a sidearm and put me out of my misery.
“Nothing comes immediately to mind,” I lied. “Although, for what it's worth, I will likely be spending more time here due to engineering issues with the Jaqueline, so the financial impact of extended shore leave is something to be considered, I suppose.”
“Financial impact?”
Conrad Rader
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new one is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, the pods each include sections of our grid, so if one is missing, it’ll be like there’s a huge hole in our net. We won’t be able to establish a coherent bubble, and trying to jump could… uh… could end badly.”
His warning put a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “As the recent survivor of a misjump, I read you loud and clear. If we lose a pod, do we have enough supplies to cover the grid gap?”
“You mean in the field?”
“Yes.”
Onneri frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “Strictly speaking, we don’t have enough spare panels, but if we could scavenge them from the lost pod, as well as other materials we’d need to reconstruct the underlying frame… uh… it would be very hard but not necessarily impossible.”
“How long are we talking?”
“That would depend on the condition of the damaged pod.”
“How long would it take if we had to scavenge from our Exploration Pod?”
Onneri frowned some more and even made a Hmmm noise. “I’d need to study that and get back to you.”
“Do that. And let me know if we’d need to requisition additional supplies while we’re still in port. Also, I’d like the flight crew to run simulations for maneuvering with a missing pod. Incidentally, is there any way to jettison pods in an emergency?”
“No,” Onneri said, shaking his head. “Once properly installed, they become an integral component of the ship’s structure.”
“And what if they’re improperly installed?”
“If you take the Jaqueline to full thrust, any improperly installed pod will likely rip right off its mounts.”
(Pausing here to see if there’s any more questions for anything else Gus wants to add.)
And skipping forward...
Sidara led me to the central console with the holographic display I’d been eyeing since we’d entered the room. I could use this to track our fighter squadrons in real time. It was my ship, so why not? “Sir,” she said, “before I turn you over to Mr. Faulk, have you ever been to an Imperial High Court?”
“No, but I’ve been to noble courts.”
“Then I assume you’re familiar with reverentia?”
“Yes, of course.” I nodded.
It was the most common of the forms, the first most people learned if they learned any. Indeed, it was the one I’d decided to use when I’d been presented to the Ducal Court at Rhylanor after the war to receive honors. This was the court of Duke Leonard, not the high court of his magistrates, and I hadn’t had to do much beyond standing at attention and then stepping forward to be acknowledged. I was among three hundred other honors recipients, and everyone else was using it, so I fell in line rather than trying to strut my stuff.
I’d learned it while preparing to serve as a page in the court of Lord Roderick. It was there I’d mastered numerous forms, the dance as it was sometimes called, and I’d practiced reverentia relentlessly. It was my way of showing I was just as good as the sons of nobility who’d been drilled in it from the time they could walk.
Of course, a noble’s court and a high court were two different things. The former dealt with ceremony and, quite often, actual governance, while the latter dealt strictly with judicial matters, but it was good to know what form to use.
She pushed a button along the console’s perimeter, eliciting a disembodied voice: “Communications.”
“This is Lt. Sidara with the Captain. Have you established the secure channels?”
“Yes, sirs, the court’s on HC-1 and Mr. Faulk’s on HC-2.”
“Acknowledged,” Sidara said, then closed the line, opening up the second of the two channels Comms had mentioned. As to be expected, Bilem Faulk appeared in front of me. He was mid-stride, apparently opening the channel with his tablet despite the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of reporters.
“Is it true the Imperial Navy has filed an official complaint against the Heron Public Security Service?”
Faulk ignored them. “Due to a lack of time,” he said, “I think we’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” the holographic image crackling as he walked through what looked like some sort of scanning device, guards preventing the reporters from following. “First and foremost, follow my lead in there, and if there’s something you need to ask me privately, text me on the sub-chat. Also, IHC-COJ etiquette is fairly relaxed, so you can go ahead and pull up some chairs.” I momentarily panned the holograph sideways to see if Sidara was also there in virtual form, and indeed she was, the console’s camera catching her biting her lip as its rendering processor perfectly mimicked the expression on her holographic double.
As she went to fetch some chairs, Faulk cracked a grin.
“Another thing,” he said, lowering his voice as he paused outside an impressive set of double doors. “I read that report you sent, and…” he chuckled for a moment. “My honor is satisfied, but the legal case remains. What you said at the palace was essentially perfect: civility and self-restraint coupled with an unmistakable indication of just how serious we are. Well done, Captain.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Faulk, and I am in your hands. I would like a successful resolution to this issue, and I would be amenable to a settlement if it is not too onerous or puts the Navy in a dim light. But I want the message sent that the Navy takes a strong position on the physical infringement of our persons.”
“Understood,” he said, no longer smiling. “Before we go in there, is there anything else I need to know?”
Like my telepathic kerfuffle with the Countess? Or that I was a recently activated Naval Intelligence asset, not to mention also a psion with the ability to influence behavior as well as clairvoyance or perhaps precognition, and who knows what else? Oh, hell no! I couldn’t even imagine the look of his face, not to mention to look on Josefeen’s when she found out. Assuming I lived to see it. Sidara might pull out a sidearm and put me out of my misery.
“Nothing comes immediately to mind,” I lied. “Although, for what it's worth, I will likely be spending more time here due to engineering issues with the Jaqueline, so the financial impact of extended shore leave is something to be considered, I suppose.”
“Financial impact?”
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Jim Vassilakos
“Sir,” Onneri said, “regarding the Major’s suggestion, just so you’re aware, once our Ex-Pod is removed, we’ll be off balance until a new one is installed, so… uh… maneuvering will be limited. As for jump, the pods each include sections of our grid, so if one is missing, there will be a huge hole in our net. We won’t be able to establish a coherent bubble, and trying to jump could… uh… could end badly.”
His warning put a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “As the recent survivor of a misjump, I read you loud and clear. If we lose a pod, do we have enough supplies to cover the grid gap?”
“You mean in the field?”
“Yes.”
Onneri frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “Strictly speaking, we don’t have enough spare panels, but if we could scavenge them from the lost pod, as well as other materials we’d need to reconstruct the underlying frame… uh… it would be very hard but not necessarily impossible.”
“How long are we talking?”
“That would depend on the condition of the damaged pod.”
“Suppose we had to scavenge from our Exploration Pod.”
Onneri frowned some more and even made a Hmmm noise. “I’d need to study that and get back to you.”
“Do that. And let me know if we’d need to requisition additional supplies while we’re still in port. Also, I’d like the flight crew to run simulations for maneuvering with a missing pod. Incidentally, is there any way to jettison pods in an emergency?”
“No,” Onneri said, shaking his head. “Once properly installed, they become an integral component of the ship’s structure.”
“And what if they’re improperly installed?”
“If you take the Jaqueline to full thrust, any improperly installed pod will likely rip right off its mounts.”
There was that heavy feeling again deep in the pit of my stomach. “That would be a poor outcome if, say, we were maneuvering to put a Zho cruiser in our spinal beam,” I opined. “I trust you will sign off on all the installation states of all of our pods before I start calling for high Gs.”
“After a pod swap, it’s mandatory to do a maximum thrust test run. If there’s a structural installation defect, we’ll catch it then.”
In which case, what? Seven more weeks in port?
“Thank you, Onneri. I’ll look forward to reading your report.”
I doubted he appreciated the extra work I’d just handed him, but although I had long listened to engineers grousing over the maneuvering demands of flight crews, the truth was, good captains listened to their engineers. They were the only ones who truly understood the ship and what could done in novel, emergency situations. And losing a pod in the field, although unlikely in peacetime, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Plus, there was also the question of the Exploration Pod’s actual savage value. According to what I’d telepathically gleaned from Bim at the party, he’d signed a document asserting the pod was damaged to the point of being nearly a complete loss, but that wasn’t the truth. Not at all. If what I’d glimpsed in his mind was accurate, it was worth well over half a billion credits. Even for the Navy, half a billion was somewhat more than a rounding error.
“Lt. Cmdr. Wang?”
“No emergencies, sir. But tomorrow we’re taking delivery of our replacement fighters, and if we’re staying in port, I’d like to initiate practical drills between the squadrons and gunnery.”
“Simulations with the new fighters are approved. I look forward to looking over the results.”
I tried not to let my enthusiasm for new fighters, or how many half a billion credits could by, bleed into my voices as I quickly flipped through the roster updates. Boys with toys as my ex had opined when I was deep in the tech readouts for my squadron.
I turned to Josefeen, who turned to Gani on her right, who turned to Manda, who looked at all three of us and, indeed, the entire table, like a K’kree caught in the headlights.
“Ah… no, I’m fine,” she said, the tip of her tail betraying a whiff of nervous energy. “I just need to know about my budget request and how long we’ll be in port, but as far as tech-serv is concerned, we can be ready to leave as soon as you like.”
“Excellent. Thank you all for the hurried assembly and status updates. I promise you, we will be back on patrol before the end of the year. Dismissed.”
I caught Stefani’s eye and gave her a quick nod with a small smile. Good job, I hoped it said. And right on cue, the door slid open, revealing Sidara and her ever-present tablet.
“Ah, Lieutenant, right on time. Let’s get this over with.”
Since I didn’t actually know the way, I motioned for her to lead, and we took a right turn sandwiched evenly between four lefts, bringing us just starboard of the spinal transport tube. The Command Bridge turned out to be even nicer than I’d expected. Unsurprisingly, the layout was completely different — indeed, the room itself was was more evenly proportioned, making it easier for the commanding officer to keep track of everything that was going on — and it had a truly massive holographic display, probably double the size of the largest one on the main bridge. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should switch bridges. I could designate this one as my main bridge and rename the other the command bridge, although if ever a commodore or admiral came aboard, expecting to be ensconced in their beloved “Command Bridge,” they’d immediately figure out what I’d done and would probably not be too happy about it.
And I could easily enough imagine the rationale for the larger display. A captain only had to keep track of his ship, whereas a higher ranking flag officer would have to keep track of an entire squadron or perhaps even a fleet. It all made sense when you thought about it, although the idea of such a gloriously high-tech command perch sitting idle almost all of the time felt like the sort of profound waste only the Imperial Navy could perpetrate.
Sidara led me to the central console with the holographic display I’d been eyeing since we’d entered the room. I could use this to track our fighter squadrons in real time. It was my ship, so why not? “Sir,” she said, “before I turn you over to Mr. Faulk, have you ever been to an Imperial High Court?”
“No, but I’ve been to noble courts.”
“Then I assume you’re familiar with reverentia?”
“Yes, of course.” I nodded.
It was the most common of the forms, the first most people learned if they learned any. Indeed, it was the one I’d decided to use when I’d been presented to the Ducal Court at Rhylanor after the war to receive honors. This was the court of Duke Leonard, not the high court of his magistrates, and I hadn’t had to do much beyond standing at attention and then stepping forward to be acknowledged. I was among three hundred other honors recipients, and everyone else was using it, so I fell in line rather than trying to strut my stuff.
I’d learned it while preparing to serve as a page in the court of Lord Roderick. It was there I’d mastered numerous forms, the dance as it was sometimes called, and I’d practiced reverentia relentlessly. It was my way of showing I was just as good as the sons of nobility who’d been drilled in it from the time they could walk.
Of course, a noble’s court and a high court were two different things. The former dealt with ceremony and, quite often, actual governance, while the latter dealt strictly with judicial matters, but it was good to know what form to use.
She pushed a button along the console’s perimeter, eliciting a disembodied voice: “Communications.”
“This is Lt. Sidara with the Captain. Have you established the secure channels?”
“Yes, sirs, the court’s on HC-1 and Mr. Faulk’s on HC-2.”
“Acknowledged,” Sidara said, then closed the line, opening up the second of the two channels Comms had mentioned. As to be expected, Bilem Faulk appeared in front of me. He was mid-stride, apparently opening the channel with his tablet despite the fact that he was surrounded by a pack of reporters.
“Is it true the Imperial Navy has filed an official complaint against the Heron Public Security Service?”
Faulk ignored them. “Due to a lack of time,” he said, “I think we’ll dispense with the pleasantries,” the holographic image crackling as he walked through what looked like some sort of scanning device, guards preventing the reporters from following. “First and foremost, follow my lead in there, and if there’s something you need to ask me privately, text me on the sub-chat. Also, IHC-COJ etiquette is fairly relaxed, so you can go ahead and pull up some chairs.” I momentarily panned the holograph sideways to see if Sidara was also there in virtual form, and indeed she was, the console’s camera catching her biting her lip as its rendering processor perfectly mimicked the expression on her holographic double.
As she went to fetch some chairs, Faulk cracked a grin.
“Another thing,” he said, lowering his voice as he paused outside an impressive set of double doors. “I read that report you sent, and…” he chuckled for a moment. “My honor is satisfied, but the legal case remains. What you said at the palace was essentially perfect: civility and self-restraint coupled with an unmistakable indication of just how serious we are. Well done, Captain.”
“I appreciate the compliment, Mr. Faulk, and I am in your hands. I would like a successful resolution to this issue, and I would be amenable to a settlement if it is not too onerous or puts the Navy in a dim light. But I want the message sent that the Navy takes a strong position on the physical infringement of our persons.”
“Understood,” he said, no longer smiling. “Before we go in there, is there anything else I need to know?”
Like my telepathic kerfuffle with the Countess? Or that I was a recently activated Naval Intelligence asset, not to mention also a psion with the ability to influence behavior as well as clairvoyance or perhaps precognition, and who knows what else? Oh, hell no! I couldn’t even imagine the look of his face, not to mention to look on Josefeen’s when she found out. Assuming I lived to see it. Sidara might pull out a sidearm and put me out of my misery.
“Nothing comes immediately to mind,” I lied. “Although, for what it’s worth, I will likely be spending more time here due to engineering issues with the Jaqueline, so the financial impact of extended shore leave is something to be considered, I suppose.”
“Financial impact?”
“Navy crews on shore leave spend credits like water. As does the commander when billed for damages. Not to mention provisioning. Crews like the fresh stuff while in port. Then there’s the added impact on engineering crews, expedited overtime. Captains hate being in port because the accounting really starts flowing and finance, I am sad to say, is very boring.”
“I see.” Faulk nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I'm pretty sure everyone wants to get this over with as soon as possible. Let’s go sock ‘em in their gut and then see what they offer. I’ll see you inside.”
He vanished from the display, and Lt. Sidara pressed a few more buttons, the holographic image of a courtroom appearing before us. Its marble walls gleamed as three robed judges sat behind a raised bench, a middle-aged woman flanked by two men, one of them rather young and the other quite elderly, his eyes closed as though either deep in thought or unconsciousness.
“Lady Stercus,” the middle judge was saying, “where’s your lawyer?”
“On vacation,” a little, old lady replied from one of the tables facing the bench.
“So you’re representing yourself?”
“Well, it’s either that or stay in jail.”
“I see,” the judge replied. “I reviewed your petition for bail release. Before we get to that, however, I thought I told you I never wanted to see you in my courtroom again.”
“That’s exactly what I told the arresting officer, Your Honor, but like a typical man, he wouldn’t listen. I’m sure you know how infuriating men can be.”
“Yes, well, you might have considered the awkward position you were putting him in, as I see you stand accused of stealing some two million credits in iridium bars.”
“Poppycock and balderdash, I tell you! I did no such thing!”
“Do you swear?”
“Only when extremely angry. Or when I stub a toe.”
“No, what I mean is… do you swear you didn’t do it?”
“Stub a toe?”
“Steal the iridium!”
“Oh, of course not. What do you take me for? A thief?”
“Well, that is the accusation. Seeing as this is pretty far from your first offense, I'm going to set bail at two million credits.”
“Two million?! Oh dear.” The old lady grimaced. “Do you accept payment in iridium?”
“Just as I suspected. Your request for bail release is denied, and we’ll add perjury to your list of charges. You can prepare your defense from behind bars. Good day, madam.”
“What?! Wait! That’s not fair! I demand a retrial! Can we start over?!”
“Who’s next?” the judge asked. “Oh, hello there, Mr. Faulk.”
“Hello, Your Honors,” Faulk said, gingerly stepping to the side as a pair of security officers took the old lady away.
“I understand that you are representing the Navy. Is there anyone here for the HPSS?”
“Slag Scutum, Your Honor,” an elderly man said. He’d been waiting in the back of the room with a younger man at his side, both of them stepping forward with the pace and posture required by reverentia, although it was apparent the younger man was less practiced.
“Ah… Mr. Scutum, I do remember you. And who is your colleague this time?”
“Daas Kumena,” the young man said, momentarily bowing. “In-house counsel for the HPSS.”
“Welcome to the IHC, Mr. Kumena. Mr. Faulk, where is the Navy?”
“In orbit, your honor, tending to a wounded ship, but they can attend holographically.”
“Then let them appear.”
Lt. Sidara pressed a button, and the view shifted. We were now at the table with Faulk, facing these three judges.
“This is Captain Augustine Olav Plankwell, commanding the INS Jaqueline and representing the 213th fleet, and Lt. Francine Sidara, his in-house counsel.”
(feel free to bow or whatever)
“Welcome, both of you. You may state your case.”
“We petition this court to order the Ministry of Justice to open an investigation into the rules, standards, and practices of the Heron Public Security Service regarding the incident of 120-1114, in which HPSS agents inappropriately escalated the use of force against active duty naval personnel, one of whom is my client.”
He went on, citing prior incidents and rulings made by various courts within the Jewell Subsector, as well as specific language in Jewell’s Articles of Accession, by which it became a member of the Imperium. Much of it, to be honest, went a bit over my head, but the gist was clear. The HPSS had overstepped.
“How does the defendant respond?”
“Your Honor, we assert multiple defenses. First, the two security guards involved in the aforementioned incident were not HPSS employees. They were employees of a private security contractor.”
“A contractor hired by the HPSS,” the judge interjected, “making the HPSS liable for their conduct, due to the laws of agency. Do not waste this court’s time, Mr. Scutum.”
Faulk cracked a smile, no doubt sensing she was on our side.
“If that is this court’s determination, then so be it,” the opposing counsel replied, “but under this logic, we have already issued a public apology and will, of course, take the appropriate steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”
“What steps?”
“We are prepared to extend the arrest process for all commissioned officers.”
“Extend?”
“The devil is in the details, but so long as this petition is canceled, we are prepared to work with the Navy to develop new standards.”
“It all sounds rather vague. Is that all you’ve got?”
“That depends on Captain Plankwell, Your Honor.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he rejects our good faith offer to reach a negotiated solution, we’ll be forced to conclude that this was never about seeking positive change but was really only about covering his own… uh… derrière, as it were.”
“Why would he need to do that?”
“His unlawful invocation of Section 678 of the Interplanetary Code. There was no rebellion, Your Honor. It was an attempted arrest, and it failed, and everything that he did after that was to shift the focus from his own mistake to that of the two security guards his marines unlawfully restrained. They were in Jewellian territory, where the primary policing authority is the HPSS. He had no right to call for a military interdiction, disrupting the lives of our people, and he has yet to apologize for it.”
“Your Honor,” Faulk said, “as the ranking representative of 213th Fleet, my client had every right to call for an interdiction, which he rescinded as soon as it became apparent that the situation was under control.”
“It would have been proper for Admiral Karneticky to make that call, not your client,” the opposing counsel asserted. “But I see the 212th Fleet isn’t a party to these proceedings. Why is that? Because Karneticky, quite wisely, doesn’t wish to be associated with your client?!”
“That’s enough!” The judge banged her gavel, shutting them both up. “We’ll take a one deplar recess. The two of you had better come to an agreement, or I’m going to order investigations into everyone involved!”
With that, she got up and left the room through a back door, the younger of the two judges at her side following, while the older one remained at the bench, his eyes still shut as though deep in meditation.
“It’s time to negotiate,” Faulk said, waiving to the two opposing counsels and motioning for them to approach.
“Hey, Bili,” the older one said.
“How’s it going, Slag?” Faulk grinned, shaking his head slightly.
“Oh… you mean aside from me kicking your ass?”
“You’re the one who’s going to get an ass-kicking.”
“Actually, I think we’re all going to get an ass-kicking if we don’t come to a deal.”
“I would tend to agree with you. So what exactly is your client offering?”
The younger one blinked for a moment, then looked at me, or, at least, my hologram. “Can we talk?” he asked. “In person? Off the record, no cameras, no recordings, just you and me.”
“He’s in orbit,” Faulk said, “and we have one deplar.”
“We’ll tell the court we’ll work it out among ourselves. What do you say?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
The younger one blinked for a moment, then looked at me or, at least, my hologram. “Can we talk?” he asked. “In person? Off the record, no cameras, no recordings, just you and me.”
“He’s in orbit,” Faulk said, “and we have one deplar.”
“We’ll tell the court we’ll work it out among ourselves. What do you say?”
“Anything you want to say to my client, you say it to me,” Faulk interjected.
“You can be in the room, if that’s what your client wants.”
“Captain Plankwell,” the elder attorney said, “the HPSS wants to work with you, but there are other pressures, other governing bodies. I doubt you really want to get involved in local politics, but if you want to see a change in HPSS procedures, you’re going to have to step up and help us.”
“Help you?” Faulk’s chin jutted out as he frowned.
“That’s right,” Scutum said. “If we join forces, there’s no telling what we might achieve.”
All this time, I’d been typing out a message to Faulk on the side channel.
“I will meet them, but they can come up here. They are the ones asking for a compromising situation. And if they don’t and want to follow through on changing the local customs concerning the Navy, well, that will be on them. I am sure that Karneticky will be answering for why he did not contain the issue. And I will be parsecs away.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Faulk asked.
“Help us roll back the rules on impartiality in policing,” the younger man said. “Once we’re free to make exceptions, we’ll be happy to design special procedures for Navy officers.”
“The JIPD, pushed by the DERP, have expanded Equal Protection to the point of absurdity,” Scutum said. “You want us to change our rules… great, we want the same as you, so help us get the authority.”
By now, Faulk had read my message. He knew I was willing to meet with them, but only on my terms. I looked to him for permission to speak, and he nodded.
“You may come aboard,” I said. “I have ventured into your spaces enough and will be not putting myself in any position to compromise myself.”
“You want us to come aboard your ship?” the younger man asked.
“We’ll be there,” Scutum said. “In the meantime, we’ll ask the court for an indefinite postponement.”
“Agreed.” Faulk nodded.
A few minutes later, it was all over. The courtroom vanished from the holographic display. Scutum and Kumena would be picked up by one of our launches, probably the same one that brought me aboard. And as if on cue, Josefeen walked in just as Sidara was leaving.
“I hope you’re not serious about submitting to a neuroscan,” she said as soon as we were alone.
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“I hope you’re not serious about submitting to a neuroscan,” she said as soon as we were alone.
As I looked at her, I could feel a headache coming on.
“Can’t we just wipe her memory and secure the scan in NI files? I am sure your approved docs are thirsting for a scan of my brain after having been juiced multiple times.”
Even as the words came out of my mouth, I wondered where the sentiment behind them was coming from. I had resisted using psionics on my crew. But I was getting a little worried about all the effects that seemed to be manifesting. Would a neuroscan help or hurt me more?
Josefeen opened her mouth but then slowly closed it again. “Hmm… you know, that’s not a terrible idea, but are you willing? We’d have to get into her head. It would be a repeat of what we did to the Canon. You vomited, as I recall.”
(I thought I should probably pause it here to see how Gus wants to proceed.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
(sorry for the delay. looks like we're both getting a bit slower. oh well... i do still enjoy it, and i hope you do too, but life keeps getting in the way. hope you had a good 7/4 and i trust you didn't blow off any fingers. personally, i don't do fireworks. to me, it feels like setting money on fire.)
“If we really are in uncharted areas, I am willing,” I said. “Plus, I would like to know if my CMO is actually concerned for me or has other motivations or suspicions.”
“I don’t trust doctors either,” Josefeen replied. “They’re like spies. Everything you say to ‘em goes into a file somewhere.”
What does Gus think/say?
“In any case, as you have so ably demonstrated, even the most distasteful skills come in handy. Often they are the most useful in the situation where they excel.”
“Now you’re talking,” she said, still smiling, “…like a sociopath, but that’s alright. Only problem is I can’t give you any more of that psi-enhancer until your brain has time to rest. The options are use the artifact, the eye of you-know-who, or you gotta wait. You shouldn't even inject before tomorrow's meeting with General Products, although I expect it would serve you well. The problem, sir, is that your brain needs rest. And you need training. You desperately need training.”
What are Gus’s thoughts, and how does he respond?
Conrad Rader
(sorry for the delay. looks like we're both getting a bit slower. oh well... i do still enjoy it, and i hope you do too, but life keeps getting in the way. hope you had a good 7/4 and i trust you didn't blow off any fingers. personally, i don't do fireworks. to me, it feels like setting money on fire.)
“If we really are in uncharted areas, I am willing,” I said. “Plus, I would like to know if my CMO is actually concerned for me or has other motivations or suspicions.”
“I don’t trust doctors either,” Josefeen replied. “They’re like spies. Everything you say to ‘em goes into a file somewhere.”
What does Gus think/say?
“In any case, as you have so ably demonstrated, even the most distasteful skills come in handy. Often they are the most useful in the situation where they excel.”
“Now you’re talking,” she said, still smiling, “…like a sociopath, but that’s alright. Only problem is I can’t give you any more of that psi-enhancer until your brain has time to rest. The options are use the artifact, the eye of you-know-who, or you gotta wait. You shouldn't even inject before tomorrow's meeting with General Products, although I expect it would serve you well. The problem, sir, is that your brain needs rest. And you need training. You desperately need training.”
What are Gus’s thoughts, and how does he respond?
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Jim Vassilakos
“I don’t trust doctors either,” Josefeen replied. “They’re like spies. Everything you say to ‘em goes into a file somewhere.”
I couldn’t help but admire the dissonance of a spy disliking spy-like behavior.
“I imagine there are very few people you trust to talk to about anything,” I said.
“I have no trouble talking to people, but trusting them… that’s something else. You get into enough heads, and you’ll know more about people that you ever wanted. One of the hazards of telepathy.”
“As you have so ably demonstrated, even the most distasteful skills come in handy. Often they are the most useful in the situation where they excel.”
“Now you’re talking,” she said, still smiling, “…like a sociopath, but that’s alright. Only problem is I can’t give you any more of that psi-enhancer until your brain has time to rest. The options are use the artifact, the eye of you-know-who, or you gotta wait. You shouldn't even inject before tomorrow’s meeting with General Products, although I expect it would serve you well. The problem, sir, is your brain needs rest. And you need training. You desperately need training.”
“I know, and I expect you to find a way to make it happen, as you and NI decided to activate me. And yes, I agree I could use a rest, so you will continue as my aide at the upcoming meeting. You are by far the more experienced psion of the two of us.”
But not the most powerful, she was thinking. Her thought only leaked into my mind because she was scanning me, trying to see what I was thinking about all this. How did I like being called a sociopath?
Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Rising through the Imperial Navy, particularly in wartime, necessitated certain patterns of behavior. Ordering people to their death to save others. Choosing the lesser evil to preserve the greater good. Nobody wanted to be in these situations. Nobody even wanted to talk about it. But drastic times called for drastic measures.
Josefeen crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not suggesting this just to see what it’s like being a lesbian, are you?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
Josefeen crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not suggesting this just to see what it’s like being a lesbian, are you?”
“Please! I have an imagination…”
“Oh, I know you do,” Josefeen interrupted. “I’ve been in your head, remember? But imagination is one thing. Experience is quite another.”
“As true as that may be, the doctor’s sexual orientation was possibly the farthest thing from my mind. You have a tendency to use sexual metaphors to try and startle me into dropping my guard.”
“So it’s working?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Succubus, indeed. Are you sure you’re not the pervert here?”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. [Feel free to change this. Maybe, instead, he gets angry or smacks his forehead or just stares at her, stunned.] This was getting me nowhere.
“Look. I am in uncharted space here, and a brain scan will give us a map. At least something I can look at and compare to my last neuroscan, and unless you have specific medical personnel squirreled away in your pod…”
“Well…”
“No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. The upshot, Lieutenant, is that Dr. Willin will need to know why I am glitching out if anything like that were to happen in a command situation. You can throw the secrecy book at her after.”
“As you wish, sir.” Josefeen said. “You are the captain. Speaking of which, would now be a good time for your Intel Briefing?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Yes, Lieutenant. Now would be an excellent time for the Intel Briefing.”
I tried to pronounce Intel Briefing like she did, capital letters and all. I wasn’t mocking — well, maybe a little — but throughout my career I’d heard those words spoken before the highest ranking officer present would disappear behind closed doors. Now that was me. I’d finally arrived. But with it came knowledge of the sort of weirdos Intel was apparently made of. In any case, the contents of this briefing would surely be depressing and probably implicate me in criminal behavior to whatever extent I was about to be read in. I made a point of locking down my tablet and turning to face her, giving her my full attention as she arched an eyebrow. But if she’d been reading my thoughts, she made no mention of it.
“As you might recall, sir, you asked me to look into the countess and in particular her motives with respect to the proposed Army/Navy base swap. It looks to Intel as if she wants to exercise greater control over Heron through the Imperial Army for reasons possibly pertaining to certain real estate investments as well as the original Stavelot estate.”
“The original Stavelot estate?”
Josefeen took a deep breath. “Long ago, before the construction of Silver City, the Stavelots owned a private estate in what was once Heron’s most elite neighborhood.”
She reached out her hand and pressed two fingers to the center of my forehead. Quite suddenly, I could picture the grounds, which included a sprawling mansion with a lush garden, an aviary, and a private mausoleum. She was sending the imagery directly into my mind. But then it all changed, the same place suddenly becoming filled with people, most of them huddled in tents and various makeshift shelters. Almost every square meter of what had been dirt and grass and flowering foliage and even trees was now covered with trash, most of it plastic. Some had been ground down into dust where people had walked upon it over the course of centuries, and so there were these little plastic grains mixed in with the soil.
«Eventually, the neighborhood did what such neighborhoods do — most of the wealthiest Heronites were moving to off-surface habitats — and so one of the Countess’s ancestors ended up gifting the estate to… uh…,» she paused, glancing down at her tablet, “…Pristine.”
“Pristine?”
“P.R.I.S.T.I.N.E.: Public Resources for Iconic Structures, Timelines, Inheritance, and Natural Environments. It was basically Jewell’s Parks Service.”
“Was J.P.S. already taken?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, sir. In any case, over time — over centuries — the neighborhood got taken over by Heron’s homeless population. It was basically swallowed by Pitfall, «Jewell’s largest shanty town.»
Pitfall. Where had I heard that name?
(You can decide what Gus remembers, if anything. It has been a while.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
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Jim Vassilakos
«Eventually, the neighborhood did what such neighborhoods do — most of the wealthiest Heronites moved to off-surface habitats — Silver City, for example, as well as the orbital complex around the high port — and so one of the Countess’s ancestors ended up gifting the estate to… uh…» She lowered the hand that had been touching my forehead and used it to tap the surface of her tablet instead. “…Pristine.”
“Pristine?”
“P.R.I.S.T.I.N.E.: Public Resources for Iconic Structures, Timelines, Inheritance, and Natural Environments. It was basically Jewell’s Parks Service.”
“Was J.P.S. already taken?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, sir. In any case, over time — over centuries — the neighborhood got taken over by Heron’s homeless population. It was basically swallowed by Pitfall.”
Pitfall. Where had I heard that name? “Wait. Wasn't that where I was supposed to find some kind of psi teacher?”
“Unless you want to be taught by the simulacrum of a certain ancestor.”
Olav, she obviously meant. The alpha version, no less. The thought of having to deal with Zeenye's neuromorph on a regular basis didn't quite appeal to me, especially since I'd already given the damn thing a good reason to dislike me. So who was this psi-teacher Intel wanted me to train with, and why in Pitfall of all places?
“Tell me about Pitfall.”
“It's Heron's largest shantytown,” Josefeen replied. “Basically three million people crammed into a slum of what used to be the downtown. Officially, it's called The City of Heron Autonomous Zone, but everyone dirtside knows it as Pitfall.”
“Autonomous Zone? So what exactly does the Countess want the Army to do? Make it non-autonomous through Imperial edict?”
The gears in my heard started whirring again. Was I being dissuaded from training? Were the psionic nobles making a swipe at the Navy psions for whatever made sense to their paranoid little brains? I reached out two fingers to do to her what she'd just done to me.
“Precisely,” Josefeen said, not knocking my hand away from her forehead, although I could sense she wanted to. “SigInt indicates she's been directing the managers of her holding companies to purchase real estate inside the autonomous zone. At this point, sir, I have to ask, how much of this do you really want to know?”
Peering into her mind, I could sense there was more to it. But without the psi enhancer, it was like peering through a fog. Either that, or she was putting up some sort of barrier. Regardless, it gave me a moment to ponder. How much did I want to know?
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“I don't know enough to answer that,” I reluctantly admitted, lowering my arm. Navy captains were supposed to know everything. We were supposed to be decisive. But I had too many inputs from too many directions snarling the picture, and I couldn't just shoot my way out, as tempting as the thought might be.
“There's no need to know,” Josefeen said. “Suffice it to say, the Countess has some long-term plans for Pitfall, but the only thing she needs from the Navy is that we get out of the way.”
“And Karneticky doesn't know any of this?”
“There's no need to know.”
I nodded.
“What about the psi-teacher?” I asked, changing the subject. “What's the likelihood I could just invite him to come up here? I am trying to make a point of not exposing myself to more shenanigans down the well. And no — before you even suggest it — no more dealings with the neuromorph. I have had quite enough of that.”
“Khourzkhoug Kanrrae is sick,” Josefeen said. “He has a terminal illness. You will likely be his final student, assuming he agrees to teach you. Regardless, it is doubtful he will leave his compound, at least not willingly. If he dies before you are trained… we'll find someone else. But I would be curious to see what sort of teacher Olav would be.”
A thought struck me, an appreciation for the sheer unlikelihood of the Olav simulation being publicly unveiled right in front of me, further compounded by the improbability of me being an untrained psion, whereas he, unbeknownst to the general public, had apparently been a psionic master. Were these mere coincidences? Or had Intel been behind it from the very beginning?
"Was this all your doing?” I blurted out.
“Huh?”
“Darrian tech placed directly in my path, so directly I could not help but stumble into it. I am really wanting to not dive any deeper into this.”
“Gus, you're the captain of this ship. If you don't want Olav on board, then he doesn't come on board. Either way, however, you need to be trained.”
“I know,” I said, feeling internally disheveled. “But right now I have an appointment I intend to keep. Let's get my brain scanned and see what the doctor has to say before we wipe away some of her memories.”
“Aye aye,” Josefeen said with a sigh. “What reason should I give for tagging along? Just tell them Intel has an interest in your mental acuity?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“But right now I have an appointment I intend to keep. Let's get my brain scanned and see what the doctor has to say before we wipe away some of her memories.”
“Aye aye,” Josefeen said with a sigh. As we exited the room, making a left and then a quick right, she asked, “What reason should I give for tagging along? Just tell them Intel has an interest in your mental acuity?”
"See, that's the best thing about being the captain,” I said. “I don't have to explain myself to the crew. You are still my acting aide,” I continued as we passed through a fire shutter, “and until I designate a steward or actual aide, you shall remain so.” We rounded the very end of the Spinal Transport Tube. “That's enough for now. They are all making up stories about what my type is now anyway, and your… uh, methods… have poured fuel on those fires, so you might as well reap what you have sown along with me."
By now we were in front of the tube's entrance, waiting for a capsule.
“I don't care what people say about me so long as they are, in fact, talking about me,” Josefeen quipped.
“Am I interrupting?” a voice came from behind us.
“Oh, Captain, have you met Lt. Amishar?”
Amishar was… (Timothy, feel free to insert a description if you feel in the mood.)
“Nice to see you again, Captain. Hope you had a good birthday.” As we shook hands, I caught a glimpse of something, a memory floating on the surface. “He skedaddled out of there like an Aslan at a pool party.”
(Gus's response, if any.)
A capsule arrived, several crew members disembarking, leaving it empty, so the three of us entered, its doors closing behind us, and soon we were in motion.
“What is all this about you wanting people to talk about you?” Amishar asked Josefeen with a grin.
“If you must know, I have a natural fondness for attention, so I volunteered to serve the Captain as his personal aide in the hopes it might start some rumors, and he accepted.”
“Oh.” Amishar looked stunned. “Okay.”
“Truth is,” Josefeen said, leaning toward him ever so slightly, “I have a weakness for powerful men. They make me… wet.”
“Oh, dear Cleon.” Amishar blanched.
“Too much information?”
“Very!”
“I'm sorry, but sometimes I just can't keep my feelings to myself. Are you sure you're up for this?” she asked, turning toward me. “Because, sir, I most definitely am.”
(Gus's reply, if any. Will get to the stuff about Manda following this part.)
Conrad Rader
“But right now I have an appointment I intend to keep. Let's get my brain scanned and see what the doctor has to say before we wipe away some of her memories.”
“Aye aye,” Josefeen said with a sigh. As we exited the room, making a left and then a quick right, she asked, “What reason should I give for tagging along? Just tell them Intel has an interest in your mental acuity?”
"See, that's the best thing about being the captain,” I said. “I don't have to explain myself to the crew. You are still my acting aide,” I continued as we passed through a fire shutter, “and until I designate a steward or actual aide, you shall remain so.” We rounded the very end of the Spinal Transport Tube. “That's enough for now. They are all making up stories about what my type is now anyway, and your… uh, methods… have poured fuel on those fires, so you might as well reap what you have sown along with me."
By now we were in front of the tube's entrance, waiting for a capsule.
“I don't care what people say about me so long as they are, in fact, talking about me,” Josefeen quipped.
“Am I interrupting?” a voice came from behind us.
“Oh, Captain, have you met Lt. Amishar?”
Amishar was… (Timothy, feel free to insert a description if you feel in the mood.)
“Nice to see you again, Captain. Hope you had a good birthday.” As we shook hands, I caught a glimpse of something, a memory floating on the surface. “He skedaddled out of there like an Aslan at a pool party.”
(Gus's response, if any.)
I really needed to study the crew manifest. Amishar seemed familiar but there was a blurred collection of faces from the party. Still, good grip, not intimidated from approaching the new captain.
A capsule arrived, several crew members disembarking, leaving it empty, so the three of us entered, its doors closing behind us, and soon we were in motion.
“What is all this about you wanting people to talk about you?” Amishar asked Josefeen with a grin.
“If you must know, I have a natural fondness for attention, so I volunteered to serve the Captain as his personal aide in the hopes it might start some rumors, and he accepted.”
“Oh.” Amishar looked stunned. “Okay.”
“Truth is,” Josefeen said, leaning toward him ever so slightly, “I have a weakness for powerful men. They make me… wet.”
“Oh, dear Cleon.” Amishar blanched.
“Too much information?”
“Very!”
“I'm sorry, but sometimes I just can't keep my feelings to myself. Are you sure you're up for this?” she asked, turning toward me. “Because, sir, I most definitely am.”
(Gus's reply, if any. Will get to the stuff about Manda following this part.)
I kept my face impassive as I looked down at her.
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Jim Vassilakos
“I'm sorry, but sometimes I just can’t keep my feelings to myself. Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked, turning toward me. “Because, sir, I most definitely am.”
She was obviously trying to provoke a reaction, though for what purpose, I couldn’t say. Regardless, I kept my face impassive as I looked down at her.
“Lieutenant,” I said, “if you will check my record, you will note an admonishment for improper use of a shuttle. That improper use involved both daughters of a commodore and six of their wilder friends who wanted to see how it was different at zero-g versus under acceleration. I made sure their curiosity was satisfied.”
Josefeen rolled her eyes and shook her head as Amishar fanned himself with his tablet. Technically, everything I’d said was true, although the way I’d put it was far more suggestive than what actually happened. In short, everyone had kept their clothes on. Nonetheless, great legends were crafted through exaggeration, and since Josefeen had already started the ball rolling, I thought I might as well play along.
“There's hope for you yet,” she said as the capsule came to a stop. Then its doors opened, and her delivery drone rolled in. We’d apparently stopped at the Intel Pod, the last pod on the starboard side. She leaned down and pressed a button on the robot’s dorsal surface, opening a compartment and withdrawing a little black pouch. Then the drone rolled back out, the capsule’s doors closing behind it. Josefeen offered me the bag, saying, “You may want to power up for this part,” and smiled at Amishar, who by this point was clutching his tablet with both hands, holding it almost like a shield.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said, approaching him. “This won’t hurt.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Don’t be afraid,” she said, approaching him. “This won’t hurt.”
I watched, feeling like a mere ant who'd wandered onto a field of giants, as I slipped my hand inside the bag to grab what I assumed and feared was the psi orb. Based on what had happened last time, I braced myself, while being unable to tear my attention away from what I feared Josefeen was about to do. Too much fear for a captain was my last thought before I could sense the fluttering in Amishar’s stomach as Josefeen placed her palms on either side of his head. He tried to push her away but was too slow. Two of her rings, one on each hand, included tiny neural disruptors. The shock was enough to cause the victim to lose consciousness, and though she intended to catch him as he fell, he ended up tipping backwards instead of forwards, as she’d planned, banging his head against the capsule’s wall before slumping to the desk.
“Much,” Josefeen added, looking down at him. “This won’t hurt much. Captain, it’s your turn. Do to him what you did to the Canon, but remove only his most recent memories, say the last minute or so. Sorry to put you in this awkward position, sir, but I need to see if you are truly capable and truly willing.”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
"...but I need to see if you are truly capable and truly willing.”
So it was all a test, using an unsuspecting crewman like some lab animal. I couldn’t help but grit my teeth, but I stepped forward, putting my hands on Amishar’s head and then reaching out with my psychic energies, skimming the surface of his mind.
There, bobbing like a cork, was the memory involving the actual neural disruption, which true to Josefeen’s word had been painless — “This won’t hurt.” — despite him hitting the back of his head against the wall as he fell. “Don’t be afraid.” I grabbed the whole bunch, every part of it without any part that wasn’t it, and I yanked, feeling its connection to the rest of his mind stretch, strain, and finally snap. Forgotten.
Next was Josefeen placing her hands on either side of his head, which he didn’t like, even though it meant the full and undivided attention of a beautiful woman. Oh. He didn’t like women. Indeed, he had a borderline infatuation with Martinsen, his direct supervisor, but he was fighting it.
Stretch, strain, snap. Too much information.
Next in line was the pit stop at the Intel pod, where Josefeen handed me what to Amishar seemed a mystery bag. He’d even watched her little ship-rat courier robot deliver it. Most curious, he’d thought to himself.
Stretch, strain, snap. Stretch, strain, snap.
It felt distinctly easier doing this on someone younger and with a healthy brain. There seemed less risk of causing unintended damage here than in a mind cluttered with old stories interwoven by neurons whose days were already numbered. But the biggest difference was due to the recency of the target memories. Amishar hadn’t had time to draw on them. They weren’t as thoroughly embedded in his mental fabric as had been the case with the Canon. Hence, I somehow felt like I knew what I was doing.
I moved on to their conversation, where Josefeen professed her love for me, presumably for the fun of seeing both our reactions. I grabbed and yanked, and it came free, its roots sticky but undeveloped.
«The sticky is glutamate, dopamine, PKMzeta, and Acetylcholine,» Josefeen’s voice entered my mind, though not from my ears. «They’re neurological glue.» She’d been watching me work, her entire palm resting against the back of my head.
I wanted to push her away, to let go of Amishar’s head, spin around, and physically push her with both hands, but I wasn’t yet done severing memories. Nonetheless, the anger of that sudden impulse activated something within me, like a hot puff of psychic wind, and I felt her flinch and then let go.
Wow, was the last thought I caught before she shut her psychic curtain. Had I hurt her? Well, if she wanted me to have this much power, she could deal with the consequences.
“I’m trying to teach,” she said out loud.
“You’re going to cause issues if you keep zapping everyone when you do underhanded things,” I replied.
“Ssh. He’s waking up.”
I let go of his head, watching as his eyelids fluttered and then slowly opened. The memories I’d severed were now drifting homeless. They might become dreams or nightmares, but either way, he’d most likely write them off as subconscious drivel.
“What happened?” he asked, as the capsule’s door opened again. We were now at the ship’s aft section, and several crew were there waiting for the capsule’s arrival.
“Is he okay?” someone asked.
“A blip in the inertial suppression,” Josefeen said. “He fell.”
“Ah,” Amishar said, rubbing the back of his head. “Of course.”
“You should rest,” I told him. “Take half a day of medical rest. That’s an order.”
The duplicity gnawed at me, and I wondered how much more difficult it would be working on Dr. Willin.
“You did well,” Josefeen whispered on our way to the port medbay. “Now you can give me back that bag, if you don’t mind.”
(Gus’s response.)
Timothy Collinson
Sent: 30 August 2026 06:01
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
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Conrad Rader
Jim Vassilakos
straddling me. “Sir, why do you think there were
psionic toys in your overhead bin? Did you put
them there? No.” She shook her head. “Did the
prior captain leave them there? That would be
awfully forgetful of him, wouldn’t it? And what
was that bubble thing? By the way, it’s called a
psi orb. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen one
before. Haven’t you?”
I thought about keeping it and even opened up my curtain a bit so she could glimpse my hesitation. It had come from the captain’s secret stash, after all, and I was captain, so in my head that made it mine. I let her watch as I thought through the decision-consequence tree and came to the reluctant conclusion that continued hostility between us would likely end badly, both for the ship as well as for me personally.
«You may continue to secure the item.»
I stopped and held out the pouch, letting her take it, all the while watching her intensely, searching her gaze. She was searching mine as well, and for a moment, we were like two minds intertwined.
I was able to sense the cold equations behind what just happened. She was testing me, because she had to, because I was much more valuable than Amishar — I was potentially more valuable than a thousand thousand thousand Amishars — but in order to prove myself, I needed to prove reliable and, most of all, controllable. If I couldn’t be controlled, I’d be liquidated, or, at least, it was a distinct possibility. She didn’t really know what would happen, but the more powerful the asset, the greater the potential downside if they were to go rogue.
That I came to her, showing both her and Nizlich the secret stash, essentially saved me. Despite the delay, it proved that my loyalty to the Navy and my faith in its rules superseded even my instinct for self-preservation. The problem right now was my anger. She had deliberately tried to provoke it, putting in motion what just happened because she knew it would rake my guts to have to be the one doing her dirty work. But I had. It was a test, and I had passed.
And she wanted me to pass. She was far from indifferent.
She drew her psychic curtain, shutting me out, her breathing labored, like we’d been in some sort of psionic wrestling match and I'd gained the upper hand.
“After you, sir,” she said, raising an arm in the direction we’d been going as a single crewman walked by, no doubt noticing the two of us staring at each other.
I turned and resumed heading towards medbay and the next unpleasant duty.
* * *
Dr. Willin performed essentially the same tests she’d put me through three days previously, asking how I felt and commenting that my stool sample, collected via the ship’s plumbing system, didn’t show anything concerning. “Nonetheless, I’d like to get an endobot into your stomach to look around.” She handed me what looked like a rather large pill.
(Gus’s response. And let me know if he had Josefeen come with him into the exam room or if he had her wait outside.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“Nonetheless, I’d like to get an endobot into your stomach to look around.” She handed me what looked like a rather large pill.
“Look around for what?”
“Oh… anything unusual,” she said, trying not to seem overly-concerned. Indeed, there was probably nothing to be worried about, but she’d read an article about some hospital that had been sued for misdiagnosing stomach cancer as stomach flu, and it dawned on her that as a long-time spacer, I’d likely been exposed to a fair amount of radiation. Since I was reporting such odd symptoms, including hallucinations, which I had unfortunately mentioned during my last visit, she wanted to do a full esophageal inspection just to be safe.
In short, psionics was the furthest thing from her mind, at least so far as I could tell, and I’d spent the whole exam trying to get into her head. It was harder trying to tap into her memories than it had been with Amishar, as Dr, Willin was wide awake, engaged in her duties, and had a very focused mind. I’d even begun thinking I might have to resort to sending an SOS to Josafeen to burst in and create some distraction to help me get a foothold, but then I remembered that the one thing I came in for hadn’t happened.
“When are you going to do the brain scan?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s Dr. Pugh who does those. He’s in the port medbay. Do you need me to walk you over again?”
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“When are you going to do the brain scan?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s Dr. Pugh who does those.”
“Dr. Pugh?” I’d almost forgotten about him.
“Yes. He’s in the portside medbay. Do you need me to walk you over again?”
“Uh… no thank you,” I said, eyeing the pill. “Do you need me to wait here for the bot to do its thing?”
“No, sir. It will return to us provided you make sure it ends up in a toilet onboard this ship.”
“Ah,” I nodded. How she planned for it to get back out had been my next question. “How long will the bot… uh…”
“About a standard day, although it varies from one person to the next. You might experience some abdominal cramps, but don’t worry. It’s perfectly normal.”
I nodded, steeling myself. She was worried I might have some weird form of IBS, in which case the endobot would likely inflame my symptoms. Regardless, the gut sample it would bring back would tell her a lot about what was going on, or so she imagined. Despite the massive pill in my hand, it was a relief that I would not be cutting up Dr. Willin’s memories. She seemed dedicated and concerned, although maybe a little too focused on not getting in trouble.
“Well, here goes,” I said. I tilted my head back and put the endobot in my mouth. It had a slight mint flavor and felt oily on my tongue. Soon enough it was down the hatch. Hoping for the best, I got up to leave.
As we exited the exam room, Josefeen looked up from her tablet.
“Still alive, I see,” she said with a smirk. “Tell it to me true, Doctor. Is he a goner?”
“I pretty sure he’ll survive,” Dr. Willin replied. “But we’ll find out more in a day or so.”
«Ooh, an endobot. And Irritable Bowel Syndrome?» Josefeen had obviously read her mind. «I knew you were irritable, sir, but your bowels too?»
Jim Vassilakos
Conrad Rader
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Conrad Rader
Oops. "About a standard day..." should have been "A little over two standard days...."Hope you're enjoying the snarky banter, but if it's getting to be too much, let me know.
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Jim Vassilakos
“I pretty sure he’ll survive,” Dr. Willin replied. “But we’ll find out more in a couple of days.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “I am sure you will be in touch if the bot finds anything.”
“Of course, sir.”
«Ooh, an endobot. And Irritable Bowel Syndrome?» Josefeen had obviously read her mind. «I knew you were irritable, sir, but your bowels too?»
Tired of arching my eyebrows at her, I settled for an extended stare as we departed.
«That is the lowest form of humor, Lieutenant. Do try something that will make me not wince for you in embarrassment.»
Two psionic options here to consider before waiting for her response. The first is that Gus could close his curtain, forcing her to reply verbally as well as protecting his own thoughts from being read. The second is that he could try to “zap” her in the way he’d done before, back in the STT carriage, which would likely push her out of his mind for at least the moment. Before we proceed, does he want to do either or both of these? Also, either way, tell me to what extent he’s actually angry with respect to her behavior / personality. Is Gus getting annoyed with the liberties she’s continually taking, or is he (aside from you) enjoying the playful banter between them? Say on a scale of 1 to 7, how high is his actual level of anger in this moment?
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
Sorry for the delay. Busy week.
«Ooh, an endobot. And Irritable Bowel Syndrome?» Josefeen had obviously read her mind. «I knew you were irritable, sir, but your bowels too?»
Tired of arching my eyebrows at her, I settled for an extended stare as we departed.
«That is the lowest form of humor, Lieutenant. Do try something that will make me not wince for you in embarrassment.»
I pulled my psi-curtain closed and intensified my stare, daring her to respond, dropping the curtain just long enough to project images of the piles of forms under which I would bury her before drawing it closed again.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Please, anything but paperwork.”
Was that sarcasm, or was she as terrified of Mt. Paperwork as I?
It didn’t matter. I willed her to the background of my awareness and looked for some place of calm inside myself. Her provocations aside, messing with people’s memories did not sit well with me, but I couldn’t afford to alienate my only trainer despite disagreement over her methods, no matter how richly she deserved it for putting me into this position. And were I to embrace my anger, as I had in front of the Countess, I might project it onto her, which, if that’s what was going on, would explain the trajectory of our dynamic.
Work the problem, check the angles and find a solution, I thought to myself inside the privacy of my curtained mind. Josafeen was not the problem; she was a distraction. My problem was fulfilling the expectations of being a psionic captain in the Navy, while performing at the behest of Naval Intelligence, a balancing act with potential knives all around.
By now we’d passed most of the engine rooms of the ship’s herculean maneuver drives, and the starboard medbay was just up ahead on the right, but as we approached, I noticed Josefeen’s little delivery bot, or at least one of an identical design, waiting by the entrance.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“An old adversary,” she said as she leaned down and pressed the button on its dorsal surface, opening its compartment and this time revealing a data slate with a bank of five antennae. It was the psi-detector I’d borrowed from the naval base, the one Shumurdim had pointed at me in the admiral’s office. Josefeen withdrew it, returning the little black pouch to the compartment, and then sent her little delivery bot on its way, no doubt back to the intel pod. “Pugh thinks we’re looking for a succubus, so we need to look like we are.”
Any last words from Gus before they go in, and does he keep his curtain shut or does he open it again?
Timothy Collinson
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
>Sorry for the delay. Busy week.
>“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Please, anything but paperwork.”
>Was that sarcasm, or was she as terrified of Mt. Paperwork as I?
>“An old adversary,” she said as she leaned down and pressed the button on its dorsal surface, opening its compartment and this time revealing a data slate with a bank of five antennae. It was the psi-detector
Timothy Collinson
Sent: 26 September 2026 10:55
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
Jim Vassilakos
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Timothy Collinson
Jim Vassilakos
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Timothy Collinson
Jim Vassilakos
>Maybe some sort of miniature robotic chem lab with a muzzle mask attached by a long hose so the scent can be confined. Maybe have multiple hoses for the high-end ones, >good for parties. Basically a vargr hookah.
Now that I hadn't imagined!
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Timothy Collinson
To: plankwel...@googlegroups.com <plankwel...@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Re: [Plankwell PBEM] Chapter 57
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“But you are going to leave it off, right? Or are we going to add another layer of memory to strip out?”
“It depends how this goes,” Josefeen said. “Pugh has a little secret.”
“Oh?”
“If you would open your drapes, you might see it for yourself. I’ll tell you when it’s time to close them.”
(Does Gus still decide to keep his curtain closed or does he go with Josefeen’s suggestion.)
Conrad Rader
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Jim Vassilakos
“It depends how this goes,” Josefeen said. “Pugh has a little secret.”
“Oh?”
“If you would open your drapes, you might see it for yourself. I’ll tell you when it’s time to close them.”
I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about this, given what had almost happened in Admiral Karneticky’s office, but suggestions from INI were not to be cheerfully ignored, even when the conveyor was pushing my buttons, testing me or so I’d telepathically gleaned. Inwardly grumbling at their opaque ways, let alone the issues I had with Josefeen, I parted my psychic drapes and sent her a telepathic acknowledgment.
«Always pays to keep an open mind.»
Besides, two could play the being annoying game.
* * *
“Ah, a psi-detector,” Pugh said, recognizing the device in Josefeen’s hand. We’d just entered his office, yet despite it’s couch, aquarium, and potted plants, the predominant feeling I got from him was fear, or rather the memory of a very specific moment, one where a psi-detector had been pointed at him, and he thought for a moment he’d be discovered.
Pugh’s a psion?
“Yes,” Josefeen said, adding, «but a lesser one,» as she glanced at me before returning her attention to Pugh. “I was hoping you could test it for us to make sure it’s within legal parameters.”
They want to use it as the basis for an arrest, he was thinking. Which means they’ve found the succubus.
“Who’s your suspect, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“That’s classified,” Josefeen said. “Do you have a need to know?”
“Uh, well… the only reason I ask is because I’d like to examine their records and see if there’s something I missed.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Josefeen said. “It’s not your fault.”
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief, although he was still somewhat concerned about the thing in Josefeen’s hand, the psi-detector, which she handed him.
“Captain, I suppose you’re here for your neuroscans?”
“Yes,” I said. (or change this response, if you like.)
“Right this way, sir.”
He guided us into a small lab that included a reclining exam chair and, immediately above it, a rather octopoid-looking robot hanging down from the ceiling. At the ends of its various appendages were mostly these large, bowl-shaped gizmos, and next to the recliner was a holographic console. He opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked a little bit like a voltage meter, setting it down next to the console.
“You can lay down,” he said. “And please turn off all electronic devices.”
I switched off my wrist-comm and lied down as he sat at the console. (Feel free to add to this, if you like. And Timothy, feel free to correct if lied should be lay or laid or whatever.)
“We’ll start with a Neural Topography.” He pushed a button. “It’ll give us a structural overview of your brain.”
I lifted my head slightly as the octopoid robot gently slid one of its bowls over the top of my skull.
«You can leave your curtain open for this one,» Josefeen sent. «It shouldn’t hurt, although NT’s have been known to tickle.»
“Please try to remain perfectly still.” Pugh said, hitting a switch and causing the brain scanner to begin humming.
(Feel free to describe the sensation, if you like.)
Meanwhile, Pugh turned his attention to the voltage meter or whatever it was, attaching one of its wires to one of the psi-detector’s five antennae. He was almost done hooking up a second one when the brain scanner stopped humming. He hit a button on the console and was rewarded with a holographic image of my brain, complete with some item of interest identified by the scanner’s software.
“Hmm…” he hmmed. According to the software, there was a peculiar asymmetry, one consistent with either an increased risk of hallucinations, persistent synesthesia, or psionic telepathy, none of which anyone wanted in an Imperial Captain, at least not on this side of the neutral zone.
“What’s hmm mean?” Josefeen asked, knowing full well what hmm meant.
“I don’t know yet,” Pugh said. “We’ll do a Neuromagnetic Resonance Tomograph.” He pressed a button, and the octopoid robot switched bowls, a new one soon pressing down around the top of my head.
«Leave your curtain open,» Josefeen sent. «But no psionics. Think about nothing.»
Think about nothing? There was more humming, and this time, the sensation was more like…
(Again, feel free to describe. Not tickling, this time, but something different.)
“Did you feel anything?” Pugh asked once the humming stopped.
«No,» Josefeen sent.
(Gus’s response.)
Pugh hit a button, and once again, the machine put a new bowl on my head. His fingertips danced over the console’s keyboard. He was targeting a specific area of my brain. He was going to hit me with some sort of psionoelectric pulse.
«Draw your curtain, sir, and hold it tight until I cough.»
(Go ahead and describe, if you like.)
There was a wave of nausea, just like in Heron’s Stadium just outside the starport when IBIS did their psionic scream, but this time it was sharper, more forceful, but it passed just as soon as it started.
“You don’t feel anything?” Pugh asked.
Josefeen, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.
(Gus’s response.)
Timothy Collinson
Conrad Rader
“It depends how this goes,” Josefeen said. “Pugh has a little secret.”
“Oh?”
“If you would open your drapes, you might see it for yourself. I’ll tell you when it’s time to close them.”
I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about this, given what had almost happened in Admiral Karneticky’s office, but suggestions from INI were not to be cheerfully ignored, even when the conveyor was pushing my buttons, testing me or so I’d telepathically gleaned. Inwardly grumbling at their opaque ways, let alone the issues I had with Josefeen, I parted my psychic drapes and sent her a telepathic acknowledgment.
«Always pays to keep an open mind.»
Besides, two could play the being annoying game.
* * *
“Ah, a psi-detector,” Pugh said, recognizing the device in Josefeen’s hand. We’d just entered his office, yet despite it’s couch, aquarium, and potted plants, the predominant feeling I got from him was fear, or rather the memory of a very specific moment, one where a psi-detector had been pointed at him, and he thought for a moment he’d be discovered.
Pugh’s a psion?
“Yes,” Josefeen said, adding, «but a lesser one,» as she glanced at me before returning her attention to Pugh. “I was hoping you could test it for us to make sure it’s within legal parameters.”
They want to use it as the basis for an arrest, he was thinking. Which means they’ve found the succubus.
“Who’s your suspect, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“That’s classified,” Josefeen said. “Do you have a need to know?”
“Uh, well… the only reason I ask is because I’d like to examine their records and see if there’s something I missed.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Josefeen said. “It’s not your fault.”
Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief, although he was still somewhat concerned about the thing in Josefeen’s hand, the psi-detector, which she handed him.
“Captain, I suppose you’re here for your neuroscans?”
“Yes,” I said. (or change this response, if you like.)
“Right this way, sir.”
He guided us into a small lab that included a reclining exam chair and, immediately above it, a rather octopoid-looking robot hanging down from the ceiling. At the ends of its various appendages were mostly these large, bowl-shaped gizmos, and next to the recliner was a holographic console. He opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked a little bit like a voltage meter, setting it down next to the console.
“You can lay down,” he said. “And please turn off all electronic devices.”
I switched off my wrist-comm and lied down as he sat at the console. (Feel free to add to this, if you like. And Timothy, feel free to correct if lied should be lay or laid or whatever.). I felt the adaptive surface of the recliner move into position as it isolated and stabilized the position of my head. It was an uncanny feeling. (personal note: I have had MRI and PET scans done of my head and they use a expanding foam bag in an armature to lock your head into position, I am assuming that the far future has a similar procedure although slightly less claustrophobic; at least that was the procedure 30 years ago, maybe it's different these days)
“We’ll start with a Neural Topography.” He pushed a button. “It’ll give us a structural overview of your brain.”
I
lifted my head slightlyfelt a cool touch as the octopoid robot gently slid one of its bowls over the top of my skull.
«You can leave your curtain open for this one,» Josefeen sent. «It shouldn’t hurt, although NT’s have been known to tickle.»
“Please try to remain perfectly still.” Pugh said, hitting a switch and causing the brain scanner to begin humming.
There was once a time when a girlfriend used a multi-tine scalp massager on me by surprise, and the sudden sensations of rippling pleasure running down my spine and arms made me gasp in recognition of that same experience.
Meanwhile, Pugh turned his attention to the voltage meter or whatever it was, attaching one of its wires to one of the psi-detector’s five antennae. He was almost done hooking up a second one when the brain scanner stopped humming. He hit a button on the console and was rewarded with a holographic image of my brain, complete with some item of interest identified by the scanner’s software.
“Hmm…” he hmmed. According to the software, there was a peculiar asymmetry, one consistent with either an increased risk of hallucinations, persistent synesthesia, or psionic telepathy, none of which anyone wanted in an Imperial Captain, at least not on this side of the neutral zone.
“What’s hmm mean?” Josefeen asked, knowing full well what hmm meant.
“I don’t know yet,” Pugh said. “We’ll do a Neuromagnetic Resonance Tomograph.” He pressed a button, and the octopoid robot switched bowls, a new one soon pressing down around the top of my head.
«Leave your curtain open,» Josefeen sent. «But no psionics. Think about nothing.»
Think about nothing? There was more humming, and this time, the sensation was more like…
A great eye opened into my psychic space and I felt the gaze pressing on me. On one hand, I knew that was not the case, but on the other hand, it felt exactly like something was searching for me. I had been on enough simulated combat missions with Marines to know the feeling that you know something is looking for you. Think of nothing she says, and I thought about the nothing when I was a junior officer attending other peoples' mission briefings. For some reason, I had a brief flash of memory of my time during the misjump, and wondering what was going to happen when we were overdue for emergence. And then it all snapped away
(Again, feel free to describe. Not tickling, this time, but something different.)
“Did you feel anything?” Pugh asked once the humming stopped.
«No,» Josefeen sent.
I looking over towards Pugh and felt the resistance of the head restraint. "Nothing in my head, have a bit of a cramp in my shoulder, can I shake it out?"
Pugh hit a button, and once again, the machine put a new bowl on my head. His fingertips danced over the console’s keyboard. He was targeting a specific area of my brain. He was going to hit me with some sort of psionoelectric pulse.
«Draw your curtain, sir, and hold it tight until I cough.»
I grabbed the curtain and pulled tight as I felt the spike of energy hit. It was a huge wave of nausea, just like in Heron’s Stadium just outside the starport when IBIS did their psionic scream, but this time it was sharper, more forceful, but it passed just as soon as it started. I had barely started to retch and tried to pass it off as a cough
“You don’t feel anything?” Pugh asked.
Josefeen, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.
"Sorry about the cough. Dry air. Am I supposed to be feeling something? You know, Willen had far less interest in what I was feeling when she told me to swallow an endobug"
Ooops. I had forgotten to mention the endobug, and assumed it was accounted for on my records and hoped that the scanner had not fried it.
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Jim Vassilakos
“Captain, I suppose you’re here for your neuroscans?”
I pinned him with the look, the one nobody taught but everyone learned. As a midshipman, it had trained me not to ask dumb questions, and to never, ever waste the time of any of the high ranking officers. “Is there another reason I should be here?” I asked him.
“Uh… no, sir… I…”
“Then, yes, I am here for the neuroscan.”
“Right this way, sir.”
I dropped my expression back into neutral as he guided us into a small lab that included a reclining exam chair and, immediately above it, a rather octopoid-looking robot hanging down from the ceiling. At the ends of its various appendages were mostly these large, bowl-shaped gizmos, and next to the recliner was a holographic console. He opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked a little bit like a voltage meter, setting it down next to the console.
“You can lay down,” he said. “And please turn off all electronic devices.”
I switched off my wrist-comm and lay down as he sat at the console, the adaptive surface of the recliner moving beneath me, forming a cavity precisely tailored to my body, so that I couldn’t move. Then one of the robot’s arms came down, further stabilizing the position of my head and locking it into the required position. It was an uncanny feeling, knowing I could neither move my head from side to side nor up and down, although I could still see them both out of the corner of one eye.
“We’ll start with a Neural Topography.” He pushed a button. “It’ll give us a structural overview of your brain.”
I felt a cool touch as the robot gently slid one of its bowls over the top of my head.
«You can leave your curtain open for this one,» Josefeen sent. «It shouldn’t hurt, although NT’s have been known to tickle.»
“Please try to remain perfectly still.” Pugh said as though I had any choice in the matter. Then he hit a switch, and the brain scanner began humming.
The sudden sensations rippling down my spine and arms reminded me of the time Vanista surprised me with her multi-tine scalp massager. This, however, was entirely non-physical.
“If you keep doing that, you’re going to have to buy me a drink,” I joked.
“You can feel it?” Pugh asked, looking up from the console.
«No,» Josefeen sent. «He’ll know you're psionically sensitive.»
Conrad Rader
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