A Sword Into Darkness (33 page)

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DTG RECEIPT:  17 1156Z MAR 2045

DTG TRANSMITTAL:  17 1016Z MAR 2045

TIME-DISTANCE LAG:  000:01:40:22.2 D:H:M:S

FROM:  David Edwards, MCPO, USAN

[[email protected]$USAN.MIL;

[email protected]$USAN.MIL]

TO:  Collette Markey

[[email protected]$SDGO.CA.GOV]

SUBJ:  Same Shit, Different Service

MSG:  I miss you, Bunny-girl.

Sorry I didn’t write yesterday, but our first full-fledged General Quarters battle drill turned into a complete clusterfuck.  It took hours to get the computer to release us from a training environment, and then even longer to reset the simulated damage and get the engines and other systems back online.  I’m definitely impressed with the simulation fidelity the Windward engineers managed to coax out of the ship’s network in the short time they had, but there’s something to be said for a longer test and evaluation period.  If it wasn’t for them damned aliens and their not-to-be-delayed schedule, I’d have opted for at least a few months in orbit before we got underway.

Our beloved Skipper Nathan took it all in stride (after a little ribbing from me, anyway), but the XO was some kind of pissed.  It seems that when good LCDR Christopher Wright was in this man’s Army, they didn’t put up with any wonky computer B.S.  Yeah, right.  You ain’t in the Army now, buddy, but even when you were, you still got saddled with some buggy shit.  I’ll guarantee it, especially in the Armored Cav Army.  Hell, I remember the Centurion II.  This isn’t any different—just a new uniform and a new setting.

That setting can be a little disconcerting, though, when the air shuts down and the engines go off and they both refuse to turn back on.  We are a long, long way away from home, and there ain’t no way back but on this ship.  I mean, right now I’m a hundred light-minutes from you, babe.  That’s 1,790,000,000 kilometers—beyond the orbit of Saturn—and we’re moving further away at nearly two percent the speed of light.

If Kris Muñoz’s little contraption ever realizes exactly how many laws of physics it’s breaking, we are completely screwed.

Some of the crew, particularly the ones who didn’t have any time in the service before coming under Gordon Lee’s wing, didn’t take the brief “unplanned interruption of systems” that well.  A few of them pretty much lost their shit when it dawned on them that this stuff was real and not just theoretical any more (it’s amazingly easy to forget that, when we’re all walking around in a continuous one g, even though we’re in deep space).

Nathan proved himself.  He has this steady, companionable style, like he knew this was coming all along, and that calmed most of them.  I joked a few others out of their death spiral (Note to Self:  reminding folks that our ship’s initials could also stand for
Shit Outta Luck
may not soothe as much as intended).  But a couple of our newly “enlisted” spacers just could not get it together.  I was thinking about some alternative counseling techniques, old-school Chief-style, Nathan was wondering about sedating them, but neither method turned out to be necessary.

The XO waded in and yelled them into submission.  Started going on and on about how they weren’t civilians anymore, that they were technicians in the US Aerospace Navy and that they had a tradition of duty to uphold.  Tradition?  Our service is just over one week old and it has a manpower of only thirty people.  Still, he sold it.  Said they might well be at war and if they didn’t shape up, he’d shove them out an airlock, friends or not.  That was a bit much, but I’ll be damned if the guy didn’t almost have me scared to attention as well.

I guess there’s something to be said for strait-laced, humorless Army-types after all.  I may give him a ration of shit (it’s my oath-given right), but he’ll make a good XO, certainly better than me or Kris Muñoz, Nathan’s other two candidates.  Kris is too egghead flaky, and I’m a Master Chief, damn it—don’t go screwing with my self-image at this point.  As XO, I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on!

Ba-dum, chiii!!!  Thank you, thank you, I’m here all week, folks!

Well, enough of this Navy crap.  Let me wax philosophic about those lovely feet of yours.  Oh—

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DTG RECEIPT:  11 2217Z APR 2045

DTG TRANSMITTAL:  10 1341Z APR 2045

TIME-DISTANCE LAG:  001:08:36:18.8 D:H:M:S

FROM:  Kristene Muñoz, LT, USAN

[[email protected]$USAN.MIL;

[email protected]$USAN.MIL]

TO:  Maria Muñoz-Turner

[[email protected]$HSTN.TX.GOV]

SUBJ:  Pass this to that son-of-a-bitch

MSG:  Mamma,

I’m so, so sorry that you have to go through this by yourself.  I know, Ron is there for you, and I’m thankful you have him, but I also know he doesn’t like crossing the orbit of you, me, and Dad, so he’s probably going hands off.  But I’m too far away to send the bastard packing, so your husband really needs to get over his “respect for family boundaries” and punch that father of mine in the dang nose.

I can’t believe the sheer temerity (I’d prefer to say balls or gall, but I know how you are about strong language) he has to start claiming credit on the news for me being up here.  He doesn’t give a damn about me and he hasn’t since he walked out on us when I was in GRADE SCHOOL!  Ugh!!  He makes me so mad!  I’m just a paycheck to him, his chance at 15 minutes.  You should call those same shows and let him know just how involved he was in my upbringing.  I’m here in SPITE of him, NOT because of him.

Sorry.  I don’t want to waste my ration of bandwidth on that jerk.  How are you otherwise?  Did your showing go all right?  Things here are … boring.  I never would have believed that a voyage through outer space would become tedious, but, yep, that’s what it is.  The first day blew our minds.  The first week was really, really cool and different and exciting, the second week was the same thing over again, the third week—same.  Fourth—ditto.

I mean, all we do is cruise, and drill, and study up on culture and fine art and literature (that’s the XO’s doing—who knew such a dour hard-ass would have a bachelor’s in Art History) and watch gauges that don’t move.  I guess I’m happy that my stuff works so well, but the last bit of excitement we had was that power and propulsion failure a few weeks ago, and that was only a software glitch.

It would have been a nice change of pace to do a flyby on a planet and see one for the first time up-close, but our course took us down out of the ecliptic, and no worlds were on our line of bearing anyway.  Anyways, we’re too far out now regardless:  35 BILLION km out at .088c—pretty much past the Kuiper Belt and the scattered disk, right at the heliopause, where the interstellar “wind” stops the solar “wind” (not that we felt anything different.  Particle densities got way higher, but nothing our shielding couldn’t stop.).  Ah, astronomical gobbledygook.  Ask Ron to go over it with you.

Point is, while interesting from a numbers standpoint, in a social sense it’s duller than dirt.  All we do is sit around and watch the same movies and have the same conversations and wonder about the same things, over and over again (Deltan stuff mostly).  Oh, my Captain, my Captain is still an entertaining toy (can you see me blushing down to my bright chartreuse roots all the way from Earth?), but Nathan is being affected by the boredom same as everyone else.  Problem is, he’s the responsible, serious type, and he and the XO use their massive spare time to one-up each other on contact scenarios and engagement options—which only underscores how utterly alone we are on this mission.  Chief of the Boat Edwards and I try to keep them from getting too lost in all the infinite dire possibilities, but it’s tough.

So, bored is me.  And now I’m worried about you and what that ass is up to.  You know what I think you and Ron should do.  I’ll leave it at that, but for one last thing, which you should absolutely pass on to my dear father:

Dad, your little girl, the one who has nothing but antipathy for you, is the inventor of both the most powerful engine in the world, and the most awesomely destructive weapon known to mankind.  I did this in response to a POTENTIAL threat to those I love.  Should you become an ACTUAL threat, or should you ruin mine or my mother’s names, what do you think I’ll come up with in retribution for that?  I may be a universe away, but I’m still close enough to squash you like the bug you are.

There, I’m off to mess with one of my division officers’ heads (can you believe Nathan actually put ME in charge of PEOPLE?) down in Engineering.

Your loving, ever faithful daughter,

Krissy.