First Command (14 page)

Everyone at the table expression changed to one ranging from curiosity, in the case of Smith’s provincial features, to stunned surprise on Halman’s overbred brow. Centennial City, located on Terra Nova, was the Capital of the Alphanius System star system and one of the greatest metropolises in human history with nearly a billion souls. It was the primary seat of commerce and culture for all the inner worlds. Solarian aristocrats and nova rich aped its styles as did the rest of the inhabited space. To travel to Centennial City was as magnificent a journey as setting foot on the ancient soil of Earth.

“The Beijing Opera was the troupe performing that rendition, and you understand that afterward I found it hard to take any new piece of theater seriously. New being a relative term of course,” Jonathan continued. “What strikes me though is when Mr. Gilbert Sullivan wrote the
Mikado.
It was written nearly a millennium ago, yet the entire world of topsy-turvy is just as funny today as it was when it was first performed. So to answer your question Doctor,” Jonathan took another sip of his wine before finishing. “I think that the whole thing is irrelevant. The more things change the more they stay the same.”

“Precisely,” Lt. Varden Baker said. “I could only follow half of what you were saying about theater and this and that, but the Captain's right. Men might change their fashion’s, their clothes, their language but they don't stop being men.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Doctor Walder replied. He looked ready to launch into another discussion but Lt. Qin Smith interjected, “Excuse me Captain, but how was it you had the privilege to set your sights on the wonders of Centennial at such a young age?”

Smith’s curiosity was understandable. Many Solarian citizens traveled to the inner worlds on business or pleasure. It was a four month trip one way at speed, six months on a lumbering cruise ship nearly a year out of someone’s life to fly there and back again.

Jonathan smiled at the question as he replied, “My father was a Merchant Captain. I grew up aboard an independent hauler ship plying the trade lanes of the inner and mid worlds. I had the great privilege to see many sights most people go their whole life without witnessing. The double sunset of Centennial City, the sprawling expanse of New York, the great dome of St. Peters. Awe inspiring stuff of course it can't compare to home.”

“Singking, the Queen of Cities” Lt. Baker said solemnly.

Jonathan smiled, “Queen she maybe indeed Mr. Baker, but my home is right here,” Jonathan tapped the table with his knuckle. “I’m a spacer born in bred, and nothing man can build can ever out do what creation has made.”

“A toast then,” Smith said his stutter slightly less pronounced. “To the Republic, to all of Creation, and to the good ship the
Titan
our home.”

Every man and woman at the table raised his or her glasses and solemnly stated, “To the
Titan
.” 

Letting the fine texture of the wine run over his tongue, Jonathan hid his smile. A fine group of officers he had. Some were a little rough around the edges, but they would do their duty, and more important they were fond of their ship, whose honor though besmirched they would fight to restore.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough with everyone retiring not long after dessert was served. Everyone except Jonathan who sat at the table polishing off the wine while the stewards cleared the table. Reflecting on the course of the week’s events and already planning the next series of drills, Jonathan sensed someone lingering in the doorway. He glanced up to find Lt. Commander Gopal fidgeting.

“Yes Mr. Gopal, did you need something?”

Gopal seemed hesitant, but finally nodded, “Aye sir, I um..” he couldn't seem to find the right words. Jonathan waited patiently for him to collect himself. Snapping at the man would only fluster him, and if Gopal, the ships tactical officer had a concern, Jonathan wanted to know what it was. After all, it did little good to alienate the man who controlled the ship’s weaponry. 

“Well you see Captain,” Gopal finally managed to seem to know what he wanted to say. “It’s Commander Trendale, he um, well you see Will, I mean Commander Trendale, and I are friends, and he’s been saying some things in private that are concerning.”

Jonathan took a measured sip of his wine before replying, “ A Saven White, from Southern Albion 839, a good year and a fine place to make wine. Care for some Mr. Gopal?” Jonathan asked pouring him a glass. Somewhat hesitantly, Gopal sat down and took a sip

“Aye very good sir.”

Jonathan unbuttoned his uniform jacket, and loosed his belt before stretching and taking a great yawn. Then looking back at Lt. Commander Gopal his face serious but open, “No sirs now Nathan, no Captains either, not even any Skippers. Now it’s just Jonathan and Nathan discussing the troubles of their shipmate, understood?”

“Aye Capt... I mean John.”

Jonathan looked skyward, “Oh great who ever you are, preserve me. I do so hate the name John.” Looking back at Nathan his eyes mournful, “Please call me Jonathan. My mother use to call me John when she was cross, and my brat of a brother would call me Johnny boy.”

Nathan seemed to relax a little smiling easily and removing his cap placing it next to him on the table.

“I can understand that Jonathan, my older brothers were as vicious.”

“It does seem to be a universal trait,” Jonathan replied. “Perhaps its a genetic anomaly someone ought to investigate.” 

“Now,” Jonathan said more seriously. “What’s your concern about the XO?”

Gopal seemed to hesitate again, but after a few seconds mustered his words.

“Will,” he paused then continued. “Will is a good officer, and he knows he’s a good officer. The problem is sometimes he tries to be too good, and every setback or failure he takes as a personal affront. Captain Green in addition to being a spineless venal little man, was a master of delegation. Will basically ran this ship for almost two years. and the whole time was unaware of any illegal activity. So when Green and the rest went down with the
Hydra,
Will couldn't believe he’d been so blind. He was cleared by the NPIB, but I think that just redoubled his failure at least in his own eyes. Then of course he sees himself as tainted, and believes that’s why he was passed over for command. I don’t mean to speak ill of the man. I consider him a friend, but Captain,” Gopal used Jonathan's rank rather than name to highlight the seriousness of the topic. “He’s been going downhill since we made berth in Macran, drinking heavily, flying into rages for no reason at all. He terrorized the yard crew. Now that we’re in space I’m afraid he isn't going to be able to maintain his sobriety or temper while he’s on duty. I’m also afraid sir he may even start to behave in a conduct unbecoming of an officer out of blind rage and self pity.”

Gopal finished and looked at Jonathan square in the eye. He had just taken an enormous risk bringing these concerns to his superior. If Jonathan wanted to, he could enter Gopal’s concerns in William Trendale’s fitness report and place a black cloud over his career ever after. If Jonathan was a particularly spiteful CO, he could wait for Trendale to slip up then relieve him of his post, for all intents and purposes ending his career.

Jonathan took his glass and set it on the table, straightening his posture.

“Mr. Gopal. First let me say thank you for sharing your concerns with me, because it shows you have the attitude of an exceptional officer, to put the good of the ship above all else.” Gopal turned pale realizing he might have just killed his friend’s career.

“Now,” Jonathan continued. “I want you to know that I’ll take care of this situation quietly, and in a manner that impacts neither of you personally or professionally. I’ve read Mr. Trendale’s file, as I’ve read all of yours and it’s my estimation that you all have the potential to be exceptional officers. I won’t do anything official unless I have absolutely no choice. You understand?”

“Aye Sir.” Gopal replied.

“Good,” Jonathan said rising from his seat. “Well we best retire. We have much to do. Mr. Gopal do you play chess?”

Getting to his feet also Gopal nodded, “Aye, though only middling.”

Jonathan turned his eyes skyward, “Spare me, Who Ever You Are, my tactical officer is only a middling chess player.” Turning his eyes back to Gopal, “Well how about a game, and a brandy before bed.”

Gopal smiled, “That’d be nice sir.”

As it turned out, Nathan Gopal, formerly of the Overwatch Naval Academy chess club, was only a middling player by professional standards, and beat Jonathan soundly twice. Jonathan managed a final win. After wishing Gopal good night, Jonathan sat in the dark of his cabin swirling his brandy. He had to deal with William Trendale’s attitude in a way that was both quiet and unofficial. It wouldn't do for the ship’s first officer to be openly resentful of the captain. That would be bad for moral, but the problem was figuring out how. More and more Jonathan was realizing command was acting as if you had all the answers while you were making them up as you went along.

Chapter
VII

On board
RSNS Titan
DD-0023 Solaria System, Solarian Republic,

The edge of the Solarian System on the verge of the Kaplan Wormway

February 2nd 841 AE  (2802 AD) 10:00hrs

Two days after his chat with Lt. Commander Gopal, Jonathan was still observing his XO and he realized William Trendale was positively bubbling under the surface, but while on duty he managed to stay the picture of professionalism. Thus, Jonathan decided simply to file the potential problem under issues to be addressed at a later date and resumed the training regimen he’d been putting the crew through.  This however was done at a more sedate pace. Instead of ship-wide drills, Jonathan had begun a rotating schedule of department drills and training runs, based on each department heads. The drills were suspended when Lt. Halman announced that
Titan
was within twelve hours of the Kaplan Wormway. Once Halman handed Jonathan the official notice, Jonathan flipped the switch on his main console labeled, TRANSIT WARNING. The switch set off a low klaxon signal throughout the ship. The alarm rang three times and without an order being shouted every man and women dropped what they were doing and proceeded to their transit stations. Wormways were the highways that allowed men to move between stars, but they were also dangerous and unstable. Wormways were naturally occurring corridors between the gravity wells of stars, where time and space became meaningless. An ancient physicist on Earth had first theorized their existence centuries ago, calling it a string theory. The wormways were the strings he had theorized. All man had to do was find a way to access them. The first wormway had been discovered in the Sol system. The ancient Earth-Centari corridor was mankind’s first route out of the Sol system. That was a naturally stable wormway, a true rarity. Less than 1 in 1,000 wormways were estimated to remain naturally stable. The rest shifted and moved, pulled and tug as if a great hand were moving the very fabric of the universe. That hand was gravity, the ebb and flow of galaxies moving through the infinite empty black. As a result, most unstable wormways were extremely dangerous. They could dissolve in a second, change the stars they connected, or more frequently become wracked with radiation. Physicists and other eggheads had complex names for the phenomenon, but spacers, the men who flew through the wormways, called such occurrences
Temporal Storms.
Over time that had become the layman's term for all the terrible occurrences an unstable wormway could inflict on spacers. Jonathan remembered growing up hearing the stories of mighty ships lost to the temporal storms.
The Essex,
the flagship of the United Nations Transolar Authority Fleet, whose loss had herald the final collapse of mankind’s first planetary government. The
Proxima’s Glory,
a colony ship with more than 25,000 souls aboard, turned into a ship of the dead and the dammed as radiation lashed her hull and blinded her sensors. The crew was killed outright and her passengers were left in hyper sleep until one by one their life pods failed. Most famous of all was the
Edmund Fitzbellum,
an ancient bulk freighter who had been struck by a temporal storm in mid-transit and deposited into an unknown star system. Her surviving crew had wrecked the ship on a barren world, and somehow survived for three generations until an exploration ship from Earth found them. Every spacer knew these stories, and they chilled them to the bone. Fortunately, man had yet to meet an obstacle natural or otherwise that he could not overcome through sheer ingenuity.  Three centuries before Jonathan's birth, the Ring Gates had been perfected. Each one a massive construction fifty miles across would pump various particles through the wormways and use their centrifugal spin to create gravitational forces no grav plate could match. Through the use of the Rings, wormways were 90% stable, and when temporal storms did begin to build the Rings served as an early warning station able to stop all traffic through the wormways. Even with the rings though, the wormways were finicky and unpredictable, coughing up radiation at a moments notice. As a result, the standard operating procedure for any ship making transit was the same. Officers and bridge crew would stay at their post as the bridge was probably the most heavily shielded part of the ship, and engineering would be manned by a skeleton staff. All other personnel would lock themselves in their quarters, which doubled as radiation shelters for twelve hours until the transit was complete. Post transit, there would usually be an uptick in minor injuries from fights. A few men might call in sick as they were too drunk to perform their duties but most captains, Jonathan included, would turn a blind eye to it. Within thirty minutes of Jonathan sounding the transit alarm, all departments had reported in. Bulkheads were sealed, and the crew was in their bunks
RSNS Titan
was ready for transit.