The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Dreadnaught (19 page)

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Authors: Jack Campbell

BOOK: The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Dreadnaught
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Barely an hour later, Desjani called him. “We have a shuttle from
Tanuki
on approach. There’s a visitor for you aboard it.”
Given the ease of virtual visits among ships, an actual physical journey between ships for consultations was a rare thing. However, even the most secure software didn’t ensure no one was eavesdropping on virtual visits, and apparently Captain Smythe thought there were some more things to say that shouldn’t run any risk of being overheard.
But the officer who arrived at Geary’s stateroom twenty minutes later wasn’t Smythe but a lieutenant. A lieutenant with green hair. Not just shades of green within another color but brilliantly green. “Lieutenant Elysia Jamenson, sir. Captain Smythe believed I should meet with you in person to discuss my role in assisting fleet readiness and repair, Admiral.”
He invited the lieutenant to take a seat opposite his own, taking a moment to try to size her up before asking the obvious question. “Just why does Captain Smythe think I need to meet with you in person, Lieutenant Jamenson?”
Sitting with her back straight instead of relaxing, Jamenson replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “Captain Smythe has ordered me to work in direct support of you regarding the fleet’s maintenance requirements, Admiral Geary. I will be responsible for formatting reports, requisitions, and all other supply and logistics issues related to keeping the fleet’s warships at the best possible state of readiness, as well as providing you with status reports on those matters.”
He leaned back, resting his chin on one fist. Jamenson seemed to be in her midtwenties, consistent with her rank but an oddly young age for such a responsibility. “What is it about you that makes Captain Smythe certain that you’re the right person for that job?”
“I confuse things, sir.”
“What?”
“I confuse things.” Jamenson gestured around to encompass the universe with a wave of her hand. “I can take information, data, reports, and requisitions and render them in a form almost impossible to understand.”
Geary barely managed not to laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve met any number of people, and any number of lieutenants, who could do the same thing.”
“Yes, Admiral, but you see, I can do it on purpose, and I don’t actually
change
the information, or do anything wrong with it, or put it into a form that doesn’t meet the requirements of the regulations and other rules. The information is still complete, accurate, and properly rendered. It’s just very, very hard to understand.”
This time Geary did laugh. “So you’ll do that in regard to the work by the auxiliaries to keep our ships going, and, therefore, keep headquarters and the civilian bureaucracy so confused they won’t be aware of how much we’re spending?”
“Those are my marching orders, yes, Admiral.”
No wonder Smythe hadn’t wanted any record of this conversation within the fleet comm systems. “And how am I or anyone else in the fleet supposed to keep track of what’s actually going on?”
Jamenson smiled confidently. “I can also work in reverse, Admiral. As long as the information starts out valid, I can unconfuse it and render it in a form easy to grasp.”
Geary realized that both of his eyebrows had risen as he looked at Jamenson. “That is an extremely impressive set of talents, Lieutenant. Where did you learn how to do that?”
“I came by it naturally, sir. My father says I got it from my mother.”
“I see.”
Jamenson’s voice took on a trace of apology. “I was also ordered by Captain Smythe to inform you that he would take it very badly if you poached me for your staff, Admiral.”
Another laugh. “Captain Smythe, and you, can rest easy on that count. I prefer my staff to have other jobs, so they do what I need them to do without trying to fill spare time finding extra things for themselves or others to do.”
“I’ll inform Captain Smythe of that, sir.”
“Thank you.” Geary paused to look her over again, wondering just what uses Smythe had found for Jamenson’s talents in the past. The ability to confuse the bureaucracy as to your actions could be invaluable. “I’d like to ensure we’re on the same page when it comes to our goals. What do you see as your responsibility?”
“To do all I can to assist in maintaining the fleet at its current state of readiness and in upgrading of existing systems to ensure long-term readiness,” Jamenson recited.
“Perfect. Do you have any questions about what I want?”
She hesitated for the first time, something that reassured Geary. Officers who were too confident could too easily overreach or make mistakes. “My understanding is that you prefer to work within regulations, sir.”
“That’s correct.”
“Are there circumstances,” Jamenson said carefully, “under which you would approve actions contrary to—”
“No.” He smiled encouragingly to take any sting from the blunt reply. “If we need something that bad, I expect people like you and Captain Smythe to figure out how we can get it within regulations. Somehow. Some way. Find a loophole or an interpretation that could be defended as justified.” Memory of the near disaster involving the mass courts-martial for low fuel cell levels crowded in then, making Geary’s smile vanish. “I don’t want anyone making the mistake of thinking that I want them to break regulations. If that’s the only alternative, then I take that responsibility openly. We don’t do something like that under the table even if we can make it hard for anyone to figure out that we did it.”
Lieutenant Jamenson had been listening intently, and nodded. “I understand, Admiral.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Captain Smythe asked me to invite you to visit
Tanuki
in person whenever it is convenient, Admiral,” Jamenson said. “I should mention that
Tanuki
’s wardroom has one of the finest selections of wines, liquors, and other distilled and fermented beverages in human space.”
That helped explain some of what Smythe had been up to. Geary wondered how many VIPs had found their shipments of luxury goods mysteriously shorted as a result of something like “damaged in transit” and how many requisitions from
Tanuki
for unusual items had gone unremarked because of creative formatting. “Thank you, Lieutenant Jamenson. I don’t know when I can manage a visit to
Tanuki
in person, but I’ll keep the offer in mind. I look forward to working with you.”
“Most of my visits will be through the fleet virtual-meeting system,” she added, “but Captain Smythe thought it wise that I explain my role in person.”
Desjani had been right. Smythe was clearly an old hand at playing games in which he didn’t want to leave any unnecessary traces inside official records. “Good idea. Lieutenant; there’s one other thing that I have to ask you, given that both you and Captain Smythe understand the need for keeping a low profile.”
“My hair, sir?” Jamenson asked.
“Yes. I’ve seen a few other sailors with green hair but never talked to any of them about it since it was within regulations. But it’s still a bit flamboyant.”
Jamenson smiled ruefully. “It’s my natural color, sir. I’m from Éire.”
“Éire?” The name didn’t ring a bell, so Geary called up a star map. “That’s pretty far distant, one of the star systems colonized directly from Old Earth.”
“Yes, Admiral. The first colonists on Éire had a fondness for such shades of green and may have been a wee bit too free with genetic engineering.” She touched her temple lightly. “It can be reversed, but many of us think that it would be improper to change something that meant much to our ancestors, is mostly harmless to us, and causes no harm to others.”
“Mostly harmless?” he asked, thinking that he had wondered why a fleet officer would choose such a shade.
“I can’t change how others see it, Admiral. But it’s also given me a nickname. I’ve been called Shamrock since before I left Éire.”
“Shamrock? That’s a plant, isn’t?”
“A green plant. It’s everywhere on Éire.” Another rueful smile. “Something else dear to our ancestors, apparently.”
After Lieutenant Jamenson left, Geary walked up to the bridge. With the fleet’s departure looming near, he had grown increasingly restless to be on the move, to be about the purpose for the fleet’s existence, and to get away from further messages from headquarters and the possibility of more order changes from the government.
Desjani was already on the bridge, of course, just finishing running her bridge crew through a training simulation. “Have a nice meeting?” she asked.
“Instructive.”
“Since you’re apparently going to insist upon my asking directly, why did Captain Smythe send a green-haired lieutenant to speak with you in person?”
“Her job is to confuse things.”
Desjani waited a moment to see if Geary would betray signs of joking. “If you wanted a lieutenant who would confuse things, I have at least one on
Dauntless
who would fill the bill.”
“Noted. I’ll explain her particular skills in that area later on.” The privacy fields about his and Desjani’s seats on the bridge were good, but Geary knew from his own experience as a junior officer that amazing amounts of information could still be gleaned by close-though-covert observation of senior officers as they talked. He settled into his seat, looking about the bridge of
Dauntless
, having to suppress a sigh of contentment. “You know, after dealing with the grand council and Alliance politics and headquarters, it’s actually going to be something of a relief to be dealing with lying Syndics and homicidal aliens again.”
“Dangers make you yearn for distant home,” Desjani mused, “but when you get home, it can have a way of quickly making you yearn for distant dangers.”
“You really do have a way with words, Captain Desjani. When we were on Kosatka—”
“All four days?”
“—did you get a chance to talk to your uncle the literary agent?”
“Only once.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “He wanted me to write an account of the journey back to Alliance space from the Syndic home star system. I told him it was mostly boring.”
“Except when it was terrifying?”
She grinned. “And I told him I wouldn’t say a
word
about personal matters. You could see the man’s dreams crumble into dust.”
Geary had to muffle his own laughter. “You crushed the dreams of a literary agent?”
“That almost makes me a writer already, doesn’t it?” Desjani asked.
 
 
THE
rest of the week passed far too slowly in the sense of wondering what might happen next, and far too quickly in terms of the work remaining to be done. A flood of personnel returning to their ships from leave kept the fleet’s shuttles busy, while Geary’s walks through the passageways of
Dauntless
involved more and more detours as engineers off
Titan
blocked movement in a constantly changing dance of barriers while they enthusiastically ripped out components and installed newly constructed replacements that were built to have much longer lives.
Dr. Setin, who announced himself to be in charge of the group of experts (“though not their leader in a strictly hierarchal fashion”), managed to escape from
Tsunami
, where Carabali had stashed the experts, long enough for a shuttle flight to
Dauntless
. “An amazing opportunity, Admiral,” he told Geary. “Can you imagine the thrill of actually encountering an intelligence different from our own?”
Thinking back to the battle at Midway, Geary just smiled politely. “Yes.”
“But then you have encountered them! What was it like?”
“Thrilling.”
Dr. Setin had come with authorizations allowing him to see what records existed of the fleet’s contacts with the enigma race, so Geary provided him with the information and sent him back to
Tsunami
.
The day before they were to leave, Geary took a virtual tour through
Orion
, wanting to personally size up the state of repairs to the battleship and assess the morale of the crew. He had grown depressingly used to having
Orion
fail him whenever the ship’s contributions were most needed and, despite Desjani’s faith in Commander Shen, couldn’t help thinking that turning the ship around might be beyond the ability of anything short of divine intervention.
Shen looked as aggravated as usual as he led Geary’s virtual presence through
Orion
, pointing out items occasionally but mostly letting his crew do the talking. A remarkable number of repairs had been accomplished, but that impressed Geary less than how keen the crew members were to show him what they had done. “All battery members fully certified, all hell-lance projectors at one hundred percent,” one chief announced proudly, as Geary paused to look over his battery.
Peering around with an expression as if he had a blister on one foot, Shen focused on the chief. “Lironi got his qualifications completed?”
The chief indicated one of the sailors standing in ranks nearby. “Yes, sir.”

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