Auberon (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

“Commander,” he said, training putting his brain on autopilot, “We have identified
Rajput
and
CR–264
. Squadron and Flag communications are on channel four in standard cypher.”

Time to earn his keep.

Ξ

Tamara practiced her Command Scowl. What was about to happen might be the most fun she had on this entire cruise, but commanders weren’t supposed to smile.

Command was serious business.

Zivkovic seemed to be handling the Flag Centurion duties well. Everyone else was on pins and needles. And only she knew what Commander Keller had planned.

She pushed the button that projected her voice everywhere, including inside the refrigerator on E–deck and the aft female toilets on B. “
Auberon
, this is the bridge,” she intoned. “We have made it to
Simeon
and met up with the rest of our squadron. We will shortly return to Jumpspace and then make a short hop. All hands to battle stations.”

Lights went red everywhere.

Tamara had always wanted to do that.
That
was what command was all about. She suppressed a giggle.

“Flag Centurion,” she continued, trying to be calm and knowing her voice was too bright, “I am transmitting a sailing plan to your station. Communicate it to the entire squadron immediately and have them prepare for jump.”

She watched Enej push his buttons and talk into a sound–deadening microphone.

Tamara knew the message had been conveyed when the Pilot actually turned and looked at her across the bridge. Nada Zupan, the Pilot, didn’t say anything, but the look conveyed a wealth of surprise and confusion, followed the same sort of evil grin Tamara was fighting to keep off her face right now.

They both glanced at the Gunnery Centurion, Tobias Brewster.
The Creator’s gift to the women of the fleet. Just ask him. The favored son of a major Fleet Lord, scion of the family. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera
.

Tamara was pretty sure every female on the ship had a
Tobias
story to tell, as well as several of the men.

The best revenge, bucko, is served ice cold.

Ξ

Tamara counted down the moments for the second hop to complete.

She knew she was keyed up, but what was about to happen was something
Auberon
had never done before, as far as she knew with this crew.

The tactical plot went live as they dropped into real space. No more estimates. Hard scan figures began to fill in the spaces around them.

“Flag, have the Flight Deck crash launch the entire wing now,” she said, trying to bounce calmness off the bulkheads when she really wanted to hoot and dance.

“Orders are as before with one change. We will rendezvous with the entire wing at point
Epsilon
.” Tamara waited for that to register on people’s minds.
Who was paying attention besides Keller?

On her workstation’s screen, she saw the three big blips line up, just like she had ordered. Exactly wrong from the standard Order of Battle.
CR–264
was in the lead, rather than tucked in close on a flank.
Rajput
was lined up with the other two and at the tail of the line, but on a higher elevation where she could bring her guns to bear across the entire engagement sphere.

Tamara reached down and toggled a physical switch. It was one of the few on her console that was not a video touchscreen. It had a nice, reassuring solidity as it clicked into place.

For a moment, victory leaked out all over her face. She quickly squelched it.

“
Auberon
, this is the bridge,” she calmly announced. “All weapons are set to training mode until further notice. Flag, have the squadron conform to our maneuvers. Helm, come to heading 351 by 10 by 18 and accelerate to flank speed. We will be running down Lane 4 to engage a hostile battle squadron. Initiate training exercise.”

Tamara leaned back and sucked in a deep breath silently.

On her left, she watched slow horror dawn on the face of the Gunnery officer. He had apparently only now caught up with her. On her right, Tamara watched the defensive systems, shields, short–range missiles, and smaller beam emplacements come live and cycle through their targeting solutions.

Downrange, satellites and automated combat simulators came live as
Auberon
approached.

Tamara almost felt out of body as she watched. Normally, the duty of the Second Officer was to oversee tactical duties. The Commander issued priorities, she picked targets, and Nina Vanek would engage them with all the full defensive array.

Tobias Brewster, the Gunnery Centurion, almost never had anything to do.

Hell, Tamara couldn’t even remember the last time the Secondaries had been fired in anger, let alone the monstrous Primaries.

Maybe, if he hadn’t been such an asshole, she would have given him more than a few seconds warning.

Tamara looked over again at the perfect hair and perfectly–manicured nails, and remembered the last time he had propositioned her.

Then again, maybe not.

Ξ

Jessica watched the by–play around her as
Auberon
came out of Jumpspace and aligned for combat. Without Jež in charge, some interesting dynamics came to the fore, as she had expected they would.

The Gunnery Centurion was the most entertaining.

Jessica had watched every other person on the bridge running through some sort of simulation, usually as a training refresher, or at least to fill the time, while they had made both jumps. Brewster had apparently spent his time thinking deep thoughts.

Certainly, he hadn’t been preparing.

Right now, he was scrambling to align the weapon turrets, something he should have done the moment they came back into space.

Jessica wrote herself a quick note on a clipboarded piece of paper. Written records lasted forever, but weren’t in any system unless she chose to add them. It was a useful filing system.

Because they made very little sound themselves, each weapon was coded to a tone so the bridge crew could identify them. The defensive array, a Type–2 and two Type–1’s on each flank, pulsed in a staccato symphony as they fired.
The Music of War
, some wag had called it, once upon a time.

On her screen, Jessica watched as the flight wing emerged like angry hornets and set off down Lane 6 to test their mettle strafing and dogfighting, escorted into battle by the Gunship
Necromancer
and leading the Assault Shuttle
Cayenne
behind.

What idiot painted a dropship bright red, anyway?

A deeper, pulsed tone, got her attention.
Auberon
had fired one of her two Primaries at a closing automaton meant to simulate a destroyer. And missed. Badly. She ticked a mark on her page.

Tamara responded by pushing
Auberon
down hard into a new plane, like a submersible vessel going for deep water. Ahead,
CR–264
turned enough to fire everything she had at the drone, not that it would do much, but in battle, it might distract a crew.
Rajput
came over the top like the cavalry and fired everything she had into the target in one narrow salvo of ravening destructive fury.

Orders flew thick and fast about her as she listened.
CR–264
was about to be surrounded by a wolfpack of simulated corvettes and mauled, badly out of position as a result of saving
Auberon
.

This time,
Auberon’s
other Primary hit, taking one of the enemy vessels off–line.

The Type–3’s lanced out as well, scoring a hit and distracting the enemy ships as
CR–264
blasted straight through the gap and
Rajput
cycled her weapons into the fray.

A sepulchral tune indicated that Auberon had sustained a hit in the exchange.

Apparently, a missile had gotten through and was rated as a hit by the gaming computer. Jessica checked the simulated destruction and listened to the Damage Control Parties wade into the fray on the lower decks.

It had been a long time since she had seen combat scores so low.

Jessica made more notes. She really missed
Brightoak
.

Chapter XI

Date of the Republic October 7, 392 In the Simeon system

Jessica sat at her desk, in her new office, and scowled her most fierce scowl. Often, it was for show. Today, she was truly angry.

Career–destroying angry.

“And when I reviewed the statistics for the exercise,” she continued, cold, sharp, deathly as she looked at the man’s face, “I note that you scored a forty–seven percent hit ratio. That is the worst I have ever seen in the field. Fortunately, for you, it is not the worst score ever recorded for
Simeon
, so your name doesn’t go up on the wall over there.”

She paused, letting the energy bleed off instead of building to a peak.

Across from her, sitting perfectly still and as white as a ghost, Gunnery Centurion Tobias Brewster looked like he was trying to disappear from sight.

She let the moment drag. Brewster did not appear to be a popular person, either with his comrades or his subordinates. Unlike, say, the Engineer, Ozolinsh, or her new Flag Centurion. There was nothing in Brewster’s records, but the rumors had been there. Wealth, power, upbringing. A bully and a Don Juan. And a disciple of the former commander, Kwok, who was a scion of Loncar.

Jessica looked through the young man.

To his credit, he sat perfectly still and met her gaze.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, mister?” she rasped, anger threatening to overflow.

“It’s not my fault,” he offered weakly, failing in his attempt to sound charming.

“It most assuredly is, Brewster,” she pounced, fingers tapping the desk ominously. “Your weapons. Your station. Your failure.”

She watched him blink. He swallowed past a throat that sounded tight.

“I can do better,” he finally said.

Jessica’s chin came up. “Can you?” she said. “Can you really? Because I would be happy to sign your transfer request right now. You could be off this ship in a few hours and back to a cushy job in days.”

“No, ma’am,” he said. She could see him getting his feet under him as he spoke. “I screwed up, but I can salvage it.”

“Not on my bridge, Brewster,” she growled, “but I will make you a deal, if you are interested.”

“Sir?”

“I will disrate you as a Gunner, right now, and transfer you down to the emergency bridge,” she continued. “You can requalify from scratch on every weapons system, on every simulation lane at
Simeon
. Or you can transfer out right now and I will put nothing at all in your record to indicate that we ever had this conversation. What will it be?”

“Everyone will know, sir,” he said, morose.

“That’s not my problem, Brewster. I’m not the one who was completely unprepared and tried to set a record low score.”

“I’m better that that, commander,” he pleaded. “I can prove it to you.”

Jessica considered the young man before her. A single day had aged him several years. At this rate, he might be a grown–up soon.

“If you stay,” she said finally, “I will work you like a dog. Every scut duty will be yours until someone else screws up worse. And the offer to let you go free will be off the table. The only way out after you leave this room will be to resign your commission.”

She fixed him with a hard stare.

He flinched for a moment, and then met her squarely.

“What will it be, Brewster?” she asked.

“I’ll stay, sir,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Report to the Emergency Bridge for your next shift, then. And may the Creator have mercy on your soul.”

Tobias Brewster stood and saluted her. Technically incorrect indoors, but he did it well, and it seemed to come from the heart.

There might be something salvageable from this punk after all.

She nodded to his salute. “Send Vanek in when you go.”

“Aye, sir.” And he was gone.

Ξ

Jessica took a deep breath and tried to control her anger at Brewster. Even in defeat, he was trying to charm his way out of being sent to the principal’s office.

It probably worked to his benefit most of the time.

The door opened and the Defense Centurion stepped in.

Jessica sized her up.

Nina Vanek was a small woman. No, petite. Almost a waif. Jessica had felt like a giant standing next to her, or an ogre. According to the personnel files, Vanek had nearly washed out of the Academy on more than one occasion for being underweight, in spite of the best work of three physical fitness instructors and a dietician.

She entered now with a stack of books, actual paper volumes from the ship’s library from the look of them, and a portable projector under one arm.

“Ma’am,” Nina said simply and came to as close to attention as she could without spilling everything.

“Sit, Centurion,” Jessica said. “Explain all this, please.”

She watched the tiny woman set the books to one side and the projector in the middle of her desk.

She did not turn it on, yet.

Nina took the seat and visibly marshalled her thoughts. Then she stopped and re–thought them, again, apparently. “I scored eighty–seven percent on the run at
Simeon
,” she said. “Passable, but we would still be in drydock for several months after suffering at least two major hits.”

“Correct, Vanek,” Jessica interjected in the gap. “It takes one hit to wound you, and generally three to kill. Two is iffy, depending on the location, but I agree with your assessment.”

“Aye, sir,” Vanek replied. “The Strike Carrier, our lady
Auberon
, seems to have a design flaw. They exploited it at
Simeon
. All’s fair in love and war, but I’m not sure how we can survive if the Imperials do the same thing.”

Jessica felt herself dropping back into Tactical Instructor Mode. She could hear Kasum’s voice coming out of her mouth. It felt weird.