First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (10 page)

Date: 4
^th
February, 322 ASC.

Position: Sentinel Hector. Planet Thebes. Monitor
Insolent
, briefing room.

Status: In preparation for departure.

Captain Steven Bradman entered
Insolent
’s briefing room. His inspection of the boat had gone well, and everything looked to be on schedule for departure the following day. All was well with the world, his world, his boat. And yet the forthcoming meeting filled him with antipathy. 

Bradman cast his mind back to the first time he had met Telford, nine years ago. A kid, just a lean, brown-skinned kid, with the innocent, grey eyes which masked an inner toughness. The lad had been through so much, suffered such inconceivable loss, and yet he had endured. More than endured, he had beaten the odds against his survival in such a way as to stagger the most conservative of statisticians. 

Of the billions of human beings who inhabited the Tunguska Fault, he alone had survived exposure to the Derwent Plague.

Bradman could only imagine the horror that must have been inflicted upon the boy by the fervently curious scientists on Mylor. They would undoubtedly want to know how he accomplished such a miracle, and would have been none too gentle about undertaking the task. From what he could gather, they had held Nathan on Mylor for four or five months. No wonder he hated doctors with such vehemence.

Bradman knew, in his rational mind, his animosity toward Telford was worse than unfair. The kid could not be blamed for surviving the impossible. He could not be held responsible for the trouble he had inadvertently caused to
Impudent
’s captain. So why did Bradman have such difficulty in controlling the resentment roiling within him? He knew his duty and had done his job. In fairness, only a professional bureaucrat could have foreseen the trouble brewing in his future.

He had, to the best of his knowledge, followed the strict letter of the quarantine regulations before bringing the lad aboard. He had isolated him in the tank, a small isolation room cut off from the rest of the boat. He had done his job. However, his D-O had discovered a well-hidden sub-section in the twenty-year-old quarantine regulations. The small piece of bureaucratic butt-saving had cost him dearly. Unfortunately, it surfaced after he had brought Nathan on board. The small sub-section of red tape had begun a spiraling downturn to his career.

Firstly, they had taken his boat. The level of paranoia concerning the plague flared to life when word of
Impudent
’s discovery seeped into certain ears. Even when evidence determined the boy did not carry the plague, the boat did not carry the plague and none of the crew carried the plague, nothing changed. She would forever be unfairly branded a plague boat. The task of opening all air locks had been his last official act as captain. The pain associated with killing his boat turned out to be just the beginning of his woes.

Bradman had avoided court martial by the skin of his teeth, mainly because the incident had remained classified at the very highest security level. The politicians did not want any mention of the plague getting out to the public and creating a panic. They had manufactured a convenient cover story to explain the boy’s reappearance, and fostered him out to the colonies. They could do little, under the circumstances, to officially punish Bradman for an understandable indiscretion. However, behind the scenes, at the highest level of the Athenian Naval Service, a black mark had appeared on his record. Bradman had never seen the mark, but some suggested it resembled an ebony skull-and-crossbones.

The first manifestation of this attitude had come when he applied for another boat. He had been one of the stars of the academy who had been placed on the promotions fast track, his future bright, his expectations promising. Bradman had spent the next four years on the beach. With the help of friends, he had finally got another boat. Since then, he had struggled for professional survival as lesser officers passed him on the promotions ladder. Only as he moved into his late forties had he been granted the command of a squadron and the monitor escort boat
Insolent
. 

Without official confirmation, Bradman knew his career would go no further. Those senior officers who put politics before ethics would never forget his single mistake. Flag rank would elude him till his dying days. Bad enough to have such a black mark on his jacket, but to be a colonial as well spelled the end of his advancement within the Corps. 

His old friend Donny Waugh had been one of a few senior officers who supported him over the years, for which he would always be grateful. However, his gratitude had waned somewhat when she seconded his D-O and promoted her to a high-level administration position on Hector.

The admiral compensated Bradman for his loss by appointing an underaged D-O with only three patrols as operations officer under her belt. The new marine detachment presented an unknown factor that might also require his attention. His woes continued with two grommits coming aboard as replacement pilots, one of them being Nathan Telford. The albatross had returned. He wondered what wind of ill-fortune had blown the young officer to his hatch, and what it could cost him this time.

Bradman held a sneaking suspicion that Donatella Waugh knew more about his association with Telford than she let on. Of all the pilots who could have been assigned to his boat, the chances of a bad-luck charm like Telford ending up on his deck balked the percentages.
What is Donny up to?

It irritated him to feel this way. Nevertheless, his antagonism toward the innocent junior officer fermented in his gut, reminiscent of a raging acid storm.

The hatch chime sounded. “Ad-mit.” He activated the holo that showed his boat hovering above the briefing table. 

“As requested, Captain, I have Ensign Telford for you,” Lieutenant Reiffel said.

The acid in Bradman’s stomach churned afresh at the sight of the fresh-faced operations officer. He would be surprised if Reiffel could find her way to the head. He glanced past the junior wanna-be D-O to Telford.

His shoulders were squared and his back ramrod straight. The captain pointed to the chair to his left. Telford had filled out well in the last nine years, but his facial features, although obviously older, were still oddly boyish. He brushed a strand of wavy hair back from his forehead. The high cheekbones remained the same except for a few fine lines at the corners of his grey eyes. He assumed that the bump above Telford’s right eyebrow might have been corrected by now, but he had chosen to leave it.

Donny Waugh had been quite detailed in her opinion of the then-young midshipman. By the way she raved about him, Bradman had imagined Telford would be taller.

Lieutenant Reiffel made another of a growing number of mistakes when she moved to sit in on the conversation. She was right where she should be, at her captain’s right hand. Her proper sense of duty only fueled Bradman’s growing irritation.

“Lieutenant, your participation in this meeting is not required. Continue to supervise embarkation protocols and ensure everything is on schedule for our departure.”

Reiffel froze in place, a grimace tightening her lips.

“Aye, Captain.” This time she did not try to disguise her exasperation.

Bradman set his gaze on the ensign, who adopted a relaxed pose and did not waver from returning his captain’s appraising stare. Donny had mentioned that, even as a midshipman, he had insisted on maintaining eye contact with her.

“It’s good to see you again, Skipper.” 

Bradman keyed his LM. “SMC – captain.”

“SMC,” replied the shipboard management computer.

“SMC, until further notice you will deactivate all briefing room internal pickups. Authorization Bradman, Omicron Zeta.”

“Order confirmed, Captain.”

Bradman counted to five, slowly, to calm his irrational, yet growing, antipathy. The tiny red light on the wall-mounted pickup blinked out. 

“We have history, Ensign Telford. The record shows that the monitor
Impudent
, while under my command, rescued you from an escape pod, following the destruction of your ship. We both know the story is a blatant lie but you are not to discuss that lie with anyone. Am I being clear?”

“As you say, it’s part of the public record, Captain.” He held his hands out to his sides as if to say the obvious. 

“If someone raises the subject, then of course stick to the story, but do not attempt to elaborate. That is how lies are uncovered.”

Telford’s relaxed façade hardened moderately. “I have never discussed the matter unless the subject has been raised. And then I stuck to the cover story even though it made me sick to my stomach to do so.” Telford broke eye contact, giving the rotating hologram a thousand-meter stare. “I am bound not only by my oath as a serving officer in Monitor Corps, but as a signatory of the Official Secrets Act.” He faced his captain, his face hardening. “I have lived with this foul lie for half my life and have a lot more to lose than you if word of what happened on Delos gets out. I’ve stuck to my story of suffering amnesia during my time as a slave. I have told no one of my past, not even my wife.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll tell her everything, on the day the Pruessen Empire falls. Until then I shall keep my peace, Captain. ”

“Good. We understand one another.”

The tragic story of
Bellinda
’s crew, his entire extended family, firstly being enslaved by the Pruessen Empire for four years and then dying on Delos after their escape, had been hushed up. In its place the story of
Impudent
’s discovery of a lone escape pod with a single survivor onboard had been substituted. A fiction of epic proportions.

The alternative would be to tell the truth. Such a disclosure would put every bounty hunter in Tunguska onto Telford’s trail. Furthermore, Pruessen regular navy vessels had hijacked an Athenian-registered vessel operating in free space and imprisoned, tortured and killed members of her crew. If word of such an atrocity got out, the backlash of public opinion would demand a bloody response. A lack of political backbone and an abundance of military rationalization had prevailed, and the cover-up was made to order. The Republic would not go to war with Pruessen for the sake of Nathan Telford and his lost family.

“Your presence resurrects a lot of bad memories. However, Admiral Waugh has seen fit to assign you to this boat, so I shall have to make the best of things. Your arrival is one of the many burdens I have been handed. Along with the Telford curse to contend with, I’ve lost my D-O and have been saddled with a kid to replace her.” With his words echoing in his ears, Bradman wondered why he was sharing his thoughts with this young officer.

“I’ve had the opportunity to talk with Toni Reiffel over the past few days. She seems competent enough.”

“Is that your professional opinion as a seasoned officer?”

“I can spot a dick-head in a crowded room from fifty meters away.” Nathan forced a smile, obviously determined not to give ground to this disgruntled captain. “It’s a gift. Toni Reiffel doesn’t fit the mold.”  

“A gift, eh?” Bradman stifled a smile. “From what the admiral tells me, that’s not the only gift you possess.”

Nathan pulled an innocent face.

“She also told me,” Bradman said, “you had more balls than brains, something I have no difficulty in believing. In any event, she suggested you may be of some use to me if I need someone to find contraband.”

“The admiral is very generous. I spent the first eleven years of my life on a freighter. I guess I had to pick up a few tricks, having spent my formative years as a slave, hiding contraband under the noses of Pruessen guards.” The slightest of shadows passed over his eyes, then disappeared in the next instant.

“Now to our mission,” Bradford said. “We will begin by patrolling the western sectors outside of the colony worlds. Then we will rendezvous with a Nihonese freighter, and escort her to Cimmeria.”

Nathan nodded.

“Cimmeria supplies trephine crystals to every member world in the League. A large military presence is on picket around the planet.”

“Protecting the most corrupt regime within League space,” Telford said.

“Such are the realities of the world,” Bradman said. “We need trephine to maintain the integrity of our reactors. The Cimmerians know it and so do the Brets.” He drew his hands wide as if to say little could be done when politics and big business hopped into the same bed. “The upshot is her space is filled with vessels from all over the League of Allied Worlds. Including those from Francorum.”

Nathan’s wry smile finally made an appearance. “I have no great love for Francorum. You, better than most, know why, but I’m aware of my duty, Captain.” His smile turned lethal. “To do otherwise would be highly unprofessional of me, wouldn’t it? Besides, I can wait. It’s only a matter of time before Bretain and Francorum go to war, and unless history proves me wrong, Athens will be caught right in the middle of it.”

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am,” Bradman said sardonically. “That’s all for now. You had better report to the” —he cleared his throat— “D-O, and get squared away. Then you can get back to that pretty wife and daughter of yours.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” He turned to the hatch, then Bradman recalled the protocol.

“Oh, by the way, Mister Telford?”

“Sir?”

Bradman held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

They exchanged a firm handshake before Telford left.

Bradman remained standing for a minute, thinking about the brief meeting with his newest officer. The young man had the guts to stand up to his captain, but did he have the brains to know when to back off? His recklessly stubborn streak was something else Donny Waugh had mentioned. Bradman reengaged the briefing room pickups and thought about his next order of business.

The corridor hatch chime sounded.

“Ad-mit.”

The boat’s fighter operations officer stepped into the briefing room, the threat of a snarl forming on her face. “We need to talk.” From her manner, this would not be a social visit.