Peter David - Battleship

Raikes was a good officer. Scratch that: as a gunnery officer, she was the best. That being the case, Hopper was inclined to give her more latitude than he otherwise would, and probably somewhat more than he should.

Still… no harm in laying down the law.

“Teamwork is all of you doing what I say,” said Hopper. “Trust no one. Respect is taken.” He turned toward a young officer. “Lieutenant Cruz: make enemies or make friends?”

“Enemies, sir,” said Cruz.

“Why?”

“An enemy’s desire to prove his worth to you is stronger than a friend’s desire to prove gratitude.”

As Cruz spoke, Hopper mouthed the words along with him. Cruz had learned well. “Cultivate…?”

“ Enemies , sir.”

Hopper nodded approvingly and then turned to the rest of his crew. “Victory through victory. Demolishing competition. Protecting what is ours.”

Raikes started to open her mouth.

“Shut up,” he said.

She closed it again.

There was a loud clearing of a throat, and Hopper turned to see Mullenaro standing in the doorway. He’d been giving Hopper the stink eye ever since the meeting in the wardroom. Well, he’ll be rid of me soon enough; he’s probably happy about that . “Get to the helo deck. Sampson wants you on the pronto. In person.”

They want me over on the Sampson? Why would they—?

Then he realized. It was pretty self-evident, really. Stone hadn’t seen him since the entire fiasco on the Big Mo, mostly because Hopper had taken great pains to avoid him. Obviously Stone was going to take advantage of his last opportunity to boss Hopper around in an official capacity. For a moment, Hopper considered telling Mullenaro that he couldn’t make it. That he wasn’t leaving the John Paul Jones and if the Sampson didn’t like it, that was too damned bad. If Stone wanted to take the time to bitch out his younger brother, he could bloody well come over here and do it.

Yet all he said was, “Aye, sir.”

Minutes later he was on a chopper heading toward the Sampson , chewing himself out mentally for his inability to say what was on his mind. Ultimately he decided that there simply hadn’t been any point to it. Let Stone have his say. You have it coming, and you know it .

Stone was standing on the flight deck of the Sampson , displaying as much emotion as his name might suggest. As the chopper set down, Hopper emerged from it, holding his hat securely under his arm to make sure that the whipping blades didn’t blow it away. He came to a halt several feet from his brother and, standing at attention, saluted. Normally such a move would have prompted Stone to smile, seeing Hopper display genuine respect for the uniform and rank. Now, though, all Stone could think was, Too little, too late . He returned the salute dispassionately and indicated, with a nod of his head, that Hopper should follow him.

They made their way down to Stone’s quarters. Stone stood to one side as Hopper entered and then he shut the door behind him. He dispensed with any niceties. They were both busy men, and besides, there seemed no point in trying to candy coat a poison pill.

“Captain’s mast is real,” said Stone as he walked around to the far side of his desk and sat down. He gestured for Hopper to sit; Hopper remained standing, and Stone saw no reason to push the matter. “Just got off the phone with 3rd Fleet JAG. I can’t get you out of this one.”

“When?”

“The day we get back. Nagata is being charged, too.”

Hopper took in this bit of news. Stone could tell from the look on his face that he was relieved. If he was going down, at least Nagata was going down with him. Then he realized his priorities were out of whack. He brought himself back to his own concerns. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know what to tell you this time, Hopps. It’s three strikes.” Stone shook his head. “I don’t get it. You have everything. You’ve got the skills. More talent than me. You’ve got a great girl. And you just keep shooting yourself in the foot. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do,” Stone said impatiently. “You’re not that oblivious to whatever’s going on in your head. But you try to avoid it, and if someone really presses it, you make a joke about it. It isn’t a joke anymore, Hopper. This time it’s very real. So tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“I’m just not you,” said Hopper. “You got the character and quality. I got the other stuff.”

“Yeah. Except you’re on the verge of losing all the other stuff, including Sam. Is that what you want?”

Hopper stared at him. “Honestly?”

“That’d be nice.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know what the hell I want.”

It sounded trite, but Stone could feel his brother’s pain. Hopper had been so lost for so long, and Stone had done everything he could to get him back on track. Instead they were here, in this situation, and Hopper’s career—which had seemed so promising—might well have hit a dead end.

“I hope you find it, Hopps,” Stone said with sincere concern for his brother. “And I hope you find it before you’ve completely sunk yourself.”

They have been moving at a steady velocity as they plummet through the emptiness of space, but now that emptiness is coming to an end. A solar system is hanging in front of them. Nine worlds, or eight if one doesn’t count the planetoid in the outer rim. In any event, it does not matter, for the incoming vessels have no interest in any of the worlds save one .

They move toward the object of their attention .

They are fully aware that their target will know they are coming. There are likely to be some manner of early warning systems available to them .

Let them know. Let them be fully aware. It’s not as if there is anything they’ll be able to do about it .

It had been six years for the scientists of the Beacon International Project. Six long years of watching space, of monitoring the equipment, of waiting and seeing whether their messages-in-a-bottle would ever garner some manner of response.

Yet even after all that time, once the moment that they had been waiting for finally arrived, at first they had no clue what it was they were looking at.

One of the main monitor screens was tuned to CNN, as it typically was, since that had become the major lifeline for the scientists to the outside world. No one was paying any attention to it, however. Instead they were glued to their individual monitors, trying to make sense out of the readings they were getting.

“Speed is consistent with meteors. Trajectory?” called out Carlson.

Doctor Abraham Nogrady, wearing the nice sweater of local weave that he’d been given for his birthday the previous week, was standing in front of a monitor, tracking the blue line that represented the incoming object. “Oh my.” He leaned close to the monitor, typing on the keyboard. “Whatever this is, it’s tracking our message path. Bring up Hawaii. Get me Cal on the line.”

He’d never blamed Doctor Calvin Zapata for “abandoning him,” as he had laughingly put it two years earlier. Who could blame the younger man, really? The Hawaii offer was too good for him to pass up. He would actually be in charge of the location, something that wouldn’t happen in the Himalayas, since Nogrady wasn’t planning on going anywhere. That alone had been something of a revelation to Nogrady, discovering how much he preferred the solitude of the mountains. Who knew that I didn’t actually like civilization all that much?