Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

Toirac avoided her eyes. “Yes, Kommodor.”

“Damn you, Ygor. Are you trying to back me into a corner?”

“The Kommodor can act as she sees fit. I understand and will comply.”

“Get out of here!” Marphissa nearly yelled, worried that she would say something far worse if Toirac continued to display attitude rather than intelligence.

He saluted, the gesture stiff and formal, then left, only the hatch closing mechanism preventing it from slamming under the force of Toirac’s push.

She sat down, trying to control her anger. I tried. And he answers me with “I understand and will comply,” as if I really am some Syndicate thug abusing her authority. It’s a lot easier to complain about the boss than to be the boss. But if Toirac can’t tell the difference between me and a Syndicate bootlicker, he’s not just weak, he’s also a fool.

Don’t decide now. You’re too angry. But Toirac had better show me a lot better performance and do it fast.

“Kommodor?” The question was accompanied by a knock on her hatch.

Marphissa looked up, calming herself. “Enter.”

Bradamont eyed her from the hatch. “Is everything all right?” Behind her, Kontos was looking up and down the passageway, keeping an eye out for trouble. Bradamont and Kontos were already in survival suits, prepared for combat.

Both Kontos and Marphissa had noticed that the Alliance officer focused a lot on the ship, on the state of equipment, cleanliness, and other material issues, but didn’t seem to worry about the crew. Bradamont paid attention to the crew, displaying unmistakable interest in them and their jobs, but she didn’t appear to worry about them as a potential source of danger. The implications of that attitude, what it might say about the Alliance fleet versus Syndicate practices that still haunted this ship, bothered Marphissa a great deal.

“Personnel issues,” Marphissa explained. “We’re half an hour from arrival, aren’t we? I need to focus on that. We’re going to have to do everything just right.”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle,” Bradamont said.

“You’re going to be in temporary command. You have to call the maneuvers. I’m sure that’s what President Iceni wants.” Marphissa managed a smile. “Besides, I want to watch you maneuver a ship in combat.”

“I wish to watch that as well,” Kontos offered.

“Are you sure your crew will be all right when they find out who I am?”

“They know me. They believe in the President. They also know Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos by reputation. And… they’re conditioned by training to do as they’re told. Those things should keep the crew from blowing up until we get the job done.”

Marphissa quickly pulled on her own survival suit, then led the way to the bridge, taking her seat next to a visibly sulking Kapitan Toirac, who had not yet donned a suit himself. The specialists on watch took in the survival suits on her, Bradamont, and Kontos, and unobtrusively began passing the word to their friends in other parts of the ship that something was up. Two of the specialists glanced Toirac’s way, said something to each other in very low voices, and grinned.

Marphissa suppressed a sigh, mentally running through candidates to replace Toirac. Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz came quickly to mind. As second-in-command of Manticore , he had done his best to support Toirac and had not undermined him in any way that Marphissa was aware of. Diaz lacked apparent ambition, which could foretell problems if he was promoted above his comfort zone, but his actions commended him.

Kontos, standing at the back of the bridge next to Bradamont, cleared his throat.

Marphissa checked the time. “Kapitan, it is nineteen minutes until we arrive at Midway.”

Toirac ignored her.

Fine. You’re gone. But I won’t do it formally until after this operation is over. We don’t need the disruption a change of command could cause when we’re this close to action. “Bring Manticore to full-combat readiness,” Marphissa ordered the specialists on the bridge.

“Yes, Kommodor!”

The specialists popped open lockers near their watch stations and pulled on their own survival suits, outfits that were far inferior to the battle armor worn by ground forces but provided some protection from shrapnel and small arms as well as providing oxygen if the ship was holed by the enemy. The helmets stayed open, unpressurized hoods draped loosely behind their shoulders, to conserve the suits’ life support until it was needed. Readiness reports flowed in, green markers popping up on Marphissa’s display as weapons, sensors, shields, and propulsion as well as a host of other less critical areas reported full-combat status.

Kapitan Toirac, moving with obvious slowness, took out his own emergency suit and put it on as well.

“The ship is at full-combat readiness, Kommodor,” the senior specialist reported.

“Five minutes. You can do better,” Marphissa said. “Next time, make it four. Everyone on the bridge, listen. The moment Manticore leaves the hypernet and arrives at Midway, Kapitan Bascare will become temporary commanding officer of this ship. You will respond to her every order as if it were mine, regardless of what happens. Is that clearly understood? There must be no hesitation, no questions.”

The specialists all nodded and saluted. The seniormost specialist smiled as he did so. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor.” But he gave the old words of subservience an aura of pride that made Marphissa smile in return.

Bradamont came to stand beside Marphissa.

Kontos caught Marphissa’s eye and tilted an inquiring eye toward Toirac. She shook her head and mouthed “later” in reply.

Marphissa readied a command for Manticore ’s identification broadcast, ensuring that the broadcast was disabled and wouldn’t send anything until she activated it. The sensors in CEO Boyens’s flotilla would know Manticore without any official ID being broadcast. They had seen her hull too many times and knew every unique feature and mark it had accumulated in space. But the identification contained in the broadcast this time would give them a very unpleasant surprise.

Five minutes. “Everyone listen,” Marphissa said. “If Kapitan Bascare sends a message, she will use a different name and rank. She is here by personal order of President Iceni. Do not let that name and rank cause you to hesitate. Is that clear?”

Once again, everyone nodded. Everyone but Kapitan Toirac.

“Disable main propulsion unit two,” Marphissa ordered. “Ensure it does not light off when maneuvering orders are given, not until you are told to reactivate it.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the engineering specialist said. “Deactivating main propulsion unit two. Unit two is deactivated.”

Marphissa looked at Bradamont. “Do you need this seat?”

“No. The weapons are yours. I can give whatever maneuvering commands are needed while standing here.”

One minute. “Shields at maximum, all weapons ready,” Marphissa said to Bradamont.

Kontos hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on Bradamont.

They exited the gate at Midway, the nothing outside of Manticore abruptly being replaced by countless stars and endless space. “I have command,” Bradamont announced. “Come starboard one seven zero degrees, down two zero degrees, maximum acceleration on main propulsion units one, three, and four.”

Manticore swung around and accelerated, her vector altering to head for the other ships of the Midway Flotilla, five light-minutes away.

“Boyens is still here,” Marphissa observed, as her display updated.

Bradamont nodded and pointed to another area relatively close to the hypernet gate. When they had left, the entire Alliance fleet had been two light-hours from the gate, but now a substantial force of battle cruisers and other warships orbited only ten light-minutes away.