“That’s what the doctors are saying. Give it a few weeks, and
“Bugger
Four hours later, Anna woke up to demand a bowl of ice cream, then another and another.
“Jeez, Anna! Enough already,” Michael protested even as he commed the foodbot for more.
“Up yours, Michael,” Anna said. “I’ve got one hell of a sore throat, and ice cream is ten times better than those damn drugbots.”
“It’s on its way,” Michael said, stoic in the face of Anna’s determination.
When the ice cream arrived, it did not last long. “Mmm, that’s better,” she said, pushing the bowl away.
“Feeling better?”
“Am.”
“Your folks called. They’ll be here first thing in the morning.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. Something tells me I’m in for the mother and father of all lectures. Wish they’d stop treating me like some sort of china doll.”
“Well, you are small and perfectly formed, apart from your nose of course, so what’s the … ow!” Michael yelped when Anna backhanded the empty ice cream bowl into his temple. “Temper, temper,” he said, rubbing the side of his head. “That hurt.”
“It was supposed to; you deserved it. You are a rude bastard,” she said. “Shit, shouldn’t have done that. My shoulder’s killing me.” Anna lay back. After a while, she reached out and folded his hand into hers.
“Anna,” he said, his voice faltering. “Anna, look, I-”
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” Anna said. She squeezed his hand gently. “You don’t have to explain. You are the single most accident-prone man in humanspace. Being around you is like standing next to an unexploded Eaglehawk missile.” She shook her head, her eyes filling with sudden tears. “Loving you is a hundred times worse, and not a day goes by without me asking why I do. But here I am.”
“Anna-”
“Shh,” she said, lifting her hand to Michael’s lips. “You know what? You are what you are, and I might as well get used to it.”
Michael had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. He squeezed Anna’s hand hard, watching her slip away into unconsciousness.
Michael stayed with Anna while she slept, her face framed by jet-black hair stark against white linen, the faintest of faint blushes of pink across high cheekbones marking the start of her return to health.
For a long time he sat there. His vigil was interrupted when his mother stuck her head through the door. “How is she?”
“Hi, Mom. She’s fast asleep.”
“Good. Come on, Michael. You’re no good to her dead on your feet. We’re going home. Dad has supper for you. We’ll be back first thing tomorrow to meet Anna’s parents. The hospital will call you if there are any developments.”
A sudden wave of exhaustion swamped him. Kissing Anna on the forehead, he raised his hands and conceded defeat. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”
Monday, September 18, 2400, UD
Vice Admiral Jaruzelska called the weekly project meeting to order.
“Morning, everyone. Michael?”
“Sir?”
“You look like a sack of shit, but since you’ve managed to turn up for work, may I assume you’re okay?”
“Gee, thanks, sir,” Michael said over the laughter. “But yes. Bit battered, bit bruised, but I’ll be fine, which is more than I can say for the opposition.”
“Quite,” Jaruzelska said drily as laughter turned to cheers. “More to the point, how’s Anna?”
“Recovering well, sir, thank you. She’ll be fine.”
“Glad to hear it. Bad business,” Jaruzelska said, her face grim. “Police making any progress?”
Michael shook his head. “No, sir. Dead end. All they know is that the attackers were a bunch of lowlifes recruited from the gutters of Torrance City. Someone they had never seen before threw them a load of money and told them to get on with it. The operation was thrown together in a rush, which was why we escaped. With more time to prepare …”
“Know what? I’d still bet good money you’d get out alive, Michael,” Jaruzelska said with a broad smile. “You have a knack in that regard, I have to say.”
Michael squirmed in embarrassment. Jaruzelska stopped to let a good-natured mix of cheers, boos, and clapping fade away.
“Okay, okay. Before I hand over to the chief of staff to cover the routine items on the agenda, I want to brief you on the results of our meeting with the brass back at Fleet.” Jaruzelska paused for a moment. “I’m sure you know that Captain Tuukkanen and I met with the chief of the defense force and the commander in chief. You also know that this was an important meeting, one we asked for to get rid of the roadblocks in our way. Right up front, you need to know that while we had some wins, we also had some losses.”
Jaruzelska paused again while a soft murmur of concern washed across the room. Her hand went up. “Nothing to get too oxygenated about, folks. Project’s on track, and the time line for Dreadnought Squadron One to go operational still stands. But our plans for the follow-on squadrons have changed. Captain Tuukkanen will be distributing a detailed report of what those changes are, together with the things we need to do in response. But in essence, the changes are these. First, there won’t be the six dreadnought squadrons I recommended, but three.”
A soft groan filled the room. Like everyone else present, Michael knew of Jaruzelska’s firm view that sixty dreadnoughts was the minimum number needed to take the fight back to the Hammers and, more important, to defeat them and their antimatter weapons.
Jaruzelska ignored the disquiet. “Second, Fleet has downgraded the specifications for the ships of the follow-on squadrons. These will be designated Block 2 dreadnoughts. They will be heavier and slower, but at least they will be dreadnoughts. Obviously, only the ships of the First Squadron will have the full Block 1 dreadnought conversion.”
This time there was not a sound. “Oh, shit,” Michael murmured. That was two losses for Jaruzelska.
“Third, I have agreed with Fleet that our crew numbers for the Block 1 dreadnoughts are too low. So rather than the crew of ten we suggested, we’ll be going with a crew of fifteen. That’s the largest crew we can accommodate without compromising the Block 1 design specifications. Crew levels for the Block 2 dreadnoughts are still under review, but I anticipate a final complement of around thirty or so. Michael?”
Taken by surprise, Michael snapped upright in his seat. “Sir?”
“Given we’re commissioning the
In his head, Michael finished the sentence for her: “… which is why I proposed a crew of ten in the first place, you idiots.” Sometimes he wondered whether the people who ran Fleet had any brains at all.
“… so I want you along with the systems engineering and tactics people to get together when we’re finished here to work out where real, live human beings can be most useful. We all know that Fleet is desperately short of spacers after Comdur, and especially those with navigation and warfare qualifications. There is no point asking for people they don’t have, so don’t. Okay?”
“Sir.”
“Good. Next, command and control. Today Fleet will be announcing the formal establishment of Dreadnought
