The Lotus Eaters

immediately to attention. With a nod, Wallenstein walked between the staff's chairs and the room's iridescent ironwood-paneled walls.

Even before taking her own seat, she ordered, 'Seats.'

Just as they had when ordered out from proskynesis, the crew hesitated.

Wallenstein glared. 'I said, 'seats,' dammit. I don't have time . . . we don't have time, for meaningless formalities. Sit!'

Marguerite didn't wait to see if the staff obeyed. Rather, she swung her chair almost one hundred and eighty degrees to face the large Kurosawa viewscreen on one wall of the conference room. Not far from that was the hatch leading to the Admiral's Bridge, a feature so far little used.

'Computer,' she said. 'View of the boneyard.' Instantly the screen went from blank to filled with rank upon rank of ghost ships, their lightsails furled, the dark side of the moon visible on one corner of the screen.

'We're going there,' Wallenstein announced. 'We're going to get several of those running. Six, I think, right now, enough for a resupply every four to six months, indefinitely. They are going to become our lifeline to Earth. Don't bother asking where the credit is coming from; suffice to say that His Excellency, the SecGen, has approved a considerable increase to the fleet's budget and a major reallocation of industrial and personnel resources to our support.'

'This ship,' she continued, before anyone could even register surprise, 'is going to be skimmed for cadre to command those transports. The rest of the crews will be coming from the academy and from weeding out some likely prospects from Fleet Base, both on Earth and on Luna. Those, and eventually the crews that were beached on Atlantis Base because we cannibalized their ships. The new commanders will have to train their crews themselves and with a minimum cadre.

'Job One, however, will be restoring the ships we need to full functionality. That should help with the training. Hopefully, we'll be able to restore one or two, then head back to Terra Nova, ourselves, leaving stay-behinds to finish the restoration on the rest.

'Our first target for restoration will be the Jean Monnet. It's almost the newest ship out there. It was the last mothballed. And its maintenance records indicate that it is likely in the best shape of the lot.

'Oh, one more thing. I have no intention of burning up in a defective shuttle. We're going to be taking every shuttle we can cram aboard the Peace, plus every shuttle we can cram aboard the first few of our restored ships, plus all the parts we can loot.'

UEPF Spirit of Peace, Luna Starship Holding and Storage Area

A large cargo shuttle, recovered from one of the abandoned transports, was having obvious difficulty maneuvering to dock at that transport. The shuttle, Marguerite saw from the manifest, was carrying one hundred and twelve early-graduated midshipmen and cadets from the Fleet Academy, along with about ninety tons of Class Fours and Fives for scut work.

The problem, Marguerite thought, watching from the observation deck of Peace as the shuttle applied reversed thrust and backed off for a second attempt, is half that none of my people are used to dealing with the unusual or the unexpected. There's no surprise there and maybe not any blame either. After all, the Fleet spent centuries in orbit about Terra Nova and in all that time there were precisely two unusual events. At least only two that made it into the records. The other half is that I just don't have enough qualified people, for all my brave talk to the SecGen.

She watched further as the shuttle missed its second attempt, pulling up this time and barely missing a collision with the edge of the open bay.

Marguerite shook her head with disgust. Reaching over to a small box mounted next to the large, clear viewing port, she pressed a button and said, 'Operations. Here's a general rule for you. Write it into the SOP, as a matter of fact. WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO TRAIN PEOPLE RIGHT NOW ON THE FINER POINTS OF—ELDER GODS PRESERVE ME!—DOCKING WITH A STATIONARY, NON-ROTATING, SHIP. Have the comp take over docking on shuttle flight'—she glanced down at the manifest—'number one seven two.

'Training we'll have time for when we've got a full recovery crew aboard the Jean Monnet. Until then, priority is personnel and materials. Got it?'

'Aye, Aye, High Admiral,' answered the voice from the box. Before the box went silent again, Wallenstein heard a different voice commanding, 'Shuttle One Seven Two, Shuttle One Seven Two. Halt in place and get your butterfingered hands off the controls. We are taking over your docking from here.'

* * *

One problem I didn't anticipate, thought Marguerite, alone in the High Admiral's quarters, was that I can't get laid! For all my planning, I just completely missed that little inconvenience.

It was never a problem before, not since I took command of the flagship. Here, there was always a High Admiral to fuck . . . or whatever. Now, I'm in charge and the only way to have sex is to use a subordinate. Even if I were willing to do to someone aboard what's been done to me for so long—and I'm not—how the hell does someone take me seriously after they've seen me panting like a dog in heat or moaning all the idiocies people do in the throes of passion? How do they even look at my face without remembering the last time they saw a dick growing out of it?

Might not be such an issue with a woman, I suppose, but that is not my actual preference. Besides, the only one I find really attractive is Khan and she's a submissive. And, in bed, I prefer to be the submissive, as a relief from having to be in charge all the rest of the time. Fuck.

I foresee a miserable decade or two ahead.

Hmmm . . . bring a boy toy up? It's permitted but . . . no . . . that's contemptible. Then everyone would imagine seeing a dick growing out of my mouth but would not associate the dick with a real man.