He frowned. “Technical expertise alone doesn’t guarantee a good officer or man. You’re getting a hand-picked crew, captain, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have some screw-ups, or snobbish popinjays.
“That’s not all,” Pankin continued. “About fifty of those people won’t be fleet at all. They’re civilians, with skills you’ll need. A medical team, for instance. They’ll make sure the Rekesh is thoroughly decontaminated before you bring her home. You’ll also have techs recruited from shipyards that’ll bring her back to life. You’ll have an entire new AI core since shutting down an AI is no easy task. Rekesh ’s Third probably destroyed hers. I've included experts in life support and propulsion to get you operational as quickly as possible.”
Kas' background had left him uncomfortable dealing with civilians. “Couldn’t fleet techs handle it, Admiral?”
Pankin shook his head. “ Rekesh has been shut down for a century. Nobody can predict what it’ll take to bring her back. They’re all civilians, but all except a few of the medical team have worked for the fleet, or at least been around the military. They won’t be completely illogical and unreasonable. Try not to push too many out an airlock, will you?”
Kas shifted uncomfortably in his chair and smiled weakly. “I’ll try, sir.”
“Well, I can help a little,' Pankin replied. 'If you complete your mission, you will bring home two ships instead of one. That gave me enough juice to push through a promotion. Congratulations, Commodore!”
Kas’s thoughts whirled. Commodore! He’d long ago resigned himself to the fact that he’d never get his flag. He gulped. “Thank you, sir! I…” He sought frantically for the words to express his feelings. Pankin would take a lot of heat over this.
Pankin noticed his discomfort and studiously avoided looking at Kas as he rummaged on the cluttered desk. “Ah, here we are!” He brandished a gaudy certificate and a pair of shoulder boards with one star on each. With a broad grin, he rose. “Allow me, Commodore!”
Kas jumped to his feet and struggled to regain his composure as Pankin pinned on the new boards. He backed up a step, then took Kas’ hand and shook it enthusiastically.
Kas struggled to regain his voice, if not his composure. “I… I don’t know what to say, sir…”
Pankin stepped back around the real wood desk. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve given you that star for a reason. On the trip back, if you get that far, you’ll be commanding two ships, technically a flotilla. You can retain command of the Rekesh, of course, but you’ll have to appoint someone to command Starhopper. You’ll be in a very unusual situation. You’ll have several command-qualified officers to select from. Be careful in your selection. You’ve never had to command at second hand — but that’s what flag officers do. If you must jump him several steps past more senior officers, do it. In a non-regulation, offbeat operation like this, you need someone who will work with you, not against you.
“I won’t lie to you,” he said, “You'll be hated, not only for Lu-Jenks, but for getting this promotion. There are those who will do their best to see you fail, and show me I chose the wrong man.”
Kas nodded solemnly. “Thank you for the advice, sir.”
Pankin chuckled. “It’s worth what you paid for it. Now, take this,” he tossed a record chip at Kas, “and get the Sheol out of here. Some of us actually have work to do!”
Kas started for the door. “Oh, and Commodore,” Pankin called. “If there’s the slightest possibility of Rekesh falling into other hands, take no chances. Push her into the sun. We’d like to have her, but the Empire’s gotten along without her for a century. We don’t need her that badly.”
Kas snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll take no chances.”
The record chip was a high-security type, and he assumed it contained his orders and the coordinates of the system containing the derelict Vir Rekesh.
Kas snapped a crisp salute and left, head high, grinning broadly.
Chapter 2
Kas decided to examine Starhopper, the freighter that was to take him on his mission. He had to find out what he had to work with. He summoned a sky cab. Luckily, Pankin had been in his fleet HQ office and not the more ornate office he maintained on the grounds of the Palace.
Prime’s Fleet starfield occupies over twenty square miles halfway around the planet from the Palace. It is surrounded by the base housing fleet headquarters. The entire complex occupies more than a hundred square miles.
Prime itself is a bit larger than old Earth, but with a surface gravity of 0.8. Prime’s sun is a bit larger than Sol, and its light tends slightly more toward white. Its overall climate is pleasant except in a narrow band at the equator, where the heat becomes oppressive. Naturally, fleet HQ is on the comparatively low-value real estate of the equator.
As he crossed the shipyard landing field, puffing with exertion and cursing the sweat trickling into his eyes, he cast a suspicious glance at the yellow-tinged pale blue sky. Over the years, he’d become much less uncomfortable with the open spaces of a planetary surface, but Kas still rather disapproved of weather. It seemed such a messy way to do things, compared to the controlled environment in which he’d grown up.
He didn’t know where he’d been born, but he’d grown up in the grimy, sterile corridors of Varner’s World.
Varner’s World is barely habitable. For the two hundred years since its discovery, Varner’s has been locked in a vicious ice age that will continue for centuries. The only reason man came to Varner’s was to mine the extremely rare metals far beneath the glaciers that cover more than three quarters of the surface.
So, the mining companies came, and their corporate structure was recognized by the empire as a government. At the top of the political hierarchy were the execs; beneath them were the senior managers and their staffs.
Since the living conditions were so harsh and competent managers difficult to train and keep, no expense was spared to make certain that the management areas of the mining domes were luxurious. Extremely luxurious. Plush, roomy apartments were provided, and their children got the best educational resources. Salaries were the highest in known space.
The companies were not as considerate of the miners. While company reps used high salaries to recruit miners on other worlds, they neglected to mention the inflated living costs that prevented a miner from leaving. If one was very frugal, ate only basic rations, and lived in a minimum dorm, it was just possible for him to raise his return fare within his two year contract term. Theoretically. The Empire required that.
It couldn’t be done. Basic rations are repackaged military field rations. Men simply can’t survive and, more importantly work, on a diet of basic rats for two years. Their health would deteriorate, and they would start to fall below their quota. There were penalties for that, of course.
Inevitably, a sizable underclass developed on Varner’s, mostly made up of cripples and surviving families unwilling or unable to leave, as well as criminals, the lazy, incompetent, and miscreants of various types, whom the companies “terminated”, then simply ignored.
The castoffs live in the slum. The name is a misnomer. There isn’t a single slum, but one in every mining dome. In the lower levels devoted to maintenance and storage, packing-crate lean-tos and shipping-container shacks spread like an infection over any open space. Their existence is based on theft. Down here, water is plentiful. The warmth of the dome melts the ice outside; but basic rats are worth as much as the cost of a management family’s dinner.
Kas had been a “feral kid,” a child who survived in the slum by guile and theft. Most died young, through mishap or by a patroller’s blaster. Kas had been very determined and very lucky.
When he was about twelve, he stole an exec child’s personal educomp. “Kas” was what they called him, but the “Preslin” had come from the educomp’s original owner.
He’d used the educomp instead of selling it, studying and learning from an exec child’s disgraced former tutor. After several years, he took fleet recruiting exam using forged documents, and qualified for the Academy. When he boarded the recruiter’s small ship, he didn't look back.
At the Academy, he’d worked even harder than on Varner’s. He learned what the Academy had to teach; and learned to live in civilized society, to blend in.
