businessmen shopping for souvenirs in kitschy shops and families waiting in line to enter carbon copy chain restaurants, as he made his way down the long corridor.
The terminal’s construction was adequate, but the fit and finish were not quite up to first world standards. The locals had made an effort to apply the latest styles, but they just didn’t quite get there. Everything seemed just a little off, like a picture frame slightly askew. The size and condition of the spaceport also reflected the smaller volume of passenger traffic this relatively new world generated. Kelly imagined that, as the planet continued to progress, the traffic would increase and services would follow.
Kelly made his way through medical screening. His Fleet medical records showed him to be in excellent health and with all his vaccinations up to date. The bored medtech barely looked up from his screen at him, before he thumbed his approval for planet entry into Kelly’s pocket terminal.
Customs screening was also perfunctory. When the customs official saw all Kelly had was his carry-on baggage, he looked at his uniform and thumbed him through. Passport control took a little longer because the agent found Kelly interesting and took some time to flirt with him before he passed him through. His uniform gave him no special privileges here on the civilian side of Armstrong.
His baggage from the Bolivar would not arrive for at least a week, so he passed by baggage pickup and the large crowd of people expectantly hoping for their bag to be the next one to appear on the carousel. He went out into the bustling main terminal to find transport to the base. There was supposed to be a regular fleet shuttle to the northern continent and Antares Base. All he had to do was find the right gate and get manifested. He consulted his pocket terminal and asked for directions. While he stood aside waiting for the response to come up, the slightly rumpled captain who’d had the run in with the laborers went by. Taking a chance the captain knew the way, Kelly followed him.
The captain headed for a moving sidewalk. Kelly tagged along at a discrete distance. His pocket terminal chimed to show his response had arrived and a quick glance confirmed he was headed in the right direction. At the end of the moving sidewalk, a lit sign with an arrow pointed the way to the waiting area for the fleet shuttle. Kelly lined up behind the captain to be added to the manifest for the next available shuttle.
The captain was quickly taken care of and Kelly moved up to the counter. A sharp looking female ensign with sparkling eyes looked up at him and said, “Pocket terminal with orders posted, please.”
Kelly handed over his pocket terminal with the orders already keyed up and waited.
“Ensign Blake,” she said, “I can get you on the next shuttle with your carry-on, but the rest of your baggage will have to wait for the next flight.
“That will be alright. This is all I have with me anyway.”
“Traveling light, are we?”
“Yes, my hold baggage won’t be here for at least a couple of weeks.”
She had a pleasant smile. Her uniform was a custom fit and the tailor did an expert job at setting off her impressive figure. Her name badge said Nielsen. When she stepped from behind her terminal to hand him back his pocket terminal, he noticed that she was wearing Fleet transport pilot’s wings.
“Do they have the pilots checking folks in here? That seems a little odd to me.”
“When you run a passenger shuttle for a Fleet Base and a bug hits your crew, you get to do a little bit of everything. What do you fly?”
“A desk probably, unless something else comes up.”
“We could always use another pilot in our detachment, if you don’t mind being a “Trash Hauler.” We’re always undermanned.”
Kelly cringed a little. Trash Hauler is what fighter pilots called the transport pilots that fly people and supplies around the fleet.
“I’d prefer to do my flying outside of the atmosphere, but if that opportunity doesn’t present itself I will consider it. Thank you. You know my name but all I know is your last name.”
“My contact info is in your terminal already.” A smile further lit up her eyes as she said that.
“My name is Tammy. Call me no matter how you decide. We can have a drink and talk about flying. If you go to gate three and wait, they will call your flight shortly. Have a nice flight.”
Her smile at the last exchange was almost blinding. Kelly smiled back and proceeded to gate three to wait. It was jammed with various Fleet personnel and their families heading to Antares Base. Kelly looked unsuccessfully for a place to sit, couldn’t find one, so leaned against a wall to wait. As Tammy promised, the flight was called almost before he had a chance to check for messages on his pocket terminal.
He lined up in rank order in front of the captain and a Lieutenant Junior Grade. The enlisted and their families lined up in front of them. It was an old Fleet tradition left over from the days of three-masted frigates and longboats. Senior personnel always boarded last and disembarked first. He moved onboard the shuttle, stowed his bags and took a seat next to the LTJG. The captain had taken the two seats across the aisle for himself.
The LTJG introduced himself as Roger Dahlens and said he was assigned to the Refit and Repair Directorate of the Fleet Yards at the Base.
“Where you coming in from?” He asked.
“I’m coming from Combat Fleet. I’m a transfer from Fleet Fighter Force.”
“I noticed the fighter wings on your chest. Aren’t you in the wrong color uniform?”
“Well I had a difference of opinion with my general and here I am.”
“Don’t tell me. You ran afoul of Old Bugger Off.” He said a little too loud.
The captain across the aisle looked up with a disapproving frown on his face, then went back to his reading.
“Man, if you had a run-in with Old Bugger Off, you are in fine company here. This place is where she dumps people who prove she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. Did you see how she was sandbagging on the tri-vid this morning? Fleet Base 17 is where she sends all those that displease her. It’s legend in the Fleet. Let me shake your hand.”
Kelly shook hands. He didn’t quite know how to take this. He had assumed being transferred out of Fighter Force would be a black mark, but here he found it made him part of a fraternity.
LTJG Dahlens chatted on for a bit more about his job in refit and repair, but as the light faded outside he turned to the window, threw a pillow behind his head, and dropped off to sleep.
Kelly looked past him out the window, watching the southern continent pass below them as the shuttle turned. He could make out the suburbs of Tranquility, the capital city. On the horizon, he could see the lights of two or three of the other few cities and towns on this sparsely populated planet.
Armstrong was one of the newer settled planets in the Galactic Republic. Fleet originally settled it. The civilians in the southern continent came later. Fleet Base 17 was built as the sole tenant of the northern continent to house a major overhaul base for ships capable of landing on planets’ surfaces. Antares Station serviced larger space-going ships in orbit above the planet. Antares Base and Station could service all but the large Fleet Carriers. Kelly had read plans were in motion to expand the station to be able to handle the carriers. Once the shuttle headed out over the middle ocean, Kelly could see nothing but the deep blue sea. He turned away from the window and read the local news off his pocket terminal until he looked over to the captain across the aisle.
His eyes met Kelly’s. “Why don’t you sit over here with me for a while, Ensign.”
An officer’s wish or desire is the same as a command, so Kelly got up and moved over next to the captain.
The captain’s uniform was still a little rumpled from his run in with the laborers earlier. His hair was dark with fine silver threads woven through. His uniform, though rumpled, hinted at a fit body underneath. He had the look of someone used to giving orders and having them instantly obeyed.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Captain John Hasselrode. I heard the Lieutenant’s outburst that you had troubles with General Bugarov. Did he tell you that it doesn’t make you unique here on Fleet Base 17?”
“I’m glad to meet you, sir. I’m Ensign Kelly Blake. Yes, sir, he did mention it.”
“Well, Ensign Blake, tell me your sad story.”
Kelly tactfully recounted General Bugarov’s apparent lack of understanding of space physics, her unwillingness to consider alternative tactics, her lack of thought for fleet security, and her embarrassment at being proved wrong by a 2LT. At the end, the captain had a smile on his face.
“Ensign, I don’t know where you might like to be assigned, but you should talk to my boss. You might have the qualities he looks for in an officer. I am the Executive Officer for Admiral Craddock, Commanding Officer of the
