Nesbit adjusted his shirt collar. “That’s an uphill battle at the best of times, Margo, but I’m afraid in this case, Captain Kamala is in the right. I haven’t seen the communications between herself and Fleet Com, but if she’s been placed under orders to preserve OpSec, then there’s nothing either of us can say to get her or the rest of her crew to spill the beans. She would face a court-martial if she did.”
“Well, then how about you? You’re a civilian and not bound by the UCMJ. What have you seen?”
“I am a civilian. But as a CL, I’m at even less liberty to talk about what I see during my time onboard than Captain Kamala is. I’m under a strict nondisclosure agreement to keep nearly everything I see and hear during my tour confidential. If I tell you anything, my career would be over and I’d be facing incredibly steep civil penalties. It’s the only way to ensure enough trust between a crew and their CL to make this … challenging relationship work.” Nesbit shook his head mournfully. “I’m sorry, Margo, but I can’t help you, either.”
The awkward silence that followed was broken by the sound of a spinning hatch lock. The door swung inward to reveal the drawn face of Ensign Mattu.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Susan said, not caring what anyone thought of it as she pushed away from the table and walked to the hatch and greeted her drone integration officer.
“Sorry to interrupt, mum.”
“Oh, believe me, you aren’t interrupting anything,” Susan reassured her. “What’s up, Scopes?”
“We’ve had a hit. Platform Twenty-three made a positive contact. Twenty-four was close enough for a tentative overlap confirmation.”
“Another armed drone?”
“No, mum. The whole bean burrito. It matches the emissions of the Xre ship we engaged two weeks ago, right down to the IR signature. The bastards aren’t even bothering to run EM silent. It’s like they wanted to be found.”
“Where are they?”
“Forty-thousand klicks outside the Red Line on a bearing of one-five-seven-seven.”
“Shit.” Susan scratched behind her ear. “Well, nothing for it. They want to play, we’ll play. Mark them Bandit One on the plot. Go to the CIC. Tell the XO we’re going to battle stations as soon as our guests are on their shuttle. Tell Charts to be ready to blow their bubble for a zero-zero intercept fifty-thousand klicks sunward of Bandit One the second the governor’s shuttle is clear of our gooey zone. And tell Guns to get all her toys ready. You copy all that?”
“Battle stations. Blow a bubble for zero-zero fifty kiloklicks from Bandit One. Flood the tubes and warm up the cat toys. And don’t turn the governor into soup.”
Susan clapped the younger woman on the shoulder. “That’s it, Scopes. Go on. I won’t be long.”
Mattu nodded. “Mum.”
Susan smiled warmly as Mattu receded down the hallway, then steeled herself once more and closed the hatch, despite the fact she’d be opening it again in approximately sixty seconds. Some habits weren’t meant to be broken.
She turned back to the mess hall and the trio of foreign dignitaries taking up space on her deck. “Well, as much as I’d love to say I hate cutting this meeting short, it really should’ve been cut ‘short’ two hours ago. We’ve all got better things to do, and we all have…” Susan feigned looking at a nonexistent wristwatch. “… five minutes to start doing them.”
“You can’t be serious,” Honshu objected. “You have no authority.”
“Lady,” Susan finally snapped, “you’re on my ship. Here, in this place, the Ansari is all of creation, and I am her maker. My voice is the word of God. The cranky, Old Testament God who dabbled in smiting. And that voice just said you have four minutes and forty-seven seconds to exit the premises.”
“For what?!”
“Training drill.”
“You expect us to believe you had a training exercise scheduled for this very moment that you forgot about? Don’t be absurd.”
“Slipped my mind.” Susan spun the wheel open and let the hatch swing inward. “Your shuttle is refueled and standing by for launch. In your own time, Governor.”
Honshu gathered herself up and stalked toward the hatch with her paired attendants in her wake. “I’ll be sending a report about this meeting to my supervising vice president. It will be sternly worded.”
“That is truly a terrifying prospect, Margo. I don’t know how I’ll sleep at night with that hanging over my head.”
Susan and Nesbit escorted them back to the boat bay and watched Honshu walk the short distance down the gangway until she disappeared inside her shuttle and the hatch buttoned up. The small craft cut loose from the docking tube in the silence of vacuum.
“Thank you, Javier,” Susan said quietly.
“For what?”
“Backing me up in there.”
“I told the truth, Captain, nothing more or less. She was out of line, even if I sympathized with her position.”
“Still. Thank you.”
“We’re not conducting a drill, are we?”
Susan shook her head. “Nope.”
Two jets of steam erupted from reaction control thrusters on the nose and gently pushed the shuttle backward out of the bay and into open space. As soon as it was clear and the doors began to close, Susan spun about and headed for the lift that would take her to the CIC.
“What’s our status, XO?” she asked Miguel through her internal com.
“Mattu just arrived and relayed your orders, mum. Charts is plotting our bubble now. Guns says she’s ready to overkill something.”
“Good. Take us to battle stations. Tell Charts to blow our bubble the millisecond the governor’s shuttle is clear of our gooey zone. I’m on my way up.”
Susan reached the bridge less than a minute later with Nesbit in tow. The marine guard, whose face was no longer blue, saluted and opened the hatch, forgoing the formality of granting her permission to enter.
“Captain on deck! CL on deck!”
“At ease.” Susan swept into her chair. “Where are we at?”
“The governor’s shuttle is twelve seconds from minimum safe distance,” Broadchurch reported.
“Bandit One status unchanged.
