Still, Susan had been around long enough to have some of her own old-school opinions of the-way-things-are-done.
“XO on deck!” the private standing watch announced as Azevedo crossed the threshold followed closely by two junior officers and a noncom. The rest of third watch would be along in another few seconds or they’d be running crash assembly drills for a week.
“Stations, people,” Susan said as she sank into the command chair, her chair, and thumbed it to her presets. “What do we know?”
Ensign Mattu, seated at the Drone Data Integration Station with a mop of hair that looked a little worse for the early hour, turned to face her captain. “We lost another Mk XXVI platform, mum. Number Thirteen. It wasn’t an accident.”
“And you can prove that?”
“Yes, mum, I believe I can.”
Susan nodded. “Show me.”
“It’ll take a couple of minutes to compile all the data, mum.”
“Take your time, Petty Officer.”
Miguel took his usual position hovering behind Susan’s left shoulder, far enough not to intrude on her personal space, but close enough for his presence and support to be felt. He was, at present, the only man in the CIC, the rest of the stations filled by women and whatever Ensign Broadchurch settled on, if they cared to.
This wasn’t unusual. Indeed, the Ansari’s crew complement was sixty-four percent female, which was right in line with crew breakdowns in the rest of the fleet. The demands of long-duration deep-space operations favored female recruits in a myriad of ways. Psychologically, women trended more toward cooperation and conflict resolution, while men tended to be more confrontational and competitive, which could cause friction and personality conflicts on long voyages. Women’s bodies had been found long ago to have a slight edge when it came to tolerating high-g maneuvering. And most importantly, the average woman’s daily caloric requirements were just sixty percent that of the average male, making their onboard food stores and aeroponics capacity last that much longer.
Indeed, the men who did manage to overcome these selection biases had to be very good to earn a slot. Of course, they had a very strong incentive to study hard and get a billet. If they did, they guaranteed themselves a place aboard a sealed metal tube where they were outnumbered two-to-one by young, physically fit women for eight to sixteen months at a time.
Needless to say, everyone was on birth control, and a lot of unauthorized “hot-bunking” went overlooked by the section heads.
“I’m ready, mum,” Mattu said.
“Proceed.”
The round plot table sunk into the deck at the center of the CIC glowed to life and traced a three-dimensional tactical map of the 82 G Eridani system in the air where everyone could see it. The Ansari sat at the center of the display orbiting Grendel, the fourth planet out from the star and the target of this round of surveys. Three different companies had joined up to tackle the claim in a rare display of solidarity. Ageless Corp. held a majority stake, but had partnered up with NeoSun and Praxis Inc. in smaller supporting roles. Usually, the only thing three or more transtellar boardrooms could agree on was the importance of the CCDF budget. “Fleet First” had become a mantra among the various corporations.
Much further out, between about two and four AU distance, icons representing the Ansari’s constellation of recon drones orbited the outskirts of the inner solar system in a shell. At these distances, the heavily stealthed platforms would be nigh invisible, even to the cruiser’s powerful suite of active sensors. The real-time locations of the red icons were best-approximations based on data streamed in from the platforms themselves, adjusted for the light-speed com delay.
The plot skipped, almost imperceptibly at the scale of the display. The time/date stamp had moved back forty-three minutes. Mattu zoomed in on the coordinates of their missing drone until a red silhouette hovered in the air.
“We’re about ten seconds before Platform Thirteen went off-line. It’s fully functional, just ran a surface diagnostic on itself three hours earlier. Network to its siblings and back to Mother is five-by-five. Then…” The drone suddenly jumped to life, sprinting away on six pillars of flame. But less than a second later, the feed cut out. “… it detects something and tries to evade, but doesn’t have time. It takes one in the teeth and we lose telemetry. Still, we know Thirteen survives the first hit.”
“First hit?” Susan asked. “There was a second?”
“CL on deck!” the marine on watch announced from the hatch. A middle-aged man, soft around the middle by military standards and busy tucking a button-up shirt into his slacks, stepped into the compartment. The only nominally civilian person aboard, Javier Nesbit was serving as the Ansari’s Corporate Liaison for the deployment. Every boat bigger than a skip courier had one. He served strictly in an advisory role, but as the designated representative of the interests of the shareholders or private owners of the consortium of the nine transtellars and their subsidiaries that contributed to the CCDF, his voice carried outsized weight.
Perhaps even more than his body did.
“Mr. Nesbit,” Susan said warmly. “I’m glad you could join us.”
Nesbit straightened his collar. “Yes, damnedest thing, but I didn’t get notification we were having a powwow. I wouldn’t have known it was going on if I hadn’t heard the frantic shuffling of feet in the hallway outside my quarters.”
“An unfortunate oversight, Mr. Nesbit, I’m sure.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve only just missed the beginning of the briefing. We’re trying to tease out what happened to another of our recon platforms. Ensign Mattu was just about to tell us what she’s learned. Scopes, please continue.”
“Yes, mum.” The plot zoomed back out again. “We were lucky, because Twelve’s wide-angle IR camera just happened to have Thirteen in its field of view at the time of the impact.” The first hit replayed from the new vantage point. The image resolution was poor, but clear
