Future Shock, page 22
Hamish grimaced. “Yes, sir.”
“And a number of prominent politicians have been named and shamed for various kinds of criminal activity, including – again – pre-crime,” the admiral continued. He sounded as though his thoughts were a very long way away. “Their lawyers are already challenging the use of future evidence in court, claiming it is no better than spectral evidence, or that it was gathered illegally and therefore has to be thrown out. My wife is a very busy woman.”
“Your wife, sir?”
“She’s a lawyer,” Admiral Garland said. “She’s dealing with people arguing the future files should be sealed for the protection of the country, by which they mean them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She also has more time on her hands,” the admiral added. “The files revealed she was cheating on me.”
Hamish blinked. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“I guess I wasn’t enough for her,” Admiral Garland said, thoughtfully. “The affair was a complete surprise, when I read my own file. I wasn’t supposed to find out for another five years.”
“Oh.” Hamish didn’t know what to say. Bad enough to be cheated on, worse to know you would have remained in ignorance for another five years ... he had no idea if it was good or bad news for his superior, or even why the admiral was telling him about the affair. Perhaps on some level, he blamed Hamish for the revelation, even though it would have come out in the end. “I ...”
“I think we’ll be trying to sort out the mess for a long time to come,” Admiral Garland said. He turned away from the window and sat at the desk. “Right now, though, that isn’t a problem. Do you believe the new plan is workable?”
“Yes, sir,” Hamish said. “It should work in combat.”
“No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy,” Admiral Garland reminded him, sharply. “You can’t count on a second future fleet arriving to save your ass again.”
“No, sir,” Hamish agreed. “We’ll be carrying out exercises once the plan is approved, to make sure it actually works in combat. If it doesn’t ... we can try a few other ideas.”
“Make sure you go through all the possible outcomes,” Admiral Garland said. “And don’t let yourself be caught so far from home.”
Hamish nodded. If something happened to the future starships, a sizable percentage of humanity’s combined navies would be trapped, dozens of light-years from home. He had no reason to suspect trouble, but ...
“There was a great deal of debate about what to do with you,” Admiral Garland added, after a moment. “Your history record shows you to be a tactical genius. You took on a vastly superior fleet and delayed it long enough for the navies to counterattack, then won a number of later battles against the Diyang, eventually crushing their navy and ending the war. You were also promoted, several times, because your superiors died in combat.”
“Yes, sir.” Hamish shivered. There were times when the other timeline seemed close enough to touch, and times when it was nothing more than words on a page, no more real than a fantasy story involving witches and wizards. “It ...wasn’t me.”
“There’s normally a ceremony for this, but we don’t have time.” Admiral Garland reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a small box, holding it out to Hamish. “By the authority of the Multinational Force Command, with the concurrence of the Great Powers, I promote you to Admiral. Congratulations.”
Hamish swallowed, hard. “Sir?”
“You’re an Admiral.” Admiral Garland shook the box. “Congratulations.”
“I ...” Hamish took the box. “Sir, I’m a Captain. I barely spent any time as a de facto Commodore ...”
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” Admiral Garland leaned back in his chair. “First, you made contact with the future starships and handled the situation with aplomb. You’ve established a good working relationship with Commodore Boswell, and that’s not something to be sneered at, certainly not when maintaining the relationship is important. Second, you took command of a multinational force made up of ships and crews that had never worked together before and melded them into a fighting unit that would have held the line against the Diyang, when they attacked in the other timeline. Third, you were an excellent commanding officer in the other timeline, which speaks well of your promise in this timeline ...”
He paused. “And fourth, you’re one of the very few candidates everyone agreed on. You will accept this promotion, Hamish, because your country needs you. Your world needs you.”
Hamish stared down at the insignia. He had always wanted promotion, but this ... there would be resentment, of course, his former peers arguing he’d done nothing to deserve it, that he had been jumped ahead for political reasons rather than military skill. They’d be right too, he reflected, and he was reluctant to open that particular can of worms.
“I ...”
“I understand your qualms, but you are needed,” Admiral Garland said. “Will you accept the promotion? And the position of fleet commander?”
Hamish said nothing for a long moment. It felt wrong to be benefiting from his counterpart’s successes, even if they were technically the same person. And the resentment ... his thoughts ran in circles. Men with far longer in grade than himself would complain, loudly, and they wouldn’t be wrong. It would end very badly if he fucked up. And it was quite likely, given how many new technologies were being hastily prepped for introduction into the older ships, that there would be a fuck up.
But it was his duty. “Yes, sir.”
“Very good,” Admiral Garland said. He nodded in approval as Hamish pinned the insignia to his uniform. “What are your plans for the evening?”
“I said I’d take Cassidy to dinner, sir,” Hamish said. He’d asked her on a whim and been pleasantly surprised when she’d accepted. “And then back to the spaceport.”
“There’s no mention of her in the files,” Admiral Garland said. “No trace of her existence. It isn’t suspicious, just sad. She lived and died not too far from here, and no one in the far future even knows her name.”
Hamish felt cold. Cassidy deserved better. She was bright and clever and she’d been given a bad hand in life. Not unlike Hamish himself, in a way. “She’ll do better here.”
“She already has,” Admiral Garland said. He stared down at his hands for a long moment. “And that is thanks to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three: USS Grant, 2308
“Welcome back, sir,” Lieutenant Henry Georges said. “Ah ... are you still in command of the ship?”
Hamish was torn between amusement and annoyance. On one hand, Grant was no longer a suitable billet for him now he’d been promoted; on the other, the Pentagon had yet to assign him a new command or remind him, politely, that as an admiral, he had no business commanding a ship while also commanding a squadron, if not an entire fleet. He had no idea if his superiors thought they didn’t need to change anything, because he had technically commanded both the ship and the squadron at the same time, or if the military bureaucracy hadn’t quite caught up with his appointment. There were enough uncertainties around the precise role of an ‘international’ admiral that it was probable nothing had been sorted out yet. He wasn’t going to complain. He intended to remain in command of the ship as long as possible.
“I guess so,” he said, after a moment. “Did you clean the injector tubes and scrub the maintenance passageways?”
“Yes, sir,” Georges said. “I also saw to it the crew had a few days on Luna. They needed it.”
Hamish nodded, making a mental note to ensure Georges was promoted himself as quickly as possible. The navy would eventually notice he was holding down two roles and send a replacement, unless there was someone already on the ship who could take command. Georges was technically too junior for a starship command, but Grant was hardly a fleet carrier, and Georges knew her inside and out. Better he took the role than someone with far less experience of the old ship’s quirks.
“I hope the crew had a good time,” he said, as the hatch hissed closed behind him. “Any trouble?”
“Nothing noteworthy, sir,” Georges assured him. “Crewman Collins was arrested for excessive drinking, which is quite an accomplishment on Sin City, and Crewwoman Hammond reported back late after going to a hotel with a courtesan and losing track of time. Collins was fined by the local police and cautioned not to do it again, I’ve yelled at Hammond and told her she’ll be in deep shit if she does it again. She’s lucky we weren’t boosting out of orbit.”
“True,” Hamish agreed. Reporting back late was a minor issue, if the ship wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Being late when the ship was going somewhere was a court martial offense, a career-wrecker unless the unfortunate crewer had a very good excuse. “I hope it was good for morale, if nothing else.”
“It was, sir,” Georges said. “The crew desperately needed a break.”
Hamish nodded. The navy had needed months to decide what to do about the future folk, months that his crew had spent cooped up on their ships, first at Titan and then at Earth. It was no surprise that morale had plunged, that incidents that needed the XO’s attention had risen sharply. The crew were used to their cramped conditions, normally, but there was a difference between serving on a warship in an active combat zone and spending time floating around doing nothing. The crew had needed a break from each other ... he wondered, suddenly, if Boswell ever had the same problem. John Birmingham sometimes struck him as more of a flying luxury hotel than a warship.
He felt a twinge of sudden unease as they floated through the corridors, back onto the bridge. It looked so crude to him, compared to the futuristic vessels holding station beside the squadron. A handful of futuristic holographic displays sat in the middle of the compartment – they’d borrowed the projector from John Birmingham – reminding him that the rest of his ship was almost painfully primitive by comparison. The lack of gravity alone nagged at him, even though he’d been perfectly used to it only a few short months ago. A chill ran through him, his ghostly other self seeming to stand beside him. History had changed and ...
You can’t change the past, he told himself, although he knew it wasn’t true. Not any longer. The cynic in him was sure time travel would be researched extensively, now the human race knew it was possible, until they found a way to make it happen on purpose. You have to learn from it and move on, even if it is a shadowy alternate past that never truly happened.
He took his seat, strapping himself in as he inspected the display. The squadron was gathered around the flagship in a loose formation, one a civilian would probably see as a drunken mess rather than any sort of military display. There was no need to line the ships up neatly, no need to make it look good ... it wasn’t as if they had a civilian audience. The lone stranger in the formation, TFS Dauntless, didn’t seem to be any more organised than the rest of the ships. His lips quirked. The future officers and men might be mildly military by his standards, as if they were civilian explorers who’d bolted weapons to their ships with little intention of actually using them, but they knew what they were doing. He wondered, idly, how many of his superiors truly understood it. The USN had too many problems with civilians who thought they knew how the navy worked, while being ignorant of their own ignorance, and the future folk often gave off the same vibes.
“Contact the squadron,” he ordered, putting his thoughts aside. “The exercise will begin at 1230 precisely. If any of the ships have any problems, I want to know about them now.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hamish waited, watching the display as it updated rapidly. The squadron hadn’t had as much time for refitting as he’d hoped, between the general paranoia about alien attack or uncertainty over the motives of Boswell and his ships, and he was all too aware their limited maintenance would cause all sorts of problems over the next few weeks if the crews didn’t get back on top of it. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. His eyes lingered on Captain Cao’s ship for a long moment, his thoughts torn between relief his sort-of friend and comrade hadn’t been murdered by his own government and concern about what it meant. He’d read the history records. The Chinese Government had preferred to ride their country down in flames than give up even a smidgeon of power. It was very out of character for them to let a traitor go ... even if he hadn’t committed treason yet. Why had they changed their minds?
Either they decided to change course now, to save themselves, or they have something else in mind, he mused. Which one is it?
Georges cleared his throat. “The squadron has checked in, sir,” he said. “There are no reported problems.”
Let’s hope no one is playing games with their reports, Hamish thought. The squadron hadn’t worked together long enough for him to be sure his captains wouldn’t. There were too many nationalist officers under his command, officers who would shade their reports to spare their country’s blushes. He understood it better than he cared to admit, at least to anyone other than himself. He wouldn’t want to admit problems to foreigners either. This time, it could get us all killed.
He braced himself. They were about to do something that could get them all killed.
“Signal Dauntless,” he ordered. “Inform her we are ready to begin.”
“Aye, sir.”
A prickle ran down Hamish’s spine. It was flatly impossible for starships to jump in formation, let alone bring another ship along with them ... no, it had been impossible. The slightest mistake could scatter the squadron across dozens of light-years, if they were lucky, or dump them into the heart of a star if they weren’t. The navy had experimented with linking jump drives together in the hopes of solving the problem, but the test starships had never been seen again, and further experiments had been forbidden. Clearly, at some point in the future, the problems had been solved. He’d seen the future ships tow his squadron through jumpspace ...
“She’s ready, sir,” Georges informed him.
“Signal the OpFor,” Hamish said. “Inform them the exercise will begin on schedule.”
“Aye, sir,” Georges said. There was a long pause. “They’re ready, sir.”
Hamish blinked, a shock running through him. FTL communications ... he caught himself, sharply, before he could rebuke Georges for saying obvious nonsense. They had a hypercom now, one capable of sending signals across interstellar distances ... of course they did. He’d expected the reply to come slowly, if at all, but instead ...
“Good.” Hamish took a breath. He’d been assured the combined jump was completely safe, or as safe as military operations ever got. He knew better than to think exercises were completely safe even if live weapons weren’t being used. “Signal Dauntless. She may deploy her tractor beams” – another piece of impossible technology – “at will.”
“Aye, sir,” Georges said. A dull shudder ran through the ship, followed by a creepy sensation that made Hamish want to clench his teeth. “They’ve locked on.”
Hamish gritted his teeth. “Signal the squadron,” he ordered. “We jump in two minutes.”
“Aye, sir.”
The display updated rapidly, the squadron being pulled into position around Dauntless. It looked unnatural, a nightmare ... Hamish, not for the first time, was tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t actually dreaming. The future folk had talked about all sorts of technologies, marvels they’d be able to perform once they set up a proper tech base, but it was hard to believe these marvels truly existed. There was something almost dreamlike about them, a hint of jam tomorrow but never jam today. This was different. This was something that struck at the very core of his being.
He shivered. Dauntless was classed as a destroyer, but she was bigger and far more powerful than his entire squadron put together. She could wipe them out effortlessly from far beyond their engagement envelope, or dive into the heart of their formation – a tactic more common in military science-fantasy than the real world – and slaughter his ships from point-blank range, effortlessly evading or simply shrugging off their response. His heart clenched painfully. He told himself, firmly, that it was because of the coming jump. He’d been a spacer for decades, and jumping still felt unpleasant. Anyone who claimed they liked the sensation was a liar.
Georges spoke with quiet urgency. “Jumping ... now!”
Hamish expected to feel his insides knot, for a painful second, before the sensation vanished so quickly it was hard to believe he hadn’t imagined it. It was how he always felt ... this time, there was nothing beyond a faint sense of disorientation, as if they hadn’t jumped at all. He wondered why it surprised him – he’d been on Dauntless when she’d been sent to Earth – and why it bothered him. It was something to worry about later. The display was rebooting with terrifying speed.
“Deactivate the tractor beams,” he snapped. They’d come out of the jump disturbingly close to the OpFor, at a speed that should have had his crew vomiting helplessly. Instead, they were rushing towards the enemy, the range closing rapidly ... a chill ran down his spine, again, as he realised the display wasn’t projecting the rough location of the enemy starships, but showing precisely where they were. It should have been impossible ... it was, for contemporary technology. “Launch fighters. Lock long-range weapons on target. Prepare to engage the enemy.”
“Aye, sir.” Georges sounded shaken too. FTL communications were one thing, FTL sensors were quite another. The analysts hadn’t been able to quite wrap their heads around it either. “Mass drivers targeted, ready to fire. Long-range missiles targeted, ready to fire. Point defence armed, ready to fire.”
“Signal the squadron,” Hamish ordered. “All ships assigned to Group Alpha are to fire on my command.”
“Aye, sir,” Georges said. There was only one ship outside Group Alpha – Dauntless – but it was well to be careful. “All ships report ready to fire.”
