The Battlestar Glory Ch. 07

(This is not a sexy story. It is a space war thriller.)

(This is not a sexy story. It is a space war thriller.)

Chapter 7: Dangerous Journalism

Chapter 7: Dangerous Journalism

From the Log of War Admiral Norman North, 5 years after Vitalics:

Time is slowly passing. I keep thinking that we've seen the last of the Insects, but it seems, almost like clockwork, that we run into another one of their fleets every nine to twelve months. We repulse every attack, but we can't replace our losses, and we've lost more three ships. As it is, normal wear and tear is taking a toll on our ships; we have almost exhausted the cannibalization of spare parts that we're able to do; in a year or two we're going to have to start abandoning some ships to keep others working, which will create very difficult decisions of what to do with their crews.

I have to be honest and say that we haven't made very much progress in locating Monumental inhabited planets; it's been over two years since we even encountered a monument. I knew it would be a difficult search to begin with, but I think that because of our desperate need, I had irrational hopes that we would find what we were looking for sooner rather than later. I now have to face up to the prospect that we may never encounter a Monumental civilization that can help us; and as our ships break down, the homesteader sentiment grows stronger.

It started about a year ago. There have been some rumblings in the fleet that we should stop our endless quest and settle down on one of the habitable worlds we encounter from time to time. Occasionally someone has worked up the nerve to mention this idea in my presence. My answer to them is always the same. If we settle down somewhere, not only are we giving up any chance we might have of rescuing our home worlds, but we will be defenseless when the Insects find us. And they will.

But our crew, in flight for so many years without relief, is beginning to believe the fantasy that they can find a place where we can be safe, some obscure planet where the Insects will never look for us. But as their regular attacks indicate, they haven't given up.

The most interesting question is, where are the Insects coming from? We haven't located any signs of Insect bases in this area of space; it would seem that their ships must be coming from formerly Alliance space. But that is years and years behind us now. How are they catching up to us so quickly? Do they have hidden bases we haven't detected? Or have they invented some method of propulsion that enables them to cross light years in minutes? That last would seem unlikely; when they attack, they come at relatively the same speed as our ships. So how are they throwing all these fleets at us, and how are they finding us so easily?

I could go crazy if I didn't find ways to relax, so I have taken up hobbies, and invited the senior staff to participate. Sometimes it's holography, or three dimensional problem solving, or simple graphical games; lately I've been interested in musical composition. I invited Roger Dulin and Stacy Wren to join me, but Dulin quickly dropped out; he prefers quiet time on his own. When it is just Stacy and myself, I invite some of the junior bridge crew to join us; but for whatever reason, they too dropped out. So it's just me and the Half Commander. I sometime wonders how the fact that we spend so much time alone together appears to the crew, but then I realize that the crew probably has bigger issues to worry about.

*******

A short musical composition played over the comm. When it finished, North looked at Wren expectantly.

"That was a little lighter on the drums, but they were still there," said Wren. "You really like the drums, don't you?"

"I like military music," said North. "Military music uses drums." He turned to the console and made some adjustments.

"Is there anything you like that isn't military?" Wren asked, crossing her legs.

"I've been in the military for centuries, for most of my adult life," said the War Admiral. "If I had a life before that, I don't remember it." He pressed a button. "How about this?"

Wren listened to a clip that lasted a few seconds. "Better," she said. "I like the long-winded trumpets."

"That's military too," said the War Admiral.

"Yes, I appreciate the military as well," said Wren. "But I had a life before the military. I used to be a senior administrator on the colony planet of Ulos."

"Yes, I remember reading something like that in your service record," said the War Admiral. "What persuaded you to go military?"

"I was on the planet during the siege of Ulos," said Wren quietly.

North nodded. Nothing more needed be said.

The awkward silence was interrupted by a buzz of someone wanting to enter. "Come," said North.

Captain Dulin entered the room. "He's gone too far this time, Admiral!"

"Who, Captain?" said the War Admiral.

"Oh," said Dulin, calming down. "I presumed you had seen it. I was referring to Took's broadcast about maintenance requests on the civilian ships."

"Yes?"

"He criticized the military, saying that we give maintenance repairs on civilian ships the lowest priority, sometimes forcing them to wait weeks or months for repairs."

"And is it true?" said North.

"Of course not!" said Dulin. "Admiral, you know as well as I do that we prioritize based on the seriousness of the repair. Of course, military repairs are often more vitally needed than civilian ones. Still, if there was a serious problem with one of our merchant ships, like a core breach, we'd be on that-"

"Captain, why are you telling me this?" said North.

"Sir?"

"You should be telling Took," said North. "I'm sure he would interview you for his show."

"Sir, are you seriously suggesting that I dignify his little broadcast with my presence?" Dulin asked.

"Yes," said the War Admiral. "Have you checked the usage logs, Captain? They show that an incredible 91% of the fleet open their weekly e-mail video report from Captain Took. That's an even higher rate than your fleet bulletin."

"I know, sir," said Dulin. "But the fleet bulletin is important-"

"I'm not blaming you or the bulletin," said the War Admiral. "What I am saying is that Took provides something vital--entertainment, discussion, excitement--things in very short supply here. And as long as he doesn't advocate the violent overthrow of the fleet command, I would encourage him to continue."

"But sir... it's just not military."

"Neither is a quarter of the fleet, Captain," the War Admiral pointed out. "And we've been together, without leave or relief, for a long time. Even the strictest military organization can only be taut and proper for so long. I trust I've made my point."

"Sir. Yes sir," said Dulin. He turned and left.

Wren says, "His criticisms don't bother you at all?"

"Believe me, Commander, Idaho Took is the least of my worries. The homesteaders bother me ten times as much. They're the ones that we're going to have more and more trouble with over time," said the War Admiral. "The longer we go without finding anything, the greater the pressure they will put on us to settle on a planet and simply give up."

"What will you do when the pressure rises to a boiling point?" Wren asked.

"The music, Commander, help me work on the music," said the War Admiral.

"All right," said Stacy Wren. "But on one condition. When we're off duty, like we are now, you can call me by my name."

"Very well, Miss Wren," said North, giving a rare smile. "Now help me with these violins...."

*******

"It's going to be a masterpiece, Obe!" said Took.

"Go away," said Obe, turning his head to face away. He was in bed, trying to sleep.

"Obe, I'm on to something big!" said Took. He shook Obe.

"Go away! I'm trying to sleep!"

"But I need my camera man!"

"I'd rather sleep."

"Very funny. Are you going to help me with my biggest story ever, or not?"

"What is it?" Obe muttered.

"The corruption of something vital to our very survival."

"Yes?" said Obe, as if he were waiting for something more.

"Our food supply," said Took.

Obe opened his eyes. "All right," said Obe. "But this better be good."

*******

They took a shuttle from theGloryto theMarist. TheMaristwas the largest merchant ship they had taken with them from Orotis, and like most of the others, it had been converted into a farming vessel. The walls had been broken out between compartments and soil had been laid on the ground, which now grew a constant rotation of thirty day potatoes, rice, wheat, and other crops.

"So the thing about it is, these ships have actually been producing less and less food over time," Took said to Obe, as they walked across a "field" on deck 4.

"Is that really surprising?" Obe says. "Equipment breaks down, soil becomes exhausted, that sort of thing."

"No, no, no," said Took. "According to my information, we actually have more acres under cultivation and more fresh soil available now than we did when we started, five years ago. We've run into a series of habitable planets lately that have helped us restock."

"If that's true... then why are we under increased rationing?" Obe said.

"Oh, so are you actually interested in my little investigation now?" said Took.

They reached the office of the administrator, Tarolly Odusk.

They rang, but there was no answer. They rang again, but no one responded.

"This is a day shift, isn't it?"

"Yep," said a high-pitched voice behind them.

They turned to see a teenager pushing a grav tram full of dirt.

"Hey, do you know where the director is?" Took asked.

"Gee, you look familiar," said the young man, peering at Took. "You're that guy, that guy on the e-mail program!"

"Yes, why yes I am," said Took. "The name is-"

"Took, of course," said the teenager. "I watch your show all the time. In fact, I reroute the e-mail so I get it first before everyone else."

"You do?" said Took. "No offense, but I didn't think you farmer types knew a lot about computers."

"Oh, computers are just a hobby, they're easy," said the kid dismissively. "By the way, my name's Billy Holiday. But Bill, most people call me Bill."

"Good to meet you," said Took, automatically reaching out to shake the kid's hand. But when he pulled it back, he found it grimy with black dirt.

"Sorry about that," said Bill.

"Listen, kid, can you tell me where we can find the director?"

"No," said Bill. "But if you're looking for him, don't try his office."

"Why not?"

"He never shows up there, except for inspections."

Took and Obe exchanged glances.

"Any idea where we can find him?"

Bill shrugged. "You might try leaving him a message."

"That's a pity," said Took. "We were hoping to ask him some questions about farm production." He turned to Obe. "How much food do you think this ship alone can produce?"

"Assuming an undifferentiated 30 day potato crop with constant soil, temperature, and fertilizer conditions and four potatoes per square foot, the approximate yield would be... 19,455 potatoes across the entire ship," said Bill.

Took looked at Bill. "You're serious?"

"I never joke about potatoes, Mr. Took."

"Bill, what, ah, did you do before you became a farmer?"

"I was the Chief Engineer on theBlue Luna," said Bill.

"You, a kid, a teenager, C.E. on a battleship?" said Obe.

"Well... they called me Chief," said Bill. "At least, that's what they called mewhile I fixed their engines."

"You fixed the engines on a pocket battleship?"

"Sure," said Bill. "I saw an easy way they could do an upgrade to make the ship almost as fast as your standard battlecruisers. At first no one would listen, but then I showed them the schematics, and they set me to work on it."

"I knew the engines were upgraded... but how come we never heard that a kid did it?"

"That was a few years ago," said Bill. "I think they didn't want word to get out that a kid was fixing the engines of our only battleship."

"So you did it, alone," said Took.

"Yep."

"Had you ever worked with engines before?"

"Nope," said Bill. "Although I read about them, once."

"Once. Then how did you...."

"It just made sense to me," said Bill.

"And how did you get here?"

"Oh. They got tired of hiding me during every inspection tour. One time, when I was almost discovered, they decided it was time for me to move on. So they sent me here."

"And doesn't it bother you, doing farm chores when you could be working on engines?"

"Not really," said Bill. "It gives me a lot of free time. We only really have to work three or four hours a day." He noticed their expressions. "Actually, I don't think I was supposed to say that."

"I think we better have a talk with Director Odusk," said Took. "But first, I think we have an interesting story to report, don't you?"

*******

"-and so this incredible young man rebuilt the engines on theBlue Luna, and now his most complicated job is moving piles of dirt around," said Took, speaking into the camera.

"Well, shucks, it wasn't such a big deal," said Billy Holiday.

Took had been interviewing Bill for the past few minutes, careful to avoid questions about the farm management system. He was on the trail of a much bigger story, and wanted to catch certain people off guard. For now he would have to be content with this "local boy makes engines good" story.

He interviewed Bill for a few more minutes, and then, in mid-interview, someone walked in front of the camera.

"Hey," said Took. "We're filming."

"Hi Bob," said Bill, to the newcomer. "Captain Took, this is my friend Bob."

"Oh, your friend?" said Took, seeing another angle. "Sure, let's meet your friend." He pulled Bob back into camera range.

"Whoa, what?"

"What's your name?"

"Bob Jord," said the farmer. "Is that a camera?"

"Yep," said Took. "Did you know all the wonderful things that your friend Bill can do?"

"Uh... sure," said Jord, looking distracted.

Jord obviously wasn't very enthusiastic, so Took let him go after another harmless question or two.

When he edited the interview before broadcasting it, he reduced Jord's on-camera appearance to fourteen seconds.

Those fourteen seconds were long enough, however, to be fatal to Bob Jord. He died, a day later.

*******

Took didn't even find out about it until the day after it happened.

"Did you see the fleet bulletin?" said Obe. "The kid we interviewed is dead."

"The kid?" said Took, looking bewildered for a second. "You mean Bill?"

"No," said Obe. "The other one. His friend; the one we interviewed for a few seconds."

Took frowned, taking the pad from Obe's hand. "Let me see that." But the details were few. It was an accident report; he had been mauled to death by a malfunctioning thresher.

"This is either got to be the biggest coincidence I've ever seen, or there's something else going on here," said Took.

In moments they were on a shuttle bound for theMarist. Their first stop was Billy Holiday. Bill was morosely pulling a dirtsled when they stopped by.

"I heard what happened to your friend," said Took. "You have my sympathies."

Bill nodded. "He was such a careful guy, too. I can't imagine how he got caught by the thresher."

"Neither can I," said Took. "Listen, was Bob working on anything sensitive?"

"Sensitive?" said Bill.

"Did he happen to stumble across anything, or know something that would've gotten him in trouble?"

Bill thought for a moment. "No, not that I know of."

"Did Bob have any enemies?"

"No."

"People who disliked him?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"Not that I know of," said Bill.

"What are you doing interrogating my worker without permission?" said a new voice. They looked up to see a man in a finely tailored civilian suit.

"Just doing my job," said Took.

"Your job?" said the man. Then recognition dawned on his face. "You're the man from that little show."

"Or, you can call me Captain Took," said Took. "Do you have a name as well?"

"Odusk," said the man. "Director Odusk. What are you doing on my ship without permission?"

Took gave Obe a "what's going on here?" glance. "I, ah, didn't realize we needed permission."

"Well you do," said Odusk. "Our work here is vital and can't be disrupted." He turned to leave.

"Was Bob Jord disrupting things?" said Took.

Odusk turned back. "Do you have something to say?"

"I'm here to ask some questions about Jord's death, and the farming ships."

"I don't have to answer any of your questions," said Odusk, turning away again. He started to walk away while Took looked helplessly at Obe. Obe gave him a "Well, I don't know what to do either" look.

"You may not have to answer our questions, but you will have to answer the War Admiral's," Took called after him.

Odusk stopped. "The War Admiral sent you?"

"I, ah, that's right, I'm investigating things for him," said Took, not very convincingly. Obe tried to look elsewhere.

"That's different then," said Odusk. "Why don't you gentlemen come to my office?" he said, giving a sly smile.

As they walked Obe muttered, "Took, does the War Admiral know what you're doing?"

"Relax, buddy," said Took. "What he doesn't know won't concern him in the slightest."

They were offered seats inside Odusk's spacious and luxurious office. The walls were decorated with photos and awards. His desk and countertops were lined with exotic sculptures and awards, and the plush carpeting must have been among the best that Orotis had to offer.

"Nice awards," Took commented, taking a seat.

"Yes, in recognition for my tireless work," said Odusk, typing some keys on his console.

"What are you doing?" Took asked.

A face appeared on the screen. "Yes?" said a familiar voice.

"Ah, Captain Dulin. I was wondering if you could put me through to the War Admiral."

"What-why are you contacting the War Admiral?" Took asked.

"Merely to personally assure him of my full cooperation with your investigation," said Odusk. "I believe in keeping the lines of communication open, don't you?"

"Ah...." For once, Took was speechless. Odusk could obviously tell from their manner that the War Admiral hadn't sent them--and now he was going to make them face the consequences.

"Larolly, what can I do for you?" said a deep familiar voice.

Odusk turned the paper thin screen so that it faced him as well as Took and Obe. "War Admiral, I believe you are acquainted with these gentlemen."

"Indeed I am."

"They say they have come here on your behalf, to investigate the tragic accident we had the other day."

"On my behalf?" said the War Admiral, looking and sounding confused. "Is that what they said?"

"Yes," said Odusk innocently. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No," said the War Admiral, recovering smoothly. "So why are you calling me?"

Now it was Odusk's turn to be speechless. "I... I assumed...."

"You are to give them your full cooperation," said the War Admiral. "Was there anything else?"

"No," said Odusk, looking confused.

"Gloryout."

*******

"Let's start with some background questions, shall we, Director?" said Took sweetly.

Odusk recovered quickly. "What-what do you want to know?"

"About Bob Jord. How does a man get killed by a thresher?"

"It was moving, and he walked into the path of it," said Odusk.

"Didn't the operator see him?"

"There was no operator," said Odusk.

"My understanding is that threshers don't move without an operator sitting onboard."

"Normally, no, but this one did," said Odusk. "We hypothesize that he left the thresher on idle, and a malfunction caused it to start moving again."

"A malfunction," said Took. "I'd like one of our techs on theGloryto take a look at this thresher."