Chapter 4: Tension
I massaged my temples as I slid back into my command chair, feeling a nasty headache coming on. You would think, being a cyborg, I could have just told the implants in my head to make it go away, dull the pain, open up or constrict the vessels, something. But, no, I can't do that. Doctor Joseph Ramirez of the Ceres Military Research Facility explains:
"While the Mark I Cybernetic Augmentation Kit was designed with maximum survivability in mind, it was installed in an individual with no formal medical training. We therefore found it potentially dangerous to allow him access to all of its medical features. Though it could be programmed to eliminate pain and virtually any other discomfort from the user's body, we determined it could result in adverse side effects, especially due to the patient's lack of professional medical knowledge. It will keep him alive, but he may not feel very good about it."
Basically, those bastards on Ceres decided that, since I'm not a doctor, I might misuse the medical features of my implants. All I can say is, "no shit!" So I still have to see a doctor for every stupid thing. On the other hand, I didn't mind heading down to the infirmary to see the luscious Dr. Carina al-Salam. I don't know why they always gave me hot female doctors. The brass at the top must love me. Or, they figured a crew composed mostly of virile young men would be more likely to report for their annual physicals if their doctor had a nice rack. They're smart like that.
Not that I would really go see her over a lousy headache. All she'd do is give me a little pill, and I'd be hurting again in a few hours. Seemed like a waste of a trip.
My headache only got worse when my XO reported to the bridge. Commander Wilford Ramsey, possibly one of the worst executive officers in the fleet, stumbled onto my bridge and crept up to his seat, next to mine. Whereas Lt. Cmdr. 'smyth-Kennedy reached this post in spite of her family history, this guy was a product of pure nepotism. Dad kicked Confed ass all over east Asia. His father's father was the theater commander, for that matter. And then there was Papaw, one of the heroes of the Eurasian War, notorious for his number of hand-to-hand combat kills. Yup, this guy came from a military family, and I'm sure he signed up to make his patriarchs proud, but he just wasn't cut out for it. He ambled from post to post, and his COs never said an unkind word about him--officially. But his jacket listed the reasons for each of his transfers, and you could pretty much read between the lines.
"Requested transfer from USS Vengeance: found patrol duty unsuitable."
"Shortened tour at Rigor Vulcanis; allergic to local flora."
"Departed Earth Station One, May 2088: logistical support for the Cranion conflict."
"Logistical support" being code for "cargo babysitter." This guy had "dead-end career" written all over him. And yet, they kept socially promoting his worthless ass until he was XO of one of the most revered ships in the fleet. Hey, that's not tooting my own horn, either--the Protector earned its reputation. It was typically assigned a lot of fresh faces, mixed with some veterans, in hope of shaping the newbies into the best the Interstellar Operative Navy had to offer. My Tac Officer, the aforementioned Jenna Starsmyth-Kennedy, had proven herself. Samuel Collins was more or less her protege, and he slowly grew into his role with experience.
Lieutenant Arnold, as I understand it, tutored under some of the best translators the Oolians had to offer. While the computer could do most of the work, it required a trained specialist to fine-tune the translation, clean up artifacts, and avoid misunderstandings. And with me in charge, you can bet there were a lot of potential misunderstandings. She was young, but good at her job, and I suspected she had a bright future ahead.
And then we had Commander Ramsey, who only showed up for duty when he felt like it, barely did anything right when he did show up, and the only thing I'd ever trust him to "execute" is pulling his pants up in the morning--and sometimes, not even that.
Ensign Kyle Yuro, my navigator and pilot, diligently bounced us around the Sol System, performing out patrol. "Diligent" really is the only word I could use to describe him. He never said much. He didn't laugh at my jokes. He didn't participate whenever I ribbed Ramsey for his gross incompetence. He just took the ship wherever it needed to go. I mean, I didn't even think to mention him until now. That's how much he blended into the scenery. I would say, "we need to be here," and it would happen. He never complained, never asked questions. A great navigator who deserved a better Captain, I thought.
I watched the little screen on the arm of my chair, noting the ships moving in and out of the system. Nothing really significant. We were the biggest ship in the area, actually. Everything else consisted of ferries, cargo haulers, barges, merchant ships. I wondered if any of them knew about the Koraxian attacks--that we were on the brink of war. Then again, when were we not?
Nine years ago, we ended the war with the Cranions. We've had skirmishes with the Pap'rians since then--slimy, hateful little bastards. The Vorchons caused nothing but problems ever since we displaced the colonists at Alpha Centauri for them. The colonists would blow up something belonging to the Vorchons, then the Vorchons would blow up a colony ship, and things just kept on going back and forth. Pirates operating out of the Non-Aligned Region struck at merchants on a regular basis, probably supported by some bitter Cranions. Every so often, a ship would be scuttled as the Dor'Tel tried to snatch it. While nobody wanted to destroy their own ships, it was a better option than letting the Dor'Tel Machine have them.
So, it wasn't like we didn't live with conflict every day. We did. Nobody seemed to mind. We weren't in an open state of war with anyone--not really. Not since the Cranions. And nothing compared to the devastation wrought by the last World War. And yet, the thought of the Koraxians--their powerful ships, the fact that they made the Oolians anxious, the very idea that we were plotting to circumvent the President's authority to fight them--the Koraxians just seemed different. It would not be an ordinary war. I had no illusions that we would beat them handily. Though it took six years to put the Cranions down, we were never in danger of really losing to them. We lost a lot of ships, and a lot of people died, but we had the overall advantage.
This time, I wasn't so sure. The one ship I saw looked tough enough to ground my ship into space dust, and still have enough fight left in it to do it a few more times. Even the Oolians were worried, so I was really worried.
And so, at that moment, I didn't so much mind the patrol. It was consistent. It was predictable. It made me feel a little better.
But then the orders came. My console beeped at me. Red letters flashed. The new orders.
And, almost simultaneously, the forward viewer on the bridge lit up with the face of President Beatrice Cuerva, looking stern and formal, as always. But also scared shitless. I'll never forget that.
When she spoke, I realized how much trouble we were in. "Attention: all ships within reach of this communication. You have received new orders. I did not authorize these orders. You will stand down immediately and await further instructions."
Commander Ramsey looked at me, as much shaken as he was oblivious to the big picture. "What're we gonna do, Cap'n?"
Chapter 4
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"Commander Wilford Ramsey,
I'm assuming you meant 'worst'.
I found "Samuel Collins was more or less her protege, and he slowly proved himself.
Lieutenant Arnold, as I understand it, tutored under some of the best translators the Oolians had to offer. While the computer could do most of the work, it required a trained specialist to fine-tune the translation, clean up artifacts, and avoid misunderstandings. And with me in charge, you can bet there were a lot of potential misunderstandings. She was young, but good at her job, and I suspected she had a bright future ahead."
Kind of confusing. I ound myself lookng back to see who you were referring to. I think you need to clarify that you're introducing new people, maybe.
Other than that, awesome, as always. :)
Still like it! I liked the
Erm... running out of stuff to say...
Thank you!
Still flowing ...
There is good writing here, and it definitely maintains the conversational tone ,,, but at times it seems rambling ... not necessarily a bad thing as this is how conversation often flows.
Again I am assuming all the information comes in handy later in the story ... but if not I leave this note here to suggest changes if necessary ...
The information presented
Christ! Again, this is well
Christ!
Again, this is well written, well presented and generally well done. You really have a lot of talent and ability.
A little honesty here:
I have looked at your stuff frequently in the past, but never in as much depth as I now find myself doing. You always have good reviews and it was easy to think. "Well, obviously, Jimmy's the guv'nor, everyone is going to kiss his ass!" But, you know, how wrong was I? There's not a lot not to like in your writing. You set things out pretty well and it makes it so much easier to read through. Your grammar is 90% of the time spot on, with tiny imperfections here and there. Your word choice is frequently hard to fault. You could easily bombard us with big words here, it wouldn't seem out of place, but your language is, for the most part, simple and therefore, easily undertsood.
Again, the tone is very conversational, very straight forward in it's telling. It's a good thing, makes indentifying with your characters easier. There are some missing words in here, one or two spelling errors, but nothing really worth shooting down. I like your style, dude.
Now back to reviewing my synopsis. If I fail to get this done tonight, I'm holding YOU personally responsible.
Ha, leland.
Damn it, that wasnt all I had to say,
of everything you have mentioned other than this cool ass captain and his ship, I think the door-tel machine is the most interesting to me. haha. They sound-borgish, from this breif description. I so hope there is a chapter inn the future that goes into this, because im totally interested.
I love machanoid bad guys. I play alot of role playing games that deal with this kind of tech, (borgs, space ships, Giant meccha, power armor, shit like that) and I love it.
I love this book, so far. But I dont love how in places descriptions can be brief about things Im interested in. But there is a careful line between too much and not enough, and I dont know where it sits myself so telling you about it seems.......assinine.
How to more specific. I dont know! I just want more detail about people and aliens, though I think you have given enough. Perhaps, I just being an idiot.
enough dithering.
Basically, those bastards on Ceres decided that, since I'm not a doctor, I might misuse the medical features of my implants. All I can say is, "no shit!" So I still have to see a doctor for every stupid thing. On the other hand, I didn't mind heading down to the infirmary to see the luscious Dr. Carina al-Salam. I don't know why they always gave me hot female doctors. The brass at the top must love me. Or, they figured a crew composed mostly of virile young men would be more likely to report for their annual physicals if their doctor had a nice rack. They're smart like that.
Ha, this paragraph killed me, it was excellent. You really know how to get into this character, which make it so very enjoyable. It like im really hanging out with this guy, telling me an old ass war story.
Oh, shitballs, how did the prez find out? I think theres some under-handed shit going on at the corporate offices, so to speak.
.Commander Ramsey looked at me, as much shaken as he was oblivious to the big picture. This is a clumsy sentence, I would suggest a rework.
"What're we gonna do, Cap'n?"
Ha, what a dumbass, lol. I would really want to slap this guy retarded, but I understand why he doesnt.
Well, good read. I'll be back for more of this very enjoyable story.