Callisas Star System

The Empire of Callisas

Callisas-3

Captain Francis Fitzkeller loved his nation, he loved his job, being a naval officer was his life and there was little to compare to the joy of commanding a ship.

But he hated being debriefed by committees of high ranking officers.

Even as a captain, he was nowhere near high ranking enough for this amount of scrutiny, yet this was probably the third time he had been called in front of a panel of his own Admirals to tell them about The Admiral and what she had done to warrant their attention.

He watched with poorly disguised longing as Captain Emmet saluted and left, her part in this interview done. After they had gotten home from their long merchantmen escort mission and had seen the fight between Novu Sol and The Admiral, Emmet, Clark and himself had been called down to the Naval Command Center for debriefing on their eventful trip. Now this left himself and Commander Clark sitting before the various admirals, waiting to answer more of their questions if they had them. Fitzkeller glanced over at Clark, who looked extremely uncomfortable even being here, most officers never wanted to have to stand in front of some of the most high-ranking members of their service to be talked down to.

“Now that Captain Emmet has left, I have a question for you, Commander Clark.” Lord Admiral Daban said, his voice almost bland as he held up a tablet to read. They waited while the older admiral read before he finally looked down his nose at them. “Why did you believe Desson lived through this confrontation?”

“There was no debris, no dust cloud, no radiation bloom Sir. No sign her ship didn’t successfully make the transition into hyper.” He answered.

“No ship has ever survived a transition inside the redline of gravity.” Daban’s voice was harsh. “While I am sure Desson seems like an untouchable badass to you younger officers, she is not perfect and I suspect that in her haste to flee the Liberty, her ship, and her, were destroyed.”

Clark stiffened at the remark, not technically a direct attack on the Commander, but the implied distrust of his report was an insult nonetheless.

“Lord Admiral, please remember we have invested a lot of money into The Admiral and she had taught our navy well. I know you don’t like her, but don’t take your hatred out of the Commander.” Admiral Itechi cut in. At least the Naval Intelligence director seemed to have her head on straight.

“We aren’t taking anything out on the Commander, Itechi.” Another older Admiral snapped back. “We are just pointing out flaws in his reports. Sometimes you have to accept the cold, hard reality rather than hoping your manic psychopathic naval officer is still somehow alive.”

“Just because she almost stabbed you when you were younger does not mean you should be dancing on her grave.” Itechi shot back.

“Now is not the time.” Lord High Admiral Abigail Shole said and immediately all the others fell silent, though Itechi still had a death glare fixed on Daban. “And while the Lord Admiral was crude about it, he does have a point.” She looked pointedly at Clark. “Commander, you’re young, it's your first command and you're what we like to call ‘The Admiral’s Generation’, you were raised in the traditions and knowledge of The Admiral from the time you entered the Navy, while the rest of us flag officers have had years of experience before she came along. There’s no shame in being a little attached to the person our Navy has been using as it's model. But you can’t let that influence your decisions and reports.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Clark’s response was wooden, face a mask. Fitzkeller couldn’t blame him, being lectured as though he were a child unwilling to part with a toy.

“Do we have any other questions for Captain Fitzkeller and Commander Clark?” Duban asked. “I think it's best we work on the assumption that The Admiral is never returning. Commander.” The old Admiral looked down at him again. “Considering the… veracity of this sensor data, we are going to have Swiftsure put in dock for an early maintenance cycle so we can check to make sure all your hardware and software is in working order.”

“And what are my orders Admiral?”

Fitzkeller had to admit he was impressed with the fact that Clark just dropped the first part of Duban’s rank. That took some nerve but then again they were all but beaching him unless they gave him another ship to command or a seasoning job desk role (and it was way too early in Clark’s career for that.)

Duban narrowed his eyes. “You will be getting official orders after this meeting is over, but you’ll be taking some leave while we complete the maintenance cycle to resume command of Swiftsure once it’s complete.”

So they were beaching him, making sure he wasn’t involved in the maintenance so he couldn’t screw anything up in case Clark had for some reason made the sensors report the wrong data.

“Yes Sir.” Was all Clark said, it was all he could say without getting himself in serious trouble for back talking to their superiors.

Fitzkeller turned a glare down at the lush carpet as though he might set it on fire with his anger alone. Clark didn’t deserve this, The Admiral was strange and a divisive topic in the Empire’s military forces. She cost a lot of money, had killed a naval officer for talking down to her (granted, he was universally disliked, but being disliked doesn't mean he deserved to die,) and put them pretty much constantly under Novu Sol scrutiny. He didn’t know why The Admiral had done what she had done, but he understood that she wouldn’t have…

“Captain!”

Fitzkeller looked up to see Shole looking intently at him. “Yes Ma’am?” He asked.

“You said ‘The Admiral wouldn’t have.’” She sat back, “Finish your thought.”

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “I meant to say, The Admiral wouldn’t have taken the risk if it meant her death. She has no death wish, she does not want to die.” He paused for a second, straightening his posture. “Commander Clark wouldn’t lie to try will The Admiral back to life because she isn’t dead. Yes, she did something we have never seen before, but that does not make it impossible.”

“Your dedication to your patron is impressive, but no one has survived such a transition that far inside the redline.” Duban waved a hand somewhat dismissively. “You are like the Commander, a product of The Admiral’s Generation and you are further blinded by her doting over you.”

“Technology improves with time, things that were not possible become possible as hardware and software improves. We know that The Admiral has some special code or trick to her hyperdrive because of how the math works out on her arrival times from wherever she was hiding. The only reason we don’t translate inside the redline is because older ships couldn’t handle it.” Fitzkeller replied, steel lined his voice. He would be damned if he was going to let these assholes just walk over both Clark and The Admiral. “She’s obviously discovered something new, anyone with eyes can see that.”

“She is one person and it would do you well to remember that, Captain.” Duban’s voice dripped with venom but before he could say more, Shole stood from her seat.

“Captain, Commander, you are dismissed.” She turned cold eyes on Fitzkeller. “And we’ll overlook your lectures for now Captain, just keep in mind your protector might not be around anymore.”

“Yes Lord High Admiral.” Fitzkeller said, saluting in perfect sync with Clark before he turned and walked out, Clark a step behind him.

Once out in the hall, not caring if the marines guarding the door saw, he paused to let Clark fall in beside him before they both continued on their way.

“Are you okay Daniel?” He asked the younger man and Clark took the deep purple uniform cap off his head to run a hand over his short hair.

“Not really.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, but then again they were in the Naval Command Center, if someone or something wasn’t listening in on your conversation, that was either a bad sign, or you were high ranking enough to jam all the listening devices without consequences.

“How about a drink then? I’ll pay.” Fitzkeller offered. “I could use something stiff to wash that amount of white out of my eyes.”

“You’re offering free booze Sir? Is it even legal to reject that offer?” Clark said with a wry smile.

“I’m sure it's in the Military Legal Code somewhere, it's been a while since I read it,” Fitzkeller grinned. “Meet at Sundown’s in an hour then?”

“Thank God, I thought you were going to make me go drinking in full uniform.”

Sundown’s Dive

Sundown’s Dive was old. Like ‘was around when the first colonists were building up Callisas’ old. Nestled in the heart of Solidarity, Callisas’ capital city, Sundown had once been positioned in a way that a majority of the year, the sun set right over the rooftop. These days, it was surrounded by taller buildings, so the sun no longer actually set on Sundown, but the navy was glad it was here.

It was ‘their’ pub, safe from the prying eyes of any of those army ruffians with the occasional marine intruder hanging out with naval-aligned friends. A haven in which everyone understands your woes, jokes and will have exactly what you need to drink for celebration or sorrow.

So right now, Fitzkeller and Clark were commiserating together, a few shots for the sorrow, and a beer to wash it down. Clark was in more comfortable civilian clothing, jacket draped haphazardly over the booth seat as he stared into his bottle. He was on leave, he didn’t need to wear the uniform, but then again, this leave hadn’t exactly been planned.

“You’ll get Swiftsure back Commander, I know you will.”

“Call me Daniel please. Not really in the mood to hear the rank.”

Fitzkeller sighed. “Okay, Daniel, I know they are just blowing hot hydrogen, they know they aren’t going to find anything and are swinging their metaphorical dicks around to try and prove a point. They’ll get over it.”

Clark glanced up at him. “You really have a lot of faith in The Admiral don’t you?”

Fitzkeller glared at Clark. “Why is everyone always on my case about The Admiral? Okay she’s a bit of a maniac, so it's not my fault she took a liking to me.”

“You do realize the only other person she’d ever dined with alone for just social reasons is Their Majesty right?” Clark waved his bottle at Fitzkeller as he started to object. “You’re fucking blind as a merchantman, stop trying to pretend it isn’t special or some fluke in her wiring. She doesn’t do anything without considering the options, measuring the angles, and knowing the competition. Whatever you do, or did, to impress her makes you the best lenses we have on our tamed maniac.” He placed the bottle down and rested his arms on the table. “So what’s going on Mr. Admiral Expert? What is she doing right now?”

“I don’t know.” Fitzkeller said defensively. “If she is alive, then she’s hiding somewhere, trying to keep out of sight. Fuck Daniel, I am not a crystal ball, I can’t see what she’s doing, she was gone a year with no clue of where she was, then she suddenly reappears in the Confederacy, sporting shields capable enough to stand up to a battleship and the ability to apparently jump far inside the redline. She’s a goddamned mystery and I am SICK of everyone thinking I somehow KNOW her motives.”

Clark stared at him for a minute before downing the last of his beer. “Sorry, didn’t mean to push a button there.”

“I should be used to it, but honestly she’s as much a mystery to me as she is to anyone else.” He shrugged. “I’m also mad at the way they are treating you too, you were just following directions and you have no motive to lie about what your ship saw.”

“I’ll deal,” Clark studied the rest of the room, the various uniforms and groups as they all talked over their own stories. No one paid them any mind of course, a captain and a commander wouldn’t warrant anything special attention.

“So what are you going to do with your enforced vacation?” Fitzkeller asked.

“Visit my family, my girlfriend, maybe go on a trip to Summergate. I’ll have the time since they don’t want me to meddle in their investigation.” Clark looked back to Fitzkeller. "Can I ask a favor, Sir?"

"Shoot."

"Try to make sure they don't get to Harrington for any of this bullshit. If they think I'm somehow messing with my ship, then they might try to go after her as well."

Fitzkeller frowned. "I will definitely try, my XO is due for a promotion anyways and I'll need a new one so I might be able to poach her. I am just a captain though Daniel. If the powers-that-be want her, I can't stop them."

"Understood." Daniel checked the clock on the wall. "Thanks for the drinks, but I should really be getting back home though.”

“Stay safe and don’t forget to enjoy yourself.” Fitzkeller called after the younger commander as he walked away, leaving him alone at the booth, the chatter from the others in the Sundown’s providing a comforting background noise as he sat there, nursing his last beer.

Was he really some sort of favorite of The Admiral? He guessed he should have known this but the woman was so hard to read. You ask her a question she didn’t like and she would ignore you, possibly try to stab you or straight up tell you she wouldn’t answer. Fitzkeller had always found her teachings informative, helpful, and extremely useful but he knew the cost of fucking up while she was your teacher could be severe. He really just could not fathom her being dead; it didn’t seem quite right yet here they were, home from the Confederacy, no news or rumors about The Admiral or even the Liberty found anywhere.

He would just have to wait and see how it all fell out.