The Founder's Chosen. Sequence 01, Episode 03
The meter-thick bridge portal swung open, and Adrian strode inside.
“Major on deck!” the petty officer at arms announced. As one, the bridge crew stood and saluted. With their fresh haircuts and ironed uniforms, they looked like thirty-five knives pointed blade-first towards him, ready to carve him apart. The room was shaped like an arrowhead with the support officers at the sides and the navigation and fire control stations in the point.
“Report,” Adrian said, and returned the salute.
“Sir, navigation ready,” the Chief Navigation Officer, Lieutenant Gin Elli said. He was the highest ranked Timerid on the ship. His hair was greying, after a 30-year lowborn career that never rose enough to make the jump from Lieutenant (junior officer,) to Captain, (command officer.) Lennier had had negative things to say about him.
“Sir, fire control ready,” Lady Captain Demirici said.
“Copy. Helm, notify harbor control we are ready to depart,” Adrian said.
The Harrow had a lightly armored hull meant to be forged and stamped in civilian forges and mounted on her structure as cheaply as possible. It stored all its key crew in armored cells with their own life support, so they’d survive when the ship inevitably was blown to hell. There was a second arrowhead compartment near the bow, where the XO and various secondary officers were sat. Then the engineering compartment was a third arrowhead at the rear. That was all the most valuable personnel protected, with the majority of experience and Armada training investment between them in their little bunkers.
“Harbor control is releasing the docking collars, sir. Airlock bridges retracted,” Elli said.
“Where’s the tug?” Adrian said. Active sensors were a no-no within 100 kilometers of an anchorage, lest they interfere with mundane regular communications or civilian channels. Passive sensors painted a picture of different stimulus. The harbor control tower with its massive transmitter above the entire anchorage, hundreds of transponders winking around them while dozens of ships maneuvered with their heat signatures burning.
There was the tug, maneuvering jets firing as she positioned herself directly in front of them.
Adrian remembered his earpiece and pulled it on.
-Belladonna this is tug seven two two, we are ready for you,” the tug said.
“This is Belladonna-actual. Fire away,” Adrian said. He’d never done undocking procedure. He’d been the chief supply officer on that UNREP tender, feeding an entire battlegroup. He’d been at the whims of the ship’s CO. He’d done six months of warship command school prior to come here, and he frantically skimmed those memories for the relevant procedures
“Copy that Belladonna-actual” A triple clang rang out as the tug’s cables fired off, and landed magnetic clamps on the ship’s bow. “Beginning tug. Accelerating you to two-hundred meters per second.”
Right. Docking protocol involved the tug pulling the ship from berth and propelling her up to speed. At that point, the protocols diverged. If this were a civilian or normal military anchorage, the tug would keep pulling until they were at the 500-kilometer safety range and could fire their plasma drives.
However, this was an anchorage in the middle of deployment. As Belladonna’s flat bow emerged, he saw dozens of ships underway, the majority moving the same direction as first armada formed up. A dreadnought crawled past on their portside, massive triple-turrets locked forwards in the safe position as they went by one by one. The Systems couldn’t build their own capitol ships. The dreadnought was Tatum, a century-old model from the Oblate, with six 250-millimeter twin-barrel turrets that tested their targeting computers on Belladonna one by one as she passed.
The story of the deployment was simple. Southern Wildlands was a region managed primarily by local nobility, with the Systems providing bureaucratic management and one official armada. When the rebellion had started, first southern wildlands had gotten its ass kicked and most of the nobility’s decentralized forces had disintegrated.
So the Systems had turned to what they had left. First and Second Wicked Creek had flown four weeks to get here. The remains of First Wildlands and the various local forces had been folded into their ranks under a single chain of command under Lord Flag Admiral Avarro Venko, newly christened as Venko Armada.
As the tug got Belladonna up to speed, Adrian wondered how good Venko the greater was, and whether he was any better than the local forces that had let this rebellion spiral into an excuse for the Talwar to intervene. Once she detached, the destroyer would use her chemical fusion maneuvering jets to cross the gap to the Arsenal
There was no asking the tug for an extra ride. A mistake while coasting would delay them by hours and draw the ire of an already annoyed admiralty.
“Helm, calculate our deceleration curve and keep it updating. We are starting this campaign off with a routine ammo load, with zero complications.”
“Yes sir,” Elli said. He was a lowborn officer. Two ranks below Adrian with three blue bars on his shoulders, but already going grey. A career navigator who’d made it to a position where the admiralty considered him most useful, and he would go little higher. Maybe if he could become chief navigator on a capitol ship and make captain, then major just before he retired.
The tug got them up to speed. They weren’t the only ship heading for the arsenal. They joined the stream on the way.
“Sir, I have an idea. I can shave twenty-two minutes off our time if we hold acceleration until we are seventy percent through course, then hitting max deceleration from our bow thrusters,” Elli said.
“Negative navigation. We will follow the standard protocol and do standard deceleration according to the navigation computer,” Adrian said.
“Sir, respectfully, we’ve got a designated time to reach the arsenal. I think we can get the time,” Elli said.
“NAV, this is my first official flight and I want a long, slow, boring ammo load. Stick to flight protocol. I want to make it to the warzone intact,” Adrian said.
Elli nodded, “yes sir.”
In a couple hours, they were on their final approach.
“Comms, hail arsenal control and request our berth,” Adrian said.
Their comms officer, Lieutenant Vangier agreed. “Yes sir. Arsenal control, this is destroyer Belladonna ID number 703413. We are here for our scheduled appointment at twelve-hundred and fifty hours.”
“Copy Destroyer 703413. Berth seven is open for you. We are sending your final course.”
Adrian breathed with relief when their velocity hit zero, and helm slid them ventral side first into the berth. The clamps slid into place. They were now locked into a giant funnel, beneath the Arsenal’s main magazine.
Adrian watched on camera as the armored hatches slid apart. The first torpedo emerged from the seal like candy from a vending machine. The torpedo bodies would be loaded first. Then the warheads.
It hung there for what felt like too long. The Arsenal’s loading officer radioed down, asking what was going on.
“Stand by,” Adrian said. He looked at Demirici who shrugged. He changed radio channels. “CO to fire control, what is going on down there?”
“Sir, this is load officer, we’ve got the CMC down here doing an inspection,” a voice snapped.
Adrian stared at Demirici, whose thin brow furrowed. “What is he inspecting?” he said on the radio.
“He’s yelling at the gear operators for the dust on the gears. There’s a couple more master chiefs conducting with. We can’t open the inner hatch until he’s clear.” Shouting broke over the line. Something heavy slammed into something else. Hoy had a cannon for a voice.
Seriously? Adrian thought. “Put the CMC on the line,” Adrian said. He looked around the bridge. Demirici was rapidly turning red. Her staff were whispering among themselves.
“Yes sir.”
“Major, go ahead,” Hoy said.
“Why are you delaying the ammo load?” Adrian said.
“I am ensuring the proper loading protocols are being followed,” he said.
Adrian had researched Hoy’s background. Hoy had no experience with ammunition. He’d spent most of his career as a secretary. Admittedly, that had included several deployments to active war zones, but still no munitions experience. Adrian scanned the bridge with his eyes, wondering who had leaked his little speech about protocol.
“By doing what, CMC?”
“These facilities are dusty, with loose paper on the floor. They are at unacceptable standards for cleanliness and surely if they are dusty, the ammo loading crew have missed out on other things,” Hoy said.
“That’s not to do with immediate ammunition loading protocol. Captain Demirici will explain the proper protocol to you,” Adrian said.
“Sir, I was under the impression you wanted a perfectly run ship,” Hoy said quietly. He put on confusion very poorly. Adrian heard the anger underneath.
“I wanted a perfect ammo load. I will explain the difference after. Leave there now and stop delaying the First Armada’s timetable,” Adrian said. He spotted a senior chief and a Ensign Illia from recon, looking at each other. The chief typed something in his computer, without looking down.
By now, the Arsenal’s loading officer had been relieved and someone much higher ranked was yelling at Adrian over the radio.
Adrian smiled and apologized to the senior officer for ten minutes while the torpedoes got loading. They came at one every 5 minutes. 64 tubes total. Then 90 warheads in 5 minute intervals. By that point, they broke for dinner and came back an hour later. Adrian ate on the bridge, while watching the armada form up. He finished early and waved Demirici over.
“Yes sir?” she said.
“That Ensign over there. Illia. Was she in the mess when we had our conversation?” Adrian said.
Immediately Demirici’s expression went blank. She was nobility, she’d been tutored from childhood in etiquette atop of the best private schooling money could buy. She took out a makeup pallet and looked with the mirror, at the Ensign munching on lunch.
“Yes, she let me pass her in line to the ice cream machine she said.
“And the Senior chief is obvious,” Adrian said.
That was when his radio buzzed. “CO here, go ahead.”
“Sir, this is security detachment, Chief Narinack. We just broke up a brawl in the engineering sector.
“Anyone in the brig?” Adrian said.
“Yes sir. Eight people total. We grabbed everyone who was throwing punches. Two of my security detail are in medical with light injuries.”
That was a lot of people in a crew of 800, Adrian thought. He took a look around the bridge to ensure all phases of ammo load were going smoothly. “I’m on my way down.”
Adrian headed to the brig. It was jammed between the forward and aft cargo bay. If a railgun punctured Belladonna’s hull, it would shred the brig. Convicts mattered not in the limited space available to the destroyer. Adrian walked in to find half a dozen soldiers huddled around the reception desk.
“Don’t salute,” Adrian said as they stood
Chief was a short, stubby man wearing body armor. A living thumb with beady eyes.
“Chief, fuck happened?”
“Sir, we’ve gotten mixed eyewitness accounts on who started it. There’s two Timerids in there,” he said and shook his head. “It happened in engineering. Four of them arrested were engineering staff. The rest were doing electronic repair work.”
Adrian looked at the brig cameras. There were six men and two women. “Get me the camera footage.”
“Yes sir. We just received it a few minutes ago,” Narinack said and turned his screen around. Adrian watched a petty officer walk up to a Timerid petty officer working on a console beside. She said something. The Timerid replied. Then she launched her lead-lined clipboard into his chest. The room exploded with fists flying in all directions. He saw the woman go down, blood splattering from her nose. Then two more soldiers jumped on the Timerid.
“I bet what he said was pretty damn awful,” Narinack said.
Adrian closed his eyes to hold his frustration in. “It doesn’t matter what he said. She escalated it. Therefore, she’s going to get the harshest sentence.”
“I know, sir, but Armada law requires a zero-tolerance protocol. He should have walked away, and he responded with fists.”
“Yes, and he’ll get a lesser but significant punishment, same as everyone else besides the instigator,” Adrian said. “Do you think she’s justified in attacking?”
“I think we’re all tense,” he said.
Adrian shook his head. “Your opinion shouldn’t be based on if he’s a Timerid.”
“Sir, respectfully, it does matter given who we’re about to fight,” Narinack said.
Adrian swallowed hard and composed himself. Narinack was a soldier, which meant it was his duty to guide him. Maybe that he was arguing honestly meant he would listen more than Hoy and Lennier. “It does matter, but not in the way you think. Yeah, we’re worried about the Timerids. We must be better and go past that to treat them as anyone else.”
“Would someone else have responded to that tray with fists?” Narinack said.
“Yeah. Ever been in a bar brawl?” Adrian said.
“No sir,” Narinack said. He seemed like the most straightlaced soldier possible. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” Adrian said. He pulled off a glove and made a fist. “Look at those knuckles. See the scars? I’ve seen any innocent comment between drunken soldiers send fists flying.” He had some reddish scar tissue from punching, and a couple white lines of scars from breaking glass.
“Yes sir. Are you kicking them off the ship?”
“No. I’m going to put them all in the brig for a week the petty officer who instigated it for two weeks, to cool off. End of story. If they want to escalate it then their loss. Next person to throw fists gets marooned wherever we dock as an E1. This is a warning,” Adrian said. He was being soft, but he was giving them a chance to listen.
“Yes sir,” Narinack said. He stood at attention, looking utterly ashamed of himself. That was good. Adrian had gotten through to him.
“Thank you, chief. Continue to do the best you can,” he said.
He returned to the bridge just as they got started on the railgun ammunition. That was yanked out in crates of fifty Instead of being loaded into the main magazines, they were maneuvered aft by thruster pack-equipped crew, and loaded into the aft magazine. Not complex, just physically exhausting.
It was 0330 the next day when they were finally done. Adrian was on his fifth cup of coffee. He leaned over Demirici’s shoulder as she supervised the loaders doing final counts and safety stowage checks.
Then she signed off on the form, which Adrian also signed before handing it over to the Arsenal.
Then he leaned over Elli’s shoulder as another tug accelerated them away from the arsenal. They hit the 500-kilometer safe distance.
“Fire up the main drives. Twelve gs acceleration. Set in course of the rendezvous point,” Adrian said.
The ship thrummed all around them. Every deck plate shivered along its molecular fusion to the next deck plate. A plasma flare shot out the three main drives, propelling the destroyer forwards.
Every ship had an inertial compensator to counteract the effects of high acceleration. Armada standard was 12 gs external to one internal.
Gravity reached one standard g.
“Time to the Venko armada meetup is four hours,” Elli said.
Adrian checked the timetable on the armada net. After reaching the meetup, there’d be hours more of preparing. Then seventy-something hours to the jump shelf.
“Comms, intercom please,” Adrian said.
“All yours, sir.”
Adrian yawned. “All hands, this is the CO. Ammunition load is complete. We will be in formation with first armada in four hours. You will complete your final safety checks before we enter formation. After that, I am standing all watches down for the next eight hours. Go sleep. You’re going to need it.” He hung up and looked around the bridge. A fire had been lit under everyone. They blew through the safety checks, then double checked all of them.
His little ship entered formation. It resembled a half-assembled jigsaw puzzle, with different formations slowly coming together under the lights of many news anchorcraft. Salcrow’s 2 billion people were watching, and recordings would be carried by commercial ships to the rest of the Great Wildlands and surrounding regions. The massive, multi-kilometer carriers and dreadnoughts took center stage for the media. It made sense, after all each was a grand expense of billions of credits, and an investment in a resource the Systems couldn’t replace with its own industry.
However, they were dwarfed in number by the thousands of battlecruisers, destroyers, and various support ships filling out the ranks. Adrian searched through the transponders and while most were from the Wicked Creek region, he saw IDs from every one of the System’s fifteen regions, and dozens of noble houses. He finished his shift looking at the names.
Adrian made sure he was the last soldier off the bridge. As he walked out, he set the alarm on his comp for 6 hours of sleep.
He found Lennier waiting for him outside his door, eyes puffy from sleep deprivation. This would be good, he thought.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, XO?” he offered with a smile, just in case this was a calm and friendly meeting.
“I’m heading there. We had a problem with an inspection today,” Lennier said, and shrugged.
“Yeah. CMC was dusting the magazines while we were trying to load ammo. Good motivation, bad timing,” Adrian said. He leaned on the door, and swallowed a yawn. Yawns could be perceived as rudeness.
“Given that there was a brawl in the enlisted mess, I’m worried that you’re overlooking discipline,” Lennier said.
Adrian almost replied ‘you just sent the CMC down there to embarrass me.’ He held his tongue, because he was formulating a plan to deal with Lennier and the CMC and couldn’t tip either of them off that he had any clue of any of their plans. “Yeah, I’m trying to deal with a crew that just had someone murdered.”
“I’m aware. I think your idea is in the right direction but you’re going about it wrong. The majority of the crew is against your actions. They don’t understand, they just see themselves being insulted.”
“Go on,” Adrian said.
“I propose we sacrifice the few for the many. Before we leave the system, we can place the ninety-one Timerids on PH and offload them, while taking replacements on from PH,” he said.
PH: Penitentiary Hold. Soldiers who committed offenses severe enough to get kicked off the ship, but not severe enough for them to be sent directly to court martial, were put in PH at some dead-end outpost and made to do menial labor at a remote station for months while their files made their way through the regional admiralty. Adrian had heard PH was a worse punishment than actual misdemeanor gaol sentences. At least with a sentence, you had a time limit until you were discharged, and the court process was done. In PH, you were in limbo, working sixteen-hour days waiting for court papers to show up.
PH for Salcrow was held at Titellius supply depot. It sat in stationary orbit at the jump shelf, using a solar sail a hundred kilometers wide to hold itself place.
“Then what?” Adrian said.
“We move on. I’ll handle the paperwork for getting them all off. I’ll put on a minor charge that won’t get them actual prison time,” he said. He put on a sad expression.
Adrian wondered if Lennier had been trained in acting in addition to normal etiquette, because he did a good job of putting on an image of what he wanted to be.
“No,” he said.
“It’s the easiest, quickest solution. We’re running out of time here because after leaving Salcrow we go straight to war with the crew about to explode,” Lennier said.
“It won’t solve the issue. I’ll still be left with a crew with serious racial hatred, on our way to the Timerid population.”
“It’s above our pay grade to deal with that sir,, sir. We’ve just got to get them into fighting shape and go to battle. They need to operate under pressure, show bravery in the face of death, and stick to their training. Not worry about issues like that,” Lennier said. He grabbed Adrian’s shoulder and patted it gently.
Did Lennier have kids? Adrian wondered. Or had he practiced this gesture. Or had his own father been a mostly good and caring man?
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Adrian said. He wasn’t going to, but he’d realized he couldn’t convince Lennier of lifelong habits in a week, when he was this rigid. “Get some sleep. We’re probably not getting more rest until we hit the jump shelf.”
Lennier patted his shoulder again. “Goodnite sir.”
Adrian headed into his cabin. He popped the tab on a beer can and drank half in one go. Only when the gears in his brain had been lubricated did he drop into his armchair and close his eyes.
He didn’t sleep. He checked through his CO’s anonymous box and found two messages.
First: This is bullshit, sir. There are Timerid rebels fighting alongside the Talwar. They are so stupid that they’re fighting for the very people who sold them into slavery to begin with. I’m not worried about the ones on our ship being traitors. I think they, as a whole, are too stupid to serve.
Second: Sir. One of my buddies on security detail recorded this. He’s a Timerid and is too afraid to share it, so I’m sending it to you. Sorry, I’m not stupid enough to reveal either of our names.
A recording file was included. “So, when do we go in there?”
“Give Narinack an hour to fall asleep so his bleeding heart doesn’t get in the way. I saw the CO working on him.”
“CMC’s sure about this?”
“Of course he does. He understands better than those assholes in the upper ranks. Remember, neck down. Don’t want any fatalities, just a good drubbing.”
Adrian called the bridge, then remembered it was nearly empty. He searched through the ship’s directory on his comp and found Narinack’s number. He dialed immediately, and yanked his front door open. Narinack picked up at the third ring.
“Chief this is the CO. Get dressed and meet me at the brig,” he said.
“Sir… yes sir.” He heard a thump as Narinack fell out of his bed.
The corridors were the emptiest he’d ever experienced in the armada. The entire crew had taken his orders and passed out. He raced past open barracks doors and heard the snoring of dozens of soldiers. Then the armory, which was sealed tight.
He burst into the brig and was met by four soldiers in body armor. “CO on deck!” he bellowed.
The four stopped short and froze. He saw the blood staining their black gloves bright red. The camera bank was dark and dead.
“Sir, we had an escape attempt in one of the cells. One of the Timerids smuggled a knife in and started sawing through the door,” a soldier quickly said.
Adrian kept staring until he fell silent. Their mouths all clenched shut as his glare filled the silence.
Then the door swung open behind Adrian and Narinack skidded to a halt. “What the fuck are you doing, Greye?” he said.
“Security chief, take these four into custody and shove them in the brig,” Adrian said. He reached past Narinack’s head and grabbed the red lever that would summon medical from their sleep.
“Wait!” one soldier said and leapt forwards.
Too close, too close. Adrian drew his sword and all four froze up. He yanked the lever down. Whoever was the doctor on duty would be awakened by the alarm and a message with the lever number and location
“Yes sir,” Narinack said quickly. The four soldiers all turned on him and glared. Adrian watched Narinack freeze up under their stairs.
“Create a security detail and put these four in the brig where they belong,” Adrian said.
“Sir, yes sir,” Narinack said. He opened his comp. Adrian’s and two other’s alarms sounded. That was the general security alert.
“I’m leaving,” one of the soldiers said. He was a petty officer, second class. Engineer second class Ghepard. “I’m going back to my bunk. I request court martial”
“You will remain and enter custody until your crime can be punished at the CO’s discretion,” Narinack said.
“Fuck no I won’t. I’m tired of your shit, all of you. Alianto was the only brave one here.” He stormed at them. His fists came up.
Narinack flashed into a sprint and shoulder tackled him into the wall. He forced his hands behind his back. “Gepard, you added a few charges with that,” he said. He slapped on the liqui-cuffs, which hissed as they auto-tightened until they’d pinned Gepard’s hands behind his back.
Adrian stepped past the pair and faced the remaining free. “You have assaulted your fellow soldiers while they were helpless in prison. If you remove your armor and secure yourselves in cells, I’ll count that in your benefit.”
“They ain’t ours, asshole,” another soldier said. She had a single gold chevron on her shoulder. Chief Kychack.
“Not how I see it, and I did inform you of the standard, you disgrace,” Adrian said. Narinack stood behind him.
“XO was right. You are a bleeding heart from the wrong part of the Systems.” She drew a baton from her belt and swung it at his collarbone. Adrian stepped forward so it thunked into his ribs with a burst of pain, then folded her over with a fist to her jaw. Narinack leapt over the table and planted a knee into her chest. The remaining two hesitated. One was a chief and one and able crewman. They looked at each other.
Adrian drew his gladius. The sight of a lethal weapon broke them. They put their hands over their head and dropped to their knees.
Minutes later he was sitting at the brig chair, watching medical administer to four injured soldiers. Two whose wounds he’d done himself, and two who’d been beaten into a pulp in their cells without a chance to fight. No fatalities. Seven broken bones and one concussion between the four of them.
There were eighteen soldiers more soldiers who should be sleeping, but would be awake for a full forty-eight hours now.
Adrian stayed until they were done. By then, he had 120 minutes until he needed to be back on the bridge. He walked back to his cabin, and slumped into bed with his uniform on.
He dialed Molitor. Then Tarly, and put them on the same call.
“Hey. It’s four-thirty local time, what went wrong?” Molitor said.
“He’s drunk. I’m cracking a beer open to join you, okay?” Tarly said.
Adrian curled up in bed before answering. “One murder, two brawls, and an assault in already incarcerated. The crew is going to explode.”
Molitor sighed. His destroyer would be in the same squadron as Belladonna, so when they did their swarm tactics, at least they’d be going into the fire together.
“I’ve got an extreme plan. I think it can work,” Adrian said.
“Well. I’m here. What do you need, Adrian? I can get a six-pack of beer sent over,” Molitor said.
Adrian burst into laughter. “No, ship yourself and Tarly over and we can split a twelve-pack.”
“You mean we’ll drink it while Molitor sips one,” Tarly said and they all laughed now.
“Yes. Please.” Adrian said. Then, he brought it all down. “I need the two of you to run cover while I commit administrative brutality upon the main culprits. There are too many people in leadership who have been fostering this hatred for too long and I can’t change their minds. They are a self-reinforcing collective” he said.
“How many bodies are we covering for?” Tarly said.
“No bodies,” Adrian said quickly. “I just have to fill out a lot of paperwork. I need you to both be witnesses.”
“Done, send it over when it’s ready,” Molitor said.
“Tomorrow. I need mine ninety minutes,” Adrian said. He shouldn’t have said that because he heard something like strangling a lizard from both of them.
“How much have you slept?” they demanded together.
“Ninety minutes a night for six nights now. It’s been a rough one. I’m probably going to wait until we hit FTL then sleep for a long time,” Adrian said.
“No, get to bed now,” Tarly said.
“I can’t. There’s too damn much to do right now. I’ve got the ship, the war, and I’ve been on optempo against my own XO for the past few days,” Adrian said.
“Well then who is the XO? Let us take some of the load for you,” Molitor said.
“Lord Major Lennier. Either of you heard of him?” Adrian said. He pulled the blanket over his head and curled up tighter. The urge to shut off his alarm and sleep until noon dominated him. He was so warm and comfy.
“I just looked him up. The most stereotypical highborn I’ve ever seen. Is his chest naturally puffed out like that?” Tarly said.
“Yes,” Adrian said.
“Fuck. Feel like if he was on my side I’d love him.”
“I disagree. He smoothed over all subtlety while saying the enlisted are a rabble that we officers are above,” Adrian said. “His high attitude started this whole fucking problem because he let the chiefs get out of hand,” Adrian said.
“Well, he’s got a few local connections and friends here. However, as you definitely know, Admiral Venko the Greater is also not from this region, like the three of us, and has publicly accused the local lords of causing this conflict with their own hatred of the Timerids and military incompetence. So, within the admiralty we have the political advantage. What do you need?” Molitor said.
“I need you both to witness my accusations and evidence for a large number of senior enlisted, and sign off on it,” Adrian said. That was an obscene amount of political leverage and paperwork. He could crush one chief, but there were dozens, and they made up a critical mass of their own.
“Done,” they said immediately.
“I owe you,” Adrian said.
“Actually, I already owed you for working that Lord Commander’s favor and getting me transferred to this post. So, we’re now even,” Molitor said. Adrian opened his mouth, “shut up, you do not get to argue.”
Fine. “Alright. We’ll meet in person first chance we get, okay?” Adrian said.
“Yes,” they said. Adrian ended the call and was asleep before his comp arm hit the bed.
Hello friends, thank you for reading. If you want to keep following Adrian’s deployment, be sure to like and subscribe.
This chapter was probably the most difficult I’ve written.
This chapter has probably been the most structure-building chapter I’ve written. I say structure building because most of the conflict here will not end in this episode. I’m building pillars of story that stand through multiple chapters. I have to keep these ideas interesting to read, while they’re just individual details. It’s like zooming in on a painting until you only see a single square color. It’s boring on its own, but it joins with all the other squares of color to form true art.
As for the pillars themselves, most will draw to a close in episode 04, the finale of sequence 01.
Plenty, however, will continue on through all sequences. Keep your eyes peeled on the exposition about the Wicked Creek armada, and the coming deployment.