Excerpted from The Star Dancers by Jeffrey Caminsky, available directly from the Publisher, or from Amazon
, or at a bookstore near you.
, or at a bookstore near you.from Chapter 12
"Come.”
“He’s here, Commodore, and falling over himself with apologies for being late. Something about new fuel pods, or engine blocks. I didn’t quite follow what he was saying, but I guess they’re overhauling his ship.”
Miriam Wright sighed and nodded. Her intense, brown eyes crinkled in amusement, softening the angular features of her face into an image of graceful feminine charm. She had seen many different types over the years, but this newest hotshot was quite a puzzle. She’d heard stories about him, and had serious doubts about making him a wing commander. Still, the order came directly from the Fleet Office, and in the cosmic year since she’d assumed command of Looking Glass she’d never found reason to doubt Admiral Clay’s judgment.
Besides, she herself was curious about what he was like, though she doubted that she’d find him quite as fascinating as her secretary did. Life on a starbase could be dull. Patrols and drills were hardly the stuff of songs. At least this rookie skipper had managed to liven things up.
“I hear he’s something of an eccentric,” Cathy said, her eyes glowing.
Wright put her magnopen down on her desk. “We’ll just see about that,” she said firmly. She sat upright in her chair and began straightening her uniform. “Send him in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just as soon as you can bring yourself to let him go, that is,” the commodore added with a wink.
Cathy laughed as she left the office. And as the door closed behind her, Commodore Wright found herself straightening her hair, fully prepared to take advantage of the usual effects of a well-trimmed female uniform on male officers of the line.
“All in all, your record is quite...adequate, Captain.” Wright leaned back in her oversized chair, trying her best to look less impressed than she was. The diplomas and certificates on her paneled walls began to look like so much paper compared to the gifts of the young man seated on the other side of her desk. Even through the eyes of his detractors—and the Academy section of his file alone was filled with enough critical comments to fill a dozen folders—she’d never seen a dossier like the one in front of her. It was, in a word, breathtaking.
“Still, you are the youngest starship captain in the Cosmic Guard, now or ever. And you’ve been a captain for less time than I care to mention. What makes you think you’re ready to be a wing commander?” She narrowed her eyes, looking for the slightest trace of doubt. The reply she got almost drained the color from her cheeks.
“Actually, I doubt very much that I’m ready,” Cook shrugged, with the indifference of the serenely self-confident. “And to be perfectly honest, I’d rather not be stuck on a starbase at all. If I had my choice, I’d rather have IshCom send me on some deep space missions. The Yourchock Shoals off Valhalla; the Pleides. Maybe even Rigel, that’s a bit closer to home. Well, at least it’s in the right direction from here. And it’d give me a chance to put some of my training to use, instead of whistling away my time on routine patrol. Or worse, teaching remedial jousting to a bunch of overrated prima donnas. But no one ever asks me, so I just try to keep quiet and do the best I can.”
The commodore sat up in her chair, shuffling papers and looking quite flustered. With one backhand swipe, Cook had destroyed her carefully rehearsed speech, designed to keep him from getting smug about his rapid advancement and show him just how tough a boss he’d be dealing with. Now she’d have to find another way to put him in his place. And she was starting to find that smirk on his face more than a little annoying.
“Then I take it that you’re dissatisfied with your assignment to Looking Glass?”
“Dissatisfaction implies a pre-existing set of expectations,” Cook replied academically. “I learned long ago that expectations are often not conducive to good mental health. At least not in the Cosmic Guard.”
“In other words, the Guard just doesn’t measure up to your particular...‘expectations?’ ”
“Oh, no, ma’am. In many ways, the Guard often lives up to my expectations. All too often, as a matter of fact. But then, I suppose that’s a problem with any large bureaucracy.”
Wright’s eyes narrowed angrily. Beneath his smug exterior, she was sure that this rookie starship captain was laughing at her. One way or another, she was determined to wipe that smirk off his face.
“If things are that bad,” the commodore snapped, “then why did you bother applying for an Academy appointment in the first place?”
Cook squinted in dismay, wondering how he’d managed to get this interview so badly off track. It had started off so nicely, but then the commodore’s perfume and flirtatious manner had made him forget that he was addressing a superior officer. Now, he had no choice but to answer her questions. Kicking himself could come later.
“Actually, Commodore,” he began, half-apologetically, “I didn’t apply. I was invited. After finishing my studies at the Institute for Space Studies on Earth. And CosGuard is no less efficient than any other organization of similar size. In fact, in many respects it’s better, although that doesn’t change its inherent structural problems. Or, for that matter, make them worth arguing about. Unless, of course, it’s to consider changes, but then I rather doubt that’s what you wanted to talk about.”
The commodore rocked quietly in her chair, glaring at the young captain. Finally she sat upright in her chair, her voice taking on the curt tones of one unaccustomed to sass from her subordinates. “I trust that you will keep me posted of any other failings in my command,” she said at last, “so that we may consider changing them to your satisfaction.”
“Well,” Cook offered reluctantly, “there is the matter of deployment. We’re not using our forces to best advantage, you know. If we just— ”
“That’s quite enough, Captain,” Commodore Wright said sharply. “You’ll have ample opportunity to critique anything you find wanting at the next staff meeting. For now I’ve seen and heard all I care to.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have a briefing book and an orientation manual?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have it mastered by 500 Hours tomorrow. That’s when you’ll assume your duties as junior wing commander. And I’m warning you, Captain—”
Cook clenched his jaw. Angry at himself for making yet another hash of things, he had the presence of mind to hold his tongue. He’d caused enough trouble for one day.
“I don’t much care for having IshCom appointing my wing commanders for me. To be blunt, I dislike having a smart ass pushed onto my staff, especially some young hotshot who thinks the rest of the Guard has nothing to teach him. And I’ll tell you something else, Captain Cook— ”
“Ma’am?”
Wright leaned forward, lowering her voice to barely a whisper.
“I love playing mother hen to all my skippers, fussing over them when they make me proud and wiping the egg off their faces when they screw up. But for the first time since I took this job, I’m actually looking forward to watching Commodore Jones teach one of my commanders some humility, come maneuvers time.”
Cook’s eyes narrowed, and his voice assumed a haughty coldness that Wright found infuriating. “That is hardly likely, Commodore,” he replied. “Will there be anything else?”
“You’re dismissed, Captain. Return to your duties.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky
"Come.”The young secretary, trying to contain her giddy elation, entered and closed the door behind her. She was in her early twenties and usually quite mature for her years, the very picture of studied seriousness. Today, she seemed more like a giggly teenager than a Cosmic Guard yeoman. She had even changed her hair for the occasion. Usually combed back into a ponytail, today it draped fetchingly over her shoulders, lending a rich brown frame to her pretty, girlish face.
“Yes, Cathy?”
Miriam Wright sighed and nodded. Her intense, brown eyes crinkled in amusement, softening the angular features of her face into an image of graceful feminine charm. She had seen many different types over the years, but this newest hotshot was quite a puzzle. She’d heard stories about him, and had serious doubts about making him a wing commander. Still, the order came directly from the Fleet Office, and in the cosmic year since she’d assumed command of Looking Glass she’d never found reason to doubt Admiral Clay’s judgment.
Besides, she herself was curious about what he was like, though she doubted that she’d find him quite as fascinating as her secretary did. Life on a starbase could be dull. Patrols and drills were hardly the stuff of songs. At least this rookie skipper had managed to liven things up.
“I hear he’s something of an eccentric,” Cathy said, her eyes glowing.
Wright put her magnopen down on her desk. “We’ll just see about that,” she said firmly. She sat upright in her chair and began straightening her uniform. “Send him in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just as soon as you can bring yourself to let him go, that is,” the commodore added with a wink.
Cathy laughed as she left the office. And as the door closed behind her, Commodore Wright found herself straightening her hair, fully prepared to take advantage of the usual effects of a well-trimmed female uniform on male officers of the line.
* * *
“All in all, your record is quite...adequate, Captain.” Wright leaned back in her oversized chair, trying her best to look less impressed than she was. The diplomas and certificates on her paneled walls began to look like so much paper compared to the gifts of the young man seated on the other side of her desk. Even through the eyes of his detractors—and the Academy section of his file alone was filled with enough critical comments to fill a dozen folders—she’d never seen a dossier like the one in front of her. It was, in a word, breathtaking.
“Still, you are the youngest starship captain in the Cosmic Guard, now or ever. And you’ve been a captain for less time than I care to mention. What makes you think you’re ready to be a wing commander?” She narrowed her eyes, looking for the slightest trace of doubt. The reply she got almost drained the color from her cheeks.
“Actually, I doubt very much that I’m ready,” Cook shrugged, with the indifference of the serenely self-confident. “And to be perfectly honest, I’d rather not be stuck on a starbase at all. If I had my choice, I’d rather have IshCom send me on some deep space missions. The Yourchock Shoals off Valhalla; the Pleides. Maybe even Rigel, that’s a bit closer to home. Well, at least it’s in the right direction from here. And it’d give me a chance to put some of my training to use, instead of whistling away my time on routine patrol. Or worse, teaching remedial jousting to a bunch of overrated prima donnas. But no one ever asks me, so I just try to keep quiet and do the best I can.”
The commodore sat up in her chair, shuffling papers and looking quite flustered. With one backhand swipe, Cook had destroyed her carefully rehearsed speech, designed to keep him from getting smug about his rapid advancement and show him just how tough a boss he’d be dealing with. Now she’d have to find another way to put him in his place. And she was starting to find that smirk on his face more than a little annoying.
“Then I take it that you’re dissatisfied with your assignment to Looking Glass?”
“Dissatisfaction implies a pre-existing set of expectations,” Cook replied academically. “I learned long ago that expectations are often not conducive to good mental health. At least not in the Cosmic Guard.”
“In other words, the Guard just doesn’t measure up to your particular...‘expectations?’ ”
“Oh, no, ma’am. In many ways, the Guard often lives up to my expectations. All too often, as a matter of fact. But then, I suppose that’s a problem with any large bureaucracy.”
Wright’s eyes narrowed angrily. Beneath his smug exterior, she was sure that this rookie starship captain was laughing at her. One way or another, she was determined to wipe that smirk off his face.
“If things are that bad,” the commodore snapped, “then why did you bother applying for an Academy appointment in the first place?”
Cook squinted in dismay, wondering how he’d managed to get this interview so badly off track. It had started off so nicely, but then the commodore’s perfume and flirtatious manner had made him forget that he was addressing a superior officer. Now, he had no choice but to answer her questions. Kicking himself could come later.
“Actually, Commodore,” he began, half-apologetically, “I didn’t apply. I was invited. After finishing my studies at the Institute for Space Studies on Earth. And CosGuard is no less efficient than any other organization of similar size. In fact, in many respects it’s better, although that doesn’t change its inherent structural problems. Or, for that matter, make them worth arguing about. Unless, of course, it’s to consider changes, but then I rather doubt that’s what you wanted to talk about.”
The commodore rocked quietly in her chair, glaring at the young captain. Finally she sat upright in her chair, her voice taking on the curt tones of one unaccustomed to sass from her subordinates. “I trust that you will keep me posted of any other failings in my command,” she said at last, “so that we may consider changing them to your satisfaction.”
“Well,” Cook offered reluctantly, “there is the matter of deployment. We’re not using our forces to best advantage, you know. If we just— ”
“That’s quite enough, Captain,” Commodore Wright said sharply. “You’ll have ample opportunity to critique anything you find wanting at the next staff meeting. For now I’ve seen and heard all I care to.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have a briefing book and an orientation manual?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have it mastered by 500 Hours tomorrow. That’s when you’ll assume your duties as junior wing commander. And I’m warning you, Captain—”
Cook clenched his jaw. Angry at himself for making yet another hash of things, he had the presence of mind to hold his tongue. He’d caused enough trouble for one day.
“I don’t much care for having IshCom appointing my wing commanders for me. To be blunt, I dislike having a smart ass pushed onto my staff, especially some young hotshot who thinks the rest of the Guard has nothing to teach him. And I’ll tell you something else, Captain Cook— ”
“Ma’am?”
Wright leaned forward, lowering her voice to barely a whisper.
“I love playing mother hen to all my skippers, fussing over them when they make me proud and wiping the egg off their faces when they screw up. But for the first time since I took this job, I’m actually looking forward to watching Commodore Jones teach one of my commanders some humility, come maneuvers time.”
Cook’s eyes narrowed, and his voice assumed a haughty coldness that Wright found infuriating. “That is hardly likely, Commodore,” he replied. “Will there be anything else?”
“You’re dismissed, Captain. Return to your duties.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
© 2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky
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