Spoilerific: Revising Chapter Two (PMF 7) (Patreon)

Hey all!

You should get a double shot of spoilerific-tier posts today. :) The first is this new scene from the forthcoming Poor Man's Fight 7. I figured this works as a stand-alone scene with or without the context of the other chapters, so it's a good spoiler-tier bit. This scene is meant to set up some of the situation after PMF 6 and coming into this book, both on a personal level for the characters and to give a sense of where the Union, Archangel, and the alien neighbors are all at.

For Patron-tier folks who've been reading along: as I said, I wasn't really satisfied with Chapter Two as it was written because there's a really good chance we won't see Alicia, Yeoh, or the Archangel Navy as a whole later in the book. I didn't want to set up a false expectation, but I still wanted these bits of exposition to set the stage for the rest of the story. This scene takes the place of that previous Alicia & Yeoh, scene, and I'll be moving the other scene of Lynette & Veronica taking the celebrity job to a later chapter for the sake of timing. (Also I'll need to change the celebrity's name. Realized it doesn't work because reasons. Alas.)

* * *

“We’d like you all to stay close to home,” said Lieutenant Commander Marquez. “Everyone wants resources and support nearby if something pops off. We don’t know where or when the Minoans will strike again, but it seems inevitable they will strike. We need to be ready. All of us. From the Union Fleet to the Archangel Navy, and that includes all of you in the Archangel Navy Reserve. Lights, please.”

“Oh no.” Lynette winced as the briefing room dimmed. “Carlos, have you really gotta put on a whole show?”

“He’s an intel guy,” said Veronica. Her eyebrow rose. “Wait, ‘Carlos?’”

Beside the handsome officer in his crisp uniform, unseen holographic projectors conjured up a three-dimensional star chart of Union space. Initially, the Solar System held the center of the chart, but the display shifted rightward and zoomed in around Archangel. The multistellar Kingdom of Hashem and other neighbors softly faded in relevance. In contrast, the projection emphasized Zheng He at the border of Union space—and, just beyond it, Minos.

In the seats below the humble stage, Lynette leaned closer to Veronica. “Two weeks before discharge, he said, ‘Call me Carlos.’ He was nice. Not like an intel job is a conflict of interest. He’s at a desk. We’re civilian reserves.”

Veronica’s brow remained elevated. “What kind of nice?”

Lynette’s eyes rolled right along with her head to look back at the forty-odd people who made up the rest of the audience. Like herself and Veronica, most of them were captains and first officers of civilian ships. They all wore civilian clothes ranging downward from “business casual” at best. Lynette feared her white leather jacket, grey shirt, and short red textured-lob hairstyle came off as a touch too formal for this crowd. Even Veronica had gone with a simple t-shirt, pants, and cozy jacket combo and pulled her hair into a who-cares ponytail.

Longevity treatments couldn’t hide the fact that almost everyone here was older than Lynette and Veronica. Many in the audience sported longer beards and hairstyles than regular Navy regs allowed, along with a few bellies and even more wrinkles. Lynette also saw a few pairs of eyes rolling even more openly than hers. Uniformed or not, everyone here had been through the Debtor’s War.

“The Union Fleet has kept a close eye on Minos since the old residents came back,” Marquez began. “Minoan stealth tech makes that tricky, but not impossible. Centuries ago, when our alien neighbors first shut the Minoans down, Empress Amara scattered some of her forces into hiding in deep space. Now she’s calling them all back. Some of them are coming through Union space, which is probably why she wanted right of transit from the Assembly. We haven’t seen anything on the scale of the Preserve—yet—but we have seen dreadnoughts and smaller vessels.”

“Our main forward buildup is naturally at Zheng He, less than an hour in FTL from Minos. That’s not a secret and isn’t meant to be. The Minoans could skip right past Zheng He and attack elsewhere, but then the fleet at Zheng He responds. In the meantime, that leaves the rest of the Union looking for defense in depth. Hashem is still recovering from their civil war. If the enemy hits anywhere in this corner of the Union, Archangel is the best equipped to respond. That means the Navy, and that means you. We need you all ready.”

Marquez paused for effect—or meant to, but his audience didn’t cooperate. “They could hit anywhere and we might not know for days,” said one ship’s captain. His bushy beard, wrinkled clothes, and beer gut hit the trifecta Lynette noticed earlier, but the man seemed as sharp as anyone else. “We’ve got businesses to run. We can’t sit around waiting. You want us close to home. How close are you talking?”

“The Reserve has an updated timetable for priority benefits, based on the hours you spend within twelve light years of—now hold on,” Marquez said as the crowd grumbled. “It’s twelve light years on a monthly basis, including your downtime. Statistically, a majority of your business is within the area.”

“Fuck,” Lynette groaned in time with Veronica’s, “Ay, mierda.” They both sank in their chairs and tilted their faces into their hands, too. The Navy’s reserve benefits included access to maintenance facilities along with cheaper parts and fuel—but all of their best business had taken them well beyond the twelve-light-year boundary now marked out by a transparent yellow orb on the holo chart.

“That’s bullshit!” called out one reservist.

“This isn’t in the reserve contract,” complained another.

“Some of us do most of our business outside your line. What about us?” asked a third.

“People, hold on,” said Marquez. “We’re not cutting anyone off. We’re talking about priorities. Yes, it’s an incentive, but no, this isn’t a breach of contract. Check your terms. This falls under the needs of the service.”

“I knew things were going too well,” said Veronica.

“Right?” Lynette already saw their spreadsheets and budgets in her head. “It doesn’t account for our whole profit margin, but...”

“But it still sucks,” said Veronica. “The longer charters are why we’re profitable at all.”

That particular spreadsheet stood out in Lynette’s mind. Phoenix took on in-system charters all the time, but only to keep busy. That sort of work was often more cargo than passengers, and barely broke even. Not many people wanted to charter a private yacht for a few hours’ travel within the system. The Debtor’s War was still near enough to make even Archangel’s wealthiest think twice about splurging so casually.

Phoenix and her crew earned their real money on serious travel... and on the infrequent, secretive jobs the crew couldn’t talk about. That sort of work took Phoenix far from Archangel, too. The thought returned Lynette’s attention to the Navy intelligence officer at the lectern and his vain attempts to console his audience.

“People, again: this is a priority access structure, not a ban or qualification,” said Marquez. “You’re already qualified by being part of the reserve. This only determines your place in line.”

“What, so seniority doesn’t count for anything anymore?” asked one very senior ship’s captain.

“Or advance schedules?” asked another reservist. “We’ve got an engine overhaul on the books for two weeks from now. Does that go away?”

“Ugh, ours is next month,” Veronica groaned.

“Only to stay ahead on expenses. The snipes say we’re fine,” said Lynette.

“Yeah, but what do we do if this sticks for six months? Or a year?” asked Veronica.

“This isn’t a priority schedule,” complained one more reservist. “It’s a line between the good girls and boys who get pats on the head and the naughty ones who get nothing. You want to put everyone on a leash.”

“Damn. We don’t have to get kinky about it,” Veronica snorted. Lynette stifled a laugh.

“People. Okay.” Marquez managed to keep from sighing audibly, let alone rolling his eyes. “We’re already at the end of the hour and you’ve got other business. Why don’t we break for lunch now. I’ll be around if you want to...” His offer faltered as his audience stood and turned to leave. Most still grumbled. A few even threw him a dismissive wave. At that point, Marquez let his sigh escape.

“Now I wish I’d packed a lunch,” Veronica said as she and Lynette rose.

“Oh, come on,” said Lynette. “We’re not broke. We’re doing fine.”

“We’re fine for now. We shouldn’t expect the lucky breaks to keep breaking.”

“Hey, we’re not just lucky. We’ve been smart, too.” Despite her point, Lynette sympathized with Veronica. The ship and their business had quickly turned a profit when most new charter ships struggled in their first years. Even with their initial success, Phoenix still carried hefty loans and expenses. “If you’re worried, lunch is on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. There’s a sandwich shop next door.”

“The fuck? You’re going cheap on your best friend?” asked Veronica.

“You’re worried about money, so let’s be sensible.”

“I’m worried about my money, not yours.”

“Captain Kelly? A moment?” Marquez caught up to them short of the exit, breaking away from his mixed group of civilians and uniformed people at an easy stride. He flashed an easy smile, too. “Hi. Glad I caught you.”

“Just in time.” Her voice dropped more in humor than intrigue as she asked, “Is it Carlos here, too, or Mr. Marquez?”

“Carlos, I hope, if no one else is watching. And it’s, ah, Miss Roldan?”

“Veronica’s fine. Hi.” She met his handshake with a polite grip.

“Good to meet you. Not exactly the kind of first impression I like to make,” Marquez added with a nod toward the lectern.

“Nah, it’s good insight,” said Veronica. “When you’re briefing uniformed military, they’re obligated to be quiet and polite. This shows how you deal with real people.”

“It’s trickier than that. You might be surprised how many reserve crews could easily pick up and go live and work in another star system altogether. Reserve service is mostly ad hoc. The rest of everyone’s lives is day to day business. We knew this wouldn’t be popular. Anyway, Lynette, how have you been? I’ve wanted to say hi since I saw the news.”

“Old news already,” said Lynette. “We’re good. I’m good,” she elaborated when he grinned. “They didn’t put my name in any of the headlines about Assembly Station. You’d be surprised how fast life goes back to normal when you’re not the story.”

“And when you don’t capitalize on the attention, sure,” said Marquez.

“Oh, we have clients who think notoriety is a feature,” said Veronica. “They’re usually the type to go for longer trips, though.”

“Right,” said Marquez. “I figured that policy would be a speed bump for you. So you know, government charters count toward priority hours. That might’ve gotten buried in all the grumbling.”

“Ah. Missed that,” said Lynette. It seemed like at least a half-subtle way of saying he knew about her occasional covert work. He was an intel officer, after all. “We’ll keep it in mind.”

“About that news, though, I wanted to ask a couple things,” Marquez went on. “You’re the only reservist crew to go up against the Minoans—twice, in fact. Would you be open to talking about that with the others? Maybe here, and maybe the other bases? I’m sure you’ve got valuable insight.”

“We could.” Lynette shared a glance with Veronica. “We didn’t exactly hold back in the debriefs and interviews, though. Not sure what more we’d add.”

“The change of input might make the real difference,” said Marquez. “Some people get more from a personal voice of experience than they’d get from a document. Especially this crowd.”

“Fair enough. Anytime, business permitting. You said it’s a couple things?”

“Yeah, I did.” Marquez hesitated as he shifted topics—except, again, Lynette remembered his specialty. The pause allowed him to scan the room for eavesdroppers. Then he glanced back to his earlier group, still chatting several meters away. “Mike? C’mon over.” The man’s tan suit set him apart from reservists and regular Navy alike. The clothes, grooming, and confident grin signaled money and connections. “This is Mike Hampton. He’s a vendor liaison from Destiny, here to talk everyone through the new crypto and comms upgrades.”

“Pleasure to meet you. And an honor, really. I get to shake the hand that punched Amara in the face,” Hampton said to Lynette, and then turned to Veronica. “And you saved Assembly Station from the wreck of the Midway.”

“Team effort.” Veronica accepted the handshake despite how Hampton’s compliments had made it weird. Lynette knew she’d hear about that later.

“Still. Hell of a thing,” said Hampton. “Anyway, yeah. I’m in the communications division. Mostly here to talk about the new tech. It’s easy to install. Practically plug and play. Should be much safer from Minoan hacking. We learned a lot after their first attack.”

“Good to hear,” said Lynette. “Mostly?”

“Yeah. Ah...” he began, glancing to Marquez.

“Listen, Mike has security clearance,” Marquez began. “I wouldn’t bring any of this up if he didn’t already know, and we’re safe talking about it here.”

“Okay...?” Lynette prompted.

“Destiny’s doing all we can to speed up communications across the Union,” said Mike. “Faster packet drones, quicker unmanned FTL times, tighter bands... but that still leaves us at the mercy of physical transit. We can’t make a signal go faster than light. Our alien friends don’t have that problem, but they aren’t sharing. You’ve had experience with their tech.”

Lynette’s polite but guarded smile faded, leaving only the guarded part. Real-time interstellar communication had saved the Assembly from Amara’s plans and revealed the Preserve to everyone—though that prompted the attack that followed. Everyone knew it had happened, but details had been kept from the media. Hampton clearly knew more than most. He also wasn’t Archangel Navy, or Union Fleet Intelligence, and this wasn’t a formal interview. This kind of security came with procedures, even if she was inclined to talk.

She wasn’t. “If you’ve got clearance, you can read all I had to say,” said Lynette. “I’m not cleared to talk about it more.”

“C’mon, Lynette, it’s fine,” Marquez assured. “It’s fine. We’re all in the loop.”

“We know about the Noonie orb,” said Hampton. “Magenta gave you a piece of organic Noonie tech that connected him with you across all those light years. Full live holo projection and practically a memory download. They can do all that, while we’re fumbling around sending each other letters on bottle rockets. The Noonies and Kroks are supposed to be our allies. We’ve got the same enemy.”

“It’s not exactly a team ethic,” said Marquez. “We’re hoping you can help with that.”

“Anything you can tell us might help. Anything at all,” said Hampton.

Lynette looked from one man to the other. She had plenty of questions. The Nyuyinaro explicitly didn’t want to share this capability with humanity. She wanted to ask why their wishes didn’t matter. She wanted to know who—if anyone—authorized this approach, and why Destiny got the green light instead of some domestic Archangel company.

She didn’t ask.

“Glass,” she said. “It felt and tasted like glass.”

Hampton and Marquez blinked. “What?”

Lynette shrugged. “That’s it. That’s all I didn’t put in my statement. Tasted like glass.”

“You... licked it?” Hampton stammered.

“Yeah. Had to be done. For science. Hey, we’ve gotta grab lunch and then work out some business stuff. New rules to deal with, right? See you later.” Lynette turned to go. Veronica got one step ahead of her, if only to avoid any delay.

“Hey, um...” Marquez tried. “We should grab a drink sometime?”

“Gonna be busy for a while,” Lynette called over her shoulder. “Shoot me a message.”

They walked through the hallway and the exit into the open Fort Stalwart street outside. Buildings of grey steel and blue glass spread in three directions. Ground traffic was sparse with most personnel at work, but an Archangel Navy shuttle flew overhead as if to punctuate the military feel of the setting... and, next door, Lynette saw the sign for the sandwich shop. Even the Navy had to eat.

“You’re not gonna answer him,” said Veronica.

“I would’ve before now,” Lynette grumbled. “That was shady. And the team player insinuation was pretty shitty.”

“I’m more worried about all the, ‘It’s cool, we can talk,’ implications. Especially since I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t, either. This would have to go through Admiral Yeoh, for starters. Others, too. And who’d want to get this cozy with Destiny? They ate up half the pieces of CDC before the war was over. God, I wonder where Hampton worked at the time.”

“Nearly asked him that myself,” said Veronica. “We only have to use their dumb tech for reserve work. We can keep it turned off the rest of the time—after the snipes go through every circuit and line of code.”

“Damn right,” said Lynette. “I dunno. I’m not worried about anything shady there. It’s too big. We’re not the only ones who’ll check every component. They’d get caught. The shady shit is in the conversations like we just had.”

Veronica glanced over her shoulder, but saw no one. If anyone spied on them, they couldn’t do much about it—and any such spies would get in trouble for trying. “You wanna tell on them?”

“Maybe. I dunno. Not like we have a direct line to Yeoh’s office, and we wouldn’t know for sure who else could do anything about it. Not anyone we could trust. Now that I think about it, I’m barely surprised. People are bound to try this shit. Won’t be long before it’s another company or another guy with a ‘trust me’ line.”

“Okay. Well, what then?” asked Veronica.

“We find the next job, I guess,” said Lynette. “And we’re not staying in their dumb boundary like good little boys and girls.”

“Good,” said Veronica. “I’d rather be naughty.”