Maria cleared her schedule—canceling her breakfast prep plans with the Chef—and she asked Cal to do the same.
He didn’t have any plans.
He wanted to see if there was somewhere you could view the ship’s guns.
Thought he might do that.
Maria wanted to spend the day as a family. Explore the ship, have lunch in the mess, go shopping in the stores. Then dinner with the Admiral, who had sent an invitation after the meeting for the entire family.
—
The Sol was an enormous vessel.
As big as the carriers in the Republic fleets. But with much less of the internal space consumed by hangars and maintenance bays and areas full of munitions for the various combat craft.
Long, sleek, and symmetrical. The Sol had been designed from the outset as a symbol.
Function sacrificed for form, here and there, in small ways.
It worked.
The overall impression was of something fast and dangerous.
Shark-like.
The effect was further enhanced by the port and starboard hangar bays that hung off the sides near the rear—like fins.
Between them yawned the gaping maw of the Republic Warship Sol’s engines.
Powered by two SMCs, charged in turn by six fusion reactors—three per cap.
She bristled with turrets of various sizes—small, large, and terrifying as options.
The little ones were for point-defense—shooting down incoming missiles and fighters.
The big ones were secondaries, for close-range battles.
Then there were the box-shaped ones, different sizes, large holes punched through them.
Missiles. Rockets maybe.
Or countermeasures of some kind.
Maybe all of those.
And the terrifying ones—guns the size of ships—were what made the Sol truly special.
-
Savannah had been reading up on the ship, of course.
So when they arrived at the huge viewing window—specifically placed to let people see the guns—she had a bit of knowledge to hand out.
“There are these frigates built around a gun—spinal weapons, they call them when they do that. Just one big particle cannon.”
She gestured toward the massive turrets beyond the glass.
“They took three of those cannons and put them into turrets. Three turrets—three barrels each—nine strike frigates’ worth of cannons. Per volley.” She quoted dramatically.
Cal had no idea what the math worked out to, but that was a lot of energy.
A lot of power.
A lot of destruction.
He had questions now.
“So the two SMCs—”
“One is just for the guns,” Savannah cut in. “The engines could never use more than one could provide—you can even add the extra from the engine cap to the guns if you want. There’s a whole procedure for it!”
After the guns—Cal’s idea, enthusiastically supported by Cecil—they moved on.
The Sol had fighters.
Two squadrons.
One hangar port, one starboard.
They were defensive assets, not strike craft.
No massive munitions bays, no special maintenance areas.
They were serviced right in their hangars.
And their munitions were stored there, too.
Which was probably why the hangars hung off the side of the ship.
-
Sierra did not know which side was port and which side was starboard.
She had been told, but—what’s wrong with right and left?
Vannah was defending the concept. “What if I’m facing fore and you’re facing aft? Then our left and right are different.”
“FoRe aNd aFT—shut up.
You just always assume people are talking about the ship—not themselves.
Not everyone is always thinking of themselves—like you do. Narcoleptic.”
“You mean narcissist?”
“If that’s what you call yourself.”
Cal’s voice—infused with laughter—came from the other room. “Outplayed—Good game!”
Sierra’s snotty arguing face shifted into her smug one.
In the other room Maria was now lecturing Cal and he couldn’t hear the girls anymore.
Vannah ignored the children's attempts to avoid losing the argument. “What if I want to talk about something that is on my left but the ship's starboard?”
“This is stupid—it just makes it more confusing—point at shit.”
“Language.”
“Scrape brown!”
Vannah tossed her arms up in frustration and stormed off.
Make a joke. Make a joke.
Who cares if you’re wrong.
Just make a joke.
It'S AlLoWeD iF It'S fUnnY
Ugh!
—
Cal was enjoying it—the girls’ bickering.
It was funny.
Well—usually.
But Maria was telling him to stop encouraging Cecil.
And that the girls might see it as taking sides.
And that Vannah had a point so Cecil should say so.
He kinda knew she was right.
But they had been quiet for a while now.
He hadn’t realized until it ended.
He liked hearing them.
Cecil seemed to be feeling better.
Less surly; less moody.
Still a little surly; a little moody.
But it was better.
He had talked to Vannah the day after the meeting.
It turned out she had some complex feelings too.
Maria was helping Cal to help them.
It was going to be fine.
It was already getting better.
Thank you, Cal thought, not knowing who he was talking to.
Maria, maybe.
—
“You will get it back eventually,” Cal answered. “When I’m sure you meant that apology.”
Sierra nodded.
She didn’t expect to have her revolver returned any time soon.
But she wanted to see if it was ever going to happen.
Any answer that wasn’t ‘never’ was a win—for today.
—
They found the hangars and got to see real Republic fighters—which were often in video games and media—they seemed much bigger in person.
They were shown around by several very bored young men, one of whom—he looked like the youngest by a good bit—talked to Vannah too much. At least Cecil thought so.
And the adults must have agreed because it annoyed Uncle Cal and made Maria laugh.
They ventured into the right-side—starboard?—engineering bay as they departed the hangar.
It turned out that, wherever possible, the ship had its systems duplicated on each side for redundancy.
So there were three fusion reactors and one SMC in this bay, and an identical setup on the other side.
The SMC here was a little bigger than the one on the gate, but Cal wasn’t sure if that was just an optical illusion from being so close—or if it was all the extra bits and bobs tagged onto the outside that weren’t on the gate SMC, making it look bigger.
Either way, the ship drew power directly from the SMCs and the SMCs constantly drew power from the fusion reactors, storing it.
Every so often, they would swap out the SMC for an empty one and send the high-charge one out to find a planet somewhere.
This wasn’t intended in the original design, but the Republic hadn’t had a significant conflict in a long time; the Sol had never really needed to draw large amounts of power for an extended period. And now, it could never consume all the power stored in even one of its SMCs.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
So it seemed logical to rotate them out.
One at low charge, one at high charge—forever climbing higher.
But the Sol’s power consumption might be about to change.
—
The Squid—s? The Squid had sent ahead several diplomatic cables, laying out various things, including what they were willing to offer just for First Contact.
Apparently Humanity was a bit further behind than they realized.
So the Squid were willing to immediately give the Republic technology for “Graviton Catapults” so that they could begin construction.
Graviton Catapults were a simple, comparatively low-energy, way to accelerate an object to FTL speeds.
This was how the Squid placed the relay near Frontier.
And, presumably, how Brenda got there—and maybe what went wrong.
Humans had figured out artificial gravity and inertial dampening, but the Squid were offering a noticeably improved version of the latter.
It was necessary to make use of the catapults if anything alive was onboard whatever was launched—and you wanted it to stay that way.
They had also promised shield technology, both through Brenda and now in the cables, but only if the Republic took in refugees.
Numbers were to be discussed after First Contact.
-
Shields were an energy-intensive technology—especially when scaled to ship size.
And the emitters were complex and required additional technology humans didn’t have.
Other gifts would be required as well.
The Squid—polite and diplomatic enough, but also very honest—informed the human Ambassador that they would not discuss this until Brenda was debriefed and her opinions on humanity as an ally were collected.
But still, FTL catapults and better inertia manipulation.
That was just for agreeing to the meeting.
And it was implied—openly—that the tech behind the FTL catapults would very likely lead Humanity to further discoveries on its own.
Excitement was building within the Republic Government.
—
Savannah led the Callahans to the study hall where she had spent so much time.
Sierra resolved to come back and look at all the stuff on infantry equipment.
Her boring sister hadn’t even looked at the weapons soldiers used—just the ship weapons.
Which were cool, but you’d never get to shoot one.
You might get to shoot a military rifle.
Somehow.
-
Sierra then led them to her favorite spot by far—the shooting range.
She hadn’t been allowed to use it—of course—but you could watch!
There was a cool section where targets popped up in random areas with images on them, and you had to shoot or not shoot!
Or—sometimes, shoot but avoid hitting a hostage!
It looked like a lot of fun, and Sierra had watched them train whenever she wasn’t scraping brown.
-
Maria gave them a tour of the officers’ kitchen and mess and introduced them to the Chef—who was apparently very busy today and couldn’t stay but was pleased to meet all of them—especially Cal. “I’m sure we’ll get another chance to do this—bye!”
-
They ate lunch in the mess, and then Cal used the Crescent—by politely asking the air—to call the Admiral and let him know they were ready for the bridge tour he had mentioned.
The Admiral informed Cal that—due to an unusual anomaly in the ship's electrical system the day before—the bridge was busier than usual, and they would need to reschedule.
He did not tell Cal that he had engineers ripping apart his ship to figure out how Brenda had made the lights flicker—which he was certain she had.
So the Callahans visited the barracks section of the ship instead.
Just outside were the shops and a few restaurants.
They had passed through before, browsed a little, but today they went shopping.
Everyone purchased something new for the Admiral’s dinner invitation—presumably fancy.
No one overdid it. Just some nice clothes.
Maria and Vannah picked out dresses.
Sierra tried one on but felt self-conscious.
Over Maria and V’s minor objections, Cal let her just pick a new pair of jeans.
Cal bought some slacks.
A new button-down shirt for himself—simple and black.
It had a small Second Fleet logo on the breast.
They didn’t have it without the logo.
Maria excused herself shortly after the shopping trip, saying she was helping to prepare something for dinner and would see them there.
***
“Hamburgers!”
Maria had appeared from the door to the kitchen carrying plates holding huge hamburgers.
Cal and Sierra were ecstatic.
Savannah was a little disappointed—she’d been expecting something fancy—but now that she could see it coming—she was looking forward to a hamburger a great deal.
The food on the ship ranged from fine to quite good, but the girls had been eating exclusively in the mess hall. They hadn’t spotted the handful of restaurants near the shops on their first pass through.
Maria and Cal had also stuck to the mess when they weren’t eating with the Admiral. When they did, it was always something interesting—Maria or the Chef learning from one another and serving up something new. Delicious, but heavy on fancy meals and fusion attempts.
None of the Callahans—a family of cattle ranchers—had eaten a hamburger in at least three weeks, as far as any could recall.
That was a long time for them.
-
Two orderlies emerged shortly after Maria, one with more burgers and one with plates stacked with fries.
“FRIES!”
Sierra tried to leave her chair, but Cal caught her.
“They’re bringing it to us—what are you—”
“Friiiiiiiieeeesssss!” She struggled, getting a good laugh.
Satisfied with that, she sat back and waited eagerly.
“Maria arranged for it,” the Admiral told them. “She was worried you would die soon without one. Mentioned that she referred to you as Hamburger Man—”
Maria corrected the Admiral, injecting deep gravitas into her tone, “?El Hombre Hamburguesón!”
“Yes,” the Admiral chuckled. ”Before you were introduced.”
When Cal first arrived on Frontier, he had stayed in town a lot more often. There had been an excellent burger stand across from Maria’s place.
In fact, he only went into Maria’s because the burger joint shut down.
Stupid health inspector.
He ate there twice a day. He was fine.
Missed that place.
Maria was beaming at Cal and he was beaming back.
As she sat the plates down Maria grinned at Callan.
“It was very difficult to get the Chef to let me grind up his good steaks.”
The Admiral winced when he heard this.
“Ouff, and bacon? Is like credits here!”
Maria leaned down and kissed Cal. "Pero para ti? Tocino,” she whispered into his lips.
“Y’all are gross,” Cecil muttered, elbowing for the gourmet catsup the Chef had prepared. “Ruining my appetite,” she added, shoving a fistful of fries into her mouth with the hand not desperately grabbing for the catsup.
Cal politely scooted the fancy little cup closer—but not quite in reach—of her grasp, then looked away.
Cecil elbowed him hard in the ribs.
He winced and chuckled, pushing it to her fingertips. Barely.
“Grow up,” she mumbled through her fries and stretching grasp.
“I can reach it fine—you grow,” he grinned—while looking at Maria.
-
They had a nice evening.
The Admiral had some questions for Savannah about the ranch after all—having thought of a few things in the interval.
Savannah, for her part, had an interesting question of her own.
“What is it really like in the Navy? Like if you really join.”
The Admiral finished his bite, set his fork down, leaned back in his chair, and regarded Savannah closely.
He turned to Callan.
“Are we of the same mind regarding the purpose behind this question, Cal?”
Cal nodded.
“How should I respond? I understand the military isn’t everyone's favorite organization.”
Cal smiled, appreciating the thoughtfulness before he answered. “I always go with age-appropriate honesty, myself.”
The Admiral nodded and turned back to Savannah.
“Ms. Callahan, you will hate it at first. Everyone does. Most people hate it because basic is hard. Because you get yelled at. Because you’re tired all the time and more afraid than you’d like—or will admit later.
But you’ll be fine with all that.
You’ll hate it because of the other recruits.
I suspect your curiosity is piqued by what you see here, on my ship. This is the Sol, the pride of the Fleet. Serving on this ship—even the lowliest roles occupied by the Ropes—is an honor. You don’t get to this ship without exceptional performance over a long period.
In basic, you will be surrounded by undereducated, undisciplined, loud, obnoxious idiots.
Children—in other words.
And you will hate it.”
Disappointment began to creep into Savannah’s expression.
“But—
You, personally, would stand out, Savannah. You would be noticed by your instructors, and they would create opportunities for you to prove yourself—which I have no doubt you would.
And when you leave basic, many of the people you entered with will be much more tolerable.
Some of them will even be lifelong friends.
And from that point forward, it keeps improving.
Someone like you will end up somewhere like here—or wherever else she sets her sights.
And I think you would thrive.
And I think the Navy would be better for having you.”
The glow coming off Savannah was blinding.
“When you turn 18, if you would like, I will provide a letter of reference for an application to The Academy.” The Admiral flashed his trademark self-satisfied grin, “It will carry significant weight.”
-
“So if you wanted to blow up like… Earth—” Sierra began her next question.
Cal interrupted her with a laugh, “Ok, I think that’s probably enough about what the Sol could blow up.”
Sierra glared at him.
But the door chime interrupted her opportunity for a clever remark.
“Enter,” the Admiral announced as he stood from his chair.
The door slid open and a young spaceman saluted.
“Sir, the Chromaphors have sent a new message—arrival expected in 17 hours.”
“Thank you, Seaman. Dismissed.”
-
“They're early.” The Admiral thought aloud.
“Is that bad?” Savannah asked.
“I don’t know—I am, however, going to have to end dinner, I’m afraid.”
“I suggest you all get some rest.”
“First Contact tomorrow.”
