Following the status briefing, High Captain Martin Stevens marched back down to the training deck, fuming.
How dare that upstart Fleet Corporal Murphy modify the plan at this stage? They had been told at launch, in extremely plain words, that this was supposed to be an all out assault, a war for the very survival of the Benevolent States United, long may they reign. To think that now some free thinker with pipe dreams of peaceful co-existence would compromise everything they had trained for for so long made his blood boil.
He had said as much in the briefing, never having been one to bandy pretty words and deal politics from the shadows. He wondered if most of the men, or any of them, shared his opinion of the situation.
To be fair, the Benevolent States United had equipped them with the very latest in personal stealth technology. Theoretically, they could drop in small teams in the dead of night, harvest what they needed and be away from the planet without ever establishing contact with the primitives near by. If that was what the Benevolent States United wanted from the Earth Prime Protection Force, why didn't they just fill the ranks with some of the abundant low-lifes which choked the street levels of every major city on Earth Prime? Their thieving ways would better suit that type of operation than the countless hours of combat drills Stevens had insisted his men partake in.
Damn it, he had spent a life time building the finest fighting force the galaxy had ever seen and in one briefing it had been reduced to a group of petty criminals, stealing pretty rocks in the middle of the night.
He hated Fleet Corporal Murphy with an extremely non-professional vigor.
But High Captain Martin Stevens was nothing if not a professional.
He would handle this dispute through proper procedure, even if the chain of command was out of contact while they maintained cruising speeds.
Retiring to his corner of the training deck, High Captain Martin Stevens strapped into his virtual combat gear soundlessly.
"Specialist, ramp up the difficulty on this batch of sims. I've got a need to sweat out some aggression," Stevens ordered without a glance to Travis McComb, who had earned the dubious honor of being the only one to run the training sims for Stevens.
Specialist McComb sat in the center of his metal bench, typing furiously on the projected keyboard that surrounded him.
As he coded opponents and dialed up the difficulty (thicker armor and sharper weapons) the sims came to life in High Captain Stevens's virtual combat session.
For over a standard hour, Travis typed frantically while Stevens spun, swung, kicked and seemed to even dance past the very best opponents Travis had ever seen, much less brought to life himself.
While Travis began to tire, High Captain Stevens worked through the sim like a machine, systematically destroying enemy after enemy.
Suddenly, after disabling and destroying three drones closing in on his right flank, High Captain Stevens spun left and flung his arms out wide, catching a spearing arm in the center of his weapons system, ending the simulation in a storm of virtual sparks.
"Sir," Specialist McComb began, "I kept the sim within all posted regs. No techno tricks, sir. I promise."
"Relax, Specialist," Stevens brushed absentmindedly at the front of his uniform, even though there was no damage, or even mark, upon it. "I ended the sim because I wanted to."
Relieved, Travis waited expectantly to be dismissed. He waited in vain.
"McComb, give me the current location and designation of Fleet Commander Quentin Murphy," Stevens ordered.
"Sir, Fleet Commander Murphy is in the conference room on the port side of the bridge," Travis supplied after sending a few queries to the onboard systems, "His status indicates that he is in a strategic session with senior command at the moment, flagged 'Do Not Disturb'"
"Outstanding," Stevens beamed, "Patch me through to him at once."
"Sir?"
"Just do it," Stevens nodded, supplying McComb with his personal override communications code. It didn't matter, they changed the codes every four hours, anyway.
After a brief pause, Fleet Corporal Quentin Murphy's face appeared in the center of the holographic display. He did not look peaceful and happy.
"Captain Stevens," Murphy began, deliberately omitting the "High" title, "I specifically marked my channel "Do Not Disturb". What is important enough to waste my time and the time of these gentlemen in Senior Command?"
Uncowed, Stevens pressed forward, "Sir, I believe the course of action you have selected for us is a path to disaster. If it compromises the safety of my men, which it does, I contend that your actions are treasonous at best, Un-Faithful at worst."
"These are serious allegations, High Captain," the view slid over to show the care lined face of the carrier's Captain, "Think about what you are saying."
"I have thought about it, Captain Alexander," Stevens nodded, "I have chosen to formally invoke Article 748.12g, that of formal challenge for rank."
The view cut back to Fleet Corporal Murphy, "Are you prepared to put your ancestral title and lands up by way of payment?"
"I am," Stevens calmly answered.
"Good," nodded Quentin Murphy, "Because you just did."
Chapter Fifteen Interlude
File: Datanet Core Server Gamma Beta Thirty Six, Galactic Military Protocol, Era: Modern -0, Rank Designations, Index Earth Prime Protection Force, Data source EPPF Handbook
In order to maintain the high standard of safety the Faithful enjoy, the Earth Prime Protection Force has implemented a static ranking system. Enlisted troops are assigned a rank determined by exam performance which they hold throughout their careers.
Officers can obtain rank through two separate mechanisms.
In the first, knowing that genetics are are the most important factor that designates a person's status, rank is carried over through generation after generation of the three hundred and eleven publically recognized military families.
In the second, more dynamic method, lower ranked officers can challenge a higher ranked officer to physical combat, ensuring that the genetics of the EPPF remain as strong as nature can develop. While this combat is seldom fatal for either particpant, there is nothing in the regulations stating it must not be lethal.
In these ways, the EPPF remains strong and better able to protect the lives of the Faithful.
The training deck was filled to capacity with enlisted troops and officers alike, all crowded around the edges to watch the show.
Contests for rank were uncommon, but not so uncommon that they were unknown. Most of these troops, on their third or fourth tour, had never seen one outside of a recording.
Fleet Corporal Murphy had chosen the venue, the training deck, and the method, mechanized defense suit combat.
While High Captain Stevens was widely considered the best mechanized defense suit warrior in the fleet, and perhaps because of it, Fleet Corporal Murphy knew that by beating Stevens at his own game, so to speak, would cement his place of respect within the fleet. It couldn't hurt to show his non-confrontational policies were backed up by actual combat skill.
Still, it had been years since he had strapped on the complicated device for anything other than an academy graduation or funeral. In his day, though, Murphy had a reputation based around having waded into a nest of the Un-Faithful alone in his mechanized defense suit and emerging victorious a short time later. He never talked about that incident, but he knew others did.
Murphy stared across the bay to where Stevens had set up his suit. As the crowd fell silent, the only noise came in the form of the dull hum of the fusion power generators in each suit.
On both mechanized defense suits, the heads up display flashed red three times and then lit up green.
Fleet Corporal Murphy, in an attempt to end the match early and decisively, fired his shoulder mounted spear launcher.
The smooth, pointed projectile stuck futilely in the back wall of the training bay as High Captain Stevens stepped deftly to the left and turned sideways, presenting a smaller target.
Stevens began to crab walk towards Murphy, left arm raised defensively.
Murphy began to circle to the right, powering up his wrist lasers. As they fired, they caught on the energy deflectors mounted on the arm of Stevens's suit, harmlessly dissipating with the acrid scent of ozone.
As Stevens took two steps forward to close the distance between them, while Murphy sidled further to the right and set up a target lock with the magnet launcher.
As soon as the weapon acknowledged a successful lock, he fired, sending a spray of micro magnets onto the targeting system of Stevens's suit. He knew, having attended briefings about the new weapon, that any ranged attack from Stevens would be fouled or disabled by the interference from the tiny nano magnets. He was surprised to see Stevens smile and continue his approach.
He was more surprised to see Stevens power down all ranged combat options completely. The gasps from the crowd as the data streamed across the vid screens told him they were also surprised. Was Stevens giving up so easily?
He was not, and as he moved next to Murphy he cocked back his left arm and sent a powerful impact through the chest plate of Murphy's suit.
What kind of idiot uses a simple physical assault? thought Murphy, taking a step back and bringing his lasers around, intending to use them to sever the power couplings in the suit Stevens was, yet again, driving to close in on him.
He discovered too late that his arm joints didn't bend close enough to the body to allow him to do anything with the lasers but fire ineffectually against the far wall of the training bay. Switching tactics, he kicked out, trying to physically knock Stevens's power off line.
He froze, confused for a moment until he realized that Stevens had tightly gripped the ankle of his suit, holding it in the air in front of him. He looked across the gap between them to see Stevens, helmet off, grinning like a mad man, before the fist reached into his own suit and crushed his skull.
