Fallen Stars: A science fiction thriller (Farewell Amity Station Book 5) by Frank Kennedy

Author:Frank Kennedy [Kennedy, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

16

Warship Scylla

CONNOR POLISHED HIS COLONEL’S bar at first chance. He wanted it to glisten in a way no one dared miss. Especially the deadbeats on the deck crew whose negligence almost brought down the cascade barrier.

He intended to make an example of the lead culprit, a pathetic First Specialist who complained of double shifts and poor morale under Capt. Nye and Col. Stallion. Their regime was only five days old, but the rumblings began straightaway.

Chief Ossoman ordered his deck crew to attention when Connor appeared. A dozen men and women – barely into their twenties and the most diminutive of Scylla’s complement – formed two rows. Per Connor’s request, Ossoman lined them up to face the starboard bulwark scarred by the explosion.

“Colonel. Sir. They’re all yours.”

Connor acknowledged Ossoman, who was meeting with the quartermaster when the incident occurred but tried to take full responsibility anyway. Connor studied the Chief’s superlative jacket and ordered him back on the job, demanding he uncover the amateurs responsible.

And now, for accountability.

Connor learned from his previous superiors, especially Hampton Wave Col. Cessa Tyloe, who provided a perfect template for controlling the moment and squashing resistance. Hands locked behind his back, Connor previewed the disaster scene which, by an astounding fluke, killed no one. Two massive drone loaders lay twisted and sizzled.

He kept his back turned to the crew.

“First Spec. Ibrahim, come forward.”

Connor heard two footsteps.

“When I turn around, Ibrahim, your miserable face had best be no more than two feet from my chest.”

He waited until he sensed a nearby presence but stretched the suspense. Nye’s advice when she pinned the bar on his uniform:

“Swallow them whole, Colonel.”

Connor swiveled around and towered over Spec. Misha Ibrahim.

“Who’s the enemy, Specialist?”

Ibrahim bellowed his response.

“Black Star, sir.”

Connor leaned in until Ibrahim felt his warm breath.

“Someone just now whisper that answer in your ear?”

“No, sir.”

The little man held steady for a moment. Connor upped his game.

“I’m confused, Specialist. You did more today to fuck this crew than Black Star ever has. We annihilated five enemy raiders in three days without a dent to this warship. Then you come along, bruv, and can’t load a simple missile package.”

Connor scanned Ibrahim’s deck mates. Did they really think the XO would stop with the Specialist?

“Two meters. That’s how close the fire came to burning out the cascade barrier’s primary circuits, you incompetent shit.”

“Sir,” Ibrahim said. “It was an input error on the loader. I ...”

Connor spit as he yelled.

“Did I ask for an explanation, Specialist? I know what you did. And so do the men and women who almost died because your cock is bigger than your brain. You were having a laugh at our expense.”

“No, sir. I ...”

“Men and women are dying by the thousands on that planet. We’re trying to save them from oblivion. And you, Specialist? You’re showing off on the job. Trying to be a funnyman. What was the joke you told while you were inputting the transfer protocols?”

Ibrahim shadowed his eyes.

“Nothing, sir,” he mumbled.

“What’s that? Lost your larynx along with your spine, you dimwitted shit stain?”

“It .

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