UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

LIII - INDEPENDENT EARTH

The cover jerked Salom out of a deep, restful sleep. Her mind raced as her eyes sought the bridge repeaters, and her fingers fumbled for the talk button. What could it be? An attack? Fire? The numbers glowed red, and the readings appeared normal.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but you're required on the bridge".

She recognized the voice as belonging to Lieutenant Roman, the same Lieutenant Roman who had kept her head throughout the mutiny. If Roman said there was a problem, then there was a problem. Salom's feet hit the ice cold deck, and she grabbed a shirt. "I'm listening, Lieutenant. What have you got?"

"It's Rear Admiral Pius, ma'am. His crew took control of the flagship".

"Any word on him?"

"No, ma'am. And we aren't likely to hear any. Not anytime soon. The mutineers took a hyperspace jump. Headed for the galaxy would be my guess".

The theory made sense. There wasn't much law out on the galaxy, and the deserters would have a chance. Not to mention a fully armed war ship, which they could sell or use for God knew what.

Salom felt a flood of conflicting emotions. Anger at the mutineers, concern regarding the military situation, and yes, inappropriate though it might be, a sort of grim satisfaction. If any officer deserved to lose his or her command, it was Pius. But not this way. She actually felt sorry for him.

She pulled her pants on and wished they were a little less wrinkled. "I'm on the way, number one... five from now".

Roman was waiting when Salom arrived. The commanding officer accepted a mug of coffee and took a tentative sip. It was hot, just the way she liked it.

That was when Salom noticed the strange, almost smug expression Roman wore. The rest of the bridge crew were way too solemn, as if trying to hide something. She blew steam off the surface of her cup.

"So, Lieutenant, you approve of mutinies".

Roman feigned shock. "No, ma'am! Never".

The helmsman snickered. Salom looked from one face to another. "Really? Then be so kind as to let me in on the joke".

Roman shrugged. "The victory in Africa recieved a lot of attention. The loyalist commanders took a vote and placed you in command".

Salom frowned. Commanding officers are selected, not elected. If not by their superiors, then by the fortunes of war, according to rank, expertise, and seniority. Maybe that explained it. "Because I was senior?"

Roman shook her head. "No, ma'am. At least three of the commanding officers in question hold commissions that predate yours".

"Well, then?"

Roman's smile turned to a grin. "Because, as Captain Lewis Hashimoto put it, you have the biggest balls".

The bridge crew exploded into laughter, the Chameleon's Captain felt herself blush, and the Earth fleet was reborn.

* * *

The early morning air was crisp as Marco took his morning constitutional walk around the circumference of the fort. The submarine recruits, as he tended to think of them, formed ranks below. There was less confusion than one might have expected. Most were ex-military, the victims of countless downsizing, and looked sharp in their brand new cammies.

Marco watched for a moment and continued his stroll. Captain Cara was truly amazing. The somewhat taciturn officer had not only combined forces with NY and her cyborgs to fix the damage done to Bashu's defenses, he had lavished an equal amount of time and energy on Bajoti at well, a fact not lost on the mayor and his constituents. Though far from happy about the damage to their community, the locals were more supportive than they had been before.

Marco pause, swept the eastern horizon with his glasses, and resumed his walk. There was plenty to think about.

Where the hell was the Confederacy? Without some sort of political infrastructure to keep the resistance focused, the movement could easily self destruct. Locked in endless debate, probably, unable to reach agreement.

Marco's thoughts were interrupted by the now familiar sound of Sergeant Fo's voice on the command push. No one else could hear, so there was no need for radio procedure. The earplug was fine, but he touched it anyway. "We have friendlies one, and bandits two, at sixty northeast and closing. The friendly requests assistance".

Marco knew he wouldn't be able to see anything but raised his binoculars anyways. There had been a number of such incidents over the last few days, ever since the radio free earth had started up. Some thirty six in all. Roughly fifty percent of the transports, aircars, and one hot air balloon, had been intercepted and blown out of the sky.

Of those who did manage to cross the cordon, roughly two thirds crash in the gulf or along the coast. The locals loved to scavenge the wrecks - pieces of which had started to appear in some of the more industrious areas.

The balance of the aircraft were parked along the runways at Bajoti's airport. Most of the pilots were wild eccentrics, too old or too crazy to fight. But a few were exmilitary, and potentially useful.

The legionnaire could imagine what it was like over the gulf. The glare of the water, the motion of the transport, and the desperate fear.

Fo, unsure weather she'd been heard, cleared her throat. "Sir, how should I respond?"

Marco thought about Luton, how tricky the son of a b***h could be, and resolved to be careful. "Double the watch on the rest of our air perimeter. Give me more on the friendly, is there anything special about him?"

"Yes, sir", For replied. "He's got codes, the same one the submarine guy gave to us".

Marco knew that Fo meant Anselm Bato, who, after unloading the volunteers, had promised to stay in touch. The fact that the incoming aircraft was equipped with codes suggested special cargo of some sort. The last shipment had been useful, perhaps this one would be as well.

Marco wished there was time to call on Salom for air support and knew there wasn't. Klaxons sounded as the incoming aircraft passed the fifty mile mark and entered the fort's primary defense zone.