War Fleet: Resistance

have access to such weapons. This would increase paranoia and worsen enmity from civilians towards other races, feeding the war effort rather than helping establish peace.
Olsen nodded. There was nothing he could say that would make it any easier for Frega, who was definitely the most genial Arstan he had ever met. From what Frega had explained, he’d be awaiting a public execution if he returned into Arstan hands. His family was probably already dead.
“Then I wish you the best,” Olsen said. “And I hope you can make a life for yourself down there.”
“You too,” Frega replied. “Let’s work to keep this galaxy safe.” And he stepped into the pod.
The Tapper had eight escape pods in total, and only two of them had warp-speed capability. This wasn’t one of those. Frega took one of the central frontmost of the sixteen seats in the pod and fastened his seatbelt. He didn’t turn around before Riley closed the door and rotated the airlock valve to seal him in.
Olsen stepped forwards and pushed the button to open the escape hatch. Then he watched through the screen above as the pod flared its blue automatic thrusters and jetted towards the planet.
The captain turned back to the crew. They had things to do, and they wanted to get to warp speed as soon as possible, before the Okranti deployed the weapon and took out the Ripley sector.
“Back to business,” he said. “Chang, how soon do you feel this ship will be safe to fly to the Ripley sector?”
Chang’s wide eyes didn’t do a very good job of hiding his fear of going there. “Sir, if we’re going to engage the enemy there, we should make sure the ship’s in tip-top shape. That could take another seven hours, at least.”
“Dammit, Chang, we don’t have seven hours. How soon until we can get it there in an operable condition?”
“We can fly it now, sir, but—”
“No time for buts, Chang. Work on powering up the shield and weapon systems as much as possible. The engines only need to get us to the Ripley sector. We can work out the rest later.”
Chang saluted. “Very well, sir.” He hurried out the door.
Though the Marine stood upright like a true soldier, Olsen could see the strain in the features of his face and the huge bags under his eyes. “Riley, you look exhausted,” he said. “Get some shuteye. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Yes, sir,” the Marine said with a salute. He marched out of the room and slumped a little as he turned the corner, right before he passed out of view.
“Novak, accompany me to CIC,” Olsen said, and started walking. “You look like you wish to say something.”
Novak straightened her head and lowered her eyebrows, and assumed the characteristic expressionless facade that she’d only let drop for a moment. “Sir, I didn’t want to question you in front of the crew, but I’m having problems understanding your decision to release Frega. Surely he would have been better as a prisoner that we could have used for negotiations at a later date.”
Before he replied, Olsen adjusted the setting on his mag-boots and stepped into the corridor. The stale air became replaced by a warm freshness from the fan-assisted heating units. Then Olsen turned back to Novak.
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he replied. “Given they were set to execute Frega, I don’t think he’d make a great bargaining chip. And he’d be one extra passenger to worry about while we work out how to get that spatial detonator back.”
“So why not just eject him out the escape hatch without the pod?” Novak said. “That’s what I would have done in this situation.”
“Because he didn’t deserve to die. He helped us, Novak, and Frega will serve much better as an ally than dead.”
“Unless he betrays us. How do you know he isn’t a spy?”
“I just know,” Olsen said. “You know these things when you’ve been in the service long enough. You learn to trust your hunches.”
“And why didn’t you ask Admiralty AI for their advice in this matter? Surely it’s a big enough issue to refer to them.”
Olsen raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you try to stop me if this was going to be a problem, Novak?”
“I just wanted to be sure of the reasons for your decisions.”
Olsen stopped walking for a moment, turned to Novak, and looked her straight in the eye. “Look, Novak. Things have changed in Fleet Command since I was in the Admiralty. It used to be the case that Admiralty would ask the opinion of their more senior officers. Now we rely on Admiralty AI too much, when they don’t always have all the data, and they certainly don’t have the benefit of instinct. I won’t go against direct orders, but I will act on my initiative when those orders aren’t in place. Is that understood?”
“Very well, sir,” Novak replied.
They walked the rest of the distance to the CIC in silence. Olsen wanted to ask her if she’d report his actions, but such a question was pointless. Brownstone would hear about it from her, and he’d hear about it from Brownstone. But he hadn’t broken the chain of command, and so she wouldn’t strip his vessel away for such a minor thing. Frega, after all, was retired.
The junior on guard outside the CIC saluted Olsen and Novak before they entered. They stepped inside, and Olsen took his place in the captain’s seat. Rob had been overseeing things on the bridge, and everyone seemed busy, the sounds of fingers clicking against equipment and beeps from the display screens filling the room.
“Rob, are we ready to move on?” Olsen asked.
“Ensign Chang has already informed me you’re ready to move, sir. Things are in working order.”
“Glad to hear it. Santiago, is our course set? We have the sector mapped out?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Schmidt, weapons systems are ready?”
“The coilguns and laser turrets are set for automatic charging when we exit FTL-warp, sir.”
“And Cadinouche, are the engines in working order?”
“Ready and