“Yes, ma’am,” the chorus came from several points.
“I want them all identified and marked.” To her Lieutenant Commander she fumed, “Bloody typical, the whole damned thing is fitted with under-rated components. The Five-Eight-Four-F has only half the output of the Five-Six-Six-W, and I bet the rest are just as under requirement. I’m going dockside. Someone better have a bloody good explanation for this!”
Lieutenant-Commander Ditsch grinned. “I’ll make sure we get them all identified. Don’t kill anyone, Boss, the paperwork with these civil types is a real pain.”
“Don’t worry, Pete,” she growled. “They’re not worth it. Send me the full list as soon as you can. I’m going to see the Captain first, then the Yard Admiral if I can get a slot. After that, we’ll see.”
Mister Artur Ribble considered himself a reasonable man, but this small woman was trying his patience. “My dear Commander,” he began, yet again. “Savings had to be made. I consulted several specialists and decided that these units were quite sufficient. And, at less than half the cost of the units specified and the sheer number involved, we managed to find a considerable reduction in overall cost. Certainly the power output may be a little less than you seem to think is necessary, but I was assured that for most operations, the output that can be achieved with the modifications I authorised was quite sufficient.”
“I see.” Mary’s voice was dangerously quiet. “And your qualification in propulsion engineering is…?”
“I haven’t one,” he snapped. “I am the Project Manager. It is my task to see that this ship is built within budget and on time. As I have repeatedly told you, I took advice from a number of experts before I consented to the change.”
“So you will not be aware that these units are required to operate at maximum output during the initiation phase of transit and again during the initial braking phase of dropout. Who were these experts, Fleet design engineers or private contractors?” She glared across the desk. “Perhaps you are also not aware that we can get only seventy percent at peak power as modified. You and I both know this is insufficient to reach transit velocity or to decelerate when running them at full power one hundred percent of the time—a guarantee they will fail since they aren’t designed to do that continuously.”
“I don’t see what the problem is.” Mister Ribble didn’t like the direction of this conversation or Commander Allison’s attitude. As Project Manager, his task was to coordinate the building of this ship and several more, and like many in this position, he had risen to his post by playing the system very effectively. This was his office, and she dared to speak to him as if he was some ignorant clerk. “Your power units, or whatever they are, function. That’s all that matters. I’m assured you can achieve transit or dropout or whatever the hell else with them. These ships are massively expensive, and components from WeapTech have to purchased at market prices, not at cost as before. Savings have to be made, and I have made them where they will have the least impact on the efficiency of the ship.”
“The least impact?” Mary’s temper snapped. “Mister, I will tell you now—these units will fail. In fact, the one we are currently testing is already showing signs of failure. Who the hell did you buy this junk from? Of course these things cost less than the specified units—they damned well don’t do what they’re supposed to do! If one of these fails during entry into transit, do you know what will happen? Do you know what will happen if they fail during dropout? No I didn’t think you did, and don’t give me that outraged look! You will be hearing from the Admiral, and believe me, you’d better have a damned sight better excuse. I intend to report this as attempted sabotage. You have deviated from specification on equipment that is vital to the safe operation of this ship, and what astounds me is that you seem to think this is an equipment issue only. You forget that human beings operate this equipment, and several hundred are on board our largest ships at any given time. You are risking their lives and mine. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?” She stood up and grabbed her tablet. “This isn’t finished, not by a long way.”
Felicity Rowanberg saw Commander Allison storm out of the Project Manager’s suite, fury evident in her expression and in her determined walk. Felicity’s suspicion that there’d been a confrontation was confirmed a few minutes later when two men arrived and walked straight in. She recognised them both as senior DockCorp engineers.
“Things are getting very interesting,” she murmured to herself. Using a personal link, she briefly recorded her thoughts. Commander Brandeis would want to know what was happening. She studied her displays. “Mr Gorewski, will you check what is happening with Requisition V404 dash five dash five, please? It shows as unfulfilled in the system. It should have been closed off yesterday.”
The man gave her a startled look. “It’s still waiting for Mr Ribble to authorise it, Ms Rowanberg.”
“That should have been chased then. Send him a reminder, please. Mark it urgent and copy Captain Heron.” That’ll stir the man up. She’d caught the frightened glance at her deputy. Something else that needed looking into. “Mr Francois, can you let me have the latest schedule of outstanding requisitions, please? My system does not show the full list for some reason.”
“That’s because we have a policy of placing on a separate list the requisitions that have been outstanding for longer than a week, Ms Rowanberg,” he mansplained. His patronising smile and tone rankled her. “It was an instruction from Mr Ribble.”
“Yes, I realise they’re placed on a separate list. That’s not what I asked, is it? I asked if you have that list, and I’m sure you do. I want it on my system immediately.” Her boss in Fleet Security was right. Something very suspicious was happening on this dock.
“Good day, Minister, please have a seat. I’m delighted you could accept my invitation.” Ari Khamenei knew just how to put his visitors at ease.
“Very good of you to offer to assist my department, Chairman.” The Minister relaxed into a comfortable chair. The room exuded luxury, and though slightly too opulent for most people’s tastes, conveyed exactly the message its occupant wanted to send: wealth, power and continuity.
“But of course we must assist, Minister,” Ari Khamenei smiled reassuringly. “My organisation cannot fulfil its obligations unless your department is able to provide the necessary support. We have identified an area in which we may act as your agents and provide resources and services at minimal cost, so important in these days of tightening budgets.”
“We will have to examine the proposals very carefully, Chairman. As you know, the Interplanetary Consortium is hardly a government agency. You exist for profit, not charity.” The Minister sipped his beverage. “My staff have studied the agreement in full, and we think we have a way in which we may take this forward. You must understand there are several members of the Cabinet who have serious objections and reservations. They will need to be persuaded and assured of the adequacy of the safeguards and the oversight we will need to exercise. That’s where I’m relying on you.”
“Of course.” The Chairman smiled. So his agents were right. The Cabinet was divided on the issue, but the waverers could be persuaded, and it would be sufficient for the majority to agree to this venture. It promised to give his organisation effective control of three new colony planets. The appropriate inducements could be worked out fairly easily. His agents were already busy. “I am sure we can satisfy those who doubt our goodwill. Our control of WeapTech is already bearing fruit for the Fleet and the Confederation. I think we can assure the Cabinet this venture will be even more financially beneficial to your government.”
The Constructor Admiral looked up as Captain Heron and Commander Allison entered his office. He smiled a greeting. “Please sit down. First the good news, Commander Allison. Your power units will be replaced, and with the correct specification this time.” He leaned back. “Now the bad news. I’ve received a formal complaint from the Executive Director of DockCorp regarding your confrontation wi
th Mr Ribble. I wish I’d been there to see it. I’m sure you’re not surprised.”
“No, sir, I was expecting something of the sort. The man is a pompous idiot, nothing more than an over-qualified and over-promoted filing clerk. He had no concept that his cost-cutting measures could endanger the ship and the crew. What a moron!”
“Pretty much as I would have described him.” The Admiral paused. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we are seeing the back of him, and we’ve now been given orders from the Fleet Council that no unqualified directors, executives or administrators may alter, amend or revise any technical matter on any ship whether in build, in maintenance or in service without the specific authority of myself or the Fleet’s Chief Design Engineer.” He gave a slight shrug. “It’s a little less than we’d hoped to get—we actually wanted them out of all positions of oversight or management—but it will do for now. I don’t need to tell you the Fleet Board wasn’t pleased when they were told the cost to replace those units.”
“I should think not,” murmured Captain Heron. His grin was sardonic. “It’ll make life a lot easier not having to explain every damned thing to a bunch of non-technical people who have insisted on having their say over everything so far. As to the cost—surely that should be carried by the people who substituted everything.”
“I agree on the cost, James, and with your assessment of the substitutions, Commander.” The Admiral grinned. “Though perhaps reporting him for sabotage was a little over the top.”
Mary shrugged. “Maybe it was, sir, but I have no regrets. I hear he’s now under investigation because his relationship with certain suppliers was a little too close.”
“Your intel is obviously good then,” said the Admiral Constructor. “That was supposed to be secret. It’s one of the things we’re trying to get a proper handle on. There are some damned strange connections turning up wherever we look.” He turned to the Captain. “Now, James, are there any other deficiencies we need to deal with? How is the weapons kit?”
“So far only minor glitches. Valerie is very much on top of her department. Even the mounting and power supplies for the primary scanner seems to have all the right bits, though there was a confrontation a few days ago over one part the yard wanted to modify.”
“Excellent. And Fritz, is he happy with the AI?”
The Captain laughed. “Fritz is in his element. Each new node has him almost in a state worse than a father expecting triplets.” He inclined his head toward the Admiral. “Thanks to the support you and your people have given us, I’m confident we can get the ship finished and operational on schedule so that she can do everything she is designed to do.”
“My pleasure.” He looked at Captain Heron and then at Commander Allison. “I’ve been trying to get the evidence I needed on Ribble for some time, and you found it. Good work. Now, to both of you, get your ship finished. She’s first of class, and she’ll be the best if I know you and your team. Good luck.”
“Ribble is very lucky,” said Dylan Raddeck, accepting the indicated seat. “Commander Allison accused him of sabotage. The investigating team accepted his excuse that he was trying to find a less expensive alternative.”
“Damned fool.” Yelendi Dysson leaned back. “He may have got away with it, but now they’re following up on the people he consulted. They may find something if they do. I’ve arranged some replacements.”
“Right.” Dylan relaxed. “Do we know who? Will it be one of our people?”
“The Director is working on it.” Yelendi shrugged. “It will be difficult. The WTC’s new rules require the replacement to submit to being vetted by Fleet Security.”
“Damn. That’ll be tricky.”
“The Director thinks so as well. His instructions are that we need to work on turning Ms Rowanberg—or get close enough for her to accept some incentives in return for a little cooperative work.” She laughed. “I told him I’d work on it. I want you to work on Fuchs, but watch Francois—I don’t trust him. He’s insecure and will spill everything just to cover his position if he gets wind of it.”
Dylan smirked. “You’ve read him correctly. He’s already working overtime to get into Rowanberg’s good graces. He’s useful for planting misinformation, and occasionally for getting confirmation on rumours. Fuchs is too junior to be much use unless we want to access restricted records, but I don’t want to rely on him—especially not with anything important.”
“Wise.” Yelendi nodded, and was pensive for a moment. “We’ll have to wait and see who is appointed to replace Riddle, and then see how we can get to him or her. In the meantime, I’ll work on Rowanberg.”
Taking care to stay out of sight of the guards patrolling the fence that now surrounded his former land, Marcus Grover studied the construction activity. A huge hole had replaced his small domes. “That must be deep,” he murmured to himself as he took in the size of the heap of spoil being used to partly landscape the mountainside. Why the hell would they need to excavate so far down? It looked like they had cut right through the bedrock.
The hole had been lined with plasmetal, and modular units were being lowered into the chasm. These arrived each night on the fast boats known as wave piercers, and were moved directly up the ridge of rock and earth. Curiosity about them or their purpose was actively discouraged, and while the transports were moving through, the streets between the domes that formed the town were filled with aggressive troops to make sure no curious onlookers got too close.
“Damned if I like this,” he murmured, and instinctively glanced around to make sure no one was watching him, at least that he could see. The only reason he could get this close was because he knew this area and its concealed gullies almost as well as he knew his own face. He slid quietly back into cover then down into a small opening, and from there into a natural tunnel. He followed the stream to emerge near the bottom of the slope inside a stand of small trees that produced a fruit from which he grew the fungi needed for his synthetic meat cultures.
His wife greeted him as he approached through the trees. “Marcus! I didn’t know you were coming up.” Kissing his cheek, she added, “Glinka was looking for you. Says he wants to know why you need so much power for your cultures now.”
Grover frowned. “Damned fool. The dome I’ve had to move them to is bigger than the ones his friends destroyed, and it wasn’t designed for the purpose like mine were. Until I can build some to the right standard, I need more power. Even someone as stupid as he should know that!”
Glinka was another of the newcomers, an employee of the crowd that now seemed to control so much that had once been owned and run by the community.
“I told him that, dear, but not the part about being stupid!” They shared a chuckle at that remark.”You know how officious he is.” She handed him the basket she had filled with the pear-like fruit.
Grover snorted. “I’m well within my allowance, so what’s his complaint?” Slipping an arm through hers, he asked, “Ready to go home? I could do with something refreshing.”
Laughing, she fell into step. “Come on then, I’ll brew up your favourite tea, and I’ve baked a nice load of scones.”
“You’re a treasure, my love. You know exactly how to make a husband feel cared for.” Squeezing her arm, he added, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, love, and that’s a fact. I don’t think I could have got the culture plant shifted and back in production so quickly without you, and I sure couldn’t have handled the customers and the delayed orders as graciously as you did.” He laughed. “Or the new bank manager! His face when you showed him the mistake in their records!”
She grinned. “I enjoyed that.” Her expression changed. “But it wasn’t a mistake, Marcus. We weren’t supposed to find it. They’ll try it again when they think we aren’t watching.”
“Good thing I’ve got your sharp eyes, then.” Grover kissed her cheek and they made their way home.
James Heron checked his appearance in the mirror. The tailor had turned out an exce
llent piece of work with this new suit. Veronique would have teased him about the vanity of taking such care of his appearance. It had been one of her charms in their relationship, especially because it ignored the fact that she could turn herself out in absolutely stunning form without apparent effort. Glancing at the image he kept of his late wife on his desk, he smiled.
“I hope you approve, my dear. It’s been a bit lonely here.” Turning as the android entered, he asked, “Is my transport here, SU?”
“The transport has arrived, Captain. And there is a message from Ms Rowanberg. She is a little delayed, but expects to meet you at the restaurant shortly after 19:00. She hopes it will not inconvenience you.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” James Heron wasn’t used to being kept waiting. “Oh, and well done. This new suit is perfect.” Chuckling at the confusion his praise and thanks caused the android steward, he made for the door and the transport pod. On a whim he used his cranial implant to ask the whereabouts of his date. The answer surprised him, and made him hesitate. Then, weighing up his hunch, he dismissed the transport and watched it trundle away before walking to the main transport hub in the park-like market area of the station where he found an idle pod, boarded it and instructed it to take him to the restaurant.
Dismounting at the entrance to the restaurant, he entered and was not surprised to find Ms Rowanberg already there, waiting at the entrance. “My apologies for keeping you waiting, Ms Rowanberg. Did your meeting go well?”
Shooting him a surprised glance, she recovered quickly. “Yes, yes, all sorted out.” They were led to a table. “Did you enjoy your walk to the market, Captain?” She took her seat as he settled into the chair opposite her. When she saw his surprised expression, she dropped her voice and added, “I’ve an active eavesdropping screen. We should be secure.”
He grinned. “Touché. Which of Piet’s spooks reported me?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure, could be any one of about five at present. The Commander says there’s a lot happening here, and he’s taking no chances. Your ship is right at the centre of it. Ribble was only a very small part of the story, but at least we know who his controllers were, so the focus shifts to them.” And that smart-ass Francois, she thought. A little man of limited abilities, who thinks he’s so clever—well, I’ve a few little surprises for you, Guiseppe Francois, and your sidekick, Fuchs.
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 8