‘Ah.’ Alex realised then what had happened – a failure in communications of a kind which happened rather more often than the Fleet cared to admit. With a flash of understanding and a spacer’s knowledge of shipping, he realised that the permission for leave and Eldovan’s own message had been sent direct to Chartsey, by courier from Kavenko, and that the secondary copies making their way via Karadon were more than likely aboard the Rose Voyager itself, in the Fleet mailbag from Telathor. So she hadn’t done anything wrong, taking leave she was entitled to and had permission for, with due notification to the commanding officer at her next posting. Which they would have received by now, but not in time to pass that information on to Alex. ‘We didn’t know,’ he said, with a note of apology rather than reproof. ‘We were expecting to pick you up at Karadon.’
‘Oh well,’ Eldovan said, shrugging off the miscommunication as just the kind of thing spacers had to accept. ‘So,’ she prompted, and gestured to indicate the destroyer which had come out to pick her up. ‘What gives?’
Alex told her, explaining about the situation with the Heron and the agreement under which he’d been posted to the Assegai to liaise with the Samartians and supervise the training group.
‘Oh, I see.’ She said. ‘And I guess, in the circumstances, it would be pretty undiplomatic of me to insist on taking my leave, huh?’
‘Afraid so,’ Alex confirmed, though he was still not at all sure that Eldovan would be joining the training group in any case. Her assertion that she’d passed three psych workups on the way out here was no guarantee that she would pass the fourth. She might have scraped through on criteria which defined the conditions under which she could be relieved of duty. The port admiral at Telathor might even have advised her to take leave if she was found to be hovering on the brink of a psychological breakdown. But from the look of her now, her manner, her attitude, she had taken a step over that brink. Calling a rating ‘sweeting’ was an indicator in itself that she was not conducting herself as a senior Fleet officer should. But perhaps it might be possible to start easing her back in the direction of professional conduct. ‘We’ll give you some time, of course,’ he said, ‘to catch up and orient… but perhaps,’ with a slight smile for her gaudy attire and the little bobbing bee in her hair, ‘you might like to change into uniform?’
Eldovan grinned. ‘You’ll have to find me some, first,’ she said. ‘There wasn’t room in my suitcases, and I didn’t want people knowing I was Fleet, anyway, so I left all that at Telathor.’
And that, of course, explained why she had reported aboard ship in her holiday outfit.
‘Well, shipboard rig won’t be a problem,’ Alex said, since that came in standard sizes to fit all body types. The kind of groundside and dress uniforms worn by officers, though, were made to fit them, issued by port offices and no spares carried on the ship.
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Eldovan. ‘Could I have it in grey?’ she asked, looking at his own uniform. ‘Be fun to be with the Fourth for a bit, even nominally.’
‘Sorry,’ Alex said. ‘I have been told that if I even think about pirating any of the Assegai people or the training group into the Fourth, the next issue of Fourth’s uniform will dress us in bright yellow.’
Eldovan laughed, recognising that it must have been Dix Harangay who’d made that threat, humorous, but making his point.
‘Okay, blues, then.’ She said, and abandoning the unsatisfactory spritzer, got to her feet. ‘I’ll go get dressed,’ she said, ‘and go to sickbay.’ She grinned. ‘Get the head check over with.’
Alex let her go, asking his adjutant to organise an issue of uniform and advising both Min and sickbay that she would be going there for a medical once she’d showered and changed into shipboard rig.
And the next time he saw her, he fully expected, Eldovan would be on medical stand-down.
Thirteen
‘Told you,’ said Eldovan, three and a half hours later.
Alex was meeting her in his cabin on the training deck, this time. Dr Payling had only just left, having come to present his findings in person. Nobody, he said, was more astonished than him – baffled, even – but every test he’d been able to run had shown Eldovan to be in excellent health, physically and psychologically. There had, indeed, been concerns expressed about her emotional wellbeing many times over the years, by medics who’d evaluated her and considered her emotional detachment to be borderline dysfunctional, even for an Altarbian. Now, however, that was no longer the case. Psych tests showed not only that she was clear, rational, fully lucid mentally, but that she had a healthy self-awareness, a well-developed emotional intelligence. It was apparent, Dr Payling said, that she had undergone a process which had addressed former emotional issues and allowed her to flower as a fully rounded person, which he could only surmise must have been some form of intensive, highly effective counselling.
Granny Sarat, Alex had realised. A force of nature, sweeping Eldovan’s protective shielding away with her insight, wisdom and forthright scolding. And here she was, bright and happy and gloriously liberated.
‘You did,’ Alex admitted, grinning at that told you so jibe. ‘But honestly, you can’t blame us for thinking…’
He looked at her. Eldovan was in uniform, now, the comfortable but inelegant overalls of shipboard rig. She’d put her hair up, too, to satisfy Fleet safety regs. But it was nothing like the rigid cone of former times, just clipped up in a high pony tail which made her look sporty and fun.
‘Well, anyway,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘Welcome,’ he said, and they shook hands on that, settling back with a sense of a friendship in the making. But there was something Alex still felt he had to clarify.
‘So,’ he said, quite casually, ‘the, uh, ‘ready in twenty five minutes’ thing?’
Eldovan grinned, obviously aware of how unprofessional that had appeared.
‘I was with someone,’ she said, and as Alex realised that she meant with someone, Eldovan went on, with a light shrug, ‘Shipboard fling. But she deserved better than me just saying, ‘Didn’t mention I’m a Fleet skipper, that destroyer’s here to pick me up, nice knowing you, bye.’’
No, Alex realised. That was a conversation which you’d want to have in private, and allow a few minutes for, really.
‘Fair enough,’ he said, and with that laid to rest, moved on. ‘So - have you met the rest of the class?’
Eldovan nodded. ‘Funny lot,’ she said. ‘They just keep staring at me like a bunch of goldfish.’
Alex cracked into laughter, and by the time he’d told her how uptight and anxious the class had been, anticipating her arrival, she was laughing too.
‘They’ll get over it,’ she said. ‘But – what about the Samartians?’ She was looking at him attentively, keen eyes not missing a thing. ‘A bit on the grim side, I suppose?’
‘Not at all,’ Alex said, and then, more thoughtfully, ‘Well, very dignified, of course – but able to relax and have a laugh off duty, once you get to know them.’
He told her about the fancy dress party at Karadon, and Eldovan laughed till she had to dab tears out of her eyes.
‘Fifth?’ she said, when Alex told her how his performance in the Captain von Strada lookalike contest had gone down. ‘Oh, that’s priceless!’
They were still talking and laughing an hour later, when Alex’s wristcom reminded him that he was due at a command briefing in the flag daycabin.
Oh yes, of course, he remembered. Time to make a decision.
And he had not, even as he made his way into the daycabin, made up his mind. He’d narrowed down the possibilities to three, as he explained to the people who’d come there to meet him. It was the same group as before – Silvie, Davie, the Samartians and Min, gathered to hear his decision on where they were going. For now, anyway, they were heading back in the general direction of Karadon, though off the shipping route, as all of Alex’s shortlist would take them more or less that way.
‘We will be Van Dameki
ng,’ he said, with a glance at Jarlner and Bennet. Patient discussion with them had eventually winkled out their opinion, that they would very much like to be able to concentrate on the training they were here to both give and receive, and that if that could take them into previously unnavigated space, that would be a thrilling bonus. ‘But on a route which includes a brief courtesy visit; somewhere Silvie can swim…’ he glanced at her, ‘and where our visit would be of benefit, both to that system, and operationally. So, I’ve shortlisted three choices.’
He put his shortlist on screen, and gave them time to take them in. They were, in no order of priority, Cestus, Camae and Sharfur.
‘The case of need for each of these,’ Alex observed, ‘is substantial. There’s an obvious benefit to Silvie checking things out at Cestus, prior to any decision being made about a first visit by other quarians. It is also a world which I believe Samart will find compatible culturally, and may wish to develop a closer relationship with. Our arrival there would cause minimal disruption, too, so those are all good reasons to go there.
‘But there is, too, a very good case for us to go to Camae. The shared linguistic heritage between Camae and Quarus is so strong, that’s obviously going to be a world quarians are going to want to visit in the future – second visit world after Cestus, for sure. So, useful for Silvie to visit there, too. And there are aspects to their culture, their history, which I believe Samart will find of particular interest. There is also the point, too, that Camae has a long standing issue of isolation from the League, feeling themselves to be, with reason, left out in the cold. It would go a long way towards addressing that, and address issues of Chartsey-centrism, for us to pay our courtesy visit to an outer world.
‘So, there’s that. And then there’s Sharfur. That would be an issue of Chartsey-centrism for the outer worlds, for sure, since it’s so close to Chartsey and often regarded as a suburb-system. But that in itself is a reason to go there – Sharfur was terraformed with the intention that it would become, effectively, a suburb-system to Chartsey, but that has never taken off, not as it should. So we have the frustrating situation, there, of a system so massively overcrowded that people are living in conditions even we consider barely tolerable, whilst only a few days away there is this beautiful, spacious world begging for people to go live there. The housing is there, jobs, a lifestyle beyond the dreams of most of the people living on Chartsey. And yet, they will not go.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The feeling is that that could change,’ he said. ‘Plans are in hand to start laying the first intersystem comms between Chartsey and Sharfur, laying the first experimental chain next year. And when they get that up and running, people on Chartsey and Sharfur will be able to talk to one another with only a few minutes delay.’ He smiled at the Samartians, at that. ‘A miracle,’ he observed, ‘due to the nanotech developed by your people. The feeling is that this will encourage people to move to Sharfur, and there is going to be a massive push for emigration there. The case of need is asking for us to kick-start that by raising both awareness of Sharfur and its desirability.’ A quick grin, ‘Silvie praising it as a desirable place to live would certainly do that. And you, I know,’ he looked at her, ‘would very much like to help in any effort to relieve overcrowding on Chartsey. But all the benefit there’d be to that visit, it has to be said, would be to us, to the League. So, do we take the safe option?’ He indicated the case of need for Cestus. ‘The politically sensitive option?’ He indicated Camae. ‘Or the one which is of benefit to people on Chartsey?’ He tapped a finger on Sharfur, and paused again, looking around at them.
He had, in fact, been observing them closely throughout, picking up micro-indicators and the subtle vibe of the group as the options were outlined. And as he looked at them then, his mind was made up.
‘Camae,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to Camae.’ And knew that he was right when smiles broke out all round.
‘Lovely!’ said Silvie. She would have been pleased enough with Cestus, happy to check it out in advance of other quarians visiting, but its oceans were every bit as quiet – and dull – as the land. Sharfur would have pleased her, too, both because it would give her great pleasure to do anything she could to help rescue even just a few people from the awful lives they led on Chartsey, and because Sharfur itself was a lovely world with big green rolling oceans, the verdant hue of the water reflecting Sharfur’s olive skies.
Camae, though, was where she would have chosen to go if she had been entirely selfish, pleasing only herself. It had some of the deepest oceans of any world in the League, and a history and culture Silvie was just as keen to explore.
Jarlner and Bennet smiled, too. They would not have minded being taken to Cestus or Sharfur, though they could see little point, themselves, to either visit. Camae, though, was intriguing – a world where they had an oral memory of the Old Ones, the ancient species the Samartians themselves had remembered and worshipped as gods. There was a pre-human site there, too, one of the very few archaeological finds evidencing pre-human civilisation. The Camag called them simply ‘The Chambers’, which the Samartians would certainly want to visit, to pay their respects.
Min smiled, too. It would not, in fact, have been her choice. She would have opted for Cestus. But that, as Alex had observed, was the safe choice, the one she’d have made as a responsible skipper. Offered a choice of tickets to the three worlds purely as an individual, she’d have taken the one to Camae, too. She had been to both Cestus and Sharfur, after all, but Camae would be a new experience.
‘Dio, Dio Vir,’ said Davie, using a Camag expression which meant ‘Thank God’, and already getting up. ‘I really thought you might go for Cestus.’
It had been close – really close, and had been so mostly because Alex himself was conscious of conflicting tugs between his professional responsibilities and his personal preference. Cestus was an admirable world in many ways and there were good, sensible reasons to go there. But it wasn’t somewhere Alex would choose to go, personally. Only when he saw that both Silvie and the Samartians were inclined towards Camae too had he salved his conscience with the assurance that this was, in fact, the professionally justified decision.
And so, they went to Camae.
They did not go back to Karadon, though they did swing through a shipping lane to intercept a liner heading there, depositing a mail bag with them.
There was no point, after all, sending couriers racing to Chartsey to tell them what decision had been made. They would have arrived at their destination long before Chartsey could advise the applicant worlds which of them they would be visiting – all sixteen of the systems would be preparing for their visit, just in case, but there was nothing Alex could do about that, beyond sending letters of regret to the system presidents of the worlds that he was turning down.
And they were, within minutes of having handed over that mailbag, casting out onto a curve which would bring them to Camae in around ten weeks. They could have done the direct run in less than six. But this was to be their Van Damek, taking them through space which had not, as yet, been directly charted, and so was technically unexplored.
It was the mildest kind of exploration. The region they were passing through was uncharted because it was not close enough to any inhabited world to make it attractive cruising ground for weekend spacers, was not close enough to a shipping route or scenic enough to draw ships in, and didn’t have any of the dramatic features likely to attract either amateur explorers or the system-diving fraternity. Spectrographic analysis had not revealed any mineral resources which had made it worthwhile for mining companies even to send in survey ships.
It was unexplored, therefore, because nobody considered it worth the bother of exploring.
A long swathe of it, though, had been pretty thoroughly explored by the time the Assegai swung back out into charted space. They had first-footed on five systems, charted so many features that every single member of the crew had got to name something, and – to the unbounded delight of the Assegai’
s company – blown up a planet.
All of that was quite routine to Alex, even the firing of the Ignite missile which utterly destroyed a blameless, rocky world which had the misfortune to be the mass and density they wanted for a target.
He still enjoyed it, though. He would never get bored with first-footing systems, however many times he stepped out onto some planet or moon that no other human being had ever walked on before. Seeing other people do that, too, Fleet people who might never have had such a chance, their whole careers, was deeply satisfying. Simmy, for one, sobbed when she was given a moon of her own to first-foot on. It was the insignificant sixty fifth moon of more than a hundred orbiting a gas giant, but it was hers, her feet the first to stand on its icy surface, her eyes the first to see the view of the gas giant coming over the horizon. She might well, indeed, be the only person who ever set foot there at all, since there was nothing likely to take anyone else there in the foreseeable future.
There was a magic to that, as Alex understood. And there was a great deal of pleasure, too, in taking Silvie first-footing. Geological marvels never held her attention for long, so the sulphur volcanoes, ice geysers and vast chasms which held other visitors spellbound got little more than a couple of minutes mild interest from Silvie. She wasn’t tremendously impressed, even, by the opportunity to swim in a deep sub-ice ocean, since the temperature and anoxic conditions meant she had to wear a suit.
She did, however, like to run. Loved to run, stretching her legs and running free in a way she never could aboard a starship. She would run for hundreds, even thousands of kilometres at a time, depending on the gravity, faster than any human could sprint. And Alex, waiting by the shuttle for her, felt much as he might if he’d launched a falcon into the air, releasing it to glorious soaring flight.
It wasn’t, however, all holiday. Far from it. There was a blitz of first footing at each system they visited, but that never took longer than twenty five hours. After that, they were using them for combat exercises, building up the difficulty as the weeks progressed. At the first, they did no more than practice hot-entry runs from outside the system to close orbit round the star. By the fifth, they were mounting full scale combat with high speed manoeuvres, live weaponry and fighters. And when they were done with that, the test-fire of the Ignite, which took out a planet in the blink of an eye.
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