Steg read the brief message. “Enjoy your Fleet experience. Perhaps our paths will cross again.” He folded the almost impersonal note carefully and placed it in his pocket. “Come on, Tziksis, we have to do our pre-lift off check, and then strap in. When this ship lifts off it will rattle a few teeth, I expect.”
The little alien clicked his agreement.
******
Chapter 12
“Mr. Ross, normally I do not personally interview each and every junior officer.” Captain Gallos sat at the far side of a large polished desk while Steg stood stiffly to attention. “And normally I don’t have to authorize a writ of delivery and a rescue gig for them, either. Thank the powers for that small mercy. Costs have been entered against your future prize money allocation. Don’t do this too often, or you’ll never be able to retire.” He smiled at his own wit and Steg took the opportunity to speak.
“Sir—”
“Mr. Ross, you need my permission to speak. This is a warship, not a pleasure cruiser. Perhaps if you realize that and apply yourself, you may in due course become a proficient officer. Be that as it may, you appear to have some very powerful enemies. And some interesting friends, I must admit. What intrigues me is how a new, wet behind the ears lieutenant has managed to place himself in such a situation. Yes, Mr. Ross?”
“Sir, permission to speak.”
“Granted.”
“Sir, I appear to have been mistaken for someone wanted by the House of Aluta. A de Coeur. I hope now this confusion has been settled by yesterday’s events.”
Captain Gallos apparently was not convinced. “Mr. Ross, yesterday’s small storm undoubtedly earned you at least two more enemies and settled nothing. Those young thugs will be smarting for a long time and will want their revenge. If ever they catch you, especially on a dark night, I wouldn’t give peanuts for your survival. Jiggered the stunners, did they? Cunning, that. Probably outside influence, possibly Mr. Terin. The House of Aluta is a proud and influential family with a long reach and an even longer memory. But they cannot reach into my ship. No members of the family are on board. As for you, Mister, I want no House feuds or disputes on my ship, understood? Now I believe you are rostered for duty in twenty minutes. Dismissed.”
Steg saluted and turned to leave the captain’s office. He froze as Captain Gallos spoke again.
“Mister,” the captain’s voice was soft. “I have heard of the de Coeur family and of their planet. Space is full of rumors and sometimes facts are mixed in with them. My ship’s computer systems have not been interfered with. Keep it that way, there’s a good chap.”
The navigation bridge stretched in a long overlapping crescent, reflecting the exterior curve of the destroyer. Repeater screens presented external images; some showed portions of the hull of the star ship, others showed course projections, jump point maps, views of the planet and star maps. The navigation bridge also contained failsafe replication of command, battle and engineering bridges. This was a live, working environment, and viewscreens, workstations and other equipment stretched further than Steg could see, reminding him of the vast size of the star ship.
Although this was his first experience on a warship of this size, Steg’s training and experience with Homeworld’s smaller star ships provided solid grounding for his duties. He applied himself with a dedication matching that of the crew and his fellow officers. He completed each watch in a state of near exhaustion after conducting drill after drill, only to be faced with hours of study. He enjoyed the discipline and the camaraderie, both on and off watch, and quickly established his reputation as an intelligent and conscientious junior officer.
He was also learning about the star ship; Ziangka was currently conducting a shakedown cruise as newcomers melded with more experienced crew. Steg enjoyed his introduction to life on board and struggled daily with the temptation to explore computer and communication facilities that could provide him with news from Homeworld. The barrier preventing him making an exploratory step was the knowledge that such activity would constitute a breach of the captain’s specific direction. He curbed the temptation ruthlessly and continued with his duties.
Striker star ships were ancient technology—their origin was at least pre-Diatonic, possibly prior to the Terzon Mechanical Age. That timeline meant existing strikers were well over two thousand years old. Over the centuries the Empire had lost the wealth, the inclination, the knowledge and the industrial structure necessary to build striker warships. Instead, its focus now was their operation and maintenance. Older ships had fallen out of service; their state of disrepair well beyond the curative effects of routine maintenance and the Fleet was experiencing a gradual decline in the number of functional striker-class warships.
Ziangka was a destroyer displacing just over one hundred thousand tons, a well-maintained example of a smaller striker-class star ship. Its striker design and power meant it could pierce space-time folds, enabling rapid star travel without use of nexus transit points. The power requirement for fold penetration and navigation was well beyond smaller star ships, and had been described to Steg as the equivalent of the power generated by a T-type planet’s thunderstorms accumulated over a standard year, and packaged into one piercing lance of focused antimatter.
The destroyer was a bristling ball of firepower armed with missiles and grasers, an effective and deadly instrument of war. She carried numerous small craft within her huge boat bay; these included cutters, gigs, shuttles, fighters, landing craft, skimmers, and open surface gigs.
The star ship mustered only twelve hundred officers and ratings, with a complement of Marines. Steg had heard that representatives of the elite Special Forces also were on board; their existence, training, and duties were well embellished by rumor and myth.
His routine was disturbed early one morning when Tziksis burst into the small wardroom Steg shared with two other lieutenants. The alien’s rush of excitement was betrayed by the frenzied bobbing of his eyestalks. Tziksis ignored the other two occupants of the room and addressed Steg. “Master youth officer sir.” The little alien attempted a formal salute.
“Oh Tziksis, I have told you before saluting is not necessary.”
“News, oh youth, news is. Warship has special orders, just received.” Somehow Tziksis had organized a most effective unofficial grapevine, stated by some of the officers to be the most efficient communication system ever established on Ziangka. “Most important action is.”
“Action?” Three voices spoke almost as one as the occupants of the wardroom sat up, alert and interested to hear the details. Tziksis enjoyed the increase in his audience.
“Most assuredly, young sirs. Action against pirates is. Looting wrecked freighter indications are. In sector blue twelve, between jump points Zennum 35 and Soenda 3, near Rim,” Tziksis quoted into the silence. “Ziangka is to make all haste to aid freighter and deal with pirates.”
The wardroom echoed to excited cheers. “Action at last. I was getting stale with all this routine,” admitted one of Steg’s companions. All thoughts of relaxation were discarded as an intense discussion began, covering everything from possible tactics to the more interesting topic of prize money.
The rumor was soon confirmed with an announcement. “All hands. Amber alert. All off-duty leisure activities are suspended until further notice. Duty officers and crew for boarding cutters report at thirteen hundred hours, briefing room Damocles.”
The excitement was almost tangible as the three lieutenants, assigned to the boarding cutters, prepared for their briefing. Tziksis busied himself with a multitude of preparations; the majority, if not all of which were unnecessary. Steg’s weapons pack was taken out and the contents carefully examined, cleaned and polished. Imaginary specks of dust were painstakingly brushed off his combat uniforms and Ebony received the most meticulous attention as Tziksis polished and polished it again. At last he was satisfied.
“Oh youth, everything ready is.”
“Tziksis, the sword is not suitable. Reme
mber, I am attached to one of the boarding cutters as navigator and second officer, acting relief pilot. I am unlikely to see any action, let alone engage with any pirates.”
The briefing room held a group of officers and marines, most of whom Steg had not met before. The briefing officer indicated he had only a minimum of detail.
“We are about to penetrate the s-t fold that will align us with Zennum 35. We have intelligence that pirates are attacking a class twenty freighter which has some minor defensive ability. The pirates have two relatively small ships, estimated as five thousand tonners, supported by a larger ship, estimated to mass twenty thousand tons. We will enter the system near the jump point; we’ll be fully cloaked. Intelligence has not identified the pirates—we do not know who they are or where their base is located. However, a number of attacks have occurred in this region, probably by the same group, suspected to be Xesset. Updates will be available on screens as they become available. Crew allocations have been posted.”
The meeting broke into partially controlled chaos as the audience gathered around viewscreens in an attempt to gain and absorb details that were more than sketchy. Officers and crew eagerly availed of the opportunity to relieve the boredom of training with the promise of real action. Steg checked his team allocation and went to find his cutter pilot.
“Ross reporting, sir.”
“Hello, Ross—oh, you are new. Aah, you’re the fellow we had to rescue from the Imps. That must have been an interesting experience?” He did not wait for an answer. “It appears they are mixing us old veterans with young blood.” Steg doubted the age gap was more than two years. “Any experience at all?”
“In-system solar wave racing, shuttle pilot—lots of that—and some cutter command time—about a hundred hours. Lots of in-system nav. No combat experience though, sir.” He did not mention that with his crew, he had set a record for speed and endurance in Homeworld solar wave racing competitions, nor that his technique for solar wave surfing was now taught to all Homeworld racing teams.
“Cut the ’sir’. I am only a pilot officer—one rung above you. Cat to my friends because they think I have nine lives. Mistaken. Used ten or more, already. Have you studied the sparse details?”
“Yes, sir—Cat.” Steg considered the pilot to be the most uncatlike person he was ever likely to encounter. He was tall and gangly, his uniform fitting his long frame with utmost difficulty. Twinkling grey eyes belied his somber aspect and complemented his assured mien. The row of combat ribbons on his shirt indicated the depth of his experience.
“Let’s study it again. Intelligence will continue to make updates as they receive new data.” He sat at a vacant workstation and Steg took the adjacent seat. Cat operated the keyboard with practiced ease. “Team first. Me, approaching 200 cutter missions. You, zero missions. Pilot ratings. Highly rated astro, that’s good to see. And very good training reports. Well done. Now the Greens.” At Steg’s blank expression he clarified. “Marines. The captain is very good; Captain John Silver—we call him Long John—we’ve been teamed up before. The two junior lieutenants are new, good training, no battle experience. The team has mixed experience. As I suspected, they are mixing old and new. Hello, that’s odd. One of the Specials, see? I know him. Interesting, he’s the first one I’ve seen in a long time. Very interesting.” He drawled out the last phrase.
“I thought we had some on board.”
“Every ship has, at some time or other. They are a law unto themselves. They account to no one, not even to the skipper. Probably not even to a Fleet admiral. Never, but never, tackle a Special; they are mean, deadly people. Never trust them, they usually have double or triple layers of objectives and motives. OK, let’s see if we have any updates. Later we can work through some simulation runs, once we have some more reliable and detailed data.”
Steg was pleased to have a mentor take him through the details and sat with an unbegrudging patience and total concentration as the cutter pilot walked him through their assignment. He studied every step as Cat called up the data on the screen.
“Watch—we can review the different probability paths? Over there,” Cat tapped the screen. “Those events are too time distant to have a high probability factor attached, it’s just a mess. As we get closer to the target and obtain more specific, accurate data, the different probability paths will strengthen or weaken, some disappearing altogether as assumptions are eliminated or refined. The system is using analytical data from prior raids and sorties as a basis for these probability extraps. All very simple, and possibly totally misleading. At the moment the calculated prognosis is extremely favorable. But if we assume the three ships are Xesset, and they move to a defense/attack gambit instead of retreating, everything changes. Watch, I’ll show you.”
Steg followed the pilot’s step-by-step instructions intently as the colored simulation blanked and re-displayed, building and changing, layer by layer.
“See? Totally different result. Seventy percent losses on our part, instead of less than five percent. OK, the larger ship is destroyed; however, the two smaller units escape.” Cat wiped the simulation. “We won’t know for a few hours which way things will run. Go and prep the cutter, I’ll be along once I’ve had a chat with the Greens.”
The pilot ambled leisurely away, leaving Steg bemused and not a little impressed. The pilot had no nerves at all, he concluded, or else had been on so many missions they now warranted little or no concern. Steg hoped the pilot’s confidence was real, as he headed to carry out pre-launch checks.
Steg climbed through the cutter’s entry hatch and made his way forward to the flight deck. Here too, all exterior views were communicated by large viewscreens that stretched across and around the cockpit. He sat at the astrogator’s workstation and brought the displays online. He then proceeded to key in routine checks and run validation processes, which completed without error. Then, urged by an inconscient pressure and without reflection, he attempted direct contact with Ziangka’s computer system.
*Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka. Please acknowledge.*
*Input security clearance.*
The heavy resonance of the ship’s system took Steg unawares. He paused for a moment and then responded with a wild guess.
*Security clearance provided by Castlehome Glass Complex. Confirm.*
Again the heavy resonance battered at his senses. *Running.*
*Instructions follow. Run when authority confirmed. Activate navigator’s workstation on cutter Delta Three and display current risk analysis. Do not log or report instructions entered by this operator. *
*Instructions held.*
*Security clearance confirmed. Running instruction.*
To Steg’s surprise the Glass Complex had subverted the Imperial star ship’s system. Somehow the Complex was able to communicate with Ziangka’s system in almost real time, across the space-time gap. He studied the display intently as the navigator’s screen lit up and the display built, layer by layer. The results had not changed markedly from the earlier analysis.
*Vary input parameters this workstation only. Run with assumptions target ships are Xesset and on sighting Ziangka they move into defense/attack configuration. Display result.*
Steg watched with careful interest as the screen blanked and the revised simulation built up, step by step. Again, the results matched those produced by Cat.
*Modify program. Do not blank out display on change of input variables; instead, replace with changes only. Now vary assumptions. Assume full retreat instead of defense/attack gambit.*
The display changed again, without the characteristic initial blanking of the screen. The response seemed to be faster. Steg examined the results; the losses were very light although the Xesset ships escaped. He continued to work, revising and reviewing input assumptions and scenarios. Completely absorbed in the rapidly changing displays, he did not hear the approach or realize the presence of a suddenly interested observer.
“That is quite an achievement, de Coeur.”
Steg barely controlled his start of surprise as he hit the disconnect key. He turned to face the intruder and offered a correction. “My name is Ross. Stephen Ross.”
“And I’m the Emperor of Old Ziangka,” came the surprising reply. The speaker was a complete stranger. He was dressed in a mottled gray and white uniform; it lacked rank insignia and company colors. He stood in the flight deck entrance, filling the space most effectively. Steg felt his apprehension grow and unobtrusively sought a weapon in case the stranger attacked. “Your name may be recorded as Ross,” the speaker continued. “But you are a de Coeur. To be precise, you are Steg de Coeur. Stephen Ross does not exist; rather some seemingly very genuine records have been inserted into various systems. I know, because I checked in some depth.”
“Who are you?” Steg tried to reach for the red panic button that would bring Cat and the complement of marines in a rush, but his arm was gripped and held. He did not struggle.
“Now, you have no need to create a panic.”
*Steg de Coeur to Module Ziangka. Please identify intruder on cutter Delta Three.*
*Intruder is properly authorized. Unable to provide name, rank or other data.*
Steg made a rapid assessment. “You have no rank insignia or company colors. You act with some authority. I guess you are one of the Specials?”
“Very good. I’m also attached to cutter Delta Three,” he confirmed as he released Steg’s arm. “I am very interested in you, de Coeur.” Again Steg was moved to protest but the intruder raised a silencing hand. “Now don’t be bothersome. We both know I’m correct. But let’s revert to my first observation—that is quite an achievement. I know the Castlehome Acolytes are able to communicate directly with their computer complex—what do they call it? Yes, the Glass Complex.” He smiled with satisfaction at the expression on Steg’s face. “Oh, we have a good intelligence system, too. However, the Acolytes need surgical implants. They are, in effect, wired for the job. That requires major surgery, and reflects extreme dedication on the part of the Acolyte, I think. However, in your case, you are remarkably intact, with no surgical wiring.”
Broken Glass (Glass Complex Book 1) Page 11