Quarus (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 6)

by S J MacDonald

  ‘Understood,’ she said, just as Hetty had, and added, with a faint smile, ‘Thank you, skipper.’

  His answering smile thanked her in return. This, as she had realised just in the nick of time, was precisely the kind of situation in which he relied on the first lieutenant to ask the questions that the crew could not. Some of them would have been wondering about his motivation in honouring Lucky anyway, given that he’d been so opposed to having the lizard on board, but given that he’d just been obliged to justify that decision as an operational one, there would have been, obviously, a very natural concern that he was just going through the motions here with no genuine feeling. Now, thanks to Bonny, they all understood what was really going on.

  The memorial service was perfect, too. It wasn’t ludicrously over the top – no dress uniform, honour guards or choir. Alex wore groundside rig and the ceremony was brief, just three minutes from beginning to end. Alex, though, spoke with a sincerity which brought lumps to many a throat and reduced Rangi Tekawa to tears again.

  ‘Lucky exemplified the qualities of bravery, cheerfulness and comradeship which are at the heart of who we are as a ship’s company,’ he said. ‘Like many of us, he’d had a tough time of it before he came here, but those hardships had not made him fearful or aggressive. Instead, he met every new situation, however challenging, with trust and friendliness. In doing so, he personified the spirit of joyful adventure we aspire to in our own lives. He was an admirable mascot and a much loved member of our company. And though he will be succeeded by his offspring, he himself, his unique spirit, can never be replaced and will never be forgotten.’

  With that, there was a moment of silence while they spaced Lucky’s remains. They flared into tachyons as the little box dropped sublight, and all that remained of the gecko were superlight particles streaming through the stars. For several seconds, the only sound aboard the frigate was the little ragged gasps of Rangi trying not to sob. Then Alex placed the memorial plaque in the airlock and the requisite three cheers roared out.

  Alex patted the memorial, briefly, as if ensuring that it was firmly in place. It was nothing like the official Fleet memorial for members of the ship’s company. It was a simple plaque in the shape of the gecko with his name and the date. There was no Fleet emblem on it and it had been placed on the aft bulkhead, out of deference to the sensibilities of those who might be offended at seeing such a thing on the official honour-wall side of the main airlock. All the same, it was there, a permanent recognition of the place which Lucky had held aboard the ship. That was comforting. And so was the knowledge that Lucky had left his offspring behind, the clone which was looking increasingly gecko-like in his artificial egg.

  The ceremony worked, anyway, allowing the sentimental to say goodbye. This meant far more than those who openly admitted to being fond of the gecko, while the few who’d genuinely never cared about it one way or the other were kept quiet by the skipper’s own example of respecting the feelings of those who did. Not one person uttered the cruel words, ‘It was only a lizard,’ not one person was mocked for expressing their grief.

  ‘This crew,’ Buzz observed, late that evening when he and Alex were sitting on the command deck, ‘is outstanding.’

  Alex nodded heartfelt agreement. He’d always been proud of his ship’s company, right from the first days on the Minnow. People had come and gone and different personalities had arisen as dominant in shipboard culture but there had always been a core identity of striving for excellence, mutual support and a buzzing zest for adventure, that love of a challenge which made the Fourth who they were. This particular crew, though, the company with which they’d left Therik, had emerged as truly exceptional. The learning curve they’d been following for this mission was so steep that even Alex had hesitated to ask it of them. They were right on the eve of arriving at Quarus, a time when people would naturally be feeling both excited and apprehensive – a combination which would, so often, result in people being just a little edgy with one another and inclined to bickering. The death of the gecko, a real grief to some of them whilst others wouldn’t care about it at all, could have been a trigger for impatient dismissal, emotive reaction and heated feelings. Instead, they had hung together, united, steadfast and supportive. And now, with Quarus just hours away, all those who were not on nightwatch had taken themselves off to bed.

  It was open to question how many of them would actually sleep, but the fact that they had all decided to go off to bed as normal spoke volumes in itself for their professionalism. No officers had had to suggest that it was important to get what sleep they could, no officers had had to point out that tomorrow would be an extremely demanding day. They had not even needed to discuss it amongst themselves.

  ‘I’ve never seen a tighter unit,’ Alex observed. Then, after a moment or two, he cast a thoughtful look at his second in command. ‘Do you think there may be anything in this empath effect?’

  Buzz shook his head, not in denial but expressing that none of them could know that. Rangi’s research into empathic levels amongst the crew had come to an end with the death of the gecko, but the data was still locked up. It would be some time – not until they were on their way back to Serenity – before Rangi accessed the results himself and confirmed what everyone suspected, that their levels of empathic awareness had been rising throughout their training and were now significantly higher than the human average.

  ‘It’s impossible to separate the influence of empathic development,’ Buzz observed, ‘and the breakdown of structure and intimacy barriers which have been endemic in mission training. All I can say is that this crew is extremely close; a powerful sense of unified identity and mutual support.’ He smiled at the skipper. ‘I don’t think we could ask for any more, as we go in to Quarus,’ he observed, and Alex smiled back.

  ‘We’re as ready,’ he agreed, ‘as we’re ever going to be.’

  Eighteen

  Shortly after that, Alex had a meeting with Blaze Tyler. The journalist had asked to meet him aboard the Harmony, off-camera, in a private meeting room. And there, Blaze Tyler quietly laid down four aces.

  The first was official confirmation that he carried nine ack alpha security clearance. The second was an order signed by the President himself giving Blaze full access to the Heron with permission to film there, blurring out classified content but free to film, otherwise, as and where he wished. The third ace was confirmation from the Second Fleet Irregulars that Blaze Tyler had been granted special clearance to film around their experimental technology and even in the lab, subject only to his assurance that all classified content would be blocked.

  The fourth ace, though, the absolute clincher, was a note from First Lord Dix Harangay, obviously given to Blaze Tyler long before he even came out to join the Harmony. It was a personal authorisation from him, giving the journalist access to the Fourth and requiring Alex to be as cooperative as possible. A postscript directed to Alex himself added, ‘Consider Mr Tyler a friend.’

  Alex smiled faintly as he read that. If anything had been needed to convince him that Blaze Tyler was actually an intelligence agent, that would have done it. And Blaze, fully advised by Dix Harangay himself on how best to handle Captain von Strada, did not disillusion him.

  ‘You could have given this to me at any time,’ Alex observed, handing back the credentials to the journalist.

  Blaze smiled. It was one of his award-winning smiles, combining boyish hope with amusement and deference.

  ‘I prefer,’ he said, ‘to establish a relationship of trust by people getting to know me, rather than slapping down paperwork.’

  Alex had to smile at that, since that was in fact exactly what he would have done himself. And he had to acknowledge, too, that Blaze had established that relationship, even if only a tentative one, easing in until even the media-phobic captain had come to accept him being around.

  ‘All right,’ Alex said, with a touch of resignation. ‘Tell me the worst, then – what do you want from me?
’

  Blaze gave a benign, understanding chuckle.

  ‘I’d like your permission to film you and any member of the Fourth remotely, without prior notification for candid footage, and to request interviews… with you, specifically, on the usual yes/no or one-to-ten responses, okay skipper?’

  Alex gave him a look which betrayed some of the heartfelt relief of his reaction to that. He’d been so afraid that Blaze Tyler would insist on doing in-depth personal interviews which would be a nightmare for him and were very unlikely to go well.

  Blaze, however, knew better than to ask for the impossible. It was enough, and the best he was going to get, that he’d established enough of a relationship for Alex von Strada to talk to him quite normally and even reveal some expressions.

  ‘All right,’ Alex agreed, and didn’t even realise himself how comfortable he was with the idea of being filmed by a journalist remotely, when if the suggestion had been made at Serenity that would have felt like outrageous intrusion not only on him personally but impacting on the mission. Now, it felt okay. Blaze Tyler really was very good at his job.

  Nobody, to Alex’s own surprise, even seemed startled when he went back to the Heron and gave a standing order for the log that Mr Tyler was to be allowed full access to the ship and the full cooperation of all Fourth’s personnel. It was as if they’d known already that the journalist had that privilege, a fait accompli merely being noted for the record.

  ‘Am I the only person on the ship who didn’t realise that he was being embedded with us, too?’ Alex asked Buzz, privately, seeing the total lack of reaction amongst the Heron’s company.

  Buzz gave him an amused look which was an answer in itself.

  ‘You’ve had other things on your mind, dear boy,’ he observed, which brought a rueful grin to the skipper’s face.

  ‘You might have…’ he started, and then broke off as Buzz just looked at him with bland innocence. ‘Ah.’ It needed only a moment’s thought to recognise why neither Buzz nor anyone else had raised any concerns with him about the way that the journalist was easing into a position of trust aboard the ship. They all knew how he would react to that. And they, at least, had recognised from the start that Blaze Tyler had been very carefully selected for this most difficult of journalistic assignments, to win Alex von Strada’s cooperation. ‘Oh well,’ Alex said, and reached for the consolation of his coffee mug. ‘At least we know we can trust him.’

  Buzz just smiled and said nothing. And in fact, Blaze was so skilful and sensitive that he would remain almost invisible throughout the mission, picking up much of his footage from the Heron’s own cameras and engineering ‘casual’ encounters with Alex at convenient moments for brief, passing interviews.

  He certainly did not intrude on the command deck as they raced those last few hours to their destination, though he and everyone else was watching intently as Quarus emerged from the starfield ahead of them.

  Half an hour out of the system, Firefly returned.

  ‘All according to plan, skipper,’ Shion told Alex, as she came back aboard into the fighters’ tiny ready room.

  Alex smiled. He’d agreed that Shion could pilot the fighter all the way into atmosphere and close enough to the ocean so that Silvie could dive out. She would then withdraw, waiting for the squadron’s approach. They were unlikely to see Silvie again for quite some time, Alex knew. There were a lot of people there she would want to catch up with, many of them her extended family. Even more importantly, she had told them that she would be spending some time in therapy, helping her to deal with some of the more disturbing experiences she’d had in human space. Alex had felt guilty at that, feeling as if he should have been able to protect her from anything and everything that might have upset her. In reality, though, he knew that she was where she needed to be right now, that she was safe and happy. And he knew, too, that she would be back. So he smiled and looked warmly at Shion. What she had just done had not been easy, either as a piloting task or in the personal challenge of getting so close to Quarus… so close that spray from the waves had actually brushed her fighter… only to have to leave without even having exchanged a hello.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and knew that she understood how sincerely he appreciated her doing that for Silvie.

  ‘Pleasure,’ she said, and meant it. Then, as Rangi came to claim her for a medical check, she went off to sickbay and Alex returned to the command deck, ready to bring the squadron in.

  As always, they approached the system from below, though port entry here was less sophisticated, even, than the facilities at Serenity. Ninety four years after first contact had been made, system development remained at an astonishingly basic level. There was a launch tunnel – supplied in fact by Andrei Delaney’s grandmother – and a very small space station which controlled it. Since this had been abandoned when the Embassy withdrew they were obliged to send over a team to operate it and bring the ships through launch.

  The quarians had no desire for space travel even within their own system. Attempts to convince them of the industrial and leisure benefits of utilising other worlds and moons within their solar system had fallen flat from day one. All offers of installing system infrastructure for them had been declined, without discussion. They simply were not interested.

  The arrival of the Fourth, though, had sparked keen interest. Silvie’s excitement at being home and her feelings about the friends she’d brought with her had rippled out through the population. That was apparent, in fact, from the greeting they received as the little convoy strung out into order ready to go through deceleration. They were still technically approaching the system when the message appeared on their screens. It was an image of a dense-skinned adapt with a cascade of metallic blue hair and enormous dark eyes, grinning happily at them.

  ‘Hey guys!’ he said. ‘Welcome! Come swim!’

  And that was it, the official welcome from the people of Quarus to the incoming ambassador.

  It was enough for Alex, as the Heron’s crew yelled with delight. They were all on their toes, then, almost desperate for the first of them to get to the planet. The two hours it took before all four ships had made it through deceleration into parking orbits seemed a very long time.

  While they were waiting, though, Alex had time to call Ab Abnedido to the command deck. The lowest ranking rating on the ship arrived looking rather nervous, though he relaxed a little at the skipper’s friendly smile.

  ‘I just wanted to check,’ said Alex, ‘that you’re still completely happy to take part in the experiment.’

  Ab nodded rapidly. At Rangi’s suggestion, he had agreed that if quarians offered him therapy for his spaceport phobia, he would accept. This had had to be set up as a medical experiment because there was no precedent for humans being treated by quarians, even though they’d been offering their services for psychological issues since the moment of first contact.

  ‘Yes sir, absolutely, ‘ Ab confirmed. He’d talked to Silvie about what would be involved and truth to tell he was longing for the opportunity to rid himself of a phobia which was both crippling and hugely embarrassing.

  ‘All right, ‘ Alex said. ‘You have my permission. But do understand, Mr Abnedido, that you are not in any way obliged to go through with this and if at any point you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable about it you are to withdraw at once, all right? And do understand, too… ‘ he looked fixedly at the crewman, holding his gaze, ‘This is not why we brought you along, ‘ he said, making that clear not so much to Ab himself as to all those who might suspect that the phobic recruit had indeed been taken to Quarus specifically to take part in such an experiment. ‘We recruited you because you are a talented engineer; we are already more than happy with the tremendous progress you’ve made both in rehab and professional development, and you are already a credit and an asset to the ship’s company. All right? ‘

  ‘Thank you, skipper.’ Ab shook hands with him and left the command deck a good deal rosier than when he’d arrived
, grinning and giving a ‘Geroff!’ to his mates as they applauded his return to the mess deck.

  Alex, meanwhile, was congratulating Bonny as she returned to the ship with the team who’d assisted in operating the launch control station. That wasn’t something Fleet crews normally had to do for themselves and it had scored major training and operational experience points for all concerned. ‘Please,’ Alex said, ‘convey my compliments to your team.’ And with that, he turned to Buzz with a broad smile. ‘Contact Team Alpha report to stations.’

  They were already there, nineteen members of the crew including Ali Jezno and Owun Glyn. Within two minutes, Alex had joined them and they were aboard the shuttle bus, fully kitted up and buzzing with thrilled anticipation.

  Alex didn’t even try to keep the grin off his own face as the shuttle broke away. It felt good, so good, just get straight to what was really important. And it was exhilarating, too, to see the planet filling the screens ahead.

  Alex had been eight years old when he’d first heard that a planet had been found where the people lived underwater. Even now he could recall the disappointment, the regret, when he’d been told that it had all been a hoax. He’d wanted to believe in it so much. Then, later – much later – when he’d discovered that the reports had actually been true, all that childish delight had come surging up again. Going to Quarus had been top of his must-do list ever since.

  And now, here he was. The planet was bigger and more beautiful than he had expected even from all the holos he had seen. Quarus was a vast, radiant pearl. Clouds covered much of it – but what clouds! Three great swirling storms were dominating the cloudscape, hurricanes with huge sweeping spiral arms like miniature galaxies. Away from the storms, clouds streamed in powerful atmospheric currents which swirled around the planet. From a distance, Quarus seemed to shimmer. Closer, the coiling patterns flowed, merged and parted in a graceful, hypnotic dance. And here and there, glimpsed beneath the clouds, was a blue so deep, so vivid, that it flashed like sapphire.