“Me? Why?”
“Put up too much argument and they’ll get someone else to build the control system. You’ll be stuck here, recalibrating information systems. The thing will be built, with you or without you. Might as well go with the flow, get yourself out of here.”
“Cam, this is immoral. They’re throwing something together on the cheap, putting pilot’s lives on the line by cutting corners. It’s the same with the control system. I checked that, too. Firms like Techware have their own Supertech employed to build control systems. But the contract with Extron specifically excludes the control system. It will be supplied by Fleet. Me. Straight out of the Academy. Ensign Selwood.”
“Why not? You have the skill. You topped your course — in fact, the Academy’s historical records — for all the technical subjects. You’re sitting here twiddling your neurons. Why not use them?”
“And save the cost of that module. Why not indeed?” She shook her head. “You have more confidence in me than I have. They just should… not… be… doing… this.” She glared at him, punctuating each word with a jabbing finger.
“Morgan, you just have to make the best of these things.”
“Will you at least send Makasa my report?”
“No.”
Wimp. Useless, spineless wimp. “Why not?”
His lips tightened. “Because it’s not part of your brief. I, for one, am not going to offend Makasa.”
“Why? What’s Makasa got to do with it? Surely he’d want the best machine he can get?”
Campbell closed his eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side. “Leave me alone, Ensign, please.”
He looked old and tired. Dispirited. Harassed. She didn’t care.
“Oh and when did pulling rank last work with me? If you don’t tell me I’ll find out.”
Campbell rubbed his hands over his face. “Dammit, Morgan, he’s a three star admiral. Makasa can ruin your career. He can ruin Brad’s. He can ruin mine. Brad wants to go back to an active squadron, I’m expecting to retire next year on a good pension. Three star admirals can influence those decisions. And just remember,” he added, raising his voice slightly and pointing a finger at her, “you want out of here. Let it go. Do the best you can.”
He turned back to his console, indicating the discussion was over.
Morgan spun around and marched off, wishing she could slam the door.
Back in her office she slumped into her chair, still fuming. Campbell might think the discussion was over. She didn’t.
First thing to do was to make sure she could prove her allegations with facts and dates. Why hadn’t she made meticulous copies all along? Too trusting. She never expected to have to explain herself to her own. That was something she’d learnt.
Morgan slid her mind into the system, accessed her work space and looked for the report. Odd. It was gone. She opened the backups. Not there, either. A tingle of alarm spread through her nerves. Deleted? Yes, completely, utterly and irretrievably, even for her. Nothing in the archives and no audit trail.
When she told Brad that evening he frowned. “That’s strange, Morgan. Who could have done that?”
“Easy enough for a Supertech.”
“You’re the only Supertech here.”
“Don’t be naïve, Brad. People like Campbell and no doubt others would have the authority to run a function built by a Supertech at HQ to delete stuff.”
“Yes, silly of me.” He paused in thought for a moment. “Didn’t you have a copy of the document at home?”
She brightened. “I did. I’ll take a look.”
Nothing. A whole squadron of butterflies took wing in her stomach. She met Brad’s gaze.
“Look, be careful, babe. You don’t want to piss off Fleet. It’s bigger than both of us.”
“I’m starting to feel like I’m being shuffled into a cage, Brad. It’s clear Campbell will go along with whatever Makasa tells him, so I’m in a corner on that one. And even if I had an old copy of the report, it would be my word against an admiral’s.”
Brad put his arms around her, settling her comfortably into the curve of his shoulder. “Look on the bright side. The ship’s not a complete eggshell. The simulations were good most of the time, weren’t they?”
“Yes, but… The control system is all about parameters set within the structural constraints of the material. This durafibe is flexible and strong, but it’s very thin to make it even lighter and the wings will tear under too much pressure. So I’ve limited the amount of force the aircraft can pull, which affects performance. That in itself is dangerous.” She put her arms around his waist.
Brad stroked her hair. “Flying a fighter is a dangerous business.”
“Maybe. But pilots shouldn’t have to worry about bits falling apart in the sky. There’s got to be something I can do.”
“I can think of something you can do,” said Brad, turning her face up to his. “It’s nothing to do with a fighter, though.” He drew her closer towards him and kissed her.
“Publicity,” she said over breakfast the next morning as she poured cereal into a bowl.
“What do you mean?” Brad asked, his spoon held stationary halfway to his mouth.
“I’ll just do a letter to the editor, asking a few questions about the equipment tender. I can disguise it so it won’t involve me.”
Brad shook his head. “You don’t imagine it’ll occur to them that you might have written it?” He went back to eating, crunching on his grain flakes.
“I can cover my trail.”
He swallowed, shaking his head. “Let it go, babe. You can’t win, but you can certainly lose. Big time.”
Morgan kissed him and headed off for work. Not even Brad was on her side. You’d think he would be, knowing the risks. Maybe he was too trusting, too.
An hour of research revealed that prominent civilian weapons expert Professor Wenisant regularly sent letters to the editor and to some of the senior supply officers in Fleet, criticising tender documents. She grinned over some of his letters. Sarcastic as sin and he certainly didn’t miss anybody. Perfect.
The morning Professor Wenisant’s scathing letter about the SU-43 appeared in the Galaxy News a grim-faced Campbell stopped Morgan before she even reached her door. “My office.”
She followed meekly, ensuring her face was a picture of innocence. That was one thing she’d learnt at the Academy. She’d out-fenced masters at face-reading. Silver eyes had one advantage; nobody could read what was going on behind them.
“Have you seen this letter?” He tossed a sheet displaying the letters to the editor section of the Galaxy News in front of her before he’d even sat down behind his desk.
“Any one in particular?”
“The one entitled ‘What happens if the wings fall off?’ The headline letter. Professor Wenisant.”
“Good questions,” she said when she’d read the letter through. Much better than she could have done and pretty funny, too. “This Professor Wenisant knows his stuff.” She smiled and returned the sheet to a scowling Campbell.
“Where did he get the detailed information about the project, do you think?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? He has a reputation, doesn’t he? I guess he has his sources.”
“Not you?”
“Me? No. Why would I? It’s been made very clear to me that I’m just building a control system. Although he mentions that, too. Did you notice?”
Campbell positively bared his teeth. It was all she could do not to laugh. “Yes. I noticed. Makasa will not be happy.” He leaned at her, over the desk. “If you’ve had anything to do with this, Ensign, you will be in serious trouble. Serious trouble. Clear?”
“Never clearer. Sir.” She stood. “If that’ll be all? I have test results to check.”
“Dismissed.”
Brad and Morgan sat together on their couch and watched the Galaxy News interview with Admiral Makasa as he answered every question in Professor Wenisant’s letter. He lounged on
a sofa, a mountain of a man, the gold-encrusted collar of his admiral’s uniform seemingly embedded in the rolls of fat around his neck.
“The dangers are grossly exaggerated,” he said, his voice deep and rich. “My administrative people have checked Extron’s credentials. It’s true they don’t have a track record with delivery of aircraft but they have an enviable reputation with mag lev trains and various types of industrial equipment. I spoke to the CEO just yesterday and he explained they’d hired experienced people who had worked in the space avionics industry to augment their pool of engineers.”
“The Professor mentions stress issues with the materials. What if the wings fall off was his question. What if they do, Admiral?”
Makasa waved a fat hand in dismissal. “It is a new substance. Rest assured thorough tests will be carried out before the aircraft is released. Yes, we can expect some tweaking. That is normal.”
“What about the control system. It’s vital, isn’t it?”
“Of course. But we have our own Supertechs. Why pay the astronomical rates the designers charge if we can do the work internally? I must say, I’m a little surprised that on the one hand you criticise us for misuse of funds and now, when we try to reduce costs, you criticise us for that.” He chuckled, sending his stomach bouncing. “It’s hard to win that sort of game.”
“But the person building the control system is apparently inexperienced.”
“The Supertech building the system has the skills. Nothing more needs to be said. It is not my intention to discuss staff selection with Professor Wenisant or, indeed, the general public.”
“He’s smooth,” Morgan said.
Damn and blast. Smooth enough to convince the reporter. She hoped the prof would stay on the case.
“Seems he’s a prince, third son of the king on the planet he comes from,” Brad said. “He probably learned how to do this sort of thing before he learnt how to walk.”
“Huh.”
“You leaked, didn’t you?” Brad scowled at her, brows knitted. “Morgan, please. Let it go. This is Fleet. And look, I’ll be honest with you, Makasa’s answers sounded pretty reasonable to me. He’s got it under control.” His expression softened and he put his arm around her, pulling her against him. “You and me, that’s all that’s important.”
She wished she could agree with him.
Three days later, immediately she arrived at work, Commander Campbell summoned Morgan to his office. He was standing when she arrived, looking abnormally formal despite his characteristically rumpled uniform, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You’re to report to Captain Liemen’s office, Ensign,” he said. “Immediately.”
The base commanding officer. A squadron of butterflies performed barrel rolls in her stomach. But then, what had she expected? They had no proof. All she had to do was keep calm.
“Liemen wants to talk to me about the SU-43?”
“No. Admiral Makasa does.”
The butterflies in her stomach carried out a starburst. He must have taken a flight to Gens Brasna as soon as the interview with Galaxy News was over. This could prove interesting. Keep cool, Morgan. You can do this. Just like another round in the ring with Warrant Officer Dubik.
She made her way through the corridors and up the lifts to the reception area of the Captain’s office on the first floor.
“Ensign Selwood.” The captain’s adjutant glowered at her. “I believe you’ve been making a fuss.”
“Not that I know of, Sir.” Morgan said.
The adjutant announced her arrival and sent her in with a gesture.
Morgan marched into the office, came to attention and saluted. She’d known he was a big man from the broadcast but seeing Makasa in the flesh simply enhanced his bulk. He overflowed the seat behind the desk, a vast black man with a mass of tightly curled black hair. Dark eyes under thick brows assessed her. Three gold stars gleamed on his shoulder boards. Several gold rings glinted on both of the hands clasped together on the desk in front of him. His gaze passed over her like a searchlight. The silence grew. A barely audible knock in the climate conditioning became an insistent percussion section.
She stared back at him, keeping her face impassive. If he thought she’d break down and blab to fill the vacuum he could think again.
“We don’t often have the benefit of a Supertech on Gens Brasna, Ensign.”
His voice was even more beautiful than on the newscast, deep and musical and rich. He tried to meet her gaze, but looked down in seconds. Morgan grinned inwardly. At least she still had that weapon at her disposal.
“I’ve been looking at your record. It’s an interesting mix. You topped your course in all technical subjects. Remarkable, outstanding results. But you were quite deplorable at a good many other subjects. Fails in military law, drill, military history, administration. Bare passes in man-management and instruction.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your instructors’ comments are interesting, too. ‘Recalcitrant’ appears more than once. So does ‘difficult’ and ‘uncooperative’. Even the instructors of subjects where you achieved spectacular results have not always been flattering. I see Captain Jorvik tried on more than one occasion to set you straight.”
“Yes, Sir.”
What did he want her to say? She couldn’t be bothered with the boring stuff. It wouldn’t be part of her career. Who wanted to waste time marching or polishing buttons or making a bed you could bounce coins on? She’d done well at the subjects that mattered, sometimes despite the instructor.
“So … here you are at Gens Brasna.” He paused to make the point. “Commander Campbell is happy enough with your application since you’ve been here, I’m pleased to say. And indeed, may I congratulate you on your work on the SU-43? You did a wonderful job. The tests so far are impressive, to say the least.”
A warning tingle slid down her spine. “Thank you, sir. But they’re still only computer simulations.” Keep calm. He has no proof.
“You are probably aware that questions were asked in the news about the aircraft?” He wasn’t really expecting an answer. “Of course you are. Given the knowledge of the project displayed in the letter, someone from your section must have leaked information.”
Gosh, what a surprise. Breathe in… breathe out.
“I’ve been able to dispel any fears, Ensign,” Makasa continued, “but I’m afraid that Commander Campbell, as commanding officer, will have to take responsibility for his lax discipline.”
Campbell? Campbell would take the rap? She hadn’t expected that. Heart thudding, she forced herself to remain expressionless.
Makasa stretched fat lips in a mockery of a smile. “He’s due for retirement next year. Subject to approval, of course.”
Bastard. Devious bastard. He probably thought she’d admit her guilt. Well, he could think again.
Makasa levered himself out of the chair and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. His two metre frame loomed over her like a wall. He wore some sort of cologne, sweet, cloying and incongruous.
“Ensign, this project is important to us. The K-11 has been a wonderful servant for a long time; too long, really. The fleet has aged and is well overdue for retirement. We wish to roll out its replacement as soon as possible. Give me a positive result as I know you can, and I shall be willing to forgive and forget. In fact, I’m told you are engaged to a pilot due to be transferred back to his unit on the Leviathan. I’ve arranged for him to remain here for a little longer so that he can act as test pilot for the SU-43. You’d like that, I expect?”
“Yes, sir.” Brad as test pilot on the SU-43? She didn’t like the sound of that at all but at least she’d be here to protect him. “To have Brad around longer, yes.”
“Good. When this project is finished, I expect there will be a clamour to claim your services on something a little more fitting for someone with your skills. Maybe Supertech on the Leviathan?”
Anger bubbled in her gut. She kept her eyes fixed
on the buttons of his uniform. He was dangling a bribe but the bribe had barbs in the form of Brad and of Campbell. Make this work and you’ll be rewarded. If it doesn’t work… it won’t be just you that suffers. Bastard. He’d backed her into a corner.
“Commander Campbell?” she said.
“What about him?” He’d clasped his hands behind his back and rocked from heel to toe.
“I’m sure he would have had no control over the information leak, Sir.”
His slab of a stomach shifted as he sucked in a satisfied breath. “Perhaps, Ensign. I could be magnanimous and overlook the matter. But I can’t give a guarantee. Leaks are regarded very seriously within the Fleet’s development structure. Court martial with loss of all entitlements is the usual thing.”
He waddled back around to Captain Liemen’s chair and sat. The chair creaked as it took his weight.
She’d virtually admitted her guilt even if she hadn’t said ‘I did it’. Oh, well. In for a brick, in for a boulder. She couldn’t compromise Campbell’s retirement. He might be a spineless wimp but he’d been good to her.
“But this is a maintenance unit, not a development centre, Sir. Commander Campbell is a good officer. I would be grateful if you would grant him the benefit of the doubt and exempt him from prosecution.” She made sure she looked at his forehead.
“A demand, Ensign?” he said softly, his eyes narrowed. They were almost porcine in his fat face.
“A request, Sir. It would clear my mind, make me better able to perform my duties.”
He chuckled. The poisonous, smart bastard chuckled.
“A small price to pay to focus your mind completely on the task required of you. Agreed.”
His tone was light but Morgan didn’t miss the menace behind the words.
“But.” He raised the index finger of his left hand in an unmistakable warning gesture. “Judgement is suspended, not revoked. It is revoked if… no, when… you deliver.”
“Thank you, Sir.” She kept her voice deadpan, while her mind shouted obscenities.
Morgan Selwood 1: Supertech Page 2