She's choosing to run a risk, he thought. Hoshiko had been completely unconcerned about risk, right from the start. And she could easily lose the whole squadron if something goes wrong.
It was a bitter thought. He would have admired her determination if it hadn't been so dangerous. As it was ... he hoped - prayed - that they would have the time to do some proper maintenance before they faced the Druavroks once again. He'd told her about the problem, as a good XO should, but half the ship’s engineering crew had been assigned to other vessels. It would be ironic, if they lost a battle because something failed, yet he had to concede it was a possibility.
He shook his head. It was his duty to support her and yet ...
... What should he do, he asked himself, if her quest led to disaster?
Chapter Twenty-Six
In a speech that has gone viral on the datanet, the leader of the largest militia in California blamed the city-folk for the water shortage and flatly refused to let the refugees into his territory. “If you sheeple hadn't voted for dumb-o-crats and cuckservitives,” he said, “you wouldn't be dying of thirst now.” His words are a reference to California’s democratic deficit, a problem made worse by increased immigration from Mexico and emigration to the Solar Union.
-Solar News Network, Year 54
“It’s time to get up,” Hilde said, pulling Max out of bed. “You have an appointment on a patrol boat.”
Max opened his eyes, groggily. Sex with Hilde was exhausting, despite his enhancements; she always left him feeling tender and sore. She could be strong at one moment, rolling over to pin him beneath her body and having her way with him, and vulnerable the next, as if she expected him to reject her at any moment. Max honestly wasn't sure why she had chosen him, unless she couldn't risk sleeping with one of the crew, but he wasn't really inclined to care. He had a suspicion she didn't have any strong feelings for him at all, merely a desire not to go to bed alone.
“I don't,” he said, as she put him down on the deck. “My day is free ...”
“It just popped up on the datanet,” Hilde told him. “You’re ordered to board an unnamed patrol boat and interview the crew.”
“Oh,” Max said. He checked his implants and discovered the message. Someone, probably the captain, was determined to make sure he carried out a few interviews while the squadron was at Amstar. “I’ll just shower before I teleport over.”
“Good idea,” Hilde said, sniffing the air mischievously. “You stink of sweat. And a few other things.”
Max shrugged. “Do you want to shower first?”
“I’m due in the gym in thirty minutes,” Hilde said, reaching for her shipsuit. “I’ll shower there, I think. See you tonight?”
“If I’m back by then, sure,” Max said. Hilde couldn't fit in the shower with him or he would have suggested sharing the water. “Have a good day.”
Hilde smirked. “There are no good days when the major decided we haven’t been tested enough,” she said, ruefully. “We haven’t seen enough action out here.”
Max frowned, remembering the marine deployments since the squadron had left Martina, then decided not to comment on it. Instead, he picked up his towel and walked into the shower, washing the sweat from his body. There was no sign of Hilde when he stepped back out and started to dress; he wondered, absently, what her comrades thought of her affair before deciding it was probably none of their business. It wasn't interfering with her duties - or his - and therefore it was outside regulations. He finished dressing, grabbed a ration bar from the drawer and headed down to the teleport chamber. The codes he’d been given, with the message ordering him to the patrol boat, opened the hatch and allowed him entry.
“You’re going to Boat #34,” the operator said, looking up from his console. “I’ll just verify access permissions with them.”
“Please do,” Max said. “I don’t want to end up merged with a fly.”
He shuddered at the thought. Beaming a bomb onboard was such an obvious ploy that even the Tokomak, notoriously unimaginative, had built jammers into their starships to prevent uninvited guests. Anyone who tried to beam onboard without permission would wind up scattered across the solar system, if they were lucky - and, if they were unlucky, they’d be the subject of countless horror movies. He’d had nightmares after watching the one where a small boy was tossed into a defective teleporter and turned into a monster.
“Ah, we’ve got filters to keep that from happening,” the operator said. He grinned as he looked back down at his console. “You know they were messing about with teleport transmutation? Some egghead had the bright idea of adjusting the particle stream in flight, allowing for bodily adjustments?”
“Sounds awful,” Max said. “What happened?”
“None of the animal subjects survived,” the operator said. “The experiments were shut down long before they moved on to human testing.”
“Oh,” Max said. He vaguely recalled reading a news report about the experiments, although it hadn't stuck in his mind. “Why did they fail?”
The operator shrugged. “Even the smallest change in the matter pattern can cause instant death,” he said. “That’s why we have so many filters built into the teleporter.”
He looked up and gave Max a wintery smile. “You’re cleared to board the patrol boat,” he added. “Step up onto the pad.”
Max swallowed, realising that the operator had intended to rattle him, then stepped up onto the pad and turned to face him. The operator nodded and tapped a switch. A low hum echoed through the chamber as the world dematerialised into shimmering white light and reformed into a tiny bridge. Max stumbled forward as the teleport field released him. He would have fallen if a uniformed officer, standing beside the pad, hadn’t caught him with one hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Think nothing of it,” the officer said. Max looked up and recognised Ensign Howard, now wearing a pair of captain’s stars. “The gravity is a little lighter than Earth-normal.”
Max nodded, making a mental note to walk carefully until his body adjusted properly. Living on Luna was fun - a human could fly with a pair of wings - but newcomers always lost control of themselves and bumped their heads against the ceilings. His enhanced body would adapt quickly, of course, yet it wouldn't spare him from embarrassment. He looked around as he took a step forward, testing the gravity, and blinked in surprise as he realised just how tiny the bridge actually was.
“This is a patrol boat that has been passed down through at least a dozen owners,” Ensign Howard said. “Someone actually removed the flight records box years ago, leaving us without a clue to her history.”
Max smiled. “I thought that was against Galactic Law?”
“It is,” Howard said. “Judging from the number of different components that have been crammed into her hull, I have a strong feeling she was a pirate before being captured and placed into storage.”
“I see,” Max said. He looked around, taking note of the different models of console that had been crammed into the bridge and the handful of human crew. “Is she a reliable ship?”
“I certainly hope so,” Howard said. “The real test will be just what happens when we light up the drives.”
Max felt a stab of sympathy for the younger man. Human engineers were very well trained, capable of fixing everything from the plumbing to the FTL drive; human starships were designed to allow the engineers to go to work without needing to return to a shipyard. But Galactic ships were not ... and if anything went wrong on the patrol boat, Ensign Howard and his makeshift crew were doomed. Unless, of course, they managed to limp to safe harbour ...
He’s more worried than he lets on, he thought, grimly. Very few officers would admit to hoping for anything.
“I hope she works like a dream,” he said, instead. “And what do you intend to do once you’re on the way?”
“Hunt enemy shipping,” Ensign Howard said, immediately. “We have a hunting ground inside enemy space, where we will prowl
around and watch for enemy ships. If we find something we can take out, we’ll hit it and then vanish into FTL.”
Max nodded. The Druavroks would probably expect pirates, either genuine pirates or the remnants of the navies they’d already overcome and destroyed. But interstellar piracy was only cost-effective if the targeted ships were captured, looted, renamed and then sold onwards to unscrupulous buyers. They’d be surprised when the ‘pirates’ blew freighters out of space instead of trying to take them as prizes.
He frowned. “Isn't it worth trying to capture the ships?”
“We don’t have the manpower to attempt to board them, not against fanatical resistance,” Ensign Howard said. He didn't sound too pleased by his own words. “If we had a reason to believe the ships would surrender, we might try - but, so far, the Druavroks don’t seem to allow other races to crew their ships.”
“Not an unwise decision on their part,” Max agreed. A single bulk freighter would make one hell of a mess if it rammed into a planet; indeed, there had been whispered rumours of genocidal war long before humanity had encountered the Druavroks. “You don’t think we could use the ships?”
“I’m sure we could,” Ensign Howard agreed. “But trying to capture even a single freighter introduces random elements into the equation.”
He shrugged and led Max on a tour of the patrol boat. She really was a small ship, Max noted. Most of her bulk was nothing but drives, sensors and weapons; the crew had a handful of tiny compartments at the front of the vessel. A single antimatter warhead - or a nuke, perhaps - would be enough to inflict crippling damage. The Tokomak clearly hadn't intended the patrol boats to be anything more than a tripwire, if war actually threatened their domains. Ensign Howard’s ship couldn’t hope to stop a destroyer or a frigate, let alone a capital warship.
“I meant to ask,” he said, as they returned to the bridge. “Does the ship have a name?”
“Not as yet,” Ensign Howard said. “She has an ID code from the last set of owners, but no actual name. I’m planning to choose a name just before we depart.”
Max wondered what Hilde would say, if he proposed naming the patrol boat after her, then decided it was probably better not to find out. Instead, he spoke briefly to the remainder of the crew, all of whom were humans who’d been born on Amstar. Their Gal-Standard One was far better than his, but their English was non-existent. The Tokomak hadn’t bothered to allow their human captives and their descendents to remember their original tongue.
“I’m surprised the crew is only human,” he said, finally. “Aren't you going to have aliens on the crew?”
“It’s tricky to provide life support for more than one race at a time, at least on a small ship,” Ensign Howard said. “Even the most human-like races have differences that make it hard for them to work alongside humans. In the long term ... I think we’re going to have to work on a handful of multiracial ships, but for the moment single-race crews may be the only way forward.”
“Particularly if the Solar Union starts taking in more non-human citizens,” Max commented, dryly. “They’ll want to serve in the military too.”
Ensign Howard considered it for a long moment. “I knew a Hordesman at the Academy,” he said, thoughtfully. “We had to make a number of allowances for him - he wasn’t stupid, by any means, but he was shaped differently from us and it caused problems. He couldn't climb a ladder, for example. It might not be practical to build a starship that allows all known races to serve without problems.”
“I see,” Max said. “And what is that going to mean for the Grand Alliance?”
“I think Captain Stuart will have to answer that question,” Ensign Howard said. “But, for the moment, we need to finish our preparations and depart.”
Max nodded, recognising the polite dismissal. “If you’ll teleport me back to Fisher, I’ll get on with my latest story,” he said. “Did you see my earlier one?”
“I saw your description of the Battle of Dab-Yam,” Ensign Howard said. “It was very ... dramatic.”
“I hope so,” Max said. He’d put the story together carefully, detailing the resistance to the Druavroks, the fate of those unlucky enough to be caught outside the planet’s colossal defences, the steady enemy attacks ... and, finally, the Grand Alliance arriving, like the 5th Cavalry, to save the innocent Dab-Yam from being eaten alive - literally. “The story is on its way to Sol.”
“They’ll love it,” Ensign Howard said.
Max smiled as he turned and walked towards the teleport pad, barely large enough to accommodate a grown man. It would be at least three months before Sol heard anything of their adventures, let alone sent out other reporters to cover the story. By then, he would be firmly established in the public’s mind as the only reporter with access - to the squadron, to Captain Stuart, to the growing Grand Alliance ... he’d be unbeatable. His reputation would be made once and for all.
He silently checked his implants, counting down the days. Nine months before any rival could hope to appear, unless - of course - the Grand Alliance managed to produce a proper media machine of its own. And even then ...
“Good luck,” he said, as he turned to face Ensign Howard. “Bring back another story for me?”
“I’ll try,” Ensign Howard said. He checked the teleport settings carefully, then keyed a switch. “Goodbye.”
***
Thomas watched, unsure if he should be concerned, as the figure of the reporter dissolved into blinding white light before fading from view. He had no illusions about the task before him, or the odds against a safe return. The XO hadn't minced words - and, if he’d been inclined to believe it would be easy, four days fixing the patrol boat would have been quite enough to convince him otherwise. His ship was on the verge of falling apart at the seams.
It’s not quite that bad, he told himself, as he walked back to his console and sat down. Even uniting the different control linkages had been a major headache, despite the Galactic fetish for standardisation. Whoever had worked on the patrol boat before losing her to the previous owners would have gone far, if they’d had a proper education. It could be a great deal worse.
He sat in the command chair - although it was also the tactical station - and studied the readings from the rest of the ship. A single hit might not be enough to destroy the vessel, but it sure as hell would be enough to disable them. He’d done what he could, before the engineering crews had been withdrawn to patch up another ancient ship, to build as many redundancies into the system as possible, yet he knew - all too well - that there were limits to what they could do. Anything that knocked out the main control network would probably knock out the backup network as well.
But it’s your first command, he told himself. He could be addressed, legally, as Captain. He was master of the ship, commander of the crew ... and almost certainly doomed, if the ship was disabled. There would be no hope of escape. And when this is finished, you’ll go right back to being an ensign.
He scowled down at his console as he ran through the final checks, then told himself - firmly - not to be silly. Command experience at such a young age, even of a patrol boat that had entered service at roughly the same time as King Richard was fighting in the Crusades, would look very good on his record ... assuming, of course, that he made it back alive. The odds were not in their favour. He shook his head, irritated, then checked the latest intelligence reports. He’d been warned, time and time again, that they were out of date, but they were the only things he had to go on until they actually reached their patrol area. They’d find out for sure what was facing them shortly afterwards.
The communications console chimed. “Captain, we are being hailed by the flagship.”
Thomas nodded. The handful of crewmen under his command were all newcomers to the Solar Union, all born on Amstar, all offered citizenship in exchange for enlisting in the squadron. They all had experience on freighters - and some of the ships Amstar had used to patrol its territory before the Druavroks arrived - but they lacke
d the discipline of Solarian crewmen. And yet, they were all he had. He was mildly surprised Captain Stuart had seen fit to assign him to the crew.
“Put it through,” he ordered.
“Mr. Howard,” Commander Wilde said. Thomas wasn't particularly surprised that the older man didn't address him as Captain. “Are you ready to depart?”
“Just about, sir,” Thomas said. They’d loaded antimatter missiles - Galactic missiles, unfortunately - early in the morning, then checked the handful of weapons the ship had carried when she’d been passed to the Grand Alliance. “We should make our departure time as planned.”
“Very good,” Commander Wilde said. “And have you chosen a name?”
Thomas hesitated. The Solar Union wasn't particularly superstitious - although there were cantons that practiced one form or another of religion exclusively - but very few spacers would choose to serve on a ship without a name. It was supposed to be bad luck.
The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Page 27