It took several minutes for the colonel to express his thanks adequately, but Alex bore with it patiently. It was certainly better than having to deal with an outraged complaint, after all.
The meeting had unexpected repercussions, though. Hearing that the colonel had asked the captain’s permission to fly their fighters and been granted that seemed to spur Kalesha Endenit into action on her own account. Not that she wanted to fly the fighters, as she assured Alex at their meeting. Nor did she have any desire to be given access to official secrets. As always, her thoughts were focussed only in one direction.
‘I want to talk about lighting,’ she said, and proceeded to do so, at length.
Alex was not entirely surprised. She had been asking a lot of questions about the lighting on the ship and discussing how that compared with other warships and starships generally. You didn’t have to know her for long, either, before you recognised that she was utterly obsessed with the social and psychological impact of light in living and working environments. Alex had found time to read some of her articles so he could at least be an intelligent listener. He was prepared to be an open minded listener, too, recognising her expertise in that highly specialised area. As far as he was concerned the lighting on his ship was just fine – the Fleet had learned what worked over a couple of thousand years, after all, and the lighting systems were standard across all warships.
Kalesha had no particular issue with the work-zone lighting provided for the most efficient use of consoles, datatables and screens. She didn’t, she said, consider it healthy for people to be in those environments for long periods without a break, but the Fleet managed that quite well with mandatory rest breaks and a reasonable ambient light in areas such as mess decks.
‘It isn’t dreadful,’ she conceded, ‘but it could certainly be better. It’s a very artificial style of lighting and that sudden switch from bright to dim at midnight and back to bright at 0600 is just so wrong. Studies have proved that people benefit from a gradual nature-based cycle of lighting enriched with varying colour tones and intensity. At its simplest, light should be clear and crisp in the mornings, bright and bold through the middle part of the day, settling to a warmer glow through the evening and a cool blue shadowy night-light. Obviously, I understand that the Fleet has its own ways of doing things and frankly I wouldn’t even attempt to have this conversation with a normal Fleet captain because I know all these decisions are taken at admiralty level and getting them to shift requires the kind of leverage that could move planets. But the Fourth, as I understand it, is far more open to innovation and I gather that you can, if you wish, undertake something like this as a research project,’ she gave him a hopeful smile, ‘so I thought it worth a punt.’
Alex could only respect that kind of commitment, recognising someone who was every bit as dedicated to the cause she worked for as he was to the Fourth. She had already put a fully worked up research request in front of him, too, written up exactly as the protocol required and supported by massive referencing.
‘Well, it isn’t something I feel that we could undertake ourselves, at the moment,’ he said. With everything else that they had going on, working with Silvie, day to day involvement with the squadron and getting ready both for their courtesy visit to Telathor and their actual mission here, messing about with the lighting was way down on his list of priorities. ‘However,’ he said, before the look of disappointment on her face could change to one of stubborn determination, ‘I will refer the matter to Skipper Tarrance of the Whisker – he’s very keen to explore new ideas and he’s also an expert programmer, the ideal person to work with you on developing software which could make our system operate as you suggest.’
‘Oh.’ She looked more surprised than pleased, indicating the proposal she’d put on the screen in front of him, ‘We do already have very successful software which we provide free of charge to any organisations willing to work with us on improving lighting conditions,’ she pointed out.
‘Yes, indeed, and that’s a good starting point, for sure,’ said Alex, trying to be tactful. ‘But the kind of software written for groundside computers isn’t really compatible with the systems we use.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Classified stuff.’ She spoke dismissively and gave a shrug. ‘Well, no matter, if you can write the same programme for the systems you use.’
Alex thought about attempting to explain to her the massive complexity and sophistication of the systems used in the Fourth, or at least, pointing out that this would be a serious and time-consuming challenge even for their own experts. Then he recognised that there was no point. She really didn’t care how difficult it was for them to do this, the only thing that mattered to her was that they got the lighting right. Again, he could only respect the force of her commitment.
‘Well, we’ll give it a try,’ he said.
Dan Tarrance was actually delighted to be handed the project. It was, as Alex had recognised, right up his street not just in terms of technology and programming but in the gleeful mischief factor too. Changing the time-honoured norm of shipboard lighting and introducing sunsets and moonlight into their systems would be controversial, to put it mildly. Third Lord Admiral Jennar would be spluttering with fury and even quite moderate Old School officers throughout the Fleet would be sucking in their breath and shaking their heads in prim disapproval.
More importantly, as far as Alex was concerned, if he did make it work and they found a benefit to their crew in terms of efficiency or morale, this too might be something that helped give them that little edge in operations.
With both their passengers happy, anyway, and the crew loving the mayhem of having Silvie aboard, Alex was able to relax and enjoy himself, too, making the most of the fun in this lull before the storm of demands that would be made on him at Telathor.
And it was, for once, an entirely uneventful run. The worst situations Alex had to deal with both involved the crew Harry Alington had already mentioned to him.
The first, Jimmo Towitz, reacted predictably to Silvie’s arrival for a visit on the Minnow. He had to be taken to sickbay after ‘fainting’ from the impact of her presence, and declared himself to be so sensitive to her ‘aura’, he must be empathic himself.
Silvie, however, was unperturbed by these shenanigans.
‘Weird,’ she commented. ‘He’s …’ she made a flip-over gesture with her hand ‘to the rest of you. Everyone else in the Fourth is feeling more than they show outwardly, but he’s showing far more than he actually feels. He’s all just empty noise and ‘Look at me!’’ She shook her head and dismissed him as entirely unimportant. There were, however, repercussions to that as the corvette medic confirmed that he hadn’t fainted at all, at which Harry put him a charge of unprofessional conduct and gave him three days of punishment duty, polishing the underside of deck plates and inside locker doors.
This, Jimmo was unwise enough to appeal against, taking the matter to Alex on the grounds that he was esper and couldn’t help an emotional reaction to the quarian’s presence, and that he had fainted, no matter what the medics might say to the contrary.
Alex had given that short shrift and the crewman had emerged from his cabin looking mightily indignant. Alex had, however, been obliged to accede to his request for a transfer off the Minnow, as the corvette’s Internal Affairs officer had stated that he believed the crewman’s relationship both with skipper and shipmates had broken down irretrievably.
Alex had not even considered inflicting Jimmo on the Whisker. The patrol ship had a small crew, living and working together in a small space. The impact of an uncontrolled, over-emotional youth in such a company would be highly detrimental to morale and therefore to efficiency. Alex, therefore, had been obliged to take Jimmo back aboard the frigate. The Heron’s crew had taken this philosophically, but it was clear from the lukewarm welcome that Jimmo received that he’d nearly exhausted even the Fourth’s capacity for supportive acceptance. Alex was very much afraid that Jimmo Towitz mig
ht turn out to be the first person he had ever had to flunk out of rehab.
The situation with PO Denman, on the other hand, had been resolved, rather surprisingly, by Silvie herself.
‘I don’t want to meet him,’ she told Alex, after he’d explained the situation to her. PO Denman evidently had understood that he’d be ditching his career and crashing his reputation if he jumped ship to avoid meeting Silvie, as he’d declared his readiness to meet her whilst at the same time registering his protest against unwarranted intrusion into his private thoughts and feelings. ‘I know I have to accept that there are horrible violent people in your society, but I don’t have to meet them, do I? Well, probably at some point, but I don’t feel ready for that yet. And you don’t want me to meet him, do you?’
‘Well, it’s complicated,’ Alex admitted, seeing that she was puzzled. ‘There are ethical issues, sensitivities about ‘using’ you to assess him against his will, issues of human rights – I’m also concerned that if there is something dark he’s concealing that could be very unpleasant for you. So on the whole, it would probably be better if you didn’t meet him.’
‘All right, then, I won’t,’ said Silvie, clearly thinking this a trivial matter. ‘I don’t want to anyway, so…’ she shrugged.
‘But you wouldn’t have any issue,’ Alex asked, ‘with us removing him from the ship?’
‘Me? No.’ Silvie looked surprised. ‘That’s your decision, isn’t it? Though if you want my opinion, since you evidently don’t trust him he seems like more of a liability than an asset.’
Alex considered that and discussed it with Buzz, too, at length, as well as with his own IA officer, Jonas Sartin. Then he discussed it with Harry Alington, too. The upshot of which was that PO Denman was offered the opportunity of a transfer to an equivalent posting on another Fleet ship, without prejudice, on the grounds that ‘through no fault of his own’ he was not able to continue taking part in this mission.
It was a weak excuse and there would still, inevitably, be widespread speculation about what he could possibly have done that was so awful he’d left the ship rather than risk the quarian finding out about it. It was the best offer he was going to get, though, and he knew it. So he accepted it, on assurances that it would not be detrimental to his future career.
All the same, Alex had a quiet word with Harard Perkins, mentioning that they had suspicions that PO Denman might be concealing a serious offence or criminal tendencies. At which the LIA agent gave him a Look, along with an almost inaudible sigh.
‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘we had recognised the potential for that in the case of someone so obviously terrified of what might be revealed about them, and you may rest assured, Captain, that we will undertake all necessary investigation and monitoring.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alex, swallowing the sarcasm.
All these dramas, however, took place so privately that the people on other ships in the convoy remained unaware of them. And the journalists aboard the ship which was following but not part of the convoy couldn’t even pick up on the smaller dramas, jokes and gossip which flicked about between them.
All the money that Newsgen had spent on sending their ship to trail the Fourth turned out to be so much cash thrown out of the airlock. There had been absolutely nothing to film other than the squadron cruising in neat formation, right on course and right on schedule all the way from Kavenko. There was nothing to be made of the shuttles which flitted around the squadron all day every day, and try as they might they could not crack the code in which inter-ship comms were transmitted.
So the only things they had to film were stock footage of the squadron, film of the fighters undertaking routine training flights, footage of themselves experiencing the turbulence of the various ridges en route, and passing encounters with other traffic.
The only interaction they had with the Fourth, throughout, was an occasional delivery of gift boxes to their airlock. These were brought by shuttle and handed over by an officer who would only say, ‘With the compliments of Captain von Strada’, ignoring all cameras and questions.
The first time it happened they opened the box with extreme caution, fearing what von Strada’s evil sense of humour might have sent aboard their ship. To their surprise those who’d put their bet on the box containing excrement lost their money. In fact it contained a lemon cake, a box of salad and a carton of fresh fruit juice.
Such limited forensics as they were able to carry out on the ship showed that the gifts didn’t contain laxatives or anything else unwholesome. Research further established that the same package had been delivered to every ship in company as a general distribution of treats. The Fourth might ignore all signals directed at them from the media ship, but they wouldn’t leave them out when courtesy boxes were being handed around, even though the ship was not officially in convoy.
There’d been three more deliveries since then, their only newsworthy value a suspicion that the fresh fruit and salad stuff was coming from the rumoured top secret food production system. They had kept samples for their stations to have analysed at Telathor. The rest of it, after due consideration and in the cause of investigative journalism, they had eaten. And all they could report about that was that it had been delicious.
Then, just as they thought they were about to get some useable footage of the squadron approaching Telathor, they were robbed of that as well. As they approached the final ridge between them and the system, a swarm of ships came surging out. There were sixty three vessels in all, nine of them displaying media ID and bristling with cameras.
The Fourth, at least, was not surprised by this. The final ridge on the route to Telathor was known as the Doorstep. The Telethorans maintained a station on their side of the ridge which was known as Welcome Point. Here, they routinely greeted incoming ships with a warm welcome and gift baskets. Few passing ships ever stopped there – they were less than five hours from Telathor itself at that point and in any case the station was tiny, with no cargo-handling facilities and only a few shops and restaurants to cater for the tour buses which came out in a constant flow from Telathor. It was quite common for any arriving ship – liner, freighter or yacht – to be hailed enthusiastically by any buses or other Telathoran craft which might be in the vicinity when they came across the Doorstep.
For VIP arrivals, though, Telethoran courtesy required that they step across the Doorstep themselves to welcome their most honoured guests. So Alex was expecting, at least, the official flotilla, and wasn’t surprised to see that large numbers of unofficial craft had tagged along with them. Even those who had no idea of Silvie or Shion’s presence on board would regard the arrival of the Fourth at their quiet backwater world as a thrilling event.
Due courtesies were exchanged – salutes from the official craft and madly excited flashing and spinning from the civilians. Alex was then going to be busy for some time replying to all the official messages of welcome – the civilians would merely get a bland autoreply telling them that the Fourth was unable to respond to individual calls but thanked them for their very kind reception.
Before he got started on the official comms, though, Alex sent out a signal to all the members of the welcoming flotilla. In it, he invited them all to join the squadron formation for their return trip through the Doorstep, providing each of them with an assigned station and advising that they lock their navigation on to keep station with the patrol ship, Whisker.
The Whisker itself was moving out slightly ahead of the rest of the squadron as they neared the Doorstep. Intrigued and excited, almost all the Telethorans accepted the invitation and moved into position – with some chaos and a bit of indignant signalling about perceived rights of way, but no more than Alex would have expected amongst so many civilian ships attempting such manoeuvres. The few who didn’t slot into position were of course the media – they wanted to be free to cruise around filming the flotilla from all angles.
They got a story then. The Doorstep was rated a minor hazard in
terms of its size and overall levels of wave-space disruption, but it was a notoriously nasty little ridge. It wasn’t like a current of turbulent water but more like a stretch of otherwise calm water in which there were constantly shifting eddies and whirlpools. A ship would be lucky to get through it without at least one engine alert going off as the mix cores flared hot at running into a vortex. The vibration was disconcerting, too, as there would be odd still moments of absolute silence before the juddering and clattering started up again.
Alex, therefore, had decided to reveal one of the Fourth’s exceptional skills. Spacers knew about this anyway, of course, as news like this had flashed out as fast as gossip could fly.
The Fourth could, when they chose to do so, navigate turbulent space using a combination of highly classified technology and superb piloting. In this instance, the Whisker had been chosen to lead them through. It was a test of their newly installed Naos navigation systems, and also an opportunity for them to demonstrate the skills they had been working so hard to acquire during the run from Therik. There was a certain amount of one-upmanship even within the Fourth, too. The Whisker had no superhuman or genius pilots to assist them. This would be a navigation carried out entirely by ordinary officers and crew, with the pilot just the normal rating on duty at the helm.
They pulled it off beautifully – rather slower than the Heron would have got through, but that was advisable anyway given the number of civilian ships now tagged to the squadron. Gently, carefully, the patrol ship led them on a series of convoluted twists and turns which wriggled them through the Doorstep.
Everyone aboard the ships which had just bounced and shuddered their way out through it recognised at once what an achievement that was. Even the tourists who’d paid thousands of dollars for seats on the buses were cheering and whooping with delight, partly at the quiet comfort with which they were going back through and partly at the scenes they could see through the hull cameras.
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