by Peter Grant
“It probably would have,” Cochrane agreed. “For a start, an officer of his seniority almost certainly knew the location of their base. We think we’ve – or, rather, Frank has – narrowed that down to a sphere about two hundred light years across; but there are seventeen deserted – or nominally deserted – stars inside it. We’re going to have to check each and every one of them now, slowly and carefully. It would have been a hell of a lot easier and quicker if we could have asked him about it.”
“That’s assuming he’d have told us, sir,” Captain Frank Haldane pointed out soberly. He wasn’t a member of the staff, but as the Commanding Officer of Hawkwood’s newly-formed First Frigate Division, he’d been invited to attend this morning’s meeting. “He probably wouldn’t have talked.”
“True. All right. I don’t think we can expect this trick to work twice, because when the other Brotherhood officers at New Skyros learn of the Captain’s disappearance, they’ll be doubly on their guard. I’ll send a signal to Henry Martin, asking him to inform the courier ship’s owner that he needs to send a new crew to collect it, and what’s left of its previous crew. I’ll recall Henry to Constanta, to see what we can come up with next to disrupt the Brotherhood.” There was a general murmur of agreement from the others around the table. “Jock, do you think you and Henry could repeat your earlier trick with their missiles’ range safety packages?”
“I doubt it, sir. After losing two ships, they must surely have thought of them as a potential weak point. We can’t be sure they won’t double and redouble their security, and catch us red-handed. I’d rather not end up having to die like Captain Pernaska, if it’s all the same to you, sir.” His dry chuckle was echoed by the others.
“I can’t say I blame you. All right, when Henry arrives, we’ll put our heads together. Let’s move on to the next item. Hui, please give us an update on our fleet status and deployments.”
Captain Lu, wearing the uniform of the Qianjin Fleet, smiled. “Sure. Pay attention to the screen, please.” His fiancée picked up a remote control unit from the conference table, pointed it at the far wall, and called up a series of lists and diagrams as she began to speak.
“Let’s look at Constanta first. Caracal and Jaguarundi finished working up in the Mycenae system two months ago. They’ve joined Bobcat here to form the First Frigate Division under Captain Haldane. We also have the arsenal ships Bicuda II and Sorubim, each with one corvette, equipped with the new-generation battle computer, permanently attached to provide fire control for their missiles. The brand-new repair ship Vulcan II is working up here, with the assistance of the Grigorescu Shipyard. As soon as she’s operational, she’ll be going to Mycenae, to provide engineering support to our squadron there.
“We have two communications vessels, Hermoth and Zaqar, the depot ship Anson, and our big warehouse freighter, Humpback. The fast freighter Pilot handles the monthly supply run between here and Mycenae. Our armed fast freighter, Orca, is out-system on a training mission at present, preparing to graduate our latest class of entry-level spacers, and teaching more operators to handle the fire control systems of our frigates and corvettes. That’s a total of fourteen vessels assigned to this station at present. Three corvettes are in the hands of Grigorescu Shipyards, undergoing routine maintenance or overhaul, bringing the total here to seventeen. Of course, Captain Haldane will be taking his three frigates, plus Sorubim and her corvette, on a long-term scouting mission within a couple of weeks. That’ll reduce the number of ships here to twelve.”
“In the Mycenae system we have the arsenal ship Arapaima II, with a corvette attached. Four more corvettes are patrolling the system, and two communications vessels are on hand. The depot ships Jean Bart and Lysander service the squadron, and the warehouse freighters Bowhead II and Dolphin provide stores and supplies. There’s also our asteroid mining decoy setup, designed to attract the Brotherhood to attack it, although they haven’t yet done so. A corvette and a freighter guard and service it, collecting asteroids beaconed for recovery. That totals fourteen ships in that system.
“Finally, we have an ad hoc squadron in the Barjah system. That’s a new station, but it’ll grow rapidly as we assign more ships there. It’s intended to hide the true size of our fleet from both Constanta’s government, and the New Orkney Enterprise in Mycenae. Either or both of them would be uneasy if they realized we now have more, and more powerful, warships than many planets’ System Patrol Services.
“We also want to conceal our true size from the Albanian Brotherhood. They probably know roughly how many ships we have in Mycenae at any one time, and how many here at other times, but they won’t know about Barjah until it’s too late – we hope. My best estimate is that they have to be relying on intermittent reconnaissance, and reports from visiting ships, to put together their intelligence. We think we can fool them for the next year or more, if we play our cards right.
“The depot ship De Ruyter is there, and the fast freighter Minke. The newly-delivered communications vessels Isimud and Mercury are working up there, along with Iris, already in service. The new corvettes Baneberry and Larkspur will arrive there shortly to commence working up. The arsenal ship Piranha II is on station, with a corvette attached, for a total of nine vessels at present.”
“That’s forty ships in commission or working up,” Captain Dave Cousins, Hawkwood’s S1 – Personnel and Training, said soberly. “Remember how we began, some years ago, with no ships at all? We’ve come an awful long way, very quickly.” A rumble of agreement ran around the table. “How many ships do we still have on order?”
Hui pulled up another list on the screen. “Four more communications vessels, two depot ships, six frigates, six corvettes, two fast freighters and another engineering ship. That’s twenty-one more ships, due over the next three years or so.”
“A sixty-one-ship fleet? That’ll make us bigger than almost every planetary System Patrol Service out there. We’ll be in the same league as smaller interplanetary alliances, size-wise.”
“Yes and no,” Cochrane demurred. “Many of our ships are non-combatants or lightly armed, like our corvettes. They’re essentially large patrol and escort craft – defensive ships, not able to go on the offensive without heavier support. Our Sunday punch is in our frigates, equipped with cruiser-size missiles, and our arsenal ships, each carrying as many of the same missiles as four frigates or one full-size cruiser. Hopefully the Brotherhood doesn’t know we have them yet. The only ships of theirs that saw our big missiles at work were destroyed by them. If we can keep them from realizing we have them until it’s too late, I’ll be a happy man. It’ll give us a tactical edge.”
“And we’ve paid for, or can pay for, all this?” Dr. Elizabeth Cousins asked, seated next to her husband.
“Yes, thanks to stealing as many asteroids as possible out of the very system we’re supposed to be protecting, at Mycenae.” A ripple of amusement ran around the table. “I told you all, right at the very beginning, that we’d be doing things that were illegal. I said I had no qualms of conscience about that, because the First Families in the New Orkney Cluster, who’d screwed over all of us at one time or another, set up the law to favor themselves and hurt everyone else. They established the New Orkney Enterprise to exploit Mycenae at taxpayer expense, but for their own private profit. Under those circumstances, I have no problem exploiting Mycenae for our needs as well.”
“I don’t think any of us do, sir,” she assured him. “We’ve all seen how those rapacious bastards operate, and we’ve all suffered because of it. I just can’t help finding it ironic that we butted heads with the Brotherhood because they were stealing asteroids from Mycenae, yet we’re funding our defense against them by doing exactly the same thing.”
“Yes. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; but I want them flatt-ened, rather than flatt-ered!” More laughter. “We’ve recovered enough asteroids to pay for everything so far, delivered and on order, and fund our operations for the next two to three ye
ars. We’ll continue to milk Mycenae for all it’s worth until that becomes impossible. If I can build up ten years’ worth of reserves, or even more, I’ll gladly do so while the going’s good.”
“What about more security contracts, sir?” Lachlan McLachlan, the combined S4 – Logistics and S8 – Finance, asked. He was the only civilian in the group, but had proved his competence to everyone’s satisfaction.
Cochrane looked at Commander Desmond Shearer, S3 – Operations. “Des, would you speak to that, please?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve just signed a contract with the Larcuna system. We’ll be starting work there in a few months. They’ve got a smuggling problem, and want us to protect a new asteroid mining project while it gets up and running, until it’s able to afford to afford its own patrol craft. We’ll send a detachment of four corvettes, two communications vessels, a depot ship, a freighter, and a surveillance satellite constellation. They’ll pay us a hundred million francs per month, plus the right to take up to five asteroids each month from their system. We’ll deploy thirty or forty of our prospector robots in their asteroid belt to cherry-pick the best precious-metal asteroids for us.”
Smiles ran around the table. “If theirs are as rich as the Mycenae asteroids, that should be a very profitable deal for us, sir,” Lachlan agreed.
“It should be, until they realize just how profitable. You see, until their own refinery ship is in operation, we have the right to take the asteroids out of the system to refine them elsewhere. Once theirs is online, we’re supposed to refine them there, and they’ll take the fifty per cent fee we currently pay at Barjah. When they figure out how much we’ve been making, I daresay they’ll want to modify the contract.” More laughter. “Still, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Perhaps it’s time to buy our own refinery ship, sir?”
Cochrane shook his head. “It’s not just the ship, but also a secure base for her, free of interference, plus the hundreds of specialized staff needed to operate her, plus a network of contacts to dispose of her output. It’ll be a major administrative burden. I’d rather not divide our focus until we’ve dealt with the Brotherhood once and for all. After that, we’ll see. Dave, I know we have crews for all our currently operational ships, but how are things looking for those on order?”
“Not very good, sir,” Cousins admitted. “Frankly, we’ve just about exhausted the high-skill spacer pool in the New Orkney Cluster. We’ve employed so many of them that its planets’ System Patrol Services and merchant freight lines are complaining about losing all their best people. We’re starting to cast our net wider for more people, but our stringent security checks put off a lot who might otherwise apply.
“Our repair ships in particular are very hard to staff, because they call for lots of highly trained and skilled technicians. We lost almost all we had when Vulcan was destroyed during the Second Battle of Mycenae, and we’ve only been able to replace half of them so far. That’s half as many as we need for Vulcan II right now, and we have none at all for Hephaestus when she’s delivered next year.
“I’ve got about eighty trainee technicians drawn from our general spacer pool, who’ve volunteered and passed aptitude tests for tech work. I’m pairing each of them with a qualified tech aboard Vulcan, so they can get hands-on training over and above their course work. They won’t be qualified to interplanetary standards for another two or three years yet, but at least they’ll be moderately productive before then. Grigorescu is being very helpful in letting them work alongside its technicians as well. Some of them are complaining it’s a bit like trying to drink from a fire hose. There’s so much to learn that they feel overwhelmed. Still, they’re doing their best.
“As for spacers and officers, our problem is simply that we daren’t relax our standards. We get four or five times as many applicants as we accept. They’re attracted by our wages and salaries, which are far above average, but they don’t have what we want in the way of skills or experience, or they fail our truth-tester security examination for one reason or another, or there’s some other deficiency. Our training program for entry-level spacers is going well, and our internal promotion training is very useful, but neither produces enough people for our needs. Frankly, sir, I don’t know how I’m going to staff our next freighters, depot ships and communications vessels. I’m having to allocate all our new hires to warships, which have priority right now.”
“Yes, they have to, I’m afraid. If necessary, we can put some non-combatant ships into parking orbits, here or at Barjah, until we can scrape up crews for them. Until the Brotherhood is no longer a threat, warships are more important.” Cochrane turned to Jock Murray. “Jock, do you think you can do anything to help our techs get up to speed aboard Vulcan II? She’s vitally important to our operations in Mycenae.”
“Aye, I can spend some time there, sir. I’ve not got anything too important on my plate right now. If Captain Cousins agrees, I’ll go over there tomorrow and see what can be done. Perhaps some of my tech team can help there, too.”
“I’ll be very grateful, thank you,” Dave agreed.
“Er… what about Sue McBride, sir?” Jock asked, almost diffidently.
Cochrane sighed. “Elizabeth, will you tell us what you can, please? – without breaching patient confidentiality, of course.”
“Yes, sir.” She bit her lip. “Commander McBride was almost catatonic for several months after the loss of HCS Vulcan. Don’t forget, that repair ship was her baby. We got her as an empty shell. Sue supervised the installation of all her equipment, personally vetted and hired almost all her engineers, and was friends with most of her techs. They’d worked together for years in the New Orkney Cluster, after all. To see the ship and its crew destroyed before her eyes was traumatic enough; but to have survived almost by accident, through being invited to have lunch with Frank that day aboard the depot ship, added survivor’s guilt to the burden. She held herself responsible for the deaths of everyone aboard Vulcan, feeling they’d been there because of her. That’s not true, of course, but facts are trumped by feelings in a situation like that.
“She’s come out of her catatonia, but she’s basically withdrawn from most social contact. She spends a lot of time alone at a cabin in the mountains. I’m worried about that, but I don’t have the right to interfere as long as she’s in her right mind; and there’s no evidence of actual insanity. I asked her once about going back into space, but her reaction was violently negative – not violent against me, you understand, but very vehement about never wanting to be in space again. That may wear off, or it may not. All we can do is give her space and time to work this out for herself.”
“I sent her a message, asking whether I could visit,” Cochrane added. “She was… very negative about that. I wish someone could break through her shell, but I’ve no idea who, or how.”
“May I try, sir?” Jock asked diffidently. “We were friends back on Rousay. Perhaps I can remind her of that.”
“Please do!” Elizabeth encouraged him. “It can’t hurt, provided you’re careful in how you approach her. If there’s the slightest resistance, back off and give her space.”
“I will, doctor. I’ll take a look at the situation aboard Vulcan II first, then we’ll see what can be done.”
Cochrane nodded. “Thank you, Jock. Very well, everybody. I think we all know where we stand, and we’ve all got more than enough to keep us busy until the next meeting – all except you, Caitlin. I’ve got a new project for you. Please stay behind for a moment.”
She rolled her eyes. “No rest for the wicked, eh, sir?” The others laughed.
“Not in your case. Thank you all for attending. Same time, same place, next week.”
Caitlin moved up to a seat next to Cochrane’s as the others filed out. When the last person had closed the door behind them, he turned to her.
“The next liaison meeting at Bintulu is next month, right?”
“Yes, sir. Chen will be meeting me there. We’re hop
ing the Big Three will agree to provide some sort of practical assistance for us, since we’re essentially fighting their enemy on their behalf.”
“I hope they will. Take whatever’s offered, and ask for more if you think you can get away with it. That goes for money, of course, but even more for assistance in kind. If Qianjin will agree to lend us technicians to serve aboard our repair ships and help train our own people, that’ll be invaluable. Ask Chen what can be done about that. Hui will ask through Fleet channels as well.”
“Will do, sir.”
“There’s one very important caveat. Any assistance offered has got to be free and clear, with no strings attached. If there are any conditions that might commit us to something we won’t normally agree to do – for example, participate in or provide cover for a crime – then the answer’s no. Not under any circumstances.”
“Understood, sir. I don’t think the Dragon Tong would do that to us, but I don’t know about the Cosa Nostra or Nuevo Cartel. They might not like that.”
“Too bad. If they won’t help us, or offer help with strings attached, I’ll settle for whatever we can recover from the Brotherhood’s base for their space forces, or their ships, or anything we learn there. They can have whatever they recover on Patos, or as a result of whatever they do there. See whether they’ll agree to that.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“There’s another thing, and this one is even more important. You know the Big Three are figuring out how to tackle the Brotherhood on Patos, the planet where they’ve based themselves?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can’t touch them there, so we’ll leave that in their hands. However, the Brotherhood has made more than a hundred billion Neue Helvetica francs over the past several years from their asteroid theft operation. It’s all theirs, too, because they have their own refinery ship – they haven’t had to pay processing fees to anyone. I doubt they’ve spent more than twenty to thirty billion on warships and operations against us. That leaves at least seventy to eighty billion unaccounted for.