Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars)

by S J MacDonald

  Chapter Seven

  Three days later Mako came up the ladder onto the command deck, swinging off with an ease that was becoming habitual.

  ‘Compo,’ he said, when Alex paused in his reading to look at him enquiringly, ‘to Midsec. Compo is the composite machine space right aft on deck one. From there for’ard, through Bio, down portside airlock hatch to mess deck. Aft, again, starboard, through Turrets, down the hatch into engines, up over the high gantry and down the crawl space into the stack of eight cores known as Midsec.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Ireson,’ the skipper grinned, and Mako grinned too with what he felt to be justifiable pride.

  He had learned a great deal in the last three days, and not just how to find his way about the ship physically, either, or mastering shipboard jargon. He had been training intensively in freefall skills.

  His first training session had not gone well to start with. After nearly two hours, he’d been about ready to give up, but Rangi Tekawa had kept him going, encouraging and supporting. Just as he’d promised, there came a moment when Mako got it, when his brain was able to over-ride his body’s instincts to flounder. With several more training sessions he had mastered the art of going up and down zero gee ladders with some dignity, if not any great degree of speed. He could put on a suit, too, in freefall, getting that down to under twenty seconds.

  He was falling into shipboard routines, too, and absorbing shipboard culture. It no longer surprised him in the mornings to wake up and find himself in a starship bunk. He no longer had to think about how to use the coffin-sized shower and mealtimes were already an established routine. The officers ate the same food as the ratings, though rather absurdly CPO Martins transferred theirs into rather posher serving dishes before bringing it to the wardroom for them. Mako ate on the mess deck sometimes too, where they made him very welcome. He certainly did not need to think any more about finding his way around the ship, feeling more at home here every day.

  ‘So – what’s my next microstep, Skipper?’ he asked, half-joking, but keen to make a success of this. And it was important, professionally, as well as a matter of personal pride. The crew had given him a cheer when he’d demonstrated his ability to scramble into a suit in a freefall drill the day before and he’d had many compliments for the way he was ‘digging in’. That was gratifying personally, to be sure, but professionally, too, he was noting how it was changing the relationship. Demonstrating willingness to learn about their world was all it took to get them talking far more frankly to him at an intelligent level instead of leading him about by the hand and talking to him like a child.

  Alex grinned, and obviously did not need to think about that. ‘Would you object to us involving you in drills or training exercises as a casualty or something of that sort?’

  ‘Not at all!’ Mako assured him, rather more pleased than otherwise. He was getting to grips with drills, too. Now that he could suit up within a safe amount of time, he was allowed to take part in freefall drills, though his part thus far consisted of assuming the tow-position and allowing crew to move him about the ship. He had not yet, however, been allowed any part in action drills. ‘I’d like that, thanks!’ he said.

  ‘All right, we’ll organise that for you in the next couple of days then,’ Alex said. ‘But for right now…’ He touched a companel. ‘Martins, would you issue Mr Ireson with a couple of shipboard rigs, please.’

  ‘Be right there, sir,’ the steward said.

  Mako gave a rather embarrassed grin. He had been wearing the most casual of the clothes he’d brought once they’d left port, but he still felt himself to be conspicuous as the only person on the ship in civilian clothes. Alex had mentioned in a previous conversation that they might give him some uniforms without insignia to wear aboard ship but had apparently forgotten about it since. Mako hadn’t liked to press the matter, but with the rig being provided as an acknowledgement of his efforts in mastering the jargon and routes about the ship, he felt as shy and delighted as if he’d won an award.

  ‘Thank you, Skipper!’ he said, with the happiest of smiles, as CPO Martins came onto the command deck, obviously prepared for that order since he already had the uniforms ready to give him.

  The two packets he handed to Mako were so small he could hold them both in one hand. Mako knew enough now not to be surprised by that. The Fleet had long ago perfected the art of super-compact packing of supplies. They even did that with food, as Mako had discovered when exclaiming over the range and quantity of fresh breads that were served at every meal. They had shown him in the galley how the bread came packed, tiny and dense like plastic wrapped bullets, and the system they used to depressurise, ‘inflate’ and rehydrate them, puffing them up into full size.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mako took the packets from the steward. He no longer even remembered how uncomfortable he’d felt around Martins when he’d first come aboard. Chartsey was said to be the most cosmopolitan of worlds but Mako had never met anyone with such an extreme body-form before, so squat, with such little neck and heavy facial features. Mako had felt embarrassed, and ashamed of feeling embarrassed, and in his efforts to be ‘normal’ with him, had felt himself to be anything but. Now, though, he had come to know Martins for his quiet efficiency and dry humour, seeing past the genome as he got to know the man. He had come to like him, too, noticing the same kind of qualities in him as with the other petty officers.

  And he did know, now, that a Fleet petty officer was not the same as an army sergeant. They had forgiven him that one, though there’d been something of a sharp intake of breath and a moment there before Hali had started laughing and everyone else had cracked up too.

  He had been exclaiming in innocent surprise over her being allowed to hold the watch, effectively commanding the ship. It had taken quite some explaining for him to understand that a Chief Petty Officer was the equivalent of a Sub-Lt in every respect but the commission. A CPO could hold watches or head up departments. On Minnow, each of the officers had a CPO or PO who was their shadow or assistant, with Hali as the most senior of them assisting the Exec with shipboard management and admin. CPO Martins, as the next senior, assisted Lt Fishe. He too was, indeed, qualified and trained to be able to take command of the ship if need be.

  So no, they were not ‘the same as army sergeants’, which Mako had apologised for once he’d realised how insulting the Fleet considered that to be. Fleet petty officers did not shout at people either. If the ones he was getting to know on Minnow were any kind of guide, they were characterised by a friendly, good-natured manner, capable and unfailingly courteous. That was true of the crew as a whole, he felt. Even if they just couldn’t help but laugh at the daft things he said, they never made him feel mocked.

  They gave him a cheer, too, when he ventured out of his quarters a little later wearing Fleet rig for the first time.

  ‘Nice one, Mr I.’ Leading Star Ali Jezno was in training to become a petty officer and was one of the crew with particular responsibility for keeping Mako safe. He did rather tend to treat him as if Mako was about six years old, explaining safety procedures to him slowly and clearly and asking him to repeat things back to show he’d understood, but he was very good natured with it. Mako was more grateful for that than otherwise, knowing that Ali would just keep explaining things patiently until he understood. He did also, however, appear to be of the view that Mako could not support life without being offered coffee and snacks every few minutes. ‘Fancy some toast?’ he offered, as well as indicating the coffee machine.

  ‘No, thanks!’ Mako laughed. ‘Honestly, I’m good!’

  He ended up having a cookie, anyway, though, to celebrate, as Ali and the others there insisted while pulling his leg about being an honorary crewman now. And that, as he settled down with them at one of the social tables to enjoy a cosy chat, felt just fine by Mako.

  ____________________

  Chapter Eight

  The next day Mako went onto the command deck, his pocket comp in his hand and a perple
xed expression on his face. Dan Tarrance, he knew, was holding the watch, and seemed the logical person to go to with a computer problem.

  The Sub was obviously busy. There was only a minimum crew on the command deck, doing routine watch keeping and chatting quietly amongst themselves. Besides the watch screens he was keeping an eye on, though, the computer officer had a ferociously complex set of screens covering a lot of the table. Some of them were streaming data while others had the flashing red border that signified that their contents were highly classified. Mako did not look too closely at those, though in fact the Sub had engaged a blur-function anyway so that only someone looking at the screens from his seat could see them clearly.

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ Mako said, since the Sub had paused with a pen in his hand and the manner of a man holding complicated thoughts in his head whilst dealing with an interruption. ‘But my comp is making weird noises every time I go to use a file management function.’ He demonstrated, attempting to open a file at which the comp in his hand went ‘Haka!’

  The command deck crew laughed and Dan Tarrance grinned tolerantly.

  ‘You’ve been pranked,’ he told him. ‘Your comp has got hiccups.’ He touched a companel. ‘A/S Dorlan to the command deck.’ Then, reassuringly, to the inspector, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll soon sort it out.’

  Jok Dorlan came up from the mess deck below, looking rather startled.

  ‘You wanted me, sir?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes – Mr Ireson’s comp has been pranked,’ the Sub informed him. As Jok Dorlan immediately looked stricken, almost panicky, Dan gave him an easy smile. ‘I’m not accusing you,’ he assured him. ‘It’s just that I’m up to my eyes in it this morning, so if you could help out and have a look at it for me, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ said the rating, though still looking anxious, ‘It wasn’t me, sir,’ he promised, earnestly, even turning a little pale. ‘I wouldn’t, sir, honestly!’

  ‘I know that,’ the Sub smiled, his tone pleasantly amused. ‘And it is only a prank – someone has given his file management hiccups. So if you could just take a look, that’d be great.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Jok said, and pulled himself together, turning to Mako with a professional focus. ‘Is it just when you use the comp, or any screen?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Mako admitted. He had been working on his comp in the wardroom, updating the report that he would be sending off to Chartsey on the next liner they crossed paths with. ‘I was just using the comp when it started making funny noises. It won’t have damaged my files, will it?’

  ‘Highly unlikely, sir.’ Jok Dorlan said. ‘But if you could please log in to your workspace on the datatable and see if you get any blarts there. I need to know, you see, whether the subroutine is specific to the comp or whether it’s attached to your user ID.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ Mako said, and did as he was asked, establishing that the ‘haka’ blarting only happened when he was using the comp. Jok Dorlan seemed pleased by that and assured him that he would soon have it fixed. He took it over to the computer station on the command deck, connecting it to a high tech interface and settling to work on it. Mako, at Dan’s invitation, sat down at the command deck and resumed working there. All was quiet for a few minutes, as the Sub was deeply involved in whatever mysterious thing he was doing and Mako was absorbed back into his report.

  ‘Er, sir?’ Jok Dorlan got the Sub’s attention with a diffident clearing of his throat. He looked, Mako was concerned to notice, somewhat alarmed. If all his notes and reports were damaged… ‘Sir, this is G39 by-lined.’

  ‘And?’ Dan Tarrance looked at him enquiringly, pointing out, ‘you’re cleared to work on that, Dorlan.’

  ‘Yes sir.’ Jok Dorlan swallowed, looking very uncomfortable. Even Mako had gathered that the highly classified ‘G39 by-line’, whatever it might be, was a very highly advanced skill that only a handful of people could do, even on Minnow. It was not hard to understand how Jok Dorlan, who’d ended up in the toughest prison in the League for a line-crossing prank, could have some issues with investigating and exposing a shipmate for a similar offence. That was particularly the case when it was immediately obvious that the most likely suspect was the mischievous Elsa Nordstrom, who was not only his oppo but had very quickly become a friend. Mako could practically see the war going on in him between duty and loyalty to a mate. Fleet training won out, though, as he said no more but went back to work.

  Mako looked at the Sub, feeling uncomfortable himself at the parolee being put on the spot like that. Dan Tarrance seemed oblivious to it, though, just quietly getting on with his own work. Then the skipper arrived, taking his own place at the table with an amicable nod to everyone present. He had a particular seat at the command table that nobody else sat at, at the head of the table overlooking the command deck. The watch keeper always had the seat to his right, which also had good overview of the ship’s command centre. Any third officer who was working there took the seat on the skipper’s left. The fourth seat, opposite the skipper, had become Mako’s place either to work or to sit observing and chatting with the watch officer. It meant he had his back to the rest of the command deck, but he knew that he wasn’t in anybody’s way there, and it did give him a good view of people coming and going through the airlock area too.

  He did not miss, as the skipper sat down, a silent and almost imperceptible exchange between him and Dan Tarrance. There was a question in the glance that the skipper gave the young Sub, and assent in Dan Tarrance’s answering look. Then, as they both went back to work, there was a sense of expectation, subtle but apparent to the observant inspector.

  Four minutes later, to the surprise of his shipmates, Jok Dorlan did a double take at the screen he was working on and just exploded with laughter.

  ‘Sir!’ he exclaimed, in a tone that was a strange blend of admiration and reproach, turning to look at the computer Sub. As Dan laughed too, Mako gave him a bewildered look.

  ‘Yes, it was me.’ Dan admitted frankly, with a look of laughing apology. ‘Sorry, Mr Ireson, but you did say you’d be willing to be a casualty for training exercises.’

  ‘Oh!’ Enlightenment dawned, and as he looked at the skipper, Alex nodded confirmation.

  ‘Confidence building,’ he explained, and needed to say no more than that. Mako understood that they’d set up the ‘prank’ to help Jok Dorlan over his understandable fear of having anything to do with pranks after what had happened to him. It was clear it had worked, too. The exercise of having to figure out the complex coding and exposing the fact that it had been the computer sub had the rating in fits of mirth, looking happier and more confident than at any time since he’d come aboard.

  ‘And may I, sir?’ he asked, hopefully, ‘have a crack at the crypt?’

  ‘By all means. Go to,’ said Dan, with a generous, encouraging wave. ‘Just take the hiccups off Mr Ireson’s comp, first.’

  ‘Done, sir.’ Jok assured him, and brought the comp over to the table. ‘None of your files were accessed, sir,’ he assured him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Mako smiled.

  As Jok hurried back to the computer station with a spring in his step and a look of happy purpose on his face, Dan looked at the skipper. Alex von Strada gave him a nod of approval and it was the young officer’s turn to look delighted.

  Clever, Mako thought, looking at the skipper too, and understanding how he had managed this to give the Sub experience of managing microsteps rehab as well as the confidence boost that would get Jok Dorlan back into programming. Very clever. But then, he mused, Alex von Strada would not be one of the highest flying officers in the Fleet unless he was something remarkable even for them. Tagged and flagged, he remembered. Widely tipped to be First Lord himself one day.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ the skipper said, seeing his scrutiny. ‘We wouldn’t access your files, you know.’

  ‘No, I know, and no, I don’t mind at all. My pleasure, in fact,’ Mako said. It did not need to be explain
ed to him why he had not been told about this beforehand. His reaction had to be entirely natural and convincing or Jok Dorlan would certainly have suspected a set up and the exercise wouldn’t have worked nearly so well. ‘But what did you do that was so funny, if it’s not too classified to tell me?’ he asked Dan, and the Sub chuckled.

  ‘Nothing much – just encrypted the subroutine in such a way that, when he eventually cracked it, it would pop up with my ID and a message saying ‘Very good, now have a crack at the crypt.’ That’s our programming challenge game. It’s nothing, really, just a certificate for “Best hacker on the ship, the ace, the one, the only…” and space for a name. The challenge is to hack into it, put your name on it, and lay the best encryption you can on it to prevent anyone else getting into it. It’s just a bit of fun, but it does hone your skills and every now and again, someone comes up with something new that raises the game in computer security. And it is good,’ he observed, with a look across the command deck to where Jok Dorlan was now working on six screens at once, with data tumbling down them in madly encrypted waterfalls and a look of pure bliss on his face, ‘to see him get back in the game.’

  It certainly was. Mako had a sense of happy accomplishment in that himself even though his own role in it had been nothing more than that of unwitting victim. He would write that up with great pleasure as an example of microsteps rehab.

  Though even he was puzzled, when he came to write up an experience a few days later that defied being put into any official language.

  He’d been in engineering, having accepted an invitation from the engineer, Morry Morelle, to have more of a look round in there than his previous brief visits. Truth to tell, Mako found the engine room just a little unnerving. It wasn’t just that it was so densely packed with alarmingly incomprehensible hyper-powered tech, it was the noise. It wasn’t loud, even when the ship was going at high speed, but it had harmonics that seemed almost to shimmer in the air, and a disquieting sense of energies beyond his comprehension.