Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4)

by S J MacDonald

  And, having some idea now of how the Samartians achieved the astonishing speed and agility of their ships, Alex knew, too, that the Fleet would not even consider using such ships, as they were. They were just too dangerous.

  Even finding himself asking the question is it worth it?, though, told Alex that he really was very tired and feeling the stress. And almost in the same moment that he thought the question, the answer came rebounding back. Of course it was worth it. Whatever potential benefits there might be in the future, they had succeeded where nobody else ever had, establishing First Effective Contact with the legendary Samart. First Direct Contact too, now, since they’d visited one another’s ships.

  That left only the ultimate diplomatic prize – ultimate at least as far as this mission was concerned, anyway. They had to hang in there and do everything they could to secure an agreement to future meetings.

  He would feel more confident about that after a few hours’ sleep, Alex told himself, and with the discipline he had learned long ago, cleared his mind and plunged into sleep like a man falling off a cliff.

  Twenty Three

  He needed that sleep the following day.

  There was another holo-meeting with Jurore and Tell. Alex was hoping that they wanted to arrange for further ship-visits, perhaps even to accept his invitation for them to come to the exo-suite.

  Instead, they were calling about a diplomatic issue – a ‘sticky’, in the jargon, raising concerns about whether they wanted to be talking to the Fourth at all.

  Alex had been entirely honest with them right from the start, explaining the Fourth as best he could and providing full information about them early on. It seemed to have taken a while, though, for the Samartians to absorb and react to that information, as it was only now that they raised the thorny issue of the Fourth’s status as a rehab unit.

  ‘To confirm,’ Dakael Tell said, with extreme reserve, ‘there are people on your ship who have been dismissed from your Fleet service – people who have been designated as failing, and people who have committed crimes.’

  ‘That is correct, yes.’ Alex said, just as impassively.

  ‘And these are the people sent by the League to represent them?’ Dakael Jurore looked searchingly at him. ‘Is this because your people think we are not worthy of any more honourable ambassadors? Or did they think we would destroy your ship on sight, and send you because you are expendable?’

  Even here, Alex thought, with rather weary resignation. And at the same time, he could practically feel Lord Admiral Cerdan Jennar breathing at his shoulder, fulminating Told you so!

  Alex’s Novaterran heritage was a major asset, here, keeping his own expression arctic-formal despite his stomach-churning awareness that they were hovering on the brink of losing this relationship. But then, just as he was about to speak, Davie North shifted, beside him, moving his weight from one foot to the other in a slight but impatient gesture. Alex considered just for a moment then pressed the third and fourth fingers of his left hand together, just as briefly.

  This was something they had hammered out during all the many role-plays they had done, over the weeks it had taken to get here. They had a whole raft of signals either could use during encounters. That shift of weight meant I really need to take this and Alex’s finger-squeeze answered with assent, and the reminder, No further than we have agreed. The pressure of his fingers was almost invisible and was on the edge of Davie’s peripheral vision, but Alex had no doubt that Davie had seen and understood it.

  ‘Look, whatever issue you have with the nature of the Fourth,’ Davie said, with a forthright ‘straight back at you!’ manner which would have made any normal diplomat turn pale, ‘Get over it!’

  As the Samartians focussed their attention on him, he spoke with apparently genuine annoyance. ‘Yes, I know, it’s difficult for you – not your way, giving a place of high honour to those you perceive as disgraced. It is,’ he gestured with a twist of his hands, ‘upside down, to your way of thinking. But this is exodiplomacy. That means you have to learn about other ways to think, other ideas about what is right, and whether you agree or not, respect the otherness of the other. If you can’t do that, or don’t want to, you will never be able to have meaningful relationships with the peoples of other worlds. And if you are waiting for people to come knocking at your border who will be ‘just like you’ in every respect, sharing all your views and values, you will be waiting for ever. So the question you have to consider is, do you want to learn about us, with all the possibilities for benefit to your people and ours? Or are you just going to snarl like cougals every time you find something hard to understand?’

  Alex had absolutely no idea what a cougal was. They were still working through the data in the pack the Samartians had sent them, and information about flora and fauna was a long way down Alex’s priorities. Davie had read all of it, though, and it was apparent that his reference was understood by the Samartians. They stiffened, and close analysis would show that they looked really indignant.

  ‘It is very offensive to call someone a cougal,’ Dakael Jell informed him.

  ‘It is very offensive to call someone expendable,’ Davie retorted. He indicated Alex. ‘This is the chosen representative of our government, our people. He was chosen by our head of state and by the highest command of our Fleet. He stands here representing our President, a role of very high honour. His title is Excellency, meaning that he stands above all others. When a ship carrying His Excellency the Presidential Envoy arrives at one of our worlds, there are grand salutes, parades in his honour, the governments of worlds pay their respects.’

  Alex glanced at him – impassively, but Davie knew well enough what he meant. He flicked back a rapid, impenitent grin, signalling back I’ve got this. And Alex, as embarrassing as this was, could see that he had. The Samartians were not looking offended, now, just thoughtful and attentive.

  ‘And no, he was not selected for that because our government did not feel you deserved any better.’ Davie continued. ‘He won’t tell you this himself because he is what we call a gentleman and gentlemen do not boast, but Captain von Strada is a man of very high status in our society, a great man, of extraordinary ability. And leading an extraordinary team, too. Get this straight, Dakaelin – understand, the Fourth are the best, they are the people you send for when everyone else is saying a thing is impossible. And this is the highest rated, highest performing ship in Fleet service.’

  That might be argued by some of the more traditionalist members of the Fleet, but it was true enough.

  ‘This ship has the most advanced, experimental technology of any ship in the Fleet,’ Davie continued. ‘And the finest officers and crew in the Fleet, too. You have to be exceptionally talented even to apply to serve aboard this ship, and of those, Captain von Strada takes only the best. This ship also, incidentally, costs six times more to run than a normal ship of this class. It is, believe me, in no way considered expendable.

  ‘So, the reason we are here, the reason the Fourth was asked to do this, is because everyone else said it was impossible. Even to get here required technology and navigation skills which no other ship in the Fleet possesses, no other ship in our history has had. And even if we could get out here, everyone said, establishing contact with your people was impossible, known to be impossible, as you would not respond to any form of communication with anything other than gunfire and missiles.

  ‘And yet, here we are.’ He gave a circling gesture, indicating all four of them. ‘Talking. And the reason for that is that this man, and all the people on this ship, figured out how to talk to you. You clearly have no understanding of what an achievement that is. We have actually had to invent, right here on the ship, some of the technology we’re using to talk to you right now. That would not have been possible without the combination of advanced technology and a highly skilled, innovative crew, under the command of an exceptionally intelligent, resourceful and brilliant leader.’ He gave them a challenging look. ‘So –
are we talking, or snarling?’

  There were three seconds of silence, during which Davie, Alex and the Samartians stared each other in the eyes. Then the Samartians glanced at each other and Dakael Tell gave a tiny, confirmatory nod.

  ‘Loyalty is respected,’ Dakael Jurore said, and at that, Alex started to breathe again.

  ‘It is only,’ said Dakael Tell, with a very slight hint of appeasement in her tone, ‘that we are thinking what we shall tell our people, as we give the news about you. We have a group of people we are telling first, to see what questions and feelings they have. They are confused and concerned by this thing of having offenders on your ship. It is not something we understand, and we do not know what to say to them. So without offence, can you tell us something we can say to them, so they will not feel dishonoured?’

  ‘Something more helpful,’ Dakael Jurore added, drily, ‘than, ‘Get over it.’’

  Davie flicked another grin at Alex, conveying Tag, you’re it!, and Alex gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement.

  ‘You can tell them,’ he said, ‘that there are people in the League and in the Fleet who believe as you do. They believe that we reward misconduct by allowing offenders the greater opportunities and status of service on this ship. I, however, have always believed that the reason certain people in Fleet service fail to achieve and may exhibit poor conduct is because they are exceptionally able personnel frustrated by lack of opportunity and challenge. The Fleet identifies such people, as well as those who are achieving at a high level of excellence, and those who meet our criteria are permitted to apply to serve with us. Whether you feel that that is right, or wrong, is a matter of opinion. All I can tell you is that the Fourth is tasked to missions which are challenging, important and sensitive. We have been entrusted with first-contact role before. This time last year, we were at the edge of human space, making first contact with a highly advanced alien race, a people with technology far beyond our understanding. That is something of such huge importance to us that I have to say, with all due modesty, that we would only ever send the best we have to represent us at that level – we do not, as we say, send our B team. So you may assure your people that no insult is intended, we are indeed a high level task force. And you may tell your people, too – again, with all due modesty, it has to be said that I do not believe that any ship in regular Fleet or Diplomatic Corps service, using conventional methods, would have succeeded in establishing communication with you. Our role is to try things differently, when conventional methods have failed. But now that we have established contact, if you wish to progress the relationship, our government will certainly send more orthodox, conventional Fleet ships and diplomats to represent us.’

  ‘Understood. Gratitude.’ Dakael Tell said, and Jurore gave a slight inclination of his head.

  ‘We will examine how they respond,’ he said, and with that, the hololink was severed.

  Alex looked at Davie. Neither of them needed to comment on the fact that the relationship was now hanging on the reaction of a media focus-group. Nor did Alex feel it to be necessary to comment on Davie’s diplomatic efforts.

  ‘What’s a cougal?’ he asked, in a tone of mild interest, and Davie chuckled.

  ‘Small mammal,’ he replied. ‘Think rabbit with attitude.’ As Alex broke into a grin at the thought, Davie explained, ‘They’re known for their stupidity and aggression, unable to be domesticated because they’ll bite you even when you’re trying to feed them.’

  ‘Ah,’ Alex said, and gave him a nod as they headed for the door. Davie headed off at once, scooting up the nearest hatchway at a speed even Alex couldn’t follow, and making a beeline back to the lab, where he’d been working for most of the night. Within seconds, his status was back to ‘Working: Do Not Disturb.’

  Alex left him to it. Whatever problems he was attempting to solve, there, he was best left to get on with it. Alex had plenty to do of his own, too, without worrying about what Davie might be getting up to. Most important in that was keeping up with the ever-growing piles of information on his desk from Tina’s debriefing and ongoing analysis of the Samartians’ data-pack. He was also keeping an eye, as always, on the work going on around the ship, and an ear to the buzz that told him how his crew was handling things. Morale was good – solid – but serious, too, as everyone understood they were at a critical point. It was hardest for those who were there on rehab transfers. If the Samartians ended contact over that issue, many would feel that it was their fault, that they had let the ship down and embarrassed the League, that they should never have been there in the first place. In the circumstances, Alex felt, they were doing very well to stay as positive and steady as they were.

  He was, himself, feeling quietly confident, which probably had a lot to do with how calm things were on the ship. He was his usual good-natured self, even when dealing with interruptions such as Sam Maynard coming to see him about the biovat.

  The command team had already agreed, in that morning’s meeting, to drop the offer of biovat technology from their gift list. Such an offer would clearly not be welcome, and really the whole issue of food was best left alone.

  Sam Maylard did not see it that way.

  ‘It’s absolutely appalling to think of them living at such a barbarous subsistence level, when we could so easily show them how to make abundant, high quality foods,’ he said. ‘I’m asking you to reconsider, skipper, leaving diplomatic issues aside for a moment, purely on a humanitarian basis, don’t we have a moral obligation to do everything we can to help these people? And if they have issues with vat-grown food because they don’t understand it, surely, our response to that should be to inform and reassure them, show them how safe it is. If you could only get me a sample of a chekal – I’ve done my research, see?’

  He put a file on the screens in front of Alex, which did indeed contain the kind of detailed proposal an academic might put in for a research grant. Sam had researched the information provided about food crops in the first-contact pack, and had chosen chekal because it was one of the most commonly consumed fruits across Samart and because he was confident of his ability to produce a high quality vat-grown version. The biovat did best with small fruits and salad stuff, and the chekal, like a small green strawberry, did indeed look very promising for vat production.

  ‘If we can provide them with examples of a fruit familiar to them, which they can test thoroughly in comparison with the organic, that would help them to understand it.’ Sam said, earnestly. ‘If we can just get them to understand that using base-code to manufacture from nutrient is not genetic engineering, just think what that technology could do for their quality of life!’

  ‘I understand your strength of feeling, Sam, but I do believe they understand very well that we use DNA to grow cloned organic matter from nutrient, and to them, that is just simply unacceptable. That may change in time, but for right now, it isn’t something they want and we just have to respect that.’ He held up a hand as Sam would have attempted to press the point, and Sam recognised with that that he had reached the limit of the debate the skipper was prepared to allow. ‘I’ll tell you what I will do, though,’ Alex said, with a sympathetic smile. ‘I’ll put a sample of chekal on our wish-list, for you, so you can research and manufacture it for us, all right?’

  Sam heaved a sigh.

  ‘It’s really hard, this military thing,’ he observed. ‘I want to argue you down, but I know I can’t. And I appreciate, okay, your call.’ He was trying to be philosophical but his disappointment and frustration were apparent. ‘Just – let me have a go at the chekal, and see how things are, then?’

  His tone was hopeful, with that, and Alex grinned appreciatively.

  ‘Even if the chekal is perfect, we are not putting the biovat back on the table,’ he said. ‘They’ve already made it perfectly clear that they don’t want it, and it is not our role here to try to pressure them into changing their way of life to suit our notions. And if you could, please, refrain from using the word ‘barba
rous’ in any context relating to the Samartians…’ a friendly look, and the mildest of amused rebukes, ‘that wouldn’t be considered very diplomatic, after all.’

  ‘Probably not, though it’s hard to think of another word that’s appropriate when people are eating insects and boiling pigeons.’ Sam had discovered that one of the most popular dishes across most of Samart was ‘bird and greens’, a stew or hotpot for which the recipe began First kill and skin the bird. ‘But all right, all right,’ he sighed again as Alex gave him a patient look. ‘Aye aye, skipper.’

  That was a joke – even the civilians on the Heron knew that nobody actually said ‘aye aye’ in the Fleet, only in the movies. But they used it sometimes in fun, and Alex gave an answering grin. He was logging the professor’s request as rejected, as Sam walked away trying not to look disconsolate. But he did, also, add a request for a sample of chekal to their own wish-list, hoping as he did so that they would get to the point where they would be negotiating mutual exchange.

  Another operational proposal file landed on his desk a couple of hours later – this time it was from Jermane Taerling, and having glanced through it Alex asked him to come to a private meeting in his daycabin.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked, once he and the linguist were seated, Jermane looking a little nervous, but resolute. ‘I mean, you really have thought it through?’

  ‘I’ve thought about nothing else,’ Jermane responded, and then immediately qualified that, ‘Well, that’s not true, obviously, I’ve been thinking about the matrix a lot, too, but yes, skipper, absolutely, this is something I was thinking about even before we got here, and since we made contact, the more we get to know them, the more sure I am that I want to stay and help them.’

  Alex looked at him doubtfully. ‘Nobody could ask that of you, Jer.’