by Grant, Peter
“Already Rolla personnel form four-fifths of our crew. Within a few months they’ll be qualified to take over the positions of the few Fleet personnel still aboard. At that time Nightingale and her sister ships will be formally transferred to the ownership of Rolla's System Patrol Service. Let's make sure we hand over more than just a ship. We’re the first of Rolla’s new patrol craft. We want to pass on to the others when they arrive, and to the System Patrol Service as a whole, a vibrant, living example of proud service, professional ability, and trustworthy competence. Former crews of Nightingale established those traditions during her prior service to the Commonwealth. Now it's up to each and every one of us, as individuals and as a team, to renew them after her long slumber in the Reserve Fleet, and pass them on to those who will follow us aboard her and her sister ships. We won't fail them!”
Steve returned to his place at the head of the parade to warm applause from the guests and his crew. He noted that at least some of the journalists were looking more thoughtful. Substantial elements of Rolla’s news media were resentful that much of the previous government’s emphasis on social programs was being undone by the new administration in favor of addressing constitutional fundamentals. He hoped his words would be quoted accurately, to provide a different perspective to the planet’s citizens about their new warships.
LCS Aspen’s Executive Officer called the parade to attention, and her Commanding Officer read the commissioning directive from the Bureau of Ships. When he'd finished, he looked at Steve. “Senior Lieutenant Maxwell, LCS Nightingale is ready for you to assume command.”
Steve saluted him smartly. “Thank you, Sir.”
He stepped onto the dais again, taking from an inner pocket the archaic heavy paper sheet containing his appointment as Commanding Officer. He unfolded it, careful to shake out the red ribbons beneath the ornate wax seal at the bottom of the page, so they’d be visible to his audience and the holovid cameras. He cleared his throat and read aloud, slowly and carefully, the time-honored phrases, redolent with history, some of them dating back to centuries before the Space Age.
To our trusted and faithful servant, Senior Lieutenant Steven Maxwell.
By virtue of the power and authority vested in us to administer the affairs of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, we, the Commissioners of the Board of Admiralty of the said Fleet, do hereby appoint you to be the Commanding Officer of our ship NIGHTINGALE, willing and requiring you to go on board and take upon yourself the duties, responsibilities and privileges of that position.
We strictly charge and command all the officers and company belonging to the said ship to conduct themselves jointly and severally in their respective employments with all the respect and obedience due to you as their Commanding Officer.
We further command you to observe and execute the Regulations concerning the operation of our vessels and the conduct of all personnel of the Fleet, as well as any orders and directions you may from time to time receive from your superior officers in the service of this Commonwealth and its member worlds, allies, citizens and friends.
Hereof nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer the contrary at your peril. And for so doing this shall be your Warrant.
Given under our hands and the Seal of the Board of Admiralty on the 21st day of December in the year 2847 according to the Galactic Standard Calendar.
The orders were signed by two of the five Members of the Board of Admiralty, including the Chief of Fleet Operations, and by its Secretary.
Steve concluded, “I hereby assume command of LCS Nightingale.” He folded the document, returned it to his inside breast pocket, and turned to face Senior Lieutenant Coelho. “Executive Officer, bring the ship to life. Set the gangway and anchor watches.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” The Exec saluted smartly, then turned on her heel to face the ship’s company. “Chief of the Ship, summon the watch to their duties!”
Chief Petty Officer Andersdottir saluted in her turn. “Aye aye, Ma’am. Quartermaster, pipe the watch!”
The archaic sound of a bosun’s call floated piercingly from the speakers. Steve watched with pride as the crew marched aboard in single file through the boarding tube connecting Aspen with the patrol craft. The first Spacer in the line stepped to one side at the airlock, slid a brassard over her arm, strapped a pistol belt to her waist, and assumed sentry duty to control access to the ship.
Steve turned to face Colonel Houmayoun, who was here today in his capacity as Senior Fleet Officer on the Rolla station, and saluted him. “Sir, I beg to report that LCS Nightingale has been placed in commission on this date. In accordance with my orders from the Board of Admiralty, I have assumed command.”
The Marine returned his salute. “Congratulations, Senior Lieutenant. I shall so inform the Board. May your command of her be rewarding and fruitful for our Commonwealth, our Fleet, this planet, your crew, and yourself.”
“Thank you, Sir. May I invite you and Commodore O’Fallon to be our first official visitors?”
“It will be our pleasure.”
Both had been aboard Nightingale during the process of getting her ready for commissioning, but today was a formal affirmation of her newly operational status. The senior officers signed the gangway log at the head of its virgin first page, then stepped into the boarding tunnel. Journalists scurried to accompany them, asking questions and filming everything of interest as Steve conducted them on a tour. Abha came too, but held back from the crush, letting the official guests and journalists precede her.
Steve finally said his farewells to the official party, made sure that the crews’ families and friends were being well looked after as they toured the ship in their turn, and headed for his tiny cabin, where Abha was waiting. As he closed the door behind him, she rose from where she’d been sitting on his bed and melted into his arms.
“I’ve got only one complaint,” she said mock-seriously as their lips reluctantly parted. “Your bed’s far too narrow for us both to be comfortable in it!”
“I’m sorry. The Fleet didn’t take the needs of lovers into account when they built her.”
“Considering the reputation Spacers have built up over the years, I find that hard to believe.” She winked archly.
Steve laughed. “What do you think of her?”
“She’s cramped inside, isn’t she? I’m not used to having to squeeze past other people in such narrow corridors.”
“I’m afraid so. It’s pretty impressive to squeeze twenty main battery missiles and twenty defensive missiles – all of them high-powered spacecraft in their own right – plus three laser cannon, a fusion reactor, a gravitic drive plant, a capacitor ring, and all the sensors and automated systems that support them, into a twelve-thousand-ton hull. The crew’s quarters and facilities, and our ability to move around, were shoehorned in around those essentials. The newer Serpent class isn’t much better, even though it’s bigger. Of course, we don’t live permanently aboard her – only while we’re on patrol. Between patrols we live aboard the depot ship.”
“Is the bed in your cabin there bigger than this one?”
“Today’s a visitors’ day, and we won’t be going anywhere: so if you’ll give me a moment to make sure that the Officer of the Deck has things in hand, you can come with me and we’ll double-check that.”
She giggled. “That’s what I call an offer I can’t refuse!”
~ ~ ~
LCS Nightingale departed on her shakedown cruise around the system the following morning. As well as her crew, she carried an additional half-dozen Rolla NCO’s to understudy the Fleet NCO Heads of Department, and two additional officers. Senior Lieutenant Dippenaar was one of the designated future Commanding Officers of patrol craft, and Ensign Castle had just graduated from Rolla’s OCS equivalent and its Deck Officer course, and was on his first space assignment. The extra souls on board meant that some of Nightingale’s crew had to hot-bunk with them, which was never popular, but with such limited accommodation available there
was no alternative.
Steve took her out to the asteroid belt, which would shortly become a much busier place as the mining project got under way. Starting at the proposed initial location for the accommodation and refining ships, and for a future dedicated mining platform, he took Nightingale in ever-widening orbits of the area, mapping every asteroid, plotting their trajectories, preparing the most detailed survey of the area that had ever been undertaken. He knew the project office on Rolla was waiting eagerly to receive it, and the more extensive surveys that would soon be conducted. While the ship’s radar and other sensors recorded every detail, the crew was put through its paces, slowly at first, then more urgently. Simulated emergencies were staged from time to time to test their mettle.
On the fourth day of the cruise they finished the initial survey. Steve was about to head back to Rolla orbit when the NCO operating the Plot announced a new development.
“Plot to Command, hyper-jump signature detected on the system boundary on the direct line to Lancaster. Gravitic drive emission signature suggests a large freighter, Sir.”
“Command to Plot, very good. Break. Command to Communications, listen out for her arrival message to System Control.”
“Communications to Command, aye aye, Sir.”
A few moments passed, then, “Communications to Command, arrival message received, Sir. She’s the Gertruida Maria, registered to the Hollandia Corporation out of Ijsel. She says she’s here to establish… orbital farms, Sir?” The Petty Officer’s voice was puzzled. “I don’t get it. We already have one.”
“Command to Communications, thank you.” Steve decided an explanation was in order, and looked around at his OpCen team. “I was expecting her, or something like her, to arrive soon. Rolla’s present orbital farm is only big enough to supply the System Patrol Service and the few merchant vessels that visit here. Gertruida Maria will set up much larger hydroponic farms to supply the asteroid mining project and the increased traffic it’ll generate. Asteroid miners and support personnel work hard and get hungry, and if they don’t get good food, they get annoyed. There’s more than enough work for them all over the settled galaxy. If one planet can’t keep them happy, they’ll just move somewhere else, so the mining project’s going to make sure it keeps its people satisfied. Within three months you’ll be producing ten times more fruit and vegetables in orbit, plus vat-cultured proteins. We’ll benefit from them, too. SPS ration packs are about to become a lot tastier and more varied.”
The Communications NCO grinned. “Can’t happen too soon for me, Sir!” A chuckle ran around the OpCen.
“There’ll be at least one more ship like her arriving before long. There are several companies competing with each other in this line of work. I’m sure some of them have already been informed about your asteroid mining project, and how big it’s going to become. You can expect at least two or three to set up shop here. Competition will keep their prices reasonable and their quality high.”
“I get it, Sir. I guess they’re here to get things moving before the project kicks off?”
“That’s right. There’s no point in bringing a bunch of asteroid miners and construction workers to your planet until you’re able to feed them. The ship will set up the farms in her holds while she builds more permanent orbital structures, then transfer the farms to them for long-term operation.” Steve thought for a moment. “I think we’ll use this as a training opportunity.”
He flipped up the cover over the General Quarters alert button and pressed it. Klaxons blared throughout the ship, a cacophonous ‘aaa-OOO-gah!’ refrain, and a recorded announcement summoned Nightingale’s crew to their action stations. Footsteps pounded up and down her corridors and companionways as they raced to their posts. Reports began to flood in from the various departments, confirming that they were ready for whatever emergency had jolted them out of their usual routine.
As the last report came in, Steve glanced at the time display on his console. “Five minutes and three seconds. Not too bad for this stage of working up, but I want to cut that down to three minutes over the next few weeks.” He glanced at Ensign Castle, whose temporary action station was in the OpCen. “Ensign, I presume you’ve been instructed in the theory of making an interception in space?”
“Aye aye, Sir.” The young man flushed to find himself the focus of attention as everyone in the OpCen looked at him.
“Have you ever calculated one yourself outside the classroom?”
“Er… no, Sir.”
“Well, they do say there’s no time like the present. Sit down with the Plot NCO and calculate a course, speed and turnover point for a minimum-time interception. Since this is your first attempt, I won’t be annoyed if you make mistakes, so don’t worry about that. Concentrate on getting it right.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Castle crossed to the Plot console and sat down in the chair next to the operator. They conducted a muted conversation, with both entering figures into the console and checking each other’s calculations. Steve ran calculations on his own console to check theirs.
At last the Ensign looked up as a course line was displayed in the three-dimensional Plot image. “Here’s our solution, Sir. From this position it looks like four-point-three hours to interception. I’ve allowed for turnover halfway there, but we could do that a lot closer to her if necessary.”
Steve nodded. “That’s not bad for a first attempt, Ensign. Now, let’s consider tactical issues. Your solution would bring us alongside her as she moves towards the planet, right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What if she’s not what she seems to be? Remember, de Bouff masqueraded as an ordinary tramp freighter, right up until he let fly at your Customs boat with a laser cannon. By then he was so close to the planet, and to OrbCon and Mauritania, that it was too late to keep him out of range. What if that ship turns out to be another pirate pretending to be a merchie? We don’t want to sail up to her, all fat and happy, only to have her aim a laser cannon at us or fire a barrage of missiles as soon as we’re within range. How would you handle that?”
The young man thought for a moment. “Sir, the after-action report on the Mauritania incident said that Blanco’s missiles were more than a hundred years old. They’d been refurbished several times, judging by the mix of components in each of them. They had a max powered range of only one million kilometers, less than our defensive missiles and a lot less than our main battery weapons. Should I assume that any pirate we encounter is likely to use similar missiles?”
Steve shook his head. “Never assume that your enemy is less capable than he may be. Sure, most pirates get their weapons as cast-offs from minor systems. Corrupt officials sell their outdated missiles on the black market rather than use them up during exercises. The buyers then refurbish them. That’s almost certainly how de Bouff got his weapons. However, freighters delivering shipments of more modern missiles have sometimes been pirated. By offering some of the missiles free of charge to planets that couldn’t otherwise afford them, or mercenaries or others who wouldn’t normally be allowed to buy them, pirates can get expert help to crack the encryption of their guidance systems and warheads. If they succeed, the missiles can be reprogrammed and put into service. Remember what happened to LCS Lakshmibai a few years ago?”
Most people in the OpCen winced collectively, some sucking in their breath between their teeth as they remembered the incident. The Hero class destroyer had intercepted a pirate ship, only to be severely damaged by the enemy’s missiles. Over fifty per cent of her crew had become casualties, with her captain among the fatalities. The pirate vessel had escaped unscathed.
“Yes, Sir. We studied that engagement during OCS, particularly how the pirate had sucked her in. She didn’t suspect a sneak attack, following up the main volley of missiles.”
“That’s right. The pirate’s missiles came from a captured shipment of modern weapons. Lakshmibai’s rescuers picked up one that had malfunctioned, and BuIntel were able to trac
e it. Therefore, it’s not a bad idea to assume that a pirate has weapons at least as good as your own. If you’re wrong – and most of the time you will be – you’ll lose nothing by being cautious. If you’re right, you’ll have planned your approach in such a way that he won’t be able to take you by surprise with them, and your defenses will be ready to deal with them.”
“I see, Sir. May I recalculate the approach, please?”
“Go ahead. While you’re doing that, we’ll revert to normal duty stations. XO, make it so, please. Officers and NCO’s under training in the OpCen are to stand fast.”
The ship’s company stood down from General Quarters and returned to their regular watch schedule as the Ensign and Plot console NCO worked together. Eventually they looked up as a new course line, this one green instead of red, joined the fist in the Plot display.
“We’ve refigured the approach, Sir,” Castle announced. “Time to approach is now four-point-five hours. We slow down more as we get nearer to the target, matching her course and velocity at a range of ten million kilometers, where our sensors can get a closer look at her. The next step would be at your discretion, Sir.”
“That’s better. Keep that in mind for future approaches like this. Always err on the side of expecting trouble, even if that seems ridiculous. I’m sure the possibility of a pirate attack in planetary orbit seemed ridiculous to Orbcon until de Bouff arrived.”