Darkness . . . darkness . . . always the darkness.
A flash of light across the rain damped gloom of the courtyard outside finally broke through the ebbing flow of his memories, and he looked up from the chair he found himself sitting in.
1534. That was what the readout on the screen indicated. Three hours . . . more than three standard hours he had wrestled with the past, a past he had not even known meant so much until he found himself losing it, piece by piece.
He stood, squinting, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the stiffness, and trying to repress the shivers that threatened.
He looked down. The envelope was on the flat section of the wall console, but the note itself was still clutched in his left hand.
Caroljoy. I never knew . . .
“Didn’t you?” he asked aloud. “Didn’t you?”
There was no answer from the dark green walls, nor from the blank screen, or from its flashing red light that indicated messages stored in the system.
He ignored the messages and turned to the book only because the pilot had suggested he read it before reacting. Carefully refolding the note, he placed it in the pocket inside the front cover, though he would remove it shortly, as she had implied he should.
“OER FOUNDATION”—that was stamped in silver letters on the spine of the book and on the otherwise blank front cover.
He leafed through the pages, skimming the contents, still standing before the console.
The shakiness in his knees reminded him that he had some physical limits, and, flicking the room’s light level higher, he sat down in the single gray swivel.
After racing through the first ten pages, he shut the cover. The rest could wait until be could devote the right attitude to study and learn the contents.
Caroljoy had been right. He was the OER Foundation. Of course, she was right. She had designed it. While the Halsie-Vyr Group controlled the base assets, all income from the trust went to OER, to an account blind to Halsie-Vyr, and from which only one Senior Commander MacGregor Corson Gerswin could draw.
He shook his head. The details were overwhelming. In essence, the book was a personalized how to manual for him . . . how to set up a double blind operation to protect himself . . . how to comply with the Imperial Tax Code—
“No!”
Caroljoy had been so thorough. She had personally picked out the offices through an intermediary and included a floor plan. So thorough, as if everything had to be done completely right the first time, as if there were no tomorrow. As if . . .
“Farewell?”
This time he could not stop the shivers. So he sat and trembled until they passed.
After a time he stood and went to the screen, tapping out the combination he had never used.
A woman’s face appeared in the screen—hair snow-starred in the latest pattern, but slightly askew, composed, but with the smudged circles of tiredness under her eyes, eyes from which radiated the fine lines of a middle aged woman under stress.
“Commander Gerswin, I believe.”
“How did you know?” He could tell his voice was ragged.
“The Duchess left a solideo cube. She thought you would call. I think she hoped you would not accept a mere farewell note.”
“Could . . . I’d like to talk to her. Come and see her if at all possible.”
“It’s not possible, Commander, though we all wish it were. She has some pride, and forbade it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She left for H’Liero yesterday, for the Mern’tang Health Center.”
“Oh . . .” Another chill passed through him. The famous center accepted only cases diagnosed as terminal, and only patients who could afford the astronomical costs.
“Her mother and grandmother both died of Byclero’s Syndrome. His Grace had hoped that continual treatment would lessen the chances . . .” The woman’s voice died off.
Gerswin shook his head again, and again, his eyes unable to focus on the screen.
He reached out to break the connection.
“Commander.” Her level tone reached him.
He stopped, blinked back the tears he did not know he had shed, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and cleared his throat.
“Yes.”
“I wish she could have seen you, but you know the final stages of the disease break down most of the body’s cartilage. She refused to have either you or His Grace accompany her. His Grace would have had you go in his place, even. He did not want her alone—” The woman’s voice broke this time, and Gerswin waited, swallowing hard. “You know how strong willed she was . . . she is.
“She insisted I wait for your call. She did not want to upset His Grace, but she knew her lieutenant would call, and someone had to tell you . . . she knew her lieutenant would call . . .”
The woman with the snow starred hair looked down, saying nothing. Gerswin could see her fists clenched, feeling his own knotted at his sides.
“She knew you would call . . . ,” repeated the woman helplessly.
“She knew,” repeated the senior commander. “She knew so much.” The silence fell on both screens. “What can I do?”
“You have done all that you can . . . more than . . . many . . .” The woman visibly pulled herself together. “I asked her what I could say to you—if, when, you called. She said you would know, but that if I had to say anything, that she would see you at the end of time. That hers was the shorter journey, and the easier.”
He said nothing, but nodded twice. Then he cleared his throat again. “Let me know. Let me know.” He could say no more, and his hand lashed out at the screen controls. The image faded into gray.
Forcing himself to unclinch his fists, he took four steps to the narrow oblong window and peered at the smudged lights above the rain-damped garden.
“Hers was the shorter journey . . . Caroljoy . . . I never knew . . . never knew . . . But you did . . . You always did.”
As he stood before the rain and storm, the darkness solidified within.
IV
THE FOREVER HERO
Call him hero after all heroes had died.
Call him champion when none else had tried.
Call him saviour of a land left burned.
Call him a destroyer of shambles unlearned.
Call him a name, a title, a force.
Call him devil, or the land’s source.
Call him soldier, pilot, or priest.
Call him the greatest, or term him beast.
But remember he stood, and stretched tall,
Where others crawled, or stood not at all.
Remember the captain, and call him Lord.
Remember the sheath is not the sword.
Anonymous
Quoted in Ballads of the Captain
Edwina de Vlerio
New Augusta, 5133 N.E.C.
V
THE CAPTAIN OF the Fleurdilis frowned as he studied the hard copy of the schematic. He supposed he could have used the screen, rather than having gone to the trouble of having the pages printed, but he liked to be able to wander around the cabin with the diagrams, to be able to make notes at odd times without having to code up the file, to puzzle through the codes and routings.
He still didn’t understand all the details represented in the diagrams, but he knew enough to understand that the ship whose command he had just assumed was not configured according to her own specifications, or that the ship’s own databanks did not register the differences.
Admittedly, the majority of discrepancies were minor, where conduit blocs had been shifted less than a meter, in one case, to accommodate modifications to the forward launch tubes. But some were scarcely minor. The Fleurdilis no longer carried the installed equipment for its own emergency field recharging, nor did it carry the original energy capacitators, nor the original drive field equipment.
The newer equipment was not only smaller, but, compared to the original specifications, far less powerful.
In short, he was saddled with command of a nominal cruiser, but one with less real power than an old style corvette. The lower power capability reduced range, screen defenses, and survivability.
He touched the console, without looking at the image that formed on the screen.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Send up Senior Technician Relyea, if she’s available.”
“Yes, ser.”
The senior commander straightened his blacks, set down the schematics, and paced in a narrow circle in the small stateroom as he waited.
“Technician Relyea, Commander.”
The woman was petite, scarcely even to his shoulder, with brown hair knotted into a neat bun, black eyes, and new senior tech insignia on her collars.
“Sit down.” He pointed to the single guest chair.
She sat.
“Have you studied the basic schematics?” He pointed at the diagrams on the console.
She peered at them momentarily. “Not in detail. Those are really not much good.”
“Figured that out. Why weren’t they updated? Means that the information in the databanks isn’t reliable.”
The senior tech pursed her lips. “Not exactly, Commander. The data entries are not all they should be, but the correct information is there. Provided you know the keys. . .”
The Commander, still standing, turned and looked down at her.
“Go ahead.”
“When the downsizing orders came through, as each ship went through refit, new specs were added to the databanks. The originals were left.” She lifted her shoulders. “Just in case, I suppose.”
“Downsizing orders?”
“The CommFleet Order . . . about five years ago . . . the one that was to reduce fleet energy consumption by thirty percent, except for the First and Fifth fleets, and, of course, the scouts.”
“Did the rest of the galaxy downsize as well?” the commander snapped. “Forget that,” he added abruptly. “Planetside at the time.” He paused before continuing. “Was there any official explanation?”
Relyea cocked her head to one side. “Then I was number two on the Bolivar, chief tech ops, not on admin, but I recall the official reason was that an analysis of the Fleet had shown that in ninety-eight percent of all operations no more than fifty percent of the available power levels was ever required. Don’t hold me to the exact numbers, but that was the general idea.”
“Too much peacefime.” He frowned. “About the specifications?”
“Yes. The new ones are under ‘Ship Specifications—downsized.’ As you’d expect . . .”
“If one knew,” added the Commander.
“If one knew.”
The five by five cabin seemed to shrink, though it was more than twice the size of most cabins on the cruiser.
“If I might ask . . . Captain,” ventured the technician.
“Ask.”
“How did you end up with the Fleurdilis?”
The commander smiled. The senior technician, for her more than thirty years of service, shrank from the expression.
“Because someone wants to file me away, preferably to make a mess of it as well, Relyea, and I don’t intend to.” The hawk-yellow eyes bored into her. “Now. What other technical changes and booby traps are buried in this obsolescent excuse for a fighting ship?”
“That would be hard to say, Captain.”
“Don’t care how hard or how long. You either know, or you don’t. If you know, start telling me. If you don’t, tell me, and go and find out. If I find out before you, we’ll discuss your request for a transfer.”
“You aren’t serious . . .”
“Relyea, I am very serious. We have orders to break orbit for my first patrol in two standard weeks. I intend to know the personnel background on every crew member cold before we break. Same for technical specs. Same for the teamwork that exists or doesn’t.”
“Captain, I doubt that any line officer has requested or learned the technical details of his command.”
“I did, and I will here. As for the others, I wouldn’t be surprised. Precedent is irrelevant. By the way, can you install a power diverter from the screens and grav fields to the drives?”
“Could be done, I suppose.”
“Good. Let me see your proposal by, say, 1800, tomorrow.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Without full screen power, at least ought to be able to get to hell and gone out of trouble.”
Relyea nodded slowly.
“Anything else I should know?” asked the captain.
The senior technician frowned, looked at the deck, then into the hawk yellow eyes. She looked back at the deck. Finally she stared at the wall.
The captain waited, knowing this time he could not afford to push.
The technician cleared her throat, once, twice.
The senior Commander slowly folded the older schematics, until they were small enough to fit into the single drawer under the console.
“Personnel . . . have you studied any . . . ?”
“Taken a quick scan through the entire crew.”
“Your initial reaction?” The brisk voice was now tentative.
“Take some work to shape up.”
Relyea nodded once.
Again the captain smiled the smile that flared like a predator’s before he spoke.
“Noticed a few other things, Relyea. Not one senior rating with time in grade left. Not one outstanding performance score. Forty percent of the crew transferred in within the last three standard months. The scheduled refit postponed until after our first two patrols. Are those the sorts of things you’re suggesting?”
The senior technician frowned, “Outside of the specs, you seem to have found out a great deal in the three days you’ve been aboard.”
“One thing I haven’t found out, Relyea. Most important of all.”
“And that is, ser?”
“Who I can trust. Who is responsible.”
The senior technician swallowed. Swallowed again. “Captain . . . you give us orders. We’ll get them done.”
The senior commander nodded. “Understand.” His voice was surprisingly soft. “I understand, Chief Technician. And I’ll make it clear, quite clear, that you are the senior technician.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Relyea’s voice picked up. “Do you want a quick rundown on what the other spec changes are and the difficulties? Now? Or later?”
“Can you run it into the system, under, ‘Captain’s Specs,’ for me to study later tonight?”
“Give me two or three hours.”
The captain nodded. “Tomorrow,” he added, “right at 1400, Relyea, you’ll take me on a tech walk-through. Want to meet every one of your techs. Every last one. Let them see me, see that line and tech work together.”
He turned directly to the thin faced and older-looking woman. “I will work through my senior tech, and the senior tech will work for the captain and for the good of the ship.”
Relyea shivered at the intensity in the yellow eyes.
“I understand, Captain.”
His face smoothed out into a calmer expression. somehow, although none of his features had changed. “Looking forward to seeing your analysis. Very much. Anything else?”
“No, set. No, set.”
“Until 1400 tomorrow, then.”
She stood, saluted, and left.
The captain slowly shook his head. He hoped he could pall the Fleurdilis together . . . somehow.
VI
“TORP AWAY, CAPTAIN.”
“Stet.”
Gerswin returned his full attention to the ranked screens before his control couch, but did not tighten the acceleration harness.
“Determined their frequencies, Comm?“
“That’s affirmative, Captain. But they’re using a nonscanned transmission. Burst-blast.”
“Complete new image with each burst, rather than a continuous scan?”
“Stet.”
“Can we conver
t?”
“Negative. Not within orbit time.”
“Guns, do we have a better screen analysis?” Gerswin’s eves flickered over the third screen.
“Negative.”
Take one outmoded cruiser, underpowered, out on the Imperial fringes, and order the captain to investigate strange transmissions, without any backup. Then have the ship find a new alien space-going civilization, and leave the decisions in the hands of the captain. That was what he faced.
No time to torp back for instructions, instructions that would probably amount to “Use your own judgement.”
“Captain?”
Gerswin snapped his head up at the voice of the Executive Officer.
“Yes, Major Strackna?”
“Do you intend to continue toward orbit around the home planet?”
“Yes.”
“Might I ask why?”
“Because our orders indicate that if initial survey indicates the culture is less advanced, we are to initiate contact.”
“There are four large ships there, waiting, and the emissions beyond their screens indicate they are all carrying fusactors, or the local product.” Strackna’s thin lips pressed together tightly after she finished.
Gerswin nodded. “That would seem to indicate no jumpshift technology.”
“Captain, Comm here. How soon before the next out-torp?”
“Hold on that until we have something new to report.”
“Stet.”
“That gives them more than eight times the power reserves we possess,” persisted Strackna.
“Without anywhere near the screens we have, Major.”
“This could be suicide.”
“I’ll do my best to avoid that, Major. Suggest you return to your station. May need all the screens and power I can get.”
Gerswin refrained from shaking his head. Of the entire crew, the Executive Officer remained the biggest headache he had inherited. The only possible reason for her rank was her family connections. Once Gerswin had thought the I.S.S. above that. While he knew better, it didn’t make solving the problem any easier.
The Silent Warrior Page 2