“But that might cause more problems,” Peerce pointed out. “Their factions might fragment.”
“I know, Sergeant,” Percy said. “But what else could I do?”
Peerce gave him a long look. “You could go back to your superiors and point out that the task is impossible with the resources they dedicated to it,” he said. “Most of Britain’s greatest military disasters resulted from the resources being utterly insufficient for the job at hand.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes, courage is more than just charging the enemy strongpoint, rifle in hand,” he added. “Sometimes, courage is telling your superiors that the job is impossible.”
“I see,” Percy mused. “But ...”
He broke off as his wristcom bleeped an alert. “Time to go back to drilling?”
Peerce smirked. “So it would seem, Corporal,” he said. “Just remember: these drills might save your life one day.”
***
“So,” John said. They sat together in his office, drinking tea. “What happened?”
Commander Watson and Johnston exchanged glances. “Basically, sir,” Commander Watson said, finally, “the harmonics produced by the modified drive created interference patterns that disrupted ...”
John held up a hand. “English, please,” he said.
Johnston cleared his throat. “We didn't tune the modified drive properly, because the simulations didn't account for rogue gravity fluxes within the tramline,” he said. “The jump was thus rather less gentle than we had assumed.”
“And I assume it will get worse if we have to jump at high speed,” John snapped. “Half the crew had headaches for hours after the jump. The doctor is already warning me that our supply of painkillers has been severely depleted. Already! Can we fix this problem or should we resign ourselves to no longer being combat-capable when we jump?”
He scowled at them both. The whole problem was outrageous. There were times, true, when a fleet would jump through the tramline and then take hours before it engaged the enemy, but there were other times when combat would start almost immediately. The thought of having to fight with half his crew effectively incapacitated was horrific.
“I believe we can make use of the readings we took during the jump to retune the drive,” Commander Watson said, finally. She hadn't had a headache. “However, I am unable to determine why so many crewmen suffered an adverse physical reaction.”
“There is no defining factor, as far as I can tell,” Richards said. “Experienced crew got headaches; inexperienced crew got headaches. Men got headaches; women got headaches. Old officers got headaches; young crew got headaches. There is a slight preponderance of men affected by the jump, but that could easily be a reflection of the crew’s makeup. Men outnumber the women two to one.”
“This isn't the first time humans have used a modified drive,” John mused. “Did Ark Royal ever encounter the same problem?”
“If she did, it was never listed in the logs,” Commander Watson said. She sounded intensely disapproving. “Chief Engineer Anderson was in charge of supervising the refit, Captain, but his log entries left something to be desired. I believe he would have been penalised for insufficient data if Ark Royal hadn't been unique.”
“I don’t think that either Admiral Smith or Admiral Fitzwilliam would have left such a detail out of their logs,” John mused. He took a sip of tea, thoughtfully. “And the ship’s doctor would definitely have recorded such an incident, wouldn't she?”
“Yes, sir,” Johnston said. “There would have been multiple reports of people suffering from using the drive. I do not believe that such reports were ever made.”
Richards leaned forward. “So,” he said. “What’s different about our drive?”
Commander Watson coloured, slightly. “Previous attempts to use alien technology effectively consisted of bolting the alien tech to the hull and praying for the best,” she said, tartly. “There was no time to refit multiple carriers and frigates with modified drive systems, given there was a war on. Our drive, however, represents the first attempt to marry human and alien technology within a hull. Clearly, our models were insufficient to predict issues caused by the marriage.”
“The Tadpoles might have used the same kind of technology as ourselves,” Johnston added, “but they had some different ideas about how the universe worked.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Commander Watson snapped. “The laws of science are identical, wherever one goes. Maybe the aliens can do something that looks inexplicable, but we will understand it, one day. There’s no such thing as different laws of science for different races.”
She glared down at the deck. “Imagine this ship being tossed back in time to the early days of space flight,” she said. “Imagine Yuri Gagarin coming face to face with Warspite, or a carrier like Illustrious. He’d think the ship did the impossible, but it is merely an application of technology. It would take years, perhaps, for the humans of that era to come to grips with our technology, but they could do it.”
“They would have to reinvent a great many technologies,” Johnston mused. “Even our standard reaction drives would be several steps ahead of them.”
“It could be done,” Commander Watson insisted. “Knowing that something is possible is half the battle.”
John cleared his throat, loudly. “As fascinating as this debate is,” he said, “we are getting away from the point. Can the drive be modified to prevent future headaches?”
“Yes,” Commander Watson said. “I have recalibrated the systems personally. Once we upload the refitted drive matrix, we should have a smoother transit through the known tramlines. However ...”
John felt his blood run cold. “However?”
“The early days of tramline exploration concentrated on lines of gravimetric flux we knew were solid,” Commander Watson said. “In many ways, there was no need to chart the subtle gravity fluxes that made up the majority of the tramline. Our drives effectively made their way through using brute force. Now, however, we are more dependent on monitoring the tiny gravity fluxes, because they can cause problems for us.”
“We’ve used Tramline One for over a hundred years,” Richards said, doubtfully. “I don’t think we ever had such problems before.”
“We didn't have the modified drive system either,” Commander Watson said. “I suspect we may have problems every time we try to use an unexplored tramline.”
John winced. “Can we solve this problem?”
“I believe we can reconfigure the drive as we approach the tramline,” Commander Watson said. “But we would have to do that in something of a hurry.”
“I see,” John said. “Make the calibrations, then write up a full report for transmission to the naval station in this system. They can take the message home if we don’t return.”
Commander Watson leaned forward. “Shouldn't we take the message back ourselves?”
John frowned, considering the thought. It would take a brave or foolhardy commanding officer to take it upon himself to rewrite orders from the Admiralty, particularly given the urgency of their mission. But Commander Watson had a point. Transmitting the message to the naval base near Terra Nova ran the risk of having the message intercepted, then decrypted by other human powers. They’d get a leg-up on their own advanced drive programs.
But it was a risk they needed to take. “We’ll transmit the message,” he said, firmly. “Inform me when you have the messages prepared.”
Commander Watson nodded, drank the rest of her tea and rose. “Thank you,” she said. “I will start right away.”
“With your permission, sir, I will go with her,” Johnston said. “I need to monitor every last aspect of the drive recalibration.”
“Make it so,” John said.
“I think he likes her, sir,” Richards said, once the hatch had hissed closed behind him. “They do spend a lot of time together.”
John groaned. Whatever was tolerated on Hamilton - and he knew shipyard crews had plenty of leeway
for getting into trouble, just like starfighter pilots - he knew he couldn't tolerate such a relationship on his ship. Commander Watson was Johnston’s direct superior; if they developed a relationship, it would result in a court martial. They’d be lucky to keep from being busted down to midshipmen when the board was finished with them. But Commander Watson was deemed important ... perhaps the board would choose to overlook the affair, which would be bad for discipline ...
Or maybe I’m making a fuss about nothing, he thought.
“Let me know if they seem to be doing more than meeting minds,” he said, instead. “But close relationships between engineers aren't exactly uncommon, even if they’re rarely sexual.”
“Of course, sir,” Richards said.
John nodded. “And the crew?”
“A little stunned by the headaches, sir, but recovering nicely,” Richards said. He’d already started to form ties with the crew, something John couldn't do and Commander Watson wouldn't do. In some ways, a posturing blowhard would be preferable. “Some muttering about the shortage of shore leave, but given what happened to the last crewmen who went for shore leave on Terra Nova, the muttering was very muted.”
“Good,” John said. People who wandered outside the secure zones on Terra Nova tended to come to short and gristly ends. “We will certainly try to organise something when we call in at a colony world.”
“If we do,” Richards agreed. “I don’t think anyone would want shore leave on Clarke III. At best, it’s another Titan.”
“And Titan helped power us to the stars,” John said. “Clarke III may do the same for the entire sector.”
He smiled at the memory of lessons he’d absorbed as a young man. Titan had been the objective of Britain’s first large interplanetary mission, one that had ensured that the British Space Program would remain prominent for decades to come. Water from Titan had helped the terraforming of Mars, as well as providing fuel and support to spacecraft heading out into the further reaches of the Solar System. Maybe Britain had made a smaller contribution to Mars than the Americans, Russians, Chinese or Japanese, but it didn't matter. Britain had controlled a major source of resources that had boosted the space program to the stars.
“Let us hope so, sir,” Richards agreed. “With your permission, Captain, I will resume my rounds.”
John nodded, then turned his attention to the latest set of reports as Richards left the cabin and Midshipwoman Powell cleared up the cups and saucers. The situation on Terra Nova hadn't improved in the weeks since he’d last looked at the Naval Update; the locals were still killing each other in job lots, hundreds of experienced personnel were fleeing to space and outside powers were still colonising the outer edge of the system, despite protests from Terra Nova’s various factions. Brazil and India had even opened naval bases of their own, running regular patrols though the system. John had a suspicion that the Indians, at least, weren't just posturing. There was a sizable population of Indian settlers on the planet’s surface.
It was nearly four hours before he was called to the bridge, where the XO was waiting for him. “The message is ready, sir,” she said, holding out a datapad. “I have described the problem and my method of solving it in great detail.”
John took the datapad and studied it, carefully. Technobabble had always irritated him - it had always seemed a way for engineers and computer programmers to put one over their superiors, who didn't have the slightest idea what they were talking about - but Commander Watson had thoughtfully included a summery at the beginning. He approved it for transmission, added a short note of his own for the First Space Lord, then uploaded the entire message to the communications console.
“Encrypt the message using Level Forty-Two protocols, then send it via laser to the naval station,” he ordered. “Repeat the message twice, then inform them we require an acknowledgement.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Forbes said.
John nodded, then sat back in his command chair and studied the tactical display. The squadron had dog-legged around the inhabited parts of the system, although it was clear that a handful of new asteroid settlements had sprung into existence since the last time the Royal Navy had tried to perform a census of the system. Most of them were tiny, perhaps manned by a single family; others looked large enough to hold a few hundred engineers. It was like the early days of space exploitation, he considered, only worse. Terra Nova wasn’t the safest place to live and raise a family.
His eyes narrowed as he saw the number of patrolling starships in the system. None of them belonged to Terra Nova itself, unsurprisingly; they belonged to various human spacefaring powers, apart from one ship making its way to Tramline Five. The Tadpole starship was clearly visible on the display, not even trying to hide. They’d sent another mission to Earth, John recalled; perhaps the ship making its way back home was their transport. And probably doing some spying at the same time. Officially, John knew, human starships visiting alien space didn't spy on the aliens. He would have been very surprised, he told himself, if anyone actually believed it. Spying on one’s former enemy was a very good idea.
After all, the war could break out again, he thought. And we have to be ready.
It was a haunting thought. The squadron could travel to Pegasus, putting itself out of contact for several months ... during which time the war could start again, with him and his men completely unknowing until they returned to more settled worlds. And then ... he shook his head at the thought. No matter the modifications to her design, Warspite was not intended to cruise indefinitely. She would rapidly decay into uselessness without access to spare parts and a shipyard.
A carrier might be able to either escape or launch a final vengeful attack on the alien homeworld, he thought. But we might not be able to make it.
“Captain,” Forbes said. “We have received an acknowledgement from the naval station.”
“Excellent,” John said. He turned to face Armstrong. “Take us through the tramline as soon as we reach it.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said. “Transit in ten minutes.”
John nodded, then keyed his console. “Now hear this,” he said, his voice echoing through the ship. “Transit in ten minutes. I say again, transit in ten minutes.”
“Everyone is going to be nervous, sir,” Richards muttered, too quietly for anyone but John to hear. “It may take a few safer jumps before the tension wears off.”
“It isn't as if we’re jumping right into the unknown,” John muttered back. He’d considered survey work, when it had become clear he no longer wanted to be a pilot. “But we might as well be, with the new drive.”
He forced himself to relax as the countdown reached zero. No matter how nervous he felt, he couldn't show it, not to the crew. A panicking commander would almost certainly cause the crew to panic too. Rumour had it that a couple of Russian commanders at New Russia had panicked, when the Multinational Fleet was cut to ribbons. They’d been practically unable to mount any kind of defence when the aliens moved in on their planet.
And they could have wiped out most of the Russian population from orbit, if they’d seen fit, John thought. If they’d been bent on slaughter ...
“Jump in ten seconds,” Armstrong announced. “Ten ... nine ... eight ...”
The entire ship shook, violently. And then the bridge was plunged into darkness.
Chapter Ten
“What the fuck?”
“As you were,” Peerce bellowed. The Marines had been in their barracks, bracing for the jump, when the lights went out. “Sound out, by numbers!”
Percy listened, grimly, as the Marines called out their numbers, one by one. Everyone seemed alive, at least; this time, there hadn't been any headaches. But the darkness was almost worse. On Earth, it had rarely been truly dark; in space, the darkness was absolute. It was easy, chillingly so, to imagine that anything could be lurking in the shadows, just waiting for them.
He reached for the flashlight at his belt and switched it on. To his relief, th
e light worked perfectly, allowing him to see twenty faces staring back at him. The other Marines rapidly grabbed their own flashlights, then freed themselves from their bunks. A moment later, the gravity failed, sending them drifting into the air. Percy cursed as he floated over to the hatch and forced it open. Thankfully, the loss of power had also disabled the lock.
“Section 1 will make its way towards the bridge,” Lieutenant Darryl Hadfield said, crisply. “Section 2 will head down towards Main Engineering. Corporal Hastings and two men will remain here, ready to coordinate our response.”
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 10