[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I see,” John said, darkly. “And why did this happen?”

  “The power conduit routers are supposed to be replaced on a regular basis, because they wear out quickly,” Johnston explained. “In this case, sir, the power conduits were certified as having been replaced, but in reality the old components remained firmly in place. The net result was that they eventually proved unable to handle the burden placed on them and crashed.”

  “Shit,” John said.

  He allowed his voice to harden. “I’m no engineering officer,” he added, “but aren’t these subsections supposed to be checked and checked again?”

  “They are,” Johnston said. “The fault was mine.”

  John forced himself to reign in the urge to bite his engineer’s head off. There were commanding officers, he knew from bitter experience, who wouldn’t hesitate to shout and scream at the offender, no matter their rank. But Johnston was a good man and, if he had overlooked something, it hadn't been deliberate. He’d just have to learn from his mistakes, like everyone else.

  “Did you refuse to check them,” he asked finally, “or did you put your trust in the wrong person?”

  “The wrong people,” Johnston said. “I checked the records, once we had identified the offending components. Engineering Officer Frank Cole and Engineering Officer Lillian Turner were responsible for replacing the components and verifying that the task had been handled properly. Three of the four failed components had their signatures on the task record, sir. The fourth, the final one to fail, probably couldn't have handled the sudden power surge even if it was fresh out of the factory.”

  John glared down at the deck, furiously. “And they did this ... why?”

  “I checked the records,” Johnston repeated. “The components they claimed to have inserted into the systems are not onboard ship. I assume they took the components and sold them, probably to one of the civilian factors visiting Hamilton, while asserting that the old components were, in fact, the new components. Given that we were originally scheduled to leave later in the year, sir, they may have assumed that there would be time to replace the older components with newer ones before a general inspection.”

  John cursed under his breath. The Royal Navy was a brotherhood, one where everyone onboard ship had to rely on their fellows. To be betrayed was bad enough, but to be sold out was worse. The two engineering officers might have earned millions of pounds by selling military-grade hardware, yet they had also risked an entire starship and the lives of two hundred crew. They’d be lucky not to be lynched by their former comrades when the truth came out.

  Johnston rose to his feet. “Sir,” he said, “I trusted them when I shouldn’t have. The fault was mine.”

  “Sit down,” John said, before Johnston could start a melodramatic offer of resignation. “We have to assume our crewmen are honest, because otherwise we will go mad.”

  He scowled as his Chief Engineer sat down. No matter what happened next, he knew, the damage had been done. Everyone was going to be watching everyone else carefully, for signs of sabotage or treason. There could be no trust among different departments when two engineers, the people responsible for maintaining the ship, had sold out the crew. It was going to turn into a nightmare.

  “Two things,” he said, holding up a hand. “I want you to organise a full check of each and every component on the ship. Jumble up the normal work teams, then get them checking units they were not personally involved in installing.”

  “That will be tricky, sir,” Johnston warned. “Warspite isn’t a fleet carrier. We don’t have engineering sections devoted to separate parts of the ship.”

  “Do the best you can,” John said. “If nothing else, make sure you disrupt any pre-deployment relationships and teams. Second, I want you to check our spare part situation, starting with pallets our two suspects verified. If we’re short on spare components, we may have to return to Earth before something else fails.”

  “Aye, sir,” Johnston said. He sounded bitter. Thanks to two bad apples, months of work would have to be checked, rechecked and, if necessary, redone. The mission would be badly delayed. “I assume you will be taking steps to arrest our two bastards?”

  John turned to Lieutenant Hadfield. “Take your Marines and arrest the pair of them, then transfer the bastards to the brig,” he ordered. “Once they’re in the brig, you can start interrogating them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hadfield said, standing. “I shall see to it at once.”

  “And tell your men that I wish to gather evidence for a Captain’s Mast,” John added. “They will have to be tried onboard ship.”

  Richards cleared his throat. “Captain,” he said. “I must point out that regulations ...”

  “The crew needs to see justice done,” John said, shortly. It was true that regulations frowned on holding courts onboard ship, at least when the death penalty was a very real possibility, but it was within his legal rights. “You’ll act as their defender, should they request one.”

  “Yes, sir,” Richards said. He didn't sound pleased, but John could hardly blame him. Being a defender, when the case was open and shut, was a good way to wind up feeling frustrated and powerless, even if the culprits were guilty as sin. “I will, of course, require time to visit my clients.”

  “Let me arrest them first,” Hadfield said. “Then you can talk with them, once we have completed the interrogation.”

  “Very good,” John said. “Dismissed.”

  Richards and Hadfield left; Commander Watson remained, looking cross.

  “Captain,” she said. “I never ... I never knew this could happen.”

  “People aren't machines,” John said, curtly. He thought, briefly, of the letter from the First Space Lord. Relieving Commander Watson of her duties as XO would allow her to spend most of her time in Main Engineering, assisting the Chief Engineer. “They can do stupid things for money, or because they have some ideological motive, or because they’re scared, or because they’re just stupid. You have to watch people closely.”

  “It isn't logical,” Commander Watson insisted. “They could have killed everyone on the ship and set the program back several years.”

  John took a closer look at his XO. A pair of pointed ears, like some of the odder settlers on asteroid colonies, might suit her. She definitely had the face and body for it.

  “People are rarely logical,” he said. “Logic might have urged us to surrender after the Battle of New Russia; human stubbornness kept us fighting until we had a chance for victory.”

  He sighed. “We can go over it later,” he added. “For the moment, we have to concentrate on getting the ship back into fighting trim.”

  Commander Watson nodded, then rose. “I shall be in Main Engineering,” she said. “It should be another few hours before we have verified all of the replacement components.”

  She left, leaving John alone.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, staring down at his hands. Betrayal was always the worst, even if it had been motivated by money rather than allegiance to a foreign power. “What the hell do we do now?”

  Impatiently, he rose, walked through the hatch and out onto the bridge. The main display, right in front of him, was showing the squadron as it waited, patiently, for the most modern starship in the Royal Navy to complete its repairs. John ground his teeth in bitter frustration, then sat down in the command chair and checked the reports. At least they’d managed to distribute radios, flashlights and other emergency supplies to the various departments. If the power failed again, they would be far better prepared to handle it.

  We should have anticipated the problem, he thought, grimly. Hindsight was such a wonderful thing. Whatever happened at the Captain’s Mast, there would be a Board of Inquiry as soon as Warspite returned home. The Admiralty would be less than impressed, both with the disaster and his crew’s response to it. But we didn’t and we suffered for it.

  “Captain,” Howard said. “Main Engineering reports they’ve installed addition
al power links between the fusion reactors and the ship’s power distribution network. A second set of failure cascades is unlikely.”

  “Let us hope so,” John said. “And the rest of the ship?”

  “There was no damage, outside Main Engineering,” Howard reminded him. “The tactical department is functioning normally.”

  And if we lose power when we’re going to war¸ John thought morbidly, we will die before we even know we’re under attack.

  “Run a handful of tracking exercises,” he said. “We may as well put the time to good use.”

  “Yes, sir,” Howard said.

  John sat back in his chair and studied the system display. It had only recently been discovered, as it was only reachable through an alien-grade tramline, and there were no settlers, save for a single independent mining colony. The colonists hadn’t noticed the squadron’s arrival, which was something of a relief. It would have been embarrassing to have to admit that they’d lost power as soon as they’d emerged from the tramline. John wondered, absently, if the colonists intended to ally themselves with one of the spacefaring powers or try to remain independent, although it would be hard for them to make their independence stick. The Space Treaty might concede a life-bearing system to the nation that first discovered it, but systems without habitable worlds couldn't be claimed. It might not be long before other settlers arrived in the system.

  Particularly if it seems a more attractive place to live than Terra Nova, he thought. But then, Hell would seem a more attractive place than Terra Nova.

  He smirked at the thought, then frowned as his wristcom bleeped. “Yes?”

  “Captain,” Hadfield said. “We have the two miscreants in custody.”

  “I’m on my way,” John said. He rose, then looked at Howard. “You have the bridge, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” Howard said. “I have the bridge.”

  John stepped through the hatch, then walked down the long corridor to the brig, situated just past the hatch leading out of Officer Country. It always surprised civilians to discover that military starships had their own prisons, but they were necessary. Crewmen could get drunk, or rowdy ... and there had to be somewhere to put them until they cooled down, even if they hadn't committed any serious crimes. Besides, there were brigs on passenger liners too, John knew. Civilians could do the damndest things in space and sometimes had to be restrained for their own good.

  Hadfield met him at the hatch. “Sir,” he said, holding out a datapad. “We have reviewed their personnel files.”

  “Thank you,” John said.

  He took the datapad and skimmed it quickly. Engineering Officer Frank Cole was in his early fifties, really too old for his rank. A quick check revealed that he had several notes inserted into his record that meant promotion was extremely unlikely; indeed, if the Royal Navy hadn't been so short of experienced personnel, he would probably not have been permitted to reenlist when his contract expired. John sighed inwardly, knowing that Cole would be a bitter man. To be denied promotion for so long had to sting, even if he acknowledged he deserved it. But John had to admit that was unlikely. Very few people blamed themselves for their own misfortunes.

  Engineering Officer Lillian Turner, by contrast, was young, young enough to be Cole’s daughter. John frowned down at her image - Royal Navy personnel files always made their subjects look stupid, criminal, dead or some combination of the three - then checked her record. She’d graduated from the Academy just before the end of the war and served on two frigates before being assigned to the NGW program. There hadn't been any complaints about her, as far as he could tell. But there were some issues that were never written down.

  “I see,” he said. “Let me see them.”

  Hadfield nodded, then pressed his hand against the scanner and opened the hatch. The brig was tiny, only four cells: cramped, soundproofed and effectively escape-proof. One hatch was open, revealing an empty cell; the other three were closed, two marked occupied. The Marine standing in front of the cells, as if they needed to be guarded, keyed a switch, activating the internal monitor. Cole was seated on the bunk, his hands cuffed behind his back, his face flushed with helpless rage. In the other cell, Lillian Turner, also cuffed, looked as though she was crying. She also looked too young for her uniform.

  “We’re ready to begin the interrogation,” Hadfield said. “I was thinking we’d start with Cole, then move on to Turner. He’s probably the ringleader in the affair.”

  John looked at the weeping girl, then nodded. If Johnston was right and profit was the motive, Cole would have the contacts to sell military-grade hardware to the highest bidder, which left Lillian as his assistant. But he knew he could be wrong; it would be dangerous to assume that Cole was in charge, even though he was the older and probably the most cunning of the pair. Lillian might have seduced him, then bent him to her will.

  “Do so,” he said. “I will watch from the observation section.”

  The interrogation chamber was slightly larger than the cell, separated into two sections. One held the suspect and his interrogators, a pair of burly Marines; the other held space for a handful of observers to watch, without being observed themselves. John stood in the chamber and watched, dispassionately, as Cole was hauled into the interrogation chamber and cuffed firmly to the chair. The Engineering Officer didn't stop fighting until it was completely pointless, even though his hands were cuffed and his feet were shackled. Somehow, John wasn't too surprised. If Cole was found guilty, the death penalty was a very real possibility.

  “Interrogation Session Warspite 001 begins,” Hadfield said, for the benefit of the recording systems. Everything would be recorded for the inevitable Board of Inquiry. “Suspect; Frank Cole. Interrogators; Lieutenant Hadfield, Royal Marines. Sergeant Peerce, Royal Marines. Field Medic Seymour Chalmers, Royal Marines. Charges against the suspect are detailed in the attached files, including - but not limited to - falsification of documents, deliberate sabotage of HMS Warspite and injuries to nine crewmen, caused by said sabotage.”

  He turned to look down at Cole. “Under the Military Justice Act, revised in 2190, I am authorised to conduct this interrogation with the aid of a lie detector and, if necessary, truth drugs. Should you refuse to cooperate, or lie repeatedly, these drugs will be used. In the event of you disclosing evidence of other crimes, this evidence may be used against you at the Captain’s Mast. Do you understand what I have told you?”

  Cole glowered at him. “Go to hell, you stupid green-skinned bastard!”

  John sighed, inwardly. Civilians would see a Captain’s Mast as an inherently unfair trial - and they might be right. There was no protection against self-incrimination, nor was there any appeal; indeed, the ship’s commander was the judge. But it also helped to prove to the rest of the crew that justice would be served, whatever the situation. There would be no room for lawyers to have the case abolished on a technicality.

  Hadfield didn't show any anger at the insults. “Do you understand what I have told you?”

  “Yes,” Cole said.

  “Good,” Hadfield said. “We begin.”

  He picked up a datapad and glanced at it, then looked back at Cole. “On 23rd June, 2209, you entered a statement in the engineering log that component #3762, a power conduit router, was replaced with a new component drawn from ship’s stores. Is that correct?”

  “I don’t remember,” Cole said, sullenly. “I change many components each week.”

  “However, you didn't replace this component,” Hadfield said. “By checking the serial numbers against the log, we confirmed that the original component was actually left in place, while its replacement vanished from the stores. What happened to the replacement component?”

  Cole glared at him, furiously. “I don’t remember ...”

  “You’re lying,” Hadfield said, without apparent emotion. “What happened to the replacement component?”

  “I ... I took it to Luna City,” Cole said, reluctantly.

  “True
,” Hadfield observed. “And did you have official permission to take the component to Luna City?”

  There was a long pause. “Yes,” Cole said.

  “Another lie,” Hadfield said. “Medic?”

  “No, please,” Cole pleaded. “You can't drug me!”

  John watched, as dispassionately as he could, while the medic pressed an injector against Cole’s arm. The man fought frantically, bruising himself against the cuffs, until the drug took effect, whereupon he collapsed into a daze. Hadfield waited until the medic gave the all-clear, then resumed the interrogation. This time, there was no attempt to obstruct the truth.

  “He was selling the components to civilian suppliers,” Hadfield said, once the interrogation was finally over. “He wasn't spying on us, thank goodness.”