If Clay were asked to be specific about what irked him most about Gallant, he couldn’t articulate it. He only knew Gallant had a unique mental faculty to interface with AI controls—far surpassing Clay’s own talents. While he waited, he considered what it meant to lead men in battle. It wasn’t merely to demonstrate ship handling skills, or marksmanship, or to be conversant with the petty and trifling requirements of ship’s operations, or to be master of thousands of details—it was necessary to exhibit bold decisive initiative, moral as well as physical courage, and, ingenuity and quickness of thought. He was beginning to appreciate Gallant.
Clay was brought back to the present by a squawk from the computer console. The cat and mouse game with the enemy ship continued for nearly an hour. Clay’s eyes were glued to the screen as it flickered before him and went blank.
Clay watched the screens around him as the minutes tick by. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to roll down his genetically perfect face. He swiped it away.
The Warrior continued to wait.
After about ten minutes they made their approach to recover the Wasp. Once it was on board, Gallant came to the bridge.
“Evening, sir,” said Lieutenant Clay.
“Evening,” answered Gallant.
“There’s considerable planet turbulence, sir.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem for us.”
“No, sir, but it’ll get worse before long, sir.”
Gallant grunted.
Clay concluded, “It’s an interesting phenomenon.”
***
Later that evening, Roberts, Clay, and Gabriel joined Gallant in the wardroom for dinner. Gallant sat at the head of the table and as tradition demands played host to his officers. The Warrior was on its way to Base Kepler to transmit their latest report.
“I’m sure you gentlemen will forgive the meager fair of synthetics this evening. We still haven’t repaired the main food synthesizer.”
“This is better than syn-em, sir,” said Gabriel.
“Syn-em?” asked Gallant vaguely.
“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel, guilt faced.
Roberts said, “Syn-em is the nickname for the oldest bars of synthetic food normally stored in emergency ration packs in the escape pods. It can keep you alive if you had to abandon ship, but some say that after eating Syn-em for a while, you might wish that wasn’t the case.”
“I hope you haven’t been breaking into the emergency packs,” said Gallant.
“Oh no, sir. Not I. It’s just that I’ve heard rumors, is all,” said Gabriel.
“Mr. Roberts, please see that the emergency packages are fully stocked and post a notice that pilfering such supplies is frowned upon.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Did you ever eat syn-em on you other ships, sir?” asked Gabriel innocently.
In reply to such a direct question, Gallant was compelled to lie, “Of course not.”
Roberts grinned.
“Let’s return to our meal,” said Gallant.
They finished the unappetizing food, reluctant to leave unsatisfied when they were interrupted by a siren . . .
EEEEEERRRRRRRR!!!
The siren blared throughout the Warrior. Over the public address system, the engineering officer of the watch reported, “Radiation leak in the reactor compartment. Radiation leak in the reactor compartment.”
Seconds later the speakers clamored, “Reactor emergency. Reactor emergency.”
A ship is only as good as its crew and a single human error during nuclear power operations can jeopardize everyone on board. If any man lacks judgment, or initiative, the ship can be imperiled. It takes absolute determination to overcome serious accidents and no accident aboard ship is more serious than a reactor accident.
A reactor emergency required the swift shutdown of the nuclear fusion reactor. It is the ultimate safety action taken to prevent reactor core damage in crisis situations, such as over-power condition or an under-cooling condition. It involves the rapid insertion of substantial negative reactivity, usually by injection of control rods into the reactor fuel core. This diminished the nuclear fusion process, and substantially reduces power production. The action was initiated manually by the reactor operator when a fire started in the control rod panel.
Gallant bound from the wardroom to the bridge.
“Bridge, engineering; there has been a failure in the reactor control system and a minor leak has developed in the reactor compartment. The leak is in one control rod and we have initiated emergency shutdown of the reactor to a safe condition. There were no casualties or injuries.”
“Engineering, bridge; isolate the leak and restore the reactor to operation,” said Gallant.
“Bridge, engineering; Aye aye, sir. Estimated recovery within two hours.”
Gallant hovered nearby as two workers squatted beneath the piping manifold applying patches.
They successfully isolate the leaking control rod and restarted the reactor.
Gallant called Walker to report to him on the bridge.
Walker recommended that they operate the reactor at less than ninety per cent capacity for several days while he permanently repaired the damage. Gallant agreed.
They were fortunate that the accident occurred while they were near Base Kepler and could safely limp back to that haven while they affected repairs.
The journey to the base was mercifully uneventful.
Once there, they were able to complete repairs.
Gallant frowned when it was reported that the last routine maintenance on the rector control rods had not been performed. He wondered if he should take time from operations to sit at Base Kepler and catchup on maintenance and training before continuing missions into enemy territory.
The series of malfunctions was troubling and Gallant was at a loss as to what he could do about them this far from a shipyard.
CHAPTER 28
All In
It didn’t have the most comfortable chairs on the ship, but Gallant managed to spend the whole day sitting in CIC while he stared at the plunder he had stolen from the Titans. The loot consisted of many, many gigabits of data residing in a huge database. How many hours had he been studying the messages? He couldn’t recall. He could have asked the CIC analysts who had undergone several watch shifts since he started, but why bother. It wouldn’t give him any contentment. He swore to himself—intent on getting the job finished. He agonized over the translation and analysis of the stolen messages they had accumulated for two months. The ship’s AI computer had run nonstop, all day, every day, applying correlation algorithms that the CIC techs had designed. The algorithms took the messages that Gallant had translated and linked missions, ships, commanders, and locations, in order to construct hypothetical scenarios for the related military orders—all calculated to yield actionable military intelligence.
There are eccentrics in all rates of the service, but the CIC analysts were an odd collection unto themselves. Under McCall’s direction they used their problem-solving talents to dissect the data and extract possibilities.
Several of the CIC techs were sitting around the circular table with Gallant, McCall, Gabriel, and Clay. The diverse collection of grim expressions told a story of troubled dissention. They were all looking at the virtual screen of summarized data projected over the center of the table. The AI analyzer highlighted key components of the data. The room seemed hotter and stuffier than usual, but at least a refreshing breeze blew in through ventilation ducts.
“I don’t doubt for a moment,” said Gallant, “that this important puzzle must be resolved to a single conclusive solution and only that solution should be transmitted to Fleet Command.”
“I disagree. You can’t be sure of finding a definitive answer,” said McCall.
“Well, commander, put yourself in the Titan’s position. Would you send military fleet orders of such importance without the comprehensive goal of striking a fatal blow at the United Planets?”
�
��No, I wouldn’t,” said McCall.
No one who knew McCall could doubt that she would not risk her career on speculation.
“The Titans have been looking to exploit their current strategic position by unleashing a lethal attack on the inner planets,” said Gallant, convinced of his argument.
“That may be likely,” said McCall, reluctantly.
“And if they are prepared to attack soon then the many raids they have already sent to attack Mars must have been peremptory moves designed to test the UP responses under various scenarios. They have proven themselves to prefer highly involved multipronged attacks and our captured information fits that profile.”
“Well . . .,” said McCall showing irritation at being forced by logic into making a momentous decision, and one she did not want to be held accountable for, even as she continued to struggle against it.
“I meant no disrespect to your analysis. Of course you must decide where your duty lies,” said Gallant, looking from her to Clay, and then back to her.
McCall said, “We have to solve this dilemma and I think, that with my guidance, we’ve made pretty good progress. I don’t want to leave out the alternative scenarios when we send our report.”
“You continue to refuse to reach a final conclusion.”
McCall said, “When you try to solve an impenetrable problem, you must find resources in every element involved. There are always more layers than appear on the surface. This is a puzzle of fleet movements and deployments, and orders that must be made to mesh together into a coherent picture.”
Gallant had reviewed the findings and the techs, likewise, had kept his translations accurate by repeatedly challenging his message interpretations. Together they discovered what appeared to be an imminent Titan war plan to attack Mars. It remained to convince McCall to transmit that conclusion to Fleet Command without a multitude of qualifying statements.
“Their plan uses a series of diversionary raids intended to splinter the UP fleet making Mars vulnerable to a powerful strike from the asteroids,” summarizing his final assessment of the information.
“Let’s go through this one more time. Convince me that this scenario represents the only possible truth—a truth, we can place the entire future of our people on,” demanded McCall.
Gallant looked at her patiently.
Clay shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He appeared about to say something, but was uncertain how to intervene in an argument between senior officers.
Gabriel sat listening trying to absorb the arguments, but was already completely committed to his commanding officer.
The techs looked at one another waiting for orders.
McCall said, “An analyst should study all the information and assess each piece’s relative merits along with its flaws. Once that’s complete, he can formulate a prediction, or estimation. Analysts should never engage in fortunetelling.”
“We can’t use a fortuneteller,” Gallant said, “but we could use a reliable prediction based upon the facts gathered and verified.”
“That’s the issue,” she said. “We have to establish the validity of each message and weigh it against your translation and interpretation. We have lots of indirect information related to military operations from civilian and administrative sources, the details of which may, or may not, be factual. And we also have a few direct military sources. But how do we know they aren’t deliberately planted, or wrong, or misleading, or subject to a different interpretation.”
Gallant drummed his fingers on the table. He said, “We are operating under the assumption that the Titans don’t know we can translate their military orders. So they have no need to create false trails for our intelligence service.”
McCall responded, “They may not be planting false information for us. They could be trying to deceive their own population for propaganda purposes.”
“Based on my impression of the interviews I’ve had with the prisoners, and the messages I’ve translated, I feel that population propaganda is an unlikely possibility,” said Gallant.
McCall looked unmoved.
Gallant said, “We have the operational orders given directly to the Titan armada, squadron by squadron. In this case, the ability to look at a seemingly random set of events and identify an emerging pattern was achieved using our AI computer. The pattern that emerged draws a graphic picture of fleet movements starting from the asteroid belt and striking at Mars, first with diversionary feints and then with one massive blow. We even have their high command’s direct orders to several fleet commanders.”
“I suggest we inform Mars headquarters about our conclusions about an attack, but include a discussion about the relative likelihood of alternative hypotheses, not just the most likely one.”
“Given the time limitation and the fact that we can’t transmit the entire database, it is up to us to provide our best scenario and stick with that. It would be unfair to ask them to second guess us and wade through a list of alternative scenarios. It would cause confusion, and worse, hesitation. We have been at this for two months; they can’t duplicate our intimate understanding of the weight to give each bit of evidence. If we trust in our findings, we must recommend their adaption and rigorously defend them,” said Gallant.
The discussion had started out calmly and professionally, but it was now becoming heated.
McCall continued to negotiate to leave the report as vague as possible to avoid any possibility of subsequent blame should the information prove false. She struggled to keep her personal feelings hidden.
Gabriel could see the byplay of the senior officers and remained silent.
There was a whirl of excitement around the table as the tension mounted. Gallant looked from face to face.
McCall was apparently seeking support for her arguments from Clay, but he was wavering. A glance at the tech showed they were uncertain.
Gallant wondered if he could offer a more persuasive argument.
“You’ve made some good points, commander,” he said, “But I’m convinced that it would lead to procrastination on the part of Fleet Command and a lost opportunity of the United Planets.”
“You are not dealing with this correctly, captain. We’ll look like fools if these messages were garbled by your translation, or if our analysis proves faulty.”
“This is not just a chance to avoid a beating from the Titans. It is an opportunity to turn the table on them. We wouldn’t get another chance like this, maybe forever.”
“It’s too risky.”
“Too risky for the fleet? Or too risky for your career?” asked Gallant pointedly.
Infuriated, McCall turned beet red.
“We need to transmit our report immediately,” said Gallant, unwilling to temporize any further.
McCall didn’t look like she could be made to yield.
McCall stood up and raised her fists over her head, she shouted, “No! You can’t send those conclusions. I am responsible for the analysis of the data and I refuse to approve your conclusions.”
All the men stood up in surprise.
She said ominously, “It’s all too much about you! You acquired the information, you translated it, you analyzed it, and now you’ve reached the final conclusion,” she pounded her fists on the table, “I don’t believe a Natural is capable of playing so decisive a role in our survival. You will lead us all to disaster! It’s all on your head.”
Gallant composed himself and sat back down. He said calmly, “I’m willing to take full responsibility. It’s the only way to ensure that Fleet Command will have faith in our conclusions and then take action. Collingsworth can still choose to not take it as credible, but at least this will be timely, targeted, and actionable. We can’t send raw data and a plethora of diverse options. It’s up to us to reach the best conclusions from what we’ve done. No one else can have the same assurance about what is real and what is wishful thinking.”
Clay looked at Gallant then at McCall. His words surprised everyone, “I agree with
the captain.”
McCall looked as if she had been struck. She realized she had lost her main supporter and any further argument would be in vain.
Gallant offered her a face saving option. He said, “I will take full responsibility for the conclusions in the report, but I will allow you to write a short dissenting opinion that will be included in the transmission.”
McCall said through gritted teeth, “Thank you.”
An hour later the document was ready for transmission.
Gallant leaned forward and reviewed the material one more time before signing it. He wondered if Fleet Command would be able to read between the lines and realize how much of the report was guess work and how much was logical deduction.
It was time to send the report.
A chime rang indicating the OOD wanted to speak to the captain. Gallant tapped his comm pin and asked, “Yes?”
“Sir, we’re ready to begin transmission.”
Gallant pictured McCall’s sour face as he said, “Commence transmitting.”
The report was encrypted and fed through an AI system into a directional laser aimed at Mars. It wouldn’t arrive for many hours.
Gallant thought, I have to believe in myself, even if no one else does.
CHAPTER 29
Trap
A great weight had been lifted from Gallant’s shoulders. He had spied, intrigued, and probed the enemy’s domain. He had discovered actionable intelligence of a pending Titan attack, and he had submitted a detailed report to his superiors. It was now up to them to decide if they believed the intelligence, his report, and him. They could change fleet deployments, movements, and orders—if they chose to trust the intelligence. If they disbelieved the report in part or in whole, they might take little or no action. He’d done his job. What more could he do?
Sure, he could continue to monitor communications and be alert for additional information and any changes in Titan plans. He could continue to conduct sabotage operations and anything that might disrupt the enemy. But that was for another day. For today, he didn’t have anything planned. The Warrior was recharging her battery at Base Kepler, and he was lying on his cot in his cabin being deliciously lazy.
Henry Gallant and the Warrior (The Henry Gallant Saga Book 3) Page 15