Ships of My Fathers

by Thompson, Dan

  Maya circled out into the broad expanse of the deck, still firing. Wheaton’s voice spiked mid-word into a pitiful yelp and then subsided into gasping whispers. Michael could not see him, but he could see the furious satisfaction on Maya’s face afterwards.

  Michael kept pulling himself forward. Alarms were going off overhead, but Michael paid them no attention. Maya was headed in towards Wheaton, and Victor’s gun was still a meter away. He almost had it when he heard another voice, this time familiar enough to cut through the haze.

  “Michael!”

  It was Gabrielle.

  He looked up and saw her running towards him, but he also saw Maya stop and turn. She raised her pistol, pivoting as she tracked the moving target. Michael yanked the pistol from Victor’s holster, aimed at Maya, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  He fumbled around looking for the safety but did not see anything obvious.

  Maya braced her gun with both hands. She was standing very still.

  To hell with it. He grabbed the pistol by the barrel and gave it as hard a throw as he could.

  A sick little grin was creeping onto Maya’s face when the butt of the pistol’s handle smacked into her temple. She turned slightly towards Michael, opened her mouth, and dropped to the floor. Her own pistol fell from her limp hand and clattered across the deck.

  Gabrielle skidded to a stop, dropping to her knees beside Michael. He twisted as best as he could to look up at her. “I thought I told you not to come after me.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, you said a lot of stupid things.”

  A gray uniform appeared overhead. “Hey, kid, you okay?” It was the remaining legitimate guard, Walter Quinn.

  He smiled and gave a thumbs up. “Aces.”

  “I got the other one. What the hell was all that about?”

  “Get some more people down here, and I’ll tell you. Get people you know.”

  “You got that right, kid. Stay here.”

  Michael looked back at Gabrielle. “So, stupid, huh?”

  Whatever she answered was drowned out by a terrible cracking sound and then a sudden and strong wind. It was strong enough to knock Gabrielle onto him and pull them both across the deck towards the open airlock — the open airlock which was now suddenly venting to space. But just as quickly as it begun, it cut off with an ear-shattering metallic clang as the dockside airlock door slammed shut under the outbound pressure.

  Gabrielle righted herself and looked around. “There they are. It’s Father and Commander Collins.”

  “Your dad’s here?”

  “Of course.”

  He looked. Sure enough, Uncle Hans was running towards them with a Naval officer and twenty or thirty marines. Several of them branched off towards Monty and began calling for the medics.

  Michael lay back on the deck. “I think I’ll go with security after all.”

  Chapter 26

  “You can lie to me all you want, but someday I’ll learn the truth. When that day comes, know that there will be a reckoning.” - Malcolm Fletcher

  MICHAEL INSISTED ON GIVING HIS statement to Walter Quinn as he was being transported down to the hospital on ring one. Several marines tagged along with them, but Michael ignored them. Some navy officer asked a few clarifying questions, but mostly Michael kept blabbering into Quinn’s recorder. He thought he had a lot to say, but it ran down surprisingly quickly: jumping ship at Latera, funny business about wake scans, becoming an unofficial prisoner, Elsa Watkins, the Winged Lady, Father Chessman, mysterious cargo, and fake security uniforms. Still, it drained the rest of his energy to say it all.

  The emergency wing of the hospital was a confusion of lights, scanners, and unknown faces behind masks, but by the end of it, they declared him reasonably well. “The concussion seems mild, but I’m going to keep you here overnight for observation. The bruising around your ribs looks bad, but you got away without any breaks.”

  “What about Monty?” he asked.

  The doctor looked confused. “The Navy officer? They took him to surgery. I’ll find out what I can, but in the meantime, you’ve got some visitors. Shall I send them in?”

  He nodded and regretted it only a little. Whatever they had given him for the pain was effective. Pity it would not be effective against angry uncles.

  But it was not Hans that came through, nor was it Gabrielle. It was another Navy man. He was not in a ship uniform, but more of a semi-formal affair you might expect to see around base. As he approached, Michael recognized the gold crescent of a Commander. The patch read Samuel Collins. He walked in slowly and stood by the bed.

  “Hello, Mr. Fletcher. Are you feeling well?”

  “Well enough,” he replied hoarsely. His throat was dry. “You were at the docks, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you heard anything about Lt. Commander Wheaton?”

  “I believe he’s still in surgery, but the last I heard was they had stopped the bleeding. It’s going to take some work to repair his lung, but it sounds like he’s going to be all right.”

  “Good. Are you a friend of his?”

  He gave his head a noncommittal tilt. “He’s something of an acquaintance, but the truth is I’m here for you.”

  Michael’s eyes went wide. “What did I do?”

  Collins smiled. “It’s not like that, not at all. No, Mr. Fletcher, you made an information request some time back for Malcolm Fletcher’s war records, and one incident in particular.”

  It came back to Michael slowly. With all the insanity of the Jaguar, he had forgotten filing the request on Tortisia. “Yes, a border incident… I can’t remember the number.”

  “CasRb-733,” Collins replied. “I came looking for you.”

  “Well, lucky for you I came back through Arvin.”

  Collins shook his head. “Quite the opposite, actually. I went looking for you at Latera. That’s how I met up with your uncle and cousin. In truth, you led us on quite the merry chase.”

  As exhausted as he was, Michael still felt his face redden in embarrassment. “Sorry about that, but why would you go all that way just to answer an old records request? I mean, all I was hoping for was some mail.”

  Collins smiled down at him. “I’ll explain soon enough, but it is enough to say that the request caught my eye. They told me you’ll be here overnight for observation. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  Michael nodded. “Tomorrow then. You’ll have the records?”

  “Hopefully more. The marines are already on board the Blue Jaguar, so I’m going to go check in with them.”

  And with that he walked out, only to be replaced by Gabrielle rushing into the room. She flew to his bedside and hugged him fiercely. “Dear God, Michael, when you get better, I am going to thrash you so hard.”

  He hugged her back feebly. “I hear you.”

  She sat up. “I was so worried about you, and that was before I heard what kind of ship you ended up on. And look at what they did to you!”

  He chuckled, vaguely aware that Hans had come through the door. “Well, you should see the other guy. Your friend Collins tells me they’re entertaining the marines right now.”

  “Well good,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe,” Hans said from foot of the bed.

  Michael looked out at him. “I’m sorry I left you like that, sir. I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”

  Hans shook his head. “No, Michael. I’m sorry I gave you cause to leave.”

  Michael nodded. He did not know what to say.

  Hans took it for what it was. “Well, we’ll talk more when you’re better.”

  “Yeah, and thanks for coming.”

  Hans shrugged. “You’re family,” he said. That was it. He gave a brief smile and left.

  Gabrielle watched him go, and then turned back to Michael. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s being stoic. So tell me, what’s all this I’m hearing about Father Ch
essman? Who is he?”

  Michael shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  Michael never saw the doctor the next morning, but the nurse said that the doctor had cleared him for discharge. He got up and dressed. Gabrielle had thoughtfully brought along one of his old Heavy Heinrich uniforms. He noted, however, that she had not brought his old Sophie’s Grace uniform.

  He was searching the console for news on the previous day’s events when the nurse came in with a wheelchair. He took one look at it and said, “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Sorry, hospital policy.” She wiggled it back and forth, giving it a little tilt. “Come on, it could be fun.”

  He shook his head twice. “The last time I was in a wheelchair, it was not fun, so policy or not, I think I’ll walk.”

  She shrugged and put it back outside the door. “At least let me walk you out.”

  “What’s the news on Lt. Commander Wheaton?” he asked, following her into the hall. “I heard he came through his surgery, but nothing else.”

  “He’s doing well,” she answered. “He’s over there in room two-twenty.”

  Michael did not wait for her to offer. He simply changed course: three doors down and left. Inside, the man was reclining in bed, looking dejectedly at the remains of his breakfast.

  “Lt. Commander,” Michael called from the door.

  He looked over. “Ah, Michael. Come on in.”

  Michael walked to the bed, leaving his nurse at the door. “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “Pretty good. Not hungry enough to eat that, but pretty good. And you? You got beat pretty good I hear.”

  “Beat, yes, but not beaten. I’m sorry I called you in on this, but thanks for coming anyway.”

  Wheaton shook his head. “No, you did the right thing. It was smart.”

  “Well, thanks anyway. I guess that makes us even.”

  “Even?” He looked away for a moment. “Maybe, maybe I still owe you, or at least the Navy does.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That cargo, you know, the Father Chessman stuff? It was stolen Navy missiles, a hundred sixty of them. Top of the line, ship-to-ship stuff.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. “What, like gravity warheads?”

  “Sorry, classified.”

  Michael shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Wheaton waved him off. “It’s not like that. They wouldn’t tell me either, but when your intelligence friend got the news, he went nuts.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “Yeah, that Commander Collins fellow. Naval Intelligence, but pretty sharp for a desk jockey. He came by this morning, said he was waiting for you.”

  Michael nodded. The records request, Malcolm’s history, the death of his mother. It was about to become much more real. “Then I had best not keeping him waiting. You get better soon.”

  The shuttle ride over to the Naval station was longer than Michael expected, but it did give him time to tell the details of his adventure to his family and Collins. The shuttle had a large block of general seating filled with personnel of varying rank, but the four of them had one of the two private compartments to themselves.

  Commander Collins listened quietly, only occasionally asking for clarifications on the names. Gabrielle on the other hand was quite animated, especially at first, telling Michael how foolish he had been, but after the third time, Hans told her to stop. “That’s quite enough,” he said. “It’s not your place to judge your cousin’s choices. You weren’t there.”

  Hans’ reserve surprised him, so he took note of how quiet his uncle was being. In fact, his only other comment during the entire tale was during Michael’s explanation of how he was able to move through the walls of the Jaguar. Hans merely shook his head and muttered, “Shoddy construction. Fools.”

  He had just gotten to Maya taking aim at Gabrielle for her mid-battle arrival when the docking notice sounded. “But why didn’t you shoot her?” Gabrielle asked.

  Michael ducked his head in embarrassment. “I couldn’t figure out the safety. Tried pushing it, tried turning it.” He shrugged. “I never learned to use one, but I can throw pretty well.”

  They made their way out of the shuttle and through the station with Collins as their guide. Michael was impressed at the size. It was perhaps as large as the civilian station. It had fewer rings, but they were much larger. “It’s for the carriers,” Collins explained. “They need more elbow room than even the Heavy Heinrich.”

  At last they reached the Intelligence office, and Collins signed them in and handed them visitor badges. “Why here?” Michael asked. “I thought this was a records query.”

  “It’s more secure here.”

  He led them further down a corridor to a smaller lounge where a steward waited. Collins paused outside a door labeled “Projection Four” and turned to Michael.

  “What I’m about to show you is from our archives, not part of the general record. I can get you a written report that offers more details than the public record, but we don’t release copies of these archives.”

  “Are they classified or something?”

  He shook his head. “Not in this case, but there are privacy matters, respect for the dead, that kind of thing. You made the request, so I’m offering them to you. Your family is only here as a courtesy. Whether they join us is up to you.”

  “But—” Gabrielle began her objection, but Hans put a hand on her shoulder.

  “No, dear, this is for Michael. We can wait out here.”

  Michael thought about it a moment before answering. “No, I think I want my cousin with me.”

  “Damn straight,” she said.

  “As for my uncle,” he said, turning to face Hans, “Peter was his brother, and I guess he knew Sophia better than I ever will. He can join us if he wants.”

  Collins nodded and opened the door. “Then let’s get started.”

  The room had six seats arrayed on one side of a curved table, all of them focused in on a large screen on the opposite wall. Collins positioned himself at a podium at the far corner and motioned the others to the seats. The steward closed the door behind them, and the room grew dark but for the soft glow of the screen.

  It lit up to read, “CasRb-733, Archive Compilation.”

  “The review of ship-to-ship battles is a tricky affair,” Collins began. “There are multiple vessels with varying degrees of limited information. In some cases this limit is due to distance or interference, and in other cases, it is because the ship was destroyed. Ships often maintain a hardened records core, and after a battle, it is sometimes recovered, but not always. There are also ship-to-ship communications, and they can often shed additional light on the battle. Put it all together, and it can be mere wisps of information in some areas with terabytes of data in others. These compilations are how we tend to view them.”

  Collins clicked the screen forward, and Michael saw the same summary page he had found months earlier. It presented two columns of ships. On the left were the freighters: Vannover Markey, damaged, five deaths; Corey Tasha, destroyed, all hands lost; Kaiser’s Folly, destroyed, all hands lost, updated 3381-183 to note four survivors. On the right were the combatants: the Reilly and the Hammerhead.

  The Hammerhead had been Malcolm’s ship.

  The screen advanced again to show a large tactical display with four icons: VM, CT, KF, and Rl. The Hammerhead was not represented.

  “For the initial phase of the battle, our best records are from the Vannover Markey, but as you can see, she was quite distant from the rest.”

  The VM icon blinked. While the others were hardly clustered, the distance to the Vannover Markey was easily triple the distance between any two others.

  “The Markey reported falling out of tach after running afoul of a significant disturbance in the tachyon winds. This disturbance was not on the charts and was not subsequently observed, making it consistent with the use of one or more gravity mines to cause short-lived but intense tachyon disrupt
ions.”

  A soft glow appeared amidst the various icons. “Our best guess is that the mines were set off in this region, near the center of the Nasar approach to Ballison. The Markey’s port sail generator blew out on impact, and the resulting fire claimed five of her seventeen crewmen.”

  The display began crawling forward, the timer showing minutes going by in seconds. The Vannover Markey continued to drift further away, while the Corey Tasha remained almost still. The Kaiser’s Folly seemed to have the greatest velocity, but it was heading more towards the Reilly than anything else. Collins froze the display temporarily.

  “At this point, the Markey reported the automatic distress signals of both the Corey Tasha and the Kaiser’s Folly. The Corey was reporting multiple engineering fires and two hull breaches in crew areas. No voice call was ever received from the Corey, and it is possible that few if any of the crew survived the violent down-tach. The Kaiser was reporting a fire in her port engineering section, but she was otherwise operating well and thrusting at full acceleration.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Michael said, raising his hand. “Why is she accelerating towards the Reilly? Was the Reilly one of ours?”

  Collins shook his head. “Officially, yes, she was on our rolls as a privateer, but in truth, she was operating independently. As for the acceleration, it was a reasonable move on the part of Captain Schneider. The Kaiser had come out of tach with a fair amount of velocity, and by adding to that velocity, he most likely hoped to make it difficult for the Reilly to match course.”

  “But it’s still taking her closer to the Reilly.”

  Collins started the display again. “Regrettably yes, it took her too close to the Reilly.” He froze the display with a triangle highlighting the Reilly. “At this point, the Markey’s scopes detected weapons fire from the Reilly, specifically plasma cannons. At that range, they are not considered effective, but either their aim was better than normal or the damage to the Kaiser was greater than their automated beacon suggests. At any rate, at this point, the Kaiser stopped transmitting her automated beacon.”