The lights came up at the Commodore’s command. He looked at the disc in Britlot’s hand. “I’ll make you a trade, Lieutenant-Commander. One scoutship, supplied, in exchange for that disc while you are gone. You’ll have to recruit your own crew.”
Britlot handed over the disc without hesitation. It was, after all, only a copy.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’d have my stripes handed to me if I authorized this mission.” He held up his hand to forestall any objection. “You’ll just have to do your searching on the sly while engaged on the mission I’m giving you.”
* * *
“Feneya, a moment of your time, please.”
Shoulder length, jet-black hair shimmered in a wave as the woman turned from the juice dispenser. She looked up to Britlot, smiling as she recognized him.
“My, but don’t you look full of yourself, Lieutenant-Commander.” Sub-Lieutenant Feneya Weytok laughed at the excitement Britlot’s eyes could not contain. Another of the young women who found Britlot very attractive, she had gone out of her way to let him know it. He had reciprocated, enjoying her intellect and sense of humor. Two ranks between them made a relationship difficult, but not impossible. To her disappointment, Britlot refrained from carrying it beyond friendship.
Britlot scowled. “Such is not the proper attitude of respect that a lowly sub-lieutenant should display towards one of my rank.” The mock anger in his voice could not conceal the laughter underneath. Sub-Lieutenant Weytok looked suitably abashed. “However, from the executive officer of a scoutship, and second-in-command, I suppose I could get used to it.”
“What?”
“It’s yours if you want it, Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant?”
Britlot gave her a lop-sided smile and then nodded, quite seriously. “Can’t have a Subbie as XO.”
Feneya laughed, amused at Britlot’s antics. Then she sobered. “You’re not joking?” He shook his head. “What’s the catch?”
Britlot hesitated. “I’m going into the Sivon sector, looking for the Ghost Ships,” he finally confessed.
“They gave you permission for that? You must have talked faster than a space serpent. And isn’t Sivon supposed to be very dangerous?”
“That’s why I must recruit a volunteer crew. If you agree, the promotion is yours—it will go through, I have the Commodore’s word on it.”
“You got this past old Taglini? I can’t believe that!”
“Believe it. Now, are you in or not?”
Sub-Lieutenant Feneya Weytok stood still for a long minute. Then she came to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Weytok reporting for duty, Captain. When do we leave?”
Britlot returned the salute. “We need a crew, Lieutenant. Any ideas?” Then he gave a wide grin, threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “We’ll be a great team,” he whispered in her ear.
“Aye, sir, that we will.”
“Well, then, let’s get on with it.”
* * *
Short, shy and unassuming, Sub-Lieutenant Natya Krirtol had easily topped her class in astro- and hyperspace-navigation yet, to the despair of her teachers, lacked ability to project any sort of command presence. She brushed her medium brown hair back and pinned it. Her mouth was dry.
Rumor had the dashing young Lieutenant-Commander Britlot looking for volunteers for a scoutship. The same rumor stated his enterprise lacked success. Too many officers thought him strange, what with his ‘Ghost Ship’ obsession. She saw her chance in this. A scoutship doing routine mapping and searching. No combat, yet. Perhaps she could get a better handle on this officer stuff on a small ship. Perhaps she could get a little closer to the Lieutenant-Commander.
“Lieutenant-Commander Britlot?” Krirtol saluted, cursing her voice for squeaking.
“Yes, Sub-Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”
“I hear ... uh ... I hear you need a navigator.”
Britlot smiled broadly, and Natya felt weak about the knees. He motioned her to a table in the Officers’ Club and bade her sit while he ordered drinks. His charm matched reports.
“You have experience as Navigator, Sub?” he asked gently.
“I, uh, yes,” Krirtol started off slowly. “Well, not much, but I graduated top of my class.” She wished he would say something. “I’m here as replacement crew.” Gods, what a disaster. Color came to her cheeks; her heart pounded. She should just go. It had been a bad idea from the outset. She had to get away.
“Well, Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol, welcome to the crew!” Britlot raised his glass. “To the mission,” he toasted.
Stunned, Krirtol fell back into her seat, recovered and raised her glass as well. “To the mission,” she confirmed, then added, “and the Confederation.”
Britlot studied his new recruit for a time, which flustered her. She blushed. “When do I report?” she asked, breaking the silence that threatened to devour her.
“You just did.” Britlot laughed, then relented. “Okay, bring me your papers first thing in the morning, and I’ll fix things with Personnel.” He made to get up, then changed his mind. “Natya,” he asked her familiarly, bringing another blush to her cheeks, “would you happen to know of any spacers who might like a little adventure?”
Krirtol thought immediately of Spacer Engineer Uraphret. Friends from early training on, though Uraphret had no desire to follow the command track, they had remained in touch even as Krirtol took officer training. Uraphret was a marvel with her hands. This would be the sort of mission she would like: small crew and a chance to try her hand at all the equipment on a vessel rather than be pigeon-holed into a small slot amongst a large crew on a frigate or cruiser.
“Spacer Engineer Uraphret came on board at the same time as I did, sir. This might be just what she’s looking for. And she’s good,” Krirtol told her new captain.
Britlot devastated her with another great smile. “Subbie, you’ve already contributed to the success of our mission. I’ll look her up immediately. Enjoy your drink.” He rose, leaving a shaken but happy navigator in his wake.
“I did it,” Natya whispered out loud.
* * *
Uraphret agreed to the post, half convinced because Krirtol had recommended her, and had also enlisted. Next to Britlot, Lieutenant Weytok sat and simply observed as he handled the interview.
She had watched in awe as he had swept through the spacer messes drawing normally sane people into his orbit, working a magic with them that she sometimes couldn’t believe.
Comm-Op Dhine had been the first. A twenty-four year old spacer with an already receding hairline and hooknose, Dhine had plunged in with a recklessness that Weytok saw repeated with Gunnery Spacer Pren Dorvon and Assistant Cook Rawl Tetjuin. Keel Tumjut had signed on as Jak. As such he held no specific classification. He cleaned, stood detector watch, did laundry, or whatever the moment called for. He had also trained in basic medical interventions.
Britlot accepted each at face value, though Weytok had several reservations. During Uraphret’s interview a lanky man in his forties came over and sat without asking permission.
“Engineer Chief Retuwet, sir,” he introduced himself. “I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m from Redoubtable. She’s going to be in dock for a fair time. Shot to pieces, she was, by the Combine. I could do with a job somewhat more relaxing for a short period. Engineering Lieutenant-Commander can do without me for a spell, I think.”
His forwardness, and apparent lack of respect for his officers, took even Britlot aback. Still, lifers and long-time engineering spacers tended to drift that way.
“I’ll talk with Redoubtable’s Engineering Officer and get back to you, Retuwet. My thanks for coming by.”
Retuwet nodded, stood and left without saluting. Britlot turned back to Spacer Engineer Uraphret. “Welcome to the crew, Spacer. You can report to the ship in the morning. Get familiar with her systems.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
R
etuwet’s Lieutenant-Commander gave up Retuwet too easily for Weytok’s liking, considering that Retuwet was ‘a good man and I hope to get him back.’
“He’s got a temper, though,” the Engineer warned. “Just don’t back down and he’ll calm quickly. He pretends a slight disrespect for officers, but if you respect him, he’ll respect you and follow you to hell.”
That, Weytok thought, remained to be seen.
Still, with Britlot’s easy smile and infectious enthusiasm, he assembled his crew. Weytok shook her head. The mind boggled. He’d ended up disappointing several would-be crewmembers who had applied for positions already filled. It was amazing; rather than be insulted or dejected, they volunteered to help with readying Searcher, their vessel. She had never heard of such a thing. But this was the old Britlot. The brooding of the past several months seemed a distant shadow. Officers, on the other hand, continued to avoid him.
It also amazed her that Taglini had offered Britlot the scoutship Searcher. Of the latest class, and newly refitted, she had first-rate equipment.
And it didn’t end there. After recruiting Retuwet and the third engineer, Tianster, Britlot requested a going-away party for the crew. Instead, Command authorized a send-off party. Everyone, it seemed, from Commodore Taglini down to the lowest Spacer, attended. Amazing.
“It’s the romance of the situation,” Britlot told Weytok after she had stopped dead at the door at the sight of the crowd. “They may think us mad, going ghost-hunting; yet, somewhere down deep, each and every one of them wishes they were coming along. The great unknown beckons, Lieutenant. Adventure.” He laughed gaily, tossing his head back. “Well, I hope the crew enjoys this party. Soon it’s going to be the drudgery of plotting, inspecting, mapping.”
“Mapping?”
“You didn’t think that the Commodore would just let us go have fun, did you?” Britlot took her hand in his, and led her out onto the dance floor. “No, even if we don’t find what we’re looking for, we’ll come back with enough new data to make the operation worth it to him.” He laughed again and pushed her away, then drew her back in the first steps of the dance.
As she twirled into his arms she saw the Commodore and Captain Martok standing in the background, watching them between sips from ornate glasses.
“I’m still surprised you let him go, Commodore,” Martok said as they moved away from the bar and toward the door.
“Look at our people. Great little morale booster, this party, don’t you think?” Taglini dodged a dancing couple as the two cut across the corner of the floor.
“This was your doing, Tag,” Martok accused Taglini. “I wondered who leaked.”
“Well,” came the judicious reply, “I may have made a little suggestion here and there. Bad times loom on the horizon, Kale, and when they arrive these men and woman will have, in the backs of their minds, the idea that someone is out there seeking allies. There will be hope, and that hope may make a difference.”
“And do you believe in these Ghost Ships? The Vandoo?”
Taglini laughed quietly. “No, Kale, I don’t. Probably just what the scientists believe: stray signals thrown out by the Phenomenon. Signals out of time, nothing more. But our people need the hope.”
The two men continued down the hall in silence.
TLARTOX HOME PLANET
“I don’t believe it!” Shads Efdur repeated heatedly. “You have made a mistake.”
The fur on the back of Tep Nallin’s neck went up and his ears flattened. “I don’t make mistakes like that, Efdur. Miz led them to your meeting. They made records; there can be no doubt.” He glared at Shads. Jealous of Efdur’s technical wizardry, he happily inserted the claw in this hitherto unknown weak spot. “And she did it willingly.”
Shad’s pupils slitted. He stepped forward, ready to create mayhem.
“If their records show this, I suppose we cannot deny it. The fault belongs to me.” The two near-combatants relaxed slightly as The Master entered. No fight would occur with him there.
“Vom,” Nallin addressed the Master familiarly, “tell this tuber-chewing—”
“Enough. We have work to do. The hunters still sniff for our scent, and our organization has fallen to disarray. Fortunately Miz knew only of the one cell. Thus, while they hunt us, the others can work.” He lowered himself onto one of the cots in the room and curled up. “Shads, Strel has brought the results of the preliminary tests of the receivers. They did not go well. Find out why. Nallin, make contact with Ange. Find out how we can get out of the city, and back to where we can do some good, without having the hunters upon us. Me, I need my rest.” Vom closed his eyes and almost immediately his respirations slowed and smoothed.
Shads looked at Nallin. He couldn’t hold a grudge. “I wish I could do that.”
The fur on Nallin’s neck lowered as he shook his head in mute admiration. “Sorry, Shads. I was out of line. I know you liked Miz.” It had to be said. The Master, despite appearances, might yet hear and remember. It would not due for Vom to know the depths of his dislike for Efdur.
The two left Vom to sleep.
CHAPTER 5
SEARCHER, SIVON SECTOR
“All stop,” ordered Britlot.
“All stop,” confirmed the Navigator. “Holding steady.”
“Drop probe.”
“Probe away.”
“Good. Any contacts?” Britlot didn’t expect any and, expectations soon fulfilled, stood to leave the bridge. “Call me if you detect anything,” he ordered unnecessarily. He paused outside the bridge.
“Four months of this, and nothing,” Dorvon groaned.
Weytok laughed quietly. “Just pay attention to that telemetry. Last thing we need is for a Tlartox cruiser to sneak up on us while we sleep.”
“Not at war with the Tlartox yet, Lieutenant. Haven’t seen whisker nor tail of one anyway. Almost wish we would. I’ve never been so bored. ‘Let’s find the Vandoo,’ he says; ‘excitement,’ he says. Right.”
“That’ll be enough, Gunner.”
“Aye, sir.”
Britlot grimaced and stepped quietly away from the hatch. Dorvon spoke the truth. Four months of nothing discouraged even Britlot. Only eight to go, maximum.
Britlot sat in the empty mess after taking a snack from the ready-serve tray. So far, nothing interesting. Not even the vaguest trace of anything. Interesting, in this case, meaning a scent of the 22nd Fleet and the Émigrés—or even of the Tlartox. Nothing. Belief drove Britlot but, though the others wanted to believe and enjoyed the thought of being the heroes who found the Adians, four months of nothing had killed the crew’s morale.
Had Taglini not let slip the real reason for the mission, he would not have raised expectations. However, Taglini had let slip and now they all paid the price.
* * *
“Aye, sir, I have the con.” Natya Krirtol no longer felt panic when she took charge. The first time, her face had drained of blood and she barely spoke during the entire shift, thanking her gods most gratefully when Lieutenant Weytok arrived to relieve her.
After that, each command shift became easier. Now, she almost enjoyed it. She would have been devastated to know that in the beginning Britlot had left an audio channel open and had monitored the bridge from his cabin.
“Mister Dhine, we might as well begin routing the data to the navcomp. We’ll get some of the less joyous aspects out of the way before we drop.”
“Aye, sir,” Dhine replied, fingers flying over his console. “Numbers on their way, sir.”
Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol gave a small sigh of relief. Another of her commands obeyed, the spacer not even hesitating. She wished she had the confidence of the Captain and Executive Officer. Still, she improved with each shift.
“Thank the gods, the captain reduced the wait time another 6 hours, eh Dhine?” Dorvon asked.
“Easy for you to say. The Subbie and I have to compress a full day’s work into 12 hours now.”
Sub-Lieutenant Krirtol heard him but, hun
ched over her station formatting the report to Bravo II, did not respond. The normal one-day wait might be boring for the crew, but Krirtol missed it. Now she needed to work quickly to get everything done during the one shift.
* * *
“Captain to the bridge.”
Britlot groaned. He’d just achieved sleep. He toggled the internal Comm. “What is it, Sub?”
“I’ve been demoted?” Lieutenant Weytok’s amused voice came back to him. “Time to drop in after the probe, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary to report.”
“What time is it, Lieutenant?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes as she told him he’d been out for eleven hours. Too long, he thought, splashing water over his face. Overslept, that’s what he’d done.
Dressed and somewhat refreshed, he returned to the bridge. Along with the other male members of the crew, he had stopped shaving a month previous. Was this a sign of a breakdown of discipline?
“Report, XO.”
“All emergence stations manned, and ship ready to drop, Captain.”
“Very good.” Britlot strapped himself in. “Drop.”
Hyperspace blinked out of the detector scopes and monitors to be replaced by the wavering starfield and planet. As the ship stabilized in normal space the starfield ceased wavering.
“Up shields. Detectors?”
“Nothing, sir,” Spacer 2nd Class Dhine replied. “Probe intact and still recording.”
“Very well; recover it. Commence mapping and look for any signs of technology.” More orders he didn’t need to give. “We’ll add this one to the data bank then send the file back to the Confederation. Sub, your choice as to where we go next. Flip a coin and lay in a course. We leave as soon as we’ve scouted the planets. Detectors?”
“Still nothing of interest, Captain.”
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