“Agreed,” Geary said immediately.
“Such an agreement would allow the spider-wolves to know exactly where human space is located, Admiral.”
“I suspect they already had an idea of that if their border with the enigmas runs that close to Pele. Maybe they’ve never actually come into contact with us, but they must have picked up some indications of another race confronting the enigmas in that region. What’s the other condition?”
“They want something from us,” Charban said.
“What?”
“That’s the problem. We can’t figure out what it is they want.”
“But—Some piece of information? Do they want the superbattleship we captured from the bear-cows?”
“No,” Charban insisted. “It is definitely not the superbattleship. It is not information. It is a thing. Something related to engineering.”
“Engineering? A race of master engineers wants something related to engineering from us?” Geary questioned.
“Yes. They seem to want it badly. The offer to let us use their hypernet came while we were trying to figure out what they wanted. Apparently, they thought we were bargaining as opposed to being confused.”
“Whatever works. But we still don’t know what it is?”
“No!” Charban’s frustration grew more visible. “As best I can translate the pictograms and words they are using, it is something like ‘universal fixing substance.’”
“Universal fixing substance?” Geary asked. “We have a universal fixing substance?”
Charban spread his hands in exasperation. “They think we do. And they want it from us.”
“But why do they think that? What did we do to make them think we had some universal fixing substance?”
“I can’t determine the answer to that given our very limited communications. From their persistence, and their certainty, I would guess that they thought we had demonstrated the use of such a thing.”
Geary looked around the bridge. “What do we have that fits that name?”
Everyone looked as if they were thinking intently. No one offered any suggestions.
“Glue?” Lieutenant Yuon finally suggested.
That made as much sense as anything. “Glue?” Geary echoed to Charban.
“No, Admiral. I thought of that and offered a tube of adhesive. They said no, then asked for the universal fixing substance again.”
“Admiral, ask the engineers,” Desjani said. “Captain Smythe and his people. If anyone would know anything about that, it would be the engineers on the auxiliaries.”
“If any of the engineers know about some universal fixing substance,” Geary said, “and never mentioned it to me, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
But Smythe, already worn from the days of work getting repairs done, only stared back at Geary with a blank expression. “Universal fixing substance?”
“Right. What have we got that fits that description?”
“Nothing. That’s like . . . universal solvent. Nice to have, but no one has ever actually come up with one. Well, actually, a universal solvent would be very bad to have because you couldn’t make a container to hold it—”
“Captain Smythe,” Geary broke in, “the spider-wolves are certain we have it.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Please notify all of your engineers that we need it and ask them what they think could be it.”
“Very well, Admiral. But I’ll be frank that I wouldn’t hold my breath expecting anyone in this fleet to produce something that can fix anything.”
Geary waited until Smythe had ended the call, then sent out a message to every ship asking them if any could identify whatever it was the aliens wanted.
Then he waited, with growing impatience. With every second, the enigma retaliatory force was getting closer to Midway, but all he could do was sit here. He made another call. “Captain Smythe, have you figured out how to move that superbattleship yet?”
“Uh, yes, Admiral,” Smythe replied, only momentarily fazed by the new topic. “We’ll use the battleships.”
“Battleships? Plural?”
“Yes.” Smythe perked up at the chance to discuss something any engineer would see as sexy. “Four of them. Relentless, Reprisal, Superb, and Splendid. They were shot up fairly badly, but their propulsion systems remain in fine shape. We’ll mate them to the superbattleship, link their propulsion controls through a coordination unit, and use them to haul the superbattleship home.”
“Those are going to be four very unhappy battleships,” Desjani murmured.
“What else have we got that can haul around that much mass?” Geary asked her. “Besides, they’ll also serve as defenders of that thing. Since we blew away every weapon on the superbattleship, our own battleships’ weapons will have to do the job of making sure no one destroys it. Have we heard any answers on the universal fixing substance yet?”
“Not since the last time you asked,” she replied.
“The question went to every ship?”
“Via the command circuit, yes, Admiral. You sent it.”
Something about that made Geary pause, trying to catch an elusive thought. “Command circuit.”
“That’s what you used,” Desjani said, eyeing him defensively.
“Which goes to the commanding officers of all the ships in the fleet.”
“Yes . . . It always has.”
What was it? What idea was flitting just out of reach? “Who would they ask? On their ships?”
“Members of their crew.” Desjani shrugged. “Their officers, I suppose.”
“Their officers. You asked the officers on Dauntless?”
“Yes, Admiral.” She seemed curious as well as defensive now. “Are we going somewhere with this?”
“I don’t—” Going somewhere? The old joke. If junior officers are confused about where to go next, they should ask the senior enlisted, who will be happy to tell the junior officers where to go. “I’m an idiot.”
Desjani raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you speaking purely on a professional basis? Because on a personal basis, I resent that.”
“Tanya, when you need to know something, how to do something, who do you go to? Who gets things done?”
She looked puzzled, then smiled. “The chiefs.”
“The chiefs. The senior enlisted. Why the hell haven’t we asked them what they think this universal fixing substance is?”
“Because we’re both idiots. That’s the first place I should have asked.” Desjani tapped her internal comm controls. “This is the captain speaking. All chief petty officers are to muster in the chief’s mess immediately. Notify me when all are present.”
It took perhaps five minutes, then Desjani passed the question to her assembled senior enlisted corps. “Now we wait, Admiral.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when the image of Master Chief Gioninni appeared on the bridge. “Captain? You really want to know what universal fixing substance could refer to?”
“I take it you have an idea?” Desjani replied.
“Yes, Captain. As soon as you said it I looked at Senior Chief Tarrini and she looked at me and we both said ‘duct tape.’”
ELEVEN
“DUCT tape?” Desjani stared at Gioninni.
“Duct tape,” Gioninni repeated.
“Duct tape,” she told Geary.
“I heard.” Geary considered the idea, outrageous though it seemed. How could a race of expert engineers be impressed by something as simple and as ancient as duct tape? “What do the other chiefs think?”
“They agreed,” Gioninni said.
Geary called Captain Smythe, who had a frazzled expression as he answered for the third time. “Yes, Admiral? I’m afraid my staff has yet to produce any answer.”
“I’ve been given one, Captain Smythe. Do you think the answer could be duct tape?”
Smythe’s expression shifted comically as his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Oh, damn. Where— A chief figu
red it out. Right?”
“Right. Where could the aliens have been so impressed with duct tape? When could they have seen us use it?”
“Did your emissaries talking to them—No, wait. Have they been aboard any of our ships?”
“No,” Geary said.
“They were aboard that escape pod,” Gioninni suggested.
“Escape pod?” An instant later he remembered. “The damaged escape pod from Balestra. Two of them boarded it.”
“They did?” Smythe asked. “Is there a working record of that? That pod’s systems were pretty messed up as I recall.”
“There’s the record of a comm call I made to them,” Geary said, gesturing to Desjani, who turned back to point to her communications watch, who in turn frantically ran searches.
“Got it!” the watch-stander announced. “Coming up now.”
Another image popped into existence between the images of Gioninni and Smythe. Geary once again saw the interior of the damaged escape pod, Chief Madigan near the comm panel, the two spider-wolves sealed in their space armor at the air lock. “We can’t tell what they’re looking at,” Geary said.
“No,” Smythe agreed, “but we can see, and they could see, the sailors in that pod using duct tape. Patching the hull, repairing that panel, first aid on that injured sailor. Does it really work on sucking chest wounds?”
“Yes, sir,” Master Chief Gioninni said.
Desjani nodded. “Fixing electronics, fixing hull material, fixing human bodies. That’s pretty universal, I guess.”
“That’s why every escape pod has a couple of rolls of duct tape on it,” Master Chief Gioninni pointed out. “We’ve got to inventory the stuff on a monthly basis because otherwise people sneak into the pods and carry off the duct tape to sell it or use it on their ships.”
“Sell it?” Desjani asked, her expression as she looked at Gioninni turning dangerous.
“Not on this ship, Captain,” Gioninni said. “Some folks get that idea sometimes, but they always get shown the error of their ways by older and wiser heads. Selling the duct tape out of escape pods would be like selling . . . oh, the parachutes out of aerospace craft. If you need that stuff, you’re really going to need it, so we make sure no one messes with it.”
“Don’t we have duct tape as part of our standard supplies?” Desjani demanded, mollified but still a little suspicious.
“Sure, Captain, but you can never have too much duct tape.”
Geary heard laughter, then realized it was coming from him. “Humanity’s gift to the universe. Duct tape.”
“We wouldn’t have made it to the stars without duct tape, Admiral,” Gioninni said.
“We also wouldn’t have made it without chiefs.”
Gioninni grinned. “Yes, sir. Uh, if I may be so bold, Admiral, why did we need to know what these particular aliens call our duct tape?”
“They want it,” Desjani said.
The master chief stopped moving for just a moment, then nodded. “How badly do they want it, Captain? We might be able to work out a real nice deal.”
Geary tried not to smile back at the master chief. “Do you happen to know anyone who’s good at working out deals. Master Chief Gioninni?”
“I might have a little expertise in that particular area, Admiral,” Gioninni said with every appearance of modesty. “Not that I do much wheeling and dealing myself, you understand. But sometimes you have to work out swaps or trades, and if the other party really wants or needs whatever you have to trade, it can provide some very nice benefits.”
“You do indeed, Master Chief,” Desjani agreed. “However, this particular deal is already done. We give them our duct tape, and they let us use their hypernet to get home. I don’t think anyone wants to risk messing up that deal, and we can’t afford to cheat or swindle the only bunch of aliens who don’t appear to be set on wiping us out.”
“I would never cheat or swindle anyone, Captain!” Gioninni declared piously, somehow also projecting shock at the very idea. “I’m the soul of fairness and honesty.”
“So I’ve heard. From you. Thank you, Master Chief. We’ll let the emissaries know that you are available to assist in the deal-making.” After Gioninni’s image vanished, Desjani looked at Geary. “Where do you suppose those spider-wolves would put Master Chief Gioninni in their pattern?”
“Let’s not find out. General Charban? Emissary Rione? We’ve identified the mystery substance. Captain Smythe, get going on hitching those four battleships to the superbattleship. How long will it take?”
Smythe scratched his cheek as he thought. “Two days, Admiral.”
“Make it one.”
“The impossible takes a little longer, Admiral. I can push for a day and a half. I won’t promise anything less than that.”
“All right.” Geary had never forgotten the old lament he had heard from the first enlisted sailors he had commanded. Why is there never enough time to do it right but always enough time to do it over? The simple logic of that had stuck with him, especially when experience proved the truth of it.
After that call ended, Geary sat looking steadily at his display for a second. “All units, be advised we intend getting under way for the next jump point in one and a half days. Ensure that you are fully ready to move at that time.”
Smythe must have gotten right to work on the towing arrangement for the captured warship because the commanding officer of Reprisal called within minutes. “Admiral, with all due respect, I have to protest the use of my ship as a tug!”
“I understand your concerns, Captain,” Geary said with all of the diplomacy he possessed. According to Rione, that wasn’t much, but hopefully it would be enough. “I made this decision based upon the performance of Reprisal in the recent engagement. It is critically important that we get this alien ship safely home, and I know Reprisal can be trusted to make certain that happens no matter what threats we encounter. You will be the last and strongest line of defense for that superbattleship.”
Reprisal’s commanding officer hesitated. “It’s . . . a position of honor?”
“Very much so.” He truly wasn’t lying. If push came to shove, it would be very comforting to know that ships as steady as those four battleships were his last bastions defending the bear-cow superbattleship.
Within the next several minutes, he repeated the same reassurances to the commanding officers of Relentless, Superb, and Splendid, then called Dreadnaught, Orion, Dependable, and Conqueror to let them know they would have the honor of operating as close-in escorts for their sister ships and the captured warship.
“Jane,” he said to his grandniece. “You’ll be commander of the close-in escorts for the superbattleship. You have to protect it.”
Captain Jane Geary nodded in reply. “I understand, Admiral.”
“You did a good job here. No one will ever doubt your courage, your initiative, or your ability.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
And there it rested (again), Jane Geary hiding behind professional courtesy to avoid discussing anything personal.
It took almost half a day more before the emissaries reported back in. “We have a deal,” Rione said. “I will caution you again about your decision to allow spider-wolf ships to accompany us back.”
“Ships? I thought it was one ship.”
“That was due to a misinterpretation on the part of General Charban and myself,” Rione explained. She didn’t seem too upset by the misinterpretation, but perhaps she was simply too worn-out by the negotiations to care at this point. “They actually want to send six ships.”
“Six ships.” Geary rubbed his chin as he thought about that. An alien flotilla brought into human space? But, on the other hand, he didn’t know what kinds of risks they might face on the way back. If a single spider-wolf ship came with them, and something happened to it, how could they ever explain that to the spider-wolves back here?
“Those six ships will escort us through spider-wolf space,” Charban added. “Th
ey will accompany us through the spider-wolf hypernet. Then they will stay with us as we head for home.”
“Do they already know where we’re going?”
“They know we want to get to the star Midway, Admiral. We had to tell them that in order to discuss their permission to go through their space.”
Could he say no? Absolutely not. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having multiple spider-wolf ships along to look after each other. “Very well. I agree. Do they have the duct tape yet?”
“No,” Rione said. “We will hand that over, in person.” She must have noticed Geary’s reaction. “The spider-wolves insist on actually meeting with us to exchange our ‘gift’ to them in exchange for their promises. That involves some sort of embrace, I think.”
“Embrace? For the love of your ancestors, Victoria—”
“I’m not looking forward to it, but any woman has had unpleasant dating experiences,” Rione said. “I’ll just pretend this is another blind date set up by misguided friends when I was still single. A loose hug at the end, perhaps a ghost of a peck on the cheek, a vague assurance to call at some future, undefined time, and I’m home free.”
“We will both be there,” General Charban said. “We’ll need a shuttle to meet one of their shuttle equivalents. The two of us as passengers, and two of them. We’ll meet in the air locks.”
“Can their air locks mate with ours?” Geary asked.
“They don’t seem to consider that a problem, Admiral.”
“How much duct tape do you need?”
“Emissary Rione thought we should offer them a full case.”
A full case of duct tape in a fleet that had been away from home for too long and lately frantically patching damage. Geary turned to Desjani, who was apparently fighting down a case of the giggles. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, Admiral.” But her eyes slid toward Rione’s image for a moment before Desjani focused back on him.
Of course. Rione, her old rival, would have to embrace a spider-wolf. “You’re evil sometimes,” he whispered to her. “Do you have a spare case of duct tape aboard?” he asked in a normal voice.
The Lost Fleet: Beyond the Frontier: Invincible Page 22