“So would many other things,” Ullman said.
“It might also have caused the ship to go wildly off course.” Dauber frowned at the dying ship, looking at it through the screen. She wanted to contact Zarges, wanted to have him pull all the records from the Renegat, so she had that part of the ship’s story. But he had already left Engineering and was now focused on getting those 200+ souls off the ship.
Dauber studiously avoided looking at the time. She didn’t dare. She knew the rescue was going well, but she couldn’t help feeling that they were already behind.
“Massai,” she said to Ribisi, “can you pull the records off the Renegat?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’d have to stop trying to contain that anacapa drive.”
“I can try,” Almadi said. “I won’t interfere with what you’re doing, Massai.”
“Let’s hope,” he said, sounding doubtful. “Is it necessary, Captain?”
She almost said no. She knew that the information wasn’t necessary for the next few hours, but it would become necessary when she was trying to figure out what to do with the strangers who boarded the Aizsargs.
“Yes,” she said.
“Consider it done,” Almadi said.
Dauber nodded. Deciding to pull that information did not settle her nerves. In fact, it made them jangle even more.
Something was truly wrong here, and not just because the Renegat was dying. Something else.
Something she didn’t understand.
Part Sixteen
Communication Problems
100 Years Ago
The Renegat
Crowe stood in the alcove in Engineering that was the farthest away from the main doors. It took a lot of winding turns and an in-depth knowledge of Engineering’s setup to find this part, which was why he had commandeered this area.
He was using it for foldspace and anacapa research, and he didn’t like what he was finding.
The Renegat had gone through foldspace a fifth time two days ago. Crowe had remained in Engineering, monitoring the communications array like he had the last time, and once more, a tiny foldspace opening appeared over the small anacapa drive.
He had been surprised and angered, mostly at himself. He wasn’t acting like the scientist he was; he was acting like a scared crew member on a doomed ship.
If he had thought this through, he would have had a small probe prepared, one he could send into that foldspace opening to get readings out of it. If he had really thought it all through, he could have altered one of the tiny probes to see if it ventured into that foldspace opening and out again, before the opening closed.
He had done none of those things.
He had consulted with his best engineers, though, which wasn’t as impressive as it sounded. He had Stephanos, and she was working as hard as he was.
Atwater was going through the data that Vice Admiral Gāo had sent, but slowly, thinking that a bigger team was working all of this. Crowe wasn’t so certain.
He hadn’t heard from Vice Admiral Gāo, and, as far as he knew, neither had Preemas. Gāo wasn’t the kind of person who let things slide. She knew how important it had been for her to make a decision before the Renegat went into foldspace this last time.
Something had held her up, perhaps her own superior officers. She would have responded otherwise.
Or maybe she had thought Crowe was stepping out of line.
Crowe looked at the data flowing around him like water. On three sides, he had set the data streams on scroll, just so that he knew the computer systems were working as hard as he was. The black-and-white images that the data became were on a clear background, so that he could see the blue-and-gold equipment behind it.
Everything was working; he was working. And so was his team. But he was also now one more foldspace trip away from the Fleet, and he didn’t like it.
Especially since all of the indications were that the tiny foldspace opening over the communications anacapa drive led somewhere other than the foldspace opening that the Renegat had traveled through.
He closed his eyes, still seeing the data stream as a ghost along his eyelids.
He needed a break.
And then he had a thought he didn’t like: What if Preemas had spoken to Gāo already? What if she had gone on, doing business as usual, and no one had bothered to tell Crowe?
He opened his eyes, feeling annoyed at himself more than anyone else. He hadn’t communicated much with Preemas, figuring they were both working on their various jobs. Crowe hadn’t really thought that maybe Preemas’s silence had a lot to do with an irritation with Crowe, or a desire to keep things from Crowe.
Preemas had never really told Crowe everything, so that wasn’t all that much different than before. But then Crowe had stayed close to Preemas, so Crowe had remained on top of everything.
Lately, Crowe had been concentrating more on the anacapa drive, the communications array, and the time lags.
Although he hadn’t been completely neglecting his first officer job. He had been working with the crew. Several crew members still felt out of sorts in their new positions. Others weren’t up to the job, even though they had been moved. And there was just a lot of disgruntlement, particularly at Preemas’s desire to get rid of rank (or the strictures of rank) wherever possible.
Everyone on this ship—competent or not—had been raised in the Fleet, and all of them were used to the rank system. Being without it or being told to ignore it for most things made almost everyone uncomfortable on a level that Crowe couldn’t have predicted.
All of this meant that, while he was waiting to hear about Gāo, he hadn’t sought out the information. He hadn’t tried to figure out if she had contacted the captain or not.
Preemas wouldn’t have kept that from Crowe, would he?
Crowe shook his head as he had that thought. If Preemas didn’t think the meeting was important, he wouldn’t have told Crowe. The conversations with Gāo were both routine and required, two things that Preemas chafed against. Crowe did know that Preemas worked hard at keeping Gāo in the dark about most things. He didn’t like having a commanding officer, particularly on this mission.
Crowe sighed heavily, then reached his hand through the data stream to the controls beyond. The data ran across his skin like a mobile tattoo.
He opened the logs for the communications array, then delved into the captain’s log. The captain’s log was mostly sealed—only a few others could examine who the captain spoke to, and no one, except the first officer, could see what those communications were about, provided that the communications had been recorded.
Crowe moved the screens running the data stream aside, and then stepped a little closer to the open logs. There, days ago, was a contact that had come from the Správa. It had arrived before the Renegat had taken its most recent trip through foldspace—about 24 hours after Crowe had contacted Gāo.
He felt chilled. He had heard nothing about this. Had it been a routine contact?
What, exactly, would routine be?
He scanned the log to see if there was a recording of the contact, but apparently Preemas didn’t activate that part of the system. Crowe, feeling paranoid, checked to see if Preemas had activated the record function on any of his previous conversations with Gāo.
If Preemas had done it previously, but hadn’t done it since, then it would be safe to assume that Preemas felt he had something to hide—from Crowe, since no one else could access any of this.
It only took a minute to find the previous contacts. This ship had been on its own for some time, and except for a flurry of communications around the time the Renegat docked at Sector Base Z, there weren’t a lot of outside communications with anyone, not even the captain.
Crowe stared at the list: Preemas didn’t save the recordings of any of his contacts with Gāo. Not a one.
So nothing had deviated there.
Crowe let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. At least Preemas had
been consistent. He hadn’t changed his behavior at all, which meant, at least as far as Crowe was concerned, he had nothing to hide.
Crowe touched another sector of the control panel, and instructed it to find the captain.
Preemas was in his quarters.
Crowe shut down all of the data streams before he even gave them a second thought. He was shaking. He hadn’t wanted to take this fifth trip through foldspace, and if it could have been prevented, he…well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
He stepped away from the alcove and rubbed his face with his hand, a nervous habit that he really needed to get rid of.
Then he straightened, and headed out of engineering, contacting Preemas as he went.
Captain, he sent. I’m coming to your quarters. I need a few minutes of your time.
That would give Preemas a few minutes to prepare himself for Crowe’s visit, and not really long enough to forestall Crowe’s arrival.
Door’s unlocked, Preemas sent back.
Crowe checked the time as he walked. He hadn’t realized it was late evening. He had worked through lunch and dinner, skipping both. He wondered how many meals he had missed while working on all of this. That was an old habit from his school days, his post-Brazza Two school days, when he had to prove himself.
He hadn’t realized just how many of those old habits were ingrained.
He took the elevator up one deck, and walked to Preemas’s cabin. The door was open, as Preemas had said. The scents of coffee and peppermint had filtered into the corridor, and Crowe braced himself. If the scents were so strong out here that the environmental system couldn’t automatically whisk them away, then they had to be very strong inside the captain’s suite itself.
Crowe walked in, knocking on the door as he did so.
“Captain?” he said.
“First Officer Crowe,” Preemas said, his tone welcoming. Apparently, Crowe was in his good graces again. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
Crowe stepped past the bathroom door, past the small kitchen, and into the badly laid out living area. The coffee and peppermint smell wasn’t as strong as Crowe had expected. Maybe it had all wafted into the corridor.
The living area was even more claustrophobic than it had been the previous times Crowe had been here, and it took him a moment to figure out why.
Just like he did on the bridge, Preemas had the wall screens off. Only here, the portholes were designed to show programmed imagery to mimic an actual outside view. Crowe had specially programmed the portholes in his generic officer’s cabin to show the actual outside view, but most officers didn’t bother.
It seemed Preemas couldn’t be bothered to look at anything at all.
“The timing was my mistake, Captain,” Crowe said. “I was so busy with my work that I had lost track of the hour. Once I finally realized what time it was, I had already contacted you.”
Preemas’s mouth twisted in something that resembled a smile. He hadn’t been giving Crowe—or anyone, it seemed—a real smile lately. Crowe wondered what that meant.
“You seem to be quite lost in your work these days, First Officer Crowe,” Preemas said. “I’m glad you’re finding it interesting.”
Interesting wasn’t the word Crowe would use. All-consuming might have been better, but even that paled with what he was doing.
“You’ve been spending a great deal of time in engineering,” Preemas said.
Crowe wasn’t sure if that was a rebuke or not. He had to take a deep breath to keep himself from responding defensively.
“I have also been working on my first officer duties,” Crowe said. “There’s quite a bit of crew management that I seem to do as a matter of course these days.”
As he said that, he wondered if that was one reason he was avoiding the mess halls. He seemed to be dealing with a lot of emotional issues whenever he went for a meal. Maybe he should consider eating in his cabin, as it was clear Preemas had been doing. There were dishes piled alongside the cleaner, as if Preemas couldn’t be bothered to set them inside.
Just the sight of that little pile in the kitchen made Crowe realize that the environmental scrubbers were working overtime in here.
“Noted,” Preemas said, with something like amusement. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No,” Crowe said. “I’ve disturbed you enough. I just have one question.”
“All right.” Preemas leaned against the table, and crossed his arms. That was an interesting movement. He wasn’t ready to hear any questions from Crowe, apparently.
“When you spoke to Vice Admiral Gāo a few days ago, you didn’t mention the time differential. I assume it was still bothering you.” That was the only way Crowe could figure out how to bring up the subject—indirectly, and without rancor.
Preemas’s odd smile had faded. “I don’t recall telling you I had spoken to the vice admiral.”
“You didn’t,” Crowe said. “But you usually talk with her around a foldspace trip, so I checked the logs to see if the discussion had taken place. I didn’t want to bother you any more than necessary.”
“Thank you,” Preemas said in a tone that said he wasn’t thankful at all. He seemed a bit resentful.
“Knowing what’s going on with the differential will help us,” Crowe said.
“I figured you had it under control,” Preemas said. “The differential on this last discussion was less than it had been before. We were back to eight or so minutes. That looks like we’re on the right path to me.”
“I’d love to see any record you have of that,” Crowe said. “Because we didn’t implement any changes. If there were changes, they were from the vice admiral’s side. I seem to recall that she told you the Fleet would also be working on this issue…?”
“She did.” Preemas’s gaze was flat, matching the expression in his eyes. “Apparently, they seem to be resolving it. Which means the problem isn’t ours after all.”
Crowe silently cursed himself. He had set himself up for that. But then, he hadn’t realized that the differential was shorter. Had Gāo spoken to Preemas from a location other than the admiral’s suite? If she had done what Crowe had done, speaking near the communications array, that might have cut some of the lag.
“Wouldn’t that have been embarrassing?” Preemas said. “Returning because there was a problem that wasn’t a problem at all.”
“Let’s not celebrate prematurely, captain,” Crowe said. “A few minutes shaved off the differential might mean only that the lag is unpredictable, not that it was being resolved.”
Preemas grunted, letting his disagreement show, but without stating anything.
“I would like to see those records, if you have them,” Crowe said again.
“I don’t understand why,” Preemas said. “It’s resolving itself.”
“No, sir,” Crowe said. “I respectfully disagree. As we traveled through foldspace, I monitored the communications anacapa. Another tiny foldspace window opened inside that container again. I’m quite concerned about this.”
And irritated that Preemas wanted to dismiss it.
“Did the vice admiral say anything about the differential?” Crowe asked.
“All she said was how much it continued to annoy her,” Preemas said. “We agreed that it might be an issue as we moved farther apart. I will be sending individual reports without trying to talk once the differential becomes too great.”
That didn’t sound at all like the discussion Gāo had had with Crowe. But she might have investigated or she might have changed her mind. Or she might have been humoring Crowe.
After all, he wasn’t the commander of this vessel. Preemas was. Gāo might have been treating Crowe differently than she would have treated the captain.
But that didn’t explain why she had contacted Preemas before the foldspace trip, just like Crowe had asked.
“Have you been in contact since our trip?” Crowe asked, even though he knew that Preemas hadn’t been
in contact.
“No,” Preemas said. “I do need to send the information I promised. Thank you for the reminder, First Officer Crowe.”
Crowe nodded, as if that part of the conversation mattered.
“And she said nothing about the differential,” Crowe repeated. “Nothing about the way her people were working on it? Nothing about their conclusions?”
“They didn’t have conclusions yet,” Preemas said. “Once she said that, everything else was just noise.”
In other words, Preemas had ignored the scientific information. Crowe felt his frustration grow.
“Did you tell them about the problems with the communications anacapa?” Crowe asked.
“I might have said something,” Preemas said. “After all, we want to point them in that direction. She said they would be deep in the research and when they had something, they would contact us.”
Crowe wanted to say to Preemas: You’re risking lives here! But they had already had that argument, and Crowe had lost. He had brought the information to Gāo, and apparently, she hadn’t cared enough to abort this mission.
He wasn’t sure why she should. As far as the Fleet was concerned, everyone on this vessel was already dead.
But he would have thought that she might have cared that they wouldn’t be able to get any of the information she wanted. He wasn’t sure they would make it to that Scrapheap.
“You look uncertain,” Preemas said.
“We just need that information about the anacapa drives,” Crowe said. “I think we’re on to something here.”
“The Fleet doesn’t seem to think so,” Preemas said. “They would have acted if they did.”
Crowe felt an odd chill. There was no reason for Preemas to say something like that, unless he suspected that Crowe had been in touch with Gāo. Or was Crowe just being more paranoid than usual?
He didn’t know. He had no way to gauge it.
The Renegat Page 42