No honor in death, p.14
No Honor in Death, page 14
“Sir?” She inquired, her tone almost insolent.
“Lieutenant Shara,” Pushkin growled unexpectedly, “you bloody well know how to report to your captain. Kindly do it before I give you a quick refresher course. With the tip of my boot.”
Shara looked at him, an eyebrow rising lazily then, with deliberate slowness, she came to attention and saluted.
“Sailing master reporting to the captain as ordered. Sir!”
“Mister Shara,” Siobhan smiled tightly, voice deceptively smooth and soft, something Pushkin had begun to recognize as a danger signal. “Since I took command of this ship, I have found your attitude and behavior toward your superiors, peers, and subordinates to be arrogant, insubordinate, and totally unacceptable for a Commonwealth Navy officer and a sailing master on my ship. I don’t really give a damn what kind of relationship you had with Commander Forenza, or how many admirals supped at your father’s mansion when you were a cadet. If you don’t start acting like a goddamned officer, you will find yourself counting mess tins on a third-rate supply depot for the rest of the war.”
“Sir. I resent your insinuations, and your insults to my character,” Shara replied, cheeks reddening with anger. “And I –”
“I don’t really give a damn what you resent, Lieutenant Shara,” Siobhan replied, her voice as calm as before, but with a hard core that hit the sailing master like a slap in the face. “As long as you are on my ship, you will bloody well take whatever I say, and act accordingly. Oh, and don’t bother threatening me with a complaint to Admiral Kaleri. By the time I’m through with you, a Disciplinary Board will overrule anything your family friends might try.”
Siobhan saw her words hit home and smiled cruelly. But inwardly, she knew that if Shara did complain to Kaleri, she could cause her a lot of trouble. It would probably take an act of mutiny on the sailing master’s part before she would be hauled in front of a board. Pushkin knew it too, and while his face showed pleasure at Siobhan’s words, his eyes also showed worry at Shara’s connections, and what they could mean to him if she complained. However, Siobhan was not done yet.
“For starters, Mister Shara, you will begin to treat the cox’n with the respect he deserves as the senior enlisted man. He is the Chief of the Ship, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s one of the best damn chiefs and ship handlers in the Fleet. If you cannot bring yourself to respect his experience and ability, you will at least give the appearance of doing so.”
As Siobhan paused to draw her breath, Shara attempted to protest again.
“Sir, I res-”
“Silence! You will speak when I give you permission.” Siobhan’s gloved hand hit the desk, cracking like a gunshot. Shara took a step backward as Siobhan’s sudden outburst hit her like a gale-force wind. “You may have been Commander Forenza’s favorite while she was captain of Stingray. Those days are over. She is now facing disciplinary charges for failing in her duties. You’d do well to remember that, or you will most assuredly join her. Dismissed, Mister Shara.”
Face red, body shaking with anger and humiliation, Shara saluted and spun on her heels. As the doors closed behind her, Siobhan heard the sailing master snarl at a rating.
“A very dangerous enemy, sir,” Pushkin softly said.
Siobhan looked at him in surprise. “Maybe, but she’s also a foolish woman, and that, we can deal with. How much of Forenza’s friend is she? Or Kaleri’s, for that matter?”
Again, Pushkin seemed hesitant before replying, as if still unsure about the wisdom of confiding in a captain he’d known for only a few days.
“Too much for comfort,” he finally said. “Shara and Forenza were always meeting behind closed doors, plotting God knows what. The sailing master knew more about ship’s business and the captain’s intentions than I did. Sometimes, I wondered who the real first officer was.”
Siobhan was beginning to understand why he carried such a chip on his shoulder. It must have been hard to see his authority undermined at every turn by an officer of Shara’s low caliber and rank.
“As for Admiral Kaleri,” he continued, “Forenza got away with murder under her command, and if Shara is Forenza’s asshole buddy...”
“Les amis de mes amis sont mes amis,” Siobhan quoted in French. The friends of my friends are my friends.
Pushkin looked up at her in surprise, and then nodded. “Aye, captain. That’s right.”
“So I can assume Admiral Kaleri will hear of everything that happens aboard Stingray, filtered through Shara’s malice.”
“You can bet on it, sir.”
Siobhan shrugged. “Then let her hear. At this point, I couldn’t care less about a sailing master spying on me for the benefit of my Battle Group commander. If I’m to fall, then I will. One way or another. And it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Pushkin’s eyes widened in surprise at Siobhan’s raw honesty, and he mentally raised his opinion of her by several orders of magnitude. Maybe, he would also be able to trust her. But after Forenza...
“Tell me, Mister Pushkin,” Siobhan suddenly asked, “when you said, a moment ago, that Forenza got away with murder, were you speaking figuratively, or were you being literal.”
As if a curtain had been dropped, Pushkin’s expression became guarded again and the fragile rapport that she had developed over the last few minutes dissolved. Siobhan cursed herself mentally but kept her expression bland and unconcerned.
“Figurative, captain,” he replied, his voice gruff, his eyes refusing to meet hers. “Will that be all, sir?”
Siobhan repressed a sigh of frustration. “For now, Mister Pushkin. After we’ve fueled, we’ll discuss the remedial training plan.”
The first officer stood, snapped to attention, and saluted. Then, he turned and left Siobhan to her thoughts. He, like Luttrell, knew more than they would admit and refused to speak about it. Fear, perhaps? But of what or who? And why?
*
“Captain, we’re on final approach to Thetis Alpha.”
“I’ll be right there, Mister Pushkin.” Siobhan closed her personal log and rose, adjusting her uniform. The final approach to a refueling station, and the refueling itself were among the most delicate maneuvers a starship could do. It took little to ignite the antimatter and blow both station and ship into another dimension. A captain’s worst nightmare was an enemy raider appearing just as the ship was taking on fuel.
Siobhan glanced at the split screen, one-half showing a real-time view of the station, high in orbit around the greenish-blue gas giant that provided the raw matter for the fuel, the other half showing the usual tactical schematic display of their approach.
“One-hundred thousand kilometers and closing,” Pushkin announced as she sat down.
Siobhan nodded. Then inspiration struck. “Take her in, Mister Pushkin.” She stood up and stepped away from her chair. He looked at her in astonishment, as did Shara, Devall, and Kowalski. Only the cox’n showed no reaction. He knew Dunmoore’s ways.
“Aye, sir,” the first officer replied a few heartbeats later. He slipped into Siobhan’s seat, shoulders squared, while she moved over to his vacant station. “Cox’n, stand by braking thrusters. Prepare to cut sublight drive on my mark.” His voice was deep and confident. Shara, for once, kept her eyes firmly on the screen, lips tightened into a thin line of disapproval.
“Take her three points to port; raise the angle of attack by two points.” The real-time view of Thetis Alpha shifted minutely as Stingray’s course changed to parallel the line of refueling buoys. This far out, the change was minuscule, but over the remaining distance, it would suffice. Siobhan smiled with approval. Pushkin was careful and able to think out his maneuvers far ahead. Too many officers made greater course changes at a distance, only to correct them closer in. As Siobhan knew, Guthren had a light touch on the helm, and he executed Pushkin’s orders with deft precision.
“Cut sublight.”
Siobhan would have kept the ion drives on for a bit longer, but refrained from commenting. If Pushkin wanted to coast in and conserve power, that was fair enough. The few minutes’ difference would not matter.
Thetis Alpha shimmered brightly against the dark turquoise of the planet Thetis. At this distance, they could see the many storms stirring up the thick soupy atmosphere, winds which could tear a warship apart, were its captain foolish enough to brave the crushing gravity well. The unmanned fuel tankers that sucked up the atmospheric gases for transport to Thetis Alpha’s refinery were the only ships able to get close enough without damage. And even they stayed at a respectable distance, using a specially adapted tractor beams to fill their large holds.
“Braking thrusters on for ten seconds on my mark.”
“Standing by,” Guthren replied, all business as his thick fingers danced over the helm console.
The first officer knew he was being tested by Siobhan, and scrutinized by the remainder of the bridge crew. Yet he showed no nervousness. Only natural tension.
“Mark.” Faint vibrations ran through the ship as the forward thrusters fired. They lasted exactly ten seconds. Pushkin’s eyes narrowed as he studied the tactical display.
“Cox’n prepare to fire the aft starboard thrusters for three seconds on my mark.”
“Standing by.”
“Mark.”
Siobhan could see no immediate effect, but experience told her Pushkin was adjusting the course to pass as close to the buoys as safely possible.
“Port thrusters one second. Mark.”
His aim was as good as any Siobhan had seen. She felt her shoulders relax, realizing only now how tense she had been in the last few minutes.
“Braking thrusters for five seconds.”
“Standing by.”
The line of buoys grew on the screen, close enough to touch. From the first officer’s console, Siobhan switched on the starboard secondary screen, to get a side view of their approach.
“Mark.”
Slowly, majestically, Stingray came to a full stop relative to the orbiting station, a bare four hundred meters from the first refueling buoy, which sat on the end of a kilometer-long pylon connecting it to Thetis Alpha. Siobhan nodded, eyebrows raised and lips pursed as she checked the readout on her console. They were precisely level with the buoy, both horizontally and vertically, which would please the fuel pumpers to no end. They liked a magnetic hose without kinks or curves.
“Excellent, Mister Pushkin,” Siobhan said as she stood up. “That was one of the sweetest approaches I’ve seen in a long time. You too, Mister Guthren. Excellent handling.”
And it had been. No excess use of thrusters to correct over corrections, no overt signs of tension. Calm and professional, just the way she liked it.
Her compliments drew approving looks from the others. Even Kowalski nodded. Pushkin’s stock had gone up in the last ten minutes, which was all to the good. It was probably the first time in a long time that he’d been allowed to display his ship handling skills. He even allowed himself the hint of a smile, and Siobhan knew she had done the right thing. Trust your instincts, Nagira had counseled. The admiral had been right. Only Shara kept her eyes fixed on the screen, looking as sour as three-week old milk.
“Let’s hoist the antimatter on board, Mister Pushkin.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he replied crisply, pride gleaming in his dark, hooded eyes. “Engineering, stand by for refueling.”
“Standing by,” Tiner’s voice sounded tinny over the intercom, “all systems green, magnetic integrity confirmed.”
“Mister Kowalski, make to Thetis Alpha, ‘Stingray ready for refueling.’ And put them on loudspeakers.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Hello, Stingray,” a cheerful voice boomed through the speakers, “my compliments for the approach. First time in a long time we didn’t have a heart attack watching a ship come in. So, what’ll it be? Ordinary or supercharged?”
“We’ll take the ordinary, thank you,” Pushkin replied, a small grin playing on his lips. “Supercharged gums up the plasma tubes.”
“Too true, too true,” the controller replied with a mock sigh. “Still, it’s sad that nobody wants to ream out tubes anymore nowadays, to get that extra kick only supercharged can give. Are you guys ready?”
“Fuel port open and standing by.”
“Okay, folks, here she comes.”
A round mating module, pushed by small thrusters, separated from the buoy and headed for the ship, trailing a black hose the diameter of a shuttlecraft, behind it. Within moments, it attached itself to Stingray’s lower hull.
“We’ve got positive contact,” the controller announced.
“Confirmed,” Tiner replied, without waiting for Pushkin to ask. “Ready to take the fuel on board.”
The black tube glowed as the magnetic field lining its interior came to life.
“Comin’ through.”
“Magnetic bottles are filling,” Tiner confirmed.
Five minutes later it was done, and the mating module sailed back to its buoy, the huge black hose vanishing inside the smooth, shiny cylinder. “Anything else Thetis Alpha can do for you folks? Top up your oil, or wash your windscreen?”
Pushkin and Dunmoore looked at each other, uncertain what the controller meant by his last question. Siobhan shrugged.
“No thanks,” the first officer replied.
“Okay. That’ll be five hundred thousand creds. Cash or charge?” The controller was clearly amused at his own wit, even if it was a bit obscure for Stingray’s bridge crew.
“Charge it to my account,” Siobhan said, looking at Pushkin with a raised eyebrow, “care of Admiral Kaleri.”
“Will do. Have fun on the line. Cheerio, folks.”
Siobhan returned to her seat. “Lay in a course for jump point Gamma, Mister Shara. Then calculate a jump to-” she rattled off a series of coordinates.
Shara half-turned in surprise at Siobhan’s directions. “Those coordinates are nowhere near the line, sir.”
“I know that, Mister Shara.” A small smile briefly passed over the sailing master’s thin, bloodless lips, then she turned back to her console.
“Course laid in.”
No doubt Admiral Kaleri would find out about Siobhan’s disregard for her orders, probably as soon as Shara could find a way to send a message without anyone else knowing.
“Engage, Mister Guthren.”
— NINE —
Dunmoore finished her log entry and saved it. The ship pulsed with power, her FTL drives pushing Stingray across the lightyears. The subliminal vibrations soothed her nerves and she could almost believe the worst of her problems had been left behind. Almost.
Shortly after jumping, the intermix controllers had developed a malfunction, and had to re-emerge. It had taken Tiner the better part of three hours to track down the cause of the problem and replace the defective part. That made it forty-eight end-of-life malfunctions or impending failures since they left port.
The parts in question had been everyday consumables, carried by every ship, and regular maintenance should have seen them replaced by the time they reached ninety percent of their predicted life span. She could understand a dozen or so failures. War had sharply reduced the time a warship spent in dry dock, and no ship’s engineering crew could do everything. But forty-eight?
Without the old logs, she had no way of tracking down the under way maintenance schedule or the frequency with which the frigate had been resupplied with spare parts. Neither Tiner nor Pushkin were talking.
When she had pressed the engineer, Tiner had become agitated and had given her disjointed and wholly unbelievable explanations. Even Dunmoore’s comment that Stingray’s end-of-life failure rate was well beyond average failed to get a straight answer.
Her old ship’s clock chimed six bells. One hour before midnight, and watch change. Feeling stiffness in every muscle, Siobhan stretched her arms above her head, wrinkling her nose at the aroma from her armpits. She looked longingly at her shower and bed, but there was one more thing she wanted to do before turning in.
Siobhan called up the watch list on her computer and nodded. Soon, she would not have to look, to know who was on deck and she would know their strengths, weaknesses, ambitions, and fears. She called the bridge.
“OOW, Lieutenant Devall, sir.” The elegant gunnery officer’s face appeared on the small screen, looking as fresh as if he’d just gone on watch.
“Mister Devall, Stingray’s sensors have just picked up a suspicious reading. It looks very much like that of a Shrehari cruiser.”
He looked at her uncomprehending for a few heartbeats, then understanding lit up his blue eyes, and he smiled.
“Aye, aye, sir.” His head turned away from the pick-up. “PO of the watch, cut out FTL drives; Mister Sanghvi, sound battle stations.” Devall looked back at the captain. He opened his mouth to ask if she had any other orders, when the ship emerged from hyperspace, wrenching Siobhan’s stomach in the familiar and inevitable nausea. Before the momentary sickness dissipated, the siren sounded throughout the ship. Lights dimmed as the computer re-routed all available power to the weapons’ capacitors and the shields. Behind Devall, the bridge glowed red, and Dunmoore briefly had a vision of the hell on Victoria Regina’s bridge near the end.
She shook off the feeling. “Advise me when the ship is ready. Dunmoore, out.”
Calmly, Siobhan shrugged on her uniform tunic. Then, she stepped out into the corridor. Half-dressed crewmembers were running to their stations, spurred on by the shouts of their petty officers. She flattened herself against the bulkhead to avoid being run down.
Any warship going to battle stations looked like complete chaos to a layman, but in this case, it also looked like total chaos to an experienced naval officer and three-time ship captain. Dunmoore compressed her lips into a thin line and quickly made her way to the bridge.
Most of the primary bridge crew had already arrived, with one glaring exception. When Shara showed up, face flushed and out of breath, Pushkin stared at her and pointed to the navigation console. He did not have to speak. His expression said it all.
