The silver fleet the com.., p.134
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 134
“But do we have anything to suggest that the same still holds true here?”
“I think it’s a cultural thing. Same reason that none of their ships come equipped with escape pods. They’re all about aggression.”
Schwartz didn’t look convinced.
“Yes, but isn’t it possible that these ships only affect this arrangement of their shields when they’re going into battle? Would it not be possible for them to re-configure their shields so that – in the case of a pursuit, say – they could transfer the bulk of their defences to their aft shields? That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“If we lived in a perfect universe, then that might be the case but we don’t. So, I’m inclined to think that, like us, the Da’al’s military budgets are limited. So, they’re stuck with the same operational compromises that we all have to make.” He rotated the model so that the aft section was facing towards Schwartz. “I’m sure that when these things were first designed, their rear shields were as strong as their lead ones. But then somebody at the top of their chain of command will have decided that it was too expensive and they’d have to shave off twenty percent. First place you’d look to make those savings is back here.”
He reached round and indicated with his finger.
“Which is a brilliant theory, sir,” she said diplomatically.
“But you’re not buying it?”
“You said yourself that there are major cultural differences between us. Who’s not to say that on their planet the warriors aren’t the dominant social group? That, when they do build their ships, they do so with an unlimited budget.”
Faulkner grinned at that. Then he pressed a button on the arm of his chair.
“Mr McNeill, can you come over here? We’ve something we’d like to discuss.”
While they were waiting for him to appear, Schwartz came over and stood by him. This prompted Faulkner to get to his feet.
“Katherine, what I said earlier…” he paused, unsure how best to continue. “Look, I didn’t handle it very well. This whole thing is new to me and I’m trying my best to get it right but be assured I had no intention of questioning your ability. I was just trying to give you some more options, that’s all. I got it wrong. I’m sorry. You’re much better placed to judge this situation than I am so, in future, I’ll follow your lead. Okay?”
“Sir, there’s no need to apologise. I’m getting regular check-ups and everything seems to be fine. I was just taken by surprise, that’s all. I’ve worked so hard to get here, I just didn’t want you thinking that I wasn’t up to the job.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got that out the way,” he said, relieved not to have made things worse.
They acknowledged one another and then just stood there awkwardly, waiting for McNeill to arrive.
McNeill approached the command chair. At just under a metre tall and with his odd, rolling gait he tended to stand out.
He gave Faulkner a crisp salute before stepping forward to have Schwartz take him through the salient points of their discussion. McNeill listened carefully, every once in a while, taking a side-long glance at Faulkner.
“So, what do you think?” Faulkner asked.
“Er, in the absence of any nuclear option, I think that I’m going to have to take another look at this.”
“So, we won’t know what we’re up against until we’ve loosed off a couple more missiles?”
“That sounds like the top and bottom of it, sir. I’ll have to consult with Tactical to see what our options are.”
“All of which is going to take time,” Faulkner said. He’d been hoping for a more definitive answer yet knew that he’d been overly optimistic expecting everything to run smoothly. He suddenly felt that the room was stifling him and snapped off the image of the Loki as a way of bringing the meeting to a close.
“If I may say so, sir,” McNeill said stiffly. “My father was a great admirer of yours.”
Faulkner drew himself up sharply then. “Really? And where did he serve?”
“On the Alexandria, sir. Came through three tours.”
“Brave man.”
“Not as brave as my mother. He’d be the first to tell you that.”
Faulkner glanced at Schwartz, unsure where this was going.
“And where was she stationed?”
“She was an officer on the Verdun. She was in her bunk when the ship was hit.”
Suddenly, everything became clear. The Verdun had been ambushed by three Yakutian ships and had done well to escape though the ship’s twin reactors had been badly damaged in the process. They’d been on the verge of going critical when the crew had been taken off by two Confederation ships. One of the reactors had gone into meltdown and, in the subsequent explosion, the ship had been completely destroyed.
“That was a bad show,” Faulkner said. “And was your mother injured?”
“They didn’t realise it at the time but the shielding in her part of the ship had been breached. As a consequence, she received a massive dose of radiation. She never returned to active duty.”
Faulkner stirred uneasily. This was all just a little too close to home.
“And was your mother pregnant?” Schwartz managed. “At the time, I mean?”
McNeill nodded gravely. “Fourteen weeks, yes. The doctors advised her to…”
“Terminate the pregnancy?”
McNeill stiffened at her candor. “That’s right. Only she was determined to go ahead with it. Then, four and a half months later, I arrived.”
“I’d like to meet this mother of yours,” Faulkner said.
“She’s a remarkable woman, sir. Even if I do say so myself.”
“And she’s … well?” Schwartz probed.
McNeill gave her a little lop-sided grin. “She’s still with us, if that’s what you mean. My father looks after her now. She has her good days and her bad. I visit whenever I can.”
“That’s one hell of a story, lieutenant. I appreciate you sharing it with us.”
“Story of my life, sir.”
*
LaCruz got back from her shower to find the cargo bay in uproar.
In return for Markham presenting him with a manifest of everyone in the hold – Marines, scientists, engineers - Ferguson had arranged it so they had access to the showers, though on a strict ‘one in, one out’ policy. The guy ahead of her in line was stripped down to his boxers and rolled his eyes when LaCruz appeared. She flipped him the bird and took her place. With everyone crammed into such a small space, privacy was in short supply and it was only a matter of time before tempers began to fray. The little salvage ship just wasn’t equipped to deal with so many passengers and the air re-cycling system was struggling to keep up. Everywhere you went there was that same ‘wet dog’ smell.
She didn’t like the way things had turned out but the reality of the situation was that they were very much reliant upon the Motar crew for things like food and medical supplies. Barnes, for one, needed his painkillers. His feet had started to smell and, while they’d done their best changing his dressings, it was clear that he was fighting an infection although all their requests for anti-biotics had met with blank faces. The sooner they could get him somewhere that he could receive proper medical attention, the better.
She tried to get her mind off all this while she enjoyed her shower. The water was too hot for her liking but she made the best of it lathering her hair and body before the water cut off after three minutes. That left her to wipe off the soap suds with her towel before trying to dry her hair.
After she’d slipped on her underwear she re-emerged in the cargo bay to find the place in uproar. While she’d been gone, they’d managed to cut the cargo bay into two halves by lowering a huge partition screen. She’d noticed earlier that there was a narrow channel running straight down the middle of the cargo bay and now she realised what it was there for. This way they could partition the whole bay off into two self-sufficient, air-tight compartments. Only now, everyone was packed into a space half the size of what they’d enjoyed thirty minutes earlier.
This allowed the crew to open up the huge cargo doors on the other side, allowing the ship access to incoming traffic.
There were diamond glass windows set in the partition wall at roughly head height and LaCruz went over to take a look. There were a couple of guys, she had them tagged as scientists straightaway, who were also trying to get a look see.
“Where’d that shuttle come from?” she asked, dismayed.
“Only just arrived,” the guy next to her said. “They didn’t waste much time.”
They watched as the pilot cut the shuttles’ engines, allowing the grav clamps to slide forward before locking the ship in place.
All this activity was bathed in a menacing dark red glow but she could still see two figures in pressure suits moving about on the other side. They worked together to ensure that each of the two umbilicals were securely attached, one to handle water and gases, the other to supply the electrics. They’d have to wait while the pressure was equalized before it would be safe for any passengers to disembark.
LaCruz went to look for Markham and found him chatting to the Marsh woman. LaCruz had suspected at first that Markham seemed to have a thing for her – he was only human, after all - but now she was starting to realise that perhaps that wasn’t the full reality of the case. She really didn’t like Marsh and would have preferred it if they’d left her back on Tigris.
Marsh struck her as the sort of woman who’d readily use her sexuality to get what she wanted, and that didn’t sit well with LaCruz.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing good,” Markham said. “Ferguson came down with a group of guys. He didn’t say anything to us but he’s clearly not happy with the situation.”
“You think this could be Kaminsky’s brother?”
“The Montezuma’s captain? Could be, I suppose. But if that’s the case, what’s with all the artillery?”
Markham pointed over to where the Motar crew members were standing waiting for the pressure hatch to open. There were five of them and they were well armed.
“I don’t think it’s him,” Kate Marsh said. She was smoking one of those ‘herbal’ cigarettes the scientists were so fond of. Just the smell of it was enough to turn LaCruz’ stomach. “I think it’s more likely to be this Saratova woman.”
“The Widowmaker.”
They all turned at that. It was one of the scientists. The big one with the ginger beard. He threw out his hands when they all looked at him.
“What? That’s what the crew’s been calling her.”
“The Widowmaker. Really?” LaCruz scoffed. “What does that even mean?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But that’s what they call her: Saratova the Widowmaker.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Markham said, moving off. “Dr Marsh. If you’d kindly stay here, I need to go and have a word with someone.”
He didn’t invite LaCruz to join him but he didn’t discourage her either, so she tagged along.
“Heay, Ferguson!”
The tall, wiry figure of Ferguson hefted the strap on the rail gun he was carrying and turned to face them.
“How you doing?” he asked, seeming pleased to see them. “Thanks for that list, by the way.”
“Glad to be of help,” Markham inclined his head in the direction of the pressure doors. “Like to tell me what’s going on?”
“Can’t say,” Ferguson rolled his eyes. “But we’re getting ready for a special visitor.”
“I understand,” Markham said. “So, it’s not the other Kaminsky brother, is it?”
Ferguson looked through the observation window to see what was happening on the other side. They were getting ready to open the shuttle’s rear ramp.
“Nah. Not him,” he lowered his voice. “This lot are over from the Peter the Great. They’re looking to give us the once over.”
LaCruz squinted through the diamond glass. As the people exited down the ramp they had to take turns being hosed down with some kind of sterilising spray.
“I’d have thought you’d be in a hurry to get us out of here,” LaCruz said indicating the cramped surroundings. “Not recruit more passengers.”
“That’s the problem, right there. They want to check out that there are no health concerns before they start shipping people over. Though, trust me, they’re not doing any of this out of the goodness of their hearts.”
“So, where do you stand in all this?” Markham asked. “If you had to pick a side?”
Ferguson grimaced at the mention of ‘sides.’
“Personally, I don’t want anything to do with all of this. I’d sooner be back on board the Montezuma but it seems that the brothers have had a falling out so I can’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“They’re arguing over the ghost ship?” Markham said.
“Pretty much,” Ferguson nodded. “Oh, looks like they’re ready for us.”
The light on the pressure door glowed bright green.
LaCruz watched as Ferguson’s team removed the safeties from their weapons. Despite what anyone else might be saying, there was clearly no love lost between the two crews. LaCruz’ main concern though was what would happen if either side did start shooting. With nowhere to hide, the cargo bay would quickly be transformed into a bloodbath.
There was an interminable wait after the light turned to green before the door started to cycle open. Everyone, other than the Motar crew, slowly started edging back from the doors. Ferguson raised his weapon before checking the ammo. There was every chance that, if he did start shooting, he was liable to put a hole in the fuselage.
Four people approached them through the pressure doors. Three men and one woman, though there was no questioning who the leader was. Saratova towered over the others. LaCruz recognised her companions straightaway, or at least she identified their type. Hard handed killers for the most part, anxious for any opportunity to demonstrate their skills. All it would take was a word from their leader who, for her part, seemed very relaxed, clutching her plasma rifle like it was some kind of fashion accessory.
She took in the room at a glance, her gaze coming to rest on LaCruz.
LaCruz didn’t look away.
Saratova strode past her welcoming committee, ignoring Ferguson completely. She went and stood in the middle of the room and looked around as if this were her ship and everyone else was trespassing. She quickly took in the various groups of engineers and scientists, but it was the Marines who monopolised her attention. While none of them were currently bearing arms – at Markham’s insistence – that situation could soon change.
The man to Saratova’s left seemed strangely familiar, his hair was unnaturally white, his flesh so pink that he looked as if it’d been freshly flayed. He used his gun to beckon Ferguson over. A summons.
Ferguson went over to him on his own. To have taken his men with him would have been an admission of being fearful.
He and the albino stood together, their heads nearly touching as they talked.
When they’d finished, the albino went back to speak with Saratova. She listened but didn’t seem impressed. After a while, she unslung her rifle and handed it over to the albino. Then, one of Ferguson’s men led her across to the main entrance. After a brief pause, the doors slid open and Noah Kapinsky stepped through. He looked fresh faced and eager.
To LaCruz it looked like he was dressed to go on a date.
They chatted briefly before Saratova slipped her arm into his and off they went.
Once they’d gone, everyone seemed to relax. Ferguson lit a cigarette and the albino went over to his men, indicating for them to lower their weapons. They were in for a long wait.
Markham said, “What do you reckon?”
“That other guy,” LaCruz said, pointing to her head. “Looks familiar. Not sure where I’ve seen him before though.”
“Face like that – difficult to forget.”
“I’ll get it eventually. What do we do now?”
“Wait and see. Way I figure it, she’s over here trying to work out profit and loss. She’s seen an opportunity here and she’ll be sure to capitalise on it.”
“Looks to me like she’d happily jettison the lot of us.”
“I get that. But she’s going to have to tread carefully. Our captain might not be up to much, but Ferguson’s lot aren’t going down without a fight. You get a look at that rail gun Ferguson’s carrying?”
“Do a lot of damage with something like that.”
“Which means she’s going to think twice before starting anything.”
“I don’t think that’s her style anyway.”
“What’re you thinking?”
“Why would she put herself at risk when she’s got Captain Noah eating out of her hand. Strikes me, all she has to do is give the word and next thing we’re learning to space walk without a suit. It’s not rocket science.”
“Okay,” Markham said. “But, if you’re right, why hasn’t that happened already?”
LaCruz scanned the room but came up blank.
“You know, that’s a very good question.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Faulkner returned to the bridge after taking a trip down to the officer’s mess to grab some dinner. The stewards tended to fill up his plate whenever he went down there, but Faulkner was fine with that. Since his operation he’d developed a voracious appetite. It was almost like he was tasting food for the first time. He had periods when he just felt ravenous as though his body was crying out for extra nutrients. His doctors had been thrilled when they saw that he’d put on ten kilos in weight - though he had been extremely emaciated when he’d first come aboard. The pleasing thing about this though was that a lot of this new weight had been muscle, pure and simple. His legs in particular feeling more solid than they had in years.
He was sleeping better too, which came as another pleasant surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such restful nights, not that he expected that to continue. Once they came within striking distance of the enemy there’d be little opportunity for rest of any kind. He was going to be kept on his toes for the foreseeable future though, he had to admit, it was a prospect he was looking forward to.
