The silver fleet the com.., p.135
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 135
Something about his general demeanour had changed, that was for sure, and he seemed to have finally thrown off the long bout of depression which had dogged him since his arrival on the Renheim.
Schwartz was occupying the command chair when Faulkner returned to the bridge but, as she made to get up, he noticed for the first time how much of an effort that was for her. Her uniform was tighter around the midriff and he wondered how long it would be before she was forced to find an alternative. It was an odd thing to see a pregnant woman on the bridge of a starship and it wasn’t something he thought he’d ever get used to.
Faulkner didn’t take his seat straight away. He stood and considered the screens which were tracking the Loki. McNeill had carefully planned a series of accelerations, or ‘boosts’, which would provide them with the velocity necessary to close on their rival and, so far, everything seemed to be playing out accordingly. Even the slight change of course that the Loki had embarked on hadn’t altered things much either way. Faulkner suspected that the captain of the other ship had come to the same conclusion, since he hadn’t tried to repeat the maneuver.
It was a simple mathematical problem now. So long as the Loki didn’t do something completely unprecedented– which wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility – it could only be a simple matter of time before they finally ran her down.
But then, if that were the case, why was he feeling so anxious? It was almost as if he expected them to fail, and that wasn’t good. As the officer commanding, he felt he had to approach every encounter from a positive standpoint and, certainly, that had been his experience in the past. But this was different, and that’s what worried him.
Perhaps he was just too old for this stuff?
Or perhaps he’d learned that, as far as the Da’al were concerned, you couldn’t take anything for granted. Perhaps an attitude of cautious pessimism might serve him best in the long run.
“Sensors. Are we still keeping an eye on Loki’s comms transmissions?”
“Aye, sir. She’s managed to send off two tight beam communications in the direction of her sister ships. They’re both encrypted. Lieutenant Stan is working on them.”
“Signalling the Thor, no doubt,” he said speculatively. “There’s nothing else in this part of the system, is there?”
“Nothing so far,” Schwartz replied.
“Good. Let’s hope we can keep it that way.”
Schwartz came to stand beside him.
“Something bothering you, sir?”
Faulkner was tempted to brush-off her enquiries but for some reason he didn’t.
“It’s nothing really. Just that course change, earlier. I know it’s nothing, but it did set me to thinking.”
Schwartz eyebrows arched. “Ambush?”
“Exactly. Good to see that I’m not the only paranoid one around here.”
“It’s the only possible scenario that makes sense – only we’ve no evidence of any other Da’al ships in the area.”
“True. And, even if there were, they’d have had to fire up their engines in order to facilitate an intercept.”
“In which case, we’d have spotted them by now.”
“You’re saying all the right things,” Faulkner said. “Yet for some reason I still can’t relax.”
Schwartz’s hand went to her ear then, her thoughts suddenly elsewhere.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to check on this.”
Faulkner watched as she went over to Navigation and, normally, that would have been the end of things. He had to allow Schwartz to get on with her job, he couldn’t be expected to stay on top of everything. But there was something in her reaction to the comms call which had piqued his interest, so he went over and watched what she was doing. He couldn’t quite make out what was being said but there was no denying that Schwartz seemed rattled by something.
Not like her at all.
Finally, he could bear it no longer.
“Anything I can help with?”
As a junior officer he’d always resented this kind of interference from the OC and here he was doing it himself.
When Schwartz turned to confront him, he saw that her nose, her cheeks, even the tips of her ears had a rosy pink hue about them.
“Seems that they’ve spotted something.”
“What is it?”
“We’re just in the process of finding out. Though it doesn’t look good.”
*
Noah called his brother from the cockpit of the Motar. It was cramped and hot and smelled of sweat and burnt polymers but it had a lockable door and a decent comms system. That way, he hoped they’d be able to keep their conversation private and away from prying ears.
Tomas must have been having similar thoughts because he chose to accept the call in his quarters. When their father had occupied the captain’s cabin he’d kept everything neat and well-ordered with nothing out of place but from what Noah could see, Tomas obviously did not subject himself to the same high standards. The place was a mess with discarded food and drink containers all over the place.
“How are things holding up on your end?” Tomas began.
“Fine. Everything’s fine. Look, I’ll going to get straight down to it: I’ve decided to stick with the job.”
This announcement was met with a protracted pause.
“Say again.”
“The contract. I’m going to go ahead with it. I just thought you should know.”
Tomas gave him a comic scowl. “On your own. I mean, in the Motar?”
“For your information, I’ve found myself a new business partner.”
“Okay. Now, this I just have to hear.”
“I’ve already spoken with Elina and we’ve worked it all out. We’re going to work on this together.”
As Tomas processed this new information his face drained of color. “You’re kidding me, right? Noah, you’re not serious.”
“I couldn’t be more serious. I contacted Elina yesterday, told her about my plans. Obviously, she’s got her own ship but she doesn’t have the right equipment to set up a proper tow – which is where I come in.”
Tomas’ face loomed large on the screen. “Noah, tell me that you didn’t make a deal with that woman.”
“Heay, I thought I had a deal with you, Tomas. I thought we were partners. Only, the first time we’re ready to make some serious money you go behind my back.”
“This isn’t happening,” Tomas said, but then a thought occurred to him. “Have you spoken to Winterson about this?”
“Didn’t need to. Elina’s already sorted that side. Soon as he realised you were no longer up for the job, he approached her. She’s going to be in overall charge of the operation with me in support. Simple, really.”
Tomas let out a roar of frustration. “Only the Motar doesn’t belong to you, does it? It belongs to the company.”
“Look, if we’re breaking up the family firm, that’s fine. And I think it’s only reasonable for me to take my fair share of the assets. That includes the Motar, so I’m taking it. End of story.”
“And what about the others? Ferguson and the rest? You talked to them about this? You haven’t have you?”
“They’re fine with it,” he lied. “Unlike you, they’re not afraid to take a few risks, here and there.”
That was still his biggest concern: the idea that they might choose not to back him. But Elina had promised she’d help him with that part of things. Help bring them around.
Tomas was taking a moment to collect himself, rubbing at his eyes until they were bright red.
“Look, Noah. I’m begging you not to do this. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Please, do not get into partnership with that woman.”
“’Wow! ‘That woman!’ That’s pretty harsh considering you two used to be a thing.”
“Yes, Noah. We used to be a thing, but I ended it. Did you never wonder why that was?”
“No, and frankly, I couldn’t care less. You’re lucky I even bothered to contact you.”
He moved to end the transmission.
“Look, Noah, just listen to me for a moment, will you. There’s things about this woman you don’t know…”
“Yeah, right. Listen, I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” he waved at the screen. “Bye, big brother. See you when I’m rich.”
“Noah, listen!”
But Noah had already cut the link. He sat there staring at his reflection in the screen.
He’d been anticipating this moment for years. The day when he finally managed to out-do his older brother. It was always going to happen, so long as Tomas remained shackled to the family business, happy to roll along taking whichever contracts passed their way while never having the acumen to pursue the big opportunities when they came along. It was almost as if he was frightened of them being successful. That was the difference between the pair of them and that was why Noah was always going to come out on top.
He just hadn’t expected it to happen quite so quickly.
And, so now, instead of revelling in his triumph, all he could think about as he reflected on what had been said was how whiny he’d sounded at the end. Like some little kid throwing a temper tantrum. No, he wasn’t particularly proud of that. But Tomas had had it coming. Considering that they both held an equal share in the company, Tomas had been taking the lead for far too long, routinely disregarding any contribution his younger brother had to make.
Well, now things had changed and it would be Tomas now observing from the side lines.
Not that Noah was taking any real pleasure in any of this. He was angry, yes. Frustrated, definitely. But all that would pass. Change was now inevitable, which wasn’t the same as ‘easy,’ especially where family members were concerned.
He felt a sudden urge to be with Elina right then. He just wanted to be close to her because if anyone could understand what was going on between the two brothers, it would be her.
*
“What the hell is going on?”
Kerrigan stumbled as he was propelled through the door to Winterson’s infirmary room.
“That’s odd, captain. I was about to ask you the very same question.
Sergeant Duvall stood in the doorway scowling at Kerrigan.
“Thank you, sergeant. That’ll be all.”
Duvall kept his eyes locked on Kerrigan as he closed the door.
Kerrigan walked around the room testing his shoulder joint. Vincenzi, who was seated on the other side of the room smiled in acknowledgement as though this kind of thing happened all the time.
Winterson had spent the morning having skin grafts applied to his right forearm. They’d grown the new skin using some of his own DNA effectively avoiding the chance that the new cells might be rejected. His arm was still numb from the anaesthetic and he was having difficulty using his right hand but, other than that, everything had gone off successfully. The same couldn’t be said for his eye socket though which was throbbing incessantly.
Kerrigan stood at the foot of the bed, straightening his uniform.
“Admiral, I have to protest at this level of treatment. I am the acting captain of this ship and as such deserve a certain level of respect. You can’t just send your man down to drag me off the bridge every time you want something.”
“We had an appointment at sixteen hundred hours,” Winterson said, his voice calm and even. “And I expect my officers to honor their commitments regardless of what might be happening elsewhere. Unless of course there was an emergency of some kind.”
Kerrigan refused to meet his gaze, just stood there working the muscle in his jaw.
“And was that the case, captain?” When Kerrigan didn’t answer he went on. “No, I thought not. Please attend future meetings promptly or next time it won’t be Sergeant Duvall I’ll be sending. I’ll have a Marine escort secure you in your cabin. Regardless of what may have occurred, I remain your commanding officer. Is that understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good. I’d like to receive your briefing now. Go ahead.”
Winterson listened while Kerrigan blustered his way through his poorly curated notes, nodding occasionally while allowing the frequent pauses in Kerrigan’s presentation to highlight the captain’s disarray. He’d assumed that after the morning’s medical procedure, Winterson would have cancelled – only he hadn’t. Though, on reflection, Winterson wondered if that might not have been the wiser course of action. He was still a long way from being declared fit for duty.
That was why he wanted Vincenzi along for this. The man’s mind was as sharp as a razor and he’d be only too quick to highlight any shortcomings in Kerrigan’s long-term plan. Winterson often wondered what he was doing in the service. With his background in law he could no doubt make a fortune as a corporate lawyer which would better suit his temperament. For while he was both fiercely loyal and highly effective in the roles that he’d been given, he displayed little relish to take on a more hands-on role. Winterson thought he was far too bookish to effectively command a battleship, for example, and Vincenzi for his part seemed to agree.
He remembered that Vincenzi’s father had been a Catholic archbishop and wondered whether that might have had something to do with it. Too much of a humanist to properly take to the cut and thrust necessary for a full commission. Too philosophical. Yet, as an aide, his work was exemplary and Winterson considered himself lucky to have him.
Still, he’d have preferred to have Vincenzi in charge of The Naked Spur than Kerrigan. In his opinion, the man was little more than a journeyman. Competent enough in his own way, but with nothing to recommend him overall. No spark. No charisma.
And, despite his injuries, Winterson still felt a duty to the crew, an obligation to the fleet if you liked, to ensure that things ran smoothly. For that to happen he needed to ensure that Kerrigan’s decisions were subjected to the appropriate level of scrutiny and with Winterson still operating at a much-reduced level of efficiency he needed all the help he could get.
They listened as Kerrigan apprised them of the current state of the fleet. Other than The Spur itself, the fleet was made up of Frans Jacob’s Blackbeard, along with the Molly Maguire, the Hudson and the Santiago. After neutralising the Odin they had suffered a major set-back when the bridge had been hit in a freak attack but were now close to intercepting the Tyr. They had hoped to target her sister ship, Thor, but as she had accelerated away towards the Henrietta Gate, Tyr had slowed in an attempt to head them off.
Still, the most immediate threat to the gate seemed to come from the Loki but that was on the other side of the system being chased down by that old war horse, Faulkner.
When Kerrigan had finished delivering his half-baked briefing, Winterson clapped his hands together and immediately a steward appeared at the door with a in a full tea service set on a trolley. The little man arranged the trolley in the centre of the room before gesturing as if to say, “May I pour?”
Winterson shook his head and indicated for him to leave. He believed in congratulating his officers in public while reprimanding them in private. The little man tipped his head to the admiral and promptly left the room.
He was immediately replaced by Duvall who, despite his enormous hands and thick fingers, began pouring tea into the white ceramic cups.
“Good. Now we know where we stand. Tell me, captain, what do you propose to do next?”
Kerrigan rested his hands on his hips.
“That all depends, sir. What would you like me to do?”
Winterson waited until he’d received his tea before replying.
“You’re suggesting that Tyr means to engage us? To allow Thor to make good her escape.”
“That would seem to be their intention, sir, though I’m loath to give them the satisfaction of going down that route myself.”
“And why might that be?”
Winterson had his own ideas on this subject but he didn’t want to be seen to be simply imposing his will. He wanted to at least give the man the chance to prove himself.
Kerrigan took a while to answer, no doubt wary of being caught out.
“I suspect they’re trying to wear us down. Exploit our weaknesses.”
“And, in so doing, sacrifice one of their warships?”
“It seems a trade-off they’re eager to make, sir, particularly if it will allow Thor to make good her escape.”
Duvall approached Kerrigan with a steaming cup but Kerrigan waved him away. Duvall proffered the cup again while Winterson raised an eyebrow. Only then did Kerrigan deign to take it. Winterson liked his officers to at least act like gentlemen.
“What’s the alternative?” Winterson said.
Kerrigan took a sip of his tea, his forehead crinkling in thought.
“We leave the rest of the fleet to engage Tyr and I – we – take The Spur off in pursuit of Thor.”
“But, why us. Why not engage Tyr ourselves and send someone else after Thor?”
A slight smile touched the corner of Kerrigan’s mouth.
He knew the answer to this one.
“Because The Spur is the only ship with half a chance of catching Thor. The other ships in the fleet are just too…”
“Slow.”
It was Vincenzi who had spoken. He slowly got up from his seat.
“Plus,” Kerrigan continued. “She’s the only ship with enough firepower to have a chance of taking on one of these vessels single handed.”
Vincenzi said, “I’ve been reviewing the armaments of our other ships and they really are quite pitiful.”
Vincenzi accepted his tea from Duvall and rewarded him with a smile. Duvall didn’t smile back.
“Commander Vincenzi is right of course,” Winterson said. “Though I’d challenge his use of the word: ‘pitiful.’”
Kerrigan said, “But our orders stress that we must defend the Henrietta Gate at all cost. We have to pursue Thor. And if that means abandoning the rest of the fleet to do so than I’m more than willing to pursue that.””
Vincenzi made some sort of snorting noise at that proposal.
“Clearly, you had very different instructors at the academy to the ones I had,” he said. “Was it not drilled into you that you had to conserve your tactical advantage? To keep your assets together, to avoid being pulled out of shape? These people are looking for us to show some clear leadership. Take The Spur out of the equation and what are you left with? Chaos. With each captain thinking that he knows best.”
