The silver fleet the com.., p.140
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 140
“That sounds like a very tight margin of error, lieutenant. Very tight.”
“I’m aware of that, sir,” he turned to Schwartz. “First Officer, do you know off-hand what our maximum safe acceleration level is for a single manuever.”
“Yes. A hundred and forty three percent. Why what are you proposing?”
“High end acceleration. It’ll be brutal, but it won’t last long. I’ve already sent the data over to the helm.”
Faulkner narrowed his eyes at him. “Only, Leyton doesn’t have the training to be able to utilise it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not my fault, sir.”
Faulkner and Schwartz looked at one another for a long beat.
Then Faulkner spoke directly to McNeill. “How much experience do you have on the flight deck.”
“I’m cleared up to Level Three on shuttles.”
“Well, I suppose that’s going to have to do.”
McNeill jumped down off his chair and started running towards the helm, narrowly avoiding colliding with one of the female crew. He managed to beat Faulkner by a few seconds and used the time to lever himself up and into the pilot’s chair.
Faulkner said, “Lieutenant McNeill, you have the helm.”
“I have the helm.”
“Is this a good idea?” Schwartz asked.
Faulkner gave her a blank look. “I don’t see that we have any alternative. We’ve lost integrity on nearly a quarter of our compartments and if this goes on for much longer we’re in danger of losing our avionics as well and with it our ability to control the ship.”
*
Three days after her wedding, Elsbeth Morton had been in the process of cleaning up their new apartment when there was a knock at the door.
At first she had just tried to ignore it, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. They’d been so busy after the wedding getting their accommodation sorted that she just wanted some peace.
It had been the first day Bayaz had gone to work. He’d left early that morning telling her to take it easy and just to get settled into their new surroundings but she hadn’t been able to rest with the place in such a mess. After the wedding they’d been presented with a bewildering array of gifts – there were a lot of lacquered paper balloons – and she had to try and find somewhere to put them all.
When the person at the door refused to go away, she reluctantly resolved to answer it. She was embarrassed that she could still only speak a few words of Coptic and imagined that, whatever her caller wanted, they were going to go away frustrated.
When she opened the door, there was a woman standing there. That was her first shock.
The woman introduced herself in English, which was her second.
It transpired that the woman was the wife of the base commander and had spent three years on Tyburn which was where she’d learned English. While she observed all the use points of social etiquette it quickly became clear that this was a duty call. She insisted that Morton put on her coat and bring her bag so that she could be taken around the local market and be introduced to all the traders.
At first, Morton had tried to refuse. She had no money so would have to wait for Bayaz to accompany her if she wanted to purchase anything but the woman, who’d introduced herself as Nafisa Tanziat, was adamant that she had no intention of leaving without her. Morton had eventually given in, in the hope that once they arrived at the market she could make some excuse before slipping away. She had no interest in joining the local ladies circle but at the same time didn’t want to upset anyone on Bayaz’s behalf. Especially not the wife of the local commander.
The market was far bigger than Morton had been expecting and was by turns fascinating and horrifying. The Yakutians prided themselves on their fresh meat so invariably had a variety of livestock on display ready to be slaughtered in line with your specific preferences. While she was standing at one particular stall a man came over and picked out a couple of pullets and waited while their necks were wrung.
Tanziat took her to a particularly beautiful scarf stall and, when Morton showed an interest in one, surprised her by buying it for her. Morton felt terrible then, explaining that she couldn’t really accept such a gift but Tanziat waved her excuses away explaining that, as an officer’s wife, she was entitled to her own line of credit on behalf of the navy. They then spent the better part of two hours in the Federal Inspector’s office while Tanziat took her through the process of getting the necessary authorisation codes set up.
Morton eventually became very bad tempered at the male civil servants who refused to interact with her directly. Tanziat led her around like a small child as she was fingerprinted in one room, had her retina scanned in another before being injected in the back of the hand with a retail chip. She was indebted to Tanziat for taking her through the whole convoluted process which she would have to endure at some point, yet she still couldn’t get over how angry she felt at the way women were treated. She was also resentful of the fact that she was being turned into a housewife, something she’d always worked hard to avoid.
Tanziat had then intended to take her to lunch but Morton had demurred, insisting that she had to get on with her shopping as she was planning a celebratory meal for Bayas when he got home. This seemed to meet with Tanziat’s approval; she clearly saw it as a sign that the mad foreign woman could be domesticated if given the right support. They said their goodbyes at the entrance to the vegetable market allowing Morton to go in one door and straight out of another.
In truth, she had no interest in shopping at all and instead headed off in the direction of the camp where the remaining crew members from the Mantis still resided after nearly a month in captivity. She was desperate to see how they were getting on as she’d been caught up in the events surrounding the overthrow of Captain Mahbarat. As the resident doctor, she’d been in charge of monitoring the crew’s health and while she had established a number of personnel who were capable of dispensing the various medications they had access to, apart from a couple of nurses, they were on their own. And there were still a number of crew members who were suffering from a range of complex medical issues who she really did need to take a look at.
She’d been away for far too long.
She approached the checkpoint emboldened. Prior to this, she’d always had to rely on others to get her through the various checkpoints but now after her marriage to Bayas and her recent visit to the Inspector’s Office, she expected to negotiate the checkpoint on her own. But the guards had other ideas.
Prior to this, the guards hadn’t known how to deal with her. Here was a foreign officer, and a woman at that, who was making unreasonable demands on them and they hadn’t known how to react. Only now, all they seemed to see was an uppity officer’s wife who appeared to be straying outside of her allotted zone. Added to that, her Coptic wasn’t very good so she was also stupid.
They treated her as though she was a child who’d strayed too far from their parents. The guards entertained no malice towards her but the fact that she wouldn’t simply do as she was told soon began to wear away what little patience they had so they ended up mocking her to her face with one soldier miming pulling up his skirts and running back home to her husband.
Even when she produced her brand-new credit authorisation they weren’t interested and after a while they got bored and simply refused to acknowledge her.
“Having trouble?” someone asked coming up from the rear.
“Actually…” she whirled round but never got a chance to finish her sentence. “Hermendal? What are you doing here?”
He indicated the checkpoint. “Well, when I heard that some woman was making a nuisance of herself, I thought I’d best pop over.”
She threw herself against him wrapping her arms around his back and refusing to let go.
“Well, it’s very nice to see you, also,” he said, a little taken aback. “Where were you trying to get to?”
She pulled her head back so she could look at him. “To the camp, obviously. I haven’t checked in for nearly a week.”
Hermendal moved her back to arms-length. “Then you shouldn’t worry. After you left, they seemed to come to their senses. They’ve set up a proper clinic and set up some more beds. There were a couple of them who got taken off to the infirmary but it was for the best. It’s not ideal over there but it’s better than it was.”
“Well, that’s as may be but I’m still the Officer Commanding around here. Besides, I’d like to see how they’re doing.”
Hermendal took her arm and spoke directly into her ear. “Okay, but if you’re serious about that, I suggest you go home and come back with your new husband.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“It’s also the only way you’re going to persuade those guys to let you through.”
She pulled her arm away and started back towards the checkpoint but Hermendal managed to block her way.
“Look, I can see you’re annoyed but you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Trust me on this.”
She walked around in a large circle, pumping her arms in an attempt to burn off some of her frustration.
“Alright. You win. Now what? I reckon I’ve got another six hours before Bayas gets home.”
Hermendal started walking back in the direction of the market and she fell in beside him. “I don’t know, you haven’t been married a week yet and you can’t bear to be apart.”
“Yeah, lap it up, Hermendal, this is a marriage of convenience and nothing more.”
“Speaking of which: how has he been with you? I hope he’s been gentle.”
“I slept on the bed and he slept on the couch, if you must know.”
“Okay!” Hermandal said sniffily. “If you don’t want others to share your happiness, that’s fine with me. Would you like to accompany me to the stores?”
“I’ve had enough shopping for one day, thanks.”
“Oh, I see. The navy wives trying to take you under their wing, is that it?”
“Something like that?”
“Well, trust me. They’re only just getting started. If you go home now, they’ll see that as a challenge. You’ll never get rid of them. You’re best off coming with me.”
“And where are you off to?”
“Friends of mine’ve just got married,” he said. “So, I’m looking to buy them a wedding gift. Something classy that won’t break the bank.”
Morton couldn’t help rolling her eyes when she’d caught on.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard that a good tea set should have pride of place in all Yakutian households.”
“I keep forgetting that. The Yakutian bit, I mean.”
“You’ll get used to it. Come on, let’s see what we can find. Nothing too pricey, though. I’m on a budget.”
He took her to a part of the marketplace she hadn’t been to previously. It was a lot more exclusive than the area she’d visited earlier. The road was wider for a start, the flooring made up of black tiles flecked with gold. Then on either side of the road were shops rather than market stalls, each with a lively display of a small selection of their wares displayed on a series of stands.
A number of shops seemed to be selling homeware but Hermendal ignored them and headed straight for one at the far end. He walked so quickly that he had to stop outside and wait for Morton to catch up.
“Looks expensive,” Morton said, indicating the other shops. “And there are so many others.”
“Nonsense,” Hermandal said, ushering her through the front door. He indicated for her to enter before following her inside.
The shopkeeper was a little taken back by their appearance but did well not to mention it, bowing to each of them in turn.
“What about something like this,” Hermendal was staring at a black and gold tea service.
“I was hoping for something a little brighter.”
On the wall opposite was a display of three partial tea sets. One each in red, green and yellow.
“How are you finding life as a married woman?” he said. “Generally?”
“Challenging. It doesn’t help that I can barely speak the language.”
Hermendal asked the shopkeeper if they could examine the green tea pot and the man gestured for him to help himself.
“Well, it looks as though you’re going to get plenty of opportunity to learn,” he said, turning the teapot over in his hands.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got far too much to be getting on with. Once I manage to find a way of getting through those checkpoints …”
Hermendal cut her off before she could finish. “You don’t get it do you? That’s not going to happen now.”
“Why ever not? I’m sure Sunderam could help somehow.”
Hermendal looked at her as though he was speaking to an idiot.
“No, Elsbeth. I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to happen. Don’t you see, you gave all that up when you married Bayas.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve still got a duty of care to my crewmates.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re the wife of a Yakutian officer now. You gave up whatever rank you might have had when you agreed to get married. That’s the way of things over on this side of the fence and it’d take someone a lot more powerful than Sunderam to change it. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”
“But what about my crew?”
Hermendal placed the teapot back on the shelf and then thanked the shop keeper for his time.
As they walked out he said, “They’re not your problem anymore. You’re now a Yakutian citizen. So you need to avoid making contact with captured foreign nationals at all costs.”
Morton waited until they were back on the street before turning on him.
“And what if I don’t? What if I decide that I want to continue representing my people?”
“Then you wouldn’t be much of a wife, would you? Things are difficult enough for Bayas as it is right now. Think what would happen to him if word got out that his wife was spending most of her time in a camp for foreign prisoners? It’d ruin him.”
Morton wanted to contradict him but knew deep down Hermendal was speaking the truth.
“But that’s what I do! I’m a doctor. I can’t just give that up, can I?”
Hermendal reached across and stroked her arm. “Listen, Elsbeth. We’re not in the Confederation anymore. Yakutian women don’t enjoy the kind of freedoms you take for granted. For example, I’ve never even heard of a Yakutian lady doctor. It’s just not on their radar. So, unless you want to make Bayas’ life a living hell, you’d better think again about how you’re approaching all this. You don’t want him to lose his job, do you?”
*
The Renheim was part of the new Commodore class of starship, commissioned during the Long War as the next generation of ships which would turn the tide against the Yakutians, she had been commissioned two years before hostilities came to an end but had taken ten years to build. The hospital facilities which were what made her unique among other fighting craft had never been fully outfitted.
During his time in charge Klaus Meyer had gone out of his way to ensure that the Renheim remained in tip-top condition, even if that did mean him avoiding getting involved in direct conflict of any kind.
But now, under her new captain, all that was about to change.
“What’s happening with that rail gun?” Faulkner said.
“The engineers are having some problems with the hopper, sir,” Schwartz said.
“The what?”
“Because they’re having to deal with nonstandard ammunition they’re having to get creative. So, they’re improvising.”
“Isn’t it a little late in the day for that?”
“Sir, they assure me it’s going to be ready in time.”
“Well, it better be.”
They had entered the debris cloud some fifteen minutes earlier, though had yet to encounter any obstacles of note. Faulkner imagined that would change for the worse in a couple of minutes’ time.
Because of its Commodore class specification, Renheim had come equipped with a full set of defensive shields which had been updated and strengthened in subsequent re-fits. The downside of this was that the ship’s armor had been somewhat compromised as a result so that instead of the three-metre thickness he’d enjoyed on the Mantis, the hull here was a little over one metre thick. And in some places, it was considerably less than that.
Once the shields started to fail – and McNeill had assured him that, at some point, this would happen – they were going to be in for an extremely rocky ride.
“What’s the hold up, lieutenant commander?”
“It’s not the laser battery itself, sir. That’s working perfectly. It’s the orientation we’re having trouble with. It was designed to cover our aft section. Turning it around to cover our forward section is proving to be something of a nightmare.”
The ship was equipped with twelve such laser batteries while most other ships had to make do with half that number.
“I see. Can’t they get a servitor droid out there?”
“If they had more time they could but the servitors are only set up for routine maintenance, not a complete overhaul like this. We’re going to have to over-ride all sorts of safeties just to get it to work.”
“Sir,” it was the comms officer. “We’re picking up multiple contacts incoming in two hundred and ninety seconds.”
“Very well, take us to Battle Stations.”
From their read-outs alone, there was little to tell them that they’d entered the debris cloud. The obstructions they were encountering were small and were invariably getting soaked up by the main shields so that’s where Faulkner went for information.
Normally, the shields functioned at an efficiency rating around the ninety eight percent mark but, already, the read-out had dropped to ninety four percent and then, as he watched, it dropped to ninety one percent.
He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. If this was what it was like dealing with accelerated particulates, what was it going to be like later?
