The silver fleet the com.., p.15
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 15
He caught Webster rolling his eyes. It was a ridiculous situation for them to be in. Here they were, racing across the galaxy with a set of fusion engines, which barely justified the name. Normally, it would be up to the captain to dictate their operating speed but, with only two engines available, it was more a question of what engineering could offer them.
Faulkner tried to focus on the positives: at least they were still moving. The worry was that they might well be heading into a situation, which, without full operating capacity, they might struggle to extricate themselves from.
Forty three percent was a joke. They should really be heading back to base for repairs, not sailing into the unknown with an un-tested ship and an inexperienced crew. Not for the first time did Faulkner question the wisdom of his accepting the president’s offer. Naval history was riddled with officers of previously exemplary conduct destroying their reputations by embarking on one last, ill-advised campaign. While he had long since reconciled himself to the likelihood of his own death, he was yet to accept the possibility of his own failure.
But, there it was: as things stood, the Mantis wasn’t capable of fulfilling even the most rudimentary of her duties and here he was leading her into a possible armed conflict. It simply didn’t bear thinking about.
Faulkner brought up the magnification on the main screen and Pacific Station jumped right out to meet him. Calling it a station was something of a misnomer. It lacked a lot of the facilities one would associate with something like Lincoln and would have been better described as a provisioning facility charged with the re-supply of the naval craft which regularly passed this way. There appeared to be a lot of shipping activity around the station itself, far more than he would have anticipated. The Pacific’s docking facilities were presently nursing a Rameses class destroyer and two enormous tenders designed for the re-supply of warships. Not bad for what was considered to be an out of the way station, prized for its military significance more than anything. This was due to the fact that one of the system’s three gates, the Hermia Gate, led directly to the disputed Corda System. Both the USDC and the Yakutians had laid claim to it in the past though neither saw fit to press their claim now.
Whatever trade opportunities these gates might once have provided they had been swiftly curtailed by the outbreak of war and while there were those who had since sought to re-build those trade routes, the intricacies of Yakutian licensing agreements had thus far made it impossible.
The Hermia Gate – situated out past the fifth planet - was guarded now by a single warship, The Naked Spur, a battleship which had yet to fire a shot in anger. It had the task of defending the system from a Yakutian incursion but in reality was little more than a defensive placeholder. If the Yakutians were truly serious about mounting an offensive, then there was little that a single ship - regardless of her size - could do to stop them. If attacked, the Naked Spur’s best hope would be to launch a distress drone and then try to buy some time before her inevitable destruction.
Faulkner called up the data on all the planets in the system but there was little there to detain him for long. Only the second and third planets had any kind of heavy industry and thus were able to support viable population centres. The second planet, Safira, was rich in heavy ores giving it the capacity for steel manufacturing.
“Comms, anything to report?”
The lieutenant simply confirmed everything Faulkner had already deduced but then said, “We are detecting what appears to be a warship at ten light minutes out, coming at us from the direction of the third gate.”
The Henrietta Gate.
“I’m assuming it’s one of ours?” the anxiety of entering a new system had yet to leave him.
“Our active scanners are giving it the once over now, sir. I’ll be able to give you a fuller picture in a couple of moments.”
He and Webster exchanged glances. Working at such huge distances made it difficult sometimes to know how best to react to perceived threats. The one reassuring thing was that they had a definite advantage over the other ship, whatever it might be. It would take a good five minutes before they’d be able to see that the Mantis had entered the system.
“It’s one of ours, sir,” the lieutenant said. “USDC Renheim, according to this. A light cruiser.”
As the ship’s details started to fill the screen, Faulkner felt himself begin to relax. As things stood, the Mantis was seriously under-performing on a number of levels and Faulkner wouldn’t have been happy encountering anything that posed a real threat. The Renheim had, up until recently, been based in the Allegra system under the captaincy of one Claus Meyer. She was supposed to be on duty around Blackthorn. What she was doing in this system was anyone’s guess.
Faulkner didn’t need to look at Webster to know that he was thinking the exact same thing.
Both men watched as the image of the Renheim began to develop. The computer had started off by showing them stock footage of the ship but, as real time information began to accumulate, that image began to update. Second by second more details were added.
Faulkner said, “Thoughts?”
“Looks like she’s running from something: look at her speed. I’d say that she’s operating right at the top of her upper limits.”
“Agreed,” Faulkner said. He instantly thought of the story of the Valiant, a ship which had managed to escape a major engagement, due to a captain pushing everything to the limit and a crew running on fear and adrenalin. The whole thing spoke of confusion and indiscipline. Two states which Faulkner was keen to avoid.
Webster continued, “I’m surprised we haven’t heard from her before. Some background chatter, perhaps? A drone? Something.”
The ship would have been on patrol during the attack on Tigris. There was a good chance she had access to vital information.
“Perhaps we’ve been looking in the wrong place,” Faulkner made the appropriate sub-vocal adjustments allowing himself to address the whole bridge. “Hail the Renheim. Give Captain Meyer my regards and request that he join me for dinner.”
Webster, arms folded, raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.
But Faulkner was in no mood to explain himself.
“Commander Webster, if you would be good enough to make the appropriate arrangements. We’ll use my state rooms.”
Webster winced at that. “Very well, sir. Would you like any other staff officers to be invited?”
“Just a couple, I think. We don’t want to overwhelm Captain Meyer, do we? Any suggestions?”
“Davitz for a start.”
Faulkner couldn’t have been more surprised. “Davitz! Really? For this kind of thing?”
“He’s from Valverde; same planet as Meyer. That might help to put the captain at his ease.”
Faulkner considered it. Davitz wasn’t known for his diplomatic skills.
“I’m not sure. I’m just sensitive to how hard Mr Davitz’s been working lately. I don’t want to over burden him. Sound him out about it. Stress that it’s an invitation, not an order. And then ask Doctor Morton if she’d care to join us.”
“The doctor?”
“Don’t seem so surprised. She specialises in dealing with PTSD victims. She might be able to tell us more about what’s going on here than all our computers combined.”
“Very well, sir.”
*
“Still no response, sir,” the comms officer said.
Thirty minutes had passed since they’d first hailed the Renheim, far long enough for them to have received a response and replied under normal conditions. Similarly, the Renheim showed no signs of decelerating. At her current speed she would sail right past them before disappearing out through the Henrietta Gate.
“Might their comms have been damaged?” Faulkner asked.
“It’s a possibility, sir, though an extremely unlikely one. Shall I try them again?”
“I think so. Only, this time try a range of civilian frequencies as well. Tell them that if we don’t receive notification of their call-sign package in the next half hour we shall have to assume that the Renheim has fallen into enemy hands and will respond accordingly.”
The officer carefully checked the transcript before sending it.
Seven minutes later, they had their reply.
“Captain Meyer sends his regards but regrets to say that he will be unable to join you for dinner.”
“I see,” Faulkner switched his attention across to the central screen. The Renheim’s speed had barely altered. She still wasn’t slowing down.
“Navigation, plot a course for a weapons intercept with the Renheim.”
He let that sink in for a moment, secretly gratified that no one had sought to question him.
“Tactical, prepare a launch package and then give me a firm lock on the Renheim.”
A moment’s hesitation but nothing more.
“Aye, sir.”
“Comms, try her again.”
“Yes, sir.”
*
There were six officers gathered around the dinner table.
Faulkner sat at the head with Captain Meyer seated opposite. Morton, with only the briefest idea of what was going on, had chosen to sit on Meyer’s left. The captain of the Renheim had brought his XO and, rather peculiarly, one of his ensigns.
Morton was relieved that Webster was the only other officer from the Mantis in attendance. When she’d first received word, Webster had told her he was also inviting Chief Davitz, which she’d thought to be a terrible idea. Davitz struggled to be civil in the presence of his own captain, so she seriously doubted that he possessed the social skills necessary for such a potentially sensitive gathering.
Davitz, it turned out, was indisposed, though she doubted very much that he was genuinely ill; Davitz had the constitution of a carthorse. More likely, he had found something more demanding of his time down in the engine room. It was no secret to anyone that the ship was operating at less than half its standard operating capacity.
After the formal introductions had been gotten out of the way, Morton had the pleasure of being present at one of the most stilted and uncomfortable dinners she had ever had the misfortune of attending - and she’d sat through a lot. Meyer appeared to be on the verge of tears at several points and both he and his two crew members looked to be suffering from nervous exhaustion.
Faulkner, picking up on the strained nature of the conversation, waited until the end of the dinner before ordering shots of rum to be circulated.
“It was very good of you to accept my invitation, captain,” Faulkner said.
Meyer regarded him over his glass. “I didn’t feel we were a position to say no.”
“But, surely, we’re all on the same side?”
“You must understand,” Meyer went on, “we are in a desperate hurry to return to Lincoln Station. We have intelligence in our possession which we urgently need to pass on to the Admiralty.”
“Is this to do with the on-going situation in the Allegra System?”
Meyer drained his glass and placed it on the table. “I’d rather not go into that now, captain.”
The stress on Faulkner’s rank was under-stated but it was definitely there. It was a simple reminder that Faulkner could not compel him to speak, regardless of the fact that Faulkner might have the advantage in terms of length of service.
Faulkner glanced across at Morton but she just stared back.
“I thought that this might be the case but, as a fellow officer, I would hope that you would be willing to share with me any information which might appertain to my current mission of offering support and assistance to the research team on Tigris.”
Meyer was clearly uncomfortable with the request and rocked his glass this way and that as he considered his options. While he didn’t have to tell Faulkner a damn thing it would reflect badly on Meyer if, by omission, he allowed Faulkner to endanger himself and his crew.
It was a difficult situation, Morton felt. Normally, she would put Meyer’s pig-headedness down to simple rivalry. Ship’s captains were a proud bunch. They weren’t used to justifying their actions to anyone other than their immediate senior officers. But there was something more here, she could see it in the way that Meyer interacted with his own men. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t respect him, it was more that they all seemed complicit, as though they all shared some terrible secret.
She was afraid that if Faulkner pushed them too hard they’d shut down altogether and nothing would be gained from that.
After a lengthy silence, it was Webster who spoke.
“Captain Meyer, it is clear from our scans that your ship has recently been involved in some kind of engagement.”
Meyer’s head moved in the smallest of acknowledgements.
“So, while we recognise the strain that this has placed on you and your crew we are concerned that we may be about to face this exact same threat. We might have studied footage of the attack on Tigris but, as you know, it raises as many questions as it answers.”
Morton had to agree. She was one of the senior officers who’d viewed the footage. It showed evidence of a sustained aerial bombardment but there was little sense of who was behind the attack.
Faulkner’s tone softened. “Anything you could tell us would be greatly appreciated.”
Meyer looked blank.
Faulkner continued, “Was there any reason why you didn’t initially reply to our comms? We are a USDC ship after all. An old one admittedly, but did you have any reason to question our allegiances?”
Meyer tried to dismiss the idea. “We’ve been out of system for nearly two years. We hadn’t heard that the Mantis had been re-commissioned.”
Faulkner said nothing. He clearly didn’t enjoy being lied to.
Meyer’s first officer, Farnese, placed his glass lightly on the table. He was an attractive man with tousled blonde hair.
“May I speak freely, sir?”
Meyer looked at Faulkner then back to Farnese.
“Oh, very well.”
“We were concerned that you weren’t who you appeared to be.”
“And what did you think we were, commander? A Yakutian battlecruiser?”
“Hardly. We’ve had regular dealings with the Yakutians over the last few years. We were worried that you might be something else. Something more sinister.”
“Go on.”
“We witnessed the attack on Tigris. The ships that conducted the attack … I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Meyer cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair. Farnese stopped talking.
Faulkner leaned forward, willing him to continue.
After a long while, Farnese said, “We’d been patrolling the Allegra system for two years, mostly operating out of Blackthorn. We were caught off-guard when a group of four ships appeared out of nowhere and immediately went into orbit around Tigris. We were a good three days out from the planet at the time. We tried to contact them but they just ignored us and when they started the bombardment, there was little that we could do.”
“Our databases will bear everything out,” Meyer sounded impatient.
“Of course,” Faulkner kept his voice and expression as neutral as possible. “I understand. Please, go on.”
“The attackers seemed to have excellent intelligence,” Farnese said. “Knew exactly where the camp was situated. I’m just saying that it was a well organised attack.”
“You were still out of range at this point,” Webster said generously.
“Our presence would have made no difference to the outcome. The science station was wiped out in a very short space of time.”
“Seven minutes,” Meyer said. “From first shot to last. Seven minutes.”
Faulkner and Webster looked at one another. That seemed highly improbable, though neither of them wanted to say as much and risk putting Farnese off his stride.
“Our records will verify everything we’ve just said,” Farnese added.
“We don’t expect you to believe us,” Meyer said. “If I were in your position, I would be thinking the same thing.”
No one moved. Morton transferred her gaze to the young ensign who kept looking down.
She looks ashamed of herself, Morton thought. But what more could they have done, given the circumstances?
There were a million and one questions she wanted to ask but she could see that whatever good-will had existed between the two crews was in danger of being snuffed out. Meyer’s co-operation would only stretch so far.
Sensing this, Faulkner sat back in his chair.
“What happened next?”
This was the question that the young commander had clearly been dreading. Farnese knitted his fingers together, twisting them back and forth. He appeared unable, or unwilling to provide them with an answer.
It was Meyer who finally answered.
“We were out-gunned by a superior force which had already amply demonstrated its destructive capabilities. There was nothing to be gained by engaging them.”
He glanced at Farnese for some kind of affirmation but received none. Meyer pressed on.
“We were witness to the emergence of a major new force in the galaxy. I felt it imperative that we return to our home system in order to apprise the Admiralty of everything that we had witnessed.”
“You couldn’t just have sent a drone?” Faulkner asked. This was standard practice in such circumstances.
Meyer placed his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet.
“I was sensitive to the fact that our recordings of the incident were liable to be misinterpreted. I felt that it was my duty to bring these findings to the attention of the Admiralty personally.”
“And what about Blackthorn?” Faulkner pressed. “You just abandoned them? Didn’t you have a duty of care to them also?”
Meyer’s mouth worked silently.
Finally, he said, “There was no threat made to the people of Blackthorn at the time of our departure. Besides, Blackthorn has its own defensive capabilities.”
“A handful of civilian defence contractors and a dozen laser platforms? Did it not cross your mind that by joining forces with Blackthorn you might well have been able to make a stand against this new threat?”
