The silver fleet the com.., p.16
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 16
Meyer considered Faulkner with thinly veiled contempt.
“I had to prioritise. I felt – still feel – that it was more important that I return home with my findings. Besides, Blackthorn is still only a junior member of the Confederation. No final agreement has yet been signed.”
And nor will it be signed, Morton thought, if the Confederation abandons them at the first sign of trouble. She found it hard to believe that Meyer was defending his actions. As if what he had done had been in some way honorable. As if the enemy ships, having attacked Tigris, would simply melt away as a way of consolidating their victory. Though, judging by the look on Faulkner’s face, it didn’t appear that he shared this view.
Faulkner said, “Did you engage with the enemy in any way? Were you fired upon?”
“We were too far away to pose much of a threat,” Meyer said.
“Did your scans turn up anything about them?” Webster inquired. “Anything at all?”
“You’re inquiring as to whether these were Yakutian ships,” Meyer said. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Our long-range scanners should have been able to pick up some indication of where these ships came from but, unfortunately, that turned out not to be the case.”
Farnese said, “Even their heat signatures were…”
“Irrelevant,” Meyer cut him off before he could say anything more.
Then he turned to Faulkner.
“Well, thank you, captain. We have enjoyed our short stay, please convey my best wishes to your chef. Ensign, if you will?”
The Ensign made to stand before realising something. She bent to retrieve it from under her chair. It was a simple panelled box which she handed to Meyer who, in turn, passed it to Faulkner.
With all eyes on him, Faulkner looked in vain for a way of opening it. Then he had it. He slid the front of the box across, revealing a bottle of red wine.
“My family have been wine producers for the last three hundred years. I trust that you enjoy fine wines, captain.”
Faulkner turned the bottle over in his hands.
“Very much so,” he said. “But I was rather hoping for something more substantive. Say, a full down-load of all your records from the moment you sighted this alien threat.”
Meyer’s face lost what little colour it had.
“I’m afraid that is completely out of the question, captain.”
Meyer made to leave but the Marine Sergeant at the door blocked his way.
When Meyer turned back into the room there was panic in his eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“Captain Meyer,” Faulkner said. “I must insist that you give us full access to your database.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I would have to ask the sergeant here to take you down to the brig.”
Meyer snorted. “On what charge?”
Faulkner moved to confront Meyer face-to-face.
“Captain, I have been charged with taking my ship and her crew into the system you have so recently visited. I would be deficient in my role as captain if I did not endeavour to gather every piece of information necessary to ensure the success of our mission.”
Meyer and Farnese exchanged pointed looks and something shifted between them.
“Very well, then. But you’ll learn very little from it, I can assure you of that.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“So, what do you think?” Faulkner asked.
Webster released a long-held sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. After receiving the download from the Renheim, Meyer and his party had been allowed to leave. Faulkner and Webster had said their goodnights to Morton before retiring to one of the smaller state rooms. They had a lot to sift through but Faulkner was keen for them to discuss their options first.
In the end, they had agreed that they would continue on with their journey but would only transition into the Allegra system if they were sure it was safe to do so.
Webster’s first job was to up-load a copy of the information they’d received and send it out on a drone. It had been remiss of Meyer not to do that himself but then he’d obviously been hoping to use the information as a bargaining chip for when he got back to the Admiralty.
Never a good move, Webster mused. Putting your own needs ahead of the service.
The video evidence that they did have – and there was a lot of it – was virtually worthless. What he was much more interested in was the records on the ship’s computer. The section that most concerned them lasted approximately four hours – from first sighting of the alien ships to Meyer giving the order to turn and run. They had already viewed that material once but now they were going through it again, stopping the river of information whenever they came across something puzzling, which happened quite a lot.
They could view the ship’s actions in real time on the three-dimensional display which was like an enormous fish tank. Webster went round the rear in order to study the deployment of the alien ships. These were rendered as purple icons of varying sizes, one large vessel, a medium sized one and two smaller ships but, other than that, there was little to discriminate between them. The computer had randomly labelled them DV-101 through to DV-104 for clarity’s sake.
“I don’t understand why we don’t have more information on these craft,” Faulkner was saying. “It’s damn frustrating.”
Webster didn’t comment. Most of Faulkner’s frustrations lay less with the information on offer and more with his inability to access the software on anything more than a basic level. An ensign with his computer skills wouldn’t have lasted five minutes normally. He knew that the old man was working to address these shortcomings but Faulkner’s lack of progress in this area was starting to impact his ability to do his job.
“The problem is that these vessels don’t appear to be registering along the normal parameters of our active scans, sir. Technically, they’re only registering here as a thermal anomaly.”
“And what does that tell us?”
“Well, everything seems to suggest that we’re dealing with a fairly primitive technology.”
“And yet that’s not borne out by what happens next,” Faulkner approached the virtual console with some hesitancy.
By moving his hand laterally he was able to advance the action until the ships moved to the offensive, at which point they took on a life of their own.
“The speed of these things doesn’t bear thinking about. I mean, what kind of Gs are the crews being subjected too?”
Webster accessed the console on his side, isolating the lead craft DV-103. “According to this, the crew would be experiencing close to 30 Gs.”
“Taking into account some kind of acceleration suppressant technology, what would that be equivalent to?”
“Assuming that they have access to similar technology to ourselves, we’re still talking about 15 Gs.”
“Enough to crush everyone on board,” Faulkner said. He stepped inside the simulation to get a better look at the smaller craft. “Is it possible that these things might be un-manned?”
“Drones, you mean? Operated by the bigger ship? It’s possible, but then the mother ship looks to be no slouch either.” Webster checked the data. “We’re still talking about 25 Gs plus.”
Faulkner moved the animation backwards and forwards. “No chance that these could be Yakutian craft?”
Webster had been wondering how long it would take him to get around to that.
“I very much doubt it unless they’ve had a huge technological breakthrough in the last few years. What we’re looking at here is a group of extremely energy efficient ships capable of huge bursts of acceleration with very little thought to the effects of such an acceleration on their crews. And we haven’t even looked at their defensive capabilities.”
Faulkner went across and slumped down heavily in a chair. He braced his hands against his knees and appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Noticing this, Webster broke off from what he was doing and went to stand over him.
“Sir, are you alright?”
Faulkner held up a hand in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything.
Webster went and got him a drink of water.
The older man sipped it slowly.
“Sorry about that. I’ll be fine in a minute or so. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He forced out a smile but there was no humour in it. Faulkner suddenly looked very old.
“Should I call the doctor?”
Faulkner shook his head. “Pass in a second.”
Webster draped himself over one of the workstations. It was a good five minutes before Faulkner was able to speak normally again.
“Told you. They don’t last very long.”
“So, you’ve had these before: these attacks?”
“A couple of times,” Faulkner started to get up but then decided against it. “The doctor’s aware of it though.”
I’m sure she is, Webster thought. I’m sure there’s a whole host of things she’s keeping from me.
“Are these ‘attacks’ a recent development?”
Faulkner looked at him levelly his voice devoid of all emotion. “There is nothing to worry about.”
“And that’s where I’d have to disagree with you, sir. Your health has a direct effect on the operational integrity of this vessel. What if this were to happen during an actual engagement?”
Faulkner’s voice took on a deeper pitch. “If I had any concerns about my ability to lead this crew then you, as my Executive Officer, would be the first to know about it. But as we are yet to arrive at that point, I will continue to execute my duties as I see fit. Now, commander, you are dismissed.”
*
Morton came out of the changing rooms to find Webster waiting for her. She’d just finished a game of racquet ball and her blood sugar level was at rock bottom. She’d had a shower and washed her hair but then decided to leave without drying it. Now she was regretting that decision as Webster followed her out towards the turbo-lift.
“You’ll just have to trust me on this,” she said, checking that she had remembered to pack all of her gym kit.
“That’s the trouble: I did trust you until I saw what he was like in that state room. Clearly, there is something you’re not telling me. Something urgent.”
Morton tried to assume her calmest demeanour, which wasn’t easy under the circumstances. She’d been dreading this confrontation, knowing that – if he wanted to - Webster could use this knowledge as a means to justify having Faulkner removed from command. To her mind, Webster was little more than a boy who lacked the skills necessary for a command of this nature - though she had to give him credit for how quickly he’d seized the advantage here. He’d waited for her outside the gym with the clear intention of catching her off guard. And he’d succeeded.
“I can’t discuss any of the captain’s health issues with you unless he gives me express permission to do so,” Webster made to interrupt her but she stopped him. “Until Captain Faulkner gives me such permission then I’m afraid I’m unable to discuss the matter further.”
“Doctor, I wouldn’t be coming to you unless I was seriously concerned about his health. You didn’t see him in the state room. He almost passed out. You need to be honest with me about what’s going on.”
Webster had stopped pursuing her now and she could see the door to the turbo-lift.
She stopped walking and turned back. “You have to understand: as his physician, anything that passes between us is confidential.”
“Which – under any other circumstances – I’d be happy to accept. But we’re heading into a situation where the state of the captain’s health could jeopardise the safety of the entire crew.” Webster had to lower his voice as two non-comms exited the lift and walked towards the gym. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to force me to make a decision we’re both likely to regret?”
Morton felt all the fight go out of her then. If Webster was serious he might well have Faulkner relieved of duty on medical grounds. In order to do that he’d need the signature of another doctor but that wouldn’t be impossible – there were three other doctors on-board. He’d only have to convince one of them of the of truth of what he was saying.
“He suffers from panic attacks,” she said.
“And you’re telling me this now!”
“I didn’t think that it was relevant earlier. I think it’s linked to his agoraphobia,” she lifted a hand to silence Webster’s objections. “It’s hardly surprising considering what he’s been through. They had him locked in a cell for twenty years.”
A crewman walked past. He paused to salute Webster who waved him off.
“You said: ‘panic attacks.’ So, he’s had these before?”
“Twice that I know of. That first night when the shuttle we were in was attacked and on the first day of this voyage. The day we left Lincoln Station.”
She watched Webster struggle to make the connection.
“Okay, that sort of makes sense, now,” he said. Then, another thought occurred to him. “So what do we do now? How do we proceed?”
“Carefully. You and I both knew the man’s history when we signed up for this. I for one would prefer to be led by someone with his level of experience –regardless of all these other issues – rather than some halfwit with all the right family connections.”
“Is that your opinion as a naval officer or as ship’s doctor?”
“Both. Commander, we’re lucky to have him on-board. The fact that we both know about his condition means we can better help him manage it in the future.”
Morton stepped back from Webster. She’d said too much already. It was up to him now, as XO, to make the final decision. They stood facing one another as more crewmen passed.
“Okay,” Webster said after a long pause. “We monitor him, for now. But if this happens again – particularly if he has a meltdown on the bridge…”
“I won’t hesitate to declare him unfit for duty,” she said with finality. “And I’ll sign whatever documents you put in front of me just to make it official. You have my word on that.”
Webster braced himself against the back wall. There was obvious relief there. Morton wondered whether she’d misjudged him. He didn’t look like the sort of man eager to grab command by any means possible. He looked like someone on death row who’d just received a stay of execution.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All the senior staff officers were crammed into the briefing room. A sea of grey faces, they eyed one another suspiciously. Webster was conscious of the air of resentment in the room: they’d all heard about the meeting with the captain of the Renheim and were uneasy about the idea that something was being kept from them. But there was also a number of crewmembers with friends and family on Blackthorn who were anxious to know what the current state of play was.
Faulkner had called the meeting early in the day, Webster suspected, so that he could assert his dominance while his energy levels were still high. Webster knew that the captain struggled to maintain focus as the day wore on and had been organising his meetings accordingly. The one good thing was that there had been no reoccurrence of his earlier panic attacks. Morton had been giving the captain regular health checks and Webster was confident that she’d notify him if there was anything he should know about.
It was not as though Webster could keep a constant eye on his commanding officer’s activities - he had plenty enough to do staying on top of his own duties.
Faulkner spent a few minutes filling the officers in on what they had learned from the meeting. He didn’t go into too much detail and was careful not to make any remarks about Captain Meyer’s conduct. Nor did he ask for questions when he was finished.
“Well, this is it,” Faulkner said. “We’re due to enter the Henrietta Gate in eight hours and I want to get the ship as close to battle readiness as possible. To that end, I ‘d appreciate a full up-date on the state of your various departments by 13.00 today.”
No one said anything but Webster could see from their demeanour that the men and women around the table weren’t happy.
“I know you’ve all been busy but I need this done, nonetheless. I’m aware of the dedication that’s been shown in getting the Mantis up to this point, but I’m also aware that when we emerge on the other side we are entering into a potential war zone.”
Heads lifted at the mention of war. They’d all been talking about it but it was the first time they’d heard it mentioned in an official capacity.
“The Mantis is not a state-of-the-art vessel. When you’re having to search for replacement engine parts in a museum, you have to be realistic about your expectations. I know: there’s plenty of people out there who think that the Mantis herself belongs in a museum.”
There was a grumble of discord at that, Webster noted. Faulkner could push them as hard as he liked on status reports and no one would complain but they wouldn’t stand for anyone discrediting their beloved ship.
“We may still be some way from being fully battle ready so I want you to be honest as you can in those reports. Even if there’s things there I’d rather not know about we owe it to ourselves to be truthful because if I start putting the old girl through her paces and there’s a chance that something might just fail, I’d rather know about it in advance. I don’t like surprises.”
He let that statement hang in the air for a moment.
“Chief Davitz, for one, has no trouble giving me his honest opinion on any and all topics and I hope you’ll grant me the same courtesy.”
That got a smattering of laughter from the officers.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Silva raised her hand up as though she were still in school. “You keep referring to these ships as ‘enemy’ ships but I’m sure everyone’s thinking the same thing: is there a chance that these are a type of Yakutian ship we’ve just not seen before?”
Faulkner said, “There’s nothing to suggest that at the moment but it would make sense for the Yakutians to target Blackthorn for annexation. As well as the ore being produced on Iscaria, Blackthorn has not one but two shipbuilding yards, a key asset if you’re looking to start a war. But for such a rich asset Blackthorn’s never been completely fortified. An oversight perhaps but that’s no doubt partly due to her isolated location. The Yakutians – if that’s who they are - are doubtless hoping to catch us off-guard and with the Renheim gone they’re going to be making the most of their opportunities.”
