The silver fleet the com.., p.66
The Silver Fleet: The Complete Series, page 66
That was the thing about Hermendal: once he suggested something it was almost impossible not to go along with it. Where had that skill come from, she wondered? Had he learned that from the Da’al or was that the reason they’d pressed him into service in the first place?
Hermandal stopped suddenly and with her head down, she almost ran into him. Directly ahead of him was another metal grille. Similar design to the first one, this one was probably a third the size. From what she could see, there appeared to be a large room on the other side was bathed in the sort of green light you’d expect to find at the bottom of a lake. Hermendal was searching around, looking for a possible keyhole. The temperature had dropped significantly and Morton was aware of the sweat on her skin starting to evaporate. With her help, Hermendal eventually located the keyhole, situated in the centre of the grille design.
When he turned the key, a loud click echoed all around them.
The grille, which hinged at the top, started to swing upwards and outwards so that they had to crawl on their hands and knees to get through it and out onto a small ledge. Then it was a short drop down to the floor of an impressive antechamber which was approximately half the size of the main cargo bay back on the Mantis.
Dominating the centre of the room was what appeared to be part of a spaceship, though it was difficult to know exactly what it was because it was draped in tarpaulins. The tarpaulins, in turn, were secured to the floor by lengths of chain.
It was freezing inside the antechamber and Morton wrapped her arms about her, her breath blossoming in the air.
“What is that thing?” she asked.
“It’s big, whatever it is.”
“Looks like one of those early dropships. You know, the ones that were always crashing.”
Hermendal squatted down. “Can’t see any kind of landing gear.”
“Beagels.”
“What’s bagels got to do with anything?” Hermendal gave a little involuntary sigh as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Not bagels. Beagles. That was the name of those dropships.”
“Oh.”
It was difficult to make sense of what they were looking at. It was shaped like one of those helmets the Roundheads wore in the English Civil War with the peak resting on the ground. It didn’t seem particularly stable and would have easily toppled over without the chains holding it in place.
“You think this is something to do with the Da’al?” she asked.
Hermandal grunted. “This isn’t their sort of thing. And I’d know.”
He lifted his arm and stepped forward as if to rest his hand on one of the restraining cables.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Morton warned. “That’s cold enough that your flesh’ll stick to it if you’re not careful.”
Hermandal approached the edge of the tarpaulin itself, before ducking his head underneath.
“Here, look at this. What are these?”
Morton kept a torch with her which she used for medical examinations, but still she hesitated. She didn’t want to be here. Whatever this thing was, she didn’t want any part of it. It was dangerous. She strongly suspected that if the Yakutians knew they were in there they wouldn’t hesitate to have them both killed.
It had been stupid of them to venture into here in the first place and the longer they remained, the greater their risk of discovery.
“Come on,” Hermendal urged. “Just take a look.”
In spite of herself, she took out her torch and edged forward. Hermendal’s breath had started wheezing – that crawl through the tunnel had taken more out of him than she’d realised. In the end, it was her who got down on the floor and crawled underneath.
She found herself looking at the underside of a ship’s hull, but one which had endured a great deal of battering. The surface was rough and discoloured where the paint had been ablated away. It looked as if it might have been involved in some kind of explosion though there was no hull damage that she could see.
What she did find was a long identification code which had been worked into the metal. It was a combination of numbers and letters which bore out what Hermandal had said about it being of human origin.
“What about those things?” Hermandal was pointing. “What are those things, there?”
She ran the beam over a series of raised fittings.
“Oh, those,” she squinted. “I recognise those. Explosive bolts. Looks like a lot of them.”
“Who uses explosive bolts?”
“They used them a lot on the early space missions: to attach the lunar modules to their fuel containers. You didn’t want the whole thing coming apart during lift-off so you used bolts like this. Blew them off as soon as they’d cleared the atmosphere.”
“Any idea why they might be using them here?”
Morton moved in closer with her torch, examining one from a variety of angles.
“To know that, I’d have to know what this thing is or, failing that, what it was originally attached to.”
She moved back a little further under the fuselage, studying the way the craft had been constructed. And the more she looked, the more familiar things seemed.
Then something caught her eye, something which quite took her breath away.
“Alright,” she said, scrambling out. “We’ve seen enough. Time to be getting back.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I’m afraid that’s completely unacceptable.”
They were sitting in the Renheim’s briefing room. Webster and Silva seated on one side of the desk with Meyer and his XO, Commander Farnese, on the other.
With a head of curly blonde hair and tan complexion, Farnese looked as though he’d be more at home on a surfboard than on the deck of a starship. He exuded a calm demeanour which had remained in place throughout his captain’s earlier tirade.
“I understand your frustrations, captain,” Webster was saying. “They’re common to all of us, yet we need to keep this thing in perspective.”
“That may well be the case, commander,” Meyer spat out the last word with real fury. “But that doesn’t excuse your behaviour. Really I would prefer it if you both left.”
At this point, Farnese leaned across. “Normally I would agree, sir, but I think the least Commander Webster can do is to provide us with an explanation for his bizarre behaviour.”
Silva turned to Webster, inclined her head and widened her eyes as if to say, you’re only going to get one shot at this.
“Of course,” Webster said. “I’d like to apologise, captain, for taking advantage of your generous nature in setting this meeting up. But you must understand that I did so with the best of intentions.”
“That remains to be seen,” Meyer snapped, crossing his arms. “My orders are very clear, commander, but don’t let it be said that I won’t listen to reason. You have five minutes to state your case before I have you escorted off this ship.”
“Thank you for indulging me, captain. Commander,” Webster acknowledged both men in turn. “You’ll notice on your notes that I’ve highlighted the number of escape pods we’ve so far been able to recover.”
“I’ve seen that, yes. Forty-six pods for you and, is this the Serrayu’s numbers I’m looking at?”
“That’s correct. They claim to have recovered forty-five pods.”
“That doesn’t seem like very many,” Meyer swiped at his screen. “Considering their size. Did they provide you with any names?”
“That was the only communication we’ve received from them before they up and left for a new set of co-ordinates.”
“No doubt got better things to do,” Meyer mumbled, scrolling through the new information. “And these other figures: Sundowner seven. Mollie McGuire nine. Another five and a four. I take it these are civilian craft trying to provide assistance?”
“That’s right, sir. Altogether the various ships have recovered twenty-three pods between them giving us a total of a hundred and fourteen. But that still leaves a hundred and seventy-nine still unaccounted for and, for every hour that passes, those pods are drifting further and further away. So, you’ll have to forgive me if I’ve been a little over-zealous.”
“Well, we’ll have to see,” Meyer sat up a little straighter his demeanour seeming to have softened somewhat. “Under any other circumstances we’d be only too keen to render our support but, as I’ve said earlier, our orders are very specific in that regard.”
Both Meyer and Farnese nodded at that.
“While I’m aware of the sensitivity of such information,” Webster said. “Might I enquire into the general nature of your mission?”
Whilst Meyer’s body language gave nothing away.
After consulting with Farnese he said, “I’d like to speak with Commander Webster in private, if I may?”
Webster turned to Silva. She nodded her assent although she didn’t seem happy about it.
For his turn, Farnese pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll arrange for some coffee to be sent through. In the meantime, I wonder if Lieutenant Silva might like to accompany me on a tour of the observation deck?”
Silva took her cue to stand. “That’ll be fine with me.”
As Farnese came around the table, she made a show of taking his arm.
*
The observation deck was unlike anything Silva had seen on a military vessel. It was the kind of needless extravagance you might expect to find on one of the larger cruise liners. Yet, at the same time it provided them with one of the most remarkable views Silva had ever seen. To their left was the shattered remains of Blackthorn Station inclined at a peculiar angle, in the centre was the system’s main star, Teurino, while to their right the other planets stretched away into the darkness.
“Does this place get used much?” Silva asked.
“Not much, no. Generally, only when we’re coming into a new port and, to be honest, not a lot even then. The captain likes to use it for PR opportunities, but that’s about it.”
“Sort of place you might like to bring a date,” Silva pointed out. She hadn’t missed the way that Farnese had been looking at her since they’d been on their own.
“Yeah, course, but that would never happen on this ship,” Farnese said roguishly. “As we all know, naval personnel are made of extremely stern stuff. Everyone’s too focussed on safeguarding the galaxy to allow themselves to become distracted by something as trivial as an illicit assignation.”
Silva had to suppress a grin. She imagined that Farnese used the facility a lot more than Meyer ever did. Though, more likely, when he was off duty. Which, she thought, explained a lot. Farnese enjoyed the privileges of rank but showed no inclination to push for his own command.
Silva brushed past him as she went over to get a better look at Blackthorn.
“You see, that’s the problem with navy regulations,” he moved to stand directly behind her. “By making something illicit you automatically make it seem that much more attractive.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve never had cause to break the rules?”
Silva felt his hand lightly touch her arm.
He said, “Are you talking about fraternisation between officers or are you talking about rules in general?”
She brushed his hand away.
“Both.”
“I broke more than my fair share of rules as a midshipman. But then, if I got busted, I didn’t have a lot to lose.”
“And now?”
She turned around completely so that her back was against the plexiglas. He was so close to her that she could smell his cologne. At that moment she could see how the combination of Farnese’s good looks and seniority might have had an effect on a good many young women.
“I’d need an extremely good reason to put my career on the line,” he said. “But then, given the right circumstances, even I might be tempted.”
Silva had had her fair share of attention in her time. And while most of her experiences aboard ship had been merely cringe worthy, others had left her feeling deeply uncomfortable. She took the opportunity to remove a fleck of material from Farnese’s jacket.
She said, “So, you’re saying it all depends on who’s making the offer.”
“That’s right.”
The distance between them was quickly narrowing.
Silva turned her head, as though she’d just caught sight of something outside and took several paces to her right. Farnese didn’t follow her straight away.
“So what you were doing down on Blackthorn that was so important?” he said, gripping the handrail.
“The political situation was all messed up. Didn’t know who to trust. So, in the end, we had to make a call.”
“Was it the right call?”
She tipped her head in order to momentarily re-align Blackthorn. “I’d like to think so, yes.”
“Worked out fine for you, then?”
Silva looked down at her rank insignia. “Fine for me, yes. Not so good for some of the others.”
“Was that how you hurt your leg?”
He indicated the neural transmitter which encircled her thigh. The transmitter had nothing to do with the actual fracture. Its job was to stimulate the nerves in her leg which might have been damaged as a result of the break. As soon as she’d come aboard the Renheim, she’d been injected with polymer nanoshells. Even as they spoke, microRNA molecules were being delivered straight to the site of the fracture, stimulating the bone’s natural healing abilities. The doctors expected her leg to be completely healed within the next twenty-four hours.
“No. That. That was just a stupid accident.”
Blackthorn hung forlornly in space, looking like a partially deflated balloon.
“Have they come up with a final death toll for this, yet?”
“Last I heard, they were talking about twelve hundred, but that’s expected to rise.”
“I’m sure,” Farnese twisted his head to look across at her, the play of light lending a particular rugged quality to his features. “How do you think your Captain Faulkner is going to fare over this?”
Silva grimaced. Hadn’t he heard?
“How do you mean?”
“Hero or villain. Which one?”
“Oh? Hero, then. Definitely, no question.”
“I can think of twelve hundred people who might disagree with you.”
“But they’re dead,” she threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, but it’s true, and it’ll be the survivors who determine his legacy. What’s twelve hundred dead against nearly seven hundred thousand saved?”
“A lot of those people had families. How do you think they’re going to feel?”
“Like I said: it’s not easy,” she squinted into the distance. “Only, sometimes you’ve got to make those tough choices. No one said making these decisions were going to be easy. If Faulkner taught me anything, he taught me that.”
Farnese stepped away from the handrail. “And I suppose that’s your way of telling me that I have to make a decision: stand by my captain and forget about your crew or risk my reputation by telling you what’s really going on here.”
“You’ve got that all mixed up,” Silva leaned in. “That’s not me talking – that’s your conscience.”
“Okay,” Farnese started to move down the walkway then, looking out to the stars. “When I brought you up here, you didn’t ask the most obvious question.”
“And that is?”
“Why would a military vessel like the Renheim need an observation deck? Everyone asks that.”
“Fine. Why has the Renheim got an observation deck?”
Farnese smiled, showing perfect white teeth.
“The Renheim wasn’t designed as a fighting vessel. Originally, she was intended as frontline hospital ship but the war ended before she could be commissioned. She was re-fitted as a patrol ship but she still retains a lot of those medical facilities. This area, for instance, was built with patients in mind. Somewhere they could come as part of their recuperation.”
“I have to admit, it’s very beautiful.”
Farnese looked pointedly at her. “Yes, it is.”
Silva ignored him. “So, what you’re saying is that the Renheim would be an ideal place to house the survivors from the Mantis.”
“You might think that,” Farnese said cryptically. “But that’s not what I said. I was merely trying to show you around. Give you some sense of the ship’s heritage.”
Silva laughed, despite the gravity of the situation. Farnese was too accomplished an operator to compromise himself so readily. She decided to take a different approach.
“But you’d have to agree that you’re much better equipped to deal with this kind of assignment than we are. After all, you have a crew trained in Search and Rescue,” Silva took in the whole room with one sweep of her arm. “You have all these facilities.”
“Try telling that to Captain Meyer.”
Suddenly, the entire observation area was filled with the sound of a high-pitched whistle.
“What on earth’s that?” she said.
“Captain’s quite traditional about some things.”
“Three blasts? What’s that mean?”
“Hostiles have entered the area of operations.”
“Hostiles, plural?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “I’m afraid so.”
CHAPTER NINE
Morton was exhausted.
She hadn’t slept the night before, just lay there on her cot trying to make sense of all that was going on.
And it wasn’t as if she was going to have an opportunity to take it easy during the coming day. Before she’d had time for breakfast, a female Chief Petty Officer had come over to complain about one of the Yakutian guards who had taken to walking into the shower area whenever there were women in there.
Only she wasn’t asking for Morton’s help. This was a courtesy call. The woman had told the guard what would happen to him if she found her in there again and, from the look of her, Morton had no reason to doubt that she wouldn’t follow through on her promises. Morton needed to see the chief of security and get the situation resolved before it escalated further.
