Ari Khamenei paced back and forth like a caged tiger, his fury evident to the small audience. “I want to know who ordered the attack on that Rowanberg woman. I want their names, and I want them made aware of the mistake they made. No! I want everyone involved in this project to know what happens to those who think some independent action for their own enjoyment will be tolerated!”
The four witnesses exchanged glances. “Chairman, the situation is retrievable. We have removed any evidence that could connect the perpetrators to us. As for the men engaged to carry out the attack, they were just a pair of thugs recruited for the purpose. They don’t have any connection to us—”
“Immaterial! I will deal with their removal. You will see to it that those responsible are taught that I will not tolerate their actions. Is that clear?”
The four nodded. “Quite clear, Chairman,” said the one who felt bold enough to speak.
“Good, then we make progress. I have instructed the Dock to keep to specification, and the suppliers to ensure there are shortages. We will play for time. The media are doing an excellent job of spreading the idea that this ship and her sisters are vanity projects for the Fleet, over budget and unnecessary.” He looked squarely at them. “That is all. Make sure everyone understands there will be no independent actions.”
Watching them leave, he waited until the door closed before he activated his private link. “Ashworth, contact the Pantheon. I have a commission for them.”
Following the community meeting, things got worse for the residents of Urquhart, New Caledonia. Marcus Grover sank heavily into his office chair and leaned back to regain a sense of calm. “That damned Hurker! He had the neck to suggest that he could find a buyer for our plant if I made him partner!”
“I hope you told him what to do with that suggestion!”
“I did. Told him I wasn’t selling, but if he wanted to buy a share he should talk to my legal adviser.” Marcus straightened in his chair and wiped his hands across his face. “And he told me that I had forty-eight hours to reconsider my answer, or shipping might prove very difficult—and there would be some queries initiated over my use of a dome now owned by CalBank.”
Petra looked surprised. “I didn’t know Fred Esterhuizen had sold it!” She considered this. “Oh. He’s still in the medical facility, isn’t he?”
“Exactly, and because his wife was a few hours late in getting the credit transfer from their last shipment through their system, the bank foreclosed.”
“But that’s against the law!”
“It would be if you could get it to court, and if you could get the Planetary Council to challenge the Governor’s executive orders. Ever since the miners fought against the mining rights takeover and then blew up the mines and the equipment, we’ve been under martial law apparently.” He snorted. “No one told us, but it allows Kodiak and his friends to impose anything they like—unless that worthless bunch in the Council stand up to them.”
Walking over to him, Petra put her arm across his shoulders and kissed him lightly on top of his head. “It can’t last forever, my love. Surely the World Treaty Council and our sponsors, the North European Confederation, must have heard of it. Surely they’ll send the Fleet to sort this out. The whole thing is completely against the Colony Constitution.”
“It is, and they might if they get word of it. With Kodiak and his goons controlling all hypercoms—and monitoring every off-world message—getting it to the attention of the WTC or the NEC is going to be tough.” He paused. “How much of any of this have we seen on our newscasts? None, and I’d guess that’s how much is getting to the WTC.”
Perching on the edge of his desktop, Petra shook her hair loose then gathered it in a fresh ponytail. “You know, I think I need to visit Pangaea City to check on our son and his studies—and get a visit in to Uncle Peter. He’s hinted he has some ideas for us.”
“Peter Mansfield?” Marcus frowned. “He was Fleet until he retired.” His smile appeared. “You might just have a point, smart wife of mine. Take him that recording I made of the town meeting. He might be able to use it. Set up the trip, love, but take care—they may be watching him if they know his background.” He paused. “You know, I’ve just had a brilliant idea. I’ll make a proposal to Hurker. He can have a share of the business in exchange for a better price for our produce—and for protection of our Yarra Fruit orchard. He doesn’t know we use the remnants of those fruits after processing them to grow our modified fungi.”
Petra’s expression was blank. “How does that help with anything?”
“Two ways. First, it gives us the chance to milk the bastard for information, and second, if he has a financial interest in our business, it’s in his interest to protect it.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I’ll get Sergei to draw up a legal deed for it and lodge some protection so Hurker can’t pull a dirty one on us and bring in more of his chums.” She kissed him. “Talk to Hurker. I’ll see to the legals.”
Chapter 9
Knight’s Move
“We have another holdup.” The Admiral rubbed his temples. “There’s a problem supplying parts for the hyperpods. The supplier is offering a different unit, but it doesn’t meet the specification. Fleet Engineering say it won’t deliver the power necessary for a ship of this size to transit, but DesignCor says it will, and the Treasurer is getting twitchy about the costs.”
“Sir, these hyperpods are a new design. They were developed specially for these ships. We must have the right components. There’s no other way round it.” Commander Mary Allison knew her field. She had been part of the development team that developed these hyperpods. “This is Ribble and his so-called experts all over again.”
James Heron interjected. “I agree with Mary, sir. This is getting beyond a joke now. I have a long list of things that can’t be completed because some vital part supposedly isn’t available. It’s driving my Commanders crazy.” He glanced at Mary. “And they take it out on me!”
The Admiral saw the grin. “Ah, I see, so now you want to take it out on me? No way, Captain Heron.” He laughed. “Security think something else is going on here. None of the suppliers are reporting problems in manufacture, and there are no shortages in the raw materials and no reports of any other problems, but they only seem able to meet a third of our requirements—just enough that we can’t claim breach of contract.”
James countered. “Ms Rowanberg tells me that the commercial builds underway aren’t having any similar problem, sir. They are less tech heavy, of course, but—”
“It has been noticed.” The Admiral activated a display. “In fact, a friend of yours is taking an interest. He thinks it is all part of the IPC-contracted protection services, if he can find the evidence.”
“Until then, what should we do to complete the ship, sir?”
“As much as you can. Have your people monitor and shadow the construction installers. If they object, tell them you’re doing so to become familiar with the equipment. But watch them and check everything. There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye. A big lobby in the Confederal Parliament wants to cut the funding for these ships, and there’s a strong chance the programme will be reduced from five ships to the two in build. Every delay gives them fresh ammunition, so we have to find ways to reduce the delays, but that’s my job. Yours is to make sure everything is ship-shape and ready on time.”
James Heron admired Felicity as she entered the restaurant and was directed to the table where he sat waiting. He stood and drew out a chair for her. She was so different in appearance from his late wife and in other ways, and yet, like Veronique, strong and very independent. Since the incident with the thugs, their relationship had subtly changed. He found her more than attractive, and she stirred feelings in him that he thought had died with Veronique. Her being an officer—even an undercover one—complicated things enormously, but they enjoyed regular dates and found a great deal of pleasure in each other’s company.
When James was
seated again, he said, “I haven’t had an opportunity to thank you for easing the new Chief Executive into post. How are you getting along with her?”
Laughing, Felicity accepted the drink he’d ordered for her. “We’re sparring, I think. After all, her job is to get the project completed and within budget, and mine is to make sure it isn’t achieved by supplying sub-spec systems, materials and so on. We haven’t come to blows yet though.” Sipping her drink, she smiled. “At least all the accommodation fit-out is complete. Do you intend to live aboard once it’s accepted?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, for several reasons, not least that it gives me the chance to get shipboard routine started.” He paused, and she noticed a brief look of nervous anticipation flit across his features. “There’ll be spare accommodation in the Wardroom should you wish to as well.”
She met his gaze with an amused gleam in her eyes. “Better not, James. I’m supposed to be a civil data pusher and records shuffler, remember.”
He sighed and offered a crooked grin. “Ah, well, you can’t blame me for trying. It was my attempt to forget the other you, actually.”
“You can for a little while,” she said with a wink and a smile. “Let’s enjoy dinner together and forget about work for a few hours.”
The Captain’s quarters on the Vanguard were the most luxurious he’d seen, the sort of standard normally provided for a Flag Officer.
“You’ve your office and conference room, which can also serve as a dining room, your own living room, private sleeping quarters and washroom, plus an office for your service unit writer.” The Construction Manager smiled. “These accomodations are a major step up from the usual, if I may say so.”
“You certainly may.” James Heron surveyed the interlinked compartments. “Very luxurious after my last command.”
“The Flag Officer’s suite is a mirror of this with a few extra luxuries, and the offices for his staff are between you, with the Flag Command deck and suite aft of this accommodation.”
“Excellent. Yes, it all makes a great deal of sense this way. I’m looking forward to getting the Vanguard into commission now.”
The Construction Manager admired the beautifully crafted ship models displayed on a shelf affixed to the bulkhead. There were eight sea-going surface ships from a sailing ship to a battleship, then several submarine vessels and a starship, all of which proudly carried the name Vanguard. The oldest was a beautiful man o’ war 74-gun sailing ship, a wooden wall of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the newest was a model of the starship Vanguard.
Then the Constructions manager’s eye fell on a framed photo of an attractive woman. “Your wife?”
“Was. She died a couple of years ago. A wretched horrible beast on Serengetia attacked her.” The Captain’s hard face and flat tone suggested the topic of his late wife was closed.
“Oh.” The Construction Manager hesitated. “Very sorry to hear that.” He spotted a brass plaque. “And this?”
“The original is in an ancient church near my home. It commemorates an ancestor of mine from the British Royal Navy. His story always intrigued me, so I had the plaque copied. A sort of talisman, I suppose. One of my relatives has an ancient sea chest supposed to have belonged to young Henry there. I saw it as a youngster once or twice.” He smiled. “Keeps a connection with my home and ancestors, I suppose. Young Henry died in a sea battle almost four hundred years ago somewhere in the Indian Ocean. He served on a ship similar to that one.” He touched the 74-gun ship model and adjusted its position on the shelf ever so slightly. “He was my twelve times great-uncle. I’m descended from his older brother.”
“Wow, some history there, Captain. Nice to be able to pass it along some day.” His link chirped. “Oh bugger. I’m wanted.” He shook hands. “Any problems, let me know. I’ll see you at the weekly meeting.”
The door slid open to admit the Captain’s newly activated and assigned service unit writer, a titanium android beauty with a decidedly female figure with gleaming curves.
The Construction Manager grinned and shot a glance at the Captain. “Looks like you’ll be distracted for a while.” He scooted out the door before James could respond.
One of a new generation of autonomous service units, these SUs were being assigned to starship Commanders and senior officers in the role of personal assistants. An officer could choose whether to have a “male” or “female” SU, but Captain Heron couldn’t recall having made that choice. He chuckled when it occurred to him that the Admiral probably made this decision for him.
The Captain found her curvaceous body a bit distracting, but decided to approach her with the businesslike demeanour she displayed toward him. He inclined his head to invite her to speak first.
“I apologise for disturbing you, Captain, but you have visitors asking for you at the entry port.”
“No disturbance, SU.” He paused. Damn, I really can’t keep calling it—her—SU. She needs a name. He hesitated. “Is there a name I could use for you rather than SU?”
The service unit tilted her head and blinked her eyes in such a realistic way that it astounded him. “My full designation is Vanguard Special Service Unit Zero One Model XIX-Unit Number 4771. Do you wish me to have a name?”
“I think it would be more comfortable if you did have a name rather than just a number, and that is quite a long number! Do you have a preference for a name?” He felt he was treading on treacherous ground here, as no one really knew how self-aware these fully autonomous units were.
“My trainer’s name was Adriana. She was an excellent trainer and very helpful. Is that a suitable name, Captain?”
“Yes, Adriana is a lovely name. It suits you. Have it entered in the ship’s records that you are now Adriana, SSU Vanguard Zero One.” He suddenly remembered why she had entered his office. “You say there’s a visitor at the entry port waiting for me?”
“Yes, sir. He says he is Mr Brown, and he has three others with him.”
“Mr Brown?” He frowned as he stood. “Inform the gangway staff I’m on my way.” Why had the visitor not been escorted to his quarters? There had to be a reason, and he would discover it soon enough.
Arriving at the entry port access to the quarterdeck flat, Captain Heron found the scene amusing and had to struggle to keep a straight face. Against the background of the Fleet Emblem and the North European Confederation arms and flag, the Duty Officer, a junior Lieutenant only lately assigned to the ship, wore an expression of mixed outrage and alarm. The Marine sentry stood at his post like a statue, only his eyes moving as he watched the group of civilians, while the Master Warrant Officer at the entry desk tried to pretend he wasn’t interested, and the Junior Rate next to him tried to figure out what he was actually witnessing.
Recognising Mr Brown as the Admiral from Fleet Security, Captain Heron strode across the intervening deck as the Marine crashed to attention followed by the Lieutenant, the Junior Rate and the MWO. Returning the Lieutenant’s salute, James walked to Mr Brown and held out his hand.
“Welcome aboard, Mr Brown. I didn’t expect you this evening, or I would have advised the Duty Officer.”
With an absolutely straight face, the Admiral shook hands. “I must apologise for not letting you know, Captain. I’ve been called away urgently, so I thought I had best introduce you to the people who will be looking after things while I’m gone.”
“Kind of you, Mr Brown. Nothing dramatic, I hope. Shall we go to the Command Suite?”
“No time, I’m afraid. Theresa Hollister will be running things while I’m away, and I think you already know Petrie and Van Ryn.” He gestured, and James nodded. “Excellent. Smart ship, Captain. Damn smart ship—worth every currency credit unit in my view. Now then, I better get going. Schedule a time with Ms Hollister to meet with your heads of department.”
“Thank you, ah, Mr Brown. It was good of you to let me know. I’ll do that now.” James Heron stopped himself applying the normal honorific accorded an Admiral. He w
ondered what game was being played here. Why was the Admiral posing as a civilian named Mr Brown?
James direct his attention to Ms Hollister. “I usually meet my heads of department at eight in the morning. Would nine-thirty suit?”
“Perfect, Captain.” Ms Hollister smiled. “I’ll be here.”
“Excellent.” Turning to the still rigid Warrant Officer, he ordered, “MW, entry in the gangway log, please. Ms Hollister is to be brought aboard and shown to my office on arrival.” He nodded to the other two men who accompanied the Admiral. “I expect we’ll see a fair amount of each other in future.” Offering his hand to Mr Brown, he added, “I’m sure your staff will keep us on the straight and narrow. I hope you have a smooth passage.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt it’ll be smooth, Captain. Anything you need, just let Theresa know. She’ll have it sorted in no time.”
I bet she will, thought the Captain as he watched them depart. Turning to go, he smiled at the Lieutenant. “Civil services box-tickers—we’ll probably see a lot more of them in the coming weeks. Tying up all the loose ends and making sure we don’t break anything before its paid for.”
“Yes, sir,” was all the Lieutenant could think to say.
Returning to his quarters, the Captain wondered what the devil was going on. It seemed someone was trying a flanking move—like a knight’s attack in a game of chess. He smiled as a thought popped into his head. He loved the game, and wondered if his new SU Adriana would be a suitable chess partner when he wanted to play.
The daily Heads of Department coffee session, as the Commanders referred to it, broke up just before Ms Hollister was due to arrive.
“Richard, a quick word in private, please.” James watched the other Commanders exit, all making gestures and remarks about Richard being in for a grilling. He laughed, glad that his team felt comfortable enough to do so. When the door was closed and the two of them remained in the conference room, James said, “Just to warn you, last night I had a visit from the Admiral of Fleet Security and three of his Section Heads—all incognito in civilian roles. He’s giving his name as Mr Brown, so if you see him anywhere, be observant. Something’s up. I’ve never seen the top brass responding like this before. I’m seeing Brown’s deputy in a few minutes—Ms Hollister, she called herself last night. In fact, I expect she’s here already.” His link chirped. “As I said. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know what the hell this is all about.” Activating his voice link, he said, “Captain.”
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 11
