Ky wanted to argue, but she didn’t have any data.
“I gather you weren’t aware of this,” Becker said.
“No, sir,” Ky said.
“And you’re probably wondering if it’s true. Here’s how we know: Old John started out with converted cargo ships, just like the ones you have. The shorter interval for refit and the shorter overall life span comes straight out of our files. Sooner or later—and with jury-rigged repairs like those you have on the air locks the Gretnans damaged, it will be much sooner—you’re going to start having structural failures.”
“Structural…?”
“Yes. Most conversions overpower the original structure—the increased g-forces in rapid maneuver and in repeated, frequent microjumps put more strain on the frame than it was designed for. Repeated rapid missile launches during combat do the same thing. And the waste heat from a beam on full power eventually causes problems with the mount.” His look was sympathetic, but Ky felt as if she’d been hit with a length of pipe. She had worried about money, endlessly, daily, but she had never worried about the structural integrity of the ships, as long as they weren’t damaged in combat. “I can have our engineers check over your ships—no charge—and give you an estimate of the damage so far,” he said. “We’d be glad to do that for you.”
“I suppose—” Before she killed someone with ignorance? No, she had to agree. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Not entirely,” he said. “We’d hate to see a gifted and honorable commander killed by a preventable failure. In addition, we’d like to offer you and your other captains commissions in Mackensee Military Assistance Corporation. We understand that you have not had the benefit of our training programs, and the war we both see coming may give no time for that. So it’s our idea to use you together as a unit within our existing command structure. I believe our government will be negotiating with others soon, now that our ansible is back up.” Becker sat back. Obviously he thought this was an attractive offer.
Ky could think of nothing to say. She had clung to the hope that Mackensee would assign ships to the effort, though she didn’t expect they’d let her command their people. From their point of view, they were being generous; she had talked to enough of their officers in the past few days to know this offer was unprecedented.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “I do appreciate your offer, but…I need to think about it, and talk it over with my people.”
“The offer is open,” Becker said, with a slight shrug. “I’m not trying to rush you. You’re an unusual young officer; I understand your ambition and your desire for independent command. But you’re still inexperienced in many areas that senior commanders need; you could gain that experience with us.”
“Thank you,” Ky said again.
“And on another topic…our founder, John Mackensee—we call him Old John behind his back, but I wouldn’t advise it to his face—would like to meet you. Would you be free for dinner, say day after tomorrow? I would be present, along with several of our more senior commanders. Your captains are invited as well, though I expect you’ll want to leave someone on duty topside. Civilian dress, casual.”
Ky grinned. “I’d be delighted, and I’m sure my captains will be, too. Only—what is casual here? On my home planet, casual means recreational clothes—anything from a swimsuit with a towel over one shoulder to hunting camouflage.”
Becker laughed. “We’d call that undress. Our casual might be what you’d call business attire, I suppose. Not uniforms, not evening dress…daytime professional?”
“The good gray suit,” Ky said, nodding. “We can certainly manage that. Day after tomorrow? What time, local?”
“1930 for drinks. We’ll send transport for you at the shuttleport, 1900.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Ky rode the shuttle up to Mac Station One in deepening gloom. Everything Becker said made sense, sense she didn’t want to see. She would ask her own engineering techs about structural stresses, but she was sure Becker had told the truth; she could only hope that the engineers’ examination would not show any flaws likely to kill them in the next few months.
Back on the station, she met the other captains at the Captains’ Guild, where they usually met for a quiet meal.
“So what’s next?” asked Teddy Ransome. He had been asking that every day.
“Mackensee wants to give us all commissions and take us into their organization as a separate unit,” Ky said.
“I gather you didn’t agree,” Pettygrew said.
“I wouldn’t, unless you all wanted to,” Ky said. “But they think of it as a generous offer. They don’t think we’ll get funding from any governments because we’re so small.” She wasn’t going to say anything about the structural problems until the engineers had inspected Vanguard. If it had symptoms of excessive strain, she would have to warn them.
“Small, but effective,” Ransome said. “They can’t deny that!”
“They didn’t,” Ky said. “They said we were far more effective than our size suggested—but I can see the difficulty of saying that to governments. How would they know?”
“So…what kind of commissions?” Pettygrew asked.
“We didn’t get into specifics; I wasn’t ready to sign on the line. But they did say they thought of using us as a single unit within the organization.”
“Doesn’t appeal to me,” Ransome said, leaning back in his seat. “I like working with you, not some mercenary. And it’s not like I need the money.”
“I’m still technically a Slotter Key privateer,” Argelos said. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“Well, I’d do it,” Pettygrew said. “No offense or disrespect to you—” He turned to Ky. “You’re as good a commander as any I’ve served with. But an experienced military organization has a lot to offer…a ready-made staff, supply lines and depots already set up. If you do it, I would, too.”
“I haven’t made up my mind,” Ky said. “I want to strike back at the people who attacked my home world…and I want to do it effectively. Becker’s sure that means joining a larger organization. Think about it, all of you. If one or more decide to sign on with Mackensee, that changes the whole situation.”
“You started with one ship,” Ransome said, with a toss of his head. “I have two.”
Ky was glad to change topics. “By the way, we’re all invited to have dinner with their founder day after tomorrow. That one, I did accept. Civilian business attire.”
“All of us off our ships at once,” Argelos said. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Actually, you’ll have to draw straws—someone’s definitely staying up here, just in case,” Ky said. “I don’t think Mackensee’s up to anything, and the system defenses here are on high alert. But it’s just good practice.”
“I’ll volunteer,” Argelos said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Fine,” Ky said. “Otherwise—the rest of you want to come?”
They all nodded.
The next morning, two Mackensee engineers showed up with a half-dozen assistants and stacks of equipment, only some of which Ky recognized.
“I’m Asil Maturny, and this is Bas Fornit,” one of them said. “We’re from the main repair yard for Mackensee vessels, and I understand you wanted your ship checked for structural problems, is that right?”
“Yes,” Ky said.
“It would be easier if you were in our repair dock, but we brought some equipment with us. I understand you’ve had air-lock damage?”
“Yes, twice.” Ky explained, and handed them the data cube she’d prepared. “I didn’t find the usual repair log when we took over this ship, so the repairs are those I had made.”
“And you’ve fought how many engagements?”
“And have you done any weapons practice outside those engagements?” asked Fornit.
“It’s all in there,” Ky said, nodding at the cube. “Four engagemen
ts, but no missiles fired in the second. And yes, weapons practice.”
For most of that day, the assessment team roamed the ship, escorted by Ky’s own crewmembers. They ran tests on everything, it seemed, with special attention to the damaged areas around the emergency air lock and the old cargo bay entry hatch, the mounts for the drives, and the mounts for the beam weapon. By 1700 local time, they had a preliminary report for Ky; she invited Hugh and her own engineering staff to sit in on the presentation.
“You were lucky,” Maturny said. “Or the person who retrofitted the advanced drives and munitions knew what to look out for. As you know, this was built as a standard cargo-hauler—” The schematic for its framing came up on the screen. “Someone did a pretty good job of reinforcing here—and here—” He highlighted the areas. “Just using the more powerful drives and controllers wouldn’t overstress the longitudinal framing. Mounting the beam weapon in the mid-line reduces problems, but we did find evidence of early deterioration in the beam mounts from insufficient heat reduction. To save space, the refitters tried to combine the heat management with the mounts proper, instead of using more appropriate structures. That’s an older design, and suggests the refit was done more than twenty-five years ago. You might find an outlaw repair yard still using it, but no one reputable.”
“Another problem is all these hidden passages someone put in,” Fornit said. “We didn’t explore them, except to note voids that might be problematic. Some of these are.” Another schematic. “This reduces your lateral stability, which counts in maneuvering and firing missiles.”
“Bottom line?” Ky said.
“Bottom line is that your ship is spaceworthy right now, but needs major work in a good yard if she’s to stay that way. I understand you’re interested in buying into Mackensee using ships as capital. I have to say that this ship’s value is reduced at least twenty-three percent because of what it’ll cost to bring it up to our standard.”
“And how long will she be spaceworthy?” Ky asked. “Can you give me an estimate?”
“Well…” Fornit glanced at her engineering team. “That emergency repair you did…um…back at Gretna? That’s not going to be good for many more FTL transitions. But fixing that won’t address the more serious structural problems. I’d say you’ve got…oh, perhaps two hours total of beam use before one of the mounts fractures, and that could be extremely serious. The lateral members showing stress should be good for several engagements, but if we did take this ship in, we’d put it straight into the yard for a complete refit.”
Another blow to her idea of starting her own military force: if her own ship was likely to fall apart, what about the others? And she could not possibly afford a true warship when she couldn’t manage even a minor repair like the air locks.
“We’ll leave the report with you, Captain Vatta,” Fornit said. “If you decide to have this work done yourself—if you don’t join Mackensee—we’ve been instructed to say that our repair yard will do the work at a discount. But it will still be expensive, and your ship will be out of commission for somewhere between one hundred seventy and two hundred days, best estimate.”
“Thank you,” Ky said. “I’ll let you know.”
“Contact information is with the report,” Fornit said.
After they left, and her engineering staff had gone back to their duties, Ky stared at the bulkhead. Now what? She had no funds; her Space Defense Force was mostly smoke and mirrors, and the part that wasn’t, was falling apart. Even if Mackensee bought her remaining shipboard ansibles at Stella’s price, even if that was enough to pay for repairs, it would not be enough, in the long run, to finance a war.
Should she give in and sign up with Mackensee? It was the sensible thing to do, considering all the circumstances. She’d have the advantage of their experience, their staffwork. She could almost imagine herself in a Mackensee uniform, commanding a Mackensee ship.
But…a mercenary? For hire to anyone with the price? That initial vision of herself on the bridge of a Mackensee cruiser shivered and blew away at the thought. Mackensee might be honorable, within the definition of mercenary, but that would not keep them from taking a contract from anyone with enough funds, against anyone—including, for instance, Slotter Key.
For the rest of the day, Ky went about her work and ignored the impulse to call Stella—or even Aunt Grace—and discuss it with them. She didn’t want lectures or arguments; it was her decision to make. She asked Argelos and Pettygrew if they’d heard anything about structural failures due to retrofitting merchant craft with military-grade drives and weapons. Argelos said yes, but on the last yearly inspection, Sharra’s Gift had passed clean. Pettygrew said Bassoon, like all the Bissonet privateers, had been built for military use from the start.
So it was her own ship, apparently the largest and best armed, that had the problem. But that wasn’t the real dilemma. It was not only her ship, but her people…her crew, her family, her planetary government. She was not about to force anyone to join anything they didn’t want to…and decency required that she help them get back to a place where they could find employment they wanted.
She pushed those thoughts aside as she dressed for dinner in her good gray suit, and tried to put herself in the right frame of mind, but the question kept coming back. By the time she met the other captains at the shuttle to go downside to dinner, Ky had still not decided what to do.
Mackensee’s founder had chosen to live within an hour’s ground transport of corporate headquarters, on an estate of rolling hills. His residence, built of local stone and timber, nestled into one of the hills and looked out across a valley patchworked with fields and pastures.
He came out to the terrace to greet them, dressed in a suit that Ky recognized as custom-tailored. Ky knew his nickname was Old John but he looked too young for that, despite his gray hair and UV damage to his skin.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Captain Vatta,” he said. “I’ve been hearing about you the past several years.”
“This is Captain Pettygrew, of Bassoon,” Ky said. “And Captain Ransome of Glorious commanding Ransome’s Rangers, and Captain Baskerville of Courageous.”
“I understand your home world was overrun,” John Mackensee said to Pettygrew. “My deepest sympathies. Did you have family…?”
“Yes,” Pettygrew said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course.” Mackensee turned to Teddy Ransome, whose idea of civilian business attire included a shirt with ruffles at the neck and wrists. Ky would not have been surprised if he’d had a sword at his hip. “And you—are you aware of the history of your ships’ names? I understand that you lost one, the Furious.”
“Back in the days of Old Earth,” Ransome said. “The days of wind and sail…”
Ky saw a telltale twinkle in Mackensee’s eye, a twitch of his lip.
“You are a student of history, Captain Ransome?”
“Call me Teddy,” Ransome said. “And not so much a student of history…serious history. Too many years—eons even—pass with nothing to stir the blood. But some are rich with pageantry, with glory—”
“Indeed,” Mackensee said; the corner of his mouth twitched. Please…do come inside,” Mackensee said. “Meet the others.”
Dark wood, tiled floors, comfortable furniture in rich colors, a fire crackling in a huge fireplace. Men and women who, despite being in civilian dress, were obviously Mackensee officers. Everyone was cordial, but Ky felt that she and her captains were under a social microscope. That could cut both ways—they could examine Mackensee as well as be examined.
Mackensee moved them expertly from pre-dinner drinks and light conversation to a dining room whose proportions reminded Ky painfully of her lost home. Here the tabletop was a slab of polished stone veined in pale shades of gray with a few streaks of white, instead of wood. One difference in culture showed up immediately: no sooner had the first course been served than the man on Ky’s left, who had introduced himself earlier as Colonel
Vitanji, said, “So, you had formal military training—I’ve never met anyone from Slotter Key before. Did they include Gauschmann’s Tactical Exercises?”
“Let her eat, Terry,” Mackensee said. “At least three bites before business.”
“Sorry, sir.” He turned to Ky. “Sorry, Captain.”
“Terry’s an instructor these past three years in our command course,” Becker said.
“And he’s convinced that Gauschmann’s is the best source on tactical maneuvers in the past two decades,” said a woman across the table. “I’m Ari Wistrom—didn’t get to meet you before dinner. Anyway, Terry will talk your ear off about tactical theory if you let him.”
“Not theory,” Vitanji said. “Proven, practical—”
“Enough,” Becker said, with a quick glance at Mackensee.
Ky tried a spoonful of the soup in front of her: pale green, translucent, and delicious. While she ate, she listened to conversation among the officers…business, nearly all of it, in short snatches. She liked the tone she was hearing—brisk, good-natured, touches of wit here and there, competent…Mackensee would have picked the best to lure her, she was sure, but these were people she could work with.
After the soup came a delicious main course, medallions of beef, potatoes sliced to make a decorative swirl. Pettygrew, Ransome, and Baskerville were chatting happily with the officers near them; Becker and Mackensee seemed to be discussing gardening. At a nearby lull, Ky spoke to Vitanji.
“Actually, we didn’t have Gauschmann’s Tactical Exercises in our classes. We used Simjuk and Baiye.”
Command Decision Page 40
