Gunboat

by James Evans

  “I’m sensing a ‘but’ in that sentence, Corn. Spit it out. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Corn shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “We can only achieve that timescale if we make Palmerston’s repairs a priority, which means limiting the work on Ascendant. Our manufactories are limited, and we’ve looked at repurposing the ones we have, which has helped, but ultimately the more complex spare parts can only be made by complex manufactories. There’s a lot of manual assembly of the components, some of which can only be carried out by highly trained personnel, of which we have none.”

  “Fine. XO, have you established some timelines on getting the crew evacuated using Palmerston? If we abandon Ascendant, can we get everyone back to New Bristol?”

  Lieutenant White shook his head firmly. “No, sir. We have too many survivors to fit in Palmerston, even if we gut some combat systems from her and just turn her into a transport. The nature of the ship’s design means she doesn’t carry enough storage space to transport large numbers. She has a shuttle bay that isn’t large enough for a dropship, just a local run-around to transport crew. There’s a bay for the asteroid grabbers and the rock they retrieve to manufacture sabots for the rail cannon. That opens directly onto the rail cannon bay to facilitate loading the weapon.”

  “I’m looking at the schematics of Palmerston. Isn’t that bay large enough to hold a lot of people? Can we refit it if we strip Ascendant?” Cohen asked.

  “The problem is that life support in there is minimal, sir,” said Corn, “and it’s designed as a purely functional space. There’s little in the way of systems already in place that we can use to patch in life support. We would have to complete a retrofit of Palmerston’s hull and internal conduits, and essentially strip out and replace most of the systems throughout the ship. Even then, we’d have a jury-rigged system with no guarantee that we could launch into hyperspace without it failing. It would also take several weeks to complete, at best speed.”

  There was a pregnant pause.

  “I see one option,” White said.

  “As long as it’s not that we euthanise people and redeploy them when we get to New Bristol, I’m listening.”

  “It’s not quite so drastic,” White continued, “but it doesn’t really fit with the standard policy of not leaving people behind. We would shore up Ascendant so that it’s essentially a working space station – stable, pressurised, with everything it needs to last for the time being. Then we focus on Palmerston, get the hyperspace working, get back to New Bristol and bring help which would, of course, take weeks of travel.”

  “You don’t seem enthusiastic about that plan,” said Cohen, and his face made it clear that he wasn’t too keen on it either.

  “No, sir. Firstly, there’s no guarantee the Admiralty will want to retrieve those left behind on Ceres II or have the ships to spare. We just suffered a massive defeat and we’re somewhere in what we believe is Deathless territory. Our scans can’t confirm any activity here and it’s certainly not a well-populated system, if they have a presence at all due to the lack of class M planets. But I believe the Admiralty will only come to retrieve crew once they’re confident of success, and the build-up of a new fleet might take months,” White said.

  “Agreed, as soon as we’re back at New Bristol, we’ll be working on the new plan to defend the Commonwealth and preparing for counter-attacks. What are your other points?” Cohen asked.

  “My second concern is that if we leave personnel behind, they’ll be unprotected and susceptible to capture and subsequent interrogation by the Deathless. We have to assume they aren’t going to follow the rules of war and treat prisoners well or refrain from torture. If the Deathless find Ascendant, we would have given up valuable intelligence as well as condemning those left behind to a horrible fate. My third and final major concern is that we can’t afford to lose Ascendant after losing the fleet. I think we’re better off taking time here, returning with both Ascendant and Palmerston, and bolstering the fleet. It’s a lot quicker to repair both ships than it is to build two new ones to replace them.”

  “Does anyone wish to offer an argument against Lieutenant White’s assessment of our options? No? Good then, we’ll proceed on the basis that repairing both ships is in the long-term interests of both ourselves, the Royal Navy and the Royal Marines. Sub Lieutenant Mantle, tell us about our options for wormhole communications.”

  “Ascendant lost her wormhole capability during the Battle of Akbar. The generator is little more than scrap, and these are highly complex systems. The internal systems are in better shape but also require repairs. We will not be able to establish a stable wormhole for burst transmissions until the later stages of our plan,” said Mantle.

  “Can we move it up the schedule?” Cohen asked. “Communicating our intelligence about the battle could be crucial.”

  “The nature of the generators means they’re the most complex systems we have aboard ship. With so many personnel deceased, we can either aim to get hyperspace capability back or wormholes. We can’t do both at the same time,” said Mantle with her usual lack of visible distress, “and even then, we need to find a new source of exotic materials.”

  “Hyperspace it is then,” said Cohen. “We have to get back into the fight, and we can’t do that sitting on our arses on a spinning rock. Our lack of communication will be sufficient for the Admiralty to conclude that the mission went badly wrong, but unless they come looking, they won’t know exactly how or why, and they may not feel they can spare resources for a search.”

  He looked around the table, considering his options before giving the orders that he hoped would put them on the right course.

  “Our first goal is to get Palmerston spaceworthy again. I want her hyperspace capability back first. We need a ship that can function properly. Then we’ll switch our focus to Ascendant. The cloning bays are compromised and the reports I’m seeing here don’t suggest we’ll get more speed even if we put in the effort to repair them and use them to deploy more personnel.”

  Captain Cohen nodded and looked again around the table. “Does everyone understand our priorities?”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response, followed by the assembled officers saluting him. Cohen returned the salute and exited the room, heading for the bridge, where he would continue to pore over work schedules and damage assessments, looking for any way that he could improve their situation.

  Images of the Battle of Akbar replayed in his mind as he moved through the ship. The terrible destruction wrought by the Deathless and the questionable decisions of Admiral Morgan constantly pushed themselves to the front of his thoughts. Stopping for a moment, he tapped a few icons on a nearby viewscreen and brought up a feed of space around the ship. There was nothing in this system but the asteroid belt. It was a bleak, hostile place to be stranded.

  Breathing deeply and closing his eyes, he fought to tamp down the vision of exploding ships and frozen bodies tumbling through space as the Deathless fleet pummelled them. The frightened edge to the voices on the bridge as his crew struggled to remain calm in the face of withering fire. The horror he’d felt at having to order them to flee and abandon their colleagues.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw space, empty but for the tumbling asteroids of the belt. Somewhere out there, the Deathless fleet waited for him. He was going to find a way to repay them for the Battle of Akbar if it was the last thing he did.

  9

  Cohen was in the command suite behind the bridge when the message arrived. The internal comms were still flaky, even from the bridge to the command suite, and so the crew had adapted by moving from one location to another to deliver messages in person. It was horribly inefficient.

  “Sir, there’s a message,” said Martin as she floated in the doorway between bridge and command suite.

  Cohen frowned and looked up from his data slate.

  “A message? But the wormhole communicator is offline,” he said. Then he paused and peered suspiciously past Martin towards t
he bridge. He twisted around, reorienting himself so that he floated the same way up as Martin.

  “Yes, sir,” said Martin, “the WC is still offline. The message came in by radio.”

  Cohen glared at her then nodded to the bridge. “I’ll come now,” he said, pushing off the wall to float towards the door. Martin spun easily and led the way back to the bridge, heading for the communications console.

  “Right, let’s have it on the main display,” said Cohen as he flipped himself around so that he could float in a sitting position above his command chair. “And find Lieutenant White and CSO Mueller,” he added. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Jackson, attempting to use the internal comms system before giving up in disgust. He despatched a rating to find Lieutenant White and CSO Mueller, then went back to monitoring his systems.

  “Here’s the message, sir,” said Martin. “This is the original, and that’s the translation.”

  “It’s in Koschite? It’s from the Deathless?” asked Cohen, alarmed. He looked up at the message, skipping the Koschite original to focus on the English translation.

 

  Cohen stared at the display for a moment.

  “Take us to action stations, Mr MacCaibe,” he said, painfully aware that Ascendant couldn’t support any action more aggressive than a dignified death.

  “Aye, sir,” said MacCaibe. He triggered the command and the lamps on the bridge flickered and dimmed, changing subtly. He frowned at the controls and flipped them back and forth, but nothing else happened. “Sorry, sir, the old girl’s given us all she has.”

  Cohen sighed. “What do we have to do to get a red alert around here? Change the lightbulbs? Just add it to the list of things to fix.” It would probably be a trivial repair, but the never-ending stream of problems was sapping both resources and morale.

  Then the bridge door opened and White floated in, followed by Mueller and, Cohen was less pleased to see, Captain Warden. The Marines had suffered many casualties in the Deathless attack, and their sentiment was that the Navy was responsible. They remained completely professional, and had worked immensely hard to help keep the ship running, but a certain frostiness currently tainted all dealings between the Marines and Ascendant’s command team.

  Cohen nodded at the new arrivals.

  “We seem to have been noticed,” he said drily, gesturing at the screen.

  “The Deathless?” asked White, leaping to the obvious conclusion. “Should we not be at action stations?”

  Cohen glared at him. “We are. Can’t you tell?”

  White looked around as Warden and Mueller took vacant chairs and strapped themselves in.

  “Ah, right. Another broken system, I guess?”

  “And to answer your other question, the message was in Koschite, so I think we can assume it’s from the Deathless.”

  “If it’s the Deathless,” said Warden, “why aren’t they shooting at us? It’s not as if they feared us when Ascendant was fully operational. Like this...” He gestured at the gaping panels, the trailing cables and the mess of half-repaired systems, his point made eloquently by the ship’s obvious state of disrepair.

  “Thank you, Captain,” said Cohen acidly, “but I think we are all well aware of the situation.” He turned back to the display.

  “If it were the Deathless,” began CSO Mueller, “what agreement might our presence contravene?”

  Cohen stared at the science officer for a moment. “Are you suggesting the message didn’t come from the Deathless?”

  Mueller shrugged.

  “Mr MacCaibe,” said Cohen, turning back to the bridge crew, “find out where that message came from.”

  “Aye, sir,” said MacCaibe, although his tone suggested deep scepticism about his chances of success.

  “Another message, sir,” said Wood, taking over at the communications desk.

 

  “Okay, that sounds more like the Deathless,” muttered White. “At least we know where we are with threats.”

  “Send this, Mr Wood: This is HMS Ascendant of the Royal Navy. We have suffered extensive damage and require time to make repairs. Are you able to offer assistance, Child of Starlight?”

  “Translating,” said Wood, “and sending.”

 

  “Tricky,” muttered White, as Cohen flexed his fingers and considered his response.

  “Mr MacCaibe, any news?”

  “Nothing, sir. We’re short of sensors, but there’s nothing obvious within range. No idea how big Child of Starlight is. She could be hiding amongst the asteroids.”

  “Very well, keep searching. Mr Wood, send this: Confirmed, Ascendant formerly known as Varpulis, now in the service of the Commonwealth Royal Navy. Peaceful intent only. Damaged in recent encounter and crash-landing. Require time to make repairs.”

  The bridge was quiet as the team awaited a response. It was some time before the next message arrived.

 

  Cohen opened a channel to the engineering department. “Sub Lieutenant Mantle, can you give me an estimate on the remaining repairs to get us spaceworthy?”

  “About a week,” she snapped, “if you stop crashing us into asteroids.” She cut the channel and Cohen sat back. Then a thought occurred to him.

  “How do we translate a week into a period they’ll understand?” he asked the room in general.

  “From what we’ve read in their literature, the Deathless use a time system based on decimal numbers of seconds. One hundred thousand, or ten to the power of five seconds, equates to one of their days,” said CSO Mueller, “so a week is a little over six hundred thousand seconds.”

  “Right. Forget that, let’s keep things simple,” said Cohen. “Send this: Ascendant requires two weeks to make vital repairs. Some elements will be taken from the asteroid on which we have landed.”

  “Sent, sir,” said Wood. All eyes turned to the display as they waited for the response.

 

  “What’s all that about?” muttered White, echoing Cohen’s own thoughts.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Cohen, shaking his head. “Whatever their intention, we’re not going anywhere.” His hand hovered over the control that would open a channel to engineering, then he thought better of it. “Mr White, get down to Engineering and update Mantle. She’ll appreciate the personal touch, and make sure she’s not already planning to strip-mine this asteroid.”

  “You think they’ll deliver the resources we need?” asked White doubtfully.

  “I have no idea,” said Cohen wearily, “but until we know more, we can’t afford to antagonise them.”

  “Aye, sir,” said White nodding his agreement, unstrapping himself, “on my way.”

  “Anything for us, sir?” asked Warden.

  “Not yet,” said Cohen tiredly, “but I don’t trust this situation. Get your team ready, just in case Child of Starlight turns out to be more than the mining vessel she claims to be.”

  “Aye, sir,” said Warden, nodding grimly. “We’ll be ready.”

  10

  “I can repair all the damage,” said Mantle, “but there’s a limit to what can be done with our current resources. I need new supplies, and if I can’t scrape them off this rock, where do you suggest I look?”

  Mantle’s voice grew colder even though her tone remained professional. White knew it wasn’t the damage inflicted by the Deathles
s that had infuriated her – that was all part of the job – it was the crash-landing onto Ceres II. That little mishap had made her seriously angry, and she was not shy about sharing her feelings. She didn’t tolerate incompetence in her own team and couldn’t stand to see her work undone by the failures of other crew members.

  “The Deathless vessel, Child of Starlight, has offered to give us what we need,” said White, trying to stand on the wall in the low gravity of Ceres II while Mantle sat in her chair. It was most disorienting.

  She stared at him for a moment, seemingly completely at ease despite the cockeyed gravity.

  “Why would they do that? We’re defenceless. Why not just finish us off?”

  “I don’t know,” sighed White. “Maybe this ship hasn’t got the message. Or maybe she really is a belt miner, and this is a ploy to keep us here till the warships arrive.”

  “So where is she? And when will we get the materials?”

  “We don’t know, not yet. She’s not showing on the sensors, probably because she’s small and our sensor array is severely degraded.”

  Mantle snorted. Repairs to the sensor suite were on the list of emergency fixes, but they weren’t anywhere close to the top. Then she sighed and White thought he detected just a hint of give in her posture.

  “I’ll see what I can do to speed things along. If you can avoid doing any more damage for a few days, it’ll help.”

  White nodded his thanks with a tight smile. “We’ll do our best.”

  “Have you found that Deathless vessel yet, Mr MacCaibe?” Cohen asked.