by Peter Grant
Henry Martin stuck his head warily around the workshop door. “How’s it coming, Jock?”
“It’ll come a lot faster if you stop interrupting me, dammit!”
“Sorry, but I thought you must be hungry by now. You’ve been at it for ten hours straight. Here, I brought you a tray of sandwiches and a flask of coffee.”
“Food? Coffee? You’re a saint! All is forgiven! Come in, lad!” Jock set his nanotech control console down on the workbench, and hurried toward his visitor as he entered.
Henry watched as the former Warrant Officer wolfed down the first sandwich, seeming to almost inhale it rather than chew, washing it down with gulps of navy-style coffee; black, unsweetened, and thick enough to stand a spoon upright in it. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” he said with a grimace.
“Och, lad, you’ve been spoiled by too many artsy-fartsy coffee shops planetside,” the Scot joked, picking up the second sandwich. “Fleet coffee puts hair on your chest!”
“And other places besides, I’ll bet!” He gestured at the maintenance sleds racked against the wall. “How many have you done so far?”
“Five, and I’m working on the sixth. Have those parts arrived yet?”
“They’re on the freighter that just signaled her arrival at the system boundary. She’ll be in orbit tomorrow, and the parts will be here a day after that.”
Jock’s face fell. “Damn! I’ll have a day or so with nothing to do until they get here.”
“Why not catch up on your sleep? You’ve been pulling eighteen-hour days for the past week. You could use the rest.”
“I suppose maybe I could, at that. Still, I’ve got to work fast. There’s a deadline on these things. They’ve got to be where they’re needed in less than six weeks from now.”
“Don’t worry. If you build them, I’ll get them there. If worse comes to worst, we’ll load you and your equipment aboard the ship, and you can finish the job while we’re in transit.”
“Not bloody likely! As soon as this job is finished, there are others waiting, thanks to Cap’n Cochrane – frequency modulators for all our ships’ gravitic drive units, for a start. I wish I could hire a crew to help me, but the Cap’n says that for now, security has to be tighter than a mouse’s arsehole. That means I’ve got to do it all myself.”
“Yes, but think of the reward once you’ve done it.”
“That’s what keeps me at it. It’ll be nice to be rich.”
“You said it! I’ll leave you to it. I have to get some cradles made.”
“Cradles? For babies?”
“No, idiot! Steel cradles, to hold ships securely.”
“Oh. Like in a dockyard, you mean?”
“Something like that.”
“Sounds interesting. Anything to do with what I’m building in here?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, you might say that.”
NEW WESTRAY
Master Chief Petty Officer Michael Wallace returned to his office to find a visitor waiting. He’d met him only once before, and knew him simply as ‘Paul’.
“Did you get them signed?” the visitor demanded without preamble.
“I sure did.” Wallace handed over an electronic tablet, and watched as Paul brought up a series of screens. He indicated the stylus-signed blocks on the electronic forms. “You’re good to go.”
“The Commander didn’t suspect anything?”
“Why should he? I didn’t even put these documents in his queue. They were all uploaded by the executive officer – or, at least, that’s what a data trace will show. The boss never reads them. He just dashes off his signature, then goes back to his porno movies. These forms never passed through my hands. Even the tablet isn’t mine.” He reached into an inside pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out a wallet filled with data chips, each securely held in its socket. “Here are the blueprints, schematics and manuals you asked for. They’re all there.”
“Thank you. You’ve done very well. That being the case, Tom said to give you the next instalment.” He handed over a small leather purse, which chinked meaningfully. Wallace opened it to see the gleam of gold coins inside. Grinning, he closed it and handed it back.
“Thank him for me, but tell him it’s too risky for me to have this much on me in foreign currency while this is going down. He can hold the money for me until it’s all over. I know he’s good for it. I’ll get it from him off-planet, or have him send it to my wife. She’s already left for New Sanday.”
“I’ll tell him.”
ROUSAY
Dr. Masters sipped wearily at her cup of tea. “Oh, that tastes good! It’s just what I needed.”
“I figured you would, after the day you’ve had,” Dave Cousins said sympathetically. “Did you manage to sort out the interface with the ship’s sanitary systems?”
“Yes, thanks to a couple of engineering techs with big pipe wrenches. Their motto seemed to be, ‘If it doesn’t fit, get a bigger hammer!’ It was primitive, but it worked.”
“I had a few techs like that serve under me during my time in the Fleet. Delicate, they aren’t, but they tend to get things done.”
“That they do! I think the hospital pod will be ready for use within two weeks, if we can get it properly stocked with medication, surgical equipment and supplies. Thank Heaven NOE was able to arrange for us to borrow one. I hate to think what it would cost to buy our own!”
“We couldn’t afford it right now, and that’s a fact. The personnel pods also cost a lot, although not nearly as much as your hospital pod. We’ll have them ready in another four or five days.”
“Where do we go from there?”
“I don’t know for sure. This ship will wait here until I get back. The Captain has an urgent job for me, and a scratch crew. We’re picking up a leased freighter for a special mission. I should be back within a month.”
“That sounds very mysterious.”
Cousins shrugged. “The Captain’s not letting his left hand know what his right hand is doing. That’s good security.”
“I suppose so. When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow morning. You’ll be in charge here until I get back. Don’t worry, there won’t be anything special to do. Let the NCO’s handle bringing the personnel pods online. They know what they’re doing.”
“If you say so. Take care, you hear?” There was affection in her voice.
Tom warmed to hear it. “I will. You do the same.”
“I’ll be the soul of discretion.”
“I just bet you will!”
Chuckling, they went their separate ways.
CONSTANTA
Cochrane’s host pushed his coffee cup away with a sigh. “That was excellent, thank you, dear.”
“It was my pleasure, darling.” His wife beamed at their guest, a warm look of immense gratitude. “It’s been even more of a pleasure to see you again, Captain.”
“And mine to see you, ma’am,” Cochrane assured her.
“I’ll go and deal with the kitchen. I know you two want to talk business.”
They watched her push a trolley out of the dining room. “She seems to have gotten over the trauma very well,” Cochrane observed.
“In most ways, she has. It’s been five years, of course, and they say that time heals all wounds. Aurelia still sometimes has nightmares, but I wake her and comfort her when they come. I – I don’t think we can ever thank you enough for rescuing her from those pirates, Captain. We’ll both be forever in your debt.”
“It was absolutely my pleasure, Mr. Grigorescu, and for my crew as well. Those scum won’t be hijacking any more ships, or ruining any more lives. As for being in my debt… well, if you’ll allow me, I have a favor to ask of you and your shipyard.”
“Anything! Name it!”
“I need to service and refurbish several vessels that I’m looking for right now. They’ll probably be old, outdated ships, with systems that are just about worn out. I hope to find up to six that are worth ref
urbishing, plus some others to be cannibalized for spare parts. They may be military ships, or civilian, in which case we’ll be fitting weapons to them. Please excuse my uncertainty; it’s because we’re not yet sure what will be available at a price we can afford. I’ll have documentation for them, including an end user certificate for any military ships or weapons systems.
“We’re setting up a system security service for an asteroid mining project. We don’t want it known that we’ve acquired the ships. We’d rather that came as a nasty surprise to smugglers and pirates in due course. Will it be possible for you to refurbish them, while concealing their nature and identity? The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
Grigorescu nodded. “The end user certificate will satisfy Constanta’s government that this is a legitimate transaction, which takes care of one problem. It’s not as if you’re buying weapons here; rather, you’re bringing them here temporarily. I think I can persuade our officials to keep it under their hats. A few palms may need to be greased to ensure discretion, if you follow me.”
“I do, and the necessary grease will be available. There’s another thing. I know work like this isn’t cheap.”
“No, it isn’t. If these ships are in as poor a condition as you say, it might cost tens of millions to refurbish each of them to operating condition, even if we use spares taken from the non-operational craft. You might find it cheaper or more cost-effective to buy newer ships.”
“Newer ships aren’t in our budget at this stage. I’m trying to obtain the necessary funds, but they won’t be available immediately, and I need ships as soon as possible. Would you be prepared to extend credit to me for the shipyard work, for one to two years?”
“Mine is a family-owned shipyard, Captain. We don’t have the capital resources of a larger corporation. You’ll have to obtain credit from other sources if you want the work done quickly. However, I’m prepared to help in two ways. I’ll do the work at cost plus five percent, rather than my usual profit margin. That’s a practical way to thank you for all you’ve done for us. I’ll also introduce you to my bank. If you have an end user certificate, and you’re able to offer acceptable security for a loan – for example, some of the vessels, the ones you’ll use as a source of spare parts – that should get you at least some of the financing you need.”
“I understand, and I’m grateful. I know a five percent profit margin is a lot lower than usual in your line of business. If necessary, I’ll leave some of the ships here at Constanta as security, or pledge another vessel for that purpose.”
“Very well. I’ll take you to my bank tomorrow morning. Please bring that end user certificate with you. It’ll help prove to them that everything’s on the level.”
“I shall. One last request. If we refurbish the ships here, may I bring some of my people to work alongside yours in the process? That’s the quickest way I know for them to learn the ins and outs of their new vessels, as well as any problems they’re likely to encounter in service.”
“That will be a pleasure. We don’t have much spare accommodation at the shipyard, but I daresay we can rig up something.”
So far, so good, Cochrane thought wearily to himself as he undressed in the guest bedroom later that evening. Now to find out whether we’ve got the ships and their weapons; then comes the really tricky part.
5
Grand Larceny
NEW WESTRAY
Shift change at New Westray’s System Control Center was its usual, casual Saturday evening routine. The weekend saw relatively little orbital traffic, because the System Patrol Service usually gave liberty to its spacers. Those who hadn’t gone planetside were patronizing one of the bars or dance halls on the space station housing SysCon and OrbCon. There had been only one merchant freighter in orbit during the past week, and it was now under way toward the system boundary.
“Flyco’s headed out, I see,” the Chief Petty Officer in charge of the console operators noted as he sat down beside the outgoing NCO of the watch.
“Yeah, she left orbit about five hours ago. She’s taking her time. At the rate she’s moving, she won’t hit the system boundary for another day or so.”
“Must be trying to conserve something or other – even if it’s only her crew’s energy.” The two grinned at each other. “What was a big ship like that doing here, anyway? They normally send a much smaller freighter. She didn’t offload much, either. Can’t see why they’d send a hulking great bugger like that to a minor planet like this.”
“Dunno. Maybe her owners didn’t have enough cargoes to fill her holds, so they’re keeping her busy on shuttle runs to planets like ours until the freight market picks up again.”
“That’s probably it. All right, let’s do this.”
The outgoing operator swiftly ran over the information his relief needed to know. “Oh – just so you know, the team preparing the Reserve Fleet for its annual inspection finished their work. There’ll be no more traffic out there until the inspectors go out next quarter.”
“Sounds good. Less work for our techs this year, with them hiring that outside maintenance team to do the job. They should do that more often.”
The new arrival glanced at the three-dimensional Plot display. The icon representing the Reserve Fleet hovered next to Westray Six, a deserted rock-and-ice planet almost halfway between New Westray and the system boundary. The old ships were in parking orbits around it. Each emitted a transponder signature in case of need, but they weren’t going anywhere… unless it was to the scrapyard in due course, or to be used as targets.
“They were a lot more thorough than our lot,” he continued. “Stores was going nuts! The team insisted on filling all the tanks and loading all the supplies the ships are supposed to have on mobilization. Even the spare parts had to be racked and ready on board. Stores didn’t have enough parts to issue for all the ships. Some heads may roll over it.”
“Serve the bastards right! All those ships have been in reserve for over a decade. I’ll bet someone in Stores reckoned they’ll never be needed again, and decided to make a bit of extra pocket money by selling their spares for scrap.”
“Likely. All right, I’ve got it. I relieve you.”
“I stand relieved. Who’s your Officer of the Watch?”
“That’ll be Ensign Spalding.”
“An Ensign? When did they start letting novices run the Watch? Most Ensigns are so wet behind the ears, you can use them for water slides!”
The other laughed out loud. “That’s a good one! Yeah, he’s pretty useless, but he spends most of his time watching movies in the OOW’s office, so we don’t have to worry about him. Besides, nothing ever happens around here, so he won’t have anything to do.”
“True enough. All right, see you next time.”
NWS Skelwick had been built more than ninety years before, and only upgraded once during her long, hard years of service. That had been forty-two years ago, when New Westray had bought her and her seven sister ships from a much larger, more powerful Fleet, that was replacing them with more modern vessels. They’d shuttled around the New Westray system for thirty years, patrolling to ward off pirates and smugglers who hardly ever appeared – not surprising in a relatively unimportant star system, well off the main trade routes. Twelve years ago, it had been decided that the old patrol squadron was worn out. They’d been shuffled off into the Reserve Fleet, along with their depot ship, joining several other utility craft and small freighters.
The past two weeks had seen an almost unprecedented whirl of activity in the Reserve Fleet. Every ship had been inspected, but the old patrol craft and their depot ship had received particularly thorough attention. Every protective cover had been removed, every system had been powered up and checked, every laser cannon barbette had been trained around its arc of fire, every tank filled with whatever liquid it needed, every store-room stocked in preparation for mobilization. The racks in the engineering section were laden with every spare part that an overworked Store
s department could provide on such short notice, and the depot ship’s holds were filled with anything left over.
The patrol craft didn’t carry missile pods while in reserve, of course, but all the pods stored in the armory holds aboard the depot ship had been circuit-tested as well. A large proportion of the missiles had failed the tests, and an even larger percentage of their warheads; but with such old weapons, poorly maintained, that was only to be expected. It would mean a lot of work for the missile techs later, though.
All this had been accomplished under the uncaring eye of a single supervisor from New Westray’s System Patrol Service. He’d been far more interested in eating, sleeping and watching tri-dee entertainment than in following the techs around. They’d encouraged him to enjoy himself. With their enthusiastic encouragement, he’d taken the last few days off to be with his family, ignoring his orders to keep an eye on the civilian maintenance team. They hadn’t informed his superiors about his absence. It had made their task a lot easier.
Aboard Skelwick, four techs manned their positions in the tiny Operations Center and the engineering section. The maintenance team hadn’t left the ships, as officially presumed. Their shuttle had returned to New Westray that morning, but had been empty except for the pilot. He’d fed their access badges through the reader in the docking bay, making it look like they’d returned, then logged himself and them aboard the freighter before it departed. However, that had all been window-dressing. The techs still had work to do.
“I wonder what they’ll think when they realize what’s happened?” one mused to the other in the OpCen. “It’s going to be the biggest consternation and monkeyhouse this system has ever seen!”
His teammate sniggered. “You can say that again! Just let them stay fat, dumb and blind until we’re gone, that’s all I ask. Once these ships are delivered, we can throw one hell of a party with the money we’re earning for this caper. I plan on staying drunk for a week!”
