The Stones of Silence_Cochrane's Company_Book One

by Peter Grant

  Asllani was sitting on the sofa, watching a vid. He jumped to his feet. “Captain! Where are we? You let me go now?”

  “Soon, Mr. Asllani. We’re at a planet named Barjah. I’ll be able to send you to the space station in about four hours, as soon as arrival formalities have been completed. In the meanwhile, I wanted to give you this.” He handed him the envelope.

  Asllani tore it open, smiled eagerly as he saw the cash inside, and counted the notes quickly. “Is ten thousand, like you promised.”

  “Yes, it is. Here are your identity documents.” He handed the man his passport and merchant spacer’s card, both issued by Patos. “You’ll need those to be admitted to the space station. There are freighters leaving here almost every day, going to several other planets. You should be able to get passage on one of them, or even join their crews if they’re hiring.”

  “Thank you! Thank you!” The man was almost overcome with emotion at the prospect of freedom at last.

  Cochrane could hardly restrain his self-loathing at the spacer’s reaction, but he forced it down. “You must stay in this cabin for a few hours more. You’ll be taken to the cutter when it’s time to leave.”

  “I pack now, to be ready! Thank you!”

  Cochrane headed for the docking bay, where the captain’s gig was waiting. He climbed aboard, and was whisked away to the space station. He endured the arrival formalities, then took a seat at one side of the docking bay foyer, waiting patiently.

  Half an hour later, he saw Hsu enter the foyer, accompanied by four men wearing dark suits. Their fluid, limber gait marked them as well-muscled and very fit, probably martial arts specialists among other things. He stood, and waited as Hsu noticed him and came over.

  “Captain.” They shook hands briefly. “I have arranged a private room.”

  “Please lead the way.”

  They walked in silence down a passage until they came to an administrative suite. One of the men led the way inside, and opened the door to a small conference room. They stood against the walls in silence while another of the four scanned the room with a small handheld instrument. At last he nodded. “Clear.”

  “What seems to be the problem, Captain?” Hsu asked without preamble.

  Cochrane explained what had occurred at Mycenae, and what they’d learned from their captive. “Captain Lu had to leave at once, to take word of what we’d discovered to her superiors at Qianjin. I was left to deal with the prisoner.”

  “I see.”

  “I promised him that in return for his cooperation, I’d give him ten thousand francs and deliver him to this space station, after which he’d be on his own. I’ll do that when I return to my ship.” He took a deep breath. “It would not be good if the Albanians learned what he’s told us.” He took a picture of the prisoner from his pocket, and handed it over.

  “I see. Thank you, Captain. You have acted very responsibly, and we are grateful. Please do not trouble yourself any further. Send your prisoner here as agreed. After that, your promises to him will have been fulfilled to the letter, and your obligations satisfied.”

  “Yes, they will. I have more asteroids to deliver. Can we discuss them tomorrow morning?”

  “That will be in order.”

  “Thank you again, Mr. Hsu.”

  The executive and his four companions watched impassively as he let himself out. He walked back to the docking bay, cursing under his breath. He truly had no choice in the matter, if security was to be preserved – but in that case, why did he feel like such a treacherous, slimy son-of-a-bitch? It was as he’d told Hui some weeks before. You did what you had to do… but that statement no longer felt or sounded as convincing as it had in the past.

  He still had no answers as the cutter carrying the Albanian departed for the space station. It returned to the freighter an hour later, empty.

  GOHEUNG

  Cochrane’s mood was still somber as his courier ship, laden with the latest quarter-share payment from Barjah, slid into orbit. He signaled his arrival, and was invited to stay at the same hotel he’d used during his previous visit.

  He was shown into Kim’s office at ten the following morning. The executive greeted him warmly. After the usual introductory formalities, they got straight down to business.

  “We’ve studied the modifications you requested to our corvette design,” Kim said. “It’s good that you let us know about them when you did, as we were about to begin construction of the first two ships of your order. We’ll add four frames to her length. By rearranging some of her compartments, we can insert two more six-berth accommodation units and a prison cell of the same size. We’ve expanded the sick bay to provide a second Medicomp unit, and enlarged her storage for damage control gear and materials, plus more supplies for her larger crew. We also increased her environmental system capacity. All those modifications will increase her mass by about two thousand tons. However, we can tweak her existing reactors and gravitic drive to give up to five percent more power, so her performance should remain the same.

  “Our designers pointed out an interesting side-effect of lengthening the corvette. She already has a miniaturized version of our destroyer fire control system, using shortened active scanning arrays along her hull. The additional length means we can fit full-length destroyer arrays, if you wish. That will make her fully as capable as her larger counterparts, including your frigates, when it comes to long-range control of multiple weapons. The two classes of ship can then also control and direct each other’s missiles without difficulty. It will also improve the corvette’s electronic reconnaissance and countermeasures abilities. Finally, corvette weapons system operators will be able to use frigate weapons systems without additional training. Would that be of interest to you?”

  “It certainly would, depending on the cost.”

  “We estimate we can include all you requested for an additional charge of twenty million francs per vessel. The extended array panels, top and bottom and on both sides, would add a further eight million. The bow and stern array panels would remain the same, of course.”

  Cochrane pondered. It was a lot more to spend, but compatibility with frigate systems would be extremely valuable, particularly if his ships operated in mixed detachments. He nodded. “Let’s do that. Please include the full-size arrays as well. Will this hold up construction?”

  “Only by a week or two. Our robotic constructors can slot in extra frames without difficulty, and the berthing compartments and cells are uncomplicated structures. The second Medicomp will require additional cabling to connect it to the sick bay computer facilities, but the arrays are again straightforward, needing only to be applied to the hull and wired into the battle computer. Their software can easily be updated to handle the extended capacity of the arrays.”

  “That’s good news. Very well, I’ll authorize an additional charge of twenty-eight million francs per corvette. I can pay you the extra deposit for the first two orders right away. There’s one thing, though. What about the corvette we already have, your prototype? Can she be modified to the same standard?”

  “That may present problems, because her hull is an older design. However, if you wish, we can buy her back from you for a reasonable sum, to be mutually agreed, and you can order another new-build corvette to replace her.”

  “That might work. Let’s discuss that once we’ve taken delivery of the first four ships. There’s one more thing I wanted to ask about. Do you make deep space surveillance satellites?”

  “We don’t, but another Goheung company does. We’ve referred our customers to them from time to time, and they do the same for us with theirs. Our ships’ datalinks can interface with their satellites, making tactical control easier.”

  “That’s a very useful feature. I’d appreciate an introduction, please. I have an urgent need for one, with more to follow.” Cochrane tried to hide his sour displeasure at the price he knew he’d have to pay. Such satellites offered features that no shipboard sensor suite could match, but
they were priced accordingly – almost as expensive as two corvettes.

  “I’ll be glad to arrange that. You will be able to provide an end-user certificate, of course?”

  “Of course.”

  I’d better check how many of those fill-in-the-blank Rousay certificates I have left, he thought to himself with a mental grin. I should probably ask NOE to get me some more, before they find out what I’ve really been up to and don’t want to help me anymore, or bribe Constanta to give me some of theirs. I reckon their Defense Minister is greedy enough that it shouldn’t be a problem.

  CONSTANTA

  Dave Cousins was waiting when he returned. “We brought back another eighteen asteroids,” he said cheerfully. “I reckon that takes our total to over a hundred and fifty.”

  “It does – one hundred and sixty-seven, in fact. Well done, Dave! That’s all our new ships paid for, plus enough money in the bank to pay all our operating expenses for a few years, even with all of them in commission. It’ll be up to us to bring in enough through security contracts, and asteroid prospecting of our own, to build on that foundation. I’m going to increase the leadership team’s guaranteed profit share at the end of our startup period. I’ll make it twenty-five million francs each.”

  Cousins blinked. “Well, that’s better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick!” They laughed. “How many do you think will take the money and leave, and how many stay on?”

  “I don’t know right now. That’s OK. Everyone’s earned the right to make their own decisions. I think Elizabeth won’t want to stay, because she’s finding life at Mycenae boring and frustrating. Of course, if you two get married, she can settle down somewhere you both like and set herself up in practice there, while you commute to wherever we’re based.”

  “We’ve talked about that. I think it’ll work for a few years at least. She wants me around to help raise our kids, though, at least often enough that they’re not strangers to me.”

  “I can understand that. What about the Albanian First Mate? Did he make it?”

  “Yes and no. Elizabeth stabilized him, and we brought him back in our freighter’s sick bay; but he’s still in a coma. She told me to find a long-term care facility for him. Your contact on Constanta, Nicolae Albrescu, arranged that for us. He’s in a private ward, and watched around the clock. He may come out of it, or he may not. Elizabeth says there’s no telling, and no way to predict a timetable.”

  Cochrane grimaced. “That’s like a sort of living death. I’d hate it to happen to me.”

  “That makes two of us!”

  “All right. Let me take care of everything that’s piled up in my absence, then we’ll sit down and plan the next few months.”

  15

  Discovery

  CALLANISH

  The burly spacer slammed his tankard down on the bar. “I don’t care what the damned Fleet says! They can offer all the re-up bonuses they like. It ain’t worth it! We had to wait for months in that bloody inflatable cell until they let us go. By then, my woman was pregnant – an’ she had the gall t’ try t’ persuade me it was mine, an’ was just’ gonna arrive a bit late! To hell with that, and with her! I got a better one now, an’ I’ll not risk that happenin’ again! I ain’t goin’ back!”

  The senior NCO sitting at the bar beside him shook his head. “I think you’re a fool, Gray. You’d get your third stripe in another year, and be set fair for Chief a few years after that. Why throw all that away?”

  “Because the damned Fleet darn near threw all of us away! Did they send anyone to look for us? Like hell they did! They just left us to rot!”

  “Be reasonable, man! Colomb was the only interstellar ship in the System Patrol Service. Our patrol craft can’t hyper-jump. They didn’t have anything else to send in search of you!”

  “No, but that damn company that hired her could’ve used one of their ships. They didn’t. Shows what we’re worth, doesn’t it? There’s a word they used in an old movie I saw. ‘Expendable’. That’s what we are.”

  The NCO pushed himself away from the bar and got to his feet. “I reckon you’re wrong, and I’m sorry you feel that way. What’re you going to do next?”

  “I’ll figure out something.” Gray waved half-drunkenly at the bartender. “Hey! Another one!”

  He nursed his next beer for almost half an hour, making it last rather than deplete the thin wad of banknotes in his pocket. He was about to get up and leave when the bartender placed another tankard in front of him – this one a full-size literstein, brimming with foam.

  “Huh? I didn’t order this!”

  “That guy down the bar bought it for you.” He indicated a tall man wearing a set of clean utility coveralls, with patches down both arms suggesting that he was, or had been, both a merchant spacer and an asteroid miner.

  “I heard what you said to that NCO,” the man called. “You’re right about seniors not giving a damn. Us spacers have to stick together, you know.” His voice was oddly accented, placing an emphasis on certain syllables as if he were trying very hard to speak fluent Galactic Standard English, but wasn’t completely at home in it.

  “Thanks.” Gray raised the tankard in salute. “You new here?”

  “Just passing through. I had some leave coming, and I’ve never seen Callanish, so I reckoned I’d spend a few days enjoying some real, honest-to-goodness weather again!”

  Gray laughed, and moved down the bar toward the spacer. “Ain’t that the truth? Funny how we hate bad weather down here, but after a few months in space with no weather at all, we’ll gladly let it rain an’ hail an’ thunder all over us, just to feel normal again!”

  Several drinks later, his new-found friend suggested they get a meal. “We need something to line our stomachs for an evening’s drinking, after all.”

  “You got tha’ right!” Gray slurred. “I know a goo’ plaishe jus’ downa alley. Lesh go!”

  He woke an indeterminable time later, head aching savagely. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Lifting his head, bleary-eyed, he discovered he was on some sort of gurney. His legs were strapped down, and his torso raised at a forty-five-degree angle. A strap around his chest prevented him from sliding off. His arms rested on support trays running out from the side of the backrest. His left arm hurt slightly. Craning his neck, he saw a needle had been inserted inside his elbow. A plastic tube ran from it up to a bag of clear liquid. Straps around his upper and lower arm prevented him moving it. His right arm was similarly restrained.

  He struggled futilely for a moment, but could not budge from his position. He tried throwing himself from side to side, but although the gurney creaked, it did not move. He raised his voice. “Hey! What is this? Someone lemme loose!” There was no response. He repeated his call a few times, voice growing louder in anger and frustration.

  Without warning, a bright circle of lights came on above his head, pointed directly at his face. He cried out, turning his suddenly tear-filled eyes away. As he did so, a door opened, and he heard two sets of footsteps approaching.

  “Who the hell are you?” he called, still blinded. “What am I doin’ here?”

  “You’re going to answer some questions,” the voice of his erstwhile friend answered. Turning his head back, blinking away tears, he saw a hand come out of the darkness holding a medical syringe. It pushed the needle into a connector on the plastic tube running down to his arm, then depressed the plunger. He felt something cold running up the inside of his arm, and there was suddenly a musty, unpleasant taste at the back of his mouth.

  “What – I – what is that?”

  “Just something to relax you. Don’t worry. This won’t hurt.”

  His head began to feel heavier and heavier, as if his neck muscles could no longer support it. He let it sag back against the gurney. Dimly he realized that someone was running a pair of clippers over his head, removing almost all his hair. He tried to protest, but the words would not come. Hands rubbed gel onto his newly exposed scalp, then pulled a net of
some sort over his cranium. He felt the tug of wires running from it down his right side, leading off into the darkness outside the circle of intensely bright light.

  “Now, Mr. Gray, let’s talk. You were a spacer on board the Colomb, were you not?”

  “Y – yeah, I was.” His voice was slow, dreamy. He felt like he was floating in a warm, soothing pool. Nothing worried him anymore. He was safe here, secure. The nice man wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He could trust him. He could tell him anything at all.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Well… it was like this…”

  The questions and answers went on for hours. Periodically, his interrogator would inject more liquid into the drip line. When he grew tired, another took over.

  Finally, the two men conferred.

  “Do you think he knows anything more?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Do we need to get anyone else?”

  “No. He was aboard Colomb for all of her trips to Mycenae. We won’t learn more from another spacer. The officers might know more, but not enough to interest us.”

  “All right. What next?”

  “Let’s find out where Colomb was taken. There are only so many places to discreetly dispose of a stolen repair ship, and we know them all. Once we’ve traced her, we can ask more questions there.”

  “Very well.”

  Another syringe was produced, this one empty, and much larger than the first. The first speaker drew back the plunger, then injected twenty cubic centimeters of air into the drip tube. It bubbled downward and disappeared into Gray’s arm. His chest heaved, and he gargled in his drugged stupor. After a few moments’ struggle, his breathing and heartbeat ceased.

  “There’s an industrial-strength garbage disposal unit down the hall, and I bought several liters of strong cleaning bleach. Let’s get rid of the evidence, then catch the next shuttle to orbit.”