by Peter Grant
There was a buzz of approval. “I think that meets our needs very satisfactorily,” another director observed.
“There’s one problem, though.” A director raised his hand, looking down the table at Cochrane. “I’m Tom Nicolson, Captain. I like your proposal, but it means we’ll have to buy our own security vessels, and raise crews for them, and put our own depot ship in place. That means spending money we can’t spare right now.”
Cochrane pretended to think for a moment. He’d foreseen this question. “I think we can resolve this without any cash changing hands, Mr. Nicholson. You need patrol craft and a depot ship. I need two large freighters, each of two to three million tons capacity, to serve as orbital warehouses and long-term storage ships. Why don’t we swap? You give me two big freighters from your member companies’ cargo operations. They must be well maintained and in good condition. You’ll sign over ownership of both vessels, free and clear. In exchange, I’ll make over to you the four reconditioned patrol craft we’re currently using in Mycenae, plus their missiles, spares, and so on. I’ll also return one of the freighters we borrowed from you. She’s currently serving as our depot ship at Mycenae Primus Four. We’ve armed her for self-defense, and installed a hospital pod and personnel pods. You can use her as your security headquarters in the system.”
“That sounds feasible, but what about crews for the patrol craft?” Nicolson asked.
“Why don’t you approach Rousay’s government, sir, to lend you spacers from its System Patrol Service? They should be able to supply a core crew for each vessel. You can hire more from among retired SPS spacers, or transfer some of your merchant ship crews to the patrol craft. It won’t take long to get them up and running. We’ll help by providing some of our people to train yours. We’ll need them back soon, to crew our new vessels as they come out of the shipyard, but I’m sure we’ll be able to work that out. I daresay the handover will take six months to a year.”
There was a short silence as the directors pondered. Marissa Stone asked, “What about the second freighter and the courier ship we lent to you for three years? Would they also be returned, along with the depot ship in the Mycenae system?”
“I can return the freighter, three months after we receive the two larger vessels we’re getting in exchange for the patrol craft. I’ll need the courier ship for the full agreed term, though.”
“What about paying for the two freighters?” another director asked. “We can’t just take them away from our cargo lines. They’re major assets.”
Marwick shook his head. “That’s mere bookkeeping. A creative accountant can always find ways to write them off as a loss for tax purposes. We might even make a paper profit on the deal!” A rustle of amusement ran around the table.
“All right,” MacLellan said firmly. “I think what we’ve discussed offers a way forward that satisfies everyone’s concerns. I propose that the Board approve Captain Cochrane’s proposals in general terms, and delegate responsibility for finalizing them to Mr. Marwick and Ms. Stone, who are also authorized to conclude contracts and agreements as necessary. All those in favor?”
Hands went up all around the table.
That night, Cochrane dined with Caitlin Ross, Lachlan McLachlan and Henry Martin, the only three members of Eufala’s leadership team still based on Rousay. He briefed them on the morning’s discussion.
“You’ve all done great work here, but it’s time to consolidate,” he concluded. “We need to draw all our operations together, partly for administrative convenience, partly for security reasons.” He told them about the unhealthy interest being shown by the Albanian Mafia. “We’ve managed to deal with the threat so far, but it’s likely to get worse. I can secure one location, but not two. We don’t have enough people or ships for that.”
“But why Constanta?” Caitlin asked. “It’s a minor planet, not on any major interplanetary trade routes. It’s a backwater.”
“That’s why I’m using it. We can do things there, like assemble a small fleet of warships and train our crews, that would raise too many eyebrows in a busier system. Also, there’s a small shipyard there whose owner I trust. He’s handling all our routine maintenance needs at present. We have contacts on the planet who’ve come in handy from time to time, and we have a license to operate armed vessels there. All those things make Constanta perfect for us right now. In the longer term, yes, we’ll need a better base; but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“But what about NOE? Won’t it take too long to communicate via spacecraft, shuttling back and forth between Constanta and Rousay?”
“We won’t have to. We’ll both be operating in the Mycenae system. After all, our contract is for security there, not here on Rousay. That’ll be our communications hub with NOE.”
She frowned. “I suppose you’ve answered all my questions, but… I can’t help thinking I’ll be bored there. There won’t be much to do outside of work.”
He shrugged. “You can bring with you all the resources you need to keep yourself entertained. As for outside interests, sure, there won’t be many; but then, we’re going to be very busy. I’ve got a major project waiting for you that’ll take up most of your time.”
“Oh? That’s good news. I’ve grown bored with supervising personnel security and hiring procedures. I’d like more variety.”
“You’ll get it. You’re going to learn everything you can about the Albanian Mafia in general, and one renegade offshoot of it in particular. I’ll tell you more at Constanta.”
“What about me, Captain?” Lachlan asked. “What will I be doing there that I can’t do here?”
“You’re going to be our logistics director and fleet coordinator. We’re going to take dozens of ships into service over the next four to five years. You’ll set up routine maintenance, crew rotation and resupply schedules for them all, and help plan their deployments. You’ll also make sure we keep in stock enough spare parts, weapon reloads and other necessities to keep them all in operation. As we get more customers, we’ll make up detachments comprising two or three different types of ships to meet their requirements, send them out to where they’re needed, and rotate them back and forth to our base as required. You’ll help with that, too. I’m also going to ask you to find more ships for us from time to time, some bought, some leased. Several support functions will report to you.”
Lachlan beamed. “Great! Sounds like a challenge.”
“It will be. Oh – right away, even before you leave for Constanta, start looking for two or three reasonably-priced communications vessels. We’re going to need them soon. Try to keep the prices affordable, but I know they’re more expensive than freighters. We’ll just have to live with that.”
“And what about me?” Henry asked.
“Caitlin will be trying to learn all we can about the Albanian Mafia and other potential threats to us, on top of her other duties. I need her at Constanta. You’ll be her and my off-planet hands and feet and eyes and ears. One of the new communications ships will be assigned to you. There’ll be a lot of investigating to be done, and a lot of discreet contact with others who might be able to tell us what we need to know. You already know the criminal circles in this part of the galaxy, and you probably have good enough contacts to figure out who to talk to elsewhere. Am I right?”
“I suppose you are, Captain. It’ll take time, though. I’ll need to make detours to identify new sources, and get introductions to them from people they’ll trust. Without that, they won’t talk to me. They might even think I’m a cop, and get rid of me on general principles as a precaution.”
“That’s what I mean. None of us know how to do all that except you. I want you to build up a network of sources and informers for us. I’m sure it’ll be difficult work, and sometimes dangerous. I’ll provide a security team for you, or let you hire your own at our expense. Just make sure you hire good people. I need you alive!”
“I’m biased toward staying that way myself.” Everyone laugh
ed.
Cochrane looked around the table. “All right. Wrap up your work here, and pack everything you want to take with you. If you want to retain any property here, or store belongings, that’s up to you, but I daresay it’ll be a long while before you get back this way. I think you’ll be better advised to sell anything you can’t bring with you. Be ready to catch our monthly supply run. The freighter will be here in about three weeks. She’ll take you to Constanta via Mycenae. It’ll be a slow journey, but there’s no direct commercial service, so it’s the best I can do.”
“Where will you be going next, sir?” Caitlin asked.
“I’m heading for a shipyard. There are some things I need to arrange. I’ll see you all back at Constanta.”
GOHEUNG
Kim shook his head in disapproval. “Captain, I don’t see why you want to spend so much money stripping derelict old patrol craft down to the bare hull, then replacing every one of their systems with modern ones. That’ll cost up to two hundred million francs each, perhaps a little more. We can sell you brand-new, larger, more capable patrol craft for only three hundred million each.”
Cochrane shook his head. “It’s a question of confidentiality, Mr. Kim. I can’t go into details, but believe me, this way is better for us.”
He couldn’t explain that Eufala’s last four patrol craft, one currently undergoing limited refurbishment in Grigorescu’s shipyard at Constanta and three derelicts in parking orbits nearby, were still unnamed and unregistered. There was no record that the company owned them – only the four already serving in Mycenae. Once those were signed over to NOE, Eufala would officially have no patrol craft at all. Neither would Hawkwood, its successor corporation. It might be convenient if potential enemies believed that to be true.
He continued, “I’ve provided you with blueprints. Your designers will have to figure out how to shoehorn most of a corvette’s critical systems into her, along with a single pod containing defensive missiles only. Based on what you achieved with those cruiser pods, I’m hoping you can fit forty to fifty of them into the space where she used to carry fifteen main battery and fifteen defensive missiles, all old and outdated. I want as much automation as possible, so she can operate with not more than ten to twelve crew. If you can figure out a way to have her operate under remote control, with no crew at all, I’ll be seriously interested in that option. It might also let you cram more missiles into her hull, since she won’t need crew quarters at all for remote operation.”
“This is most unusual. I’ve never heard of a similar design.”
“Perhaps, but you hadn’t heard of anything like our super-frigate, either.”
Kim smiled. “That is true. With defensive missiles only, what will be her function?”
“She’ll provide point defense to specific targets on an as-needed basis. In between those times, she’ll be stored aboard a freighter, unmanned, but ready for immediate action. Her systems will have to cater for that duty cycle.”
“I see. I’ll have our designers consider the problem. We’ll probably convert one as a prototype, then, if both parties are satisfied, we can convert the remaining two hulls. Can you stay for a day or two, so the designers can ask questions if necessary?”
“I think so, but not longer than that.”
“Very well. You can also inspect progress on your first two corvettes and the first depot ship, if you wish. Their construction is well advanced.”
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”
Sitting in his hotel room that night, Cochrane nursed a headache as he calculated crew requirements, delivery dates and operational commitments for his ships, existing and forthcoming. The sooner Lachlan gets to Constanta, the better, he thought as he scanned columns of figures. I need to dump all this on his desk, to free myself for operations.
He smiled as he thought of Kim’s confusion regarding the patrol craft. He planned to put one aboard each of the large freighters he was acquiring as orbital warehouses and store ships. They might have to visit or operate from planets that would not permit them to be armed. Under normal circumstances, he’d have other ships providing security for them, but that might not always be possible. If he couldn’t mount missiles and laser cannon on them, he had to find another way.
The big freighters could list a patrol craft, carried in one of their holds, as cargo in transit from one planet to another. It wouldn’t be regarded as the ship’s own armament. Nevertheless, they could launch it if necessary. With its defensive missiles and two laser cannon barbettes, it would provide almost as much protection against incoming missiles as a corvette. What’s more, modern defensive missiles, even the smaller models carried by corvettes and patrol craft, had a powered range of up to three million kilometers. Their guidance units, aided by shipboard weapon control systems, were more than capable of locating, tracking and hitting an attacking vessel, not just a missile.
The big freighters might never need such defenses; but if they did, and didn’t have them available right there and then, it would be too late to buy and install them. He couldn’t afford to lose billions of francs worth of asteroids, nor all the stockpiled stores and materials it took to operate a squadron of modern warships. Such defenses would be cheap at the price by comparison. As for keeping their existence secret, he was sure Mr. Kim could arrange to record false names and owners for the patrol craft – for a small fee, of course – while they were being refurbished. Their secret would be preserved, until an assailant found out about them the hard way.
He went to bed still smiling at that thought.
19
Retaliation
PATOS
The restaurant shut its doors after lunch, and a notice was placed at the entrance: CLOSED TONIGHT FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION. Callers asking for reservations that evening were politely turned away, and the few who’d already made them received calls apologizing for having to cancel their booking. To compensate them for their trouble, they were offered free meals on any subsequent night of their choice. Given the well-deserved reputation of the restaurant’s food, and its prices to match, all accepted the offer with alacrity.
Beads of sweat on his forehead, which were not entirely due to the late summer temperatures, the head chef had visited the markets early that morning to personally select meat, vegetables and fruit. All afternoon, his assistants labored to chop, grate, slice and dice everything according to his exacting standards. Clouds of aromatic steam and fragrant smoke filled the kitchen as its finest dishes were prepared. The sommelier chilled five cases of wine, and ordered his assistants to polish the glasses to gleaming perfection.
When the dining-room staff had finished cleaning up after lunch and changing the tablecloths, they were ushered out. The doors were closed, and guards posted at each one. A two-man team entered the room, carrying heavy suitcases. They took out several delicate instruments and proceeded to scan every square centimeter of floor, walls and ceiling, including around and beneath every table and chair, and the curtains and their valances. Even the serving table’s hot trays were lifted out of their sockets, and the cavities beneath checked.
Satisfied at last, the two men reported to the Chief of Security that all was well. He ordered his guards to ensure that no-one, repeat, no-one was allowed to enter the dining-room without an escort, who was to closely supervise everything he did inside. If there was even the slightest suspicion that all was not well, he was to be called. More guards took up their stations in the kitchen, randomly searching waiters as they went in and out of the dining-room. The staff wanted to roll their eyes in rebellious resentment at this imposition, but they knew better than to be caught doing so.
More guards surrounded the premises, walking slowly through the gardens, peering suspiciously into bushes and behind trees, looking for anything out of place. They didn’t find anything… at least, not below head height. They either didn’t notice, or didn’t think twice about, what looked like several large moths that flew over the walls, and settled into the tops of
the bushes growing in such profusion around the windows. With their wings folded, clutching the stems and branches with their tiny feet, they blended in so well as to be effectively invisible.
A few of the ‘moths’ carefully positioned themselves so that their wings, when unfolded and bent into a shape curiously like a small dish, were ‘aimed’ at the tops of trees just visible over the wall. Others crawled along the branches until they could ‘see’ the vent bricks set at intervals in the upper part of the restaurant’s walls. Those ventilating the dining-room appeared to gather the most interest. The insects’ ‘antennae’ vibrated slightly as they were adjusted to the right angle.
Four of the ‘moths’ crept along branches until they were positioned just outside the dining-room windows. Two remained motionless, while two others flitted across to the windows and seemed to ‘defecate’ on them, leaving brown streaks running down the glass. Their work done, the polluters flew away.
It didn’t take long for one of the waiters, laying silverware at the tables, to notice the marks. He brought them to the attention of the head waiter, who was not amused. “Why are you telling me about them, instead of cleaning them? Get to work! There isn’t much time!”
Muttering to himself, the waiter went over to the windows. He realized at once he could not reach the stains from outside. The vegetation was too thick, and too close to the walls. He would have to open them, and clean the glass from inside the room. Sighing, he fetched water, rags and cleaning fluid, and endured the searching hands at the door. Carrying his gear over to the window, he opened the first and set to work. In his concentration on the job at hand, neither he nor his guard noticed as first one, then another ‘moth’ flew on silent wings over their heads and into the room. Each flew to a valance adjacent to a vent brick, hid inside it, then froze, immobile.
