Alex caught a glance from Kate Naos at the engineering officer then, which made him grin. It was a look that conveyed, amidst her rosy embarrassment, that she did not take kindly to being patronised. This civilian, however young and awkward, was not going to fall into the role of shipboard pet.
‘She could certainly do your job,’ Alex observed, teasing the engineer rather than the girl, and heard a quick little chuckle from her as the engineer looked disconcerted.
His respite in engineering, however, had gone on long enough. He was mindful of the two hundred and more files awaiting his attention, with many hours of admin and reports ahead. Life, he felt, was getting back to normal, and he strolled off to his desk contentedly, glad to be home.
Chapter Five
Twenty three days later they cruised into superlight orbit around the Amali system. They had been outside League borders for the last seven of those days. There’d been the usual lively ceremony of ‘outing’ those members of the crew who’d never been outside the borders before, the ship put into freefall and noisy horseplay tolerated for one hilarious hour. A few bruises and a crewman with a broken finger, Alex felt, were a small cost for the boost to morale.
Now, however, they were all very much on their best behaviour. Those who’d never been to an X-base before, which was most of them, were gazing at the screens with keen interest.
It was not, actually, all that special to look at. All the X-bases were essentially the same, located ‘above’ or ‘below’ the irregular plane of inhabited worlds, away from any shipping route in systems that had a planet or moon with a breathable atmosphere. What that always meant was a D7 class planet of the type spacers called slimeworlds – typically, covered in primeval bacterial slime, with just enough atmosphere to make it possible to walk on them with no more than an oxygen nose-clip. They were good places to stop on a long journey, to get off the ship even for an hour or two and stretch your legs. Nobody wanted to stay on them for long, though. Squelching through slime didn’t entertain for long, and they usually stank.
Here, the base had been located on the third moon of a gas giant, just barely in the goldilocks zone where liquid water could persist at the surface. It was hot, though, a steamy humid environment. Amali Base looked tiny, a haphazard collection of domes nestled in the shelter of a mountain range. There was the usual spaceport with a clutter of shuttles on parking bays, and three ships already there in orbit.
Any disappointment that the crew felt at finding that there were no Solaran ships there just now was compensated by the sight of the Stepeasy, swinging gracefully around the system. The yacht was actually bigger than the frigate. It was a radically new design of ship that was, even now, in production at the Mandram shipyards as the next dart class of destroyers. This yacht was technically a civilian version of it, the prototype of its class. Looking closely, however, an experienced eye could see the concealed missile tubes and sunken pyramids protecting the guns. It might not be as well armed as the destroyers would be, but it could certainly defend itself. Andrei Delaney would not allow his only son and heir to be going about in any ship vulnerable to piracy, after all.
The great yacht had obviously recently been refitted too, its previous dark red paintwork changed to black with a riot of silver trimming. It gleamed and glittered, making the other two ships look a bit shabby. One was a Fleet ship – a destroyer kept here permanently as a means to defend or evacuate the base if that was ever needed – while the other belonged to the Diplomatic Corps. That was not at all obvious because it looked like a freighter, and not a very impressive freighter, either. Only those with sufficient clearance would get to see aboard, to the specially constructed quarters for bringing Solaran passengers into human space.
‘Orbit secured, skipper,’ Buzz reported, formally, though Alex could see that perfectly well for himself on the watch screens. He sometimes wondered how much of his day was taken up with people telling him things that he already knew, but Fleet training had ingrained the need for this, for methodical procedure in dangerous manoeuvres.
‘Salute,’ Alex ordered, also unnecessarily since the ordnance officer’s hand was hovering above the controls.
Guns flashed out, giving the required courtesy from a Fleet ship to a port admiral. There was the customary three second pause, then the defence arrays protecting the approach to the base flashed blank gunfire in response.
After that, it was proper for Alex to call the port admiral’s office, to leave his respects for the senior officer.
In this instance, however, the port admiral forestalled him.
‘Alex!’ Admiral ‘Froggy’ Croker hailed him cheerfully as the comscreen flicked into life. ‘Here you are!’
‘Good to see you, sir,’ said Alex, with an answering smile .
‘You too,’ Froggy told him, but that was all the personal conversation they had time for right then, as the admiral widened the field of view his end to reveal the neat, calm looking lady seated facing him. ‘May I introduce Her Excellency, League Ambassador Dolan.’
‘Ma’am,’ Alex inclined his head with formal courtesy, which she returned as graciously as if she herself were a royal personage. This base was a frequent entry point for Solarans and the ambassador had very obviously been chosen for qualities which would facilitate communication with them. Solarans were a slow species, actually far more intelligent and advanced than homo sapiens but functioning at about half the speed, or even less when they were confused. It could take them several minutes to process something you’d said and reply. They were also easily flustered by rapid speech and frightened by anything that seemed even the slightest bit aggressive. Ambassador Dolan’s stately, quiet manner would suit them perfectly.
‘Skipper von Strada.’ She considered him for several seconds before returning the greeting, with undertones of calm approval. ‘Thank you for coming so promptly.’ Her voice was soft, so low and monotone that you had to focus to hear what she was saying. ‘I appreciate, of course, that you will have a good many things to do as your ship enters port, so I will come aboard, with your permission, to brief you and your officers, at a time convenient to you.’
Alex had, in fact, very little he needed to do. This was not a regular system with all the formalities required for entry, so there were no quarantine, customs or other bureaucrats to deal with. They were not even decelerating, remaining superlight in long orbit.
‘I am at your disposal,’ he assured the ambassador, ‘and you will be very welcome to come aboard at any time convenient to you.’
‘Thank you.’ She said, and having considered that for a few moments, ‘Shall we say in an hour, then?’
Alex contained his impatience. There was no reason he could see why she couldn’t just get on a shuttle and come aboard right now. Diplomats, however, worked to their own schedule, and she was the boss here, after all.
‘Certainly, ma’am,’ he said, and looked back at the admiral.
‘I’ll come too,’ Froggy told him, good naturedly. ‘You can send our supplies down, though, as soon as you like. Do, also, authorise shoreleave at your own discretion – you wouldn’t believe how desperate we get to see fresh faces after a few months out here.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Alex glanced at Buzz, who beamed with pleasure. The question of whether they’d be allowed to have shoreleave here had been a keen topic of discussion on the way, and he could hear the delight at that invitation rippling through the ship. ‘And – Shionolethe, sir?’
The admiral looked at the ambassador, and she gave a placid smile.
‘I will bring her aboard once I have briefed you and approved the arrangements for her,’ she told him, and Alex could only nod acknowledgement.
‘Ma’am.’
‘As I dare say you’ve noticed, your friend Mr North is in port, too.’ The admiral pointed out, with a significant look towards a screen on his office wall, showing the Stepeasy in orbit just a few million klicks from the Heron. ‘He’s been here for three months, officially
in his role as a goodwill ambassador. In fact, he’s been invaluable in helping Shion to come up to speed on our language and culture.’
The League Ambassador’s face remained perfectly expressionless. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did she betray her opinion of the brash, infuriating boy who had breezed into her domain and effectively pirated Shionolethe out of her hands.
‘It is entirely at your discretion how far you wish to continue to involve Mr North as Shionolethe becomes your responsibility,’ the ambassador said, in blandly neutral tones. ‘Subject, of course, to Shionolethe’s own wishes.’
Alex noted that it seemed to be taken for granted, there, that Davie North’s own wish would be to continue his involvement with the Pirrellothian. Alex understood why, too. The only one of his kind, surrounded by people who must seem unbearably slow and stupid to him, Davie might well have found a friend in Shionolethe. Though their genetic makeup was entirely different, she too had that strange multicognitive intelligence that enabled her to be thinking, clearly and separately, about several things at once, and reflexes that meant she could move faster than a human could blink.
‘Ma’am,’ Alex acknowledged again, and seeing with that that the conversation was over, took his leave of both of them, politely.
Buzz, he saw, already had everything in hand. They had brought out quite a few crates of supplies for the base, extra to their regular scheduled delivery. That included mail from their families as well as official letters, and Alex knew that they would be eager to receive that. They had also brought crates of fresh foods, the latest movies and games, and crates of treats, cakes and candy and the like, as a courtesy gift. Amongst all that, Alex was aware, was a box containing several varieties of seed. Most slimeworlds used by spacers were being seeded by the Terraforming Society, but since they did not know about this place someone on Amali had started a garden here for themselves. It was now an established part of Amali culture to keep adding to it. Alex could see that one of the officers at the base was already calling them, asking hopefully if they’d brought the seeds, and if so, when they’d bring them down.
The supplies, in fact, had already been loaded onto a shuttle, and the pilot set off right then, the moment Buzz authorised launch. He was also calling other duty-pilots to readiness, and sending out the first two hour passes to twenty members of the crew who were currently off duty.
He was also, Alex noted, extending that courtesy to the Second’s personnel, in their case offering six-hour passes. He could hear Candra on another comlink with Martine, the professor instantly recognisable from her all too familiar sharp, aggrieved tone.
The crew would be glad to see her leave the ship, even for a few hours. They had done everything they could to make her welcome and comfortable, but Candra had turned out to be an exasperating passenger. It had always been understood that she and her team would have nothing to do in the weeks until the Fourth was able to carry out their missile test. The Ignite missile itself was sealed in a crate in the hold, and there was no more they could do until the Fourth reached the remote system designated for the test.
They had been advised, of course, to bring other work aboard, and all the facilities of the ship had been made available to them. Martine had even organised some social events for them, games and sports in the gym at times when it wasn’t being used for crew training. There had been dinners in the wardroom, too, and lunches with the skipper. There had also been every opportunity to be as involved in the life of the ship as they were prepared to be. Even Mako Ireson, a groundhog to the bone, had managed to pass a basic safety training in order to help out in the galley.
Not so Candra. She considered working in the galley, the only thing she could realistically qualify for, to be entirely beneath her dignity, and she would not allow any of her three team-members to do so, either. So they were cooped up, day after day, listening to Candra complain about anything and everything, getting on one another’s nerves.
The spacers bore with this stoically. You didn’t last long working on starships unless you could zone out annoying shipmates, and at least for most of the time she stayed in the lab. It was Martine who bore the brunt of it, coping as she had to, several times a day, with Candra’s grievances and complaints.
Alex left her to cope with whatever Candra was griping about now. His own attention was on the Stepeasy, waiting and counting silently in a private bet with himself.
Eleven seconds after the call between the frigate and the base had ended, just long enough for Davie to know that Alex would be waiting for his call, the yacht signalled them. It was on a call-code that Alex had given Davie months before, coming straight through to him, after Davie requested that they pack in the ‘my people calling your people’ routine for establishing a call between them.
The message said simply, ‘T17 – B24, trip.’
Alex grinned. Davie North had never been aboard the Heron, and Alex had only been aboard the Stepeasy twice. The precautions that were taken when anyone went aboard that ship were so extreme that it was clear Davie lived in a near-total bubble of isolation. He could, however, make calls, and he and Alex had formed the habit of playing triplink over a comline. It was a game of strategy, with sufficient element of luck that even the most able player might lose to a beginner. They’d spent many hours with their ships cruising close alongside, playing match after match.
That had ended, without explanation, half way through a game. They had left Therik together, and for a while Alex had thought that Davie intended to come all the way to Sixships with them. Quite suddenly, however, he’d signalled ‘see you later’ when it was his turn to move, and the Stepeasy had curved away, accelerating to vanish off their scopes in a matter of moments.
The ‘later’ had turned out to be nearly five months, but here Davie was, picking up the game they’d been playing as if it had been only minutes. The half played game was, indeed, still on the system, and Alex called it up, putting in the move that Davie had made. Then, after due consideration, he signalled back his own move.
There was, after all, nothing more that needed to be said. Davie, he knew, had no patience at all with people asking what he considered to be stupidly unnecessary questions, and he was paying Alex the compliment of assuming he was able to work out for himself what Davie was doing here. For his part, Davie would know that no enquiry or even comment about Fourth’s missions would be welcomed by Alex. If and when Alex wanted to discuss the situation with Shionolethe, he would call. Till then, they could play triplink.
That didn’t mean, though, that Alex wasn’t keeping an eye on what was going on around the ship, glancing at screens, scanning reports and listening almost sub-consciously to the buzz of the ship. It amused him greatly when he realised that his crew were attempting, very stealthily, to prep the ship as if for inspection.
The reason for his amusement in that was the sight of Lt Vergan, remonstrating with a couple of crew who were attempting to polish a bulkhead, oh so casually, while pretending they were doing nothing of the sort. Buzz had already said that there was no need to sparkle the ship, after all. It was as clean and smart as any admiral could wish.
‘You really don’t need to do that,’ Lt Vergan assured them. ‘It’s fine – it was cleaned just half an hour ago.’
‘Okay, Lt,’ the elder of the two ratings said, clearly avoiding getting into an argument about it. Both of them moved off with every appearance of heading to return the polishing gear to stores, and the Lt went on his own way, evidently thinking the matter resolved. Once around the corner, though, the ratings exchanged glances and then began to polish locker doors, holding the polishers as much out of sight as possible and assuming an air of unconvincing innocence.
Seeing similar scenes being played out throughout the ship, Alex couldn’t help but laugh. One of the most loathed and resented orders in the Fleet was the one to sparkle a ship for some dignitary coming aboard. It was usually ordered when they were already busy with other things, even in areas of the shi
p everyone knew the dignitary was never going to see. Even the best conducted crewmembers might sigh and mutter a bit over yet another order to sparkle. Several of the crew now attempting to sparkle the ship without the skipper noticing had been on charges for insubordination related to such orders. But here, when it was a matter of pride in their ship, decided by them, you could hardly stop them polishing.
Alex let them get on with it, and knew that every experienced officer on the ship would turn a blind eye, too. It was unnecessary effort, but a small price to pay for such camaraderie and pride in their ship. All of them were watching the time, too, as impatient as Alex was himself to get the briefing over with so that they could finally meet the Pirrellothian.
The ambassador and the admiral came aboard with all due ceremony, both of them accompanied by a confidential aide. There was a hiatus when the ambassador, invited to brief them on the command deck as was customary on the Heron, said that she would prefer to speak to the senior officers in private.
Alex didn’t think that was a good idea. It was secrecy like that, he felt, often secrecy for no good reason, that bred a sense of division between officers and crew. He saw Froggy Croker give a slight nod, though, so didn’t attempt to argue the point. Instead, he formally requested the use of the wardroom, a matter of courtesy since the skipper traditionally only went into the wardroom by invitation. Buzz agreed at once, of course, and within a few minutes the admiral, the ambassador and the Fourth’s five most senior officers were seated around the wardroom table.
XD:317 (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Page 4
