XD:317 (Fourth Fleet Irregulars)

by S J MacDonald

  He did, however, attend the concert a few evenings later. This too was the result of a great deal of work, planning and secret rehearsals. Like most ships, the Heron had a thriving amateur music scene, though also like most ships, this was dominated by people who could strum light-guitar well enough, at least to their own ears, to perform along with guitar-karaoke.

  This concert was to be a step above that, with the ship’s four best guitarists having practiced a half hour set of classical material. A percussion group had formed, too, to perform a modern composition using instruments improvised from ship’s tech. The highlight of the evening, though, was a selection of operatic music to be sung by Kate Naos.

  She was accompanied in some of the songs by a chorus of the ship’s best singers. The result was decidedly amateur, but enjoyable. One of the crew, indeed, had turned out to be a surprisingly good though untrained baritone. He and Kate had been vanishing into airlocks for hours at a time, as the only place on the ship they could rehearse in private. They’d chosen music that suited the range of their voices, and that would be enjoyed by the crew. Harry Alington, no doubt, would have considered it very poor stuff, wincing at errors in breathing or phrasing, but for Alex and the rest of the audience it was pure magic.

  For Alex, indeed, the whole five week run was a pleasure. He had time to spend on the things that were important to him, motivating and training his crew, and there was time for him and Buzz to work on their ‘how to tell people about aliens’ briefing, too. Writing such an operational protocol was within Alex’s own authority to write internal policy for the Fourth, but it would also be passed to the Admiralty and the Senate Sub-Committee for their information.

  Alex had learned, now, though, that he was not just writing such policies for his own officers and crew. The operational protocol he’d written for the Karadon mission, asking his officers and crew to be informal and friendly with spacers, having a laugh with them, had ended up being put out there, without his knowledge, as an official Fleet-wide injunction to all officers to go and have tea and cookies aboard freighters. This, as Alex now appreciated, had generated deep resentment amongst even quite moderate Fleet officers, either because they felt that such orders were beneath their dignity or because they felt them to be patronising from a frigate skipper. He had also seen, first hand, what happened when a perfectly simple suggestion was turned into a protocol followed to the letter by idiots like Harry Alington. It would have to be carefully written, this, to be useful for themselves, helpful but not patronising to other skippers, and idiot-proof.

  Neither of them had any idea how important the ‘big picture briefing’ was going to become. At the time, it just seemed a good idea to have such a policy to help new people come up to speed on the high impact exodiplomacy stuff. They put a lot of work into it, assisted by other officers and crew but with Alex honing the continuum to clear, simple, idiot-proof steps while Buzz gave the background depth of academic justification for those stages. There was no particular urgency about it, though, so there was plenty of time, too, for Alex to enjoy mugs of tea in engineering and quiet hours holding the watch. It was, indeed, with some regret that he faced the end of this wonderfully peaceful interlude, as they approached the Chartsey-Canelon shipping route.

  ‘At least we won’t see many starseekers, if any at all,’ he observed, chatting to Shion an hour or so before they joined the shipping lane.

  Shion chuckled. She already knew that few starseekers would venture that journey. At the best speed they could make, it would take a starseeker nearly nine weeks to go from Chartsey to Canelon. Those few yacht owners with the leisure to undertake such trips generally preferred to go via Karadon. That would make a longer journey of it altogether, dog-legging out to the deep space station, but would break the journey into more manageable five and six week blocks. Quite apart from any other consideration and the lure of duty free shopping, a starseeker had very limited storage for food supplies.

  ‘Aren’t you worried that saying that may bring down the curse of the starseekers upon us?’ Shion asked.

  Alex grinned. ‘If it does,’ he replied, light heartedly, ‘you can call me a pudding.’

  An hour and a half later, they had their first ship encounter. It was with a freighter, hailed with cheers of delight as the very sight of it meant that they were, indeed, where dead reckoning said that they were. People were applauding Kate, who took a bow, laughing, at this confirmation that her chart-making system was accurate. They would take two more position checks from other ships before that was officially recorded, but everyone knew that it had worked. The freighter itself went by with little more than a passing hello. It was the first other ship they’d seen in nearly two months, but declined even the offer of a gift-box. That undoubtedly meant that they had some cargo aboard they would prefer not to risk the Fourth investigating, but Alex let them go without concern. He was far more interested both in the immediate news of other ships on this route, and news from further afield.

  This was, after weeks out of comms, going to take some time to catch up with. The latest news from Karadon was, indeed, more than a month out of date at this point anyway. It had come via Chartsey, raced there by courier and then between the capital and Canelon. As they got closer to Canelon, they’d get more up to date information via that route.

  Alex, his officers and most of the crew were deeply immersed in catching up on all the news of importance to them when, about three quarters of an hour later, they had their next ship encounter.

  It was, perhaps inevitably, a starseeker. And it was flashing for emergency assistance. It must have crossed paths with the freighter very recently, but just too far away to be picked up by the freighter’s scopes. Even the Heron only picked it up on the edge of their scanners, an all-too familiar little fuzzy blob flashing urgent assistance required.

  The urgent assistance, as they soon determined, was that the couple aboard the starseeker were running low on supplies.

  ‘We made a list!’ said the tearful pilot, once he and his partner had been brought aboard the Heron. ‘We planned it so carefully, all the meals we’d need, everything we’d need to bring with us – there wasn’t room in the hold but we had boxes of stuff in the cabin, we honestly thought we’d be fine. Only you just don’t realise how hungry you get, in space.’

  That was, it had to be, to do with nervous, comfort eating, since there was no known phenomenon of people needing to eat more in space.

  ‘And we thought we’d be able to buy more supplies from a liner or freighter,’ his partner explained. ‘But we just haven’t seen any, at all!’

  Further investigation confirmed that their dead reckoner was out a fraction of a second, undoubtedly because, finding that the ship’s chronometer was slightly out with the pilot’s wristcom shortly after launch, they’d reset the chronometer.

  Few bets were being taken on the chances of the couple declaring their starseeker salvage. It seemed likely that once they’d been calmed down and had some counselling with Rangi, given their navigation systems recalibrated and sufficient supplies for the rest of the trip, they would be okay to continue.

  The few people who had risked a dollar on the long-odds chance of them abandoning the yacht, therefore, made a killing when it was confirmed that the owners of the Calabrian Adventurer had asked to declare the yacht salvage. There was more going on with that, clearly, than anxiety over dwindling food supplies. The couple were far too well bred to make a display of their marital difficulties, but it was apparent to alert observers that they were not on good terms. It might well be that the experience of being trapped in a very confined space together twenty five hours a day for the past five weeks had exposed strains in their relationship. They were certainly determined that they did not want to go back aboard the yacht, facing another four weeks alone together. Even the suggestion of hooking them up with a convoy got politely but firmly refused.

  ‘We’ve had enough,’ said the pilot. ‘We’ve always had yachts, you kn
ow, and done weekend trips out to Gateway. We promised ourselves that when we retired we’d do the Big Trip to Canelon, but we’ve realised, it isn’t for us, it was a big mistake to come out here and we would far, far rather be aboard a liner.’

  It was more than two hours before Alex would accept that decision. There was, indeed, a process to it which required a full medical and the couple being given clear, detailed legal advice. Alex met with them himself, too, making very sure they understood that they would not be able to claim on insurance if abandoning their yacht like this.

  ‘We don’t care, we want to cut our losses,’ the pilot said, definitely.

  ‘We never want to go on a yacht again,’ said his wife.

  Alex looked at them appraisingly, mindful of the far more frank discussion they’d had with Rangi, in sickbay. That was confidential, of course, but Rangi had given the skipper a report, with their permission. It had the illuminating statement that either the yacht had to go, or their marriage, and that their marriage was more important to them.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Alex, and presented them with the necessary paperwork.

  There was more delay, then, while the couple went back aboard the yacht to pack and collect their things. Then, as they were being made comfortable in the secure zone, the starseeker was put onto autopilot course to take it out of the shipping route. Once they were a safe distance away, Alex called the ship to action stations. It took only one scatter missile to destroy the little yacht, with the usual bright flare and a cheer from the crew.

  Then, as they settled back into their patrolling route a few minutes later, Shion came gliding up the zero-gee ladderway into the command deck, rising through the hatchway with a pudding pot in one hand and a spoon in the other. As Alex gazed at her, she used the spoon first to point at the pudding and then at him. Then, without saying a word, she glided back down again.

  Alex cracked up laughing, and as the incident was replayed by the crew, so did they.

  They didn’t have their passengers for long. One of the reasons they’d joined the route at this point was to test the accuracy of the dead reckoner, and for that, they were hoping to meet one of the liners that plied this route. It was a very busy route for liners – Chartsey had the highest population of any world in the League and Canelon was the League’s top cruise destination. Both White Star and Red Line ran daily departures from both worlds, and there were quite a number of smaller operators, too, mostly running budget cruises on old liners jazzed up with flashy colour schemes.

  It was one of these the Heron came up with later that day, on its way to Canelon. The rescued couple were given a choice – they would, after all, very likely encounter a White Star liner in just a couple of hours, and failing that, at least one of the big company liners the following day. The couple declared themselves perfectly happy to go aboard the Pride of Chartsey, though. Even its cupboard sized cabins and cafe-style dining would be infinitely preferable to travel on the yacht. And, though they were far too polite to say so, they were keen to get off the Fourth’s ship, too. There didn’t appear to be any particular anti-Fourth feeling in that, just discomfort at being in a military environment. The Pride of Chartsey, at any rate, expressed themselves willing and able to take the couple aboard into emergency quarters, so they were seen off the ship, thanking them, as they went.

  ‘Chances of them suing us, when they get back from their holiday?’ Buzz queried, as they waited for their shuttle to return.

  Alex grinned. ‘I wouldn’t give you any odds at all,’ he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two weeks later, the Heron arrived at ISiS Penrys. It had been a routine patrol, no life or death rescues, just some tech assist provided to freighters and another couple of yachts. The main feature of the patrol, indeed, had been the generosity of the liners they were meeting every few hours. It was customary for liners to offer gift boxes to Fleet ships, just as they and the Fleet provided them for freighters. It would be considered rude to refuse such an offer, though there was one day when Buzz came close to begging for mercy.

  ‘We’ve already had breakfast sent over from the Canelon Princess,’ he told the exec of a liner, ‘which had enough food in itself to feed us all for all day, then the Rose Star sent us three hundred doughnuts and pastries for a light mid morning snack, the Eglan Rapide sent us a three course lunch and the Queen of Atara sent us a hamper of desserts. We’re groaning, over here, stuffed to the gills.’

  The other exec, however, just grinned. ‘Orders from the top,’ she told him. ‘Any encounters with the Heron, we’re to treat you like kings.’

  That was understandable, if for no other reason than that the Fourth had done so much for the liner companies themselves. As concern had mounted over piracy and drug trafficking at Karadon, the cruise market had fallen off to the point where liners might be less than half full. Now that it was understood that the Fourth had sorted that out and that the station was under new management, business was booming again. Alex’s own orders in this, from Dix Harangay personally, were to accept such gifts in the spirit they were given, in the interests of promoting good working relationships between the Fleet and liner companies.

  So they had, in the last two weeks, eaten like kings. So much so, indeed, that Rangi was starting to make noises about certain members of the crew needing to exercise more. One of them had acquired a new nickname, too, as A/S Plaz ‘Dozy’ Turlen had been discovered to have actually fallen asleep, stuffed with rich food, during a turnaround drill.

  They had also said goodbye to Chantal and Tass, a couple of days into the patrol. The first liners they met heading for Chartsey could not offer any more than cramped, emergency accommodation, which Chantal had declined. There was no urgency about this, after all, and she was happy to wait for a liner which could offer decent quarters. This turned out to be the Crimson Queen, able to offer them standard class cabins with use of the first class facilities.

  Tass was crying as she left, and Alex for one was indebted to Chantal for getting her off the ship with brisk common sense. Tass had been an entertaining passenger at first, but the Heron’s crew were of the opinion that the sooner she went back to Chartsey the better, for her sake, to get back to normal with a healthy dose of reality.

  The rest of their passengers would be leaving them at Penrys, though it seemed strange, now, to even think of them as passengers. Kate, Gunny and the Devast team had become so deeply integrated that it would be like saying goodbye to members of the crew.

  They were all packed, though, and ready to leave, as the ship approached Penrys. They’d have a few days aboard the station, and would then be heading back to Therik aboard a liner, passing through Karadon en route.

  Alex saw them off the ship, himself, shaking hands with each of them and exchanging a few friendly words.

  ‘See you again, skipper,’ Kate said, and it sounded like a promise.

  ‘I hope so,’ Alex said, and meant that, too.

  The departure of the Second’s team, however, was only one of the many demands on Alex’s time, right then. The president’s ship was not here yet, not expected till the following day, so Terese would be staying with them one more night. She was already being drawn back into her normal life, though – no longer in Fourth’s uniform, but back in a smart business suit as she recorded messages and took calls.

  Alex had quite a lot of incoming calls to deal with, himself. ISiS Penrys might only be half the size of Karadon, but they were determined not to be outdone by the flagship station. They too had orders to treat the Fourth like visiting royalty. They were offering everything from free supplies to complimentary shoreleave passes for the crew. Their director was also very keen to have some kind of ceremony acknowledging the Fourth’s unique right of freedom of the ISiS.

  Alex, again, was under orders to foster good working relationships with ISiS Corps, so not really in a position to refuse. The media, though a much smaller contingent at Penrys, were also blasting demand at them for press conf
erence, or at least some kind of statement in response to their many questions. It was less than ten minutes after their arrival that the first scandal broke about them, too. There was a small but dedicated group of Liberty League activists waiting at the station, not just for the Fourth but for Tass Curlow. When they were told that Tass had boarded a liner and was on her way to Chartsey, they ran straight to the media.

  ‘This is deliberate – no question, Tass Curlow has been got out of the way before she could tell us what’s been happening aboard that ship.’ Their spokesperson declared, fiercely. ‘All we have is a note from her – allegedly from her – telling us that she’s sorry but that she’s being made to leave the ship. Who knows what’s really happened, what pressure has been put on her, even what threats, silencing her.’

  The journalist interviewing them, however, turned out to be unexpectedly sensible.

  ‘But they allowed her on their ship in the first place,’ she pointed out. ‘Knowing that she is an activist for Liberty League. Why would they even do that, if they had anything to hide?’

  The Liberty League group stared at her with scorn.

  ‘To make people think they don’t have anything to hide, obviously!’ Said one, an earnest youth with hair so heavily waxed that it was like a plastic helmet. ‘Only she saw more than they were expecting, saw through their lies, so they’ve had to shut her up.’

  They took no notice of that on the Heron, as they were too busy. Some of them were busy talking to the spacers aboard other ships in port. There weren’t many freighters here. Penrys was not a major cargo transit hub, since most ships preferred to head on to Canelon itself. One of the reasons for that was undoubtedly the twee style of the station. Even from the outside, it was apparent that this was a very different kind of critter to the mighty Karadon. It had turrets, fairy-tale castle style turrets with lots of glittering lights. You would, Alex had told Shion, be hard put to find any venue on the station that did not either have ‘Ye Olde’ in the name or staff dressed in romanticised Dark Age costume. It was more like a theme park than a serious space station, just not somewhere many spacers wanted to be seen.