XD:317 (Fourth Fleet Irregulars)

by S J MacDonald

  ‘It has to be some kind of stasis field,’ Morry said, not for the first time. He was a keen exponent of the stasis-field theory. Other ideas included energy-mirrors, force-beams and space-time vortices. Since their scanners and sensors never recorded anything but white noise during turnarounds, though, all they could do was theorise.

  Theorise, and wait.

  Week two passed more slowly. Nobody was waking up at nights looking at scopes any more. Optimism was slowly draining away as days passed and nothing happened.

  By the end of week three people were starting to have conversations about how long they would be doing this before they accepted that the Gideans didn’t want to answer.

  In the middle of week four, the coffee ran out.

  That was not a good day. Alex tried to make it as positive as possible. He’d kept a stash from his own personal coffee supplies and shared it with the crew in a coffee party on the day when their pooled supplies were coming to an end. People tried to be cheerful and philosophical about it, telling one another that it was not a big deal, only coffee after all, and they still had coffee, just not the good stuff.

  Even Alex, though, when he was handed his first mug of Fleet issue coffee, didn’t even try to pretend that it was just as good. It wasn’t as good, or anything like it. It had a vague coffee taste, but it was hardly any kind of rich full bodied flavour – a thin, bitter brew, with a powdery residue left at the bottom of the mug.

  ‘Well,’ he said, having drunk some, ‘we signed up to venture upon the perils and hazards of space.’

  The highlight of week five was when they experienced their thousandth turnaround, an event marked with an issue of chocolate. At the end of the week, the officers gathered on the command deck for the operational review meeting.

  The progress data on the ops board stood at day forty one, with eight twenty five hour days in a standard League week. They were meeting in the morning break, ten bumps done today already, so the total number of turnaround events on the board was standing at one thousand, one hundred and thirty.

  The physical health of the crew remained unaffected, Rangi reported. The ship, too, was showing no signs of any stress or damage from the repeated turnarounds. They hadn’t had so much as a popped light.

  ‘Sufficient food supplies for eleven more weeks, sir,’ Sugar Sugorne reported, when it came to his turn. They all knew that anyway, just as they already knew the other information officers were reporting to the meeting. It was a matter of good practice, though, to ensure that everyone was kept informed about progress, officially.

  ‘Thank you,’ Alex said. They all knew to the day when they would have to leave if they were to get back to Novamas before their regular food supplies ran out. There was still a question, though, over whether the skipper might decide to hang in here even after that, breaking out the E-rations all Fleet ships carried. That would be even worse than the coffee. No more fresh-baked crusty rolls and tasty options on the menu – they’d be reduced to dehydrated emergency rations, all of them variations on the theme of chemical-tasting mush. Crew who would have said, a month ago, that they’d willingly live off E-rations for a year if it would give them the chance of making first contact were now making dubious noises about it. Morale was falling, Alex knew that. Pessimism was creeping in, and people were starting to talk, now, about going back to Novamas, no more excited speculation about what might happen if the Gideans appeared. ‘So – any other issues or concerns?’ Alex asked.

  Arie McKenna raised her hand. It was apparent from the way the other Subs looked at her that this was something they’d been discussing amongst themselves, and Arie, as usual, had been chosen to raise it at the briefing.

  ‘Just a suggestion, sir,’ she said. ‘We’ve noticed that morale is falling a little, particularly during the ten minutes or so between bumps, so we were wondering if crew might be given permission to read or watch holovision between the end of post-bump checks and the sounding of the next bump alert.’

  Alex looked at Buzz and Martine for their reactions. Both were grinning, though Martine was shaking her head.

  ‘We are on alert,’ Buzz pointed out. ‘There is just no provision whatsoever in any Fleet procedure I’m aware of for a ship at action stations to allow recreational reading or viewing.’

  ‘Yes sir, understood,’ Arie grinned back, knowing very well how radical a suggestion it was. ‘But with respect, sir, the T-procedure as developed for this mission is in itself unique, quite distinct from regular action stations in several important ways. We – I – feel that it would not diminish operational performance in any way if the period between the end of post-bump checks and the sounding of the next bump-alert was redefined as a ‘stand-by’ condition in which recreational reading or viewing might be permitted.’

  ‘Hmmmn,’ said Buzz, and looked at Martine, too, since she was their Internal Affairs officer and responsible for advising them on keeping to Fleet procedure.

  ‘Hmmn,’ said Martine, and shook her head again, wondering. ‘Does it strike anyone else,’ she queried, ‘as utterly bizarre that we are having a discussion here about becoming bored with being knocked unconscious twenty eight times a day by unknown alien technology?’

  They laughed.

  ‘I think that’s a good thing, personally,’ Rangi observed. ‘We were all so well prepared for this, professionally and psychologically, that we’ve internalised it as our ‘new normal’. Which is good, you know, nobody’s freaking out. But Arie’s right, those ten minutes just hanging around with nothing to do does get boring. I think it would be good to have something, like, some music on or something.’

  ‘Well, I don’t see an issue with that, regulation wise, if it is defined as a stand-by period,’ Martine said. They all looked at Buzz.

  ‘I’d rather it wasn’t individual leisure access,’ Buzz said, considering. ‘I think it is important for us to maintain focus across the whole of a turnaround set, and if people are all just reading or watching movies and things individually, that will scatter focus, lose the sense of whole-ship united participation. I’d have no problem with something like music being played or perhaps something like a cartoon shown on comms in the standby down-time.’

  They all looked at Alex, who nodded.

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave that to the junior officer of the watch to organise.’ He looked at the Subs, who were beaming delightedly at having their suggestion accepted. ‘Ring the changes,’ he requested.

  The Subs did just that. Morale perked up noticeably as those dull minutes of waiting became unpredictable and entertaining. Each of the Subs did their own thing – Sugar Sugorne played DJ, hamming it up with a comic babble and taking requests for music to be played. Other subs put on cartoons, ran quizzes, or read aloud from books.

  In between bump sessions, though, conversation was still about going back to Novamas, and even about going home. They would be going straight from Novamas back to Therik. They’d all be due long leave there, after such extensive operations. By the time they got back, in fact, their leave entitlement would have stacked up to a good two months off. There would be time for those of them with families at the base to spend time with them, time to take trips on Therik and have a good long rest before heading out on whatever mission the Admiralty might have lined up for them next.

  They were already, Alex noted, talking about this mission as if it was over. He found himself doing that too. He hadn’t given up on the hope of making first contact, but he knew, realistically, that the chances of that had never been high. And there was, between intervals of hurling themselves into the Firewall, plenty of time to look back and think about how things had gone.

  He and Buzz did that one day, over lunch in Alex’s cabin. They played ‘positive and negative’, a habit of theirs when evaluating how missions had gone. The toss of a coin at the start of lunch had given Alex the negative role, as they talked through the tasks they’d undertaken on this mission.

  ‘Safe, nurturing e
nvironment provided for first contact visitor, relationship developed into firm bonds of trust and friendship, significant exo-information obtained.’ Buzz observed, in the telegraphic checklist style they tended to use in this role-play review.

  ‘First contact visitor who we were supposed to facilitate assuming a major diplomatic role shanghaied into working as a pilot instructor,’ said Alex. He had no difficulty playing the negative side, here. All he had to do was imagine what Third Lord Cerdan Jennar would say.

  ‘I win,’ said Buzz, scoring a mark in the air. ‘One to me. So – Karadon. Legal foothold established with the official granting of freedom of all ISiS to Fourth’s personnel. Relationship with Customs improved. Relationships with ISiS Corps and merchant spacer community consolidated.’

  ‘Total failure of efforts to mentor Harry Alington into role for successful intelligence gathering,’ Alex pointed out. ‘Resulting in public embarrassment for the Fleet, failure to obtain intelligence that could have prevented lethal drugs reaching our worlds, and the need to send in a high-resource destroyer to take over. Three significant security failures for which we had to turn to the LIA and Diplomatic Corps to bail us out. LIA now convinced that we are idiots.’ He gave Buzz a speaking look. ‘One to me, I believe.’

  ‘Well, yes, okay, I grant you that,’ Buzz conceded. ‘Though in all honesty I don’t see that we could have done any more. And I should point out too that we were not tasked to Karadon to sort out Harry Alington. That was his operation and his responsibility, his failure, not ours. Anyway – R&D. Superb new astrogation system trialled successfully. Positive steps in food production trials.’

  ‘4.3 million dollar missile test failed,’ Alex pointed out.

  ‘Well, we got a lot of live-fire training out of it,’ said Buzz. Alex looked at him without speaking and Buzz laughed. ‘All right, let’s call that one a draw. Patrol duties, though, I definitely win. Assistance rendered to forty six ships signalling distress, including two lives saved at miraculous odds.’

  ‘Very expensive frigate resource wasted responding to thirty four utterly stupid starseeker distress calls,’ Alex said, being just as negative as he could be, but then grinning. ‘Okay, yours. Novamas, though, that’s mine.’

  Buzz looked genuinely startled.

  ‘How d’you work that out?’ he queried.

  ‘Well, you know, total mishandling of a conflict that ended up with me in a brig cell and the port admiral in sickbay,’ Alex pointed out, ‘major embarrassment, official enquiry, very probably the ignominious end to a flag officer’s career, deeply unpleasant morale sapping gossip throughout the Fleet and me, now, lumbered with a reputation for driving people into mental breakdown.’

  ‘Embarrassment, enquiry and ignominious end to a flag officer’s career, I grant you,’ Buzz allowed. ‘But those are his doing, Alex, not yours. Okay, yes, conceivably, if you had better idiot-handling skills you might have managed to brush through it without it reaching crisis point. But the thought occurs, dear boy, why you, a frigate skipper, should feel in any way responsible for not having managed the conduct of an admiral more effectively? It is, I should point out, supposed to be the admiral who guides and manages you. His conduct was wholly unprofessional right from the outset, refusing salute, refusing the assistance he was duty-bound and under orders to give us, trying to take our officers and, ultimately, arresting you on grounds that anyone could see would not stand up to ten minutes’ investigation. All the professional failure and disgrace is on his side there, dear boy, not yours. And I do also believe that Call Alladyce’s quick thinking hints to the media that he has a drinking problem will be picked up by the Fleet as well, so you won’t have people thinking that you drove a port admiral to stress-induced collapse.

  ‘And, far more importantly than that, you have the huge achievements...’ he ticked off on his fingers, ‘Safe parking orbit for freighters, check. Curse lifted from planet, check. Probability of significant increase in freight to a world that is falling behind in development, check. Long standing conflict over the claims of piracy and constant demands for more warships, resolved, dialogue opened between locals and diplomats, check. That world has benefited from our operations, Alex, significantly. That’s, you know, a world, nearly a billion people, better off because of the work we did there. I score that pretty highly on the positive side, myself.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Alex said. ‘But it is very early days yet, Buzz. There are no instant fixes to problems that big, there just aren’t. For that to come off, for Novamas to really see continuing benefit from increased shipping, depends on just so many factors – if they keep the parking orbit we established, if they really do put real effort into encouraging ships there and making them genuinely welcome, if there are no incidents perceived by spacers as ‘the curse’ being back and if spacers find it worth their while to go there, then we may see benefits from increased shipping over the next five, ten, twenty years and beyond. And in terms of dialogue, yes, okay, their current president is now talking to the ambassador with a better relationship than they had before. But they have system elections due in two years and every likelihood that you’re looking at a new president being sat down and given the whisky file, the diplomats having to start all over again with the explaining and relationship building. I think, myself, that it is too early to score that as a definite win. It may have moved the ball in the right direction, but I wouldn’t call it goal scored.’

  ‘Well, I still think it is,’ Buzz said, ‘but by the rules, okay, we can’t agree, so that’s a draw. Score stands at 3 to me, 2 to you. So – XD-317.’ He grinned. ‘Mine, I believe. New route opened to Tolmer’s and freighters diverted from going there, vastly reducing the incidence of ships that will be buzzing the Gidean border. I call that a win, even if we don’t succeed in making contact.’

  ‘Forty seven days spent banging our heads against the Firewall, with no idea even if they can see us or not,’ Alex observed. ‘And with every probability that we are making total fools of ourselves. But we can’t call this one, yet – I won’t call it, Buzz. Not till we’ve made every possible effort.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Buzz agreed. ‘We’ll call that one ‘ball in the air’. But...’ he gave the skipper an enquiring look, ‘you’re doubting yourself on this?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Alex said. ‘Obviously, who wouldn’t? These are my decisions, after all. I wonder constantly whether I’ve made the right call in coming out here, rather than staying near Tolmer’s where we know they’re aware of ships brushing near the Firewall. I know, we all agreed that it was better to isolate the ship so that our signal would stand out and not be confused with any other ships they might pick up, but it was my call, and what if it was the wrong one? The mathematical signal, too, using prime and square numbers – it seemed the best idea, at the time, on the assumption that those are universal constants that would be recognised by any intelligent species, but what if it’s just meaningless to them, or not being detected at all, or being detected and downright annoying? I have this low level but constant dread that a Solaran ship may turn up here at any moment and ask us to please stop playing rat-a-tat on the Firewall because it is driving the Gideans nuts. And if any nuisance or offence is being caused, of course, that’s all on me. I’m also looking at the crew, too, every day, every time we do this, knowing there is always some unknown degree of risk, and I am responsible for their safety. We know that unmanned probes just get blitzed, of course, but I wonder every day whether it might have been a better option, easier for us and perhaps every bit as visible, to hold the ship back from the Firewall and do the bumps with volunteer teams on a shuttle.’

  That had been an option they’d discussed – the key issue there was whether a shuttle would be as visible to the Gideans as the frigate would be, whether it would sound the same kind of alert, their side. The Solarans were entirely unhelpful on that point. When they’d been asked about that, many decades before, they had replied, gnomically, ‘Some ripples may be loud,
some may be slow.’ Further questioning had got the response, ‘Please, it is not something we can discuss, the discussion is ended.’

  On balance, there was a feeling that the larger mass of a frigate might make a bigger signal on whatever sensors were monitoring the Firewall. They didn’t know what might happen, either, if the Gideans did respond. Alex didn’t want to send people off in shuttles with no idea what might happen to them, it just wasn’t an order he was willing to give. So they were all in it together, bouncing off the Firewall in the mathematical sequence that Alex had decided on.

  ‘So yes, of course,’ the skipper said, matter of factly, ‘I doubt myself, question the decisions that I’ve made, worry that I’m messing this up. And the temptation is there, every day, to give up on this and try something different – head off somewhere else, try a different pattern. I think perhaps that I might give the crew a break, just take the first contact team, myself, and bounce a shuttle for a day or two, in case it is the fact that we’re a warship that’s keeping them away. I review all the decisions that I’ve made, constantly. And you show me a skipper who wouldn’t, in these circumstances.’

  That made Buzz laugh. ‘I would not,’ he confessed, ‘want to be in your shoes, Alex, not for a million dollars. Hard enough being in command when you have clear and specific operational orders to follow. ‘Act on your own initiative and on your own head be it’ is just a terrifying level of responsibility.’

  Alex grinned. ‘If you’re asking if I’m stressed, Buzz, no, honestly not,’ he assured him. ‘Concerned, yes. Second-guessing myself, yes. Feeling the responsibility, yes. But stressed or terrified, no. The way I see it, sending the Fourth out here is something nobody expects us to succeed in but still, considered worth a go. We were told to use our own initiative here, with that decision vested in me, quite frankly because nobody has a clue what to do anyway. The diplomats are already doing all the orthodox things, after all. So we’re the wild roll of the dice, here. All I can do, in that, is figure the odds to the best of my ability, throw the dice, and see how it falls. If it does turn out that we’ve caused nuisance or offence, my fault, so be it. If it turns out that we’ve been anticking around here making utter twits of ourselves because they can’t see us anyway, well, that’s life. If it turns out that they can see us but have decided they’re not ready to make contact with us, that is a decision we just have to respect. But all of that is worth risking, more than worth risking, for that one golden chance that they will see us and respond. One look, Buzz. That’s all I want. I’m not expecting them to turn up and talk to us. I know that’s not how it goes, and all we’re trying to do is deliver an invitation for them to go meet with the diplomats, anyway. But to see one of their ships, even for a moment, to know that they’ve picked up our first-contact greeting, that would be ...’ he shook his head, not enough words to convey how magical that would be. ‘I would stay out here, banging away at the Firewall till we were down to eating boiled deck shoes, if I thought that would give us a chance. And if we are lucky enough to see them, even in a glimpse, you can score as many points on the positive for XD-317 as you like – ten, ten thousand, a million.’