“Communications, inform Earth that we will depart in” - she glanced at the timer - “five minutes, then copy our primary datacore to Nelson Base,” she ordered. The sealed message she’d prepared would be included in the dump, but it wouldn't go any further unless she was declared dead or missing. “And then make one final check with our escorts.”
She sensed, more than heard, the captain stirring beside her, but he said nothing. Vanguard didn't need an escort - the idea was absurd, given that she was the most powerful ship in space - yet she would have one until the war games were completed. It made sense to travel in convoy, she supposed. She hadn't been on Warspite for her maiden voyage, but she’d heard stories from the old sweats. Losing power immediately after jumping through a tramline could have killed the entire crew.
“Aye, Commander,” Parkinson said.
Susan nodded to herself. Parkinson wasn't just hyper-competent, judging by his file, but wasted in his current post. There were only a hundred communications officers who could talk to the Tadpoles, all of whom had been assigned to the embassy on Tadpole Prime after completing their training. She honestly wasn't sure why Parkinson had been assigned to Vanguard, unless someone at the Admiralty was anticipating either joint operations or another war. Even if he’d hoped for his own command, one day, it was unlikely the Admiralty would let him. There simply weren't enough officers with his skills.
I must talk to him at some point, she told herself. And make sure he doesn’t resent his position.
“All ships confirm,” Parkinson added, after a moment. “And Nelson Base has sent us a good luck message.”
“Good,” Susan said. If she’d been the commanding officer, she would have been delighted at the simple message. In theory, starship commanders were the masters of their ships but in practice the Admiralty could overrule any commanding officer in the Sol System. And yet, now, they were ready to head out beyond the tramline. “Helm, take us out of orbit and straight for the tramline.”
“Aye, Commander,” Reed said.
Susan felt the battleship quiver beneath her feet, but there was none of the faint sense of acceleration she recalled from her earlier posts. The doctors insisted the crews were imagining it - a compensator accident would kill the entire crew instantly, if the system failed - yet starship crewmen were equally insistent that the sensation was real. But on Vanguard, there was almost nothing. She eyed the console, half-convinced they weren't moving at all; it insisted the battleship was departing orbit and heading directly for the tramline. Maybe there was something different about the drives ...
Or maybe the ship’s too large to produce the sensation, she thought. She’d experienced it on a fleet carrier, but no carrier - not even the legendary Ark Royal - was anything like as solid as Vanguard. It could be spread through the hull ...
“Picking up speed now, Commander,” Reed reported. “Tramline ETA: five hours, forty minutes.”
“Understood,” Susan said. Vanguard was fast, but she needed to build up her speed gradually. A smaller ship had a very good chance of making an escape before the battleship caught up with her. “And our escorts?”
“Matching course and speed,” Mason reported. He sounded oddly concerned. “Commander, a courier boat left orbit five minutes after our departure, heading for the tramline. She’s matching our course and speed.”
Susan glanced at Captain Blake? Coincidence? It wasn't as if the Admiralty could ban courier boats leaving orbit, even if the latest battleship was also leaving orbit. But a courier boat should have been easily able to outpace Vanguard, reaching the tramline well before the battleship. Matching course and speed was odd, to say the least.
She looked back at the display. “Do you have an ID on the boat?”
“She’s civilian, Commander,” Mason said. “British-flagged, but civilian.”
“Spies,” Captain Blake said. “Is she within active sensor range?”
Mason hesitated. Susan cursed under her breath. Was Captain Blake resuming command? If so, he should say so. It was confusing now ... and, if all hell broke loose, it might well be lethal. They couldn't afford a disagreement over who was in command of the battleship if energy starships appeared and opened fire.
“She’s not using active sensors, sir,” Mason said, finally. “I don’t think she’ll be able to pull much from our hull.”
Susan studied the display, thinking hard. The media? No one outside the Admiralty, as far as she knew, had any reason to suspect that anything had gone wrong on Vanguard. There had been no alert issued for Commander Bothell, no suggestion that he might have deserted ... there was no reason for the media to be taking an interest. Or maybe there was. The battleship was going to take part in war games, after all. The media might be interested in seeing just what the Admiralty had done with the billions of pounds invested into shipbuilding by Parliament.
Captain Blake leaned forward. “Is she within weapons range?”
Susan stared. Was Blake mad?
“She’s within missile range,” Mason said, carefully. Susan couldn't help thinking he sounded nervous. Firing on hostile ships was one thing, but firing on a civilian courier boat - a British civilian courier boat - was insane! “I don’t know what ECM countermeasures or point defence she’s carrying. Hitting her might be tricky.”
“I see,” Captain Blake said.
Susan tensed. She couldn’t allow the captain to fire on a civilian craft, not even if there was good reason to suspect it was carrying spies - or the media. It would be a black eye the navy would never recover from, tainting the career of everyone on the ship. She’d be lucky not to be hung if she allowed him to open fire. Relieving the captain of command would probably cost her everything - it would certainly be the end of her career - but it was preferable to allowing him to kill a handful of civilians ...
“Keep a sharp eye on her,” Captain Blake ordered. “If she comes closer, ready a marine boarding party. She shouldn't be dogging our heels.”
“Aye, sir,” Mason said.
Captain Blake rose. “Commander, you have the bridge,” he said. “Inform me ten minutes before we jump through the tramline.”
“Aye, sir,” Susan said.
She kept her face expressionless as the captain strode off the bridge, despite the sweat trickling down her back. Who’d been in command? If they’d come under attack ...
And, just for a moment, you were convinced he was going to fire on a civilian ship, she thought, as she settled into the command chair. Would Paul have opened fire on his command?
It wasn't a pleasant thought. Mason had clearly been shocked, but orders were orders ... and yet, firing on a civilian craft could easily get him in deep shit. There were illegal orders, after all, and blowing the courier boat out of space probably counted. And yet, what could she do about it? Anything she did could easily be construed as mutiny. It was a nightmare. She wanted to believe the captain had just been testing his crew, but it was impossible to convince herself that that was the truth. For a moment, the captain had teetered on the brink of ordering an atrocity.
And there’s no way to prove it, either, she thought. If I took it to the Admiralty, his connections would be enough to get any charges dismissed.
She cursed under her breath. All she could do was watch, wait ... and pray that she could stop him before he went too far.
***
“I can't see anything,” George complained. “There’s nothing there.”
Fraser laughed, unkindly. “You’ve been watching too much Stellar Star,” he said. “The tramlines are not visible to the naked eye. Much like Stellar’s clothing.”
George felt her cheeks redden as she stared out of the observation blister. Fraser had told Nathan and her that their presence wasn't desired on the bridge, but - after much angry grumbling - he’d reorganised their training rotas so they could be in the observation blister during transit. She would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t spent half the time telling them just how many favours he’d had to ca
ll in to get them half an hour of free time.
She grunted as Fraser elbowed her in the back. “Did you watch the movies?”
“The naval personages in my family used to roar with mad laughter every time they came on, sir,” she said, without looking back. “They thought they were hilarious.”
Fraser snorted. “Even Stellar Star VII: The Republic Kicks Arse?”
George shrugged. “My parents never let me watch that one.”
“I’ll have it shown when we have a moment,” Fraser said. “Really, that girl gets around the navy. She has a dozen aristocratic titles, five separate starships under her command ...”
“And she’s a champion Olympic diver too,” Nathan put in. “The scene where she jumps fifty miles down to the water ...”
“Would probably not be survivable,” George said. She’d done some diving in school, but the idea of falling over fifty miles before hitting the water ... it was absurd. “And how much of her clothing did she lose along the way?”
“All of it,” Nathan said.
George rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
Fraser cleared his throat. “You might want to watch carefully,” he said. “We’re about to jump.”
“Thank you, sir,” George said.
She stared out into the darkness. The stars burned constantly - there was no atmosphere in space to produce the twinkling effect - but they seemed to be fighting desperately to push back the shadows. There was a religion, she recalled, that believed the darkness between the stars belonged to the devil, while the suns belonged to God. The adherents prayed nightly for the light to drive back the darkness ... and claimed that the prevalence of darkness was caused by human sins ...
“Ten seconds,” Fraser said. “Nine ... eight ...”
George tensed, feeling a hint of nervousness. It would be her first jump ... what if something went wrong? The Puller Drive rarely failed, but when it did the results were spectacular. In five seconds, she’d be in another star system - or dead. She braced herself ...
... And a faint sensation of ... something ... washed through the ship.
“I saw nothing,” she complained. She'd expected the stars to blink out, then return. “I ...”
“Some of the stars are in a different position,” Fraser pointed out dryly, as she turned to face him. He smirked. “Welcome to Terra Nova, homeworld of idiots, morons and lunatics who hate everyone from Britain, particularly government officials. The greatest export is sane people who want to live somewhere - anywhere - else; the greatest import is guns and ammunition. It is, in short, a shithole.”
Nathan frowned. “Are we going to be landing there?”
“I rather doubt it,” Fraser said. “Didn't you hear the part about them hating everyone from Britain? If you go to the surface, you’ll be cut into tiny pieces and shipped around the globe.”
“Yuck,” George said.
“Quite,” Fraser agreed. His smile turned into a leer. “And, now you’ve made your first jump, it’s time to welcome you formally to the crew. Your initiation starts this evening.”
“Oh,” Nathan said.
They shared a look. Fraser had been dropping increasingly unpleasant hints over what was lying in store for them over the last four days, ranging from suggestions that they should bring clean underwear to make sure they were wearing bulletproof clothing. George was sure he was exaggerating, but she wasn't looking forward to the coming ordeal.
And yet, she was damned if she was letting him win.
“We’ll be there,” she said.
Chapter Nine
“You know,” Mason said. “I really thought he’d do it.”
Susan nodded, tightly. It had taken some finagling to find a time when Mason and she could talk in private - he was the second officer, after all, and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk leaving the captain on the bridge - but she’d had no choice. She couldn't keep the whole affair to herself or she’d go mad. Or, for that matter, do something stupid. It was just possible she was on the verge of making a terrible mistake.
“I thought he’d do it too,” she confessed, as she poured them both mugs of coffee. It hadn't taken her long to locate the still - there was one on every ship, producing alcohol of dubious taste and worse quality - but she’d resisted the urge to take some of the booze for herself. “I thought I’d have to relieve him on the spot.”
“It would have been easy to prove you had a right to relieve him,” Mason pointed out. He took one of the mugs and nodded his thanks. “Everything on the bridge is recorded.”
“That wouldn’t have saved my career,” Susan said. She took a chair and sipped her coffee, grimacing slightly at the taste. No one would award her points for coffee-making, whatever else she did. “What’s wrong with him?”
It wasn't a question she dared ask anyone else. Hell, if she hadn't known Paul Mason at the academy, she wouldn't have dared ask him either. But he was the only person she thought she could trust on Vanguard; certainly, he was the only person she knew personally. And besides, he’d served under Captain Blake for longer than anyone else, with the exception of some of the senior crewmen.
And Commander Bothell, she thought. But I’m starting to think I know why he deserted.
“Well, we did spend our time watching dirty movies together,” Mason said. “He has a dark sense of humour in private.”
Susan quirked an eyebrow. “And the truth?”
Mason shrugged. “I don’t know him, outside of the moments we meet on the bridge,” Mason said. “There were a handful of formal dinners, but otherwise Commander Bothell handled everything - and I mean everything. I think he was captain in all but name.”
“I’m starting to think you’re right,” Susan said. “But it makes no sense.”
She’d downloaded a copy of the captain’s file while she’d been on Earth, although she hadn’t had a chance to read it until she’d settled into her new post. Captain Sir Thomas Blake had a honourable record; his connections were among the best she’d seen, but he’d definitely acquitted himself well. He’d served in the war, surviving several battles with the Tadpoles, and then commanded a ship during the brief Anglo-Indian War three years later. It was a surprise that he hadn't been pushed up to Commodore or Admiral, yet it wasn't uncommon for commanding officers to resist promotion if they thought they could get away with it. A starship command was far more exciting for a dedicated officer than a desk job, even if the desk job came with considerably greater authority.
And Commander Bothell was with him for over a decade, she mused. What were they doing together?
Mason snickered, suddenly. “Do you think he’s been replaced, somehow? A robot? Or an enemy spy?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching too many bad movies,” she said. “How could a robot have passed through the medical screening? Or an imposter duplicate the captain’s DNA?”
“Maybe the captain didn't report for his routine exam,” Mason said. “And if someone could get a spy into a ship, surely they could replace the DNA records on file too.”
“If they have that sort of penetration they’ve already won,” Susan pointed out. And yet, there was something about the idea that refused to die. Commander Bothell might have been the only person close enough to Captain Blake to recognise a replacement. What if someone had replaced the captain with an imposter? “They wouldn’t need to replace the captain.”
“It wouldn't be easy to replace someone more senior than a starship commander,” Mason said, smoothly. “The Admiralty runs regular security checks.”
Susan shook her head. Even if someone could duplicate the captain, right down to his fingerprints and DNA code, far too many things could go wrong. The command implants lodged within the captain’s hand would have to be removed and reprogrammed, particularly after the incident on Ark Royal. Susan didn’t know precisely what had happened, but it had to have been serious. New security measures had been introduced in record time. Hell, coming to think of it, th
e captain’s DNA would be checked against his relatives. Alarms would sound when it was clear there was no match.
“I think you have a great career ahead of you as a low-grade movie producer,” she said, finally. “But this is reality.”
Mason looked disappointed. “Reality is boring.”
“You’re on a starship travelling through another star system, en route to war games with our cousins,” Susan said. “What’s boring about it?”
She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “The captain’s file makes him out to be an experienced officer, yet the man we saw on the bridge was hardly experienced. He shouldn't have been promoted above midshipman, if that.”
“His connections are very good,” Mason pointed out. “Someone could have covered for him.”
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