It was, therefore, with mutual relief that the Minnow saluted and glided out of the squadron. There was a sense almost of liberation as the Minnow slipped into its new parking place.
None of the rows flaring around them had demoralised the Minnow’s crew. They might be bewildered, indignant, and amazed by the things that were being said about them but not one of them had quailed under it, not one had asked for a transfer. If anything, their commitment to the project had been strengthened, as had their sense of identity and pride in their ship. They had even asked whether they might have their own uniform now that they were an Irregular unit. For now, though, they were still wearing standard Fleet rig with no change to either their own insignia or that displayed by the ship. Within a few minutes, they were settling down cheerfully to the normal Fleet routines of preparing for launch.
Just over ten minutes later, a Fleet shuttle came through the swarm of media and other system craft that were nudging at the exclusion zone. As it approached, it signalled that it was bringing a passenger for them, which came as no surprise. Alex had been sent a message overnight informing him that the LPA had accepted his invitation to send an inspector aboard. They would be coming aboard at some point that morning and accompanying them on patrol. The officers and crew had already been informed of that. There was a general feeling that that would be a good idea, if only to be able to show those idiots campaigning against them that their concerns were groundless.
Buzz Burroughs, Minnow’s Executive Officer, went to the airlock to welcome the inspector aboard.
People who didn’t know otherwise often assumed that Buzz Burroughs had been inflicted on Alex von Strada. Many people thought that since Alex was the youngest skipper appointed to ship command in the last century, some wit at the Fleet had given him one of the oldest serving officers of the last century as his second in command to even up the balance. Buzz was pushing seventy, past the age at which the Fleet would normally allow officers to serve aboard ship. In fact, Alex had asked for him. Buzz had been a formative influence in his own time as a junior officer and Alex was of the view that he was the finest Exec in the Fleet.
Alex himself was on the command deck, doing deskwork there as he preferred to rather than working in the claustrophobic environment of his cabin. Not that the command deck was particularly spacious, either. Minnow was a three and a half deck ship, just forty three metres from nose to stern. There was a four-station datatable occupying most of the central space on the command deck, with densely packed consoles and readouts all around. It was also a through-route, with people coming and going to the comms or computer room for’ard, or up to the hold. There was the usual background noise of many voices overlaying a lot of active tech, but Alex could still hear the conversation taking place at the main airlock.
‘League Prisons Authority, Inspector Mako Ireson.’ The voice was professional, assured, but with just a trace of underlying anxiety. ‘I believe you are expecting me?’
‘Yes, indeed – welcome aboard, Mr Ireson.’ Buzz greeted him warmly as the airlock thunked closed. ‘I’m Buzz Burroughs, executive officer… is this all your luggage?’
‘Yes – I’ve brought all the things on the list the Fleet sent. No hard soled shoes or anything they said not to bring.’
One of the ratings at stations on the command deck paused in what he was doing and turned his head, a broad grin dawning on his face. The skipper had said that the inspector was unlikely to be an experienced spacer, but both the nature of that comment and the slightly nervous tone of it made it instantly apparent that Inspector Ireson was a groundhog.
‘Thrask.’ Alex’s look as he got the crewman’s attention was mildly reproving, and his slight but pointed nod told him to return his attention to the work he was doing.
‘Sir.’ Able Star Thrask acknowledged, and turned to focus on the diagnostic sweep that he was carrying out, manfully controlling his grin. Back at the airlock, it was evident that Rangi Tekawa had heard the arrival and come out of sickbay, since Buzz was introducing him.
‘This is Dr Tekawa, our ship’s medic and environmental safety officer.’ Buzz explained. ‘He’ll be helping to settle you in and looking after you during your visit.’
‘Hello, hello.’ That was Rangi at his breeziest, as disconcertingly friendly as a very large puppy. ‘Such a pleasure – welcome, welcome. Do call me Rangi.’ Alex did not need to look to see that there would be enthusiastic hand shaking going on, with that.
Dr Rangi Tekawa, aged twenty two, was on his second shipboard placement as ship’s medic. The first one had not gone well, as his previous skipper had requested his transfer and had written NOT SUITED FOR SHIPBOARD SERVICE in infuriated capitals. He had been sent to Minnow in the hope that Alex von Strada might be able to instil in him some notions of military discipline.
Alex, in fact, had not found that necessary. Rangi Tekawa complied willingly with Fleet regulations. He wore uniform when he was supposed to and had responded very well to a request that he wear shoes aboard ship. True, when off duty he could be found going about barefoot, wearing strange hats and attending spiritual healing retreats, but what he did in his own time was his own business as far as Alex was concerned. He did not object to the chandra meditation chanting which had driven Rangi’s previous skipper berserk, or to the exotic smells of the aromatherapy capsules he unleashed about the ship, or to his having transformed sickbay into a holistic healing space. There was nothing in it which violated safety regulations, and Alex was far more inclined to encourage individuality in his crew than to try to crush it.
‘Oh – er, thank you, uh, Dr Tekawa.’ Inspector Ireson sounded a little taken aback, clearly not having expected that kind of reception.
‘We have a bunk for you in sickbay.’ Buzz told him. ‘Or Dr Tekawa is happy to give you the use of his own quarters if you prefer. Take a look at them both and decide, then – you’re very welcome, either way. But do, please, come and meet the skipper. Just through here… this is the command deck.’
Mako Ireson came through the hatchway. He was in his mid fifties, well groomed, and had come aboard ship wearing a smart, managerial-type business suit in the current Chartsey fashion. That meant a straight-cut jacket with lapels and contrast details black against the dark orange of the matt fabric, with straight cut, narrow legged pants, and a bright white tunic-style shirt. He looked as incongruous in that setting as a tropical bird. He was clearly uncomfortable, clutching the civilian sports-grip in which he’d brought his kit and glancing uneasily around at the intimidatingly high tech surroundings. Then he focussed his attention on Alex, surveying him with a very guarded air as Buzz led him the few steps over to the command datatable.
‘Inspector Mako Ireson, sir, of the LPA.’ Buzz introduced him formally, and Alex got to his feet courteously and offered his hand.
‘Welcome aboard, Inspector,’ he could see that the inspector had his ID ready in his hand, and looked as if he had been going to show it. But he adapted well, hastily transferring the ID card to his other hand and shaking hands with the skipper.
‘Thank you, uh…’ he seemed suddenly at a bit of a loss, and enquired, ‘Am I expected to call you sir?’
As everyone on the command deck stopped, turned, and stared at him, Alex did not betray his own hilarity by so much as a twitching muscle.
‘No,’ he assured him. ‘You’re a civilian. My rank is Shipmaster, though it only says that on official documents. ‘Skipper’ is correct.’
‘Ah, right,’ the inspector looked relieved. ‘Thank you, uh, Skipper,’ he glanced around again, this time seeing the faces staring at him, many with expressions of appreciative mirth. ‘Very impressive, this,’ he said, with an evident desire to compliment. Alex gave his crew a look that, whilst calmly impassive, made it very clear to them that he expected nothing but the highest courtesy toward their guest. Many of them were grinning, and A/S Thrask’s shoulders were visibly shaking, but they managed at least not to burst out laughing.
�
��Thank you.’ Alex said, avoiding meeting Buzz Burroughs’s gaze because even his iron self control had its limits. ‘If you would just sign the log, please, Inspector.’
Mako accepted the pen he was offered and signed the screen that the skipper activated for him, confirming that he had read and accepted all the terms and conditions under which the Fleet agreed to his presence aboard the ship.
‘Thank you.’ Alex took back his pen once the formalities were over, enquiring, ‘Have you, er, travelled intersystem before, Inspector?’
‘No.’ Mako Ireson replied, though assuring, at once, ‘I’m perfectly happy about it, though, and have been superlight any number of times, of course, in the system, on buses and things.’
A little whimpering noise came from the direction of the Diagnostics station where A/S Thrask was testing telemetry links. He had always had a problem with inappropriate hilarity. That, in fact, was why he was here, as his tendency to get fits of the giggles had got him into trouble more than once. The final straw had come when he’d been on minor report for getting the giggles on duty. Most unfortunately, the petty officer escorting him into the Exec’s office for a reprimand had broken wind just outside the door. Thrask’s utterly helpless glee had ended up with far more serious charges of insubordination. He was one of the ‘last chance’ bullocks sent to Alex von Strada, with a microsteps programme worked out and agreed with him to address this issue. Alex could see, in fact, that he was making heroic efforts to implement the training he’d been given in bringing fits of hilarity under control, focussing his gaze on a fixed point, deep and steady breathing, and, no doubt, mentally reciting the ‘professional conduct’ mantra which Buzz had taught him.
A glance at the petty officer on deck duty told Alex that she too was aware of that situation. Chief Petty Officer Hali Burdon was one of the most valuable members of the ship’s company, headhunted by Alex precisely for this role. He had prised her from the very reluctant hands of her previous skipper, who was of the fully justified opinion that CPO Burdon was far more useful than most officers. She was a spacer born and bred – literally, born in space, raised a space brat on freighters, already a fully qualified deckhand and pilot when she’d joined the Fleet at sixteen. Now twenty four, she had risen through the ranks as rapidly as Fleet regulations allowed. She had, besides immense expertise, an easy good-natured authority that made her both respected and liked. Her brief smile for the skipper assured him that she was fully aware of A/S Thrask’s hovering on the brink of hilarity meltdown, and reassured him that she would deal with it. Leaving that with her, therefore, Alex returned his own attention to the inspector.
‘Ah,’ he said, in a carefully neutral tone. Rangi Tekawa, however, oblivious to the atmosphere around him, was focussed on his own responsibilities here. They’d been expecting a groundhog, but they had assumed that the LPA would send someone who knew something about starships, with some experience of travelling on liners, at least. Throwing a first voyager straight onto a warship launch was going to be a learning curve so steep that the poor man would be hanging off it by his fingernails.
‘Oh!’ Rangi exclaimed, and went straight to the most important matter as far as he was concerned. ‘How are you in freefall?’ As Mako Ireson looked at him in evident perplexity, the medic clarified, ‘Do you get freefall sick? Motion sickness?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ Mako replied. ‘I’m all right in cars and things, though I did feel sick once when I went on a boat.’
Over at his station, A/S Thrask turned, scarlet faced, and gave CPO Burdon an imploring look. As he did so, he made a T sign with his hands to which she gave an immediate nod. She went straight to his station without comment, placing one hand briefly on his shoulder in the regulation manner signalling ‘I relieve you’. Then as Thrask slipped out of his seat, she moved calmly in to take his place. She was summoning the relief watch keeper as Able Star Thrask left the command deck with as much speed as Fleet regulations allowed. He managed to get all the way down to the mess deck before giving way to the hooting and guffawing, too, for which Alex mentally scored him a credit on his microsteps programme.
Mako did not seem to have noticed the incident going on behind him. It was, no doubt, all part of the incomprehensible activity going on all around, and his attention was currently on the conversation he was having with the skipper and the medic. Buzz was standing there with that particular look of serene innocence that Alex knew was his own control for an inner giggling fit. Rangi Tekawa, with rather less dignified social skills, was looking frankly amazed.
‘How about freefall rides? Roller coasters?’ He queried.
‘I’ve never been on one,’ said the inspector. ‘Not my thing, really,’ he looked around at their faces, and the medic’s dismayed expression. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘I’m sorry – do, please, forgive us.’ Buzz took over, with all the warmth of his most charming manner. ‘We certainly don’t mean to be rude or unwelcoming. It’s just that, without even that kind of experience, I’m afraid, you’re liable to find the launch and life on a starship quite intense. We can certainly support you through that but I do feel it only fair to advise you that this is going to be pretty challenging for you, Inspector.’
Mako Ireson squared his shoulders, looking back at them with a steadfast resolve not entirely devoid of suspicion. It was apparent that he felt that they were trying to put him off, and that he wasn’t having it.
‘Whatever challenges there are, I am sure I will cope,’ he asserted, and was slightly surprised to see looks of approval from both the skipper and exec.
‘Excellent.’ Buzz said, with a slight nod of agreement from Alex.
‘We will do our best to make you comfortable.’ Alex assured him. ‘And I will be happy to meet with you later to discuss your visit. But for now, perhaps, we’ll sort you out with quarters…’ a significant look at Rangi Tekawa, ‘and, I think, a freefall assessment?’
‘Absolutely, sir,’ Rangi affirmed, and told the inspector, ‘don’t worry, it’s routine. And if you get sick, as most people do, it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll just give you a tiny implant behind your ear that takes care of it.’
‘Well, I’d rather do without that if I can,’ Mako said dubiously. ‘But is the ship liable to go into freefall, then?’
‘Frequently,’ said Alex, since that question had been directed at him. ‘Every day, in fact, for drill, and certainly for the launch and any time we come to stations. All warships do that,’ he could see doubt in the inspector’s eyes, a searching look as if Mako Ireson was trying to work out whether this was true or part of an effort to put him off coming aboard. ‘Gravity is a vulnerable system, you see, prone to taking damage in wave space surges, so in any situation where we are likely to be experiencing that, as in launch or high speed manoeuvring, gravity is one of the non-essential systems which is automatically deactivated. We can also come to stations a great deal faster in freefall than we could with the gravity on, as you will see when we sound to stations and people are hurtling about the ship at high speed.’
Mako could see nothing but calm sincerity in him. The looks of confirmation he got from the others when he glanced at them were convincing too.
‘Oh,’ he said, but in the next moment, took another bracing breath, squaring his shoulders again. ‘Well, I daresay I’ll get used to it.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Alex agreed. ‘But do please get yourself settled in. Look around the ship, get your bearings, and get checked out for freefall. Trust me on this, you do not want to discover that you’re freefall sick in the middle of a launch. I will be available at any time this morning if you want to talk to me, all right?’
‘Thank you, Skipper,’ the inspector acknowledged, and allowed himself to be led away by Rangi Tekawa.
‘Come and take a look at sickbay, first, then I’ll show you the cubby in the wardroom and you can take your pick.’ Rangi told him, hospitably.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to evic
t you from your quarters.’ Mako sounded a little embarrassed by that.
‘Not at all. I’d prefer to live in sickbay, really,’ Rangi informed him chattily, ‘only Mr Burroughs says that would be anti-social.’
Alex could hear the silence as Rangi bustled the inspector into sickbay. He was going to get a shock if he was expecting clinical white and chrome. It was a space full of rainbows, pot plants, meditation chimes, a holographic waterfall and an ambient sound of bird song. Not many Fleet skippers would have tolerated that. Alex permitted himself some slight regret at not being able to see Inspector Ireson’s face as Rangi showed him in there and pointed out the bunk that would be his, complete with colourful ethnic blanket.
Mako was, in fact, still looking rather stunned as Rangi led him back through the command deck, telling him cheerfully that they’d go the long way round until he’d had his freefall check. It was apparent that the inspector did not have a clue what Rangi meant. It was quite possible that he did not even realise the significance of the circles of yellow hatching on the deck below hatchways, with the luminous 0G symbol scattered all over them. He seemed quite overwhelmed even in having to negotiate his way through the command deck with a crewman coming the other way. Rangi led him through the for’ard hatchway, gesturing to keep him from walking into the zero-gee zone there.
‘This is the comms room,’ he informed the passenger, ‘lots of top secret stuff here. And the primary computer core, ditto. This is hot tech, straight out of R&D. Our computer Sub got it for us a couple of months back. Cool, huh? It’s still officially on space trials, but don’t worry, its good to go. There’s a companionway through here – a staircase – we can use till you’ve got the hang of grav shafts.’
His voice disappeared into the background hubbub of the ship, leading the bewildered inspector down the narrow winding stairwell to show him to the wardroom.
Inspector Ireson was not likely, Alex felt, to be tremendously impressed by that either, or by the tiny cubby they were offering him as his quarters for the next several weeks. But short of giving up his own cabin to him, which his status in no way required, it really was the best that they could do. They were running over-numbers already, since the decision had been made that the parolees would have to be carried as supernumeraries to the regular establishment of six officers and eighty one crew. That had already meant them filling up the couple of spare bunks they’d had and narrowing down a stack in the mess deck to fit another in.
Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Page 4
