by PJ Strebor
It wasn’t a question. The bastard had found his price and knew it.
Through the clear bay windows the kids danced around Livy under a sunny, clear blue sky. Nathan’s heart sank. He could placate Livy. ‘Darlin’, Moe’s in trouble.’ But the kids…
“When?”
“Now. The clock’s ticking.”
Like a prisoner walking to the gallows, Nathan steeled himself for the tears to come.
CHAPTER 7
In connection with military matters, one must never say that something can absolutely not be done. By this, the limitations of one's heart will be exposed. — Asakura Soteki (1477 - 1555).
Date: 11th July, 326 ASC
Position: Leaving Corinth orbit. Heading out of system.
Status: Indeterminate.
“Ah, if you don’t mind me asking, where are we going, sir?”
Nathan glanced at the chief petty officer who occupied the right-hand seat of the landing boat.
“You know as much as I do, chief,” Nathan said. “I’ve got a heading to follow and that’s it.”
She leaned across and whispered. “Sounds a bit spooky to me.”
“I’m sure the officer in the back has already warned you to curb your curiosity. I strongly suggest the same.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Following Spotiswood’s instructions, he followed the prescribed heading for one hour forty-seven minutes, at flank speed. As the clock ticked onto the time, Nathan rolled the boat over and brought it to a dead stop. Dark, empty space surrounded the small boat. His sensors actively scanned the region to the limit of their range, and found nothing but an endless void.
He thought about informing Spotiswood of their arrival, then dismissed the idea. Hawkeye knew all. So they waited.
Time passed until he heard a slight beep from his stern sensors. Small, like a short burst of thrusters. Then a nudge against the hull. Through the port view plate Nathan could make out a part of what could be a small landing boat. Black as night, he’d never seen a design like it. He stepped into the cabin as Spotiswood opened the hatch. A brief muffled exchange, Hawkeye unhappy about something.
“Get your gear aboard, Nathan” the Commander said. Then to the non com, “Chief, do I need to explain what will happen to you if even the slightest rumor of this day gets out?”
“I didn’t see a thing, Commander.”
Spotiswood nodded once and followed Nathan into the LB. The hatch had just closed when the strange boat undocked. Nathan was struck by the sleek lines and tiny interior of the boat. He dropped his bags onto the deck and took a seat.
The boat put on an impressive turn of speed, Nathan feeling the gees rising. Having reached her maximum speed the pressure abated. Unbuckling, Nathan doubled over as he made his way forward.
He stood to the right of the only seat on the flight deck. The pilot, dressed like everyone in mufti, ignored him. The instrumentation was, for the most part, familiar. A few variations here and there. The pilot squirmed as one might with a vulture perched on his shoulder.
“Anything I can help you with?” His tone rough, impatient.
“Yeah, what’s that?” He pointed.
“Emergency forward thrusters. Only good for one burst before they need recharging.”
The pilot volunteered more than he had to, so Nathan continued asking questions until he felt familiar with the layout.
“Where are we going?” Nathan asked.
“Ask the commander.”
“When will we get there?”
“Ask the –”
“Yeah, got it,” Nathan said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
He received a surly grunt as a reply.
It was a start. Nathan continued on in the same vein. A young woman, nineteen or twenty years old, who’d been the only other passenger on the outward leg of their journey, sat examining her DRP. To spare his back any further strain he sat on his heels.
“Hello, I’m Nathan.”
She look up from her reader and blinked. “What?”
Attempting to lighten the moment he lowered his voice. “Me Nathan, you?”
“Jane.”
Nathan chuckled.
“What now?”
“Oh sorry. Your name really is Jane?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“You know. The old movie, me Tarzan you Jane?”
Jane looked at him as if he was an ape man. Smelling a professional academic he tried a different tact.
“What’s your posting?”
She brightened, moderately. “Computer sciences officer. I have three diplomas in computer sciences and sensor enhancements.”
“What, no doctorates?”
“I will complete my doctorate in advanced computer sciences by the end of the year.”
“That’s impressive, for someone of your age.”
“Thank you. And your posting?”
“Boat jockey.” He should have known better.
“What?”
“Command pilot.”
“Oh.”
Nathan got the impression that this book worm felt more comfortable cocooned within the safety of academia, rather than the harsh realities of the world.
“I’ll catch up with you later, no doubt,” Nathan said.
“Yes.”
Before Nathan could resume his seat her head hovered over her reader.
Spotiswood spoke into his larynx mike too softly for Nathan to hear.
“Nathan?” He smiled in a less predatory way than normal and nodded to the bow.
Curious, he stepped onto to the flight deck. Through the forward view plates he could just make out a rough shape in the distance. Black on black. No readings from the landing boat’s sensors. It grew as they approached and Nathan’s first impression was that it resembled a sleek arrowhead. About a third the size of a monitor attack boat, she looked sharp enough to slice bread. Unlike a monitor, this boat had angles, sharp edges that may deflect sensor scans. Tractors docked the landing boat into the recess in the starboard side of her hull, forming a perfect seal. The final piece of the puzzle in place.
Despite the circumstances leading up to this point, Nathan felt his juices flowing.
How stealthy is she?
Nathan followed the pilot’s shutdown procedure then turned as the hatch slid open.
“Welcome back, Commander.” The woman, late thirties, hard featured, formidable, glanced over Hawkeye’s shoulder at Nathan. “Did he give you as much grief as you thought?”
“Nah, piece of cake.”
I’m right here.
“Nathan, I need you on the bridge. Max, would you show Jane to her quarters and put Nathan’s bags in his?”
“Aye-aye, Commander,” the pilot replied.
Doubled over to avoid the ultra low overhead, Nathan followed Spotiswood along a narrow corridor, through an unmarked hatch and onto the bridge. The woman took her place next to Spotiswood.
Captain and D-O?
Nathan strapped into the helm officer’s chair and examined the console. Like the landing boat, most of the systems were familiar to him. Yet more simple, refined, elegant.
“All panels show green across the board,” the D-O reported. “We’re clear to depart, Commander.”
“Helm,” the commander said, “I’m sending coordinates to your nav com. Get us there a-sap.”
Are we cleared to hyper out of the system?
Nathan got the strongest impression that this boat could go wherever she pleased and would answer to no one.
He ingressed the boat at dead slow, then brought her steadily up to full ahead. With their course set north Nathan brought up her technical specs and began skipping over the highlights. Only on the odd occasion did he get a surprise. Like the boat’s top speed. She could outrun, in hyper or normal space, any vessel known to exist. He scrolled down to weaponry. One tube with only three torpedoes. A single pulsar equivalent in
power to one on his Specter. A few other little tricks but nothing major.
“She’s no warship,” the D-O said over his shoulder. “But she’s buzzed naval facilities within Athens’ core systems and not been detected.”
“What’s her secret?”
“Synthetic Nallgotate,” she said. “Very expensive to produce. Deception is covered from bow to stern in it. Engine thrust passes through baffles coated with the same product. It’s not perfect but she can maneuver without detection if the range is long enough.”
“Nallgotate?”
“A tiny quantity was discovered about a hundred years ago, on the planet Delos. It’s taken scientists that long to find a way of synthesizing it.”
Delos. “How many of these boats do you have?”
“For that answer, you’ll –”
“Have to ask the commander,” Nathan said. “Got it.”
“How are we looking?” the D-O asked.
“Good. About twelve hours to roll over and braking –”
“Not necessary,” the D-O said.
“But I’ll need to get a nav fix for the next leg.”
She smiled and shook her head. “We can stay on this heading for the next eighteen hours before needing a course correction.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Speed and size through a continuum, remember? We’re small enough and bloody well fast enough not to be influenced by hyperspace drift.”
“I guess I’ll have to think outside the monitor box.”
“That’s the way.” She held out her hand. “Stella.”
“Nathan.”
“Yeah, I recognized you. Welcome aboard Deception. Up for a coffee?”
“Sure.”
As they crab-walked down the corridor Stella threw out the odd fact.
“Only a regular deck and a half deep so we have a lower profile than a MAB. Standard reactor and small power consumption so we egress less frequently than a monitor does. Crew of twenty. Short duration missions only, so we don’t need a lot of space for provisions.”
On a boat with no ranks, except for Spotiswood, the small mess area accommodated everyone. Although moderately better than service swill, Nathan still loaded his coffee with generous quantities of sugar and milk.
Apart from Stella and Nathan only Max, the LB pilot, occupied seating. He sat apart, nursing his coffee, avoiding eye contact with the new arrivals. When he left Nathan asked, “What’s his story?”
Stella pursed her lips. “Lost his wife and kids to a headhunter attack. He’s not a big talker.”
“And you?”
She shrugged. “Something similar. Everyone on this boat has a reason for hating Pruessen.” Her mouth quirked. “Including you.”
A boat full of Pruessen-hating fanatics. Shiiiiit.
CHAPTER 8
Date: 16th July, 326 ASC
Position: Approaching the Poseidon Shoals.
Status: Alert condition one.
For five days Nathan studied Deception’s specs until he knew her like a lover. He also pulled Adroit’s records. Moe had indeed been posted to her as helm officer. Unless Spotiswood had fudged the records. Something else stood out. Winstone had no business being on a monitor, let alone in the Captain’s chair.
The infection is spreading faster than I’d feared.
The last communication from Adroit stated that she was responding to a distress call from the Brandon freighter, Geraldine. Then she disappeared.
Nathan egressed Deception to the same coordinates, just south of the Shoals.
After forty minutes of painstaking examination, Trudy, the tactical officer, made her report. “Stella, that’s two complete active sweeps of the area. I’ve got zero contacts. Not a trace of debris. Nothing.”
“Very well,” Stella said. “Nathan, you have the Conn.”
“Acknowledged.”
She disappeared into Spotiswood’s communications room.
What could have happened to Adroit?
If she’d been attacked there would be debris. If she’d been destroyed there would be a lot of debris. Finding nothing threw up a giant question mark.
In the one-hundred year history of monitor corps, no boat had ever been taken intact. A monitor Captain’s first priority, before the mission, before the preservation of the crew, before any consideration, was to ensure that the boat did not fall into enemy hands. On more than one occasion over the years, boats, and entire crews, had been lost to preserve monitor corps technical edge. Even with an incompetent like Winstone in charge of Adroit someone, the D-O, the senior engineer, someone should have destroyed her rather than seeing her captured.
What the blazes could have happened? And what of Moe?
His comm beeped. “Tel, Nathan.”
“Step into the comm room, please,” Stella said.
Nathan didn’t bother answering. He passed through the hatch without having to buzz. Spotiswood and Stella sat side by side. A united front, perhaps? Nathan took the only other chair in the small room.
“We have reliable intell on Adroit’s location,” Stella said.
Spotiswood watched him, remaining silent.
Nathan shook his head, blowing air out between his teeth. “Go on.” He strongly suspected that he wouldn’t be happy with the forthcoming report.
“As we suspected the boat was captured,” Stella said. “We don’t know how, yet. She’s being held on a planet north of the frontier.”
“And the crew?”
“They’re being interrogated at the same base.”
Drum roll.
“And the planet?”
Stella licked her lips. “Saint Joan.”
Juesssus.
He directed his next question at Spotiswood. “How reliable is the intell?”
“Beyond reproach,” the Commander said.
Nathan nodded, more to himself than his audience.
“Saint Joan, is a plague planet, Spotiswood,” Nathan said. “You knew that Adroit was there from the moment you stepped into my home. That’s why you wanted me aboard. The only person to have an immunity to the Derwent Plague might come in handy. Especially if this crew gets infected.”
Spotiswood shrugged. “You got me.”
“To be fair, Nathan,” Stella said, “intell suspected she might be there. We’ve just received confirmation.”
“So now I have to take this boat forty light years into enemy controlled space, rescue the crew and make our way out.”
“Exactly,” the commander said.
“And with time pressing, I will have to take Deception through some of the most heavily congested shipping lanes in the Empire to get there.”
“See, Stella, I told you he’d catch on quickly.”
For her part, Stella did not look either impressed or happy with the situation.
“Stella,” Nathan said, “give us the room.”
She glanced at Spotiswood who nodded.
Nathan knew the spook had a hidden agenda and could only guess at what that might be. For the moment he would try to match skills with a professional, to whom self-interested treachery came as naturally as breathing.
“I need every scrap of intell on the region of space north of the Rio Grande.”
“I’ll download to your panel all the maps and intell we have accumulated over the years.”
“Nope, not good enough,” Nathan said. “If I’m going to put my head on the chopping block I want to know who’s swinging the axe.”
Again, Spotiswood’s knowing smile set Nathan’s jaw to aching.
“What exactly do you want, Nathan?”
“Level one intell access.”
The commander chuckled. “Not going to happen.”
“Fine,” Nathan said, rising from his chair. “If you change your mind I’ll be in my quarters.”
“We need to get onto Adroit’s trail. Return to the helm and take us across the frontier.”
Nathan tried to emu
late Spotiswood’s crooked smile. “Not going to happen. If you want to go on a suicide mission, fine. But you can get yourself another driver.”
Spotiswood mood darkened. “Level one clearance is …”
“Don’t worry commander.” Nathan smirked. “I won’t use it to find out what happened to your humanity.”
Spotiswood snorted. “I liked you better when you were a kid. Less of a mouth on you back then.”
Nathan did not need to threaten him. If Spotiswood didn’t give him what he wanted, Nathan would not get Deception to, what Hawkeye considered to be, the target site.
“Years ago an Admiral, I forget his name, tried bargaining with me,” the Commander said. “He’s a Captain these days, assigned to a dead end job in southern quadrant.”
“And you could do the same to me? I have no doubt about that. But I need level one access to accomplish this mission successfully. And, you know, not get everyone killed.”
“Very well.” Spotiswood nodded. “But you’re playing a very dangerous game. Don’t push me too hard. You won’t like what happens when I push back.”
Nathan sat down, leaned back in his chair and tried not to sigh. He could scarcely believe the commander agreed to his terms so readily. Now all he had to do was devise a way to penetrate the Pruessen defense network, work his way through whatever unknowns blocking his passage, and plan a way to get onto the base and rescue the crew. The clock was ticking.
CHAPTER 9
Date: 17th July, 326 ASC
Position: Traversing Imperial hyperspace.
Status: Alert condition two.
For a full day Deception had been in violation of the most strictly enforced statute of the League of Allied Worlds. Crossing the frontier into northern space defied all conventions. The League considered the area north of the frontier to be a quarantine area. Although the plague had been released over thirty years ago, the fear of contagion remained as strong today as it did then. If Deception and her crew were discovered, Nathan doubted that even Athenian Intelligence could cover up their violation. The Commander seemed unfazed by the possibility and Nathan got the impression that the crew held similar views. They had probably, as a matter of routine, crossed into Pruessen space on so many occasions that it seemed to them to be pedestrian.
