“You might not be coming home. We’re planning to arrange the handover in a neutral place. When the Ransor-D doesn’t arrive, we’ll tell them you’ve gone rogue and chosen of your own volition to go all the way to Vempor. Like a man chasing infamy and glory, if you will.”
“This is a suicide mission!” said Duggan.
“I said you wouldn’t enjoy what I had planned,” said Teron. “Once you’re there, you have my blessing to do whatever you wish to escape, short of starting hostilities again.”
Duggan didn’t know what to say. He sat in thought for a few seconds, while Teron watched impassively through the video screen. “Assuming I agree to this, how am I expected to fly the damned thing? Or use the onboard systems? They look similar to ours in design, but I can’t read their language.”
“We’ve installed some of our own systems. Language modules and a few of our sensor arrays. After all, the Ghasts can’t expect us to have left a captured warship entirely untouched. Naturally we were going to learn what we could from it!”
Duggan thought long and hard. “If I agree to this, will I be left high and dry?”
“I don’t make promises lightly, Captain Duggan. If you do this, we’ll do what we can to get you back.”
“I want more than that, sir.”
Teron raised an eyebrow - a gesture it looked like he’d practised often. “What do you want?”
“I want the opportunity to get the soldiers back from Kidor, sir. A ship and a crew, if I can find one willing to give it a try.”
“I can’t give you the Aristotle, if that’s what you’re looking for. Very well, I’ll give you the commitment you’re asking for, as long as your expectations are reasonable.”
“They will be, sir.”
“Does that mean you’ll take the Ransor-D to Vempor?”
“It does.”
Teron cleared his throat. “It needs more than one to fly the Cadaveron.”
“I know, sir. With permission I’ll speak to my usual crew and see if they want to come along.”
“If not, you’ll be assigned the required personnel. I doubt there’ll be many volunteers, but I’m sure we can find the people you need. You’ve got four hours to get back to me with an answer. Time is short and now you’ve agreed to this, we’re going to give the Ghasts a time and place to return their ship.”
Duggan nodded his acceptance and waited until Admiral Teron ended the connection. With the room silent, he shifted in the hard-backed chair while his mind turned over the details of what he’d heard. There was a part of him wanted to call Teron immediately and say he’d changed his mind. The trouble was, he couldn’t do it. He felt entirely caught up in a web that was partially his own making, and partially woven by the machinations of other people he couldn’t control. The only way out was to reverse his decision, yet his stubborn loyalty wouldn’t let him. There was more than that – this was a war he’d fought for the whole of his adult life. He was tied to it and couldn’t let go, whilst still being desperate for the chance to put it in his past and move on. This mission could make a difference. It could bring peace from uncertainty or it could reveal treachery before any harm could result.
Duggan wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, but an image came to him. In it, he was holding the strings of a puppet and making it dance stiffly at his command. When he looked closer, he saw the puppet was a perfect likeness of himself. He shook away the thought and opened up a communication channel to Commander McGlashan.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Minimum crew of four, eh?” asked Chainer, looking up the scarred side of the Ransor-D.
“Apparently so,” said Breeze.
“I think he just wanted the company,” said McGlashan. “After all, we won’t need to fire the weapons.”
“Yeah, it’s not as if we’re going into a combat situation,” said Chainer. “Not from what he said, anyway.”
“Fly in, do a bit of surface scanning, get arrested for spying and get thrown into a Ghast jail,” said Breeze. “I don’t see why that needs more than one person to accomplish.”
“I wonder if the Ghasts have the death penalty,” said Chainer.
“They might inject us with a lethal dose of hi-stim,” said Breeze. “Except there’s not enough of it available to kill you, Frank.”
“Come on,” said Duggan, recognizing the nervousness beneath the light-hearted conversation. “We’ve got to get used to the bridge if we’re to fly this thing.”
“I’m excited,” said McGlashan. “And worried.”
“Me too,” said Duggan.
“It can definitely fly, can’t it?” asked Breeze. “I mean, the hull looks okay, if a little beat up. It took a lot of damage when it crashed.”
“Apparently it flies perfectly well when they run the simulation,” said McGlashan. “Goes like a charm.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Chainer sarcastically.
It appeared as though there were still hundreds of people and machines working on the ship. They acted with purpose, as if there was much left to do. It didn’t inspire confidence, though Duggan knew the Space Corps well enough to trust the ship would get off the ground. There were likely to be a few things unfinished, which he hoped wouldn’t impact on the warship’s effectiveness.
There was a boarding ramp right in the middle of the underside. It was steep, with metal steps ascending into the cold-blue light of the interior. Duggan went first, finding it an effort to climb smoothly. McGlashan came next, with Chainer huffing and puffing behind her.
There was an airlock at the top, with a team of three technicians studying a readout from one of their hand-held analysis devices.
“Is everything in order?” asked Chainer. “You know we’re meant to fly this thing away in an hour or two, don’t you?”
“Last minute checks, sir,” said a woman. She smiled disarmingly, cutting off Chainer’s smart reply.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered, suddenly lost for words.
“When will the vessel be clear of shipyard personnel?” asked Duggan.
“We’ve been asked to keep working right until we receive your confirmation that you’re ready to leave,” the same woman answered.
Duggan wasn’t entirely pleased with the idea of having repair crews scrambling to exit at the last minute. On the other hand, he wanted everything to be ready. “Very well,” he said. “Do what you can to patch us up.”
“The patching up finished a while ago,” the woman replied. “We can’t get the hull looking any prettier than it is without a complete rebuild. It should hold together, which is all we’ve been asked to achieve. The life support took a lot more work and we’ve only recently finished testing it.”
“Why all these people, then?” asked Duggan.
“We’ve been studying and mapping the design,” she said, laughing at the look of realisation on Duggan’s face. “Not only that, we’ve fitted a number of our own systems to run in parallel to the Ghast ones. Not our latest hardware, for some reason. Most of it’s at least ten years old. What are they planning to do with the ship? It’s not going out to fight is it?”
“It’s going to a museum,” said McGlashan.
The woman’s smile faltered as she tried to decide if she was being mocked. She recovered quickly. “We’ve replaced some of the control systems. The missiles and countermeasures work fine. There’s a disruptor that works sporadically and one of the beam weapons operates at a reduced output. You probably don’t want to let people onto the bridge when it goes on display at the museum, in case there are any accidents.”
“What about the Shatterers?” asked Duggan.
“I believe it has two theoretically functioning launch tubes. Most of the missiles themselves have been taken away for reverse-engineering.”
Duggan wasn’t reassured by the technician’s use of the word theoretically. It wasn’t her fault, he knew, since the Space Corps couldn’t make these weapons from scratch, let alone repair broken ones.
&n
bsp; “So, everything that runs the ship will be familiar to us?” asked Breeze.
“As best as we could make it in the time available,” she replied. “Haven’t they briefed you on this?”
“They’ve done the best they could in the time available,” said Duggan, echoing her words. “Thank you for your time ma’am.” He made to walk past her and then pulled up short. “Which way is the bridge?”
The technician smiled and pointed through the wide exit doorway. “Then you turn left. It’s much smaller inside than it is out, something I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
They followed her directions and entered a wide, high corridor, lit in the blue which the Ghasts seemed to favour. Duggan had been on this ship before, yet it looked completely different to last time. Circumstances were different and he’d come in through the access ramp instead of a missile crater in the armour plating. They passed a couple of large rooms, devoid of feature or furnishing. There were screens in the walls at intervals, some of them dark, while others showed gauges and level meters.
“This is still in the Ghast language!” said Chainer. “I thought they’d stripped this lot out.”
“I doubt they’ve had time for a complete refit,” said McGlashan. “Look – here’s one of our own screens. I can read what’s on this one.”
“We shouldn’t need to leave the bridge,” said Duggan. “If we do, something’s gone so badly wrong we won’t be able to fix it whatever language these screens show.”
The corridor branched right and a set of wide steps went up before them. Memories flooded back and Duggan knew the bridge was just ahead. He walked faster and climbed the steps to the top.
“They fixed the door we blew off,” said Chainer.
Duggan didn’t answer. The replacement bridge door was activated by a panel to one side, which responded to his palm print. The heavy door slid open and revealed the bridge. “They’ve changed this around,” he said.
“The blue light is like I remember, but not much else is the same,” said Breeze.
McGlashan hadn’t been here before and she looked with curiosity. “This is a big space,” she said.
“There were more than thirty seats last time,” said Chainer. “They’ve pulled most of them out, as well as a lot of the Ghast consoles.”
The bridge was fifteen metres square. Previously there had been chairs, along with clusters of screens against the walls and in the middle of the floor. Since then, it had been transformed into something which closely resembled the control deck of an Anderlecht cruiser, albeit bigger. There were eight seats, divided between comms, weapons and engines, with a single, additional chair for the captain to sit in. The room was too large for its contents and the consoles looked small and lost in the middle of the floor.
“There’s a locker here,” said McGlashan, looking at the adjacent security panel. She tentatively pressed her fingers against it and the locker opened to reveal a row of spacesuits and some light armaments. “We won’t have to go far if there’s a hull breach,” she said.
“They’ve had to make a few holes in the floor to patch everything in,” said Breeze, looking under a number of the fixed consoles. “Quite a few holes.”
“As long as it works,” said Duggan. “We need to get to going. The trip to Vempor is a long one, so there’ll be plenty of time to learn how it works on the way, but we need to get this ship off the ground first.”
Chainer practically leapt into one of the comms seats, his hands sweeping across screens and touchpads. “This is standard kit, sir,” he said, “Just like the lady said.”
“Yeah,” said Breeze in agreement. “The designs are a bit old. I’ve not seen this particular interface since I was fresh on a warship.”
“The technician said they were fitting older systems,” said Duggan. “We don’t want the Ghasts to have a copy of our latest designs.”
“They must have begun fitting this before the decision was made to return the ship,” said McGlashan, furrowing her brow as she worked out the timescales.
“I imagine they planned to send it out against its makers,” said Duggan. “It’s got a disruptor onboard, which our own ships don’t.”
“I can’t believe we’re giving the ship back with all its weapons,” said Chainer. “Particularly the ones the Space Corps is lacking.”
“You heard the technician say they’ve removed most of the Shatterers,” said Duggan. “I think it’s a safe bet that if the disruptor is still here, the Space Corps is close to being able to make its own. They’ve had plenty of time to study the Crimson.”
Duggan took his seat and glanced at the screens around him. As Chainer said, everything was familiar, though some of the secondary displays updated sluggishly instead of instantly. The Ghasts’ AI technology was good, so he assumed the tiny delays were a result of the interface between the Space Corps equipment and the Cadaveron’s core. It wasn’t bad enough to be a concern.
“Begin your checks,” said Duggan. “If you see something you don’t like, tell me at once.”
There was little sound on the bridge for fifteen minutes while the crew did their checks and tests. If this had been a Space Corps warship, Duggan would have been confident to take it straight out of the dry dock. While simulations had their value, he wasn’t willing to trust four lives to one, particularly since he’d witnessed how much damage the heavy cruiser had suffered when it crashed on Everlong.
“Update me with your findings, please,” said Duggan when he felt enough time had passed.
“Looks good to me,” said Breeze. “We can output ninety percent of our maximum power according to the readouts. There might be a little more, depending on what the core can do with the burned-out sections of the engines.”
“Funnily enough, the sensors and comms are in tip-top shape,” said Chainer. “We’re covered in them and they’ve installed some further processing hardware on the underside arrays.”
“Those are the important ones,” said Duggan. “We won’t have long to do what’s necessary.”
“If the Ghasts are allied to the Dreamers, won’t they block our comms?” asked McGlashan. “I assume we’ve got a backup system, but does it have the capability to transmit to Monitoring Station Beta?”
“There’s plenty of bandwidth to send at a low-to-medium resolution. Full details will take longer. I think we’ll be okay.”
“Is everything ready on the weapons?” asked Duggan. “If we need to use them the mission has gone disastrously wrong, but I’d prefer to know they’re available.”
“They’re all in order, sir. The Ransor-D is low on ammunition – it must have been away from its base for an extended period.”
“As long as there’s something in the arsenal,” said Duggan. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to bring the gravity engines online.”
“Should we ask the technicians to get clear?” asked McGlashan.
Duggan knew it was the right thing to do and he didn’t want to risk other lives through his own impatience. “Lieutenant Chainer, order everyone onboard to leave. There shouldn’t be a problem at this stage – they’ve had long enough to get it ready.”
“I think I’ll strap in,” said Breeze. “Just in case.”
It took twenty minutes before the warship was clear of personnel. As soon as the last technician had gone, Duggan issued the command to feed power into the engines. The whole ship vibrated faintly, before it settled into a low hum.
“Nothing to worry about,” said Chainer.
“Sounds like one of ours,” added McGlashan.
“They use the same metals in the same way,” said Duggan. He’d been on an Oblivion before and had known what to expect. “I’m ordering the shipyard mainframe to remove the cranes and gantries.”
“You think we’re ready, sir?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.”
It took another twenty restless minutes before the hundreds of machines surrounding the Cadaveron were moved away from the hull. During this time,
Duggan and Breeze cycled the engines through a series of tests, to see if they could trigger an alert. The monitoring tools remained green.
“Everything’s clear, sir,” said Chainer. “The shipyard has informed me we’ve got a fifty-minute opening to leave.”
The heavy cruiser had been fitted with a standard Space Corps pilot’s console. Duggan gripped the bars and pulled them carefully back. The humming increased in volume and there was an imperceptibly slight feeling of weightlessness. Outside, thousands of men and women stopped to stare as the Ransor-D rose silently from its berth. Higher it went, until the watchers had to shade their eyes against the strong desert sun. The huge warship became smaller as it accelerated, until all that remained was a tiny dot in the clear blue sky. Then, the dot vanished from sight and the workers at the shipyard returned to their duties.
Chapter Thirty
At ten thousand kilometres, Duggan released the breath he’d been holding. The monitoring readouts were a sea of green, reassuring calmness. “Do you have the coordinates, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“I do, sir. Vempor is a long way from here. I can’t tell you how long it’ll take until we reach lightspeed and see what sort of speed we can achieve,” said Breeze.
“I assume we’ve stripped out the ship’s monitoring logs, so it can’t report the location of Pioneer when we hand it over?” asked McGlashan.
Duggan hadn’t thought about it. “They can’t have missed something so obvious, surely?” He wasn’t certain enough that he was willing to leave it to chance. He made a snap decision and used his command authority to push open a priority channel to Admiral Teron.
“What is it?” asked Teron. He didn’t sound particularly flustered or upset.
“Have we cleared every scrap of data from the Ransor-D’s memory arrays, sir? I realise it’s an obvious question, yet I don’t want to leave without knowing for definite.”
“There’s nothing there which can betray us,” Teron said. “I’m assuming none of you have memorised the five-hundred-digit coordinates of our populated planets?”
Chains of Duty Page 20
