He smiled. “Get your stuff out of the barracks, then consider yourself on leave until 1300 tomorrow,” he added. “I’m afraid we can't offer the standard week of intercourse and intoxication, but this did happen at short notice.”
“I understand, sir,” Percy said. “And thank you.”
“We shall see,” Hawkins said. “Have a good one.”
Percy saluted, then turned and strode out of the office, unsure if he’d been given a stroke of good fortune or bad. On one hand, as he’d noted, there would be certain promotion if he didn't screw up, but on the other hand it would bring him closer to his father. And, in truth, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. His father had been a hero. How could Percy hope to live up to Kurt Schneider?
He walked back into the barracks and opened the drawer under his cot, removing a spare set of clothes, a handful of pictures of his family and his spare pistol. It wasn't entirely permitted to keep a spare weapon - all weapons had to be accounted for - but the old sweats had taught him it was a wise precaution. They’d served in hellholes like North Africa or the Middle East, where a situation could go from peaceful to extremely dangerous in the wink of an eye, and having a spare weapon often made the difference between life and death. Placing them all in his duffle bag, he took one last look around the barracks and smiled to himself. He would miss it.
The communications lounge was right next door, crammed with videophones, computers and privacy shields, just to give the talkers the illusion that no one could hear a word they were saying. Percy sat down in front of the nearest computer, then linked into the datanet and entered a planetary contact code. There was a long pause, then his sister’s face appeared in front of him.
“Percy,” she said. “Are you alright?”
“Penny,” Percy said. “I’ve been reassigned.”
“To Antarctica?” Penny asked. “Was that because of my expose of someone pinching supplies from the refugee camps?”
“I don’t think so,” Percy said. He honestly didn't understand why his sister had chosen to become a reporter, rather than something useful, but he respected her choice. “I’ve been assigned to a starship. I won’t be back for several months, at least.”
“Shit,” Penny said. “You’ll miss your birthday.”
“I’ll just have a party when we get back,” Percy said. He hadn't been looking forward to his birthday, but it was the least of his concerns right now. “I hope you’ll be alright while I’m gone.”
Penny stuck out her tongue. “I’m old enough to take care of myself,” she reminded him, snidely. “Worry about Nora. Or Jane. Or Alisa. Or ... what was the name of the last girl you were dating?”
“Those were last year,” Percy said, embarrassed. “I'm dating Canella now. And I think Jane thought I was going to inherit a bucket-load of money.”
“Gold-digger,” Penny muttered. They’d been paid compensation for their father’s death - and they were the sole beneficiaries of his life insurance policy - but money was worth less now than it had been five years ago. “Take care of yourself, all right?”
“I will,” Percy assured her. It had been three years since they’d fled their home, ahead of a tidal wave of water, but the memory still chilled him to the bone. They’d come close to being killed more than once, first by the aliens and then by their fellow humans. “And you too, Penny.”
He closed the connection, then tapped another contact code into the computer. There was a long pause, then a pretty brown-skinned face appeared in the display. “Percy!”
“Canella,” Percy said. They’d been dating, on and off, for three months, but he wasn’t sure that either of them were serious. “Can you take the afternoon off work?”
“I can ask my manager,” Canella said. “Is this important?”
“Yes,” Percy said. “It’s very important.”
He waited for her to ask her manager and get back to him, knowing that she had no choice. There were few jobs available these days, at least for people without practical skills, and Canella - she’d studied sociology in university - had been lucky to get the one she had. If her boss said no, she’d have to turn Percy down. The risk of losing her job and being reassigned to a labour battalion was too great.
“He says yes, but I won’t be paid for it,” Canella said, when she returned. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Lombardi’s,” Percy said. “I know it’s expensive, but I can pay.”
They exchanged goodbyes, then he closed the connection and walked out of the building, down towards the gates. They were guarded by armed soldiers - there had been shootings near other barracks, although Edinburgh was largely peaceful - who glanced sharply at him as he signed himself out, then took one last look at the barracks before starting the walk into town. After running up and down Brecon as part of his training, he was hardly likely to wait for a bus into the centre of Edinburgh. It wasn't that long a walk.
Edinburgh had been lucky, he reminded himself, as he approached the centre of the city. It had been shielded from the tidal waves, which had spared the city the damage inflicted on London, Glasgow, Cardiff and many others. But the rainstorms had inflicted considerable damage of their own, flooding vast parts of the city while the population looked for shelter or tried to steer the water away from their homes. Princess Street Gardens had become a loch once again, while the castle looked decidedly weather-beaten, even under the bright sunlight. And, like everywhere else, teams of labour units were struggling to cope with the damage.
But at least they didn't abandon the city, he thought, remembering Cardiff. The city had been effectively deemed unsalvageable and abandoned. Edinburgh will return to her glory soon enough.
He smiled as he saw Canella, standing outside Lombardi’s and waiting for him. She waved to him, then kissed him as soon as he was close enough to kiss. Percy kissed her back, feeling like a heel. There was no way to escape the fact that he was going to tell her that he was leaving, that he wouldn't be back for months. Stronger relationships than theirs had been torn apart by the demands of deployments. He knew, all too well, that his parents had been on the verge of splitting up before the aliens attacked and his mother had been lost. His father had died shortly afterwards.
“Percy,” she said. Her eyes narrowed for a split second when she saw his duffle. “You’re looking good.”
“It’s the uniform,” Percy said. “It makes me look taller. And you’re looking beautiful.”
Canella smiled as he looked her up and down. Her dark brown skin, dark hair and long brown legs contrasted oddly with her uniform, but she still looked gorgeous. He tried not to think about the night he’d carefully unbuttoned her blouse, the night they’d made love for the first time. Penny would have laughed - she knew he’d gone through a dozen girlfriends - but there was something about Canella that made her more than just a one night stand. It was why he had gone out with her, again and again and again.
The waiter showed them both to a booth in the far corner, then waited until they ordered pizza and drinks. Percy declined the offer of wine, choosing instead to stick with fresh orange and lemonade. Canella eyed him in surprise - Percy might never have been a boozer, yet he’d always taken alcohol before - but said nothing. She’d admitted, once, that she’d seen too many people drunk out of their minds.
“Well,” she said. “This is a surprise, isn't it?”
Percy nodded, looking down at the table. “I didn't know I would be free this afternoon,” he said, finally. He’d faced people shooting at him with greater aplomb. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Canella frowned. “What?”
“I’ve been reassigned,” Percy said, softly. “I’m going to be on a starship for the next six months, at least. Probably longer. I may not even be able to return to Edinburgh.”
“I ... see,” Canella said. Her face was impassive, but her lower lip was wobbling. “You won’t be seeing me again?”
“I don’t know,” Percy warned. “Shipboard duty isn't
the same as duty on the ground. Here, I had a night off each week; on ship, there won’t be any nights off until we return to Earth. It may be a long time until you see me again.”
He swallowed. “If you don’t want to wait for me,” he added, “you don’t have to wait.”
“I knew it might happen,” Canella said. “But I didn’t think it would be this soon.”
“Me neither,” Percy said. “I wasn't given a choice.”
“I think you would have taken it even if you had been offered a choice,” Canella said, flatly. “No matter how much you deny it, there’s a part of you that wants to just get stuck in and ... well, get on with your job. I always liked that about you.”
The waiter returned, carrying a steaming plate of pizza, before Percy could think of a reply. Instead, he cut up the pizza, passed Canella a piece, then dug into his own slice. It tasted far better than the rations he’d been fed at the barracks, although he had to admit, if he were being honest, that he’d tasted better pizza. Lombardi’s seemed to get by on social cachet rather than quality. The chicken tasted plain, the tomato was thin and the cheese barely there.
Canella finished her piece of pizza, then looked up and held his eyes. “Do you want to see me again?”
“I would like to,” Percy said, honestly. “But I would understand ...”
“If I find someone else in the meantime, I will tell you,” Canella said. “And you do the same.”
She sighed, then changed the subject. “My manager is planning to hire a couple of new girls,” she added. “I guess he got tired of harassing the last two hires.”
Percy winced. “Are you going to warn them?”
“They’ll need the jobs,” Canella said, bitterly. “These days, anyone who bitches or complains can expect to leave employment for good, shortly afterwards. I don’t think I want to spend the rest of my working life picking up shit from the ground.”
“I understand,” Percy said. He worried, sometimes, about his sister. Would she be harassed by her superiors? Or told she had a choice between sleeping with her boss or losing her job? But then, Penny did have connections. A wise leech would go hassle someone else. “But you deserve better.”
“I used to think I had a good job waiting for me,” Canella said. “I should have gone into psychology. Lots of demand for psychologists these days. The entire country has been traumatised.”
“Tell me about it,” Percy said. The tidal waves had been bad, but the refugee camp had been worse. Law and order had broken down completely. “We’re still having nightmares of the day we were forced to run for our lives.”
They finished the pizza, then Canella led him back to her flat and grabbed him as soon as the door was closed. “I don’t want to think about the future now,” she breathed, as she started to undo his uniform trousers. “And I don’t want you to think about the future either.”
“I won’t,” Percy promised. He pulled open her blouse, allowing her breasts to bobble free and dance invitingly in front of him. His tongue seemed to slip out of his mouth of its own accord, licking at her dangling nipple. “I’ll just make love to you.”
They spent the rest of the day in bed together, then went out to eat dinner before returning to bed and sleeping until early morning. Percy climbed out of bed at 0600 - life in the Royal Marines had taught him when to rise - poured two cups of coffee and then carried one of them back to Canella. She thanked him for it, sleepily, then closed her eyes again. Percy looked down at her for a long moment, then showered and dressed. She was still fast asleep when he returned.
Feeling like a bastard, he kissed her on the cheek and then left, closing the door carefully behind him.
Chapter Four
“Thank you for coming to see me, Mike,” John said.
“I was under the impression I didn't have a choice,” Johnston said. The Chief Engineer settled down into a chair, facing John’s desk. “You are my commanding officer, sir.”
John couldn't disagree. A request from a starship’s commander was an order, however phrased. Mike Johnston and he might have served together before - he was counting on that, for the discussion they had to have - but he was still Warspite’s commanding officer. He couldn't afford to get too close to the crew.
He waited until Midshipwoman Jodie Powell had poured them both tea, then retreated into a side compartment, before leaning forward and fixing the older man with a gimlet stare.
“I need you to be frank, Mike,” he said, flatly. “This discussion is completely off the record.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnston said.
“The XO,” John said. “How did she get the job? Because I can't believe we’re that short of experienced officers who could take the post.”
Johnston sighed. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Already granted,” John said, irritated.
“Politics,” Johnston said. “And technical expertise.”
He sighed and sipped his tea. “I was assigned to the NGW program shortly after you left Rosemount,” he said. “Commander Watson was the departmental head of one of the program’s subdivisions. And, to be fair, she is an absolute genius. Not many people can look at human technology, then alien technology, and see how they might be made to work together. Commander Watson can and does. Indeed, I believe she was behind the modifications made to Ark Royal that allowed her to launch Operation Nelson.”
“That’s very good for her,” John said. “But how did she wind up as XO of a starship?”
“Politics, again,” Johnston said. “Commander Watson was assigned to the Warspite program before it had a proper name. She did most of the early design work; my contribution was largely turning it into practical hardware. Admiral Soskice - the overall head of NGW - gave her a formal rank because otherwise the shipyard staff wouldn't listen to her. You know what bastards they can be, at times.”
“I know,” John said. “But XO ...?”
“I’m getting to that,” Johnston said. “She remained in place as they put the ship together, allowing her to solve new problems as they cropped up. Eventually, when Warspite was formally commissioned, Admiral Soskice ensured she would be the vessel’s XO, despite not having any formal military experience. I don’t think anyone in the Second Space Lord’s office thought this was inappropriate, at least until it was too late. Admiral Soskice would probably react badly if his selection was removed without due cause.”
“Fuck,” John said. “She’s inexperienced. And everyone will know she’s inexperienced.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnston said.
John fought down the temptation to put his head in his hands. “Let me guess,” he said, crossly. “There have been problems already.”
“Some,” Johnston admitted. “Myself and Howard - Lieutenant-Commander Howard - took care of them. Mostly, she’s liked by the crew, which is fortunate. She’s a very poor disciplinarian.”
“Lucky for her,” John said. He didn't know many people who would have willingly tangled with Johnston. “A non-standard commander, he said. A commander who was willing to do the work of an XO, he meant.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind,” John said. “Give it to me, now. What are the other problems with the ship?”
“Mostly, some minor teething problems,” Johnston said. “However, I do have concerns about the integration of human and alien technology. It has a nasty habit of setting up power curves that could cause real problems, if allowed to run on for too long. And then there’s the prospect of accidentally overwhelming the compensators if we push the drives too hard ...”
“Turning us into strawberry jam before we know we’re in trouble,” John said. He’d seen recordings of what happened to a starship’s crew when the compensators failed. “Is that likely to happen?”
“I wish I knew,” Johnston said. He looked down at his hands. “Frankly, sir, the whole project is moving forward much too fast. Apart from a handful of people like Commander Watson, we don’t really understand what we’re doin
g.”
“Hardly anyone understands how a drive field works,” John pointed out.
“I do,” Johnston said. “But I don’t understand precisely how the alien tech integrates with human tech. And that’s what bothers me.”
He shook his head, then looked up. “There are other issues,” he said. “Our main gun is a long-range plasma cannon, an experimental model. It works fine in simulations and live-fire drills, but it’s never been tested in combat conditions. I have a feeling that any half-way competent sensor crew will see us taking aim before we fire. Then there’s the missile tubes, which have been redesigned twice to accommodate the other changes, and the short-range plasma weapons, which have a tendency to overheat and explode.”
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 4
